The Man On The Moon

Below a rough outcrop of ancient rock a lonely figure sat sheltered from the brisk November wind. Ole John Ruffin slowing turned a spit made from an old rusty coat hanger which impaled a scrawny rabbit. He bent a little closer to smell the progress of the dinner that included a large tin can containing boiling potatoes and a small skillet cooking a corn meal Johnny cake. The inspection proved the meal was nearly ready so he looked out across the played out cornfield below.

The huge rising full Moon covered the field with magical silver light. Ruffin listened as the wind picked up and blew through the dried stalks, sounding like a plague of giant insects. From time to time a laugh or heave or grunt interrupted nature’s symphony.

“Boys, Come eat. It’s nearly done!” he shouted

Two ragged children emerged from the cornfield winded but still arguing. Ruffin paid no attention as they sat on an old log next to the fire. He spread husks in front of each of them and divided the potatoes, rabbit, and steaming hot coarse cornbread. The old man took care to take the burned portion of the cake and give his older grandson a little more than his third of the long awaited meal.

After a short prayer the three ravaged their way through the food, too hungry for any manners. Besides the food was too rough - lacking even salt - to enjoy the taste.

“Thanks Grampa.” eight year old Bubs offered even though still hungry. Roy muttered the same and return to the bored and insolent expression nearly universal among fourteen year olds.

“Grampa,” Bubs began softly, sneaking a peak towards the brother he knew he was about to provoke. “Can you tell us about the Man on the Mooooon?”

Roy jumped immediately to his feet in protest. “Ever damned night you ask for that stupid story Bubs an I ain’t hearin’ it again.”

“Pleeez Grampa!” The boy begged, ignoring the escalating tantrum.

“I ain’t hearin’ it!” Roy insisted and jumped to his feet. He began pacing by the fire. “All my life I heared about teevees n cars n places you could go where people in funny hats just handed ya all the food you could it and I ain’t believin' a word of it!”

“But we seen pittures!” little Bubs insisted.

“I know, I know.” Roy insisted, wrestling with his anger. “I seen plenty a car and not nary a one moved. Uhn them teevees just sit there and never make me laugh or cry. And there ain’t nothing’ gonna make me believe people just flew all over in aeroplanes in the sky”

Bubs and Grampa John sat and waited for the tantrum to play itself out as they always did. Roy kicked about for a few moments then sat beside his brother.

“Sorry Bubs,” Roy said knowing that the stories gave solace to his little brother who never complained about an empty belly or the cold. “Go ahead Grampa; tell us about the Man on the Moon.”

On cue John Ruffin began. “It was a long time ago when I was about yer age Bubs…”

The younger boy listened raptly, interrupting only with questions he already knew the answer to. Roy looked around at nothing in particular nervously.

“… and my mom called me in to watch. She said I couldn’t miss what the whole world was watching…”

“On the teevee.” Roy muttered with adolescent derision.

“That’s right Roy. On television. And she got me an ice cold Co-Cola from the icebox.” Ruffin continued, his eyes nearly glazing over at the thought of such a forgotten treat. “It was sweeter than honey and so cold that little beads of sweat dripped off it…”

Bubs and his grandfather seemed nearly oblivious to the cold as he continued the story. “And Colonel Armstrong stepped off the ship…”

“Yeah, somebody sailed a big ole boat all the ways to the moon!” Roy interrupted.

“It wasn’t that kinda ship boy!” Grampa reminded him tersely. Roy knew better than to offer more barbs. “ And when he stepped off he said ‘ it’s a big step for a man, but a bigger step for all mankind.’ “

With that Roy reached up and slapped the back of his brother’s head. “Yer the Man on the Moon!” he teased while jumping and dodging the arms of the littler boy. The two took off towards the corn field, dancing and dodging, and laughing.

John Ruffin watched them disappear among the cornstalks. He heard Bubs insist “I ain’t the Man on the Moon, YER the Man on the Moon!” He raised his eyes just a twitch to gather in the entire bright white globe above the field.

“Gawd, I could really use a Co-Cola”

(Rededicated to Neal Armstrong on the day he travelled farther than the moon)

The Reality of Gun Worship in America. The Career of a Louisianna Dueller.

Excerpt from General Butler in New Orleans by James Parton, pages 259-263
Mason Brothers, New York, 1864

Let me relate one of Dr. McCormick's duel anecdotes; he having witnessed the scenes he described, and assisted at them as attending surgeon. The events occurred near New Orleans - the parties well known there, all of them being men of wealth and great note in the cotton kingdom. Time, 1841.
The principals were Colonel Augustus Alston, a graduate of West Point, and Colonel Lee Reed; planters, both; chief men of their county; politicians, of course. Long-standing, bitter feud between the families, aggravated by political aspirations and disappointments; the whole county sympathizing with one or the other - eagerly, wildly sympathizing. The quarrel relieved the tedium of idleness; served instead of morning paper to the men, supplied the want of new novels to the women. At length, one of the Alston party, on slight pretext, challenged Reed, which challenge Reed refused to accept; no man but Alston for his pistol. Another Alstonian challenge, and yet another, he declined. Then Alston himself sent a challenge - Alston, the best shot in a state whose citizens cultivated the deadly art with the zeal of saints toiling after perfection. This challenge Lee instantly accepted. Weapon, the rifle, hair-trigger, ounce ball. Men to stand at twenty paces, back to back; to wheel at the word One; to fire as soon as they pleased after the word; the second to continue counting as far as five; after which, no firing.
Lee was a slow, portly man - a good shot if he could fire in his own way without this preliminary wheeling. He regarded himself as a dead man; he felt that he had no chance whatever of his life on such terms, not one in a thousand. He bought a coffin and a shroud, and arranged all his affairs for immediate death. The day before the duel, his second, a captain in the army, took him out of town and gave him a long drill in the wheel-and-fire exercise. The pupil was inapt - could not get the knack of wheeling. If he wheeled quickly, his aim was bad; if he wheeled slowly, there was no need of his aiming at all, for his antagonist was as ready with heel as with trigger, from old training at West Point. "Lee," said the captain, "you must wheel quicker or you've no chance." Stimulated with this remark, Lee wheeled with velocity, and fired with such success as to bring down a neighbor riding along the road.
Lee sent his coffin and shroud to the field. Mrs. Alston accompanied her husband. "I have come," she said, "to see Lee Reed shot."
The men were placed, and the second counted one. In swiftly wheeling, the light cape of Alston's coat touched the hair-trigger, and his ball whistled over Reed's head, who stood amazed, with rifle half presented. The word two, recalled him to himself; he fired; and Alston fell pierced through the heart. Mrs. Alston flew to her fallen husband, and found the ball which had slain him. In the sight and hearing of the witnesses of the duel, her dead husband bleeding at her feet, she lifted up the ball, and with loud voice and fierce dramatic gesture, swore that that ball should kill Lee Reed.
Now, observe the conduct of the "chivalry" upon this occassion. Note the Public Opinion of that community. Were they touched by Lee's magnificent courage? Were they moved to gentler thoughts by Alston's just but lamentable end? The Montagues and Capulets were reconciled over dead Juliet and Romeo:
"O brother Montague, give me thy hand;
This is my daughter's jointure; for no more
Can I demand." Not so, the chivalry of the South. In the afternoon, ten of the Alston party, headed by Willis Alston, brother of the deceased, drew themselves up, rifle in hand, bowie-knife and pistol in belt, before the hotel in which the adherents of Reed were assembled congratulating their chief. They sent in a messenger challenging ten of the Lee party to come forth and fight them in the public square. Much parleying ensued, which ended in the refusal of the Lees to accept the invitation. A few days after, Lee was seated at the table of the hotel, in the public dining-room, at which also sat men, ladies and children - a large number - Dr. McCormick among them. Willis Alston entered, took his stand opposite Lee, drew a pistol, and shot him through the liver. The wound was not mortal. After some months of confinement, Lee was well again, and went about as usual, the bloody-minded Alston still loose among the people. They met at length in the streets of the town, and Alston shot him again, inflicting this time a mortal wound.
Then, there was a hideous farce of a trial. Every man in the court-room, except two, was armed to the teeth. Those two were the judge, and the principal witness, Doctor McCormick. The jurymen all had a rifle at their side in the jury-box - twelve men, twelve rifles. The prisoner had two enormous horse-pistols protruding from his vest. The spectators were all armed; the Lees to prevent a rescue in case of conviction, the Alstons to protect their man in case of acquital. The counsel for the accused admitted that their client had shot the deceased, but contended that the would then inflicted was not the cause of his death. Doctor McCormick was called, and took the stand amid the deepest silence, the prisoner glaring at him like the wild beast he was.
"Is it your belief that the deceased came to his death from the wound inflicted by the prisoner at the bar?"
"I have no belief on the subject," replied the witness. "It is not a matter of belief, but of fact. I know he did."
That night, the trial not yet concluded, the prisoner deemed it best to escape from prison. He went to Texas; met on a road there an old enemy, whom he shot dead in his saddle; and on reaching the next town, boasted of his exploit to the murdered man's friends and neighbors. Thirty of them seized him, tied him to a tree, and shot him, all the thirty firing at once, to divide the responsibility among them. And so the brute's career was fitly ended.
Nor can we pity the murdered Reed, brave as he was; for he, too, was a man of blood. They tell of an early duel of his so incredibly savage, that, in comparison with it, General Jackson's little affair with Charles Dickinson seems the play of boys. Picture it. Two men standing sixty feet apart, back to back, each armed with two revolvers and a bowie knife. They are to wheel at the word, approach one another firing, fire as fast as they choose, advance as rapidly as they choose. Pistols failing, then the grapple and the knife. As it was arranged, so it was done. Lee fired his last charge, but his antagonist was still erect. The men were within six feet of one another, when Lee, bleeding fast from several wounds, collected his remaining strength, and threw his pistol, with desparate force in his antagonist's face, and felled him with the blow. Lee staggered forward, and fell upon him. Drawing his knife, he was seen feeling for the heart of his enemy, and having found it, he placed the point of the knife over it and tried to drive it home. He could not. Then holding the knife with one hand he tried to raise himself with the other, so as to fall upon the knife, and kill his adversary by mere gravitation. This amazing spectacle was too much even for the seconds in a southern duel, one of whom seized the man by the feet and drew him off. It was found that his antagonist was dead where he lay; but Lee recovered to figure in another of these savage conflicts, and to die by violence in the streets.

Slavery & Secession Then, Slavery & Secession Now

Even today, a hundred and fifty years after the defeat of the Rebellion of the Slavers, that treasonous uprising is glorified by many who lie about the causes of the rebellion and the events that occurred. The traitors, fools, ne'er-do wells, and the rabid racists who supported the rebellion are recast as heroes. The biggest lie told though is that the Rebellion had nothing to do with slavery, that it was about freedom from oppression by an authoritarian Federal Government. Well, here is a speech from Representative Garnett of Virginia given in 1859 that speaks to the lie perpetuated by modern apologists for the insurrection that caused the deaths of over a million Americans, but freed six million from bondage by a self-appointed aristocracy of slavers willing to fight to the last Southerner to defend their "property."

For perspective please remember a few things. The "liberty" that Southerners were want to defend was their right to force slavery into every corner of the USA, to force "Free" states in the North to become slaver states. When reading Garnett's cynical speech it is necessary to remember the REAL PAST. The slavers were angry because the North opposed their expansion of that vile institution into the North. The racist Taney Supreme Court ruled in the Dred Scott decision that blacks had zero rights, were not even human, and that any slaver could take any and all slaves to the free North and their "property" had to be respected! The Fugitive Slave Act forced Northern Free States to return humans who had escaped bondage, bound all state and local authorities to do so under threat of Federal prosecution! New lands in the West were being opened for white settlement and the North wished to assure that they NOT be slaver lands, while the slavers wished to extend their "rights" into the farthest corner of the USA. Finally many Southern aristocrats wanted to fight wars in the Caribbean and South America to EXTEND the boundaries of their slaver economy while Northerners resisted. So with this in mind, please read Mr Garnett's defense of slavery and secession written BEFORE the Rebellion.

No Interference With Slavery In The States
Muscoe R. H. Garnett of Virginia
United States House of Representatives, December 7 1859

The gentleman from New York [Mr. CLARK] told us yesterday that he never knew an Abolitionist in New York; he in whose district the church of Doctor Cheever reverberates, Sunday after Sunday, with sentiments of treason and bloodshed; he in whose State a Senator was chosen, to represent the people in this Congress, marked above all others by his bold, imperturbable calculations, by his deep-laid plans, by his acting upon a calculated system, where you can mark out his course, step by step, from year to year - all connected parts of one whole - who, as my friend from South Carolina [Mr. KEITT] showed yesterday, before he ever entered the Senate, uttered sentiments the same in substance though not in form as Helper's - a Senator who preaches up to the country that there is an irrepressible conflict between the two sections of the country, which must result in the overthrow of one or the other - a Senator who is a representative man of his party, whom they intend to nominate for the presidency, and if they do not do it, it will be only because they are scared out of it! No Abolitionists in New York or in the North! when at Albany one hundred minute guns were fired there in mourning for the death of John Brown! No Abolitionists in Natick! when a large public meeting of sympathy was held for Brown, of which a Senator from the State of Massachusetts was present! No Abolitionists in Massachusetts! when, in the Senate of Massachusetts, they found nearly a majority in favor of adjourning on the day of the execution of Brown! No Abolitionists at Cleveland! when, as a friend from Indiana tells me, that city was draped in mourning, and five thousand men were attending a public meeting, to express their sentiments upon that event, upon the day of the execution of Brown! You do not mean to interfere with slavery in the States! So the gentleman from Ohio [Mr. SHERMAN] told us yesterday, though his remarks are somewhat diluted in the report of them which appears in the Globe to-day. He and his party do not mean to interfere with slavery in the States; but they mean to hold southern people to the yoke, and to organize Territory after Territory, into which no southern man shall be permitted to go with his property. They mean to hem us in, as with a wall of fire, as I think Mr. SEWARD said, until the institution is so cribbed and confined that it will perish for want of sustenance. They do not mean to interfere with slavery in the States, and yet when a band of assassins violate the sacred soil of my native State, we hear not one word of denunciation from you. You do not mean to interfere with slavery in the States, and yet you find societies at the North planning deliberately to render the institution valueless upon the borders, by running off the slaves, until the owners are compelled to sell them to the South, or to emancipate and give them up to you. You do not mean to interfere with slavery in the States, and yet, though the Constitution guarantees the right of reclaiming fugitives from labor, laws are passed refusing to allow us the use of northern jails; you turn your judges out of office if they assist in enforcing the law for the reclamation of fugitives from labor, and you attack and use violence against our citizens when they appear there to reclaim their property. Call you this no interference with slavery in the States? Call you the incessant war against it waged from your press, your pulpit, and your hustings, no interference with slavery in the States? Why do you not carry on this crusade against monarchy in Europe, or against aristocracy in England, if it is a mere desire to correct public evils all over the world? Why not organize a society against slavery in Cuba and Brazil? Why not inaugurate political crusades against every system of government that we disapprove in every part of the world? No, sir; these benefits, those kind offices are reserved for us - for your brethren, your fellows of the southern States.
Years ago, as far back as 1836, Governor Marcy then Governor of the State of New York, advised the Legislature of that State to pass laws preventing and suppressing incendiary appeals of abolition societies - few in number at that time - inciting the slaves to insurrection. These few societies have become numerous. Their principles are the shibboleth of the great political party of the North. Yet what Governor of any of the northern States dare now make such a recommendation as Mr. Marcy made twenty-three years ago! When Walker organizes a company of filibusters and descends on Nicaragua, a country with which we are at peace, you appeal to the neutrality laws that are properly on your statute books - you say we have no right to allow our territory to be used for organizing piratical expeditions against a friendly foreign Power; and you call on the President of the United States to use the Army and Navy to suppress such expeditions, and to protect this foreign Power from them. And you do so properly. Nay, when Commodore Paulding exceeds his legal power in order to execute this law; when he does what he has no right to do in making a descent on this foreign country, you pass resolutions of approval. But here we are - no foreign State - we are confederated States; here we are, no half-barbarian Nicaragua, but your brethren of the Anglo-Saxon race; your fellow-citizens under a common flag, under the pretended protection of a common Constitution - and which one of your States will pass laws suppressing these expeditions against the South? Which one of your States will pass neutrality laws to punish the men who advise and the men who take part in these piratical expeditions against the peace and safety of the southern States? So far from it, when you discover men actually concerned in them, you allow them, with impunity, to publish statements declaring that they take themselves to Canada to evade United States process. With impunity your Senators rise in the other end of the Capitol and denounce the Federal judiciary, because of its process to summon them as witnesses. With impunity, men high in your society, men at the head of your literary circles, men like Dr. Howe, acknowledge their complicity by supplying money and arms to expeditions aimed against the South, and then they flee from the jurisdiction of the Federal court

The Congressional Globe, The Official Proceedings of Congress, Published by John C. Rives, Washington, D. C.
Thirty-Sixth Congress, 1st Session, New Series...No. 1, Wednesday, December 8, 1859, page 44. 

Beans In My Ears

All of us have done some pretty silly things in our lives. Not hurtful or mean, just plan stupid. Of all my remarkably brainless antics one has been the biggest secret. (Till now.)

Mom and dad would often take my little sisters with them on errands and leave me at home alone. Maybe they trusted me at nine years old, possibly I aggravated them with my constant barrage of questions about everything, but more probably it was just more convenient. Possibly it was because parent’s attitudes were different in an age where 3 children was the norm, two and a spare. Whatever the reason I always found some way to get into trouble.

On one occasion my Home Alone moment was to jump up and down on our brand spanking new sofa. Needless to say I busted one of the wooden legs and panicked at the thought of facing my father's wrath. Under considerable time pressure I came up with a solution. With all the strength I could muster I lifted the corner of the sofa and sat it back down upon the broken leg. Amazingly it held.

When my parents returned home the whole bunch of them jumped onto our new comfy couch. Dad, mom, and both my sisters got a big surprise when the thing collapsed. In character, dad threw an amazing fit. In less than an hour he'd gone to the furniture store and brought back a replacement leg.

All was well. I'd not been detected. My success made me even more daring.

In those days televisions had vacuum tubes instead of circuitboards. they often fried out and you could sometimes even smell them going bad. TV repairmen made a killing from those willing to trust someone whose vocation placed them just below car salesmen and con men. They'd come yank out a half dozen tubes to take back to their shop to supposedly test. After an hour or so they were likely to come back smelling like cheap booze and tell you it would cost a week's pay to fix the old Philco. Well, my dad wouldn't put up with such expensive nonsense.

During an episode of "Hogan's Heroes" our TV began to act up. First the picture began to roll. Next the horizontal hold went out and sideways lines screwed up the picture. The hardware store where he tested the old tubes and bought new ones was closed. His solution was to have me play antenna boy till my bedtime. After that the TV took a good pounding.

The next day dad yanked the back off the big beasty and pulled out every possible culprit, including those replaced just a few weeks before. Mom got my sisters together and everyone headed for the car. I hung back to see if dad yelled at me to get my ass moving, or if they'd kinda move off as if they only had two kids. It worked and they left without me.

The previous episodes of Tony Unleashed found me pursuing a new diversion, refrigerator jumping. Like always I checked the clock, cranked up the Grundig floor console hi-fi so loud the speakers shuttered and rattled, and went off looking for trouble. In no time I perched on top of our Frigidaire ready to jump.

Why this fascinated me I have no idea, but I could get in dozens of jumps before worrying about the return of no fun big people. You may think you see what's coming but that's impossible. I didn't break my leg. I didn't smack my head against the counter. No, I didn't even tip the fridge and spill ou the contents. All I did was listen to the radio.

An old tune called "Beans In My Ears" played on the new fangled FM station I'd found. While singing the chorus with the radio a second time I came to a huge realization. Atop the refrigerator my mother had placed a bag of soup beans (pinto beans to you non-mountain folk.) The bag was torn at the corner and a couple of the little fellers just stared back at me.

Yep, I put one into each auditory crevice and jumped off the refrigeratorr again. Since I put them in only half way I was certain of getting them back out, but when I hit the tiles with my fingers on the beans I pushed them in just a bit further.

Common sense told me to do nothing and wait for help. Reality told me different. My father had a ferocious temper, and my mother would be certain to tell every women whose husband was in the Air Force. Word would get out and I'd be shamed forever. So I did as any kid would have done under those circumstances, I pushed them completely into my ear canals.

For the next six months my father got angry with me a little more often.

"That boy had better learn to listen!" he'd tell my mother while staring at me.

"What's WRONG with you?" He'd ask wondering what kinda weird kid he'd helped hatch.

"I've got beans in my ears!" I'd sometimes tell him. He thought the words to the old song had given me a lame excuse. Time passed, we moved to Hawaii from Texas, and I could hear no better in the new time zone.

One day he got fed up and lost his temper with my excuse. Well, I really couldn't hear very well and I finally explained rather than take a pounding.

"Dad! I really DO have beans in my ears."

He looked and didn't know whether to smack me or what. Mom laughed too hard to make any contribution for the half hour dad tried to dig 'em out or find some answer to why God had given him such a creature to keep trying his patience. Giving up he took me to Tripler Army Hospital's emergency room.

A little ashamed he told the nurse what I'd done. I didn't have to wait long. Every damned doctor and nurse in the hospital came to see me examined. Somebody made a fortune selling tickets. A SURGEON stepped out of the giggling mass of labcoated professionals, placed me on a guerney and started to put a small scalpel to me left earhole. He paused, started snickering, then suddenly burst into laughter. You know, the kind where you tear up and thick snot runs out your nose. Some of the audience joined him.

He was nice enough to compose himself and apologize to me. He could see I was nearly in tears. So in short order he sliced each bean in half and pulled thm out. The doctor suppressed a snicker when he showed my dad that one had sprouted. Mortified, my father thanked the doctor, got me back to the car, and stared at me the whole way home, looking at the road only when necessary. Every fifteen seconds or so he'd just shake his head.

My younger sister was in second grade at my school. I've been eternally grateful she didn't do as oh so many little sisters would have. She kept my secret, not letting anyone in on it. She did this out of concern for me rather than out of embarrassment. Neither mom nor dad told anyone either although I think their motives were a little more uncertain. Who could blame them. They didn't want to hear "Oh, look those are the people whose kid stuck beans in his ears!" Remember they were products of the fifties. If every kid had done it then okay, but not just their only son.

Although no one knew, I did. It bothered me for awhile till another kid at school did something similar but worse. He was a Hawaiian kid whose parents didn't trust the banks, and whose little sister wasn't as thoughtful. They'd bought pearls as savings. He'd found the family fortune and shoved them all up his nose.

Somehow this made me feel better. I didn't join in the razzing the other kids gave him. Instead I made a friend and dicovered a lot I didn't know about the people of Oahu.

Some might think I still have beans in my ears as well as I don't listen. But I would like like to hear your tales of daring do. Veggies are optional.

Fresh Strawberries!!!
Current mood: blessed

Repost from 1-4-2009


    Just a little bit ago I got myself a bowl of a mixed fresh fruit medley. Sounds pretty ordinary and mundane doesn't it? Consider it for just a moment or two...

    It is winter in Ohio and I just had fresh strawberries, tangy pineapple, tasty mango, wonderful grapes, and a little kiwi! WINTER and fresh fruit. Every bite was a delight not only because of the fantastic explosions of taste in my mouth, but because I realize just how lucky I am.

    In my life I have had a gun held to my head twice, shot at once, lost the love of my life after only a few weeks of marriage, and came close to death on four separate occasions. I don't mention any of this to whine or cry about it. Instead I truly feel blessed by life despite any of it. Here I sit living in many ways better than a king or emperor could have a mere century ago. Had the Tsar of Russia eaten my fruit medley a century ago it would have been seen as the height of decadence. When you read my first sentence you probably gave it no thought and wondered where I was going with such an everyday bit of information.

    Despite anything and everything life may throw at me I will see myself as blessed. Living in this place and time has provided me with opportunities I have not always availed myself of. Still, I have experienced enough to weigh myself fortunate....Mmmmm strawberries!

    Every bite of my fruit brought me the realization that many people are not so fortunate. I feel no guilt for my good fortune but do wish everyone the same opportunities I have had. With the means I have at hand I will try to put strawberries on other tables when I can, hence the lack of any guilt...

    My recent heart attack would have killed anyone just a few decades ago but was a minor event because of modern medicine. My family and I live in relative working class comfort and we are essentially safe as can be with no marauding rebels or criminal gangs at the door. Nearly anything we wish for (within reason) we can have with just a little work. No backbreaking labor just to put a little thin gruel on our tables! For me every day really is Thanksgiving.

    So when you read my journal (in these blogs I share) always remember: I want all the blessings I have for everyone. No skin color or language or geographic location or somesuch keep me from regarding my fellow humans with this hope always in mind. I rejoice in all those who work hard to build and move towards fulfilling my dream. But when it comes to those who choose to destroy and to kill I turn my back. You see, I want fresh strawberries for you all!

Read more: http://www.myspace.com/annodomini1956/blog#ixzz0vvjRH7FS

Fresh Strawberries

Repost from 1-4-2009 

Just a little bit ago I got myself a bowl of a mixed fresh fruit medley. Sounds pretty ordinary and mundane doesn't it? Consider it for just a moment or two...

It is winter in Ohio and I just had fresh strawberries, tangy pineapple, tasty mango, wonderful grapes, and a little kiwi! WINTER and fresh fruit. Every bite was a delight not only because of the fantastic explosions of taste in my mouth, but because I realize just how lucky I am.

In my life I have had a gun held to my head twice, shot at once, lost the love of my life after only a few weeks of marriage, and came close to death on four seperate occasions. I don't mention any of this to whine or cry about it. Instead I truly feel blessed by life despite any of it. Here I sit living in many ways better than a king or emperor could have a mere century ago. Had the Tsar of Russia eaten my fruit medlay a century ago it would have been seen as the height of decadence. When you read my first sentence you probably gave it no thought and wondered where I was going with such an everyday bit of information.

Despite anything and everything life may throw at me I will see myself as blessed. Living in this place and time has provided me with opportunities I have not always availed myself of. Still, I have experienced enough to weigh myself fortunate....Mmmmm strawberries!

Every bite of my fruit brought me the realization that many people are not so fortunate. I feel no guilt for my good fortune but do wish everyone the same opportunities I have had. With the means I have at hand I will try to put strawberries on other tables when I can, hence the lack of any guilt...

My recent heart attack would have killed anyone just a few decades ago but was a minor event because of modern medicine. My family and I live in relative working class comfort and we are essentially safe as can be with no marauding rebels or criminal gangs at the door. Nearly anything we wish for (within reason) we can have with just a little work. No backbreaking labor just to put a little thin gruel on our tables! For me every day really is Thanksgiving.

So when you read my journal (in these blogs I share) always remember: I want all the blessings I have for everyone. No skin color or language or geographic location or somesuch keep me from regarding my fellow humans with this hope always in mind. I rejoice in all those who work hard to build and move towards fulfilling my dream. But when it comes to those who choose to destroy and to kill I turn my back. You see, I want fresh strawberries for you all!