Pauper, the Mutt

Pauper, eating his Steak! 11-18-2014

The dog, I have nicknamed Pauper, whom is a stray dog in the neighborhood: a half-pint size German Shepard Mutt!  My wife and I, more wife than I, have grown to care for him, perhaps even grown to love him in a mutt kind of way! My wife has taken him on one occasion to the veterinarians because of a wounded foot, thereafter for a shampoo, —save, he needed it long before he got it: no longer smelling like a mutt, rather more like Lysol. And thereafter again, given the mutt those expensive shots…hopefully, cleaning out his system of any disease, and so forth… We tried to restore him to civilization, bring him into our home and treating him near like an equal, but he cried and whimpered… Can you picture a German Police Mutt, crying and whimpering? It’s hard being a Vietnam Veteran watching that, so I set him free to go back and roam his old turf. Well, what can one say—to each his own, even a dog has the right to choose—so I feel—his destiny! Anyhow, the essence of this story is this: we’ve fed him per near daily, for more than a few months now, a few times a day! Hamburger for lunch, and a steak for dinner, water for his thirst, and some hard-bread-crackers, mixing the dog food with hamburger sometimes… Had I not mixed it with the hamburger, he’d not have eaten the dog food, he’s highbrow, believe it or not— yes, even a mutt, a stiff-nicked mutt, can be costly, and this Peruvian Mutt, is high maintenance… “I will not eat anything else at your house, without protein in it!” his eyes have told me, time and again, and my wife seems to identify with him; or is it with me and him? As if he is on a kosher diet.  But he does put on quite the show, and watching him eat is a treat! He approaches so dandy like: cool as a ripe and chilled cucumber. Wiggling that long mutt tail, not tramp style, but kingly, as if somewhere along the line, he was descended from King Arthur’s court (as they say: elitist). I call him, the roustabout, he has three neighborhoods he searches out I do believe; and that look on his face says:  if you don’t serve me, I got plan B, and C, already in place (sounds like my son-in-law!) Anyhow, suddenly the dog sees the steak in my hand, for him surely the choicest slab of protein in the neighborhood— in all three neighborhoods! With a swift dart of his perturbing—dog face, and strong four-year old saber teeth, he dives at the steak, grabs hold of the steak, clutching it, as if it might grow legs and run away; I have to watch my fingers and his teeth closely, lest I lose them. My reflexes are not as good as they used to be, nor my eyesight!  The steak, now in his mouth, his head raised, ere, before he devours it: exultantly he throws the stack every-which-way but loose—like an alligator—as  if to tenderize it before the big moment! Then snap, it is in two pieces, one hanging out of his mouth, the other on the floor, of our den— this is not the end! He gives no more attention to my wife and I, he is in a LSD, kind of zone … happy as three cockroaches, on top of a hill of sugar! He chews madly, as if someone might come along and take it away; there is a bigger dog next door, called Moro, who likes steaks also… My steaks that I give to Pauper that is the main reason he comes into our den, to eat the steak in secret, lest he lose it to Moro— the beast! And until the first of the halves disappears down his long slippery throat, he is not content— Eaten with such relish and determination, he now goes for the second portion, a little less hurried, yet a little worried. Crack-head, the Priest’s dog across the street might appear, he likes Pauper’s hamburger, I’ve nicknamed the Priest’s dog Crack-Head, because he keeps falling off the Preacher’s rooftop, and he’s bitter, and I have learned from experience, to only refer to him as Crack-head when he’s not looking... He can read my lips, and brother when I call him that name, he gives me the: I’ll eat you look! He too, is similar to Moro the Beast! Does Pauper, have a concept of what he is eating (surely not what it costs)? He does! How do I know? He continues in his way in the matter of establishing long term contact with this house, especially marinating my wife with his droopy sad eyes, knowing I’m perhaps a war veteran, he is cautious with his peas and cues… Once he is full, he tramps off to Cockroach Villa, wherever that is! But since that last shampoo he got, he has returned to smelling like the old Mutt of the neighborhood once again and every time I feed him, I got to take a shower thereafter! I told my wife this is getting to be too time consuming! If not costly, for a dog that won’t even watch the perimeter of our house, or for that matter, keep us company at night!

Written 11-18-2014 (No: 4609) Reedited 11-2016

Consorting with a Dream (11-15-2016/wee hours of the morning)

The Dream:  “I had a dream last night, I’m 69 years old, it was of a sports car, and motorcycle I once owned, although these two items were different than the original ones I once owned about 20-years ago. A friend and I were on the way to a lakeshore area, where I suppose I own land at one time, to which I did, some 300-miles from where I lived. Perhaps all symbols within this dream. I don’t remember who drove what vehicle, but I got confused on what highway to take so we stopped at a motel, and having got lost somehow he got to bothering me, more trouble than he’s worth—I figured, so I shooed him away.  Now I’m in a city in-between the lakeshore land, the motel, and my home; I’m, in some little town.  I meet two women, and I talk to them on getting back to the motel where my motorcycle must be with the sports car, I don't know how I got to this little in-between town.  Thus the two women I do not know from Adam, take me to an old thin lady in a bed and ask for her advice (could she be my mother? I don’t think so, but my mother was wise).  That is it, the whole dream, I wake up.” 

Now my interpretation may not be correct, but when I worked for Riverhills, Hospital, in Prescott, Wisconsin, back in the 1990s, and when I had studied in college Carl Jung, and others in Dream Psychology, I did fairly well with a few staff at the hospital.  It has been many years since I looked at dreams, but to make a story more interesting, let me try to break down my dream.

       First I do realize it is my conscious mind and my unconscious mind at work, trying to create a wholeness, or make full a concert picture out of my unconscious. It is a thing that I know, and I think I know (and we have emotions here also). I ask myself: did I dream deep (yes), painful (no), confusing (yes) scary (no), what was the emotion in total?   “Confusing”.

       Dreams are like fingerprints, each person has its own formula, or rules. And you got to know some of that person’s background.  I know me, so I’m set pretty good. Again I want to draw out the subconscious to the concrete. There are symbols here: sports car, motorcycle, land by a lake, I owned at one time all three. The person with me, I shooed him away, perhaps because I don’t care for people around me that pester me.  So we’ve got all the ingredients, and remember as I think Carl inferred: dreams are a window into the unconscious.

       I watched a movie last night, called “Predestination” with that in the background, a movie can transform, or eat its way into your subconscious, and this movie for me was very confusing. As in my dream, the protagonist was time-traveling from time zone to time zone. This could be it in a nutshell, but why such symbols? This brings me into another orbit, there is a chain here, and a dream obeys itself, in that it performs functions and you are the answer. 

       The ancient Greeks, would create a metaphor for a dream: perhaps if I was to take their metaphoric stance: the woman in the bed was a symbol for me to be open to new ideas, wisdom, intellectual development, values, which in essence is telling me to discuss.

       For the Greek, like many dream interpreters, dreams are insufficient, or of value. Some are prophetic, visions of what will come, warnings, much like the Jew would or might interpret a dream.  Herodotus, historian, believed to a certain degree, dreams are visions into the future.

       It think my dream was more in the insufficient area, but it was a story within itself, and I thought I’d share it. Perhaps the movie needed symbols for its creation of a dream, and picked deep and low to find something, to tell me, toss that stupid movie in the garbage.

#1117/1-15-2016

Surviving the 2016 Presidential Elections

To Bedlam: Do or Die

(Surviving the 2016 Presidential Elections)

Split brains, to which give rise to a split personality in which the left hemisphere gives the answer: what happens to consciousness, when your brain splits?  In psychology and looking at the nation split over this most recent presidential election, and having lost three women friends of mine over it (in a kind of do or die way), I decided to write this story, “To Bedlam: Do or Die”. So in essence you can say the elections of 2016, and these three female friends, are related in my mindset, and I ask the question, why did they de-friend me?  The surface is never where the answer is, it is always under where the problem resides. The surface is I’m a Donald Trump devotee, or I’m for the Republican Party in essence, this election cycle; I have been on both sides of the fence. And these three women are for the Democratic Party, which is Hillary Clinton’s party, so fifty-five million people approximately think like her in America, and the same with perhaps two-million voters that were dishonestly added to the voting register, for Hillary, hoping that she’d be elected and they’d get permanent, citizenship. On the other hand, 55-million people think like Trump.

       Anyhow, we must leave the election, and get into the nitty-gritty psychological, or psychodrama of this.  Despite what you’ve been told, you and I are not left-brained or right brained, but for this story it seems to fit. We are not quite like that.  I am of course speaking in popular psychology. It is said the left hemisphere is more logical. Thus, this can make one feel left out or ostracized, as in the case of this election going to the Republican Party Candidate. It is a common human feeling, I’ve worked on many cases such as this when working in the field. Such matters can affect close friendships, family, you feel excluded, and the common word is ‘hurt’ metaphorically speaking. The social, emotional feeling is painful. Feeling socially rejected is like stubbing your toe (for the right, or Republican, they had to endure Obama for eight years, let the left digest that).

       So, let’s us look at my female friends, 1) An Old Neighborhood friend, dating back 55-years, said in essence “I can’t take your reasoning regardless,” blank, I’ve been erased from her life!  2) Now a High School, and Junior High School friend, dating back perhaps some 53-years, knowing she could no longer make a social connection with me, after a small confrontation, etched me out of her life, like a rat gnawing on a gravestone.  And 3) the Editor, she’s kind of a six year familiar friend, but a friend all the same, similarly, she felt she couldn’t deal with all the social information of her candidate losing.  Thus, she lashes out with aggression in response to feelings she is dealing with impaired people. Such as me, or those who voted for President-elect, Trump. She’ll misplace, if she has not already, her self-control. And likewise, this creates term effects of persistent social exclusion.

       Now this is important, and of course, this is my view, and it is a story in the sense (not a report or essay), it is a story, because it is a section of my life.  Having said that, let me continue: this is important because in all three cases it is called ‘bullying’ so I say to my three friends, in all respect, love and humility, keep in mind: there are long-term, negative influences, impacts, that one can have—with carelessly excluding a friend or an acquaintance in this matter, it doesn’t stop with this scenario, it digs its own grave.

#1216/11-14-2016

A Man of Influence ((Adolph Schuman) (Lilli Ann)) 1968-‘69

 A Man of Influence

 ((Adolph Schuman) (Lilli Ann)) 1968-‘69

Prologue: Now and then he’d come out of his international, political and influential box to mingle with us common folks, perhaps to see if he was still human, he was once only a truck driver, like Elvis, but I doubt he ever forgot his roots, the Hungarian-Jew, Adolph Schuman, born 1907, died 1985. Owned Lilli Ann clothing, out of San Francisco. A dear friend to John F. Kennedy and his brother Robert, who lived on Nob Hill, who made in his last decade between $40 to 53-million dollars a year today he’d be considered a billionaire. This story is brief, but I got to meet him on five different occasions, more like bumping into him, but the story is worth telling, for he was my boss.

As when I first met him, he gave off a discerning affection which gave to me the effect of emphasizing his undeniable striking features, dominated by dark and penetrating eyes and a shiny bronze—sun-glazed—skin, with an overall confident look of impact. Yes, he had great wealth and influence, and intellect, and will. One could see why men like JFK, fell under his spell, and friendship.

       I was twenty-years old when I first met him, worked for him in San Francisco, at Lilli Ann. He asked me to join him at his table for lunch one afternoon, at a Chinese Restaurant. I hesitated, but I left my booth and joined him and his little white dog, and his entourage. Among his staff was the manager and assistant manager, whom I got along with both quite well, the manager being of Jewish origin. I kind of stood by the table a moment, not sure why, then he smiled and nodded for me to sit down. I was kind of short-winded, taken by surprise, you know, taken off guard. My heart was pounding as if I had suddenly had to fall. I had always thought of him a bit elegantly stiff. Typically contemptuous. But he was my boss and I respected that.

       “Go ahead and eat,” he proposed, after I had seemed to drift off into wonderland, as a half dozen of us sat around the table. It was as if he had waited for me to eat before he would. And I suppose he saw me as waiting to eat as soon as I found a favorable wind. And then I did start eating and became more at ease.  I briefly explained I was a Midwestern lad, from St. Paul, Minnesota, and was working on a karate belt, with the famous Gogen Yamaguchi (‘The Cat’) and his son Goesi Yamaguchi, in the style of Goju-kai, and of course, working at his clothing factory, which he of course already knew.  But I really didn’t have much more to talk about.

       My dismay must have shown in my expressions, for once at a whim he fired me on the spot for handling his fabrics in an impulsive way, he was very fussy about his materials; and an hour later the manager hired me back.  Perhaps he was asking me to overlook that little incidental, mishap. Who’s to say?  On Christmas, 1968, he gave me a bottle of scotch, I sold it for $10.00, it was the best I suppose of its kind, but I never drank scotch.  Once his beautiful model, with a pearl ring as big as a quarter, was chasing Adolph around the factory, and he told me to hold the door tightly shut, when she came around, and when she came around, she looked at me with devil cat eyes, and said, “Back off from the door…!” And I did, I mean I didn’t want to get an object in the face like Hillary did to Bill Clinton, at the White House, eons ago. So she waved be aside and I stepped aside.

       I kind of pictured him as a sheer shadow of willpower. I know when he went to Paris to pick out his fabric he was quite, particular, and I knew his clothes were all in the top fashion magazines. And his clothing was expensive.  Matter of fact, I had a Lilli Ann dress made for my mother by the seamstresses, of Lilli Ann, for nothing, only the price of the fabric at cost, and without the label, which was the most costliest. And sent it to my mother.  She was so happy.

       I know after Adolph died, his family ran the business to the 1990s, and it was closed in 2000 A.D., and I know he was a charitable man.  He often reminded me of Albert Ritt, another millionaire I worked for in Minnesota, he and I got along quite well, we’d sit in his office and talk some.  He too, liked to—now and then, come out of the selective box, to mingle with us folks, in the real world ((his gross fixed assets were over $500-milllion, his net worth, I’m not sure, in the mid-1990s)(in comparison, in 2000, mine were 1.3-GFA)).

       But let me close this story by saying, I think these two people, rich people, rich as they were, with all their influence, knew: something others have forgotten: what is it worth of human life, unless it is all woven into both sides of the box, if indeed you are given the chance to be one among the many. 

#1203/11-3-2016

      

   

The Haircut Como Park Junior High School

The Haircut

 Como Park Junior High School

((A Minnesota Story) (1962-’63))

There was a time in my life when I came near fighting the whole school operate, at Como Park Junior High School, 1962 thru 1963; in consequence, a number of things took place, for a boy of fifteen-years old (or so it seemed at the time); I had a pretty stonewalled reputation with them. How vividly I remember those days when I told—Mr. Keizer, our physical-education teacher, I wasn’t going to get a  haircut, just to accommodate him, who did he think he was. I told him he liked his hair short, so be it, and I liked my hair long: that didn’t go over very well. He had called me into his little glass office several times on this matter. To me it was a wet cold issue, and I wasn’t going to be persuaded! And I was one of his favorites in cross-country running, I was one of the four who won the school the state championship on the relay-run. We all got letters, I threw mine in the trash can. I was a rebel I suppose, they tracked me at running 30-miles per hour.

       Well, the hair issue got to be a bigger issue in time, and one day while standing in the lunch line, Mr. Keizer gave me an uppercut into my belly, in front of all the kids standing in line, and it hurt like hell!  But I’d not give him the privilege of seeing me fold over, I said, “Is that all you got,” and he was muscular. Then I think he came to his senses, as if something had come into the air of the place, where we stood, a kind of weariness came over him, and an ugliness from the bystanders, asking me “Are you Okay?”  I had to stand up straight from sagging, get back my full breath, my gut was hurting.

       The following day he called me into his office again, apologized. I told him straight to his face: that punch isn’t going to get me to cut my hair. I wanted to laugh in his empty face when I said that, but the apology was an unexpected moment, and for him I think he found it difficult to say anything more, but he did say, “If you want you can take a good punch into my stomach.”

       I simply turnabout and walked out of his office, didn’t say a word.

       This wasn’t the end of the scrawled out issue. The Vice Principle (whom I knew well because of a fight with Dan Weber in the gym one afternoon, sponsored by none other than the Vice Principle) called me out of the lunch line to talk to me, and this time I was ready to fight back if a punch came, I mean, the last one was a Sunday-punch, as we called them in our neighborhood, not seeing it coming.  And I didn’t go home crying to my mother, saying I got punched in the guts, she’d had said, “Go punch him back!”  So, as I was about to say, the Vice Principle called me over to where he stood about fifteen feet from the lunch line, “When Chick are you going to get a haircut?”

       That was a good question, I hadn’t thought about it. Just why I didn’t I’ve never quite figured it out. And I nodded my head right to left, said, “Why’s everyone making such a big fuss out of this?”

       “Because,” he replied, “everyone is looking at you, and we don’t look as if we are in charge, matter of fact it has turned into whether we have a consistent protocol with all our students.”

       Then I came up with a determined look not to be defeated in this and said as if I was Aristotle, or Plato, thinking I had the answer, “Jesus Christ had long hair, if he can have long hair why shouldn’t I?”

       He hesitated and thought a moment, and then the darkness had come and the rebuking came with it, but it came back to me the same way I gave it, like a boomerang:  “If you can walk on water Mr. Chick Evens, you can have your hair as long as you want!” he said.   

       Well, what can you say to that?  I got my haircut the following day; I mean I didn’t even try to think of what to say beyond that.  I mean I was facing God now, as if facing him alone, thus in a strange confidential way, his own frustrated desires mostly, changed my outwardly ordained stubbornness.

#1211/11-11-2016

The Day before—Blackout! ((On the Presidential Election of 2016) (the Day After))

 The Day before—Blackout!

((On the Presidential Election of 2016) (the Day After))

Beat the deplorable into submission!

Prologue:  For several months I’ve been tracking the news on both Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump, and their landslide of deplorable acts and corruptions as they run for President of the United States of America. Sometimes it has been as a gloomy funeral for Mr. Trump as one can get (and surly trying for the observer), and then all of a sudden the fussing and buzzing shifts in the news as something from the other side capsizes the news. As we all know now, the race is over, at 2:30 a.m., yesterday it was 218 to 254, then I went to sleep, woke up at 4:30 a.m., at 5:00 a.m., it was 218 delegates to 289, in Trumps favor, and at 5:30 a.m., he was giving his speech, as Hillary was perchance too spent, or exhausted or ashamed to face her people, she called Trump on the phone to concede. Well, as someone said “Let us not gloat or despair,” the most powerful tool in this chain of events, was prayer! And it will be talked about for a long time: measured, weighed, and legacies made and some poisoned, for as the slogan went, “It is time to clean out the swamp in Washington D.C.,’s politics” Like the old Roman Senate, Cicero tried to clean out, got assonated at the end of his life.  For myself, America was seized at every opportunity and nearly brought down to her knees, to a beggar’s status, something I felt never could be done.

. . .

What was taking place in America, yesterday?  When the election of the new President was happening, between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump, to which President Obama stirred the cricket bowl in the background? Also, before Republicans had what was called: “The Hidden Old White Vote” or “The shy vote?” Pending. (To me it was the ‘Baby boomers vote…’ the ones I wrote about a few months ago that I inferred were being unaccounted for? Overlooked by the media, and the polls).

       What was at stake, before the President-elect, became the President-elect?  Was political control of our own nation (that Obama no longer wanted under God; I think he would have preferred Allah…), by a President called Obama, and by the one running for president, called Hillary Clinton; what did they want to do, or what was their mission?  Everyone has a different way of looking at things, thus, so do I, if you disagree, it’s your prerogative, if you disagree, and keep it to yourself please, and the debate is over. Hence, they:

       first wanted to create a social state, and when in need to create a ‘blackout’ of what is really happening around us/them, in the background ((create chaos, no laws, no limits, no justice, destroy the nation by using foreign, and national idiots; self-serving)(we can see this also in limiting our police by not allowing them free judgment, and penalizing them for every action they take; plus open up the  boarders and let whomever wants to come in, come in! Also downsizing our military, to a 3^rd world status, giving away the Internet to the UN, for control purposes, which did not belong to Obama, or the UN in the first place; creating silly bathroom laws no one cared for; not talking to the Russians, thus creating a WWIII vortex while at the same time spending 10-trillion dollars in eight years…; backtracking: bringing the nuclear clock from 5-minutes eight years ago,  to midnight to 3 to midnight six months ago, and who’s to say, perhaps 1-minute to midnight, on the 8^th of November, yesterday))

       Second, create and control healthcare (in this case from Obama-care, to an even more destructive national healthcare system), consequently you control the people. Like in some South American countries, and Islamic countries, and African countries, keep them in poverty, knock out the middle class.   

       Third create a debt (as mentioned above) that crumbles the nation, make them everyone rich or poor, and the poor dependent! Thus, easier to lead and control.

       Fourth, as it was with the Jews of WWII, and as it is in many countries, take the guns away, and that is exactly what Hillary wanted to do, and Obama tried to do, then one has no ability to fight back. Then allow another Army on our soil, because Obama knows, American soldiers are not going to kill Americans, that is why he signed the agreement with the UN to use those soldiers to do the house to house task; and likewise, why was he against England leaving the EU? Because it caused problems for his New World Order he was planning (to which most likely Bill Clinton would have been the head) (and to take it a step farther, Hillary making Obama a Supreme Court Justice, and Ms. Lynch continuing to be the head of the Justice Department, and make surely to replace the FBI director, to a more puppet sized follower)).

       Next, now that you have a social state, no guns, the country is over the hill in debt, you have a welfare country, you control SSAN, the old folks, the Military pensions, and the military order, and: food distribution, housing, etc., plus if you put enough laws into effect, over regulate that is,  you already control every step everyone takes, to include the education system: on a child’s learning within that particular state, you don’t need dollars anymore, you got rules; and make religion subject to the government rules (part of the political system), as Hillary wanted to do, now you nearly got it fixed. 

       I repeat: you now put Bill Clinton, at the head of the UN, Obama as one of the Supreme Justices, control the FBI, the OJD, and now you call for a bailout from the World Bank, and drop the dollar for the WB-dollar—you control the monetary system worldwide! No wonder Russia was so concerned.

       Furthermore, you got abortion where you want it—five minutes before delivery you can hang the child, use its parts for science, you’ve taken out God out from America in the process, put up the UN-Flag, Sharia law as the Muslims would like and as Obama is by action and deed of that faith, and as he has tried to do, given Iran the equalizer, to counter Israel, the Big Bomb, now take down Old Glory.

       This is what was in play. 

       Lenin and Stalin both tried this. No way to free a fool, unless you chain the fool from making everyone else the fool. It all looks undoable, but they nearly did it.

#1210/11-9-2016