Why Me?

In the immortal words of Kris Kristofferson:

"Why me Lord
What have I ever done
To deserve even one
Of the blessings I've known
Why me Lord
What did I ever do
That was worth love from you
And the kindness you've shown"

One of the sweetest sounding words in the English language, in my opinion, is "benign".  Probably the only sweeter word is "remission".

Twice in ten months I was blessed to hear the word benign.  Twice in ten months I had medical procedures, one more extensive than the other, but both ended in the word I wanted to hear.  You want to stand on the rooftop and shout out as loudly as you possibly can "I DON'T HAVE CANCER!"

But you don't. 

"Why me, Lord?"

Because, as wonderful as you feel in that instant, you have friends that aren't.  I had friends this summer that started their treatments for breast cancer, some that finished their treatments, some that continued their battle, and some that got the all clear after fighting the good fight. 

And the guilt creeps in a little.  Why was I so lucky?  How did I dodge a bullet?  Not once but twice.  What makes me different?  Why do I get to be so happy when others aren't? 

"What have I ever done....?"

Is the Lord giving me a pass on this one because He has something else in store for me, a bigger challenge?  Or is it His way of saying "you've had enough in this life my child" as a reward for dealing with things I've dealt with?

I simply don't know.

"To deserve even one"

We think the same thing about Riley.  In 2008 we had no idea that dogs could even have epilepsy, much less how prevalent it is.  Through the magic of social media we have met and formed relationships with so many families around the world that wake up every day, as we do, and say a prayer that it ends seizure free.  And then we pray again at bedtime that the night will be quiet.  

We follow each other online, touching base daily, smiling at pictures of our pups acting like
"normal" pups.  We share our experiences with those just starting down this path.   We all hold our collective breath when one gets visited by "the monster". 

And we cry deep in our hearts when one crosses the Rainbow Bridge.  Because no matter how old they were, it wasn't old enough.  We hug our own epi warrior just a little tighter and you wonder, why me?  Why us? 

Riley had severe cluster seizures every two weeks for over two years.  He's been through liver failure.  He continues to face health issues every day, including congestive heart failure and cancer. 

At the age of 12-ish, our little Timex "takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'", at least that is how it feels.

Some of our online friends have lost their warriors at only four or five years old.  Too young.  Why is our Riley so lucky?  While we know that nothing is forever,  he just keeps defying the odds.  In fact, one of his latest health concerns is simply a factor of living long enough to get it.

"Of the blessings I've known"

I intentionally had this piece post on Thanksgiving.  A day of thanks for all our blessings.  A day, often overlooked, or at least shortchanged, for remembering all the gifts we have received in our lives.

Our families, our marriage, friends, work, our health, our community, food on our tables.

The love of our Lord.

A free country with all the riches we could possibly desire if we only go after them.

Too often, we let the day-to-day take it's toll.  Money concerns.  Aging parents.  Health issues.  Un, or under, employment.  It's important to step back and say thank you.  I may have "this", but I don't have to deal with "that". 

We all have a cross to bear but sometimes we forget to say thank you for our cross and that our cross is not the one that someone else has to bear.  And to remember to say to thank you to the One, and all the others, that help us carry that cross.  That help us get our burdens to where they need to be so we can turn them over to the One that bears them all, for all of us if we only ask and give it up.

"That was worth love from you"

So, thank you.  To my friends, family, coworkers, neighbors past and present for making my life richer.  To the farmers that raised the food we will eat today; and to the workers that processed it, packaged it, and sold it.  To law enforcement, first responders, and our military for keeping us safe.  To the educators who helped shape my minds; the medical world for keeping me healthy; and everyone who has helped me become the person I am.  To the best husband a girl could ever ask for, or even dream about.

And to all of you, wherever and whoever you are.  You read these posts.  You support my dreams.  You rock!  And for you, I am thankful.  "And the kindness you've shown"


 

B & Dee's Excellent Adventure!

In May, 2010, Billy and I attended Bayou Country Fest, held at LSU's Tiger Stadium.  Like any multi-day music festival there were plenty of opportunities between acts to walk around and, like I am wont to do, talk to the people around you.

So I did.

There was a lady that looked about our age sitting behind us, with a teenage girl.  I assumed the girl was her daughter but discovered she was, in fact, a niece.  They had flown in from Atlanta and they initially asked about the availability of cabs after the show to take them back to their hotel. ( No such luck in Baton Rouge, LA.)   During the conversation I learned that the aunt was unmarried with no children and had told all her nieces and nephews that she would take them on a one-on-one trip when they graduated from high school.  Anything they wanted to do - concert, sporting event, cultural event, anything within reason.   This concert weekend was this niece's choice.  Just a opportunity to make a few more memories before the young people were off to college and then The Real World. 

What a fabulous idea!

I felt like I needed to jump on this immediately!  Hayden, Clay and Brett also thought it was a pretty terrific idea.  (You can read about Hayden's adventure here:  Hayden's trip.  Clay has yet to decide what he wants to do.)

I honestly think that Brett has been planning this trip for years.  Possibly since Hayden and I returned.  She pretty much wanted to do the same kind of thing.

Los Angeles or Bust!

So, on August 1, this pretty young lady and I struck out for the West Coast.

 


We were on a mission to see LA and see LA we did! 

We ate like the locals;

toured the Hollywood Hills;

played in the Pacific Ocean;

coasted up the Pacific Coast Highway;

 and spent the day in Harry Potter's world at Universal Studios, including a butterbeer (no worries, just a frozen treat, no alcohol). 

 I even convinced her to go through The Walking Dead attraction with me!

And at the end of a wonderful week, I returned her in the same condition in which I found her.

(I think we look okay for having left LA at 6AM...)

Traveling with Brett was a delight!  She is smart, and funny, and totally low maintenance so we could get started early and go until Dee Dee fell out.  We sang songs in the car while we waited in traffic.  We talked about life, and school, and future dreams.  And how to reach them.   I shouldn't have been surprised, though.  She grew up eating McDonald's in the back seat and sleeping in her car seat as her brothers would be playing some sort of ball.  She's always been a "go with the flow" kind of girl.

It was a very special time.

But she has always been special.  Quick to smile and laugh. 

Always loving, with a caring heart for others.  She was the friend to the young girl in school with special needs, raised money for the Sweetheart Ball for the Heart Association, and is currently taking UCA by storm.  No easing into college life for this one!  She will do great things in this life.

I have loved her from the instant I set eyes on her.   My hopes for her are that all her dreams come true, but not without hard work, for work grows us on the inside.  I would pray that her heart never gets broken, but that isn't reasonable.  Because you have to have felt love to ever feel loss, and I want her to love mightily - someday.  I want her to dream big, and reach for the highest star in the sky, but never lose herself in that journey.  It is easy to do what others expect and forget what you were going after to start with. 

But, mostly, I really want her to enjoy the ride.  To reach the end of her years a very long time from now and have no regrets.  No "I wish I would have"s or "If only I could"s.  Live her own life.

 

 Remember always, Brett, Dee Dee loves you.

When Should Equals Must, but Can Does Not Equal Should

In the world in which I work, "should" equals "must".  Government Auditing Standards, the Standards under which I primarily operate, have fairly stringent requirements.  Lest there be any confusion, if they say you "should" do something, then do it.  By definition, the word "should" indicates some level of judgement is being applied.  Like you can make a decision whether or not to do something.  In this world, your judgement has been removed and it is fairly obvious what you are expected to do on an audit.

In the world in which I grew up, with respect to the American flag and the National Anthem, should also equaled must.  "When the flag passes you should stand at attention, with your hand over your heart" can be appropriately translated into Rodgers-speak as "Stand there with your hand over your heart."  Hear the "must" in that sentence?

I'll take it a step further.  "Stand there, with your hand over your heart, and don't move until it is over."  I learned that last part the hard way.  While I can't tell you exactly how old I was when I was taught this lesson, I'll never forget the day. 

Ole Main High School football stadium.  Daddy and I were on the back row, last section of the bleachers, home team side.  (I know I was in junior high or younger as I marched in the band during football season in high school.  I don't think I was in elementary school but I don't know when Daddy started carrying the chains for the football games.  So, it was either a special event and I was older, or Daddy had not yet joined the "chain gang".)  We were standing up for the anthem.  I placed my soft drink on the back wall, turned to face the flag, placed my hand over my heart, and stood there. 

For some reason that still escapes me, partway through apparently I thought I was going to die of thirst and turned ever so slightly, picked up my cup, took a sip, replaced it and continued to sing.  Before the applause died after the "home of the brrrraaaavvveeeee!!!!", but not before that last note, Daddy turned and gave me The Look (some of you know it) and let me know in NO UNCERTAIN TERMS that I was never again to move during the National Anthem and with the flag present.  Standing at attention meant just that. 

Lesson learned.  You still won't catch me even moving an eyeball during the Star Spangled Banner.  (Side note, during the Olympics a video went viral of an Army Reservist pole vaulter who stopped mid-run, laid down his pole, and stood at attention when he heard the National Anthem start in the arena.  He couldn't actually find the flag and his eyes were darting everywhere trying to find it.  He even turned completely around once to scour the other side of the venue.  Always at attention, though.  Even Daddy would have let that one go.)
Just because I could turn and get a sip of cola during that time certainly did not mean I should have.

Colin Kaepernick has the right to not stand at attention during the football games when the flag is presented and the anthem played.  He can disrespect them both, if he chooses.  I can choose not to like it when he does so, and speak out about it.  Freedom of speech is one of those freedoms represented by that flag he despises so much.

But just because you can do something does not mean you should.  Simple.

Many fellow NFL football players are joining in his protest.  You see, Colin feels that our national symbols are not those of freedom and sacrifice but more of oppression.  That the policies of the United States of America are oppressive to its black citizens.

I do agree that there are many policies and programs that are hurting American's minority citizens way more than helping them.  I do doubt, however, that Colin and I would agree on what those are.  We obviously disagree on our means of protest as well.

The country has seen a lot in its 240 years of existence.  Much has changed.  Men and women of all races, ethnicities, creeds, political preferences and sexual orientations are free under the laws of this land.  Men and women of all races, ethnicities, creeds, political preferences, and sexual orientations fought and died for our rights to be so.

Being disrespectful is no way to make a point, in my opinion.  I think you end up looking petty and disingenuous.  How about going to your elected officials?  Holding a press conference with your views?  Writing a letter to the editor even?

Mr. Kaepernick is a mixed race male, adopted by white parents, making millions of dollars playing a game.  In a sense, he could represent all that is right with this country.  That anyone, no matter their background, heritage, social standing, race, creed, ethnicity, or any other defining factor can be anything they want, and be successful.  All they have to do is have a dream and work hard.

Instead, he chooses to act like a petulant child who has been wronged by the world and all his toys taken from his toy box.

He COULD be the poster child for all that is right.  He SHOULD be someone that young men could emulate.  He COULD and SHOULD be thankful all the opportunities that this country has afforded him.

He is one example of where "could" should equal "should".

He has every right to have his voice heard but to have it taken seriously he MUST find another way to express himself. 

Our national symbols represent so much more, and deserve so much better.

 
(see - even Doozer can do it)

Loss of a Champ: Person, or Persona?

I've stayed kind of quiet today about the passing of Muhammed Ali.   Those who haven't known me forever don't know I come from deep boxing roots.  I think I was in high school before I realized other girls were not spending Friday nights at the NLR Community Center at the matches.  My uncle, Ray Rodgers, is legendary in the boxing world - amateur and professional.  He has worked with some of the greats, both before and after they became "great".  He has his own boxing club in Little Rock and has helped many a young boy become a man.  He has stringent rules in his club and if you don't follow, you are out.  First and foremost are education and proper behavior.  No vulgarities are allowed. No skipping school.  His efforts were recognized a few years ago when he was inducted into the Arkansas Sports Hall of Fame.  He has been similarly honored by both the National Golden and Silver Gloves organizations.

He got my dad into boxing at a very young age, and Daddy stayed in it for many years, well into college.  My cousin, Michael Rodgers Sr., Ray's son and also known as The Honkytonk Hitman, also boxed professionally and has followed in his dad's footsteps by having his own boxing club in Tennessee.and helping young men grow into better adults.

So, I grew up in and around and watching boxing.

While no one can ever discount Ali's athletic ability, Daddy never cared for his demeanor.  All the bragging and boasting.  Not Daddy's style.  And the way Ali got out of military service- not a fan of that.  So we didn't grow up huge Ali fans.  Ali just didn't conduct himself as Daddy wished he would.

At that time.

But I think Daddy shook Ali's hand today in Heaven.  I think he would see that Ali taught the world to live with dignity in the face of adversity.  What worse fate than for a champion athlete to lose control of his body to a disease like Parkinson's?  To have the one thing that he always prided himself on slowly taken away from him.  Some might say Karma.  Others would say tragedy.

But is there anyone who did not get chills when Muhammed slowly made his way up the ramp to light the Olympic flame in Atlanta in 1996?  And to hear the clips that follow of Ali giving of himself to the next generation, I think Daddy would be good with that.  He changed from the man he was towards the man he should have been.

I like to think that in Heaven all is made clear and all is forgiven.  A perspective change, if you will.

In any event, my heart goes out to the Ali family tonight.  While the world lost a champion, they lost not only that but a husband, father, grandfather, brother, uncle, friend.

Been there, done that.  They have my prayers.

Set Your Own Pace, Run Your Own Race

In January of this year, 2016, I ran my first half marathon.

It was supposed to be my second.  I had been training last fall for an event in November, a half Ironman distance triathlon.

A couple of weeks before the event I had a health concern.  I called my doctor on a Monday.  They saw me on Wednesday.  And again on that Friday.  At Friday's appointment words like "biopsy" and "surgery" were brought out.  A biopsy was done. 

It was all very quick, and very unexpected.  Surgery was required, the extent of which to be determined by the biopsy results.

I sat on the table, somewhat dazed.  I had not brought anyone with me to the appointment because I really thought it was "no big deal" kind of thing. 

But one thing I did have the presence of mind to ask was whether or not I could do the triathlon the next Saturday.  The doctor gave me a look that I'm sure others have received when asking a seemingly ridiculous question.  Sure, I could participate but under the circumstances he didn't really think I would want to.

Ultimately, I didn't.  Too much had happened in too short a time.  I knew that mentally I was not in the right place.  (Especially dangerous if you are looking to swim 1.2 miles in open water.  Must be focused on the task at hand.)

I waited the next week for "the phone call".  What would that biopsy show?

In the end, I got the best news.  No cancer.  Still had a health issue but the surgery would take care of everything and it was scheduled for December 1.  The Tuesday before Thanksgiving I was pre-admitted and the Tuesday after, I went under the knife, except it was all done by lasers.

One month to six weeks recovery.  No driving.  Limited exercise.  I worked from home starting the second week so I could work when I could, and rest when I needed.

On December 23, 2015, I was released from the doctor.  I had done exceptionally well with my recovery and, yes, I was free to drive myself to Arkansas for Christmas.  Great!

But, I had another question.  Could I still do the half-marathon on January 17 that I had registered for months earlier?  Different doctor's office personnel, but same quizzical look.  No reason that I couldn't, medically.

Only issue was an obvious lack of recent training.

I arose very early on that Sunday morning.  Several times that preceding week Billy had questioned my sanity.  In a very rare act for me, I asked him not to go.  I wasn't positive that I could do it, and I didn't want him to watch me fail.  But I knew I had to try.

My trip to Baton Rouge was not without its bumps and, in the end, I arrived at the start 5 minutes too late.  With tears running down my face, I asked the race director if I could still run but just not receive an official time.  He paused for only a second (the race is on public streets after all) and not only told me I could, but after the race he would get me my shirt, bib, swag bag, etc. 

And off I went.

I had been very nervous leading up to this.  I was nowhere close to be physically fit for this event.  Mentally, I was not confident, either.  I knew I'd have to walk most of it.  Could I finish in time?  I'd checked the rules and I had about 7 hours to complete the course.  I could do that, right?  What would people say about me walking?  Would that be frowned upon?  Would I be embarrassed at the back all by myself as others took off running?  I hated the thought of the poor policeman that would have to tail this poor, lone "runner" as she struggled through.

If I hadn't already dropped $20 to park I might just have well turned around and gone home as to take off on that run.

But I started.  I was a ways behind the pack but I was trying.  Run, walk.  Run a little, walk a lot.  Run a little more. 

Slowly, I made ground and I actually started closing the distance.  Soon, I was passing others that were walking.  As I walked, I could hear other participants in conversations.  To my amazement I heard one lady saying she couldn't believe people ran these things.  She had no intention of running one step.

She registered for a half marathon with NO intention of running it!  Whoa!

Maybe my walking wouldn't be so bad after all.  Hmmm.....

Soon, I was up with the others.  Two miles passed.  I texted Billy.  "Just passed two miles."

"4 miles, 55 minutes."

"Halfway!"

"Just five more to go!"

"10 miles? Done!"

After all those texts, I got this response: " You got it now.  Just think of how far you've come in all this athletic stuff.  And think of all those that thought you couldn't ever do this."

That day, I learned a lot about myself, and others.  I saw young and old, men and women, all shapes and sizes.  Some just walking, others pushing themselves. 

All doing the best they could.  Bettering themselves and furthering their journey to a better them.

We were all running our own races, at our own paces.

I have always known that I don't race others.  I only compete with myself. 

Me, myself and I.

Together, we did it.

I pushed myself, but not too hard.  I made certain that I ran part of every mile, if only a few hundred yards in some.  I didn't want to go all out at the beginning, exhaust myself, and possibly damage something. 

I stayed inside my head.  Drawing encouragement from cheerleaders lining the streets, signs in yards, volunteers at the water stops making sure we had all we needed.

It was a proud drive home.  And much easier than the journey there early in the morning.  Maybe I subconsciously sabotaged my drive because my head was talking louder than my heart.

But the heart ultimately won.

It will, when allowed. 

Never compare yourself to someone else.  In anything.  God made us all different, and I am the only Me there is.  There is no set mold for a runner/doctor/teacher/mailman/CPA/minister/nurse/any other profession.   All we can do is our best.

Whatever your goal, run your own race at your own pace.  Finishing is all that matters.

For the Love of Law Enforcement

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

"Do you need an ambulance, fire or police?"

"Where are you located?  Can you see a street sign, a landmark?"

"Is the victim breathing?  Is the victim conscious?"

"Is there a weapon anywhere?"

"Can you move?"

"Are you safe?"

All of the above are questions posed by emergency dispatchers.   You'll notice not a one of them asks of the caller their race, gender, sexual orientation, religious affiliation, educational background, political party preference, social standing, economic status, or any one of the other myriad topics that divide and label us daily.

When officers are called to help, they go.  There isn't a discussion of  "do we have an officer available that doesn't mind helping a white/black/Asian/Jewish/Christian/Gay/Republican/Atheist"?

No, they just go.  They.just.go.

They don't know what is on the other end of that phone call, just that their dispatcher gave them an order and they are the closest responders.  They go where needed, thinking only of helping someone, but their training is there to keep them safe.  Like a natural instinct they arrive with a sense of urgency, tempered with precaution.  They assess.  They decide.  They make things happen that need to happen.

And all too frequently, they die.

Last summer, it was a war on officers after Ferguson, Missouri, Baltimore, Maryland, and New York.  Three deaths at the hands of law enforcement that social and other media deemed "unjust".  None of the officers involved, however, have been convicted of anything in a proper court of law.

Subsequently, it was open season on officers.

We saw officers just sitting in theirs cars assassinated.  Officers who had nothing to do with the deaths in question.  For weeks we were bombarded with stories of officers doing nothing more than their jobs, killed for doing so.  We watched violent protests break out, endangering law abiding residents of many towns and cities.

And this summer, it is happening again.  Last week two young men, black men, were killed by police officers.  One in Baton Rouge, Louisiana and the other in Minnesota.  No one has officially determined any wrongdoing by the police.  In both cases the deceased did have a weapon on their person.

In Dallas, days after the deaths, people took the streets, like they did before, in an effort to make their voices heard in what they believed were cases of excessive force.  The march was a peaceful protest.  The streets were lined with the officers protecting the protesters. 

Yes, the protested protected the protesters.

Because it is the right of all American citizens to have their voices heard.  We express ourselves when we vote.  We can disagree with our leaders without fear of retaliation.  No "off with their heads!" for us.   I can say I don't like the President/Governor/Mayor/Dog Catcher and I don't have to worry if I will wake up in the morning.  No gang of goons is going to slip into my house in the dark of night and guarantee I never see daylight again.

But in Dallas shots rang out.  Reminiscent of the John Kennedy assassination, the shooter holed up in a tall parking garage and sniped the officers from different levels.  His military training working to his benefit.  In the end, six died and six more were wounded.  The shooter was taken out by an explosive-toting robot.

He said he wanted to shoot white cops.  In my estimation he wanted to leave his mark on this world.  He left his mark alright - all over the side of that parking garage wall.

All because he was angry.

Back in Baton Rouge a few days later, another shooter ambushed local law enforcement.  He lured them in on a fake emergency call and then opened fire. Another three officers reached their end of watch.  The shooter said he wanted to effect change in the way officers did their jobs. 

Again, those officers were not involved with death in question. 

Nine officers have lost their lives for nothing more than doing their jobs.  (A tenth in Kansas City yesterday was killed while in his car, looking for suspects.)  They just put on their uniform, like every other day, strapped on their weapons and went to work.

They were killed, in cold blood, for who they were and what they were.  Peace officers.

To me, these killers are no better than animals.  Loss of innocent lives is not necessary to make a point or effect change. 

Last year I wrote about ISIS murdering journalist and Christians for no other reason that what they did, who they were, what they believed.  These killers are in the same category for me.  Innocent lives lost over ideology.

Terrorists.

Plain and simple.

A terrorist is anyone that intentionally acts to elicit terror in the victim.  They don't have to be a radical Muslim or any other specific category.  All they have to be is someone that hates and wants to control and inflict pain.

Someone told me not long ago that the persons that died at the hands of the officers had committed crimes, yes, but nothing that warranted a death warrant.  I say the same about the officers that died.   Officers have to make split second decisions to protect themselves.  If they even suspect for an instant that their lives or the lives of persons in the vicinity are in danger then they must take appropriate action. 

And it is our job to not put ourselves in a position that gives them that opportunity.  Don't rob a store, don't go for the officer's gun, put your weapon away when asked, don't run when they tell you to stop, keep your registration and licenses current.

Just do as you are asked.

Everyone gets stopped on occasion.  I'm sure there are people that don't speed, never run a stop light, always come to a full stop at stop signs and so on.  I am not one of them. 

In July, 2013, Billy and I were able to settle his brother's estate.  When we were finished at the attorney's office I was charged with driving his pickup truck back to Mississippi from Arkansas.  A truck that had sat in one place for most of two years and had expired tags.  We debated on the best way to do it - take the tags off or leave them on - knowing that neither option was good and both ran a risk.  I was stopped just before the state line crossing into Louisiana.  The officer was very nice, and professional.  He explained why he was stopping me and asked for my driver's license.  I did as I was asked, and handed him my license.  I also handed him my conceal carry permit, like I knew I was supposed to.  He probably never would have known if I hadn't, but I know the right thing to do and I did it.

(Yes, I travel with a gun.  I cover a lot of back roads and small towns by myself and we decided a few years ago it would be safer for me.)

He asked where my gun was and I told him it was in my purse.  He requested that it stay right there.  I sat there making perfectly sure that I did nothing that would give him a reason to worry.  That is just plain common sense.  Keep your hands where they can be seen and don't even move toward to the purse. 

To do otherwise could have resulted very differently. 

To make the argument that "death sentences" are unreasonable for a petty theft is certainly true, but to create a situation where the officer is deciding between his safety and your life based on your own stupid actions is just that - stupid.

"The greatest gift a man can give is to lay down his life for another."  I don't know who said it, or if I quoted it correctly, but it is a true statement.  We expect law enforcement officers do be ready to do this every shift, every day.   They deserve our respect.  Our cooperation.  Our support.

They deserve to go home every night to their families, same as teachers, doctors, CPAs, librarians, bankers, ministers, mayors, CEOs, and every other profession.

The men and women in blue deserve to not have their families wear black.

The Lights of Their Eyes

Billy and I walk in the mornings.  Sometimes with dogs in tow, sometimes alone.

We try to be friendly; speak to everyone.  Some speak back.  A smile and a wave.  Others ignore you.  Some will grunt at you but never look up from their phone.

Billy is not always the most social of beings.  Once he quite playing softball, which took him away from home five or six nights a week, he was content to not leave ever again.  That was about 25 years ago. 

And he is no fan of small talk or chit chat, which is typically the bulk of the social networking things I attend here in town.

So, it actually takes some effort for him to put himself out there and speak.  It is out of his comfort zone somewhat.  I, on the other hand, talk to everyone.  I don't even care if they return the favor.  He gets annoyed at grocery shopping with me (or, should I say, me going with him) because I talk to people in line, in the aisles, wherever.

Some mornings we have the whole downtown Natchez to ourselves, others it is packed.  Minutes getting out of the house in the morning can absolutely make all the difference in the world.  One morning was particularly busy and we passed a lot of folks, a disproportionate amount we had to force to say hi and acknowledge us.

Billy turned and said "I want to be someplace where people still get a light in their eyes when they see you."

How true. 

Before 24 hour a day television and electronic everything, your neighbors were your entertainment.  You socialized.  You knew everyone.  In the early advent of television not everyone owned one so even watching the nightly news could be a social event.  People would gather outside the big picture window of the appliance store and see the marvels going on places other than where they were.

You cared about your fellow man.  And you cared because you were invested in them.  In your neighborhood.  Your community.

Not only your eyes, but your whole face would light up when you saw someone you knew.  When you asked how have you been?, you meant it.  And your face would light up if you saw a stranger because it could be an opportunity to help someone in need, or share the place you loved living.  Getting to meet someone new.

Now, if it isn't communicated via text, email, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, or a news scroll along the bottom of the television screen, we don't know about it.  We can't leave the house for fear we'll miss something.  We might be behind on the "latest".  When we do leave, it is with phone in hand.  And we carry around portable chargers and charging cables for both car and indoors.  Someone might need to get in touch with us and we must be available!  People can't even eat a meal at a restaurant, or, God forbid, use a public restroom, without their phone being RIGHT THERE! 

We've built electronic fences around ourselves.  You can't see them, but we are fenced in, nonetheless.

Remember the days when you could leave the house and not worry about a phone call?  If they needed you, they called the house.  If you were out living your life, they would try again later.  Eventually they left a message.  On an answering machine.  That you picked up when you got home. 

Strangers are no longer a friend that we haven't met yet, they are an inconvenience.  Someone we have to nod to, someone we worry is going to delay us along our path, interrupt our day.  Someone who is forcing us to look away from our phone.

Some days I feel like really pulling the plug on all these gadgets.  I wouldn't be the first to know if the world was ending, but at least I could enjoy myself while I waited. 

You know, read a book.  (A real book that you hold, not an eBook or an audible book.)  Sit on the porch and watch the world go by. Feed the birds.  Listen to the sounds of the river flowing south. 

And talk to people as they passed.  Give them a smile.  Look them in the eye.

Eyes with light.   

Painting With a Broad Brush

If you ever visit an artist in their studio, you'll see many things.  Drop cloths.  Easels.  Paints.  Pencils. Charcoal.  Canvases.

And lots of brushes.

Brushes of varying sizes.  Brushes with natural bristles.  Brushes with synthetic fibers.  Short ones.  Long ones.  Very fine tops, and wider heads.

One brush does not fit all.

An artist learns over time which brush yields the most desired results.  How to use the brush to get the details of the picture just so.

This past week has been a violent and turbulent one.   Two persons died at the hand of police officers in Louisiana and Minnesota.  And six officers died at the hand of a sniper in Dallas, Texas.  Six more were wounded.  The officers were on duty at a peaceful protest related to the two other events when shots rang out.  (It should be noted at the time of this writing that no officer had been charged with any wrongdoing, pending investigations.)

In a society with 24 hour newsfeeds, the coverage has been understandably constant.  The news is on at least one television in our home all the time.  Although we are working to try and stop inundating ourselves.

I write this piece not looking to give answers, but merely to raise more questions.  Maybe spark some thoughts.

All of these incidents, like the ones in Ferguson, Missouri and Baltimore, Maryland last year, center on race.  For all the working that has been done over the last few decades to erase race from our daily conversations, race relations are probably lower now that they have been in a very long time. 

Using race as the basis for the argument against the police is certainly easier than accepting that sometimes people do stupid stuff and make very bad decisions. 

I heard one man keep yelling at the television camera "white men hung us from trees!"  Yes.  A very true statement.  From a time long ago.  There were times in our history when a lynching like this describes were known to happen.  Not commonplace, by any stretch, but not unheard of either.  They were known to have happened during the years before the Civil War, usually as a warning to runaway slaves, and again in the 1960's during the height of the civil rights movement, and probably more than a few times in between.

However, the implication from this man was that it was okay to kill a random white man because in history a white man had done something terrible to a black man.  He was painting white men with a broad brush that all are evil.  That all should pay for the sins of the few.

I remember times in the 1980's when it seemed every other day carloads of young black men were conducting drive by shootings at the homes of other black men.  For those actions, sometimes, all young black men get painted with a broad brush that they are trouble.

And neither brush is the proper tool for the picture.

No group in humanity is without its faults.  The history of this country is not always pretty.  Slavery was a low point in the development of our nation.  But slavery is not unique to the United States.  The Europeans that came over in the 1400's brought their slaves with them.   The Egyptians enslaved the Hebrews, the Romans their conquered, Greece, China, Mongols, Africa - all have histories of slave labor.

To imply that all modern day white people have to continue to pay for actions over 150 years ago isn't fair.   That assumes, also, that all white people went along with that practice and thereby invalidates all the men and women that fought, and died,  for the Union in the Civil War.  I have a picture of my great-great-grandfather in his Union army uniform.  On my dad's side of the family, my cousins and I are all first generation Arkansans.  My grandparents were born in Oklahoma and Missouri.   Their children were all born in Oklahoma.    Oklahoma was still the Indian Territory during the Civil War years.  No one in my personal history owned slaves, or condoned slavery.

So why does it keep getting brought up?

The 1960's were a time of change in this country.  Even though all men had been free for 100 years, everything was not equal.  There were still divides.   Some were natural and organic and should have been left alone, and others were absolutely right to be abolished.  But, again, that was over 50 years ago. 

At some point, the past must be left there, in the past. 

Unless it is, we will continue with the violence we have witnessed this week, and in recent months.  It is impossible to move forward if you are always looking in the rearview mirror.

All white police officers are not bad.  Neither are they all good.  Each officer is an individual who makes decisions in each situation they face.

Not all black men are bad. Many have been instrumental in the growth of this nation.  George Washington Carver.  J.C. Watts.  Frederick Douglass.  Martin Luther King, Jr.  Jackie Robinson.   

The same is true for every group.  Male and female.  White, black, brown.  Gay and lesbian.  Young or old.  Doctors, lawyers, teachers, soldiers.  Every group that can be defined can be found to have both the most exemplary members, and those that are merely a waste of the air they breathe.

You cannot paint all peoples with one brush.