IGNORE THE SCARE TACTICS AND VOTE

 Turn on the news and listen to all the upheaval about the November 3rd election. Neither party seems comfortable with the possible outcomes of the presidential or senate races. Who’d have ever thought that a presidential election could scare a nation so much?  

A two-party system has long been the backbone of our political system. From local to national elections, folks have had the choice of either Republican or Democratic candidates. On occasion, an “independent” candidate has played a role in elections. However, most elections end with a winner from the two major parties. 

The deciding factor in many races has been the group of undecided voters. They are the ones who declare loyalty to neither party; they, instead, cast votes based on their determinations of the best candidate, the one who will represent the best interests of the country.  

From recent reporting, that independent group has disappeared. Voters are more polarized than ever. The president has his rock-solid base. They follow the man regardless of any mistakes or questionable acts he commits. Biden has his own base made up mostly of minorities, more liberal individuals, and a new group of “Never Trumpers.” Polls indicated that the number of undecided voters has shrunk to its smallest number ever.  

The good is that American citizens this cycle see this election as a turning point in our country’s history. They want to elect the man this time who will develop the country in the image that is most pleasing to
them. That means that the percentages of voters might soar to heights that are worthy of the greatest democracy ever built. 

What’s bad is that too many tricks and lies and scare tactics are being employed. Mail-in voting has taken place in several states for years, and our servicemen and women have mailed ballots in for years.

Those states have had incredibly low numbers of voter fraud. However, fear mongers are declaring that massive numbers of fraudulent ballots will be dumped into this election. Officials try to alleviate fears by assuring that the system is safe and that every ballot has several security parts to prevent such terrible things from happening.  

Russia interfered with the 2016 election and is working nonstop to extend its meddling in the 2020 contest. Intelligence and law enforcement agencies are uncovering these attempts by the Russians, as well as other countries. At home, the management of the USPS seems intent upon destroying mail-in voting by removing machinery, cutting overtime, and sending out voting instructions will incorrect information.  

This pandemic is also negatively affecting the election. Many voters might skip voting altogether because they are afraid to stand in lines to cast ballots. Senior citizens are most at risk of the harmful effects of Covid-19, and although this group typically comprises the largest number of voters, individuals might feel compelled to choose between health and voting.  

We are told that mail-in voting could clog the system and delay the naming of a winner by days or even weeks. If that is so, then solutions that alleviate delays in counting of mail-in ballots should be developed and introduced now. I’ve heard for years how apathetic the American public is when it comes to voting. Now we have a red-hot race that might lead to an all-time high in voter participation. We’ve sent men to the moon; we’ve developed cars that can drive themselves. Shouldn’t our country’s greatest minds be able to create a method accommodate voters, allows mail-in voting, and counts votes in an efficient and timely manner? 

I’m excited to vote. I hope you are. If you qualify for an absentee ballot (Tennessee doesn’t allow mail-in voting for everyone), make sure you fill out the form to request one and get it in as soon as possible. Otherwise, put on a mask, go to the polls, and make your voice heard. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut and don’t complain about the outcome. Voting is your right and your responsibility in a democracy.  

ON THE ROAD

 This past Wednesday was my wife’s birthday. She enjoyed the presents, but most of all, Amy wanted to take a trip some place. She calls it a chance to let her eyes see something new. The treks we begin don’t have to be long ones; she’s happy just driving someplace in the area and looking at waterfalls or walking on trails.  

Our trip’s first leg was to Ozone Falls. We arrived before the heat of the day hit and walked to top of the falls. The attempt to hike to the bottom began, but the trail was much more rugged than either of us was prepared to tackle. So, we hopped in the car and drove down the Interstate a few miles. Our second leg of the journey took us to Jamestown, and the third leg ended at Rugby. By the time we arrived back home, we’d driven 175 miles on a daily excursion.  

Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote “the soul is no traveler.” I heartily agree. All of my life, I’ve much rather stayed at home. Even as a boy, spending the night at someone’s house wasn’t so exciting. It never failed that as soon as I lay down for the night that my nose stopped up or I felt nauseous.  

Our camping trips weren’t any better. A pack of boys would pitch tents in back yards or in fields in the community. I never found a comfortable position for sleeping, and the best part of the whole event was arriving back home where I could take a nap.  

College proved to be a test of my distaste for traveling. I crashed into beds for sleep after hours of studying into the early morning. Those dorm rooms became my home enough where I could relax enough to sleep and find comfort.  

Amy loves to travel to the beach for vacations, and I admit that I like trips to the ocean and sand and surf. However, I grumble during the planning process and fret about the drive. Of course, once the trip begins, I’m “the biggest duck in the puddle.” Still, I never sleep well on vacation, even though I take my own pillows to help. Eventually, I fall asleep but usually rise by 6:00 or 7:00 a.m. With a little luck, I’ll sneak in a nap in a recliner or on the couch of the places where we are staying. I dread the drive home, but the thoughts of arriving home keep me focused on the road ahead.  

Nothing is better to me than waking up at home each morning. I enjoy sitting by the pool in the summer or on the screened porch as the weather cools. Even sitting on the couch with Amy and our dog Sadie during the coldest month is pure heaven to me. Home is where my heart is, and I don’t much want to leave where I am most comfortable. O 

Now that we are both retired, I’m sure that travel will be something that occurs more often. I better get used to it. As much as I like lying down each night on my own bed with my head on my own pillow, I love my wife more and want to keep her happy, even if I wind up sleep deprived and grouchier than usual.   

REIGNITING OLD FRIENDSHIPS

 It’s been 50 years since my class graduated from high school. Just like students in the 2020 class in and their proms and graduations, we’ve fretted over having to cancel the celebration of such an important event. Things look up just a bit right now, however, in that the class will meet in mid-September at an outdoor facility.  

I remember how enthused Mother as her 50-year reunion neared. She’d been the valedictorian that year and wanted to see folks that had all but disappeared after graduation.  

My interest is just as great as hers was. The most fun of any reunion is watching folks as they enter and trying to figure out who the hell they are! The images of old friends and classmates from back then don’t always gee-haw with what stands before us. Many of us have grown larger foreheads; others have put on more than a few pounds over that time; most of us now sport fleshier jowls and necks. Only a few people have aged little. One friend, Ken Mills, still looks as he did as an 18-year-old.   

Another interesting aspect of a reunion is discovering what folks have done over the last half century. So many classmates excelled in the classroom. They studied hard and sported top-tier grade-point-averages. Others, like me, survived most classes, and squeaked out of high school. It was only after beginning to pay for our education that we took classes and studying seriously. I’m curious as to what professions others chose and what roads they’ve traveled during those work years.  

Several of us have spent most of our years married. My brother Jim and his wife celebrated their 49th anniversary a week ago. A couple of classmates married immediately after graduation and have shared life with their partners even longer. At earlier reunions, we talked about our coming children or teenagers. This time around, the reports from proud grandparents, and, and perhaps, great-grandparents, will be the focus.  

Of course, we’ll fall silent at some point and grieve for the loss of classmates. Some died during our time in high school. Others lost their lives much too soon, and as happens with folks our age, some have passed in their later years. It will be difficult to wrap our minds around their deaths because, to us, they are still young, energetic individuals who hold hopes and dreams for the years to come.  

After that 50th reunion, Mother’s class met each year. She lamented about the steady loss of classmates every time they met. As we too will realize more vividly, each year pushes us just a bit closer to the end of our times on this planet with the people whom we’ve love and with whom we’ve have shared so many good times.   

Maybe next year, the classmates with whom I was the closest will meet at someone’s house or at a public place. We can catch up on the last year, not the last 50. One thing is for sure: if we do meet again, we’ll gather some place that allows or serves alcohol. The surprises and disappointments and losses will a bit easier to numb. Plus, embarrassing stories told about us won’t sting quite as much. 

I’m excited to attend this 50-year reunion. I’ll wear my mask and socially distance as much as possible so that I protect myself and others. At the same time, I’ll laugh and share stories from those “good ol’ days.”  

WORKMAN'S COMPENSATION

 I’d just finished mowing the tee box and replacing the markers on Hole 7. My foot slipped off the step that raised me back to the seat, and my weight pitched me forward. Not being as young and agile as I used to be, I struggle to twist and turn to keep from falling on the frame of the mower. That proved successful...until right before I hit the ground. The back of my knee landed on a rod that holds grass buckets on the reels. Without any detail, let’s just say that the metal punctured my skin.  

Just like that, my mowing season was over. It was no one’s fault; it was an accident. Still, I spent half a day at the emergency room being evaluated and sewn up. That was a week ago. I’m still hobbled and unable to do anything other than sit on my behind and hurt. Luckily, I’ve been covered by workmen’s compensation, which covers all costs associated with this accident. This isn’t my first encounter with workmen’s comp, however.  

As a goofy high school student, I worked on a crew with Knoxville City Maintenance. We boys cut weeds, picked up trash and cleared lots all over the city. One morning, we stopped at the Krystal on Broadway for coffee. I stayed in the truck with some of the other boys. We all noticed the gorgeous girl that showed up, but my line of site was blocked. I climbed on the top of the old 1952 Chevrolet pick-up truck for a better look, and after the girl entered Krystal, I jumped back down. I landed on a thick branch that suddenly gave way. I never figured out if the snap I heard was that wood or my ankle. At any rate, I was writhing in pain.  

Foxie, our crew leader, drove us to a doctor who dealt with cases for the city. They dumped me there, and after a humiliating, hours-long experience at that office, mother picked me up and took me home. I spent the rest of the summer in a cast, and the only mitigating factor was being paid weekly for the rest of the summer. Once again, workmen’s comp came to the rescue, and I was grateful. 

The third experience with compensation came when I was teaching. A student had wander into trouble during the day. I happened to be at the office when he was escorted to the assistant principal’s office. Eventually, the boy was being walked out of the office and decided to run. The principal took off after him, as well as my brother, who was the band director. I joined in the chase, and we caught the teen. He put up a good fight with three old men, but we eventually restrained him. In the process the principal injured his shoulder, and I hurt my back.  

I was sent to the doctor and checked for any serious conditions. A day off from work and physical therapy were recommended. Workmen’s comp covered the situation so that healthcare bills were paid, and I didn’t lose a day of PTO.  

I suppose I’ve been at the wrong place at the wrong time too often. Thankfully, the employers with whom I’ve worked have been covered by workmen’s compensation so that “accidents” haven't become financial burdens. I never have faked any injury for profit and never would take anything more than what was necessary to make me whole. Thanks to those companies and organizations for keeping me safe. 

GETTING READY FOR WINTER

 My son Dallas has a lot of his grandmother’s DNA flowing through his veins. For the second year, he’s put out pepper plants in five-gallon buckets (he doesn’t have much yard at his condo). He’s babied those plants, and they’ve yielded hundreds of banana and jalapeno peppers. Dallas has concocted his own preservative juices into which he places them. He’s even given jars of his harvest to friends and neighbors. 

My mother spent most of the late summer putting up things out of the garden. Of course, the first thing she did was pick and pull and dig the vegetables from plants or the soil. Daddy had run a tiller between rows to keep most of the weeds down, and we boys were exiled to that same garden to pull weeds where the plow didn’t reach.  

Mother scrubbed some things and washed others. We broke beans until our fingers were sore, and we dodged yellow jackets as they swarmed around the sweet corn that she cut from the cob. Next, she began the process of saving the food for the winter months. 

Some vegetables were frozen. Corn was cooked, cooled, and placed in freezer bags. It was stored in a chest freezer as large as a coffin and stacked between the meat from half a calf and a heft supply of day-old bread and snack cakes. Green peppers, as well as peaches and strawberries, were cut into pieces of diced before being frozen. 

The heat of summer was intense in a house with no air conditioning, but Mother fought through that over a hot stove. She boiled water in huge pans and then filled them with Mason jars stuffed to the top with green beans or stewed tomatoes. The things I loved the most were pickles. She had a fantastic recipe for dill pickles, and she also put up several jars of sweet pickles. We heard popping throughout the day as the lids to the jars sealed. Kitchen counters disappeared under the quart jars of foods.  

Mother also made sure we had plenty of jelly. We picked gallons of blackberries and got a heavy dose of chiggers for our efforts. We raced the birds to pick grapes from the vines in our yard. Mother also picked apples from our yard or from an orchard. By the time she finished washing, peeling, and slicing those fruits, dozens of jars of jelly, jam, and apple butter were ready for the paraffin sealer she always poured on the top of the jar before twisting on the lid.  

We all helped to carry the preserved foods to the basement. The top of the ledges served as shelves. Mother put green beans in one area, pickles in another, and jellies closest to the stairs. I marveled at how much food she’d stored away and thought we’d never get through it all. By the end of winter, however, the ledges were nearly bare, and the freezer had huge voids where meat and vegetables had once sat.  

I miss those canned foods that were always a part of my younger life. Most of all, I miss the woman who worked so hard to make sure her family had plenty to eat in the cold months of the year. It would be nice to have one more dill pickle or one more quart jar of beans. Even better would be a big jar of blackberry jelly. I hope Mother knows how much we appreciate all that she did for us.  

HELPING IMPROVE A DEPRESSING SITUATION

 The image stunned me: a mile-and a half line of traffic in the Dallas area. The vehicles were lined up down the road from a large parking lot. There, boxes of food were being distributed to people who were in need. All races, all ages, and all social classes were represented. Cars drove up with trunks opened, and approximately 100 workers loaded boxes of food into vehicles.  

Flash back to the last century to see a similar picture. However, those images will be of people standing in bread lines. The country was in the depths of the Great Depression, and hunger was common for folks in city and country communities. The lines never seemed to end as meals instead of boxes of food were passed out.  

Another similarity between now and then deals with housing. Foreclosures are hitting families now, and renters who can’t pay are being evicted. That’s not so different from the things that people faced in the 1930’s. Most of us have seen pictures of families leaving their farms and homes with their belonging stacked in the back of pick-up trucks.  

What hurts as much now as nearly 100 years ago is the look of despair in the faces of people. The eyes are the windows to the soul, and they show us the loss of hope and fear that now exists. Individuals don’t know what is coming next or what to do to protect themselves and their families. 

FDR came through to save people during the Depression. He began a series of programs that gave folks the chance to return to work. As a result, some major federal projects, such as TVA, were born. The Civilian Conservation Corps employed young men to work on environmental conservations jobs. My father-in-law worked in the CCC, and that job allowed him to send money home to his family so that they could buy food and other necessities.  

Today, Americans have nothing. Unemployment assistance from the federal government has ended. The executive order that reinstates some of the cash falls short in meeting the needs of people. The president said his proposal is what people need and that it incentivizes people to return to work. How is that possible when those jobs have disappeared?  

We can spend trillions of dollars on defending our nation, but if we don’t have a realistic approach to this crisis, a country to defend might not exist. Some politicians say not another dime should be allocated to help citizens in trouble. How does anyone with an ounce of compassion make such a statement? The future of this country is in the balance, and it can be moved toward a positive position by helping those in need, not by calling them lazy and turning deaf ears to their cries for help. 

The richest, most powerful country is staggering. Our position in the world as a leader is gone. We are pitied by other countries for the lack of success in fighting the corona virus. Millions of citizens are hungry and scared. They long for leadership that will address this crisis and find the path to a brighter future. That is not too much to ask. All that is needed is a governing body that cares more about its citizens than power or position.