Fuckin'Fucked Up!

Marshae Jones isn’t an upstanding citizen, and Marshae Jones is probably just another loser from Alabama. She is a product of Alabama and its culture. She is the product of a society, nationally, that does not support equal rights for all citizens, equal justice for all citizens, or economic justice for all citizens. Add the factor of ten to that because it’s in Alabama, one of America’s shit hole states and you have the current controversy that Jones and Alabama and the nation are facing.

Marshae Jones was pregnant and worked at a fuel company when she and another coworker crossed paths in the parking lot of the Dollar General store. Of all the stupid things, these two bitches were fighting over a man (that’s fucked up). Jones allegedly started the fight, was winning the fight, and had pinned her coworker Ebony Jemison in the seat of her car (imagine how comical that looked, a five month pregnant woman fighting with another in the parking lot of Dollar General. Where’s Springer when y…

A Dangerous Country

I took Ben to Mexico City where we hung out with my friend for three days before flying off to Guatemala where we spent another five. He is 18 and this was his graduation present from last year. Ben had only left the United States once before and that was to Jamaica with his family to stay at an all inclusive resort.
He chose Guatemala. He chose it because he figured, as he told me later, that he would most likely go to Europe or Iceland on his own. Guatemala on the other hand was completely out of his comfort zone.
Quietly I worried. I worried about being robbed. I worried about being beat up or even kidnapped. I worried that my nephew whom I hardly knew would be harmed and that I would be incapable of protecting him. The US State Department suggested that we change our travel plans to Guatemala because of the insecurity.
I worried. And I finally mentioned my concerns to my partner who confided that he too was worried. This wasn’t like bringing Nate to Costa Rica or Natalie to Argentina…

More Dangerous Out of Uniform

He is rugged and handsome and hyper-masculine. He is the stuff of calendars and fantasies. He is the type of man that inspires young boys to become soldiers and Navy SEALs. He is the type of man women want to father their children. Men aspire to be like him. He is American; he is the American ideal of what a man should be; a GI Joe, American Hero. He is Edward Gallagher. He is Special Operations Chief Edward Gallagher of the U.S. Navy. And he is charged with murder.

Gallagher served in the elite of the elite, a battle hardened Navy Seal whose squad looked forward to being led by such a man. To them Gallagher could do no wrong. Before his deployment in 2017 to Iraq he had a custom-made knife and hatchet made by a former SEAL named Andrew Arrabito. They had served together. Hatchets have become the unofficial SEAL symbol. Gallagher texted Arrabito, “I’ll try and dig that knife or hatchet on someone’s skull!”

Even before his deployment in Iraq in 2017 Gallagher, who goes by “Blade” had a …

Ontario I Remember

My good friends in Ontario gave me a book from Home entitled, "150 Stories-Recits" published by the Office of the Lieutenant Governor of Ontario. I love this book, and I have added the 151 story.
In Northumberland County, there was a place called Mayfarm. It was magical, with rolling, stoney hills, woods and old barns. History hid in its hedgerows with every stone placed there by farmers long gone; between the rocky walls lived other residents of Mayfarm. It was where I fell in love with Ontario, and it was where I fell in love with Canada again and again.
I recall the austere beauty of the Ontario winter, where silvery skies turn snowy fields the same silvery grey. Horizon and sky indistinguishable from each other except for the charcoal branches of barren trees, like thread sewing earth and sky together. I remember bitterly crisp winter nights so brightly lit by the full moon and winter stars, and summer days so heavy under steamy, drowsy skies that it seemed only the moon h…

Witches Island and Burnt Offerings

It was on the banks of the Mississippi river, across the street from Grandpa and Grandma Schwab’s, down a steep, steep bank of sand and dirt, stinging nettles, gnats and mosquitoes, and big, tall, leafy trees that I saw Witches Island for the first time.

The grass was high and the bank along the river was cooled by shade and water. Grandma had sprayed us liberally with Off mosquito repellent. Immediately beside the bank the water was still. Not far from there though it looked fierce and swift. From where we stood, looking north, the river flowed southeast. And it was there, downstream, to the southeast, that the waters parted on either side of a point. “Look Grandpa! It looks like there’s an island over there.” one of us said. “Oh, that’s Witches Island down yonder.”

Are there witches? Is it scary? Is it safe? “Yes. I’ve been told. Yes. So I hear. I don’t know.” he answered. Grandpa was a storyteller, a weaver of tall tales. He was a legendary teller of legends. One day, when the river …

Eyes to the Sky

Late July, that's when we first became aware of it, the long light of summer. Rays of late evening sun promising fewer hotter days to come. In the evening the grass cooled, and the world around refreshed itself for a short time before night fall.

I made my way to the chicken coop, an old dilapidated construction of old church board and corrugated tin. It had been opened to the south to serve as a loafing barn; and in an effort to protect the animals after several "murders"  was reinforced with two interior cages. A plastic pool for bathing and drinking completed the estate known as Fort Francis and Snow White's Castle.

Each night I made my way to the coop just before the last rays of sun slipped behind the woods in the north west. From the west window of Fort Francis, looking south through the coop I saw Francis himself. Still. Looking upwards, his head tilted to the left. I took a few more steps; cautious and curious. Then I saw Cindy, Razor Beak, Mo'Kah, and Gray…

Hello Goodbye

On the night before I decided to leave you, I told you that I had no desire to ever leave. For eight years I cared for you, and I loved you as a cherished friend, and together we cared for our friends. They visited us. They shared their lives with us through friendship, nurturing and pain. They stayed, and they called our home their own. My love for you was eternal.

I never cheated on you, and you never offered me more than your beauty, your history, your story, your tenderness in an ever changing world. You, my hearth, my demanding and giving place to call Home.

Life, they say, is what happens when you are making plans. And Life, in an instant, changed us forever.  I knew that it would change you more than me. I knew that your charm would fade. Your tenderness would disappear.Your ties to our friendships would dissolve and be gone. You would become cold and efficient. Productive. Perhaps, to another's eyes, you would become beautiful and cared for, but you would change dramatically…