Atlanta's Burnin' Down

Hey Y'all! Don't y'all just love that Dickey Betts song; "Atlanta's Burning Down"? Uncle Bubba had it fired up on the radio as he burned into Atlanta at twilight this evening after a sunny first of March. The smoke was rolling off of his tires as rounded the corner into the hotel parking lot just in time to stretch a leg and calm a nerve. On the way along highway 75 passed numerous signs for BBQ and he got himself a powerful hankerin' whilst traversing the asphalt monster... traffic was heavy and from the GA boarder north to Macon; it seemed like one looooong construction zone. Anyways, he passed the Old Hickory Restaurant by the hotel so he doubled back after check-in and got some good, old fashioned Georgia Barbeque. 3 meats, beef, pork, and ribs, mmmmm...

He come out smellin' a whole lot more aromatic than he did goin' in; like hickory smoke! In Bubbie's view, he's off to a great start on his rode trip. He just wishes y'all could be here to share in it with him. If yer game, he'll load y'all in the back of his pickup and tote y'all along!

A Day With The Duke

Uncle Bubba drove out to the ranch to visit with the Duke. It was one of those nice winter days where the sky is blue and bright beyond the bricolage blanket of alabaster clouds, and though the grass is straw brown, the air feels like Spring might show up and show out in a few days. It was one of those drives where you don’t care when you every really get there; everything looks beautiful and you notice every little detail of scenery as you speed past.

Uncle Bubba cranked on the steering wheel and turned off of the hard road onto the thin lime rock road that leads to paradise. It cuts razor straight thru a small pine forest and the bronze brown Mexicans with there jet black hair could be glimpsed between the shadowy rows of pine, hand raking pine straw into great mounds. They looked startled to see Bubbie pass by. Beyond the pines and thru a wooded pasture of lazy bovine, the sky opens up to shine brightly on the pastures that surround the ranch. The Duke's house sits poised in the middle beyond the trail of old live oak trees dressed in Spanish moss. Bubbie rounds the bend by the barn and rolls into the tunnel of oaks that stand like sentries along the drive to the main house. On the other end of the trees the dogs run up to greet every visitor with much to-do and barking; they are always happy to get company.

Uncle Bubba parked and already feeling satisfied, rolled out of the driver’s seat. It was good to be in the country; there is something so cathartic in it for him. It pleasantly touches a place in his soul that connects him to the Universe, the best in mankind and its history. The Duke is boarding some juvenile delinquents also known as the five thoroughbreds. They are tall, reddish brown young horses that are as beautiful as they are wild. The Duke has them fenced along the pasture by Bubbie’s parking place and to see them all in a line up is quite impressive. They are nervous power, flexed muscle and restless strength. They were born to run…run at full speed, and they don’t care if they have a rider, that would just cramp their style.



The Duke and Miss Dixie are as cordial and nice as ever to see their ol’ friend. Greetings are passed around to be savored and appreciated. There is no hurry to catch up, there’s always time to do that. The Duke always has chores to work and errands to run and his pardner Bubbie is always obliged to partake. The boys loaded up the white Ford pickup truck with supplies. The Duke kissed Miss Dixie and off they rode, back out the dusty lime rock rode. They talked about cattle feed mixtures, trucking operations, cow fecal testing and other pleasantries. Stopping at a filling station for diesel fuel they grabbed some fried chicken breasts and gizzards and a Coke for lunch. Yessir, life don’t get much better than that. It is living the moments of life that Bubbie is most interested in, and gathering the riches of giving. The day will pass as sure as the sun arcs across the sky and Uncle Bubba will return home to Sweet Pea. What could be better than that? The opportunity to do it again of course.

Happy New Year, 2010!!

Happy New Year! Here it is 2010 with a chance to start over once again and get it right. We can resolve to get on the good foot and be better people then just see it through. How hard is that? Do we really need someone else, some “expert” to tell us how to be better people, better Americans? What do these “experts” know that we don’t? Do y’all remember one of our national mottos; “United we stand, divided we fall?” Uh... we’re falling; what’s that tell y’all? How about our current national motto; “In God we trust.” Seems pretty straight forward to ol’ Uncle Bubba. How ‘bout we look inside our own hearts and take responsibility for the way we treat our neighbors. You be the expert of your own life. You are an expert on being nicer, kinder, better person; you just need to see it through.

God Bless the Ranchers, God Bless the Farmers

Uncle Bubba was driving through central Florida headed north. For a man that has made the trip many times over the past nearly 20 years, it’s an oddity. It is definitely a case study in how mans’ greed and ignorance can ruin the environment as well as another man’s livelihood and lifestyle. Where it was once vast rolling green vistas of pastures and prairies, it is now a vista of shingled hip roofs. Fighting traffic and following ineptly poor drivers trying to get back to the country is nearly futile. There are miles and miles of highways and county roads that wind through what used to be ranch land. Now it’s just a cancerous growth of neighborhoods; a blight of cookie cutter homes and strip mall storefronts and gas stations. Myriads of fake grand landscaped entrances to second-rate developments appear for mile after mile. Uncle Bubba pulled out a detailed map of Florida and figured that, discounting wildlife management areas and parks and wetlands, one is never more than 2 miles from a road throughout most of the state. So have no fear if you should get lost, you don’t have far to go to find someone to give you guidance. Every so often you may round a curve and see a few lazy cattle grazing amongst their white cattle egret friends. In view of a few scattered palms or some old growth oak trees, they are sandwiched between developments where a rancher is trying to hold on to a dying business and lifestyle. You see, a man that makes it his life to make a living from the land has a different agenda. It only behooves him to take care of the environment and keep the things of nature in go working order for the long haul.

This says very little for the man whom chooses to be a developer as a profession. It’s painfully obvious that their god is money and their goals are shortsighted. Any thought of the future generations doesn’t enter their one track minds. Having an eye for esthetics, Uncle Bubba can easily point out the shoddy workmanship in the acres and acres of houses. It’s obvious to the trained eye that these homes are not built to last; rather they are built for a quick profit.

Shame on the rest of us that sign on the dotted line; we can’t wait to have our new home built and to hell with the land that was once a pristine wetland; after all, it was already stripped and plowed over, and we just bought one little spot. To hell with the rancher or the farmer who is dedicated to producing food for our tables. We don’t need them anyway; we can get our food from other countries cheaper. Who cares if it’s raised in sub-par standards with unrestricted use of chemicals and pesticides? Who cares if the livestock are mistreated and diseased? Who cares if we put our own families out of work? In Bubbie’s view, it is just this limited and expendable mentality that has created this once wonderful nation’s current disappointing condition. But then again we all know it, we just don’t care.

Lets Go Green!

Let's go green? Ha! You selfish son-of-a... In the light of the new revival to go green it has become the fashion to reuse and recycle and renounce. Isn’t it sad that we have to be sold on the idea that going green is good, only because its fashionable. What? you say. I am going green because I care about the environment. Really. So the ad campaigns and celebrity endorsements had nothing to do with it? Are you so lost in your own delusions of self importance that you’ve failed to notice that we have had to have a television channel dedicated to going green to make you feel good about yourself? Of course you realize that all of this marketing requires environmentally damaging energy to produce.

In Bubbie’s view, we should have never been un-green. God created us; He created the green earth. He gave us dominion over the earth with all of its sustainable resources to keep us alive indefinitely. He gave us intelligence, which no other creature has. And with our intelligence we are able to interpret and manipulate matter. So we are creators, just as God created us. So then, that is how God created us in His image. He made us all creators. To be able to interpret and manipulate matter can only be for our benefit or our detriment. Why would we want it to be for our detriment? Why would we want to destroy what God has given us? Why would we take the green earth, which is supposed to sustain us indefinitely, and ruin it so that we will all eventually perish? What is the point? But if we live in harmony with the earth, we use it resources to sustain our lives, and we use our intelligence to replenish what we use, then we are using our creator-ness in a responsible way. The only thing outside of our own sustenance is to take care of one another. That is our purpose. We are creators, we are to survive, we are to take care of one another and love one another. It is our motives that are in question. In Bubbie’s view, we should be green because we love our creator and His creation, not to brag to our peers how wonderful we are to reuse and recycle.

2010 Yobabytes Part 2

To expand on Uncle Bubba’s comments on knowing too much, he offered these points in our conversation. Consider email, texting, tweeting, facebook, myspace, etc... within seconds we can know anyones’ business. We can know their personal data that they voluntarily post like their birthday, address, schools they attended, etc... We know about they’re relationships, no matter how nasty or embarrassing. We can know all about their antics at every party, no matter how nasty or embarrassing.

We carry our cell phones everywhere, all the time. We text and tweet and check our email. We are constantly in touch and believe everything we read. We voluntarily contribute to gossip about our selves since we only write about what we are doing and what we think. Admit it, we only really care about what we are saying and not what someone has told us; not unless its juicy gossip.

Now consider your grandmama’s day. The folks of that era lived their lives in private behind closed doors. It was taboo to air their dirty laundry in public. Words were chosen carefully and actions were judged on their merit. The person in their immediate company was their primary focus. They had the time, and took the time to get to know someone; and with much invested they cherished long and meaningful relationships. Remind me again why that was bad?

In Bubbie’s view, life is to be lived and shared. He ain’t no more scared to skin a buck as peck on a computer keyboard; that’s just part of life today. But he values people and the quality of the time spent with them.

2010 Yobabytes Part 1

Uncle Bubba has been scarce lately. I’ve looked for him often but to no avail. This usually says more about me than Uncle Bubba; it usually means that I have become too inadvertently distracted and time has slipped by. So this morning, when I wasn’t expecting any company, there was Uncle Bubba on my doorstep. Like the father of the prodigal son, I welcomed him with open arms and apologized for staying away for so long. In typical Uncle Bubba fashion, he saw no need for a fuss and wondered aloud at why I make such a big ta-do about nothin’.

I think it was no coincidence that he showed up at a point when I was thinking about the new year... 2010 of all things. Didn’t y’all think we’d be farther along in things by now? I thought we’d be living a lot more like the Jetsons, with computerized automation machines in our homes and we’d be all flying jet powered cars. Anyway, at these few days after Christmas it’s hard to not ponder what the new year might bring and feel somewhat simultaneously nostalgic. In chatting with Bubbie over a couple of hot cups of coffee, we agreed that in contemplation of the state of our union and the state of our society, one doesn’t get all warm and fuzzy. In the words of Uncle Bubbie, “I look around and wonder what the hell is going on? We’re goin’ to hell in a hand basket!” Its not difficult to echo his sentiment recognizing that causality postulates that we now know too much. Yobabytes of information! We know so much that most of what we know has little to do with relevance or truth.

Think about our sources of information; gossip, cell phones, smart phones, text messaging, email, TV, computers, magazines, newspapers, books, and the internet. There is so much data available to us, it has become information overload. And most news is useless. For example, why do we need to know that an 80 year old lady was hit by a car in a town 200 miles away? Because it was a hit and run and they are searching for the perp, or there is some purpose as to safety and a lesson learned perhaps? But that is seldom the case; if you pay attention, much of the “news” is just random stories with no relevance to the betterment of the community. Today we heard that a trailer burned down on Christmas leaving a family homeless, but no information on how to help them. So much of the news is just story after story of bad news with no relevance to society’s advancement.

Think again about our sources of information; gossip, cell phones, smart phones, text messaging, email, TV, computers, magazines, newspapers, books, and the internet. Each one of these items documents information originating from a human source with an innate agenda. There is nothing wrong with that; its only important to remember that nothing is truly objective. Its been proven that most “experts” on any media outlet is more than likely an expert in talking for money, not necessarily an expert on any one subject. In Bubbie’s view, we’d test a well to make sure that our livestock are not drinking contaminated water, yet we’ll so eagerly draw our news from contaminated sources poisoning our minds. As his mama always told him, “There’s 2 sides to every story; and somewhere in the middle is the truth.”

Bacon!

It was a cold December evening with a bone chilling drizzle falling like drops from a large showerhead. Uncle Bubba went to his favorite market, no doubt looking for some comforting cuisine to warm the cockles of his heart buried beneath layers of cotton clothing. In his quest he bought a small package of bacon thinking of sharing the aromas and robust flavors of a hot breakfast of bacon and eggs with Sweet Pea. He smiled warmly thinking of gazing into her sweet sleepy eyes through the steam rising up off his cup of black coffee. Ah, yes Bubbie thought, we need coffee and he strolled off toward the coffee isle, bacon in hand. Let me tell you what that delicious bacon was not; it was not processed by grinding the small pieces of pork belly into an emulsion and, adding a cure mixture that includes chemicals such as sodium nitrite which is added primarily as a color fixer that turns meats a reddish, fresh-looking color. The emulsion is cured for a predetermined period of time and thereafter placed into molds and slowly cooked at varying temperatures. The molded cooked product thereafter is chilled. In an alternate process, the small pieces of pork belly are cured prior to grinding into an emulsion. In a further embodiment, the bacon product is chilled after curing and packaged for marketing. Mmmm… Doesn’t that just some so good?!

No, Uncle Bubba’s bacon was cut fresh with the dark brown cracklin’ still running along one edge.

If you have never had real bacon, it looks like ham in color and texture. And its cut thick, at least one eighth inch if not more. When frying you can hear the cracklin’ crackling, calling and cackling out over the rim of the frying pan to your belly, “Get ready baby ‘cause I’m coming to getcha!” Shrinkage is not an issue unlike the shriveled up slivers Oscar Meyer delivers and the whole house doesn’t stink to high heaven. The bacon Bubbie bought was lightly smoked and the flavor is mild. As it accompanies a couple of fried eggs and toast from the kitchen counter to the breakfast table, the scenery is beautiful; the aroma enticing. As Bubbie enjoys that crispy bite he wonders why we stopped expecting all of our food to be fresh and healthy and naturally tasty. In Bubbie’s view, its time to get back to natural foods and use our common sense. Mmmm… Now that’s bacon!

Throwbacks

Have you noticed all of the throwback jerseys in MBL and the NFL this year? Why do you think Major League Baseball and the National Football League desire to have their players wear those old style uniforms? A cynical person may presume that it is all about merchandising and money. But in Bubbie’s view it has more to do with a collective subconscious to go back to the days when men were men. Before a player was groomed from the womb by is mama to chase the money; men used to compete in sports for competition’s sake. It meant something to be declared the best. It meant something to be looked at as a tough guy by one’s peers.

How ‘bout we throwback to the days before PC? Before it was politically incorrect for calling a poor sport a jerk. Before it was wrong to call out a prima donna for being a spoiled wuss. Let’s throwback to the time when the coach told the players what to do instead of the reverse we have today. Let’s just not throwback to the NBA days when those overgrown lanky pituitary cases wore those shorty shorts.

Goodbye Dear Friend

One of Uncle Bubba’s best friends, JD, passed away last week. Uncle Bubba told me that words cannot express the sadness he feels. As I visited with Uncle Bubba, he shared a few happy memories of JD and he growing up together. JD was older and young Bubbie was all too impressed by that. You know that in our adolescent high school minds that the smallest details often carry the most weight, and JD was a good looking, popular guy. It was clear in his reminiscence that Bubbie admired JD’s humor, his ferocious spirit and, as Bubbie stated, he was so big hearted. JD was courage in action. He was kind and generous.
 
JD had great taste; he always wore beautifully stylish clothes that fit him to a tee. His hair was thick and wavy and always perfectly styled. And he loved a nice car; it had to be fast, stylish and shiny. What young man wouldn’t look up to a guy like that? JD and Bubbie also thought of themselves as quite the ladies’ men as well; boy, were they ever dreamers.
 
But beyond all that, JD and Bubbie talked. They shared their ideas and dreams. They wondered about their futures and admittedly were both a little lost. They knew we were expected to be men, but not just your run-of-the-mill schlubs, but straight shooting, stand up men; someone of whom their families would be proud. Unfortunately neither one of the young knuckleheads knew how to go about getting there but they had each other, jobs to afford some spending money, and cars. You know that young men need to be everywhere, all the time, all at once; that was JD. He had to be at every school event, every social function, dating every pretty girl, while traveling between home, the cottage on the lake, and both sets of his grandparents—and thankfully, with Bubbie in tow. Oh what fun they had! Life was exciting and full of possibilities. To this day Bubbie is thankful for the wonderful memories of staying at the cottage—waterskiing and boating, swimming in that ice cold lake!

Uncle Bubba recalled how JD would get so intensely worked up over things, but to me that just showed how fiercely he loved his family and craved everyone’s acceptance. JD loved with his whole heart. When he cared for some one or some thing, he was passionate; there was never a doubt about the way that he felt.
 
JD eventually enlisted in the army. He was struggling with life as most headstrong young men do; feeling unfulfilled with his choices with college and knowing that he needed some structure and discipline to help find his way. Young Bubbie was crushed. He couldn’t believe he was leaving and yet he was so proud of JD for making such a bold commitment and following through. To this day, thinking of his courage to take action, he inspires a spark in Uncle Bubba to boldly be the best that I can be. Life is tough and we all need motivation to succeed. Bubbie often reflects on owing it to JD and the old gang of friends to represent, to be courageous in his decisions, and be fiercely committed to his family. JD influenced Uncle Bubba to be his best, to not only love with all of his heart, but express it. JD was a true friend, to be loved forever and remembered always. Uncle Bubba has shared stories of the adventures he and JD had with his children, both as lessons and as funny antidotes. JD was truly the best. In Bubbie’s view, life is too short and relationships too precious not to make the best of every moment, every day. Goodbye JD, we will meet again one day in heaven.
 

Screwed, Blued, and Tattooed

Uncle Bubba was driving his ol’ pickup truck through town with the radio on. He was just running an errand, you know, aimlessly driving with a few mundane thoughts drifting through his somber brain. He barely noticed the commercial innocuously buzzing on the airwaves. It was something about a tattoo parlor but it didn’t click in his consciousness until the tag line said, “If you love it, ink it.”

“Oh my gosh!” Bubba thought, “There ya go!” You see, that sums up the conundrum that’s been perplexing him for some time. It seems that these days, everyone from teenagers to middle aged, and that middle is ever so close to the far bottom of the “over the hill” age, has some patch on their carcass tattooed. And here’s the question; do they get the tattoo to accentuate the body part, or do they get the tattoo to cover up the body part? LIke, what is it they are trying to show off; the bizarre choice of personalized artwork or the hair’d-over kankle or flabby scapula back-flap that it adorns? In Bubbie’s view, he don’t wanna see either! What is it about a woman’s protruding, jello-like spare tire that makes her stamp it like a USDA approved side of beef and then display it for all the world to see? What statement is she trying to make? “Hey, look at me! I am a lazy, unfit, overeating glutton, and proud of it! And I celebrate the marvel of me by permanently inking my flesh to show you!” Uncle Bubba digresses. He’s lived long enough to know that he will never know some things. Heck he’s even got a few old tattoos himself, but in his era tattoos were a statement of nonconformity. Isn’t THAT ironic! A tattoo branded a man a rebel.

In Bubbie’s view, a tattoo is a personal choice. And with all choices, they come with the responsibility of ownership and living with the resulting consequences.

Just Another Day

It’s not yet twilight and Uncle Bubba is in his old Ford pickup headed to work. As he drives towards town the full moon is still high in the western sky and some dirty pink clouds are faintly waking in the east. Bubbie’s thinks about how seldom good things come at the early morning hours of a day but don’t it all change in an hour; for the birth of a new daybreak is starting to glow as he turns his wheel to the right and starts the long drive over the usual two-lane highway. The sky glows golden dressed in pink and corral underneath gray clouds and a pale blue sky.

At the next red light Uncle Bubba sits among the other vehicles, waiting. He looks in his mirror at the drivers behind him. Ladies are checking their look in the visor mirrors while others sit with blank stares. They are all someone’s unsung hero; tired, overworked, underpaid, under appreciated. They have children, spouses, parents all depending on their loyalty, their diligence to face another day at work. No one is going to shoot a documentary about their life. No one is going to give them a prestigious award for honor, or a beautiful gold medal for courage. No, they are doing what they must to have what they have.

The light finally turns green and Bubbie drives off with a soft song playing on the radio. A smile crosses his lips at a fond thought of Sweet Pea. He rubs a tired eye and sips hot black coffee from a travel mug and wonders what the day will bring. In Bubbie’s view, it’s a shame that we don’t know more about our neighbors and what small thing we might do to make their mundane days just a little bit better.

What Goes Around...

It has been a while since I’ve visited Uncle Bubba so I stopped by to catch up on things. I hopped up the couple steps of his porch and knocked on kitchen door. No answer. So I walked around back and found him in his vegetable garden.
“Well, hello stranger!” he barked as he saw me walking toward him. He had that old familiar grin that was so nice to see. Uncle Bubba’s eyes were about the size of double-ought buckshot and just as hard. They sparkled when he spoke like the fireworks in his brain might break containment and give you a flash burn. I always figured that was because he knew a lot more than he was tellin’ and that’s probably just as well ‘cause I won’t get it anyway.
“I am pickin’ some vegetables to go with some venison steaks I’m cookin’ for dinner. You’re eatin’ some with us so they don’t go to waste.”
How could I argue a direct order? Being that it was early fall and deer season was weeks away, I didn’t seem inclined to ask if the steaks were frozen or fresh, though I know they were the latter.
“You seem to be in good spirits.” I quipped.
“Yeah well,” Bubbie said, “I’d come through a rough patch. You know that sometimes work can get a man down.” He paused, “Not the work so much as the bull that goes around on the job. Every once in a while it gets too deep; you know what I mean? This last go-around got to me more than I thought so I decided to throw it all away. Life is good man! Too good to waste on the pinheads of the world!”
Bubbie let out a roaring laugh, cracked open a cold beer and took a swig.
“My good times are a higher priority than making my boss happy. I’ll do my job and do it well... but I don’t have-ta like it.” Bubbie added, “It’s what I do, not who I am.”
With that he laid out the red steaks on his grill with a expertise that would arouse a French chef. After another beer he tilted his head back and looked up into the clouds. As he paused the corners of his mouth curled slightly in grin. He kept his head tilted back, his beady eyes in a full on squint as he spoke, “Don’t forget to look up several times a day and see the big picture.“
And with that, Sweet Pea hollered out of the kitchen window that the table was set and when the steaks were done, it’d be time to eat and I wondered why I stayed away so long.

The Mermaid & The Manatee

Beneath the overhanging sweet gum and cypress trees, under the glassy lid of the lazy river, there was once a mermaid who was a creature of habit. Everyday she swam to the deep, fresh water spring along the same aqueous passage. She and her fish friends floated gently among the sunbeams, above the sandy bottoms and muskgrass shaded by the banana lilies. She was a delicate soul who wished no one any harm; she just loved to swim and witness God’s creation. Every Fall, when the air gets cool and the days get shorter, the manatees swim back to the warm spring to winter. The mermaid loves to see each friendly face as they drift in from the gulf; they share hugs and tales of there adventures in the deep blue sea.

Then one day a stranger came to the spring; an albino manatee that was haughty and more strident than the rest. The albino manatee claimed that it’s ancestors were the rightful owners of the spring and thus vociferously declared ownership of the spring and all the waters around it. The others didn’t pay much mind to the stranger, they were used to boisterous others that had come before it and pitied it for its nature. At first the albino manatee decreed that the mermaid and the manatees were allowed to joyfully swim as usual; however it didn’t take long before the new manatee began to object to the mermaid and her daily rituals. Surely, the manatee thought, that a mermaid who enjoys herself that much must be getting something from the spring, and though it was unsure of just what, it was something that belonged to the manatee. The albino manatee first put up a sign to stop the manatee from swimming along her regular passage. The mermaid was put off by the sign but decided to slightly change her route and continue to swim with her friends to the area of the spring. So the obstinate manatee hired some large, intimidating snook to patrol the spring and report any trespassing; however there was little to report. They informed the manatee that the mermaid swam past everyday, smiling and spreading goodwill. This made that ol’ albino turn flush pink and even more paranoid; certain that the mermaid was stealing something from the spring, something special. It was time to take matters into it’s own flippers, so it swam to the opening of the spring and decided to wait, just out of sight, and see what the mermaid was taking. Day and night the manatee waited, sure it was going to end the abuses of the mermaid. Eventually days turn into weeks, weeks into months until one day the manatee weak from hunger had to come out from the spring to eat and found that all of the other manatees had long parted as winter was over. The manatee was all alone. Alone except for the mermaid.

The mermaid circled the albino manatee from a distance and watched it nibble the grassy river bottom. She smiled a weary smile each time their eyes met. As the albino ate it gained strength; time passed and the days grew longer. It knew it was time to swim back out to the deep blue sea for the summer.
“Well Miss Mermaid,” the manatee grumbled, “I guess the spring will be yours until I return in the Fall!”
The mermaid smiled as she swam along her favorite passage.
“You really don’t get it, do you? The spring, the river, and all of its surroundings no more belong to me than any other living creature. We are here by the grace of God, and the spring will be here long after we’re gone.”
“But I own it!” the manatee protested.
“You may own it in your mind,” the little mermaid replied, “ but you do not live here all the time like I do. It is vital to me that it remain a clean, peaceful, and loving place to live. To me, it’s a gift from God to be respected and shared.”
The great white manatee gave a powerful flip of it’s tail and turned to the direction of the sea. It was still flush pink, and red-eyed from its ire with the mermaid. It barked one last order as it swam into the distance.
“You cannot share what isn’t yours to give!”
“And you cannot share what is yours to give.” the mermaid replied.
But she knew that the albino manatee didn’t hear her; it wouldn’t understand her even if it had. The mermaid knew that the albino would stay in her prayers for a good long time, hoping that one day it would see the light. In the meantime she and her fish friends would joyfully swim beneath the overhanging sweet gum and cypress trees, under the glassy lid of the lazy river, to the deep, fresh water spring along the same aqueous passage. She floated gently among the sunbeams, above the sandy bottoms and muskgrass shaded by the banana lilies.

Cleanliness Is Next To Godliness

Uncle Bubba and Junior went to a major league baseball game one recent Sunday afternoon. If one has never attended a ball game, there are wonderful intangibles that are missed in a TV experience; the smells, the sounds, the activities that surround the stadium, and the crowd experience. Any professional event tightly packs as many carcasses into as many seats as they can because seats is money. So you’ll be literally rubbing elbows with prefect strangers; and quite honestly, most of the time, it is a great and pleasant experience. It’s fun. After all, a ball game is a happy event and people come to enjoy themselves. This was the case for Uncle Bubba and Junior on a pleasant Sunday afternoon.

Here’s the thing that in Bubbie’s estimation has been lost on the current American society. We have an obligation to one another, which is a social contract to co-exist for the sake of the betterment of the society. This is the difference between a civilized and uncivilized society. In a civilized society, first and foremost we agree to cleanliness. This basic tenet undoubtedly unfolds into a multilayered discipline; branching into personal hygiene and cleanliness of the mind. Personal physical cleanliness is our best protection against disease. Just beyond bodily hygienic practices is keeping one’s personal space clean. So for example, if one attends a public event and partakes in concessions; then they should pick up all of the dropped food and empty wrappers, cups and bottles that they made manifest. I believe that is why there are rather large cylindrical binds known as trash receptacles located all about a stadium. For if you do not dispose of it--you know, the paper, plastic and residual food items covered with your saliva and DNA--them the other patrons have to walk through it to leave and someone else, most certainly an employee, must. That employee is someone’s mother, or father, or brother, or daughter. How much would you appreciate someone treating your relative in such a manner? Are employees and your neighbors beneath you? Are you improving the world around you; leaving it a better place than the way you found it? Yes, in Bubbie’s view, cleanliness is next to Godliness. Or as Bubbie would say, “Pick up your gal-darn trash you lazy SOB. Git-r-dun!”

Gates & The Policeman

The black Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates Jr. and Cambridge, Mass., police Sgt. Joseph Crowley who happens to be the white police sergeant who arrested him agreed to disagree. This was after accepting President Obama's invitation to discuss the July 16 incident over a beer Thursday evening at the White House. Here’s Bubbie’s view of the basic issue; a man was arrested for being in his own house. That’s it! So Gates was incessant and boisterous in his own house, HE’S IN HIS OWN HOUSE! PRIVATE PROPERTY THAT HE OWNS!

Having spent some time working in public service, Uncle Bubba would like to share this bit of advice to the police; if it takes 4, 8, 10, or 12 hours to wait for someone to calm down and reach a reasonable, peaceful decision, do it. You have nothing more important or pressing to do; that’s why there is a police force, so other police employees can handle other issues at the same time. It is far more important that Americans feel safe in their own homes, even from the police, than to rush into something that can cause harm on so many levels and egregiously waste tax payers money. How much do you all think that “beer at the Whitehouse” cost us? In Bubbie’s view, Mr. Crowley should pick up the tab.

Hard Times Sports Fans

These are hard times sports fans. What will future generations think of this era in sports history when we have to account for all of the pro athletes that have been accused of or convicted of crimes or cheating? Just listing the rehashed and ever growing laundry list of names isn’t worth the time, and frankly, Uncle Bubba is too busy to try. But a few things just seem to get under his skin that he just can’t help expounding on.

In particular, Uncle Bubba was watching ESPN’s First Take and the infamous Skip Bayless was debating the 2 Live Stews (Ryan and Doug Stewart) about Michael Vick’s re-instatement into the NFL. Regardless that Mr. Vick’s “handlers” are touting him as a father and provider, yet during his life prior to incarceration he was a pothead thug gambler that cruelly abused packs of animals. (Wow, how a few good years in prison can improve a man.) The show questioned whether or not the NFL Commissioner, Roger Goodell, has too much power. Please! This is a private, for profit business; not no gall-darn democratic commonwealth! Anyway, the 2 Live Stews made the statement that all sports commissioners are white and if they weren’t, the players would get different (more favorable) treatment. What?! In Bubbie’s view they are all but saying that a white man has higher principles than a black man.

A 'Mater Samich

Uncle Bubba just polished off yet another a ‘mater samich. When one eats a home grown ‘mater samich, one of the best parts is that faint taste of the vine; it’s almost like the flavor goes up one’s nose and down through one’s core. It travels, taking the diner back through the vine into the dark, rich soil--the earth, the creator of the earth. There’s nothing better. No wonder Uncle Bubba loves a mater samich.

Old Folks Were The Best Folks

Uncle Bubba was sitting in a roadside diner hunched over a plate of eggs, bacon and a hot bowl of grits. The aroma of his black cup of coffee ran up his nose and ran circles around his brain. He heard the door rattle as an glanced over at an elderly couple walked in. He tried not to stare but he couldn’t take his eyes off of them; they were obviously an old farm couple but not undignified. They were dressed to go to town and looked nice yet out dated by generations. They reminded Bubbie of his own grandparents long since passed.

The old man held his lady by the arm as they passed through the busy diner. As the host seated them, they physically parted, but the spirits were one. The invisible force between them resonated with a oneness, a commitment to one another that was both primitive and ageless. Uncle Bubba thought of Sweet Pea; he was so far from home. He wondered if they had that kind of devotion. He saw it in his grandparents. They worked hard and relied on each other because technology did not pamper them. The toughed out the Depression. They clung to their values as they slowed with age and the world sped up. There was no propagandized 24 hour news on TV. There was no internet or email where complete strangers can send derogatory, biased and misleading chain mail; they formed their own opinions. They lived by their wits because they had to. In Bubbie’s view, the old folks were the best folks. With that thought he slugged down his coffee, paid his check and left the waitress a big fat tip. He knew he had to get back on the road and call Sweet Pea just to tell her he loves her.

Way Down Upon The Suwannee River

Way down upon the Suwannee River, far, far away; that’s where my heart is turning ever, that's where the old folks stay. The truth may be that the old folks along the 266 miles of the Suwannee basin are the heart of Florida. They are the folks that were there long before Walt Disney and all those crazy Spring Breakers. The old folks and their ancestors are the folks that others make fun of; the folks that live and work in their community through good times and bad. They believe in God and Country and proudly display the 10 Commandments on the steps of the courthouse. They enjoy hunting and fishing and feel fortunate to live in a place where that is respected. They say, “Yes ma’am” and “Yes sir”; enjoy music and a good laugh. In Bubbie’s view, he reckons they’re a lot like folks in other rural areas of the US. Leave ‘em be and go on about your own business. All up and down the whole creation, sadly I roam. Still longing for the old plantation and for the old folks at home.