Politically INcorrect and Controversial

Those of you who know me may or may not have noticed that I never talk politics. At all. You may or may not know that I also do not intentionally read news, listen to news, or watch news. Ever. I pick up a few things from unavoidable hear-say now and then, and even catch brief glimpses or hear a few phrases of news stories, but I only rarely finish reading/listening or search out stories (unless they be any sort of animal story, in which case I will open the full story or stop to listen/watch the whole thing). But why is this the case? Well, you could always poke fun at me and say that I'm just a woman, and my silly head cannot handle the politics or form its own opinions on various matters. Or, you could say that I'd rather not think for myself and that I just simply follow the majority or the people with the greatest influence over me. But then again, it could be that I really am a hippie-wanna-be at heart and intend to someday seclude myself in a little cabin off in the woods somewhere. None of those are entirely correct, although little bits of each factor into the reality in some way.

I never took the time to really figure out what my thinking and reasoning was, or why I've always felt such an instinctual aversion to anything politics related.  Politics are stupid. I didn't want to bother with it all. In the end, how I felt or thought really doesn't matter at all, and no matter what stance I take, I will never have any influence on the big stupid-heads in charge of everything. So why bother being opinionated, informed, and perpetually upset? I don't like to be a disturber of the peace, I don't like being against people or to have others against me, I don't like to call attention to myself as an opposing side, and I especially hate to argue or debate. I hate conflict and contention, greatly preferring peace, unity, and acceptance. I vaguely recognized all this in myself before without ever really stopping to think about it or follow through to the next levels. At least, not until a couple weeks ago.

The Majestic had been appearing in various lists of suggestions on netflix for quite a while, and looking like an interesting movie, I finally watched it about two weeks ago. For those of you who haven't seen it, the film is set shortly after WWII in California, as a big push occurs to expose those of the communist party within the media, most especially in the film business. I'm going to spoil part of the end for you, but I have to in order to get my point across. Peter, the main character, had been pinned and blacklisted as a communist, even though it turns out that all he ever did was attend a few meetings in college that he didn't even know were communist affiliated, just to impress a girl he was seeing at the time. After suffering from amnesia, due to a head injury received from an automobile accident the night after he was blacklisted, Peter settles down in a small town where they (and after a time, he) are sure that he is one of their lost sons of the war. The press and other officials are sure that he is running from the law and that they've finally struck on an important communist leader of some sort, and they run wild with all their ridiculous conjectures.

When Peter is finally found out, months after the injury, all the media and officials involved are sure that Peter was hiding out with his follow communists in that town and they come rushing in, guns blazing (as it were), to drag him off for his big court case. Of course everyone involved quickly realize their huge mistake, and to hide their embarrassment, they prepare a statement for Peter to read at his trial, realizing the error of his ways and confessing the names of other communists, so that they can discharge him as quietly as possible and without any trouble. <<-- That is a point that really bugged me. The government made a huge mistake that really affected a man's life, yet all they were focusing on was how to cover it up and save face. After faltering for a while and almost going through with it, Peter faces up to the court, citing his rights in the constitution, according to the first amendment, and talking about the state of the government and the world that all those man had died for. Of course, the court was infuriated at his insolence as he "skate[d] on the very thin edge of contempt", but Peter was absolutely right in everything he said and the entire crowd gathered there knew it, and applauded him as he walked right out of that courtroom. Peter was sure he had just signed his own death wish, but the government, always protecting its own neck, decided to just let him go, and say that he had given them other names. See, they had made him a hero to the people, they couldn't afford to continue on and make him a martyr, too.

I would have left that movie experience annoyed at the stupid government people in the movie and how selfish they were, yet ultimately happy with the ending and so not given it too much thought afterward, had I not seen and heard stuff about the Trayvon Martin shooting a couple days later. I have not done a lot of research on the topic, and I do not want to, the little I know already frustrates me a great deal with our stupid, selfish government. The one article I read disturbed me very much, but the worst part was when I was looking for something down in the family room while my mom was watching the news and I heard a small update on the Trayvon Martin shooting issue, and the newscaster said something about in further research they found (or suspected) that Trayvon had some kind of history with marijuana dealing or usage. All I could think about after that was how again, the selfish, stupid government was trying to save face and cover up a mistake instead of facing it. All those big important people in their fancy suits are paid millions of dollars to say fancy things, get the people to trust and believe in them, and then never truly do more than just talk. All those politicians spend forever making big speeches about all their grand plans, all their visions for America and the ways we can grow, but very little of that ever comes to fruition. That is why I really hate getting involved in politics.

I know that should I take the time to actually read articles, listen to speeches, and follow the news, I would be informed on the actual state of things in our completely screwed up country and would live under a heavy cloud of frustration, disappointment, and disillusionment with our "wonderful" nation. Every little piece of news I've glimpsed or heard a bit of strikes a nasty chord in me and I shrink away before it can too strongly affect me. The fact is, everything is twisted around and completely screwed up in this country! Politicians get paid millions of dollars to talk and make a big selfish mess of everything (and there's something about their not having to pay taxes that I got a frustrating glimpse of at one point, and am not going to go find out all the details of). Athletes get paid millions of dollars to entertain us and be complete jerks. Pop stars are paid millions of dollars to entertain us and put trash in the ears of the next generations. And then you read bits of things about how those in the military don't actually receive 50% of their pay, even though they put their lives on the line for our screwed up, selfish country. Or about how Irena Sendler lost the Nobel Peace prize to Al Gore's slide show on Global Warming. And then you take a good look at the wretched state this country's education system is in, the massive attitude problems of everyone under the age of 60 or so, the deplorable state of marriage, the rampant sexuality, complete lack of morality, and..... if I were more informed, I could continue listing for a very long time.

The truth is, I know that inside, I rebel against everything that is happening in our world right now. Each bit of news I glimpse or hear disturbs me and hurts me, and I retreat deeper into my little shell, wishing that it really were possible for me to escape back in time to a place like Mayberry from the Andy Griffith Show, or at least to some little cabin back in the woods somewhere where I can grow my own crops, raise my own animals, and never go anywhere at all so I can just avoid all this mess. But as such wishing is futile, I am stuck with my only defense of trying my hardest to remain as uninformed as possible and so spare myself the pain of being helpless in the face of a miserable reality. I suppose you could say that one reason I love stories about animal rescues is because the care and thoughtfulness I see exhibited in those stories somehow helps cover up the completely opposite reality where humans are concerned.

For those who may be wondering, this is not the post I have been meaning to write since my last one, nor is this an April Fool's post. This is a completely serious post that (you may have noticed), has left me in a very gloomy, cynical mood. Which I suppose I will have to fix by looking at cute lolcats and watching some innocent Disney movie or something.

Stories from the life of a stranger

It's been quite a while since I've written anything. I haven't felt that I really had much of anything interesting to say, and now I find myself conflicted with the desire to share two different incidences from my day. I suppose I'll just have to make two entries, as they don't really flow together as one topic. But anyway, down to business. I would like to share a story with you. Perhaps it is not put forward as eloquently as many others could do, but it is a story from true life and I want to share it. There is no moral of the story, no lesson to learn, and no real point in sharing it beyond the fact that it put a smile on my face and completely made my day.

Though it is only in the last couple weeks of March, the temperature has gotten up to 80 the last couple days and you could not ask for more glorious weather. I unfortunately had to work yesterday and was unable to enjoy the day other than to open my window for the latter part of the day. Today, however, was my day off. I had been putting off getting my oil changed for the last thousand miles and finally made an appointment to bring my car in late this morning. The door to the sitting room was open, allowing me to soak in the warm breeze and the ambiance of a beautiful day as I read my book. As I was on my way back home I kept thinking about what a shame it would be to just end up in my room the rest of the day. Even if I had my windows open to let in the day, it would still feel like a waste. I had almost determined to simply take my book into the tree in the front yard with me when I realized that I would shortly be passing the levee, and made the impulsive decision to stop there and take a walk.

I have only been on the levee a few times in the past couple years, but as I walked I remembered all the times from my childhood when we'd all go to the levee together. It was very rare that we would ever make it all the way to the end, as the youngest kids would get to tired to go more than a certain distance, or there was the occasional mishap resulting in a skinned knee or other such injury. Back in those days, we had so much energy to burn and mom and dad decided to let us run along the portions of the walk that actually had the fencing on the sides. We had to stop at the end of those sections and wait for the parents (and probably the youngest sibling) to catch up and walk with us until we got to the next section with fencing. These memories, combined with the warmth of the sun, the light breeze, birdsong, and just the general feeling of beauty everywhere put a perpetual smile on my face.

As I neared the end of the walk, an elderly man passed me slowly on his bike, commenting on how lovely the day was. When I reached the end I saw the same man sitting on a bench looking out on the view with a pair of binoculars. I stood at the fence looking across the dam for a bit, and then as I turned to make my way to a picnic table next to the bench, the old man invited me to come sit with him for a bit. If the day had been less lovely, if I had not already decided to sit down for a bit, had I not been in as open and happy of a mood, or had I even had any other commitments for the day, I would have most likely felt a bit of inner panic and awkwardness at social contact, and from a stranger at that, and would have made some sort of excuse and left. But, as I was in such good spirits and the day was really too glorious to enjoy alone, I smiled and accepted the invitation with only the slightest feeling of awkwardness inside. (I will most likely always retain some degree of inner, and sometimes outer awkwardness for the rest of my days. There is no escaping it.)

I am so glad I decided to sit there for a while, for I spent the next hour chatting with a very interesting 77 year-old character named George. He's not one of those old men girls would refer to as a cute or adorable old man, nor was he spry, impertinent, cheeky, feeble, or somewhat confused. He was a very real, genuine person who belonged to an older, simpler time. He had so many stories to tell me about his life, his friends, his older relatives, and little-known facts and tidbits from history. His grandmother was one of the passengers on the Titanic, and he told me bits of things she had told him from that time as well as his own theories about the sinking of the ship (which his grandmother insisted was the fault of the Germans). I don't feel that it is quite right to share all the things he talked with me about on here, as his stories are not mine and I don't have the right publicly post what he had to say. But all the same, I want to give an idea of the intriguing nature of many of the things he talked about.

This man collects binoculars from tag sales and flea markets, primarily war time binoculars. The pair he had with him today was a recently acquired small model of German make, from the second world war. He told me many stories of other pairs he had found, facts and stories in history having to do with binoculars, and of a pair of long, brass binoculars he once bought for $30 that turned out to be originally from a Russian ship that had been sunk by the Japanese fleet when they crushed the puny Russian fleet. The Japanese converted the Russian binoculars to the Japanese style by adding lines in the viewer that would assist them in shooting down other mortals. George found out the history of the binoculars when he took them to an antique shop where he was offered $600 for them. When he visited the same shop a week or two later, he saw those same binoculars he had sold sitting in the window with a $2000 price tag on them. (George also collects glasses and watches from tag sales and flea markets, but I won't go into any of those stories.)

I also got to hear stories about various friends and people he had known, things he had seen and done, and other random things of life. I found out that he believes in UFOs. "They're out there, you know. Always have been." Supposedly a friend of his had seen a UFO a few years back while doing some early morning fishing in a cove in that area. For, as you know, "they like quiet, secluded places." George told me about wildlife in the area, birdcalls, a white coyote he saw once, and how he once mistakenly pet a bear cub, assuming it was the dog from a nearby house that would visit him from time to time at one of his resting spots. I mostly listened and occasionally made encouraging responses or asked questions, doing little talking about myself, but that's the kind of conversation I like best, I think. I love listening to other people, especially when they have such interesting stories and lives. That one hour spent in conversation with 77 year-old George made my day, and I'm hoping that I brightened his day a bit by being such a willing and agreeable listener. I'm afraid not many people have the time or take the time for that kind of thing. As we prepared to part ways, George told me that he wished he were about 30 years younger. I laughed a bit at that, but refrained from telling him that as he would still have been old enough to be my father at that point, he would really have to be more like 50 years younger to hope for anything. (Though I am obligated by my boyfriend to say that even in that case, I am still spoken for :P)

I have no real point to make with this post, other than that people should really get out there and enjoy the weather, appreciate God's creation, and take time to talk with others and listen to the stories of old people. I fear that most people view the elderly as an inconvenience, as having outlived their time, incompetent, feeble, and useless. But I believe that most of them have so much more knowledge and life experience than any of the rest of us have, and they are more than worth talking with.