Mood:  special

Gumbo was a mixed-breed terrier, thrown from a passing car.  The frightened dog spent the next several days hiding from any passing stranger.  Sam was determined that cruelty would be treated with kindness, and did everything possible to encourage the little creature to come out and accept food and water.  Fear is difficult to overcome, and just when it seemed that nothing more could be done, the little dog took the risk of its' life and crawled out to accept Sams' gifts.  Thus was born a relationship of fidelity which lasted well beyond the next decade.

Gumbo may have been small, but she was fearless whenever the perception arose that Sam was under threat.  The most ferocious of snarls and the most ominous of growls would be presented to any stranger approaching too close, or without a proper introduction.  In those days Sam's Mother was very ill with breast cancer, and Frodo was often occupied at Mount Doom, unable to join in the frequent and long trips to the bedside.  Frodo did not fear for Sam's well-being because of the presence of her defender, the tireless Gumbo.  Many was the befuddled wayfarer who offered to pet "the cute puppy," and found himself in the sights of a guided missile, disguised as a dog.

When Frodo's father succumbed, Gumbo joined Frodo and Sam in the long trek to the land of Frodo's birth.  While services were being conducted, Gumbo had to remain in a strange house, all alone, instead of being on active duty at the side of Sam.  While Sam and Frodo were long-delayed at the graveside, Frodo's Uncle "Junior," remembering the little dog, back at "the house," all alone, and probably under severe distress left earlier than most.  The former Marine, wounded at Okinawa, drove back, all alone, in order to free "the cute puppy."  The gentle giant of a Man swept the dog up in his arms and carried her out into the yard.  He stayed with her while she performed her required duties, and the two of them probably talked for quite some time about Frodo and Sam.

When everyone else arrived, the two were now fast friends.  Sam, who worried all the way from the cemetery about how long the dog had been alone, was moved to tears by the two new friends, and the kindness of Uncle "Junior."  For many years after Gumbo's demise, and whenever Sam and Uncle "Junior" got together, they would speak of their tiny friend.  Sam loved Uncle "Junior," as did Frodo.

One-half-an-hour into Frodo's birthday the suffering ended for Uncle "Junior."  Grieve not, dear reader, for Frodo, and the seeming inequity of death borne on the shoulders of celebration.  Frodo will remember this man, every year, on his own birthday, and celebrate a life that Frodo admired as long as he can remember.  Every year, on that date, Frodo will toast Uncle "Junior," and fill a small water bowl for the little dog who walks with him; of this, Frodo is very sure.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:28 PM EDT

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Mood:  hug me

It is a rare person that can stand up to the President of the United States, and not feel just a little intimidated.  Frodo cracked a rare smile today when he heard that the prospective President had been warned by his eldest daughter not to mess with her TV.  Fortunately, for Senator Obama, the Disney Channel will proceed with its' regular programming tomorrow evening, pleasing at least one member of the Obama family, immensely.

Frodo has missed little kids in the White House.  He is overjoyed by the prospect of little people, nearly his size, who will be peeking out from under desks and dripping ice cream on hardwood floors.  It just seems like such a long time since the entire Nation, if not the entire World, could just reach out and hug America's own little family.  Frodo doesn't mean to offend Chelsea and the Bushettes, but they were just a little too big, at least for the Hobbit (they were also larger than their breeches).

It sounds bizarre to say, but this is one of the reasons that Frodo was drawn, early on, to the Obama candidacy.  Bringing our nation together is not going to be easy, but can you imagine, dear reader, how a smile might be brought to the face of some curmudgeon like Newt Gingrich if he finds a "dolly" on the sofa next to him in the Oval Office while meeting with the new President on the reform of Medicare?  A few smiles go a long way to bringing people together.

Two very pretty, very bright little girls; America's best days are ahead of us.  Just so long as they don't call each other "Turdblossom," like the last group of adolescents in the White House.

Frodo need also remind the prospective new President that he heard him promise a puppy (maybe the dog will pee on Gingrich's shoe).  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:39 PM EDT

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Mood:  happy

Sam is not a fan of Sarah Palin.  In fact, Sam is offended by Sarah Palin, mainly because, or so it seems to Frodo, of the way that women are represented before the American electorate.  Of late, Sam has also become increasingly vocal about the role played by the "First Dude," or the seemingly unemployed snowmobile driver who involves himself in the administrative responsibilities of this Alaska Governor-turned-National Political Candidate.  Todd Palin, if nothing else, merits an exploratory commentary by the Hobbit, especially in light of Sam's intuition.

Frodo opposed the candidacy of Hillary Rodham Clinton for several reasons, but the only intellectual argument he would make in opposition, even today, had to do with the totally unique role played by her spouse, a former President.  Frodo was, and would still be, concerned about the interplay between the Constitutional Officers of the Administration (the President and the Vice President), and the spousal support offered by a two-term President.  Hypothetical situational questions could be listed ad infinitum, delineating the threat to legitimacy exhibited by actions initiated or advised from one who bares no responsibility under the Constitution.  Carrying the argument even further, that is also why Frodo would have advised Senator Obama not to select Senator Clinton as his running mate. We are simply not prepared to deal with the possibilities.

Despite her experience, her talent, her potential, it would have been an error of constitutional crisis proportions to put simple human beings into a situation which absolutely no one had properly considered.  Which brings us to Sarah Palin, and a husband who used State facilities in order to exert perceived political influence in that which has certain purely personal dimensions.  Todd Palin has no authority, nor has he any responsibility, under the laws of the State of Alaska.  Had he concerns about the behavior of any State employee, would it not be more appropriate for him to seek redress through the courts (if permitted), or through normal administrative activity?  Instead, this "maverick" decides to act in a manner which implied pure political process, and for that he was neither in authority, nor could he be held responsible for his conduct.

Instead, Governor Palin pronounced the "First Dude," as some sort of latter-day hero, acting to defend the honor and integrity of his extended family.  To Frodo however, this entire "Troopergate" affair reflects both a lack of understanding or appreciation for the rightful conduct of elected officials.  Sarah Palin just doesn't get it.  Todd Palin probably does, at least that is what Sam thinks.

Unfortunately, the issue is the same when applied to the possibility of Senator Clinton in the White House. 

Someday, and maybe someday very soon, the issues relating to a  "First Spouse" will be addressed by academicians and jurists alike.  It won't result in a "Constitutional Amendment" or anything so formal, but it will allow us to have some up-front understandings about how things work, and who gets to use the telephone on official business.  Sad it is that such considerations did not first involve themselves with women named Martha or Abigail. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:00 PM EDT

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Mood:  cool

Frodo will tell you that Autumn carries a sense of foreboding.  Despite his stated belief that the first cold wind blowing from the North carries the clash of life with death, he cannot help but marvel at the collage which Gauguin, on his best day, could not rival.  Without warning, the greens soon become a touch of yellow, or a streak of orange, followed by the occasional crimson sword.  Together, the chemical mixture manifested in deciduous leaves stops hearts, and brings Frodo to his knees.

Old friends often share ancient secrets when re-united after inexplicable absences.  Such was the case when Frodo attended old friends at the College of the Shire.  While halfway listening to multiple conversations, Frodo heard someone talk about the dreams that have plagued them for so many years, all emanating from their classroom days.  Frodo immediately verbally interjected in order to introduce his recurring nightmare about just falling short of the number of credit-hours required in order to graduate, forty years after the fact.  In truth, Frodo never had such a problem, but he has "dreamed" of this for year-after-year.

Hearing from nearly all of his old friends about similar dreams, Frodo has come to the conclusion that trauma, in whatever format, defines the nature of our life experiences far beyond our successes.  Perhaps that is why we prefer the colors of Autumn to the blossomings of Spring.  We remember where we were when we heard that someone died, but are unable to remember birthdays or anniversaries.  Life is, indeed, marked in different ways.

Frodo's earliest rememberance was the surreptitious observation of his parents placing presents under a tree, then telling him that "Santa Claus" had brought them.  That trauma, in the dead of Winter, hangs heavy upon the subconscious of the Hobbit.  The Hobbit is grateful that hibernation exists for other mammalians, for he has no interest in dreams without end. If he had an option, Frodo would choose to dream that he had accumulated all of his required credits before the leaves fell.  He couldn't imagine failing to graduate because of that crummy grade in Statistics.  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:34 PM EDT

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Mood:  down

2001 days ago, a recovering alcoholic was assisted in his landing upon an aircraft carrier.  Still wearing his jump-suit, he stepped up to a microphone and proclaimed that the military mission he initiated had been brought to a successful conclusion.  A banner which hung as a backdrop to this performance read, simply, "Mission Accomplished."

He looks much older now.  His hair is that wavy gray which connotes a serious decision not to use the Grecian Formula.  He still walks as if he is required to keep a protuberance in his rectum.  That evil smirk, which has bedeviled and reviled his opposition, is ever-present, and appears whenever he means to smile, but doesn't know how.  2001 days later, he still fascinates an audience listening only to hear the latest grammatical gaffe from this very sadly unknowing incompetent.

Frodo has always pondered the Book of Job, in the Old Testament.  It has  bothered him that a passionate Lord would use a faithful worshipper as a demonstration of faith.  To make someone who loved him suffer, simply to prove a point, does not seem consistent with much of the message contained elsewhere in that which we know as The Bible.  Had Frodo been a member of the group of men who decided which of these ancient writings were to be included in The Bible, Frodo would have voted against both the Books of Leviticus and Job.  His argument being that the literal nature of each is inconsistent with the overall context.

There is, however, merit in the sufferings of Job.  Frodo thinks that George W. Bush should, also, have pustules upon his ass; so that he would experience pain and suffering, whether he stood, or whether he sat.  It would not be a demonstration as proffered by Job, but a condemnation, lasting for all time.

May the remaining days of this Presidency pass with speed, and a full reckoning.  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:04 PM EDT

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Mood:  vegas lucky

Frodo knows a lot of bankers.  Upon his return to the Shire from his brief visit to the College of the Shire (comments to follow), Frodo spent this business day talking to many of them about the global fiscal crisis.  What he learned gave him encouragement and a budding sense of confidence in the wisdom of those who have to this point appeared as befuddled, bamboozled, and hoodwinked. 

On Friday past, the Presidents of banks all across America received a letter from the appropriate officials in the Government of the US of A.  In that letter they were informed that they were allotted 3% of their current outstanding volume of LOANS as additions to their capital base.  This being, of course, part of that which has been referred to as the "bailout" of Wall Street.  This means, for example, that if a bank had $1 Million in loans on their books,  they would then receive $30 Thousand more to loan out to other customers.  Without that $30 Thousand, the bank would have to convince other customers to DEPOSIT an equivalent amount into savings, a certificate of deposit, or some other such account in order to make a loan to another customer.   Since these deposits earn interest, they cut into the banks' ability to make a profit from the interest received on normal loans.  By loaning out, therefore, that $30 Thousand, the bank will make more money and incur less costs than if they relied on deposits to fund the loan.

$30 Thousand might finance an awfully nice GM car or truck for a customer of the bank.  Selling one of those vehicles currently sitting on a dealer's lot will certainly help the stock price of the company now facing a merger with Chrysler, or bankruptcy.  At the same time, falling gasoline prices allow the dealer to obtain sufficient working capital to stay in business until "hybrids" start arriving from Detroit (or other ports).

The momentum of confidence in the flow of money is critical.  The fact that there is now money that can be borrowed gets the process started again, and if that purchaser of the $30 Thousand car or truck pays his/her loan back as agreed, then the taxpayer, supporting the "bailout," gets his money back, eventually.  Along the way, companies and their investors also do better than they have in recent months. 

All of this, Frodo feels, will be gradual, and far from smooth.  The good news is that normalcy will return when America is no longer led by an Incomparable Moron, who fiddled while the entire world almost came unglued.

As promised, Frodo notes his brief sojourn to the spot where first he met Sam.  From this visit he reaffirmed the wisdom of his selection process.   Frodo also shared a smile and a joke or two with many of those who cannot be forgotten.

Frodo counts his blessings (as well as his money).   You, dear reader, should be so lucky.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:03 PM EDT

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Mood:  lyrical

Despite the narrow lanes on the Interstate, it is pleasant to run the ridges of green land Tennessee, and to pass into the rolling hills of Virginia.  Frodo's forebears passed this way generations ago, heading for new lands, and Frodo occasionally waves at pedestrians who could be distant relatives, long ago having decided that they had travelled far enough.  Fortunately none so far have appeared with a banjo.

Sam is wistful, the gallant Howard was borne near here, and that brings his gentle spirit into the motorcar.  The small towns that pass outside bear names familiar to Frodo only through the discourse they held in years past.  Frodo always wondered how "Bean Station" got its' name, or if "French Lick" signaled something earthy, if not foreign?  How sad that the source of information is now something one "googles," rather than listening to tales told from a porch-swing.  Perhaps that is the reason that Frodo and Sam sit closer together than at other times.

Soon they will join the merry raconteurs of tall tales and hapless adventures.  Pictures of children will have turned to those of grandchildren, with expectations of recognition and admiration.  Gladly, they are to be given, and gratefully they will be received.  Beverages will be refreshed beyond the pale, and Frodo will be most concerned about the proximity of appropriate facilities.  His bladder, it seems, has aged beyond his spirit. 

What worries Frodo is how to encapsule two score of years, and to somehow remain relevant.  Perhaps a handout, something like a dullard letter in a Christmas Card, is the answer, but even Frodo's brevity would be taxed by wanting to say something different to everyone he greets.  These people helped to make Frodo, and their gifts to him are both distinct and precious.  His thought is to introduce them to these pages, in  hopes that one day he may write something worth remembering. 

That, Frodo decides, is what he will offer to those who still enjoy swinging on the front porch, and listening to the wind.  There are too few of us. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:43 PM EDT

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Mood:  spacey

Frodo would raise his eyes from the page before him, and watch rings of smoke blossom against the darkness outside the window.  Before long Paul would come in the room, and they would share cigarettes and beer while the turntable warbled about Kawliga or Cheating Hearts.  These moments of interruption are what Frodo remembers best about those days and the guy with the quirkiest habits and the best GPA in the College of the Shire.

The behavioral sciences do their absolute best to emulate the true sciences.  Frodo's friends, many of whom studied chemistry, physics, biology, or some other pathway into wealth and respect in later years, queried him frequently about current events.  They assumed that Frodo had a scientific appreciation for the world before them, and that he could provide definitive answers as a result.  Paul knew better.

Paul knew that natural laws applied to everyday life with increasing regularity, but that it still must be concluded that some things happen just because they are meant to happen.  He studied more and longer than anyone else at the College of the Shire, and he got top grades in things called "Organic Chemistry," when every prospective doctor and dentist alongside him lamented the potential of possible failure.  Paul would be there, nearly every night, living on potato chips, beer, and cigarettes, and listening to the Hank Williams on his record player while he computed theorems.

He also had a car, if you could call it that.  He paid $100 for it when he bought it, and he sold it for $110 three years later.  He considered that a significant financial gain, since the total represented what was almost surely his caloric budget for any given semester.  Frodo needs to mention that Paul was always quite slender.

Paul studied bugs.  Specifically, he centered upon the Southern Pine Beetle, something then unknown to his friend Frodo.  From him however, Frodo learned about the plague that falls upon the forests when these unstoppable vermin attack trees from Maine down to the very end of the Appalachians.  Only coal appears as a more formidable representative of God's hand in the affairs of Man in these mountains.

For many years thereafter, when Frodo wanders into his beloved mountains, he finds a grove of pinewood scarred and stripped of life.  Not unlike an Ansel Adams photograph, the stark nature of light against darkness, and the death so encompassed, Frodo stops and studies the artistry of what was, and wonders about what will eventuially be.  Paul taught Frodo that life will emerge, first from the forest floor, and then to fill in anew.  Frodo always thinks of his friend at these times.

Paul became the Chairman of the Department of Entomolgy at the University of New Hampshire.  He home-schooled his offspring, and he even served a full term as an elected County Commissioner (Frodo is pretty sure he was not re-elected).  Frodo knows this from the Christmas Cards that came for over thirty years, then, inexplicably, silenced.

Paul notified Frodo that he will return, for the very first time, to this the Reunion at the College of the Shire.  Frodo asked if Paul had Hank Williams on CD's, and he was answered in the affirmative.  Somehow Frodo was not surprised. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:39 PM EDT

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Mood:  on fire

In order to make sense of what follows dear reader, take note of the fact that the word "Uighurs" identified in the topic to this post is pronounced "Wee Gurs."

The Uighur Autonomous Region of China is the westernmost segment of that immense land.  It is, if there is any true parallel, a great deal like California may be to the US of A.  The difference being that the "free spirits" therein are Islamic.  Yes, dear reader, you read that correctly, the fact that there are any Islamists in China at all is a surprise to most people, but in the case of this huge section of China the population is more than 60% Sunni Muslim.  Not unsurprisingly the reality is that the sovereign nations which border China in the west are all also predominatly Sunni Muslim.  Without getting too verbose, it all goes back to the days before Marco Polo when the "Spice Road" to China brought a variety of peoples into the trading areas uniting east and west.  The Uighurs are "trouble makers" to the present Chinese government, and are treated as such.  Violence is much more frequent between these peoples than almost anyone in the West realizes.

Before you get bored with this collection of trivia, Frodo has a tale to tell about 17 Uighurs and there connection to all of us.  About eight years ago, 17 Uighurs were visiting their religious kinsmen across the border to the west.  These 17 Chinese citizens were taken prisoner by "Coalition Forces" intent on destroying al Qaeda training facilities.  The Uighurs were visiting their brothers-in-arms in order to receive insurgency training, so that they could return to China and combat the oppressive Chinese government.  So why were they taken prisoner by the US-led Coalition, you might ask, if all they were doing was preparing to do battle against a Communist State?

Good question.

Better question is, "What happened to these 17 Chinese citizens taken prisoner by our guys?"

Answer:  they have been held in Guantanamo ever since.  That's right dear reader, the US of A has been holding 17 Chinese citizens, none of whom have ever been involved in any anti-coalition activity, much less even having expressed any enmity toward "our side" in all that time.  Foreign nationals, non-combatants, held without judicial process for nearly eight years; doesn't it just make you proud?

The Chinese government has interviewed each of their citizens, and have notified the United States of America that each would be tried under Chinese law when returned to their homeland.  The United States, suspicious of Chinese justice, is reluctant to return the individuals to China.  The judicial geniuses on our side are exploring how to assimilate these foreign nationals into the "Land of the Free."

Frodo has a suggestion.  Crawford, Texas, is almost as barren as is the westernmost portions of China, and given the source of all the humiliation cast upon our great nation by one who lives there, wouldn't it be the right thing for George and Laura to simply adopt these 17 unfortunates?

If you have a mind to do so, simply "Google" "Uighurs" and the facts behind this bizarre tale will outrage you as they have your friend Frodo.  Imagine if Benjamin Franklin or Thomas Jefferson had been taken prisoner in France by the British in the late Eighteenth Century, and been held for nearly a decade, without a trial?    

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:42 PM EDT

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Mood:  crushed out

It was Freshman Orientation at the College of the Shire, and Frodo had acne.  Frodo's clothes seemed to be about six months behind what everyone else was wearing.  Classes hadn't even started yet, and everyone else seemed to have picked a "major."  Frodo's roommate was cool; he was having sex regularly.  Perhaps Frodo had made a mistake by not enlisting in the Army?"  And then he saw Leslie.

The first time he saw Leslie, Frodo wanted to do what Garth and Wayne would proffer years later, to fall on his knees and to bow with arms outstretched repeating the phrase "I'm Not Worthy," over and over again.  There was a goddess among the Freshman Class, and her name was Leslie.

To describe her, it is best, says Frodo, to simply imagine yourself in Las Vegas, and to watch the dancing girls in all their plumage as they strut their stuff before the commoners.  Not in a thousand years could a mere Hobbit win more than a curious smile from that which is constructed in Heaven, or in Silicon Valley.  The gifts are available only to the Martins and the Sinatras; the Hobbits head for the blackjack table and a glass of watered-down scotch.

First-year students are always overwhelmed, no matter where they are, or what their lineage.  Frodo always had his arms full of books, and one seemed always to prefer the ground outside Frodo's grasp.  Walking to class in the same building as was Leslie, Frodo could not help but notice that she was wearing the Paisley full-length tights under her skirt that were the source of his almost daily fantasies.  Twisting like pythons from her shoes into the hidden areas above her thighs, the design presented Frodo with a rather unique perspective on a place where he would much rather be, than, in this case, a class having to do with Chaucer. 

While waiting in the hallway for the changing of the hour, Frodo was in conversation with someone long-forgotten.  Leslie was nearby, equally engaged with someone Frodo knew not.  When the bell rang, signalling the change of subject, Leslie bent from the waist in order to pick up her course books (note that this was the era preceding the backpack).  Frodo, concomitantly, terminated his anonymous conversation, and turned toward the open classroom door.  Chance, alone, then placed Frodo's open palm directly into the waiting crotch of the goddess (rear entry).

Frodo stood, motionless, hesitant to draw back in horror, or to take any other potential course of action.  Eventually, Leslie straightened, turned to Frodo, and smiled.  Frodo began to apologize, at least he thinks he did, because he had never felt such a rush of blood to any one part of his non-genital anatomy as he experienced in those seconds of his life.  He yet blushes when he thinks of his dorkiest of moments. 

It would take Frodo two years to ever raise the courage to again speak in the presence of the goddess.   It was on that occasion when he would ask the goddess to accompany him to a movie, a milkshake, and wanton sexual activity upon the reclining seats of his 1960 Rambler Station Wagon.  She declined, noting to Frodo that she had just accepted a date with a guy named Don, but suggested that Frodo try again later.

Leslie later married the guy named Don.

Frodo learned recently that Leslie died of breast cancer less than a year ago. 

Damn.  Double damn. 

When Frodo again walks the cobblestones of the College of the Shire, he will have one more memory, now shared with you dear reader, why he tries to go in directions anew; afraid that ghosts walk enmasse in his footsteps.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 6:19 PM EDT

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