Dumb!

  “FEAR is an acronym…for “False Evidence Appearing Real.” – Neale Donald Walsch

      I don’t know about you, but I’ll sleep better tonight knowing they’ve found the six freshmen/new students (out of 5,700 total) at UGA who lack citizenship documentation. Another threat to society, routed out! The numbers aren’t out yet on the total number of illegal aliens calling themselves Dawgs, but according to the state university system’s residency verification committee, of the 302,000 students enrolled in Georgia’s 35 state-funded colleges and universities, 230 don’t have the proper paperwork. That is one half of one percent – whew! Another close call averted.
      Given the economic trouble our state university system is wrestling with, I hope the chancellor’s committee was made up of volunteers, but something tells me it wasn’t. I wonder how much money this student citizenship witch hunt cost us in terms of lost time and wages paid to the folks at each institution of higher learning who had “verifying student documentation” added to their job descriptions? Something tells me we won’t hear about that because what’s important now is that we stay scared and angry over “all those illegals” taking advantage of our valuable resources.
      Never mind that they’re paying out-of-state tuition ($35,000 at UGA this year) or that that they’re buying books, eating food, paying rent and contributing to our ailing economy by spending money in other ways. What’s important is that those students are taking spots that should’ve been reserved for U.S. citizens…well, that may be.
      But, let’s look at it another way. I read a newspaper editorial this week that posed an interesting notion. The gist of it was that if we are going to deny access to state-funded resources like universities and colleges to students who lack proof of citizenship, why not take our patriotic fervor a step further and deny access to state-supplemented resources to industries and businesses that employ illegal aliens?
      What? We can’t run a poultry plant without access to water! No more cheap construction labor? We’re in a recession right now – we can’t pay the kind of wages an American expects. And how about all those businesses barely scraping by - but still able to do so - based, in part, on their dependence on illegal workers? With unemployment as high as it is, shouldn’t all of our jobs go to U.S. citizens? It makes sense. So, where are the politicians willing to make sure our already existing labor laws are enforced?  
      I am tired of hearing politicians pontificating about fear-based initiatives and running hate and anger-based campaigns. The problem of illegal immigration and who is entitled to what is way more complex than any of the solutions being proposed and if we continue to settle for simplistic sound bites rather than difficult but necessary action, shame on us, too.
      There are things we should be scared of here in Georgia – things that actually kill people, like heart disease, cancer, strokes, accidental injury and highway death to name the top five. Those are the things really threatening us in significant numbers – not people without the right paperwork stealing our school desk seats. Where are all the bills to tackling those very real problems?
      While we’re singling out groups to deny resources to, when will we see a candidate run on a platform that includes making it legal to deny obese people access to state-funded resources because their health issues cost us tax payers a lot of money in Medicaid and unpaid-for medical bill expenses each year? Why not appoint a special committee to identify and aggressively deal with dead-beat dads – the unemployed or self-employed ones who are flying below the child support collection system radar? Let’s deny them access to state-funded resources, too. (That could actually turn out to be a popular political platform plank, as it would also reduce the number of women and children using state-funded resources simply because their child support isn’t coming in.)
      While we’re legislating lunacy, let’s force employers to take some of those jobs they freed up by firing all their illegal workers and give them to those dead beat dads and financially strapped moms…Anybody want to get on the news by proposing something like that?
      The point is there is a narrow, fear, hate and anger-based focus that may get news coverage and gain votes, but it doesn’t solve complex problems. And, most of the problems our state and nation face right now are quite complex. Comprehensive long term solutions require difficult and potentially unpopular actions and until we start demanding that from our politicians all we’ll get is the kind of tabloid-splash drivel that this big tracking down of “all those” illegal alien students has become – something that generates a lot of noise, but tangibly effects only one half of one percent.
      We deserve better, but it is up to us to get it. “The key to change is to let go of fear,” Rosanne Cash said; I couldn’t agree more.  

Bad and Worse

“Democracy means simply the bludgeoning of the people, by the people, for the people.” – Oscar Wilde  


      I believe in democracy and take my duty to go to the polls very seriously, but for the past few years (actually more than a few years) voting has become like eating at my mother-in-law’s house where two casseroles known as “Bad” and “Worse” are routinely served.
      Take this year’s races. By the time you read this we will know the results of the run-off election, which means (because our current political landscape is like a buffet where the only choice is fried chicken) most of the races will have been decided. My bet? Some version of conservative Republican freedom fighter will have won. Which version? It hardly matters because they’re all so much the same.
      Actually, there was one candidate I was almost impressed with - Frank Ginn, vying with Shane Coley for the State Senate, District 47 seat. In addition to having a great last name (“Ginn, a tonic for troubled times” would’ve been my slogan suggestion) he had an intelligent, easy to use website where he used a few buzz words that were different from the other candidates.
      Of course, he included the standard arsenal of conservative catch phrases that seem to be required, at least in local races (Ginn vs Coley and Rob Woodall vs Jodi Hice for the US House District 7 seat) but, Ginn also used words like “manager,” “efficiency,” “empower,” “team building,” and “problem solver.” He said his top priority is to “grow jobs” and help families. He mentioned protecting water resources and improving roads – two refreshingly non-lofty goals as compared to his opponent’s promises of “liberty and justice for all” and “real solutions for real life.” Ginn also talked about “expertise,” “work ethic” and “improving our lives at home,” striking a humbler, more realistic tone than his opponent, who called himself a “battle-worn constitutional conservative.”   
      (As an aside, both guys want to improve education, which is paid for by those taxes they both want to cut…) 
      In the US House District 7 race, it was hard to find a “Bad” in all of that “Worse.” Woodall has the experience of having been Rep. Linder’s chief of staff, but his plan to introducing four bills on his first day in Congress seems a little unrealistic. Maybe he could eliminate birth right citizenship for the children of illegal aliens and freeze federal spending on the first day, then defund and repeal TARP and “Stimulus” and introduce The Fair Tax bill later in the week…
      As for Jody Hice, he lost me during his Ten Commandments crusade and that move from pastor to talk show host seemed a little shady; but the icing on the conservative cake for me was his billboard campaign – the one where he changed the C in Obama’s “Change” to the hammer and sickle from the Soviet Russian flag. There’s grandstanding and then there’s just plain wrong…
      I yearn for the days when I had a choice in the voting booth – back when there actually were two parties and that was okay. In order to run for office these days (and have more than an iceberg’s chance in hell of winning) a candidate must be A, a Republican; B, a conservative; then C-Z, embrace the following: be pro-gun and Pro Life; promise to lower taxes and be willing to fight for all those personal freedoms we’re currently losing; at least claim to be principled and promise to defend Conservative values; support Arizona-style immigration laws; decrease the size and scope of government; and, be comfortable with fear. Fear is a big component in politics these days – it’s important that we all stay very, very scared.
      In case you can’t already tell, I’ll be voting for Roy Barnes for governor in November. Maybe if a few of us die-hard Democrat dreamers keep voting, eventually there will be something to vote for besides elephants. Maybe the Yellow Dogs and Blue Dogs and Boll Weevils will come out of hiding and maybe a few more Gypsy Moths will see the light. Then we’ll have something to choose from besides “Bad” and “Worse” at that all-you-can-eat-fried-chicken-only-buffet known as a voting booth.    
      Now, before you get your conservative undies all in a bundle, remember, this is just my opinion – nothing more. And, isn’t it a blessing to live in a country where we can still voice our opinions freely – no matter how misguided to others they may seem?  

A Refreshing Trip

“One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.” – Henry Miller  
      There’s no place like home but it sure is nice to get away - especially when home is as hot and humid as ours has been for so long. Mr. Clark and I just got back from five days in San Francisco and it was heavenly - if for no other reason than the highest temperature we encountered was 68. It was windy and cool to the point of being crisp; we actually had to wear sweaters most of the time – imagine that!
      It was a business trip for Mr. Clark, which meant I had a good bit of time by myself, which is fine. I do things I would never do with Mr. Clark like taking cheesy tours, browsing really tacky souvenir shops, visiting old cathedrals and cemeteries, taking lots of “arty” pictures and sampling tourist cuisine. (Mr. Clark is a more experienced traveler who likes to research his destinations, so when I’m with him we do things the travel bloggers recommend and try to hang more with the locals.)
      This trip started with a night at a hostel in the old keeper’s house at a lighthouse just down the coast from the Bay Area. This was a dream come true for me – a real bucket list item - as lighthouses are one of my favorite things. The lighthouse (Point Montara) and the hostel sat atop a high cliff with a little trail leading down to the beach and rocks below.
      It was windy and beautiful and we slept with the window open, so we could hear the surf all night. And, in spite of having to share the thin, hard, way too small for two old people, plastic hostel mattress on the bottom bunk of a much too small bed, in a very tiny room, we slept like babies. We didn’t even mind that we woke up stiff and sore the next morning - it was all just so coastal and quaint.
      One of the first things you notice in California is that everyone is thin and fit and most of them have a (recyclable, of course) card board to-go cup of coffee in their hands. I guess this is because it is chilly and there are coffee places everywhere. The little town near the lighthouse (Half Moon Bay) where we stayed was no different. I counted six coffee houses within 2 blocks of the main strip mall – which had two coffee houses of its own. If you’re looking for a glass of sweet tea or an All-You-Can-Eat buffet in this land of super health you’re out of luck, but if it’s coffee you want, no problem!
      From the hostel we went to the complete opposite accommodations-wise. The next night we cashed in some of Mr. Clark’s business travel points and stayed at a fancy hotel called The Mark Hopkins, located at the top of Knob Hill, the highest hill in the downtown San Francisco. Our room was on the 14^th floor and had a fantastic view. And, the bed? Like a huge, feather-filled cloud. I don’t suppose anyone has ever woken up stiff and sore after sleeping there.
      That evening we walked “The City” (as people from there call it) and had a wonderful time taking in all that sights, sounds, tastes, smells and scenery San Francisco is known for, then slept like babies, again, in that grand hotel bed.  
        The rest of the trip Mr. Clark was in meetings so I walked the entire “What to See in San Francisco” tourist map on my own, photographing and snacking my way through every quadrant. I don’t know how many miles I hiked, but I enjoyed every step. It’s a friendly city, low key and easy to navigate. The people are easy going and the atmosphere isn’t the hustle and bustle you’d expect. There are a lot of foreign tourists and it’s interesting to listen to their languages and see how they are dressed. And, as I mentioned, there are plenty of coffee places. It’s strange to be in the middle of the after work rush hour, right downtown, and be surrounded by a sea of people all carrying a cup of coffee….
        Traveling, even a short trip, gives me a fresh perspective and I always return home feeling refreshed and renewed. Now, if only we could get a little break in this heat, I’ll make it on through to sweater weather here just fine!
 

Grace

“Then, when it seems we will never smile again life comes back.”  - a greeting card  
      I have a tendency towards depression and all of this heat has really been getting me down. I have no tolerance for it. Even as a child in the drier, cooler summers of my dad’s Eastern Colorado wheat farm, I wilted and became cranky and sad when the sun got high. And, as much as I like my life in Georgia, after 21 years I am still completely surprised and demoralized by what humidity does to the temperatures here.
        Like me, Winston Churchill had a tendency towards bleakness (his may or may not have been climate-based) and he called his depression the “Black Dog.” I have always liked that notion of these sad feelings that come and go. Thinking of them as a black dog gives them a familiarity that takes some of their ominous potential away.
      For years my Black Dog has visited in the dark cold months of the New Year – January, February, sometimes staying on into March. This winter he didn’t show up and, while I briefly wondered why, I was glad to have dodged his particular brand of bullet for once. And, so I moved quickly on to simply enjoying the time without him on into early summer. Then the heat hit – robbing us of those lush mornings in the garden and lovely, leisurely evenings in the yard. It got so hot, so quick that we’ve not even opened some of the citronella buckets I bought in anticipation of all that wonderful time outside.
      Then, who should show up at my door, all hot and thirsty, clearly ready to settle in for a nice long stay in my air conditioning? My Black Dog. We’re in about our sixth week together and I’m getting tired of his company. The thing about a black dog is that it can blend in and make itself scarce, so you almost forget it’s there until you stumble on it in the night or trip over it as you get out of a chair. And, if the black dog in question is The Black Dog, every time you bump into him, there you are, all down in the dumps again. Like a real black dog, my Black Dog follows me everywhere, padding along softly at my heels, making it hard to remember all the good things in my life.
      Fortunately I work part time in an emergency room as social worker and that gives me a perspective that helps keep my Black Dog in line. For example, yesterday a woman about my age was brought in unresponsive. Her worried and tearful boyfriend found her that way in the morning when he tried to wake her up.
      It turned out she had a bad brain bleed, the result of untreated high blood pressure. She had been out in her garden yesterday evening, the boyfriend said, and when she came in she “looked real hot.” He said she went right to bed and sometime in the night, a vessel in her head popped and there she was on a breathing machine - her prognosis very poor.
      One of my jobs in the ER is to call families when something bad happens. So, I called that woman’s family and one by one they trickled in, surprised, upset, sad, angry, calling on the Lord to fix what had just happened. It’s a difficult thing to watch – people processing a terrible event. But, it feels good to help them in a small way, water, a cold cloth, a hand to hold, a shoulder to cry on, a small box of Kleenex, another explanation of what the doctor said.
      During this I hear a lot about the patient and his or her family. Some of it is good; some of it isn’t so good; some of it’s downright appalling but it seems to help people to talk about it all. This particular woman was estranged from her family because they didn’t like her boyfriend and some of the habits he shared with her. Initially there was a lot of tension between the family and the boyfriend – so much that they couldn’t be in the same room. It took awhile, but by the time I walked them all up to ICU, they had decided to be okay with each other so that they could all pray for her.
      They had moved from focusing on the bad things to remembering the good – something that most families end up doing by the time it’s time to go up to ICU or call the funeral home. And, that’s when it hits me – every time I deal with one of these families – how precious life is and how suddenly and unexpectedly it can be snatched from us. One evening I’m working in my garden; the next day I’m in ICU surrounded by doctors and nurses shaking their heads.
      It’s the bad times that really bring out what people are made of and a surprising number are really strong, with the ability to be positive and true. In a way, my Black Dog is like those bad times; he shows me how dark everything is and then follows me into the light, leaving me alone to enjoy it for awhile while he takes a nap under a shade tree. 
      Anne Lamott said, “I do not understand the mystery of grace – only that it meets us where we are and does not leave us where it found us.” It’s the same thing with that ole’ Black Dog – maybe I should start calling him Grace.  

“After 20 years of marriage, I’m finally starting to scratch the surface of what women want. I think the answer likes somewhere between conversation and chocolate.” – Mel Gibson


They say money can’t buy happiness, but in some cases it can. One such case is the recent purchase of my new Dyson DC 14 – All Floors vacuum cleaner. As I have mentioned before, our house is in a bit of a shambles as the result of years of neglect and too many pets. It doesn’t help that the house is old and leaky and the heat and air system has some loose tubes and broken vents. It also doesn’t help that neither Mr. Clark nor I are very big on cleaning; there’s always a lot of other things we’d rather be doing and we usually do them.


For years I’ve burned through inexpensive vacuums at the pace of about one a year. Our environment is just too tough; they can’t survive it. Due to Mr. Clark’s period of unemployment, the vacuum I just retired was three years old and more than worn out. I swear it actually added dust and pet hair to the floor, rather than sucking it up. I could create the illusion of having cleaned by using my old vacuum to blow the dust balls up under the furniture and into the corners nobody sees. But I was definitely not making any real head-way.


Recently I started sweeping rather than using the old vacuum; that was pretty much of a bust, too. All I was doing was rearranging the dust bunnies in hopes that would help in some way. It didn’t; things were getting pretty grim, especially in the rooms with upholstered furniture and area rugs.


My daughter got a Dyson for Christmas from her in-laws and boy, did I envy that gift – especially after I heard about the miracle it worked in her pet-filled, much littler but just as old house. My sister also got a Dyson for Christmas - same deal, lots of pet hair in her life (she’s a professional pet-sitter with wall to wall carpet) and that gift generated nothing but rave reviews…I wanted a Dyson and I wanted one bad.


If you’ve suffered from vacuum cleaner envy or lust, you know that a Dyson is not cheap. They come in several models ranging in price from $200 to over $500. That’s a lot to pay for a vacuum; but, the continued chatter – not only from family, but once I brought the topic up, from people at work - about how a Dyson will change your life had me on board. The only issue was how to afford one?


Shopping the sale papers on Sundays for great Dyson deals became a pastime of mine, as did perusing Craig’s List and the want-ads. Apparently once you get a Dyson, you never get rid of it because there are no used ones for sale, and the sale paper prices just weren’t dipping down into my price range.


After attempting to do a thorough cleaning of our kitchen last week, I announced to Mr. Clark that I was going to start buying one lottery ticket a week in the hopes of “winning” myself a Dyson. His response was to tell me not to spend more than $1 per ticket; when he added that he thought our old vacuum worked just fine, I promptly went out and bought a $5 lottery ticket, then set our old vacuum on the curb, hoping it would find a new home with some clever (and obviously desperate) vacuum repair person.


“There, take that!” I thought, “Now I have to get a new vacuum because the old one’s gone!” Too bad that $5 ticket was a loser…


Maybe he got tired of listening to me read Dyson sale prices aloud on Sunday mornings or because he really is a very nice guy who genuinely wants me to be happy, this past Sunday Mr. Clark came up with a plan that got me my Dyson.


“Why don’t we use the money we’re charging the Estonians (see prior columns) for rent this summer (a whopping $10 per week), plus my Best Buy gift certificate (the one our daughter gave him for his birthday), kick in some extra and get you a Dyson?” he asked.


It just so happened he had beat me to the sale papers that day and found the Dyson of my dreams, deeply discounted “while supplies last,” in the Best Buy flier. And, before mentioning it to me, he’d checked on-line and found one available at the Mall of GA. There it was - my Dyson dream come true! And, Mr. Clark had put it all in place – now that’s true love.


I’ve been cleaning all week and the thrill of my Dyson has not worn off. It seems our house was in even worse shape than I knew, but my Dyson is up to the task and the two of us are having a really good time together. I have joined the legions who can honestly proclaim, “My Dyson has changed my life!” Thank heavens for Mr. Clark, who even after 30 years, continues to understand exactly what I need and do his best to get it for me – even if what that is, is a really nice vacuum cleaner.

Estonians

“Receive with simplicity everything that happens to you.” - Rashi


For years I have taken in, fed, medicated if necessary and found a home for every stray that has come my way. I do this without thinking about it; I do it without weighing the consequences; I do it because it’s just something I must do. For this reason I’m a big fan of Hebrews 13:2, the Bible verse that says “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” The thought of entertaining angels unawares makes all the time and energy I spend on strays seem a little less nutty, like maybe it’s even some kind of spiritual pursuit…


The latest strays to cross my porch were not feline or canine – they were human – a pair of Estonian college students, both girls, here to experience America by selling educational books and software, door to door, for the whole summer – in Winder, GA. Now to me, that seems like a rough card to draw.

First off, Estonia is a small country up by Russia, Sweden and Finland. The hottest temperature there might be around 80 and most of the time it’s either cold or temperate. Imagine what our Georgia heat must feel like to them – especially during these days of heat indexes of 103-plus degrees.


Secondly, they use bikes for transportation. (Actually, one of them has an old car without A/C she uses because her sales area is Auburn.) According to the brochures they gave us about Estonia, you can drive from one side of the country to the other in about four hours. They have a lot of bike paths and a decent bus system. It might not be unreasonable to go door to door selling books from a bike in Estonia, however, here in Barrow County that seems like a stretch. Things are spread out too far; there are a lot of hills; and a lot of our drivers aren’t used to bike traffic.


Thirdly, the company they work for (a reputable American company established in 1868 doing door to door Bible sales) demands an exacting commitment from them. They are to work 13-hour days six days a week, and attend sales meetings in Augusta on Sundays. No dating; no alcohol; no TV; no time. But, since 300 of the 2,500 students the company has here this summer are from Estonia, it must sound like an okay deal to them…One of our girls is in her second summer and she has nothing but great things to say about her experience last year.


Before they came to our door on their first day in Winder, looking for “a room to rent, two bicycles perhaps to use or purchase affordably, and perhaps also a car…” I knew nothing of Estonia. But, having watched these two young women tackle challenge after challenge, calmly, quietly and always with a smile on their faces, I have developed a respect for the Estonian people and their history.


Apparently, some of the first humans in Europe lived in Estonia. Because of their location, or sparse numbers (Estonia’s current population is 1.5 million, compared to our 5.5 million in the Atlanta Metro area), or incredibly even temperament, Estonians have been invaded and ruled repeatedly, by Germany, Denmark, Sweden, Poland and most recently, Russia. If our Estonians are any indication, they don’t have a cultural chip on their shoulder about that; they seem to be a people who simply takes what comes and continues to get the work done.


One of our girls told us, with some pride, that her boyfriend just got back from a tour of duty in Afghanistan. She said Estonia sends 150 soldiers to serve alongside our troops and has since the war began. “Something to do with NATO,” she said. “It’s just part of our responsibility as a country.”


As most stray stories do, the Estonian one has evolved over time. Initially, it was, “Here’s some water and sunscreen, and yes, we have a couple of bikes you can use…” That turned into “Sure, you can stay for a week or two while you find something a little nicer - less dogs and noise and such…” Now, they’re with us for the duration, which is fine because they’re so hardworking and pleasant.

They leave the house every morning at 6:30 and return, rain or shine, sales or no sales, around 9:30 at night. And, in spite of the obvious toll all that bike riding, heat and door knocking takes, they are always cheerful, upbeat, and enthusiastic - ready to shower, pack their lunches and face the next day - whatever it may bring.


I don’t know if our Estonians are “angels unawares” or just a couple of college students seeing America the hard way. In either case, if you see a tall, thin, very blonde woman riding a bike or going door to door in your neighborhood, offer her a bottle of water and a kind word. I assure you, she’ll thank you profusely and it sure will help her along her way.

“Perseverance is the hard work you do after you get tired of doing the hard work you already did.” – Newt Gingrich


I have a special admiration for people with perseverance because it’s a quality I lack. I’m a person who does a really good job for a pretty long time, then quits right before the finish line. I can’t seem to complete things. I have shelves full of books that I’ve read all but the last chapter. I have closets full of projects taken to near completion then abandoned. It is not uncommon for me to shut the stair-stepper machine at the YMCA off at 19 minutes, rather than making it through that final 20th minute. I don’t know why I do this – I just do. It’s simply the way I am.


For this reason it was particularly inspiring for me to cover the Honors Celebration for the Winder-Barrow Coalition for Adult and Continuing Education (WBCACE) last week. Now those are some folks who can stick to a task!


The first set of awards was for Perfect Attendance, which as the presenter said, is particularly hard to achieve for an adult student who works full time, has a family and a lot of other responsibilities. There was a surprisingly long list of people who won this award, including one woman who walked all the way from the Fort Yargo area to the adult education offices in Winder so she wouldn’t miss even one evening of class.


The next set of certificates was presented to students who mastered English as their second language. Several of those had already received perfect attendance awards and a few were also recognized for becoming certified as substitute teachers. That’s a lot of hard work completed in evenings and on weekends.


There were awards given to students who earned their GED and to students who received scholarships to pay for taking their GED exam. One recipient of exam scholarship money had taken his GED test that day and passed. His dad and several other family members were with him and they were so excited and proud.


There was an award for Positive Attitude, Perseverance and Dedication, and this certificate seemed particularly precious to those who had earned it – like, wow, all that hard work and effort was actually noticed and recognized!


One woman with perfect attendance was also among those inducted into the National Adult Education Honors Society. She also received an Exceptional Achievement award for passing six levels of material on a single test. Her husband and little girls were in the audience cheering for her – making it obvious that her school work wasn’t’ the only thing she had to take care of.


A man was recognized for achieving U.S. citizenship, which I understand is a long, arduous, expensive process. His wife had already become a citizen and they have two sons, born in America and nearly grown, with long lists of academic and athletic achievements. Their excitement about the opportunities America offers was tangible; it shone from their eyes and lit up their faces. I got the sense that in that family even the sky might not be the limit...


The student speaker was a woman who started working towards her GED years ago. The twists and turns of her life meant that it took a long time for her to succeed, but with perseverance, the support of her family and “so many people praying for me,” she said, she made it and was a beaming example of how good achieving a dream can be.


I wiped more than one tear from my eyes that evening. “These people have worked so hard,” I kept thinking to myself, wondering why, at times, someone like me, blessed with English as my first language and surrounded by so many opportunities, can’t seem to follow through at times…


It took me 20 years to complete my bachelor’s degree. I dropped out of college my final semester just after my son was born and, two English credits short of graduating, never went back. Over the years, I ordered a couple of distance learning courses that I didn’t complete. Then finally, after working in newspaper for a few years, I found a dean at my old university willing to give me those two credits if I submitted a sufficient sampling of my newspaper work.


Thanks to her, I graduated in 2001 – with honors. It seems my old grade point average was high enough that she could enclose an honors metal with that not so hard earned, but long time in coming college diploma.


I’m not proud of that story although I’m glad it has a happy ending. There is no reason for someone blessed the way I have been blessed, to dilly-dally around and not complete something as major as a college degree for 20 years. There’s just no excuse for that…And, so, my hat is off to those adult education honorees; they clearly have exhibited a level of perseverance and dedication that continues to escape me.

True Love

“Who, being loved, is poor?” – Oscar Wilde


I hate that Tipper and Al Gore are splitting up. It’s not that I was ever a big Al Gore fan (except for his work on global warming.) It’s just that theirs was such a sweet story – high school sweethearts, four kids, grandkids, years in politics and still a hot romance. After 40 years together, it seems like a shame they can’t make it.


I heard a lady on NPR talking about all the attention the break up is getting and how it seems to be making a surprising number of people sad. Her theory was that there is so much bad going on right now – the oil spill, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, North Korea threatening South Korea, etc. etc – that people are overwhelmed. Somehow, the only thing we can wrap our heads around to actually grieve is the end of the Gore marriage; everything else is too big. It’s an interesting theory…


I admire any couple who has been married for 40 years and now that Mr. Clark and I are in year 31 together, I can’t imagine the carrot life could dangle in front of me that would make me give up all the things our marriage is and has created over the years. What out there is so appealing that it makes you quit so close to the finish line?


Antoine de Saint-Exupery described love as, not “gazing at each other, but looking outward together in the same direction.” That seems like a pretty good way to approach the long haul marriage presents. Maybe, after all these years, Tipper and Al stopped gazing in the same direction. I just hope we don’t read about some global warming intern crawling out of the wood work to be Al’s new arm candy, once the smoke clears. Old wives like me hate reading about that - it’s just so tacky.


The other day, while working an emergency room social worker shift, I encountered a sad, but really touching love story between a pair who started out homeless and were finally right where they wanted to be, only to have him end up in the ER dying from some kind of horrible internal bleed.


While we were waiting for the doctors to work the miracle that ended up not happening, the wife told me their story. They met six years ago in a really rough homeless community. “He had my back,” she said, “and, I had his, and, we just ended up falling in love.”


In a few months they found their way to a less dangerous homeless place and since they both did odd jobs when they could find them, eventually they bought themselves a tent. (He had been a painter until a long fall off a high ladder ruined his back and she had been badly injured in a car accident years ago…no insurance, not much family, two people with limited abilities just trying to scrape by…)


She found a job at the Salvation Army as the night door person for the women’s dorm, which gave them an income steady enough to buy a little camper and get their names on the low income housing waiting list. Last year, she said, they made it to the top of the list and moved into an apartment. After a brief breakup last fall (“turns out we couldn’t live without each other,” she said) he dropped to his knees during the Thanksgiving dinner at the Salvation Army and asked her to marry him. She said, “yes!” and off to the courthouse they went, the following Monday.


Years of hard work and harder living had clearly taken its toll on these folks; they looked rode hard and put away wet. But, their love for each other shone through and lit up their faces, even as he lay there dying. She said she’d just qualified for disability, so their plan was for her to quit her night job at the shelter so they could travel. I asked her where they were going and she said “Panama City – we were going to leave next week. Neither of us has ever seen the ocean or Panama and we wanted to do that before one of us died. If only this had happened in a few more weeks…now we’ll never see Panama.”


It was gut-wrenching to watch her stroking his face, so strong and brave, holding his hand as his life slipped away. “You hang in there, Baby,” she said, staring deep into his eyes. “Don’t you worry, Baby. We’ll make it to Panama City yet,” was his reply. Their leathery, life-worn faces looked so bright and alive as they talked softly to each other, both knowing this was goodbye.


This couple seemed to have held on, to the very end, to what Tipper and Al lost somewhere along the way – the ability to dream the same dream, together, while moving forward in the direction of that dream, however slow the progress. Emily Bronte wrote, “Whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” What a lovely way to describe true love, whether it’s found in a homeless shelter and lasts for life or fades away, gradually, in a fine home in Washington, D.C.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Clark!

How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were? – Satchel Paige


Mr. Clark turned 55 this week and I must say that sounds like a daunting age. The age old (and never cliché when you’re the one asking it) question is, “Where did all the time go?” One minute you’re graduating from college and the next you’re eligible to join AARP. In between there is a whirlwind of child rearing, family and work experiences, good times, hard times, sad times and so many wonderful memories. And, while 55 may sound “old” to some and “young” to others, part of what all those quickly passing years teaches you is that each and every age you reach is a blessing.


If you had asked me what a scary sounding age was at 24, I would’ve said 30. At 30, the answer was 35 and when that pushing 40 thing started to happen, I shut down and took a few years off from counting how old I was. Around 42, when I started hearing that I “looked good for my age,” I got okay with being “old” again and I cruised on through to 49 relatively age-trauma free. In fact, when I took my still mobile and quite feisty 90-year-old grandmother to another grandchild’s wedding in Mexico when I was 45, I realized with some happiness that my life might actually only be half over.


Somewhere in my 49th year it hit me that I was about to have use the number 50 to describe my age and for awhile the thought of that made me unable to remember what year I was born. It wasn’t Alzheimer’s or early onset dementia – it was conscious denial. If I couldn’t tell you what year I was born in, you couldn’t do the math.


My most recent birthday made me 52 which feels just fine. With the exception of a few minor aches and pains, I still feel pretty much the way I always have. I don’t feel like I’m over 50 except sometimes, when the sight of that lady in the mirror catches me by surprise and, somehow, based on how good I feel, she should look younger than that.


Good genes are, of course, a key component to aging well; Mr. Clark and I are both blessed with that. His family stays healthy way on up in years and my family, well, the grandmother I traveled to Mexico with is now 96 and still going strong. My other grandmother has a sister still living on her own and driving a car at the age of 105. Imagine that!


Copious amounts of eye cream are another thing I believe in when it comes to aging gracefully. I remember hearing a woman I worked with when I was 22 or so talking about how she managed to look so young at the ripe old age of 38, which at the time sounded really old to me. It was exercise and eye cream…Well, I thought, if it worked so well for her, then taking those two precautions surely wouldn’t hurt me and so far, they have served me well.


Humidity also helps. Even though I’ve never gotten used to the climate here in the South, friends my age back in my native Colorado lack the “glow” I have; maybe it’s all that sweating I do...


Mr. Clark is like me – he doesn’t really look or act his age. In my mind a 55-year-old guy is sort of old and stodgy and grumpy and gray – weight of the world on his shoulders, not much fun to be around. Not Mr. Clark, he has the gift of a perennial child’s temperament in that he has a light heart and a cheerful air about him. He’s not a worrier; he wouldn’t know how to hold a grudge; and he rarely gets angry. He sings a lot; he really likes his work and he has several hobbies he enjoys. Those things, I’m sure, have contributed his youthfulness; the only way you might begin to guess Mr. Clark’s age is his salt & pepper hair.


For his birthday, our daughter gave Mr. Clark a card that said, “Men are like wine – some turn to vinegar, but the best improve with age.” Pope John XXIII said that. I don’t know how old he was when he said that, but I bet he was no spring chicken. I do know that if Mr. Clark was a wine, he’d continue to improve with age because as a man, he certainly has done that.


Robert Browning said, “Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be…” and for years I thought that was really cheesy and unrealistic. Not now though; these days I have it posted on the fridge and the thought makes me happy every time I look at it.

Birds

“A bird does not sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song.” – Chinese Proverb


The pair of cardinals that nested in the tree outside our kitchen window last year came back and built a nest in the same tree this spring. I was glad to see them because we so enjoyed watching them raise their first brood last summer. Cardinals mate for life and this pair seemed young, but they did a good job and it was a lot of fun to watch them raise their little family.


This year has not been as good to them. They had two babies hatched, well fed and almost fully feathered, big enough to peek over the side of the nest. Like last year, the parents worked diligently, flitting in and out of the tree, feeding, protecting and chirping to their young. It looked like they were all going to make it again and then, two days ago, I found a dead male cardinal near their tree, killed by my old tom cat.


I hoped it wasn’t our dad cardinal, but it turned out to be, because after I buried the bird I found, we didn’t see our dad flitting around the nest anymore. Now there was only the mom, working twice as hard to feed her family.


Then, yesterday evening, one of the babies crawled out of the nest and started trying to perch on a nearby branch. Judging by the way he flapped and swayed, he wasn’t quite ready to be doing this. He was chirping frantically, as if in distress, and the mom was flitting around, calling back just as frantically. The other baby wasn’t in the tree or the nest. Apparently, he’d already fallen to the ground and there, right under the tree, was the old tom cat.


Mr. Clark went out and got the cat then I went to see if I could find the fallen baby. No luck, so we turned off the kitchen lights and went out back, hoping the mom and her precariously perched baby would settle down, once things got quiet again.


The same scenario was playing out with a different cardinal family in the back yard. This time the baby was stranded on a patio chair, with both parents anxiously flitting around, trying to feed him and keep him safe from the screaming jays over head. That baby fluttered to the ground and into some nearby shrubbery and this morning, his parents are still going in and out the place where he disappeared, so maybe he made it through the night. Sadly, there is no sign of our mother cardinal or her baby, not anywhere near their nest or tree.


This happens every year - a heart breaking week or so during which way too many baby birds flop out of their nests and either survive until they learn to fly or die. I used to try to save them, but that never worked, so now I just keep the old tom cat in and watch the dramas unfold, saying a little prayer for each of the bird families dealing with this.


The week of birds falling usually comes right around high school graduation and, sure enough, last Friday night we heard the fireworks booming over the high school stadium, signaling that yet another crop of baby birds was about to leave that nest. I remember how proud I was when my kids graduated from high school and how sad (in a good way) I was when they left for college.


From my empty nest, their college years felt a little like watching young birds chirping and flapping about, almost ready to fly, but not quite there yet; enthusiastic about the journey, yet still so vulnerable. It’s a relief to have grown-up kids because I don’t worry about them they way I used to. Like the cardinal pair outside the kitchen window last year, they are young, but they have good life skills, solid homes and are happily mated for life…


If there is one message I’d give to graduates, it would be to live like the birds do – in the moment, fully engaged and productive. Sing your song loudly and proudly; and, whether cardinal or a crow, be comfortable in the colors you’ve been given. Take good care of yourself and your family, and as Henry Van Dyke said, “Use the talents you possess – for the woods would be a very silent place if no birds sang except the best.”


As we all know and those birds experience, life can be fleeting; bad things happen; but knowing that need not diminish the power and enjoyment of today.

Hell in a Handbasket

Going to hell in a handbasket: describes a situation headed for disaster without effort or in great haste. – Wickipedia


Well, there was plenty to rant about in last week’s local news. First off, how ‘bout those local builders? After running the idea of gutting local building regulations up the flag pole at a commission meeting in early March and getting nothing but negative feedback from the public, the media and the bloggers, the Barrow County Builder’s Association is back - this time formally asking the board of commissioners to agree to significant changes in the unified development code.


The changes include: reducing minimum home size from 1,600 square feet to 1,350; eliminating the one lot per acre requirement in subdivisions; eliminating sidewalk and open space requirements; reducing tree requirements and buffer widths; and reducing the sight distance required on subdivision entry roads.


The BCBA is also asking for a reduction in sewer tap fees and for the county to let builders pay half of those fees up front and half when the certificate of occupancy is issued…Doesn’t that sound like the builders are asking the county – our broke county – to give up revenue and “loan” them half the required tap fee until the home is built? In exchange for…what?


Oh, that’s right. Once all these cheap little homes in ugly subdivisions are built the county will be flooded with buyers who just couldn’t find what they were looking for anywhere else…Right. The logic doesn’t fly.


Anyone who can afford to buy a home - and qualify for a loan - has a fine selection of unoccupied subdivision and foreclosure homes, right here, right now, in Barrow County. Do we really think the only thing holding back local home sales is a lack of homes in the under-$150,000 market? Come on!


These requests are future profit-based nonsense being marketed as some kind of economic stimulus plan. I’m amazed the board of commissioners is even considering these requests, especially in the context of the intensely strained 2011 county budget.


While we’re on the topic of the board of commissioners, kudos to Commissioner Worley for uncovering the lack of building license and permit code enforcement that’s apparently been going on for some time in our cash-strapped county. At last week’s meeting, Worley told the board in his district alone (District 3) he had found some $6,400 in uncollected revenue due to building without the required permits.


When Mr. Worley contacted the head of the county’s License & Permits department, Mr. Lyn Clement (back on March 15), Mr. Clement’s response was that his department has “been so slow” they haven’t been riding the subdivisions to see what’s going on.


Whoa! I have so little to do that I’ve stopped doing the little I have to do? Now there’s a department head really earning his keep while setting a fine example for other county employees. Mr. Worley also discovered problems with soil erosion not being monitored - to which Mr. Clement replied that was not his department’s job. Oops! There it is, right there in the job description – soil erosion. But no worries, if what Mr. Worley saw in that department’s personnel files is correct, no one in License & Permits has been trained to monitor soil erosion anyway, so maybe it’s better they’re not doing it.


Do these people not have job evaluations? How can you still be on the ailing county payroll and not know what your job description says? In these times, you better not only be fulfilling those job requirements, but exceeding them. I wonder how all those folks who lost their county jobs last year feel when they read about all this…


And, finally, the City of Winder: At a time when city fathers should be pulling together (on the heels of the recent passing of City Administrator Bob Beck) the mayor and at least one councilman are sparring over who has the power to hire Mr. Beck’s replacement. What makes this even more counter productive is the city charter makes it very clear the mayor - not the council - has the power to hire city employees.


The irony is that the mayor and Councilman Dixon (the most vocal proponent for council involvement in the hiring process) seem to be saying the same thing. The mayor says he will consult the council during the search for a new city administrator, which is the very thing Mr. Dixon is demanding…Come on, guys, let your hackles down and cooperate.


Councilman Eberhart’s prayer plea at the end of last week’s contentious council meeting may have been the most productive thing said, “…we can disagree, but we shouldn’t be disagreeable.” Amen, Mr. Eberhart, Amen.


It’s never to late to be what you might have been, the expression goes, and I hope that’s true for the City of Winder and Barrow County. It’s past time for a return to reason and rationality in local government. Please, contact your commissioner and/or councilman and let him/her know what you think he/she is doing right and what you’d like to see go differently. After all, we’re in this handbasket, too, and too much is at stake not to get involved.

Small Towns

My parents were high school sweethearts raised in a small town in Eastern Colorado wheat country. She was the class president and he was the class clown/naughty boy and together they cut quite a rug for 20 years or so. Both had big dreams and not such a fondness for small town life, so they left their town right after they married and never went back, except to visit their parents – my grandparents – after I was born a couple of years later.



I have such fond memories of those visits. I was the first grandchild for both families and they spoiled me rotten. My mom’s parents were wheat farmers who lived out in the country. My dad’s dad was a dentist with an office right downtown and my dad’s mom was a stay at home mom.


I used to spend a lot of time in my grandpa’s dental office. He’d let me go through his drawers of gold and silver for fillings and crowns, and spin his old dental chair around and around. He’d let me put on one of his dental aprons and pretend to fix his teeth, using a tray of his real tools. And, he’d take me around, buying me treats and showing me off to his buddies who owned the other downtown businesses.


There was a jeweler and a department store, a sandwich shop, an ice cream parlor and a five-and-dime. There was a shoe store with a shoe repairman in the back. I always liked the way that shoe store smelled – like leather and saddle wax and, faintly, of the bubble gum the shoe man always gave me when I visited his store with my granddad.


I remember the fondness with which these men greeted each other and the clear bond of owning businesses downtown they seemed to feel. I remember how they always knew their customers’ names and how jovial and excited they seemed whenever a customer came in. It seemed like a nice community – safe, kind, caring – yet business-like. There was no more chatting or joking around once a customer ask a question or wanted to make a purchase.


In many ways, my memories of that small town downtown are similar to the stories I’ve heard about the way downtown Winder used to be. And, how I’d like to step back in time and visit that downtown, just for a day.


It was a bustling place with pretty much everything anybody needed, right there within a few blocks of Broad Street. There was the a hotel and a movie theater, a restaurant or two, a grocery store, a jewelry store, a department store, and a general merchandise store that sold a little bit of everything, from boat parts to tires to furniture and house wares. There was a bank and a post office and plenty of foot traffic; Winder was a (manufacturing) plant town back in the day the workers did their shopping at lunch time and on Wednesday afternoons when the plants closed down.


Some of the owners of some of those businesses are still downtown, greeting customers and working long days, they way they have for years and years - Larry Evans, Larry Jones, G.W. Steed, some of the folks at The People’s Bank…Imagine the changes they’ve seen.


It makes me sad that downtown Winder is struggling – struggling the way all small town downtowns struggle when the winds of change blow through. My grandpa’s downtown is almost gone now; most of the businesses have either gone out of business or relocated up by the “new” interstate. My grandpa’s dental office has been boarded up for years; no one wants to invest in such a rattle trap place…


Until we moved to Winder, I’d always lived in big towns. An odd set of circumstances landed us here some 21 years ago and, while it’s been an adjustment, I have no regrets. I like it that my kids got to grow up in a small town. I like it that they grew up with people they still call close friends. I like it that my daughter and a surprising number of my kids’ friends ended up marrying their high school sweetheart, just like my parents did. And, even though many of these children, now adults don’t live in Winder anymore, they always come back for holidays. It’s good to see them and to know that their roots run so deep.


Downtown Winder may be in a time of transition, but that doesn’t mean it can’t change into something kids will still have good memories about.