February 03 '01       
	   
	  

	  Volume 244
	    

	  Fred Visits
	  Long Journeys Remembered 
	    

	  

	  It is rare that I
	  seeSimilar To Mine either of my brothers. One lives about one mile from my house
	  in Pontotoc, and the other lives roughly seven hundred fifty miles away in
	  central Florida. James, my younger brother is usually at work when I am in
	  town, and when he's off, he plays hard at boating, fishing, hunting, riding
	  4-wheelers in the woods at night, etc. My older brother, Fred, having long
	  since retired from the U.S. Air Force, after a twenty-year hitch, is retired
	  again, this time from a corporation.
	  

	  I can't say for certain, but I get the distinct impression that retirement
	  is not as glorious as Fred anticipated it would be. There's enough restlessness
	  in his bones to make him miserable part of the time. He never said so, during
	  his recent visit to Pontotoc, but I felt he actually welcomed the chance
	  to drive to Minnesota in late December to attend the wedding of his wife's
	  niece.
	  

	  Some folks marvel that Barbara and I don't wear ourselves out with the weekly
	  treks we make to and from Greenville and Pontotoc. I marvel that my older
	  brother can travel thousands of miles in a matter of days and look no worse
	  for wear. Put me in a car for twelve to fourteen hours a day, and I need
	  a week to recuperate, but Fred, six years my senior, seems to thrive on such.
	  

	  I won't ever forget the first long trip I made in a car. Barbara and I were
	  still newlyweds, but in the late sixties we struck out to visit Fred and
	  his family while he was stationed in Scribner, Nebraska. We even took James
	  and Sarah, my teenaged siblings, with us. I'm pretty sure it was a sixteen-hour
	  drive that began early one night and ended the next afternoon. It was summertime,
	  no air conditioner, a five-seater 1959 T-Bird, and if I had it to do over
	  again, I wouldn't do it.
	  

	  I was tired when we arrived in Scribner, and I was "tireder" when we got
	  back to Pontotoc. Though, we enjoyed our visit, I can't say any of us enjoyed
	  the drive. I learned something from that experience, principally, never invite
	  your teenaged brother and sister with you on a long trip, especially, if
	  they regularly get along with the cordiality of cats and dogs.
	  

	  I also learned that cross-country trucking would not be a profession for
	  me, and that as much as I might enjoy visiting with my older brother and
	  his family, it would suit me fine for them to make the trips, instead of
	  me. Somehow, the four of us survived the trip emotionally and physically,
	  and the old T-Bird made it all the way back to the driveway in Pontotoc without
	  giving us a minute's trouble. However, as soon as we turned into the drive,
	  the alternator died and had to be replaced. I was thankful it had not happened
	  on our journey.
	  

	  I am not surprised that my brother can still outlast me behind the wheel
	  of a car on a long journey, but I was somewhat surprised when he couldn't
	  answer a question that I posed in the middle of his describing their trip
	  to Minnesota. He had shared that he thought his feet would freeze the whole
	  time he spent in his brother-in-law's home. Thrift, rather than necessity
	  or lack of resources compels his CPA brother-in-law to set the thermostats
	  at 68° . Fred tolerates cold weather so that
	  he can live in the United States, but his body would probably prefer something
	  nearer the tropics than northern Florida, let alone central Minnesota in
	  the wintertime.
	  

	  Knowing that he spent a couple of days eating at the table of a relation,
	  I asked him what they fed him.
	  

	  He looked thoughtfully for a moment and said, "I don't know. I just ate what
	  they put on the table in front of me."
	  

	  I tried not to be too hard on him, but I found it difficult to believe he
	  had spent several days in Minnesota and could not remember a single meal.
	  I didn't write down what I had eaten that week, but I could have recalled
	  it. As much as he likes Southern foods, I just knew his hosts would have
	  served up some Yankee concoction that he could describe, and then we'd laugh
	  about how or why anybody would eat such, but he didn't.
	  

	  We spent the afternoon together in the kitchen, all to ourselves. My wife
	  was out and about doing something with or for Rayanne, and his wife had gone
	  shopping. Fred fiddled away on Dad's old fiddle and plucked out a few tunes
	  on my guitar, as I deboned and sliced a country ham. I also ground a couple
	  of chuck roast into ground meat to be used for hamburgers that evening, but
	  I ended up giving away all the ham, so I can’t vouch for its tastiness.
	  However, those lucky enough to receive it were most complimentary of the
	  flavor. I believed them.
	  

	    

	  Gastronomical 
	  Natural Gas Price 
	    

	  

	  We who lived during the "Energy Crisis" of the seventies are skeptical of
	  any who cry "shortage" as the foundation for the rationing or conserving
	  of energy. They lied to us then, and they'll lie to us again. The biggest
	  difference is that, today, we won't believe them. They've cried "wolf" once
	  too often for many of us to take them seriously.
	  

	  We, who saw gasoline prices skyrocket from around seventy-five cents a gallon
	  to more than a dollar and a half per gallon, were told by our governmental
	  leaders that the world was running out of oil. We were told that we must
	  seek alternate fuels for heating homes and propelling engines of cars and
	  planes. Doom is upon us, they cried. The media picked up the cry and ran
	  with it, and a lot of us believed the lies, then.
	  

	  I built a solar heater and placed it in a bedroom window, and it worked.
	  I can't say that it reduced our fuel bills, but it didn't hurt.
	  

	  The next year we bought a wood burning heater, which really did reduce our
	  conventional heating bill, and over the next several years, I probably saved
	  a hundred or so dollars. Whether it was worth all the trouble of installation
	  and the maintenance required in dumping ashes more than once a week, buying
	  firewood and bringing it inside the house everyday, is question for which
	  I may never have the answer. I was younger then, so the extra work would
	  have mattered less than it would today.
	  

	  By mid-summer of this year we heard reports that our nation's heating oil
	  supplies were lower than normal and that the folks in the northeast could
	  expect to pay higher prices for fuel oil this winter. The major presidential
	  candidates even made it a campaign issue and offered their respective solutions,
	  should either of them become president.
	  

	  We were also informed that the price of natural gas would increase, too.
	  All three of my houses use natural gas as a heat source for central heating
	  as well as supplying us with hot water. Thus, when we learned that natural
	  gas prices might increase by thirty percent during the winter months, there
	  was cause for some concern. My concern was, however, misplaced. I was concerned
	  about what I was being told, rather than what I was not being told. At no
	  time did I hear that the price might be greater than a thirty percent hike,
	  so I was not prepared for the astronomical surge in the price of gas, a surge
	  which compels me to describe as "gastronomical."
	  

	  I became alarmed around the first of January, after hearing on the local
	  TV station in Greenville that residents of Tchula were both dumbfounded and
	  enraged with their heating bills. One resident claimed her prior month's
	  bill was slightly more than a hundred dollars and the current month's bill
	  was in excess of one thousand dollars. I didn't sleep well that evening or
	  for the next several evenings.
	  

	  A few days later, our gas bill in Greenville arrived with a price tag that
	  reflected a 350 percent increase from the previous month. It was not as bad
	  as the person on TV from Tchula had reported, but it was an eye opener for
	  me.
	  

	  I would have to wait another two weeks before the gas bill for my Pontotoc
	  houses arrived. The utility bill that lists the amount of gas consumed also
	  lists fees for water, sewer, and garbage pick up, and, since I did not save
	  the receipts from the prior month, I can only compare totals. When I explain
	  that my bill doubled from November to December, one must understand I am
	  speaking of the entire bill, but considering the small variance in the other
	  services, it is safe to state the gas bill doubled.
	  

	  Natural gas is measured by the cubic meter. I don't know if the units of
	  measure on my gas bill are per cubic meter or per thousand cubic meters or
	  something else. However, I can state that one unit of gas cost me $0.65 last
	  May, but this January a unit of gas cost $1.488. You only need a little
	  elementary arithmetic to calculate the increase is 230 percent, rather than
	  the modest 30 percent that consumers were told to expect.
	  

	  By dipping into my emergency funds I had enough money to pay the January
	  gas bills. Fortunately, the weather has not been as cold this month as it
	  was in December. Additionally, since no one is at home through the week I
	  have taken to setting the thermostat below sixty when we leave on Sunday
	  afternoon, and keeping it below seventy when we return.
	  

	  Maybe, these actions will suffice to prevent a financial crisis. If not,
	  I can always rip out the gas logs and heat the house with the fireplace or
	  a wood-burning heater. I could even replace the water heaters with electric
	  units and impose an energy surcharge on Jason, or have him begin paying the
	  utilities in the guesthouse.
	  

	  I suppose I shouldn't be angry, but I can't help it. I understand the economics
	  of "supply and demand." I have seen the price of consumables, like coffee
	  and citrus products, skyrocket overnight whenever a hard freeze damages or
	  destroys a crop yet to be harvested. Simply the anticipation of a shortage
	  will trigger a rise in price of a given product. In a worldwide economy,
	  damage to a given crop may drive the price upwards, at least temporarily,
	  until that product can be obtained from alternate sources.
	  

	  In an unregulated free market, competition will generally keep prices from
	  getting ridiculously high by entities bent on profiteering. Yet, there doesn't
	  seem to be enough competition within the natural gas industry or from alternate
	  energy sources to stem the price consumers are asked to bear. While my instincts
	  tell me the consumer is better off without governmental intervention, my
	  pocketbook cries out for the re-regulation of the natural gas industry. If
	  the government can protect us from "price gouging" retailers and entrepreneurs
	  following a hurricane or other natural disaster, the government should be
	  able to protect consumers from profiteering by suppliers of natural gas.
	  How do you feel about it?
	  

	    

	  Delta Sights 
	  Fowl, Field, And Sky 
	    

	  

	  The longer I live in the Delta, the harder I look to find something meaningful
	  to justify my presence here for the greater part of each week. Most weeks
	  it's a struggle, and I readily admit the doldrum days outnumber the euphoric
	  ones.
	  

	  It's true there is beauty in the Mississippi Delta. Locating and/or recognizing
	  the beauty is the challenge. Surely, the drabness of a Delta winter's day
	  is second only to that of remote Siberia, or so I imagine. I've not seen
	  Siberia in the wintertime, but I understand it's not a top tourist attraction.
	  

	  Deltans are fortunate in being located along a major migratory flyway for
	  great hoards of waterfowl. Yes, I know that "flock" is the generic and most
	  used noun to define a collection of birds, but I tend to think of a flock
	  as representing less than a thousand and often less than a hundred. Millions
	  of ducks and geese pass each winter, making brief stops to forage for food
	  in the now muddy earthen fields where crops of rice, wheat, soybeans, Milo,
	  or corn grew in their respective season. Travelers are often privy to view
	  thousands of geese in a single field, or to marvel at even greater numbers
	  overhead.
	  

	  Redtail hawks abound in the Delta in the winter, and both their beauty and
	  their numbers help this traveler wile away the hours behind the windshield.
	  A co-worker and I counted 135 hawks over the course of a day earlier this
	  month, but since we came back along the same route we traveled that morning,
	  it is likely many of the seventy hawks we sighted on our return were counted
	  previously.
	  

	  Nature does not bestow its beauty upon the flatlands with quite the same
	  gusto as it heaps upon the hills. However, there is something quite lovely
	  about the frozen landscape after the cold breath of winter crystallizes standing
	  water, following a week of heavy rain, turning gigantic tracts of farmland
	  into skating rinks for area wildlife and offering the eye of the traveler
	  a breathtaking contrast from the norm.
	  

	  Nature surprised this writer, today (1/25), and unveiled one of the most
	  spectacular sunsets I can remember. I was on the last twenty-five miles of
	  a two hundred twenty-mile trek, along a stretch of highway between Indianola
	  and Greenville. The roadway is a divided four-lane, and the farmland on either
	  side of the road is pancake-flat. The flatness effect is about as close to
	  watching the sun setting on an ocean's horizon as one can find in Mississippi.
	  One can't see that much of an unbroken horizon in the hill country, but watching
	  a sunset framed by gently rolling hills isn't bad either.
	  

	  The clouds were those thin ones, the kind you can almost see through. How
	  magnificently they appeared in gradually darkening hues of red and purple
	  the further ones eyes lifted above the horizon. From my perspective, the
	  treetop-lined horizon with the flame-red sky immediately above it gave the
	  illusion of a great forest fire raging in the distance.
	  

	  It must take a lot of imagination for an artist to paint a sunset without
	  having a photograph to use as a guide, because in the short time the sunset
	  was viewable, the colors were in a constant state of change as were the shapes
	  of the clouds. The songwriter must have had such a sunset (or sunrise) as
	  I saw in mind when, in attempting to express his appreciation to his love,
	  he wrote:
	  

	  It would take I know,
	  

	  A Michaelangelo,
	  

	  And he would need the glow of dawn that paints
	  

	  The sky above,
	  

	  To try and paint
	  

	  A portrait of my love.
	  

	  If painting a sunset is difficult, how much more difficult it is for me to
	  describe one. I feel certain that readers can identify with my appreciation
	  of a recent sunset, for most everyone can recall a memorable sunset at some
	  point in life.
	  

	  Beauty, truly, is in the eye of the beholder, and I reckon, if I keep living
	  in the Delta and traversing its terrain, I will come to a greater appreciation
	  of its natural beauty. Until then, readers will have to tolerate an old man
	  "taking on" over a sunset.
	  

	    

	  Bodock Beau 
	  Bon Voyage Liberals 
	    

	  

	  That's my name, and it's pronounced Bow-Dock Bow, and Bow is like a hair
	  bow, not a barking dog's bow-wow. I can't help it if I have a French connection
	  or two. If I had been asked, I might have chosen Bo, but Beau is French for
	  handsome. As to Bodock, well, I'm proud to share the name of a local tree.
	  Actually, the tree is Bois de Arc (also a French word, meaning "wood of the
	  bow," as Indians prized the tree for fashioning a flexible and lasting weapon),
	  but early settlers anglicized the French word and pronounced it Bodark, and
	  later country folk softened the last syllable, resulting in Bodock. I know
	  that some readers already know this stuff, but as new readers come along,
	  it's not a bad idea to run it by them.
	  

	  Republicans are expected to more fully appreciate the following, than
	  Democrats…contributed by Malcolm Lindsey.
	  

	  
	  

	  Liberal Cruise
	  

	  Attention all disenfranchised liberals: Would Alex Baldwin, Rosie O'Donnell,
	  Cher, Phil Donahue, David Gephin, Barbara Streisand, Pierre Salinger, and
	  all other liberals who previously announced they would leave the country
	  if George Bush was elected President, please report to Florida for the sailing
	  of the Good Ship Lollipop, which has been commissioned to take you
	  to your new home. 
	  

	  The Florida Supreme Court will sponsor a farewell parade in your honor through
	  Palm Beach, Broward, and Miami-Dade counties, prior to your cruise. Please
	  pack for an extended stay...at least four years.
	  

	  Your captain is to be Bill Clinton and your cruise director Al Gore. Joe
	  Lieberman will be your purser and Monica Lewinsky will be your recreation
	  director. Your primary job, while self-exiled, will be to pound sand until
	  such time as you realize the worthlessness of your bleeding-heart-liberal
	  ways and gain a grasp on reality - which may be never for some of you.
	  

	  If you have any questions about your final destination, please direct your
	  comments to Hillary. She's staying behind and will be in charge of nursing
	  whining liberals for the next four years.
	  

	  Cheers,
	  

	  PS to the travelers:
	  

	  "I may not have been the best president, but I sure had the most fun." --Bill
	  Clinton
	  

	  "I'm sorry I ever invented the Electoral College." --- Al Gore
	  

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