Sawyer Brown - The Dirt Road

Signs, Signs, Everywhere Signs

Apparently, the latest thing is Signs.

On Facebook.

On YouTube (for heaven's sake!)

Now, there's nothing wrong with signs.
There's probably good in signs -- it (they?), after all, sort of promote literacy. I say sort of, because they are not all spelled and punctuated in ways that make sense (to me, yes.)
The Written Word is not dead, after all. People are using it to make signs on social media.

If I see another sign about showing the kids how far a sign can go, I just may scream at it. This was an original and thoughtful idea the first hundred or so times it was done. Now it is overdone, and it has become the same thing as many another adult lecture on the evils of an evil world.
Who listens to that?

Or you may be looking for your biological family so you write your personal information on a sign and post a picture of you holding said sign. Exposing your personal information to all the identity thieves trolling the internet, even letting them know what you look like.
Not to mention, once your quest has been successful, for the rest of your life you will be getting clicks, clues, and info you no longer need or want. For the next fifty years. Your grandchildren may someday be sharing your picture of you and your sign.


Worse, though, at least to me, is the way signs are taking over YouTube. YouTube is a video site. Where you can talk, sing, dance, jump, play, tell stories, make a fool of yourself, sing, share, instruct, learn.

Lately, YouTube has been taken over by signers.
And I don't mean ASL.

Many many bullying stories are told by having someone hold up handwritten signs that explain, one sentence at a time, why someone did something -- suicide, attempted suicide, or self-harm such as cutting.

Wouldn't it be healthier and helpier to hear the voices of the victims?
After all, anyone can write a sign, and anyone can claim to be anyone, if there is no voice to go with the words.

Isn't the point of these videos supposed to be that the voices be heard?
Rustling paper is no one's voice when the medium is visual or aural.

Recently there has been a story making the rounds of what a mom did when the family SUV was going over a cliff. (Or something) This story is told by the daughters, one piece of paper at a time.
With a very loud soundtrack, but not a word is spoken. (That I know of. I have yet to be able to watch the so-called video to the end. It's boring to read that slowly.)

Now, obviously, they know how to add sound to their presentation.
They know how to use the camera.
The signs do indicate that they know the rudiments of story telling.

But they aren't telling anything.
One cannot even hear their emotion.

Poor Mom. Her kids love her sacrifice so much that they can't and won't even speak of it -- just wave sheets of paper around.
At least they get them in the proper order for the most part.


Ah well, as a writer, I shouldn't complain. There has been so much said -- and written -- about the demise of the written word.

Perhaps I should take this as a sign that there is still work for me in this field.

The American Way; The Butt of the World

Once again, in an effort to GET THEIR OWN WAY, our duly elected Congress has moved to make the USA the butt of the joke in the global community. They have approved an action to sue the President for not being a good president.

The idea does have some intriguing possibilities. These Congressmen (and women) might want to think carefully about what doors they are opening. Imagine if we could all start suing politicians for being liars or for not keeping their promises!
Although, of course, they would limit the sue-ability to the president, I'm sure.
As they have done/are doing with the term limits question. (In case you missed it, it is okay to limit the tenure of the presidency, but term limits for the Congress are unconstitutional.)

But that isn't the issue.

The issue is that they are making the American Way of government into a Joke and a Failure in the eyes of the world. Something that, were they doing their jobs, they would be making great efforts to resist.
But it's okay. They can blame it all on the president, and the gullible (and mostly nonvoting but vociferous) citizens of the USA will jump on the bandwagon and Facebook and yell "Hell Yeah!"

Don't get me wrong. I do not think Mr. Obama is the world's greatest president. I did not vote for him. He wasn't my choice. He isn't my choice.
And, (speaking of term limits) he will be gone in a brief but endless couple of years. We've survived six years; we can endure two more.

But he was the choice of the percentage of the population that cared enough to get off their butts and actually vote. I have to respect that. If I can't respect the results of an election, why am I voting?

Once elected, the President should have the public support of his (our) Congress, and of the, for the, and by the people who cared enough to elect him.

Privately, there is always room for discussion, argument, discord, dissent, and any other word you want to use for being adamantly opposed to everything you disagree with.
That's the American Way.

I object to the American Way being made a mockery of.
I object to the American Way being made a joke in the eyes of a world watching to see if a democratic republic is a viable form of government for longer than a couple centuries.
I object to the American Way being exploited for financial gain and publicity by some rich white guys having temper tantrums when they don't get their way.

Oh, didn't you know?
Most of the Congress is lawyers, judges, etc.
They make up their own laws and collect their fees.
At your (and my) expense.

If you don't like this president, get off your duff and vote for someone you do like.
THAT is within your power.

In fact, that IS your power.

Just do it.

Heroin is Bad.

In case you have missed this, in the last forty years, today's "news" wants to keep you informed. Heroin is bad for you. It causes crime and sickness and junkies. There are even clinics for treatment and halfway houses and all sorts of stuff.
None that any of us want in our neighborhoods, but, hey, that's where the heroin is.

I don't want or mean to minimize the issue of heroin, addiction, and treatments. This IS stuff people should know about. Be aware of it -- yes, right in your backyard.

But it does annoy me that all this is being treated as brand new news.

It isn't.

The issues and concerns are exactly the same as in the 90s, when "heroin chic" brought the addiction back into the headlines. The issues of treatment, and theft and sharing needles -- it's all old news.

Most of it -- there have been some changes in treatments -- in the 90s was recycled news from the 70s. If you can find old newspapers, pull up a few articles on the subject. Word for word, they could be written today and called news.

Epidemic, the reporters emphasize. (Even though the word epidemic has been discredited in relation to actual illnesses)
Epidemic, they said in the 90s.
Epidemic, they said in the 70s.

If this is new news, maybe instead of recycling the same old news about the issue, someone (like an investigative reporter?) should look into why this may be a 20-year cycle epidemic. What makes any issue or illness or addiction repeat in the same pattern, over and over again.

If this is a cyclical issue, why is no one looking to break the cycle?
Why are they only wanting to treat it?

Why is something 20 or 40 years old being touted as "news"? It's pretty old, don't you think?
If only they would report something that has changed.

That would be news.

Sick and Sad

I finally got a job, started it, was doing well enough to be offered extra hours and -- after I accepted the etra hours, I got sick. I went to the Emergency Room and got medicines and went back to work for those extra hour days.
Not the best plan, but I had said I would do it, so I did it.
But by the time the time was done, I was dragging, and went to the doctor.
Who put me off work for the next five days.

Who gets sick like that? Babies? Old people?
I am neither, although I often feel very, very old.
Being widowed, losing my caretaker role, being unemployed (maybe unemployable) are all aging factors.

Being free of caretaking, being employed, I hope will be freeing. Will restore some youth, some joy, some energy.

So, I got sick.
Boo!

Seems to be a family thing going on. A curse upon our house, or something bad written in the heavens. A  curse upon us!

One sister had bleeding issues back at Thanksgiving and ended up with a hysterectomy in April.
She is doing much better these days -- even has energy to take walks for fun.

Another sister, more recently, fell and hurt her back. It has just come to light that she actually broke a bone in her back. She's still walking and stuff, although it's been painful for her -- but the broken bone isn't even the cause of her pain and discomfort!
She is, ever so slowly getting better.

Bronchitis, even the ever-lasting kind, looks like a walk in the park (for fun) after those experiences.

I'll get better, too.

After all, it's in the stars.

Winged Protection

My granddaughter, Hailey, age 5, draws me pictures of winged creatures that she then tapes up on the walls above and around my bed. She says they are fairies; I tend to think of them as angels. A rose by any other name...

She has also drawn me a picture of herself with her super powers, and she drew me a picture of her brother in the playpen. Both these pictures also went on the wall.
Under a rainbow.
And both these pictures had angel fairy pictures placed around them.

My bed and my grandbabies are very protected, it seems.
(Which is, of course, okay by me.)

This morning, when I woke up and reached for my glasses case, there was one of these pictures lying across the nightstand. It covered the glasses case, my phone, and my current book. There was no way for me to miss it.

And no reason for it to be there.

No obvious reason that is. The tape was still on the paper, the tape was still sticky.
But there was  a blue fairy angel smiling up at me and making sure I knew that it was there today.





I start my new job today with just a little extra boost of "good".

Residuals

I wonder these days about hauntings.

To be honest, I've never thought about hauntings much -- I grew up knowing they happen. It's only recently that I've been wondering about the details and operation of the act of haunting.

I want to think that Rex is somewhere else, healthy, happy, unworried. For all my loneliness and lostness, I don't want him to be lingering here, taking care of me/us/things. I want him to be at peace.

That said, spirit or not, something of him does linger here,
Every room is infused with his presence.
Especially this front room where he spent all his time the last months of his life.

There's a concept, in paranormal circles, of residual haunting.
The definition is something like a recording that plays, over and over. A lot of legendary ghosts seem to be residuals. They do the same things, say the same things, are in the same places, time after time. All the white ladies gliding down stairways (even, in some cases, when the stairway is no longer in that part of the room). All the Weeping Widows wandering the garden paths. Crying babies and angry men. Sounds of swords clashing and battleaxes slashing on a peaceful sunny day.

Some are video recordings, some are audio only.

There's a presence here, Rex's presence. It is impressed upon the house; imbued into the walls.
Now this may be true only for me or for us. When we go, so may that presence.
(And then we will know a different measure of loss and loneliness, but that's another topic for another day.)

I think I can live with this.
I think his presence can be here, while his spirit is not.
Just as his voice or his image could be on a recording. (If I had any. My little  recluse.)
Playing the recording would not mean he was here, just that he had been.




I just hope I am right about it.

"Nobody Warned Us"

There was a (dubious) news report out of Washington State that survivors of the massive landslide were commenting and complaining that they had never been told a landslide could happen.

 I call it dubious, first of all, because those people are still busy looking for loved ones, looking for beloved things.
Secondly, they are in shock and deep, deep grief, so that nothing said at this time should be reported as anything other than mourning. Not responsible journalism. (If such a thing still exists.)
Third, the statement just screams "Lawyer"! Not just lawyer, but the worst kind of lawyer: the ambulance-chasing, you-can-make-me-a-lot-of-money type of lawyer.

God help the survivors, the vultures are already circling, greedy claws extended.

No doubt, eventually, this will make it to the courts as a liability issue. Survivors will be looking to place blame. That's something very human of them.
No doubt some judge somewhere will think it should be heard, in defiance of all common sense.

Some building statements that shouldn't need to be made:
1) If you build on a hill or cliff or anywhere "UP" everything can fall "down."
2) Oceanfront property is susceptible to hurricanes
3)Other waterfront property is susceptible to flooding.
4)There may be water shortages in desert areas.
5)Water shortage areas will be susceptible to fire.
6)Anywhere that lightning strikes there could be fires.
7)Tornadoes can happen anywhere.
8) There is no such thing as "solid" earth.  The earth is liquid -- sometimes water, sometimes melted rock. Even the continents are on the move; afloat.

Just a few things to think about before you buy or build anything anywhere.
It shouldn't require an ambulance chaser, a political prosecutor, or a publicity seeking judge to air foolishness, stupidity, and naivete before the whole world.

Let them heal.
Help them struggle.
Neither money nor blame will replace what they've lost, and lost forever. Don't make them think it might.

Changing Things

It's time for changes. I can't keep going on.
 can't do as I've been doing.
I just can't.

Everyone expects too much of me, and I try to go along because being all things to all people has been how I've tried to live my life.
Now, when I say "I can't" or "I don't" they don't hear me.

No one anywhere hears me.
In offices.
On the telephone.
Even on Facebook.
No one hears.

Not too many steps away from "no one's here," is it?

I have an outline idea of what I'm going to do and where I'm going to go. It is vague at this time.
I only know changes need to be made and I am taking the steps to make them.

suttee.

It all makes sense now.

Life and Love and Other Things

I have been trying to write of other things than my own problems. I don't want this blog to be a whining moaning list of things to complain about. I don't want it to be a pity party for me. I don't want it to be about me, specifically.

I want it to be about life in general. Politics, social media, diet, religion, education, children and grandchildren -- all the things that make up the array of things we grapple with from day to day. That's what I want.

For now, I can't seem to think beyond my own life-box. 

I'm stuck and I can't seem to move beyond these limitations.

Someday I will, I'm sure. 

Someday, I'll live again, love again, have opinions again, and I'll re-find my writer's voice.

Someday.

That day isn't yet.

I have many beginnings of ideas, thoughts, concepts to discuss. A recent facebook discussion inspired an article about the education system. But it remains unwritten, as headaches and busy-ness and the visitation of the demon build up walls faster than I can build windows. 

And forget about doors! There's no time for doors. 

The important thing is to keep a little light coming into this thick and sturdy box.

Why keep writing, then?

Well, that is the best way to poke holes in the wall and let a little light in.

Also, there may be someone out there that needs to read something like this.

Someone who needs to know there can be light in darkness.

Someone who needs to know that tears can cleanse as well as burn.

Someone who needs to know how someone else navigates the pitfalls of an empty life.

Someone who needs to know about hope, and choices, and giving up.

Someone who needs to know that, in spite of it all, there remains life, and love, and other things.