CONGRESS REFORM ACT

Made a vow with myself to leave politics alone this year, and since practically no subject discussed today ends without a political vibe or two, I’ve found writing a blog to be difficult.  If you don’t choose to talk about Trump, nobody wants to hear what you have to say. However, today Facebook has another showcase from some uninformed patron about the Congress Reform Act that has bounced around for years. It’s not my focus to champion Congress. They make me just as uncomfortable with their antics as any other American citizen, but enough misinformation is enough.

 I certainly agree that term limits are badly needed to really make a difference in the quality of our federal government. Many elderly citizens that should be at home rocking their grandchildren are still walking the halls of Congress some of them needing mobility aids like perhaps a cane. Adding some breaking news to this controversy is Justice Ginsberg, 85 years-old, plans to sleep her way through another five years. I can say this is a real flaw in our system of Justice because I know what it’s like to be 85.  We really need terms limits on the Supreme Court. Our forefathers didn’t realize our longevity would extend into our inability to function with perfection. 

 It isn’t the fault of Congress that they are still there. It’s the fault of the voters who sent them. Still three factions feed those who are guilty of continuing to run, expecting to win, having found a great place to sit down for a lifetime of law-making. They have name recognition, they have historical knowledge of navigating Washington, and they have financial support expecting perks for their deep pockets. An almost unbeatable profile.

 All this adds up to POWER, such as Clinton power.  The Obamas appear to be quite wealthy today as well, and apparently plan to explore that political power gained from eight years in the WH. Amazing, even the poorest citizen who manages to reach DC ends with considerable wealth. Now that’s a cause that should be explored. But I digress.

Speaking of term limits, even the most naive citizen doesn’t think in terms of sending a politician to DC or the statehouse for a limited period of time. Case in point – when a new and fresh voice rises to the top, the first message out about that person is how he will be a great influence for the future. We should be thinking, he or she will mold the future for a limited number of years and then return to the real world where he can make use of his knowledge at the grassroots level where the people live. Instead, he spends a few years learning the DC routine (continual struggle to keep the political office where lying and contempt 101 are taught), and then live off the land for the rest of his life.

 I can name many who have never earned a non-political dollar. Some are excellent contributors, or they once were, but many are bottom-feeders who couldn’t hold a job that didn’t come to them through name-recognition or the powerful, elite, puppeteers of this world. We all know who they are. I vote for term limits on every one of them, however, I will never have that opportunity because under our system, they make the rules. Not what our forefathers intended. So much for TERM LIMITS.

Back to the original rant about the CONGRESS REFORM ACT. This just might get some serious consideration if some INFORMED reformer latched on to the idea and really researched the facts. Even the fact-checkers are disgusted with the misinformation appearing in this social media horse tale that rides through the media periodically. I’ve learned to fact-check; and then fact-check the checkers because they are often biased by political strategy. Look it up, folks. Many of the points are simply untrue, or have been addressed and corrected over the years.

We would have a renewing of patriotism, a knowledgeable voting public, a historical rebirth of facts, and certainly a more peaceful, loving nation if each citizen would look before he leaps, engage his brain before he speaks, focus on what is good and best, not what is controversial just for the sake of controversy.  My 85-year-old opinion is that this advice would clean up the DC swamp as well. In my day we taught children to stop and think before you speak, check the facts, look for good in everyone, and do unto others as you would have them do to you.  I don’t know why these children with time-tested upbringing aren’t surfacing in our government.

 My personal opinion they have been brain-washed in our system of education and throw-away world where the past is never consulted. In my opinion we wouldn’t need a Congress Reform Act if this nation returned to God, the golden rule, and respect for each other. Now, I’m absolutely sure that if anyone out there reads this, they will find issue with me. Go ahead, fact-check me, that’s what I expect. Nobody’s perfect except God. The rest of us need editing (according to my writer friend). And maybe more so today than ever.

THE COCKROACH, Part 2, THE REST OF THE STORY

“And now for the rest of the story,” quoting Paul Harvey, the once popular radio commentator, as he enticed his listeners to continue following his comments, I offer the conclusion to my “cockroach encounter.”

You may wonder why I panicked at something everyone deals with almost every day if you live in the coastal areas of our country. A back story that justifies my obvious preoccupation with crawling things may help clarify the fact. Of course, in the spring a new generation of lizards (if they have more legs than I, they are lizards although different nomenclature may apply) begin to appear inside the house, either by their own curious wanderings or being dragged in by the cats. They are not welcome in my space, and I’m very vocal about moving them out of my sight.

In addition, my grand-daughter owns a pet corn snake, Spartacus, pretty orange color, about four feet long, I think, who lives in an aquarium-type cage in her bedroom. He’s eight-years-old; born in captivity.  Tasha returned from vacation on Wednesday night about three weeks ago. Caring for Spartacus became Robyn’s responsibility in Tasha’s absence. She checked on Spartacus on Monday evening verifying he looked fine, and certainly rested peacefully in his cage.

However, on Thursday morning, Tasha came to my room, obviously distraught. Walking back and forth, she began the conversation.

“Mommo (her childhood name for me), I don’t want you to panic or anything. I have to tell you something.”

“Okay, what’s wrong?” I asked, as visions of “what happened to you in Colombia?” began to race through my mind.

“Well, I don’t want you to panic,” she continued to walk back and forth, “Spartacus isn’t in his cage!”

Relieved that Spartacus aroused her panic rather than Colombia, I began to wrap my mind around the possibility of a snake slinking around the house, and may be in my space. Asking for a powerful flashlight, she planned to search my rooms since the search of her room confirmed his freedom.

“How did he get out? I asked, as I quickly provided her with the most powerful light I could find.

“It looks like the cats may have fallen through the screen on the cage.” How could we be so careless with a snake? I thought.  With a futile search of my rooms, Tasha moved into the rest of the house. She hunted throughout the day without success.

Trying to be as gracious as possible considering the fact, a snake (although corn snakes are harmless constrictors, and Spartacus lived his entire life in a cage with human care and touch his only experience)  is still at large hiding somewhere. To me, a snake is a snake, and I don’t want one near me even if he’s a pet. I couldn’t turn off the light and go to bed that night. Tasha didn’t go to bed either. She spent the night tracking the snake armed with information about “how pet snakes react when free,” along with my powerful flashlight. He remained elusive, in hiding, or whatever you want to call the situation when a snake is at large in your house.

Tasha continued to pursue Spartacus during the day on Friday without success. She learned he would follow the walls, look for food and water, remain hidden during the daylight hours, and he could go anywhere he could get his head. I walked around a bit dazed from “no sleep” always seeing something moving out of the corner of my eye with every step.

At last, on Friday evening as the family watched TV, they noticed the cats seemed anxious while stalking the row of books shelves in the room.  Tasha had checked the area several times; didn’t think he could crawl under the book shelves. With the cats’ unrelenting behavior, they moved the book shelves to find Spartacus curled up in the darkness. Tasha grabbed him and returned him to security. Since I remained unaware of the action in the family room, she burst into my room to announce, “We found Spartacus!” I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, but I’m absolutely certain, he could cause me to hurt myself. Therefore, I felt relief the saga had ended with everyone okay, including Spartacus, and the household would sleep that night.

Now, back to the cockroach. Perhaps, in view of my last few weeks of crawling things experience, you will have more sympathy for me as I endure the aggressive critter invasion. To remind you, he crawled under the dresser, and remained out of sight until the next evening. I took a shower thinking to try to sleep that night. When leaving the shower, I looked down being certain to navigate the step. Just in front of me a quite beautiful, as nature’s creatures can be, Albino Salamander sat, fearlessly, looking up at me.  I appreciate their contribution to nature, and I know they are harmless, but I DONOT want them in my space. I confined him under a glass until someone could move him OUT.

Continuing my task of settling down for the night, I reached to open my sock drawer. There he sat stretching his head upward as if to say, “I’m still here!” Shocked again, I screamed and jumped back. He ran and finding no traction on the rolled edge of the dresser, he fell to the floor. He ran like a steak of lightning under my bed. OH NO!! I thought, he’s under my bed. The bed is on wheels and I moved it out so I could see. There he sat waiting for me. I tried to hit him with my slipper, but I must have swept him out of sight. Gone again, but still in my room. I sat down almost in tears. How can I be so disturbed by this creature?  In a few minutes, he brazenly crawled out into my sight and stopped in front of me. I swiped at him again and missed. He ran behind the piano.  So very tired, I fell into bed trying to put him out of my mind.  I hoped I had hurt him as he seemed injured when he crawled behind the piano.

He didn’t die behind the piano. The next evening I came into my room to find the cockroach sitting in front of my chair. I stood still trying to think what to do. You rascal, you have beaten me, I thought, as I remembered I have nice strong shoes on this evening. So I, carefully, stepped forward and came down on him with my foot. I felt him crunch, and I shivered as I stepped back away from him. He appeared dead. I grabbed my phone and took his picture. AH HA they will believe me now. There really is a cockroach here, and I have the evidence.

He moved; his antenna swept back and forth. I grabbed a paper towel, picked him up, and quickly dropped him in the toilet. He began to swim vigorously, and almost made it out before I could hit the handle to flush him down. I admit I checked to see if he had returned at least twice before I accepted the cockroach is dead – the saga is over.

Please, God, no more crawly things for a spell. I need some rest.

THE COCKROACH

Suffering from writer’s block for several months, or possibly just finding other interests to steal my writing time, I found my way back to the pen this week, and following is the result.  I should preface this article with the fact that my daughter is a "clean freak" who runs the vacuum cleaner almost as often as she brushes her teeth. But this is Louisiana - the tropics - enough said.

In the beginning God created the heavens, the earth, and all living creatures. These are facts, and I believe them to be true as I have the highest regard for the Bible. I understand that God gave man the freedom of choice, and for that reason, we master our own fate. Of course, things would be different if not for my sister, Eve, who chose to eat the fruit and gave it to Adam, who chose to do the same, although he blamed Eve when God questioned him.

     “Trim and tend the garden and don’t eat the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil,” God said, as He placed them in a perfect environment. However, they disobeyed Him and managed to be exiled from the beautiful garden where no thorns or weeds grew and no critters crawled about the land.

     Having said this, I now set the scene later – in fact - thousands of years later in the present, this evening. It’s been a harrowing day to say the least with several crises having stressed my 84- year- old mind. Technology tried my patience with AOL malfunctioning, and with the Geek Squad unable to help, aggravating the situation even more. But, I digress.

     With several projects to complete before Saturday, this Wednesday evening finds me behind schedule and wondering if I will survive. As a wannabee artist, my goal is to please those who have commissioned (artists love that word – makes one feel important) me to paint projects to their specifications. After Bible Study, I sat down at my easel to work on a painting for a new young barber who is opening his shop. The scene, a barber chair with shelves, spread before me on a large canvas which blocked my view of the table where my tools were located.

     Engrossed in painting a canister on the shelf, I turned to dip the brush in red paint and looked back at the canvas. As I raised the brush to the image, I froze. My hand wouldn’t move. Looking straight at me from beside the canister image sat a huge cockroach. At least two inches long, his shiny wings tucked back, he switched his antenna back and forth and steadied himself like an airplane revving up its engines to take flight.  He jumped at me. Screaming with panic, I batted him away.

     On my feet like a flash, yes, even at 84-years-old, I moved quickly trying to see where he landed. Searching around the art table among the paint, brushes, and various paper items, I knew he could be hiding anywhere.  After a few minutes, I decided he may be rooms away by now. With this thought, I returned to my painting project, cautiously looking about all the while.

     The sound of paper moving ever so softly brought my attention to a container where I disposed of several paint-ridden paper towels. Peeking around the canvas at the container – you guessed it –his tail sticking out of the paper wiggled as he rummaged among the towels. I picked up a towel nearby and smashed into the container. He must be dead. I looked through the mess, but couldn’t find him.  He got away again, and may be in the next parish by now.

     More cautiously than before, I returned to painting, but every little sound kept my eyes moving back and forth checking. Several minutes passed in which I moved around the room working with my project. As I sat looking over my work, something moving on the table caught my attention. This creature crawled at top speed toward me, paused for a moment to look straight at me, and before I could react, he leaped to my arm. Again, I jumped to my feet screaming at this possessed critter from hades, and finally knocked him to the floor. He ran along by a drawer while I gave chase trying to kill him, but he got away under the chest of drawers.

     Now, in the wee hours of the morning, I sit here wondering where he is hiding just waiting to jump on me again. I hear little tiny crackling noises coming from everywhere. I know he’s here. He may be in the drawer with my night gown. He went under there when he ran from me. Do I want to open that drawer? Do I want to turn the light out? It’s 2:45 am.

     Meanwhile, back to the beginning. I blame Eve for my evening of misery. If she had told that serpent to get lost, I wouldn’t be sitting here looking for that cockroach. You see, I believe God created the cockroaches to plague Eve for disobeying Him, and I intend to question her about such stupidity when I get to heaven. Of course, I have a long list of other culpabilities to discuss with her too – such as child birth and such like.

      As to the illusive cockroach, history tells us it’s believed he survived the flood. I don’t doubt that. I admit the one – I hope there’s only one – hiding in my room tonight is clever, aggressive, and more resilient than I. In my view, he has an even chance to live until the earth is destroyed by fire. God has promised nothing will survive that event.

THANK YOU FOR HOT WATER

I haven’t written a blog in several months mostly because I haven’t really had anything to say. But tonight I do. Yesterday at 1:40 pm, the Orleans Parish, a division of Louisiana that serves New Orleans, discovered a leak in a 30 inch water line. When Robyn called to tell me, my immediate thought was – so what.  Water leaks flood the gutters on almost every street almost all the time. Pot holes are uncountable, sidewalks are dangerous fall hazards, and riding on the side streets in many areas is like a rumble seat ride in the 1920s on the back roads of WV. With a show of concern for the tax paying public, the officials ordered a Boil Water Emergency. My second thought is, WHY? I moved to New Orleans five years ago and the street in front has two leaks that seemingly never go away. The road continues to deteriorate and they show up occasionally with a repair crew that blocks the road for a day or two. In a few days, sometimes hours, water runs the gutter and fills the pot holes again. My guess is someone calls and our street shows on their repair list to await a turn with a crew. No one worries about the bacteria that MAY enter the system. If we need to boil water because of the water leaks, we should have been boiling it for at least five years.

Now to be fair, News Orleans sits below sea level on a great swamp that makes infrastructure difficult to build and maintain. Natives, who know and love the tropics and the rich, historic culture of South Louisiana, are quick to defend the turf and are equal to the task of returning to normal when disaster invades. We escaped the hurricanes last season, but we have experienced freezing temperatures that MAY contribute to the water line emergencies. However, that accounts for the last few weeks of mishaps. To be honest, along with many other cities in the country, NOLA struggles with the affects of unwise choices of leaders. Leaders who use the tax dollars and their influence to insure their future in politics rather than the welfare of the city. Of course, not all politicians are guilty, but an example is the removal of statures that offended some people, but cost tax dollars to move. Could those dollars have helped to avoid the current emergency?

Yes, the current emergency – any normal thinking person would expect that a failure in the water and sewer system should be short-lived considering the bright, sunshiny weather in which the leak occurred. A city the size of NOLA should be equipped to test water on site. In fact, early in the afternoon on Tuesday, Robyn told me to avoid washing my hands or any other interaction with tap water. Instructions included a special warning for those with rashes or immune disorders. So – I dawned my plastic gloves and avoided washing my hands, drank water from plastic bottles, and waited patiently for the all-clear.  My blood pressure began to rise when I realized at nightfall that I would have to skip my hot shower.  Surely, it would be over by morning.

Well – not so! Okay, I admit, I’m a spoiled “princess” who appreciates comfort. Denied my hot shower and shampoo, my head itches, water from a bottle, back with the gloves, brush teeth with a bottle, still no word. My laundry day, must delay- the water may be tainted. I wait and finally look up the Department of Sewer and Water on the internet. In viewing minutes of the end of the year meetings, it appears they have work force problems. Not able to find qualified personnel. I worked for a public service utility for several years, and I remember the good excuses we could offer in the absence of a reason.

On Wednesday evening, Mid-week Bible Study begins at 7:00pm. At 5:00pm, Robyn checked to find the emergency continued. No water, no shower, bad hair day, painful stiff-neck, and uncomfortable blue plastic gloves that got on my last nerve, the challenge became too much for this 84-year-old lady. I called to cancel my ride to services, wrapped myself in my trusty, warm robe and pouted. In the background from the TV, I heard two words, Puerto Rico, and I thought, here I sit and stress with a downtrodden attitude because I’m inconvenienced without water at my fingertips for two days. The real truth is that many of my Christian Sisters living in places less privileged than NOLA will go to Bible Study tonight without a shower, they may study by lantern light, and probably feel hunger pains from not having enough food. Forgive me, God, for complaining. I can’t do anything for them except pray, but I can do something about me.

Robyn boiled water and placed it in my shower. I waited for it to cool, and took an old fashioned sponge bath, like I did as a kid in WV, in the middle of winter when the upstairs bathroom was just too cold to take a bath. I’m warm, had a good dinner, and feel refreshed. I will remember to pray for those sisters in under-privileged areas who bathe in creeks, wash clothes on wash-boards, forage for enough food to feed their families, and sing God’s praises as they work. My inconvenience will end soon, but their plight has no end in sight. Thank you, God, for hot water, and I'm praying it’s there in the morning.