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|  Patricia Paris
Patricia's Porch Talk 'Imagine All The People' "Imagine all the people, living life in peace…" Written as part of his Vietnam war protest, "Imagine" was John Lennon's second major solo release. Thirty six years later, the lyrics from the 1971 song still send a powerful message to our own unsettled times. The song plays in my head when I see the latest statistics from the Iraqi War. This week it started playing again like a scratchy old LP album as I read an email from a friend about the growing list of contaminated and defective imports from China. These products include defective tires, contaminated toothpaste, fish containing toxins and contaminants, children's toys, cough syrup, pet food, and, more recently, the blood thinner Heparin. The email message called for ALL Americans to boycott products from China for one month, from June 4th to July 4th. Normally I would dismiss such a message as just another internet forward, but this one piqued my interest. With the recent deaths from the contaminated blood thinner Heparin still fresh on my mind, such a ban seemed to not only be practical but appealed to my desire to 'do something'. My next thought was that such an action would work only if those calling for the ban actually follow through and if they spread the message far enough. If only a handful want to 'do something', we wouldn't make a dent. It would take 'all the people' to be noticed, to make a difference, bringing John Lennon's haunting lyrics again to mind. "Imagine all the people" banning imports from China for a month, from June 4th to July 4th. Roughly, here's how such a boycott would work. 70% of polled Americans believe that the trading privileges afforded to the Chinese should be suspended. Well, why do we need the government to suspend trading privileges? We can do it ourselves! Simply look on the bottom of every product you buy, and if it says 'Made in China' or 'PRC' (which now includes Hong Kong), simply choose another product or none at all. You will be amazed at how dependent you have become on Chinese products; however, you will be equally amazed at what you can do without Sometimes a particular brand may come from both places – for instance, canned mushrooms. Some cans may say 'Made in USA', yet other cans of the same brand may say 'Made in China' and they may be mixed together on the shelf. Another is plastic Easter eggs. We don't need plastic Easter eggs to celebrate the holiday. We can revive a sweet American tradition by dyeing real eggs and benefiting some American farmer at the same time. Easter has come and gone this year, but keep this in mind for next Spring. If 200 million Americans refuse to buy Chinese imports for thirty days, it would create enough of a trade imbalance that some American businesses would feel a temporary pinch from their stockpiled inventory. That sounds like the upside to me. We can give the American companies who continue to buy from the Chinese fair warning that the American people can take control of their own destiny by sending our own message. Implementation of the boycott will begin on June 4th and continue it until July 4th. That is only one month of trading losses, but they will at least have to ask themselves if their lack of controls or concern for American consumers is worth it. Readers, I didn't have to think about this very long. I'm going to join this effort. I've been taking some baby steps in this direction anyway, but for the next month I'm going to try harder. I hope you'll join me. "You may say I'm a dreamer, But I'm not the only one." Copyright 2008 Patricia Paris Contact: patriciaparis@gmail.com Member: Tennessee Writers Alliance, Int’l Women’s Writing Guild, Tennessee Mountain Writers, Chattanooga Writers Guild | | |
| Mother's Day Goes Out On a Limb My curiosity was piqued yesterday when I noticed a dark, shadowy spot in the willow oak that grows by the driveway. Closer examination revealed a makeshift nest that appeared to be constructed of several small twigs haphazardly arranged in a forked branch. What appeared to be a long bird's tail protruded from one side. I got all excited and pranced around and craned my neck, trying to see the nest from a better perspective. Finally, I saw her. The Mourning Dove raised her small domed head and peered at me over the side of the nest, as if to say, "So, exactly 'what' are you staring at? Now if you don't mind, I'm busy!" And with that, she retreated low into the nest, leaving only her tale-tale tail showing. I quickly backed away to give her some privacy. I didn't want to upset her. I've waited too long for baby birds to take any chances with these. A few years ago, I worked in an old building on the south side of town. A pair of doves tried for days to place two twigs and a piece of yarn on a steeply sloping window ceil, but each time the female fluffed her wings and attempted to sit on the twigs, they rolled off. But the doves were determined to nest in that window and retrieved the two twigs and foot long of orange yarn over and over again. One day, catching them away, I opened the window and hurriedly applied a drop of super glue to the window ceil and mashed the two twigs down onto the glue. It seemed to hold. Then I applied another drop and mashed some lint from my clothes dryer into the center and waited for the doves to return. They had a real nest with a soft, fluffy lining that wouldn't roll off if they would accept it. When the doves returned and saw the nest, the female immediately sank down on it and set about arranging herself for a long sitting spell while the male strutted back and forth, cooing, no doubt bragging that he had built the best nest on the south side, by golly. A few days later, I spied two eggs and the expectant parents began taking turns keeping them warm. All went well for a few days until I heard a loud commotion at the window. Grackles attacked the birds and drove them from the nest. Soon after that, I noticed the eggs were gone. Last year, a plump little wren that I named Darlene entertained the idea several times of nesting in one of the birdhouses in my back yard but couldn't seem to get her act together. While tidying up this Spring, I was surprised and saddened to find two of Darlene's abandoned eggs. But it looks as if I'll finally get my wish this Spring for baby birds. The doves placed their nest directly over the walk near the door so I'll have a perfect spot from which to observe and follow the babies' progress. However, now that my excitement has died down, I'm also beginning to realize how messy it's going to be over the next few weeks. Perhaps I should wear a large hat to and from the car. I'm a little uneasy about the nest. It looks pretty flimsy but it's too high to reach so they're on their own. However, I could place some dryer lint on a nearby limb and hope Momma Dove takes the hint that if she's going to sit that long, she may as well be comfortable. Storms and wind moved through the area during the night, and I rushed out this morning to see if that flimsy nest was okay. It was. Momma Dove had hung on tight. "Happy Mother's Day, Momma Dove", I said. "You'll have your babies soon." She blinked her bright little beady eyes. I think she understood. Contact PatriciaParis@gmail.com | | |
| The Face In the Moon I think I’ve figured out where Mr. Hyde lives. He is the shadowy face in the moon and still up to mischief. Now he sends emails. “Don’t even open them. Send them to spam.” That was my advice today to a good friend who complained that another ‘holy’ one was repeatedly demanding that she prove her faith. At the end of each day, I hold the delete button on my keyboard down and drag the cursor over at least fifty forwarded emails, lifting the cursor only occasionally to save a ‘good’ one for later reading. I learned long ago which friends and acquaintances will send ‘good’ forwards that make me smile, share a ‘keeper’ recipe, information useful to me as a writer, or take me on a journey to some awesome place that I would never get to see otherwise. Their emails are reflections of their personalities and the way they live their lives… uplifting and filled with spirit and optimism. When someone actually takes the time to type out a personal message or a bit of conversation, I am reminded of the post cards from my grandmother that could bring me up to date on a week’s events inside a four by six inch square. Such personal messages today are like tiny treasure chests floating in a sea of ‘forwards’. Buried among the unopened deleted messages are multitudes of ‘spiritual’ messages with ultimatums at the end saying that I must prove my Christianity by forwarding to a certain number of people. No one has yet to tell me where in the scriptures it says that in the year 2008, these e-mailer forwarders will become my judge and I must prove myself to them and by email at that! Unless I overlooked an email warning in Revelations, I think it must be a messianic personality who believes the rest of the world must prove its faith to them. Such emails are offensive and I hope you don’t feel guilty or obligated to pass them on because of their inspirational nature. You won’t be eaten by a pride of lions if you don’t. I swear it. I’m amazed at the number of people who think of themselves as thoughtful, considerate, and caring but do not bat an eye before passing along baseless rumors or vicious lies from behind the anonymity of their monitor screens. Most of these rumor mongers would never engage in such activity if they knew they would meet their accused face to face. But it’s okay to blindly spread rumors as long as they’re sitting safely and smugly behind a monitor screen. Like the shadowy man in the moon. Like Mr. Hyde. It hasn’t escaped me that the most outrageous claims are usually from the same people who check up on my Christianity. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around that one. There are several internet sites dedicated to sorting through internet rumors. Snopes.com and UrbanLegends are reliable sites that specialize in researching the origins of internet rumors and reporting elements of truth. There’s so much more I want to say about these irritating ‘forwards’, but this little rant will have to suffice for now. It’s getting late and I have to wade through over fifty emails. Copyright 2008 Patricia Paris Contact: PatriciaParis@gmail.com Patricia Paris is an author/columnist from East Tennessee
Member: Tennessee Mountain Writers, Int'l Women Writers Association, Tennessee Writers Alliance, Chattanooga Writers Guild | | |
| At ten thirty this morning, there were six bees in my yard. The first one buzzed past me and began foraging for pollen on the grape hyacinths and within half an hour, there were six of them crawling over every inch of the hyacinths. I took note of the bees with special interest since last year I saw no honey bees or bumble bees. Not one. Several of my gardener friends, puzzled, asked if I had seen any bees and by the middle of summer I had abandoned the lifelong habit of walking cautiously through the grass to avoid stepping on a bee. Mud-dobbers built a mud nest under the eaves twice and each time I knocked it down. Wasps nested in the ‘roof’ of the closed table umbrella, swarming angrily when I opened it. Two of those huge bees that seem to hum and hover motionless in the air for hours as if trying to decide whether to drill holes in your siding or your fencing, finally chose the fence. I filled the holes with sheetrock mud and never saw them again. According to various news sources, honey bees first began disappearing in the fall of 2006 and by the summer of 2007 were disappearing inexplicably at an alarming rate across twenty-four states, leaving the beekeeping industry in peril and threatening the production of numerous crops. In a mystery described as worthy of Agatha Christie, bees apparently left their hives in search of pollen and nectar and simply never returned to their colonies. Researchers assumed the bees died in the fields, perhaps becoming exhausted or simply disoriented and eventually falling victim to the cold. Other theories included pesticides, virus, and disorientation due to cell phone signals. They even gave it a name - colony collapse disorder (CCD). But nobody knew for sure what happened to the bees. So, on this beautiful spring morning I was happy to see six bees crawling all over the hyacinths in my yard. I’ve wondered all day if they made it home. Copyright 2008 Patricia Paris patriciaparis@gmail.com Member: Tennessee Writers Alliance, Int’l Women’s Writing Guild, Tennessee Mountain Writers, Chattanooga Writers Guild | | |
| The First George W Regardless of recessions, inflations, interest rates, money markets, or exchange rates, one has only to unfold a U.S. dollar bill to be reminded of George Washington. You might say the first President of the United States has stood by us through good times and bad. The first George W. is reputed to have been an honest man, even though the famed cherry tree story was discovered to be the creation of his biographer Mason Weems. Weems, who was determined that the first President be remembered for his honesty and integrity as much as his extraordinary leadership and courage, wove the simple tale about honesty that even small children could remember. How the first George W. was elected President of the United States differed greatly from today’s elections. I believe he would be perplexed at the convoluted rules and regulations of nominating committees, caucuses, primaries, dangling chads, delegates, super delegates, recounts, miscounts, no counts, and a few ‘no accounts’ thrown in for good measure. Surely he would have difficulty wrapping his mind around the staggering costs. And I can imagine how outraged he would be to discover the correlation between raising campaign money and staying in the race. The election of 1789 had no popular vote. The electoral college chose from a group of candidates and each college member cast two votes, with the candidate who received the most votes becoming President and the runner-up becoming Vice-President. By this simple process, George Washington was unanimously elected first President of the United States, receiving all sixty-nine electoral votes, and John Adams came in second, thus becoming the first Vice-President. And it worked. They got two good ones. Since that time, thousands of lawmakers and politicians must have worked overtime for presidential elections to have evolved from that simple process of 1789 to circus circa 2008. I’ve been following presidential elections fairly closely most of my adult life but lately I’ve been struggling to keep up. Somewhere between Florida with its long running history of botched elections and Michigan, I began to lose track. Floridian pal and author Tracey Henry, a master at blending sarcasm with humor, tells of a grave state of affairs in the Sunshine State. “I've voted in every single election since I moved here in 2000, from President to dog catcher, and I think the only vote that was actually counted was when I mistakenly voted for Buchanan on my butterflaky ballot.” After learning of Tracey’s doomed votes and that Florida’s State Legislature is Republican controlled, a bell went off. Ding. I think I finally have Florida figured out. It’s because there’s something fishy in DENMARK! And I just bet the first George W. would agree. I still haven’t unraveled all the hullabaloo over Michigan. It’s too bad the first George W’s carved wooden teeth turned out to be a myth also. I think (so mad he would be) ‘Spitting Splinters’ would have made a great title for this column. Copyright 2008 Patricia Paris Contact: PatriciaParis@gmail.com Patricia Paris is an author/columnist from East Tennessee
Member: Tennessee Mountain Writers, Int'l Women Writers Association, Tennessee Writers Alliance, Chattanooga Writers Guild | | |
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