Wanna Tweet?

Uncle Bubba is not one to jump onto new trends, though he might slowly slide into one. He likes to use a computer and appreciates a good smartphone but he is, for example, anti Facebook. Not only that but has only seen nothing but trouble come from Twitter. What one posts as innocuous brain dribble turns into a scathing social reprimand. However, recently Uncle Bubba learned that if he were to tweet, he could post pictures. For a moment, like a flash of lightening he thought he might break down and sign up for Twitter. Then he just as quickly realized that he was doing it for all of the wrong reasons. He wanted to share little moments of his life with his loved ones. That's when the second flash of insight hit him like his old man cuffing him on the back of the head; no one cares. Perhaps that's Bubbie exposing his maturity, after all he's not the young buck he used to be. And he's smart enough to know that if his family and friends care enough to follow him, to wonder what he is up to, they would just ask him. But Twitter, like Facebook and the like are for a narcissistic society, an exercise in expression, not attention. Uncle Bubba only needs a few friends that take moments out of their busy lives to listen to his ideas, his hopes, his dreams. In Bubbie's view, if he tweets it will only be to send highfalutin, loquacious text litter into cyberspace, just like everyone else.

Cleaning Out The Inbox

Uncle Bubba has filters on his email to avoid the avalanche, congestion, and deluge of that insidious spam. On a fluke he clicked on his trash folder and saw an unread email from a friend and later realized that within the body of his friend's email was a word that was in his spam filter. "How maddeningly inconvenient," he thought. But the entire affair provoked him to clean out his trash folder by double checking that he hadn't unknowingly missed others. Then he emptied his over stuffed spam folder; always a satisfying feeling. It was at that time that he noticed that he had about 3500 messages in his inbox. He click over to the oldest and they dated back to 2007. "Wow," he thought, "Really?" So he started cleaning out the inbox. He quickly scanned the sender and the subject line before deleting, but found it remarkable how he could quickly remember so many messages. Of course he didn't remember every detail, but he did recall the conversations. Unexpectedly, it was an uncomfortably nostalgic task. In the empathetic reminiscence of the conversations, he could bring to mind the hopes, the dreams and desires expressed and then just as quickly see the frequently disappointing aftermath in retrospect. He saw senders that he could not remember and others that have long since disappeared from the inbox and his thoughts. He knocked a few years off of the history books and whittled down maudlin messages by nearly two thousand. In Bubbie's view, this task is best completed efficiently without a lot of thought. Now if he could just do the same with his garage.

Outsmarted - The American Pickers Syndrome

Every so often certain mundane things in life that we all know exist but choose to ignore or avoid, becomes an obnoxious annoyance because of its obvious stupidity. In Bubbie's view, this is the American Pickers syndrome. In this TV show, two men scour the country's junkyards, barns and basements for junk that they can resell. Hey, isn't that how Sanford & Son made a living? Anyway, when Uncle Bubba first heard the title of the show on a History Channel commercial, he was thinking that it might be about the history of American musicians... not garbage pickers. So we all know that there are many people like this exist in our culture, their business survives on buying things at pennies on the dollar and reselling at its most inflated cost. Hey, that's capitalism baby! But as seen in feedback about the show, it is not always seen as an ethical business because often the deal is routinely predicated on a person needing to sell something, or talked into selling something that they don't necessarily want to. This is very similar to the connotation of the pawn business. And this is the manifestation of the stupidity in the premise of the show. The pickers, in their quest for fame and fortune via the reality TV train, though they would have you believe that they can make a ton of money selling their junk, have shown their hand. They've outsmarted themselves by showing us how much they pay for items and then how much their markup is. They show us how they negotiate with no conscience. The show Pawn Stars, and other like shows have done the same thing. This used to be a shameful practice called selling out to the man, it's greed for greed's sake but now no one cares; in fact they are rewarded for it by being given a reality show. What's next? American Slumlords? (Of course the title would be shortened to American Lords.) Remember that funny metaphor of something going over like a turd in the punchbowl? This is like seeing the turd and taking a drink anyway! The only reality of reality TV (which should rightfully titled artificial reality TV) is that the participants have outsmarted themselves by pretentiously revealing their seedy underbelly. And how stupid are the lemmings that line up to sell something to the bottom feeders that they interview out in a parking lot and they say, "I'd like to get $1,000 for this thing." Then walk in and start the negotiation at... $1,000! Idiots! They're usually lucky if they can walk out with a couple hundred bucks. Bubbie reckons we're just as stupid for being lemmings and watching these shows.

Uncle Bubba went through a period of watching these shows, primarily out of boredom, but the stupidity got too hard to take so he exercised his prerogative and changed the channel. It's one of the few things we have left that gives us control of our lives; that is, until they make a law limiting channel surfing. We can choose not to participate in stupidity by choosing better programming or, dare he say, turning off the TV. Lest you think you are not participating by watching, look at the number of trite spinoffs that follow each highly rated show. Would you invite any of the plethora of gross, morally inept, disgusting Repo "stars" over to your home to hangout? Essentially you are when you watch their shows; you're inviting them in through your television. Uncle Bubba's mama always told him that if you lie down with dogs, you wake up with fleas.

Thoughtful Kindness

Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines thoughtful as "characterized by careful reasoned thinking" and "given to or chosen or made with heedful anticipation of the needs and wants of others". Kindness is defined as "the quality or state of being kind". So in Bubbie's view, thoughtfulness is kind, but not every kindness is thoughtful. Big deal? It is if you're interested in being a better person and a contributor to the betterment of humanity. To be thoughtful is to think outside of one's self. In the definition above, the key words are reasoned, heedful, and anticipation. There is effort to thoughtfulness. There does not have to be effort to kindness. Using learned habits such as using your manners are a kindness. You don't have to think about it, it's a habit. Any self centered person can practice kindness. Thoughtfulness takes consideration, planning. Now, some people are naturally thoughtful. It's no effort for them to be thoughtful, but their actions are no less carefully reasoned and heedful and should not be taken for granted. If anything they should be treated as an example for the kind, yet mostly thoughtless people.

Rednecks Rule

Uncle Bubba likes Hank Williams Jr's music. It's fun, it's entertaining. He wouldn't ask Hank Jr. for advice on anything short of making music and even then, he would probably understand and agree with half of it. Uncle Bubba likes Willie Nelson's music too, but Bubbie isn't interested in smoking pot. Uncle Bubba is smart enough not to poke a bear with a sharp stick and expect not to get bit, apparently FOX News is not. Admit it though, FOX News and ESPN got what they wanted from Hank. In today's sleazy climate, the only bad publicity is no publicity. In Bubbie's view, it's getting tiresome at how quickly everyone has to jump into the fray with their thoughtless opinions. People are people, you know... human. We're all flawed, just turn on a light and look in the mirror and work on that for a while and give the rest of us a break.

Uncle Bubba travels America and works extensively with good, wholesome, hardworking folks and ya know what? Most of them think and talk like Hank Williams Jr. Not specifically, but generally. Most people are trying to smile while barely getting by living paycheck to paycheck. That's often a colloquialism saved for the poor to lower middle class, but in Bubbie's view it's expanding at a rapid rate to the middle and upper middle class. Corporate America doesn't get it anymore than our inept politicians, folks making 30,000 to 40,000 a year can't truly afford extra cable channels, extra bandwidth, health insurance, home owners insurance, car insurance; not when the cost of consumables like groceries and gas rise and rise. Yessir, kick 'em when they're down and keep dangling those carrots in front of them. So good ol' redneck America gets worn out and pops off at the mouth about it and the best that we can do is criticize them for it.

Uncle Bubba offers a few ideas to get things going. Offer a couple electric cars at a price point of $8,000 to $10,000 and watch how fast charging stations pop up. Come on, wire in an outlet on a post, duh. Open the cable grid to competing companies. We should have a choice of cable providers not cable versus dish only. Isn't that a monopoly? Aren't they illegal? Insurance and for that matter, banking... how about some prosecutions? That'd be a good place to start. State Government, get a backbone, stop taking money from the Fed and represent us each as an individual state. And as for the Federal Government, please stop meddling in our personal lives and balance the doggone budget. Oh yeah, and if you don't like Hank Williams, you can kiss our ass!

No Palace Like Home

Uncle Bubba is home. Big deal, right? Well, it is to him; he's been working in eastern Kentucky for 54 straight days. He's spent so much time there over the past two years that they've given him the honorary title of Brother Appalachian American, that's what hillbillies like to call themselves now. And why not, it has been well documented that these fine folks are very clannish and their isolated existence is tribal like. It's Bubbie's view that if the rest of the country had the strong sense of family and community that Appalachian Americans do, we'd be fighting together instead of against one another.

But I digress, back to Bubbie returning home. His bosses, and there are many of them, think that they own him. They have made it clear to him that he is a resource first and a person second. So they couldn't care less if Uncle Bubba or his co-workers get homesick and tired of living on the road. But in returning home there are so many things that most folks take for granted, yet make a house a home. Uncle Bubba shared a few things with me that often strikes him after a long stay away from home; like having a refrigerator, to walk over, open it up and peer inside. How wonderful to have choices of food to select from when one is in the mood. There is the choice of all of his clothes in his closet and dresser to wear as opposed to the few items in his suitcase. Oh! And some real coffee; not that muddy hotel sock water that seems to be at every hotel. He also has to take a few moments to relearn his TV remote and channel lineup, how to use the settings and buttons on the microwave, things like that. In Bubbie's view, and he knows it's cliche, but there really is no place like home.

September 11, 2011

Uncle Bubba strolled through the hotel lobby, headed for the first morning cup-o-joe. He sipped the hot black liquid as the aroma filled his head and he glanced at a headline in a newspaper. In regard to the attacks on America on September 11, 2001, it said that the mantra: "Make sure the terrorists don't win." Bubbie scoffed at it. Yes, it's been 10 years since we began to beat that drum and if we take off our rose colored glasses we'll have to admit that we have traded our freedom for security; have you flown on a commercial flight lately? We, born and raised in the good ol' USA are treated as criminals in every facet of our lives; from the 8 forms of ID needed to renew a driver's license to restrictive, intrusive security at sporting events. We can't cross a boarder without a passport and the threat of incarceration, yet we just keep opening the door to potential volatile anti-American foreigners and letting them into our country. In Bubbie's view, we'll never forget the tragedy of 9/11 but will we ever remember America before then?

Road Crows

Uncle Bubba was driving the byways of Eastern Kentucky twisting over the switchbacks and rolling along the rock ledges to Buckhorn Lake. It was early morning at the crack of fog as he climbed higher and higher out of Hazard, headed to a rendezvous with a Kentucky bass. As the miles mounted the sun cracked through the trees as he left the fog in the valley's below. Rounding a rock ledge curve the road actually, remarkably straightened out for several yards and Bubbie descended a slight grade. Three black crows stood in the center of the road as Uncle Bubba quickly approached. Two crows hopped and flapped and hurriedly flew to the trees that lined the road, but the third crow stood in the middle of the road just a little bit longer. It took a few steps towards the left lane before eventually flying off to join it's mates, annoyedly watching Bubbie speed past. Uncle Bubba smiled to himself and thought, "I reckon I'm just like the third crow." The third crow hangs out to check things out and get the whole story. He has to get the most out of every situation, he can't be flighty and maybe miss something. And there's a little rogue in the third crow. He enjoys the thrill of a near brush, a dramatic close shave, the edge of danger. In Bubbie's view, that third crow has no more choice in his approach to life as Uncle Bubba has. We all have our own God given style.

More 'Tucky Bluegrass

Sweet Pea and Uncle Bubba went out for a big time last night. They went to the Big Kmart in Corbin, KY, and he bought a new fishing lure; a Glass Shad Rattlin' Rap. This will help him put the whoop-ass on some of these lazy Kentucky bass. Then they went to dinner at a nice restaurant in town called The Depot on Main St. They actually sat down and were served! No buffet! They had a great dinner in a swanky atmosphere and then drove back towards the Cumberland Gap tunnel. Uncle Bubba was told that on Thursday nights there is a bluegrass jam session at the BP Station on HWY 25 in Flat Lick so as they rolled down the hill he pulled right on in. It's a gas station that also sells hunting and fishing supplies - pretty cool. Bubbie walked in and recognized Ron from the jam session that he attended last Saturday night. They swapped casual observances and Ron said that they were about to start pickin'.

He asked if Uncle Bubba brought his guitar and he said, "No. I'm just here to listen and experience the experience. I am definitely not a bluegrass picker."

Ron and the boys would not have any of it and they pulled out a guitar from a back room and told me to tune up and play. "OK! Man," Bubbie thought laughingly, "these Tuckians sure are demanding!" There were a BUNCH of pickers there; they had a standup bass, 2 mandolins, a banjo and the rest were guitars.

They kept calling for Bubbie to sing so he ran down the couple of bluegrass songs that he knew and they jammed for hours. They eventually, literally, closed the gas station down and the boys had to leave.



Uncle Bubba also mentioned that they were sitting in a little room inside the building and Sweet Pea and he could look out the doorway and see the store counter about 20 feet away. There was a steady stream of dirty coal miners coming in to purchase things, some even stopped to poke their heads in and listen.

There was another regular flow of kids, some dressed in their pajamas coming in to buy candy and junk. In Bubbie's view, just a cool slice of Americana.

Kentucky Jam

Uncle Bubba has found himself back up in the hills and hollers of eastern Kentucky. When Uncle Bubba shows up to work, there is no problem building rapport among the local workers, but too often the days end for him alone in a hotel room. Well, on this trip Uncle Bubba started off on a different foot for two reasons, Sweet Pea was with him on this trip and while at work he struck up a conversation about music. This immediately struck a chord with one of the local fellas and they enjoyed a repartee about types and styles of music as well as the fun of playing music. For those of you that don't know, Uncle Bubba loves to strum a guitar and sing along. As the day drew to an end, his new acquaintance Jerry invited him to a jam session. So after work Bubbie got cleaned up and slicked down and had some dinner; a PB&J in his room. Then he grabbed his ol' flattop and he and Sweet Pea drove to meet his new buddy Jerry at a gas station. Bubbie pulled up to the side of the building and slipped the car into park. They watched the local Kentuckians roll in and out of the service station. This particular station had a full service island and a young man with a blonde crewcut and a company shirt stood at the pump and waited for cars to pull up for service. Four dudes with motorcycles stood near Bubbie's car chatting and checking out the girls driving by. Jerry pulled up shortly thereafter and walked over to Bubbie's car in his sleeveless t-shirt. He asked if they wanted to buy some drinks while they were there since he wasn't sure that there would be much where they were headed. Uncle Bubba took him up on the offer. Knox County is a dry county so they picked up some Mountain Dew for the road. Then it was back to their vehicles and Bubbie followed Jerry up the holler to the house. They pulled up into the drive and navigated between the pickup trucks and parked. There was a little white house tucked neatly into the trees and a detached garage up in front of where they had parked. Sweat Pea and Bubbie climbed out of their car and followed Jerry up the path and into the garage.

When they walked in Bubbie felt like a turd in the punch bowl. All eyes were on Sweet Pea and Bubbie, "Stranger alert!" But after a little while, like dogs allowing a new dog to join the pack, they warmed up to him and took to their instruments. Having Sweet Pea there no doubt helped cuz they liked that purty smellin' fancy lady. The homeowner's name was Ron and he was a good ol' boy. He was slender with slicked back silver hair and a rather bulbous proboscis. He had a welcoming, friendly personality and was never too far from a cigarette. Ron had an awesome man cave there in his garage that had a bar a big wooden table and chairs and his whole "band" set up at one end.

These boys were serious and had amps and a PA system! Uncle Bubba was there just to sit in but they immediately demanded that he play and sing something. Bubbie had to do a couple songs and then they seemed to be cool with that and accept him is an OK dude. As an aside, he noticed that he was the only feller in the place that had brown eyes. Every other person there was blue eyed. Bubbie has noticed a lot of these Kentuckians have blue eyes. They then proceeded to jam for 3 straight hours. There were 5 guitars a banjo player and a bass. They were real tight on singing 4 part harmonies, which something you don't hear much in popular music anymore; and that's a cryin' shame. Bubbie didn't know most of the songs they played but he was able to hang with them all night long. They kept looking for Jerry to sing some songs but like a bee to honey, he was much more intent on keeping Sweet Pea company. He finally got up and sang at the end of the night. By the time they quit it was handshakes all around and they told him to come back next week. To Bubbie that was the most awesome compliment. In Bubbie's view it was another reminder of how music has opened a lot of doors and added a richness to his life that he never could have imagined.

Citified Country Boy

Uncle Bubba has finished working on a project that was located in a major American city. When he wasn't working, he boarded at a hotel room on the 14th floor in the downtown area of the city. I know, it sounds glamorous, and he admits that it wasn't bad. But the hotel was located within a few feet of the railroad tracks and 6 to 8 times a night a coal train rumbled heavily by and Bubbie could feel the entire building subtly wobble. On more than a few occasions he sleepily awoke from Johnny Cash dreams with the train whistle wailing over and over and over... "I hear the train a-comin', it's rollin' round the bend..." Since the train rambled along the steel rails that split the center of the city it had to blow the whiney whistling warning incessantly at every approaching intersection. He would often count the number of times he heard it before getting bored, drifting up into the upper teens and his feeble mind would meander off to other thoughts, too often of home.

Bubbie drove through the city every morning to get to work and travelled a long stretch of road that was 7 lanes wide, 3 on each side and a center turn lane down the middle. It was riddled with traffic that jockeyed crazily for position like when they drop the green flag at a NASCAR race. They raced from traffic light to traffic light, switching lanes and dispassionately dodging the occasional jaywalking, wild-eyed pedestrians. Along each stretch of road between the congested intersections were a series of bus stops so if one were trapped riding in the far right lane, the trip was stuttered with multiple stops as the bus shuttled its passengers. Watching the eccentric ne'er-do-wells with exasperated faces, sweating the humidity while waiting on the bus was as entertaining as going to the zoo. In the early morning the sidewalks were straggly traversed by staggering winos (and winettes), thugs and hookers. There were brown people, fluffy black women in tight clothes and stubby hispanics, maybe returning from work, maybe on their way. Skinny black men walking on toothpick ankles poking out beneath hugely oversized "shorts". They enthusiastically puffed slim tiparillo cigars while clutching their sagging waistband with one hand to keep their droopy draws from sliding completely off. Every morning Uncle Bubba would hit a McDonald's drive-thru for a piping hot, large black coffee. With traffic racing bumper to bumper at 45 mph, he'd signal as early as possible and try not to slow for fear of being rear-ended as he'd cut the wheel hard to the right and careen into the McDonald's parking lot. Quite often a scantily clad lady of the night would be standing, dangling precariously at the edge of the curb as Bubbie peeled off of the roadway. He feared that he'd nearly clip her with his passenger side mirror as he sped around the corner. She, like a female matador would lean forward to look in at his face through the passenger side window as he sped around the corner. Ole! It would make Bubbie's skin crawl. Fate had put them together for two harrowing seconds every odd morning and Bubbie was glad that fate had now sent him home, hopefully to never see her again. As he sat in the drive-thru line he would cautiously swivel his head around watching for any potential thieves as he felt like a sitting target; window down, money in hand. It was only two dollars but that doesn't matter to a crackhead, it's money you have and they want. Armed, he'd consider to what degree he'd defend himself over two dollars. If a beggar asked him for it he'd hand it over with a blessing; but try and steal it and you might get shot.

What a life some people live. He'd seen some mercurial mamas that he'd say were ladies but not necessarily a women. In the light of morning most of these brazen, animated characters along his route seemed oddly out of place, even in the city setting. Their circumstances have them trapped in a momentary existence. Maybe it's their race, or ethnicity, or choice; but they swim in their circumstances and drown in their cunning. In Bubbie's view, he's thankful for his circumstances; especially the ones that he has control over and chooses to rise above. "Well, if they freed me from this prison, if that railroad train was mine, I bet I'd move out over a little farther down the line. Far from Folsom Prison, that's where I want to stay. And I'd let that lonesome whistle, blow my blues away." - Johnny Cash

Be Somebody

Every so often in life you meet someone that makes a tremendous impression and you realize that the world doesn’t revolve around each of us. Uncle Bubba met just such a person the other day, Big Ron from Texas. Big Ron is a big fella, but Uncle Bubba calls him big due to his magnanimous personality. Uncle Bubba tries to be a nice person and though somewhat shy, he is genuinely generous with his time and material processions. The same can be said of Big Ron; however he is gracious beyond reproach. He is gifted in genial articulation. For us non Texans it seems to be their way, but it doesn’t take one long in Big Ron’s presence to discern that his words are heartfelt. Uncle Bubba humbly thanked Big Ron over and over again for his noble natter and came away from their visit feeling better about himself. How many people can say that? Uncle Bubba believes that we’ve become a selfishly self-centered society and we don’t put much stock in our conduct. We’re not much interested in behaving in a way that benefits the world outside of our own wants and desires. Why we hardly pay anybody any mind if it doesn’t benefit us in some way. Yup, our friends, our family, they’re all there to serve our needs; but what have we done for them lately that is outside of our normal chores or duties? A kind word and a little encouragement goes a long way.

Uncle Bubba was fortunate to meet Big Ron and to have the honor of being in the presence of a person that reminded him that we need to continue to hold our inner demeanor to a higher standard. It’s a reminder that you never know how your life and your conduct may influence others and in Bubbie’s view that should only be a positive experience. Thank you Big Ron.

Better Days

I've been concerned about Uncle Bubba lately, these past couple of years have been a challenge for him. Work has been a struggle. He had himself a fine job and did it well. He was making a good wage and being "old school" he worked hard to justify it. He reckoned that if he was getting paid to perform, then he damn sure better do it. Then out of the blue he was notified that he and seven others were going to be "right-sized". That is the new PC friendly term for laid off. But all was not lost. Due to his good reputation he was immediately rehired to perform the same job, but at a much lesser hourly rate. Good ol' Bubbie, he spun it to be fortunate to have a job in these crazy days.

Uncle Bubba's daughter had twin baby girls while he was working out of state. He wasn't able to participate in the excitement at the hospital and it was a month before he laid eyes on them. They are healthy and growing incredibly fast. He and Sweet Pea also reunited with a foster child that they once had. Nearly 13 years had past after they had fought to keep the child, but the courts had failed the mother absconded with the child. The reunion was incredible for the entire family and in Bubbie's view had completed the family. The child moved in with Bubbie and Sweet Pea shortly before turning 18 and a year later graduated high school. Then the young adult gave up on it all and left. They haven't heard a word since and Bubbie has been grieving ever since. Every time I visit with him he mentions it and he hopes that the lost child at least shows up at the university that they have them enrolled in. It's just like Bubbie to never give up hope.

I can tell y'all that over the past few weeks I've seen some marked improvement in his attitude. There is no quit in Bubbie and he told me this the last time I spoke to him, "I know I've been outta sorts but I'm tired of the drama and the heartache. Its time to pick'em up and put'em down and git-r-dun. I wanna have a little fun." He later quoted, “We are all visitors to this time, this place. We are just passing through. Our purpose here is to observe, to learn, to grow, to love... and then we return home.” This saying truly sums up Bubbie's view.

Eulogy For A Friend

This is the end. It takes one to know one my friend, so I know how you feel. You try not to think about it as the end, just the opportunity for a new beginning. But its inevitable, this is the last of it and it has that feeling of finality. The surety of the end overpowers the uncertainty of the future, yet to survive we need to acknowledge that this is the end so that this door closes. Still we need the hope that whatever comes next will measure up to our glorified past. This is not a send off, this is not farewell, this is the turning of a page in the book of life. This salient milestone is our mark in time, our stack of field stone on our grassy, hallowed battlefield. And beyond this end, please remember me.

Quitcherbitchin!

Uncle Bubba's daddy once told him that those who cry the loudest have the most to lose. As little Bubbie grew to become a young man, he worked for several rich ol' skinflints and he began to see what daddy was talking about. Now that he's a man's man he knows exactly what daddy meant; there's a lot of people in this country crying about the economy and none wallerin and bellyachin' more than the uppity middle class and rich sons-a-bitches 'cause they don't want to lose one red cent out of their piggy banks. Well, hell, no one does, but quit crying about what you might lose and blaming the other side and start offering some innovative solutions.  In Bubbie's view we should be creating an independent, objective think tank of the most brilliant minds in America, geniuses man, to come up with a solution to right this country and bring it back to an economic super power. If this is being done, Uncle Bubba is unaware of it and says he is sincerely sorry for his ignorance of political current affairs. But don't tell Bubbie that rich Americans don't know how to make money, even in a "bad" economy; it behooves him why they only want to keep those secrets to themselves and not divulge them for the good of our country.

MIA on Father's Day

I stopped by Uncle Bubba's place for a visit and didn't see him about the yard so I walked up to the house and knocked on the door. Sweet Pea answered and said that he had been working on a piece of wooded property out behind the house for a few months and I could find him there. I thanked her and walked the trail that lead out behind the house and through a field. Uncle Bubba had kept this hay field mown yet I easily followed the narrow path to a small hardwood forest that was cut by the many steps of one man's work boots. I was aware that Uncle Bubba had often used this tract of woods to hunt and in one of his sojourns he noticed that there was a fare bit of trash that had somehow found its way mixed in with the brown leafy floor. There were also some remnants of the old farm of which his land had been subdivided, in the form of pieces of metal and equipment. Like fossils of dinosaurs, their boney shapes reveal a hint of what they used to be. Uncle Bubba had taken it upon himself to do something about getting the forest back to it's pristine natural beauty by picking up the trash and removing the rusty metallic implements.

I walked slowly, taking in the beauty of the day and the scenery around me while watching for Uncle Bubba up ahead. I passed a dirty pile of rusted metal that Bubbie had collected and staged near the edge of the woods and was impressed with his progress. I considered that it might be a challenge to find Bubbie in the expanse of woods. Perhaps I would hear him or catch a glimpse of him moving. To my surprise I found him moments later; he was sitting on a big log on the edge of the woods staring out across the field. As I walked up behind him he seemed to be in deep thought and oblivious to my presence. I said hello and took a seat beside him on the log, shifting my weight to find a comfortable spot. He said, "Hey" and then turned back to looking out over the field. His demeanor was of a man that was waiting more than a man taking a rest. I attempted to make small talk but Uncle Bubba was disinterested.
After what seemed like a long silence, Bubbie said, "Ya know I've worked on these woods for a while, spent a good piece out here. I know that I didn't create the woods, but reckon I've done my best to give it care. I know that short of somethin' tragic it will out live me."
"Uh huh," I hummed, wanting to acknowledge my listening.
"As much as I love nature," he went on, "and give my best to be a good steward, I know that it is not about me; it's about the bigger thing..."
The scratching of two squirrels scurrying up a big old oak tree caught my attention and I watched them play tag through the tree's canopy.
Bubbie continued, "Sometimes you give your best and it doesn't work out. That's life."
We sat there silent for a while; the sunlight dappled warm on our faces through the green leaves. I knew that it wasn't the wooded lot that he was talking about, it was beautiful. And I had seen how much trash that he had removed; no, there was something else on his mind. In Bubbie's view, one can care immensely about something, or someone, and want the best and give the best but that doesn't mean that everything will always turn out rosy. That also means that you still give it your best.

Climbing The Walls

Uncle Bubba got an invite from his nephew to try something new. His nephew is a member at a gym that features indoor rock climbing and thought Uncle Bubba might like to give it a try. Always looking for a new adventure he quickly accepted. Sure, it crossed his mind that he had 20 years on his nephew and he might not be in great shape, but preaching that people get off of their lazy arses and not go for it himself would be hypocritical, so Bubbie met his nephew after work for an adventurous workout. He admittedly has seen folks partake in this activity in the past and thought, "What's the big deal? It's not like real rock climbing." And it's not. But it is a challenge that taxes muscles in the body that have been long forgotten.

Going on 30 years ago, Uncle Bubba was a tree climber. He worked for several arborist outfits, climbing trees and cutting them down. He thought nothing of strapping on a saddle harness and hooks to his feet and walking up through the canopy of an ancient monster, tying himself in and repelling back down eventually safely touching down on terra firma. But this was a different experience than the one he was facing in the gym. There were tall walls and short walls all speckled in colorful little blobs in random and variegated, challenging layouts.

Uncle Bubba wedged his size 12s into a pair of climbing shoes that were at least a size 10. The fella that worked at the counter assured him that he had given him the correct size and that one's toes should be slightly bent. Bent? How about bent and retracted like a frightened turtle with a neck sprain! He was assured that the shoes should only be slightly painful to know that they're fitting correctly. They then proceeded to give Uncle Bubba a lesson in tying knots and belaying, which is holding the smart end of the climbing rope while one's partner is climbing, and they were ready to ascend. to Uncle Bubba's surprise the first climb was challenging but not too difficult. He made it to the top and was feeling pretty good, like a kid again. His nephew took on more challenging walls and they swapped turns climbing and belaying.

After an hour and a half they decided that they'd had enough, especially Bubbie. It's a total body workout and he was feeling it. Bubbie wondered what he'd feel like the next day when he got his monkey butt to work. As it turned out he was pleasantly surprised that he felt well... he's in better shape then he thought! In Bubbie's view, climbing the walls is definitely worth a try and he's looking forward to going back again. Good times!

Eggs-Treme Chaos

Ya'll wanna know what's wrong with America? Nobody cares anymore. Oh sure, we hear people bitchin' about everything under the sun, on the news, at work, in stores, in restaurants. But look around at people's actions and it speaks volumes. Uncle Bubba lives in a town like most towns in America, not a city, not a ghetto, just an average American town. That's why when he and Sweet Pea went to the grocery store to buy a dozen eggs, what they found was so disturbing; it was eggs-treme chaos!

How do we think that this is OK? Why is it acceptable to not neatly place things back in an orderly way in a public setting? Are we animals? In Bubbie's view, this is a glaring egg-sample of what is wrong with America. Straighten up! Do the right thing and use your dang manners!

Memorial Day

Uncle Bubba watched one of those self-serving news story about the Vermont marble used to make the headstones of our fallen service men and women. In the sadness that we have to have such an item, it was Bubbie's view that at least we are honoring them with our own materials, mined from our own country, carved, shaped and finished by our own citizens. This was not the intension of the news story line, but in this day and age any glimmer of our former America is worth pointing out. Within the camera shots presented in the news piece it appeared that no illegal aliens were employed in the work environment and no foreign countries are profiting from the death of our heros, at least not in this small capacity. A rarity today y'all; Vermonters, Uncle Bubba salutes you!

It has been reported that 6000 Americans have been killed in Iraq and Afghanistan. And after 10 years can anyone say who we are fighting with over there? Uncle Bubba attempted a Google search to find out how many troops we have still fighting in the Middle East and it turned out to be futile. He told me that he typed in "How many American troops are fighting in the Middle East?" and couldn't find a definitive answer. Why?

Uncle Bubba thanks the American Troops and their families for their service to our country. God bless you all.

Fall of the Wall, Fall of the World

Uncle Bubba was laid back in the lazy boy, he'd reared back and shifted it into low and was cruising the channels on his jumbo flatscreen. Have you noticed that there is some annoying lag in channel surfing, whether its due to the amount of bandwidth needed for HD or what; does anyone know? So as he's flipping through channels, it hangs for a moment on one that shows Ronald Reagan and Gorbachev shaking hands and then quickly cuts to a longhaired dude wildly whacking on the Berlin wall with a sledge hammer and Bubbie's thinks, "That was a big mistake!" And he's right. Ever since the fall of the Berlin wall and thusly Russia, our world has turned to stinking steaming mound of manure. Like it or not, the Cold War gave the world some structure with the two superpowers acting as bookends holding things together. Think about it; how quickly has the world's civilization declined since those heady days of faux freedom? Now our enemies are now sneaky, unseen, dirty sand dwellers with no geographical boundaries or civilized ethic. They don't fight and kill soldiers, they kill anyone anytime; civilians, woman and children. And the world economy has bottomed out sinking our ship and leveling us all to an elevated 3rd world status. Let's be honest, our policing of the world and multiple war strategy is nothing more than our fearful leaders' solution to job creation. What better way to employ our young adults? If we bring them home, there aren't any jobs here for them short of boarder patrol. In Bubbie's view, we should be careful of what we wish for; how many screw-ups have we perpetuated in the name of spreading democracy? Oh, and happy Cinco De Mayo gringo!