Scratch’s Weekend BBQ

 ©2013 volcanosunsetpress

The Tradition

 Summertime brings warm weather and outdoor outings.  Nicky Jameson’s yearly barbecue was always a neighborhood event that brought rib seekers from all corners of the community.  Blacks, Whites, Hispanics, and Asians from throughout the city, came to sample the cuisine.  But the primary attendees were those that lived on the block and those surrounding homes of 13 Perdition Circle.  So many in fact, that Nicky would charter a City Bus to ferry guest from the nearby Wal-Mart parking lot to alleviate parking problems on his street.  He was thinking that next year he would have to move the BBQ to a entirely new venue,  perhaps at the lake, or to River Front Park.. In all the years he had been having this cook out, there had been only minor incidents that threatened to put a damper on the festivities,  it was usually due to some guy getting drunk and making an royal ass of himself.  or maybe a couple of near fights,  or maybe a fender bender or three. There was never any real trouble per say.  Not until this day.

 The Gold Rush

 Nicky, who everybody called by his new nickname of “Scratch” because he had won 2 million dollars by buying a scratch off lottery ticket.  He was an ordinary guy with a knack for cooking scrumptious Cajun Style BBQ ribs.  The winning ticket was hidden in his lunch pail for a month,  before it was discovered by his then girlfriend,Miranda.  She gave it back to him to scratch off,  after complaining to him about his wasting of fifty dollars of  her hard-earned money,  when they were busting their asses to pay all the damn bills as it is. They lived each day from cutoff notice to cutoff notice,  and a couple of times they came home to a darkened house.  Nicky had bought the ticket while on his lunch break that Spring day and forgot to scratch it off away from her critical eye,  so he hid it to prevent Miranda from discovering it and chewing his ass out for gambling.   She was truly a wonderful woman, with a heart of pure gold, but her tongue spewed acid and burning brimstone when she was brought to ire.  Especially when it came to money, and the money was all hers, both his money and hers.  She had two girls, from a previous relationship.  but Nick claimed them as  his own.   After they won the money, they moved  into a middle class neighborhood,  not that fancy.  Miranda made sure that Nicky didn’t let the money go to his head and put him on a tight leash when it came to spending his good fortune.  They went down and got married on the very day,  before he signed the ticket over to the Lottery Commission.  Something that Nick would have done whether he had won the money or not,  but they had never had enough between both of their paychecks to spare for the license.  They basically lived from one check to the next, every payday they would decide who would get paid, and who would get lied to.  The lottery winnings changed all of that,  they bought one new car and one good almost new used truck.  The house was in the 160,000 range,  nice but not fancy,  but far better than the shitty rat traps they’d been renting in the past.  Miranda insisted on paying cash for everything,  after their first payout,  they banked the rest of the money and lived off the money that came from their jobs.  Miranda was a shrewd business woman.  But she allowed Nick a few indulges.  She let him get a small Bass Buster boat,  and she let him have his yearly BBQ. Which cost about 1800 each year.  She always wears a scowl until Nick could no longer see her face,  then she smiles when he is outside with his friends, being the life of the party at his annual BBQ suppers. 

 The Street

 The street was filled with police cars, ambulances , fire trucks and further down the cul-de-sac were news vans.  The Hostage Recovery  Team was standing by as the patrol officers escorted injured detainees to a waiting city bus.  There were 26 city cops, 7 county deputies, Three highway patrolmen,  3 Fire Companies, 9 Paramedics and  as far as the eye could see, the local media, all of them.  The air hung heavy with pepper spray and CS gas from the spent rounds from the riot guns. They were using plastic cuffs on the last of Scratch’s BBQ attendees.  The sixty-eight guest, now being booked in at the police department Mobile Command Center, were in various states of disarray. The really agitated rioters,  had been whisked off to the local jails, a dozen of the BBQ revelers were now occupying the city’s drunk tanks.  All of this commotion was said to be started over a misquote of another sleazy politician running for office.  The quote was that Barack Obama has put more people on welfare than any other President in U.S. history.   Which in itself,  was wholly not true.  But that was enough to get the ball rolling. A volley of  flying statistics broke down quickly  into name calling,  attempts at being a peace maker drew more onlookers into the growing fray.   It reached critical mass, when the “RR” (Racist Republican) words flew out it mushroomed into a brawl.  Now,  most of these very same people supported the Obama re-election,  and it’s a mystery of why this turned the way it did.  The heat, the booze,  and the current state of the economy certainly played its role in this fisticuffs.  But the underlying discontent of the average American pilgrims (or more properly pigeons) is that he doesn’t see money from the rebounding economy.  They only saw the rich getter richer and that they were working harder, only to get poorer.   The flaring tempers were not at each other,  but at the “Automated System of Things”  that gave them ¹Sisyphus’ job and never told them.  The people that they were truly angry at, were unreachable.  So they turned upon one another.  There were no life threatening injuries,  only minor cuts and scrapes and of course, exposure to riot gas. The children at the soiree were frightened out of their wits  But the first officers on the scene immediately called for back up when they heard the commotion in back of 13 Perdition Circle.  Cpl Tannhauser stated that “We have a large riot in progress when they opened the side gate on the Jameson’s home.  Send all available units right away!”

  The Outcome

 The twelve that had been taken to jail and plead guilty to disorderly conduct and public intoxication.  The remaining 68  received a citation for disturbing the peace.  Nick was not charged,  but he would no longer allowed to have barbecues of that size in his backyard.  Later his wife bought a bait and tackle shop for him to run on the weekends,  in other words,  she bought him a part-time job that requires full-time hours.  He still has his annual BBQs at the lake house,  and last year he burnt the lake house down when then fire got away from him. 

The Spoils

 Those wonderful tasting BBQ ribs got rave reviews at the homeless shelter that evening,  and even Nick’s mongrel dog, Pontchartrain got his fill of  Louisiana’s best tasting Cajun Style BBQ ribs.

 

 ¹Sis•y•phus (ˈsɪs ə fəs) n.

a legendary ruler of Corinth, punished in Hades by being compelled to roll to the top of a slope a stone that always escapes him and rolls back down again.

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“AS THE GHETTO TURNS” ep.6 Predators

Season 1    Episode 6  —” Predators”

©2013 volcanosunsetpress

These are the true appearance of some of the businesses of that infest economically depressed neighborhoods all across America.   Companies that finance unwary and usually uneducated people hoping to enjoy some of the “American pie”.  Now there is nothing wrong with a person trying to make money hawking their wares, doing legitimate business in any place.  But these companies depend on taking from those that don’t have anything to start with.  Loan companies, bail bondsman, car dealers, insurance companies and the list goes on.

http://theeconomiccollapseblog.com/archives/shut-them-down-payday-loan-companies-are-making-billions-preying-on-the-misery-of-the-poor

Furniture stores are probably the most innocuous, they finance low quality furniture and appliances at exorbitant prices.  The customer will pay five times what the item is worth, due to the long term pay out.  For example, if a consumer buys a television, at 22.99 a week for 24 months. That calculates to be 2390.96, or 2400.00 for a television that retails roughly 500 cash at any Walmart.  If the customer can save his projected weekly payments, he could buy it outright in five to six months, and still have the extended warranty.  The rent-to-own predator know exactly what the poor person is looking to buy, in an attempt to elevate himself and make his bleak outlook on life,  look better.

Payday loan companies are by far the most predatory of all the Predators in the Black communities.  They promise fast cash at unbelievably high interest rates. (On an average of 321%)  All you need is a checking account and a source of income to become their willing slave.  You can constantly renew your loan, and never get close to paying it off.  In the end you will owe far more than you initially borrowed, under the persistent threat of ruining the credit, that you never had in the first place.  It is the 21st century version of sharecropping.  Usury interest rates are allowed not by our government, but still more and more of these companies pop up every day, and then they sell your information across the web,  for even more money!  They in essence yell out to the world “Victim Here! Victim Here! Get on the bandwagon, and help us beat him financially to death!”

“ROOTS” a 1976 film written by Alex Haley

With the use of candy, they encourage children to smoke.

A drowning machine.

More often than not, an innocent parent will forfeit their homes to put up bonds for their children.

A necessity to live, for many Ghetto residents.

The high priced food,  in a convenience stores are also predatory somewhat, however this is where a person’s personal responsibilities has to take its blame.  You don’t have to shop where the prices are traditionally double of what you pay in a grocery store.  And they don’t hold you at gunpoint,  and rip the money from your pockets.  The tobacco companies and alcohol vendors also parade around in business suits, but underneath,  they are Predators as well.  They have been pushing their poison on Black folks for years.  Alcohol’s effects are obvious, but what is not obvious, is why then use such lethal names.  Things like “Colt 45” “Silver Thunder”,  and “King Cobra” when they just should call it “Nigger Killer” because that is who they designed it for.  In truth, it would be simpler to just put a skull and crossbones on the label.  A new label might even increase their sales.

As far as the tobacco companies go, the old saying goes, “We used to pick it and now they want us to smoke it?” applies to their dealings with the Black community.

Predators hanging out on the block, without their camouflage.

Next time on “As the Ghetto Turns” – Episode 7 Mountains of Hot Brass

We look at the cause and effect of violence in the African American community.

invisible

In an age of  technology that has never been witnessed before, we still have people who are forced to live this way.  Tupac Shakar (2PAC) said “We have money for war, but can’t feed the poor?”  What wisdom can come from this man, if we fed, clothed, and provided a shelter for him?  Maybe one of those abandoned building could be converted. Our society will be ultimately judged,  for what we do for the least of us.

“AS THE GHETTO TURNS” episode 4 “The White Man’s Ice is Colder”

 

 

Season 1    Episode 4 —–“The White Man’s Ice is Colder”

©2013 volcanosunsetpress

There is a myth in the Black community, or more accurately,  an unspoken truth in the minds of  Black business owners that African Americans will not patronize their establishments when the could drive two miles to buy at a non-minority store.  I have looked in American cities with a predominantly African American population and I’ve observed that most of these cities have a low number of Black owned businesses.  Being a child of the sixties I can recall the segregation practices that forced minorities to buy most of their goods from other blacks.  Now they can buy where they want, but observe the attitudes when they go into an Asian owned store.  They think that everything should be in their favor, and that the owners should go back to their “Country” and open a store there.  If you live like the people in the video below, would you want to go back?  By the way, the have factory fires that kill hundreds of people, because they are locked in after they come to work.   If these customers don’t like the store they are shopping in, then they should go spend their money elsewhere.  You don’t have to buy there, and even better, go open your own store!

If I were a Black business owner, I would probably hire Asians/Indians to run my stores, because it seems they are the only ones who are willing to serve “these” people.  As a Black man, I loathe to see certain people come into a store, namely the ignorant types.  You know who I am talking about, the ones that are always found by a new  reporter to do the interview,  about trouble in the neighborhood.I had some friends in college from Nigeria, we were at an off campus function.  Sharif asked me why I’m not like the others from the U.S.?  Not knowing what he meant,  I said what others?  He said that the Blacks over her are not African,  he said the are called “cotton pickers” when mentioned around other Africans.  He said that most Black American have “chained thoughts” and really have no identity beyond the neighborhood or city where they live. They think like slaves.  Somehow he thinks that I was different.  I don’t know if Black people are aware,  of the slums that many people that work in these stores come from, they came from far worse conditions than any Americans have lived in.

 

 

Angry Blacks enter these stores, and attempt to vent their frustration out on these store clerks.  Chances are good that the clerk is not the owner, but people who have lived the lives of those seen in the video above.  Most owners,  are the well to do Doctors that you’ve been running to!  Many of the new owners are escaping poverty that none of us have ever experienced. And had to fight to get here.

 

 

People without self-control, or the sense to stay out of the store, if they have no money.  My folks taught me to never go into a store with no money, it will cause you to steal.

 

 

Then there are the protests,  when a fool goes and assaults a clerk and gets shot!  I bet the gun surprised him! Ali Mohamed was packing!  Don’t start trouble where there could be guns present.

 

 

Finally you have the customer who thinks he can cuss out a clerk, and not have the clerk cuss him back!   All of his intellectual worth, destroyed by a few cuss words, and a loud or (Nigga’) tone.

Many Blacks believe that they should not spend their dollars at Black owned stores because they will always get less value for their money.  If you want your car fixed right, take it to the White man.  Them Black shade-tree mechanics will mess up your ride!  Black people would say.  I have heard incidents of Blacks driving thirty miles past a Black dealership to pay more for a car at a White dealership. I buy my ice here because it colder,  than down there where those Blacks have that store! In other words “THE WHITE MAN’S ICE IS COLDER”  (think about that)

But  I say to those reading this article, that this kind of thinking chops off Kunte Kinte’s foot all over again, because every dollar that goes out of  Black hands does not come back.  As a people we need to step up and buy our own self worth back. By investing our dollars in people that look like us.  We could reduce Black unemployment by regaining the flow of Black dollars.  We should imagine that “Jim Crow” is still in affect,  and act accordingly with our spending habits.  As a closing statement, I heard a Black man say that he didn’t want a Black mechanic to fix his car, so he took it over to a White shop, who in turn back it to my uncle’s (Black) shop and had it repaired and charged the man double priced.  He pulled into our service station and showed us how well it runs, we never told him that we were the ones who had repaired it!

5   A Hood Rat”s Jackpot: CHILD SUPPORT

When enough, is too damn much!

I happened across this video researching another rant.  I immediately set this aside,  to give it the attention it deserved.

We once had a dog that did this very same thing.  We got her fixed. But Mr. and Mrs. Taxpayer will have to foot the bill for this human dog and her human “pups” for a grand total of 300 years.  That’s estimating 20 years per child, or 15 x 20= 300!  That’s only if they don’t go to prison, a mental health facility, or adult day care facility at a young age.   Don’t we have the right to turn off the faucet???

What do you say?

Living daily with a razor at your throat

Why you knowingly be at the mercy of the government?  Or the whim of any powerful organization.  How many of the people in this world are a flipped switch away from poverty, or the loss of electrical power, or other basic necessities.  What if the powers that be decided that their subjects should have to “sing” for their supper?  I am reminded of a scene from Mad Max 3 Beyond Thunder-dome, where the character played by Tina Turner had to submit daily,  to a tyrant known as                 ” Master-Blaster”.  In the scene below:

While I empathize with the people on various governmental aids, I would think that at some point.  They would attempt to pull away from that kind of dependence.  If it means starting a garden on a vacant lot, of raising chicken in an abandoned warehouse, any progress is better than none.  I recently wrote a short story called ” Ice Cold Sunshine” .  The story tells of an economic upheaval that spins out of control, causing the breakdown of services worldwide.  The “food stamp” hordes refers to those people who do not have the capacity to feed themselves for an extended period, not only to the recipients of government assistance. While many people responding to my story, were offended that I used the term “food stamp” horde to describe the mob of people overrunning private shelters, and looting businesses.  I will say to you again, (I WRITE WHAT COMES TO ME! YES MOM, MY STORIES CAN BE A LITTLE OBSCENE,VIOLENT, AND BLOODY.  BUT THAT’S WHAT HAS COME TO ME,  SOMETIMES!  OKAY, OFF MY SOAP BOX)

http://wp.me/p2TG26-xy

This video was uploaded to You tube on October 24, 2011,  I know without researching,  that none of the people who are living with that razor on their throats,  have tried to break free!  

“Cross my Heart and hope to Die!”

Listening to my Grandchildren over this past weekend, brought back a memory of a secret that I was bound to keep by my older brother Melvin.  As I was sitting on the patio at my son’s house,  and I overheard one of my Grand-kids swearing his brother to top secrecy.  It seemed that the older boy Shelby,  had apparently swiped a couple of beers out of the cooler from last night’s barbeque.  His Dad is a Bible thumper and only allowed his sinful brother to bring beer over for this one occasion.  I listened closely as this scene played out in a quiet corner of the house,  with me outside their bedroom window.   “Cross my Heart and hope to Die!”  Mitchell was repeating what Shelby told him to say.  “On Mom’s grave, I swear I’ll never tell living soul! ” came  from Mitchell’s lips through the open window.  I knew he would tell Mitchell the secret,  but for the life of me I don’t know why,  Mitchell was born a natural snitch,  he just simply can’t help himself.  I once took him with me shopping for some auto parts, on the way back, when went by the Sonic drive in and ordered some food.  Mitchell was not supposed to have an ice cream  sundae before eating the rest of his meal, but he wanted it anyway,  so I told him that he could go ahead and eat it,  provided that he told no one,  it would be our little secret.  He agreed and made short work of the ice cream on the ride back to my house with the rest of the food.

When I pulled into the driveway, he unbuckled his seat belt and made a beeline to his Mom. ” Poppy bought me an ice cream and I ate it all up!”  he says.  My daughter in law shot me an evil glance,  then started reading me the riot act.  That was the last time I shared a secret with him.  I asked my son later that day,  if the boy had “stool pigeon”  in his DNA! What a tattle tale!   So Shelby shares his secret with his baby brother,  and amazingly Mitchell didn’t blab.  Shelby was the one to let the cat out of the bag, he got drunk after drinking one of the beers,  and threw up all over the bathroom.  But this whole little sitcom brought back to mind, the time that Melvin came to me itching with a secret. His secret was much deeper than young Shelby’s, and a lot more explosive.  I have not let his secret out and I probably never will.  It not important anymore,  all the major players are dead now.  Most likely because they couldn’t keep their big traps shut!

THE CARVING OF GRANITE MEN (conclusion)

As I grew up,  my condition began to improve.  I was able to start hanging out with the other children and play with the boys.  I would also be invited to sit with the men at family gatherings and any social  event where the women would normally be preparing the pea salad, potato salad, or cakes,  while the men were outside barbecuing.  The men’s activities usually consisted of cooking the meat,  telling tall tales, and drinking.  They would always give us a beer from the tin water cooler at every gathering.  Sometimes they would even teach us how to smoke cigarettes and pipes.  During the regaling and drinking, one of the elder men ( when he got drunk enough)   would say to the younger men in the group,  that the only way to be a man, was to be in control of his household.  After drinking a bottle of whiskey or gin,  they would stand up and say things like “Boy!  If you don’t keep your woman in line, she going to run all over you!  I’m telling you the God’s honest truth!  Spare the rod and spoil the wife!  The first time she buck you or sass you and you don’t slap her across the face,  she going to do it again!”  There would be agreement amongst all in attendance on the subject. From the statement “keep you woman in check” I learned that a is man is supposed to keep his house in order by using force.  At seven or eight years old I didn’t agree with that.  But I knew better than to challenge them on that subject because they thought they were right.  They thought that they were so right in,  that they would quote from the Bible by saying that “God said that the man would be the head over the woman.” as if they had read straight from the book of Genesis.   Which I knew was unlikely, since most of them could not read on even a first grade level.  Please don’t think that I am trying to belittle them in any way,  but their education was slight and they did what they were taught. 

Sometimes their ghosts visit me in my dreams,  asking questions of me,  about the way my children are.  As if they are second guessing me.  While I agree that a man should be strong, I don’t a man should be brutish.  Many times a harsh command will fail to do,  what a gentle urging can get accomplished.   My case in point is the time that my biological father came to town for a visit and called me from my brother’s house.   Demanding the I take off work and come to my brother’s house so he could see his Grand-kids.  Now,  in my life I could count one on hand that I saw him,  in fact our last parting left something to be desired.  It was his tone and his way of telling me to do something that caused me not to go.  I wasn’t upset with him in any way, but his voice never had any influence in my life and he wasn’t there when I was growing up.  If my Step-dad had made the same requests,  I would have been there.  But then again my Step-dad would have never asked me  in that way or in that tone.

I remember when my Uncle Martin and his family moved to our town.  They stayed with us for four days while they found an apartment.  I was doing my homework when Uncle Martin came to the kitchen table and had me help him fill out an application.  He had me read the questions on the application, (name, address, phone, work history, etc. ) and he would tell me the answers to write down.  He said he broke his glasses and couldn’t read the application.  I think he was embarrassed about not being able to read.  Mom had told me years before,  that most of her brothers couldn’t read.  This was because they didn’t attend school,  when they had work to do in the fields.  Most the boys were born before the  Great Depression and were sent to work in cotton fields at a young ages.  The boys younger than Mom were also tasked to do chores  around the farm and go hunting with Grandpa,  who worked at the railroad during the day and hunted and trapped at night.  I often wonder what it might have been like,  not to have a Wal-Mart or a 7-Eleven to go to and buy everything you need.

In a long chat with Mom after Thanksgiving about Uncle Sims’ reaction to my crying at the funeral,  she told me that she never knew he did that, but that she was not surprised, that was the way Papa brought them up. To be hard men, to have a lack of those “womanly” ways. She said that her first husband was raised the same way, and when he started hitting her she left him and never went back. I know without anyone telling me, that the world can be a cold, hard or even harsh place. Maybe they did their best of teaching us in their ignorance, but the bottom line is that their lessons were misplaced and had to be a leading cause of my generation’s alcohol,spousal,and substance abuse. Not to say that it completely the cause, but a substantial part of the effect in our society. It has us (African-Americans)  more aggressive towards each other (in example the Blood & the Crips), disrespectful to our women, and callous with the care of children and elders. I respected my father and uncles because they showed respect to their elders, and even to the women.  Because even though they abusive, they would never argue in front of us. Never. They had no tolerance of the use foul language at all. Many words used by children today, would have caused them to be beat to death in my era.   In looking back over the years, I can see what they were trying to carve,  but I wonder if they were aware of the cracks they left in the men of stone.

The ears of the little Pitcher

Anyone forty years or older, should know the expression, ” little pitchers have big ears ”  referring to children in within earshot of an adult conversation.  I recall the first time I heard the phrase used.  My mother and a young lady named Mrs. Vernell were talking as I approached, Mrs Vernell continued talking and Mom told her to hush,  then she said   ” little pitchers have big ears”.  Their conversations ceased for a moment,  and then changed into something totally different.   I marked it in my memory and later on that day, I brought the pitcher in to my mother,  who was resting on the couch.  I held the pitcher up and asked my mother  ” where are the ears on this pitcher?”  She began to laugh.  And then sitting up,  she grabbed my ears and gave them a gentle tug.  “Right here!” she says.  “and yooouuu… are the little pitcher!”  Have you ever wondered (after you became an adult) what  caused an argument between older relatives?  When you were the little pitchers with the big ears?

ice cold sunshine final conclusion

It became apparent to everyone that this crisis was not going away quietly,  like it did the times before.  The stores were boarded up after their inventories were exhausted, the words “NOTHING ELSE LEFT TO STEAL” was painted on the ply board covering. Trucking industry refused to deliver because of the skyrocketing price of fuel and the lack of security.  In the first few days, semi-trucks were being hijacked all over the country. Fuel truck drivers were being forced to the side of the road and the drivers executed. It simply was not safe to haul anything, even with a police escort, starving people would resort to anything to find food.  The internet and cell phones fell first, followed in quick secession by the electric power, natural gas and water. And even though martial law had been declared, it wasn’t long until the soldiers assigned to protect order, decided to protect for themselves.  They became the looters, the hoarders, and well armed roving bands of warlords, gathering people in the night to use as slaves. It was like using wolves to guard the hen-house.

Three weeks out, the most beautiful cities became Mad Max’s worst nightmare.  Yes three weeks out, I would say that our digital world was in its death throes.  Before we abandon the cities,  I traded my sequestered neighbor’s Dalmatians  for a pickup trailer and mule.  I not sure if they wanted the dogs for breeding or for food, but I needed the mule and trailer to try to get out of the city. Something called a pandemic,  had swept through right after the shit hit the fan.  Killed a bunch of people, many of them were killed just trying to get to the hospital, being mistaken for looters. Saw most of these tragedies first hand, the others were transmitted over the radio.  It was the regular AM/FM radio at first, then shortwave and C.B. radios later on.  I’m glad I held on to my dad’s old C.B. radio, it was the only thing in his life, he was right about.  Nearly everything is pretty much like it was in the late 1800’s now.  With pockets of technology scattered here and there. Slavery in some areas, indentured servitude in others, but no outright lawlessness anywhere.  Some people say that we lost over half the world’s population in the first six months.  Most of the lost were from the “civilized” countries, due to the pandemic.  The underdeveloped nations seemed to weather the storm a little better than most, I’d guess because the loss of comfort level was less profound with them.

Well , it has began to warm up a bit, time to get back to work in the gardens. Dog gone early spring mornings are kind of a mixed blessing. The sunshine is beautiful, but there’s that winter wind blowing out the North, that keeps it a bit chilly.  My Grandma used to call it ice-cold sunshine, and I’d reckon it’s a good name for the times we are living in,  here in 2017……………….

ice cold sunshine part 2

It all began in a place called Dubai, a city in the United Arab Emirates, (Saudi Arabia) with a perceived insult.  The insult was a handshake that had been presented with a left hand, an insignificant incident to most of the world. But this handshake would topple the world’s most powerful governments.  Some analyst have said that the handshake was the tip of the iceberg to the growing thousand-year long conflict.  They say that it was the earthquake following the dispute that triggered the global chaos.  Many others say that it was neither.  It was just time for the teakettle to boil over, but whatever might have caused it,  our history was re-shaped  that day.

My wife had come home from work via the 7-Eleven  getting some gas and I hoped,  a 12 pack of beer.  I was watching Entertainment Tonight on TV when she called out to me,  as she came into the kitchen.  ” Honey, turn it on the news! ” she exclaimed.  She ran straight to the remote, before I could even get my feet off the couch.  There are long lines forming at the gas pumps, just like it did on 9-11! It look like the whole gas station staff is at work down there, and they say gas prices are tripling! I noticed that lines were forming at gas stations along the freeway as I was coming home from work and stopped at that 7-11 down the street from us to see what was happening!  I tried calling your phone, but it took a while to get a dial tone and then you didn’t answer!  Do you have gas in your truck?  No, my truck uses diesel!  I replied.  You know what I mean! she said in an exasperated voice. Is it full? It’s already six dollars a gallon now,  and three times that is $18.00!  If it needs fuel, you’d better go down and get it while you still can!  She switched the channel over to CNN, and drew my protest. “Foul play! I ‘m going to miss what Justin Bieber said about Anne Frank.” I said throwing my hands up.   She glared at me with her signature  “I’m real close to throwing the remote at you” look. The news announcer was narrating a scene that showed people in the Middle east loading shells into cannon and firing AK 47’s rifles.  Both of us watched in silence as the melee played out on the 120 inch screen.  I’m sure that both of us thought at that time, that this would be another short-lived crisis, like the one following September 11,  and all the other minor scares that followed it.  We both thought wrong, as did the rest of the world………….

TO BE CONTINUED

ice cold sunshine

I was outside, working in my garden on a beautiful spring day.  I had not a care in the world.  Even though there was a worrisome, unnamed heaviness in the air .  If you had told me of the coming trouble that this day would signify,  I would have used my cell phone to call up the local loony bin and make a reservation for you.  That was back when you had pocket access to speak to nearly anyone around the world.   That was back when, you could get into a gas-powered car and go two miles to the local Wal-Mart and get food, clothing, and the latest electronics.  That was back when electricity was plentiful, and you didn’t have to depend on sunlight to see where you were going.  That was before the Goon squads began to gathering up my neighbors in the middle of the night.  It seems like it was an eternity ago,  but it has been only four years since we abandoned the cities, though the rural areas were not much better.  If you didn’t know someone or have something to trade, you were considered the unwanted. Needless to say, the dollar was worthless.  Food, weapons and medicines became the standard currency.

   Farmers and ranchers defended the properties fiercely, the rule of law was undone, simple trespassing often led to murder.  Looters were killed on sight.  The doom-speakers and the  survivalists would have boasted about their correct prediction the coming calamity, if they hadn’t been overrun by the “food stamp” hordes.  The irony is that if they had kept their mouths shut, and gathered the food and supplies in secret,  instead of selling it over the internet, they might have never come under attack.  Even a stopped clock is right on time,  twice a day.  Television personality Glenn Beck was killed by an angry mob,  after his security failed to keep the crowds at bay.  The report of  the attacks, was one of the last few reports broadcast over the airways before the power grid collapsed.  April 15, 2013,  officially the last day of sanity in the modern world.  It all began in a place called Dubai………..

 

TO BE CONTINUED

Night Shift (take some hay, to feed your nightmare)

I had the dreams again last night. They come so regular that I’m starting to wonder if my awake life is the dream.  It’s always in a sea-side city, I’m working at a sheet metal fabrication factory.  We make all kinds of things from the sheet metal.  Toilet partitions, office desk, Air conditioner enclosures, Desktop CPU casings,  and pretty much anything else that needs powder coating.  Sometimes I work in fabrication, sometimes in shipping. I seem to be a favorite in Engineering, they like to track me down, wherever I am assigned.  I once asked one of the engineers who had tracked me down one day,  I said to him “Am I wearing a bell?’ He thought it was humorous, but I was dead serious. It seems that I have a unique way of looking at the design problems they encounter.  One of them said that ” You can look at problem and see the solution without having to go to a drawing!”

When they put me in shipping department, there seems to be two sub-divisions to it, receiving and outbound.  Outbound is the hardest for me to work, because you have to make sure the order is complete before it goes on the freight trucks.  It is far more concise than just the simple counting of pieces in receiving.   If I am assigned to the fabrication part of the plant, there are four parts to that department.  There is CNC punch, Press brake, forming, (spot weld and powder coat and assembly are in the forming dept.).  All completed part go to the warehouse for kitting by the Shipping Dept.. After a night of dreaming all of this, I am as tired when I wake in the mornings as I would be getting off work at my day job!  The only really good thing about working there is that the cafeteria is free! They serve real hand prepared food better than most restaurants that I’ve been to.  Not just cold sandwiches, Meatloaf, Salisbury steaks, fried catfish, basically the whole Golden Corral menu.  And Mexican food (I will die for it!)  Can you tell that LUNCH is my favorite activity?

Well anyway I’ve been on this job for what seems like 25 years and I am still a Temp.  I think that I going to ask to be full-time tonight,  What’s the worst that can happen, are they are going to fire me?  Go ahead, let them!  I’m well over due for a vacation!

The Death of an Art Form

In a recent discussion with a fellow author,  I mentioned that people don’t cook anymore.  My daily trip home from school was one of the joys of my day.  I could smell food being prepared as I went along.  The aromas that hung in the air was always heavenly,  even the smells of food that I personally didn’t care for.  Turnips and broccoli were the ones that I dislike the most, but it was still comforting to catch their scent in the air.  I could always tell which dish was being prepared.  I could even distinguish what kind of fish was being cooked,  just by the odor permeating the air.  I could tell who was having dirty beans and rice,  or tamales,  or peach pie.  I could tell who was canning jellies or who was having menudo,  or chitterlings and hog maws.

Somewhere in the Eighties,  the smells started dropping off,  I don’t know it for a fact, but I think that was when then first micro wave ovens came out for residential people.  This revolutionized quick foods like pizza pockets and  TV dinners in the plastic container.  Fast foods got more popular and women stepped out as single parents a little more than they had been previously.  Many parents groomed the girls in the family to prepare food for their families, my folks were no exception.  But my folks didn’t have any girls in my half of the family, so the domestics class was given to the four boys.  My mom’s kitchen was run like a drill sergeant’s training camp.  Any mistakes made while cooking was immediately addressed.  She would only show you how to do something twice in a lifetime,  if she had to show again……. well lets say that you had better remember it if you know whats good for you.   We all learned how to cook,  and I thank Mom for making us learn.  I  guess the kids of today never seemed to learn self-sufficiency,  by the way gravity acts on their pants it seems like they are starving to death!