Been a bit of time since I last posted something. If you want an idea of where I’m at, here’s a little recipe for you. Mix a cup and a half of Faulkner with two tablespoons of early Capote. Add a liberal dash of O’Conner and several ripe Carl Hiassen characters, whip until you have the consistency and color of Spanish Moss. Slowly stir in a quarter cup of dark memory until it runs like veins in the mixture and then immerse in a tub of water and bake at 90+ degrees. That will pretty well sum up where I’ve landed.

It’s been a long time since I’ve lived on this side of the continent, much less this far south, and in all those years I never thought I’d come back to this particular spot. The Dead had it right, a long strange trip indeed, and I’m not yet sure if this particular point along the way is the cherry on the sundae or the lump of coal in the solstice stocking.

The last time I was here, the gunshot over the Grassy Knoll had just begun its echo around the planet. Water fountains and bathrooms were designated “˜Colored’ and ˜White”. Black folks lived in their part of town, enduring the nightly terrorist tactics of the Rednecks of America Youth Corp. Wrap-around shades, Sam Browne belts and beer-bellies were de rigueur for the local law. Every town was a speed-trap. One town even had the stop-light lenses reversed to trip up the Snowbirds.

Confederate flags were everywhere back then; front license plates, flagpoles, arm patches, porch over-hangs. If there was room to put a symbol of a war that ended a century before, there you would find the Southern Cross. I mean, like, give it up, man. You lost. Get over it already and move on.

I, to my great misfortune, was a switchblade packing, “a little too tall, could’ve used a few pounds, tight pants, points, hardly renowned” Westside Detroit JD with Vasoline and baby oil slicked-back hair – waterfall, ducktail, sideburns and all – and sporting a black London Fog trench coat, a look not all that uncommon on my own turf but one that glowed like a neon red target down here in the Old South. To say my short stay here was unpleasant would be an understatement.

But, here I am back again, 45 years later. A lot has changed in that time and yet I find myself listening for the distant strains of banjo music. And me without a paddle.

There have been a number of inaugurations since I arrived on this planet. The first one just three months after I first saw the light of day. Some guy named Harry S. Truman. Can’t say I have much personal knowledge about Harry. My concerns were more in the nature of dry diapers and warm milk.

I had shed the diapers and switched to cold milk with liberal doses of Bosco by the time the next inauguration rolled around. Dwight D. Eisenhower, World War II hero. Can’t say I remember much about that one or when he did it again four years later.

Ditto John F. Kennedy’s inauguration in 1961, though I do remember the whole Kennedy/Nixon thing. Between American History (repeated ad nauseum semester after bloody semester as I remember), Social Studies and Civics, we all but had Kennedy and Nixon shoveled down our throats. I had no clue there was some kind of controversy involving Kennedy. Religion not being even a remote consideration for me, then or now, I can’t say I was sure what being a Catholic meant or why it would be a big deal and hell, he looked old to me. I do remember thinking Nixon looked like a swarthy little crook (how prophetic) but, when they broke out the paper ballots at school, that didn’t keep me from voting for him. Word around the playground had it that Kennedy planned on extending the school day and, oh my, eliminate summer vacation so Nixon it was. I mean, a guy’s got to have his priorities straight, right?

LBJ came and went and I missed his little speech. Richard Nixon pontificated at his first and I was probably too busy getting high and/or throwing rocks at some anti-war demonstration to tune in. The only time I ever got involved in politics that didn’t include discussing the overthrow of the government or trashing things was during Eugene J. McCarthy’s run. When he fell on his face, I jumped ship to George McGovern. I can remember canvassing around Warren Michigan, a rough place to find supporters for either McCarthy or McGovern. Watergate was in full swing and you just knew Nixon was going to skate. That and the day I walked up to a house to push McGovern and there was a huge poster hanging on the wall showing George Wallace sitting in Jesus’ lap pretty much became the straws that broke my brief political back. I went back to organizing protest marches, hanging with the SDS and the Weathemen and trying to figure out who amongst us were FBI plants.

Here’s a hint on that last: it was always the guys who advocated the most violent approach and claimed they could get the guns and explosives to do the job. Those guys you moved away from on the Group W bench.

Needless to say I skipped Nixon’s second inaugural address.

Watergate finally took Nixon down. Too little too late. I’m sure Gerald Ford had something to say at his inauguration but I was way beyond caring much for whatever lies politicians seem always to express. I skipped Jimmy Carter’s words as well though with him there was a least a ray of light. Unfortunately, the dark cloud of Ronald Reagan eclipsed that pretty quickly. I ignored Reagan as best I could, twice, and the first George Bush that followed him. Bill Clinton turned out to be 60/40 though I’m not sure which side of the equation was good and which bad. I was probably too busy pounding code to pay much attention to either of his inaugural speeches.

George W. Bush? Please. He hasn’t been gone long enough for me to even want to go there. Suffice it to say that as I never recognize him as a legitimate president, I ignored both of his inaugural addresses.

Today, however, I pulled over to the side of the road and listened to all 19 or so minutes of Barack Obama’s inaugural address. I have to admit that I never thought I would live to see a black man elected president. Indeed, a black man and a woman running for the same job at the same time. Amazing.

Do I think Mr. Obama will be the bright light of Camelot that so many seem to think he will be? I fear I’ve grown a hard, heat-tempered shell of mistrust over the years, especially where politics and politicians are concerned, so I can’t say I do.

But hope is a pesky thing, a mosquito buzzing in the night. Only time will tell if he moves to turn America around, away from the rocks she is surely steering toward, or if he turns out to be just another mouth full of lies.

Technorati Tags: Harry S. Truman, Dwight D. Eisenhower, John F. Kennedy, LBJ, Richard Nixon, Eugene J. McCarthy, George McGovern, George Wallace, Gerald Ford, Jimmy Carter, Ronald Reagan, George Bush, Bill Clinton, George W. Bush, Barack Obama

It seems appropriate that today is A. A. Milnes‘ birthday. My little girl is back. Not that she is little anymore, 32 if my math skills are holding up.

I used to read her Milne’s stories. As a child she was Tigger, always up and bouncing about, full of curiosity and life. I was a budding Eeyore back then and time has only folded me deeper into the role.

Courtney Mackenzie Pawlazcyk-Knapp. A bit of a mouthful but she always had the energy to carry it. She almost ended up with the first name Anticipation but that’s another story for another time. She’s married now, swapping the mouthful of a last name for Cline.

I’d like to think that the post I made a couple of months back, in which I mentioned I was looking for her, led to our reunion but neither it nor any of my other attempts to find her panned out. She found me, not the other way around. I’m not exactly sure how. She read some article that mentioned I was a member of Backspace. She then went over to Backspace, found the Contact Us form and asked about me. Chris, one of the administrators over at BS contacted me and now she is back in my life.

So, despite the miles that separate us, my family is complete again. My son, Ryan John, who I don’t talk to nearly enough, a situation I fully plan to change, and now Cory. And my kids have kids of their own now, 2 apiece: Michael and Jennifer on Ryan’s side, Cameron and Austin on Cory’s side. Certainly dates me, doesn’t it?

Now if I can just pull it together, find the finances in these tough financial times to make a trip home, see them all, hug them all.