The Wayward Sons of Supernatural

by Pa Rock
TV Junkie

Sometime last year I began streaming the television series, Supernatural, the story of the Winchester brothers, Sam and Dean, whose mission in life is to hunt down and kill monsters.  I had seen bits of the series while living on Okinawa, but never enough episodes in a row to connect with the story line.  When I acquired the Roku, it became possible to go back to the beginning and watch the series in its entirety - on Netflix - beginning with season one which aired in 2005.  Last night I completed season ten - or episode two-hundred-and-eighteen.   Season eleven is currently running nationally and won't be available on Netflix until sometime this summer.

Now I know the story line.  The two boys, Dean, a pre-schooler, and Sam, a baby, were living with their parents in Lawrence, Kansas, when an evil force entered the house one evening and killed their mother.   The boys' father became a hunter of monsters in an effort to avenge mother's death, and the little lads often had to follow him around the country, taking care of themselves in motel rooms, while dad went on his monster quests.

Dean became a hunter, like dad, but Sam escaped the family obsession, at least temporarily, when he fled to Stanford and became a college student.  At some point during his college career Sam's girlfriend was killed by a demonic force in exactly the same manner that his mother had been killed - and, at that same time Dean showed up and told Sam that Dad was missing.  The young men took off on their own quest to find Dad, kill monsters, and avenge the death of Sam's girlfriend.

Ten years later they are still at it.

During the decade that this show has been running, Sam and Dean Winchester (Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles) have dealt with angels (both good and bad), Satan, Cain, vampires, werewolves, shape-shifters, witches, warlocks, ghosts, and all manner of demonic creatures.  They have visited Hell, Purgatory, and the business offices of Heaven.  At one point they even gazed into the enchanted land of Oz.  They have partnered with their faithful friend, Castiel, an angel - and their sometimes necessary friend, Crowley, the king of Hell. 

Sam and Dean have splashed enough holy water around to have washed Dean's 1967 Chevy Impala ("Baby") hundreds of times, and they have severed more heads than a dozen migrant workers could chop in a field of cabbage during an entire growing season.  And the bodies they have dug up and burned could heat Grand Central Station during a couple of New York winters.  They are busy, busy young men as adept at doing internet research and posing as FBI agents as they are at painting devil's traps and entertaining the ladies.

Life with the Winchesters is a never-ending road trip with a great soundtrack.  The writing is remarkably good with plenty of action and surprises - and lots to ponder.  One of my favorite episodes involved the brothers getting pulled into an alternate universe - one where they were able to visit the set where the television show, Supernatural, was being filmed.  The imagination rules - and rocks - with Supernatural!

I anxiously await the arrival of season eleven at Netflix.

Carry on, wayward sons!

Pope Francis Fires a Troublesome Nuncio

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Last September Pope Francis made his first official visit to the United States, a trip that thrilled and enraptured most of those with whom he came in contact.  The trip was a rip-roaring success, and even the Republican right-wing troglodytes in Congress sat and listened politely as the Pontiff addressed a Joint Session of both Houses.  The Pope's visit to American was almost blemish-free.

It wasn't until the Pope had returned to Vatican City that word leaked out that he had "met with" Kim Davis, the bigoted Kentucky county clerk who was actively pursuing her fifteen minutes of fame by refusing to provide marriage licenses to gay couples.  This news seems not only to have surprised and disgusted many Americans, but it was apparently news to the Pope himself.

As more became known of the incident, it soon took on the trappings of an "ambush" rather than a meeting.   The four-times married Mrs. Davis had been invited to come to a reception at the Vatican Embassy in Washington, DC, to meet Pope Francis.  The anonymous invitation was sent at the behest of the Vatican Nuncio (ambassador) to the United States, Archbishop Carlo Maria Vigano, an ultra-conservative cleric with a strong opposition to gay marriage.  And Mrs. Davis instead of "meeting with" the Pontiff, was instead one of many hands that he shook in a long line at the reception.

But the damage was done as soon as Nuncio Vigano let the word slip that Mrs. Davis had met the Pope.  Joe Cool was suddenly and maliciously tainted - and Joe Cool was not pleased.  He reportedly recalled Vigano to Vatican City where he read the riot act to the sneaky diplomat.

This week it was announced by the Vatican that Archbishop Vigano was being replaced as the Nuncio to the United States.   The incoming ambassador will be Archbishop Christophe Pierre, the current Vatican Ambassador to Mexico.  Nuncio Pierre is pro-immigration and is expected to be decidedly more liberal on social issues than his predecessor.    One of the duties of the nuncio is to vet candidates for various hierarchical positions within the U.S. church and make recommendations to the Vatican regarding appointments.   With that authority,  Archbishop Pierre could have an immense role in shaping the role of the Catholic Church in the United States for years to come - well beyond the papacy of Francis.

And as the American Catholic Church becomes more liberal in its outlook, Ambassador Vigano and Kim Davis will have themselves to thank for it.

God save the Pope!

Frank, Jr.

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

I guess news was happening in the late 1950's and early 1960's, but as a young teen growing up in a very rural area of Missouri, I was not very tuned in to what was going on in the world.  I remember two national stories from the time I was in grade school.  One was the election of 1956 where Eisenhower beat Adlai Stevenson for a second time.  Our teacher told the class about the election and said to not go around the gym during recess because that's where people were voting.  I headed straight to the gym when recess began to see what all of the fuss was about.  Politics weren't a topic of open discussion in our home, but I instinctively knew that my parents were backing Eisenhower.

The other clear memory of national import that I have was when our third grade teacher, Melva Foley, told the class that we would have a man in space within twenty-five years.  That was in 1956 or 1957.  The Russians put Yuri Gargarin into space in 1961, and a few months later he was followed out into the last frontier by American astronaut Alan Shepard.

(Another educational memory from grade school - though hardly of the news variety - occurred when our bus driver pulled a group of us aside after we arrived at school.  He had overheard us discussing what our teacher has said about the sun actually being a star.  The driver was visibly angry as he corrected what the teacher had said.  The sun, he informed us, was a sun, and definitely NOT a star!  Today that bus driver's descendants, of which there are probably plenty, are members of the tea party who deny climate change and the intellectual abilities of women and minorities, hoard guns, and support Donald Trump for President.  Another generation or two from now they will have devolved into H.P. Lovecraft characters who spend their lives burrowing blindly beneath the earth.)

But, back to my developing nose for news.

The news story that literally woke me up to life beyond Noel, Missouri, was the assassination of President John F. Kennedy on November 22, 1963.  I was fascinated watching the story unfold on the relatively new medium of television, and I kept all of the newspapers I could find so that I could read and re-read stories about the awful murder and the grieving family and nation.  As I followed that monster of a news story, other stories from the national scene began resonating as well.

The early sixties predated tabloid publications like People and Us, so if there was a celebrity news story of importance, it was covered in the national press.  John Kennedy had been dead less than three weeks when a celebrity news story grabbed the nation's headlines. That was the kidnapping of Frank Sinatra, Jr.

Frank, Jr. was a nineteen-year-old fledgling entertainer performing in Reno, Nevada, when three men kidnapped him from his hotel room.  The trio extorted $240,000 from Frank, Sr. for the safe return of his namesake and only son.  The criminals were soon captured, found guilty, and sent to prison.  One was later deemed to have been insane, and none of the three served very substantive prison terms.

Negotiations over the return of Frank, Jr., were conducted over pay phones, and Papa Sinatra was always fearful that he would run out of change at some critical point in the deliberations.  As a result of the kidnapping and his worry about being caught without enough change for the phones, the elder Sinatra took to always carrying a roll of dimes on his person.  He was also reported to have been buried with a roll of dimes in his pocket.

When Frank calls, it won't be collect.

Frank Sinatra, Jr. passed away two days ago in Daytona Beach, Florida, from cardiac arrest.  The singer, songwriter, and music conductor was performing in the Daytona area at the time of his death.  He is survived by his mother, Nancy,  a grown son, Michael Sinatra of Japan, by his older sister, Nancy (once Mrs. Tommy Sands), and his younger sister, Tina.

May the boy who grew up under a long shadow of a famous father finally find his own place in the sun. Or, as his sister Nancy said, "Sleep warm, Frankie."

Obama Nominates, McConnell Babbles

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Yesterday President Barack Obama fulfilled one of his Constitutional duties by nominating a person to fill the Supreme Court seat left vacant by the February death of Justice Antonin Scalia.  The President nominated 63-year-old Merrick Garland, the Chief Judge of the U.S. Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia.  Judge Garland is a well respected member of the judiciary who only last week was praised by Senator Orrin Hatch, the senior Republican on the Senate Judiciary Committee, as being a "fine man."

The United States Senate must vote to confirm or deny the President's selection.  The Senate, which is currently under the control of the Republican Party, appears hellbent on doing neither and instead ignoring the nominee altogether.

Most Republican members of the United States Senate have sworn, since before the funeral of Scalia, that they would not consider any nominee put forth by President Obama, saying that since he has less than a year to serve (barely), they will wait and let the next President nominate someone to fill the vacancy.  Senator Grassley, the chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee has vowed that his committee will not even hold hearings on an Obama nominee to the high court.

Yesterday Senator Mitch McConnell, the Republican leader in the Senate, grabbed a handy microphone and proceeded to chastise President Obama for doing his Constitutional duty.  McConnell laboriously lamented:

"It seems clear that President Obama made this nomination not with the intent of seeing the nominee confirmed, but in order to politicize for purposes of the election."

I'm not even sure what all of that twaddle means.  First of all, and given the Republican pledge to not act on the nomination, what is the path forward for the President in order to make a nomination that he does intend to see confirmed?  And second, is Mitch really accusing the President of trying to politicize an election?  What a dastardly move that would be - to inject politics into an election!

President Obama, who is easily the smartest person to occupy the White House during my lifetime, has simply built another box for the Republicans in Congress to barricade themselves into.  He has nominated someone so comfortably in the center of the American political spectrum that the Republican Party will look foolish trying to justify keeping Merrick Garland off of the Supreme Court.

Indeed, Judge Garland is so well to the center that the good folks over at Daily Kos have tied themselves into pretzels wailing about Obama's "wasted opportunity" because he did not nominate a young liberal to the high court.  But wail as they might, Barack Obama knows exactly what he is doing, and this very cagey nomination will go a long way toward showing the American public just how intolerant and close-minded the entire Republican establishment has become.

Daily Kos seemed to be concerned that if and when Hillary is elected, the Senate will suddenly do its job and approve Judge Garland during the lame duck session after the election - so that Hillary does not get the opportunity to nominate someone from the far left reaches of the Democratic Party.  But that notion assumes that President Obama will sit passively by for more than half a year while the Senate twiddles its collective thumbs.

Another option, one that would likely force a quicker response from the Senate, would be for the President to set a deadline.  Say, for instance, to tell the Senate that if Judge Garland was not seated on the Supreme Court by the time the next session starts on the first Monday in October, that he (the President) would withdraw the nomination and send up a new one - one much more to the liking of the partisans in his party.

Mitch and the good old goobers in the Senate could either rush to do the President's bidding - with their angry tea-bagger base looking on, or they could lose an opportunity to place a moderate on the Court and instead have to deal with a contentious liberal at a time when Trump or Cruz or some other redneck peckerwood is destroying the Republican dream of re-taking the White House.

Hey Mitch, there are no good options for you.  No wonder you're babbling.

Hillary Wins Missouri by Less than a Cemetery

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Mrs. Bill Clinton defeated political insurgent and generally all-around nice guy Bernie Sanders in Missouri's Democratic presidential primary yesterday by about 1,500 votes in a contest where more than 600,000 individuals voted - or by significantly less than one percent of the total vote.  In another era of Missouri politics such a squeaker would have likely been the result of which cemeteries from St. Louis and Kansas City did or did not make it to the polls on time.

Sadly for Missouri's once proud and mighty Democratic Party, the state's Republicans sent about a third more voters to the polls yesterday than what the Democrats managed to corral.  At the end of the evening's tallying, Herr Trump was barely leading Ted the Liar by 382,000 to 380,000, or two-tenths of one percent.

It was a squeaker for both parties, with large numbers of voters expressing their dissatisfaction with the national front-runners.

However, things were a little better defined out here in the woods.  Howell County, where I live and vote, sent 8,455 Republicans to the polls versus just 2,071 Democrats - or right at a four-to-one ratio.  Trump took fifty percent of the Republican vote with 4,239.  Cruz came in second with 37% or 3,146 actual votes.  Kasich was third with 491 (6%) and Rubio was fourth with 351 (4%).  The remainder of the clown car included Carson with 105, Huckabee with 49, Bush at 19, and nine votes each for Rand Paul, Chris Christie, and Little Ricky Santorum.

And, if there was one bright spot to the whole ludicrous day, it was this:  Bernie won Howell County - handily!  The progressive senator from Vermont took 1,209 votes to Hillary's 833.  Everyone else on the ballot scored a whopping combined total of 29 votes.  Bernie 58%, Hillary 40%!  Howl County, you rock!

If Hillary wants to win Missouri in the fall, she had better start improving her ground game - because she's going to need all of the voters she can dig up!

Missouri Presidential Primary Update

by Pa Rock
Voter

I cast my ballot at around 10:00 a.m. at Howell County Precinct 5.  Turnout was surprisingly heavy - and gray.  In fact, of the thirty or so people standing around waiting to vote, most appeared to be older than my sixty-seven years.  I suspect that is a very good sign for Herr Trump and his Army of the Intolerant.

The sweet little lady handing out ballots whispered to me, "Do you want a Republican ballot or a Democrat?"  "Democratic," I responded - rather proudly.

There were either seven or eight names on the ballot.  Mrs. Bill Clinton was listed first, and Bernie was third.  I had not heard of any of the others.

Bernie got my vote, of course, and my car was the only one in the church parking lot with a bumper sticker related to today's events.

The size of the crowd left me feeling optimistic.  People caring enough to go vote is a good sign for the survival of our democracy.

Presidential Primary Day in Missouri

by Pa Rock
Voter

Today is the much anticipated Presidential Primary day in Missouri - much anticipated by me at least - and within the hour I will drive to the polling place, a church, and cast my ballot for Bernie Sanders.  Missouri has an "open" primary system.  We don't registeer by parties, so I could walk in and ask for a Republican ballot and vote against Trump - or, worse yet, vote for Trump to really screw with the Grand OLD Party!   But I won't.  Voting to deny the Clintons their third term in the White House is much more important to me.

I really dislike having to vote in a church.  Would the community be as accepting of a religious polling place if it was a mosque?

So far this morning I have had emails from Bernie, Bill Clinton, and Debbie Wasserman Schultz reminding me to go vote.  Yeterday I had emails from all three of the Clintons - Hillary, Bill, and Chelsea - telling me where my polling place was located and encouraging me to cast my vote for Hillary.  I guess the old saying is true, the family that preys together really does stay together.

I also had to two text messages from local Bernie volunteers reminding me to vote.

Hillary was in the St. Louis area over the weekend, and Bernie was in Springfield on Saturday afternoon.  I was a little miffed about that because I didn't hear of his visit until Saturday morning, or I might have made plans to attend.  A Bernie volunteer from Poplar Bluff telephoned Saturday around noon asking me to commit to going to the polls on Tuesday and voting for Bernie.  I fussed at her a bit about the short notice on the Springfield visit, and she said that she hadn't learned about the visit until that morning also.  I hope it was a roaring success for the candidate and those supporters who were able to attend.

And, as an omen for a great turnout, it's a beautiful day here, warm with bright blue, cloudless skies!

Monday's Poetry: "The Tyger" and "The Lamb"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

The month of March reaches its midpoint, the Ides of March, tomorrow, and spring will be here in another week.  March is the month the roars in like an angry lion and departs like a lamb frolicking in the warm sunshine.

William Blake, the 18th century English poet, explored both extremes of a natural spectrum of predator and prey with his classic poems, "The Tyger" and "The Lamb."  Enjoy them as a new season quietly buds out.

Lions, and tygers, and lambs, oh my!
      

     The Tyger

     by William Blake

     Tyger Tyger, burning bright, 

     In the forests of the night; 

     What immortal hand or eye, 

     Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

     In what distant deeps or skies. 

     Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

     On what wings dare he aspire?

     What the hand, dare seize the fire?

     And what shoulder, & what art,

     Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

     And when thy heart began to beat,

     What dread hand? & what dread feet?

     What the hammer? what the chain, 

     In what furnace was thy brain?

     What the anvil? what dread grasp, 

     Dare its deadly terrors clasp! 

     When the stars threw down their spears 

     And water'd heaven with their tears: 

     Did he smile his work to see?

     Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

     Tyger Tyger burning bright, 

     In the forests of the night: 

     What immortal hand or eye,

     Dare frame thy fearful symmetry.

     The Lamb

     by William Blake

     Little Lamb who made thee 

         Dost thou know who made thee 

     Gave thee life & bid thee feed. 

     By the stream & o'er the mead;

     Gave thee clothing of delight,

     Softest clothing wooly bright;

     Gave thee such a tender voice,

     Making all the vales rejoice! 

         Little Lamb who made thee 

         Dost thou know who made thee 

         Little Lamb I'll tell thee,

         Little Lamb I'll tell thee!

     He is called by thy name,

     For he calls himself a Lamb: 

     He is meek & he is mild, 

     He became a little child: 

     I a child & thou a lamb, 

     We are called by his name.

         Little Lamb God bless thee. 

         Little Lamb God bless thee.

 

-->

Commies, Liars, and Gay Prostitutes

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Donald Trump, ever the magical thinker, has taken to blaming Bernie Sanders and his followers for all of the taunting and brawling at Trump rallies - rather than his own bellicosity and tendency to incite the rubes.  It's all Bernie the Communist's doing - and Trump has taken to routinely describing Sanders as a "communist' and waxing wistfully about how nice it would be to face the Senator from Vermont in the "finals."

Senator Sanders, not one to be steamrolled by a blustery and portly character like Trump, has fired back that the former reality television star and consummate windbag is a "pathological liar."

Sanders, of course, has a point, as any speech by Donald Trump sends a platoon of fact-checkers into a dangerously over-heated frenzy of activity.   Donald's disingenuous name-calling, however, harkens back to the very darkest days of the 1950's when demagogues like Joe McCarthy and Richard Nixon built their political careers on labeling decent, hard-working Americans as "commies."  Now, as then, people using the term had little more than the foggiest notion of what it actually meant.

There is a state school board candidate in Texas who is gaining some national attention over comments that she has been making on Facebook.   The candidate's statements are bizarre, and, not surprisingly, she is running for office as a Republican.  Mary Lou Brenner is a sixty-eight-year-old retired kindergarten teacher who has posted on Facebook that the believes "Ahab the Arab" (President Obama) worked as a gay prostitute in New York City in his youth while living there with his gay partner - and that is how he paid for his drugs.  She said she heard it from a "reliable" source.  Ms. Brunner also believes that the Democratic Party had JFK assassinated and that the United Nations is hatching a plot to depopulate the world.  And Muslims?  Why she's against them, of course, and thinks they should be banned.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

If Donald Trump is a pathological liar, he has apparently found a warm and accepting home among his own kind.

Trump Provokes the Hate and Owns the Violence

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Donald Trump wants to be known as a "unifier," but his campaign events routinely disintegrate into public brawls with his out-of-control supporters being egged on by the candidate himself.  Trump's massive ego channeling the fury and fists of his legions of simpleton supporters is a recipe for tragedy - on a monumental scale.  Several news sources have predicted that it's only a matter of time until all hell breaks loose and there is blood in the streets.

Yesterday, in fact, hell did break loose at a couple of Trump events.  First, police were called in to place barricades between Trump supporters and protesters in St. Louis, and later in the day things were so out-of-control in downtown Chicago that a Trump speech there had to be "postponed" until another time.

Regardless of who appears to be at fault in these public disturbances, they all go back to Trump, a man who seems to be relishing the commotion and free publicity.  Trump has railed that protesters "deserve to be taken out!" 

One Trump supporter, a seventy-eight-year-old white man "sucker punched" a young black man as he was being removed from a rally in North Carolina by police.  The white guy, who was later arrested himself, said he liked "knocking the hell out of that big mouth," and that the "next time we see him, we might have to kill him."

The candidate himself has used the "knocking the hell out of someone" parlance.  In Iowa he speculated to his supporters at a rally that there might be protesters present who would attempt to throw tomatoes at him.   He fired up the crowd with, "If you see somebody getting ready to throw a tomato, knock the crap out of them, would you?  Seriously.  OK?  Just knock the hell - - I promise you I will pay the legal fees!"

How very presidential!  What a unifier!

Breitbart News reporter Michelle Fields has filed charges against Trump's campaign manager for allegedly manhandling her and leaving bruises - an act that was witnessed by other journalists.

Racial slurs seem to be commonplace at campaign events for the man who declined to publicly disown support from a leader of the Ku Klux Klan, and the campaign has been accused of having people removed from its rallies based solely on the color of their skin.  An Arab reporter covering a Trump rally was peppered with taunts of being a "terrorist."

It could all be seen as juvenile behavior on the part of a mass of under-educated, backwater hooligans - if it wasn't for the tacit approval and encouragement of the candidate himself - behaviors that are starkly reminiscent of the rise of fascism in the 1930's.

There will be blood, and when there is - Donald Trump will own it.

Tom Nutt's First Trip to the Coast

by Pa Rock
Legend Master

Four years ago this month I wrote a piece for the Ramble about my great-grandfather, Thomas Franklin Nutt, and a memorable, yet harrowing, road trip that he took with my family to California in the mid 1950's.  Grandpa Nutt, who was forced upon us by one of his Missouri daughters just as our family was pulling out of the drive to head to California on a vacation, became disoriented and volatile while on the road, and we finally had to abandon him at a care facility in Arizona until his son could drive from Los Angeles to fetch him.

What I didn't realize at the time I wrote the piece was that was not Grandpa Nutt's first trip out west.  He and his wife, Etta, had lived in Los Angeles during the World War II years to be near some of their grown children - and he had made a trip to the coast as a single man much earlier in his life.

It is Tom Nutt's first trip to the Pacific Coast that I find to be so personally captivating.  I learned about that trip a few weeks ago while doing a bit of basic internet genealogy research.  There I discovered some Nutt family history that incorporated what appears to be a set of notes written by Tom's granddaughter (and my dad's cousin), Maryruth Nutt.  Maryruth, several years deceased, was a nurse in the Kansas City area who never married and maintained a lifetime passion for genealogy.  She and I exchanged a couple of letters many years ago, and we met briefly one time, but during those contacts she never told me the story of Grandpa Tom's trip west as a young man.

Here is my summation of what she had to say in her notes:

Thomas Franklin Nutt was born in 1870, and though his parentage is unclear, he did grow up in the household of his grandparents, Henry and Celana (Rutledge) Nutt of Neosho, Missouri, a community where Herny ran a sawmill and served for a time as the town constable.  Tom Nutt was married on March 31, 1893, to Etta Orvilla Griffith in Neosho, and their first child, Claude Nutt (Maryruth's father) was born to the couple six months later.

According to Maryruth's notes, sometime not too far ahead of that marriage and quick baby, Tom Nutt and one of his Rutledge cousins decided to go on a walkabout and check out the land situation in other parts of the country.  The young men probably started walking west from Neosho, Missouri, in the very early spring of1889, 1890, or 1891 - and they walked all the way to the Pacific Coast!

In later years Tom recalled segments of the trip including the wide expanses of prairie that gradually rose into the foothills of the Rockies, the beautiful Arkansas River Valley that was visible for miles, the groves of cottonwood trees along the river banks, and the glimpsed tribes of Indians and sporadic views of Indian encampments.  Tom found some land that he liked near Wichita, Kansas, and filed a claim on it, but after eventually returning to Neosho he decided not to "prove" his Kansas claim but instead to marry Etta and remain in Neosho near friends and family.  His logic was that Kansas was still too wild and untamed, and Neosho was better suited to raising a family.

So perhaps that is a clue as to why Grandpa Tom Nutt had a meltdown in the backseat of our family car and began swinging his cane at Gail and I and our parents.  He was remembering the old times and wanted to get out and walk!

Rest in peace, Grandpa Nutt.  I'll think of you the next time I dread getting on a treadmill!

Hillary Is Winning in All of the Wrong Places

by Pa Rock
Election Junkie

Hillary Clinton won the Democratic caucus in American Samoa.  She won it big, trouncing Bernie Sanders  68% to 25 percent.  Hillary will take four delegates from American Samoa to the convention this summer, while Sanders will only have two.  But the problem Hillary faces is this:  none of her followers on American Samoa will be able to vote for her in November.   The island is a United States "territory" and therefore unable to vote in the general election.

And sadly for Hillary, that is a variant of a problem that has been dogging at her heels throughout this election season.   Many of the places she is winning will not be able to help her win the big election in the fall.

The American presidency is, as we all remember so vividly from the election of 2000, won and lost with the electoral college, a voting arrangement where states cast votes equal to the number of congressmen and senators that they have - usually as part of a block of votes.  If a Republican carries Missouri, for example, even by only a vote or two, all of the state's eleven electoral votes go to that Republican - and the Democrat gets zip.  It' an archaic process designed to give an extra bit of power to very small states - and it is a process that needs to be abandoned in favor of one person - one vote.

In addition to American Samoa, Hillary has won twelve other states so far during this primary season.  Of those, she should be able to carry two easily in November:  Iowa and Massachusetts, with Virginia and Nevada as "maybes."  She stands no chance in hell of winning any of the other eight in a general election - Tennessee, Arkansas, South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas.

Bernie Sanders, on the other hand, has only won nine states so far, but at least seven of those should fall into the Democratic column in November.  While Sanders won Oklahoma and Kansas in primary battles, they will likely vote Republican in the general - but his other victories so far - Colorado, Nebraska, Minnesota, Michigan, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine - should all be part of a Democratic victory in the fall.

By and large, Hillary is winning in the Deep South, states which she cannot possibly win in November, while Bernie is winning in states that are an important part of the Democratic victory package.

Of course Hillary has a commanding lead in delegate totals - or presumed delegate totals - due primarily to another arcane bit of "old politics" called "super delegates."  These are elected officials who get to go to the convention by virtue of their positions in the government, and not due to being sent their by members of the voting public as they express a preference for one candidate or another.  This wad of political cronyism is designed to stifle the democratic tendencies of the Democratic party - and it is likely to succeed in that affront to democracy.

Hillary has swept the Deep South, an area of the country that she can never win in a general election.  Now she better break out the old Hoover and start sucking up votes where they will actually count!

Missouri Legislature Continues to be a Waste of Space

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

The Missouri Legislature, a body of lawmakers not known for its unbridled intellectualism, is out trying to pass one of those red-herring bills whose primary purpose is to stampede low-information voters and angry rednecks to the polls.  The bill, actually a proposed amendment to the Missouri Constitution would offer "protections" to certain classes of people and enable them to discriminate against others.

Senate Joint Resolution 39 would prohibit the state from "penalizing clergy, religious organizations, and certain individuals for their religious beliefs concerning marriage between two people of the same sex."  It will be eventually be passed by both houses of the Missouri Legislature, go before the voters where it will receive a whopping big approval, and ultimately be ruled unconstitutional by the federal courts.

It's all just a game to get certain people to rush to the polls.  The result will be a temporary infusion of an unnecessary bit of hate in the state constitution, anger on both sides of an issue that needs to be healing, and, most likely, an expensive economic boycott of the state.

This week a small group of Missouri state senators made national news when they began a filibuster of the discriminatory measure.  Governor Jay Nixon, in praising the valiant senators, said they were "standing on the right side of history."  And they were.  The filibuster ended as a result of a political ploy by Republicans after thirty-nine hours, and the measure passed 21-11.  It still must pass the Senate one more time before heading on to a vote in the House.

And then the people will have their say - God love 'em.

I saw a post on Twitter this morning suggesting that some people should have given up hate for Lent instead of chocolate.   Missouri legislators, of course, probably did not give up anything - it's not in their nature.

Stepping Out

by Pa Rock
Walking Fool

This past December, at the insistence of one of my kids, I invested is a little wrist device called a "Fit Bit."  The gizmo, which looks like a very thin wristwatch, does keep time, but it also does so much more.  It tells me how many steps I have walked since midnight, how many miles I have walked, how many sets of stairs I have climbed, and my heart rate.   There is one other set of numbers, currently at 855, which I have no idea at all what it means.

Being a bit OCD and also being retired with occasional stretches of "free time" drifting through my day, I spend some time each day recording numbers.  I keep a legal pad on my desk with three columns of numbers - my daily weight, my blood sugar, and now, thanks to the Fit Bit, the number of steps I take each day.  Although I have yet to perform a statistical analysis on the sheets and sheets of numbers which I have recorded, I strongly suspect a correlation exists among the three sets of numbers.  It probably goes something like this:  the more I walk, the lower my blood sugar dips, and the lower my weight is.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I had never used any type of pedometer before getting the Fit Bit, primarily because I failed to understand how a wrist device could count the number of steps that my feet were taking - but it does!  Now that I wear one religiously, I find that I am constantly thinking about ways to increase the amount of steps that I take.  It is having a motivational and psychological impact on my daily routines. 

Everyone should wear some sort of pedometer, and while a name-brand "Fit Bit" is rather pricey, just a standard pedometer is not - and, in fact, I have even received them free at health fairs.

Yesterday marked a walking milestone of sorts for the short period that I have been tracking my steps.  When I began keeping track of how much I walked, the daily total was usually around 5,000 steps.  Of course, it was the dead of winter, and much of my walking was done in the confines of my small home.  As spring started approaching, the daily totals increased to around 7,000 steps for most days, and one day I even broke 9,000.  I set a goal of 10,000 - but that seemed to be very elusive.

But yesterday was a beautiful day, and I rushed around the farm trying to accomplish several tasks before the expected rains set in.  Somewhere around four in the afternoon my wrist started to tingle, and then I noticed that the Fit Bit was vibrating.  It had never done that before.  I stopped my activity in the chicken coop and looked at the wristwatch-and-more.  It showed me that I had just passed the 10,000-step mark!  By the time I headed to bed a few hours later, the total was 11,558.

Today it is finally starting to rain, so yesterday's record may not be broken for awhile.

The time is 9:25 a.m. and I have walked 1,560 steps since midnight - .71 miles - and I have climbed no stairs.  My heart rate is 67, and the other number has climbed to 886.  It's time to get busy!

Monday's Poetry: "Planting a Dogwood"

by Pa Rock
Tree Hugger

Yesterday I stopped by a local gardening center and bought three small dogwood trees, two reds and a white.  Today, before the anticipated rains come, I will be selecting planting sites for the little trees and then doing the back-breaking work of digging very big holes to accommodate the new farm greenery.

With that rewarding work waiting before me, I thought that a poem about trees and tree-planting might be in order.  That criteria led me to "Planting a Dogwood" by Nebraska poet Roy Scheele.  It reminds us that for every tree which we see lifting its branches skyward, there is its twin, an ever-expanding root system, digging deeply into the dark soil to sustain the green tree growing above the ground.  (That's why I must dig such spacious holes today!)

Roy Scheele published a book of poetry in 2010 entitled A Far Allegiance.  The publisher is Backwaters Press.

Please enjoy.


Planting a Dogwood
by Roy Scheele

Tree, we take leave of you; you’re on your own.

Put down your taproot with its probing hairs

that sluice the darkness and create unseen

the tree that mirrors you below the ground.

For when we plant a tree, two trees take root:

the one that lifts its leaves into the air,

and the inverted one that cleaves the soil

to find the runnel’s sweet, dull silver trace

and spreads not up but down, each drop a leaf

in the eternal blackness of that sky.

The leaves you show uncurl like tiny fists

and bear small button blossoms, greenish white,

that quicken you. Now put your roots down deep;

draw light from shadow, break in on earth’s sleep.

Traveling Politics

by Pa Rock
Road Warrior

The Macy war wagon made it safely back to West Plains around noon today.  Rosie slept most of the way home while I rocked out to tunes from a classic rock station.  This time we did not have one of those odious Arkansas Highway Patrolmen interrupt our journey.  (I doubt that last year's fine and subsequent expense of safe driving school are deductible, but I gave the information to my tax person just in case.)

I stopped at Lowe's in Mountain Home, Arkansas, on the way back where I used my veteran's discount to purchase three dogwood trees (two reds and a white) as well as topsoil, compost, and mulch.  I'm sure the young deer around Rock's Roost will find the dogwoods to be delicious!

Okay, here's what I think about Ted Cruz winning two election events yesterday:  he's almost as dangerous and reprehensible as Trump.  I fear that it's the old six-of-one versus half-a-dozen-of-the-other.  The absolute worst candidate still left in the Democratic field (that would be Mrs. Clinton) is nevertheless head-over-stacked-heels above anything the Republicans seem to be able to dredge up.

I love the sobriquets that Donald Dumbass has placed on his two major opponents:  "Lying Ted" and "Little Marco."   I've called Santorum "Little Ricky" for years, which is much kinder than what Wikipedia has to say about his unique last name.

Condolences to the Reagan family on the loss of Just-Say-No Nancy.  For those who might have missed it, her son, Ronald Reagan, Jr, endorsed Bernie Sanders last week.

Many people in southern Missouri and northern Arkansas had the opportunity to see my "Bernie" bumper sticker putting down the road this weekend.  During that four hundred miles of driving I saw absolutely no other political bumper stickers.  Apathy, apathy, apathy!

The Missouri Presidential Primary will be one week from this coming Tuesday on March 15th.  Pa Rock will vote early.

Taxes and Eggs

by Pa Rock
Road Warrior

Rosie and I are on the road today delivering eggs to friends and family in southwest Missouri and northwest Arkansas.  The primary purpose of the trip west was to bring my tax material to the accountant who has fought my skirmishes with the government for over forty years.  The past few years I have had to pay obscene amounts to the feds - and I suspect this year will be heart-stopping also.

We are in Fayetteville, Arkansas, at my sister's home for the evening.  Gail's daughter, Tiffany, stopped by for awhile, and her son, Justin, came by with his family.  Later Gail's youngest son, Reed, joined us for dinner at a nice Oriental restaurant.   It is always good to see my nieces and nephews.  They are all such nice people.

Justin and I have been talking politics and watching Saturday caucus results on CNN.  CNN is set up at the Democratic Caucus in Roeland Park, Kansas - the suburb of Kansas City where my granddaughter, Little Olive, resides with her mommy and daddy.  I look for them and their neighbors every time the caucus pops up on the television machine.

And the politics Justin and I have been discussing?  We have both been jawing about how much we dislike Donald Trump.  Our conversation has been peppered with words like "blowhard," "bully," and "thug."  Most of my relatives are remarkably intelligent!

Back to West Plains tomorrow.

A Little Southeast of Bora Bora

by Pa Rock
Conspiracy Theorist

Way back on the 18th of March in 2009 I posted a piece on this blog entitled "Ken Lay is Alive . . . and so is Dan White," which suggested that those two individuals, a con-artist and a murderer, might not have died the natural deaths that had been reported in the media, but instead might be alive and in hiding with new identities and most likely with new faces.

Ken Lay had been the boss at Enron, a large energy company in Houston, and a benefactor and friend of the Bush family.  When Enron suddenly went belly-up, many investors suffered grievous harm to their personal fortunes, and more than a few state governments were also hurt in the financial debacle.  Ken Lay, as CEO, was indicted on 11 counts of fraud in 2004, and two years later after one of those counts had been dismissed by a judge, he was convicted on the remaining ten. He was three months away from sentencing (a sentence that could have amounted to 20 or 30 years in prison) when he suddenly died while on vacation in Colorado.

Linda Lay, the tearful widow, went on national television sobbing about how the family had lost all of its money in the Enron collapse, and now all she had left was the family home.  It took awhile for the public to learn that Lying Linda had misspoke and the Lay family actually had clear title to eleven homes.

Paramedics were called to the Lay vacation home in Colorado to collect the body.  A quick autopsy and cremation followed, and the ashes of the man President George W. Bush referred to as "Kenny Boy" were buried in a secret location in the Rockies.  A public funeral was held later in Houston with former President George H.W. Bush in attendance.

One, two, and Kenny Boy was gone - or was he?  Lay's death had profound positive legal ramifications for his survivors (or family co-conspirators) because they no longer had to worry about paying back any Enron debt from their personal monies.  Ken was dead and the lawsuits went away.  The internet began percolating with rumors that the death of Ken Lay was a bit too convenient.  The prevailing notions were that the Lay's had the means (money) to come up with a dead body that resembled Ken, and then fire up the crematorium and burn the evidence before anyone got too nosy.  People also assumed that someone as rich as Ken Lay could acquire the services of a great plastic surgeon and completely transform his facial features.

Kenny Boy's ashes might be buried in the Rockies, or his alive-and-breathing body might be holed up on a small tropical island somewhere sipping rum drinks and playing footsie with the native girls.  There was some natural skepticism of the death story.

There is also a group of people who remain skeptical of the "death" by suicide of former San Francisco City Supervisor Dan White.  White, a one-time San Francisco policeman who had issues with the city's emerging gay rights' movement, shot Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk in cold blood one afternoon in City Hall.  He was convicted of the murders but given an embarrassingly light sentence on only five years for the double homicide.  The San Francisco police appeared to go to great lengths to support Mr. White during his trial.

Dan White served his sentence and was living in the Bay Area under an assumed name when he killed himself by asphyxiation.  His death ended efforts by some locals to find and hound him over what they saw as his getting away with murder.  Local law enforcement, White's former employers and co-workers, handled matters resulting from the death.  There was, of course, some speculation, that White had staged a phony death, with an assist from the police, to evade his relentless pursuers. 

Now comes another story of a mysterious death of another person who had the motive and the means create a timely, though fictional, self-demise.  Aubrey Kerr McClendon, the former head of Cheasapeake Energy Company, was killed in a single vehicle accident on March 2nd, one day after he was indicted by a federal grand jury for  conspiring to rig bids for the purchase of oil and natural gas leases in northwestern Oklahoma.  McClendon, the only occupant of the car, reportedly died when the vehicle his a concrete embankment and was engulfed in flame.

McClendon might have had his telephone in one hand and a cheeseburger and a letter from his lawyer in the other, and a hot cup of coffee between his thighs - and not paying attention to the road, much the same as millions of other Americans do when they go barreling down the highway each day, or he might have hit that embankment intentionally to take his own life - or he might have not been in the car at all and made other arrangements for it to have appeared to have been him who went up in flames.

Who knows?

Perhaps all three deaths were as they seemed - and the world is down two corporate con-artists and one cold-blooded killer, or perhaps we live in a country where the ultra-rich and those with solid gold connections have options of working well beyond the system that controls the lives of the rest of us.

Perhaps Kenny Boy and McClendon are sitting under the palms on some warm atoll a little southeast of Bora Bora, telling tales and reliving their glory days, while Dan White rubs sunscreen on their backs and freshens their drinks.  It would all be just perfect, and while those three may not deserve to live an idyllic life, two of them, at least, could afford it.

And yes, I am still working on who really shot JFK!

An Ostentation of Peacocks

by Pa Rock
Peacock Rancher

Spring is fast approaching and with it my eager anticipation that I may soon be in the baby peacock business.  Last spring my six peahens and two peacocks were apparently too young to mate, but this year they appear to be ready to rock and roll.   The males have been sporting their fans and doing their happy dances for several days now, all to gain the attention of the so-far-indifferent hens.

In preparing to write a few notes on peacocks today, I looked them up on-line to determine the proper collective noun.   Three are listed in various sources:  ostentation, muster, and pride.  Peacocks are exceedingly proud birds, and, as such, a "pride" of peacocks is not only the most alliterative collective noun, but it makes the most sense as well.  But I guess the lions have dibs on that because it appears to be only the third most common collective noun for peacocks.  Ostentation seems to be the most popular name-grouping for the colorful birds.

The Oxford American Dictionary defines "ostentation" as a "vulgar display of wealth."  The peacocks at Rock's Roost have no wealth to display, vulgar or otherwise, but they do spend the better part of each day posing and preening - so I guess they are more than a bit ostentatious.

My ostentation stays penned up all day - in a barn and an attached screened-in aviary - so they do not have the luxury of working the yard for bugs, grass, and other treats like the chickens and guineas do.  That necessitates my bringing them their meals, much like the servants do on Downton Abbey when they wheel in the grub for their social betters.  Instead of breakfast, lunch, and dinner, my very special birds get breakfast, brunch, and tea.  Breakfast, at first light, is a modest serving a grain and hen scratch.   Brunch, served around 10:00 a.m., consists of two or three slices of bread torn into very small pieces and scattered about in the barn (if it is raining) or in the aviary when the weather is nice.  Tea is at 3:00 p.m.  It begins with some protein-rich dry dog food followed by a large cup of sunflower seeds, all scattered about for easy access.

Whenever I feed the peacocks, the chickens and guineas invariably follow along to watch and beg for scraps.  They have great fun peering at their big, colorful cousins through the wire mesh of the aviary, and the peafowl, in turn, also like looking down their beaks at the peasant visitors.

Yes, in reflection, I would have to admit that the peacocks and peahens at Rock's Roost are very ostentatious.  Their chicks probably will be, too!

Wasserman-Schultz Climbs into Sewer to Protect Payday Lenders

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Debbie Wasserman-Schultz, a congresswoman from south Florida who also happens to be the chair of the Democratic National Committee, has found herself in a tight primary race this year.  Her opponent, a progressive law professor and political activist by the name of Tim Canova, has quickly proven to be a very popular alternative to the politically-entrenched Ms. Wasserman-Schultz, and he is raising a formidable campaign war chest through small donations from individual contributors.

Ol' Debs, who lacks the mass appeal of Canova, has instead turned to Wall Street for her campaign cash - a much sleazier easier way to amass large amounts of money quickly.   However, the largess of corporate America is never free, and Wasserman-Schultz has already begun paying for her "donations" through political favors.

Just a couple of weeks ago the DNC, under the artful leadership of Ms. Wasserman-Schultz, rolled back restrictions on lobbyists and political action committees making donations to the committee - restrictions which were brought about through the efforts of presidential candidate Barack Obama during the 2008 campaign.  Now, thanks to the efforts of the chairman and her cronies inside the DNC, it will be much easier for outside interest groups to purchase the influence of those hoping to be elected (or more likely, re-elected) to office as Democrats.  It was a stunning move to open the floodgates of corruption.

This week Ms. Wasserman-Schultz used her position in Congress to deal an even more sinister blow to America's poor and working-class families.  According to an article in yesterday's Huffington Post, Wasserman-Schultz is co-sponsoring a Republican-backed piece of legislation that would stop the regulations that the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau is proposing to place on the predatory payday loan industry - loan sharks with offices.  The Huffington Post had this to say:

"Wasserman Schultz is co-sponsoring a new bill that would gut the CFPB's forthcoming payday loan regulations. She's also attempting to gin up Democratic support for the legislation on Capitol Hill, according to a memo obtained by The Huffington Post.”

Debbie Wasserman-Schultz is not representative of the modern Democratic Party, and she is, in fact, a throwback to the Tammany Hall era of government.   She needs to be removed from her position as party chair by a quick and decisive meeting of the National Committee, just as Tim Canova will soon remove her from her cushy seat in Congress.  Perhaps as a private citizen Ms. Wasserman-Schultz will finally be able to connect with working-class people and gain an understanding of how the other ninety-nine percent lives.

Democracy should be about empowering people - not corporations or loan sharks.

A Coronary with a Side of Fries

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

While I may not always make the smartest nutrition choices, I do have a basic knowledge of the subject - much of it gained by necessity since my open-heart surgery three years ago.  I've lived my life in the drive-thru lane, feasted on garbage, and begun to pay the piper.  I guess that's why I am so insulted by a recent advertisement that is pouring over our local radio airwaves like so much artificial syrup over a stack of pancakes.

The ad promotes an "extra-long buttery cheeseburger," two of which can be purchased for just five dollars.  Well, hold the pickle, hold the lettuce - and shove a couple down my gullet!  The price, of course, does not include tax - nor does it include the cost of EMT responders, life-flight to a decent hospital, open-heart surgery, or follow-up cardiac rehab - just two delicious warm, buttery, extra-long cheeseburgers!

That particular burger joint  is just giving the public what it craves - along with salt-laden, buttery fries - all to be washed down with a large cup of sugar-soaked chemistry calling itself a soda.  There is a place next door that has a signature sandwich which also features double meat and double cheese, but instead of being extra-long, it is round and served on a three-part bun that is slathered with a "special" sauce.  And another nearby eating establishment, this one across the street from the other two, sells fried chicken that is awash in artery-clogging warm grease.

The advertisers tell us we want it, and the salt, sugar, and grease act as addictive agents to keep us coming back for more.

Our bodies used to be temples - now they are little more than public dumps.  My generation has made it's mistakes, but should that compel us to sit idly by while American business fattens its next herd for the hospital market?   Junk food is as dangerous and deadly as cigarettes, and its advertising should be banned.

God bless Michelle Obama for fighting this battle.