Marijuana has long been the favorite recretational drug in the USA and many other countries. Now, Qat (Pronounced cot) has spread throughout Africa and to much of Europe. It’s a bitter leaf, chewed with stacks of leaves in the jaw as a stimulant, making one feel less hungry, more alert, and a little euphoric. Women, children, and all seem to chew the weed. It’s cultivated and shipped, fresh and potent to foreign markets. Ethopia is apparently getting rich from it. Like marijuana, Qat will get you arrested in America, Europe, and  Canada. It’s okay in England, or have they just not ruled on it.

            I started my trip to Africa with a bus ride from Valdosta, Georgia to Atlanta where Todd would recover me at the bus station and allow me to spend the night with him. Unlike in other countries, the only people riding the bus in America are the disadvantaged. To me it’s still a good way to travel. When I checked my bag and entered the bus, apparently, there were no seats. The passengers had their bags and packages in one of the double seats giving them plenty of room. I tried to awaken a couple to ask if I could join them. They were faking it. No one could stay asleep during my shoulder shake of them. I approached a young oriental lady who had her leather purse in the isle seat. She smiled, moved the purse next to the window and resumed her cat nap. She was petite and pretty. She had her legs drawn up into the seat and had covered them with her black vest. It was humorous to see her knees protruding through the arm holes. She didn’t speak. After several miles, next to Tifton, fifty miles up the road, I offered my coat which was on a strap on my hand bag. She covered her bare knees and torso. It’s large and gave her total cover. Cordele was the next stop and I still had no conversation going.

            “Are you from Atlanta?” A head shake. “Are you from Tampa?” She nodded affirmatively.” You work in Atlanta?”

            “No.” We were getting somewhere. She had given me a word!

            Once I got her to open up, she talked. She was interesting. One of three girls, all older, she was off to see the world for a year. Her ultimate destination was London. Her other two sisters were in school.  “What did your Papa think of you going off?”

            “He is supportive. He told me to call him if I got into trouble.”

            “How about Mama? Did she cry when you left?”

            “I didn’t see her cry.”

            “You really need to stay in touch with your parents. With the ubiquitous internet café, you’ll be able to e-mail them.” Thinking back to my own youthful roamings, I knew someone would have been glad to hear from me.

            She produced a Blackberry and illustrated the personal computer in it. I asked something about things she’d packed and was informed that all she had was a purse! I really began to worry about her. “Where are you going to stay in Atlanta?”

            “I will call the Korean Baptist Church to come pick me up at the bus station.”

            “That’s good. Then, you are a Christian?”

            “Mom is Catholic. I’m Christian—Catholic.”

            She wasn’t too deep into Christianity, but she believed in something. I wanted to help her. The temperature had decreased to 59 degrees F. before we reached Atlanta. She exited the bus in her shorts, wearing the vest, clutching her brown leather purse. Where in the world was she heading? Had she sneaked off from home with no clothes? I promised to pray for her and she for me. Without asking her to do so, she wrote her name on an index card, “Chole Jo,” and vanished into the crowd just as my son arrived to reclaim me.

            Good luck and God speed, Chole Jo. May your travels be safe and fruitful as you search for life!  May God bless and keep you.

  Technology has its problems. Two weeks back one of my computers crashed. That wasn’t a major problem. I switched to my back-up unit I saw an ad on Craig’s List–a guy saying he’d fix any computer for twenty-five dollars. I called and he told me to come on over. I loaded the computer and was off. He lives  about forty-four miles from me. I had to go through little towns which is usually not a problem–Guess what–today they were having the Festival. I circled back, entered the Eisenhower highway system and went above them, before coming down a  US highway. They live in a double wide, had no car, and were eating potato chip sandwiches. (That’s mayonnaise, ketchup and mustard, on potato chips, between two slices of bread.) With near incontinence, from three cups of coffee and a diet Coke, I had to go to the bathroom numerous times during the hour he worked on my computer. I could hear a baby crying. The lady asked if I’d mind taking her to the Dollar Store to get some diapers since they had no car. I agreed. It was only three miles. Her mother was there and kept the baby while the three of us headed out to the Dollar Store. (Don’t get ahead of me.. It’s in downtown Hahira where the parade was in full progress.) I could imagine my twelve year old truck overheating or getting mugged in rural Cook or Lowndes county. I’m usually a good judge of character and talked lots with Tabathia. She told me her brother’s newborn (Under two months Old) had a cleft pallet. I assured her that it could be fixed. She and I bonded. Her husband rode in the truck bed. There must have been hundreds of people in the Dollar Store. It took her three forevers to get checked out. Additionally, her husband wanted to stop at the filling station at the crossroads…for beer, I guessed. Adding gravy to the ice cream, a train stopped what little movement of traffic that had been going through town. Remember the prayer, “Lord give me patience and hurry?”
For years,during my army stints and bumming around the world in my twenties… no one knew where in the world I was, except God and me, I’m supposed to be reformed from that and more responsible as an adult? I didn’t leave a note or anything before I left Thomasville. ‘ Just went. I had my gun and faith in God, and made it back home.
It was a bargain–the computer works like new. The computer store wanted $250 to repair it. I’ll put it in the corner and save it until another one crashes.

 The people I visited yesterday had a yellow jacket problem. The sting those thing have is awesome. They had fly paper hanging around. All the papers were saturated with yellow jackets. It Reminded me of the 6th and 7th grades at Wylie school. School usually started just after labor day. All summer lone I’d look for a sub-terranian yellow jacket nest and a quart whiskey bottle with a few drops of liquor left. Sometime during the first week of school, I’d remove the whiskey bottle lid and insert it into the entry to the nest. I’d stomp the ground all around and the pesky little flies would enter the bottle, become sedated and docile. I’d replace the lid and carry it to school. Beneath the coat rack was a good place to place it without the lid. They would begin to sober and fly out. It was always a good couple of hours respite from school. I don’t think my Teacher, Mrs. McCloud ever figured out who did it.
  On the red clover in our front yard, the honey bees fed and hauled the nectar back to Uncle Doc’s bee hive making honey. When I was less than two years old, I’d walk around and have the bees sting me on my feet. Dad asked what was bothering me. I told him! “Those are the bittingest damn flies I’ve ever seen.” The I had a sting on my butt to match the one on my feet.
Down in Honduras, the missionary wanted louvered windows installed in his house. We got the windows and commenced to saw out the holes to put the window in. Killer bees are attracted to sound. The sound of the skill saw, operated from a portable generator got them activated. They were flying in the picture window hole.a million at a time. I told the maid to get me some rags to burn in a kitchen pot. All she could find were the missionary’s underwear. I burned most of his underwear smoking bees. Finally, we nailed pieces of plywood overe the window and vowed to only return after the bees were gotten in check. The following day a native brought an evacuated termite nest, lighted it, and ascended the ladder without a veil, just the smoke. He tore off some boards and removed 250 pounds of killer bee honey. I got 27 or 31 stings. My lips and eyes were swollen.
When we played around Uncle Doc’s bee hives, we were always stung. It didn’t seem to bother me much. When I came out of the army and was visiting a friend in Franklin, just north of Nashville, I began tracking bees to find their tree. Honey is good. These were what Dad always called “Italian Bees.” They’re little, yellow, and viscious. One got me between the eyes. They put me on the bus for Knoxville with both eyes swollen closed. It’s difficult to lift an eyebrow by hand so as to be able to see.
I don’t think the bees at Wylie school stung anyone–just scared the grils.
Love, peace, and freedom from viscious bees,

This article was written by me for Themestream February 11, 2001. I feel the questions are still appropriate.

 News was recently released that a team of Emory University physicians had completed surgery on a lady who was two months shy of her ninety-ninth birthday. The lady had a number of bypasses and a heart valve replaced.

The graying of America is evident. It really used to be perplexing to me that some government programs would loan money for home improvements to a sixty year old and make the terms of the mortgage for a thirty year payoff. Did they really expect the people to fulfill the terms of the loan, by living long enough to pay it off? Maybe that’s why there’s mortgage insurance.

At one time the life expectancy in the United states wasn’t too much over 50. Now the life expectancy is close to eighty. When the social security program started, life expectancy was well below sixty-five. i.e. one was dead before being old enough to apply for old-age assistance. Now I see where there’ll be 10,000 people over  a hundred years old any day now. People are being kept alive by heroics!

During the early eighties, the membership chairman of my church was a little-ole-lady in her late eighties who implored all present at board meetings to stay healthy so our membership rolls would swell. Optimism is part of living to ripe old age. When the membership chairman was over 90, she purchased a new car. That’s optimism. I don’t know if she financed it or not. She did live to be well over 90.

The news release by the Emory surgeons about the 99-year-old lady’s surgery, started a debate. Should medicare and Blue Cross have to pay $40,000 for this type surgery for this age person? What type surgery should be performed at what age? Are the costs and risks of operating on a nonagenarian worth the chance of prolonging life for another year or two? Should we limit this type health care as a part of health plans? Should social security be rolled back so that we don’t collect it until we reach eighty?

Physicians probably see this bypass surgery on a 99 year old as a break through in the practice of medicine. After all, to merely survive until 99 is a miracle.

One of the Emory physicians said age should be measured biologically instead of chronologically. If so, he thought this 99 year old patient would register about 60 instead of 99. She was in good physical condition and spent only nine days in the recovery unti.

If we measure age biologically, I’m reminded of the time a cub reporter was interviewing older people as to what they attributed their longevity in life. One gentleman limped up on two canes and was asked to what he attributed his long life.

Quickly, the man replied, “I refrained from the use of alcohol, tobacco and sex until the age of 12.”

“How old are you,” the reported asked seeking a coup.

“Thirty,” answered the interviewee.

Maybe, if we stay strong biologically, we won’t need operations. And if we do, maybe we’ll be strong enough to survive them.

As to whether we should fund this type operations…The question would be much easier if it is us or some of our kin that needs a valve replaced or bypass surgery!

There are deep feelings that the opportunity for book publishing is on the internet. Here’s a couple of places that offer publishing opportunities.

fictionwise
This site is not a fully free site, but usually has several free selections available at a time. The free selections tend to be romance oriented tomes, mixed in with some classics. There is a ranking system next to each selection. Once again, classification of books is dicey at this site. I had difficulty with some of the downloads from this site – the thesaurus crashed my eReader (made worse by the fact that I couldn’t use it with my eReader as there is no keyboard to look up words). Registration is required to download, and you will get mail from them.

witguides
This is a smaller site that has an interesting mix of options to download. The fiction selections are primarily science fiction, while the site also offers pet training manuals and other interesting choices. No registration is required.

The old adage states that we’re lucky we don’t get all the government we pay for. For what it’s worth, more and more people seem to be getting afraid of the government and where we’re heading as a nation. Be aware of wolves in sheep’s clothing!!!!

With the Obama “Cash for Clunkers” program where one gets $4500 trade-in on a new car, in place, I have a question? “Can I trade all three of my clunkers and get $13,500 on a new car? If so, I found a small Chrysler (Manufactured by the USA Government) for $9999. They could give me the car, $3,499 overage in cash, and we’d all live in the cash forever!