JUST MUSING: “So I pray…so I muse…”

I am confused. Staring and studying photographs. Wondering why the captured images possess extended lips. I saw something else when peering into other’s worlds – Georgia stood in the corner ready to pounce. I admit Georgia’s was not a defined image. She still hovered much like she did when we were children, while commanding – “Put your lips in.” Georgia viewed the extended lip condition as defiance to her chastisement, whether verbal or physical. Georgia’s image in the photos is more ghost-like, an image engraved into my imagination. Causing me to remember, cry, but don’t cry too much; be careful not to extend your lips. Knowing, always knowing – engraved into a child mind – it will take her a little time to calm down because of our/us/we/she/he/me doing what we had done wrong.

A single mom attempting to keep seven children out of harm’s way, making sure we understood it was necessary for us to be frightened of at least one person on God’s green earth – her. Don’t be confused, we were afraid. We recognized Georgia as the undisputed Heavyweight Champion of the World, running the roost – her roost – on Perry Street.

What strange poses? Arms extended outside of the frame, an unseen object in one of their hands, everyone’s lips pursed. I have never heard of Lime disease before – not Lyme disease, Lime disease. A disease caused from eating too many limes, causing ones lips to pucker. No, never have, but clearly these friends and strangers are so infected. The condition must be a communal disease; in every picture his/her/their lips seem to display the same distorted extensions.

What on earth! Poor souls!

Georgia’s wont and commands were simple:

“Stop crying!” “You will listen to my instructions next time!” “I will give you something to get mad at … don’t push your lips out at me!”

No, no, no, Georgia wasn’t an abuser, more of an enforcer; a benevolent ruler, who always extended a warning before taking action; one time, twice, three times. “If you don’t understand… if you do … if you do … You do understood, don’t you? Do it again, and I will beat you until your head roke like okra!”

We had never cooked okra when the warning was first uttered. We were children had eaten it, but never cooked it. The physical properties of okra were unknown to us. We didn’t have to ask what roke or rokes meant; having some understanding the origin of the word wasn’t necessary. Georgia’s sentence structure and the words used provided sufficient understanding of what she meant. The meaning wasn’t good.

Our lips – we couldn’t do anything about them. We be children of color, existing in a balmy South. The only thing we knew about lip altering procedures was to “drink plenty of water to keep them from cracking”. We were the “you know what Vaseline is, don’t you”, generation.

It took years before one of us finally explained to Georgia, “Momma my lips aren’t sticking out. They are made this way.” Her warning face was on at the time. This time – that time – the face melted. Not like okra. More like butter, losing definition and form, taking away structure; melting, clarifying, revealing a change in condition, converting from a solid substance to a liquid one. She bent her back forward; both hands grabbed both knees; a soft sound emitted initially, followed by a hearty laugh. She wiped both eyes, turned in the opposite direction, saying nothing else. The laughter had become personified. Or perhaps she permitted it to continue, giving permission. Either one, it resumed, resonating – extending out, filling the small space, granting permission for her charge to laugh. Laughter which invaded every nook and cranny; one of many cherished moments – knowing her love was greater than any contemplated punishment for our/my/his/her malfeasance.

Art Linkletter when he was nearing his 100th birthday explained the greatest invention in his lifetime was the advances seen in the medical sciences; extending lifespans, curing diseases, ceasing life-sapping plagues. Linkletter died on May 26, 2010, at the age of 97. With Linkletter’s quote in mind, oh how I wish the medical scientists figure out a cure for this terrible disease. None of its victims ever attach explanations to their social posts. Go Fund Me requests are absent. I am sure some of us would happily extend help with medical costs. I have seen no posts educating us with what “they too” are experiencing. Celebrities have remained quiet when they should not; Harvey Weinstein/Bill Crosby quiet, secrets contained in cloistered and exclusive circles.

Looking closely, I noticed some of their lips were “like that”, extended naturally; surely not that naturally. Others were not as naturally endowed – they too though were pouty, extended, afflicted by this horrible disease. A non-discriminatory predator – everyone pursed, soured, extended in a distorted manner. These electronic images remained engraved into my frontal lobes causing me to be concerned for the safety of strangers/friends/love ones/others.

So I pray. So I muse.

Advertisements

JUST MUSING: “Uncle Bobby…”

The Department of Labor recently issued a report, citing record low unemployment.  Listening to pundits tout the numbers, I waited for someone to say the numbers were actually a narrow view of the economy. No one has, no one will.  A famous rapper likewise made an astounding pronouncement. The rapper’s views on race and world history raised sane eyebrows, caused some to gnash their teeth. They ignored his statements were a familiar litany. He has asserted other supposed truths in the past, has always come off as a braggart on a multitude of topics (fame, money, women (misogyny)). I feel more comfortable in characterizing the new moment in the sun as nothing more than an Uncle Bobby. The Uncle Bobby moment applies to the famous rapper, the Department of Labor’s pronouncement, and the unhinged statements of a former mayor when he stepped back into the limelight, arguing a pending federal investigation is the work of Nazis.

Everyone has a crazy uncle. This fact is why certain behavior should be viewed with a slanted eye. For clarification, I am not musing about the Sexual Deviant Uncle Bobby. The sexual deviant Uncle Bobby is the one who touches and hugs too long, blaming errant tongues, hands, lips on their medication, the victim, on role-playing. My reference to Crazy Uncle Bobby is referencing the wildly off-balanced condition which deceptively takes on the appearance of being balanced, when it is not. There is always a severe disconnect between facts and Crazy Uncle Bobby’s behavior. Spinning out of control, thinking too much, too little, trying to make sense of the world, most times failing – this is Crazy Uncle Bobby’s way – sharing baseless theories and thoughts. When their surmises are examined, one realizes Crazy Uncle Bobby musings are constructed on logic which has the weight bearing capability of ground coffee waste – brown/black, mushy and pungent – incapable for bearing its own weight, spreading and dispersing with the slightest touch.

Uncle Bobby’s condition is a communal one, meaning shared by others. This is the reason everyone has one. Over-talking thoughts, believing his incredible stabs in the dark – ideas, concepts, and thoughts – are new, unique, even bothering on profound.  He never sees to the contrary, blinded to what others see. Spewing, “you know” – because Crazy Uncle Bobby(s) always starts any conversation with meaningless words, and phrases. “You know.”

Self-absorbed souls – looking back, forward – thoughts percolating from the bottom of the mound, causing an inconsistent, disconnected, scattering of thoughts. Wires crossed, causing his brain waves to flow slightly off kilter, short-circuiting somewhere along the way. Words flowing out and over, in an Uncle Bobby kind-of-way, muttering unique utterances which never meeting the definition of insanity (in a legal sense), insaneness though, flat out crazy is he, are they.

Looking in the camera, philosophizing: “When I hear about slavery for 400 years. That sounds like a choice.” The world was shocked. His family was probably not. They knew. We shouldn’t be shocked. I was not. I have seen the condition before.

Citing personal remembrances or the historical record to show Uncle Bobby the error of his ways will not work. Telling him the comments were hateful, hurtful, idiotic, are nothing more than futile stabs in the dark. Walking away, calling Uncle Bobby an audible “fool” is good enough. Let Uncle Bobby love whoever and whatever he wants and walk away. Walk rapidly away.

“Stay away from Uncle Bobby.”

“Mother I’m not a child anymore, I know Uncle Bobby’s crazy.”

The Crazy Uncle Bobby condition is much like aging. Sneaking in, announced/unannounced, taking over at the strangest of times – morning, mid-morning, lunch, evening, night – the predictable and unpredictable visitor who overstays the visit, submits a change of address without, and stares unflinchingly, when an attempt is made to discuss the prolonged stay. Crazy Uncle Bobby as a mental condition silently obscures rational thought.  This is the reason everyone has a Crazy Uncle Bobby.

Be clear – the condition is not necessarily a mental illness. Albeit distinguishing between what is and what isn’t is problematic. Uncle Bobby in the meantime continues to walk, function, exist; he never bothered about trying to determine which. Nothing wrong until something is wrong. Scientists may discover the condition is actually the male ego which has weathered, aged – wearing on the edges – causing unpredictable behavior. Such a finding would not and cannot be be the answer. There are too many of us out here who can attest their Uncle Bobby has been acting a fool as long as they can remember. Forever stating the most inappropriate statements, no matter the conversation or circumstances; always marching to a different drummer.

“Momma did you hear what Uncle Bobby said?”

“Baby, can we talk about something else.”

The change in the calculation for the unemployment rate, by the Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLSS), involved lowering the calculation from five years to two years.  The change means the long-term unemployed are no longer counted, magically lowering the unemployment rate. I bet Crazy Uncle Bobby convinced the rest of them the new calculation makes sense.

On February 3, 2015, Gallup referenced the unemployment statistics as “the big lie”.

If you, a family member or anyone is unemployed and has subsequently given up on finding a job — if you are so hopelessly out of work that you’ve stopped looking over the past four weeks — the Department of Labor doesn’t count you as unemployed.

Facts don’t matter when Crazy Uncle pontificates. Never make the mistake of proclaiming, “what!?” Crazy Uncle Bobby sees the question mark. He ignores the explanation mark. He and the decisions he wrought are worse than a functioning drunk, more properly, the pontification of a functioning fool.

Appearing logical when they aren’t, veering off the rails in both manner and mode, nary dependent upon studies, or reasoned thought is Crazy Uncle Bobby’s way. Changing the rules, forever providing descriptions in unnecessary detail – why and how he came to his reasoned conclusions – telling everyone foolishly listening they are smartest of the smart.

Don’t be confused by wealth class or position. The Crazy Uncle Bobby condition does not work as an impediment to Crazy Uncle Bobby(s) moving throughout the social hierarchy. They are much like cockroaches. Successful, adaptable, and ever present tribute to their ability to survive structures which may limit others. A condition played out on a spool – over, over, over – convincing others the rightest of their ways.

Don’t be fooled in the future. Recognize the condition for what it is. Reference Uncle Bobby as you should – “fool” – and walk away. When walking – fleeing – you are permitted to remind yourself, “we all have one, we all have one, we all have one.”