Like most of the people I know, I watched the trial of Casey Anthony with a mixture of horror and fascination. Of course, she was acquitted of all the major charges, based…as I understand it…on the lack of cold, hard evidence, and I tend to agree. The prosecution failed to prove a crime had been committed, but I haven’t been able to shed the raw, empty feeling that somehow, something went WRONG here.
People are quickly making signs and pouring into Orlando to voice their objection, and when interviewed, they always say, “We want JUSTICE for Caylee.” I think we all do, just like I sometimes think the prosecution may have been so blinded by their desire to punish Casey they tended to overlook the fact that they were also our only hope of justice for a sweet little dead child. Maybe they DID reach too far. Maybe less than Murder 1 would have found more success.
Now, they’re celebrities, the attorneys…on BOTH SIDES, racing from one TV show to another…which I see as inevitable…part of the messy aftermath built into high-profile, media-enhanced trials like this, but somehow like a lot of people, I still feel like something TERRIBLE has gone unaddressed, something evil or possibly even insane. It’s that WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED part I find so slippery, so hard to keep a grip on…or to wrap my mind around.
A child died, and we don’t know why, or how, or even whether it was intentional or accidental…I’m pretty sure it wasn’t suicide…but instead of treating her with love and respect, her little body was thrown into a swamp as food for scavengers. We do know WHEN she died…a month before ANYBODY brought in the authorities, and that point causes me the most discomfort. That “Bella Vita” lady was computer-savvy, and it wouldn’t be too hard to Google the internet and find out how long it might take for a decomposing body to lose ANY traceable path…particularly back to her.
And that’s another point I find confusing. I know on TV they keep saying CSI is fantasy…no REAL case is that neat or conclusive, but archaeologists were able to pinpoint the EXACT circumstances and nature of Tutankhamun’s death…THREE THOUSAND YEARS AGO. And they’re saying thirty days erased EVERYTHING? EVERYTHING? I find that a little hard to swallow. Maybe they should have had an archaeologist on their forensic staff, but they didn’t…so we have to examine the BEHAVIOR of those closest to the little girl when she died.
Who the hell sits on a dead child for a month…and WHY? Who the hell wraps it in plastic and dumps it into a swamp instead of notifying the authorities and calling a funeral home…and WHY? What the hell was going on? That WHY thing keeps getting in the way because it sure looks to me like SOMEBODY was working like hell on some sort of plan, and sure as hell, like that same somebody was trying to COVER something up. Notice how many times I used the word HELL? It’s my clumsy attempt at subliminal imprinting…because I believe that’s where this twisted sort of behavior oozes from. It sounds SO like him, God’s eternal adversary.
Satan be damned; let us crawl toward truth. To deny the validity of the verdict is also to deny the rule of law, our only REAL protection. We can’t jettison the best we have simply because we don’t agree with it, even though THIS TIME it left us with that awful feeling. That should be…and has been made stridently clear. We don’t like the way it all went down, but we ACCEPT it because we’re civilized and live in a country governed by law rather than morality, evil’s edge. Morality has given us the Spanish Inquisition, innocents at the stake, and the Salem witch trials; personally, I’ll take LAW anyday.
Face it; we’ll NEVER know what really happened. Who’s going to tell us? The mother who was convicted on four counts of lying? The parents who are either as much in the dark as we, or torn between the tragic choice of siding with their daughter or their granddaughter? No, this one’s going to remain a mystery, but don’t worry; there’ll be lots of theories…and even more conspiracy-buff and tell-all books to keep it alive in our collective memory forever.
The way I see it, civilization is layered. Up top, things are bright, clean, and shiny…and any minute a cartoon bluebird wrapped in melody might land on your shoulder. A delightful illusion, but moving deeper, things get darker…and murkier…and far harder to understand, and at the bottom, the darkest part where civilization’s underbelly rips apart over nothingness, we find the least comfort and reassurance…because there be demons…and insanity…and evil…and death…oh, yes, and lawers. Lawyers seem to THRIVE in that void, take to it like ducks to water, even though it’s COMPLETELY alien to the rest of us. I’ve never understood that difference.
The little girl didn’t just get up one morning and decide to die. Something or somebody killed her, and whoever knows what went down isn’t ABOUT to tell us, which leaves the rest of us tormented, confused, outraged, powerless…and increasingly ANGRY. I understand that anger because I feel it, too, and HATE the thought that I can do nothing to change what happened, what’s going on, or what’s likely to happen from here. We bluebird people, it turns out, while good, noble, and loving, aren’t really up to the challenge of facing true evil, DEMONIC evil. We live happily and quietly most of the time and when we confront it, haven’t the slightest idea what we should ACTUALLY do.
It’s incredibly frustrating, but to tell the truth, I don’t believe we can do ANYTHING. It’s gone much too far beyond our capacity to modify. I don’t know what the rest of you are thinking, but I’ve decided the only course I have left is to leave it to God. He’s good at this sort of thing, and I trust Him, always have…my Rock when my back is up against the wall. Who knows what else might be in that blackness? Evil, certainly…and insanity, and peversion, and manipulative court procedure, and lawyers, and sociopathic thinking, and irresponsible press, and all the rest of Pandora’s foul escapees.
It’s dangerous down there where the belly meets the void, no place for normal human beings with feelings…and fears, and personally, I believe God is the only one who can really deal with it, far better at battling demons than I could EVER be. So, I’ve decided to leave it to Him. He’ll know what to do…and while He’s working all this out, I’m planning to get on with the rest of my life. As a Christian, that thought gives me comfort, but I feel sorry for the athiests out there. I guess they’ll just have to stay pissed…and make signs…and yell forever. I think my way’s better.

I’m sure you know it; I’ve told you before. I grew up in St. Martinville, an incredibly tiny South Louisiana town…a dot…on any map anywhere…including GPS and other high-tech stuff, but I’m glad I did. For me at least, that little dot was crammed to overflowing with wonders and life-changing experiences. I tend to feel sorry for kids growing up in cities…when I see them in movies or when we’re traveling. Life seens so terribly complicated for them…and not nearly as peaceful as our tree-lined streets, our quaint old homes, our history, and our quiet sidewalks where everybody knew everybody else.
Of course, when I was growing up, sometimes that was a problem. If you were misbehaving ANYWHERE in town, the nearest adult corrected you, and when you got home, there was hell to pay. And then, there was the “children should be seen and not heard” philosophy, to which every mother and father devoutly adhered. Well familiar with it, when visitors came, we said hello then VANISHED, but it became an insurmountable problem whenever we went to visit as a family because we had no place to escape to.
Not only that, if it was winter, mom always chose to put us boys in WOOL suits, itchy, scratchy, HORRIBLE wool suits, complete with white shirts and ties. The girls always had soft, pretty, non-itchy stuff, but not us. We didn’t mind the shirts and ties all that much, but the wool was UNBEARABLE! Of course, the people we went to visit always had the temperature set at broiling, which sort of slowly cooked us. We weren’t ALLOWED to sweat, but I got to tell you; it wasn’t easy. For a long time I chose to believe it was a form of torture my parents had devised…particularly when I noticed dad didn’t have one wool suit to his name.
When I left home, I swore I would NEVER wear wool again. I had outgrown my old horror and bought a spiffy tan linen suit for summer, but one Christmas mom and dad gave my brother and me very special presents…more WOOL SUITS…mine was dark green…GREEN…would you believe? My plan had been to wear my light suit for summer stuff, and jeans, thick shirts, boots, and jackets in the winter. I knew I wasn’t going to be invited anywhere fussy, so people could either take me the way I was…or never invite me again. I was resolute.
But it turned out I had to wear it one time…ONE TIME! Forced to attend a university function in the middle of winter…and wear a suit, I had no other option, and it was exactly as I remembered: itchy, scratchy, miserable, and suffocating once I came in from the cold. Somehow, my parents never acknowledged the existance of central heating…EVER…even though they had it at home, and I began to rethink the TORTURE scenario. I have no idea where that green suit is today…lost somewhere along the line, I guess…but TOTALLY unmourned.

Another memory of my life in St. Martinville has to be the Boy Scouts. I made friends in that organization I’ve cherished ever since and had some truly spectacular adventures. Ours was one of the most gung-ho scoutmasters in the universe, and I can’t help remembering one PARTICULAR weekend campout. It started out well enough…even though the weather seemed a bit iffy. By that point, we devoutly trusted our dominant leader…if he said everything was going to be OK, we gleefully accepted it. We were BOYS…what else can I say?
Anyway, we set our campsite up in perfect little squares…four tents each, just like he wanted, but when I started digging our fire pit, it began to rain. My tentmate, Richard, and I retreated into our tent, but then it also began to blow…REALLY HARD. Pretty soon, it became a pattern…a hard blow, then yells as tents came flying up off the ground. Richard and I laughed and watched the tumult…until OUR tent began to rise up around our knees and tent-pegs began to pop.
Ignoring our tent flying up into the treetops and points beyond, we retreated to our scoutmaster’s INCREDIBLY reinforced area, a tarp tightly hung between four trees with a campstove, a lantern, a cot, and a flapping sleeping bag desperately trying to join the tents above. “Don’t worry, Boys, it’ll blow over,” he said. BLOW OVER? WHEN? By now we could see the trees bending into at least sixty-degree arcs. “Want some cocoa?” he asked. “It’ll blow over.”
We said no and huddled together in the wind and sideways rain until frantic parents roared in to rescue us. “IT’S A HURRICANE,” they yelled. “It’s been on TV for three days! What the hell are you doing out here?” A good question, I must admit. As boys, of course, we NEVER watched weather stuff on TV, and I began to realize our scoutmaster didn’t either. We gathered up whatever belongings hadn’t blown off and rode back to town in comfort and safety, but seven tents were never recovered. The way I figure it, they wound up somewhere around Alexandria and are probably now part of a different scout troop.
I was mad at the scoutmaster for a long time after that, and WHENEVER we went camping, I watched the weather news for days before…but that was our one and only hurricane. I DO remember camping in Catahoula near the levee defining the Atchafalaya Basin. Usually late at night before we went to sleep, he always INSISTED we take a hike along the levee…but never on the road at the top…instead through grass near the water. Sometimes we sang, striding along OBLIVIOUS to the danger surrounding us.
Today, not for love or money would I walk down there during the day, much less at night. How none of us were ever bitten by a cottonmouth is a mystery I will contemplate for the rest of my life, but I gotta admit. It was FUN! God protects fools and drunks, I guess. In time, I grew up…by then a Star Scout. When I quit, they kept telling me I should go on and make Eagle, but to tell the truth, I saw it all as a BOY’S thing…and I was on the threshold of manhood…so I said no.
When I left home for good, I didn’t realize I was leaving so much behind; it took me maybe ten years to understand, but by then I lived in New Orleans, with its charm, history, excitement, and the allure of sophistocated and beautiful women. One Mardi Gras at an uncharactistically horrid party I met my lady. Bored as I was, as any NORMAL human being would have been, I saw her standing there…also bored…but GORGEOUS and sophistocated as hell, and I knew God had decided to smile on me that evening. I can still remember how easily she snatched a dubloon out of the air one night at a parade…while deep down she could also be comfortable in so tiny a place as St. Martinville…when we visited…which, to tell the truth, wasn’t all that often.
I know a lot of people consider growing up in a town like St. Martinville stultifying, but in reality it was LIBERATING, in an unexpected, frustrating, sometimes frightening kind of way. When things happened in those days, they felt more like ADVENTURES…and became experiences I’ve treasured ever since. Never actually harmed, never truly left vulnerable, I was STIMULATED and prodded to new and more glorious adventures. When my lady and I had lunch with Richard a few months ago, we all laughed about those days and understood how good they were…unbelievably unorthodox, but good.
He died recently, our old scoutmaster. Of course, I went to his wake to honor him, just like I’ve been to a lot of wakes and funerals for people who meant something special to me when I was growning up, but like dad, our scoutmaster always stands out. Neither EVER stopped pushing me on or seemed to care the tiniest bit how difficult what they were suggesting might be, and I thank them for it. It wound up wonderful. I KNOW dad loved me and was always trying to make my life better, but I have NO IDEA what my scoutmaster thought.
Maybe he was just a crazy son-of-a bitch…or possibly only a rare, joyful spirit who didn’t give a crap about weather reports on TV…or anything else. Sleep well, both of you. The way I see it, you’ve earned it, and I’ll never stop thanking either of you. When I was young, I didn’t really realize it, but now I know. Growing up in a small town wasn’t the least bit dull…or boring…or limiting…or even safe…but formative…and WONDERFUL!
So, I say thank God…for America and her small towns…and the incredible experiences they offer so freely…even if you don’t understand what the hell’s going on at the time. By the way, I STILL watch the weather news every night…even though my lady doesn’t really have the slightest idea why I’m doing it so intently.

Guys, I’m THRILLED about how many of you like my blog, but I have more than 3000 comments right now…and that’s too many. I’m sorry, but I have to thin them out a bit. Right now, my plan is to keep about 1000, and if I delete you, I sincerely apologize. If it means a lot to you, comment again, but we ALWAYS have to remember people who don’t have a ton of memory on their devices…and they deserve a chance, too. AC

I subscribe to the Teche News, a truly enjoyable weekly newspaper from St. Martinville, where I grew up, and this week there was an amazingly interesting letter to the editor in it, complete with graphs. The author, M. L. Broussard, pointed out that these periods of global warming are cyclical, with rapid rises and slower falls, as demonstrated in Antarctic and Greenland ice cores. People used those same ice cores to measure CO2 levels in tiny bubbles trapped inside the ice, giving us a good idea of past warming periods…and greenhouse gases.
The interesting thing is that rising CO2 levels FOLLOWED global warming periods by more than two hundred years…some calculate about a thousand, and his conclusion is that the warming is cyclical and unrelated to that much maligned gas. You see, when it gets hot and the oceans heat up, they release CO2 because it’s much less soluble in warming sea water. That scenario makes sense to me, but the last time Earth warmed, there were a LOT fewer people…and NO internal combustion engines. SURELY, they add to the problem, maybe not the primary cause, but at least an aggravant.
Up to then, I thought it was all CO2, but these concepts have broadened my perspective. I still firmly believe we should try to produce less of it, even if it’s only to MITIGATE the extent and duration of global warming, which I suspect is based on the sun’s activity or some other cosmic factor, but to assume we CAUSED it all may be taking a little too much credit. Earth’s climate history has been one of endless swings, from warm and lush to frigid and spare, tropical alternating with ice ages, but we should really think about what we KNOW about some of those warm periods. That’s the part I’m stuck on…and those poor dinosaurs.
They lived in one of the tropical, warm periods and were most likely done in by an asteroid hitting what is now the Yucatan, Chicxulub. That’s all very interesting, but I can’t help thinking about the central part of North America, what is today the great plains. They were UNDERWATER in what’s always described as a shallow…but vast…inland sea in those days, at least partly the reason they’re so fertile today.
Think about it…water all the way from the Gulf of Mexico, which was a much larger ocean then, to Canada. God knows how many people live on land that was sea floor when dinosaurs did their thing, and what about costal cities? All of ours would be underwater, including New York City…yes, it’s a costal city, too. Of course, the rise would be gradual, and at first, I bet people put up one humongous battle to keep the salt water out. But in the end, people now enjoying our seashores will have to move inland…or drown.
You see, whether this is cyclical and part of nature’s pattern or man-made…or both, it pretty much looks like it’s ACTUALLY happening. I think the tree-huggers, among which I number myself, are wrong, and this is actually part of a pattern. True, we may be aggravating it, accellerating it, as it were, but I believe even if we didn’t produce ONE MOLECULE of CO2, it would still keep on happening. It’s where we are on the geologic curve of climate history that’s the real thorn in our collective paw.

Mr. Broussard made another interesting point. He thinks WATER VAPOR is the ultimate greenhouse gas, not CO2, and he used a sort of thought experiment to make his point…deserts. Desert days are, of course, hellishly hot, but the nights are really COLD. I remember that first-hand from my military time in El Paso; it was FREEZING at night. Why? If CO2 is the demon it’s been made out to be, nights should be warm in desert areas because the concentration doesn’t change at night. We should all be cloaked in our immense greenhouse, still sweating.
But we’re not, and the author is right; the only possible variable you can point to is water vapor, which is almost non-existent in desert areas. The sun warms the place up during the day, and at night, with no warming sun and no water vapor to wrap us in warmth, the temperature plummets…while the CO2 level doesn’t change a whit from night to day. I’m not saying it doesn’t participate; I’m saying…to me, at least…it just doesn’t seem like the major player we’ve been led to believe it is.
The hardest thing in life is dealing with a situation over which you have NO CONTROL…powerless to change what’s going on. I know; believe me…been there lots of times myself when I practiced medicine…incredibly frustrating, but the funny thing is you don’t just stand there and say, “Oh, my God! I can’t do ANYTHING!” Instead, you work your ass off, trying one thing after another, innovating, thinking outside the box, expending every ounce of energy you possess. It’s a DO SOMETHING moment.
At times like those, a lot of people IGNORE the consuming problem, focusing instead on something they actually CAN change…even if it’s irrelevant, and to be honest, I think a lot of that’s going on these days in global warming discussions and projected doomsday scenarios. I don’t laugh at those people…like I said…been there too often myself to do anything that vacuuous. I listen and sometimes even go along with them, particularly if what they’re proposing seems reasonable, and that’s pretty much how I feel about our “carbon footprint.”
You gotta understand. To me living in a Cajun cabin with a garden out back, a couple of cows, a chicken coop, a trusty dog, a good woman, a stone hearth, natural ventilation, candles at night, and maybe gumbo once a week made with chickens you’re raised is just about as close to Heaven as you could get…but I know it’s completely impossible. This Cajun lives in the twenty-first century and sees his dream existance only in museums or crumbling in two-hundred year old houses in out-of-the-way places on seldom traveled dirt roads. I’ve GOT to face this…no other choice, so I’m doing it.
Reducing emissions that HELP the sun and Mother Earth in their clock-like cycle of warming and cooling is a GOOD IDEA, no matter how you look at it, but in my heart, I think we’re only chipping away at a tiny part of what’s trying to consume us. Cosmic forces are going to have their way because NONE of us is big enough to deter any of them. I know it makes us feel better to try, so I say, “Go for it”…but I’m afraid we’re only whistling past the graveyard this time.
If Mr. Broussard is right…and we’ll never know, will we? We’ll all be dead and buried LONG before the answer is known. Actually, I don’t plan to be buried but incinerated and scattered somewhere so plants can use me; I believe in recycling…but if he’s right, our world is about to change incredibly…whatever we do. The oceans will rise, and maybe…just maybe…a new sea will begin to form over Iowa, Nebraska, and all points between Houston and the high ground in Canada.
The weather will become much more capricious and deadly…actually, I think we’re ALREADY seeing that…and summers hotter…sound familiar?…and winters colder. It’s all tied up in haloclines. Google it if you’re interested, or check the links page. Things are going to change, and while we’re ENDLESSLY trying to reduce our carbon emissions, we better start planning where we’re going to put all those people sloshing in from the heartland…and our seashores.
The way I see it, we have three warring camps, geologists and oil people on one side discounting the contribution of CO2, environmentalists on another passionately devoted to the concept, and naysayers on still another denying that anything at all is happening. I don’t think we can do anything about the third group until they realize they’re wrong, but shouldn’t the others be allies rather than adversaries, working together instead of calling each other names? It’s time for us to look at this problem comprehensively, whatever the driving engine of global warming.
The problem is HUGE, and under way now, as I see it; there HAS to be a spot for everyone in figuring out what’s going on and hopefully, dealing with it successfully. Yelling at one another and choosing sides is pointless. Both groups make sense…and maybe the reality is some where in between, as it usually is in situations like this. I think it’s time to shave a little off our egos, pool our resources, hunker down, and work together like enlightened human beings. All you climate guys on both sides are smart; we know that, but fighting with each other while our world bakes and starts to drown is STUPID!
We don’t need stupid. We have too much of that already…most of it in Washington.

Let me see if I have this straight. We’re fighting a war to free people tenaciously living in the 13th century, people governed by tribal law and a Medieval social code…who gain most of their income from MARIJUANA and HEROIN, and we think somehow they’re going to EMBRACE democracy? WHO SAYS? Ten years ago if I had written stuff like this in a novel, it would have been INSTANTLY dismissed as too far-fetched to believe.
Yet, there we are, WASTING the promise of our youth, banging away, hoping, and bringing home coffins draped in Old Glory to curiously uncomfortable families and citizens. I’ve heard it said before. We should send our OLD GUYS to fight, not the kids, not those with unfulfilled lives. That way, wars would be a lot shorter and a lot better thought out…with a lot better reasons for starting them in the first place.
Got a flash for you “geniuses” in Washington…an oxymoron by anybody’s standard. Democracy grows from the hearts and minds of men who earnestly yearn for a better life, not people like this who are only looking for more efficient pesticides capable of doubling their crop of illicit drugs. How do you deal with a NATION in which the established industry is CRIMINAL at best? This time we’re in league with drug dealers, not the loftiest spot in the world.
We go in and build schools…and they kill us., establish hospitals…and they kill us, provide the tools for equality and hope…and they kill us, ask them to trust us and have faith in democracy…and they kill us. Anybody else notice a pattern here? Washington certainly hasn’t. THEY DON’T LIKE US…and want us the hell out of there…probably because it screws up their crops. If you can find somebody in the modern world who actually believes he’s living in the twelve hundreds, listen to him; he’ll tell you what it’s all about, but it’s a long shot.
Thanks to the Russians and our actions in the past, they have weapons now, but if even they didn’t, they’d be throwing rocks and spears, defending their primitive turf every which way they could. Conquering people who don’t share a modern concept isn’t easy, maybe not even possible because they’re unmoved by thoughts of improvement, perfectly happy where they are…and something else. They’re not ONE idiology or philosophy we can penetrate or reason them out of. They’re diverse; Medieval cultures are like that, itty bitty subcultures all over the place…but resolutely united against ANYONE who comes by planning to mess with them.
It’s like kicking a nest of water moccasins open. You can try to reason with them all you like…if you’re really that stupid, but the only SANE thing is to get the hell out of there…and FAST! Maybe they didn’t know it was a den of vipers when our “visionaries” decided to barge in, but a few minutes reading history could have told them what they were thinking about was worse than dumb. It was unbelievable…and that’s an all-time low, even for Washington.

OK…Civilization 101…here goes…looks to me like those people on the Potomac need it. First of all, not EVERYBODY is civilized, the way you seem to think. Instead of a uniform blanket of intelligence and good will embracing the planet, we have people at many points along the curve…all the way from intelligent, well-informed, and kind to ELEMENTAL, fiercely tribal, violent, and immovable. I know it’s in vogue right now to consider everybody to be just like us…only deprived, but you gotta know; some of them are intransigent, BAD mothers, and THOSE are the ones we’ve chosen to engage in a war.
I know it’s all wrapped up in Pakistan wanting to blow up India and India wanting to blow up Pakistan, but Guys, be real. How much can we defuse that situation by bleeding to death in Afghanistan? Truth is, you could bring the Afghans to a grinding halt by burning all their cherished Mary Jane plants and poppies from the air…but you won’t…and I have NO IDEA why. Hit them in their pocketbooks, I say; make it hurt, and they’ll CRAWL to the negotiating table. I know you guys in Washington don’t think like this…BUT THEY DO!
God, we’re in trouble, overflowing with “feel good” politicians who haven’t the slightest nubbin of an idea about what’s REALLY going on. While our infrastructure crumbles and our schools stagnate, those despicable vote-getters keep playing chess with an adversary still stuck on BACKGAMMON and the thirteenth century. If you don’t have the balls to deal decisively in Afghanistan, QUIT GETTING OUR YOUNG MEN KILLED and get our ass out of there…not a few thousand here and there…ALL OF THEM! We’re gonna need those guys to help put our fractured country back together.
You can’t be all things to all people. Deal with your own back yard before you even think about going five thousand miles to make OTHER people’s lives better. Just now, our lives are pretty crappy, our country fragmenting, and the worst part is it seems to us you haven’t even noticed. THINK ABOUT US! Where the hell do you think those dollars you’re spending come from? Oh, I forgot; you’re printing a lot of it out of thin air…inviting inflation…another brilliant idea. Your fantasies are grandiose…but built on illusions and BORROWED MONEY!
One of the most chilling moments I’ve ever experienced was in the Place de la Concorde in Paris, the site of Madame la Guillotine during the French Revolution. My epiphany transformed me when I thought about the lives so mercilessly cut off in that horrible place. Nowadays, you can’t smell the blood there, but it is…between the cobblestones, deep into the soil…and seared into France’s cultural memory. Standing near the Brest statue, exactly where the guillotine was in those days, I kept asking myself, “Why was it so savage?” That’s the only word I could think of, savage, and I kept wondering how the hell it got that far…until it came to me.
NOBODY WAS LISTENING. NOBODY CARED. Take notice, you eminently fallible, stupid politicians. We don’t like what you’re doing. These days we’re CIVILIZED and don’t have guillotines, so you don’t have to worry about your necks…but we DO have ballot boxes. For God’s sake, listen…listen…LISTEN!…and change course because there’s thunder and lightning in the failure to do so. Right now, my thought is to throw them all out, sweep those sullied marble halls clean in the next few elections. A new crop of politicians couldn’t possibly be as horrible as the ones we have now. I know it’s another long shot, but I’m beginning to think it might be worth a try.

Baxter

Angel has a buddy, but just now it looks like she considers him a curse…endlessly chasing her and occasionally clamping onto her tail. Of course, he’s adorable; all Shih Tzus are, but you got to get through the “puppy stage” before you really understand what you have on your hands…the chewy, obnoxious, hypomanic, “I’m the boss” stage.
We got him a “Babble Ball”, and he loved it…until he lost it SOMEWHERE in the house; we STILL haven’t found it. In desperation, I got a couple more off the internet, and sure enough, he’s losing them, too…but not as successfully this time. He’s easy to forgive. Four months old, he somehow makes his wishes known. Yesterday when I was reading the paper, my morning ritual with a cold Starbuck’s Frappuccino…it’s HOT here…okay?…I felt a gentle tap on my leg and discovered him sitting there wagging his tail, begging me to take him up into my lap.
Actually, that’s usually Angel’s spot, but I took him up anyway, and you know what? She didn’t seem to mind. Angel’s six now and lost her ovaries YEARS ago, but somehow pack memories have kicked in. She tolerates him, even enjoys playing with him until at last she decides she’s had enough…and escapes to the computer room, my ultimate sanctuary, my man-space, my testosterone haven…inaccessible to Baxter.
Whenever he can slip past the obstacles we put up to keep him out, he always goes to the mirror. We have a kind of dark hall leading to the computer room, so we decided to put in a floor-to-ceiling mirror to light things up…and it has. But it turns out Baxter thinks there’s another little dog trapped in there behind the glass. Whenever he sneaks in, he always runs to it, tail wagging, trying to reassure his imprisoned little friend he isn’t alone.
This all started when we tried to help my cousin buy a dog. She got a beautiful one from a breeder, Boudreaux, a gorgeous Shih Tzu, but my lady sort of fell in love with the alternate brought along to allow a choice. I urged her to buy him at the time, but she…of course…had to think about it, and when she decided, the other little black-faced dog had already been sold.
She was devastated, but the breeder said she had another dog, somewhat smaller but with the same coloring…and a LITTLE more active. LITTLE? She had to be kidding. He’s a one-dog hurricane! Right now we have AT LEAST ten toys in the den, the legacy of past dogs but all of them now Baxter’s and fiercely defended. Angel doesn’t seem to mind; she gave up playing with toys a long time ago, and nowadays much prefers our quiet walks in the evening.

After a Hard Afternoon's Play

She knows he’ll calm down someday, but to tell the truth, when it happens, I’m going to miss that little tornado. OH , MY GOD! My lady just brought him into Angel’s and my PRIVATE sanctuary. Just now she’s desperately trying to get him out, but he’s resisting, equally desperately…like any good Shih Tzu would. It may take me a while to reassure Angel, but to tell the truth, she seems much more amused than threatened. I TOLD you Angel was a cool dog!
Love is rare in this world…and diminishing by the second, and personally, I believe GOD sent us dogs to show us just how we should do it, a few growls, occasional bared teeth, then warm cuddles and sloppy kisses…love from a dog’s perspective. I feel sorry for people who don’t believe in God; they’re missing a lot. They probably don’t believe in dogs either.

Don't worry, Little Buddy, I'll get you out somehow.

I read a piece in a scholarly journal the other day, offering  the concept that EVERYTHING is genetic and predetermined: love, kindness, faith, intuition, even hope. Sound familiar? Let it all go…WE’RE MACHINES…no longer responsible, no longer bound by higher law…or anything like personal responsiblilty. To me, it seems like they actually believe it, that all life and existance is automatic, all mistakes understandable, everything locked into a genetic spiral beyond our control. NOBODY IS GUILTY OF ANYTHING. Like I said…sound familiar?
Without guilt, there can be no reward for being good, and without goodness, there can be no God. And THAT’S their goal; destroy the concept of Divinity. These are some really screwed-up people. I can’t help wondering what about God scares them so much, but I think I’m beginning to understand. God messes up their egocentric concept. If there really is a God, He’s bigger, smarter, more powerful and BETTER than we can ever be. Most of us are comfortable with the idea, but not THEM. They can’t allow for any being superior to themselves; it’s too scary that way.  You know, if He’s REAL, they could have ticked Him off, and biblically at least, He can do BOATLOADS if He decides to retaliate.
I think they’re driven by the “dumbing down” principle; if you happen to be dumb, you can’t gain advantage until everybody else is DUMBER than you are, so of course, in your system you naturally come to dumb conclusions. What else would you expect from such perverted concepts?  The last time the planet heard those ideas, they were packaged in propaganda from the Nazi Third Reich.  For the record, Guys, people are not programmed biological devices.  We’re HUMAN BEINGS, unique creatures of flesh, blood, hopes, fears, doubts, choices, and UNLIMITED potential; I think that’s the part those people hate most…potential. It suggests INTELLIGENCE…which they fear…because it pushes them even farther down…where they belong…in my opinion.  Humanity has come too far along the curve of evolution and history to accept anything so demeaning and dangerous.
When you try to explain motivations and actions, you have to be careful not to lose perspective.  Emerson said, “We MURDER to dissect,” and he was right. Tease experience apart and you wind up empty, lonely, confused, and unfulfilled. It’s like a symphony; don’t concentrate on the notes…lose yourself in the wonder of the music, and abandoning the quest for cosmic truth at this point…for my lady and me at least…that music is a fluffy, endlessly active little being with equally active little teeth…and attitude.
I can’t imagine what those benighted people would think about a little dog. If WE’RE machines, he’s probably a slug to them, or maybe more like a wind-up toy, but they’re wrong; even HE has potential. I’ve seen it too many times, and lying just beside my chair is the best example I can think of…Angel. Intelligent, clever, and ENORMOUSLY empathetic, she chooses to put most of it on her back burner, instead concentrating on devotion. She knows when I’m troubled, like when my friend died recently, when I’m tired, or even when I’m hungry.
Another thing…she accepts the concept of responsibility, even though neither SHE nor WE are supposed to possess that quality according to the article. She knows what we expect from her and for years now hasn’t ONCE disappointed us; it’s exactly the opposite. She does MORE than we expect, and she doesn’t do it for praise; she does it because she KNOWS what she has to do for the people she loves. I think those article guys should get a dog…might straighten them out a little.
I know in time Baxter will settle down and be more like Angel, obedient, thoughtful, and loving, but just now I’m having a ball watching a new personality evolve….even if it’s only in a canine and an occasional pain in the ass for Angel. You MECHANICS have fun…if you know how to…if it’s part of your predetermination theory, I mean, but the world is FAR more wonderful than you could possibly imagine. Hope and joy come in many unlikely and unexpected forms…but you don’t look for joy, do you? You look for equations, numbers, and statistical analysis…ANYTHING to support your conceits.
You smug idiots; you’ve missed the whole point of being alive! I know you don’t want God to exist…like you could possibly change cosmic reality. He doesn’t fit your analyses, but believe me, He EXISTS! I was a physician FAR too long to believe otherwise, saw far too many things I couldn’t explain any other way. The funny thing is He seems to love you anyhow, and you should give THAT a little thought. Love is rare, and Divine love is special. I know that, and I’m pretty sure our dogs know it, too. It’s YOU GUYS who are on the outside looking in…tent pissers…all of you.
It’s a waste of time to fight the stupidity principle…anyway, I don’t want to.  I have far more enjoyable things to do…like walking Angel when the light starts dimming, sitting with her watching the stars slowly pop out, then coming in to enjoy a little whirlwind called Baxter before I finally surrender consciousness and go to sleep…with my dog lying on the floor beneath my head. We know who we are, what we want, and what it all MEANS.  Your concept is just plain silly, and I feel sorry for you.  You’re missing so much of the human experience.

I REFUSE to put a picture of Weiner on this blog. There are too many of him on the internet already.

I see he finally fessed up.  Those god-awful, dreary, gray drawers were his after all, and the erection…if it wasn’t a rolled-up sock tucked in for glamor, but he wasn’t hacked, like any hacker would do anything that dumb.  He did it…as if we didn’t already know…because it turns out he’s a terrible liar, not a bad thing for Washington, but also a little stupid, unfortunately the norm up there. We already knew that, too, but it brings up two questions:  has congress morphed into a joke…and what the hell was he thinking?
First of all, Congressman, it isn’t COOL! Do you REALLY believe that’s how you turn girls on? I got a flash for you…it didn’t! She turned your ass in almost as soon as she got the email, and I can assure you that’s pretty much what would happen to any idiot who believes in such infantile foolishness. Since you don’t seem to have a clue, I’ll share what I’ve learned with you. Women respond to kindness, sincerity, and RESPECT. They’re soft creatures, beautiful and endearing, but hung on a framework of STEEL.
Hold the door open for them, shelter them under the biggest part of your umbrella, and treasure their company, because they don’t do ANYTHING without thinking it through. The fact that they’re with you at all means they like you and want to learn more about you. With men and dogs it’s all about sex, but with women it’s all about relationships, possibilities, and FEELINGS. Crass exibitionism is MILES from where their minds are. Sorry to make this so basic, but it seems to me you haven’t grasped the essentials.
They say we give our dogs affection now and then whenever we have nothing better to do, and they respond by giving us absolutely EVERYTHING they possibly can. Women aren’t like that, instead insisting on a reciprocal partnership before they share their love, and if they realize you’re playing games or being insincere, you can kiss any hopes you have for fulfillment goodbye. Women are no-nonsense people…and I for one wouldn’t have it any other way.
A lot of men make the mistake of trying to be the BOSS in a relationship, you know, he who must be obeyed, and women always drop them like hot potatoes, whether they’re married to them or not. That bullshit ended when Queen Victoria died…or haven’t you heard? Women today have important jobs, are as smart as men and frequently better educated, multitask far better than we do, and still find time to love and share a life with those they find and appreciate in the confusing whirlpool of modern living.
Pictures of your drawers just don’t fit in, no matter how endowed you are, but you seem to think otherwise. So, take up your club, climb out of your cave, bash some poor female in the head, and drag her back to be your woman, but I warn you. The police won’t be far behind. Cavemen didn’t have to worry about such things, BUT WE’RE NOT CAVEMEN! We got cops…bless ‘em…and when I see the stuff you’ve been doing, I’m even more grateful for law enforcement in our society.
You’re not only a discredit to congress, something I didn’t think possible in today’s sleazy political culture, you’re a discredit to MASCULINITY.  I wish there were a third sex so we could put you there and forget about you, but there’s not…so all we can do is mark you, avoid you, and hopefully not vote for you again. The rest of us real men are PISSED, and just so you know, I’ll spell it out for you. “Sexting” is not only juvenile and purile, it’s STERILE, a dead end, and DISASTER to any quest for power and influence. That clear enough?
Next time…if there IS a next time, let your brain do the thinking…not your Johnson. God gave you both; you just got a little screwed up about which to listen to, but I gotta tell you. Your penis is not a genius; rely on its advice and you’re back in the cave. You seem to be married to a nice lady, for whom I feel nothing but sorrow. I have no idea what she’s going to make of all this, but be assured, the rest of us have already made up our minds. You’re a LOSER, Congressman Weiner. Personally, I think she’s better off without you…but that’s her call.
When I showed this to my lady before publishing, she said, “They named him right…Anthony Weenie.”   I’ve said it before.  Just when you begin wondering what you’ll write about next, the evening news rescues you.  Goodnight all, and goodnight, Congressman Weenie…you slappy-assed, deceitful moron.

We sit on a soggy rock floating on an ocean of roiling magma, endlessly circling an aging star in a beautiful galaxy we can only see on really dark nights, and sometimes it feels a little lonely…but for me never more than tonight, mostly because I lost a very special friend last week, an older gentleman, somebody I loved, revered, and treasured deep down where nobody else could see. My lady loved him, too. I could see it in her tears when she heard the news…your eyes always betray you.
He was one of those guys you meet only once or twice in a lifetime, a person you feel like you’ve known all your life, even the first time you meet him, friendly, encompassing, willing to share his wisdom, and you instinctively KNOW he would do anything for you…which he frequently did for me. If you were his friend, there were NO limits, and I guess that means everybody, because as far as I know he didn’t have an enemy in the world.
He died suddenly, like death isn’t always sudden, but I’m grateful…no warning, no suffering, no lingering illness…just a swift and conlusive end to a life well lived, not at all like my father’s death. Dad took six years before it was all over, and it was torture for his friends and family, watching him slowly fall apart. He always tried to make the best of it, but deep inside, I knew he was terrified when he wasn’t too miserable to think about anything else.
My friend didn’t have time to say goodbye, a small price to pay for a death in dignity without suffering or terror. Anyway, all of us knew how he felt; he had shown us when he could, so it wasn’t really all that important any more. He lived his life as brilliantly, as incandescently, as well as anyone could, and when it was done, he left…quietly, like a late spring breeze…so like him.
I never thought about him dying; you know how it is, but if I had, I would have hoped for exactly this, serenety, peace, love, and legions of mourners. He deserved it. His family will miss him. Hell, I’ll miss him like crazy, but not only because he was my friend. Somewhat formal, he nonetheless knew just how to weave himself into lives in a way that spoke only of love and devotion. You did it well, my friend, better than almost anybody I can think of.
When I went to the funeral home today It was a shock because I suddenly realized how small he actually was physically, short, wizened, greying, and thin…a dead little old man, but that wasn’t really him. Alive, he was a giant, and that’s how I choose to remember him…soaring up into the clouds. I’m sure he had trials, frustrations, and disappointments like we all do, but I never saw any of it. All I ever saw was a friend, a good friend I loved and thanked God for.
You’re up there now, my friend, in the company of so many I love, so save me a place. I have no idea when my end will come, or how, but it reassures me to know there’s some place for my soul to go to, a friendly place, a peaceful place, a place my loved ones have paved the way for before me. I can almost smell the gumbo up there. My friend loved gumbo. I have no idea how many gumbos he’ll make before I see him again, but I’m sure there’ll be one on the stove when I finally get there. That’s the way he was, a friend for eternity.
My lady says a lot of you are only going to say I’m whining, but I’m hoping she’s wrong.  You critics are out there…I know; I’ve read your comments.  The internet’s a tricky thing, but I choose to believe most of you won’t be too harsh, particularly when you realize how vulnerable I am just now.  I prefer to think a lot of you are honest to God, REAL human beings…and compassionate. Actually, I’m counting on it.  You’ll realize why I’m celebrating…in an empty, lonely, sad sort of way looking up at the Milky Way tonight when I walk Angel.

I’m really pleased to find so many of you interested in what’s going on inside the basin, and now I can give you a valid update. The Morganza Spillway was opened…about a quarter of it, determined by flow in the Mississippi. The Corps did it a little at a time to give people a chance to pack and move, as well as to povide wildlife time to react and get to higher ground…and they have, both the people and the drenched creatures in the swamp, my inarticulate friends.
For those of you who are so inclined, the water moccasins and alligators are fine, even though I’m not a big fan of either, but the deer, squirrels, racoons, and bears have had a rough time of it. I can’t help remembering a group of deer I saw on TV, swimming through the floodwaters with only noses and eyes above the roiling water and regrouping before bounding into dry forest. God, I hope most of them have done that. Deer react swiftly, but bears seem to take a while before deciding what they should do. A lot of them are swimming out of the floodwater and foraging in high ground perilously close to inhabited subdivisions.
Some are discovered high in trees, but many have been gorging on stuff in dumpsters and trash cans. The wildlife people are CONSTANTLY on the alert and capture those poor, confused black bears when they’re reported, moving them to safer, uninhabited territory, but I was distressed to learn they had also found a bear head and skin lying on the levee. Some bastard killed it and took the meat. Who the hell likes bear meat that much? The fact that he…or she…didn’t take the head and pelt only PROVES how uncaring and stupid the perpetrator was.
There has been ONE saving grace. This area has been in one of the severest droughts anyone has ever seen, and when the water surged in, the ground simply sucked a lot of it up, saving a lot of homes and cabins that would have been destroyed otherwise. And here I have to say a kind word about the Corps of Engineers. They were RIGHT about a lot of this, carefully balancing tremendous flow in the Mississippi while minimizing the damage and impact to areas they knew they were drowning.
The farmers in the basin have taken a TREMENDOUS hit. Their flooded fields won’t be productive for at least a year, and a lot of them didn’t have crop insurance. There are rumors swirling around that the feds are going to help them, but…you know…I’ll have to see it to believe it. Mostly, I consider it wishful thinking. We’ll see how it all plays out, but around here, corn, rice, and soybeans are going to cost a lot more.
Down here, we’re Cajuns…and we TAKE CARE of our own, even if they’re strangers NOBODY has ever seen before. This whole thing hasn’t been as violent and widespread as a hurricane, but the response has been very much the same. People are opening their homes to soggy, exhausted refugees, taking in their pets, and setting about planning a jambalaya, boiled crawfish, or a gumbo for them. It’s what we do; it’s who we are, and for my money, I wouldn’t even THINK about living anywhere else. Good people are rare, and by God, we got ‘em down here by the thousands!
Thank you, God, for sending us a test of our basic humanity. It has been a GENUINE pain in the ass…my word…You can strike me dead with thunder and lightning if You find it offensive, but it seems to me when You decide to test people, You give it Your best shot…and expect the same enthusiasm from us. Well, You did it, and we responded the best we could…like we always do. I hope You think we did well, and from my point of view, I believe we have. Now, it’s Your call. Goodnight, God; I’m done here.

Gotta go take some snake pictures. All I have right now is geese.

I wonder what it’s like tonight in the basin for those who stayed behind. The weather is surprisingly mild…and clear, what would otherwise be considered a beautiful evening, but…then…we can’t hear the sound of rushing water here in Lafayette. Oh, yes, some people chose not to leave the basin; they don’t believe what the people on television are saying, but Cajuns are PRACTICAL. ALL of them have boats at the ready should their reasoning prove false…as I fear it will.
I wonder if there are fireflies out there in the shadows. I haven’t seen massed fireflies for years, but even if they don’t show, I know a lot of other wildlife will be swimming in, deer, bears, nutria, armadillos, rats, and most importantly SNAKES. In south Louisiana we always know the moccasins are out there somewhere, but they seem to know when we’ve been hit, when we’re most vulnerable. That’s when they always choose to come in. People still tell stories about rivers of snakes after Hurricane Audrey.
And they’re BAD, completely unafraid of man, horribly tempered, and stubbornly persistent, unbelievably so. I remember one time when I was fishing with dad. We had caught a lot of fish, and before we left for home, I noticed a cottonmouth circling our boat, leasurely, almost peacefully swimming around…but he had a plan. After a few minutes, he slowly raised himself up onto the transom of the boat and tried to slither in.
I hit him with a paddle and he fell back into the water, but after a minute or so, there he was again, a flat, spear-shaped black head and flashing forked tongue easing up right next to the motor. He knew he would probably be whacked with the paddle again, but he also knew we had the fish he craved and we were afraid of him. He was right on all counts, and after a second paddle strike, we engaged the engine and roared away. I think the thing I hate most about water moccasins is how silent they are, and how cunning…and deadly.

I will...soon...I promise

I remember a time my lady and I visited a Renaissance man inside the basin, an intelligent, well read, extremely well educated man, something of a naturalist and an artist in his own right, and this day we were there to pick out some naturally colored cypress for a sideboard we were hoping he would build for us. I was walking through an old barn looking at different stands of wood when he said, “PLEASE, don’t disturb that snake down there. She just had babies…and she’s my friend.”
Babies? His FRIEND? About two yards away, I saw a moccasin set in her s-shape ready to strike. Generally, cottonmouths don’t coil like rattlesnakes, though they can; they kind of lie in a curvy spring before striking, and they can fly six feet or so at you, white mouths open and needle-like fangs glistening. “BABE!” I answered, “RUN! This guy’s CRAZY!” He eventually sold me some beautiful wood and built the sideboard we wanted, but he brought it to US. There was no way I was EVER going to go back there and get it.
He found the whole episode hilarious, but I still check the newspapers regularly to see if and when he finally gets bitten by one of his little pets. Maybe he was right; maybe it was SOMEWHAT domesticated, but those creeping out of the rising water are going to be SAVAGE and implacable, pissed to the max…and that makes for a really dangerous moccasin. Oh, yes, they get pissed…and they’re a lot more accurate at aiming than any human being I’ve ever seen.
Another time I was fishing in the basin with buddies, one of whom had set up a trot line the evening before…a long, thick string hung with baited hooks every few feet. The guy was DYING to see how much he had caught, and in the morning he convinced me to help him run the line. We were about half way down it, him at the front of the boat and me paddling at the rear fighting water lilies when he suddenly yelled, “BACK UP!”
“Why?” I asked. In answer, he raised the line revealing a huge water moccasin thrashing violently, tethered to the fish he had eaten by the hook inside it. He threw the line a good six feet onto the water lilies while I tried to clear the engine enough to start it. That’s when I learned about angry water moccasins and the s-shaped curve. The snake, lying on the water lilies, assumed it and struck…repeatedly. We saw the open mouth flash toward us only to be restrained by the line anchored in its gut.
It struck at least a half-dozen times before I got the motor free, gunned it, and jumped about fifteen feet…just as the snake finally broke the line and spashed down behind us…EXACTLY where we had been sitting. Clear of the lilies, I opened up and headed for our home camp. “My trot line!” he yelled. “Go back and get my trot line!” “No way,” I answered. “That snake’s PISSED. If we go back it’s going to be waiting for us!” And it was; we eventually left the trot line for somebody else to retrieve.
I’m quite sure those people who stayed behind would tell you danger is like cayenne pepper in a gumbo…makes it more memorable; they’re Cajuns, but this PARTICULAR time I think they’re wrong. The water is going to rise and engulf them, and when the snakes start fighting them for dry land, it won’t be long before we see a flotilla of boats edging through drowned trees and brush to whatever landing they can find, leaving the forest primeval, as Longfellow described it…and NEVER more primeval than it will be in a week or so.
In time, the water will recede, but water moccasins like to set up shop whenever they find a place they like, somewhere protected, a little confined and small. Considering the number of them displaced, it’s going to be a year or longer before those trying to rebuild stop finding them beneath boards and logs, in low cabinets, under mattresses, inside smelly vehicles, and lying in wait at the water’s edge, and you can bet your last penny they’re going to FIGHT for the space they’ve claimed.
Water moccasins are like that…NASTY suckers, almost always angry and very territorial. I usually have a “live and let live” mentality, but when it comes to those snakes, I make an exception…hateful creatures.