World, Shut Your Mouth

Okay, I’m pissed.

My Uncle Burt died today. It wasn’t unexpected; he’d been in poor health for some time now, and we all knew it was going to happen sooner rather than later. I think he was 92, or thereabouts. He was my Dad’s last surviving brother. Only Aunt Gertrude is left now, and she is in a nursing home in Fort Wayne. I wonder who will be calling Aunt Gert? Maybe my Mom, maybe they’ll let her sons know and they will tell her in person. I don’t know. I know it will make her cry. She’s the only one left.

Uncle Burt was in the Navy during WWII, and served on a ship in the Pacific. He came back and opened a body shop, which his son (Cousin Doug) runs now. They still do a great business, and are well known in the community. Uncle Burt and Aunt Margaret had a cabin in Minnesota (north of Bemidji), and I spent many happy weeks up there in the summer with my family when I was a kid. That’s where I learned to fish, and I got to see bears in the wild, a guy who made birch bark canoes and farmed wild rice, and I got to watch Uncle Burt and my Dad clean fish. Uncle Burt often made pancakes on an electric griddle, and I remember a mounted deer head in the attic that I just loved. There is a picture of a little me somewhere in my nightgown, with my arm wrapped around the deer like it was my best buddy.

Our summer vacations in Minnesota were like a week at camp. I learned to bait my own hook, I caught fish, and I got leeches on my feet, which I removed myself. I would catch leeches at the dock and pour salt on them and watch the bastards die. (I probably wouldn’t do that now, but it seemed like it was okay after I was dangling my feet in the water off of the pier and a leech glommed onto me.) When I caught a fish, everyone cheered, and when I said excitedly, “I’ve got a bite! I’ve got a bite!” and it turned out to be a weed, everyone thought it was cute and funny. They had a sign up at the entrance to their cabin and it said “Burton and Margaret’s Cabin,” or something like that. I was little and couldn’t read very well, so I called them Button and Maggie for a long time. They thought that was cute, too.

One time, my sister Sue and I rode up with Uncle Burt and Aunt Margaret while our Mom and Dad took their own trip by way of Niagara Falls to celebrate their 25th anniversary. I sat in the front seat between them, and when we drove through Duluth by Lake Superior, Uncle Burt would say, “Look at the ships!” and when I turned to look, he’d kiss me on the cheek. Aunt Margaret would do the same thing. I pretended to be all upset and would brush their kisses off of my cheeks, but I loved it. And I loved them.

They were a big part of my childhood, and I cherish all of those memories. I’m having my cry at the moment, and I’m okay with that. I’ll be proud to attend Uncle Burt’s funeral this week and be with my family.

But I am also giving life a rather steely-eyed glare at the moment. Many things have been thrown at me in the past year and a half. I’m not going to rail against some unseen entity or ask “Why me??” As Christopher Hitchens said, “Why NOT me?” No one is causing this, no one is to blame. Death is a part of life, and I am of the age when my elderly relatives are going to die. That is reality, and I understand and accept that.

I spent some time this afternoon sitting outside on what was a beautiful day. About 80°, sunshine, everything is getting green and lush, birds were visiting the feeders. I planted some tomatoes. I’m feeling a bit of “Fuck you, life” right now, but I don’t really mean that. There is a big thunderstorm passing over right now, but I know that the sun will come out again. Literally and figuratively. I look at times like this and I’m all like “Bring it on, bitch.” I get frustrated at those with a defeatist attitude, because this sort of thing only brings out the fighter in me. And those of you who have been reading me for a while know that I’m nothing if not a fighter. I may be small, but I’m scrappy. [wink]

Sometimes things can seem overwhelming, but as I told myself today, “Nutwood abides.” Not just here, but everywhere. I’m sure that someone is fishing on Dora Lake near Bemidji...the lake where I fished with my Dad and Uncle Burt and my cousins. If not now, perhaps they will be tomorrow. I hope they catch a fish for my Uncle Burt.


Julian Cope - World Shut Your Mouth by UniversalMusicGroup

Still on terra firma

I hate it that it’s been a couple of weeks since I posted. I’ve missed writing. I just didn’t really have the time when in New Orleans (I plan on doing a post on that, but still haven’t edited all my pictures yet), and the night we got back, my mother-in-law was admitted to the hospital. In fact, she called while we were sitting on the plane in Cleveland, waiting to take off. Can’t do much in that situation, you know? It’s been a week of finding out what is going on with her and figuring out how to deal with it. I think she will ultimately be okay, but it’s been a long fucking week, believe me. And I feel perfectly justified in dropping that particular F-bomb.

The week culminated with the Little Rapture That Wasn’t. It was supposed to happen at 6 pm EST, but as far as I can tell, everyone is still here, including that assbag Harold Camping who started this whole thing and bilked his followers out of a whole bunch of money. Don’t get me wrong...I do understand that this is extremism, and that not every Christian believed that the rapture was going to happen today. (For those of you who don’t know what the rapture is...well, just go look it up. I’m not in the business of explaining stuff that I think is a bunch of hooey.) Even my Mom, as devout a Pentecostal as they come, laughed about the rapture supposedly being today. “No man can tell the hour,” and all that.

But it got me to thinking. I wonder if the followers of Camping, some of whom gave up their life savings to him and spent the past few years preaching that the end was coming today, will stop and think for a moment? There was an article in my local paper about a man in the area who has spent the past seven years telling people that the end was coming today, even to the extent of losing the support of his family. (And yes, it IS possible to push people too far, especially when they realize that you are being duped and refuse to understand that.) Will this man stop to question WHY it didn’t happen today? Note his last statement: "I'm so sure it's gonna come," he said, "and even if it doesn't come -- and I shouldn't say that, because it's gonna come -- but even if it doesn't come ... I'll keep reading the Bible and sharing it with people."

I find that terribly sad. He’s spent a good chunk of his life believing that this will happen and telling others about it. How will he deal with the reality of things? I would hope that he or anyone else in such a position would start asking questions. If they were so sure of this and it didn’t happen, might not a lot of other things that Camping or others preach also be wrong? Wouldn’t something like this lead one to ask questions, both of those preaching and of themselves?

It certainly did for me, and my reading and discussions and questions led me to some rather inevitable conclusions. As I’ve written many times before, my goal isn’t to get others to feel the same way I do; it really is a great comfort to some people, and I would never take that away from them. However, I do think it is reasonable to ask questions, and if your religion discourages questions, I would most definitely ask “Why?” Such discouragement seems highly suspect to me. If the answer is, “Well, you just gotta have faith,” that might be good enough for some, but I’m afraid it’s not good enough for me.

I am under no illusions. I know that the majority of people who firmly believed that the rapture was happening today will never question, and will continue to go on believing in...everything. I’ll just keep on reveling in my skeptic nature and keep asking questions. I’m still here, but so are they. If you were them, wouldn’t you wonder about that?

You got to know when to hold ‘em

Article first published as You Got to Know When to Hold 'Em on Blogcritics.

Obama’s P-P-P-Poker Face

A long time ago (way back during the 2008 presidential campaign...it seems like a lifetime), I wrote a blog entry about an article I’d read in Time. The article was about the nominees’ gambling styles. There was some commentary that it was an irrelevant and foolish fluff piece, but I disagreed at the time, and I still do.

John McCain apparently loves craps. One of the riskiest games you can play in the casino, the only strategy involved in craps is how and where to place your bets, and the odds of what you will roll; the roll of the die is completely random, and whether you win or lose is completely dependent on your rolls and that of others. It is a game of high risk and high reward...or high losses. You can win big, but with one roll you can also lose everything you have on the table. It’s a definite rush if you’re winning, but the next thing you know, you’re wiped out and walking away.

Barack Obama, on the other hand, is a poker player. Poker is a more deliberative game, in which a smart player can go far. As with all gambling endeavors, there is risk involved, but a savvy player will know not only the odds of getting certain hands, they will bet accordingly and wisely. A big part of poker strategy also involves bluffing and doing your best to not give away your hand, whether good or bad. Apparently, he is pretty good at it.

I was reminded of this article and my subsequent thoughts on it by the events of the past week and our mission to kill Bin Laden. Many articles referred to the “gamble” the President took, and one journalist ran into him at the correspondent’s dinner and said there was “no tell.” Every poker player looks for the other players’ tells, and tries to not have one or at least hide it as best they can.

The President took a calculated risk with this mission. I’ve read that the certainty that Bin Laden was in that particular compound varied from 60-90%. The risks involved were great here, more along the lines of craps rather than poker. A failed mission would have been disastrous for the military members involved, for the President, and for his foreign policy credibility. A successful one would...well, we saw what it did, didn’t we? The congratulations were grudging and in some cases non-existent, but overall, no one could dispute that the death of Osama Bin Laden was a good thing for our country, for our world, and yes, for the President.

Still, the risks were calculable, and based on years of intelligence-gathering, the President did indeed go all-in. He bet not only on the accuracy of the information gathered by various intelligence agencies, he bet on the talents, training, and sheer gutsiness of the military team involved. He also may have gambled on his second term as President.

He won big. He won in a raking-in-the-pot sort of way. There will always be those who disagree with his policies, but it’s hard to not recognize and admit that in this case, he was a cool customer who took a big chance and walked away a winner. We’re a long way away from the 2012 election, but this particular gamble may pay off in spades. Or as Congressman Anthony Weiner might say, “Aces!”

Goin’ back to big Mamou

I hope to write more about other topics soon, but a quick note about an upcoming trip.

After almost six years, it’s time for another trip to New Orleans. The last time was a month before Katrina, and this time, it’s a trip with Cousin Shane and Matt...AND we’ll be meeting up with the fabulous Miss Ginger Grant!

It’s been a tough year in many ways, and I can’t begin to tell you how much I’m looking forward to a vacation in the city that time forgot...beautiful, exciting, crazy NOLA. There are plenty of great cities that I haven’t visited yet, but of the ones I’ve been to, New Orleans is my absolute favorite. There is no place like it.

The weather will be warm and humid, and I plan on sweating...in a ladylike manner, of course. It will be hovering around 90° during the day, dropping down to a chilly (!!) 70° at night. I plan on having a Hurricane at Pat O’Brien’s and a Hand Grenade at the Funky Pirate. A swamp tour and a cooking class. Perhaps I’ll try a Sazerac—considered to be the oldest American cocktail—at the Old Absinthe House. Walking around the Quarter and taking in the sights and sounds. Oysters on the half-shell. A trolley ride to the Garden District and a stroll around looking at the beautiful homes there. An evening at Preservation Hall. Nights on Bourbon Street listening to zydeco and R&B and European jazz. If I get lucky, maybe someone will let me play the washboard vest like I did last time, but I might have to have a few drinks in me to do that! Beignets and cafe au lait at Cafe du Monde. A trip to St. Louis No. 1 to see the tombs, including Marie Leveau’s.

I need a break from the real world, and New Orleans is just the place to do it. Great music, great food, a great city. It is a quite modern city, but it embraces its history, and it transports me...especially when away from the raucous revelry of Bourbon Street. A quiet side street, a glimpse into the courtyard of a brick townhouse that is probably at least 100 years old, often more like 150 years old. I don’t believe in ghosts, but New Orleans makes me want to.

This will be Shane and Matt’s first time there, and although I’m no expert on the city, I’m looking forward to sharing this wonderful place with them. I know how my cousin loves him some music, and I think he will be as captivated by the place as I was the moment I set foot in it.

More soon, but in the meantime, laissez les bon temps rouler!

The Birthers Who Wouldn’t Die

Article first published as The Birthers Who Wouldn’t Die on BlogCritics

Bowing to over two years of birther nonsense, with increased yammering as of late from Donald Trump, President Obama today released his long form birth certificate publicly. There were no surprises here. It is essentially the same as the previous document released a couple of years ago, with the addition of the hospital name and signatures of attending physicians and witnesses. There were also no surprises from Trump, who pulled a muscle patting himself on the back, nor were there surprises from the birthers who predictably countered with “Why did it take so long?” and answered themselves with “It gave him time to have it forged.” Trump said he needed to examine it to ensure its authenticity. Perhaps we need to send the birth certificate on the road so every American can see it with their own eyes, and touch the raised seal with their fingertips. We can send it off in a super cool tricked-out tour bus, call it the Birther Bus Tour 2011. “Are you ready to rock? On your feet or on your knees!”

Sadly, it’s increasingly clear that nothing will ever be good enough to convince these people that our President is a bona fide American citizen and that he is their duly elected President. When some of us point out the obvious, that there is a racial element to their refusal to believe in his citizenship, they howl that we are playing the race card. As Bill Maher said, “There are two things that teabaggers hate. One is being called racists. The other is black people.”

I can simply find no other explanation for their willful, blind ignorance concerning facts and documentation. If someone wants to protest his policies, have at it. That is your right. However, your refusal to accept him as “one of us” can only be due to the fact that he doesn’t look like your concept of the typical American, and the fact that the typical American is no longer a white guy is what really drives you crazy. He is smart, he is well off financially, he is articulate, and he is occupying the White House. He’s also black, and you simply can’t accept that. I would have at least a glimmer of an iota of respect for anyone who stood up and said, “I don’t like him because he’s black.” At least they would have the honesty to stand up for their beliefs, no matter how abhorrent and ignorant. If there is no racism involved, why haven’t you been clamoring for any other candidates’ birth certificates? Why this particular man? Why didn’t you demand to see John McCain’s birth certificate, a man who really was born in another country (Panama) when his father was stationed there? Be honest. You don’t have to be honest with anyone else, but at least be honest with yourself.

No, this brand of racism is insidious. It’s sneaky. It allows people to publicly say that a black man has no business in the White House...no, no, not because he’s black, of course not! No, it’s because he’s not really a U.S. citizen. I would like to ask these people how they would feel if they applied for a passport, and showed their birth certificate. The person at the office hands it back to you and says, “I’m sorry. This isn’t a legitimate document.” You explain that you went to the court house and that is the document that they issued to you. The clerk says, “It’s not real.” You say that it is what they gave you...they told you it was a legal document. The clerk says, “No, I can’t accept this.” You grow increasingly frustrated and ask why not. They shrug and say, “I don’t know...it just doesn’t look right. And I don’t think you look right, either.” That is essentially what the birthers are doing to the President of the United States of America, and it’s time to start being a little more honest with their motives and reasoning (or lack thereof). You have every right to tell me that you don’t believe the President is a U.S. citizen. I have every right to tell you you’re mistaken, and that I doubt your intelligence.

Was it a good choice for the President to release this? Some have said that he is pandering to these people, or legitimizing their “cause.” This was certainly a case of damned if you do, damned if you don’t. The percentage of Republicans who doubt his citizenship has only gone up, inexplicably, in recent months. There will always be those who refuse to accept any documentation; at least this might result in a few somewhat rational people accepting it and moving on. Others—like Trump—will simply ask for more records, like his college transcripts. It is time for this to stop. It does provide an opportunity for the Democrats and President Obama; if the Republicans continue to align themselves with extremists, that can be pointed out early and often. The reasonable thing to do would be to put this non-issue to bed once and for all, as John McCain did during the 2008 campaign. Who among the current crop of Republican candidates will have the courage and decency to do so now? I won’t hold my breath.

Ultimate Healing

It’s been a rough time lately, so I’ve been laying low. I’ve just been trying to maintain and get back to a place that is a little happier and a lot more peaceful. It hasn’t helped that most of the past week has been rainy, gloomy, and chilly. (Little known fact: there used to be ten dwarves, but Rainy, Gloomy, and Chilly were such boring and depressing bastards that the other seven killed them and buried their bodies in a shallow grave in the forest. Good riddance!) Anyway, when I get into a funk like this, I have to remind myself that it’s a short tunnel, and I will make my way through it eventually. I’ll get there.

I’ve used this opportunity to catch up on some reading, and to mull over a few things. One of the things was a meeting with the preacher who did my stepfather-in-law’s service. He was a fairly young, strapping, silver-haired and silver-tongued Southern preacher, and I’m guessing that he could talk the spots off of a leopard. I had a few problems with some of the things he said, though. Yes, I wrote these things down. What can I say? I pay attention, and I question. It’s what I do.

When someone expressed their doubts about all of it—faith, religion, dogma, the presence of God and/or Jesus—he brought up the story about Jesus going out with the fishermen and telling them to go out and fish...he’d watch over them. This despite the fact that Jesus knew that a huge storm was coming, and the fishermen would be in danger. He sent them out, and sat upon the hill watching them. I don’t really recall this particular story, only the one about Jesus calming the waters in a huge storm. I’m only relating what this preacher said. His point was that although the storms may rage around us, Jesus is always watching. What I took away from it was why the heck would Jesus send fishermen out when he knew there was a terrible storm coming? Wouldn’t a rational person say, “Hey dude, you guys better stay on shore, there’s some nasty shit on the way.” What kind of a weird power trip is that, to send someone out and put them in mortal danger and then say, “You suck. You didn’t have faith. Do you really think I’d abandon you?” Well, why send them out in the first place?! I’d trust someone a lot more if they kept me from doing something dangerous from the very beginning, especially if I found out later they knew perfectly well that something bad was going to happen. Frankly, I’d think that person was a bit of a douche.

The preacher said, “Don’t tell anyone I said this. If you do, I’ll deny it. But it’s normal to have doubts, and I have doubts, too.” This really bothered me. Why wouldn’t he want to be honest with people and say “Yes, I have doubts, too.” I can’t begin to tell you how tempting it is to tag this post with the guy’s name so he’d be attached to these words, but nah, I wouldn’t do that. I just find it very odd that a preacher would admit to having doubts, but would not stand by those words and actually try to help people work through them as much as they could. Beyond spouting the usual platitudes, that is.

When someone wondered about heaven and hell, if they are real or not, another place altogether or actually here on earth, the guy said, “I can tell you this. Heaven and hell are real, and they are not here on earth. Jesus talked about that a lot in the Bible.” I’m no biblical scholar, and I could be wrong about this, but I don’t think Jesus talked a lot about hell. I believe he may have talked about heaven quite a bit (In my father’s house are many mansions, and so forth), but I don’t think he mentioned hell all that much. If I’m wrong, please correct me. I also wondered at the guy’s certainty. Really? Are you sure about that? How do you know this? (For an interesting read about the question of hell, I highly recommend a Time article about Rob Bell, the evangelical preacher who is...well, catching hell...for his radical views on damnation.)

Continuing on the heaven subject, the guy said that he believes that when we all get to heaven, we’re going to be 32. I thought that was an interesting take on it. Of course, it would mean in this case that the departed would be of an age before he met his wife of 35 years. So how does that work? Why is 32 the optimum age? Is it the age when this preacher was the happiest and felt most fit? Most aware and wise? I was very fit in my twenties and that’s when I looked my best; but a couple of decades of experience has left me somewhat wiser and a little more compassionate and understanding. Why is 32 the magic number? If I recall correctly, at age 32, I was still kind of a party girl who didn’t really give a shit about anything other than having a good time. Is that the stage of me that would be in heaven? Even though my physical body isn’t as good now as it was then (although I’m probably healthier), haven’t I learned a lot more and aren’t I in a better place when it comes to knowledge and wisdom? The age of 32 seems a little arbitrary to me.

Finally, and this is where the title of this entry comes from, the preacher said that my stepfather-in-law had experienced the “ultimate healing.” I stayed as quiet as a mouse, but I seriously felt like raising my hand and saying, “Do you mean DEATH?” That’s right. In this guy’s world, God’s way of ultimately healing someone is to kill them. Well, I guess it’s the end of disease for that person, and the end of suffering. But “ultimate healing?” Isn’t that kind of like saying that chemotherapy is the ultimate depilatory? Or that AIDS is the ultimate diet? Dysentery is the ultimate laxative? I suppose I could go on, but you get the point.

As I said, I stayed quiet. But I listened. And I can tell you that such platitudes make me laugh. They are a comfort to many, and I would never deny them that. But I’ve heard it all before, and I am no longer buying what this guy was selling. I guess you could say that for me, he was the ultimate used car salesman. I chose to not accept his offer, and I walked away.

Back soon

Those of you who are Facebook friends know that my stepfather-in-law passed away on Monday. I had fully intended to write something philosophical and thoughtful, with perhaps a few meanderings on death, and...well, I found that I just didn’t have it in me. I’m sure something will be forthcoming eventually, but not just yet. Suffice it to say that it’s been a rough year.

In the meantime, it’s a short roadtrip to Missouri, where he and my mother-in-law retired quite a few years ago. That’s where she has decided that they will be buried. I’m taking the laptop with me, so I’ll keep in touch and try to keep up a bit, but I won’t be on a lot.

While I’m away, play nice, and carry on, citizens!