JAZZMAN CHRONICLES. DISSEMINATE FREELY.
By Jack Random
In what Thomas Paine christened The Age of Reason, democracy supplanted the royal monarchy as the government of choice for enlightened nations. There was much discussion in those pivotal times of human advancement concerning the inherent Rights of Man. Borrowing from England’s Magna Carta, the British philosopher John Locke and the French philosophers Jean-Jacque Rousseau and Francois-Marie Arouet (aka Voltaire), Thomas Jefferson immortalized the universal human rights in the Declaration of Independence:
We hold these truths to be self evident that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.
Many attempts have been made to identify and innumerate the universal Rights of Man but none yet has succeeded in finding a general consensus across the divergent cultures of our planet. Some nations, held back by centuries of tradition and religious belief, have not yet accepted the basic tenets of individual liberty. Others like our own have failed to move beyond the most basic of rights and liberties. Some would say we have done a poor job of ensuring and protecting even those fundamental rights and I would count myself among them.
There is something to be said for the conservative approach to enlightenment. We cannot expect primitive societies governed by witchdoctors and tribal warlords to be transformed into functioning democracies overnight. We cannot expect nations carved in the earth by foreign occupying powers to embrace ideals of governance they have neither discovered nor devised for themselves. All societies must be allowed to evolve according to their own levels of consciousness by their own methods.
But we in America pride ourselves as a bastion of civil liberty. We never tire of proclaiming ourselves leaders of the free world, a shining city on a hill illuminating the way forward for all of humankind. It hardly matters that we have so often failed the test by sponsoring military dictatorships and coups or allowing the disenfranchisement of minority voters to overturn elections, we have an obligation by our own proclamation and self-aggrandizement to forward the cause. We have a responsibility to lead the world because we believe ourselves to be the world’s leader.
Despite our flaws and failures we have often found our way to push forward in critical times not by summoning the lost voices of our founders but by recognizing their substantial shortcomings. Our founders did not acknowledge the rights of women but the nation found a way. Our founders did not recognize the rights of minorities or the poor but succeeding generations righted those wrongs.
It is time we moved forward. It is time we understood once and for always that for every right our founders committed to law they got something wrong. They were profoundly flawed men even if enlightened for their time and we have no obligation to be bound in perpetuity to their shortcomings.
The recent national debate (if it may be called that) has brought to light several of our shortcomings in the fulfillment of human rights. When angry white men bring semi-automatic weapons to political protests it should not escape anyone’s attention that the right to free expression is compromised by anyone who does not agree with the armed protesters. It is not by happenstance that the founders placed the right to bear arms in the context of “a well regulated militia.” They had no intention of validating the spectacle of an armed mob intimidating their fellow citizens.
What are we afraid of: that a subversive element will take over the government? I would suggest that the subversive element is the angry mob itself and that recent history has already recorded the takeover of our government through electoral fraud. But the remedy was and is in the ballot box, not in armed mobs issuing thinly veiled threats before the television screens.
It will take time but we must curtail the right to arm in order to protect the greater right to freedom of expression and freedom from the inevitable violence that will ensue if this trend continues. We must elect officials who are sworn to take no money from the gun lobby that zealously blocks gun control legislation to prevent unstable individuals from purchasing automatic weapons and wielding them in public. We must eventually change the political equation that will not allow anyone to become a Supreme Court justice unless they agree to ignore the language of the second amendment in favor of an unfettered individual right to bear arms. Barring that we must amend the constitution.
The national debate on healthcare reform has brought to the fore the unfulfilled right to decent and affordable medical care for all our citizens. Indeed, all human beings, even those here illegally or as guests, should have the right to medical treatment without fear of penalty or deportation.
America is so far behind the curve on this issue that it alone places us in the second class of nations on the fulfillment of human rights and respect for human dignity. Every American should be ashamed that we alone among industrialized nations fail to ensure universal healthcare to our people. We are so blind to our own interests that we allow an industry that is motivated by profit and profit alone to dictate the terms of so-called “healthcare reform.” The corporate monoliths that provide millions in political contributions and millions more in a public relations offensive summon the uninsured and unhealthy masses to decry real reform as socialism and (unbelievably) fascism and the masses fall in line. It seems not to matter that fully 65% of the people do not buy the corporate propaganda and remain steadfast in supporting the public option as critical to the reform effort, it only matters that the angry mob on the television screen opposes it.
The fault here goes to the heart of our democracy. Quite simply, our elected officials are on the take. Until we succeed in banning corporate contributions from dominating our electoral system, our officials will represent the wealthiest corporations first and spend most of their time trying to deceive the people into believing it is in their interest.
Perhaps they can explain how it is in our interest that international corporations have been granted all the rights of individuals and more while individuals have been denied the most basic right of democracy: the right to vote. If you don’t believe that is possible you should spend a little time reading the landmark Supreme Court decision Bush v. Gore 2000. If the courts were forced to recognize the right to vote they would find it difficult to ignore the massive voter disenfranchisement that allowed George W. Bush to steal two presidential elections.
How can we possibly believe that our president went to war to secure other nation's rights to democracy when we have done so little to protect our own? The election of 2000 should have been the death knell of the Electoral College. Instead it fortified our standing as a second-class democracy. In any other nation the defense of archaic rules to justify the nullification of popular will would have been condemned for what it is: hypocrisy.
Compounding our shame, we have leaders who advance the notion that voting is not a right at all; it is rather a privilege. As a wise man once said: That is not only a lie but a damnable lie. If voting is a privilege then we live in an aristocracy and democracy be damned.
We cannot summon the founders on this one – not unless we want to go back to the days when the right to vote was conditioned on property ownership and neither women nor minorities were in the club. When the Declaration proclaimed, “all men are created equal,” it was a literal exclusion. The founders set up the United States Senate as a surrogate House of Lords to guard against the dangers of democracy. We can no longer defend such notions any more than we can defend slavery or the disenfranchisement of women.
The U.S. Senate has become the obstructionist body that thwarts the will of the people. It not only stands in the way of meaningful healthcare reform; it stands in the way of the advancement of human rights.
It is time we ended the archaic Senate rules that allow forty senators to defeat any major legislation. If they cannot do it or will not then we must elect senators who will. But we cannot find viable candidates for such a regal position who will represent our interests because the cost of a senate seat requires big money – the kind of money that only corporate monoliths can provide.
Here lies the linchpin of this thesis. It is the reason our government is incapable of advancing the rights of humankind. It is the reason we have not secured our right to vote. It is the reason we have not fulfilled the right to healthcare, the right to employment or the right to decent shelter. All our interests as citizens of the nation fall secondary to corporate interests because the largest and most powerful international corporations have a stranglehold on our political process.
They have the money and money rules – even when it has been provided on the public dole from our own pockets.
What we need now is a peaceful revolution, a mass movement, and a cause that supercedes all others. It is a cause that unifies disparate groups because it is simple and appeals to common sense. It would not prevent the election of fools and charlatans to office but it would end corporate dominance of our government overnight.
It is simply this: Only individuals (subject to the limitations set by our legislative bodies) shall be allowed to contribute to political campaigns.
Jazz.
JACK RANDOM IS THE AUTHOR OF THE JAZZMAN CHRONICLES (CROW DOG PRESS) AND GHOST DANCE INSURRECTION (DRY BONES PRESS). THE CHRONICLES HAVE BEEN POSTED ON NUMEROUS CITES OF THE WORLDWIDE WEB, INCLUDING THE ALBION MONITOR, BELLACIAO, BUZZLE, COUNTERPUNCH, DISSIDENT VOICE, THE NATIONAL FREE PRESS AND PACIFIC FREE PRESS. SEE WWW.JAZZMANCHRONICLES.BLOGSPOT.COM.
Sunday, October 04, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Beatlick Travel: Wild Rivers
Date: Sep 26, 2009 11:23 AM
The confluence of the Rio Grande and Red River is at the Wild Rivers Recreation Area where this report originates. The confluence I mentioned earlier on the Low Road to Taos report was actually the Rio Grande and Rio Pueblo confluence.
I also meant to tell you in my last report about all the small black tarantulas that kept crossing the dirt road we took out to Manby Springs. We passed seven in one mile. That was before the weather changed. These little guys knew all about it and were on their way to make new burrows for themselves as they prepared to settle down for the winter.
We are already hunkered down in full winter mode now as we head out for the Wild Rivers Recreation Area on BLM land. We are sleeping on the bottom bunk and lining the interior with the Indian blankets to keep in the warmth from two big candles, an oil lamp, the occasional Coleman heater, and my favorite – a hot water bottle. I carry it around like a baby, call it the “baby” and just am amazed how warm and cozy it makes me feel. I love it.
We have driven about thirty miles from Taos, off the main road, through lots of small communities that seem to be living a much more hard-scrabble life than their counterparts in glamorous downtown Taos. The clouds get bigger, grayer, and more daunting as we head further and further away.
The Montoso campsite is along the rim of the Rio Grande Gorge. The mountains are dark and vast in the background. There is a second gorge beyond our horizon where the Red River is making its way through its own steep canyon walls, heading toward the Rio Grande. It rains on us that night and a subdued atmosphere greets us as we set out on our hike.
We had to walk to the Junta Trail from the van through a path of decimated pines. By the time we got to the gorge overlook there was some sun peeking out of the clouds. We were well suited up, complete with gloves, sweaters, neck scarves, and sporting two walking sticks.
Here two ecological worlds collide at the Junta. High above on the rim where we camp we see grasslands below the big mountain peaks, along with sagebrush, juniper and pinyon trees. Far down below in the shadows at the bottom of the gorge there are towering ponderosa pine, small springs, and lush riparian vegetation. All lay there in shadow most of the day because the canyon walls are so high.
I can't imagine how far it is from the bottom of that gorge where the river runs to the top of those snow capped mountain peaks that greeted us this morning. It is a 1.2 mile hike down to the confluence. The trail is rated “difficult” and it is. We set out on a rocky switch back trail, had to climb down one ladder, take a long series of metal steps clinging to the rock face, then follow the continuous switch back rocky path down to a flatland. The BLM has made a valiant effort to hold back the relentless law of gravity that erodes the steep rock walls, taking out old trails, and necessitating new ones. At the bottom four trails converged into a cross, where we picked up the Junta trail, .4 miles further down an easy dirt path.
Unlike so many other places we have constantly encountered other hikers here, mostly fishermen with their rods in hand. Two couples came by us with ski poles, or I guess hiking poles. I took our two wooden walking sticks and made myself a hiking stick outfit and was amazed how much easier it was to maneauver and traverse across the rocks.
Despite how intimidating the trail looked and how distant the confluence, we made it there in 30 minutes or less. The hiking sticks I think added to the speed. Joe is a billy goat and scampers over rocks. I was definitely going slower than he was before I started using the two sticks.
There were only big boulders where the two rivers came together, no shoreline. The Rio Grande is the larger of the two rivers, neither one of them really daunting, yet the slope of the land and the big rocks created a friction and conflict so strong that a marvelous roar fills your ears and the water is smashing and gushing over stones, with the light dancing through the droplets of water. I found a relatively flat rock, took up a comfortable yoga position and just willed all that raw energy into my own body.
Later with great dexterity we made two sandwiches on our knees; there was no surface to maneuver with. We munched avocado, pepperoni, and cheese sandwiches while we watched the nearby man fishing for trout. Two women sat on rocks keeping him company. The sun went in and out and long logs of gray clouds still dominated the sky.
When Joe pointed out to me the ridge we had to hike back to I was shocked by how far away it looked and figured it would take all afternoon to get there. However surprisingly enough we were back withing an hour and fifteen minutes.
The most devastating shock of this hike is the destruction created by the pine bark beetles. We camped in the bone yard of pine tree skeletons. In my estimation in places a third of the trees are destroyed. Their carcasses so massive in number that it would be impossible to remove them, or burn them, and they devastate the landscape with their blackened limbs like burnt fingers scratching towards deliverance. But there is none.
Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela
The confluence of the Rio Grande and Red River is at the Wild Rivers Recreation Area where this report originates. The confluence I mentioned earlier on the Low Road to Taos report was actually the Rio Grande and Rio Pueblo confluence.
I also meant to tell you in my last report about all the small black tarantulas that kept crossing the dirt road we took out to Manby Springs. We passed seven in one mile. That was before the weather changed. These little guys knew all about it and were on their way to make new burrows for themselves as they prepared to settle down for the winter.
We are already hunkered down in full winter mode now as we head out for the Wild Rivers Recreation Area on BLM land. We are sleeping on the bottom bunk and lining the interior with the Indian blankets to keep in the warmth from two big candles, an oil lamp, the occasional Coleman heater, and my favorite – a hot water bottle. I carry it around like a baby, call it the “baby” and just am amazed how warm and cozy it makes me feel. I love it.
We have driven about thirty miles from Taos, off the main road, through lots of small communities that seem to be living a much more hard-scrabble life than their counterparts in glamorous downtown Taos. The clouds get bigger, grayer, and more daunting as we head further and further away.
The Montoso campsite is along the rim of the Rio Grande Gorge. The mountains are dark and vast in the background. There is a second gorge beyond our horizon where the Red River is making its way through its own steep canyon walls, heading toward the Rio Grande. It rains on us that night and a subdued atmosphere greets us as we set out on our hike.
We had to walk to the Junta Trail from the van through a path of decimated pines. By the time we got to the gorge overlook there was some sun peeking out of the clouds. We were well suited up, complete with gloves, sweaters, neck scarves, and sporting two walking sticks.
Here two ecological worlds collide at the Junta. High above on the rim where we camp we see grasslands below the big mountain peaks, along with sagebrush, juniper and pinyon trees. Far down below in the shadows at the bottom of the gorge there are towering ponderosa pine, small springs, and lush riparian vegetation. All lay there in shadow most of the day because the canyon walls are so high.
I can't imagine how far it is from the bottom of that gorge where the river runs to the top of those snow capped mountain peaks that greeted us this morning. It is a 1.2 mile hike down to the confluence. The trail is rated “difficult” and it is. We set out on a rocky switch back trail, had to climb down one ladder, take a long series of metal steps clinging to the rock face, then follow the continuous switch back rocky path down to a flatland. The BLM has made a valiant effort to hold back the relentless law of gravity that erodes the steep rock walls, taking out old trails, and necessitating new ones. At the bottom four trails converged into a cross, where we picked up the Junta trail, .4 miles further down an easy dirt path.
Unlike so many other places we have constantly encountered other hikers here, mostly fishermen with their rods in hand. Two couples came by us with ski poles, or I guess hiking poles. I took our two wooden walking sticks and made myself a hiking stick outfit and was amazed how much easier it was to maneauver and traverse across the rocks.
Despite how intimidating the trail looked and how distant the confluence, we made it there in 30 minutes or less. The hiking sticks I think added to the speed. Joe is a billy goat and scampers over rocks. I was definitely going slower than he was before I started using the two sticks.
There were only big boulders where the two rivers came together, no shoreline. The Rio Grande is the larger of the two rivers, neither one of them really daunting, yet the slope of the land and the big rocks created a friction and conflict so strong that a marvelous roar fills your ears and the water is smashing and gushing over stones, with the light dancing through the droplets of water. I found a relatively flat rock, took up a comfortable yoga position and just willed all that raw energy into my own body.
Later with great dexterity we made two sandwiches on our knees; there was no surface to maneuver with. We munched avocado, pepperoni, and cheese sandwiches while we watched the nearby man fishing for trout. Two women sat on rocks keeping him company. The sun went in and out and long logs of gray clouds still dominated the sky.
When Joe pointed out to me the ridge we had to hike back to I was shocked by how far away it looked and figured it would take all afternoon to get there. However surprisingly enough we were back withing an hour and fifteen minutes.
The most devastating shock of this hike is the destruction created by the pine bark beetles. We camped in the bone yard of pine tree skeletons. In my estimation in places a third of the trees are destroyed. Their carcasses so massive in number that it would be impossible to remove them, or burn them, and they devastate the landscape with their blackened limbs like burnt fingers scratching towards deliverance. But there is none.
Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Beatlick Travel: Taos
Date: Sep 23, 2009 11:45 AM
We spent four days urban camping in Taos alternating between Wal-Mart and Smith's grocery store before we found the public parking lot. Most accommodating with the city bus line right there, too. Taos is wrapping up the "Summer of Love" and I have had a good time interviewing locals about their reactions. Very diversified and some downright controversial. I have a scathing report to pass on later from a local, but I'm still waiting for permission to publish his rant.
Taos is tiny and I'm telling you they roll up the sidewalks at six o'clock around here. The restaurants are closed by nine and there are I think only three bars that are open into the night. The whole focus is the art scene and skiing. The prices are outrageous I think and all the merchandise is high end. We attended an open-mic in the lounge at the historic Taos Inn, but got there late. There was never a sign up sheet or invitation by the guy singing for anyone else to participate. The drinks were $9 apiece so Joe just ordered a $2 cup of tea. It was a great place to people watch. It's obvious who are the wealthy tourists and who are local low-enders. Their faces are lined with hard work and their jeans are stained with dirty feet in worn out sandals.
The lobby itself was magnificent, constructed of old timbers higher that telephone poles called vegas. They held up a mosaic roof of more wood, smaller pieces called latillas. They made a mosaic of great beauty, like some Cistene Chapel made out of logs. Balconied rooms overlooked the lounge and there was a great iron door that opened into the bar. All the walls were old adobe.
A beautiful long-haired redhead sat next to Beatlick Joe so he initiated a conversation with her. Turns out she lives in Gatlinburg and is moving to the tiny little shrine town of Chimayo. She said her name was Jen and she was staying in Santa Fe and had driven up for the day because she loved Taos so much. Her rental car had been broken into into two days before and she was overcome with how much help and support people gave her as she dealt with the problem. Turns out when she was married she lived in Nashville and her ex-husband ran the fancy Stockyard Restaurant downtown. After a few reminiscences about Music City we were discussing the local hot springs.
Before long a single man sitting on a nearby leather sofa joined our conversation. He was from Rhode Island, a real estate evaluator, whatever that means. He was obviously taken with Jen, who never would disclose her last name as she divulged her former careers in radio and the broadcast media world.
Bob turned out to be divorced, came to Taos two or three times a year, and was currently staying in an earth ship house out in what the locals call the "gopher holes." Those are houses made of recycled materials and tires filled with dirt. As Jen used her interviewing skills Bob's answers disclosed more affluency. He had another house in Vermont. The richer he appeared the more animated she became. Soon Bob was ordering a round of those $9 drinks. We had a good time talking to those two and Joe and I speculated if Jen would really drive all the way back to Santa Fe. We all departed when the bar closed at eleven. Jen had a CD of one of her interviews with an important physicist and philosopher back at her car she wanted to give Bob. We speculated whether she would make that long drive back to Santa Fe that night.
It was one of the most social nights we have had with anyone since we came here. The other highlight of our trip was the spectacular hike down to Manby Hot Springs. They are just a few miles out of town, about six miles down a dirt road. Then you park and hike down the Rio Grande Gorge. It was a steep and rocky trail but only took about twenty minutes. Another VW van owner was there with us. We have seen a lot of VW vans in this town.
Our hot springs mate was Stephan, pronounced the European way: stef-fun. I had hoped we would be alone and we had waited most of the afternoon for the parking lot to empty out. But just as we locked up our van Stephan pulled up in his. So I had to soak, in my bathing suit I might add, with Joe and Stephan both naked. But that's the way it's done out here.
Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela
We spent four days urban camping in Taos alternating between Wal-Mart and Smith's grocery store before we found the public parking lot. Most accommodating with the city bus line right there, too. Taos is wrapping up the "Summer of Love" and I have had a good time interviewing locals about their reactions. Very diversified and some downright controversial. I have a scathing report to pass on later from a local, but I'm still waiting for permission to publish his rant.
Taos is tiny and I'm telling you they roll up the sidewalks at six o'clock around here. The restaurants are closed by nine and there are I think only three bars that are open into the night. The whole focus is the art scene and skiing. The prices are outrageous I think and all the merchandise is high end. We attended an open-mic in the lounge at the historic Taos Inn, but got there late. There was never a sign up sheet or invitation by the guy singing for anyone else to participate. The drinks were $9 apiece so Joe just ordered a $2 cup of tea. It was a great place to people watch. It's obvious who are the wealthy tourists and who are local low-enders. Their faces are lined with hard work and their jeans are stained with dirty feet in worn out sandals.
The lobby itself was magnificent, constructed of old timbers higher that telephone poles called vegas. They held up a mosaic roof of more wood, smaller pieces called latillas. They made a mosaic of great beauty, like some Cistene Chapel made out of logs. Balconied rooms overlooked the lounge and there was a great iron door that opened into the bar. All the walls were old adobe.
A beautiful long-haired redhead sat next to Beatlick Joe so he initiated a conversation with her. Turns out she lives in Gatlinburg and is moving to the tiny little shrine town of Chimayo. She said her name was Jen and she was staying in Santa Fe and had driven up for the day because she loved Taos so much. Her rental car had been broken into into two days before and she was overcome with how much help and support people gave her as she dealt with the problem. Turns out when she was married she lived in Nashville and her ex-husband ran the fancy Stockyard Restaurant downtown. After a few reminiscences about Music City we were discussing the local hot springs.
Before long a single man sitting on a nearby leather sofa joined our conversation. He was from Rhode Island, a real estate evaluator, whatever that means. He was obviously taken with Jen, who never would disclose her last name as she divulged her former careers in radio and the broadcast media world.
Bob turned out to be divorced, came to Taos two or three times a year, and was currently staying in an earth ship house out in what the locals call the "gopher holes." Those are houses made of recycled materials and tires filled with dirt. As Jen used her interviewing skills Bob's answers disclosed more affluency. He had another house in Vermont. The richer he appeared the more animated she became. Soon Bob was ordering a round of those $9 drinks. We had a good time talking to those two and Joe and I speculated if Jen would really drive all the way back to Santa Fe. We all departed when the bar closed at eleven. Jen had a CD of one of her interviews with an important physicist and philosopher back at her car she wanted to give Bob. We speculated whether she would make that long drive back to Santa Fe that night.
It was one of the most social nights we have had with anyone since we came here. The other highlight of our trip was the spectacular hike down to Manby Hot Springs. They are just a few miles out of town, about six miles down a dirt road. Then you park and hike down the Rio Grande Gorge. It was a steep and rocky trail but only took about twenty minutes. Another VW van owner was there with us. We have seen a lot of VW vans in this town.
Our hot springs mate was Stephan, pronounced the European way: stef-fun. I had hoped we would be alone and we had waited most of the afternoon for the parking lot to empty out. But just as we locked up our van Stephan pulled up in his. So I had to soak, in my bathing suit I might add, with Joe and Stephan both naked. But that's the way it's done out here.
Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Beatlick Travel: Albuquerque
Date: Sep 13, 2009 9:49 AM
[The website beatlick.com is up and running with the current issue of Beatlick News featured. This is now our only website, geocities site is closed down.]
The roosters start crowing at four in the morning. We are camped out in a field in the South Valley at a friend’s farm. The cows are right next door, too. This is really the country with the sounds of the day marking time just like the church bells used to do in the Upper Ninth Ward in New Orleans.
The chickens sound like people quarreling off in a distance or Ninja warriors getting ready to attack. No wonder farmers wake up early, you can’t sleep through the noise. The roosters crow until about ten in the morning and then the cows start up. It is a cacophony all day long. And the night is augmented with the sound of the neighboring dogs.
We always have some sort of audio book to listen to so when the roosters start in the morning I turn on the boom box in the dark, put on my CDs of “Benjamin Franklin,” “The Johnstown Flood,” or Michener’s “Mexico.” That usually gets me through till about seven in the morning.
We stayed out in the field for a week with our tent set up. It attaches to the van’s sliding side door and creates such an accommodating space we are quite comfortable. We spend our time clearing out the weeds in the garden and watering the orchards, strawberries, and raspberries for camping privileges. After a week we got to move into the A-frame adobe guest house and set up until some more money comes in for next month.
We have to climb an eight-foot ladder to go to bed. It's a challenge to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and we do our best to avoid it. Makes climbing down from the top bunk of the van a breeze. Although I am grateful to be indoors; it's so much quieter.
We love the simplicity of the farm, the slower pace, and the daily chores. From this vantage point you would never guess you were so close to a thriving metropolis such as Albuquerque. We head out in another day or two, for some poetry functions in Las Placitas, then on to Taos.
Happy Trails,
Beatlick Pamela
[The website beatlick.com is up and running with the current issue of Beatlick News featured. This is now our only website, geocities site is closed down.]
The roosters start crowing at four in the morning. We are camped out in a field in the South Valley at a friend’s farm. The cows are right next door, too. This is really the country with the sounds of the day marking time just like the church bells used to do in the Upper Ninth Ward in New Orleans.
The chickens sound like people quarreling off in a distance or Ninja warriors getting ready to attack. No wonder farmers wake up early, you can’t sleep through the noise. The roosters crow until about ten in the morning and then the cows start up. It is a cacophony all day long. And the night is augmented with the sound of the neighboring dogs.
We always have some sort of audio book to listen to so when the roosters start in the morning I turn on the boom box in the dark, put on my CDs of “Benjamin Franklin,” “The Johnstown Flood,” or Michener’s “Mexico.” That usually gets me through till about seven in the morning.
We stayed out in the field for a week with our tent set up. It attaches to the van’s sliding side door and creates such an accommodating space we are quite comfortable. We spend our time clearing out the weeds in the garden and watering the orchards, strawberries, and raspberries for camping privileges. After a week we got to move into the A-frame adobe guest house and set up until some more money comes in for next month.
We have to climb an eight-foot ladder to go to bed. It's a challenge to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and we do our best to avoid it. Makes climbing down from the top bunk of the van a breeze. Although I am grateful to be indoors; it's so much quieter.
We love the simplicity of the farm, the slower pace, and the daily chores. From this vantage point you would never guess you were so close to a thriving metropolis such as Albuquerque. We head out in another day or two, for some poetry functions in Las Placitas, then on to Taos.
Happy Trails,
Beatlick Pamela
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Wakiza's Wisdom: When will the wiser people wake up and make a stand? Sadly not anytime soon...
By Wakiza McQueen
There is truly a sickness plaguing the American people. Our society has become (maybe always has been) quite individualistic and self-effacing. One often wonders if Charles Darwin was not only a scientific forerunner, but a prophet describing the evolution of the human species, as it were, when he produced his seminal work, On the Origin of Species. For it is truly survival of the fittest in today's society. And the fit, in America, are the top 1% that control the wealth in this country, not excluding corporations. I am by no means an anarchist or a far-left wing zealot espousing the virtues of a socialist economy. I am an American first and foremost, and like our fore bearers, believe in a capitalistic economic system. However, as quoted by Arianna Huffington, capitalism requires a moral foundation with which to operate successfully:
"In capitalism as envisioned by its leading lights, including Adam Smith and Alfred Marshall, you need a moral foundation in order for free markets to work. And when a company fails, it fails. It doesn't get bailed out using trillions of dollars of taxpayer money. What we have right now is Corporatism. It's welfare for the rich. It's the government picking winners and losers. It's Wall Street having their taxpayer-funded cake and eating it too. It's socialized losses and privatized gains."
Indeed it is "Corporatism" and "socialized losses and privatized gains" that has infected our culture, and like a virulent retrovirus, it is destroying us from within and there seems to be no cure in sight, nay, not even a vaccination; we're all susceptible. Natural selection too is taking place, but not by the evolution of the best qualities for success being passed along, but by government intervention, call it "elitist selection", by which our government picks the winners and losers: AIG, Goldman Sachs, Bank of America, Citi Bank, et al.
The solution is simple. We need to change Washington and enact a public campaign financing system that supersedes the existing private campaign financing system that corrupts our politics in this country. We need to change the for profit industrialization of healthcare, the military, and the prison system, that treat human beings as commodities to be bought and sold (I thought slavery was outlawed in this country with the emancipation proclamation). Finally, we need to elect politicians that represent their constituencies and care about the social welfare of this country, and legislate for the common needs and rights for all people in our society. Bertrand Russell said it best: "The problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, and wiser people so full of doubt." So the question remains, when will the wiser among us wake up and make a stand? I'm on my two feet, how about you?
wmcqueen@kpmg.com
There is truly a sickness plaguing the American people. Our society has become (maybe always has been) quite individualistic and self-effacing. One often wonders if Charles Darwin was not only a scientific forerunner, but a prophet describing the evolution of the human species, as it were, when he produced his seminal work, On the Origin of Species. For it is truly survival of the fittest in today's society. And the fit, in America, are the top 1% that control the wealth in this country, not excluding corporations. I am by no means an anarchist or a far-left wing zealot espousing the virtues of a socialist economy. I am an American first and foremost, and like our fore bearers, believe in a capitalistic economic system. However, as quoted by Arianna Huffington, capitalism requires a moral foundation with which to operate successfully:
"In capitalism as envisioned by its leading lights, including Adam Smith and Alfred Marshall, you need a moral foundation in order for free markets to work. And when a company fails, it fails. It doesn't get bailed out using trillions of dollars of taxpayer money. What we have right now is Corporatism. It's welfare for the rich. It's the government picking winners and losers. It's Wall Street having their taxpayer-funded cake and eating it too. It's socialized losses and privatized gains."
Indeed it is "Corporatism" and "socialized losses and privatized gains" that has infected our culture, and like a virulent retrovirus, it is destroying us from within and there seems to be no cure in sight, nay, not even a vaccination; we're all susceptible. Natural selection too is taking place, but not by the evolution of the best qualities for success being passed along, but by government intervention, call it "elitist selection", by which our government picks the winners and losers: AIG, Goldman Sachs, Bank of America, Citi Bank, et al.
The solution is simple. We need to change Washington and enact a public campaign financing system that supersedes the existing private campaign financing system that corrupts our politics in this country. We need to change the for profit industrialization of healthcare, the military, and the prison system, that treat human beings as commodities to be bought and sold (I thought slavery was outlawed in this country with the emancipation proclamation). Finally, we need to elect politicians that represent their constituencies and care about the social welfare of this country, and legislate for the common needs and rights for all people in our society. Bertrand Russell said it best: "The problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, and wiser people so full of doubt." So the question remains, when will the wiser among us wake up and make a stand? I'm on my two feet, how about you?
wmcqueen@kpmg.com
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Beatlick Travel: El Malpais
Subject: Beatlick TR: 7Malpais
Date: Sep 10, 2009 10:08 AM
[A note to say there is something going on with beatlick.com website and I'm really bummed out about it, so if anyone is trying to access Beatlick News there I hope I can get this straightened out soon.]
Last night we slept under two chenille blankets, a down comforter, and an Indian blanket over that. The weather has really turned, clouds, drizzle. Beatlick Joe wants to poke around Quemado Lake but I am anxious to move on. We are headed to El Malpais, near Grants, NM. My best friend from my Alaska days way back in the mid 80s, in a little tiny town named San Rafael, just four miles from Grants. One more night to spend in the wilderness and then we’ll be off to Andrew’s house and I can’t wait to see him.
The closer we got to El Malpais the warmer it gets and I am relieved, wasn’t really ready to start enduring the cold yet! The El Malpais National Conservation Area gets its name from the lava beds that comprise it. This area is full of old volcanoes and the black lava flows still dominate the landscape although they were deposited thousands of years ago. You can stand there and imagine what the dinosaurs saw. There is a great picnic ground at the Lower Narrows picnic and we set up. First we pulled all of the blankets and bedding out of the van and stretched them in the hot sun to dry out. In the late afternoon we took a hike along the Narrows Rim.
The Narrows Rim Trail at an elevation of over 7,000 feet gives hikers a view to witness geologic processes thousands of years apart. We took a moderate hike up to the top of an ancient mesa where we could see the much younger lava beds below, all black with gangly trees struggling out of the folds and crevices. On top of the mesa the soft sandstone rocks are a beautiful dirty rose color with light tints of green moss, and pale blue rock fragments. In the light of afternoon with the ferns and vegetation in full bloom it is just a breathtaking sight and in so many pastel colors that contrast so sharply with the lava beds across the highway and the dark clouds beginning to loom overhead.
The wildflowers are abundant all along the trail here in the late summer. Ponderosa pine, a pinon and juniper woodland, and a variety of oak and shrub species line our pathways. Brochures claim mule deer, elk, bobcat and black bear have all been spotted along the mesa trail but thankfully we didn’t encounter any. The rabbits, chipmunks, squirrels, and lizards are plentiful here and it is claimed birders can view over 30 different species of birds on a good day.
When we heard the thunder we cut our hike short, not even halfway to the La Ventana Natural Arch. On the way back down the trail we ran into to a young man and his grandfather just picking up the trail. The old man complained about how sharp the lava was to walk on and they were expecting an easier time of it up on the mesa. Brochures didn’t encourage anyone to hike up there with looming thunderstorms but they headed out anyway.
We went back to our picnic table. Joe and I tossed around the idea of illegal camping there overnight, we weren’t in sight of the highway, but the thought of getting to see Andrew before the day was over won out and we headed for San Rafael. I was supposed to give Andrew some notice before I arrived but I wasn’t able to because we didn’t have any phone service. He was a little taken aback when I informed him we were already at WallyWorld in Grants. “Oh, wow,” he said, but agreed to meet us in 15 minutes.
We stayed camped in the backyard of Andrew’s parents house. They are both gone now, parents of a dozen children, all raised in this tiny town of 700 people. All his brothers and sister keep this beautiful home like a shrine to their parents. They had a party just the night before to celebrate a fortieth birthday. Andrew and I spent a lot of time reminiscing about our days in Alaska. Andrew and I were hairdressers for Jon Anthony Salons in Anchorage. He knows me so well, has known me even longer than Joe, and I guess outside of some people in Nashville, he is my oldest friend. No one makes me giggle but Andrew. He always cooks up great meals and we stay up late and discuss naughty subjects all night.
Happy Trails,
Beatlick Pamela
Date: Sep 10, 2009 10:08 AM
[A note to say there is something going on with beatlick.com website and I'm really bummed out about it, so if anyone is trying to access Beatlick News there I hope I can get this straightened out soon.]
Last night we slept under two chenille blankets, a down comforter, and an Indian blanket over that. The weather has really turned, clouds, drizzle. Beatlick Joe wants to poke around Quemado Lake but I am anxious to move on. We are headed to El Malpais, near Grants, NM. My best friend from my Alaska days way back in the mid 80s, in a little tiny town named San Rafael, just four miles from Grants. One more night to spend in the wilderness and then we’ll be off to Andrew’s house and I can’t wait to see him.
The closer we got to El Malpais the warmer it gets and I am relieved, wasn’t really ready to start enduring the cold yet! The El Malpais National Conservation Area gets its name from the lava beds that comprise it. This area is full of old volcanoes and the black lava flows still dominate the landscape although they were deposited thousands of years ago. You can stand there and imagine what the dinosaurs saw. There is a great picnic ground at the Lower Narrows picnic and we set up. First we pulled all of the blankets and bedding out of the van and stretched them in the hot sun to dry out. In the late afternoon we took a hike along the Narrows Rim.
The Narrows Rim Trail at an elevation of over 7,000 feet gives hikers a view to witness geologic processes thousands of years apart. We took a moderate hike up to the top of an ancient mesa where we could see the much younger lava beds below, all black with gangly trees struggling out of the folds and crevices. On top of the mesa the soft sandstone rocks are a beautiful dirty rose color with light tints of green moss, and pale blue rock fragments. In the light of afternoon with the ferns and vegetation in full bloom it is just a breathtaking sight and in so many pastel colors that contrast so sharply with the lava beds across the highway and the dark clouds beginning to loom overhead.
The wildflowers are abundant all along the trail here in the late summer. Ponderosa pine, a pinon and juniper woodland, and a variety of oak and shrub species line our pathways. Brochures claim mule deer, elk, bobcat and black bear have all been spotted along the mesa trail but thankfully we didn’t encounter any. The rabbits, chipmunks, squirrels, and lizards are plentiful here and it is claimed birders can view over 30 different species of birds on a good day.
When we heard the thunder we cut our hike short, not even halfway to the La Ventana Natural Arch. On the way back down the trail we ran into to a young man and his grandfather just picking up the trail. The old man complained about how sharp the lava was to walk on and they were expecting an easier time of it up on the mesa. Brochures didn’t encourage anyone to hike up there with looming thunderstorms but they headed out anyway.
We went back to our picnic table. Joe and I tossed around the idea of illegal camping there overnight, we weren’t in sight of the highway, but the thought of getting to see Andrew before the day was over won out and we headed for San Rafael. I was supposed to give Andrew some notice before I arrived but I wasn’t able to because we didn’t have any phone service. He was a little taken aback when I informed him we were already at WallyWorld in Grants. “Oh, wow,” he said, but agreed to meet us in 15 minutes.
We stayed camped in the backyard of Andrew’s parents house. They are both gone now, parents of a dozen children, all raised in this tiny town of 700 people. All his brothers and sister keep this beautiful home like a shrine to their parents. They had a party just the night before to celebrate a fortieth birthday. Andrew and I spent a lot of time reminiscing about our days in Alaska. Andrew and I were hairdressers for Jon Anthony Salons in Anchorage. He knows me so well, has known me even longer than Joe, and I guess outside of some people in Nashville, he is my oldest friend. No one makes me giggle but Andrew. He always cooks up great meals and we stay up late and discuss naughty subjects all night.
Happy Trails,
Beatlick Pamela
Beatlick Travel: Quemado Lake
Subject: Beatlick TR: 6Quemado Lake
Date: Sep 2, 2009 12:35 PM
Next morning we woke up to find two big trailers and one modest tent in the campground. We passed a man in the tent and he struck up a conversation. Turns out he is the great grandson of the first homesteader in the area. He told us all about the Pueblo Creek and how it used to be full of fish. He described the big wash outs that come these days during the rainy season. He said all the property around this area now belongs to the US Forestry Service. I guess he still enjoys coming out to visit the old homestead and remembering better days.
We took the interpretive trail right there in the campground. It featured some sites where the Pueblo Indians used to live. It was a short walk, but at least we did get to see some semblance of where the Indians lived. All the guides that go with an interpretive trail were long gone so we just had to imagine the circumstances. Budget cuts I'm sure.
We were on the road by 11 am. We stocked up again in the little town of Reserve. Beatlick Joe now has poison ivy so we were lucky to find some Benedryl there. We headed on out towards Quemado Lake and set up camp by 1 pm. It looks like a miniature Lake Tahoe in Nevada. We had a big rig parked right next to us. We decided of course to take advantage of the free campsite parking here in a big gravel lot. There's plenty of fee area camping on down the road.
We were perched high overlooking the lake and Joe walked the trail all around it - about an hour's walk. The wildflowers are dominating the landscape right now. Despite some gloomy weather we set out for a little store and steak house we saw coming in hoping to find a land line telephone and a hot drink. We set out wearing gloves, sweaters, and neck scarves. We hiked along sharing a small umbrella with newspaper comic strips all over it. When we got to "Snuffy's" it was closed and the pay phone was out of order.
It was a long walk back, all uphill. Rains seriously set in just as soon as we reached our campsite. We settled in with a hot cup of hibiscus tea and opened a can of hot tamales. We fell asleep to the drone of the big rig's generator next door.
Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela
Date: Sep 2, 2009 12:35 PM
Next morning we woke up to find two big trailers and one modest tent in the campground. We passed a man in the tent and he struck up a conversation. Turns out he is the great grandson of the first homesteader in the area. He told us all about the Pueblo Creek and how it used to be full of fish. He described the big wash outs that come these days during the rainy season. He said all the property around this area now belongs to the US Forestry Service. I guess he still enjoys coming out to visit the old homestead and remembering better days.
We took the interpretive trail right there in the campground. It featured some sites where the Pueblo Indians used to live. It was a short walk, but at least we did get to see some semblance of where the Indians lived. All the guides that go with an interpretive trail were long gone so we just had to imagine the circumstances. Budget cuts I'm sure.
We were on the road by 11 am. We stocked up again in the little town of Reserve. Beatlick Joe now has poison ivy so we were lucky to find some Benedryl there. We headed on out towards Quemado Lake and set up camp by 1 pm. It looks like a miniature Lake Tahoe in Nevada. We had a big rig parked right next to us. We decided of course to take advantage of the free campsite parking here in a big gravel lot. There's plenty of fee area camping on down the road.
We were perched high overlooking the lake and Joe walked the trail all around it - about an hour's walk. The wildflowers are dominating the landscape right now. Despite some gloomy weather we set out for a little store and steak house we saw coming in hoping to find a land line telephone and a hot drink. We set out wearing gloves, sweaters, and neck scarves. We hiked along sharing a small umbrella with newspaper comic strips all over it. When we got to "Snuffy's" it was closed and the pay phone was out of order.
It was a long walk back, all uphill. Rains seriously set in just as soon as we reached our campsite. We settled in with a hot cup of hibiscus tea and opened a can of hot tamales. We fell asleep to the drone of the big rig's generator next door.
Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Beatlick Travel: Glenwood
Subject: Beatlick TR: Glenwood
Date: Aug 27, 2009 10:10 AM
Glenwood is this tiny little town once bustling from mining , sawmill, even the early aviation industries, but now a quaint conglomerate with a guest ranch, rustic cabins for rent, goat mile beauty products, an old bible camp, some art galleries, a rock shop, two bars and three restaurants – as far as I could tell.
We settled in at the free Bighorn Campground west of town and right next door to the $18 a night RV park. We had the campground to ourselves and there were about three rigs at the RV park, most looked like they were there on a semi-permanent basis.
I took a yoga class for $5 down at the Community Center taught by a British woman named Cornelia. She arrived in Glenwood seven years ago via London, Africa, and New York City. She and her husband have horses and built a labyrinth which they make available to the public.
At the Blue Front Bar and Café we found out from the locals that a nearby landowner tapped some of the hot springs on their property which they had closed to the public. Then they pumped the hot water up to their residence and set up an exclusive RV park and campground named Sundial Hot Springs. Reservations only. I tried to call the number from a pay phone by the Trading Post, but got an answering machine that said it would call back. Unfortunately cell phones don’t work in the town, so that limited communications.
In the morning we had 25-cent coffee at the Golden Girls Café. Great, I mean great biscuits. In the tiny dining room only one other table was filled. There sat a man and woman with two young children and a baby. Their car roof was covered with about a dozen gym bags of varying proportions all lashed together. One of the back tires looked like it was going to explode at any minute. I wanted to ask, "How far do you think you're going to get on that tire?"I was sure we would see them broken down further down the road. But I guess it is some kind of tribute to them that they could set that problem aside and sit down to a great breakfast.
We’re all carbed up too and ready to press on into the wilderness.
Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela Hirst
Date: Aug 27, 2009 10:10 AM
Glenwood is this tiny little town once bustling from mining , sawmill, even the early aviation industries, but now a quaint conglomerate with a guest ranch, rustic cabins for rent, goat mile beauty products, an old bible camp, some art galleries, a rock shop, two bars and three restaurants – as far as I could tell.
We settled in at the free Bighorn Campground west of town and right next door to the $18 a night RV park. We had the campground to ourselves and there were about three rigs at the RV park, most looked like they were there on a semi-permanent basis.
I took a yoga class for $5 down at the Community Center taught by a British woman named Cornelia. She arrived in Glenwood seven years ago via London, Africa, and New York City. She and her husband have horses and built a labyrinth which they make available to the public.
At the Blue Front Bar and Café we found out from the locals that a nearby landowner tapped some of the hot springs on their property which they had closed to the public. Then they pumped the hot water up to their residence and set up an exclusive RV park and campground named Sundial Hot Springs. Reservations only. I tried to call the number from a pay phone by the Trading Post, but got an answering machine that said it would call back. Unfortunately cell phones don’t work in the town, so that limited communications.
In the morning we had 25-cent coffee at the Golden Girls Café. Great, I mean great biscuits. In the tiny dining room only one other table was filled. There sat a man and woman with two young children and a baby. Their car roof was covered with about a dozen gym bags of varying proportions all lashed together. One of the back tires looked like it was going to explode at any minute. I wanted to ask, "How far do you think you're going to get on that tire?"I was sure we would see them broken down further down the road. But I guess it is some kind of tribute to them that they could set that problem aside and sit down to a great breakfast.
We’re all carbed up too and ready to press on into the wilderness.
Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela Hirst
Monday, September 07, 2009
Beatlicks: Last Generation of Campers
Subject: Beatlick TR3: Glenwood here we come
Date: Aug 26, 2009 12:40 PM
Last night Beatlick Joe and I sat outside to watch the sky. It was too dark to see the cow patties but we got lucky and missed most of them. I haven’t really spent that much time looking at the stars since Joe and I took that sailboat trip out of Zihuatanejo to Mazatlan, sailing beneath the Southern Cross. I couldn’t even find the Big Dipper, but in my defense the stars were so numerous that it was lost in the masses.
You know if you look up into the sky long enough you will definitely see something that makes you want to scratch your head. Joe and I both saw a little red star that seemed to pulse and quiver around, not really travel, but definitely move incrementally in all directions. We watched the blinking lights of airplanes traverse the whole horizon and the summer heat lightning illuminate the sky off towards Silver City.
Next morning we pulled out and learned a lot more about the Bubbles at the Ranger Station. The Bubbles don’t exist anymore – dried up years ago. All our information was too old truthfully. We also learned from the rangers that the road to the hot springs was closed because of squatters.
Apparently a small enclave was living there and word got out that an infant had died up there. Upon further investigation it was discovered that the people were poaching long horn sheep for sustenance. They were run out and the road was closed forever.
The young female ranger that came to our campground told me squatting is still a problem. She had a work crew back near the springs to clear brush recently when she discovered an intact “house” that someone had constructed for themselves out there. Now for her own protection she’s not allowed to go back there to work.
She also said the rangers who work in this area do not restore the hot springs after a flood. So maybe the person in that “house” is the one who attempted to restore one of the pools. Or maybe the person whose blanket I now own did it. The smaller pool near that camp was by far the cleanest and best being constructed all out of rocks without mud.
That camper who left the blanket had sustained himself or herself with a twenty-pound bag of organic oatmeal. I know because the bag was left there as trash along with the blanket, pan, backpack and tarp.
So, only problem campers, floods, and a need for constant restoration, it’s easy to see why these campgrounds can be cut from the Federal budget or simply diminished to hiking trails. In this economic climate it’s just a matter of time – especially when there is the pristine Cat Walk hiking experience fifteen miles down the road with only picnic grounds to maintain.
Beatlick Joe says we are probably the last generation of campers.
Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela Hirst
Date: Aug 26, 2009 12:40 PM
Last night Beatlick Joe and I sat outside to watch the sky. It was too dark to see the cow patties but we got lucky and missed most of them. I haven’t really spent that much time looking at the stars since Joe and I took that sailboat trip out of Zihuatanejo to Mazatlan, sailing beneath the Southern Cross. I couldn’t even find the Big Dipper, but in my defense the stars were so numerous that it was lost in the masses.
You know if you look up into the sky long enough you will definitely see something that makes you want to scratch your head. Joe and I both saw a little red star that seemed to pulse and quiver around, not really travel, but definitely move incrementally in all directions. We watched the blinking lights of airplanes traverse the whole horizon and the summer heat lightning illuminate the sky off towards Silver City.
Next morning we pulled out and learned a lot more about the Bubbles at the Ranger Station. The Bubbles don’t exist anymore – dried up years ago. All our information was too old truthfully. We also learned from the rangers that the road to the hot springs was closed because of squatters.
Apparently a small enclave was living there and word got out that an infant had died up there. Upon further investigation it was discovered that the people were poaching long horn sheep for sustenance. They were run out and the road was closed forever.
The young female ranger that came to our campground told me squatting is still a problem. She had a work crew back near the springs to clear brush recently when she discovered an intact “house” that someone had constructed for themselves out there. Now for her own protection she’s not allowed to go back there to work.
She also said the rangers who work in this area do not restore the hot springs after a flood. So maybe the person in that “house” is the one who attempted to restore one of the pools. Or maybe the person whose blanket I now own did it. The smaller pool near that camp was by far the cleanest and best being constructed all out of rocks without mud.
That camper who left the blanket had sustained himself or herself with a twenty-pound bag of organic oatmeal. I know because the bag was left there as trash along with the blanket, pan, backpack and tarp.
So, only problem campers, floods, and a need for constant restoration, it’s easy to see why these campgrounds can be cut from the Federal budget or simply diminished to hiking trails. In this economic climate it’s just a matter of time – especially when there is the pristine Cat Walk hiking experience fifteen miles down the road with only picnic grounds to maintain.
Beatlick Joe says we are probably the last generation of campers.
Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela Hirst
Sunday, September 06, 2009
Peace on the Home Front
[From Bill Harris in response to As the World Turns: America Left Behind (Pacific Free Press, Bellaciao 9/6/09). See his blog “Peace on the Home Front” at http://antinomian-peacenik.blogspot.com.]
Debaters debate the two wars as if Nixon’s civil war on Woodstock Nation didn’t yet run amok. One need not travel to China to find indigenous cultures lacking human rights or to Cuba for political prisoners. America leads the world in percentile behind bars, thanks to ongoing persecution of hippies, radicals, and non-whites under banner of the war on drugs. If we’re all about spreading liberty abroad, then why mix the message at home? Peace on the home front would enhance global credibility.
The drug czar’s Rx for prison fodder costs dearly, as lives are flushed down expensive tubes. There’s trouble on the border. My shaman’s second opinion is that psychoactive plants are God’s gift. God didn’t screw up. Canadian Marc Emery sold seeds that enable American farmers to outcompete cartels with superior domestic herb. He is being extradited to prison, for doing what government wishes it could do, reduce demand for Mexican.
The constitutionality of the CSA (Controlled Substances Act of 1970) derives from an interstate commerce clause. Only by this authority does it reincarnate Al Capone, endanger homeland security, and throw good money after bad. Official policy is to eradicate, not tax, the number-one cash crop in the land. America rejected prohibition, but it’s back. Apparently, SWAT teams don’t need no stinking amendment. Father, forgive those who make it their business to know not what they do.
Nixon promised that the Schafer Commission would support the criminalization of his enemies, but it didn’t. No matter, the witch-hunt was on. No amendments can assure due process under an anti-science law without due process itself. Psychology hailed the breakthrough potential of LSD, until the CSA halted all research and pronounced that marijuana has no medical use, period.
The RFRA (Religious Freedom Restoration Act of 1993) allows Native American Church members to eat peyote, which functions like LSD. Americans shouldn’t need a specific church membership to obtain their birthright freedom of religion. Denial of entheogen sacrament to any American, for mediation of communion with his or her maker, precludes free exercise of religious liberty.
Freedom of speech presupposes freedom of thought. The Constitution doesn’t enumerate any governmental power to embargo diverse states of mind. How and when did government usurp this power to coerce conformity? The Mayflower sailed to escape coerced conformity. Legislators who would limit cognitive liberty lack jurisdiction.
Common-law must hold that adults are the legal owners of their own bodies. The Founding Fathers decreed that the right to the pursuit of happiness is inalienable. Socrates said to know your self. Mortal lawmakers should not presume to thwart the intelligent design that molecular keys unlock spiritual doors. Persons who appreciate their own free choice of path in life should tolerate seekers’ self-exploration.
Debaters debate the two wars as if Nixon’s civil war on Woodstock Nation didn’t yet run amok. One need not travel to China to find indigenous cultures lacking human rights or to Cuba for political prisoners. America leads the world in percentile behind bars, thanks to ongoing persecution of hippies, radicals, and non-whites under banner of the war on drugs. If we’re all about spreading liberty abroad, then why mix the message at home? Peace on the home front would enhance global credibility.
The drug czar’s Rx for prison fodder costs dearly, as lives are flushed down expensive tubes. There’s trouble on the border. My shaman’s second opinion is that psychoactive plants are God’s gift. God didn’t screw up. Canadian Marc Emery sold seeds that enable American farmers to outcompete cartels with superior domestic herb. He is being extradited to prison, for doing what government wishes it could do, reduce demand for Mexican.
The constitutionality of the CSA (Controlled Substances Act of 1970) derives from an interstate commerce clause. Only by this authority does it reincarnate Al Capone, endanger homeland security, and throw good money after bad. Official policy is to eradicate, not tax, the number-one cash crop in the land. America rejected prohibition, but it’s back. Apparently, SWAT teams don’t need no stinking amendment. Father, forgive those who make it their business to know not what they do.
Nixon promised that the Schafer Commission would support the criminalization of his enemies, but it didn’t. No matter, the witch-hunt was on. No amendments can assure due process under an anti-science law without due process itself. Psychology hailed the breakthrough potential of LSD, until the CSA halted all research and pronounced that marijuana has no medical use, period.
The RFRA (Religious Freedom Restoration Act of 1993) allows Native American Church members to eat peyote, which functions like LSD. Americans shouldn’t need a specific church membership to obtain their birthright freedom of religion. Denial of entheogen sacrament to any American, for mediation of communion with his or her maker, precludes free exercise of religious liberty.
Freedom of speech presupposes freedom of thought. The Constitution doesn’t enumerate any governmental power to embargo diverse states of mind. How and when did government usurp this power to coerce conformity? The Mayflower sailed to escape coerced conformity. Legislators who would limit cognitive liberty lack jurisdiction.
Common-law must hold that adults are the legal owners of their own bodies. The Founding Fathers decreed that the right to the pursuit of happiness is inalienable. Socrates said to know your self. Mortal lawmakers should not presume to thwart the intelligent design that molecular keys unlock spiritual doors. Persons who appreciate their own free choice of path in life should tolerate seekers’ self-exploration.
Saturday, September 05, 2009
Beatlick Travel: San Francisco Hot Springs
Subject: Beatlick TR2
Date: Aug 25, 2009 1:01 PM
Rattlesnakes and the Elusive Bubbles
Next morning we were up early and headed to the trailhead of the San Francisco Hot springs. A cursory look at the hiker notes gave warnings of the rattlesnakes so we had our walking sticks in hand and heavy boots on foot. It was sunny and hot already with a slight cool breeze. Beatlick Joe has been researching the elusive Bubbles hot springs for five years or more. We have found the two small pools on a trail that is relatively approachable, but never the Bubbles.
According to his information the Bubbles pool is about half a mile further downstream of the two pools we are familiar with and you have to cross the San Francisco River a few times to get there. It’s a fairly arduous hike but fine for us, we can hike six miles without blinking. We came to the first river crossing and Joe decided to stay on the eastern side of the river where the Bubbles are. That made me nervous because I knew what to expect taking the old path, but as usual, the minute I get comfortable with anything Joe will always push the envelope to constantly challenge me. So rather than go it alone the old familiar way, I had to fall in line behind him.
Soon we came to an abandoned campsite. Underneath a tarp was a really nice Indian blanket. We made a mental note of the camp and decided to come back and get that nice blanket.
When we came to the first river crossing I changed into my plastic shoes and Joe put on some sturdy sandals. This way we easily walked in the river. Well we hiked and we waded, we crossed the river and hiked some more. For over three hours we looked for the
Bubbles going further and further back into the woods. We saw numerous indications of serious flooding in the last five years and I began to have serious doubts that the Bubbles exist anymore. We only gave up when we hit a trail where the rattlesnakes made themselves apparent with a loud rattling.
“That’s all the information I need,” I said and made an about face. I looked back at Joe; he was woefully looking back at the towering rock face ahead. I know he was still visualizing those hot springs.
“Go ahead if you want to; I’ll wait here for you here.”
He was still determined to go.
“Don’t you want to take those sandals off? At least put your boots back on so the snakes can’t bite your ankles.”
He paused.
“Well, I’ve waited long enough to give them a chance to crawl away,” he said and then he set out again, still in his sandals. But on his second step a rattlesnake alarm went off with such alarming intensity that it seemed only prudent to turn back.
So we retraced all our steps and crossings back to the familiar San Francisco pools and we were shocked at what we found. The trail we had taken five years ago was completely obliterated; even the tree where we hung our clothes was gone. The brush was so compact and dense that we walked upstream and took an alternate path back to our campsite.
Obviously interest in the springs has fallen off so greatly that the trail has disappeared. First bureaucrats made it so difficult to reach the springs (once you could drive there but the road is now blocked off), then the floods and Mother Nature have taken their final toll.
Someone has haphazardly tried to rock off the pools again, but they are so much smaller and funky that I didn’t dare step foot in them. The bottoms were solid mud.
Now it was a wonderful hike, we tramped around for over six hours, and it was fun encountering all the cows along the way, but I doubt we’ll ever pass this way again. Just like the campgrounds are fading away, so are so many of these natural wonders. The gifts of nature blocked off from hikers and tourists, the land leased to ranchers, slowly these natural blessings are fading away before my eyes.
On a lighter note we do always come away from the San Francisco Hot Springs with something. Once I found a stylish pair of black sunglasses with rhinestones at the pools. Once at the campground Joe found a good pair of tennis shoes and he used them for work shoes for months. This time we found that abandoned campsite with an empty backpack, pot, and the Indian blanket underneath a tarp. I kept the blanket. It will take a while to get all the goat heads and cockle burrs out of it but I am pleased with it and consider the hike a grand success even though we never found the illusive Bubbles.
Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela
Date: Aug 25, 2009 1:01 PM
Rattlesnakes and the Elusive Bubbles
Next morning we were up early and headed to the trailhead of the San Francisco Hot springs. A cursory look at the hiker notes gave warnings of the rattlesnakes so we had our walking sticks in hand and heavy boots on foot. It was sunny and hot already with a slight cool breeze. Beatlick Joe has been researching the elusive Bubbles hot springs for five years or more. We have found the two small pools on a trail that is relatively approachable, but never the Bubbles.
According to his information the Bubbles pool is about half a mile further downstream of the two pools we are familiar with and you have to cross the San Francisco River a few times to get there. It’s a fairly arduous hike but fine for us, we can hike six miles without blinking. We came to the first river crossing and Joe decided to stay on the eastern side of the river where the Bubbles are. That made me nervous because I knew what to expect taking the old path, but as usual, the minute I get comfortable with anything Joe will always push the envelope to constantly challenge me. So rather than go it alone the old familiar way, I had to fall in line behind him.
Soon we came to an abandoned campsite. Underneath a tarp was a really nice Indian blanket. We made a mental note of the camp and decided to come back and get that nice blanket.
When we came to the first river crossing I changed into my plastic shoes and Joe put on some sturdy sandals. This way we easily walked in the river. Well we hiked and we waded, we crossed the river and hiked some more. For over three hours we looked for the
Bubbles going further and further back into the woods. We saw numerous indications of serious flooding in the last five years and I began to have serious doubts that the Bubbles exist anymore. We only gave up when we hit a trail where the rattlesnakes made themselves apparent with a loud rattling.
“That’s all the information I need,” I said and made an about face. I looked back at Joe; he was woefully looking back at the towering rock face ahead. I know he was still visualizing those hot springs.
“Go ahead if you want to; I’ll wait here for you here.”
He was still determined to go.
“Don’t you want to take those sandals off? At least put your boots back on so the snakes can’t bite your ankles.”
He paused.
“Well, I’ve waited long enough to give them a chance to crawl away,” he said and then he set out again, still in his sandals. But on his second step a rattlesnake alarm went off with such alarming intensity that it seemed only prudent to turn back.
So we retraced all our steps and crossings back to the familiar San Francisco pools and we were shocked at what we found. The trail we had taken five years ago was completely obliterated; even the tree where we hung our clothes was gone. The brush was so compact and dense that we walked upstream and took an alternate path back to our campsite.
Obviously interest in the springs has fallen off so greatly that the trail has disappeared. First bureaucrats made it so difficult to reach the springs (once you could drive there but the road is now blocked off), then the floods and Mother Nature have taken their final toll.
Someone has haphazardly tried to rock off the pools again, but they are so much smaller and funky that I didn’t dare step foot in them. The bottoms were solid mud.
Now it was a wonderful hike, we tramped around for over six hours, and it was fun encountering all the cows along the way, but I doubt we’ll ever pass this way again. Just like the campgrounds are fading away, so are so many of these natural wonders. The gifts of nature blocked off from hikers and tourists, the land leased to ranchers, slowly these natural blessings are fading away before my eyes.
On a lighter note we do always come away from the San Francisco Hot Springs with something. Once I found a stylish pair of black sunglasses with rhinestones at the pools. Once at the campground Joe found a good pair of tennis shoes and he used them for work shoes for months. This time we found that abandoned campsite with an empty backpack, pot, and the Indian blanket underneath a tarp. I kept the blanket. It will take a while to get all the goat heads and cockle burrs out of it but I am pleased with it and consider the hike a grand success even though we never found the illusive Bubbles.
Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Mansel: Media from Dante to the Lost and Found
Chris Mansel's new blog: Media From Dante to the Lost and Found uses
the blog technology as well as any I have seen. Chris mines the net
for a range of interests so broad it is difficult to believe one
person covers all this terrain, and he has compiled these excerpts and
links in a little over a week. We can only imagine what the site will
be like in a few months.
Jake Berry
Explore for yourself at:
http://mediafromdantetothelostandfound.blogspot.com
the blog technology as well as any I have seen. Chris mines the net
for a range of interests so broad it is difficult to believe one
person covers all this terrain, and he has compiled these excerpts and
links in a little over a week. We can only imagine what the site will
be like in a few months.
Jake Berry
Explore for yourself at:
http://mediafromdantetothelostandfound.blogspot.com
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Beatlicks: On the Road Again
Subject: Beatlick Travel Report 1: Out of Las Cruces
Date: Aug 20, 2009 9:52 AM
Out of Las Cruces
This time pulling out of Las Cruces for the open road seemed like a small miracle. So many commitments and obstacles are behind us, but it’s a long time coming and I am grateful, just grateful to finally be off.
The van has been officially blessed by the Ukrainian Orthodox Church! Then Father Gabriel threw a few drops of rose water on Joe and me as well for good measure. We had a final meal with our good friend/mechanic/greatest enabler Michael Elliott in Old Mesilla. On the way out we stopped in at the cultural center to pay our respects to Denise Chavez, Joe’s old college friend. Then we were gone.
We drove west toward Deming to stock up at Wally World, then picked up Highway 180 toward Silver City and beyond to the San Francisco Hot Springs Campground. When we started smelling skunk and seeing signs to watch out for elk we knew we were headed towards the wilderness. On roads like 180 you can drive for hours through vast distances unchanged since the wagon trains went through. We saw the occasional small road left, due west to Arizona, and hardly a car passed us by.
Right before mile marker 58 we turned into the San Francisco Hot Springs Campground, just at sunset. The campground is now host to a herd of cows. We set up camp without disturbing them too greatly, got out the crackers, peanut butter, pepperoni and beer. I took the time to really look at one of those cows, as it was looking at me, just luxuriated in that moment taking the time to really look at that sweet gentle cow. And it will be rewarded for all its sweetness and gentleness by being eaten. Sad, but they are delicious.
After the cows settled down there wasn’t a single sound. Stillness. No barking dogs. Radios. Sirens. Weird. Joe got out his hand cranked radio and we picked up this awesome station 107 playing all the old 70s and 80s music. It was all those love songs that used to make me so sad back in the old days when I was a single parent, so lost and lonely. But to hear all those songs now, with Joe so near, just filled my heart.
I hit the top bunk early; it was a long and hot drive. I went to sleep with Joe saying, “Pamela you should see all these stars!” I peered out the screen window from my bunk and saw the sky looking like fireworks in freeze frame.
Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela
Date: Aug 20, 2009 9:52 AM
Out of Las Cruces
This time pulling out of Las Cruces for the open road seemed like a small miracle. So many commitments and obstacles are behind us, but it’s a long time coming and I am grateful, just grateful to finally be off.
The van has been officially blessed by the Ukrainian Orthodox Church! Then Father Gabriel threw a few drops of rose water on Joe and me as well for good measure. We had a final meal with our good friend/mechanic/greatest enabler Michael Elliott in Old Mesilla. On the way out we stopped in at the cultural center to pay our respects to Denise Chavez, Joe’s old college friend. Then we were gone.
We drove west toward Deming to stock up at Wally World, then picked up Highway 180 toward Silver City and beyond to the San Francisco Hot Springs Campground. When we started smelling skunk and seeing signs to watch out for elk we knew we were headed towards the wilderness. On roads like 180 you can drive for hours through vast distances unchanged since the wagon trains went through. We saw the occasional small road left, due west to Arizona, and hardly a car passed us by.
Right before mile marker 58 we turned into the San Francisco Hot Springs Campground, just at sunset. The campground is now host to a herd of cows. We set up camp without disturbing them too greatly, got out the crackers, peanut butter, pepperoni and beer. I took the time to really look at one of those cows, as it was looking at me, just luxuriated in that moment taking the time to really look at that sweet gentle cow. And it will be rewarded for all its sweetness and gentleness by being eaten. Sad, but they are delicious.
After the cows settled down there wasn’t a single sound. Stillness. No barking dogs. Radios. Sirens. Weird. Joe got out his hand cranked radio and we picked up this awesome station 107 playing all the old 70s and 80s music. It was all those love songs that used to make me so sad back in the old days when I was a single parent, so lost and lonely. But to hear all those songs now, with Joe so near, just filled my heart.
I hit the top bunk early; it was a long and hot drive. I went to sleep with Joe saying, “Pamela you should see all these stars!” I peered out the screen window from my bunk and saw the sky looking like fireworks in freeze frame.
Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Mansel: Smoke Over The Mountains of Santa Cruz
...
wildfires burning stretching from tree to tree
horrors in ashy decay, dark paths coming soon
birds flying away, fireman dug in backs against the sea
california and the mountains of santa cruz
c-130's passing overhead, the pilots' home ablaze
possessions held overhead over highway smoke
cameramen focus on the children running away
scavengers move across police lines that broke
authorities say make way for the politician's motorcade
they've brought a six pack of bottled water and sincerity
not since the boys in the backroom and promises made
have the politics been so cut dry and full of clarity
chorus:
lives are in danger but in other news
no injuries reported from sky views
There's smoke over the mountains of Santa Cruz
There's smoke over the mountains of Santa Cruz
- Chris (christophermansel@hotmail.com)
wildfires burning stretching from tree to tree
horrors in ashy decay, dark paths coming soon
birds flying away, fireman dug in backs against the sea
california and the mountains of santa cruz
c-130's passing overhead, the pilots' home ablaze
possessions held overhead over highway smoke
cameramen focus on the children running away
scavengers move across police lines that broke
authorities say make way for the politician's motorcade
they've brought a six pack of bottled water and sincerity
not since the boys in the backroom and promises made
have the politics been so cut dry and full of clarity
chorus:
lives are in danger but in other news
no injuries reported from sky views
There's smoke over the mountains of Santa Cruz
There's smoke over the mountains of Santa Cruz
- Chris (christophermansel@hotmail.com)
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
COMMON SENSE: NATIONAL HEALTH CARE
[JAZZMAN CHRONICLES. DISSEMINATE FREELY.]
By Jack Random
Tom Brokaw: Is health care in America a privilege, a right or a responsibility?
John McCain: I think it’s a responsibility.
Barack Obama: Well I think it should be a right for every American.
Presidential Debate, October 7, 2008.
“Health insurers and drug makers have showered members of the 111th Congress with millions in campaign contributions over the last four years, with a special focus on leaders who will play major roles in shaping health-care legislation, according to a study to be released tomorrow.”
Dan Eggen, Washington Post, March 8, 2009.
The reason we do not have national health care, like the reason we cannot control military spending and the reason we remain dependent on foreign oil, can be summarized in one word: money.
No, it is not the cost of national health care that prevents us from achieving what every other advanced nation has already achieved for there are no objective analyses (as opposed to those paid for by the healthcare industry) that fail to find billions and trillions in savings compounded over the years of implementation.
It is rather the money that is piped into the political system by private corporations with a vested interest in preserving a cash cow that prevents us from achieving this fundamental goal: affordable healthcare for all our citizens.
We have heard the numbers ad infinitum ad nauseam. We hear Republicans and Blue Dog Democrats cynically attempting to transform the healthcare debate into yet another attack on illegal immigrants. It is a strategy as old as the Appalachians and as useful as a three-legged ass: Divide and conquer. We don’t want to pay for them. But we are paying for them. We are paying for them in every crowded emergency room in every public hospital across the nation. As long as medical ethics and the laws of common decency compel doctors and nurses to treat the ill and needy it will always be so. We should want it no other way if for no other reason but that we may find ourselves or our loved ones in the circumstance of need at some time in our lives.
Few among us are so wealthy that we could bear the cost of a major operation or a prolonged illness without generous assistance. It is then when we are most in need that we invariably discover the shortcomings of our healthcare system. Every insurance agency and every corporate care provider has a staff of skilled professionals dedicated to defining the limits of our coverage and protecting the profit margin.
It is only common sense.
We do not need any more statistics or case studies to tell us what we already know. We only need a healthy dose of common sense – the kind our grandparents had before the system pumped them so full of drugs they can hardly think.
Common sense tells us that profit motivated corporations may be good for selling toys and trinkets but they are poorly designed to protect the health of our citizens.
Common sense tells us that when corporations profit from illness and dependency they have no incentive to promote wellness.
Common sense tells us: the larger the pool of coverage, the lower the costs for all. The very concept of health insurance is that those who are well will pay for those who are in need. Insurance companies strive to represent only the healthy. Should you ever have a need you are placed in a separate group (high risk) and rates quickly become impossible to pay.
Common sense tells us denying coverage to those who need it is a practice that has no place in the healthcare profession.
Common sense tells us that when our medical and pharmaceutical industries are in the business of making money, they will sell us drugs and treatments we do not need and deny us remedies that do not pay.
Common sense tells us that an unregulated “free market” health and medical care industry, like the financial institutions before them, will follow the path of greed and avarice until it breaks the bank and the system crashes unless meaningful reform is enacted.
It is unfortunate that our Supreme Court with a corporate bias perhaps unprecedented in history has zealously protected unlimited corporate contributions to political candidates and office holders under the guise of “free speech.” The same court (only the names have changed) that refused to recognize a fundamental right to vote (see Bush V. Gore 2000) has defined monetary contributions as constitutionally protected speech.
Common sense tells us that politicians will serve the hand that feeds them rather than the interests of the people they represent unless public outcry is so overwhelming it threatens their hold on power.
I do not know all the particulars of the Obama healthcare proposal but common sense tells me this: The medical-pharmaceutical-insurance industry and their lackeys in congress would not be fighting so hard to defeat if it was not a meaningful step in the right direction.
One last caveat: The Obama proposal is not National Health Care and that is unfortunate. That is the goal and this reform even if it passes will fall well short. But common sense tells me we have to take the first step before we can take the second.
The first step is what is commonly referred to as the public option. Let Joe the Plumber and all those like him who secretly or openly decry Social Security and Medicare as a socialist conspiracy take the private option and let them pay the price.
Common sense tells me the public option will win.
Jazz.
JACK RANDOM IS THE AUTHOR OF THE JAZZMAN CHRONICLES (CROW DOG PRESS) AND GHOST DANCE INSURRECTION (DRY BONES PRESS). HE IS A COLUMNIST FOR THE NATIONAL FREE PRESS – WORLD EDITION. SEE WWW.JAZZMANCHRONICLES.BLOGSPOT.COM.
By Jack Random
Tom Brokaw: Is health care in America a privilege, a right or a responsibility?
John McCain: I think it’s a responsibility.
Barack Obama: Well I think it should be a right for every American.
Presidential Debate, October 7, 2008.
“Health insurers and drug makers have showered members of the 111th Congress with millions in campaign contributions over the last four years, with a special focus on leaders who will play major roles in shaping health-care legislation, according to a study to be released tomorrow.”
Dan Eggen, Washington Post, March 8, 2009.
The reason we do not have national health care, like the reason we cannot control military spending and the reason we remain dependent on foreign oil, can be summarized in one word: money.
No, it is not the cost of national health care that prevents us from achieving what every other advanced nation has already achieved for there are no objective analyses (as opposed to those paid for by the healthcare industry) that fail to find billions and trillions in savings compounded over the years of implementation.
It is rather the money that is piped into the political system by private corporations with a vested interest in preserving a cash cow that prevents us from achieving this fundamental goal: affordable healthcare for all our citizens.
We have heard the numbers ad infinitum ad nauseam. We hear Republicans and Blue Dog Democrats cynically attempting to transform the healthcare debate into yet another attack on illegal immigrants. It is a strategy as old as the Appalachians and as useful as a three-legged ass: Divide and conquer. We don’t want to pay for them. But we are paying for them. We are paying for them in every crowded emergency room in every public hospital across the nation. As long as medical ethics and the laws of common decency compel doctors and nurses to treat the ill and needy it will always be so. We should want it no other way if for no other reason but that we may find ourselves or our loved ones in the circumstance of need at some time in our lives.
Few among us are so wealthy that we could bear the cost of a major operation or a prolonged illness without generous assistance. It is then when we are most in need that we invariably discover the shortcomings of our healthcare system. Every insurance agency and every corporate care provider has a staff of skilled professionals dedicated to defining the limits of our coverage and protecting the profit margin.
It is only common sense.
We do not need any more statistics or case studies to tell us what we already know. We only need a healthy dose of common sense – the kind our grandparents had before the system pumped them so full of drugs they can hardly think.
Common sense tells us that profit motivated corporations may be good for selling toys and trinkets but they are poorly designed to protect the health of our citizens.
Common sense tells us that when corporations profit from illness and dependency they have no incentive to promote wellness.
Common sense tells us: the larger the pool of coverage, the lower the costs for all. The very concept of health insurance is that those who are well will pay for those who are in need. Insurance companies strive to represent only the healthy. Should you ever have a need you are placed in a separate group (high risk) and rates quickly become impossible to pay.
Common sense tells us denying coverage to those who need it is a practice that has no place in the healthcare profession.
Common sense tells us that when our medical and pharmaceutical industries are in the business of making money, they will sell us drugs and treatments we do not need and deny us remedies that do not pay.
Common sense tells us that an unregulated “free market” health and medical care industry, like the financial institutions before them, will follow the path of greed and avarice until it breaks the bank and the system crashes unless meaningful reform is enacted.
It is unfortunate that our Supreme Court with a corporate bias perhaps unprecedented in history has zealously protected unlimited corporate contributions to political candidates and office holders under the guise of “free speech.” The same court (only the names have changed) that refused to recognize a fundamental right to vote (see Bush V. Gore 2000) has defined monetary contributions as constitutionally protected speech.
Common sense tells us that politicians will serve the hand that feeds them rather than the interests of the people they represent unless public outcry is so overwhelming it threatens their hold on power.
I do not know all the particulars of the Obama healthcare proposal but common sense tells me this: The medical-pharmaceutical-insurance industry and their lackeys in congress would not be fighting so hard to defeat if it was not a meaningful step in the right direction.
One last caveat: The Obama proposal is not National Health Care and that is unfortunate. That is the goal and this reform even if it passes will fall well short. But common sense tells me we have to take the first step before we can take the second.
The first step is what is commonly referred to as the public option. Let Joe the Plumber and all those like him who secretly or openly decry Social Security and Medicare as a socialist conspiracy take the private option and let them pay the price.
Common sense tells me the public option will win.
Jazz.
JACK RANDOM IS THE AUTHOR OF THE JAZZMAN CHRONICLES (CROW DOG PRESS) AND GHOST DANCE INSURRECTION (DRY BONES PRESS). HE IS A COLUMNIST FOR THE NATIONAL FREE PRESS – WORLD EDITION. SEE WWW.JAZZMANCHRONICLES.BLOGSPOT.COM.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Beatlick Joe & Orwell's Down & Out
I read this book by Orwell recently and extracted this story about a drug deal. Joe Speer.
Down and Out in Paris and London, 1933 by George Orwell
George has a friend Charlie who tells him a story about a rich miser named Roucolle who came to a bad end through putting his money into a wildcat scheme. One day a Jew appeared with a first-rate plan for smuggling cocaine into England. The miser was approached by a Pole willing to put up 4,000 francs if Roucolle put up 6,000. His innards churn at the possibility of making a small fortune from the happy dust and yet he was loath to risk the money. After much cajoling he at last slit open the mattress where his money was concealed and handed it over. The Jew delivered the goods and promptly vanished. Such deals are risky because of spies in the quarter or chicanery.
The next morning the police raided the hotel and began working their way up the floors. A packet of blow was on the table with no place to hide it and no chance of escape. The Pole wanted to throw the nose candy out the window but Roucolle would go to prison rather than throw his money away. The miser had an idea. He had a dozen tins of face-powder. The powder was thrown out and the cocaine substituted and left openly on the table. The police arrived and searched the flat to no avail. As they prepared to depart the inspector noticed the tins.
“What is this?” he asked.
“Face-powder,” said Roucolle, moaning and groaning. The two men were arrested and led off to the police station. A tin was sent to be analyzed. When the results came back from the lab it was determined not to be a drug.
“Mais, alors, what is it then?”
“Face-powder.” Roucolle and the Pole were released at once. They had been double-crossed. The Pole was glad to be off the hook but the old miser was livid. Three days later he suffered a stroke and died of a broken heart.
Down and Out in Paris and London, 1933 by George Orwell
George has a friend Charlie who tells him a story about a rich miser named Roucolle who came to a bad end through putting his money into a wildcat scheme. One day a Jew appeared with a first-rate plan for smuggling cocaine into England. The miser was approached by a Pole willing to put up 4,000 francs if Roucolle put up 6,000. His innards churn at the possibility of making a small fortune from the happy dust and yet he was loath to risk the money. After much cajoling he at last slit open the mattress where his money was concealed and handed it over. The Jew delivered the goods and promptly vanished. Such deals are risky because of spies in the quarter or chicanery.
The next morning the police raided the hotel and began working their way up the floors. A packet of blow was on the table with no place to hide it and no chance of escape. The Pole wanted to throw the nose candy out the window but Roucolle would go to prison rather than throw his money away. The miser had an idea. He had a dozen tins of face-powder. The powder was thrown out and the cocaine substituted and left openly on the table. The police arrived and searched the flat to no avail. As they prepared to depart the inspector noticed the tins.
“What is this?” he asked.
“Face-powder,” said Roucolle, moaning and groaning. The two men were arrested and led off to the police station. A tin was sent to be analyzed. When the results came back from the lab it was determined not to be a drug.
“Mais, alors, what is it then?”
“Face-powder.” Roucolle and the Pole were released at once. They had been double-crossed. The Pole was glad to be off the hook but the old miser was livid. Three days later he suffered a stroke and died of a broken heart.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Prayer for Peltier: July 28, 2009
A Message for AIM: Please post for immediate release.
The American Indian Movement (AIM) and AIM-WEST of San Francisco invites you the general public for an early morning SUN RISE PRAYER VIGIL and RALLY on Tuesday, July 28, 2009 calling for the Freedom of Leonard Peltier.
On Tuesday, July 28th the US Parole Commission in Lewisburg, Penn. will review the case of Leonard Peltier, held in prison for over three decades. This is the best opportunity Leonard will get during his entire period of incarceration to a fair review of his case before the US Parole Commission. The whole world is watching and waiting!
Please join with us in solidarity with Leonard, his family and relations, friends and supporters from around the world on this day and let us pray for an open mind, and to let the healing of America begin.
The general public is invited to join with us in San Francisco at the Federal Building 450 Golden Gate Avenue for an early morning SUN -RISE PRAYER VIGIL beginning at 6 am until 3 pm. All Drummers and Singers, Dancers, Community Youth and Elders, solidarity organizations and NGO’s are urged to join with us to celebrate this special occasion. Religious groups and social movements are also encouraged to attend this spiritual gathering and stand together hand in hand, burning sacred sage, being of one mind in Peace calling upon the US Parole Commission to finally release Leonard Peltier from three decades of incarceration for a crime he did not commit!
There will be special invited speakers, and the media and press are welcome to cover the event.
The public is encouraged to immediately call today the office of Congresswoman Nancy Pelosi, Speaker of the House, in SF at 415-556-4862 to remind her to write a letter to the US Parole Commission by July 14th just as she did in August 1993 to Attorney General Janet Reno (see attached) asking for a review of the circumstances behind this case in view of discrepancies in handling it’s process. Congresswoman Pelosi is also invited to address the VIGIL on July 28 in SF if she happens to be in the CITY. The SF County Board of Supervisor’s are also encouraged to come and support these efforts for Leonard’s release from prison.
This is a peaceful and non-violent gathering on behalf of Leonard and his family and to always be respectful and honorable in seeking his freedom. For more information call at 415-577-1492.
Thank You All My Relations!
Antonio Gonzales
AIM-WEST Director
eltonyg@earthlink.net
www.aimwest.info
www.aimovement.org
The American Indian Movement (AIM) and AIM-WEST of San Francisco invites you the general public for an early morning SUN RISE PRAYER VIGIL and RALLY on Tuesday, July 28, 2009 calling for the Freedom of Leonard Peltier.
On Tuesday, July 28th the US Parole Commission in Lewisburg, Penn. will review the case of Leonard Peltier, held in prison for over three decades. This is the best opportunity Leonard will get during his entire period of incarceration to a fair review of his case before the US Parole Commission. The whole world is watching and waiting!
Please join with us in solidarity with Leonard, his family and relations, friends and supporters from around the world on this day and let us pray for an open mind, and to let the healing of America begin.
The general public is invited to join with us in San Francisco at the Federal Building 450 Golden Gate Avenue for an early morning SUN -RISE PRAYER VIGIL beginning at 6 am until 3 pm. All Drummers and Singers, Dancers, Community Youth and Elders, solidarity organizations and NGO’s are urged to join with us to celebrate this special occasion. Religious groups and social movements are also encouraged to attend this spiritual gathering and stand together hand in hand, burning sacred sage, being of one mind in Peace calling upon the US Parole Commission to finally release Leonard Peltier from three decades of incarceration for a crime he did not commit!
There will be special invited speakers, and the media and press are welcome to cover the event.
The public is encouraged to immediately call today the office of Congresswoman Nancy Pelosi, Speaker of the House, in SF at 415-556-4862 to remind her to write a letter to the US Parole Commission by July 14th just as she did in August 1993 to Attorney General Janet Reno (see attached) asking for a review of the circumstances behind this case in view of discrepancies in handling it’s process. Congresswoman Pelosi is also invited to address the VIGIL on July 28 in SF if she happens to be in the CITY. The SF County Board of Supervisor’s are also encouraged to come and support these efforts for Leonard’s release from prison.
This is a peaceful and non-violent gathering on behalf of Leonard and his family and to always be respectful and honorable in seeking his freedom. For more information call at 415-577-1492.
Thank You All My Relations!
Antonio Gonzales
AIM-WEST Director
eltonyg@earthlink.net
www.aimwest.info
www.aimovement.org
Monday, July 06, 2009
BEATLICKS FINAL REPORT: Raining Oil in Texas
Subject: Beatlick final travel report
Date: Jun 27, 2009 7:00 PM
Beatlick Joe and I arraived in Las Cruces before midnight Friday the 27th and snuggled into the corner of the Wal-Mart parking lot where Joe used to work.
This seems like a good time to close my reports for now. We'll be house sitting in Las Cruces most of the summer with little to report. We'll be reporting from Taos NM later in the summer and I want to document going solar with the van next winter before we head out for Mexico.
Thanks to all who have helped us along the way. We're enjoying our new laptop wi-fi compatible, it's making life a lot easier. The van made it back in great shape, no problems whatsoever except getting pulled over in Texas for not having a light over my license plate.
Also one weird thing that happened to us in Texas, we were less than 100 miles north of San Antonio I think when I had to ask Joe, "Is it my imagination or is it raining oil?"
"It seems to be raining oil." I don't know what was going on but the air became so acrid and then a thin veil of oil was all over the windshield. We had to roll up the windows the smell was so bad. I can't believe what ever was going on out there was even legal. No one could live with that atmospheric condition for long. But we were out of it in about five minutes.
We spent one night in Austin at a poetry open mic. What a town of talent, Austin, the best town in Texas.
Well happy trails to all, peace and love. We'll be seeing you all later on down the line.
Beatlick Pamela
Date: Jun 27, 2009 7:00 PM
Beatlick Joe and I arraived in Las Cruces before midnight Friday the 27th and snuggled into the corner of the Wal-Mart parking lot where Joe used to work.
This seems like a good time to close my reports for now. We'll be house sitting in Las Cruces most of the summer with little to report. We'll be reporting from Taos NM later in the summer and I want to document going solar with the van next winter before we head out for Mexico.
Thanks to all who have helped us along the way. We're enjoying our new laptop wi-fi compatible, it's making life a lot easier. The van made it back in great shape, no problems whatsoever except getting pulled over in Texas for not having a light over my license plate.
Also one weird thing that happened to us in Texas, we were less than 100 miles north of San Antonio I think when I had to ask Joe, "Is it my imagination or is it raining oil?"
"It seems to be raining oil." I don't know what was going on but the air became so acrid and then a thin veil of oil was all over the windshield. We had to roll up the windows the smell was so bad. I can't believe what ever was going on out there was even legal. No one could live with that atmospheric condition for long. But we were out of it in about five minutes.
We spent one night in Austin at a poetry open mic. What a town of talent, Austin, the best town in Texas.
Well happy trails to all, peace and love. We'll be seeing you all later on down the line.
Beatlick Pamela
Mind of Mansel: 4th of July
"July 4 and there's fireworks in the skies, too many flames to follow like bullets piercing sandy eyes, half an ocean, quite a world away as the political mandala turns, erupting and spinning bodies of spent flesh will be burning, the constitution is locked away and never saw bloodshed, never saw the nightmares in a soldier's head, emergency rooms fill up with accidents, helicopters with wounded, blood for blood."
Chris Mansel
Chris Mansel
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Beatlick Travel Report: The Nashville House
Subject: Beatlick TR: Out of Nashville
Date: Jun 17, 2009 6:39 AM
Just a quick report to say the Nashville episode is over, the house is completely restored, and my tenants were painting as I pulled out of the driveway. As much as I hated coming to Nashville, my heart was breaking as I left. It was so good to see all these old friends, and you really learn who your friends are when you need as much help as I did getting my mother's home back in order. New bathroom, new roof, and I personally loaded 10.000 pounds of roofing debris along with Joe, my sister and her husband, and a 10-year-old boy named Austin. He works with his dad the roofer and he worked as hard as anybody.
Plans are to arrive back in Las Cruces by the 30th of June, next day will be my birthday. And to all those we didn't get to see, time just slipped away.
It's raining AGAIN and I am full of chigger bites, memorances of Nashville.
Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela
Subject: Beatlick TR: All but the money
Date: Jun 7, 2009 2:34 PM
My little house looks so much better. Couldn't have done it without my sister and brother-in-law who got all the helpers. There is a new bathroom, the house has been pressure washed and sparkles, the sidewalk is fixed, the back porch repaired, the floors are beautiful, the kitchen sink has new drains and paper in the cupboards, and I have only the roof to go and that requires getting paid by the insurance company.
This has been my most discouraging hurdle and I can't help remembering my friend Dana admonishing me: Let's see how far the new pollyanna attitude (my words) will be serving you in a couple of weeks and believe me I am being tested.
The insurance company would have me believe that they mailed me a check twice, that it is lost in the mail, and that they routinely mail out thousands of dollars in checks without registering or tracking them.
I'm waiting on a check that was supposed to have been sent May 28. Then the agent tells me the check was returned to her office. Excuse me. I didn't return it. Did the post man put it in the wrong box? No way to know. She says she put it in the mail on Wednesday. By Saturday there is still no check and she mailed it from Nashville.
So now I am dealing with this stress, this kind of cancer creating stress that occurs when you are getting jacked around and have no recourse. I call Friday, no check, and she informs me she is going on vacation. She'll "red flag" my account and I can speak to the manager on Monday. This is Sunday and I have truly struggled to keep my composure over this when I believe this woman is insulting my intelligence.
So I am at an impasse for now. I won't even be able to oversee putting on the roof as I have my commitments back in Las Cruces. So here I sit. The house is ready, all but for the roof and siding, and no money.
Down but not out.
Beatlick Pamela
Subject: Beatlick Travel Report: The house rents!
Date: May 31, 2009 6:21 PM
Spending that time out on the Slabs in California taught me how to live without water. I needed that knowledge. Today for the first time in a month I took a bath in my own house and used the toilet! We have come such a long way and that poor plumber has suffered plenty right along with me.
I was the first one under the house, been under there at night in the dark with a flash light, daylight too, making SURE, seeing for myself what the situation is. There is so much to learn about the water. When you turn it off, turn off the water heater first, or you will burn up your water heater like I did. And when you turn it back on, the water I mean, do it gently. We had the toilet set, the sink ready to go, turned the crank on the water meter and blew out a pipe under the house. So it was three more days getting that fixed. I crawled under the house again and found the leak - discouraging - but we persevered.
I have worked hard to keep my good attitude and it has paid off. I have scrubbed every square inch of the house giving it all I've got, and waited, waited patiently. As I was cleaning the floors in my mother's room, one millimeter at a time, I heard some voices calling from the front door." Did you get my email?" my cousin Joan called. And there walked into my house the answer to my prayers. Joan is on my mailing list. She had brought her niece and my second cousin once removed, on my father's side of the family as we say here in the South, who is looking for a house. She loved my house, I loved her for loving it, and the for rent sign has been taken down!
I still have to get a roof on and get the aluminum siding fixed on one side, and then I can turn the keys over. The house will be let on July 1, my birthday. My father Howard Kennedy Adams, bought the house in 1949. My new tenant is a Kennedy, too. My sister and I cried in each other's arms thinking how happy it would make my mother to know a Kennedy is back on Kipling Drive. Actually my sister said my mother has probably orchestrated the whole scenario from heaven. Maybe so.
I hope to be back in Las Cruces for my doctor's appointment on June 23. It's hard to believe how this all has turned out. I really didn't worry that much, just keep trusting and keeping the faith, and doing all I can to expedite the situation. I couldn't have found a bottle with a genie in it to offer me free wishes and chosen a better couple to rent to. They have an English bull dog and the next door neighbors have an American bull dog. Maybe there will be some puppy love going on before long.
Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela
Subject: Beatlick TR: Nashville work continues
Date: May 23, 2009 6:14 PM
Deep in Nash country the work continues. I still wonder at the fact I am here and with so much work ahead of me. Little did I suspect that the work would be so great or that I would have thousands of insurance dollars to help me see it through. My little house has had a hysterectomy, the bathroom work continues. I didn't know to turn the hot water heater off when I shut off the water so I discovered yesterday that the hot water heater has been ruined. I casually mentioned it to my new old neighbor Joel who along with his wife has moved back into his house next door to me after eight years. It's hard to say who has the most work ahead of them, Joel or myself. His house was really trashed.
He was at my front door this morning to tell me he could fix my water heater. I didn't even know he was a heating and air conditioning technician. I just can't believe my luck. I bought two new elements for a few dollars and the system was back up and running within a few hours.
My sister and brother-in-law brought the woman who is redoing the bathroom floor over this morning. Yes a female and she has got an enviable tool belt I'm here to tell you. My sister helped her out last month so she has ripped out the toilet and sink and redone the bathroom floor for NOTHING. Can you believe this stuff? My brother-in-law has been beside her every step of the way, brought over the plumbers, and went to Home Depot for all the building materials. It is all so amazing.
As we work on the house the van is parked FEMA trailer style in the driveway and that is where we sleep at night. Every time I walk down the hill to the store I retrace the steps that I walked to elementary school. Yesterday evening I stood at the very place where my father's body flew out of his car and hit the ground when he was struck and killed by a truck driver in 1956.
This is some kind of accounting for me, it's traumatic and sad to see the house in this shape. This little plot of ground is all I have except for my van and the burial plot next to mama out at the cemetery. So I am trying to make things right, make mama proud. Like the bathroom. The problem there was that the big pipe where the toilet is supposed to be connected has been six inches too far below the floor, I guess for sixty years. Someone put something like a coffee can on top of the pipe and stuffed old newspapers and plastic bags around it to prop it up and then they set the toilet on top of all that.
Poor work, crap work, no wonder it never worked right all those years. I also found up there are four layers of shingles on the roof. Three is the legal limit. Again somebody took advantage of mama, did a poor job. I can see mama now out in the yard complaining, "I'm just a poor old widow woman."
So it is a long haul to get it all right and it is stressful to wait all this out but I believe I am doing it with a small degree of grace. I have learned and continue to learn if I just stay calm and believe in the best it is all going to work out. I'm going through something here, a mourning for the past, I can hardly find any distinguishing landmarks around the old neighborhood anymore. I'm not young anymore and time has moved on. Proust says all those memories where just little slivers of time, moments now lost.
I have a wonderful new world on the road to get back too and I am eager to begin, but not yet, not yet.
Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela
Date: Jun 17, 2009 6:39 AM
Just a quick report to say the Nashville episode is over, the house is completely restored, and my tenants were painting as I pulled out of the driveway. As much as I hated coming to Nashville, my heart was breaking as I left. It was so good to see all these old friends, and you really learn who your friends are when you need as much help as I did getting my mother's home back in order. New bathroom, new roof, and I personally loaded 10.000 pounds of roofing debris along with Joe, my sister and her husband, and a 10-year-old boy named Austin. He works with his dad the roofer and he worked as hard as anybody.
Plans are to arrive back in Las Cruces by the 30th of June, next day will be my birthday. And to all those we didn't get to see, time just slipped away.
It's raining AGAIN and I am full of chigger bites, memorances of Nashville.
Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela
Subject: Beatlick TR: All but the money
Date: Jun 7, 2009 2:34 PM
My little house looks so much better. Couldn't have done it without my sister and brother-in-law who got all the helpers. There is a new bathroom, the house has been pressure washed and sparkles, the sidewalk is fixed, the back porch repaired, the floors are beautiful, the kitchen sink has new drains and paper in the cupboards, and I have only the roof to go and that requires getting paid by the insurance company.
This has been my most discouraging hurdle and I can't help remembering my friend Dana admonishing me: Let's see how far the new pollyanna attitude (my words) will be serving you in a couple of weeks and believe me I am being tested.
The insurance company would have me believe that they mailed me a check twice, that it is lost in the mail, and that they routinely mail out thousands of dollars in checks without registering or tracking them.
I'm waiting on a check that was supposed to have been sent May 28. Then the agent tells me the check was returned to her office. Excuse me. I didn't return it. Did the post man put it in the wrong box? No way to know. She says she put it in the mail on Wednesday. By Saturday there is still no check and she mailed it from Nashville.
So now I am dealing with this stress, this kind of cancer creating stress that occurs when you are getting jacked around and have no recourse. I call Friday, no check, and she informs me she is going on vacation. She'll "red flag" my account and I can speak to the manager on Monday. This is Sunday and I have truly struggled to keep my composure over this when I believe this woman is insulting my intelligence.
So I am at an impasse for now. I won't even be able to oversee putting on the roof as I have my commitments back in Las Cruces. So here I sit. The house is ready, all but for the roof and siding, and no money.
Down but not out.
Beatlick Pamela
Subject: Beatlick Travel Report: The house rents!
Date: May 31, 2009 6:21 PM
Spending that time out on the Slabs in California taught me how to live without water. I needed that knowledge. Today for the first time in a month I took a bath in my own house and used the toilet! We have come such a long way and that poor plumber has suffered plenty right along with me.
I was the first one under the house, been under there at night in the dark with a flash light, daylight too, making SURE, seeing for myself what the situation is. There is so much to learn about the water. When you turn it off, turn off the water heater first, or you will burn up your water heater like I did. And when you turn it back on, the water I mean, do it gently. We had the toilet set, the sink ready to go, turned the crank on the water meter and blew out a pipe under the house. So it was three more days getting that fixed. I crawled under the house again and found the leak - discouraging - but we persevered.
I have worked hard to keep my good attitude and it has paid off. I have scrubbed every square inch of the house giving it all I've got, and waited, waited patiently. As I was cleaning the floors in my mother's room, one millimeter at a time, I heard some voices calling from the front door." Did you get my email?" my cousin Joan called. And there walked into my house the answer to my prayers. Joan is on my mailing list. She had brought her niece and my second cousin once removed, on my father's side of the family as we say here in the South, who is looking for a house. She loved my house, I loved her for loving it, and the for rent sign has been taken down!
I still have to get a roof on and get the aluminum siding fixed on one side, and then I can turn the keys over. The house will be let on July 1, my birthday. My father Howard Kennedy Adams, bought the house in 1949. My new tenant is a Kennedy, too. My sister and I cried in each other's arms thinking how happy it would make my mother to know a Kennedy is back on Kipling Drive. Actually my sister said my mother has probably orchestrated the whole scenario from heaven. Maybe so.
I hope to be back in Las Cruces for my doctor's appointment on June 23. It's hard to believe how this all has turned out. I really didn't worry that much, just keep trusting and keeping the faith, and doing all I can to expedite the situation. I couldn't have found a bottle with a genie in it to offer me free wishes and chosen a better couple to rent to. They have an English bull dog and the next door neighbors have an American bull dog. Maybe there will be some puppy love going on before long.
Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela
Subject: Beatlick TR: Nashville work continues
Date: May 23, 2009 6:14 PM
Deep in Nash country the work continues. I still wonder at the fact I am here and with so much work ahead of me. Little did I suspect that the work would be so great or that I would have thousands of insurance dollars to help me see it through. My little house has had a hysterectomy, the bathroom work continues. I didn't know to turn the hot water heater off when I shut off the water so I discovered yesterday that the hot water heater has been ruined. I casually mentioned it to my new old neighbor Joel who along with his wife has moved back into his house next door to me after eight years. It's hard to say who has the most work ahead of them, Joel or myself. His house was really trashed.
He was at my front door this morning to tell me he could fix my water heater. I didn't even know he was a heating and air conditioning technician. I just can't believe my luck. I bought two new elements for a few dollars and the system was back up and running within a few hours.
My sister and brother-in-law brought the woman who is redoing the bathroom floor over this morning. Yes a female and she has got an enviable tool belt I'm here to tell you. My sister helped her out last month so she has ripped out the toilet and sink and redone the bathroom floor for NOTHING. Can you believe this stuff? My brother-in-law has been beside her every step of the way, brought over the plumbers, and went to Home Depot for all the building materials. It is all so amazing.
As we work on the house the van is parked FEMA trailer style in the driveway and that is where we sleep at night. Every time I walk down the hill to the store I retrace the steps that I walked to elementary school. Yesterday evening I stood at the very place where my father's body flew out of his car and hit the ground when he was struck and killed by a truck driver in 1956.
This is some kind of accounting for me, it's traumatic and sad to see the house in this shape. This little plot of ground is all I have except for my van and the burial plot next to mama out at the cemetery. So I am trying to make things right, make mama proud. Like the bathroom. The problem there was that the big pipe where the toilet is supposed to be connected has been six inches too far below the floor, I guess for sixty years. Someone put something like a coffee can on top of the pipe and stuffed old newspapers and plastic bags around it to prop it up and then they set the toilet on top of all that.
Poor work, crap work, no wonder it never worked right all those years. I also found up there are four layers of shingles on the roof. Three is the legal limit. Again somebody took advantage of mama, did a poor job. I can see mama now out in the yard complaining, "I'm just a poor old widow woman."
So it is a long haul to get it all right and it is stressful to wait all this out but I believe I am doing it with a small degree of grace. I have learned and continue to learn if I just stay calm and believe in the best it is all going to work out. I'm going through something here, a mourning for the past, I can hardly find any distinguishing landmarks around the old neighborhood anymore. I'm not young anymore and time has moved on. Proust says all those memories where just little slivers of time, moments now lost.
I have a wonderful new world on the road to get back too and I am eager to begin, but not yet, not yet.
Happy Trails
Beatlick Pamela
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