DARKNESS DARKNESS

Listen
with the night falling we are saying thank you
we are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railings
we are running out of the glass rooms
with our mouths full of food to look at the sky
and say thank you
we are standing by the water thanking it
smiling by the windows looking out
in our directions
with nobody listening we are saying thank you
we are saying thank you and waving
dark though it is

W.S. Merwin

A SHAKESPEARE CHRISTMAS VACATION

I’d like to see it done Shakespearean. Like my favorite scene:

Todd: Hark! Griswold! Where dost thou seek to place a tree so cumbersome?
Griswold: Prostrate thyself, and ye shall see.
Todd: Peace! Ho! Thou hast much effrontery to speak as such to me, Griswold.
Griswold: T’was not for thee, but for thy precious little wife.

I THOUGHT ABOUT CHRISTMAS

The Rip called me last week from Guitar Center.
"Dad, I tried to get credit but they turned me down.”
“Aw, that’s too bad son. What can I do for you?”
Like I didn’t know. I can feel it coming all the way through the 10,000mgz signal.
“Well, um, do you think you can come up and get a credit card, and I'll pay you back?" he says.
Haha! I just knew it.
I said “Let me think about it a minute...no...I dont think so. How much stuff are you wanting?
Like 1000 dollars he says.
One thousand dollars, just like that.
“Oh man, I wish I could dude, but that’s a lot. I'm getting a hearing aid in January on credit, so I'm going to have to say no.
"OK, Pops, that’s cool I understand.”

And I can tell, he does. He doesn’t ever ask for much.
And we hung up. And I sat there a minute. I thought about all the times I let him down, sitting on the curb waiting for his no show dad to show, those years I was missing putting finding and using dope ahead  of everything, and I thought about recovery, and how far I had come since getting clean. I thought about my Best Buy Card, and my Kohls Card, and my newly acquired Dillard's card, and how they all had a ZERO balances on them because that’s the way I’ve learned to live. 

And I thought about him too, and how far he has come, recently. How he kicked a drug as powerful as smack. He completed a two year court program, got his life back.
How far me and him, we both have come.
I thought about George Bailey, Clark Griswold, and The Grinch.

And I thought about Christmas.

So I called him back up. "You still at Guitar Center?" I asked.
"Yeah"
“You wait right there. I'm coming up. Lets buy some fucking gear, what d'ya say?"

And I found out.
You cant really buy that much gear for $1500.


For a little sample of the Rips original music, click here to check out "100 Days".



Pink Floyd can afford a lot of gear.

HELL DOESNT COME TO THE GUILTY

"But then Hell doesn't come to the guilty . . . It comes to people who haven't done anything wrong. That's the twist about Hell, the one they don't tell you about in religious studies, the fact that, in Hell, it's not the guilty who suffer, it's the innocent. That's what makes it Hell. Some random principle wanders through the world, choosing people for no good reason and plunging them into Hell. Grief for a child. Horrifying sickness. Noises and faces coming from nowhere, punctuated by terrible moments of lucidity, just long enough to take stock of where you are. And you are in Hell."
 - John Burnside

UNENDURABLE HOPE

The all-night convenience store’s empty
and no one is behind the counter.
You open and shut the glass door a few times
causing a bell to go off,
but no one appears. You only came
to buy a pack of cigarettes, maybe
a copy of yesterday’s newspaper —
finally you take one and leave
thirty-five cents in its place.
It is freezing, but it is a good thing
to step outside again:
you can feel less alone in the night,
with lights on here and there
between the dark buildings and trees.
Your own among them, somewhere.
There must be thousands of people
in this city who are dying
to welcome you into their small bolted rooms,
to sit you down and tell you
what has happened to their lives.
And the night smells like snow.
Walking home for a moment
you almost believe you could start again.
And an intense love rushes to your heart,
and hope. It’s unendurable, unendurable.

—Franz Wright, from God’s Silence: Poems, 2009

Image~Eggleston Photography

Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce

“In a short time a group of commissioners arrived to begin organization of a new Indian agency in the valley. One of them mentioned the advantages of schools for Joseph’s people. Joseph replied that the Nez Percés did not want the white man’s schools. “Why do you not want schools?” the commissioner asked. “They will teach us to have churches,” Joseph answered. “Do you not want churches?” “No, we do not want churches.” “Why do you not want churches?” “They will teach us to quarrel about God,” Joseph said. “We do not want to learn that. We may quarrel with men sometimes about things on this earth, but we never quarrel about God. We do not want to learn that.” 

THE ISIS APOCALYPSE

The idea for an Islamic state goes back to 1999. When America went in to Iraq in 2003, it helped lay a path for its realization. When the Shia marginalized the Sunni after the fall of the Hussein regime, recruits were created. They established their state in 2006, and took up residence in the no mans land around the Syrian/Iraqi border, operating within al Qaeda and other terrorist groups. We knew them as the “insurgents”, without understanding the ideology they were working under and towards.  In 2011 when the Syrian rebels began to try to oust Assad, and US armed forces left Iraq, it created even more instability in the region, and ISIS grew exponentially. ISIS routed the Iraqi army, and took US weapons as spoils. When we did not arm anti-Assad rebels, many of them defected to ISIS. Some people think that if we had armed them, they would not have defected. But arms have a way of migrating to the wrong people over there, and people you thought were good today end up bad tomorrow.
Its been that way since 1919 when the Brits had t try to figure out what arms to give them to fight the Turks.
What Lawrence of Arabia said back then holds true today:
“Its better that the Arabs do it poorly than we try to do it for them”

I've seen a few interviews with an expert on the subject, Will McCants.

The man gets to the point quickly, and has a book that came out before the Paris bombings. Regarding the many questions about ISIS he says:

Making sense of it all would require a guide proficient in Islamic theology and history, modern jihadism, clandestine bureaucracies, and Arabic. That’s what I am, and I am going to take you on a tour of the Islamic State.

For a good synopsis of the book, click here.

If you don't have time for a book, but have an hour for a Charlie Rose interview, I suggest this, from November 19, 2015. I cant imagine finding three people who seem to know as much about ISIS as these three.

A NEW METH PIPE

A girl I knew told me one time she had bought a new pipe. It had a little red rose painted on it. When she smoked her stuff, she started feeling bad. So she called the Emergency Room.
“ER, can I help you?”
“Yes, I just bought a new meth pipe, and I think its making me sick”
“You’ve been smoking meth?”
“Yes a little. But the pipe has some paint on it, and I think its making me sick”
“How is it making you sick?”
“I’m feeling confused and restless, a little agitated, dizzy, my pulse rate is way up, I’m seeing spots and moon men creeping down the walls, my stomach is cramping and I threw up, I have a headache, I'm sweating like a mutha, and the top of my head feels like it might explode, there's a funny twitch in my left eye that wont stop, and my tongue feels 6 times too large. There are herds of hundreds of tiny jagged little bugs crawling all over me, up, down, up, down around all over me they wont stop wont stop and my throat feels like something is alive and about to hatch right out of my chest like the monster did to Corporal Riley in Alien ”
“Ma’am, those are all symptoms of a meth overdose”
“I don’t think so. I do a lot of meth and this is different. I didnt even do that much”
“Well, what is it you want us to do for you?”
“I want you to get the FDA to make sure they stop selling the pipes with the little red roses on them”

She told me all this with a straight face.

THE ROCK

I had the hots for this girl. She had a husband AND a boyfriend. She never talked about her boyfriend around me, she tried to act like she didn’t have one. But she talked about her husband ALL THE TIME. They were separated you know.
Finally one day I asked her what her husband looked like.

“He looks just like The Rock” she said.

“Oh, my!” I said.
A few weeks later she was showing me pictures in an album.

“Who is that?” I asked.

“Oh that’s my husband”
He did not look anything like The Rock, but I resisted the urge to tell her so.

A few months later her husband would rob a bank. He would go back to their house, followed by an army of cops, and hide in his attic. They fired tear gas in through the windows. I got to go over a few days later and help clean the place up. Broken glass, broken doors, the place in the ceiling where The Rock had fallen through the sheet rock. The leftover tear gas canisters, and the smell. You could only work in there a few minutes at a time.

I think The Rock got 20 years.

TRUMP DOES IT SOME MORE

Even the faintest evidence of the truth almost makes me giddy.

I AM THAT I AM

"When Moses, at the burning bush, says to God, “Who are you?” God says to him three words: “Hayah asher hayah.” And those words are mistranslated in English as “I am that which I am.” But in Hebrew, it means “I will be who or how or where I will be,” meaning, don’t think you can predict me. I am a God who is going to surprise you. And one of the ways God surprises us is by letting a Jew or a Christian discover the trace of God’s presence in a Buddhist monk or a Sikh tradition of hospitality or the graciousness of Hindu life. You know, don’t think we can confine God into our categories. God is bigger than religion."

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks in “The Dignity of Difference.” 

I'VE SERVED WORSE SHIT

my second Thanksgiving at Loomies, we had saved bread for a couple weeks to make dressing. Billy Ray, the old black chef, hadn’t exactly taught me to make it, but he used to tell me “You caint cook worth a shit, but you sure can make dressing”.

Anyway, I got my cornbread made, and onion celery and eggs all together and I’m mixing up enough dressing for 300 and I got my hands all in it, and its about ready to go into pans when suddenly I felt something funny in there. Big lump of something. I pulled my hand out, and rinsed it off and lo and behold it was a big ol’ cockleburr!

Whats a cockleburr doing in there?

Well, now I got to check it some more and before long I had pulled out about a dozen cockleburrs.

Well, you know how it is, sometimes you just have to run with it and that’s what I did.

Or like the old chef said:
“I’ve served worse shit”.

"TRY THE DRESSING! ITS FULL OF XANAX"

TEN THOUSAND DREAMS

I had a dream a few nights ago. It must have been about a telescope, but the only thing I could remember was seeing  text, as if on a page in a book which read:
"The old king said: What marvelous kind of glass could this be to build such a machine?"

As dreams go, it wasnt earth shattering, but it woke me up enough to consciously think to myself that its not the glass so much, its just the shape of the glass.  Glass is glass.
But I hoped to remember the dream, and I did. It was the first thing to spring to mind the next morning, and I pondered its meaning all day.
I guess it don't mean nuthin'.

But I'm sitting here this morning, and I suddenly realize I had a REALLY GREAT dream last night. One that jarred me fully awake.
One that tempted me to actually get up and write it down.
It was surely to be one of the more important dreams of my long life, and I was sure because of that I would be able to remember it completely.
But the fact is I cant remember it all all. Not the least little bit.
I can only remember that I had it, and hope that I might someday have it again and be able to recognize it.
Don't you just hate that?

THE STARS WE ARE GIVEN

Woman, seventy, mother of two Grandmother of ten A kind face and no criminal record. Her surviving daughter and her brood Three children, dirty smiling faces They don’t know it but the rest of their life Hinges on the next ten minutes, An innocent answer to a subtle question. Still, they’d rather be playing. “The stars we are given. The constellations we make.” I’ll sign off for them. Middle aged man, forty five, Leg missing from knee down. Barrel bomb he says, Three years ago tomorrow As I was serving coffee in my café. His eyes, misty, he tells me he lost his daughter that day His wife too, and even though he Has no papers, it all checks out. “The stars we are given. The constellations we make.” I’ll sign off for them. There were two sisters, An uncle, four kids A Grandmother And two sets of neighbors Whose lives were interwoven like The fishing nets you see. I asked the oldest woman how old she was. Fifty Eight she had said. In another room I asked her neighbor How old is the woman next door Sixty Eight she had said So I asked the old woman why she had lied. She always lies about her age The little girl had said. I’ll sign off for them. “The stars we are given. The constellations we make.”

steve 11/2015

"This is my original, but I should give credit to Rebecca Solnit, who provided
 the recurring lines from the following quote: “The stars we are given. 
The constellations we make. That is to say, stars exist in the cosmos, 
but constellations are the imaginary lines we draw between them, 
the readings we give the sky, the stories we tell.”

The inspiration for this came from a post I’ve seen floating around 
by an immigration lawyer, talking about how hard it is to get into 
the USA through the refugee program. He said that he had a 
client that had lied about her age. and the poem sprang up in my 
mind from there.
They say the House has passed a bill that would require the 
DHS, NIS and FBI to "certify" these refugee's as not being ISIS before 
they come into the country. I'm all for the new legislation. I hope the 
president doesn’t veto it. Maybe then the FBI director will get off his ass, 
get a team together, and stop whining about how impossible it is. 
I saw a picture of a man with a kid on each hip coming ashore in 
Greece. He looked pretty worried, a face full of care, desperate to 
get his kids to safety. I cant guarantee he wasn't ISIS. 
You want a Guarantee? Go to Best Buy. 
But if I was in charge, and someone showed me that picture 
I'd sign off on him. On the spot. 
I guess thats what the poem is about.

A FRAME OF REFERENCE

An excerpt from the best Facebook discussion on Syrian refugee's I saw yesterday:

Tom: {...}As far as Jesus is concerned, this is a pointless question. Christianity pre-dates Islam by 600 years. Jesus has no frame of reference for an entire civilization and religion whose main goal is ideologically committing to exterminating his followers, as well as the nation and religion that served as his influencers. Our government needs to do their job and be prudent in protecting us from potential murder and mayhem.

Janis: Jesus has the only accurate frame of reference if you believe he was and is God. He is not caught off guard by anything. 

Bulletholes: Janis, you just blew my mind.

Tom: What Bulletholes said.

Janis: God is mind blowing. Other. Supernatural. Not like what masquerades as religion.

Bulletholes: So, since Christ, being Christ, knew about the Muslims and could not be caught off guard, did he leave us any specific instructions regarding them?

Janis: Yes. Lots. Too many for this setting. All in the Bible

THE U.S. ARMY ISSUE POCKET BIBLE

A SACRED TOKEN

This bible sat in a little porcelain jewelry/trinket holder on moms dresser for years, along with an old brooch and a single cuff link, a few lace coverlets and maybe an assortment of curtain pins.

Stuff like that. 

Or maybe it sat in the top drawer of a dresser at Grandma Renfro’s guestroom, with the same kind of stuff in it, and the smell of cedar.
I don’t quite recall.

When I was a kid I would go open the drawer and look at the stuff, and mom or grandma would tell me how dads army issue pocket bible, with the inscription in the front by President Roosevelt, had been lost when he was in the war, but someone found it in a field in France and sent it to his parents at the address in the book.
I’m assuming that was in November of 1945 when it was found. When they sent it they mightn’t have known if dad was dead or alive. I like that Mr. Bryant, who found dad's bible,  put “Texas” in quotation marks.

I wonder about Mr. Bryant, who was from England, and what he was doing in a field in southern France. I wonder what he looked like, what kind of work he did when he was not in a field in southern France. In my minds eye I see him, as you must be seeing him now, wiping the sweat from his brow after stacking English hay somewhere near Lancashire, or bouncing great-grandchildren on his knee, telling them what he had done, and about the bible he found from "Texas" in the great World War II.

It’s cool to still have this bible of my dads from World War II. I keep in in a drawer with my medicine, and an old Cameo necklace and ear rings dad sent home from Italy; some of dads old cufflinks, moms pearls, and an old bullet that came from somewhere. 

You know, sacred tokens and stuff like that.

Battle Monument at West Point

My brother, Colonel Don Renfro, Class of 1964, in front of the Battle Monument at West Point.

The idea of the Battle Monument at West Point was first conceived in 1863 to honor the fallen soldiers of the Regular Army in the Civil War of the United States of America. Money was raised through contributions from officers, and through $1.00 deductions from regular soldiers pay.
In total, $45,000 was raised and construction was to begin in 1865.

But there came along an altercation between Gen. McClellan, Secretary Stanton & West Point superintendent Col. Bowman. This altercation, the source of which is unknown, created a delay in the project.
Finally, in 1890, construction began.
The shaft is 41 feet in length. Including the lower and upper pedestals, and the statue of the angel “Fame” at the top, the monument rises 75 feet high. The shaft weighs 72 tons.
Surrounding the monument are 16 cannon, and 8 granite plinths. Plinths are the big polished granite balls.

Each of the 16 cannon bears the name of a major Civil War battle

Traditionally, the plebes at West Point made reference to the statue of Fame when giving the following reply to any upperclassman demanding to know "How are they all?" 

"They are all fickle but one, sir." 

"Who is the one?" 

"She who stands atop Battle Monument, for she has been on the same shaft since 1897."

On the plinths, and on tablets at the pedestal are inscribed the names of 188 officers and 2,042 men of the Regular Army who fell in the Civil War.

The names, it might be noted, are all from The Union Army, and nowhere to be found at the Battle Monument is a Confederate Flag. Not a one.

The Great Starbucks Outrage of 2015

"The truth is that in a week we won’t recall why we were all wasting time over it...
Outrage Wisely"
The Slate

A SCHOLARSHIP TO WEST POINT

“That position [Lieutenant in the ROTC] allowed me the chance to meet four-star general William Westmoreland...and was offered a full scholarship to West Point.”
From Carson’s book "You Have A Brain" January 2015

"I was offered full scholarship to West Point, got to meet General Westmoreland, go to Congressional Medal dinners, but decided really my pathway would be medicine.”
Dr. Ben Carson to Charlie Rose, October 2015

My brother went to West Point. The first step in the process is to submit an application. If your application is accepted, and you meet certain qualifications, you may proceed to the next step. The second step is to procure a nomination from a senator, congressman, or the Vice President of the USA. Only 2 out of 5 applicants actually procure a nomination.

Step Three begins the testing. In addition to timed ACT and SAT academic testing (which you are urged to take numerous times as your scores will improve) you have to pass physical testing for strength and endurance. It is rigorous, and many do not pass muster. From those who pass these tests, and hold up to boards of review and multiple interviews, the best of the best are selected to become cadets and start a Military career at West Point. There is no scholarship offer. There is no tuition. The government pays in full for room and board and the education and training to become an officer in the United States Army.

I don't know the percentage of applicants that are finally accepted into the Academy. The admissions site does say that of the thousands that apply, only a few are chosen.  So when Dr. Carson says General Westmoreland offered him a full scholarship at the Point, I for one believe him. 

As preposterous as it is for an offer to have been extended before the application process, I do believe him.
When my brother graduated in 1964, Westmoreland was Superintendent of the Academy. I actually met him, and shook his hand. 

I was 7 years old and guess what? 

General Westmoreland said he could get me into West Point too.

Here is my brother during his first year at West Point. He was nominated by Congressman Jim Wright. I’m very proud of my brother. He was a tough act to follow.

I won’t say Dr. Carson lied. He just didnt choose his words carefully enough. If you like him, I don’t see any reason this would change your mind about him. I don’t doubt for a minute he was an excellent candidate. 

If you don’t like him, you’ll probably think he lied like Dixie. 

Me? I remember my first job interview. I told them I would like to go to West Point, just like my big brother. 

I was a terrible candidate with no chance whatsoever. If that ever gets out I probably wont get elected president.

MY LAST ANT FARM

My first ant farm! I sent off for it from the back of a cereal box. I think I had to have 10 box tops.
For most people the ant farm is a great memory.
But it was a major disappointment for me.
The ants didn’t wear bandannas and straw hats, or drive tractors like in the picture. They just dug tunnels down into some dirt that you could see a side view of, like when Kratts brothers spy in on a duck-billed platypus.
But an ant is a long ways from a duck-billed platypus, and after about three weeks the whole thing started to stink and mom made me throw it away.

I guess my first ant farm was my last ant farm.

"ONLY HISTORY WILL SAY"

‎" Barack Obama, the first black president, proved to millions this year that he is either trying his best to lead the nation during the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression, or he is the modern-day incarnation of Adolph Hitler.... One of the two.
In 2010, Obama made a number of political compromises while still trying to pursue many of the reforms laid out during his 2008 campaign. Also, he was a totalitarian monster comparable to the perpetrator of one of the worst genocides in history.
He is either a president who passed a comprehensive health care measure despite staunch opposition from powerful private interests, or a radical-Islamist sympathizer bent on systematically dismantling American democracy and eradicating all human liberty.
He either lowered taxes for most Americans while failing to communicate that effectively, or he is pure evil. Whichever.
Barack Obama, two of the most important people of 2010: the one who was elected to be president of the United States and execute laws to the best of his ability, and the one who murders senior citizens and hates all white people. Only history will say which he is for sure"

Taken from The Onion

THE GOING STEADY BRACELET, NINTH GRADE

If you look close enough and use your imagination you can see the bracelet on Rhondas left wrist. No, not him. Way in the back back there. With the poodle looking hairdo.

I'll tell you about that bracelet. I went to Gibsons to get it. They had silver and gold. I couldnt decide, but ended up settling on the gold. No one, no one at all had a gold bracelet.
I got it home, and started having buyers remorse.
"Who buys a friggen' gold bracelet?" I thought. "She'll probably break up with me the minute she sees it. I'll be the laughing stock of Bedford Junior High"
So I put it in this wooden box on my dresser that I kept mercury from broken thermometers in, because mercury is cool stuff to play with. Matches are fun to play with too. If you take a big book full of matches, and keep it closed while you light one end, the flames will shoot out both ends when you light it. When you get the thermometer close enough to an open flame, the thermometer will crack in half. If you keep heating the mercury in the bulb, most of it will come out of the broken glass tube and you can collect it.
You just have to be careful, you know, not to cut yourself on the broken glass.

The next morning I opened the box and the gold bracelet wasnt gold anymore. It was just silvery metal, and not even shiny, and looked like it had been around for about 20 girlfriends, the silver plate all wore off.
And that is how I came to learn that mercury will eat gold plate off of jewelry, Rhonda got a not-gold bracelet, and I didn't get laughed out of Bedford Junior High.

COMMON CORE

I flunked math classes in 9, 10, and 11 grades. I had to take remedial math in 12th grade.
I thought math was stupid.
Then I got a job as a chef that required me to do numbers in my head. I got pretty good at it too.
And what I learned to do in my head is what common core is trying to teach kids.

I even had a job as a cashier a few years ago.
What I learned to do as a cashier is exactly what common core tries to teach the kids.
I ring up $3.67 and the customer gives me a twenty. Do I subtract 3.67 from tenty to count out the change?
No.
I count up from 3.67.
I give him 3 pennies and say "Three-sixty seven plus three makes 3.70.
I give him a nickel and a quarter and say “Thirty makes 4.00”
I Give him a one "One makes five”
I give a five and a ten, “Five makes ten and ten makes twenty” and spit spot, I just gave him his change, counted up.
That’s common core.
I had customers smile at me and say “I haven’t seen that in years” and they are right. Not because of common core, but because kids have become dependent on calculators. 

Its like 999 plus 722. I don't vision in my head adding 9+2 carrying ones and stuff. 

I very quickly see "1000 plus 721".

What do you see in your head when you do this problem?
That is what they are trying to teach the kids.

Anyway, I’m still no math whiz. But I understand what they are doing.

My nephew Dave has a great explanation on this, but I can't remember what he said.

SHRIMP CREOLE

I’d been working Luminaria's double shifts for like five days.
8:00 am to 10:00 pm, no break.
On day six, my buddy that delivered laundry gave me a couple pills. Lets see, what were the names of those pills? Cant remember, just that they were 100mg something, and time release, whatever that’s supposed to mean.
I took one and man, it really kicked. I was everywhere, chopping onions, making stock, pot,pot,pan,pan, cook,cook, and yapping to the waitresses about 90 miles an hour.
I started cutting meat; Filets, cut cut, New Yorks, cut cut, Top Sirloins slice cut. Wrap it stack it tag it and into the cooler and now its time go go go fry some chips.
It got to be about lunchtime. I really wasn’t hungry, but figured I better get me something to eat.
Bear with me here.

I went and got a big ol’ plate of Shrimp Creole and rice, and chomped down on it. I ate it fast—there was no time to eat—and just before I took the last bite I saw the big bus tub of fat from the meat I’d been cutting and decided it needed to go out to the fat barrel RIGHT NOW.
Because I was really zooming, ya know?
So out to the back dock I go to the fat/grease barrel and I flipped the lid off and looked inside and the smell hit me and the sight of about 10 million maggots all crawling in the grease and fat and I blew all that Shrimp Creole out into the barrel, projectile vomit right through the nose, and stood there and shook shook shook for about 3 minutes.
I shook, and repeated over and over "Goddamn, Goddamn, Goddamn" while the rice fell out of my nose.
Then, back to work.
To this day I cant eat Shrimp Creole no more.
And it was quite a while before I ever took any speed again.

THE KINGDOM OF JONES

Oh, these darn Confederate flags.

People like to try to say these flags are innocuous, and are just there to celebrate history, and commemorate the south’s brave and valiant effort to assert states rights.

They will try to tell you that the flag does not represent slavery, and that not all of those who fought for the south were fighting for slavery.
But slavery is and was the central issue of that war. Not everybody in the South fought for the South. Many had better sense than to throw themselves into an unjust and immoral cause.

Take the Kingdom of Jones. Jones County, in the heart of Mississippi was an anti-secession stronghold. They drew up their own Constitution and formed a militia and managed to keep an entire county free-- the "Free and Sovereign State of Jones"—for the duration of the war in the heart of the confederacy. The American Flag flew over the courthouse. The local paper, The Natchez Courier, reported that Jones County had seceded from the Confederacy.

I’ve posted before about my allegiance to ol’ Dixie. I fully understand southern pride. Living in Detroit in 1968 I claimed to be a George Wallace fan. I didn’t fully understand what he stood for, but he seemed to stand for the south, and that was good enough for me.

I tell my friends when I was a boy and the family went to Six Flags, I always wanted a Confederate flag. You could buy them there in the 1960’s. They were such handsome flags.
But was always afraid to ask mom and dad to buy me one.
“Why were you afraid” my friends ask.
“I was afraid because I always sensed that even though it was a good looking flag, there was something wrong with wanting one”
Some of my friends will say “Pshhaw, there is nothing wrong with wanting a Confederate Flag!”
They may be right, but I don’t think so.
The fact is, after about 1971, you couldn’t BUY a Confederate Flag at Six Flags.
Why not?
I guess because at Six Flags someone figured out there was something wrong with selling them.
Even NASCAR, a typically redneck institution if there ever was one, banned Ol’ Dixie from being sold at its events, and has recently asked its attendees not to fly it no more at all. Haha! That went over like a lead balloon.

When I was 4 years old I could see across a field a new High School being built. It was a school I would have attended if we had not moved to Detroit when I was 5.
That school opened in 1962, in the middle of the Civil Rights movement in this country. It would be an all white school for many years, and the mascot they adopted was the “Rebel”, and the symbol, a Confederate flag.
Do you think this is just a coincidence? Do you think it was just southern pride? Or could it have been a thumb in the eye to the Civil Rights movement? A statement issued by an all-white community?
I’ve been wondering just how many schools named themselves “Rebels” and chose the Confederate Flag as its symbol during those turbulent times in our country. I cant find that kind of data anywhere. I can tell you there was another school in the same county that chose the same name and symbol in 1965. I don’t believe there have been any since. I'm sure there haven't been. probably not since about 1966 has a community had the audacity to be so obnoxious.
In the 1980’s both of those schools decided to do away with Old Dixie. It was the students that voted on it. So there is hope for the country.

Last night in Tennessee, the city council voted 19-1 to not fly the Confederate Flag at the courthouse.
Oh thank God.

In related news my FB feed has been jammed with memes indicating outrage that the NAACP wants to blow up Stone Mountain in Georgia.

Meanwhile, the Stone Mountain Association wants to put a Memorial to Martin Luther King right on top of Stone Mountain. It will be a replica of the Liberty Bell, and commemorate King’s “I Have A Dream “ speech, where he says " Let Freedom ring from the Stone Mountain of Georgia.”
I think that’s better than blowing it up, but its funny…
The NAACP don’t like it. They just want to blow it up and get it over with.

ANOTHER GUN CONTROL OBSERVATION

"It doesn't matter how weak, ineffective, or watered down; or how brilliantly genius and potentially lifesaving a legislation might be....the NRA will come out against it.
In the words of LaPierre, NRA President: "We cant let them win anything, because a win for anything is a defeat for us."
Bulletholes. 1/7/2015

ONE DAY THE DESERT WILL REPAY YOU

Kirzai needed to cross the desert. He had only so much water. There was a whirlwind in the desert. He entered it and found an old man, beside a camel, dying from thirst.
The old man opened his eyes, looked at Kirzai intently for a moment and then said in a hoarse whisper: "Is it ... you?"
Karzai laughed and shook his head.
‘What, don’t tell me you know who I am? Has my fame spread to the desert of Syr Daya? But you, old man, who are you?”

The old man said nothing.
Karzai gave him his water. Now he could not cross the desert and would have to go a different way. But he didnt worry. He just did what he needed to do.
The old man drank and said “One day, the desert will repay you.”

Years passed. Karzai was an old man now. He had to cross the desert. A whirlwind came upon him. He began to die of thirst.
Just then, a young man appeared. Karzai peered through the whirlwind. Could it be himself, 30 years younger?
“Is it…you?” Kirzai asked.
‘What, don’t tell me you know who I am? Has my fame spread to the desert of Syr Daya? But you, old man, who are you?” the young man said.

Karzai searched his memory. What to tell the young man. There was so much he would like to say. He would have wished to speak to the young man of many things, but could only find these words:
"One day the desert will repay you."


From "THE FEAR OF THE FUTURE AND THE HABIT OF WORRYING" by Jacob Needleman

Gathered and condensed from "Alive on All Channels"

OLD FOLKS BOOGIE

A couple years a ago I had to put my sister, who was only 52 years old, into a Nursing Home.
The Woodbridge Rehabilitation Center, they call it.
It’s a long story. Her first day there was horrible, and through tears she asked me “How can you put me here?”
And I told her I had looked around the day before, and it looked like my kind of place, and that she would get some physical therapy for the neck surgery she had. That was the only goal anyone had in mind. Just get a month of rest and care that the Texas Rehabilitation Hospital had not been able to provide, and you'll be ready to go back home.

You wouldn’t believe all the women in a nursing home. The ratio must be 10 to 1, women to men.
And my sister took a day or two, but she calmed down, and started getting the care she needed.

A few days later I went to see her and was surprised to find she was in great spirits, and she giggled to me that there was a lot of senior action going on behind closed doors at the Woodbridge Rehabilitation Center. She had also noted the ratio of women to men.
“I know!” I said “I told you I could really have a time down here. And the best part is that half of these guys are still just as lame as they have been all their lives. They have no idea what to do about it.”

As sad as it is to be reminded of my sister passing early this year, it's a bittersweet joy to find this forgotten note scrawled in a draft stage. To remember how she thought we were putting her away and her big laugh; to go ahead and post it up right now.
Bittersweet.

MONSTER TRUCKS

OK, I understand how it is that a guy in a truck with the $1000 special lights package--running lights, fog lights, deer lights, spot lights--can't seem to use the turn signal.
I get that.
But how is it that a dude in a 2500 series-- monster tires, diesel engine, super shocks, ranch hand with winch, titanium rear end and dually wheel wells-- cant go more than 1 MPH in the apartment parking lot, practically comes to a stop at the speed bumps, and makes every effort in the world to maneuver two of his wheels from touching the speed bumps?
Am I missing something here?

HALLOWEEN, 1974

I met her Halloween Day, 1974 in the school smoking area. She suddenly appeared right beside me in her miniskirt and rabbit fur jacket. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her put a cigarette between her lips. I continued to stare straight ahead, not looking for any trouble. I could smell her Herbal Essence shampoo though, and another glance out of the corner of my eye determined that yes, this chick was really stacked.
But its hard to stay out of trouble for long. Suddenly, this chick slugs me in the arm, and in a fake French accent asks:
“Mon amie, are you not going to light my see-ga-rette, oui?”


That was the start of a years-long relationship, a weird relationship that started that night. Come to find out her mother was French, barely spoke English. I went and picked her up that Halloween Night, and whoa, she had a friend, and they wanted to go parking. And I spent the next two hours hopping from the front to the back seat with these two girls, neither of which would let me, you know,  but I got to tell you I was having the time of my young life.


Over the next two years I would almost bang this chick, but not quite. And the thing is, all my buddies were banging her, and when we would gather around, and they would talk about her, they would always say “Bulletholes knows. He does her all the time” and I would have to try to claim that no, I wasn’t "doing her". The implication being that I wasn't near as big a slut as they.
They didn’t believe me, but it was the truth. It was the truth mainly because for some reason every time we nearly made it, it just didn’t happen, usually because she would up and decide we ought to wait. 
Wait for what? I don’t know. 
And as far as I know, she was doing the same thing to these other guys, they just didn’t want to admit it.


But anytime anyone brings up “The Owl and the Pussycat” my mind immediately goes to the night I took her and a bottle of Annie Green Springs to the drive in to see Barbra Streisand and George Segal. It was pouring down rain, and you couldn’t even see the screen. There were no other cars there. Had the place to ourselves. For 95 minutes I tried everything I knew to do, and some other stuff I just made up. In the end it was no joy.
To this day I still run into guys that want to talk about her ("You fucked her ALL THE TIME") and when I tell them the truth, they just laugh. They don’t believe me for a minute.

"Sorry honey, not tonight"

KISS

I wish I’d been there 
when you first kissed for real, 
when you first felt that heat, 
and each time after… 
as evolution’s witness 
to your darling, Darwin mouth. 

How many of your kisses 
must have fallen to extinction… 
soft-bellied and shy-eyed kisses, 
sabertooth kisses, sweet 
kisses lost to drought and famine 
before these you bring me now… 

These that have survived, 
these which move and mate with mine 
with their low, cat growls, 
these that have in them long, 
wet strands of the DNA 
of every kiss of yours that came before.

Peregrine

FIRST TIME FLYER

I flew last week for the first time in ten years. Its nerve wracking. I mean, my whole life I’ve been challenged by being in the right line, at the right time, in the right place. That’s how I ended up in the library instead of gym in the first grade. It never got better for me. I always manage to grab the wrong stuff from the wrong place too. That’s how I came to be wearing hip pads where the knee pads go in 7^th grade football.
And the most confusing thing in the world to me? Detailed, step-by-step instructions.

So you, experienced traveler, must be able to imagine what a nightmare it was for me, if only in my mind.

I was like a cat on a hot tin roof. I wasn’t sure if I should drop my bags off and then go to remote parking. I lucked out, chose correctly  and went to remote parking first. It was pitch black, 4:00 in the morning dark. The lady said just go down this aisle, park, and the van will be along to pick you up.

Really? How can I trust that? I visioned myself standing there for 30 minutes, past my flight time.
But no, by the time I got out of my car, there was the van.

Once in the terminal, I stopped to see the statue "One Riot One Ranger", and thought about my dads story, the one I swear I heard a million times about Capt. Jay Banks. I looked around to see if there was anyone there I could tell my story to. I guess I'm glad there was no one there to tell.

I stopped at a Kiosk. It said I could get my bag checked there. I punched in my Confirmation number and it spat out one of those big bar code strips to put on your bag. On the outside it had detailed, step by step instructions for peeling the tape and applying to you bag. I started to peel the tape, and a lady stopped me. I was doing it wrong.
Big Surprise.

In line now for the big TSA screening and check in. Am I in the right line? How can I be sure? I see a sign that says "Priority". No one is in that line. Its probably not for me. I step up to the man that wants to see my boarding pass. I hand it to him. He keeps looking at me, expectant. I stare back at him, eyes glazed.
"Your drivers license?" he says, and points to the big sign that says
'PLEASE HAVE YOUR DRIVERS LICENSE AND BOARDING PASS READY"

How the hell did I miss that? He is very kind though, glances at my picture, nods, and says ""Ah Mr. Renfro! Have a nice trip!"
Thinking back now, and the amused way that he said it, I have wonder were there other Renfro's that failed the DL presentation test? Maybe its not just me. Maybe its genetic.

By now I have identified the lady in front of me as being a pro at this. She is kicking off her shoes, removing her ten rings, 14 bracelets, 6 necklaces, watch, and is now removing certain items from her carry on, and into the bus tub. I do what she does, except I don't have a belly button ring to remove.

I catch her eye.
"Ma'am, what about my medicine. Do I have to take my medicine out of my carry on?" I hold up the big baggie I have all my medicine in. I'd heard you were supposed to do that. But then I had read it was supposed to be in a 1 quart bag. Mine is a gallon. I have lots of medicine. This worries me.
"No" she say, in a thick but friendly New Jersey accent. "We used to have to, but not anymore. Make sure you take the toiletries out."

After stepping out of the Rotating X-Ray machine that I've heard pretty much tells them everything there is to know about you, an Agent pulled me to the side.
"Mr. Renfro, do you have something in your right rear pocket?"
"I don't think so"
"Do you mind if I check?"
"Oh please do."
Gingerly, the Agent reached into my pocket and pulled out two sticks. They were the two sticks from the Corny Dogs I'd eaten the night before.
He smiled at me.
I grinned back and said "Huh. I wonder how those got there?"
"We will have to throw these away Mr. Renfro. Do you mind?"
"Yes, please do."

So, that was my trip in a nutshell. The return trip?

It was just as bad. The SEATAC Airport has a whole different system.

Even when I returned home, I didn’t trust the return to my car at Remote Parking.
“How will they know where I’m parked? I cant remember” I said to no one in particular in the Van.
I tried to ask calmly, but I’m sure my eyes were a little wild. One could smell my fear.
The lady sitting across from me tried to calm me. She made a downward motion with outstretched hands, and said “Don’t worry. They just do.”

“I guess I got trust issues, Huh?” I said.

“Ya think?” she said, and smiled at me kindly.

Thanks to David at LIVE AND LEARN for inspiration for this post.

"YOU CAN'T TAKE THESE WITH YOU ON THE PLANE"

NOOKSACK FALLS

I had a great vacation in Bellingham Washington, visiting my daughter.

Here we are on our way up Mount Baker.

Run into a couple Sasquatch.

On the way home we stopped at Nooksack Casino.
I taught my daughter to gamble.
We put 20 dollars in.
After 6 spins we were at 100 dollars.
She had 40 and I had 60.
We hit the button and got out of there.
It only took about 3 minutes.

SHENANDOAH

Jacob Anderson: I know how you feel about this war, Pa. I guess we more or less feel the same way, but I don't see how we can sit by and ignore it anymore. Now you say it's not our business, not our fight, but we're Virginians and I believe that anything that concerns Virginia concerns us.

Charlie Anderson: John...

John Anderson: Sir?

Charlie Anderson: What are you going to do? You gonna keep your slaves or let them go free?

John Anderson: You know I don't have any slaves, Pa.

Charlie Anderson: That's right, John, you don't have a slave to your name, do you.

Charlie Anderson: Suppose you had a friend that owned slaves and suppose somebody was going to come and take them away from him. Would you help him - fight to help him keep them?

Nathan Anderson: No sir!

Charlie Anderson: Your name's Nathan, isn't it?

Nathan Anderson: You know my name, Pa.

Charlie Anderson: I seem to remember something about...

Charlie Anderson: I was talking to Henry.

Henry Anderson: Sir?

Charlie Anderson: Well, what do you think?

Henry Anderson: Well, no sir, I wouldn't.

Charlie Anderson: Why not?

Henry Anderson: I don't see any reason to fight for something I don't believe is right and I don't think a real friend would ask me to.

Charlie Anderson: Why we have this same conversation every Saturday before Sunday meeting, I'll never know, but I'm going to pray to the Almighty that this will be the end of it.

CHANGE IT

"If you change your perception, you can change your reality"

ON WELFARE

“If by helping two somewhat deserving people, I inadvertently help one that isn't, who cares?
This isn’t, after all, Vietnam.”

Bulletholes