The sweet, timeless, smell of play

There is a feeling…not easily described…that’s without time or expectation…unhurried, unworried. It has a certain smell… like the freshly mown grass of a mature lawn shaded for years by a tall privet hedge.
My Grandmother’s frame house was just steps from the 2 lane highway in southwest Virginia. The front wall had a permanent lean from a flood decades ago. The small lawn was our gridiron. Exposed roots crept along the ground emanating from 2 massive hardwood trees, one at each end. The yard was bisected by a foot path of stepping stones, long since settled into the ground at dirt level. The path led from the blacktop through the hedge to the wooden porch thick with several layers of paint. The old porch swing was the handy photographer’s prop for a generation of grandchildren. A porch swing can give a young imagineer the impression of flying off... And we just played.

Whenever I am caught in the heavy traffic of life at full moon; when the paperwork, phone calls and undictated evals become so demanding …I can smell that old lawn smell and feel the swing’s cadence…and feel carried away. --James

What's for dinner?

Imagine the sound of a big dog enjoying a bone. Bite a carrot and hear the crunch.

Peg and I kayaked up Abrams Creek into the western tip of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. I’ve been to this place twice before to experience freedom from strip malls and asphalt. We were about to disembark when I heard a chomping noise over the sound of birds and tumbling water. I hushed Peg’s recitation about the many shades of green. Then she heard it, too, just behind the curtain of brush lining the creek not 15 yards away. The sound of strong jawbones munching is unmistakable. The creek narrows where the water enters the finger-like embayment and becomes like a cone-shaped megaphone.

The list of park carnivores is short…bear, boar, wolf and the occasional bobcat. Jurassic park came to mind. A touch of anxiety brewed. There is no human dining within miles. As we awkwardly paddled backwards in rocky water less than 1 foot deep I thought, “Am I out of my food chain?”--James

World Wide Web, 1962

“C-Q..C-Q..C-Q…This is K4..GMA... George, May-ry, Able. Come in.” With those beckoning words I heard my Grandfather coax the dial on his ham radio. Vacuum tubes glowed like static fireflies. He was “Instant Messaging” to others around the world who would respond with their screen name. His "Buddy List" included friends in Asia, Great Britain, and Colorado. The immediacy was captivating. Sounds like the World Wide Web, 1962 style.

To a 10 year old he was the smartest guy in the world. A man of many interests, my grandfather had little formal education. He ran away at 14 and joined the Navy by lying about his age and making up a name. He lived a full life in 60 years. Much of what I know about him has been gleaned second-hand from family members. But I was there...with George-Mary-Able.--James

Shifting gears

I surrender the idea of posting weekly. My hat’s off to columnists and cartoonists creating on a fixed schedule. The right brain does not usually subscribe to clocks or calendars. The flight of ideas often stays parked at the gate or stalled out on the tarmac, half-empty with a few noisy, half-baked thoughts and little motivation to head down the runway.
The choices are to fold, check , or bet a weak hand. I question, why am I here? (and, why are you here?) Taking the easy way out... FOI will metamorphosize. The new mast head gives a hint. (With apologies to Miller Lite) Expect more filler, less taste.

I plan more frequent posts with less concern for Haiku-like precision and will aim for stream of conscious rambling just above announcement of toenail clippings. People vote with their feet and mouse anyway.
The commitment of updating this blog weekly with something thought provoking is not consistent with the roller coaster of my life. One’s mother may admire the writings on the level of refrigerator art, but not many others do. We'll see. --James

Blast from the past

I know that guy. Or do I? I am at a meeting in Boston. Out of habit I look for people I know. Familiar facial characteristics trigger memories. I know the odds are low that someone will be a blast from the past. Over the years I have run into someone I knew at locations that were exotic. I have coincidentally run into a co-worker at a winery in Napa Valley, a classmate in NYC-Times Square and another classmate on the mall in Washington, DC.
Some people change so much that you'd never know them. When I go in restaurants in my hometown, Oak Ridge, TN, I know no one. Who are these people? And why is it important that I try to reconnect. Is there something about ships passing in the night...paths crossing once again that is, in itself, interesting? Even a few minutes spent catching up has its own attraction. Strangers may have a story to tell. But when reconnecting with the past... well, then you have a second intersection point for the winding road you both have taken. Don't I know you? --James

Open Arms Policy

East Tennessee, the destination. We sit within 500 miles of 2/3 of the population of the United States. Gatlinburg and The Great Smoky Mountains are often mentioned in the same breath but are as different as tourists and naturalists. The shores of our TVA lakes are gradually being discovered by PFO’s (People From Ohio) looking for that vacation home only 5 hours away. Florida retirees who tire of heat, lack of 4 seasons, and hurricanes are bouncing back half way to the north. Welcome all.

East Tennesseans have arms wide open for Katrina Survivors. I imagine the scene is being repeated all over America. We are expecting 4 plane loads of evacuees today. There were already some in our area who arrived by private conveyance. Elementary schools have seen new enrollments. Churches are mobilizing legions of volunteers. It was said that 2500 volunteers showed up to one of the larger Methodist churches. I went to the American Red Cross (ARC) Mental Health Volunteer orientation and it was standing room only. About 300 Psychologists, Psychiatrists, Psychiatric Nurses and Social workers will have had the necessary training by week’s end.

We were pleased with the turnout. We have little idea what to expect. We were given a few guidelines which I will report here:

1. We are to calm and defuse tension and avoid increasing distress. People have been displaced not only from their homes but their comfort zone, their routine, their established support system. Many have been without their medications for a number of major illnesses.
2. We are not, under any circumstances, to encourage discussions of politics or religion. (These tend to violate guideline number 1 above.)
3. Don’t send anyone on “wild goose” hunts. If you don’t know the answer or location or solution to a request, say “I don’t know” or personally find someone who does know.
4. Have very good boundaries. We are strongly discouraged from providing any private shelter, sharing phone numbers, or personal access.
5. No money is to exchange hands. That leads to unwise bartering and disorder. Vouchers come directly from the ARC help keep order and provide capital for purchases.
6. Expect the unexpected. We will have to figure much of this out “on the fly” since little will be known in advance.
7. Follow the 4 R’s:
· Respect- Do not patronize or give throw away comments such as, “It’s a beautiful day” or “At least you’re alive.
· Routine- Needs to be established quickly. Familiarity.
· Rules- There is something reassuring about having rules. The “frame” of our existence.
· Rumors are to be avoided. They can spread like wild fire and tend to violate guideline number 1 above.

To our new guests: Welcome. We will try to help. This song had something to do with Volunteers and helping New Orleans.--James

The thin blue line

Katrina’s aftershocks have revealed weak spots in our ability to respond to disaster. For those of us comfortable and wondering if we should top off the SUV or how many bags of ice to take to the tailgate at tomorrow’s football worship service…take heed. I have blogged about this before. Society is broken down right now in parts of Mississippi and Louisiana. This is not a news post…turn on any news program for that. Certainly there are good people now in their finest hour helping those in need. The ripple effects are being felt widely via such fragile tentacles as the Colonial, Capline, and Plantation pipelines.
There is little I can say from my flood-proof hill where we have no more suffering than having to pay $3.30 for a gallon of unleaded. My sympathies go out to victims, rescue workers, and healthcare workers.

It would be easy to just say the looters are bad people who should be treated severely. That would assume we do not have it in ourselves to loot if the chaos was more pervasive. We can’t say how we would respond. Thanks for my wake up call. A stampede kills a thousand in Iraq. Our Limbic brain is programmed for survival, flight or fight. Our cerebral cortex aims to keep it civil but can be overwhelmed. Police know what lurks in the hearts of men run amok. They provide the Thin Blue Line between civility and anarchy.
I have done some research on survival tools. A portable generator and water purification system would be essential… But what about protection? I have polled many people about this. Your first instinct may suggest a pistol of some kind. But a shotgun has more clout and a wider command of authority. I saw on an internet post where some folks want an unregistered weapon “in case the gov’t ever tries to weaken the second amendment.”

Bill of Rights, Amendment II
A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed.

Many, if not most, country people have guns. But still, I have mixed feelings about the 50 Caliber Rifle proudly made in Murfreesboro Tennessee. --James