I have decided that I wasted my most productive years by working,  to earn my daily bread.  And here I am; trying to survive on the piddling amount of pension that the company grudgingly gave me.

This realization came after observing several months of live accounts from ‘wannabee’ candidates for the office of President of our Country.

The best that I can figure is, all that is necessary to compete; is just to throw your hat into the ring and the money comes pouring in.  You solicit your best Buddy to manage your campaign and he immediately buys, or rents, a Bus or an Airplane for you to travel back and forth, across the country, to tell folks what you will do if they give you enough money to be elected.

In fact, you don’t have to make a lot of promises.  It is much easier to point out the mistakes of your opponent and / or the opposing party.  This pretty much guarantees the  influx of money for your campaign to continue.  Your manager is careful to schedule your first appearances and speeches in the states that you lead in your last attempt to win the nomination for the same, (or another), office.

It is here that you can convince them that things would have been different if the rest of the country had only followed suit by electing you, instead of the incumbent.  And the money continues to roll in.

With time running out; the latest political polls come into play, with your name among the bottom few.  It is now that you realize that your chances for the nomination are little or none; but you continue to solicit votes and money although it is not as easy as before.

Finally, your manager advises that the cause is hopeless and it would be in your best interest to withdraw from the race.  This decision is carefully planned to induce the frontrunners of the party to consider you as a ‘running mate’; therefore, you pledge your support to the one you consider has a better chance of winning,

Your thinking is; that a half a loaf of bread is better than no bread at all.  A plus at this juncture is that; if you are selected as a contender for VICE / (Whatever); a Bus and/or Plane, will be available to you as well, for the duration of the campaign.

If you are successful in your bid for the position of the “number 2,” spot, for the Countries leader; the job will be less arduous.

All that you will have to do is to wake up every morning and ask; “HOW IS THE PRESIDENT?”  If reported that he is fine; you may either go back to sleep or call for a Tee-Time at the Club.

Come to think about it;  perhaps, I WILL get serious and amend the slate at a later date.

What’s wrong with…. “DEMIJON  -  2016 ?”

Your Future Leader.

Remember: A vote for me, is a ‘vote for me.’   “Any more questions?”      Dj.

They greet me every morning.  On the breakfast table are a series of notes, (at times, written on the back of one of the many envelopes that had contained the ‘past-due’ notices). They were there to inform me of what I am to accomplish today.

It does nor matter that today is the day that I planned to spend in the hardware department at the Wal-Mart.  It was important that these chores are to be completed well before the time for the “Card-Shark Bridge Club” to end.  EXAMPLES”

“Put birdseed into feeders; – Do not overfill the one near the fence.  Carry out trash; remember bathroom trash cans.”

“Remove clothes from dryer and fold; put blouses on hangers, but not with my slacks.  Towels go in linen cabinet in hallway.”  “Press your ‘Sunday shirt,’ before hanging in your closet.”  Fold Bear’s blanket and place on the bed,  That’s where he will look for it.

“Vacuum and dust; don’t forget the ceiling fans.  Be careful of the nick-knacks on the buffet; most of them are fragile.”

“Brew tea.  Do NOT use more than 6 tea bags.  You know that you always make it too strong.  Don’t mess up this time.”

“Call Ethel at the Beauty Shop, for my appointment for a wash and rinse.  Ask her if the half-price sale is still on.  Don’t forget.”

“At Grocery, get:  Two cans of beans, (the ones with yellow labels); One pkg. Cream Cheese, (not the kind you got last time).  One dozen eggs. (open carton and examine).  One loaf of bread, (get one that is tasty and fresh).  Two pounds Hamburger, (be sure to get low fat; you didn’t last time).  Something to nibble on, (not that junk you like).  Latest copy of The National Enquirer. REMEMBER:  NO PLAYBOY’S!!!”

Lists have been a way of life in our home for many years. Since there have been very few times when I have been left without a “Keeper;” some of them get kind of personal;  i.e. 

“Shave.  Don’t wear striped shirt with checked pants.  Stay close to phone in case Mary calls.  Get haircut.  Call me if we get any interesting mail.  Get your suit pressed; we’re going to Al’s Fish Camp tonight, with Bill and Ann: you’ll want to look decent.”

I have grown so accustomed to lists, that I am at a loss, as to what to do without them.  For instance: Once when my roommate was out of town, overnight;  I did not get out of bed because I could not remember which shirt went with which pants.

Only one note was on the table this time; so I assumed this one was very important.  It read;  “Walk ‘Bear’ at least three times each day.  Give him three treats each time he Pookie’s and scratch his chest each time.”

On the morning after her return; the first of many notes appeared on the table, held in place by the sugar dish.  It read; “You didn’t read the list that I left in the Den!”

Another time; when she left me without a “sitter,”  I was so terribly confused, since there were no notes telling me what to do; that I spent over six hours watching the Weather Channel.  Then, I took a nap in the back seat of my car, for fear of messing up the bed.

In desperation; I finally called Dr. Phil.  He referred me to four different “Specialists,” who, (as a group), forwarded me their brochure, describing their firm, and along with an application for admittance into their ten-week training course called, “THERE; THERE; – in seven languages, Inc.”  
  Demijon

“Think I’m a basket case??  You’re RIGHT!”
I’m just sitting here and waiting now for a note that will give me the directions to The Den.     Dj.

Lately, I have become somewhat “gun-shy,” when a particular ailment requires a consultation with a doctor.  There have been times when I sought a second doctor’s opinion before consenting to treatment that would perhaps, require surgery.

It is not that I doubted the first doctor’s diagnosis; but I still wanted to be assured that surgery was the ONLY option for the treatment of that particular disorder.

Although the different methods of treatments from different sources, were basically the same; there have been times when I assumed that a simple solution, (could be possible), for the same malady.   These rare incidents were the reasons that I considered a second opinion necessary.

For a couple of years in the past, I had experienced pain in my right leg.  When it had gotten so severe; I finally consulted several members of the medical profession before agreeing to any one option.

In my search of treatment for this leg pain; my problems were diagnosed as “old age,” ”a stroke,” “my imagination,” “arthritis,” “muscle deterioration,” “lower back alignment” and  “family history.”.

Referrals were then made to (not one);  but “FIVE” specialists.  Each of these examined me, made X-Rays, ordered “M.R.I.’s, of my body and the final conclusion was that my right hip was the “Booger.”  Apparently, every specialist wanted a picture of my body ‘at a different angle.’  hence all of the “photos.”

The first five specialists, attempted to remedy my problem by ordering numerous periods of “physical therapy,” “Epidurals” in my back, and “Injections” in my right hip.  All of which did no good.

When it was obvious that these attempts did not solve the problem, I was referred to another “specialist,” who repeated the examinations and made more “X-Rays,” “M.R.I.’s” and then referred me to yet another “specialist.”.

It was here that I was asked for my X-Rays.  I explained that no one had given me any X-Rays; nor had anyone told me that I should keep copies and “guard them with my life.”

Their attempts to locate the films from the other doctors were futile, so I agreed to return to each of the doctor’s office’s and bring the films back.  I was not pressed for time; “I just HURT!”

It is now that the cheese gets more binding.  The last of the doctor’s offices that had made X-Rays, informed me that they were not aware that the “specialists” would need them.

I believe that here was when I really made some friends, and influenced the office personnel, when I replied; “Of course, they don’t need them.  They are only requesting them to P*SS me off.”

My question is; if this diagnosis was suspected at the first consultation; why were all the other “specialists” involved?  And;  why did each one want their own personal copy of the (X-Ray’s),  Did they all really need the money this bad?

Finally; the target date for surgery was originally set for September 1; but was changed to October 5th.  Perhaps, this change was made because another “four specialists“ were not available, (to be called if needed).

Demijon

Believe me; I was once a youthful, happy, contented, individual until I encountered all of those specialists, who, (as a body), recommended that I consult “Another Specialist.”  Is it any wonder that I now appear as someone who has been “Rode hard and put-up, WET!”      Dj.

I recently read a book about a certain small town.  I was impressed with the author’s description of the talented, close-knit, group of citizen’s; and their efforts to publicize the history of their community.  (The town could have been either, real or imagined).

To promote their town, they created a museum in one of the abandoned vacant buildings within the Town limits.  The Town was first inhabited back before the great depression years, when disparate needs prompted the early settlers to invent the items that are now, considered valuable antiques; but then, were simply housed in the museum.

From all indications, these settlers were also a friendly group that were talented insofar as manufacturing what was needed to make life simpler.  Most of the items displayed were hand-made and obviously, had been used extensively.  Included in the museum were objects of different kinds of art.  Crude carvings, hand-sewn quilts, drawings and paintings, clay pottery, hand-made furniture, etc.

One particular item that was stressed; was what they had called “Tramp Art.”  This name stemmed from different items created from whatever materials were available.  Left over pieces of lumber, broken crockery, torn clothing, bits and pieces of unidentifiable origin, became objects to fill a need; or simply for their enjoyment.

There were many folks who were unemployed during these depressing years; and who wandered throughout the country seeking any kind of work.  These individuals were nick-named Hobo’s or TRAMP’S;  At times, they amused themselves by making something out of any kind of material they found.  Hence the name Tramp-Art. 

The mention of “Tramp Art,” in the book; reminded me of an item we found under a shelter at the farm where I grew up.  My brother and I were in the throes of settling the estate, when we happened to discover a much deteriorated, Saddle.  The leather had rotted and the only thing left was the wooden frame and two wooden “Stirrups.”

The old brain’s went into overtime while analyzing what could be done with the remains of the saddle.  The only thing that came to mind was a couple of “Napkin Holders.” 

Cleaned, sanded, and stained; they became rather unique holders for paper napkins that graced both of our tables for years;  At times; we were hard-pressed to explain the history of the stirrups, and that the usage for those objects were sentimental. 

I have no idea if the book that I read, was based on fact’s about a real-live Town; but after reading about their museum, it certainly makes it easier to explain the origin of the napkin holders. [....] You know….

“Yeah: They could be considered a form of “TRAMP ART!”

Demijon

“You can do it too!  It’s simple:  Just ‘Hi-Lite’ the wooden Dough-Pan, that was carved by your Great-Grandfather;” and you have yourself a prized piece of, “Tramp-Art.”      Dj.

I once heard the story of an elephant that had escaped from a Circus, and had wandered into the backyard garden of a neighborhood, adjacent to the campground, and was dining on the fresh produce.

The lady of the house had never seen a real live elephant, and when she spied this enormous animal in the process of raiding her garden, she immediately called the police.

“There’s a big, grey animal in my garden and he’s pulling up my cabbages, “WITH HIS TAIL;” she excitedly, told the officer.  She was then asked, “What else is the animal doing?”  Thinking for a moment, the lady replied,  “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you!”

This is a little far-fetched, I know; but at some point in our lives we all have been witness to occurrences for which we had no logical explanation.  Many times we feel that we must relate these incidents to others, and standard procedure ordains that we preface our remarks with the words, “you will not believe this but…”

Are we, in fact, planting a seed of doubt in their minds beforehand in order to alleviate the skepticism that we, ourselves, feel toward the incident?  If the event is indeed true, then we are under no obligation as to the creditability of our statements.

To further complicate matters, sometimes, we add; “I didn’t believe it myself; but ……”   If the event is so unbelievable, why are we inclined to describe it in the first place?  Are we concerned that perhaps our anxiety is such; that we seek solace in an accomplice to share our distress?

There are usually logical explanations to many of these happenings, if only we would examine them in detail.  Then we would not feel required to begin our rendition with;… “You won’t believe this but: …”

In many occurrences, the information that we feel obligated to relate, has been publicized already; but we are under the impression that our interpretation is more concise, and will be better understood by the rank and file.

It is also important that; “We we do not wish to be accused of spreading malicious rumors.” 

After all:  “We have quite a good reputation to preserve.” 

Demijon

“By the way:  You will be interested in what I discovered about the up-coming election for County Commissioners.”  “You won’t believe this, but; it seems that…[.......]”     Dj.

A favorite expression of my Father’s was; “I don’t do business.  I make arrangements.”  This was his way of stating that he lacked sufficient monies to conduct business in the usual sense of the word.  Arrangements meant to either cajole an officer at the bank, into a loan or else, to work up a trade for whatever item was needed.

This has been more or less, a way of life for me as well.  Although my roommate and I, have been fortunate enough to provide for the necessities, there was never enough money available to squander.

When an automobile gave out, a trade was negotiated and monthly payments were made on any balance.  The bank account, if not overdrawn, was usually down to pennies before the next paycheck.

One thing that we both thought we could not afford during the early years of our marriage was Health Insurance.  The importance of this was revealed to us in no uncertain terms when we were expecting our first child.  I distinctly remember that the Hospital Bill was an astronomical $107.95; and the cost of delivery for this child was a whopping $150.00.

We dined on potatoes, beans, and cornbread for quite a while before we managed to save these amounts, but finally; in November 1954 we brought our son home, completely paid for.

Needless to say, we began to shop for insurance immediately thereafter.  The small premiums we paid each month were much easier on our limited budget.

I do not remember the cost when our second son was born, four years later; since we were only required to pay a portion of the bill,  However, I am certain that the cost for Hospital services and Doctor’s fees had risen substantially.

During the children’s growing years, we continually had an outstanding account at the office of our Pediatrician.  It seemed that when we came close to paying this balance, another trauma would ensue and we were back to square one.

Fortunately, for us, however, he was a kind and understanding Doctor who did not press for immediate payment from any of his patients.  He simply “accepted arrangements.”

Today; our ‘adult’ offspring, have successful careers, and “We;” are ‘deep’ into the world of retirement.  We; nevertheless, have not forgotten those days of arrangements, and because of this, we are better equipped to cope with life on a limited income.

I sincerely hope that our children can remember enough of their youth to appreciate their success, and that both realize the necessity of preparing for the unexpected.  By doing so, they will be spared the fine art of “negotiating.”

If they have learned anything from our mistakes and have attempted to prepare for the unexpected; then perhaps they will be qualified to “do business,” instead of merely “making arrangements.”

This could, quite possibly, be their only legacy.

Demijon

“Please excuse me for a second:”   “Honey: will you call the Power Company and ask for another extension?”        Dj.

“Car-Jack” was the definition for a device used to elevate an automobile; and the word “Hi-Jack” simply meant to elevate it further?

Screen doors at the Grocery, were emblazoned with the words; “Merita is good bread!” and/or “Pepsi-Cola” hits the spot?

“Shoe-Shine Stands;” were standard equipment in all barber shops, as well as a “Tonic” that was applied with every haircut?

Lace-Curtains: were washed, starched, and dried outside, on “Curtain Stretchers?”

“Petcocks; located underneath Car radiators that must be opened and the water drained to prevent freezing during the Winter?

The building of houses was accomplished with Hand-Saws, Cross-Cut Saws, and Hammers; and with Galvanized Tin, as the most popular roofing material?

Radios and Heaters; were not included as standard equipment on any, but the most expensive Automobiles?

A family was considered “Riff-Raff;” if their yard was not kept free from all grass and was swept, at least once per week?

The most important mail, that the majority of families received were the Sears-Roebuck Catalog; and the Market Bulletin?”

The “Hoover-Cart;?”  Which was nothing more than an adaptation of the axle and wheels from an abandoned automobile; and was powered by a Horse or a Mule?

When Church Pews, were strewn with hand-held, cardboard Fans; advertising Funeral-Homes on one side, and pictures of Heaven, on the other?

“Warming-Closets;” located above the cooking surface of wood fired cook-stoves which kept leftovers warm, with built-up heat from the stove pipe?

When Chicken-Wire enclosed the garden spot, and was necessary as a deterrent from Rabbits and other predators.

An abundance of “China-berry Trees; in every yard, which provided a dense shade during the summer months?

The warm breezes and the aroma of freshly turned earth, that were the first announcements of the arrival of Spring?

These are but a few of the precious memories; which I hold dear and continue to savor as a part of my past.

Demijon

Why is it that we can vividly remember things from “Years Ago,” and yet; we forget the Power Bill, until we receive “three” - past-due notices?    Dj.

For quite a number of years; I struggled in the workplace to earn my daily bread.  My co-workers were an assortment of folks from different cultures.  Most of the employees were younger; and very few were from a rural background that was dependent upon a farm for their livelihood.

Our duties required deep concentration since mistakes would affect so many of our clientele.  Therefore; the only “free time” we had to mingle and share memories and just “getting to know” each other; was during the few moments before work hours; at lunch breaks; and after, “clocking-out.”

Most of us took advantage of those times and as a result; we gathered a few good friends.  I suppose that my closest friend during those days, was our custodian; Floyd Sanders.

Floyd was a retired Maintenance Supervisor from a large Financial Institute; who cleaned and maintained our office part-time, and I quote; (“to have something to do”).  He and I were about the same age, and both were raised on a rural farm; therefore, we had a lot in common.

Floyd insisted that he was simply an, “American,” “whose skin just happened to be a different color.”  He was definitely, not fond of the title; “African American.”

He never asked for, nor did he expect; any special treatment because of this.  He was content with simply, the opportunity to “earn a living” along with the rest of us.

Since He and I came from a rural farm background; we would spend a lot of our spare time reminiscing about our days of growing up; (as Floyd was prone to say), “Poor as Church Mice.”

Many of our discussions centered around “Lifestyles of rural Farm families,” (through the eyes of former young boys).  Both of us had endured similar experiences about, “chopping Cotton, plowing, spreading manure & fertilizers, feeding Hogs, milking Cows, and many-many more farm duties.

On one particular occasion, I mentioned the necessity of fertilizing Corn, with “NATURAL CHILEAN – NITRATE of SODA.”  I asked Floyd if he had also been required to perform this chore?  Of course, he replied in the affirmative.

The particular fertilizer, that most Farmers used, “back then,” had, (on the bag); pictures of an elderly black man called, “Uncle Natural,” and a ‘young white boy’. 

Their slogan was; ‘(the elderly man telling the young boy to)’ “Just act Natural, Sonny Boy.” 

When Floyd agreed that he did, in fact, remember, “putting-out Soda to the Corn;” he recalled the advertisement on the bag and said he well remembered “Uncle Natural and the picture of a little “Y’ALL,” – with a rag tied around his big toe.” alongside him,  This was the brunt of many jokes between the two of us.

We both agreed that such remembrances made both of our duties somewhat easier to preform.  Even now:  I can almost hear Floyd’s chuckle, when he would ask; “Remember the little – “Y’ALL”?

Demijon

When I think of Floyd, It is almost impossible to remember that there were any differences between us.  We were simply, two true, friends, sharing our similar lifestyles.       Dj.

Call us paranoid if you must; but we have become exceedingly careful of answering questions from various sites in cyberspace.

There are several reasons for our reluctance; since our computer has, in the past, been infected by “a bunch of” viruses from unknown origins.  Thanks to an entire afternoon of intense work by our local computer geek; these bad guys were eliminated without any permanent damage.

Shortly afterward, we read an Obituary for a friend and former schoolmate that was posted in the website of a well-known Funeral Home.  Included was an invitation to express our condolences to the surviving family.

Since it was not feasible for us to attend the funeral services, we offered our sympathy in the space titled “Memories,“ provided by the Funeral Home.

Here we expressed our sorrow for their loss, along with our typed signatures and our place of residence.

We were somewhat surprised when we clicked on the word SUBMIT; and a pop-up appeared with the question; “WHO IS THIS?”  -  and space for; Name___________.  E-mail_________.

Our identity was included in the space provided for our condolences; and our e-mail address would appear in the Funeral Home’s in-box; so we simply deleted the pop-up and again clicked on the word SUBMIT.

I suppose you can imagine our surprise when another pop-up appeared with a “DEMANDING STATEMENT!”  – “PLEASE ANSWER THE QUESTION!”

The Funeral Home had provided another option; but somehow, we did not think that a “candle,” conveyed our true feelings of sympathy.

At this point, we have no idea whether our condolences were received by the bereaved family; but it should be understandable that we have become extremely cautious about divulging any additional pertinent information.  Especially, when the “DEMAND” does not properly identify the sender.

Sorry about that; but when the “dog bites us” once; we are quite hesitant of again, “putting our hand into his mouth.”

Demijon

We can certainly appreciate a Funeral Home editing the content of e-mail’s for proper condolences; but, DEMANDING information; is a little much:  “Wouldn’t you say?”      Dj.

This event was well publicized several years ago in most of the media.  A schoolteacher sought legal action against a SIX-YEAR OLD child, by charging him with, (now get this); “SEXUAL HARASSMENT!”

I am sorry but I cannot feel empathy for any lady who would stoop to instigate such serious charges against a child this young.  He IS a child, for crying out loud.  I am reasonable sure that, at six years old; Baseball, Football, Power Rangers, and the like; would have taken precedence over his sexual urges.

“Aren’t we supposed to teach our children to love one another?”  “Should we specify that any feelings for 1st grade teachers are to be platonic?”

The child’s expression of affection toward his Teacher was merely that; affection; and was completely normal.  Yet, as interpreted within the warped mind of this lady, the youngster was, “Hitting On Her!”

Granted, some children are more affectionate than others; but; at six years old?  Get real, Lady!  Most females would be ashamed to admit that the only male who would ‘make a pass’ at her was only ‘six years old,’  They, certainly, would not wish to advertise this.

What would have happened if she had begun her campaign against any demonstration of affection, and had WON?  Would politicians be forbidden to kiss babies?  What about a handshake between members of the opposite sex?  Would smiling at another person, be considered sexually motivated?  Where will all of this end?

I am certain that at one time or another, this “Lady-Instigator,” had given (and / or) received, a peck on the cheek in greeting, or had delivered a sympathetic hug to a grieving friend.  If this is normal behavior for adults; why, in Heavens name, does she think children are any different?

The word prude does not adequately describe her; She is SICK!

Obviously she had no trouble finding an Attorney to file the charges for a big fee; but I cannot manifest any feelings for a Judge who would consider hearing so ludicrous a case as this.

If she was determined to bring charges against someone, she would not have had to look far to find a deranged person who would harass or even molest her, or anyone else; but for God’s sake, let the child be a child

I never heard the outcome in the legal action in this matter; but I reiterate that I would have absolutely NO respect for a JUDGE, who would waste the Court’s time by listening to such a ridiculous case.

Question:  What would be the penalty for a child, (in the 1st grade), if he was convicted of hugging his Teacher?

Demijon

“Here comes de Judge:”   “30 days; Sonny Boy!”  “Next Case!”               Dj.