There’s a man with a gun over there, telling me I got to beware; Paranoia strikes deep, into your life it will creep

I don’t think that I’m a Paranoid  Schizophrenic, but why is it, that everywhere  I go, people are following me. At the grocery store, I’ll turn around and look. See, that little old lady is following me. Standing in line at the DMV. Don’t even turn around, cause they are ALL following you. In a crowded mall, I’ll stop abruptly and turn around to look. Sure enough, those cute little high school girls are following me. The sure way to fool them is to sit down for a minute, until they pass by. Then, as you stand up and start walking again, you glance back and notice that someone else is following you. If you see a dude walking past your house carrying an AK-47, don’t be paranoid. Call 911. I think half of our planet has developed real paranoia. Especially against people of different faiths and religions. Its not just racism and bigotry. These differences in our cultures have been there for thousands of years. “Onward Christian Soldiers, marching off to war, killing millions of other people who don’t believe in the same God as you do”, (sung to the same tune). “From the beginning Men used God to justify the unjustifiable” – Salman Rushdie.

Mankind has a troubled and bloody past. And it seems like we are bound to continue on that same path. The only difference is that our weapons continue to get more and more sophisticated. Its no longer huge swords, and face to face combat. It’s remotely operated Drones firing missiles and dropping bombs with built-in cameras, so the ”Remote” operator can guide that weapon right through the front door of your house.

I think the settlers who came west in the covered wagons got just a little paranoid when they saw the Indians gathering on the hilltop over yonder. Especially if they had been attacked once or twice before. “Circle the Wagons!” People can say, that’s just progress. That’s how the good ole U. S. of A., came to be. Our forefathers were courageous explorers and settlers. We fought the Indians, and settled the land. We trapped the beavers and shot the buffalo. Bullshit!  We wiped out their nations and took their lands. Think about the blood of the women and children of the native indigenous people we massacred.

I’m reminded of the story of “Bear Hair Bob”. A trapper who was fortunate enough to survive a “scalping.” Bob covered up his bloody skull by sewing a fresh patch of bear skin to what was left of his scalp. Pretty odd looking, bear hair and all, trimmed in a thick crew-cut fashion. When the Indians came upon his campsite, he had tried to negotiate with beads and trinkets that he had on hand. The Indians took those, all his Beaver pelts, his horse, scalped him, and left him for dead. Why you ask? For the Indians, he was trespassing on their land, and trapping their beavers. How would you feel if some hunter with a deer rifle came on your land without permission? Bear Hair Bob eventually ended up back in Boston, charging a nickel for anyone who wanted to touch his ”Hair”.

What if the Native American lands had been legally and peacefully procured with beads and trinkets? And they were allowed to be a part of, and assimilate into ” American” society? In other words, real freedom. Would there have been a need for reservations?  I’m sure most of the settlers wanted to live in peace and harmony with the Indians, they were just singing the wrong song. “This land isn’t your land, this land is my land, from California to the………..this land was made for my cousins and me.”

I don’t think all of us are crazy. I don’t think its crazy to believe that every human being on earth should be treated with respect. I don’t think our cultural, societal and religious differences should get in the way of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Love thy neighbor as thyself. Regardless of who or what you believe is your Almighty God, I am pretty sure that’s the point Jesus was trying to make. Throw in some religious Mumbo-Jumbo, and what do you get? “With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things, and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion.” – Steven Weinberg.

Back to paranoia. I really don’t think that people are following me. I do think that humankind needs a great awakening. In the meantime, treat all people, treat all things, with respect. If you really think that people are following you, see a shrink.  If you hear strange voices, it’s not your broccoli trying to give you advice, again, have your head examined.

We sometimes think it is hopeless and against all odds, but hey, we are part of the 99% against the 1% that currently have absolute control. We can and shall overcome the odds, but only if we truly ORGANIZE. Otherwise, we are all just as a “Single Fly, Farting in the Wind”. 

For those who have been keeping up with my progress with “The Dead Armadillo” story, here’s my latest:

TheDeadArmadilloManuscript112619

 

Peace & Abide, La paz y la morada, السلام والالتزام , שלום ושמירה, Paix et Demeure, Խաղաղությունը եւ մնալը, Мир и пребывание,, 平和と遵守, 和平與恪守, Aştî û Abad, صلح و عبید, Fred och Abide, Kapayapaan at Patuloy, Frieden und Bleiben, Mir i Ostanite, शांति और निवास, Hòa bình và ở lại, Мир и Абиде, שלום און בלייַבן, สันติภาพและการปฏิบัติ, Mir in bivanje,

Yadhum oore yaavarum kelir, “The World Is One Family”

Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD, RSISHE

www.itad-nao.com

 

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    “I don’t care about the color of your skin” and, “I don’t care about the color of YOUR skin either”, then we both laughed, and ordered another Black Label on the Rocks

    This edit added on July 13th, 2020:

    BLACK, WHITE, BROWN……..ALL LIVES MATTER!!!!
     
    I’m really appalled at the rampant racism (from EVERYONE) that we have been seeing for several weeks now. Ever since the beginning, after the murder of George Floyd, (if it was a real murder and not part of just another PYSOP False Flag to turn us against each other). This addition to my essay is not about ANY conspiracy theory however, it IS about the insanity of “Bad Apples spoiling the entire basket”.
     
    It’s okay to protest “Police Brutality” or unlawful acts perpetrated upon average citizens by the few “Bad Apple” members of Law Enforcement. Demonstrate, wave your signs, march on your city’s “Hall of Justice”, your Mayor’s Office, your Police Departments, but, and it’s a BIG BUTT, the moment YOU break the law and burn, pillage and hurt other people, you have accepted the “Game Plan” of those few bad apples, the outsiders, that purposely infiltrated your otherwise peaceful (and justified) protests.
     
    Don’t you have enough common sense and decency to see that? As individuals, many folks are on the “Fence” between peacefully protesting, and committing acts of violence. They have a right to protest, but, and it’s another BIG BUTT……a lawful, peaceful protest is NOT a license for violence, in ANY form, and the idiots who advocate and encourage violence, including many politicians and others in positions of authority (shockingly), are just wrong, wrong in every way.
     
    The absolute worst part is that many of the “Bad Apples” DO come from your own neighborhoods, i.e., they are “Home Grown”. They potentially were not bad to begin with, they were just set off, i.e., someone pushed them off that fence in the wrong direction. Their potential for common sense and decency gave way to their life-long bitterness, anger, and frustration. They gave in to the outside sinister influences as they were encouraged to contribute violence and mayhem, instead of maintaining a peaceful platform and regimen. The “Riders on the Fence” in many of life’s situations really don’t have a choice as to which side of the fence they ultimately fall over, and it’s easier to be pushed towards the wrong side of the fence than the right side.
     
    The “Outsiders” wanted YOU to break the windows, wanted YOU to set the fires to businesses and vehicles, wanted YOU to loot the local places of business, carrying off boxes of Nike Jordans, TV sets, whatever.  Guess what? Those businesses that you looted and burned, in many cases, they were owned by decent hard-working people from your very own neighborhoods. Your Mama must be so proud, trust me, people of ALL colors and ethnic backgrounds are NOT proud, they are disgusted with the outcome of the so-called, “Peaceful” protests. 

    The reason I write this addendum to my story about Kenny Strong, my second-best friend in my life, is because I have had about enough of seeing the “BAD APPLES” beating up or murdering other individuals. People that did NOT deserve to be hospitalized or murdered as a result of this mutual SICKNESS called RACISM. You can say that you were/are a “product” of your “environment”, obviously people, some more than others, are not treated equally, that’s the reason for protesting, demonstrating, marching, and holding up your signs……PEACEFULLY.

    There ARE MANY people that DO agree with your cause, for your right to protest, many people of ALL ethnic backgrounds do care, but, and here’s another BIG BUTT, I would just bet you that if you are pushed off that “fence”, and falling onto the wrong side into that trap of violence, your parents, and your Grandparents, more than likely are not and will not, be proud of you. How can anyone be proud that you took part in beating an 80-year-old man half to death just because he’s white, or killing an oriental man that was trying to defend his little donut shop that you ultimately burned to the ground……Or shooting an unarmed 24-year-old mother of a three year old child to death simply because she said “All lives matter”. Oh, and that one is not fake news, here’s a link to the story:

    Indy mother becomes 2nd homicide along downtown canal in 1 week

     

    Bottom line is all of this racism, from ALL sides has to end. The majority of the folks desire a peaceful resolution to this nonsense. So, instead of blaming the “Other” side, how about we all work together to come to a peaceful conclusion? Before you label ME a racist, please read the following essay about my wonderful buddy Kenny Strong:

    This is a short story about my good friend, Kenneth Strong, with a few life lessons thrown in. Although they could’ve been twins, Kenny wasn’t a Sammy Davis Jr., married to a white chick, hanging out with the Rat pack. Not disparaging Sammy, I was a big fan of him, Sinatra, and Dean Martin.  I actually can say that Sammy’s daughter was a neighbor and friend, and that his grandson Sam, remains a close friend of my daughter’s to this day. The only similarities between the two of them, was the fact that Kenny was small like Sammy, five foot four or so, and they both could dance like champs. Oh yeah, the other difference? Even though he couldn’t carry a tune in a shoe if his life depended on it, Kenny still enjoyed going to Karaoke with me.

    His weight and height was proportional up until when his emphysema progressed. Before he died, he had lost fifty pounds and was skin and bones, ninety-eight pounds (easy to carry up and down the stairs). In his healthy years, Kenny was a muscular dude who worked out and ran a mile every day. Kenny, was an ex-marine and veteran of the Korean War, loved his country and eventually became one of my closest friends. In spite of the fact that when I met him face to face for the first time, I thought he was the biggest asshole I had ever met in my whole life.

     

    Kenny was the only person of color working in his department, so he was an anomaly of sorts. In fact, at that time, there were very few people of color that had risen the ranks and climbed the “Ladder” of success like Kenny had. He wasn’t sweeping the floor, or taking out the trash, he was responsible for administering the procurement of millions of dollars in high tech equipment and support for a globally recognized company. I was a sales dude at the time,  and my company had not seen any business from Kenny’s company in many years. Our only competitor had 100% of the business.

    After many phone calls to try to get in to see him, (they where in upstate NY), I made the trip from California to New York twice with appointments to finally see him. Both times he blew me off with lame excuses. First time, I was told that he had called in sick. Second time, he was there. When I spoke to him from the lobby, he blew me off again, asking me, “Can you come back next week?”. Kenny knew that I had flown cross country to see him. Lets just say that I was just a little pissed. Patient, but pissed. The third trip was successful, however disappointing.

    Lets just say that for the average salesman, it wasn’t just disappointing, it was devastating. I stood in the entry of his cubicle for what seemed like several minutes. “Thank you so much for taking the time to see me this morning”, I stated nervously to no avail. No response from Kenny. It’s as if I wasn’t standing there, gazing at all the accolades and awards on the walls. Glancing at his “Employee of the Year” award,  his Bachelors Degree, and all the other plaques, and then looking back at Kenny, I said to myself, “He can’t be hard of hearing, can he?” Lack of peripheral vision?

    He was sitting there typing two-finger style, staring at his computer. So I took a few steps to the side chair alongside his desk, and started to sit down. When my butt was approximately five inches from the seat, still directing his gaze at his monitor, he said in a Drill Sergeant manner, ” I didn’t tell you to sit down yet”. Well, I immediately stood to attention and backed up two feet to the entryway into his cubicle. I swear I stood there for another two or three minutes before he swung his chair around and said, “You can sit down now”. Kenny took the next ten minutes telling me all the things wrong with my company. Needless to say, we did not take lunch together, and like I said earlier, I thought he was the biggest asshole I had ever met.

    Now, what he said was true. Our prices were way too high, and our lead-times were way too long. I took these insights back to my company, and within six months, we had reduced both to the point where we started to get some of the business. After a year, and several more trips, my company was enjoying 100% of the business, and I was slowly becoming a  part of Kenny’s small circle of friends. I share this with all the sales people out there as a lesson. Three things. Be honest. Be genuine. Be patient. Take your time and really get to know your customer. Don’t get discouraged. Be patient. If you are able to look at your customer with one eye, while reading the documents on their desk upside down with the other eye, you are not my kind of salesman.

    Of course your company has to be competitive in all areas. I was fortunate that my company was willing to adapt to the marketplace.  Over time, Kenny became a real friend. We did things that friends would do. Went fishing. Went to the casino, usually with a few other dudes from his office. My favorite thing was going to the racetrack in Saratoga once a year, to watch and bet on the ” Running of the Travers”. To our amazement, I actually won a Trifecta one year.

    Kenneth and I went fishing many times. Once on the Hudson River, and several times at his favorite spot on the Erie Canal. Every time we went fishing,  Kenny would give me fishing “lessons”. Like the big brother he was, every time he would try to give me instructions on how to fish, I would tell him, “I’m from Minnesota, I was fishing when you were still in diapers”. Not really true, since he was about fifteen years older than me.

    Anyway, Kenny would retort with, ” I don’t care if you are from Zimbabwe, you ain’t gonna catch anything that way”, or, “You’re so full of shit, you should have worn a diaper”, then we would laugh. I would always tease him and ask him to put my worm on for me (I never used anything other than lures).

    I always caught the first fish and the last fish before he gave up for the day. Most of the time, I caught the only fish, which really pissed him off. Fishing on the Hudson was fun, but challenging because that one time we did go, it was in an old leaky row boat, oars only, no outboard. We always had a great time fishing except for that one hot, and muggy August day (I did most of the rowing), and we caught nothing.

    Kenny and I remained friends after he retired. When his health began to deteriorate more and more, his buddies and I would still take him to the casino. I can remember pushing Kenny, his oxygen bottle, and his cigarette through the casino in his wheelchair. No matter what you said to him about his health and smoking, he would acknowledge, ”Yeah, I know, I should quit, it’s too late for me anyway”.  He never did quit, and it WAS too late, he died.

    The last time I saw Kenny, he had been retired for about four years. He was so sick  and weak at that time, when we went to the grocery store or his favorite neighborhood tavern, I had to carry him up and down the stairs of his condo, and throw his wheelchair in the trunk. That last time I saw him was six months before he passed away.

    Kenny grew up in a farming community in North Carolina, so he knew what Racism and Segregation was. I grew up in a farming community in Minnesota. I didn’t know what the words meant as I was growing up. We would sometimes have spirited discussions about a variety of subjects, whilst drinking our scotch or having a meal.

    The most spirited conversations were when we talked about racism and segregation/integration, i.e., life in general. We mostly agreed on things, and our friendship with each other stayed intact. One of our most memorable exchanges was this one night, already three drinks into a long night, and I was a little pissed at something Kenny had said. I looked at Kenny and yelled, “I don’t care about the color of your skin!”, and Kenny paused for a second and quietly said,” I don’t care about the color of YOUR skin either”.

    We laughed at each other, and ordered another Black Label on the Rocks. Kenny was a great friend. I grieved when he died, along with all of his friends and family. Lesson number two. Folks, Racism, Bigotry, Prejudice and Indifference are taught and therefore learned, not in-bred.

    Strain: “Mark Twain’s Belly Button Lint”  harvested March 3, 2016

    We sometimes think it is hopeless and against all odds, but hey, we are part of the 99% against the 1% that currently have absolute control. We can and shall overcome the odds, but only if we truly ORGANIZE. Otherwise, we are all just as a “Single Fly, Farting in the Wind” and “Useless as Wings on a Penis”.  If you have questions, suggestions, comments, etcetera, again, and you would like to hear my thoughts on possible miracles/solutions, please feel free to contact me. You can contact me by farcecrap PM, send me an email or fill out the contact form below.

    For those who have been keeping up with my progress with “The Dead Armadillo” story, here’s my latest:

    TheDeadArmadilloManuscript062120

    Here, for your viewing pleasure, is a recent documentary titled, “The World is My Country” Produced and directed by my friend Arthur Kanegis, this documentary is about the courage and beliefs of Garry Davis, who after serving as part of a U. S. bomber crew during World War Two, recognized the insane futility of wars in general, and gave up his U. S. citizenship, becoming the first person to declare the “World” as his “Country”.

    You will be touched and hopefully inspired as well, as it is a film of hope and vision.  it is well worth your effort. Please share.

     

    Peace & Abide, La paz y la morada, السلام والالتزام , שלום ושמירה, Paix et Demeure, Խաղաղությունը եւ մնալը, Мир и пребывание,, 平和と遵守, 和平與恪守, Aştî û Abad, صلح و عبید, Fred och Abide, Kapayapaan at Patuloy, Frieden und Bleiben, Mir i Ostanite, शांति और निवास, Hòa bình và ở lại, Мир и Абиде, שלום און בלייַבן, สันติภาพและการปฏิบัติ, Mir in bivanje,

    Yadhum oore yaavarum kelir, “The World Is One Family”

    Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD, RSISHE

    www.itad-nao.com

     

    Click on a link here to share:   

     

    This website is not filled with a bunch of “Click-On” ads for the latest in “Toothbrushes” “Fashion” or “Free trips to wherever” generating millions of pesos in income. If you do decide to donate a few Pesos because you enjoy reading my essays, that’s awesome, and I sincerely thank you.

     

     

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      I guess we’re not getting a new puppy today!

      I think I had just turned eight years old. We had been living at the “Old Boxwell Farm” for three years.  My parents paid $60.00 a month to rent the house (built in 1884), and we had full use of any of the buildings that weren’t already being used by the owners, the three Mortensen Brothers.  We would end up living there for another six years.

      I guess you could say it was like a “Hobby Farm”, just a very large one.  360 acres, a whole “Section” on a map.  With a two-story farm house, a huge red barn, a chicken coop (eventually filled with 300 of Mom’s chickens), a shack for the Muscovy Ducks, and several other buildings and sheds. Google “Muscovy Ducks”.  Not the small, cute little ducks that go quack-quack,  These ducks were large ducks, almost goose size, raised primarily for eating.  They could rip a finger off if you weren’t careful.

      The farm had two different apple orchards. One orchard produced green baking type apples that tasted a little sour, and had tons of worms.  The other orchard had red apples that you could actually eat, had fewer worms.  Yes, I did not care much for my mother’s apple pie. We also had a few rows of yellow and purple plum trees. We also had grape vines growing up all sides of the windmill. This B & W photo is our actual windmill. The windmill was a solid luscious green of grape leaves in the summer.  As a kid growing up on that farm, it was great to be able to enjoy all of the “fruits” and “vegetables”.  And also at that age, it was too bad that I took it all for granted.

      About 60 acres was cleared crop-growing land, which was farmed and grazed by the Mortensen Brothers, who had bought the Boxwell farm years earlier in an auction.  The remaining 300 acres consisted of woodland with a small creek running through it. The driveway was about 200 yards long and seemed a mile long in the winter time, i.e., this was before the invention of the “snowblower” and after the invention of the “shovel”.  On the north side of our driveway was what we called our “garden”, which was about an acre or so.  It was a Hobby Farm in that Ed drove 30 miles a day into Saint Paul to work as an electronics engineer at Honeywell, and Mom was pretty much a typical homemaker/housewife. We had a really large garden and ate all the apples and plums we wanted, but we didn’t “farm” the land.

      My best friend and companion in my early childhood was my dog Trixi.  I can’t recall how we got her, I just know that she had always been there. Maybe she just came with the farm. Trixi was a mix between a Toy Collie, and some other small dog. She had a long beautiful golden, Collie-like coat.  She wasn’t a lap dog, and she wasn’t a large dog like a German Shepherd, but just the right size for cuddling and loving. Trixi went everywhere with me, my own Lassie story.  When in the house she stuck with me like glue.  When we were eating at the kitchen table she would lay down by my feet. Trixi knew she would get a snack or two or three whenever Mom baked a chicken or duck, or pan-fried liver, or cooked any of many foods that I gagged on (see “Running around like a Chicken with it’s head ripped off”).

      Trixi slept with me and truly was my best friend.  That all ended one summer day.  We were working in the garden, and looked up at the road just as she started barking, and running along side Mr. Gustafson’s pick-up truck.  This was nothing new.  Trixi did it all the time. She chased every car, tractor, or truck that drove by our farm.  She just knew how to dodge the tires.  Well, this time she yelped and disappeared  under the truck.  Mr. Gustafson immediately stopped his truck and got out. Picking Trixi up into his arms, he slowly walked towards me with her lifeless body in his arms. Mr. Gustafson was crying, Mom was crying, even Ed had tears in his eyes. I cried for a week. The sadness and grief I was feeling was a practice run for my sister’s death, and eventually my Mother’s death

      After about three months, Mom talked Ed into getting a puppy for the family, to replace Trixi. Ed really loved Trixi as much as I did, and I think it was an easy sell to get another dog.  They had met a fellow at church, Mr. Freeman, who bred and sold Golden Labradors. So one day, I went with Ed to see this Mr. Freeman to purchase a puppy. I was soooooo excited!  Walking around behind the guys house to the back of the yard, we came upon Mr. Freeman beating on one of his Golden Labs with what looked like a leather belt.  The Lab was tied up, and Mr. Freeman was trying to get this dog to jump up on the roof of one of the doghouses, like Snoopy. Ed flew into a complete rage, running over and throwing Mr. Freeman to the ground.  I was left standing there, mouth open, watching as Ed took the belt and started wailing on  Mr. Freeman, “You jump on the Fuckin’ doghouse you Asshole!”. I ran over to them screaming “Stop Dad!!” (or whatever it was that I yelled). Ed did come to his senses, and we walked back to the car.  A little fearful, but happy that Ed had stood up for a helpless dog, on the way back to our car, I thought to myself, “I guess we’re not getting a new puppy today”.

      The next day the local constable came over and I saw him talking to Ed for quite a while.  Turns out, Mr. Kirkdahl, the constable, sympathized with Ed because of how badly Mr. Freeman had beaten the dog. No charges were pressed in either direction, although I thought they should have done something about Mr. Freeman.  The embodiment of Joy came about a month later, when our neighbor Mr. Gustafson, came over one day and handed me a Golden Retriever puppy.  I named her Alice.

      Peace & Abide, La paz y la morada, السلام والالتزام , שלום ושמירה, Paix et Demeure, Խաղաղությունը եւ մնալը, Мир и пребывание,, 平和と遵守, 和平與恪守, Aştî û Abad, صلح و عبید, Fred och Abide, Kapayapaan at Patuloy, Frieden und Bleiben, Mir i Ostanite, शांति और निवास, Hòa bình và ở lại, Мир и Абиде, שלום און בלייַבן, สันติภาพและการปฏิบัติ, Mir in bivanje,

      Yadhum oore yaavarum kelir, “The World Is One Family”

      Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD, RSISHE

      Here’s a new website: https://swordsintoplowshares.net/

      For those who have been keeping up with my progress with “The Dead Armadillo” story, here’s my latest:

      DeadArmadilloInManuscriptFormat022721A

      Click on a link here to share:   

       

      This website is not filled with a bunch of “Click-On” ads for the latest in “Toothbrushes” “Fashion” or “Free trips to wherever” generating millions of pesos in income. If you do decide to donate a few Pesos because you enjoy reading my essays, that’s awesome, and I sincerely thank you.

       

       

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        Then there were five of us, then there were four of us again

        It was 1958, and I was ten years old, and Johnny was three. My baby sister Mary was born. I remember, this was one of the times when Ed was put away for spousal abuse. However, rather than receiving a prison sentence, they put him in a Mental Hospital. He was gone for quite some time, at least 9 or 10 months.

        I remember it was different at home, better for sure, and I think things were getting better for me at school as well. I tended to “act out” what happened at home. I wasn’t a Bully, but when someone would bully me, I would most often go a little berserk fighting back. It’s a little scary when a skinny ten-year old screams, “I’ll RIP your fucking head off Asshole!!!” That is usually when an adult, like a teacher, would step in and stop the fight. The fighting became less frequent.

        Mom was reclusive that first week home from the hospital with the baby. Maybe she knew that Mary was going to die, and the Doctors knew, and just let Mom take Mary home anyway. We buried her at the church cemetery in a grotesquely small coffin. Maybe it was a shoebox, I don’t know. It would be years later when I asked Mom for the one millionth time, “Mom? Why did Mary die?” Mom quietly said, “She had some things wrong with her that caused her to go be with the Lord sooner, rather than later”.

        Many, many years later, Aunty Erma told me the nitty gritty of it. Ed had hit her in the stomach at about the seven months stage. That was one of many times when I “visited” cousins while Mom was in the hospital. The doctors ran tests, took X-Rays, and gave my Mom the thumbs-up, and the hope that maybe the baby would be OK. Well, the baby survived all the way through the birth, was NOT okay, and died seven days later. I still think they put her in a Florsheim Shoe box.

        At the time, I was too young to understand what happens to people in the Booby-hatch. That’s what we called it, besides Looney bin, or Nuthouse. Shock Treatments. Google it. It’s not pleasant. It doesn’t help. Ed eventually came back home crazier than ever. Of course I was too young to say, “Why didn’t they give him a fucking Lobotomy!” This would be the beginning of the final down-hill slide for my Mom physically, and for the family mentally.

        Peace & Abide, La paz y la morada, السلام والالتزام , שלום ושמירה, Paix et Demeure, Խաղաղությունը եւ մնալը, Мир и пребывание,, 平和と遵守, 和平與恪守, Aştî û Abad, صلح و عبید, Fred och Abide, Kapayapaan at Patuloy, Frieden und Bleiben, Mir i Ostanite, शांति और निवास, Hòa bình và ở lại, Мир и Абиде, שלום און בלייַבן, สันติภาพและการปฏิบัติ, Mir in bivanje,

        Yadhum oore yaavarum kelir, “The World Is One Family”

        Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD, RSISHE

        Here’s a new website: https://swordsintoplowshares.net/

        For those who have been keeping up with my progress with “The Dead Armadillo” story, here’s my latest:

        DeadArmadilloInManuscriptFormat022721A

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          Running around like a chicken with it’s head ripped off

           

          I was about five years old at the time.  Crazy drunken Ed, running around the yard, chasing the chickens & ducks.  Mom is yelling at Ed,  Ed is yelling at Mom. He catches a duck, and tears its head off, as he screams, “I’ll RIP all your fucking heads off!!” I’m standing there on the Porch, crying. All over the yard there are six or seven dead ducks, two lifeless chickens, and one chicken still running around headless, with a bloody, stumpy, neck flopping back and forth. At that moment, I knew what it meant, when I would later hear people say, “Stop running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off”.

          In the aftermath, Mom just quietly went around the yard, picking up the chicken and duck carcasses, putting them in a gunny sack.  After that day, and for many years, poultry was one of the food types that I had to sneak into my pocket for a trip to the toilet.  That is, if I couldn’t sneak it to my dog Trixi, under the kitchen table, when no one was looking.  Normally, we would clean and de-feather our dinner before cooking, obviously, but this time Mom took the gunny sack to the local slaughter house/meat packing plant.  They gave Mom $4.00 total.  They sold them thru their retail “Butcher Shop” storefront.

          Peace & Abide, La paz y la morada, السلام والالتزام , שלום ושמירה, Paix et Demeure, Խաղաղությունը եւ մնալը, Мир и пребывание,, 平和と遵守, 和平與恪守, Aştî û Abad, صلح و عبید, Fred och Abide, Kapayapaan at Patuloy, Frieden und Bleiben, Mir i Ostanite, शांति और निवास, Hòa bình và ở lại, Мир и Абиде, שלום און בלייַבן, สันติภาพและการปฏิบัติ, Mir in bivanje,

          Yadhum oore yaavarum kelir, “The World Is One Family”

          Dr. T. C. Saxe, DD, RSISHE

          Here’s a new website: https://swordsintoplowshares.net/

          For those who have been keeping up with my progress with “The Dead Armadillo” story, here’s my latest:

          DeadArmadilloInManuscriptFormat022721A

          Click on a link here to share:   

           

          This website is not filled with a bunch of “Click-On” ads for the latest in “Toothbrushes” “Fashion” or “Free trips to wherever” generating millions of pesos in income. If you do decide to donate a few Pesos because you enjoy reading my essays, that’s awesome, and I sincerely thank you.

           

           

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