Thanks, Congressman Weiner

I’ve always wanted to legitimately use in print the term “futzing around”. I’ve been granted that happy opportunity. Thank you Anthony Weiner. —Hear you’re having a hard time.

I’m willing to admit that it may just be human nature that people, perhaps especially males (but not exclusively), will jump on any opportunity to excite and titillate themselves. The primordial origins of this instinct/drive are no great mystery of life. This is a simple and effective method Mother Nature initially devised to ensure survival of the species. And it probably beats boredom. Civilization complicated things for the poor, helpless, driven male. (Birth control, equality in the workplace, better education and wider choices gave the female new opportunities, but that’s a whole different article). In these days of overpopulation— and with the disappearance (in most civilized communities) of survival of the fittest, it’s not as if we NEED of a huge supply of constantly excited male (or female)  humans to populate the planet. (And thank goodness for birth control. Would that certain people might only employ it more liberally). We especially don’t need to perpetuate the genetic traits of hypocritical politicians who make poor choices.

Philandering (by either sex) isn’t a new invention — and not usually tied to any geographic, age-related, racial, socioeconomic, religious or cultural group (although there are exceptions).  Some (but probably not all) drug dealers do it. Likely a few criminals do it. Certain church deacons, PTA moms, scout leaders and spiritual leaders do it. Many do not. These are documented facts. This fascinating phenom occurs in both heterosexual and homosexual relationships. Adultery, cheating, and fooling around have always been part of the human condition. There have been times in history when this was acceptable behavior. (These were certainly male-dominated societies and well before population control by pharmaceuticals).  Certain people throughout the ages have been disloyal and hurtful to their significant others. Some were/ are actually caught. At least one was publicly beheaded.

One of the earliest forms for initiating infidelity in the distant past was the writing of often passionate, explicit and incriminating letters to the object of one’s affection. By today’s standards, these may seem tame and even tasteful (in content if not intent). Back then, probably not so much. As time marched on, clandestine phone calls became an option. Phone sex reared its head. In more recent times, enter titillating emails, text messages, Skype, and video conferencing (for purposes other than, say, corporate board meetings). The Internet and even social media (poor choice for privacy) have provided almost infinite opportunities for this type of “flirting”. I’m not judging. I’m just sayin’.

The practice of wooing other than one’s intended or wedded has been with us since the beginning of time. I Googled synonyms for “philander”, and came up with a long list. It included everything from flirting to intercourse. Some of these were pretty funny, almost a literary history lesson. I suspect the strangest-sounding to my American ears were of English origin (as in “across the pond” English). For your edification, I submit but a paltry few; potter, putter, squander, string along, toy, twiddle, use up, wanton, waste, waste time, wink at, trifle, toy with; mess around.

Consider also dally, flirt, fool around, take lightly, wolf, womanize, play around. Trifle, amuse oneself, be insincere, coquet, dabble, dally, dawdle, dilly-dally, doodle, fidget, flirt, fool, fool with, fribble, fritter, futz around, horse around, idle, indulge in, lead on, loiter, lollygag, lounge, mess with, misuse, monkey, monkey with, palter , play, play games with, play with, fornicate, be promiscuous, commit adultery, sleep around.

I admit that I’m in love with words. It’s an innocent enough flirtation and threatens Zack not at all. The point is that pottering around with someone you really shouldn’t be futzing with at all  isn’t new— and certainly not exclusive to politicians. People with money and power often seem to imagine themselves immune to the same rules by which they assume the rest of society plays. You’ve heard the “rumors” about President Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe (and others). Remember Heidi Fleiss and her little black book of well-known clients? —And Bill Clinton and various lesser politicians in more recent years?  The Internet will yield a nice list of publicly exposed public servants since then. Popular magazines —most often offered at check-out— make it clear that these “flirtations” are a way of life among “celebrities, perhaps especially of the reality show variety (where gray matter seems in extremely short supply). Some have wild, open sex lives, change partners like I change underwear, and have babies out-of-wedlock. These people are not my role models. My children are grown, so they will not influence their choices  or become their idols. So none of this bothers me as long as they don’t go on welfare and expect me to support them and their many-fathered children. But if the tabloids are to believed at all, even these folks still become mad as hell when someone they trust cheats on them.

What bothers us about all this isn’t that people do it. That’s really between the person and his or her significant other (and often a deal breaker, but not always). Cheating can be hurtful and humiliating. The lying that accompanies it may be even more unforgivable. The fact that some who indulge appear amazingly foolish is almost embarrassing at times for the rest of us to witness. (But like a train wreck, one is often powerless to look away). More than one unfortunate person caught in flagrante delicto has paid for it with his or her life (or in alimony). In addition, without the widespread existence of doodling, where would country music be?

What bothers us a great deal is that people in Congress and other supposedly esteemed institutions present themselves —and are elected, chosen or hired— based on a record, resume or platform that claims they adhere to higher standards than the rest of us. Then they behave like normally flawed folks and  get caught with their pants down. Much, much worse, they often attempt to dictate the moral standards by which others should live and comport themselves (while they’re out secretly fribbling around). They preach one thing and do another, assuming they’re too smart to be caught trifling. I mean, really, don’t go twiddling, then turn around and tell the rest of us not to—uh—- “amuse ourselves” in similar fashion. Further, they repeatedly lie about their doodling, and admit wrongdoing only when concrete evidence to the contrary will not allow the continued delusion of others— especially supposedly monogamous lovers, wives or husbands. One can only hope for their sakes that there were pre-nups involved all around.

In the end, it’s the unmitigated hypocrisy of these lotharios (operators, swingers, vamps, vixens, debauchers, gigolos, lady-killers, leches, libertines, playboys, rakes, reprobates, roues, satyrs, studs,  Casanovas, Don Juans, Romeos, playboys, rakes, seductresses, womanizers —-I could go on forever )  that’s most disheartening.

Shame on you Anthony Weiner. You humiliated your pregnant wife and made a first class fool of yourself, disillusioned a gullible public (if there is indeed a gullible public left). You lied repeatedly until you were caught with irrefutable evidence against you. Only then did you come clean and cry on cue. But I will say you’ve provided us with countless laughs at your expense for days now.  I suspect it’s not over yet. The worst part — and the greatest crime of all — is that Saturday Night Live is on hiatus and won’t be doing a skit about you in a timely fashion. If you ask me, all the SNL  actors should take a break from their vacations, immediately come together via conference call if nothing else (think of the titillating possibilities), to produce a segment to air live on this subject at their usual time slot. Think of the commercial marketing ops. Like the Superbowl).

So shame on you, Anthony Weiner, but thank you too. Keep it up.

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Never Trust Anyone Over Sixty

I beg friends and family to avoid sending me email forwards (unless they’re indisputably stellar). People become offended by this. Some stop communicating with me entirely, and some do become more discriminating, which I appreciate. A few forwards find their way through. Occasionally I’m very glad (but usually not). I’m now making these same folks angry all over again by tactfully warning them to check their information with www.snopes.com  before passing it along as truth, making fools of themselves in the process —or at the very least, showing their ignorance.

Now don’t think I’m being smug. I learned this fact-checking lesson the hard way. I had shared one of these seemingly legit forwards with my kids. My son chastised me roundly for gullibly perpetuating an untruth. He provided several sites to check both the veracity of any claim and the sometimes shady character of an author. (This particular author had presented himself quite convincingly as a renowned political expert with impeccable credentials. Turned out he had actually engineered some rather questionable activities).  I learned how easily unscrupulous persons may fake it on the Internet. (Politicians do this all the time. It’s the old tactic of saying a thing again and again until people believe it’s true).  Boy was I embarrassed. I promised myself then and there I’d never again pass along claims without checking them out. I don’t care to spread misinformation OR incur the criticism of my son.

Last week I had to inform an old college friend (a physician, retired from service to a big Miami sports team and the Miami Ballet — someone intelligent enough to have known better) that his email re: exploding cell phones (and resulting devastating burns/death) wasn’t exactly Kosher. Because his very own volunteer fire chief had shared it with HIM, he assumed it was true. Never assume anything.

The most recent false or misleading forward involved Obamacare. Make no mistake, I’m no fan of Obama or his “care” (or our representatives who want to push it down our throats. —“A young man who isn’t a liberal has no heart. An old man who isn’t a conservative has no brain” — Winston Churchill). But I’m more interested in the truth. The forward claimed that the current bill would cut off cancer care at age 78.  This would effectively lead to the wholesale elimination of a great majority of Baby Boomers. (Shades of Soylent Green). Old folks are fast becoming the newest enemy of the state. There was another bit about mandatory death counseling every five years for persons of a certain age. Smacks of brainwashing.

REPORTS of such plans are the best impetus I’ve ever found to amass great wealth. Someday when we’re old and sick — and the government “care” plan we’ve has paid into for a lifetime says “Well, NO” —this would be the time to say, “Screw you, we’ll pay for it ourselves!”

These excerpts from the health care plan IN THE EMAIL FORWARD would be horrible (if they were entirely true). The truth itself is pretty bad. Turns out these items —and others as distasteful (a graceful euphemism) — were ONLY in the ORIGINAL document, not in the current one. Why does this fail to make me feel better? They may not remain in the plan as stated now, but someone — many someones— wrote them into the original document, hoping they would slip by and be passed. These folks are hoping to lose an entire generation for financial expedience and their personal convenience.

Young people these days seem to blame everything on us Baby Boomers. (My generation’s slogan might have been, “Don’t trust anyone over 30”. But we were smart enough to realize that in a heartbeat, we’d be older too). Many young people today are less well-educated in many ways than we were (because most public education is dismal now compared to what it was when kids were actually expected to learn something useful). The younger generation now seems to forget who paid into Social Security and income tax all our lives (so a great number of our population of all ages can enjoy welfare and other assistance NOW). It’s not our faults this once proud, respected (and solvent) government has been raping Social Security for decades. It’s made us a slave to Big Oil while refusing to take advantage of our own reserves and resources, has stopped producing enough goods here on our own soil, created decades of debt as a legacy to our poorly-educated children, and squandered their futures through graft and greed.

Come on Genie, tell us what you’re REALLY thinking?

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Celebrating Bin Laden’s Death — OK or Not?

By the time this sees print, perhaps the news of Osama (or Usama— depending on whether you watch CNN, FOX or whatever)  Bin Laden’s death may be stale. There’s been a lot of buzz on the news media, TV, Internet, and social networks about everything from the actual mission to  burial at sea (according to Muslim tradition, within 24 hours of death, but not usually at sea, of course). In the past, we might have discussed all this in town at some little country store. That was when real people interacted with other real people face-to-face. Times have changed. Now we go to the computer.

I was surprised when some reacted with horror and disgust over the mass celebration of this man’s death.  And though I wasn’t exactly gleeful —– I was relieved that a bit of pure evil had been removed from the world. I’m glad he’s gone (if he really is, and that’s a point that will be beat to death in the future, what with fabricated, photo-shopped death pictures circulating on the Internet and only an unmarked, watery grave. (But I agree that a grave/shrine would be worse). There’s only the word of our government regarding DNA /proof. Thousands will imagine Osama and Elvis together in some bizarre witness protection program). I’m glad he won’t be orchestrating additional terrorist attacks against our country and others. Someone else may step up to take his place, but one can hope that his  mission loses some punch.

So a relatively small group of people (see http://www.salon.com/news/osama_bin_laden/index.html?story=%2Fpolitics%2Fwar_room%2F2011%2F05%2F02%2Fosama_and_chants_of_usa    as one example) felt the ecstatic celebration of this man’s death was inappropriate, because the murder of any human being is a bad thing. I can’t agree with them. I don’t even like to kill an insect, rabid skunk or raccoon. But prudence dictates these actions. If I’d been around when Hitler was proved dead, I would have celebrated.  It’s human nature to cheer the side of right and good (if you can identify which is which), especially in war, which isn’t a pretty thing. Make no mistake that the war on terror is a war. It just looks different. And there is killing involved. When it comes down to them or us —or him/her  or me—common sense should kick in for self-preservation. Relief and celebration is human nature. Remember the picture of the kiss in Times Square? Unabashed joy.

It was right to take out Bin Laden.  A kill mission was the only choice. He wasn’t going to come out waving a little, white flag.  This was an evil, evil man who was proudly responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocent men, women and children on 9/11. Left to his own devices, he would have caused more death. Cheering his murder by our special forces is a personal choice.

And another thing.   Like many others, I thought this from the first word of Obama’s announcement of Bin Laden’s death. Then a similar version of my thought appeared on Facebook, posted by someone else.  Let’s be clear: President Obama did not kill Bin Laden. An American soldier did. (There was a claim tacked onto this Facebook posting stating that President Obama /Congress just a few weeks ago was /were  debating on whether or not to fund the special forces for this mission. I haven’t been able to substantiate that claim and know nothing of this. It seems a bit strange and may not be true. Be careful what you believe).

I’m a big stickler for verifying “true” information before passing it along. Too many lies are circulated on the Internet. People believe them simply because they’re in print. Big mistake. Always check Snopes     http://www.snopes.com/   before you believe or pass along ANYTHING).

I do feel that President Obama just happened to be the one in office when our soldiers finally found Bin Laden and took him out. Or perhaps our Intelligence has known for some time of his whereabouts —and it was a political decision to delay action. Call me suspicious (of the Pakistani government and our own). I trust few these days, especially politicians. In any case, this should not be seen as an Obama victory, but an AMERICAN victory!!   I do agree that we shouldn’t allow President Obama to turn this into a political ad for his re-election. (If that was the intent, the whole operation should have gone down closer to the election. As I always say, “Timing is everything”).

To quote an old high school friend (Gary Merritt—-who might have actually been quoting someone else?), “Thanking Obama (for the death of Bin Laden) is like thanking Ronald McDonald when you get an extra cheeseburger in your bag. It’s the guy at the counter you should thank, not the clown in the picture .”

Pithy.

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Rotten People

Whine, whine, another complaint from the middle class. (That’s me— and perhaps you). In economic times like these, many who worked and saved find their disposable incomes eaten away by the purchase of necessities. Sound investments and balanced portfolios may have diminished or tanked. Unexpectedly, there’s little room for small luxuries that were eagerly anticipated as part of the “golden years”.

For many, vacations are a thing of the past. Restaurant visits are restricted or nonexistent (although with prices at the supermarket these days, it may be more economical to eat out than to shop for food). Short and long trips must be carefully planned when that tank of gas may cost up to $75.00. I can only imagine the frustrations of those owning campers and R.V.’s.

Many of all ages are in debt. Some have lost/ are losing homes. Illness can deplete a lifetime of saving even with expensive health insurance. It’s the 20% they DON’T pay that can break you. It’s possible to feel fortunate indeed if one can simply afford fuel, groceries, utilities, insurance and taxes. Forget the “extras”. The happy man is one who enjoys what he has.

This column isn’t just gloom and doom. Oh no. I’m coming to my second subject (being ticked off) which is somewhat related. The middle class is shrinking as the very wealthy and the working poor/ lower classes grow. None of this is new information or any great surprise. Most wealthy politicians have little understanding of the everyday lives of the majority of Americans. They don’t shop at Walmart. They don’t shop at all. Other people do their “grunt work”. They don’t struggle to afford health insurance only to find it disappointing. Our representatives in Washington enjoy their own health care system (far superior to ours). These people don’t feel the rules they make for the rest of us apply to them. And we let them get away with it year after year by voting them back into office.

I feel powerless to effect change on a national level, and try to avoid being frustrated about it daily. But when this attitude of entitlement by the wealthy filters down to people I might encounter, it’s difficult to avoid. I find I’m disgusted with the uninformed, uneducated, ignorant attitudes of SOME of those fortunate enough (or lucky or cutthroat or whatever) to have more money than the rest of us. I run into them periodically, those quick with advice— who love to suggest what one should do to improve one’s home, ranch, quality of life, etc. It always involves money. It never occurs to them that not everyone has deep pockets. How insensitive can they be?
A disappointing characteristic was vividly exhibited to me recently— the insidious feeling of entitlement that MAY come simply because a person has inherited, married or acquired money. It’s always astonished me that some of the very fortunate completely misplace their perspective and sense, if they ever had any. Some are fond of claiming their meager beginnings, but lost their manners on their way up. They feel if they donate to the community/charities, they earn the right to look down their noses at and bully others. Some are accustomed to always having their way, even (especially) when wrong. Some judge people by appearance. That can be misleading anywhere, but especially in a ranching community. That fellow or gal in the dirty boots might own one of the largest ranches in the county. Or not. It shouldn’t matter.

I’ve noticed that certain very wealthy folks throw their weight around only with those they perceive to be their financial inferiors. Of course most people have little idea in what other ways another might be superior (intellect, talent, capability, compassion, class, to name of few). And they never expect to be called on their bad behavior, because they usually get away with it. I have no respect for that, and money alone has never impressed me. Perhaps I’m an eccentric millionaire myself. (Or not).

I’ve known (or been related to) some extremely wealthy people— well-mannered, intelligent ladies and gentlemen whose money quietly built additions to houses of worship, medical facilities, libraries and various buildings at universities. Usually the donations were anonymous, NEVER bragged about or thrown in the faces of others for credit or recognition. Anonymous charity is the highest form. People who give for recognition alone are not selflessly altruistic, and sometimes not particularly nice.

I’m suppose I’m just sick of rotten people, rich or poor. Period.

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Rich in What Matters

A word of advice to my wealthy friends and relatives:

I seem to be surrounded by both dear friends and relatives who have done quite well for themselves financially.  Good for you! Some inherited it. Some married it. Some divorced it (and got half). And some worked very, very hard for it, and still are doing so.  (Well, in truth, maybe they all worked hard for it in one way or another). Bless ‘em all; I’m delighted for them. A few others have had a good bit of experience spending OPM (other people’s money). I’ve found that they are often the folks who spend the most and with the most abandon!

The funny thing is that, SOME of these folks who started poor or middle (and scraped their way up) seem to have forgotten what it’s like not to have those nice deep pockets. Not all of them, mind you, but some. . .. . . . Plenty of these folks are as down to earth as anyone else.  But for the rest of them, and all you other wealthy readers out there, here are some words to the wise.

Try to keep a check on reality, OK?  Try to be considerate. Pretend if necessary. When you’re talking to someone who lives on a budget or fixed income, please make an effort to remember when it was NOT possible for you to go out and buy whatever you wanted whenever you wanted it. I’m talking the basics, not a new corporate jet. Try to remember that, for most of us, money is a finite instrument.

I had a dear friend say the other day that a piece of farm equipment I need is “cheap”, ONLY $3,000.  It never occurred to him that such an amount was enormous to me and way beyond my limited means for a purchase not absolutely essential.  He wasn’t being insensitive.  He just hasn’t been in the real world for a long while, MY world. He deals in much, much larger numbers. I have other friends and family who’ve done this to me as well.  “Oh, that truck is ONLY $28K”.  Or, ”That wonderful trip we took to Europe ONLY cost  $8,000. Only one of my very, very wealthy friends is still as frugal and sensitive about money (relatively speaking) now as she was growing up in a Communist country, many years ago.

Everything is relative, I suppose.  Three thousand dollar farm implements and $28K trucks probably are good values, relatively speaking. Maybe my reactions just show my age.  The world has passed me by, and I’m not even that old ( my own subjective opinion).  I remind myself of my father, who, in his nineties, was always commenting on how pricey things had become.  One of his favorite sayings was “It’s expensive to be civilized”. Boy was he right. (I try to refrain from telling anyone that my first car only cost $700, was poop brown,  and had no A/C.  That one REALLY makes me sound ancient.  Next thing you know, I’ll say I walked three miles to school, barefoot, in the snow).

It simply isn’t possible for me to rush right out to make a $3,000 purchase just now. There are certainly times I’m in no position to borrow either.  (That’s how many landowners have lost their land, and I don’t want to join those ranks).  The thing about borrowing is that it must definitely be paid back one day — and with interest. Sometimes I think people forget that.  (Ever heard of rampant, out-of-control credit card debt?)

Wealthy folks have plenty of collateral and know all the tricks of dealing with debt.  For me, debt is a four-letter word that I fear like the plague. There aren’t a few thousand shares of stock lurking around at the bottom of my portfolio to be liquidated, should the need arise. If I spend all my savings, there won’t be any more falling from the sky.  This is it. I’m not going to win the lottery.  There’s no career move in my future that will bring me a six figure income. And that gas lease windfall everyone was so hot about a few years ago —my big opportunity—passed me by. It probably won’t happen again in my lifetime, if ever. I apparently am not blessed with that kind of luck. The bottom line really is this:  I simply don’t know how to play the money game. I’m not in that “rich get richer” category.

I’m still shell-shocked that gas costs over a dollar a gallon, never mind more than two! You just KNOW the “powers that be” ran those gas prices up close to $4.00 a while back —and then dropped them down so we’d suddenly think, “Wow, gas is under $3.00.  How CHEAP!”  Give me a break.  This isn’t cheap!

When a roll of good, barbed wire hit $50, and T-posts prices rose correspondingly, I was horrified. How are ranchers supposed to keep up?  Well, there’s always the tax-free thing for AG use, right?.  Did you know that work gloves aren’t considered AG use?  Nor are utility rubber boots.  What in the world else would I use them for?  Neither are exactly fashion statements).

I worry about paying my health (and car and homeowners) insurance and prescription bills.  And boy, am I glad I don’t smoke cigarettes or drink!  How can people afford either these days? I worry that taxes might go up. I worry about paying them even if they don’t rise. I try to keep the electric and water bills as low as possible each month, run around turning off fans and lights, avoiding the A/C (window units) as long as possible, into the heat of the summer.  I make sure the toilet isn’t running, one of its favorite tricks.  I use coupons at the supermarket when I remember them.  I shop the sales.

I think I’m like most people.  There’s no country club membership to cancel, no cleaning lady to fire. There are no farm hands except those I joke about, at the ends of our four wrists. There are no exotic vacations to put on hold. We find the most reasonable prices in town for our regular or recurring purchases. Even though we may be considered middle class, we work very hard to make ends meet. We must be —and usually are—very careful. We wonder if what we have saved will be enough —when we’re too old to work so hard and no longer able to do everything ourselves. It amazes me how much it takes each month just for the absolute necessities. It amazes me how much hay cows can eat.

Having Internet access has become a necessity for me, but cell phones and Dish Network are still luxuries, though even it sometimes seems everyone has them.   We do allow ourselves those.  (Cell phones are good for emergencies as well as convenient.  —-And the free long distance feature often makes them a better value than land based lines). Those are our big splurges, like an occasional dinner out. And we do enjoy “movie night” at the local, one-screen theater (where tickets for seniors are $3.00 each. Where else can you take in a show for such a reasonable price?) We don’t charge things on our credit cards that can’t be paid off at the end of each month. (Heaven help me when my truck finally breaks down).

I’m not whining, and I’m not complaining.  In fact, I’ve always considered myself pretty comfortable, all things considered.  I am exceedingly grateful to have a roof over my head and enough to eat. There are plenty of others with less. Sometimes I do wonder when it happened that the average American started working so hard and so long— to pay so much for so little. Of course, some of us are subsidizing various welfare programs.  But that would be a whole OTHER essay.

So to all my wealthy friends and family —and the rest of you out there (you lucky devils), who are so much better heeled than most of us:  Next time you can’t understand why someone you know isn’t able to do this or that, buy something or fly here or there— please try to remember what it was like to regularly shop the “cheap meat” section at the supermarket.

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Past Complaints

Well, If That Just Don’t Beat All

Know how when you’re expecting company and have so many things to do— all kinds of random stuff falls from the sky onto your head?  I suppose it only seems that way. Truth be told, “the sky is always falling”.  We might tend to notice it more when we’re overwhelmed or stressed.

My kids were coming in for a visit a few years ago.  That was the good news. We were to attend a family “do” in Dallas that weekend, and hotel rooms were about a kazillion dollars.  But since the organizer of the event booked a block of rooms, ours would be only half a kazillion. Such a relief.

At least the cheapest gasoline I found for our trip up there (and believe me, I always shopped around) had dropped below $2.20/ gal. —Like that was a real bargain.  (It sounds like a bargain these days, doesn’t it? When I originally wrote this, I wondered if gas prices will ever go below $2.00/ gal again. The answer looks like a big NO. Remember the gas wars when it was $.39/ gal, maybe less? I do! Clever readers can probably calculate my age from this information). I can remember two particular gas stations when I was a kid, across the street from each other. They kept dropping prices trying to compete.  It was great.  That was also back when “filling stations” (no one calls them that now) were full service and gave away drinking glasses and other gifts to hook new customers.  Those were the good ol’ days. If we’d all saved those promotional items, we could sell them for a fortune now on eBay. Hindsight’s always 20/20.

I was complaining when I originally wrote this piece about the oil companies trying to justify their enormous profits. That was news a few years ago. So big deal if they’d have to pay more taxes.  I mean, it would be better than letting them get away with it, but that didn’t help US.  (And it’s all about US). The taxes on the oil industry weren’t going to help what had come out of all our pockets. They probably ended up increasing the price at the pump even more.  I was, back then and still am, so disgusted with the leadership of this country.  No one has any guts any more. Sometimes I think we’ve all turned into a bunch of sheep. We keep electing representatives who won’t represent us.

And also in the news back then, no gay marriages recognized in Texas.  (Like that vote was a big surprise).  AND. . . .the fact that the state was cutting down perfectly good hundred-year-old pecan trees actually made it to local news.  A county judge ruled that the state could do whatever it wants as far as destroying those stately old trees.  (Well, they CAN of course, but is it RIGHT?  Does anyone care any more if things are RIGHT? How about sensible?) The State murdered one of “our” trees last week.  We found out after the fact and were justifiably horrified. If I had known about this before it was a fait accompli, I would have lain down in front of the bulldozer.  (And I’d probably be dead now). To my knowledge, there’d never been an accident at that corner, so justifying the felling of that lovely tree for reasons of safety didn’t wash with me. I thought of drawing a chalk line in the shape of a huge tree with paint. If everyone who lost a beautiful, old tree in front of his property would do the same, it might make a powerful statement. Perhaps the state would think twice before continuing on this expensive, unnecessary, and thoughtless path. Well, probably not. I mean, don’t they have better things to do with our tax dollars?  I wonder who’s profiting from all this tree cutting? Some state official’s son-in-law’s landscaping concern?  Or did Halliburton obtain the contract? (Halliburton was in the news a lot back then as well —when so many were up in arms about the war. Most have given up that fruitless fight by).

We’d been adopted by a stray cat when I originally penned this one.  I tried for a days to shoo her away, hoping she belonged to someone in the area but was out “searching for answers” and a change of scene. But Zack (soft touch that he is) saw her, conversed with her, and fed her, and invited her to stick around.  Well, that did it. To thank him for his kindness, she bit and scratched him. (Repeatedly).  I named her Wild Thing and avoided her like the plague. I didn’t need the aggravation. She finally tamed down a bit, but I still don’t trust her completely, all these years later.

Zack’s OTHER cat Seeky (a geriatric feline, now deceased) was living on the back porch and breezeway.  If you don’t use the litter box around here, you vacate the premises. Actions have consequences. Quite simple really.  We thought Seeky and Stinky the Dog (who lived in the back yard) had finally become accustomed to each other, after glaring through the screen for a month or so.  When a storm blew the door open and the frightened dog dashed onto the porch, they completely ignored each other. They were both preoccupied with wind, thunder, and lightening.  The dog, coward that he is, hid in his travel crate. After the storm, he returned to his yard and doghouse. A week later, we left them together for half a minute, and, you guessed it. Big mistake.  —Don’t know who started it or if it was just one of those little misunderstandings that somehow escalates and becomes ugly. The cat ended up with a bite, and left a claw in the fur of the dog’s back. She’s convalescing nicely, trying to worm her way back into the house, but that couldn’t happen. But as far as subsequent dog and cat encounters, never the twain did meet again. And P.S. the dog avoids cats now like poison, gives them a wide berth when he encounters them. Seeky taught him respect for all felines.

Other good news was (and thanks to all who enquired) that Babe the
Feared Blind Bull was released back into the herd.  He saw well enough that he didn’t fall off cliffs, managed to find food and water and stay with the others.  I think he’d probably be considered legally blind now, so we won’t allow him to drive.  But we didn’t have to destroy him either.  Sometimes you catch a break. P.S. to the bull story:  he’s still with us and doing OK.

The fall I wrote this piece, I had some kind of bulbs or onions coming up.  That was just wrong. That warm November had them thinking spring had arrived.  Zinnias were coming up from seeds that dropped in October. We had one 28-degree night that ruined most of the summer flowers, and those zinnias were in for a rude awakening, because the warm weather couldn’t and didn’t last.  (Thankfully, neither did the drought we were having back then.  But that was another column). I even found a couple of ladybugs in the house.  That also doesn’t usually happen until spring. Everything was all mixed up. (Look up the definition and origin of “snafu”). Mixed up happens a lot around here. I’ve since learned that it can be the norm rather than the exception.

To top it all off, the mice were back.  Some years were and are worse than others. I was running my traps again, had bagged five, and was searching for the point of entry). The last mouse had been smarter than the first few.  He escaped from a sticky trap (twice) after dragging it about a foot.  Each morning, the traps were disturbed, but no mouse. And he managed to steal the nuts and chocolate off a real trap at least three times without setting it off. How can that be? If I just look at a trap hard, it snaps shut and goes flying. I never saw the elusive rodent, but I named him Houdini. And declared war. It did me no good. Perhaps he saw the folly of his ways and wisely decided to find other winter quarters. (Where were all these cats when I needed them?) I never did catch him.

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Weather and Fences

The saying goes that ranching is all about water and fences. This is true. But it’s also sometimes about weather and fences. Texas weather, you gotta love it. It’s one of our favorite subjects around here. In August and September, we’re sweltering.  But of course, that’s perfectly normal. And no rain. Not unusual for summer in Central Texas.

By October, we’ve usually experienced our first freeze, sometimes an early one.  Here at the ranch, we went down to 28 degrees one year at that time; certainly low enough to turn all my beautiful summer flowers brown.  —Seems we’re always either much colder or much warmer here than the forecast predicts, situated as we must be in some sort of extreme weather wormhole.

After my flowers were rendered worthless by the freeze, the weather warmed again, so all the cold-loving plants I had installed keeled over and died. Too hot. And still no rain.  I probably didn’t water enough either.  In the summer, you KNOW you must water the plants every day.  By fall, you expect Mother Nature to take some of the heat off. (Pun intended). Sometimes you just can’t win.

Although we had a few cold nights, November was still warm enough to play host to insects that should have been long dead.  Even during November, one can find a respectably sized mosquito, dead from heatstroke at a steaming kitchen window.  There he lay, like a cartoon figure, on his back, with his little legs up stretched into the 90-degree plus air. Oh yes, out here, it was in the nineties in November.  Sunbathing weather. And don’t think we didn’t. I saved the mosquito for Zack to see.  He didn’t seem to fully appreciate the humor in that.

We had flies that month as if it were the height of the summer. And down in the Caribbean somewhere, a tropical storm blossomed the day after hurricane season officially ended.  Go fig. What a bad year for hurricanes some are, an understatement.  At least, as they travel northward from the Gulf of Mexico, they usually give the gift of rain to a parched state, but no, not every time. Not a drop do we usually receive.  Amazing.

A few days after the parched mosquito lay in state in the kitchen, the weather suddenly turned cold.  When the weatherman predicts 32 degrees, we prepare for a hard freeze out here, and sure enough, that particular time bore that out.  The mercury dropped into the low twenties, and we were glad we had turned on pilot lights in heaters (and employed them), opened cabinets underneath sinks, and either turned off water and drained pipes or left faucets dripping. We kept the windmill pump running hoping that moving water wouldn’t freeze.  It didn’t.  And it gave us the most spectacular icicle display as it overflowed the high tank of our old gravity feed system.

We’ve had some wonderful (and cold) walks at dawn.  We’ve had the opportunity to break ice on the troughs many times.  One day the frozen crust was about five inches thick.  (And the resident trough goldfish were just fine below the ice, thank goodness). You can take out a whole lot of frustrations breaking ice with a big ol’ pick ax.  I highly recommend it. (Strikes of the ax can be accompanied by all manner of conversation and expletives, as there’s not a soul around to hear.  It’s better than therapy and much cheaper.  And the doctor tells me all this weight-bearing exercise is great for women “my age”, a phrase I’ve come to hate).

Since our old tractor wouldn’t start in cold weather, I was previously forced to drop four bales of hay in gated pens before cold spells hit.  Thank goodness we have worked so hard to get the fences and gates in order. For once, we had foresight.  So every below freezing morning, instead of jumping on the tractor in 18 degrees or whatever, I’d just pull on the ol’ long johns, jeans, two sweaters, insulated overalls (and muffler, coat, ear-warmers, etc.  I hate to be cold), hop in the truck, and go open a gate.  —Had to whack the hooks on some of the chains a couple of mornings, so frozen were they with their coatings of ice. It was a winter wonderland out there.  After the shock of having to actually get out and moving in weather that cold, I appreciated it all.  I was also grateful I didn’t slip on the ice. If I had my druthers, I’d rather have snow.

We’ve had a few casualties from the cold over the years, and they are usually one of the resident raccoons.  Poor things, at various times, must have tried a little figure-skating atop a larger trough.  I suppose the ice gave way; they fell in and froze.  Guess who had to fish them out?  Where was the big, strong man when I needed him?  Poor raccoons. If they had only waited another night, the ice would have been plenty thick enough to have held their weight, and indeed held the weight of a whole raccoon village.

As I’ve written before, we also go through droughts. (I suspect we may have more casualties from these awful droughts than from the cold.  If we all don’t lose cattle, many of us will certainly be forced to sell them rather than allow them to starve.  Few among us have deep enough pockets to buy months of feed after our meager supplies of hay run out. And talk about gas gouging by Big Oil —-Around here lately we have seen small time hay gouging by our luckier neighbors to the north or west or wherever this imported hay is arriving from.  Instead of pitching in to help fellow farmers in their time of need, some of our neighbors are offering us their extra hay at premium prices.  And thanks to Big Oil, it costs more to truck it down to us. Nice way to help your fellowman, friends.  What we need is some sort of hay co-op —-so that when one part of the country has a bad spell, things are in place to spread the surplus at reasonable prices to people in need in our OWN country.  So again, I ask, “How about THAT idea, Mr. President?”

Does FEMA have any extra funds available for drought relief?  I heard someone mention something about a possible payment of maybe $19. a head from the ASCS.  Wow.  That’ll really help a lot. . . . .Excuse me, did I sound cynical? Ungrateful?  There are people in this country who haven’t worked in years, who play the welfare system like a fine tuned instrument, who have babies after babies after babies with no way to support them, and they all get money, housing, aid, and health care. But hardworking farmers and ranchers are offered $19/ head during their time of need.  They have the opportunity to sell off herds of cattle they’ve raised and nurtured —and start all over again at a later date when cattle prices will no doubt be higher than they are even now.  And to top it all off, they have the pleasure of paying their own inflated health insurance with no group rate, come up with money to meet rising taxes, and shell out hard won dollars for ridiculous gas and diesel prices to run the equipment that fuels their operations).

But back to the weather before my blood pressure strokes me out.. . . .Our lowest night that I can remember during the last decade was 10 degrees.  Despite our precautions, we had a pipe on the north side of one house freeze solid.  —By some miracle, there was no resulting leak. One night it was only a mild 20 degrees, and the following day the thermometer on the breezeway said 70 (in the shade). The one in direct sunlight was higher.  From 10 degrees to almost 80 in 48 hours.  Texas weather, you gotta love it.

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Happy Holidays or Merry Christmas?

It may not be the season, but if you read this now, you’ll be ready next time around.

So I spoke my peace about the Christmas Tree vs. Holiday Tree thing.  And if that weren’t enough, that same season, the news shows were asking us what we think of “Season’s Greetings/Happy Holidays” as opposed to “Merry Christmas”. Another no-brainer for this good Jewish girl.

It mainly involves to whom you are speaking.  Christians wish Christians “Merry Christmas” and everyone’s happy. If a bunch of folks are in church together, you can pretty much figure out how everyone feels about it. The tricky part is when you don’t know the religious beliefs of the person you’re greeting. In a small, homogenous town like ours, it’s a pretty good bet that 99.9% would be OK with “Merry Christmas”. (Feel free to wish me a Happy Channucha if you see me, or something more universal). But go to a larger place, and you are likely to encounter people of many faiths.

The greeting question is an easy thing to dance around to maintain religious and political correctness. This ain’t rocket science. So read on for more than you ever wanted to know about my feelings on the subject.

If I know a friend is of another religion, I certainly wouldn’t wish him a Happy Channucha.  Why would I do so? I would wish him a Happy Holiday Season.  That way, I’m covered, correct, and considerate. How difficult is that?  I know Christmas is important to my Christian friends, so I hope they enjoy their holiday and that season. When did we, in this country, stop being considerate and sensitive to people’s feelings? If I’m totally unsure of the religion of choice, I still make the greeting universal.  This works just fine for me, and so far, no one’s ever complained.

When I previously sent out holiday cards (back when stamps were MUCH cheaper), I always chose a universal message. When my friends of other faiths send ME holiday cards, I’m especially flattered if they’ve picked out something that applies more to my own beliefs.  But very few take the time for that or gave it much thought, and I certainly wouldn’t expect it.  We live in a busy world. On the rare occasions this has happened, it has endeared that person to me immeasurably and shown me what a fine, sensitive individual he or she is.  It makes me think that his or her mama raised that person just right. Or maybe some folks simply develop a whole lot of class all on their own.

If someone specifically sends me a Christmas card, I assume the person meant well, that it was an oversight, that perhaps they weren’t aware I’m Jewish —or that I was just one of many on a long card list. I don’t expect anyone to take the time to single me out for a special card. I appreciate when anyone takes the time to think of me at all. It’s sort of like the old saying, “I don’t care what you call me, just call me”.

If a person wishes me a Merry Christmas and then catches himself and apologizes, I assure him or her I’m not offended.  Then I wish a Happy Holiday back. This is easy stuff.  It doesn’t require a course from Miss Manners.

If I believed a person were using a Christmas greeting or invitation as an opportunity for mission work, I admit I’d be bothered.  I don’t think this is usually the case, but it sometimes happens.

Some of my friends have invited me to come to their churches on a regular basis as well as at Christmas time.  They’re trying to share something with me that’s important to them. I understand this. It doesn’t anger me; I’m just not interested. I’ve attended weddings, funerals, even Christmas Masses with friends in a few different churches over my lifetime, and those were memorable events for me.  As an artist, I’ve happily appreciated churches in this country and several others.  But I was only a spectator, a guest. I have my own religion, and I’m happy with it.

These invitations to churches have been issued many times over the years, most often when I moved into a new area and people weren’t sure of my affiliation. Mostly, neighbors were just being friendly. The invitations also seem to occur more often in small towns, where religion might be a larger part of the lives of the general population and where the community indeed revolves around the churches.

After I say thanks very much —-but don’t follow up —or after I explain my religious background if pressed, I expect people to gracefully back down about the “come to my church” issue, and most do. Some do not, and those pushy people are rarely appreciated.

Some folks are unclear about things. I had a very dear friend invite me to worship with her.  She described to me how the Jewish wife of a fellow parishioner came to their church regularly, indeed was a member of that church now and a Christian, but still Jewish.  Uh, I don’t think so.  One pretty much has to choose from column A or column B, a very personal choice and one I would certainly respect.  I tried to delicately explain that I couldn’t do that, indeed had no interest in doing so, though I appreciated the invitation and her kindness.

I think I may be more sensitive than most to these issues, being in the minority as I am. So after all is said and done, just to be safe, I most often use the more universal “Happy Holidays” or “Season’s Greetings”.  I highly recommend it to any who are on the fence about this issue, especially to those who will be wishing greetings to people of different faiths. When such a universal sentiment is wished to ME, it makes me feel just fine. (I like celebrating the secular New Year as well, another safe greeting bet for most).

I figure it’s always better for someone to say nice words to me than to yell at me about my driving or something, and it sure beats being ignored.  So Happy holidays everyone next holiday season.  Season’s greetings too.  And a very happy and healthy New Year to all.

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Christmas Tree or Holiday Tree?

Christmas Tree or Holiday Tree?

Remember all the upheaval a while back about this? For me, there’s a simple answer, and only one.  It’s a Christmas tree, of course.  Any ninny can see that.  And I don’t say this as a Christian, because I’m not one. I can’t speak as an expert for most other non-Christian religions, but I do know that Jews aren’t supposed to have holiday trees. Period. It doesn’t matter what you call them. Oh, some do have them.  It’s hard to tell children that Santa is only for others. I mean, every little kid wants toys and all the romance surrounding the jolly fat man. After all, Christmas commercialism is rampant in our society. Most of my Christian friends would say it’s gotten way out of hand.

But Jews aren’t supposed to have holiday trees. It’s not even kosher to call it a Chanukah Bush.  You just can’t get away with it, no matter what you do.  I try not to feel too deprived this time of year.  I truly enjoy the Christmas decorations of my friends and neighbors, the wintry spirit of the season. It’s great for the economy and gives a real boost to the energy providers as well.  I love to hear Christmas music, and always figured wishes for good will on earth and peace to man were pretty universal.

Growing up Reform Jewish in Waco, Texas in the fifties and sixties, I’m certainly no expert on all aspects and branches of my religion. But I know enough to tell you from my own point of view that these trees are for Christmas and nothing else.

Jewish folks celebrate Chanukah about the same time of year, but it was never meant to be a substitution holiday to make us feel less left out when December rolled around.  In fact, Chanukah has been around a whole lot longer than the Christmas.  It came first, that’s all.  And it’s a joyous, proud holiday about religious freedom, but not even a major holiday in my religion.

The idea of religious freedom works well at this time of year in a country where we all agree to enjoy our diversity and respect one another’s beliefs. So it’s only coincidental that both holidays usually fall in the same month and involve gift giving.  We didn’t start giving gifts at Chanukah to compete with our Christian friends. It’s just part of the spirit of the thing. (All Jewish holidays adhere to the Jewish calendar, which follows the moon.  That’s why they rarely fall on the same date each year). In 2005, Christmas and Chanukah happened to be on the same day.  The first night of Chanukah, when the first candle was to be lit, ws December 25.

If the Christmas tree is a relatively recent symbol of Christmas (if perhaps commercial Christmas), then a special menorah is symbolic of Chanukah, and has been for hundreds and hundreds of years, with it’s eight-plus-one spots for candles. I won’t take time here to give a tutorial of the holiday.  If anyone’s interested, just ask. The thing is that Jews are proud to celebrate their own holiday at this time of year and enjoy watching our Christian friends celebrate theirs.

Now if you ask me more pointed questions about the division of church and state, things might get a little sticky.  I’m pretty much a firm believer in that division, as were our founding fathers.  They saw fit to place that idea into an important document for good reason. Our nation was established on freedom, including freedom of religion. For instance, what do I think about my tax dollars going to fund elaborate Christmas displays in my town, in my state, or in my nation?  Well, truth be told, I’m not too crazy about that. Am I going to scream and yell about it?  Well, no.  Do I expect my little town to spend many tax dollars on a large, elaborate, energy sucking Chanukah menorah in the square (as is done in many larger cities) to give equal time to the (probably) only Jewish taxpaying residents?  No, of course not.  (And do you think the general populace would like it one little bit?  No, of course not). Do I think it would be considerate to do a little something to honor non-Christian residents who celebrate other holidays during this time of year?  I suppose it would.  But we can’t start publicly decorating for a myriad of holidays to honor and appease a diverse nation. Maybe not here, but in many places, there are just too many different traditions to be honored. Is it right that we honor even one with public funds?

Is it fair that we single out only one religion at this time of year for our public displays?  Well, probably not, but the majority rules.  It always has. Is it legal to do this with public funds, considering the church and state thing?  Probably not. But am I going to challenge it and take the entire country to court, have people screaming obscenities at me when I walk down the street?  Well, no, of course not. That brave, I’m not.

Would it be more appropriate to let churches provide the displays for Christmas rather than the public?  I suppose it might. They usually do anyway. Then each religion could display its own symbols of the season at its places of worship. But this isn’t the way things are.  Public Christmas celebrations have been done this way for a very long time in this country. And they will probably continue to be done this way for a lot longer. I want to live peacefully with my neighbors.  I certainly won’t make a stink about it.

I grew up singing Christmas carols in public school presentations, making Christmas decorations in Blue Birds and Camp Fire Girls, collecting for Toys for Tots and food for Christmas food drives in public high school, etc.  No one told me I had a choice.  I did my Jewish stuff in Sunday School. So I sort of got hit double. No one, not one public school teacher or principal wondered if the non-Christian students were uncomfortable with all that, and none of our parents made a big fuss about it. They wanted us to get along.  They were still stinging from the horror of the Holocaust and more blatant anti-Semitism. They just explained, early on, that this was a holiday celebrated by most of our friends and neighbors in honor of the birth of Jesus Christ. And we were always taught to respect the beliefs of others.

Did it feel funny to be forced to sing songs from a religion not my own?  Well, sure.  How do you think most Christian or Muslim or Hindu or Buddhist kids would feel singing Chanukah songs? I knew I was in the minority, and I went along with it, but I have to admit that it bothered me. Yet I was silent.  Back then, third graders didn’t stand up for themselves much. I was meeker and quieter then.

I think the whole “holiday tree” controversy came about in the 90’s with communities trying to be politically correct, hoping to avoid lawsuits in our litigious society.  I doubt anyone consulted a Rabbi to ask if the term “Christmas tree” was offensive to Jews. It isn’t.  The item in question IS a Christmas tree, part of a rich Christian tradition for one of the most important holidays in that religion’s calendar. It just doesn’t encompass Jews, no matter what it’s called.  I suspect others of different faiths would agree, although I cannot speak for them.  It IS a Christmas tree.  So what’s all the fuss?

The problem isn’t what to call it, but whether or not it is appropriate or even legal to use public funds to buy it, light it, and maintain it for a month or so. But I’m not going to fight that fight.  I just hope we can all be respectful of each other’s beliefs both during the holiday season and all year round.

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In Times of Drought

One day closer to rain.  We chant that mantra during times of drought and most summers now.  Every day during dry times, we always hope for the terrible droughts to end.  But sometimes they don’t for a very long time. I don’t know if we’ve hit an all time high for dry days according to the record keepers, but I can tell you from personal experience that out here on this ranch in Central Texas, there was a time a few years ago that we had half the normal amount of average expected rainfall (in 2005).  Even when others around us had rain (which landed in the record books as measurable precipitation), we had none or just a trace, not even enough to settle the dust. I wrote the following piece during that dry time I’m including it because unfortunately, drought will come again, if not here, then to another part of the country, affecting farmers and ranchers in the very same way:

Things are very dry and brown right now at the ranch.  Like many of our neighbors, we’re forced to sell off most of our herd of cattle due to the drought (taking a big bunch of pregnant mama cows on Wednesday, something I never thought I would do).  You know when some of the largest cattle producers in the area take entire herds to the sale barns that we’re all in trouble. You know things are desperate when nearly half the volume of sales at a local auction barn is mama cows.

We’ve bought a little additional hay (at exorbitant prices), as emergency backup to supplement what we have.  We could ill afford it. When we bought it, we hoped there would be rain forthcoming, that by selling off calves and old cows, we could keep the rest of the herd, feed the hay we had made, along with the hay we had bought. But rain hasn’t come.

Even with the “store-bought” hay, we still won’t have enough to feed until spring grazing pops up. (Hopefully, surely, there will be rain between now and then.  It’s hard to remain optimistic.  And if rain doesn’t come in the spring, it surely won’t come in the summer here.  It rarely does).

Usually this time of year, there’s plenty of winter grass all over the pecan/river bottoms and elsewhere, but not now.  Even the winter grass around the houses, usually lush and green, is dormant. Last year we went to, what for us was great expense, to plant a field of perennial rye grass.  The idea was for it to come back every year and require only fertilizer, canceling the need for pricey annual plowing, cultivating, and planting of some annual feed crop.  We were expecting that grass to supplement the winter-feeding routine ad infinitum.  We were looking forward to our investment paying off this year in additional grazing for the herd.  But that plan didn’t work out too well.  (There’s an old Yiddish saying that’s particularly appropriate here, “Man plans and God laughs”.  That sort of says it all). So no rain, no rye grass. We don’t know if it’s dead or just waiting. We’ll roll the dice and let it lie a little longer.  We won’t plow it under to plan something else yet, not lease that field out to someone else.

We bought the usual nutritional supplements for the cattle as well as some extra things we wouldn’t normally feed. We’re giving creep feed to the small calves to ease the burden on their hungry mamas. We sold off most of the calves earlier than is usual, so they were lighter than ever before.  You make more money if you can keep them until they’re at least 400-500 pounds.

The only good news was that cattle prices remained high. Every day, we thought, surely, we’re “one day closer to rain”. But it hasn’t come.  Nothing is growing (except mesquite and cedar), not one green blade of anything, no winter grass, barely any weeds.  A respiratory disease known as “dust pneumonia” has affected many cattle in the area as they lower their heads into the dust and dry weeds searching for food.  This required treatment, and treatment means time and money.

Even Babe the (Legally Blind) Bull’s bout of double whammy pink eye was the result of his grazing the dusty ground, irritating his eyes with broom weed and other dry vegetation.  That pink eye, rare in both eyes, required a pricey trip to the vet, medication, stitches, quarantine, his own sanitarium (in the cow lot), personal hay bales, and hand feeding for two months by Zach and yours truly).

Not only is this situation affecting cattle ranchers, but also those ranchers and farmers who plant crops (who have lost everything they invested for the winter season, often thousands and thousands of dollars).  It also affects those who own livestock of any kind, from regular-sized and miniature donkeys and horses to pigs, sheep and goats. It isn’t only that we must supplement what we were able to grow last spring and summer before the rain stopped coming.  It isn’t just that hay prices are twice what they should be.  Now it’s become almost impossible to find hay at any price. Many animals, including cattle, need roughage in their stomachs to remain healthy.  Some can’t thrive on feed alone.

A friend of ours came to pick up a few small, square bales of hay for his donkey.  When I was little, we loaded those heavy bales (by hand) onto the hay wagon. Even when my kids were young, we’d drive through the pasture, dump the bales off, cut the wire. (This is how plentiful, used baling wire came to be such a staple around old homesteads).

That hay’s been sitting in the old barn collecting rattlesnakes for over twenty years now, since the advent of the larger, round bales that are easier to pick up, transport and feed from the hayfork of a tractor or device such as a hay hook on a truck.  The guy who bales our Sudan for us does round bales now. So that’s what we feed. The hay wagon has been in retirement for years and years, although my daughter did sunbathe on it when she was a teen.

So Zack and Ron climbed into the hayloft and threw down the bales for Moonbeam the Donkey.  They kicked out some extra for our cows, even though this dusty stuff surely has no nutritional value whatsoever after all this time (will only be given for bulk, fed with “molasses” close by, a liquid supplement.  Our molasses bill for 45 head has been running about $350/ mo. lately).

A few weeks ago, the herd, probably led by Big Bag, “the cow I love to hate”, the subject of many diatribes and more than a few stories and cartoons, broke into another old barn.  There, in one of the “rooms” sat a foot-deep layer of thirty or forty or maybe even fifty-year old oats.  That stuff dates back to the era when crops were grown here, stored, and fed to the cows.  This was a very, very long time ago, when my uncle and the ranch foreman of fifty years, Walter, were young and strong.  (They’re both gone now, my uncle for almost a quarter of a century).

Those cows were so hungry they somehow smelled the ancient feed in the barn and broke in to find it.  They pushed their way through stored furniture, old stoves, windows (all destroyed now), and farm equipment to get to the prehistoric feed.  That’s how desperate they were, even after we had been feeding them hay, just not as much as they wanted, not as much as they were accustomed to. When cattle are hungry, they start breaking through fences, causing ranchers all kinds of trouble.  I didn’t know they would break into barns as well. I guess I underestimated the inimitable Ms. Bag.

Even the Bible says to feed our animals before ourselves.  So it’s hard to hear them calling to us that they’re still hungry. We’ve tried to hold back the meager supply of hay, hoping to dole it out until there’s something green growing. The cattle see the hay on the other side of the fence and don’t understand why we won’t bring them a bale or two. It’s heartbreaking.

So rather than let them starve, we now have to let most of them go. Even Big Bag’s time may come.  Although she’s been a huge nuisance over the years, you have no idea how much this would pain me. And she’s not the only one who is familiar, like an old friend I see every day, not exactly big pets (like Babe the Bull), but certainly an integral part of this place and of our lives. These animals have depended on us for a long time and have served us well. It’s been a good partnership.

I’m trying to look at the sell off of the herd as a blessing in disguise, an opportunity to take some of the older cows who really do need to go.  I probably could have held onto them too much longer anyway.  Now I have no choice.  You aren’t supposed to get sentimental about livestock, but some of these cows have been here for years.

Now I wish I hadn’t named them. I thought I was safe naming Mama cows.  You don’t expect to sell them off until they’re very, very old. I’ve written stories about them, drawn cartoons of them for newspapers and magazines. And the younger ones, I’ve “known” since they were born, even though I don’t name them (trying always to stay as detached as possible to those I know will leave when they reach a certain weight).

On a practical note, if we’re able one day to buy back younger cows and begin again with a new herd, it will take time before they come to respond to us as this familiar group does.  These cows have “been making a living here” for a long time now, and they know exactly what’s going on when we work them.  This makes life much easier for all of us. As new animals have been introduced to the herd, the old ones have shown them the ropes.

As a group (with a couple of notable exceptions), the cattle are quite docile and accustomed to us and our ways. All we must do to elicit a desired response is call a certain word or whistle a certain way, and they know whether to come or go. We rarely even raise our voices.  There’s no need of cattle prods. Sometimes just seeing us enter a field from a certain direction, this group of animals knows it’s time to vacate the premises. They intuit our directions. Contrary to popular belief, they aren’t so stupid.

So an entire routine will be broken for us all, humans and bovines alike. And some still viable animals who should have lived comfortable, productive lives out here for years to come will probably make their way a little too early to McDonalds. I try not to think about it. —Such a waste on all counts.

Things aren’t going as we had hoped they would. (The life of a farmer/rancher.  I guess it’s this way for everyone in any occupation.  Life is just uncertain).  Nothing we planted for winter grazing is coming up.  Thank goodness we had invested only about fifty acres in that. So many people have lost so much more. Mother Nature is a very unpredictable, fickle partner. So instead of enlarging the herd, taking over more and more fields each year that had previously been leased out —instead of wisely planning and planting grasses for more grazing, we are doing exactly the opposite. . . . .at least for now. “Life is full of hills and valleys”, (my favorite line from the book/movie Same Time Next Year).

Yesterday, the water well stopped producing, but we are hoping (expecting) this is due to the need for new leathers (gaskets) on the sucker rods that bring up the water.  The leathers must be maintained, and you never know when you’ll have to change them.  Sometimes you notice a gradual decrease in output, or suddenly there’s simply no water, always a shock, and in weather like this, a real concern. The first thought is that they well has finally gone dry after all these years. There’s no water in the tanks either (ponds, for those of you Northern readers) —-not unusual for this time of year, no water running in creeks or standing anywhere.

In the last month or two, I’ve had to fish three dead raccoons out of the large trough near the old pigpens. The wilder critters have no other place to drink.  They venture down into the trough when the water level is low, fall in and become trapped, I suppose. I don’t remember this happening before.

So working on the well rods/ leathers is our first Saturday morning project tomorrow.  In the meantime, the cattle are drinking pricey community water, the same that comes into the house. And to add insult to injury, the chlorinated water will kill the goldfish that have lived in those troughs (some for years) keeping the algae at bay.  The drought is even affecting my goldfish!

And there’s now the added concern over fires with such dry, windy conditions.  The problems and dangers just go on and on.  I thought of suggesting a nationwide Adopt-A-Cow program.  You send me money for hay for a year, and name your cow.  I could send a picture.  You might even want to come visit. If you choose Big Bag, it will cost you double, and the name cannot be changed. Lumpy, Babe, Lou, Freckleneck, Funnyface, Betty Davis and E.J. won’t cost you extra, but the names remain the same.

I try to keep joking.  I look for a silver lining. Thank goodness cattle prices are still high, so if we are both careful and lucky, we may put something aside to buy back younger cows when moisture returns someday to this parched landscape, if it ever does. The term “dust bowl” has been bandied about lately, and it scares me.

At the newspaper office, we’ve been wondering whether local farmers and ranchers as a cohesive group or perhaps an organization like the Texas Farm Bureau might encourage our state representative to go to bat on our behalf.  Maybe large companies like Tractor Supply Corp would like to make substantial donations to some loyal customers. At the very least, we need some type of government program to truck hay down here from places like Wyoming, where it’s plentiful and reasonably priced. (But at $2.50  or more a gallon for diesel, the shipping charges would be exorbitant. And for people like me who’ve already been forced to sell animals, it’s almost too late for extra hay.  But if this situation continues, we’ll all need more help.

Things are reaching a true crisis situation in Central Texas (probably most of Texas and Oklahoma) for farmers and ranchers.  This is no joke.  Things are very, very serious. We’re talking here about hard-working people who, while they haven’t had their homes or livelihoods swept away by floods or destroyed by storms, are in very dire straits right now, in danger of losing most of what they’ve worked for, in some cases, for a lifetime.

This breed of farmer/rancher folk isn’t likely to ask for help. So I am asking for us all.  Others in true need (and some who are good at the con) seem to get relief for this catastrophe or that, as well most should.  We Central Texans need to get in line now and be grateful for any assistance.  Most of us have paid into the system all our lives. Now, by no fault of our own, we need to make some withdrawals).

We need drought relief payments for crops planted that never came up, for replacement cattle we will buy later, probably at higher prices. These relief payments need to be fair and reasonable, not tokens. We need help paying for supplemental feed, not just loans, but outright gifts or cheaper commodities. Many of us could use low interest loans.

What we really need is rain. Unfortunately, the last time I checked, our government didn’t have any greater influence in that department than we do personally as individuals.

So this isn’t my usual humorous minor catastrophe column.  This time I’m writing about a real catastrophe, a big one.  It’s affecting hundreds, possibly thousands of farmers and ranchers, both large operations and small ones, like ours.  We need help.  What can you do for us, Mr. President? Your citizens are in need of assistance right here at home.  Your neighbors need your help.

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