I want to be feeling well on Christmas Day...

So I am hiding from the weather and resting one more day. Still I have to read about George Washington's War,  and listen to jazz.. There are many out there really sick, they need care and visits, there are lonely and alone out there and they need a nudge or at least a friendly wave from afar if they are real hermits.

I get home made soups, honeyed tea, coffee, and naps. It will work out, there are cookies cooling in the kitchen their smell doesn't save them from this cookie monster.

Putting me in a box again...

Really, I often wonder what causes others to think in certain ways about me, what I look like, what I have written, read or said.  What changes me from Earl to: one of the beings in a box.

Veteran - I belong in that box
Combat Veteran - I belong in that box (although like most combat veterans I was more target than threat)
Disabled Veteran - yes, but I don't really feel disabled as much as dislocated and unloved....
College Education - yes, but that only means I attended and graduated, not sure it means as much to you as
    it did to my mother and I.
Paratrooper - yep, do it again as soon as you get an aircraft and a working chute for me...


Boxes I no longer want to be in:

White Non-Hispanic, although my mother grew up speaking Spanish and living in South America, she wasn't Hispanic    Too limiting a label.  But I have to accept it to properly fill out government forms for firearms?

Middle Class, Blue Color, Enlisted, Retired ( Re-tired  I had to get tired twice?) Unemployed

Christian, Methodist, Baptist.


Who am I? Son of Donald and Melba, husband of Kum Cha, father of Gideon. I am William Earl Dungey, and if you are from the government you can call me by my SSN, because you want it from me wherever I go. Boxes are so confining, and the universe has no visible edges nor boundaries... that like the boxes you only created in your mind.

Let me tell you everything that I know about homosexuality and the Duck Dynasty

Remember? God is dead! Remember that from the enlightend years of silly youth?

I do, I never found God dead, but those thinking so were sure they were now in charge.

I only mention that as an illustration of people making quick judgements and living on their words. Because, until today it wasn't official blogging is dead. Yep, Breda had been saying it was dead or dying for a bit, she packed up her blog and moved on. She is still at the reference desk in Ohio, in the snow, wishing she could carry in the library. I watch her on Facebook. It becomes official today that Nieman has written in a blog post, that the blog is dead.The blog is dead, long live the blog  

He might be correct, how did you get here... take a wrong turn up ahead, into the Twilight Zone? Of course there are many things that really are dead, the library can be carried in your device, your paper books, the publishing industry, newspapers, romance, truth, sex drive and thoughts communicated by face to face contact.

I know how I got here, my mother made me.  She said I had to produce a weekly letter to tell her what I was doing and stay in touch. It was once called correspondence, and my South American grandparents had a whole sequence of write, edit, re-write and review then post to the family far away. A weekly letter. For years we kept the USPS in the black, sending letters. Then the digital age, the computers arrived and email at work could become email to Mom. And since my life was so interesting, I would send that long, lonesome letter to everyone that must care something about me... you do know that everything is all about me? Yeah, that was dumb, everyone is too busy to read long boring prose about me. For the truth is that they are more interesting than I, and they all knew it. Email deletes so quickly.

Don't know the woman that read one of my long missives, but she sent me a note (an e-note) that I should blog. Wanting to make everyone happy, I started blogging. But I haven't changed my focus, it is still all about me, it is still long and mostly boring. But that does help me get some relief from having to think, just write and pretend it happened. There is more satisfaction in dreaming while resting.

My blogging will cease when I do, when Google decides to charge me for the service, when they turn out the lights and power up on global warming.... or some such. But then it could happen, no one shoots firearms anymore, not one politician has any reason... and that shows.

Now that is rude... or is it?

At the post office, I see a woman (black curly hair, tight blue jeans, fashion boots) in black nylon vest and pistol and hand cuffs on belt. The black vest has DOC in gold letters. I think, Department of Commerce? Department of Criminals, or criminality? Having forgotten working under the Department of Corrections for ten years of my twelve with the State Library. I don't care that she is armed and has a magazine in the pistol, nor that the snap is loose. I don't even notice which fine firearm she has, nor do I notice what brand jeans she is inside of.. not important. I don't rate the vest as bullet proof, looks more like something to hang stuff on... I am in the post office for mail service.  She leaves and several people move up and to the counters, the staff stays pleasant and professional and everyone is nice today.

I get outside with change in my hands, and stuff and am approached by a white male, 25 to thirty, 205 pounds with glasses on. Eyes are focused speech clear and he says he and his buddy are hungry can I help them out. I open the back of my Caravan with the shooting mats, targets, tools and water and say I don't have any food. But I ask if he wants water, he says any help at all. So I give him my two dollars and two bottles of water. Close the back and wish him well. I see his buddy when he gives him a bottle of water, same look and age and about twenty more pounds. As I drive away he looks sadly at me, and I catch his eyes and smile and wave, he returns the wave. I am normally hard on beggars, but I haven't been employed in over three years, there are still people looking for work, and why those two are there now - is their story, My story is that I could help a little. Having been where I would eat pecans from the ground and smoke long cigarette butts thrown on the ground, I don't expect everyone asking is trying to con me, and I didn't call the police or shoot them. I gave what was easy, I should put some sardine cans in the back, too.

My day goes on, I watch television, dress for church and attend, have a great time talking  to the men, listening to the preacher and more talking with the men. Then I get my wife and we go home. Watch a bit of a DVD, check on Facebook, then I post "Back from church, I can take my gun off and have a glass of wine. Have a good nights sleep, for tomorrow has so much promise." or words to that effect. My reader immediately thinks that I took the gun to church, that it is my hobby (how else could anyone explain having a gun on?) and it would be rude to take it to church. My only response: "If I had a gun on at church, it isn't a hobby." I don't think most people have any idea how many guns are being carried around them, all the time.

Their entire basis for knowing is based on movies and television. When I see a policeman yell 'gun' inside a police station, I will know I am on the set of a movie. I go to the courthouse and go in the one entrance where you can lock up your firearm, duh, see how simple that was? They don't ask if it is legal, they don't ask if I am qualified, they don't ask if it is loaded. They just want me to lock it up while they protect me and everyone else in the building. When I leave I can put it back on and carry on. If you are going to base your understanding of guns and Bibles on entertainment, the bad guys always hollow out the Bible and keep a gun in there. I saw it on a movie or two, so it must be true.

He ain't heavy, he's my brother...

I do have a brother, and am one to three finer folks, so I have an opinion about 'brother' - the relationship the reality the responsibility. I have always had trouble labeling another man, human male as a brother. I understood, a little, what a brother in Christ would be, but that never moved me to call anyone brother.

Gets easier if you capitalized it, Brother Thomas, Brother Mike. Seems almost like one of the monks - oops, they already do that don't they? Well, in the stories they do. More than one, they become the Brethren, that could be a good thing. Band of Brothers, term and title of honor, associated with battle, combat and trials not suffered by the many that weren't there on Saint Crispin's Day. Brothers in Arms, brotherhood of war, and still I would have trouble calling someone my brother. Motorcycle gangs use the term, motorcyclists often use it. I could be alone, so alone.

This whole blog post came from this poster, from DV6 on Facebook. And I was more understanding, until it hit me, that all Men are my brothers and that was why I should respect them, not because they earned it. I might never be anyone's brother if I have to earn it, which was probably why I am most certain I am the brother of my sibling - they knew I didn't earn it, I got it the easy way - just born to it.

But the poster nudges me to acknowledge all men are my brothers, be they good, evil or awesome or hidden in a dark corner of time and trouble - all brothers. I should respect them for being born, it isn't getting easier, I should respect them for their abilities and promise of a better person as they grow, respect them for the power they will wield for their future. Funny, I have for a long time respected my enemies, especially on the field of combat, if for no other reason than they could kill me if I wasn't paying attention. But also for the fact that in that basic struggle to kill each other - we were equal and risking all we had for our cause. I had little respect for those that sent us there... but they were my brothers, too. So much more to accept as truth. So little time.

One more strange thing on Facebook to gnaw upon. So my real question was: "I am really having trouble understanding the idea that a man never having sexual activity is a virgin, and especially why it would matter." But then I still have this idea that words have meanings, and males can never be virgins, and that somehow not having had sexual relations would make a grown man cry. This remains proof that the American culture, or all civilization has lost its senses... or it is all a bad dream? Go back and remember that all men are my brothers, and that laughing even a little is good for the heart, and more male virgins just prove the enlightened education and entertainment systems of the digital age won't change biology enough to notice.

Happy Holidays!

So after waking on Sunday, going to church and all, I felt sprite enough to do some Christmas decoration to include the tree outside and inside our home. Wasn't happy with the one inside on Sunday, but Monday it was warming me, and by today it is just perfect. How does that happen?

Now it seems to be politically remarkable when one wishes you a Merry Christmas instead of a Happy Holiday, which is all about nothing, folks.Remember Ashcroft, the Attorney General that had to drape something over the statue of  Justice? She had her eyes covered and at least one breast exposed - you could do a whole pornographic skit on the dirty minds of prudes and purists. Not that I would, I think the statue was perfect in art and symbolic reality, she deserved to be seen. Actually, that wasn't what she looked like, she has both arms raised, no blindfold, no scales of justice. But the people didn't like pictures of her in the newspapers when covering the justice department.

So in California, there is a memorial cross that represents Christianity and it must go. I do get tired of people telling me what things mean and why they have to be gone, covered and never talked about. Mostly it is fear, not my fear - some little creature in the corner - their fears. Americans were once brave enough to stand and say what they meant, didn't look for everyone to agree with them, weren't afraid to duel and be damned.

Somehow, everyone has to get along... this country wouldn't exist if people hadn't moved away for a new start, a chance to do it their way. Israel will bomb Iran as soon as they must, they won't wait for American permission. They know that America has no guts left for hard choices. How did that happen? China is certainly testing the waters, waters they never ever cared about once upon a time. Except for the famous Admiral Ho.

The world of today is in many ways shaped by those that feared too much to expand and conquer or settle distant other places. Japan went under the Shogun for hundreds of years, China under Emperors without vision, now is it America's time to look at their belly button forever and see what happens without change, chaos, and chance? Will the Boer leave south Africa, not without a real fight they won't. Unless, fear was built into civilization as a way of slowing change down... a design feature to save us from our follies?