Nancy Dickerson, (aka, the Nag) is the name most of my family and friends use when referring to me, but for years I have answered to Mrs. D when students needed my help.  Although my students pop up in almost every place I go these days, I really miss my classroom and being involved with education.

Back in the 90s our family discovered computers and I became involved with the AOL area sending out teacher pagers to various instructors who volunteered to teach on AOL.  Reading the questions and then all the answers was better than years of education, but I still went ahead and got that master’s degree in English.

Currently our three children have produced four grandchildren for us to enjoy as Paw Paw and Ma.  My husband, Fang, is a retired Caterpillar mechanic.  He is also a talented do-it-yourself person.  We have totally rebuilt our house since his “retirement.”  He also added to his technical education by taking a course in computers and electronics and has accomplished more with his nine months of instruction than I have with six years of college.  Somehow “hands-on” education makes more sense to me now than learning how to read Old English.

The articles that I intend to write for Slightly Creaky will include the attitude that has grown up in my Texas roots along with some tongue-in-cheek remarks that will hobble any high horses I might care to ride.  My opinions are my own; my reasoning is erratic at best; and my witticisms are an acquired taste.

• January 10:Wild Pigs and Jackasses Galore
• January 25: Bureaucracy and Other BS
• February 19: When in Rome

Click here for articles from 2008 to 2010
Click here for previous articles from January to August 2011
Click here for previous articles from September to December 2011

Wild Pigs and Jackasses Galore

A man from Megargel, Texas, related how he and some friends had been cooking seven wild pigs in a big pit all day for a big get together of all the volunteer weather spotters in this area. Texas is a big place, so it must take several of those folks to cover the distance. Even so, that number of pigs in a pit sounds like a bit much. At least the pigs are being put to good use. It probably wouldn’t be humane to send them over to Afghanistan or one of those places to find all the land minds.

One of these days folks are going to wake up to find that the donkeys have taken over where the wild pigs left off. Every other pasture has at least one donkey in it. Of course, they are considered very effective deterrents against loss of calves from the coyotes. They will chase down and stomp the gizzards out of coyotes or any other critter that messes with their herd mates. We passed two donkeys standing at attention [that is, straight-legged and ears pointed in the same direction as their noses] standing on a tank dam. They were watching a deer meander by their grazing ground. If we could have stopped to watch without interfering, it might have been interesting to see if they would have allowed the deer to drink at their water hole. Anyway, the increasing number of donkeys amazes me.

This part of the country has always had horses. It is, after all, cattle country. And those who just enjoyed riding have always had plenty of room for riding and plenty of folks who would join in for a little bit of a trail ride. But this past year has put a pretty big strain on recreational riders and those whose horses were not part of a working ranch. Horses hit the auction barns about the same time that the cattlemen had to sell off their breeding cows. It was just too expensive to keep something that was not producing a paycheck. And now a law has been repealed so that commercial slaughter houses will be able to process horses for human consumption. While we don’t exactly expect to see any commercials for McTriggers or McDonkeys right away, it may get to the point that the ‘mystery meat’ in the school cafeteria may not really be that far off the rodeo grounds.

The arguments that one animal is just like another just does not quite work for some of us. The old dog snoring over there on his bed and the cat tickling Fang’s chin just would not be acceptable fare for our dinner table. Now some folks like fish bait for dinner, and if that works for them, so be it. We have a garden full of slugs for those who think escargot is prime fare. From eels to earthworms, each culture has its goodies that seem delectable to them. And if it will use up all the scorpions in the world, someone can deep fry and chew on those creatures to their heart’s content. But if creatures that can almost talk to us are used for food, then we have some serious thinking to do about life in general—in my opinion.

How we treat the other creatures on this earth reflects our respect for life. Now Jonathan Swift suggested—facetiously, thank God—that one way to solve the hunger problem would be to use the infants of the Irish to feed the aristocracy in Britain. Somehow, he seemed to feel that the British had very little regard for the lives of those children anyway. Along the same lines of thought, if the stray dogs and cats are going to be put down anyway, just send them along to the same slaughter houses where the horses and jackasses will be sent. No one is going to know if that is Silvester or a chicken, right? And Bob the Barker could be stew meat or mixed in with a bit of wild pig.

Recently a dog rescued some kittens on a highway where they had been thrown in an empty feed sack. A couple of the kittens had already been squushed, but two lived to become beautiful little tortoise shell cats. Someone took a lot of time and effort to raise those little kittens. In an ideal world, the kittens would not have been born or would have had a decent home from day one. Probably the same could be said for the many children who are born and thrown away just like those kittens. Either they should not have been born, or they should have been loved from the outset. And not enough rescue dogs exist in this world for all the kittens and babies that no one wants. Isn’t it strange that even dogs seem to have a higher regard for life than some folks feel for their own flesh and blood.

No one can legislate morality or force others to show any kindness. No one can regulate what goes into or comes out of folks’ mouths. While we might all be better off to eat more kale and do more for ourselves than wail, nothing ever seems to change that much from one century to another. The random acts of kindness still come as a surprise—just like the sightings of wild pigs and deer on the side of the roads. But abandoned horses, donkeys, dogs, cats, and babies certainly don’t say much for our attitudes toward life. Wild pigs are highly destructive and dangerous animals; sometimes people are just about the same.

Bureaucracy and Other BS

Bureaucracy and Other BS

Recently the hearing aid center that filed for Dad’s Medicaid insurance called and said we needed to bring back the hearing aid that they had furnished for Dad because there had been no insurance benefits coordination with his part B for Medicare. Mind you, no Medicare policy out there pays for hearing aids, dental care, etc., but somehow Medicaid thought they had been misapprised of the circumstances or extent of Dad’s insurance. Anyway, after I stopped shaking my head the first time, I dropped the situation into the laps of the care center personnel. Now we are back to square one with a pocket hearing device that has ear buds. What the hey! It works. And Dad still reads lips very well, when he feels like it. But the point of this tale is that like any government agency, one hand had no idea what the other was doing when the order was approved in the first place.

Sometimes it simply seems that any number of things are taken to a new standard of stupidity before folks allow those things to go back to their normal of simply dumb. A very sweet friend of mine has this thing about being a vocal Christian. She refuses the generic “seasons’ greetings” in favor of a brief sermonette to anyone unwise enough to greet her with anything other than “Merry Christmas” around this time of year. Never mind the fact that some folks are about to celebrate other types of religious or cultural festivals—her holiday matters more. I suppose some folks would prefer to be known for their evangelical gymnastics rather than for their kindness to others, but that is just one of those choices we make.

Then there is the Imam in Iran who gave a lecture on how and when to beat one’s wife. Oh yes, there is a way and a reason to beat one’s wife, you know! The beating must be gentle and not harmful, not to mark the woman’s face or fracture her skull or break her bones. And the man must do it out of respect for her because she needs to return to his bed. THAT is the reason—the only reason—he should beat her—according to this cleric. If she refuses to return to his bed, he should admonish her or refuse to sleep with her. THEN beat her for not sleeping with him! Now that makes perfect sense…somewhere in some insane asylum.

Logic must require new calibrations every few seconds in some arenas—disregarding all politics at the moment and just referring to things that happen on a yearly basis. For instance, we have New Year’s Day. Now we will grant that the days have begun to lengthen by January 1. Whooptee-big-do! So the ice on the windshield of the cars and trucks might actually defrost on its own by two or three in the afternoon on a good day—or not. The point of having a NEW year should be a good thaw, some kind of animal activity—the arrival of the first old crow might work—or something encouraging us to poke our heads out from under the electric blankets. And WHY, in all that makes any kind of sense, would anyone want to invest in a heavy duty hangover and insobriety as if it were anything to celebrate to see one snow day follow another? I am still shaking my head and wondering how drinking alcohol makes anyone merry—much less wise.

About the only thing really nice about January has to be the arrival of the seed, flower, and tree catalogs. Of course, they have their own version of the ‘When it’s ok to beat your wife’ routine in telling us what kind of soil certain plants need and whether or not those plants need sun, shade, or partial sun or shade. Also, the pH of the soil and the timing of first or last frost simply add interest to the final tally when the wish list is complete. Let’s face it; beating a wife is easy compared to growing some plants in some places. In our part of the world, it is sunshine, extreme sunshine, and more of the same.

Ok, it is almost easy to segue into the next step of illogic—let’s talk about theft and compare theft to theft or right to wrong or wrong to right or anything in between if that suits the Imam and his wife beating scheme. Is it ok for a city or state to ‘steal’ a vehicle if the person driving it does not have a driver’s license? Never mind whether or not the person is a citizen of the U.S., does driving without a license constitute enough of an offense—somewhat like refusing to sleep with a wife beater—and give a city or state the right to tow, ticket, or otherwise confiscate a vehicle? When Texas came out with the law that said ALL drivers must purchase liability insurance, it almost seemed like a good idea. But, of course, the law was meant to encourage everyone to keep at least a minimum amount of insurance on his/her vehicle. Two problems quickly arose with this idea: those without driver’s licenses did not insure their vehicles; those with the minimum of coverage could not even begin to pay for an accident with the backside of an 18-wheeler—much less with one of those 100 K luxury model cars. So the rest of us had to pay for liability insurance that covered our own backside plus the under coverage for the minimum policies. (And yes, Salina, I realize that an 18-wheeler is MUCH more expensive than a luxury car or pickup.)

Certain places in Texas and California have been doing a nifty little business in what I consider car theft by towing and ticketing vehicles that do not have a licensed driver. Now, to be semi-just, I think it is only fair that everyone should have to play by the same rules—insurance, license, tags, inspections, etc., are all within the rules of the game. They are also an enormous source of income for states—not to mention insurance companies. The biggest problem seems to be that the folks who hand out drivers’ licenses want to give them ONLY to legal residents of the states. Imagine that! That would seem like a bit of a catch 22 if entering the U.S. did not involve some subterfuge on the part of illegal aliens. And those folks should be able to read at least some English since our road signs are mostly in that language. Whoever heard of learning the language of the country you plan to visit or live in? Literacy! Imagine anyone thinking it a necessity!

Someone mentioned to me that if the situations were reversed, I would not even make it across the border without a passport, visa, or whatever documents were required by the Mexican government. Dearly beloved, let me tell you right here and now that I don’t want ANY part of Mexico. Folks disappear down there on a daily basis and bodies show up in strange places. That is not to say that we don’t have some major problems here in the U.S., but let’s face it, most of us know our neighborhoods are relatively safe. No matter how inexpensively one could live in some nice area of Mexico, one would always be a foreigner. In the U.S., we all look a little foreign to me—especially in the morning.

Finally, let’s get back to Dad and his biggest complaint—besides the fact that he can’t sit in his room and smoke one cigarette after another. He thinks that since he HAS a driver’s license, he should be able to drive his car. Dad is only 85 and one of his great-grandson’s is about to get his beginner’s license at only 15. Guess which one I would prefer as a chauffeur! Now even our daughter-in-law makes fun of MY driving, but the reason I stop at least a car length behind the car in front of me has to do with the type of brakes on cars when I was learning to drive. We did NOT have power brakes or power steering. We used our muscles and leaned to get the car in the right position and drug our feet to slow it down. Well, almost! Even so, folks today who actually LOOK to see what is coming, have a tendency to run right up on bumpers or right up to within a hair of the stop signs. And if the little ole grey-headed lady or man in front of them is not doing a fairly good jack rabbit imitation at the stop light, WOE be unto them. Hand signals are NOT necessary.

No, I think logic is just a good stepping stone to imagination. Our dog seems to think that humans have all these noises that they can make with bells, whistles, and sirens so that some things are just overkill and really illogical. HarleyB is a very logical dog, however. He sits up in the back seat of our truck and rests his head on the ledge of the back window and lets out a very profound sigh. See, he trusts my driving. But he wants to climb in our laps when these crazy folks start firing off the rockets for their celebrations. As far as he is concerned, fireworks are the height of stupidity! I think he has a right to his doggie opinion.

When in Rome

When in Rome

According to St. Ambrose: si fueris Rōmae, Rōmānō vīvitō mōre; si fueris alibī, vīvitō sicut ibi (“if you were in Rome, live in the Roman way; if you are elsewhere, live as they do there.”

Road trips do more than widen one’s bottom. Not the vistas but the visions become more apparent when witnessed in person. In like manner, the desperation and despair hold one’s attention and heart closer with first-hand observation. The loneliness and desolation along I-40 are just about enough to injure the psyche. Oh, the mountains and cliffs carved by wind and water—though mostly wind—are breathtakingly beautiful and bizarre, but the dryness and lack of streams and green grass are just about enough to bruise the spirit of an old Texas gal. Apparently the wildlife finds enough for sustenance, but no great herds of wild horses, pronghorns, antelope, or elk roam through the areas near the interstate highways.

If anything is more noteworthy about the blank nothingness along the road, it is the sudden appearances of casinos in some of the most off-the-wall places. Maybe the Indians on the reservation were encouraged to take a bow and arrow and just shoot at a map to choose the locations of these places. Two Arrows, Two Guns, and some strange names not unlike Waxahachie, Texas, take the honors along Interstate 40. A few older places are named but don’t appear to be inhabited or to have any commercial enterprises available to the traveler. And after dark the road is one long stretch of darkness, if not dread, for the road weary.

Daylight hours are not that encouraging either. The Mojave Desert was designated ‘desert’ for a good reason. Woe be unto the driver who does not use every opportunity to fill up the fuel tank and water the dogs, horses, kids, and any other thirsty critter included in the caravan. Although both New Mexico and Arizona are good to put up signs notifying travelers of the distance to the next fuel or rest area, a few porta-johns or even a few more fuel stations would be a good idea along that route.

Seeing miles and miles OF just miles and miles is one thing, but the signs of poverty along that route are simply demoralizing. How one could raise children and educate them in those areas is a question more akin to asking how a miracle occurs. Healthcare, education, socialization seem essential to most of us for our children. Leggos, Mattel, and Barbie are not essential building blocks for play any more than the Internet is essential for education, but books, some toys, and play time with either siblings or neighbors’ children would seem pretty necessary for a young child’s development. Out there in the middle of nowhere, parents would be a child’s only resource for long stretches of distance or time. If the parents were not employed, it is pretty inconceivable that the children would have the necessities for growing up, much less growing up to enjoy what the world has to offer.

Now much of what I have just written may be just as true of the situations in Africa or even the Outback in Australia or in South America down in the pampas area. Only the roads might be nonexistent. Perhaps it is just the startling starkness of the landscape in West Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and the eastern side of California that instigated these observations.

Commerce seemed to be almost completely non-existent; most towns were tiny little scratched out places along the road; and other than the larger cities like Flagstaff and Phoenix, poverty rode rampant among the people we saw. Travelers at the truck stops, Dairy Queens, and produce markets made a stark contrast to townspeople in the little stops along the way. One local family sat their three little children down after buying two hamburgers and two drinks. The mother cut the hamburgers up into pieces so the family could share the meal. They definitely were not on a diet to guess by their appearance. And we send aid to foreign countries to feed THEIR children.

But the little houses or excuse for houses hold a special place in shamefulness. On the reservation each house cuts the same outline in the same dirty shade of brown. Once in a while a few houses will stand out as being ‘improved’ from the standard square framed dwelling. A stone oven or even two stone ovens may grace the yard with its oval outline. Something green might be growing along the outside of the houses. The next yard will be a dilapidated trailer house with a yard full of broken down cars, trash, appliances, and other debris. A failed attempt at farming or ranching stands out like a sore thumb with broken fences and empty corrals and open windows and doors on a house back from the road. No vehicles have run that lane in many a month. How do people live in places where there is no work, no water, no schools, and no hope? How can they eat if they can’t grow something in the ground?

Last year’s drought caused some major shifts of wildlife in North Central Texas so that the birds normally found in abundance simply were not to be found. The wind and heat curled up vegetation and dried up what little moisture the land held. A few years in a row of such drought conditions might change this part of Texas to a situation more like that of New Mexico and Arizona.

But one has to wonder: would our mindset change to accepting less out of life if it were harder to live on the land? Would we be tempted to leave the area? And where would we go if the water left first? Somehow we might accept hard changes in our way of life, but I simply cannot believe we would give up without a fight against the situations that drought and wildfires might cause. The ancient Indian tribes shifted to areas that would grow crops when their lands changed or the weather patterns changed. It is a shame that the flash floods that cut Good Golly washes by the dozens could not have been directed and harnessed for their lands today. Maybe changes will come to their homes some day after all is said and done. Surely the land can produce more than casinos by the roads. But maybe I am judging with my eyes rather than with my heart. We live on our land by our hearts, after all. Those folks don’t live in Rome, but they still call it home. I just can’t see many folks choosing to live where and how they live.

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