Wednesday, October 21, 2015

Amend WHAT?!

I reckon by now everybody knows whom they'll vote for. We are sick of the ads on TV where each candidate is knifing the other, and if we believe any of it, nobody is fit for public office. Be that as it may, we have to pick a winner. Eeenie, meenie, minie, moe. Good Luck.

I consider myself a person of average intelligence, and I must confess, the amendments always throw me for a loop. They can't be written in plain English that everyone can understand. They're such gobbly-gook that the majority will vote "no" simply because we have no idea what a "yes" vote will bring. For instance:

AMENDMENT #1. Creates a new transportation projects fund. What's the matter with the old fund? The yellow barrels between Hammond and Baton Rouge remain in place year after year. The potholes in New Orleans streets can swallow a small car. Instead of new transportation projects fund, why don't we finish up the old transportation projects? Will the new projects suffer the unfinished state of the old projects? 

This amendment also "restructures" the Rainy Day Fund, a reserve fund crucial in credit-rating agencies’ view of the state's financial health.  I'm leery of "restructuring," sounds a lot like robbing Peter to float Paul. As I understand, after reading through PARS 17-PAGE guide to FOUR amendments, the Budget Stabilization Fund will be split in two: the Rainy Day Fund and the new Transportation Fund.  

AMENDMENT 2: Allows the state treasurer the option of creating a new infrastructure bank. I didn’t have time to delve into the difference between an infrastructure bank and a regular bank, but have y'all counted how many banks we have in Hammond already? Why exactly does the state need another one? Can't they deposit the money in an existing facility? Beats me.  

AMENDMENT 3: Allows the legislature to deal with taxes in all sessions, not just the “fiscal sessions.” Why can’t they just tell us that? Unless a person sits down and researches all this stuff before hand (and it takes a Philadelphia lawyer to decipher what the deuce they’re talking about) the average dude is going to vote “no,” thinking we have enough trouble when the legislators mess with the taxes once a year. Seems like the once-a-year restraint has those fellows chomping at the bit.

AMENDMENT 4:  Requires state and local governments outside of Louisiana to pay taxes on property they own in Louisiana. That seems to be the most sensible of all the amendments, although after you read the 5-page explanation you are as confused as ever. It delves into Tennessee storing natural gas in Louisiana, etc. etc. If the Chinese government owns an oil well in Louisiana waters shouldn’t they pay the taxes? You bet they should. I’m all for that.


These are my opinions and nobody else’s. I already voted absentee, but for those who’ll be standing in line Saturday, GOOD LUCK.  


Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Download In Progress...


I was telling my young friend Megan about Saturday’s wonderful Book Festival at the Hammond Library. There were hundreds of people milling about, talking to authors, stopping at booths, and eating free hamburgers,
“Really?” Megan replied. “Nobody goes to the library anymore.”
“That’s not so. There were lots of folks there.”
“Most everybody gets their books on Kindle or downloads them from someplace.”
“Now you can download books from the library,” I said. That’s one of the new innovations put in by Barry Bradford, Director, who has done an amazing job, bringing the library into the 21st century. “Do you ever read the classics?”
“Oh, sure. Harry Potter.”
“Captain Ahab?”
“Who is he?”
            I recall my father telling my sister and me on more than one occasion: “If you have the company of a good book, you will never be lonely.”
“So, if you don’t read, how do young people entertain themselves?” I asked.
“We have our tablets and our phones. We can read books, play games, send messages, talk to friends.”
I have to have a book. I like turning the pages, feeling the texture of the paper, dog-earing one corner, underlining a particularly beautiful passage. I like placing favorites in my bookshelves where I can take them down and read them again and again. When I moved from the big country house to the little house in town, I made a conscious decision that since my new space was limited every fifth book had to go, so I donated them. Two days later I was back, retrieving a few that I was crazy to let go.  
At a recent book club, a white-haired member looked through her eye glasses, turned up her hearing aid and asked me where she could get a copy of my latest book, Pohainake Parish.
“It’s at bookstores and libraries,” I replied.
“Oh, honey, I’d have to get in the car and drive to those places. Can I download it from Kindle or Nook?”
“Absolutely,” I replied, thinking libraries have to cope with this new development and the competition is stiff, and even the old people are getting into it.
But for me, who still lives in the dark ages, there’s no substitute. I love the library.



For information on events at the library click here.


Friday, October 9, 2015

Winner, Winner Chicken Dinner!


A glossy flyer fell out of an envelope stamped AOpen Immediately Dated Material.@  It proclaimed:  AYou have won a Lincoln Continental. Call 1-800 something to redeem your prize.@
I could not dial fast enough. A shrill, computerized voice answered: AIf you have won a Lincoln, please press one.@ 
I did and the voice resumed: AWelcome to ABC Advertising. Would you hold, please?@  Several more holding steps followed, taking up a considerable slice of my valuable time and terminating in the ultimate affront: AThis call may be monitored for quality assurance.@
I was about to give up the Lincoln when a real person came on and asked, Awhat is your winning number?@
I checked my winning card.  A122338878.@
AMrs. Kay Wain?@       
AWainwright.@ Certainly, I wanted them to put the correct name on the car title.
AWayne Right?@
ANo. Wainwright W A I N –@ I sounded computerized, too. The woman finally got the name straight and proceeded to the important business at hand.
AYou=ve been selected to win one of our grand prizes.@
AWrong. I have won a grand prize, a Lincoln Continental.@
AThe income tax you have to pay on a gift automobile of that worth is huge.@
ALet me worry about the tax.@
AWe have an alternate plan. If you purchase 3,000 pencils with your logo imprinted on them for only $300, then the Lincoln becomes an advertising expense and you don=t have to pay any tax on it.@
AI don=t want pencils. Send the car.@
AI can=t do that @ she said. AYou=ll have to speak with the manager.@
After a wait, the manager got on line. AI understand you don=t want the pencils. You prefer to pay the tax.@
AThat‘s correct.@
AAs long as I=ve been here, nobody has ever made such a strange request.@
AHow long have you been there?@
After a short pause, AFour hours, give or take.@
AWell, brace yourself. I don=t want the pencils. I want the car.@
AWe=re not allowed to impose that kind of financial burden on a prospective customer. You=ll have to talk to the president of the company.@
ABring him on.@
AHe isn’t available right now, but he will get in touch with you.@
The president never called, but I=m not much worried about it since I=m busy pursuing another option that came in yesterday=s mail.  I=ve been declared the winner of a sailing trip to the Caribbean.

"Winner, winner chicken dinner!"





Wednesday, October 7, 2015

Burning Memories

Fall is here. Cool air. Every where goldenrods giving everybody allergies. It’s time for fall cleanup! Throwing away other people’s stuff is easy, but getting rid of your own junk?! That’s a completely different story!
            Helping Gramma eighty-six her stuff was hopeless. Within minutes of digging into her lifetime accumulation,  I realized that not one memento, faded picture, old brown paper bag, or 1938 style dress was going to be placed in a trash pile, thrown away, or given to Goodwill. .
            “You can never tell when you may need these things. It’s wasteful to give them away to people who won’t appreciate them.” Gramma stood firm by her convictions. Nothing left the house as long as she could breathe.
            Periodically, my husband, Carl, emptied our country barn where we’d stashed things away for 20 years.
            “That’s my old rocker!” I grabbed the arms and we tugged the rocker back and forth between us.
            “It has no rockers, can’t you see that?”
            “You promised you’d fix it.”
            “That was 14 years ago. I reckon I’m not going to get around to it.”
            The bonfire got bigger and bigger. “Get those wrought-iron chair frames out of there. I’m making new canvas covers for them.”
            “Yeah and burn myself to death.”
            I headed to the shed behind the garage where Carl shoved everything he owned: 20 years of paint cans, faded colors dripping down the sides; pieces of boards; broken down lawnmowers. I was pulling out and piling up when he appeared.
            “What are you doing with my stuff?”
            “Putting it on your bonfire.”
            “No way! Do you realize those door locks cost $18 each?”
            “Who would’ve known? They’re in pieces.”
            “And that box of roofing nails. Don’t throw those away.”
            “They’re all rusted.”
            “They just look rusty, but they’re good and get that axe out of there. It cost $12.”
            “It has no handle.”
            “I’ll get a handle for it.”
            “You haven’t gotten a handle for it in the last 10 years.”
            “Put it back. These are my things. You can’t pitch them!”
            “You threw my stuff away.”
            “That was junk.”
            “And this isn’t?”
            So once again, we crammed our useless possessions into new cubbyholes.
            Hope you guys have better luck.

Lots of junk!

Burning memories!

Monday, October 5, 2015

Pain and Politics

Pohainake Parish, my latest book about a parish that declared bankruptcy and started an unstoppable chain of events, is dedicated to “all those elected to public office who aspire to make a difference and soon discover they can’t.”
            I ran for public office, not knowing the system at all, and got elected! All I wanted to do was get the potholes filled and the school system straightened out so that all my real state customers wouldn’t ditch Tangipahoa and go to St. Tammany. Wiley Sharp, God rest his good soul, provided me an office in the old Columbia Theater which he owned at that time. My 70-plus mother was my phone answerer.
            I remember the day an African American came in and told her, “I’m haulin’ for Miss Katie and I needs gas money.” “Gas money” has a lot of different meanings, but not for my Mama. “That’s wonderful,” she replied. “Where’s your car?” He pointed over to the Shell service station. “Okay. Let’s go. I’ll get the tank filled up for you.”  The expression on his face was priceless.
            On another occasion a developer came into my office and offered me $500 if I promised to get the roads in a new subdivision dedicated and paved. I politely refused, but, I said, “I’m on the way to the Chamber of Commerce meeting. Why don’t you come with me and donate that money to one of their worthy projects? I bet that would get you right to the top of their list.” Believe it or not, he went and he became a good member.
            Campaigning was a new experience. When knocking on doors for votes, I rode in my husband’s pickup. He said a Cadillac just wouldn’t sit well with the country people. Carl’s family had been here since before the Confederate War so he knew everybody. Also, he offered a word of caution, “Everybody from the airport east was related, all kin to one another in some way.” We’d be invited in for a cup of coffee. Carl and the home owners would talk about the weather, the milk cows, where the quails were roosting, and Aunt Minnie’s hip replacement. After a while, he’d ask them to vote for me, as if I were a little side project. Once a homeowners showed off the new litter of black Labrador puppies. The little pups were running all around the porch, the yard, and the driveway. Carl backed the pickup truck over one, said $#!%, and lurched forward and got another one. He went inside and bought them both. I sighed, “They’ll never vote for me now!”
            A dear friend of mine had a drinking problem and on the eve of election, she called and begged me to go to Alcoholics Anonymous at a local church with her. All other candidates were out hustling last-minute votes and I’m sitting in a circle of people listening to them say, “My name is Joe and I’m an alcoholic” —I sat there thinking that they’ll probably never be sober enough to vote for me or anyone else for that matter.  
            But in the end, though I tried as diligently as I could to make a difference, it was hard. I was only one vote in a panel of 10 people.  I learned to horse-trade, to make deals, and to swap my vote for what I thought was the best interest of my constituents. I learned to drink beer in bars, play bingo at the fire stations, eat barbecues anywhere at any time, never to joke because politicians have absolutely no sense of humor and smile...smile…smile.
            None of us really knew what we were doing, but we managed to build the jail, a sanitary landfill, pave the roads and change the governing system from Police Jury to Parish Council. Lord knows what we could’ve accomplished if we had known what we were doing! 


Want to know all about it?! Read Pohainake Parish!