Aunt Myrt

Myrtle Jewell Frizzell Bonner Denison Jones, b. April 18, 1901, Bokhoma, I.T. (Indian Territory), d. sometime in the early Nineties, in a nursing home in Camden, Arkansas, in the care of her baby sister's children, who, at least in my case, loved her dearly.

And who wouldn't? Good-natured, to everyone including children, but ready to spit in the eye of any transgressor, and never hiding that fact, even from children. She was too much like her mother, perhaps, who was proud of a supposed connection to Thomas Jefferson (grandmother's oldest son, Uncle Alvin, did genealogical research which, ironically, demonstrated that, not only was Jefferson an upstart (everybody in Virginia knows that) but so were his well-born Randolph in-laws, in comparison to their family. heh.

Alas, both Aunt Myrt and her Mama--Grandmother-- had an abundance of the family gift for butting heads; I'm sure Myrt's teen-age years were dramatic. Thank Godde for Johnie Frizzell, who rarely but effectively kept them both from going too far. Grand dad's "Now, Hattie" told her when she was pushing it; she counted on him to do it.

Aunt Myrt grew up in a company town--the lumber company owned the town, the buildings, streets, sidewalks, etc., and employed all the town officials. SE Oklahoma was not entirely civilized at the time; the New Yorker, in a 1970s profile of then Speaker Carl Albert, pointed out it was hard to get a jury there in a murder trial, in that most believed in "Judge not, lest ye be not judged." Aunt Myrt enjoyed taunting the town cop on the streets as a young teen, who would happily have used his hog-leg .45 to end the matter, except for her father and her mother's brothers. One of my family pictures shows great Uncle Orville in a Black hat, with his right hand drawing back his dress coat in a practiced gesture; you can't quite see what you know is there.

She married, several times, her great love being the Native American Denison, who died working on a pipeline in Texas. She was a "Rosie the Riveter" at Tinker AFB in Oklahoma City, and I doubt she gave up her independence willingly, except on her terms. Her terms were "Ol' Bill Jones," who was very sweet to me, but not always to her; he had been on the Italian Front in WWII, and, in retrospect, clearly had a bad case of PTSD. They fought, and eventually split.

By the time I was in seminary around 1980, she was living next door to her son (and my mama's childhood playmate) South of Oklahoma City. There were deep eroded gullies behind the house, and beautiful red sandstone rocks shaped like blooming roses which are unique to the area. I liked to stop and spend an afternoon and evening with her on my way to visit my folks. Within a few more years, her son and my father had died, she sold the farm, and moved to the old folks' housing in my hometown where Mama was. She had a few more "good" years, until Dementia took hold, and even that in her style; among other things, she began to hallucinate her handsome young Doctor dancing naked on the rooftops across the way. And what's so bad about beautiful young doctors dancing naked for you, I ask?

I like to think my ninety year old Aunt, that lovely, lively strong loving woman, was dancing naked into Heaven, with whomever she damned pleased. We are so quick to call it "Dementia", because it no longer fits into our arrangements. But I like to entertain the notion, though it may well offend her mother--my grandmother--that such states are an advance welcome party from Godde, welcoming another beloved child to her true home.

I love you, Aunt Myrt.

Further Comment Is Not Required

I must say, I'm a little envious. If I were slightly younger and not employed here, I think it would be a fantastic experience to be on the front lines of helping this young democracy succeed. It must be exciting for you...in some ways romantic, in some ways, you know, confronting danger."
-- George W. Bush, during a video conference with military briefers in Afghanistan

Garry Trudeau's "Say What" from Doonesbury

What's the Deal?

A number of people I like and respect passionately support Senator Obama for the Democratic nomination for President. I don't see why.

He is, by all accounts, a terrific speaker/ campaigner, and he is telling us something we want very much to believe; we can work our way out of this disaster together (the last seven years or the last thirty: your choice). Last Autumn, just before the selection process began in earnest, I hoped so, too. I do believe this nation is deeply, seriously off course, for reasons that have become legion: torture, wiretapping, the erosion of production, an economy based on one real estate bubble after another and vast debt, unnecessary invasion and occupation of whatever country the idiot damned well feels like, the stalking terror of illness, and so, on and on.

We need change, and need it desperately: absolutely. What change?

Brzezinski as Sec. of State or again as National Security Advisor, as under Carter? Going back far enough is change of a sort, I suppose. An incremental approach to health care to put more of the burden on the sick? Not much change there. National Security policy seems to be mostly open options, or a blank slate.

Given the alternative of a traumatized ex-fighter jock with a legendary temper who's spent the last quarter-century in lobbyists' pockets, Mr. Hundred Years' War, whose a F***in Republican besides, I suppose I must hope that Obama is better than than I've been able to sense thus far, especially in the last six months.

How 'bout a little help, friends? Please, no links to long news items or cheerful statements about how so many young people are back in the process and especially no BS about making nice with the Republicans across the aisles; my memory is not that short, or that bad. Why, in general policy terms, do you believe Obama will be a good President? Hell, for now, even half-way decent: no more incompetent, well-meaning outsiders, please.

I'm serious; I need this.

Da Middle Name Meme Thang

No matter what she says, I blame Eileen, and not the Padre Grandpa of the World's Most Bootiful Grandchile (excepting boyz named Peter in Arizona, but that's a given: no offense, Ms. Bebe)

Here are the rules:
1. You have to post the rules before you give your answers.
2. You must list one fact about yourself beginning with each letter of your middle name. (If you don’t have a middle name, use your maiden name or your mother’s maiden name).
3. At the end of your blog post, you need to tag one person (or blogger of another species) for each letter of your middle name. (Be sure to leave them a comment telling them they’ve been tagged.)

1. is done

2. R is for rebellious. I don't like to be told what to do.

O is for Onery or Obstinate, depending on dialect

B is for brave. I've been told this by people who should know; and no, I don't
mean the official version

E is for evasive, which makes these things a pain in the patootie

R --What wuz that other one? Risque or Raunchy sense of humor, though I can't remember
jokes to save me.

T I am something of a tease; it's one of my ways of expressing affection

Six people is ridiculous, given the length of time this has been running, and given some of the more...deserving, shall we say? tagged me.

Play if ya want or have time: Jane R, Mimi, Kristin, Paul, Crimson, and Nina

Empty Nest

The place seems empty today, as Miss Scarlett is at the Vet's getting her new 'do until about 4:00. " 'Do" in her case involves what is called a "lion cut": very closely trimmed except for her legs, tail, and head, which requires being knocked out. I think it looks like a Poodle done up for a show. It makes her look ridiculous for a couple of months--she's less than half normal size, but I'm the only one who gets to see her that way, as she hides from company regardless of her state. And, even if I had a camera, she insists there be no photographic evidence.

The grooming is necessary in that her fur is so long and thick it becomes tightly matted despite any brushing she will allow, which becomes an irritant. It is especially bad around her neck and throat/ chest, which she begins to scratch constantly; this is the sign she's as ready as I am to "git her done." (Not very in either case)

It is a semi-annual reminder how much I miss her when she's not around. Whatever did I do before she came?

What Do You See?

The original caption was "Redneck Mansion", with the implication that the owner/ residents are from the shallow end of the gene pool. The location is likely some area where infrastructure, development, and resources do not flow endlessly from competing megacorporate Cornucopias, where ingenuity and making do are more valued than what's in your wallet.

Why stay where living is so hard? The beauty of unspoiled land, the real community of friends and extended family, suspicion that chasing rats in a gas-guzzler in the suburbs while your teen-ager deals Cocaine is not worth the move; in short, that the American Dream is not about Consumerism. A lot of us pay lip service to those values, even as we wait in line at Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts to chant our well-rehearsed order.

What catches my eye, as a former Architecture major, is the planning of a small community--six or so family units--with the landscape. The footprint is not large, the "found object" or reclaimed units, are arranged creatively and attractively in a unified composition, allowing for public and private spaces. There is a cold frame for gardening, a pond, a weather worn teak bench, planted borders, ivy from the balconies, a lawn chair or three. I doubt a bulldozer was used to scrape the land bare, followed by more machines to dig, and deposit chemicals, finally topped by a spray on lawn.

I find this a hopeful place, vital in ways that most suburbs will not be until they are obsolete forty years after they are built. Think of almost any condo development, with their rulez about your tacky picnic blanket over the rail or your child's toys visible after 5:00 PM.

Let them bury themselves, or, better yet, don't let them at all.

Yeah, well

I've been casting about for a topic for a couple of days now; so, what's in the net?

The schismatic heretic Schofield has "resigned", but still claims to be bishop of the diocese of San Joachim, Province of the Southern Cone. The Primate of all Nigeria, his indirect patron, responds to questions about ordering a massacre of women and children with a smile and a "no comment." , though he says Muslims don't have a monopoly on violence. Both are still invited to Lambeth this Summer, as is the bishop in the CoE who is notorious for declaring "Once you've had Black, you'll never go back." in reference to his serial Gay affairs, while the good family man, the Bishop of New Hampshire, may not go as an "official" guest because he is "immoral."

The two candidates for President (you don't think I'd count a Repiglikkin, do you?) are tied, and practically indistinguishable, and the MSM-created identity gotcha contest is practically the only subject of discussion, though Bob Herbert (one of the columnists the NYT has no reason to be ashamed of) pointed out this week the War has passed the 2 trillion mark, and will go to 3 trillion before anyone can imagine it will be stopped. The gain thus far has been to turn a tyranny into a failed state. The long-term obligations to the U S economy, should the Chinese allow us to meet them, will be considerably more. And only a few advocate televised drawing and quartering for the guilty parties, who are legion. Pre-existing illness, long-term illness, and being wiped out by corporate fiat are common forms of economic death in these United States.

Given the best of foreseeable worlds, Dubya will not start WWIII, but go quietly, leaving all this to his Democratic successor. Even with massive and unobstructed effort, some of the damage since the Reagan era will not be reversed. The destruction of the Constitution, the arbitrary seizure of power by the President, will not be relinquished by anyone in that office, for the best of reasons, of course.

I hang with and comment on a progressive feminist blog, where most are secular and a number declared Atheists or Agnostics. I love and respect them, I prefer their company, I was one myself many years ago, but I can no longer grasp what gets them up in the morning and through the day. From whence does their help come? Everywhere I look today I see human evil, in the church and without, in high-minded and gutter politics, in my own heart, for that matter; ya don't have to go looking for trouble: already here, and thriving.

So, if history is just "one damned thing after another", do I have any remedy, any advice? No, I don't "have" it, but I know where I'm looking for myself; you can take it or leave it: it's always been free.

37 For God will save Zion and rebuild the cities of Judah; *
they shall live there and have it in possession.

From today's Psalm in the Daily Office. Rulers fall, and the high are brought low, but the people, though they suffer, often unjustly, continue.

"Happy are they whose trust is in the Godde of Israel: Rachel and Leah"

paraphrase of Ps. 146

A peaceful night and a blessed end be to all of us