The New Year has swept in, and a phalanx of vacuum cleaners is massing next door. After the never-ending end-days of 2008, when wave after wave of economic gloom rolled through, life shows signs of returning to normal in Stone Mountain. ‘Normal,’ of course, is a relative term.
In my neighborhood, diverse in race and culture, things fell uncommonly quiet the last few months. The Bosnian family next door—Bosnian-Americans now, having gotten their citizenship—could always be counted on for generous dollops of color. Swarms of relatives dropping in to roast whole lamb over an open fire—front yard parties late into the night.
But the cops cracked down on the noise this fall, and then they forced Ned to clear the back yard of engine blocks, mufflers, and vacuum cleaners—his growing heap of treasures, stock in trade of his then latest business: scrap-metal recycling. Neighbors rejoiced as truckload after truckload disappeared, and then scratched their heads when a long-bed pickup filled with 40 upright vacuums drove off. In formation, the Hoovers leaned forward, waiting—waiting for the signal. Fantasia, the motorized edition.
Now, even Ned’s moved-off business has failed—scrap prices having out-sunk the stock market. However, now he's back. Home renovation—homes in distant places, thank God.
But peering over the fence, I see a formation of Hoovers massing anew. First sign of a returning economy washing color back into my neighborhood? Or is it the motorized ghost of President Hoover, self-begetting?
Only time will tell.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Re-perspecting
If the last quarter knocked you off your game—or at least, like me, had you struggling and unable to find much humor to feel or express—it’s time to look back in a different way as we go forward through regime change and a promise of brightening times to come.
Last year: YouTube - Uncle Jay Explains: Year-end!
Last year: YouTube - Uncle Jay Explains: Year-end!
Friday, November 7, 2008
Coming Full Circle
No one expresses more poignantly or more eloquently—at least for those old enough to remember long-ago events in Alabama—the depth of meaning of our recent presidential election.
Surprising, perhaps, this from Peggy Wallace Kennedy, the daughter of former governor George C. Wallace:
http://www.cnn.com/2008/POLITICS/11/03/wallace.kennedy.obama/index.html?iref=newssearch
Surprising, perhaps, this from Peggy Wallace Kennedy, the daughter of former governor George C. Wallace:
http://www.cnn.com/2008/POLITICS/11/03/wallace.kennedy.obama/index.html?iref=newssearch
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Breathing Exercise
Author unknown
Find a comfortable chair to sit in, or lie on the floor. Remove your shoes. Close your eyes but not too tightly. Take a deep breath: Inhale blue... Hold it. And exhale red... Repeat.
Now tense up every part of your body, really really tight. Hold it...hold it... Now relax. Feel your body melting into your chair or into the floor. Again: Tense tense tense... And relaaaax.
Now I want you to picture yourself lying on a gorgeous, secluded beach. Breathe in the fresh air. Feel the warmth of the sand. Hear the rhythmic lapping of the ocean and the palm trees swaying in the gentle breeze. You have no worries. No cares. Your 401(k) is flush with cash. You feel completely relaxed. You are at peace and everything is fine.
Oh, look. John McCain is walking by. Without opening your eyes, gently raise your hand and wave. 'Hi, Senator,' you say. 'Sorry you lost the election in such a massive landslide. Too bad, so sad.' He waves back and says, 'Thank you, my friend. In the end, the best man won. By a hundred and fifteen electoral votes.'
And here comes Sarah Palin, wearing her Miss Congeniality sash. Again, you lazily raise your hand. 'Hi, Sarah. Too bad the Troopergate report got ya booted from office,' you say. She replies, 'Oh, that's okay. Now I can spend more of my time monitoring that sneaky Putin over there in Russia. I hear he's training an army of judo experts.' She trips over a piece of driftwood. You let out a relaxing sigh and take a sip of your margarita.
Oh, and here's Dick Cheney, trolling for spare change with his metal detector. 'Hey, Dick,' you say. 'Takin' a break from the war crimes tribunal?' 'Yep,' he replies. 'They got Rumsfeld in the dock now. If things go according to schedule, I should get my life sentence later this afternoon. Oh look...I found a nickel.' He wanders out of sight. You take another cleansing breath.
Just as you're about to drift to sleep, a group of former senators approaches. Coleman. Dole. McConnell. Collins. Cornyn. Stevens. Chambliss. Roberts. Smith. Sununu. 'Hey, folks,' you say. 'Whatcha been doin' since your massive losses?' They reply as one: 'Beach volleyball!!' You nod. They get swallowed by a rogue wave.
And now, very slowly, count backwards: 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... Open your eyes.
Repeat as needed.
Find a comfortable chair to sit in, or lie on the floor. Remove your shoes. Close your eyes but not too tightly. Take a deep breath: Inhale blue... Hold it. And exhale red... Repeat.
Now tense up every part of your body, really really tight. Hold it...hold it... Now relax. Feel your body melting into your chair or into the floor. Again: Tense tense tense... And relaaaax.
Now I want you to picture yourself lying on a gorgeous, secluded beach. Breathe in the fresh air. Feel the warmth of the sand. Hear the rhythmic lapping of the ocean and the palm trees swaying in the gentle breeze. You have no worries. No cares. Your 401(k) is flush with cash. You feel completely relaxed. You are at peace and everything is fine.
Oh, look. John McCain is walking by. Without opening your eyes, gently raise your hand and wave. 'Hi, Senator,' you say. 'Sorry you lost the election in such a massive landslide. Too bad, so sad.' He waves back and says, 'Thank you, my friend. In the end, the best man won. By a hundred and fifteen electoral votes.'
And here comes Sarah Palin, wearing her Miss Congeniality sash. Again, you lazily raise your hand. 'Hi, Sarah. Too bad the Troopergate report got ya booted from office,' you say. She replies, 'Oh, that's okay. Now I can spend more of my time monitoring that sneaky Putin over there in Russia. I hear he's training an army of judo experts.' She trips over a piece of driftwood. You let out a relaxing sigh and take a sip of your margarita.
Oh, and here's Dick Cheney, trolling for spare change with his metal detector. 'Hey, Dick,' you say. 'Takin' a break from the war crimes tribunal?' 'Yep,' he replies. 'They got Rumsfeld in the dock now. If things go according to schedule, I should get my life sentence later this afternoon. Oh look...I found a nickel.' He wanders out of sight. You take another cleansing breath.
Just as you're about to drift to sleep, a group of former senators approaches. Coleman. Dole. McConnell. Collins. Cornyn. Stevens. Chambliss. Roberts. Smith. Sununu. 'Hey, folks,' you say. 'Whatcha been doin' since your massive losses?' They reply as one: 'Beach volleyball!!' You nod. They get swallowed by a rogue wave.
And now, very slowly, count backwards: 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... Open your eyes.
Repeat as needed.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
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