Minding the Farm

I've had the great pleasure today to babysit my hometown city hall. My mother, the town's clerk, is away at Municipal Election School, so I'm minding the farm. It's been an exciting day!

This isn't my first go as substitute town guardian. My mom was clerk years ago, and I often babysat town hall as a teenager during the summer when school was not in session. Things have not changed a bit.

So far today, I have looked up telephone numbers for seven different callers. The older people can always remember the number to town hall, but can't remember where their own telephone book is. I suppose it might be that the numbers are very small and difficult to read. So I look up the numbers for them. I've had to call the animal shelter to pick up a stray dog. I've also had to dispatch the police chief for a petty theft. I've tested the tornado siren, which is working quite well.

The exciting news of the week is that the recreation center is finally going up. The storm shelter/basement/foundation has been in place for months, but the building components didn't arrive on time. The truck came today, and the news spread like kudzu. I took a picture of the progress to send to the local newspaper. It will likely make front page.

Though I realize more and more that I should have gone someplace bigger when I was many years younger, there is something still very appealing about the small places. It's simple and unrushed. It's pleasing to think that the entire town will drive or walk by to see the progress on a community center, which will likely find itself used primarily as a place for old men to play Rook and checkers.

It's all right to be little bitty, Alan Jackson sang. There is nothing wrong with being content with small pleasures and small things and small places. I wish I had stayed content with them. Now I'm not exactly sure what to do.

The Truth (Book It.)

I don't want to give the impression that it is all fun and games in the Cleveland Browns forum. Oh no. We discuss all manner of deeply important topics. Why today alone we discussed whether or not the Browns should have the old throwback numbers on their helmets, exactly what would be an appropriate uniform for an internet BFF, and who got laid last night. These are no frivolous matters.

We also delved into a discussion of Truth. What is it? Does it exist? Must it necessarily be uttered? Can two contradictory truths exist at the same time? I report happily that the discussion resulted in few insults and no flames whatsoever. (Amazing, given that not all of us actually got laid last night.)

I said that, just because something is true, doesn't mean you have to say it. My Granny taught me that. For example, I may detest feta cheese. Perhaps I'm allergic and risk death by consuming it. The fact that you say you love it does not call for my declaration of feta hate simply because it is true I hate it. Even if asked directly, must I say, "I hate that shit! Are you trying to kill me?" or could I simply say, "I don't care for it. I'm allergic."

In regard to other areas of Truth, such as religion, the territory is even more difficult to navigate. Since faith can be neither proved nor disproved, my Truth as a Zoroastrian may be in direct contradiction to your Truth as a Neo-Pagan, let alone the Truth of an Atheist. All of us believes the Truth for ourselves. And while these many conflicting truths may be enjoyable and educational to discuss, there is no point arguing them. No one can win.

My friend deymond, who I anticipate will respond to this post, argues that we should not fear Truth nor fear to utter it at will. It isn't that I fear the Truth, but rather that I loathe unnecessary confrontation. I try to avoid the most inflammatory language, even if it is more true, for the sake of not alienating the other parties in the discussion. I would rather be misunderstood because I wasn't clear enough than be misunderstood because I put someone on the defensive. Conflict is normal and can't be avoided. Aggression is a choice.

Nine times out of 10, the Truth on the tip of your tongue is trivial and can go unsaid. The world will continue to spin quite nicely, and tomorrow you'll be happy you bit your tongue. And that's the Truth.

Talking to Kids

My son and a school friend came home from school today and demanded snacks. I made Scooter a ham-and-onion sandwich (he's recently decided he LOVES onions), and I asked Daisy, a first grader, if she wanted a ham sandwich also.

"Yes. I just want mayonnaise and eggs," she said.

"You mean mayonnaise and ham?"

"No, just mayonnaise and eggs."

"So you want an egg sandwich?"

"Yes. It's my best sandwich. Isn't it yours?"

Yep.

* * *

A few days ago my son was talking to my sister.

"Are you gonna have a little cousin for me to play with?" he asked her.

"Yes, and when we do, we're going to name him Captain Awesome."

"That's a good name. But why not Ned?"

Ned?

* * *

"Mommy, what would win...?" is a question Scooter has asked me for years. Literally, since he was about two years old, he's been very concerned on who or what would win some fictional battle. The who and what varies as he gets older and his interests change. In the early days, it was all real, existing animals. Later, the question involved Power Rangers and dinosaurs.

This week: "Mommy, what would win? Mecha-Godzilla or Darth Vader from Episode III?"

My brain seized.

At least he's got a good imagination.

Here's Your Blessing

Somebody asked me today what I meant by being "blessed out." This is one of those nice Southern phrases which means something other than what it seems to mean. After all, to be "blessed" would be, well, a blessing, would it not?

Don't be fooled. This blessing is not what it seems. To be blessed out is the same thing as being cursed out, but without the swear words. In fact, mere swearing pales in comparison to a good blessin'.

My grandmother never swears. (She's also never even smelled a drink of alcohol, she claims, though this does not explain the bottle of "cough medicine" in the pantry, does it?) I can remember a day as a small child when visiting my grandparents. Some men came to shoot some of the dozens of yard chickens roaming the place. I was glad, because I always hated those damn things. My grandmother instructed them to shoot as many banty chickens as they liked, so long as they didn't shoot that big Dominecker rooster. Well then, they shot it right off the bat.

So my grandmother commenced blessing. Papaw got me by the hand and said, "We better just go inside and wait." We did. By the window so we could see. She blessed those men for a good 20 minutes, and they just stood there, .22 rifles hanging limply in the crooks of their arms, their heads hung low, taking their blessing. Occasionally they nodded and muttered something like, "yes ma'am."

While I am fluent in various forms of swearing, from mild "French" to full-on "Sailor," the classic Southern blessin' out is an outstanding example of how to talk really ugly to somebody and sound perfectly angelic at the same time.

Indigestion

I'm sick of Bear Grylls. Disgusted by him. Repulsed. It isn't his nasally British accent (though it is rather nasal), and it isn't his habit of rubbing mud on himself to keep the mosquitoes away. It's his insistence on eating disgusting things on camera for show.

In spite of my efforts to avoid Man Vs. Wild on The Discovery Channel, my husband somehow has control of the remote and I find I'm halfway through a program before Bear Grylls eats something disgusting and I say, "what the hell?"

I'm no wuss. I used to watch The Operation on The Learning Channel all the time. I love forensic science shows. I secretly dream of being the Luminol technician in some murder-prone city. I once wanted to be an undertaker. So it isn't just that Bear Grylls eats roadkill that I find disgusting. It's that he doesn't have to and still does it anyway.

Forget the revelations of Grylls and crew spending nights at the Marriott when they were supposed to be stranded in the wilderness. That's not even relevant to this discussion. I don't mind that these "survival" scenarios are set up. It's the knowledge they impart that's important. But Bear Grylls is insistent up on imparting the knowledge that he will eat from the dead zebra carcass of a lion's kill, or bite the head off a live frog or snake, or rip into the belly of a salmon fresh from the steam. He never builds a fire. Never. Apparently, in spite of the fact that raw meat can contain bacteria and God only knows what sort of cooties you can get from the flesh of a dead zebra which has already been chewed on by lions, building a fire is not an option for the manly Bear Grylls. What did I expect? He goes by the name Bear.

To make matters worse, he will drink liquids from the half-digested food in a camel's stomach rather than dig for water or suck on a cactus, and he will drink his own urine after being "stranded" for five minutes rather than find a stream. Bear Grylls is not afraid to drink his own urine. After five minutes of being stranded. With a crew. Near the Marriott.

Listen up, Grylls. Here's your list:

1. Build a fucking fire. Cook the meat. It will taste better and be less likely to kill you, and after all, your show is about surviving.

2. Don't drink piss until you are sure there isn't a stream 100 yards over that next ridge. If you're going to impress me by consuming penile output, why not fellate yourself instead for the protein?

3. There is only one Bear and that's Bryant, and even British guys who drink piss should know enough to know that.

Questions

I like questions. Questions are fun. A friend of mine likes to play a question game. He'll ask a question like, "If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?" waits for the answer, and then asks, "Why?" Once that one is answered, he'll ask "Why?" again. You think you've already answered, but you find you didn't answer completely. You can continue asking "Why?" again and again, until you reach the core of the matter. It's very revealing and very fun. There's a pressure to that sort of questioning that challenges you to come up with the whole answer. The best part of it is, sometimes you had no idea what the whole answer is or will be until you get to it and you are surprised. Try it sometime.

I also have a little book called The Book of Questions that I bought at least 15 years ago. I came across the book again the other day when cleaning and flipped through it. It's interesting to see how your answers may have changed from years back. One interesting part of the book is that many of the questions require that you "assume you are single" or "assume you haven't been to college" or some other thing. The questions actually contain that instruction. Some people are so grounded in reality they can't answer questions like that without a little help.

Sometimes people are also afraid of hurting the feelings of friends and loved ones when they ask themselves questions, so they can't come up with their true answer. For example, someone might ask you a classic question like, "if you knew then what you know now, what would you have done after high school graduation?" This question is hard for lots of people because changing something means your entire life might be changed. You might not be married to the same person, have children, know the friends you know. But the point of such self-exploration is not to dismiss the life you have. The point is to look at the changes you think you'd make, figure out what you'd hope to gain from such changes, and then apply that knowledge to your life now.

One of my favorite questions is, "what would you do if you won the lottery?" Again, there are people who can play this game and people who can't. And some play it better than others. If you ask yourself this question, do yourself a favor and dispense with the "pay off my debt, donate to my kid's school, buy my mom a house," and other bullshit. That stuff is such a given, not to mention so unimaginative, it isn't worth the ink to print, the breath to speak, nor the wear and tear on your manicure to type.

Now then, what would you do? Travel the world? Why?
Go back to school? To learn what? Why?

I'd travel the world because I want to see places that were there before me and will be there when I'm gone. I want to walk where a million other strangers have walked so that I can have it in common with them.

I'd learn to weld. I want to make weird metal sculputures.

I'd go to cooking school because "not know how to cook is like not knowing how to fuck" according to one of my favorite directors, Robert Rodriguez.

I'd have a little donkey with a flowered hat to pull a cart in the Christmas parade just because I want one.

What would you do? Ask yourself a question.

Holes

I'm a Swiss cheese. I have some empty spots. Don't be alarmed; yes, my life is reasonably complete. I'm not on the verge of running away with the circus or anything like that. I'm a well-aged Swiss cheese with just a few holes here and there.

I've never been to Europe. That's a hole for me that I hope to fill sometime before I die. Until I do, it will remain a hole. Not all people feel this way. There are plenty of people who have barely left the confines of their home town or home state, and are perfectly happy, and that's good for them. I make no judgment on their contentment to live in a smaller world. It's an enviable trait, to be content where you are. And it's certainly cheaper to stay home than to spend a week in Paris.

Music is another hole. I've said before that I've toyed with musical instruments off and on for years, never getting anywhere. This is my own fault. I'm too much of an instant gratification girl to have the patience to learn. Realizing that, I at least know what I have to do to fill this particular hole. I can do it as long as I remind myself that it can't be filled instantly. Now I just need a guitar.

The biggest hole is the Adventure hole. I'm not sure what sort of adventure I need. I have nothing particular in mind. Going back to school for a new degree could be a great adventure. Moving to a large city would be very adventurous for me. A week in Paris would be quite an adventure, and fill two holes at once. (No jokes, please, ya perverts.) Of course, adventure can come along at any time. You just have to recognize it and go for it I suppose. That's difficult for a person who has always been timid about risking things. But at least knowing that now is a step in the right direction.

I don't know that I could ever NOT be a Swiss cheese. I'm too rooted in imagination to be completely solid. That's not necessarily a bad thing though. I will always have some niche I can work at filling. That should keep me busy for the rest of my life.

What the hell?

Let's see here. So far Bama has lost to Georgia, LSU and Florida State. Those you could forget. Didn't pick the Tide to win those anyhow. Then they lost to Mississippi State. Today... Louisiana-Monroe??? WTF?

As much as I have a shameful crush on you, Nick Saban, Tommy racks up six in a row this year on his way to Texas A&M, and you will feel the heat of the fickle and impatient Alabama fan base. Sorry dude. It sucks. But who would expect you to work a miracle in one season. Oh, that's right. The entire Bama Nation.

Just hang in there though. It's about the process. It's about finishing what you start, relative to improving and moving forward. I have faith in you, Nick. I believe you want to win every game you play and "dominate the other team in the state." You'll just have to wait until next year.

WANTED: SEC Coaches

Houston Nutt is gone from Arkansas at the end of the season. Speculation is that Les Miles will go to Michigan, Phil Fulmer will leave coaching and go into some administrative position and Tommy Tubberville will leave my Auburn Tigers and go to Texas A&M. In case you can't count, that leaves a whopping four head coaching positions open in SEC football. That's a full one third of the conference.

So please, review your resumes and put in your applications now. We will pay you well, thanks to Bama's breaking of the bank for Nick Saban. Just make sure you remember to pack your cup. We like instant gratification in the SEC, so if you can't beat your arch rival in the first year or contend for the SEC Championship in your second year or vie for the BCS National Championship in your third year, you're gonna take it in the nuts.

But if you desire to be worshiped as a god on earth, come coach in the SEC. We will worship you. Membership at your church will increase just so people can say they go to church with you. Your wife's pet charity will suddenly get a flood of donations. You'll be offered endorsement contracts by everyone from Ford Motor Company to Ford's Feed & Tack. Hamburgers and barbecue platters will bear your name. Children will be named for you. Just win.

And win in a hurry. And win big. No pressure.

Browns Need 'Complete Game'

In order to earn a wildcard berth in the playoffs, The Cleveland Browns must start playing a complete game.

While his success in the NFL is questionable, I really appreciate Coach Nick Saban's recent talk about what a complete game means and how Bama has "only played one complete game all year." The lack of a complete game was evident in the 31-28 loss to Pittsburgh last week.

The Browns defense has been weak all year, so we knew it would take a shootout to beat the Squealers. Funny now how it seemed to be the offense that let us down. Eric Wright led the Browns defense with 12 tackles and a sack, and the fellas put on their best defensive show of the year, IMO. So what happened to Derek Anderson? Braylon Edwards? The rest of the O? While the defense was busy holding one of the best teams in the conference to a manageable score, the offense went AWOL. Forget the kick. The object is to score touchdowns. One side of the ball stepped up, but the other side lay down. It wasn't a complete game.

Until Romeo and the boys put together this elusive complete game, the rest of the season remains in question despite its marshmallow consistency. If we want to secure a chance for a wildcard spot, a complete game is the only way to get it.