Reading America’s Fear Quotient

After several weeks in the United States of Hillary what is evident, after a two-year absence from my birth country (this time around), is civil society’s uncomfortability/fear level is heading up the bell curve faster than a Roadrunner going for its lizard lunch.  Without any references or prompting, I sensed a pervasive concern for the now and a rampant insecurity of what is or maybe a future.  Paranoia is not in my vocabulary along with conspiratorial horse dung so gauge accordingly as you read on, or don’t. It is up to you Hoopoe.

Current American apprehension is fed by non-stop negative news casting from Internet major media to local TV.  The worse happenings are regularly programmed at an audience numbed down enough to passively view the madness of these reporting horrors.  I will not contribute to such insanity by listing story lines spread across the evening news segments like smeared burro caca.  Faced with a diet of disasters during every 24-hour period is a way to keep the masses from noticing true invasions like the destruction of inalienable rights and dragging the drone wars into oblivion, as in on and on and on.

While Texan Americans are motoring along on six-lane highways inside the latest automobiles due to the Fed’s bailout of some car manufacturers and the dismissal of others, their eyes appear sad, and their hearts distant if not excused from contact to their souls.  The stand-in-line human cattle never question. Why do they not move over to the idling checkout stand with no waiting remains a mystery to this shit disturber.  Apartment complexes and master communities are sprouting up alongside intersections four cornered with the same corporate pharmacies, the same corporate fast food, the same corporate markets, and the same favored Federal Reserve corporate banks. This merge is spreading from Northern San Antonio to the surrounds of Austin (in every direction).

The Texas prairie oak-lands morphs into the more are never enough dirges as a faux community plugs along constantly beseeched by an ever-expanding sprawl of the geography of nowhere.  A nearly cancerous encroachment on ranch life is underway as Homo sapiens asleepnis migrate into the Austin, Texas area at full bore total tilt overbearing boogie.

With Xmas counting on the Advent calendar, corporate stores zoned within identical shopping campuses are laden with the newest gadgets and clothes cheaper than foodstuffs. Why? The rags were made in Nicaragua, Bangladesh, and Guatemala.  Stuff is the ruler of style, attitude, belief systems, and consciousness?  Can one say these asleep at the wheel humans are cognizant of a consciousness, ever but maybe in their dreams?  Mostly it is manufactured stuff controlling the market. Yet, since the handmade movement is within my family original created stuff was in my purview. The keep it Austin weird is losing ground faster than fracking in Pennsylvania.

The quicken speed at which people move is another indicator how disconnected folks are from the world around them.  I had to sweetly yelp at my brother to halt and pull over to see Scissor-tailed Flycatchers, Bald Eagles, Roadrunners, Waxwings, and sitting grebes on the lake.  Yet, he too often did not give me the opportunity to stay still to bird spy as we had a schedule to meet not of my making.  My go with the flow, take time to see not just look at life, and general Costa Rica pura vida m.o. was nearly ignored.  This act was not malicious. It is merely how the merry-go-around spins on its crooked broken down spirit axis in I want what I want now Gringolandia.  Yet, when he did let me out of the vehicle (he power locks the doors from his driver’s seat position) to get a view of Texas birds I found him later on reporting to others what WE had seen.

For six decades, Bro Dan and I are classic examples of sibling rivalry between an older male (him) genius and his younger radical artiste tree huggin’ female sister (me). I adore my brother. I get him far more than he does himself. I am the one who stopped the mood altering substances and went to recovery in 1985. He is the one who ended his love affair with Johnny Walker Red in 1985 yet never walked into the rooms of AA. Stubbornly sober, I would not get back into the SUV or Jag until he saw the birds in question.  Later, his bird watching tales to others seemed as if the experience was a prideful memory (“my sister has such a fantastic recall for bird labeling”) than the actual experience in the here and now.

Okay, we will have to find alternate path up the mountain or through Wimberly (town in the hill country under attack by retirees with bucks (frog pelts and the kind with big ears and swishy tails).

My general estimation is an overabundance of my fellow Americans are lost in parking lots both real and injected into their virtual smart phone mindsets. Even some of the smarty-pants are beaten down by workload with savings earning nearly zip interest. A fixated micro focus on bending over to pickup any discarded receipt to plug into their tax filing excel files is like the bird flu in ramification.

At least in my family we are semi-secure because we take each other’s back and by tradition are in the upper middle-income levels in attitude and business acumen.  Charitable works with conservative spending patterns based on purchase power intuitively researched and planned delivers quality and creativity.  The Scottish and Arab gene pool necessitates astute application.

My familial unit is not nuclear.  It is more akin to a corporate scheme imposed upon a third sector (non-profit) operating structure.  We conference together over major decisions via iPhones and at the dinner table or sitting comfortably sipping tasty beverages while popping homemade gourmet goodies in our respective mouths.

We low or high key express ourselves dissonance to the elders seeking advice without overt commitment to follow through yet covert listening intently to a wisdom’s backboard. Since, I am now in the elder category, several in my family asked me about some concerns filtered in from a nine-year old to a 55 years old. These loved ones solicited my take on a particular issue kinking up their happiness. Time will tell if the encounter was fruitful.

We take surveys (personalized pollings) amongst family members by reiterating the same story and asking a bevy of questions.  Dialogues like this are right out of the creative teamwork playbook of any innovative research and development business in Silicon Valley or garages in Mountain View, California.  My favorite this trip to the motherand was a discussion with my six-year old grand-nephew. He was exceedingly worried Santa Claus is too tubby for the family chimney at Circle C and with furrowed brow asked the biggie – Will Santa live forever? My nephew’s final solution is to leave low-fat milk and sugar free cookies. After tales about Santa’s lifestyle made up by me my nephew decided and affirmed (with Trooper, the family rescue Cheaspeake Retriever) Santa is for all time, forever, even if he is a realllly fat guy.

I suppose love; concern, respect, intelligence, values, and procedure are segments and floating chunks within an unified mettle of how we evolved into a contemporary family. Our making personal far-reaching changes after consulting with our delegated wise ones goes back as far as I can recall. These seeking-answers endeavors are coupled to serious individual research.  We ask too many whys beyond the age of four.  We bank our knowledge.  We freely give support when sorely needed and when sensed as such. The outpouring for my dire straights as the most recent widow in our lot is at cosmic ratios, if not monumental in a familial desire to see me go on with my life happy, and ‘keeping busy’.

The way we operate could serve as a modern healthy model for the Next New America? Our work in progress builds and enhances self-esteem as an inner wealth and not surprisingly putting in the footwork while turning over the results to a higher power fosters monetary quasi-security.

We invest in each other.  We participate (read not too much enabling) in each other emotionally, spiritually, and financially supported by a foundation coming from love not greed.  The base is not what one would suspect.  My brother’s in-laws are Lebanese and Egyptian.  He and I hail from Mayflower descendants.  The glue is devotion and love.  I would also venture bigga brains in tune with their hearts, no matter what, or in spite of Neiman Marcus sale-a-thons.  The pegs in the interlocking pumpkin pine floorboards of our modern sustainable structure are well-honed patina hardwood.  The design is about as high tech as consumer possible. The Arabesque rugs are soft and cushy hand made into real sturdy beauty so delightful many generations will know their comfort. The food is five star. The tears are stuffed (mine mostly) but hey like I ranted – it is a work in progress family.

I dunno know about the income or outcome for America because as long or short sell as the Sheeple accept corporate cookie cutter headquarters war and Wall Street will be the pin prick at the top of the ruling basturds’ ormolu pyramid. Let freedom not chime when the techno-ring is through your nose AND your ego is twenty-first century slavery?

As to my family, we will proceed with a rare combo of watchful caution; an innate belief in a better world is made by what you give away not what you acquire, and a silly ole fashioned notion called family values and ethics = Lies of omissions are lies. Treating others as you would like to be treated. Passive aggression is war mongering on a vis a vis micro-battlefield. Loving others without controlling them until they love themselves. Reaching out and giving because you truly only get what you give away. What comes around goes around in a nano-second. Smiling is not a mask. It is an expression of human kindness recognizing another of our species. Pay it forward in every single moment of one’s day, or Saturday night, is not a mantra. It is how to keep the faith playing hop scotch through a Western culture no longer respected by the rest of the world. We lost this title when we let dirty oil become the economy.

(And she was left in an oak tree on the ranch wondering why the African Antelopes kept blinking their enormous eyelashes at her standing ten feet below her boots.)



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