It's A Miracle! Depends Upon Your Point Of View

An article in the Courier Tribune tells us that disaster was narrowly averted at the old Randolph County courthouse over the holiday weekend. Officials are calling it a "Christmas miracle".

A fire would have taken out the courthouse (a "historically significant structure" . . . that's important . . . as we in Asheboro don't have many that the powers-that-be haven't already torn down), and a good portion of "lawyer's row".

At this point, those who are not especially enamoured of all the local legal eagles (and who think "Christmas miracle" is a bit of a reach) might choose to insert a politically incorrect joke.

Understanding this inclination, I pause for a moment of silent inappropriate commentary.

I found it interesting who wants to inhabit the old building once it is cleaned up: None other than Bonnie Renfro (our local economic queen . . . and wife to our local newspaper publisher . . . she gets a blurb whenever she wants) AND Congressman Howard Coble (who, at 76, is going to run again).

Every body's in bed together.

Of course (on the subject of economics), maybe if the city and county had not given all of those lovely taxpayer dollars to shore up "private, non-profit" Randolph Hospital, they might have some funds left to clean up the asbestos in the courthouse. That explosion-waiting-to-happen called a boiler might have already been fixed. But hey, I'm no consultant. As it is, the city's got to do some annexing.

And that's a subject for another day.

"Sit Down. Relax. Pour Yourself A Drink. Or Not."

Knowing that I spend a good deal of my life in hotels (thank you, David Renfro and John Robinson for not giving a ^%$# about the reasons why . . . see my comments about the quality of local journalism in this post at Joe's), a good friend of mine (one I met on the road) sent me a link to this story on how hotel glasses are really cleaned between guest stays.

I got queasy just watching the clip. Check out the end . . . when the maid takes her rubber glove from the toilet to the glass.

In terms of my medical history of frequent URI's and GI bugs, it might explain a lot. Friends (and some doctors) always pontificated that I was getting sick because I did not wash my hands enough at work (just looking at my poor wrinkled hands disproves that).

Looks like I will need to start packing Dixie cups or something when I hit the road again.

Forget Fighting City Hall, It's A Shame When Readers Have To Fight The N&R To Get An Answer To A Simple Question

Much smoke has been blown about the N&R's lawsuit to get information out of the city of GSO. JR is really laying it on thick.

But Mr. Robinson cannot answer a simple question . . . one that Jerry Bledsoe first posed in the comments here . . . and I followed-up on . . . referencing the N&R's failure to recognize/acknowledge the importance of answering a few questions about the alcohol use of a lawyer who once represented the city.

JR doesn't think it's "relevant".

Joe had a great post on that subject this week. Of course, if a physician had blown 0.27 on a breathalyzer test, that physician would be looking at certain monitoring and disciplinary action . . . on the assumption/premise that he/she might be "impaired" and might have placed patients in harm's way. One offense and (as far as the Medical Board is concerned) the doctor is guilty until proven innocent. It's not an approach I particularly have a problem with.

On the other hand, I DO have a problem with the same thing not being true for lawyers . . . who can do just as much (if not more) damage to people's lives via negligence or incompetence accentuated by alcohol.

When my own lawsuit against Randolph Hospital was settled in 2001, I celebrated by giving my attorney a bottled of premium Jack Daniels (being well-aware of his affinity for the elixir).

Since uncovering the perjury, contempt and fraud that HE MISSED, and realizing that HE BOLD-FACED LIED TO ME (he told me punitive damages were not taxable) in order to get me to settle the case quickly and quietly, I've wondered what he was sipping all along.

In Dr. Guarino's back & forth with me, Joe said he did not know how the State Bar would react. If it's the same way the Bar treats complaints re: ethics, I do. As Rachel Hunter's website reports, North Carolina has a sitting judge who cannot drive to his work on the Bench due to a DWI conviction.

At any rate, I asked Bledsoe's question again in the comments section of this post . . . where JR is already backing off & down from the filing. The comment posted immediately, but a few minutes later was gone. When I tried to post it again, I could not post at all . . . apparently blocked (or banned altogether?).

The lawsuit is public record. The identity of the N&R's lawyer/law firm is not confidential. The "transparent" thing to do would be to answer the question.

What's the problem?

Update: At approximately the same time this post went up, JR responded to an e-mail I sent him when my comment disappeared . . . and it did disappear (as opposed to not posting at all).

For some reason, the blog is accepting comments, but not posting them. I've alerted those who know about these things in hopes that it will be fixed sooner than later. The short answer is that our firm is Helms Mulliss & Wicker. It's not hard to find...it's on the suit which we posted online.

My short answer to that is, of course, I would not have to "find" anything had JR simply answered the question when I asked it . . . as opposed to completely ignoring it. I suppose I should look on the bright side: At least JR keeps his resolutions.

As for being ignored, I'm used to it.

Of course, I am familiar with the players. In my case, the roles were reversed . . . the lawyers played a version of same game that the city of Greensboro is playing now . . . filing false answers on behalf of their "non-profit" clients . . . about the "confidentiality" of information that was, in fact, public record . . . to my considerable financial detriment (or, in the alternative, pretending that the lies were never told once the ruse was uncovered).

Perhaps JR will have better luck with the lawyers.

Of course, he can use all the newsprint he wants if he doesn't.

They Shoot Women Don't They?

I am a loss for words at the reported murder of Benazir Bhutto. Once again, a powerful voice has been silenced by low-life thugs who were afraid of what she had to say.

I am reminded of something Joan Baez once said about a great filly who fell running her greatest race . . .

. . . "she was a Lady and she was going to win."

I suppose women of conviction and courage might as well be horses in that environment.

Update: Fec has a good post up. Via DRUDGE, more from The Daily Mail, as well as an interview with a not-starry-eyed-at-all PARADE editor: "Like her country, Bhutto is a riddle. Brilliant, beautiful, fearless, she is also ruthlessly ambitious, devious and corrupt."

Yeah. Sure, Whatever. Perhaps the know-it-all, holier-than-thou editor would like to try her hand at running that country. Only "whack-jobs" would apply. Moreover, corruption is a relative term . . . a poor choice of lesser evils and devils-you-know-vs-those-you-don't . . . so what's her point?

In her last photographs . . . those last thirty seconds or so . . . Bhutto looks radiant.

I was in Greensboro again today . . . and stopped at Ten Thousand Villages. There, I found an onyx-stone tea-light holder made in Pakistan . . . the translucent white scarred to its core by thin veins of rose, brown, and green. It reminded me of the shadows behind her white veil.

I will light it tonight for Benazir.

"Each Knowing They'd Meet On Some Other Day"

I've spent the day cooking (I'm a very good one) and wrapping presents. And I attended a 10 pm Christmas Eve communion service at Asheboro's FBC.

Before the communion service, and given my "barren" state, I thought about doing a post about the "adoptive relationship" between Joseph and the Christ Child (a theme touched upon by Dr. Rogers this past Sunday at FBC). I also thought about doing one on Christmas after loss (a theme one of my Yas, who lost her Dad the same year I lost mine, poignantly talked about in her Christmas e-mail message this year).

For some reason (perhaps Aunt Helen's recent death), "Butch's" musings took me back to the Christmas many years ago when Granddaddy Johnson (brother to Helen) passed away. One of my most vivid childhood memories is visiting him in one of the dark & depressing waiting rooms at Cone hospital (I remember that the fabric on the chairs smelled like cigarette smoke) . . . before we left to go down East to see Mama's parents . . . and how happy Granddaddy was to see us kids. He seemed different somehow . . . lighter and happier . . . although he was clearly very sick. The visit made an impression, as the old man did not wear his heart on his sleeve. A few days later, I remember Mama & Daddy waking my brother and I up . . . and in the glow of Grandma Ercie's aluminum Christmas tree, telling us that Grandpa Floyd had died suddenly/unexpectedly in the night and we were cutting our visit short to go home.

I was told later, when I was old enough to understand, that Granddaddy (as I remember him, a gruff agnostic who did not go to church) accepted Christ as his Savior during that last hospital stay. It explained, in retrospect, the transformation I saw in him during our last visit . . . as the change of Christ coming into his heart was clearly visible . . . in a post-visitation Scrooge kind of way. It must have been a great gift to Daddy after Granddaddy died to know that they would meet again someday.

And so they have. It's Christmas number three since Pops died. We're settling into a new kind of "normal". This year it felt right and very nice. I still think about Pops a lot. But it's not a raw, gaping wound anymore. I keep trying to remember how Daddy "handled" the loss of his Father, and I can't. I do know I did not ever see him cry.

The candlelight communion service at FBC was lovely this year . . . back to the basics . . . reverent and simple and filled with scripture and carols. There were prayers offered up for First Baptist's "sister" churches in far-away places, as well as for those in service to our country in Iraq, Afghanistan, and elsewhere. A letter was read by one such soldier . . . injured by a roadside bomb . . . who will be coming home shortly.

So many people attended the service (this is a good thing) that they ran out of candles. Mama, as a Deacon, was a server. I sat in the back under the balcony . . . in one of two "theater" seats that fill a corner behind the last row of pews on the far right & left (I have now found my new favorite seat . . . in terms of where I like to sit, I am a typical Baptist). With a wink and a smile, my Mama served me communion. And when another Deacon came by and found I was candleless, he gave me his. It was all very sweet.

Inspired after the service, instead of musings on serious subjects, and continuing on last year's "theme" of Christmas Bells, I submit for your listening pleasure (or not - I've actually encountered some really misguided people who HATE this song), one of my favorite Christmas songs.

I actually have a "Snoopy as the Flying Ace" inflatable in my front yard. It is the official YaYa Christmas decoration . . . and the YaYa Queen gets way-serious grief from her "subjects" if she does not set it up. Over the last few days, in the wind and rain, the Snoop Dog really has looked like he's trying to fly up the mountain in front of my house . . . to kick that Red Baron's butt.

The song has its origins in an event that actually happened . . . a Christmas truce between the Brits and Germans in 1914.

My sister-in-law (who some might describe as a Snoopy FREAK) would be proud.

It's been a great month at home . . . living and writing on the lighter side. In a few days, I'm gonna crank it back up, and there are some folks in Asheboro who won't like it.

You could say "the truce" will be over;)

But in the meantime, Merry Christmas, my friends.

Getting Back Into The Garden: On Triad Stage's "Beautiful Star"

I am just now settling into a quiet/busy evening . . . blissfully wrapping Christmas presents for the Yas . . . as well as unwrapping a big one I bought for myself (I've found that the best presents of all are usually the ones you pick out and/or "earn" yourself).

The Queen Mother, YaYa KA and I all spent an afternoon at the theater (insert hoity-toity accent) in downtown Greensboro . . . after a lovely lunch at Olive Garden. I usually just go for their awesome salad, but this afternoon I got a very tasty chicken dish and now I reek of garlic.

I am absolutely safe from vampires tonight!

Any happiness you get . . .

"Beautiful Star" is a seasonal production put on by Triad Stage that was very popular last year, and "brought back by popular demand". YaYa KA, being theatrically-inclined, heard about it via NPR. As she was deeply moved by some of the music she heard (bluegrass . . . which is my own particular cup of tea), during our last shopping excursion (which included a downtown Greensboro run and a quick stop by the theater) she suggested that we go.

We saw a matinee at 3 pm (added to the original schedule when shows quickly sold out). Mama dressed up (she was beautiful). I dressed down. And KA was in-between.

The play was an interesting take on the promises and covenants between God and man . . . from Adam & Eve to the birth of Christ. It's a daunting task for any writer/production company.

Mama (a Baptist deacon) enjoyed the show, but laughingly commented afterwards, "They really murdered some scripture." No argument there. At one point, I felt like I was watching Larry the Cable Guy do the Old Testament.

Even YaYa KA seemed a bit non-plussed. Based on what she had heard on NPR, the play was not the sweet little Christmas presentation featuring Appalachian and bluegrass music that she had been expecting.

In the play, God wears a snappy white suit. And the fallen angel, Lucifer (they really do start at the beginning), figures prominently (and comically, in a snappy red suit) as events unfold.

A moment that kind of threw me though, was when one of the "redneck" shepherds referred to the newborn Christ Child as "Morning Star" . . . an alternative logo I (perhaps in literal scriptural ignorance) have always associated with Lucifer/Satan. I did a Google, and found some interesting commentary on that subject here and here.

The music is where this play shines, and truly, I wish that had been more of a focus. Rhiannon Giddens, in particular, was just magic. What I love most about bluegrass is its total purity. In this genre, it is absolutely amazing what can be done with one or two or three instruments and a beautiful soaring voice. Ms. Giddens has one of those voices.

She's a mighty-fine picker too.

In the mix of music and drama and silliness (that honestly, for all of the fabulous reviews, the silliness did not quite work for me), the message of the season did manage to shine through one of the songs.

We're all trying to get back to that garden.

Christmas is about how God went about giving us The Way to get back.

Update: Bought this CD after the performance. This one too. Now we're talking!

Update Number 2: After unwrapping and assembling my giant present to myself (only to discover there is a section missing - meaning I will have to schlep back up to Pier One at Friendly Center tomorrow), I was minding my own business sprawled on the bed in a sea of blue wrapping paper, when I saw a streak of grey fur whiz by me and under the bed and out of the room again . . . making a not-so-joyful noise. It seems TJ the cat (the mechanically-inclined furball who can open doors, turn on water faucets and flush toilets) was playing in the box that my giant present came in, and got a large piece of tape stuck to the bottom of his tail . . . very near a tender area (if you catch the drift). It took some doing to get the terrified/wailing pussycat to stop running all over the *&^%$# house so I could pull it off. The other cat, the very dignified & jet-black Sabine (who, being descended from Egyptian royalty, allows humans to open doors and turn on water for her) just sat on the bed with her paws crossed and watched TJ run & flail about (and me chase him) like we were idiots. TJ didn't like me pulling off the tape either . . . as it took a hunk of fur off that sensitive area.

Construction Still In Progress, Your Patience is Appreciated

It has long been a truism for me that any happiness you get in this life you pay for several times over.

Yesterday, I accompanied Mama on a "Holiday Tours" bus trip to Charlotte. The tour included an afternoon at the new Billy Graham Library, and a drive-through look-see of the McAdenville lights. The burb was dubbed "Christmastown USA" many years ago by that roving North Carolina-boy-who-happened-to-work-for-CBS, Charles Kuralt.

The library really is quite impressive . . . a state-of-the-art facility that chronicles the life and Message/Mission of the Reverend, Dr. William Franklin Graham, Jr.

There's something for everyone: from a talking cow named Bessie (for the kiddies) to a very impressive collection of medals & awards from all over the world. Many of the exhibits can bring the faithful to tears (if the faithful are so inclined) . . . particularly the display of different-era TV's that feature a video montage culminating in Billy's remarks after 9/11.

Billy, of course, spoke the truth that day. "Rhetoric" schmetoric.

Of course, The Message of the evangelist rings through everything at the library. And volunteers stand by the end of the tour to pray for those who ask for it . . . just as they are.

There is also a bookstore and a quaint cafe (Billy's people were dairy farmers). It all makes for a very nice afternoon.

Ruth Bell Graham is buried on the library grounds. Given the controversy that swirled for a brief time (before she died) about that, library staff were quick to point out that Ruth's grave is surrounded by dirt from her own Montreat garden. I rather like the epitaph on her tombstone. There is also a Chinese symbol for righteousness on the stone (she was raised in China, the daughter of missionaries, and the symbol is on her Father's tombstone as well).

I'm not sure it's fair to compare the fancy, bustling library to the much more bucolic "Cove" outside of Montreat. They serve different purposes, I suppose.

But with apologies to Franklin, I still prefer the Cove.

And now we get to the "paying-for-it" part. I have not had a Burger King Whopper (with cheese) in several months. When the bus stopped late last night, after lumbering through the heavy traffic associated with the McAdenville light-show (those bus drivers are just awesome), I eagerly used the special occasion as an excuse to wolf one down.

I had planned to go to church this morning and sit with Mama.

Alas, it was not to be. I'm now paying for a bad decision made at the end of a lovely day. So instead (as I fight off what will likely be E Coli, if my luck holds), I thought I'd sit down and write about yesterday. There's always next Sunday.

It's okay, Mama. I'm a still a work in progress;)

It's Christmas Now

After a fantastic day in Greensboro . . . spent Christmas shopping with Ya-Ya KA (although we were more-than-a tad disappointed that several State Street shops have closed) . . . I arrived home to find the Christmas Card I wait for every year in my mailbox.

She's beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.

That smile and those golden curls (this year photographed in very fashionable black & white) validate everything I've been through. And I will never forget those eyes . . . now happy and dancing . . . very different than the first time we "met".

The boys running Randolph Hospital were plainly and simply wrong. Nearly ten years of oily obfuscation . . . as well as outright lying & cheating . . . doesn't change a thing.

It's too bad the state of North Carolina did not/does not value the decision I made (under extreme duress).

The photograph on this Christmas Card proves them (the Medical Board, the State Bar, DHHS, the Attorney General and the Randolph County DA) wrong too.

The YaYa Queen's Secret Plan To Save The Bambis

It is a Ya-Ya weekend. After extensive preparations, we held the Marvonna (Baby Ya's thing) Christmas party at the Queen's castle (my house) last night. We invited the YaYa Moms (including the "Queen Mother" - she hates to be called that). I made "crack-dip" (a kick-tail dip recipe I picked up from the nurses in Memphis) . . . which was a big hit. We lit the fire-pit and and played "dirty Santa". Much fun was had by all.

One of the Ya's (in from far away) decided to go deer-hunting with her brother the next morning. She excused herself early from the party and went upstairs to bed.

At 4 AM, I sat straight up in bed (from a sound sleep) when the alarm went off. I found my Ya standing beside the door/keypad with a deer-in-the-headlights look on her face, and both hands cupped over the blaring alarm . . . which was alerting the entire neighborhood (and all of the Bambi's in the forest) as to her "evil" plan to shed Bambi blood. We had forgotten she was leaving early and set the alarm. The system has been updated since her last visit and she did not know the code.

When she returned from her stint in the deer-stand empty-handed this morning, I smiled.

My secret plan worked;)

And our weekend continues . . .