I would like to think that if there is ever hurricane named Mary, she will be a Category Five storm whose eye mows through the core of Raleigh, takes out the legislative building, and then curves around to wreak havoc on the District of Columbia . . . and later on, Martha's Vineyard.
Pause for wistful smile.
As it stands now, on Saturday afternoon, a massive Category 2-3 storm bearing the name of my Mother will making landfall somewhere on the coast of Eastern North Carolina.
Since the big screw in Asheboro, and despite all the bumps/boulders in the road, I've always had the sense that I was where I was supposed to be in any given moment in time - and that there were things to accomplish - even if that thing was only healing a broken heart. Eastern N.C. is like a second home - in my blood and in my bones. Mama hails from the area around Bath. Growing up, we spent a lot of summers and Christmases at Grandma's house near Belhaven (I think her offical zip code was Pinetown). As a "pirate doctor" for the last several years (independently-contracted to ECU/UHS - all disclaimers for anything said on this blog apply), I fly Blackbeard's battle flag on my CB radio antenna. This weekend, I'm where I'm supposed to be.
In the six years, I've been blogging. I've never specifically named the towns/hospitals where I've worked on Housecalls while I was actively working there, but that changes today. I will be on-call Saturday, standing with my friends and colleagues in the small, far-northeastern N.C. town of Ahoskie in Hertford County . . . a town and a people that have treated me with far greater kindness, respect and care than my "hometown" of Asheboro (or the noble progressive bloggers of Greensboro) ever did. I'm very grateful for the opportunities provided over the last several years by Roanoke-Chowan Hospital and ECU/Pitt County Memorial. They've been very good to me.
I would not want to be anywhere else right now but here - with these people. We are a family. We're been told to expect 10-15 inches of rain, flooding and winds over 100 mph. I've heard Irene is projected to hit at high tide (an astronomical high tide at that) . . . on the other hand, we're living under near-drought conditions, so all of the creeks/etc. are way down. On the bright side, the storm is expected to "barrel through" as opposed to linger and churn, so hopefully, flooding will not be nearly as bad as that gifted upon the region by Hurricane Floyd or Hurricane Isabel.
People here still talk in hushed tones about Floyd. And Hazel remains the storm-that-shall-not-be-named.
Since hitting the road to make my living, 13 years ago, I've "ridden-out" my share of storms - including a few hurricanes. I don't have to "stock-up" on much, because I carry emergency supplies/equipment in the trunk of my car at all times. I could live in the Camry for a few days if I had to - provided it does not float away.
Yesterday, while she was checking me out at the grocery store, the clerk laughed as she surveyed my prepatory haul and said, "That's it. I'm going home with you." I looked at her quizically, and she added, "You are a woman who clearly KNOWS how to weather a storm."
You ain't kidding, baby;)
A few days ago, I watched a documentary on Katrina. It was surreal to watch the old news footage (from before and after the storm) . . . footage that once again underscores just how inadequately the corruptly-run state of Louisiana had prepared for a disaster that they had known (for years and years) was coming.
To this day I STILL cannot get over the parked school buses - left to flood instead of packed with people and put on the Interstate to anywhere else but New Orleans.
In stark contrast, our Governor (who in most instances, I have absolutely no use for) is calmly and methodically doing her job (doing all she can do to brace the state for impact), and our people (of all colors and incomes and walks of life) are quietly digesting the warnings and going about the business of taking care of themselves (as they batten-down and/or evacuate) . . . because they know that the Federal government will be days-late and dollars-short to the party.
And they knew it long before Katrina hit.
Whatever happens, they won't blame it all on Obama (whose plans for economic recovery have to wait to be revealed to the country until his umpteenth vacation is over) the way it was all blamed on Bush back when the levees failed . . . as Daddy warned me they would fail.
There is a great scene at the end of "Kill Bill 2" . . . after Beatrix Kiddo/Black Mamba slams Bill (played by the much-missed David Carradine) with the "Five-Point-Exploding-Heart" martial-arts move that will send him to Hell after he stands and takes five steps.
Before rising out of his chair, Bill straightens his coat, looks at the angry scorned woman he could neither kill nor dodge, and asks, "How do I look?".
She smiles and takes his hand, and says, "Ready".
North Carolina is ready.
And I'm over/out for the weekend.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Earthquake Virgin No More
At work down East. Busy day. Babies raining down from the sky. The hospital/its staff are beginning to batten-down the hatches for a hurricane named Irene later this week.
I was minding my own business in the nursery, when the building began to rumble and the baby warmers started to sway. The Freaky Mennonite was freaking. It took a few seconds to realize that it wasn't those pesky nursery ghosts messing with us - but that I was experiencing my first earthquake (or at least the first one I've identified as an earthquake while it was happening).
And it was TOTALLY cool!
I have dutifully appraised the USGS of my experience in an online questionnaire. Still trying to raise my Aunt in Virginia, who apparently lives right on top of the epicenter. And friends who moved here from California, in part to escape from earthquakes, are not amused.
I was minding my own business in the nursery, when the building began to rumble and the baby warmers started to sway. The Freaky Mennonite was freaking. It took a few seconds to realize that it wasn't those pesky nursery ghosts messing with us - but that I was experiencing my first earthquake (or at least the first one I've identified as an earthquake while it was happening).
And it was TOTALLY cool!
I have dutifully appraised the USGS of my experience in an online questionnaire. Still trying to raise my Aunt in Virginia, who apparently lives right on top of the epicenter. And friends who moved here from California, in part to escape from earthquakes, are not amused.
Monday, August 22, 2011
"A Small Town's Mean Streak": Mesquite, Nevada Has NOTHING On Asheboro & Greensboro, North Carolina
This morning, my good friend, Buzz-Armfield-of-the-Asheboro-Armfields-who-gave-one-million-dollars-to-the-Randolph-Hospital-Cancer-Center forwarded a CNN story that I actually had already seen and archived for commentary later.
Like the heart-breaking story of Kimberly Hiatt a few months back, CNN's piece showcased a good woman's suicide, after an honest mistake snowballed into the destruction of a life (well, actually two lives, because this woman took the man she loved with her).
In this case, CNN opined that Donna Fairchild's death-by-her-own-hand showcased "a small town's mean streak".
Her death apparently also brought about a huge back-lash against her tormentors, and fostered in real change for the town.
But, of course, for that to happen, someone always has to die.
Summer is not over, and I'm not quite ready to resume regular blogging. While there are several blistering posts already composed in my noggin, I'm just not there yet.
But this story, like Kimberly Hiatt's, hit a deep nerve.
These days, as I watch local bloggers (when I say "local", I mean the oh-so-enlightened and progressive citizens of Greensboro's "Blogsboro", to whom I turned for help after all the fine, upstanding "right people" of Asheboro shut me out/down) huff and puff about the sorry state of our world . . . about how politicians and lawyers and men-in-business suits have destroyed so many futures, and ushered America into a black hole of economic and social despair . . . I often shake my head in dismay.
For I was fighting that battle long before anyone else was. All by myself. Playing by all the rules (as opposed to many who do not - yet somehow get all manner of sympathy and nearly everything they want on government-sponsored platter . . . or at least become university Presidents after they kill the once rock-solid bank). But for all of my efforts, I got zero assistance from ANYONE who was supposed to have my back.
And the noble progressives of Blogsboro simply didn't care. They couldn't be bothered. It wasn't "relevant" to their pursuit of happiness.
Life was good for them.
Now that virtually whole world is on the same train I boarded thirteen years ago (albeit not all for the same reasons), my story is old news. I'm STILL not the right kind of victim for what my pal Buzzy calls the "Brie and Volvo" crowd. I was not victimized by some nebulous/vague societal evil/conspiracy-of-"rich"-white-Bush-loving-conservatives (well, unless you count Fear and Apathy) . . . my villains actually have names. Their crimes are documented in black and white.
But Garland Yates is just fine with "non-profit" executives lying in civil Courtrooms under his jurisdiction. It's called a get-out-of-jail-free card. All the right people in Asheboro get at least one.
You simply cannot win with this bunch.
I know Donna Fairchild's pain. I vividly remember the hometown headline that I was a liar . . . as if it were yesterday . . . put front page, above-the-fold by one of "the chosen" in the despicable gang of elitist, sexist, racist PIGS that ran my hometown of Asheboro, North Carolina into the ground . . . a headline that covered the guilty tails of a pair of greedy, lying, WAY-overpaid-for-what-they-do MBA's who always put style above substance . . . two carpet-bagging jerks who CLEARLY (based on what they did to me) would have rather me let a desperately-ill newborn baby girl die than cast reasonable doubt on their cutesy marketing themes.
"Care you can trust". That's ALWAYS been a good one.
(I murmur it every time I get a decent headache.)
It was a lawsuit and a headline designed to fiscally-destroy, emotionally/professionally crush, and humiliate me . . . in the town where I was raised and came back home to serve . . . the berg where my Mother taught school for 30 years . . . the place where my parents still lived - and where my Father ultimately died without ever seeing real justice for his daughter.
And if you're an evil mill-town bastard . . . calling in your favors amongst your pals at the Asheboro Rotary . . . snickering over your ingenuity . . . and (above all) keeping score in your sick/power-tripping games . . . one-and-a-half out of three isn't bad, I suppose.
But "the boys" (and a few girls) didn't count on the fact that, barely able-to-make-ends-meet, nearly crushed-in-all-ways and totally humiliated, I would stand my ground and fight back. Or that I would even "win" . . . not that the USELESS POSERS "writing" for the Courier Tribune could acknowledge that "win" in a front page headline . . . and not that "winning" actually turned out to be a win.
All hail Steve Schmidly. But hey, Asheboro's got booze now, and maybe his daughter will get elected to something.
These days, I have to wonder. If (drowning in despair, after being UTTERLY ABANDONED by EVERY local, state & Federal regulatory & law-enforcement agency that was supposed to protect and speak for me AND that newborn baby girl) I had marched into the gilded lobby of Randolph Hospital and blown my head off (splattering the brain-matter containing the hard-won-higher-education-that-the-mill-town-kings-say-they-value-so-much all over the walls), would that have gotten me any sympathy/bleeding-heart-hand-wringing . . . or my story/cause some posthumous national news coverage?
Or if, after being cyberstalked and viciously cyber-bullied/LIBELED online . . . only to have the deliberately obtuse & lazy DA/Sherrif's Department throw me under the bus - and a burned-out Randolph County judge let the psycho-blogger off . . . . would me hanging myself in my apartment far from "home" have made Edward Cone-of-the-Cones, or Roch Smith, Jr., or John Robinson, or Sue Polinsky, or Jeff Martin HAPPY?
And I'm thinking it would. In fact, I KNOW it would. The evidence is also there in black and white. Martin, in particular, would have reveled in the "breaking" of me.
Too bad for the right-fine, upstanding folk of Asheboro and Greensboro that Mary Johnson was/is made of stronger stuff . . . and that they were just totally, utterly WRONG . . . about her . . . indeed, about EVERYTHING.
For now, I can stand as living, breathing, blogging evidence that, in terms of "mean streaks", Mesquite, Nevada has NOTHING on the "communities" of Asheboro and Greensboro, North Carolina.
I'll be back . . . soon.
Like the heart-breaking story of Kimberly Hiatt a few months back, CNN's piece showcased a good woman's suicide, after an honest mistake snowballed into the destruction of a life (well, actually two lives, because this woman took the man she loved with her).
In this case, CNN opined that Donna Fairchild's death-by-her-own-hand showcased "a small town's mean streak".
Her death apparently also brought about a huge back-lash against her tormentors, and fostered in real change for the town.
But, of course, for that to happen, someone always has to die.
Summer is not over, and I'm not quite ready to resume regular blogging. While there are several blistering posts already composed in my noggin, I'm just not there yet.
But this story, like Kimberly Hiatt's, hit a deep nerve.
These days, as I watch local bloggers (when I say "local", I mean the oh-so-enlightened and progressive citizens of Greensboro's "Blogsboro", to whom I turned for help after all the fine, upstanding "right people" of Asheboro shut me out/down) huff and puff about the sorry state of our world . . . about how politicians and lawyers and men-in-business suits have destroyed so many futures, and ushered America into a black hole of economic and social despair . . . I often shake my head in dismay.
For I was fighting that battle long before anyone else was. All by myself. Playing by all the rules (as opposed to many who do not - yet somehow get all manner of sympathy and nearly everything they want on government-sponsored platter . . . or at least become university Presidents after they kill the once rock-solid bank). But for all of my efforts, I got zero assistance from ANYONE who was supposed to have my back.
And the noble progressives of Blogsboro simply didn't care. They couldn't be bothered. It wasn't "relevant" to their pursuit of happiness.
Life was good for them.
Now that virtually whole world is on the same train I boarded thirteen years ago (albeit not all for the same reasons), my story is old news. I'm STILL not the right kind of victim for what my pal Buzzy calls the "Brie and Volvo" crowd. I was not victimized by some nebulous/vague societal evil/conspiracy-of-"rich"-white-Bush-loving-conservatives (well, unless you count Fear and Apathy) . . . my villains actually have names. Their crimes are documented in black and white.
But Garland Yates is just fine with "non-profit" executives lying in civil Courtrooms under his jurisdiction. It's called a get-out-of-jail-free card. All the right people in Asheboro get at least one.
You simply cannot win with this bunch.
I know Donna Fairchild's pain. I vividly remember the hometown headline that I was a liar . . . as if it were yesterday . . . put front page, above-the-fold by one of "the chosen" in the despicable gang of elitist, sexist, racist PIGS that ran my hometown of Asheboro, North Carolina into the ground . . . a headline that covered the guilty tails of a pair of greedy, lying, WAY-overpaid-for-what-they-do MBA's who always put style above substance . . . two carpet-bagging jerks who CLEARLY (based on what they did to me) would have rather me let a desperately-ill newborn baby girl die than cast reasonable doubt on their cutesy marketing themes.
"Care you can trust". That's ALWAYS been a good one.
(I murmur it every time I get a decent headache.)
It was a lawsuit and a headline designed to fiscally-destroy, emotionally/professionally crush, and humiliate me . . . in the town where I was raised and came back home to serve . . . the berg where my Mother taught school for 30 years . . . the place where my parents still lived - and where my Father ultimately died without ever seeing real justice for his daughter.
And if you're an evil mill-town bastard . . . calling in your favors amongst your pals at the Asheboro Rotary . . . snickering over your ingenuity . . . and (above all) keeping score in your sick/power-tripping games . . . one-and-a-half out of three isn't bad, I suppose.
But "the boys" (and a few girls) didn't count on the fact that, barely able-to-make-ends-meet, nearly crushed-in-all-ways and totally humiliated, I would stand my ground and fight back. Or that I would even "win" . . . not that the USELESS POSERS "writing" for the Courier Tribune could acknowledge that "win" in a front page headline . . . and not that "winning" actually turned out to be a win.
All hail Steve Schmidly. But hey, Asheboro's got booze now, and maybe his daughter will get elected to something.
These days, I have to wonder. If (drowning in despair, after being UTTERLY ABANDONED by EVERY local, state & Federal regulatory & law-enforcement agency that was supposed to protect and speak for me AND that newborn baby girl) I had marched into the gilded lobby of Randolph Hospital and blown my head off (splattering the brain-matter containing the hard-won-higher-education-that-the-mill-town-kings-say-they-value-so-much all over the walls), would that have gotten me any sympathy/bleeding-heart-hand-wringing . . . or my story/cause some posthumous national news coverage?
Or if, after being cyberstalked and viciously cyber-bullied/LIBELED online . . . only to have the deliberately obtuse & lazy DA/Sherrif's Department throw me under the bus - and a burned-out Randolph County judge let the psycho-blogger off . . . . would me hanging myself in my apartment far from "home" have made Edward Cone-of-the-Cones, or Roch Smith, Jr., or John Robinson, or Sue Polinsky, or Jeff Martin HAPPY?
And I'm thinking it would. In fact, I KNOW it would. The evidence is also there in black and white. Martin, in particular, would have reveled in the "breaking" of me.
Too bad for the right-fine, upstanding folk of Asheboro and Greensboro that Mary Johnson was/is made of stronger stuff . . . and that they were just totally, utterly WRONG . . . about her . . . indeed, about EVERYTHING.
For now, I can stand as living, breathing, blogging evidence that, in terms of "mean streaks", Mesquite, Nevada has NOTHING on the "communities" of Asheboro and Greensboro, North Carolina.
I'll be back . . . soon.
Tuesday, August 09, 2011
The Need To Screed
Lately, I've fielded several inquiries about when I'll resume regular blogging. A man I met this past weekend actually wanted my autograph.
Apparently, I have fans . . . a surprisingly large following amongst the common folk of Asheboro . . . the consensus being that I tell it like it is . . . especially when it comes to our sad/sorry/suck-up excuse for a newspaper . . . and all of the "right people" who ran my hometown into the ground as they stuffed their own pockets . . .
. . . Bob Morrison being first in line in terms of screwing-over his employees while he collects his very phat paycheck. And he's gotten away with it mostly because no one on Randolph Hospital's Board of Directors has a working set of testicles - or a spine.
Fans. Who knew? (Well, certainly not some of the more "progressive" bloggers of Greensboro.)
The answer is to the question is I'll come back when I feel the need . . . the need to screed. And I don't yet. I'm enjoying my summer break . . . and the time away from my Blogger dashboard has been very productive.
But I do know what the first topic will be. Well, maybe the second.
Stay tuned.
Apparently, I have fans . . . a surprisingly large following amongst the common folk of Asheboro . . . the consensus being that I tell it like it is . . . especially when it comes to our sad/sorry/suck-up excuse for a newspaper . . . and all of the "right people" who ran my hometown into the ground as they stuffed their own pockets . . .
. . . Bob Morrison being first in line in terms of screwing-over his employees while he collects his very phat paycheck. And he's gotten away with it mostly because no one on Randolph Hospital's Board of Directors has a working set of testicles - or a spine.
Fans. Who knew? (Well, certainly not some of the more "progressive" bloggers of Greensboro.)
The answer is to the question is I'll come back when I feel the need . . . the need to screed. And I don't yet. I'm enjoying my summer break . . . and the time away from my Blogger dashboard has been very productive.
But I do know what the first topic will be. Well, maybe the second.
Stay tuned.
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