Pops was a devoted ferroequinologist.
Translation: Train nut.
He grew up on Whittington Street in Greensboro and spent a good portion of his younger days playing around the downtown tracks. My Grandmother Johnson worked at the old Belk's in downtown Greensboro, and every year she would buy Dad & his younger brothers a new Lionel train (but only after Christmas - with the sales - because the prices were otherwise out of the family's reach).
These were toys that were appreciated. As my Uncle laughingly admitted, "We ran THE HELL out of them".
When we were very young, Dad would set up some of the old model trains (O gauge) around the Christmas tree. I remember being simultaneously intimidated by the sparks on the track and fascinated by the lights & action & buzz of the transformer. I also vividly remember the smell of electricity and steel . . . something always seemed on the verge of exploding . . . or flying off the track and into the air.
I remember (a-hem) "re-enacting" some great train wrecks;)
Alas, as time passed, Dad became fascinated with chasing larger trains on bigger tracks. The models were put away . . . and were rarely brought out. After he died, the trains stayed in the attic . . . you see, for a long time, disturbing them did not seem quite right. No one ever touched Daddy's trains but Dad.
But toys should be played with. Especially really cool toys. So today, my Uncle Reid (also an encyclopedic ferroequinologist) came down to Mama's house and we got everything down and moved it to my house to clean and catalogue. The old Lionels are not in pristine condition, but they're not in bad shape overall (after all, they had THE HELL run out of them;). We set up a track in the dining room and attempted to run the trains (many of them well over sixty years old). Three of the six O-gauge engines we found work (one only sluggishly). Two do not. One was put up/away without testing for sentimental reasons.
As we opened the dusty boxes, my uncle acted like a 60-year-old kid. That was the best part to watch.
The engines & transformers are going down to the hobby shop in downtown Spencer in order to see what can be done to clean/restore/repair them. I will work on cleaning the cars. We will likely need new track - especially if these things are going to be put on clean carpet around future Christmas trees.
Daddy did not live to see his granddaughter. But it is my hope she will see and know the best of him through my eyes . . .
. . . and his toys.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
Merce Me: Asheboro's Big Guns Getting Out While The Getting Is Good
I get e-mails . . . and phone calls . . . from friends & readers who know I don't take the Courier . . . and therefore (due to their sorry excuse for a website) am not privy to many of the stories published somewhere other than front page above the fold.
I'll note again that, in the wake of Asheboro's recent dubious accomplishment in the PR department, many of its top guns are getting out while the getting is good.
Asheboro Police Chief Gary Mason left office without ever referring my case to Raleigh for the proper investigation it never got. According to the Sheriff's Department, since the perjury happened within the city limits (presumably at the hospital in its administrative offices), the case was within Mason's jurisdiction.
The Courier is currently serving up a love-fest on the up-coming retirement of Neil Allen, Director of Randolph County Emergency Services. Neil is married to Randolph Hospital VP, Sandra Allen (A friend who has worked in EMS elsewhere and was oblivious to this delicious tidbit of local minutia immediately asked me, "Isn't that a conflict of interest?" My response was, "Like it matters here".)
Mr. Allen got his start in local healthcare by sitting next to the right (get it?) person (former RH CEO, John Ellis) at a wedding reception. The "pasture" he's going out to is literally across the street from the ostracized-for-all-the-wrong-reasons home-grown Pediatrician who got her start by actually going to medical school. His son has been featured in Randolph Hospital ads (again, it pays to know the right people). I like Neil's dog, Josie, and used to regularly feed her dog treats when she wandered into my yard. She's a sweet dog, but I don't get to see her much anymore since the Allens installed an invisible fence (all the rage on the Mountain). The other day, dodging potholes, I drove past Neil walking Josie. He threw up his hand to wave. I did not return the salutation.
You see, I just can't pretend that everything is super-cool . . . or say, "Bygones", smile and wave. In all of the years since they moved in across the street (into a house the Drs. May once occupied before they threw up their hands and went to Texas), Sandra Allen, boss of the nurses I once came in to help, has not thought it prudent to knock on my front door and see where my head was at . . . or to entertain a notion that might not be Bob Morrison's. Being the ultimate "team-player" (as opposed to a neighbor) she never stepped outside the box in an effort to right a great wrong. And she knows it was a great wrong.
I have no respect for that.
I especially have no respect for city fathers/hospital Board members like Bill Redding. Acme-McCrary's long-time boss is also retiring at the end of the year. A Randolph Guide article recently sang his praises and played up his status as a local humanitarian and hospital board member (the hospital being "so important to the community and the county" and all). Being one of the "right people" in Asheboro, Bill has "been truly blessed by the good Lord".
I've got news for Mr. Redding. The Good Lord has no use for well-named, "lucky" hypocrites who protect and shield liars from the consequences of their actions. Put on all the show you like, Bill. But the Good Lord threw the money-changers out of the temple.
What was done to me on your watch was wrong. But you did not care/could not be bothered because it did not directly affect you or yours. Your grandaughter wasn't the patient that was dying . . . your daughter wasn't the doctor professionally raped for doing the right thing.
What would serve this city and this county so much better than the sad/sorry leadership mix of nepotism and suckupism that Bill & company have practiced for so long . . . the narrow-minded, greed-soaked, 20-400 "vision" that ran Asheboro into the ground . . . is some real accountability and transparency . . . and something other than situational ethics applicable only to the "right people".
Wake up, Bill. Personally, you might have been "lucky" and "blessed". But the town you helped run, not-so-much. You and your buds were asleep at the wheel.
I know. As one of those well-educated saps who was foolish enough to believe the empty drivel espoused by those around whom you circled the wagons, I was under the bus.
Tell me again how much you-all value hard work, education . . . and ethics. Please.
Note to anyone considering coming to this town to work for this hospital: JUST SAY NO!
The Merce Clinic, now federally-funded, has "diversified. And Physicians Assistants are seeing Pediatric patients.
Of course, if the Bobs and Bills of Asheboro had not driven several very good Pediatricians out of town (starting with this one), the Merce clinic would probably not need to see Pediatric patients at all.
You will not, of course, read that point-of-view in the Lifestyles section of the Courier Tribune.
That's it for today (the Yas are gathering for an impromptu gathering tonight). There's no big ending to this post. Just observations.
Pretty disgusted by it all.
12/30 Author's note: This post has undergone some minor edits this morning. Guests were arriving yesterday as I was composing - I hit the wrong key - and the post published prematurely.
I'll note again that, in the wake of Asheboro's recent dubious accomplishment in the PR department, many of its top guns are getting out while the getting is good.
Asheboro Police Chief Gary Mason left office without ever referring my case to Raleigh for the proper investigation it never got. According to the Sheriff's Department, since the perjury happened within the city limits (presumably at the hospital in its administrative offices), the case was within Mason's jurisdiction.
The Courier is currently serving up a love-fest on the up-coming retirement of Neil Allen, Director of Randolph County Emergency Services. Neil is married to Randolph Hospital VP, Sandra Allen (A friend who has worked in EMS elsewhere and was oblivious to this delicious tidbit of local minutia immediately asked me, "Isn't that a conflict of interest?" My response was, "Like it matters here".)
Mr. Allen got his start in local healthcare by sitting next to the right (get it?) person (former RH CEO, John Ellis) at a wedding reception. The "pasture" he's going out to is literally across the street from the ostracized-for-all-the-wrong-reasons home-grown Pediatrician who got her start by actually going to medical school. His son has been featured in Randolph Hospital ads (again, it pays to know the right people). I like Neil's dog, Josie, and used to regularly feed her dog treats when she wandered into my yard. She's a sweet dog, but I don't get to see her much anymore since the Allens installed an invisible fence (all the rage on the Mountain). The other day, dodging potholes, I drove past Neil walking Josie. He threw up his hand to wave. I did not return the salutation.
You see, I just can't pretend that everything is super-cool . . . or say, "Bygones", smile and wave. In all of the years since they moved in across the street (into a house the Drs. May once occupied before they threw up their hands and went to Texas), Sandra Allen, boss of the nurses I once came in to help, has not thought it prudent to knock on my front door and see where my head was at . . . or to entertain a notion that might not be Bob Morrison's. Being the ultimate "team-player" (as opposed to a neighbor) she never stepped outside the box in an effort to right a great wrong. And she knows it was a great wrong.
I have no respect for that.
I especially have no respect for city fathers/hospital Board members like Bill Redding. Acme-McCrary's long-time boss is also retiring at the end of the year. A Randolph Guide article recently sang his praises and played up his status as a local humanitarian and hospital board member (the hospital being "so important to the community and the county" and all). Being one of the "right people" in Asheboro, Bill has "been truly blessed by the good Lord".
I've got news for Mr. Redding. The Good Lord has no use for well-named, "lucky" hypocrites who protect and shield liars from the consequences of their actions. Put on all the show you like, Bill. But the Good Lord threw the money-changers out of the temple.
What was done to me on your watch was wrong. But you did not care/could not be bothered because it did not directly affect you or yours. Your grandaughter wasn't the patient that was dying . . . your daughter wasn't the doctor professionally raped for doing the right thing.
What would serve this city and this county so much better than the sad/sorry leadership mix of nepotism and suckupism that Bill & company have practiced for so long . . . the narrow-minded, greed-soaked, 20-400 "vision" that ran Asheboro into the ground . . . is some real accountability and transparency . . . and something other than situational ethics applicable only to the "right people".
Wake up, Bill. Personally, you might have been "lucky" and "blessed". But the town you helped run, not-so-much. You and your buds were asleep at the wheel.
I know. As one of those well-educated saps who was foolish enough to believe the empty drivel espoused by those around whom you circled the wagons, I was under the bus.
Tell me again how much you-all value hard work, education . . . and ethics. Please.
Note to anyone considering coming to this town to work for this hospital: JUST SAY NO!
The people that run Randolph Hospital are liars and cheats. They will stab you in the back, swear a false Oath before God and the Court, and then make a show of going to church. Do not believe a word they say or a promise they make.
Before I close this post, this morning one of the Ya's brought to my attention an article on The Merce clinic in the Sunday Lifestyles section of the Courier (no online link available). For the uninitiated, the Merce Clinic got its start back in the early nineties as a free charity clinic run by doctors with big hearts and good intentions. But as with nearly everything else in Asheboro, the hospital brass got its claws into it, free enterprise and normal patterns of medical evolution went out the window (at all times in deference to the best fiscal interest of the hospital), and Merce became about squeezing every last dime out of state and government assistance programs.The Merce Clinic, now federally-funded, has "diversified. And Physicians Assistants are seeing Pediatric patients.
Of course, if the Bobs and Bills of Asheboro had not driven several very good Pediatricians out of town (starting with this one), the Merce clinic would probably not need to see Pediatric patients at all.
You will not, of course, read that point-of-view in the Lifestyles section of the Courier Tribune.
That's it for today (the Yas are gathering for an impromptu gathering tonight). There's no big ending to this post. Just observations.
Pretty disgusted by it all.
12/30 Author's note: This post has undergone some minor edits this morning. Guests were arriving yesterday as I was composing - I hit the wrong key - and the post published prematurely.
Lady O Is Easy To Snow
I've been disenchanted with "Lady O" for a long time. Anyone (particularly a crass American) who thinks that the Hermes store in Paris should open and shut on her command needs her head examined and her attitude adjusted.
Not being able to afford $100,000 ostrich handbags, all of the faux-"I'm a poor pitiful victim of racism" drama fell flatter than a three-day-old squashed possum on the side of a North Carolina dirt road for me.
(I hear Oprah likes imagery.)
Oprah's endorsement of Barack Obama - and her refusal to interview/entertain any other candidate on her couch during the Presidential campaign - pretty much ensured for me that when the Big O is on, my TV will be off. I won't be having her magazine in my guest bathroom anymore either.
This past month it wasn't just one picture of herself on the cover - it was two. And if she expects me to believe that the 200-pound version's silhouette was not majorly air-brushed & slim-lined, she's loopy from overdoing her Synthroid.
Given that she has better resources than any newspaper around to vet her guests and sources (I mean, what does Gayle King do all day?), it's kind of puzzling to me why Oprah has had so much trouble with "autobiographical" authors. First we had James Fey . . . the charming and creative little liar who apparently wasn't all of the way-bad scumball he said he was.
I didn't read the book that Oprah picked for us. But Fey must be a really good writer because he sure sucked the world in - and sold a whole lot of books.
What put me off most about Oprah's subsequent self-righteous on-air skewering of Fey was that none of it was really about exposing "the truth", it was about covering her (once again giant*) ass.
(*Blame it all on the thyroid sweetie. That's what I do. No guilt. It's not your fault what you put in your mouth.)
Now we have another literary hoax that Lady O endorsed/promoted: Herman Rosenblat's Holocaust memoir, Angel at the Fence, is apprently a big fat lie.
Makes you wonder about Oprah's judgement. I mean, she literally picked a President for us. She put BO on her couch . . . "introduced" him to us . . . fawned all over him (to the point one wanted to say, Ditch Michelle and get a room!) . . . and then wouldn't entertain any other candidates for the job after she fell in love with him.
I have to stop. I'm getting nauseous.
With all of this in mind, a lot of people have suggested that I contact the all-mighty-and-powerful Oprah about my story (as if I had not already had the idea). I have sent e-mails. I have sent letters. I've not gotten any kind of response. Harpo (Oprah spelled backwards) Productions is not interested.
My problem seems to be that (1) I'm not the right color or ethnic background to be considered a good victim on TV and (2) . . .
I'm actually telling the truth.
Not being able to afford $100,000 ostrich handbags, all of the faux-"I'm a poor pitiful victim of racism" drama fell flatter than a three-day-old squashed possum on the side of a North Carolina dirt road for me.
(I hear Oprah likes imagery.)
Oprah's endorsement of Barack Obama - and her refusal to interview/entertain any other candidate on her couch during the Presidential campaign - pretty much ensured for me that when the Big O is on, my TV will be off. I won't be having her magazine in my guest bathroom anymore either.
This past month it wasn't just one picture of herself on the cover - it was two. And if she expects me to believe that the 200-pound version's silhouette was not majorly air-brushed & slim-lined, she's loopy from overdoing her Synthroid.
Given that she has better resources than any newspaper around to vet her guests and sources (I mean, what does Gayle King do all day?), it's kind of puzzling to me why Oprah has had so much trouble with "autobiographical" authors. First we had James Fey . . . the charming and creative little liar who apparently wasn't all of the way-bad scumball he said he was.
I didn't read the book that Oprah picked for us. But Fey must be a really good writer because he sure sucked the world in - and sold a whole lot of books.
What put me off most about Oprah's subsequent self-righteous on-air skewering of Fey was that none of it was really about exposing "the truth", it was about covering her (once again giant*) ass.
(*Blame it all on the thyroid sweetie. That's what I do. No guilt. It's not your fault what you put in your mouth.)
Now we have another literary hoax that Lady O endorsed/promoted: Herman Rosenblat's Holocaust memoir, Angel at the Fence, is apprently a big fat lie.
Makes you wonder about Oprah's judgement. I mean, she literally picked a President for us. She put BO on her couch . . . "introduced" him to us . . . fawned all over him (to the point one wanted to say, Ditch Michelle and get a room!) . . . and then wouldn't entertain any other candidates for the job after she fell in love with him.
I have to stop. I'm getting nauseous.
With all of this in mind, a lot of people have suggested that I contact the all-mighty-and-powerful Oprah about my story (as if I had not already had the idea). I have sent e-mails. I have sent letters. I've not gotten any kind of response. Harpo (Oprah spelled backwards) Productions is not interested.
My problem seems to be that (1) I'm not the right color or ethnic background to be considered a good victim on TV and (2) . . .
I'm actually telling the truth.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Not A Brown Nose
(Hat tip to Guarino) The N&R interviewed Keith Brown of Triad Watch. I met Keith in October at a cookout at the Poet's.
My favorite quote from the interview (which mirrors a conversation I had with Keith at the cookout . . . he had found Guidestar particularly interesting . . . I remember the feeling/enthusiasm as I originally pieced together my case): I think there are a lot of issues out there that places like the Greensboro News & Record won't write about.
LOL! No kidding, dude (I'm amazed you got interviewed/quoted). The Courier Tribune either.
Worthless, these local newspapers are. Ordinary people are toast.
My favorite quote from the interview (which mirrors a conversation I had with Keith at the cookout . . . he had found Guidestar particularly interesting . . . I remember the feeling/enthusiasm as I originally pieced together my case): I think there are a lot of issues out there that places like the Greensboro News & Record won't write about.
LOL! No kidding, dude (I'm amazed you got interviewed/quoted). The Courier Tribune either.
Worthless, these local newspapers are. Ordinary people are toast.
The Visitation
Yesterday, I had a visit from a high-school friend I have not seen in twenty-some years.
We were close in high school . . . literally sitting side-by-side in band (at least when I was inclined to practice - she had the gift - I did not) every day for six years. But after graduation, we drifted apart - for many reasons. She dropped off the radar for quite a while after leaving Asheboro (I actually looked for her on several occasions), and I wondered if she was alive or dead.
I am happy to report that she is very much alive. She's been to hell and back, but the point is that she's back . . . healthy and happy. And I am very pleased for this prodigal daughter and her family. I'm also happy for me.
You see, I missed her. But not in a "gay" way (that was for "Ellen's" benefit). Not that there would be anything wrong with that;)
Visiting her family yesterday for Christmas, she called and asked if she could come by the house. I pulled the fairly-complicated-set-of-directions I have written down off the refrigerator door, and began rattling them off (apologizing for the monster pot-holes along the way). I started with the disclaimer, "I live on the back side of the Mountain".
With mirth in her voice, she said, "Of course you do."
It's an inside Asheboro joke. I always was a black sheep. I don't exactly fit in with some of the big names and up-turned noses over here.
When she rang my doorbell, we laughed and embraced as friends that time and distance and circumstance cannot harm. We proceeded to talk for a couple of hours as if there were not twenty-some years between way-back-before-the-world-smacked-the-crap-out-of-us-both and now.
She's been to the blog (we actually reconnected online a couple of months ago . . . after another high-school friend/reader posted an inquiry on my behalf at Reunion.com). It was interesting. She had no problem understanding my legal case (after all, lying is lying). But she wanted to hear the down-and-dirty about what happened at Randolph eleven years ago this coming January . . . specifically the night that LDRP nurses begged me to come in and help a newborn infant . . . a patient not my own.
I told her . . . and then showed her the photo album filled with Christmas cards from the baby's grateful parents.
There are ten photos in it now. I treasure the cards/album. Randolph Hospital big-shots, Bob Morrison and Steven Eblin, can so kiss my giant ass. Everything I've been through because of them is worth the bright happy eyes and gorgeous smile on that beauty's face.
No matter how many times I tell the story, I am still simultaneously amazed & amused by the reaction of people raised in Asheboro/Randolph County. They cannot believe it happened - or that the hospital and its brass have (so far) gotten away with so much. Yet they completely get why it did.
"It's THIS PLACE!" She said, shaking her head and gesticulating. It's not the first time I've heard that lately.
Those of us who were raised here - especially those of us who were foolish enough to come back home - completely understand why there's little wonder the place is "dying".
She asked me about another high-school friend. I smiled and told her the story of his son . . . born with a severe congenital heart defect (while I was still at RMA) . . . and how one angry phone call I placed (as his then-Pediatrician) to an old friend/mentor at Brenner's (while he was in the NICU there) was literally the difference between his life and death.
Truth is often stranger than fiction.
The conversation wasn't all about me. We covered a variety of topics. Some of them pretty deep. But that's not fodder for the blog.
I look forward to more such conversations.
She has an open invitation to come back for the next gathering of the Ya (as yet to be scheduled). As Queen of the Yas, I look forward to taking my lost-but-found friend back into the fold.
I think this visitation was the best gift I got this year . . .
. . . and much better than Scrooge's spirits.
We were close in high school . . . literally sitting side-by-side in band (at least when I was inclined to practice - she had the gift - I did not) every day for six years. But after graduation, we drifted apart - for many reasons. She dropped off the radar for quite a while after leaving Asheboro (I actually looked for her on several occasions), and I wondered if she was alive or dead.
I am happy to report that she is very much alive. She's been to hell and back, but the point is that she's back . . . healthy and happy. And I am very pleased for this prodigal daughter and her family. I'm also happy for me.
You see, I missed her. But not in a "gay" way (that was for "Ellen's" benefit). Not that there would be anything wrong with that;)
Visiting her family yesterday for Christmas, she called and asked if she could come by the house. I pulled the fairly-complicated-set-of-directions I have written down off the refrigerator door, and began rattling them off (apologizing for the monster pot-holes along the way). I started with the disclaimer, "I live on the back side of the Mountain".
With mirth in her voice, she said, "Of course you do."
It's an inside Asheboro joke. I always was a black sheep. I don't exactly fit in with some of the big names and up-turned noses over here.
When she rang my doorbell, we laughed and embraced as friends that time and distance and circumstance cannot harm. We proceeded to talk for a couple of hours as if there were not twenty-some years between way-back-before-the-world-smacked-the-crap-out-of-us-both and now.
She's been to the blog (we actually reconnected online a couple of months ago . . . after another high-school friend/reader posted an inquiry on my behalf at Reunion.com). It was interesting. She had no problem understanding my legal case (after all, lying is lying). But she wanted to hear the down-and-dirty about what happened at Randolph eleven years ago this coming January . . . specifically the night that LDRP nurses begged me to come in and help a newborn infant . . . a patient not my own.
I told her . . . and then showed her the photo album filled with Christmas cards from the baby's grateful parents.
There are ten photos in it now. I treasure the cards/album. Randolph Hospital big-shots, Bob Morrison and Steven Eblin, can so kiss my giant ass. Everything I've been through because of them is worth the bright happy eyes and gorgeous smile on that beauty's face.
No matter how many times I tell the story, I am still simultaneously amazed & amused by the reaction of people raised in Asheboro/Randolph County. They cannot believe it happened - or that the hospital and its brass have (so far) gotten away with so much. Yet they completely get why it did.
"It's THIS PLACE!" She said, shaking her head and gesticulating. It's not the first time I've heard that lately.
Those of us who were raised here - especially those of us who were foolish enough to come back home - completely understand why there's little wonder the place is "dying".
She asked me about another high-school friend. I smiled and told her the story of his son . . . born with a severe congenital heart defect (while I was still at RMA) . . . and how one angry phone call I placed (as his then-Pediatrician) to an old friend/mentor at Brenner's (while he was in the NICU there) was literally the difference between his life and death.
Truth is often stranger than fiction.
The conversation wasn't all about me. We covered a variety of topics. Some of them pretty deep. But that's not fodder for the blog.
I look forward to more such conversations.
She has an open invitation to come back for the next gathering of the Ya (as yet to be scheduled). As Queen of the Yas, I look forward to taking my lost-but-found friend back into the fold.
I think this visitation was the best gift I got this year . . .
. . . and much better than Scrooge's spirits.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
The Day After Christmas
It was a very good Christmas. A child was under our family's Christmas tree. Literally. She can't crawl yet, but that little sucker can roll anywhere she wants to go.
I've elected not to contribute to the economy today. I'm going to put my feet up and watch Michael Baldwin get Scrooged on Y&R.
(12:47 PM Update: Michael is not getting Scrooged. He's getting Clarenced. By Paul Williams. It's hysterical.)
For a while, I was working on a little ditty about Asheboro's "who's-whos" . . . along the lines of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas". Alas, those pesky Christmas spirits intervened to soften my heart and still my pen. I put it aside.
But tomorrow is another day. The heart will re-harden. All it takes is a couple of drives by the local BandAid-station.
Unlike Fec, I love the Christmas season. I love the demonstrations of genuine faith, compassion and charity that it inspires. Once a year, for a brief shining moment, the world seems to teeter on the edge of getting it.
But I also love to watch the displays of abject hypocrisy on the part of people who make Scrooge and Ben Weaver (the classic AGS Christmas episode was on yesterday) look like lightweights.
It's nothing if not entertainment.
The corrupt banker with rot for a soul, peeping through the window at people far richer than he in the things that matter, seems particularly . . . what is the word I'm looking for . . . relevant . . . this year.
A friend of mine regaled me with the story of one such event that attracted many of Asheboro's heavyweights. He was so caught up in genuine Christmas spirit that he failed to recognize the sad/sorry ironies in what he was describing . . . and, for his sake, I did not go there.
I still do not understand how, given their behavior during the 364 other days of the year, some of these people can walk into a church without lightening striking. But Baby Jesus has a much higher tolerance for liars and thieves than I do.
Driving through town on the eve of Christmas eve, we think we had a Schmidly sighting at the once pleasant little coffee shop that now doubles as a lawyer's bar.
I can think of nothing Asheboro needs more than a bunch of drunk lawyers. Of course, they could do no worse than the supposedly sober mill-town-kings that ran us aground . . . whose 20/20 vision now has us clinging to a zoo the state won't fund as our salvation.
Has anyone else noticed how so many of the powers-that-be seem to be jumping ship lately . . . getting out while the getting is good? Mark my words, local healthcare leech supreme, Bob Morrison will be announcing his retirement soon (he thinks it will stop my pursuit - and he would be wrong). The expensive renovations on his house (which rumor has it, include an elevator) appear almost complete.
No doubt Bob will be setforwhatremainsofhismiserablelife - by an absolutely clueless hospital BOD - with a fat retirement parachute. He'll have plenty in the till to pay the increased property taxes Criscoe & company want to extract via annexation.
Public service in Asheboro has been very, very good to Bob and Peggy.
Ergo, Fec's post on the "be hip or die crowd" in GSO (I spotted some of them at Earth Fare on my semi-annual visit) was like manna from heaven on the day after Christmas. I call them the "Brie and Volvo" crowd (actually, someone else with Randolph County roots called them that, and I picked it up . . . it seemed better than "Conelings"). The species is not confined to Greensboro. Fec's musings were spot-on.
It's no better at the state level. Get a load of the two headlines at the Raleigh N&O today (I love some of the comments on the health plan story - like this one: OK people...HERE's ANOTHER 'benefit' of REelecting all these CORRUPT democrackkks for decades in our once great state! WHY do YOU PEOPLE, the CLUELESS MASSES KEEP ON ELECTING THESE CRIMINALS????)
As he packs his office, Richard Moore, like John McCain, is probably secretly breathing a sigh of relief. He can go work for one of Ben Weaver's descendants.
Wait. Mayberry tanked this summer.
I've elected not to contribute to the economy today. I'm going to put my feet up and watch Michael Baldwin get Scrooged on Y&R.
(12:47 PM Update: Michael is not getting Scrooged. He's getting Clarenced. By Paul Williams. It's hysterical.)
For a while, I was working on a little ditty about Asheboro's "who's-whos" . . . along the lines of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas". Alas, those pesky Christmas spirits intervened to soften my heart and still my pen. I put it aside.
But tomorrow is another day. The heart will re-harden. All it takes is a couple of drives by the local BandAid-station.
Unlike Fec, I love the Christmas season. I love the demonstrations of genuine faith, compassion and charity that it inspires. Once a year, for a brief shining moment, the world seems to teeter on the edge of getting it.
But I also love to watch the displays of abject hypocrisy on the part of people who make Scrooge and Ben Weaver (the classic AGS Christmas episode was on yesterday) look like lightweights.
It's nothing if not entertainment.
The corrupt banker with rot for a soul, peeping through the window at people far richer than he in the things that matter, seems particularly . . . what is the word I'm looking for . . . relevant . . . this year.
A friend of mine regaled me with the story of one such event that attracted many of Asheboro's heavyweights. He was so caught up in genuine Christmas spirit that he failed to recognize the sad/sorry ironies in what he was describing . . . and, for his sake, I did not go there.
I still do not understand how, given their behavior during the 364 other days of the year, some of these people can walk into a church without lightening striking. But Baby Jesus has a much higher tolerance for liars and thieves than I do.
Driving through town on the eve of Christmas eve, we think we had a Schmidly sighting at the once pleasant little coffee shop that now doubles as a lawyer's bar.
I can think of nothing Asheboro needs more than a bunch of drunk lawyers. Of course, they could do no worse than the supposedly sober mill-town-kings that ran us aground . . . whose 20/20 vision now has us clinging to a zoo the state won't fund as our salvation.
Has anyone else noticed how so many of the powers-that-be seem to be jumping ship lately . . . getting out while the getting is good? Mark my words, local healthcare leech supreme, Bob Morrison will be announcing his retirement soon (he thinks it will stop my pursuit - and he would be wrong). The expensive renovations on his house (which rumor has it, include an elevator) appear almost complete.
No doubt Bob will be setforwhatremainsofhismiserablelife - by an absolutely clueless hospital BOD - with a fat retirement parachute. He'll have plenty in the till to pay the increased property taxes Criscoe & company want to extract via annexation.
Public service in Asheboro has been very, very good to Bob and Peggy.
Ergo, Fec's post on the "be hip or die crowd" in GSO (I spotted some of them at Earth Fare on my semi-annual visit) was like manna from heaven on the day after Christmas. I call them the "Brie and Volvo" crowd (actually, someone else with Randolph County roots called them that, and I picked it up . . . it seemed better than "Conelings"). The species is not confined to Greensboro. Fec's musings were spot-on.
It's no better at the state level. Get a load of the two headlines at the Raleigh N&O today (I love some of the comments on the health plan story - like this one: OK people...HERE's ANOTHER 'benefit' of REelecting all these CORRUPT democrackkks for decades in our once great state! WHY do YOU PEOPLE, the CLUELESS MASSES KEEP ON ELECTING THESE CRIMINALS????)
As he packs his office, Richard Moore, like John McCain, is probably secretly breathing a sigh of relief. He can go work for one of Ben Weaver's descendants.
Wait. Mayberry tanked this summer.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Be Near Me, Lord Jesus
Too tuckered for the Christmas Eve service at FBC, I lit my Christmas Cross tonight and read The Story by its Light. Simply lovely.
Merry Christmas.
Merry Christmas.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Those Spirits Work In Mysterious Ways
This year, the US Postal spirits did it all in one day.
This Christmas Card and one featuring Abigail came on the same day:)
This Christmas Card and one featuring Abigail came on the same day:)
Sunday, December 21, 2008
The Piano Lesson
Blogging has taken a back-seat for the last several days as I have been otherwise engaged.
Last week, my younger brother (in his early forties) underwent hip replacement surgery (somewhere other than Asheboro).
Let's just say that, as children & young adults, we Johnsons had some pretty bad luck with medical care in Asheboro. We're up to three fairly big strikes. Randolph can put out all the fancy "extras" in the Courier it wants to now (yes indeed, this weekend, YaYa KA brought me the one that wound up in her driveway) - but that hospital is OUT in our book. We will leave it at that.
My brother's operation went very well. He is home now. The Orthopod reported that he had bone spurs the size of a man's thumb inside the joint/socket. Indeed, when they rolled him over on the table (to get him in position for the surgery) - even after he was sedated and relaxed, they could not put his knees together.
We're all in awe that he put up with it as long as he did.
He is delighted that now, for the first time in years, when he walks his foot points forward. And, of course, there is little-to-no pain (well, except for that of the post-op variety - easily controlled with "the same stuff House takes").
It's a time when you're grateful family is near-by. Mama took grandchild duty. His wife (who conveniently is an RN at the hospital where he had the surgery) decided to work that day - so she could hover and fuss in a pseudo-official capacity. And his big sister took him to the hospital (at 4:30 AM) and did the "family duty" in the waiting room.
They asked if I wanted to watch the surgery. I elected not to. Seemed icky.
I very much enjoyed the immediate-post-op entertainment of my normally reserved/stoic/no-nonsense brother feeling no pain and completely snowed on morphine. It would have made great black-mail footage. Let's just say at one point, I narrowly missed seeing parts of his anatomy I have not seen since tub-time in childhood.
"WAIT! STOP! I have not seen THAT in a long, long time. And I do not want to see it now. NO THANK YOU!"
Although you know she was burning to see him, Mama elected to stay with the baby the first day post-op. But on the second day, I drove up to do my first-time baby-sitting duty with my spoiled-ROTTEN niece, while Mama went to the hospital.
Although I take care of babies for a living, it was a bit comical how Mama took great pains to make sure everything was "just right" before she left for her hospital visit. I've been away and on the road quite a bit this year . . . and have not been around the baby very much at all. And Mama's been a little bit worried (I think) about the single/childless Pediatrician "bonding" with her niece.
Abigail had been bathed and her diaper changed (she smelled good). Mama's plan (she always has one) was for me to give her a bottle and put her down for a nap.
Fairly simple stuff. I sent Mama on her way.
The bottle went fine (Abby sucked it right down) . . . and after a burping session, we got out a fairly large belch that pretty much drenched my T-Shirt. It was quite comical . . . Abby was giggling and very proud of the belch. No biggie. I've had worse on the shirt.
But I was new/not Grandma, the routine was "off" and Abby-cat shortly became very fussy. None of the usual tricks would soothe her . . . until I had the bright idea to sit at the piano (with her in my lap) and pick out Christmas tunes with one hand.
Suddenly, Abigail stopped crying. With a glazed look in her eyes, she smiled up at me . . . absolutely entranced by the music. I began to sing to her as I played. She started to laugh and kick and babble . . . and tried to play her own tune . . . swatting at the piano keys. At one point, I tried to guide her hands, but she would have none of it . . . she would play her own tune, thank-you-very-much.
It was her first piano lesson.
I think Mama finally got her musician. I can read the music and play the notes. But I've never had the gift. I think maybe Abby does.
She belched again while at the piano (mercifully, it was "dry") - and began to settle down. Music had soothed the savage baby. Baby in arms, I gingerly moved to the big couch across the room (closer to the Christmas tree) and sank down into its soft cocoon.
Abigail quickly fell asleep in my arms. Alas, Mama's plan had to change, for I could not get up to put her down in her crib . . . because I'm still wearing the walking boot. I did not want to wake the sleeping baby.
So we sat there, and snuggled and watched one of those sad/sorry "judge" shows (All I can say about those mindless bits is, "Oh the humanity!") until Mama could come to my rescue/pry me off the couch.
At one point, in the darkened room - in the glow of the lighted Christmas tree, the sleeping baby in my arms brought tears to my eyes. Babies are magical that way. I don't think Mama has to worry about us "bonding".
And Abby has someone else wrapped around her finger.
As soon as Grandma got home and hit the garage-door opener, the sleeping baby-princess startled, woke up and began to cry.
Pleased we both had survived, Mama said my brother had wanted her to stay at the hospital longer . . . so I'd have to change a diaper.
But Mama was wise. First-time "bonding" sessions should only go so far;)
Last week, my younger brother (in his early forties) underwent hip replacement surgery (somewhere other than Asheboro).
Let's just say that, as children & young adults, we Johnsons had some pretty bad luck with medical care in Asheboro. We're up to three fairly big strikes. Randolph can put out all the fancy "extras" in the Courier it wants to now (yes indeed, this weekend, YaYa KA brought me the one that wound up in her driveway) - but that hospital is OUT in our book. We will leave it at that.
My brother's operation went very well. He is home now. The Orthopod reported that he had bone spurs the size of a man's thumb inside the joint/socket. Indeed, when they rolled him over on the table (to get him in position for the surgery) - even after he was sedated and relaxed, they could not put his knees together.
We're all in awe that he put up with it as long as he did.
He is delighted that now, for the first time in years, when he walks his foot points forward. And, of course, there is little-to-no pain (well, except for that of the post-op variety - easily controlled with "the same stuff House takes").
It's a time when you're grateful family is near-by. Mama took grandchild duty. His wife (who conveniently is an RN at the hospital where he had the surgery) decided to work that day - so she could hover and fuss in a pseudo-official capacity. And his big sister took him to the hospital (at 4:30 AM) and did the "family duty" in the waiting room.
They asked if I wanted to watch the surgery. I elected not to. Seemed icky.
I very much enjoyed the immediate-post-op entertainment of my normally reserved/stoic/no-nonsense brother feeling no pain and completely snowed on morphine. It would have made great black-mail footage. Let's just say at one point, I narrowly missed seeing parts of his anatomy I have not seen since tub-time in childhood.
"WAIT! STOP! I have not seen THAT in a long, long time. And I do not want to see it now. NO THANK YOU!"
Although you know she was burning to see him, Mama elected to stay with the baby the first day post-op. But on the second day, I drove up to do my first-time baby-sitting duty with my spoiled-ROTTEN niece, while Mama went to the hospital.
Although I take care of babies for a living, it was a bit comical how Mama took great pains to make sure everything was "just right" before she left for her hospital visit. I've been away and on the road quite a bit this year . . . and have not been around the baby very much at all. And Mama's been a little bit worried (I think) about the single/childless Pediatrician "bonding" with her niece.
Abigail had been bathed and her diaper changed (she smelled good). Mama's plan (she always has one) was for me to give her a bottle and put her down for a nap.
Fairly simple stuff. I sent Mama on her way.
The bottle went fine (Abby sucked it right down) . . . and after a burping session, we got out a fairly large belch that pretty much drenched my T-Shirt. It was quite comical . . . Abby was giggling and very proud of the belch. No biggie. I've had worse on the shirt.
But I was new/not Grandma, the routine was "off" and Abby-cat shortly became very fussy. None of the usual tricks would soothe her . . . until I had the bright idea to sit at the piano (with her in my lap) and pick out Christmas tunes with one hand.
Suddenly, Abigail stopped crying. With a glazed look in her eyes, she smiled up at me . . . absolutely entranced by the music. I began to sing to her as I played. She started to laugh and kick and babble . . . and tried to play her own tune . . . swatting at the piano keys. At one point, I tried to guide her hands, but she would have none of it . . . she would play her own tune, thank-you-very-much.
It was her first piano lesson.
I think Mama finally got her musician. I can read the music and play the notes. But I've never had the gift. I think maybe Abby does.
She belched again while at the piano (mercifully, it was "dry") - and began to settle down. Music had soothed the savage baby. Baby in arms, I gingerly moved to the big couch across the room (closer to the Christmas tree) and sank down into its soft cocoon.
Abigail quickly fell asleep in my arms. Alas, Mama's plan had to change, for I could not get up to put her down in her crib . . . because I'm still wearing the walking boot. I did not want to wake the sleeping baby.
So we sat there, and snuggled and watched one of those sad/sorry "judge" shows (All I can say about those mindless bits is, "Oh the humanity!") until Mama could come to my rescue/pry me off the couch.
At one point, in the darkened room - in the glow of the lighted Christmas tree, the sleeping baby in my arms brought tears to my eyes. Babies are magical that way. I don't think Mama has to worry about us "bonding".
And Abby has someone else wrapped around her finger.
As soon as Grandma got home and hit the garage-door opener, the sleeping baby-princess startled, woke up and began to cry.
Pleased we both had survived, Mama said my brother had wanted her to stay at the hospital longer . . . so I'd have to change a diaper.
But Mama was wise. First-time "bonding" sessions should only go so far;)
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Not So Sweet, Caroline
Jane Seymour makes me cringe. So does this. I have the urge to throw shoes.
I wish America could break away from its fascination with political dynasties.
I wish America could break away from its fascination with political dynasties.
Murder Most Foul
In the wake of the murder of a Brinks Security guard at in front of the Old Navy store at Friendly Center in GSO yesterday, Joe Guarino has a good post up.
I posted a comment there. Alas, it's not just the towns that are dying now.
Addendum: As expected, Allen Johnson at the N&R predictably uses this tragedy to play the race & victim cards one more time. But this time a reader calls him on it.
I posted a comment there. Alas, it's not just the towns that are dying now.
Addendum: As expected, Allen Johnson at the N&R predictably uses this tragedy to play the race & victim cards one more time. But this time a reader calls him on it.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Is It Time To Put Asheboro In The Rear View Mirror?
The Courier Tribune continues to do damage control for the usual suspects that never saw it coming.
(Bonnie) Renfro (wife to David, publisher of the Courier) said local officials recognize that Asheboro has experienced a decline in income for some persons in the community. The economy is experiencing a transition. Those without a higher educational attainment are disproportionately affected by changes in the types of jobs available, she said. But efforts are on-going to address that condition.
Yeah, sure. Efforts are "on-going". I'll note, as someone with a "higher educational attainment" who was invited home to "clean up" Pediatrics, that NO efforts have been made by ANY of our oh-so-ethical community leaders to address the perjury, contempt and fraud committed by Randolph Hospital CEO Robert Morrison and his "right-hand-man", Steven Eblin . . . against a homegrown doctor they professionally mauled for doing the right thing.
The crooks and liars on Wall Street have NOTHING on these guys.
Lying, cheating and stealing is a-okay with the Renfros, the JB Davises, the Mike Millers, the Bill Reddings, the Keith Criscos and the David Smiths of our fair, albeit "dying", town - as long as "the right people" do it.
And please don't get me started on our so-called "law enforcement" . . . i.e. the Garland Yates and Andy Gregsons and Litchard Hurleys and Maynard Reids and Gary Masons that supposedly protect we ordinary sorts from ourselves (because they damned sure don't protect us from "the right people").
And that, my friends, is why recruiting doctors to Asheboro has become so hard. Despite the line Bob & company would like to feed you, it's got nothing to do with alcohol.
Sure, we have the same issues that everybody else has. We’re a traditional Southern mill town in transition,” he said. “But we have people who come here to visit and tell us they decide to stay because Asheboro is such a wonderful place to live. We hear that story all the time.”
I beg to differ. I've worked in small towns and big cities all over this state. And I can tell you that the kind of elitist/back-stabbing/snot-nosed behavior that has been winked and nodded at in Asheboro for literally years would not be/has not been tolerated elsewhere. Bob Morrison and Steven Eblin would have been shown the door YEARS ago . . . and most likely prosecuted. Even mill-town gods in most places have standards.
I had an ADA from elsewhere tell me a while back, "We prosecute perjury in this county, Dr. Johnson. I don't know what is going on where you live".
Nobody with a soul does. For Bob and Steve are still pulling down the monster salaries - resting on the laurels tossed their way for work done largely by others.
So. I guess the answer to the question posed by the Courier depends upon your point of view.
If I were a young doctor asked to look at Asheboro . . . and I knew that this kind of BS was in Randolph Hospital's not-too-distant past . . . I wouldn't get close enough to the town to see them coming or going.
And I'd get my drink somewhere else.
(Bonnie) Renfro (wife to David, publisher of the Courier) said local officials recognize that Asheboro has experienced a decline in income for some persons in the community. The economy is experiencing a transition. Those without a higher educational attainment are disproportionately affected by changes in the types of jobs available, she said. But efforts are on-going to address that condition.
Yeah, sure. Efforts are "on-going". I'll note, as someone with a "higher educational attainment" who was invited home to "clean up" Pediatrics, that NO efforts have been made by ANY of our oh-so-ethical community leaders to address the perjury, contempt and fraud committed by Randolph Hospital CEO Robert Morrison and his "right-hand-man", Steven Eblin . . . against a homegrown doctor they professionally mauled for doing the right thing.
The crooks and liars on Wall Street have NOTHING on these guys.
Lying, cheating and stealing is a-okay with the Renfros, the JB Davises, the Mike Millers, the Bill Reddings, the Keith Criscos and the David Smiths of our fair, albeit "dying", town - as long as "the right people" do it.
And please don't get me started on our so-called "law enforcement" . . . i.e. the Garland Yates and Andy Gregsons and Litchard Hurleys and Maynard Reids and Gary Masons that supposedly protect we ordinary sorts from ourselves (because they damned sure don't protect us from "the right people").
And that, my friends, is why recruiting doctors to Asheboro has become so hard. Despite the line Bob & company would like to feed you, it's got nothing to do with alcohol.
Sure, we have the same issues that everybody else has. We’re a traditional Southern mill town in transition,” he said. “But we have people who come here to visit and tell us they decide to stay because Asheboro is such a wonderful place to live. We hear that story all the time.”
I beg to differ. I've worked in small towns and big cities all over this state. And I can tell you that the kind of elitist/back-stabbing/snot-nosed behavior that has been winked and nodded at in Asheboro for literally years would not be/has not been tolerated elsewhere. Bob Morrison and Steven Eblin would have been shown the door YEARS ago . . . and most likely prosecuted. Even mill-town gods in most places have standards.
I had an ADA from elsewhere tell me a while back, "We prosecute perjury in this county, Dr. Johnson. I don't know what is going on where you live".
Nobody with a soul does. For Bob and Steve are still pulling down the monster salaries - resting on the laurels tossed their way for work done largely by others.
So. I guess the answer to the question posed by the Courier depends upon your point of view.
If I were a young doctor asked to look at Asheboro . . . and I knew that this kind of BS was in Randolph Hospital's not-too-distant past . . . I wouldn't get close enough to the town to see them coming or going.
And I'd get my drink somewhere else.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
It's My Wonderful Life
(This one's all about me;)
Saturday morning, YaYa KA and I continued our "support your hometown" (no matter how they have not supported you) theme in Christmas shopping, by visiting the "Holiday Hoopla" at the Asheboro Farmer's Market - as well as the adjacent "Circa Gallery". Very nice. I hope they can make a go of it.
YaYa KA, despite her claim to being the most world-traveled/exotic Ya, is perhaps the easiest of our high-school "sisters" to shop for . . . and within a few minutes of browsing, we'd found her Christmas present (yes, she knows what it is - but she is going to pretend to be surprised).
*Afterthought: I found a necklace at Circa that says, "It's all about me." It's hanging around my neck now.
When we were done at the "Hoopla", we visited the bank to pick up some spending money - then went back home to pick up Baby Ya (who always sleeps late on the weekends) and switch out vehicles. Our next "mission" was to pick up my niece's Christmas present in Greensboro - at Bon Bebe (in the New Garden shopping center).
And for that, we needed Baby's "Beast".
If I do say so myself, it is the coolest baby/toddler present ever . . . having both a pilot (for Daddy) and Snoopy (for Mama) theme. But due to the amount of floorspace it's going to take up, I do believe Abigail's Mother is going to kill me.
(Of course, my cyber-stalker and her friends would like that. Psst . . . "Ellen". I know it will make your head spin, but I wore the lights on my walking boot again. I got a lot of smiles and compliments on my Christmas spirit in the face of ambulatory adversity . . . even from supposedly-stodgy-but-not Moravians. But we'll get to that.)
We had a lovely lunch at McAlister's Deli . . . meeting yet another old high-school bud there. McAlister's has the world's greatest iced tea ever. I became addicted to it in Memphis.
Some things are priceless, and this lunch was.
From there, at YaYa Ka's request, we moved on to Ten Thousand Villages. They had three-legged Chilean "Good Luck Pigs". Needless to say, one came home with me;)
After that, at Baby's Ya's request, we puttered on down to the brand-new, "Books-A-Million". Baby was looking for dance magazines on their massive newsstand. Alas, we could not find any.
From there, we hopped on over to my old stomping grounds in Winston-Salem. Neither KA nor Baby had ever been to the Moravian Candle Tea (hosted for the first two weekends of every December by Home Moravian Church). As for me, I've only been to Old Salem nearly every year since I was old enough to comprehend the Christmas story.
(OBTW, in doing the search for the links on this post, I found this old Housecall's post - it's dedicated to Joe Killion and the N&R - who should perhaps exercise some tolerance of their own before they put ignorance and hate to pen in the future).
As Queen of the Yas, I decided to remedy my subjects' gross lifetime oversight.
I had hoped, going in the mid-afternoon, we'd not have to stand in line for so long. But we arrived to find to longest line I have ever seen for the Tea - EVER. Of course, it was a beautiful day. Undeterred, Baby and Ka insisted on staying, so I secured a place in the line while they scoured the Old Salem shops. Baby even got to visit the bakery (another line) - with new friends we made in line (it was a very happy crowd). They had plenty of time. It was dark before we made it under the giant apple wreath and through the door of the Single Brother's House.
I think, in this era of entitlement, the Moravians still have a thing or two they could teach us about how to live and be productive and contribute to society.
The Moravians liked the Christmas lights on my boot. I hung back from the crowd - being the last to climb up or down stairs - so as not to hold anyone up on the tour. At every juncture, I would get a quiet smile, wink & whisper (almost as if it were sinful to say so) that my boot was so cool.
Everybody asks, "What's your favorite part of the Tea?". And most people will say (again, with a wink and a smile), "The sugarcake and coffee" (I was privileged to gulp down three cups this year - as neither KA nor Baby drink coffee).
Now, I really like the "putz" of Old Salem (and we had a great "tour guide" this year), but my absolute favorite part of the Candle Tea is the last stop - in the coldest/deepest part of the basement - where the Nativity scene is set up - and very nice young people in period costumes struggle with modern technology as they read the Christmas story (the King James version) from a black-lighted screen.
The evening comes to a close in the dark with only the stable/star and distant town lit up - as the narrator recites, "O Little Town of Bethlehem".
It never fails to bring a tear to my eye.
It's never really Christmas until I visit Old Salem.
Baby Ya was very funny - she kept saying, "I cannot BELIEVE I've never been here and done this." In fact, she took a phone call from her son (who lives in New York City) on the way back - and apologized to him for never taking him to the Candle Tea.
Of course, having stood in line for nearly three hours - and during that time consumed three cups of coffee, when we got out, we had to find a bathroom and fast. I asked the girls to drive back to the Hardee's underneath the infamous Hawthorne curve - across the Interstate from BGSM/Baptist/Brenner's Children's Hospital.
The roof of the Hardee's is always decorated elaborately . . . with a giant lighted Christmas tree & garland, as well as a snowman and Santa Claus/his sleigh . . . so the kids across the highway at Brenner's have something to look at from their hospital windows.
At one point, a long time ago, for seven Christmases in a row, I gazed at it too.
Baptist Hospital has a giant Moravian star perched on its roof. Being the first one out of the bathroom, I stepped outside into the freezing cold to take it all in.
All you had to do was look up.
Alone in an empty parking lot, I did not feel alone at all. And somehow, it wasn't all about me.
We drove back home savoring the day and the company - with very warm feelings simmering like perfectly-blended cinnamon and sugar in our hearts.
God Blessed Us All, yesterday. Everyone.
Saturday morning, YaYa KA and I continued our "support your hometown" (no matter how they have not supported you) theme in Christmas shopping, by visiting the "Holiday Hoopla" at the Asheboro Farmer's Market - as well as the adjacent "Circa Gallery". Very nice. I hope they can make a go of it.
YaYa KA, despite her claim to being the most world-traveled/exotic Ya, is perhaps the easiest of our high-school "sisters" to shop for . . . and within a few minutes of browsing, we'd found her Christmas present (yes, she knows what it is - but she is going to pretend to be surprised).
*Afterthought: I found a necklace at Circa that says, "It's all about me." It's hanging around my neck now.
When we were done at the "Hoopla", we visited the bank to pick up some spending money - then went back home to pick up Baby Ya (who always sleeps late on the weekends) and switch out vehicles. Our next "mission" was to pick up my niece's Christmas present in Greensboro - at Bon Bebe (in the New Garden shopping center).
And for that, we needed Baby's "Beast".
If I do say so myself, it is the coolest baby/toddler present ever . . . having both a pilot (for Daddy) and Snoopy (for Mama) theme. But due to the amount of floorspace it's going to take up, I do believe Abigail's Mother is going to kill me.
(Of course, my cyber-stalker and her friends would like that. Psst . . . "Ellen". I know it will make your head spin, but I wore the lights on my walking boot again. I got a lot of smiles and compliments on my Christmas spirit in the face of ambulatory adversity . . . even from supposedly-stodgy-but-not Moravians. But we'll get to that.)
We had a lovely lunch at McAlister's Deli . . . meeting yet another old high-school bud there. McAlister's has the world's greatest iced tea ever. I became addicted to it in Memphis.
Some things are priceless, and this lunch was.
From there, at YaYa Ka's request, we moved on to Ten Thousand Villages. They had three-legged Chilean "Good Luck Pigs". Needless to say, one came home with me;)
After that, at Baby's Ya's request, we puttered on down to the brand-new, "Books-A-Million". Baby was looking for dance magazines on their massive newsstand. Alas, we could not find any.
From there, we hopped on over to my old stomping grounds in Winston-Salem. Neither KA nor Baby had ever been to the Moravian Candle Tea (hosted for the first two weekends of every December by Home Moravian Church). As for me, I've only been to Old Salem nearly every year since I was old enough to comprehend the Christmas story.
(OBTW, in doing the search for the links on this post, I found this old Housecall's post - it's dedicated to Joe Killion and the N&R - who should perhaps exercise some tolerance of their own before they put ignorance and hate to pen in the future).
As Queen of the Yas, I decided to remedy my subjects' gross lifetime oversight.
I had hoped, going in the mid-afternoon, we'd not have to stand in line for so long. But we arrived to find to longest line I have ever seen for the Tea - EVER. Of course, it was a beautiful day. Undeterred, Baby and Ka insisted on staying, so I secured a place in the line while they scoured the Old Salem shops. Baby even got to visit the bakery (another line) - with new friends we made in line (it was a very happy crowd). They had plenty of time. It was dark before we made it under the giant apple wreath and through the door of the Single Brother's House.
I think, in this era of entitlement, the Moravians still have a thing or two they could teach us about how to live and be productive and contribute to society.
The Moravians liked the Christmas lights on my boot. I hung back from the crowd - being the last to climb up or down stairs - so as not to hold anyone up on the tour. At every juncture, I would get a quiet smile, wink & whisper (almost as if it were sinful to say so) that my boot was so cool.
Everybody asks, "What's your favorite part of the Tea?". And most people will say (again, with a wink and a smile), "The sugarcake and coffee" (I was privileged to gulp down three cups this year - as neither KA nor Baby drink coffee).
Now, I really like the "putz" of Old Salem (and we had a great "tour guide" this year), but my absolute favorite part of the Candle Tea is the last stop - in the coldest/deepest part of the basement - where the Nativity scene is set up - and very nice young people in period costumes struggle with modern technology as they read the Christmas story (the King James version) from a black-lighted screen.
The evening comes to a close in the dark with only the stable/star and distant town lit up - as the narrator recites, "O Little Town of Bethlehem".
It never fails to bring a tear to my eye.
It's never really Christmas until I visit Old Salem.
Baby Ya was very funny - she kept saying, "I cannot BELIEVE I've never been here and done this." In fact, she took a phone call from her son (who lives in New York City) on the way back - and apologized to him for never taking him to the Candle Tea.
Of course, having stood in line for nearly three hours - and during that time consumed three cups of coffee, when we got out, we had to find a bathroom and fast. I asked the girls to drive back to the Hardee's underneath the infamous Hawthorne curve - across the Interstate from BGSM/Baptist/Brenner's Children's Hospital.
The roof of the Hardee's is always decorated elaborately . . . with a giant lighted Christmas tree & garland, as well as a snowman and Santa Claus/his sleigh . . . so the kids across the highway at Brenner's have something to look at from their hospital windows.
At one point, a long time ago, for seven Christmases in a row, I gazed at it too.
Baptist Hospital has a giant Moravian star perched on its roof. Being the first one out of the bathroom, I stepped outside into the freezing cold to take it all in.
All you had to do was look up.
Alone in an empty parking lot, I did not feel alone at all. And somehow, it wasn't all about me.
We drove back home savoring the day and the company - with very warm feelings simmering like perfectly-blended cinnamon and sugar in our hearts.
God Blessed Us All, yesterday. Everyone.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Friday Night In A "Dying" Town
This evening YaYa KA (home and safe for now from rouge waves & modern pirates) and I decided to go downtown . . . and walk the "Christmas On Sunset" hometown walk.
It took us all of ten minutes. There were carriage rides (if you wanted to stand in line) - and a number of the shops normally closed in the evenings (including the Randolph Arts Guild) were open. Santa Claus was chatting up the younger populace under a Christmas Tree by the railroad tracks. There was even a "wine-tasting" event of some sort in a corner shop apparently destined to someday sell pricey wine and beer. But having made the obligatory pre-Christmas rounds of downtown earlier in the day (doing my fair share to contribute to the local economy - RAG's Clauda Ainsworth is one of my favorite people), and having more or less taken an Oath (on principle) not to partake of alcohol in Asheboro proper EVER, there just wasn't much to keep us there.
I did wear Christmas lights on my boot (just in case my cyber-stalker was there and wanted to hurl insults at imaginary "lesbians").
KA and I moved on to Plan B, and puttered down to Oakhurst Baptist Church to attend a concert put on the contemporary gospel group, "Mercy's Well" (in Christmases past, the concert has been held at Rushwood Park Wesleyan Church - but this year there was a change in venue). Baby Ya works for the founder of the group - and is a major force behind organizing the event.
The price of admission was a bag of canned food for the local food banks. A love offering was taken mid-service as well.
The group's special guest was The Hayes Family, of Boone, N.C., a wonderful old-fashioned gospel group - the kind that makes rich/complex harmonies appear easy. The ladies in that family can really make a piano sing.
And the kids can quote scripture faster than anyone I've ever seen;)
The Hayes had a great bus parked outside (that the whole family apparently travels in). I'd love to have a giant bus someday. What fun that could be!
The concert was absolutely wonderful. Two songs performed by Mercy's Well brought tears to these cynical, world-weary eyes. One was "Beautiful Star of Bethlehem" (an old, old tune previously covered by The Judds and Patty Loveless among others), and the other was a sublime arrangement of "It is Well With My Soul" - perhaps my favorite hymn - which was sung at my Father's funeral.
The concert closed with an altar call and "Just As I Am". It was a lovely evening.
For a "dying" town, that church was very much alive.
It took us all of ten minutes. There were carriage rides (if you wanted to stand in line) - and a number of the shops normally closed in the evenings (including the Randolph Arts Guild) were open. Santa Claus was chatting up the younger populace under a Christmas Tree by the railroad tracks. There was even a "wine-tasting" event of some sort in a corner shop apparently destined to someday sell pricey wine and beer. But having made the obligatory pre-Christmas rounds of downtown earlier in the day (doing my fair share to contribute to the local economy - RAG's Clauda Ainsworth is one of my favorite people), and having more or less taken an Oath (on principle) not to partake of alcohol in Asheboro proper EVER, there just wasn't much to keep us there.
I did wear Christmas lights on my boot (just in case my cyber-stalker was there and wanted to hurl insults at imaginary "lesbians").
KA and I moved on to Plan B, and puttered down to Oakhurst Baptist Church to attend a concert put on the contemporary gospel group, "Mercy's Well" (in Christmases past, the concert has been held at Rushwood Park Wesleyan Church - but this year there was a change in venue). Baby Ya works for the founder of the group - and is a major force behind organizing the event.
The price of admission was a bag of canned food for the local food banks. A love offering was taken mid-service as well.
The group's special guest was The Hayes Family, of Boone, N.C., a wonderful old-fashioned gospel group - the kind that makes rich/complex harmonies appear easy. The ladies in that family can really make a piano sing.
And the kids can quote scripture faster than anyone I've ever seen;)
The Hayes had a great bus parked outside (that the whole family apparently travels in). I'd love to have a giant bus someday. What fun that could be!
The concert was absolutely wonderful. Two songs performed by Mercy's Well brought tears to these cynical, world-weary eyes. One was "Beautiful Star of Bethlehem" (an old, old tune previously covered by The Judds and Patty Loveless among others), and the other was a sublime arrangement of "It is Well With My Soul" - perhaps my favorite hymn - which was sung at my Father's funeral.
The concert closed with an altar call and "Just As I Am". It was a lovely evening.
For a "dying" town, that church was very much alive.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Asheboro's "Dying": Let The Damage Contol Begin
In the wake of this and this, the Courier Tribune is laying it on with a trowel. It appears city leaders were "caught by surprise" by Asheboro's new/dubious claim to fame as a "dying town".
This is simply amazing to me . . . given that my friends and I have been talking about it for literally years.
Buried deep in the Courier's article is a comment by Mayor Jarrell that the city needs to aggressively pursue growth by annexation. We who live on Dave's Mountain knew that was coming. Steve Schmidly and his well-heeled Mountain pals shoved alcohol down the city's throat . . . now the rest of us have to pay.
I wonder if "aggressive pursuit" is anything like the "aggressive representation" practiced by Randolph Hospital's lawyers - where lying and cheating is no big deal. The Asheboro City Council certainly did not care about that - for all of its noble talk about recruiting the "valued" talents of well-educated young professionals.
I also wonder how many expensive consultants it will take to come up with yet another bad annexation plan.
Expect a fight, Mr. Mayor. You cannot expect the residents of Dave's Mountain to be the passive scapegoats for the City of Asheboro's gross ineptitude in terms of long-range planning . . . "vision" that was far from "20/20". For years, Asheboro's leaders reveled in their status as mill town gods . . . giving little thought to anyone or anything beyond the next quarter's profit margin.
The gods turned out to be very petty, cheap, mean and small.
Word on the Mountain's pot-holed streets is that Councilman Keith Crisco is working some behind-the-scenes deals to be our next Mayor. In my opinion, that would be the worst thing that could happen to Asheboro. If ever there was a cause for those who have felt rail-roaded by this Council (be it during the annexation war or the alcohol referendum), throwing this two-faced snake off the Council - and keeping him out of the Mayor's chair - would be it.
Of course, that's just my opinion.
Speaking of potholes, if the Asheboro City Council really wanted to generate some good will from those whose pockets it has targeted to pick, it would dispatch Councilman Walker Moffitt to fix some of the massive potholes in the Dave's Mountain roads that he built to "minimum standards".
One of these days, someone is going to get seriously hurt when they hit one of these massive craters too fast in the dark. And when it happens, I sincerely hope Mr. Moffitt (and anyone else who profited from the development of the neighborhood) gets his butt sued off.
This is simply amazing to me . . . given that my friends and I have been talking about it for literally years.
Buried deep in the Courier's article is a comment by Mayor Jarrell that the city needs to aggressively pursue growth by annexation. We who live on Dave's Mountain knew that was coming. Steve Schmidly and his well-heeled Mountain pals shoved alcohol down the city's throat . . . now the rest of us have to pay.
I wonder if "aggressive pursuit" is anything like the "aggressive representation" practiced by Randolph Hospital's lawyers - where lying and cheating is no big deal. The Asheboro City Council certainly did not care about that - for all of its noble talk about recruiting the "valued" talents of well-educated young professionals.
I also wonder how many expensive consultants it will take to come up with yet another bad annexation plan.
Expect a fight, Mr. Mayor. You cannot expect the residents of Dave's Mountain to be the passive scapegoats for the City of Asheboro's gross ineptitude in terms of long-range planning . . . "vision" that was far from "20/20". For years, Asheboro's leaders reveled in their status as mill town gods . . . giving little thought to anyone or anything beyond the next quarter's profit margin.
The gods turned out to be very petty, cheap, mean and small.
Word on the Mountain's pot-holed streets is that Councilman Keith Crisco is working some behind-the-scenes deals to be our next Mayor. In my opinion, that would be the worst thing that could happen to Asheboro. If ever there was a cause for those who have felt rail-roaded by this Council (be it during the annexation war or the alcohol referendum), throwing this two-faced snake off the Council - and keeping him out of the Mayor's chair - would be it.
Of course, that's just my opinion.
Speaking of potholes, if the Asheboro City Council really wanted to generate some good will from those whose pockets it has targeted to pick, it would dispatch Councilman Walker Moffitt to fix some of the massive potholes in the Dave's Mountain roads that he built to "minimum standards".
One of these days, someone is going to get seriously hurt when they hit one of these massive craters too fast in the dark. And when it happens, I sincerely hope Mr. Moffitt (and anyone else who profited from the development of the neighborhood) gets his butt sued off.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
No Animal Crakers For You!
According to the "right people", alcohol was supposed to be the ticket for boosting tourism in Asheboro (and saving the town from itself), but in order for that to work you have to have something to tour.
Alas, the NC Zoo is out-of-luck this year.
Not the best news for Asheboro, number 4 on Forbes national list of "fastest-dying towns".
I'll just bet it makes the well-placed local VIP's who "held their mouth just right", and voted to continue the Dems' decades-long rule of Raleigh, swoon in appreciation.
Asheboro doesn't even qualify for life support from the boys (and girls) in Raleigh.
Alas, the NC Zoo is out-of-luck this year.
Not the best news for Asheboro, number 4 on Forbes national list of "fastest-dying towns".
I'll just bet it makes the well-placed local VIP's who "held their mouth just right", and voted to continue the Dems' decades-long rule of Raleigh, swoon in appreciation.
Asheboro doesn't even qualify for life support from the boys (and girls) in Raleigh.
This Joke's On Us
Yesterday's other big news . . . that the potty-mouthed governor of Illinois was trying to "sell" BHO's vacant Senate seat . . . seemed very anti-climactic to me.
I mean, I've been living with pay-to-play here in N.C. for quite a while.
After all, North Carolina is the home of John & Elizabeth Edwards. I'm supposed to be surprised by a politician - who was voted in on the promise of reform - talking out of both sides of his mouth - and then proving to be just as dirty/corrupt as those he replaced?
Oh, and like I believe Saint Obama did not know what was going on. Tell me another good one!
I mean, I've been living with pay-to-play here in N.C. for quite a while.
After all, North Carolina is the home of John & Elizabeth Edwards. I'm supposed to be surprised by a politician - who was voted in on the promise of reform - talking out of both sides of his mouth - and then proving to be just as dirty/corrupt as those he replaced?
Oh, and like I believe Saint Obama did not know what was going on. Tell me another good one!
Well, At Least We've Got Booze To Drown Our Sorrows
The e-mails and text messages were coming in yesterday. Asheboro made the news - but it was not in a good way.
And this time the Courier could not play deaf/dumb/blind.
It's like that scene with the locker-aliens from Men In Black. "All hail B!", (Bonnie Renfro).
(*Addendum: Even the mighty Cone took note of the "list you don't want to make". All hail E!)
I suppose I should care . . . and a small part of me does (because I maintain a home here) . . . but most of me doesn't . . . you know what I mean? What goes around comes around. And it's coming around in a big way.
(Afterthought: On the other hand, it does give being black-balled for an hour around a whole new perspective.)
For nearly two decades, the mill-town-kings that think they own Asheboro have treated its populace as their own personal lap dogs. We ordinary peons (be we home-grown, or "made in Mexico") existed solely to fill their pockets or pump their egos. Little things like ethics and morals and even religious faith were inconsequential inconveniences . . . or something to be used/manipulated for gain . . . and trashed if the ignorant/backwoods peons would not budge. Our very lives were "giant ATM's" that the local fat cats used to trade on . . . as long as the "right people" got their way.
The really sad thing is that most of the peons didn't know or care enough to say enough was enough.
At least Bob Morrison & company cannot continue to blame their problems recruiting doctors on the lack of alcohol (as if).
Of course, if those elusive booze-hound docs do come, at least they'll be able to find the liquor store. Mini-Schmid, as a "steward-of-the-profits" could have saved a little of the people's money if she'd gone with smaller sign.
You have to wonder what some of these people are drinking.
PM Update: Fec on "The Land That Time Forgot".
And this time the Courier could not play deaf/dumb/blind.
It's like that scene with the locker-aliens from Men In Black. "All hail B!", (Bonnie Renfro).
(*Addendum: Even the mighty Cone took note of the "list you don't want to make". All hail E!)
I suppose I should care . . . and a small part of me does (because I maintain a home here) . . . but most of me doesn't . . . you know what I mean? What goes around comes around. And it's coming around in a big way.
(Afterthought: On the other hand, it does give being black-balled for an hour around a whole new perspective.)
For nearly two decades, the mill-town-kings that think they own Asheboro have treated its populace as their own personal lap dogs. We ordinary peons (be we home-grown, or "made in Mexico") existed solely to fill their pockets or pump their egos. Little things like ethics and morals and even religious faith were inconsequential inconveniences . . . or something to be used/manipulated for gain . . . and trashed if the ignorant/backwoods peons would not budge. Our very lives were "giant ATM's" that the local fat cats used to trade on . . . as long as the "right people" got their way.
The really sad thing is that most of the peons didn't know or care enough to say enough was enough.
At least Bob Morrison & company cannot continue to blame their problems recruiting doctors on the lack of alcohol (as if).
Of course, if those elusive booze-hound docs do come, at least they'll be able to find the liquor store. Mini-Schmid, as a "steward-of-the-profits" could have saved a little of the people's money if she'd gone with smaller sign.
You have to wonder what some of these people are drinking.
PM Update: Fec on "The Land That Time Forgot".
Saturday, December 06, 2008
Dr. Mary Has A Cyber-Stalker
I have a new cyber-stalker and her name is "Ellen".
Does that mean I've finally "arrived" in the blogosphere? Have I finally become Cone?
Alas, it's Saturday afternoon, and these questions are just too deep for me today.
It started here (please see the comments) and should have ended here.
Ellen works two "very secure" jobs, says she reads my blog, but despite that, she thinks I'm gay* (see afterthought below) . . . because I have gay friends (Ellen's not on my "lesbian team"), and have occasionally used the word "partner" to describe professional relationships with female colleagues within the same practice.
"Dang girl!?!", (to coin her phrase) they're called "partners". "Duh".
Heavy sigh (and rolling the eyes heavenward), only in Asheboro . . .
She hopes a dog does pee on my boot and electrocutes me.
Oh, it's all about me (a really tired one), and if I weren't such a "tattle-tale", maybe I wouldn't "receive such wrath". I'm not a "REAL" physician either (I think everyone I interacted with all day yesterday would beg to differ - but Ellen knows best).
Ellen says, I "ain't right".
I've rejected four comments today alone.
As of right now, "Ellen's" Blogger profile has five views and no blog. There's no e-mail address or last name provided.
This post is up soley to let "Ellen" know that her comments will not be posted here . . . indeed, the plan right now is to delete them from the Inbox unread.
But if the cyber-abuse continues, the plan could change.
*Afterthought (Taking a "Not that there's anything wrong with that" moment): For Ellen's benefit, here is the text of a comment (an aside is edited out) that I left at Jeff Sykes' blog (in which he reconsidered his longstanding opposition to gay marriage). I think it clears up any questions about my sexual orientation (not that it's any of Ellen's business):
Very good post, Jeff. I too have struggled mightily with the issue - as some of my closest friends over the years (since high school, in fact) have been/are gay.
Indeed, one of the biggest “PR” problems I encountered as a Pediatrician in small-town Asheboro was that some people assumed (incorrectly), that because I was not married/no shrinking violet/had close female friends/and am not exactly the girliest of girls, I was gay.
Some, in fact, might think me a strange bird.
It is for that reason that I believe the speculation about Abe Lincoln (who loved at least two women passionately and fathered four children) is nonsense.
My friends and I have discussed the issue at length - as recently as just before the election. We respect one another’s positions and views.
First and foremost, I must disagree with you on a major point. Modern Christianity (especially the American kind) is hardly a “fallacy”. It is the living and breathing faith of millions of people who practice it every day - from small acts of kindness & charity to global evangalism - in the name of a living Savior.
It may not be popular or politically correct these days, but I am one of those old-fashioned Christians that believes the term “marriage” should only be used to describe the union between a man and a woman. Moreover, I am still a big believer in (and practitioner of) “filal piety”, and I don’t think “traditional values” are as dead as some folks would like them to be.
This was certainly born out in California last week.
I also think that the recent “in your face” nature of the gay marriage push is offensive - especially in terms of the profound insensitivity and disrespect it shows to the older generations raised in the Judeo-Christian faiths that form the backbone of this nation . . . people that tend to cling to the more traditional notions (and are not EVER going to change their minds) . . . people whose opinions and beliefs deserve respect.
I also think, in terms of accomplishing societal change, the brash approach is also ill-advised. There are simply better ways to accomplish the true aim of the gay marriage movement - which is (as I understand it), equal rights under the laws of man.
All of that being said, there is nothing in the Bible that I am aware of that specifically condemns homosexuality, and Christ’s first commandment was to love (and respect) one another - without judging them.
My friends mean the world to me and I want nothing for them but happiness. I therefore have no opposition to civil unions . . . or all of the rights & repsonsibilites of marriage being conferred upon such unions.
But calling it “marriage” does not sit well with me. I’m not sure it ever will.
In short, sometimes I think . . . I know . . . words matter.
Again. A very good post.
Update (Sunday Morning "after the coffee" P.S.): I hope, Ellen, in your two "very secure" jobs, you have no cause to encounter anyone who is gay.
My friends (even and especially "the lesbians") were at my side and held me up when my world collapsed and the people you defend spat, laughed or looked the other way.
I stand with them. Always.
And "pity" is not exactly the emotion I'm feeling towards you right now.
Does that mean I've finally "arrived" in the blogosphere? Have I finally become Cone?
Alas, it's Saturday afternoon, and these questions are just too deep for me today.
It started here (please see the comments) and should have ended here.
Ellen works two "very secure" jobs, says she reads my blog, but despite that, she thinks I'm gay* (see afterthought below) . . . because I have gay friends (Ellen's not on my "lesbian team"), and have occasionally used the word "partner" to describe professional relationships with female colleagues within the same practice.
"Dang girl!?!", (to coin her phrase) they're called "partners". "Duh".
Heavy sigh (and rolling the eyes heavenward), only in Asheboro . . .
She hopes a dog does pee on my boot and electrocutes me.
Oh, it's all about me (a really tired one), and if I weren't such a "tattle-tale", maybe I wouldn't "receive such wrath". I'm not a "REAL" physician either (I think everyone I interacted with all day yesterday would beg to differ - but Ellen knows best).
Ellen says, I "ain't right".
I've rejected four comments today alone.
As of right now, "Ellen's" Blogger profile has five views and no blog. There's no e-mail address or last name provided.
This post is up soley to let "Ellen" know that her comments will not be posted here . . . indeed, the plan right now is to delete them from the Inbox unread.
But if the cyber-abuse continues, the plan could change.
*Afterthought (Taking a "Not that there's anything wrong with that" moment): For Ellen's benefit, here is the text of a comment (an aside is edited out) that I left at Jeff Sykes' blog (in which he reconsidered his longstanding opposition to gay marriage). I think it clears up any questions about my sexual orientation (not that it's any of Ellen's business):
Very good post, Jeff. I too have struggled mightily with the issue - as some of my closest friends over the years (since high school, in fact) have been/are gay.
Indeed, one of the biggest “PR” problems I encountered as a Pediatrician in small-town Asheboro was that some people assumed (incorrectly), that because I was not married/no shrinking violet/had close female friends/and am not exactly the girliest of girls, I was gay.
Some, in fact, might think me a strange bird.
It is for that reason that I believe the speculation about Abe Lincoln (who loved at least two women passionately and fathered four children) is nonsense.
My friends and I have discussed the issue at length - as recently as just before the election. We respect one another’s positions and views.
First and foremost, I must disagree with you on a major point. Modern Christianity (especially the American kind) is hardly a “fallacy”. It is the living and breathing faith of millions of people who practice it every day - from small acts of kindness & charity to global evangalism - in the name of a living Savior.
It may not be popular or politically correct these days, but I am one of those old-fashioned Christians that believes the term “marriage” should only be used to describe the union between a man and a woman. Moreover, I am still a big believer in (and practitioner of) “filal piety”, and I don’t think “traditional values” are as dead as some folks would like them to be.
This was certainly born out in California last week.
I also think that the recent “in your face” nature of the gay marriage push is offensive - especially in terms of the profound insensitivity and disrespect it shows to the older generations raised in the Judeo-Christian faiths that form the backbone of this nation . . . people that tend to cling to the more traditional notions (and are not EVER going to change their minds) . . . people whose opinions and beliefs deserve respect.
I also think, in terms of accomplishing societal change, the brash approach is also ill-advised. There are simply better ways to accomplish the true aim of the gay marriage movement - which is (as I understand it), equal rights under the laws of man.
All of that being said, there is nothing in the Bible that I am aware of that specifically condemns homosexuality, and Christ’s first commandment was to love (and respect) one another - without judging them.
My friends mean the world to me and I want nothing for them but happiness. I therefore have no opposition to civil unions . . . or all of the rights & repsonsibilites of marriage being conferred upon such unions.
But calling it “marriage” does not sit well with me. I’m not sure it ever will.
In short, sometimes I think . . . I know . . . words matter.
Again. A very good post.
Update (Sunday Morning "after the coffee" P.S.): I hope, Ellen, in your two "very secure" jobs, you have no cause to encounter anyone who is gay.
My friends (even and especially "the lesbians") were at my side and held me up when my world collapsed and the people you defend spat, laughed or looked the other way.
I stand with them. Always.
And "pity" is not exactly the emotion I'm feeling towards you right now.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Every Time A Bell Rings . . .
. . . an angel gets its wings. Or so teacher says.
I am still in a walking boot (for a torn ligament) - will be for a long while. Last night, while making an emergency run for kitty litter at Walmart, I passed the over-priced "cheap Christmas jewelry" display and was suddenly inspired. A trip to the local hardware store this morning completed my vision. I can say I have done my bit for encouraging the economy . . .
. . . of China.
Anyway, when I made rounds this morning in the nursery and on the LDRP (Labor/Delivery/Recovery/Postpartum) unit, my boot was decorated in blinking lights and jingle bells/Christmas pins . . . like a Christmas tree. Very festive.
The nurses hooted and howled. And one of the OB's commented that I needed to be careful - a dog might pee on the boot and electrocute me.
The tiny bells had a dual purpose: Many, many guardian angels for the ward for the babies and their Mamas.
I am still in a walking boot (for a torn ligament) - will be for a long while. Last night, while making an emergency run for kitty litter at Walmart, I passed the over-priced "cheap Christmas jewelry" display and was suddenly inspired. A trip to the local hardware store this morning completed my vision. I can say I have done my bit for encouraging the economy . . .
. . . of China.
Anyway, when I made rounds this morning in the nursery and on the LDRP (Labor/Delivery/Recovery/Postpartum) unit, my boot was decorated in blinking lights and jingle bells/Christmas pins . . . like a Christmas tree. Very festive.
The nurses hooted and howled. And one of the OB's commented that I needed to be careful - a dog might pee on the boot and electrocute me.
The tiny bells had a dual purpose: Many, many guardian angels for the ward for the babies and their Mamas.
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Please Pass The "Vitamin C"
Monday, December 01, 2008
"What Are You Most Afraid Of?"
There's a cute little ditty e-flittering about the Inboxes of my friends and family called, "Getting to know your family and friends, 2008". A person forwards you a set of question with their answers - and you cross out their answers and substitute your own - forwarding it on to more friends.
One of the questions is, "What are you most afraid of"?
My (tongue very firmly in cheek) answer was, "Global Thermonuclear War, The Yellowstone supervolcano blowing, worldwide Eboloa outbreak, and President Barack Hussein Obama - not necessarily in that order."
I left out flying, the United Nations and Walmart-shopping. It would have been too much.
Now, I am really afraid.
Update: Please God, make it stop.
One of the questions is, "What are you most afraid of"?
My (tongue very firmly in cheek) answer was, "Global Thermonuclear War, The Yellowstone supervolcano blowing, worldwide Eboloa outbreak, and President Barack Hussein Obama - not necessarily in that order."
I left out flying, the United Nations and Walmart-shopping. It would have been too much.
Now, I am really afraid.
Update: Please God, make it stop.
In My Fondest Dreams . . .
. . . perjury is prosecuted and punished.
But alas, I live in Randolph County (Garland Yates), North Carolina (Roy Cooper).
("The right") People lie in court every day. And get away with it.
But alas, I live in Randolph County (Garland Yates), North Carolina (Roy Cooper).
("The right") People lie in court every day. And get away with it.
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