Here is a sample of what Elon James White wrote. Enjoy.

Glenn Beck, Rush Limbaugh and the other right-wing fear-mongers know what subject riles up the masses: Race.

When asked, “Where do you fall along the political spectrum,” I often answer, “I consider myself ‘anti-evil.’” When I see malicious attempts at hurting people I will often side with not hurting people. It’s weird, I know. I think stopping insurance companies from bankrupting families and denying healthcare is a good idea. I think maybe we shouldn’t racially profile Hispanics in order to deal with our immigration issue. Apparently this makes me a crazy socialist Nazi to some, but to me, I’m on the side of light.

I will continue fighting for what seems like obvious ways of helping: squashing stereotypes, speaking up against injustice, and, on occasion (read: all the time), mocking. If this was all playing out like some big-budget blockbuster movie my superpower would be sarcasm sprinkled with awesome snark. That’s how I cut down the forces that would rather marginalize my experiences and label me “caught up in race.” I will throw on my superhero hat, tilt it to the side, and happily tell someone to go fuck themselves for the betterment of society.

Making fun of evil is a tough job, but somebody’s gotta do it, right?

How seriously can a person take the Tea Party? Their members have called me a Nazi Brownshirt because I am a liberal. Sharon Angle wants to rescind my social security and yours too. Boehner wants a forty-five, fifty, sixty-year olds to work until they are 70, while he plays golf and stays tanned. In truth Social Security is not in trouble. Especially if the US Government would repay all the loans they have taken out of Social Security finances. Another Republican wants to change the 14th amendment.

Both political parties are selling out to rich Corporations and their demanding rich shareholders. Fox News which obviously is short on researchers spreads lies across the world like a super-virus along with bloggers who have no conscience or merits. The Tea Party has become a spreading virus. It is time to fight evil and I commend Mr. White’s for his efforts. We need to stop being fearful and look at the truths.

Listen up, Tea Baggers, you are falling for a giant propaganda movement and you could turn out looking like a follower of the once powerful Senator McCaurthy. Rush, Newt, and other Repubs are the children of Lee Atwater. These people cannot play nice.

Send the Navy, send in the Marines. Send the unemployed. Isn’t contaminating the world more important that wars and hate? There is nothing to be patient about…this is a tragedy of world proportions. If the oil globs are on Florida beaches today, tomorrow…the Islands of Novia Scotia, all too soon oil globs will reach “The Halls of Montezuma.”

What happened to the old American way of life, have we forgotten all that our parents and grandparents taught us? It used to be that each generation taught their children to stand up and claim their mistakes because it made us a better person. Now it is standard to blame problems on your neighbor’s political party. This is not the American way.

Our fathers and mothers once taught us the importance of respect for ourselves and others. Back in a time, “a handshake was as good as a contract and things were built just so.”

I grew up country. A farmer’s child. My parents grew up during the depression. My mother had to quit school and help run the house when her mother became too ill to care for her eight brothers and sisters. My father was the eldest son of five children. His father became ill and he took his place running the farm, this meant he quit school at sixteen. My father worked the farm until noon, Then he would eat dinner, shower, and change into a suit. He was circulation manager of the western counties. He never came home from work before 8 p.m.

I was raised around people who grew up during the depression and frought World War II. Many of them had not had the privilege to complete high school. If a job needed doing…their generation, and our grandparents got it done. They built America.

Why are we, the children of mighty forefathers standing dumbstruck passively watching the Gulf, the sea, and the oceans being poisoned.

Are we so separated from the ways of nature that instead of becoming a land of opportunities, America has become the land of the silent peasant watching the angry peasants. This is so sad because we all live on this one earth. In this time of change, instead of pulling apart, why aren’t we pulling together? Especially, at a time when we all are losing a way of life. Has anyone noticed that harm is done to the earth in our name?

Where are the farmers who could ship loads of hay? If hay is the answer will someone place it along the wetlands and retrieve it to save the day?

If Kevin Costner has spent millions funding a device that can separate oil water…why is it not in use now. But, the whole Gulf oil mess broke down along political parties. This at a time when Anerica’s resources are dwindling.

It is time to remember that America was shaped by people working together. We are the government. We are America.

Does anyone hear the individual voices of America, not anymore. We have done this to ourselves and we need to help each other not fight over Liberal or Conservative. Didn’t our ancestors want us to pull together for each other where there was trouble.

As fathers drive their boats across America’s rivers and lakes, remember all that is nature belong to the Eternal, the God of many names. It is up to us to keep America safe and clean. It is time to label ourselves Americans, roll up our sleeves, and throw away individual labels until our world is repaired. It is the American Way.

In the fall of 2002, I convinced a friend to hire me to research the history of the Riverbend community. Well, one thing led to another, and in the spring of 2003, I drove to the Gaston County Courthouse, gave the Clerk of Court the filing fee, signed my name on a deed and became the owner of an old and ancient graves. Through a curiously circuitous journey, I was led to these forgotten relatives.

During my history project, I interviewed everyone I could find who would sit and answer questions about Riverbend, including the peninsula historian, Calvin Hart. Calvin knew someone who had an old map of the peninsula. Another person came up with letters and photos of the old Henderson place, and the location of the Henderson ferry which took them across the river to one of the area’s first church, Hopedale on Beatties Ford Rd. I read the tombstones in the Lineberger Cemetery at the end of the peninsula. I spent days shuffling through the archives in the Lincoln County Museum.

I met cousins, grandparents, uncles, and aunts, most of who were dead. I read about ancestry that claims blood kin from Pocahontas and Norman Vikings. Family legend states that John Abernethy, one of the first pioneers to ford the Catawba, arrived from Virginia, and told that one of his grandmothers was Pocahontas. I read of a relative who died in a duel, another was appointed to a government office and when he was excused from the office, he refused to leave.

In Gaston County records there is a reference to an Abernethy family operating a ferry in 1764. This same ferry would be purchased in the next century by Richard Rozzelle, my great, great, and great-grandfather.

Among the early pioneers were Jacob Forney (arrived in 1752) followed by multitudes of new back-country settlers. Among the next wave were the families of Johnson, Mauney, Alexander, Abernethy, McCorkle, Cansler, Rhyne, Hoke, Lineberger, McLean, Howard, Reid, Reinhardt, Reep, Warlick, Chronicle, Dellinger and Ramsour. The Dutch pioneers arriving from Pennsylvania to settle along the Catawba were from the Palatinate Region of Germany. The Scots-Irish were peasant from the Plantation of Ulster.

It was in a conversation with a friend that sent me in search of a forgotten graveyard. I followed my instincts and parked along a country road one bright fall day…I entered the woods looking for a “supposed” cemetery. Leaves crunched beneath our footfalls. Unseen mourning doves called from the brush, periwinkle carpeted the ground, and the trees were thicker than rush-hour traffic. My feet were deep in leaves dropped by many fall seasons, it was quiet. It was spooky. I glanced into the trees one last time before turning back. Suddenly, I saw five tombstones standing among the trees.

These moss-covered slabs marked the final resting place of the first pioneer families to carve out hoe on the Riverbend Peninsula. More than one grave was sunken and most tombstones were broken, scattered, and in various states of disintegration.

Among the tombstones are all are proof of lives that are now long forgotten. James A. Henderson (b. 1796-d. April 18, 1888) rests here as does his wife, Linia Parr Abernethy (b. 1811-d. November 20, 1888). Beneath the fourth tombstone lies their daughter, Mary Adeline Craig, wife of S. W. Craig. Mary was born in 1831 and died April 20, 1855, one month after giving birth to her daughter, Mary Laura Elizabeth Craig.

James and Linia doubtless made many sad pilgrimages to this graveyard. They buried two sons, William Adolphus Henderson (b. 1842 d. 1862), James Lawson Henderson (b. 1839 d. 1864) and their granddaughter, Mary Laura Elizabeth Craig (b. March 5, 1855 d. 1868). Mary Laura Elizabeth was only thirteen at the time of her death. James and Linia Henderson carried on with the task of living for more than 20 years before they joined their children in the cemetery.

According to a letter written by James Abernethy Henderson on September 19, 1962, James Abernethy, one of Henderson’s ancestors, arrived in the Riverbend/South Forks area in the summer of 1769. He traveled to the area with his brother-in-law, Robert Abernethy, Jr. and Robert’s wife, Sarah Abernethy. Robert’s elderly parents were traveling with them as were his two brothers, David and Miles Abernethy, James was known in the family as Cousin James.

They crossed the river at Beatties Ford and settled on the western banks of the
Catawba River. The letter further states that James married Elizabeth Cox Abernethy and they were the parents of seven children. Among the children was a set of twins, Elizabeth and Mary who was nicknamed Polly.

Elizabeth married William Henderson. They had 10 children. Their first born child was James A. Henderson who rests by his wife, Linia Abernethy, daughter of Miles and Susan Paar Abernethy. Her sister, Mary (Polly) Abernethy married Richard Rozzelle and they had six children.

Richard and Mary Rozzelle settled on what became Old Plank Road and were neighbors of Anna Morrison, wife of Civil War legend Stonewall Jackson. Though the Jacksons lived in Virginia, Mrs. Jackson settled in the Charlotte area after the war.

The landscape changes, and decades pass, but as each generation births a new generation into their life’s journey to experience laughter, contentment, and tears; mortgages, weddings, and wars; ancestors are forgotten. If we do not know our history, our forefathers, if we erase history; how will we know who we are?

“Think of all that has happened here, on this earth. All the blood, hot and strong for living, pleasuring, that has soaked back into it.” William Faulkner, “Big Woods”

And while the debate goes on, hardly anyone is discussing the central role the river has played in history, and the impact those events have had on the nation, the state and the region.

Over the next few weeks, I will be publishing a series of essays on the history of Mountain Island Lake region going back to the original settlers of the region. The essays are intended to provide context about the lake’s past as we debate its future, which at the moment appears to be perilous.

First, for those not familiar with the current crisis, here is some background information:

In the past decade, sub-divisions have sprung up along the shore-line of Mountain Island Lake like fields of mushrooms. Now, many of these newly arrived “back-country settlers” are disturbed by new regulations and fees proposed by the Mountain Island Lake Marine Commission. It involves taxes. It involves restrictions. It will stifle their pursuit of recreational happiness.

The Mountain Island Lake Marine Commissionn was formed by a Joint Resolution of Gaston, Lincoln, and Mecklenburg County. The Marine Commission is instructed to preserve and protect Mountain Island Lake. Currently, the Marine Commission is sponsoring new Motor Vessel Managed Access Regulations which would place restrictions on the length of boats allowed on the lake, and new fees for permits to operate a boat on the lake.

For further information on the condition of Mountain Island Lake visit also Lake Norman Covekeepers, which is a part of Lake Norman Riverkeepers.

If you are against their proposal, go to Boaters against Motor Vessel Managed Access Regulations and sign the petition. As of May 25, 2010, there were 433 signatures.

In recent decades, thousands of homes have been built along the Mountain Island Lake’s twenty-seven mile shore line. The coves and the river are lined with homes and piers. The lake’s surface area is a mere 2,788 water-acres. No one is in favor more taxes. Who has an extra dime these days? Still, do you know that in 2008, the Catawba River was labeled the most endangered river in America?

I believe anyone who is fortunate enough to live on a window of land that would allow you to every day have the opportunity to watch twilight unfold in the western sky and to watch the morning mists that drift above the Lake. I believe you own Paradise. I only wish that I could live upon these shores. I understand your frustration. I have always rebelled against regulations and rules. I truly believe it has to do with the mysticism of Mountain Island Lake or, as we referred to this body of water, in my youth, the Catawba River.

According to the EPA, the Duke Energy owned coal-fired Riverbend Steam plant operates two of the 44 highest hazard coal ash ponds in the United States. The steam plant is located on the Riverbend peninsula which juts into the Catawba River like a thumb.

I read on one note written by a concerned home/boat owner in which he referred to the possibility of Mountain Island Lake becoming as regulated as Lake Lure, NC. Would that be bad? I wondered. Isn’t it important in this era of dwindling natural resources that we take note and preserve what we can? The Catawba River and Lake Lure existed before time and memory.

As noted, we’ll be looking at that history over the next few weeks, but here’s a brief overview:

Along the lake, all across the three county area, you will find large and small volcanic rocks. These volcanic rocks seem to grow like potatoes when the spring fields were plowed. The shoreline of Mountain Island Lake, the woodlands, forests, and shores of the Catawba River are littered with volcanic rocks. If you are fortunate and resolute, there are several very special rocks that bear proof that they were not alone. These rocks are as old as the eons, and they were used by Paleolithic Indians to grind nuts. For centuries and decades, grandmothers and daughters wore smooth bowls into these rocks.

The earliest inhabitants of the Catawba River and the land were the Catawba Indians who called themselves the “people of the river.” The forests were home to the wild beasts, panther, cougar, bear, buffalo and moose. The Catawba River was home to poisonous snakes, and all manner of fish and fowl. Even today, at dawn and at eventide, the raptors, eagles, hawks dive as swift as arrows shot from a bow, deep into the water spearing fish for supper.

The original German and Scots-Irish settlers began to cross the Catawba River into Carolina back-country around 1745 to 1750. Around the same time, Robert Alexander built the Red-House in Woodlawn (Mt. Holly), overlooking the Catawba River. Alexander was married to Martha Jack, the sister of Captain Jack who carried the Mecklenburg Declaration of Independence to Philadelphia.

In the early years, the Catawba River was the dividing line at the edge of the world between civilization and the wilderness. Beyond the shores of Mountain Island Lake lay the land of the Cherokee. At that time, Mountain Island Lake/Catawba River was the fartherest edge of civilization.

The settlers who came to the wilderness of the Catawba River came because they had been driven from the coastal cultures of civilization. They came to settle on land they owned. It was the first time peasants were allowed to own property. As plow people, the Ulstermen, the Scoti, and the Palatines were farmer-peasants. Because of their natural knowledge of the earth and the moon…they understood the treasures they had been given by Good King George. The back-country settlers spoke a universal language, the understanding of the rhythms of the seasons, and the names of the full-moons. For these farmers, day began at sunset.

Settlers were far and between, but there was a brave young German settlement along the creeks of the South Fork tributary of the Catawba River. It was known as the Warlick settlement and later it became known as Ramsour’s Mill.

In 1768, a new county was created out of old Mecklenburg west of the Catawba River and south of the Earl of Granville line. This new county was named Tryon in honor of the British Governor William Tryon. A decade later, the county was renamed to honor Major-General Benjamin Lincoln, of Rhode Island, and commander of the Southern Armies during the American Revolutionary War. Unfortunately for Gen. Lincoln, he is mostly forgotten today, because he led the Continental forces during their disastrous loss of Charleston to the British in 1780. Now most people assume, incorrectly, that the county was named after President Lincoln. Much later, in 1846, Gaston County was created from Lincoln County.

On October 7, 1780, our ancestors joined with the Over-Mountain Men at the Battle of Kings Mountain and turned the tide of the war in favor of the patriots. Among the heroes counted on this day were William Chronicle of Belmont and the militia of young men known as the South Fork Boys who grew up along the banks of the Catawba. The Battle of Kings Mountain turned the tide of the American Revolution and made victory at Yorktown, possible.

The Catawba River and its South Fork tributary were as important to the original settlers as an airport is to modern cities. The Catawba-Wateree runs to the sea providing a way for the settlers to ship their iron and cotton to the world.

For more than 150 years, my ancestors ferried the Catawba. The ferry was located near where the Rozzelles Ferry Bridge is built on NC Highway 16. For a bit of silver or gold, they would come for you to bring you home or take you away.

The Abernethy ferry is noted on an old and faded map drawn in 1768. It is told that James Abernethy and his sister, Jane, journeyed from Jamestown, Virginia, with their aged parents to the shores of the Catawba River. Here, their journey ended. At the end of an old Indian trail they established an inn and a ferry.

Their second-cousin, Jim Abernethy, traveled with them and in the years to come, Jane Abernethy married Cousin Jim. The Abernethys hailed originally from Perth, Scotland. These first Abernethys were Picts. The Picts were Celtic barbarians who once lived the highlands of Scotland. The Picts fought the Romans and the Saxons who stormed the British Isles. No one knows where the Picts began or ended, for their Celtic culture has fallen into the forgotten mists of yesterday.

A cousin told me the meaning of the surname of the first Abernethys to set foot in the British Colonies. For centuries the Abernethy families were known as the Abers who ferried the Nethy River in the ancient capital of Perth, Scotland. I would not guess how many generations of Abernethys were born before Jane, Jim, and James Abernethy arrived on the banks of the Catawba River.

This I do know about the Abernethys, they were the people of the plow. They planted by moonlight. They were religious, and hard-working. And they were probably more stubborn than mules.

I have researched the history of the area. I know many stories told by the original back-country settlers and before the Catawba River is lost and history is forgotten — before anyone decides whether Mountain Island Lake and the Catawba River is theirs to protect or to simply enjoy.

Their stories, their lives need to be considered before it is decided whether or not Mountain Island Lake and the Catawba River are worth saving.

According to news reports, Oklahoma is considering raising a state militia. Sean Murphy and Tim Talley spoke with Oklahoma’s Tea Party leaders and conservative lawmakers who consider a state militia a pretty good idea.

Frustrated by recent political setbacks, tea party leaders and some conservative members of the Oklahoma Legislature say they would like to create a new volunteer militia to help defend against what they believe are improper federal infringements on state sovereignty.

Tea party movement leaders say they’ve discussed the idea with several supportive lawmakers and hope to get legislation next year to recognize a new volunteer force. They say the unit would not resemble militia groups that have been raided for allegedly plotting attacks on law enforcement officers.

Following on the heels of the report of Oklahoma conservatives’ desire for a militia, Newt Gingrich anointed the Tea Party organization as the militant wing of the Republican Party. A statement he is redefining this week.

Newt Gingrich makes no apology for referring to the tea party’s future as a “militant wing of the Republican Party” during a speaking engagement in York, Pa., last week.

If the right is going to arm themselves, the liberal left should consider a militia strategy. So, if joining a militia is the 2010 equivalent to a gym membership in the 1990s, this straight grandmother is looking to the boys and girls in the Weho hood, West Hollywood. Gays spearheaded the join-the-gym movement; hopefully they will be ahead of the curve on militias.

I would begin recruiting on the streets of West Hollywood. My reasons are solid. If you want an event planned and executed professionally such as a neighborhood militia — you will need to turn everything over to a gay man. The military has been missing out for years. If ever I am forced to participate in an invasion, may it be planned by the bois in West Hollywood? Period. End of thought.

Everything runs on time and is perfectly orchestrated over at Town Hall in West Hollywood. In 2008, within a three month period, more than 8,000 couples were married, on time, as scheduled without a hitch.

Turn the problems in the mid-east over to a committee of gay people. Put them in a room, tell them they will be held until there is a solution, and leave them with a flyer from Trader Joe’s announcing a great sale that ends at sunset — you will have everything solved within two hours. Tops.

There would always be someone willing to work miracles in the kitchen. The WeHo chefs would feed thousands creatively and deliciously. Not in thousands of years have so many eaten as well.

The WeHo militia uniforms will become fashion statements. The outfits will turn up in fashion photos of international magazines. I would bet any uniform created in WeHo will show up on Paris runways. My uniform would be perfectly tailored to my assets or what there is left of them and it will perfectly match my complexion. There would be proper attire for every occasion; ceremonies, marching, skeet-shooting, bowling, training, and Broadway tunes. Invasion outfits will be issued on a need-to-have basis.

Think of the marching tunes the Weho Militia Marching Band would be a global hit, an overnight success, and would revive the television show, “Idol.” For engagements, the Band would always on time, perfectly dressed, and perfectly buff. Being fit is very important to gay people. I am not even sure that you are allowed to be gay if you are not physically fit.

Remember, one of Michael Steele’s favorite bondage/voyeur venues is in West Hollywood. This is the cosmopolitan village where it is illegal to harm a puppy by cutting off its tail or to declaw a kitten, but whips are legal.

Being a Liberal Militia, they will let anyone join: Venice hippies, actors and gypsies, roller-derby dolls, and sisters. Bring in the females, the divorced females, Mothers, grandmothers and granddaughters, lesbians, breast cancer survivors, retirees, nurses, the original foot soldiers of women’s liberation, the beatniks and poets — invite women past the age of forty-five with a little tarnish on their mettle and we could change the world. Turn no one away. There would always be someone to help when I have a bad hair day.

There would be lawyers, accountants, thousands of representatives of the professional world who truly understand intrigue and deception. And there would be Czars. The WeHo Militia would have wine czars, interior design czars, a yoga czar, a sugar czar, palates czar, and three hundred and seventy-three czars to take care of the environment, but first and foremost, everyone would be put to work, educated, and given health care. Because gays would be in charge, the militia will be run very efficiently.

If this silliness in America continues, let me declare that I stand with the gay world; the liberals and all those who believe as I do. You see, I have never understood why being different scares folks so much. We are all made differently. Throught the years of my life I have sat with many through tragedy and joy. I have attended too many funerals not to realize that no matter a person’s ethnic race; their color; or sexuality: all blood is red; all mothers cry for their children; all protect those we love; and like the stars in the sky and snowflakes, no two people are exactly alike. Yet, we are all made in God’s image.

There is a lot of talk these days about Thomas Jefferson and his fondness for militias. I looked up his quotes and read more than ten pages mentally counting noting the quotes on militias and arming Americans. He did make a bunch of quotes and believed that we should be armed. But there are as many quotes about how he hated war and that was really not the intent of militias, instead Jefferson calls much more for wisdom instead of war and anger. Here is one of my favorite Thomas Jefferson quotes, “It does me no injury for my neighbor to say there are 20 gods or no God.”

So when I stand before the Great Eternal, I do not want to try to explain why I considered myself better than another. When the time of mysteries ends and questions are answered. I do not care to stand with those who turned their backs on those who were different. And that includes people who wear magic underwear.

It seems that evangelist Franklin Graham may be uninvited to attend Prayer Day, May 6, 2010. The Pentagon has no idea of the wrath they will incur for not allowing Billy Graham’s son to attend America’s National Prayer Day. I am not a fan of Franklin Graham. But even I take offense that he is not invited to National Prayer Day.

If you grew up in the South in the 1950s and 1960s, Billy Graham was the way to heaven. I was just as irreverent then as I am now, but each time Billy Graham came to his hometown, Charlotte, NC, to hold week-long preaching services…my parents either took or sent me with the hope that Billy Graham, a diary farmer’s son, would save my soul. When I was a teenager with a driver’s license, when Billy called for sinners to come to the front. I left my balcony seat and followed the crowd as they marched into the auditorium. Before we reached the entrance, I went to my car.

Franklin Graham was once the black sheep in the family, but like all prodigal sons, he returned to the fold. Once back in the family, he took over the family’s religious operations by unseating his sister in a first-son coupe.

Franklin has a flair for showmanship, like that of Papa Joe Jackson of the singing Jackson Family. Franklin built a barn with a mooing mechanical cow to honor his father’s youth spent on a farm. His parents are buried behind the barn. His mother never wanted to be buried there, she preferred the mountains. In the end, she changed her mind. For a nominal fee the red-barn and mechical mooing cow are open to the public. It is a Christian tourist destination. However, Graham also does a lot of good in this world. His Christmas shoeboxes have brought gifts to children in many countries.

This is what I do not understand. It seems that after 9/11 Franklin Graham said some bad things about the Muslim religion. Nothing worse than has been said by others horrified by a religion that condones the beating and killing of women and children. When a muslim girl is raped; she is often killed by her family to avoid bringing shame on the family.

Obviously, the Pentagon and the Colorado-based National Day of Prayer Task Force are handling this situation the way they fight wars. This is not good. I guess the generals think Franklin Graham being from the South, is too dumb to know how to say a prayer that will not offend other religions.

I believe that are many ways to the top of the mountain. I believe the Eternal answers to many names. If the Colorado-based National Day of Prayer Task Force does recind Franklin Graham’s invitation, they should just cancel the Day of Prayer. It is hard these days to find a religion without blood on their hands.

Most recently, in the name of free speech, the United States Supreme Court in all its wisdom proclaimed that videos of animal cruelty were legal. That means that not only is it all right to harm and maim your dog…you can film it for the next family reunion and sell copies.

The Supreme Court has legalized violence against animals. Animals lost their rights this week. We lost control of our political system with their earlier decision that legalized corporate bribery. What is next?

What we have here is a backward Supreme Court that is turning its back on the American citizens. The next ruling could be that “promiscuous women cause earthquakes.”

Her small fox-like face and black fur were particularly pretty against the soft blue blanket I had wrapped around her. I held her like a swaddled infant and sang softly to her as I had done so many times in our years together. Then, in a moment, she closed her eyes and left. In a moment, everything changed. She will no longer scratch at my leg when I have been writing too long. My arms will always be empty of her black fur, nor will I again, see her mischievous, happy smile. In a moment, our hearts broke. Our world changed.

For the past three years, we had adjusted our life to caring for Sassy. We fed her on a strict schedule and prepared her meals in our kitchen. Our weekend activities began or ended only before or after Sassy had been fed and given her last insulin shot for the day. We never gave a moment’s thought to any other choices.

Sassy must have known that her time on earth would be limited to almost six, short years. Sassy was a black toy Pomeranian I rescued from a puppy mill. The cages behind the double-wide were guarded by large, high strung dogs. We followed instructions and stayed in the car.

After a short wait, a woman appeared out of the trailer carrying a puppy wrapped in a towel. I stepped out of the car, took the wet puppy placed it underneath my winter coat and held her under my heart.

You were so tiny and shivering, all black fur and small enough to fit into a ladies glove, you became mine the moment our hearts met. Lee paid the agreed upon bail and we drove away. Leaving what would have been a short, unhappy life of a puppy-mill bitch-dog. Lee named her. I sang to her. And Jipper, her three year old brother, also a Pomeranian, licked her face. You were six weeks old and not as long as the television remote. As you know, we spent most of that first night watching you. We were family.

As she grew, Sassy became, not the seven-pound toy Pomeranian, instead, Sassy was a dog. Sassy grew to fourteen pounds and was sassy. She trained her father to take her out at 2 a.m. two or three nights a week. She convinced him to rise and walk her by licking his bald head until he relented. Their nightly sojourns continued until she left us.

Once, when the four of us, Lee, me, Jipper, and Sassy, were visiting our home in North Carolina, we had a picnic. During the evening someone gave Sassy a spear of cooked broccoli. Since, she was probably already full, she buried the broccoli. We left for Los Angeles the next day, not to return to our home in NC for three months. The morning we arrived we were all out checking the garden on the back patio. Sassy dug up her broccoli and ate it.

In Los Angeles, there are claw marks on the Palm tree on the corner, where the squirrel waited for Sassy on morning walks. It was a game of seek and catch, the squirrel never lost because between the two of them; only the squirrel could climb trees. A fact which had not gone unnoticed by Sassy who during her lifetime made several attempts and did learn to climb the palm tree until gravity won. Sassy loved to run, she would run in circles until she tired and then she would fall asleep. like an innocent in summer grass. Each day we fell more and more in love with our little angel clown. Sassy and Jipper adored each other. Like all sisters and brothers, they picked on the other and kept each other company at the vet’s office, and when we were absent.

Life with Sassy was never boring and Sassy seemed happy even when she was sick. But I would say that the happiest day of Sassy’s life was a December day on a small farm outside Los Angeles. It was a curious and handsome house and you explored every nook and cranny. We spent the day with friends who raised twenty or so chickens. If we were outside, Sassy was chasing a chicken or chickens. They were running and trying for take-off’s that would land them safely on the lower limbs.

The squawking was louder than a Lady GaGa concert. Once, the chickens tried a strategy; they all gathered in the henhouse waiting for Sassy to run into their domain where they would peck the little aggravation in the head. Sassy trotted over to the hen house…stuck her head inside, and decided her job was done. She cut and ran for the porch. No one, there was no distraction that could stop Sassy from chasing the chickens. It lasted all day tiring all.

We left as the sun was beginning to spread across the horizon. By this time, the chickens were exhausted and so was Sassy. Both were too tired to run. As we walked to the car, a chicken would step from the crowd and take their turn walking in circles and letting Sassy sniff her feathers.

Sassy’s last trip was to the Atlantic Ocean. It is a natural…a beach and a dog. She ran straight into the sea. She chased every bird that had the audacity to land on her beach. She followed them into the water. I saw her jump over sea foam and seemed startled when the water was deeper on the other side. We walked up and down the beach and when Sassy tired; we carried her home. Sassy, you were my perfect angel and the only dog I ever raised from a puppy.

We knew she was not feeling well, and when we got home; we took her to the vet. We did not know that seven days later; she would be worse not better, ready to come home. It had been a week of tubes and shots, but she lay in her cage and smiled at everyone who passed. We visited her twice a day and she brightened with each visit. But, she was far too sick to recover. Her pancreas was destroyed.

Before noon, on Friday, January 22, 2010, I kissed her goodbye and together her parents grieved for our dog-child. She gave us laughter and unconditional love, I read once that God created dogs to show us unconditional love; hoping maybe we would learn from them. We said goodbye to our wonderful companion. Sassy was of another time. A time when there was a land called Pomerania where a proud breed of dogs known as Pomeranians herded sheep…and chickens. Some say pomeranians could climb trees.

I am biased. I was raised a Protestant. My Carolina back country ancestors were Presbyterians, Methodists, and Lutherans. So you understand why within my heart, I do not need anointed priests to speak with God. Centuries ago, we came to America to worship freely. I am biased because one generation of our family included several relatives who could not hear.

Recently, at CNN, I read an article that reported that there is a bill in the Connecticut legislature that would remove the statute of limitations on child sexual abuse cases. In response to this legislature, the state’s three Roman Catholic Bishops released a letter to parishioners asking them to oppose the measure.

This letter crosses the bounds of separation of church and state, plus the bounds of decency. Writing and mailing such a letter to a congregation is an act of unmitigated gall by the Roman Catholic Church.

According to CNN the letter is posted on the Web site of the Connecticut Catholic Public Affairs Conference, the public policy and advocacy office of the state’s Roman Catholic Bishops. Below are excerpts from the article:

A bill in Connecticut’s legislature that would remove the statute of limitations on child sexual abuse cases has sparked a fervent response from the state’s Roman Catholic bishops, who released a letter to parishioners Saturday imploring them to oppose the measure.

Under current Connecticut law, sexual abuse victims have 30 years past their 18th birthday to file a lawsuit. The proposed change to the law would rescind that statute of limitations.
The proposed change to the law would put “all Church institutions, including your parish, at risk,” says the letter, which was signed by Connecticut’s three Roman Catholic bishops.

The bill has been revised to address some of the church’s concerns about frivolous abuse claims against it, according to Connecticut state Rep. Beth Bye, one of the bill’s sponsors.
“The church didn’t recognize that this bill makes improvements,” Bye said. “The victims — their lives have been changed and some will never recover from years of sexual abuse. For me, it’s about giving them access to the courts.”

Under the bill’s provisions, anyone older than 48 who makes a sex abuse claim against the church would need to join an existing claim filed by someone 48 or younger. Older claimants would need to show substantial proof that they were abused.

“They were worried about frivolous lawsuits and so we made the bar high,” Bye said.

The Roman Catholic Church is accused of dire and dreadful offenses, criminal offenses. The Pope and the Roman Catholic Church leaders are a symbol of the hypocrisy in our culture and our times. If ever I was caught in a misdeed, my parents taught me to stand accountable. These selfish old men should do the same.

On another note, an article at the Huffingtonpost.com reports that the Vatican was created by Mussolini.

There was a time when the church was a sanctuary for all not just holy adorned men in ruffled petticoats. The bishops in Connection seem to fear holding the Catholic Church up to scrutiny.

Watching the Catholic Church go through the throes of denial is like watching a tennis match as the Pontiff’s bishops and boys in velvet point fingers in many directions … determined never to admit the “dark uglies” within the Catholic Church. First they pointed their fingers at the New York Times, when that didn’t take, from the pulpit they called the victims to task and declared the church’s freedom from criminal courts.

When the church or any religion begins to lie and to cover up atrocities, society follows suit. Lies are now part of our culture. Our media knows no laws and limits, each day they print their version of the truth. Listening and watching to the media reminds me of the proverbial elephant that is always being felt up and described by five blind men. Lying makes everything easier and besides, the church forgives, if a politician’s mouth is open they are lying about something. Hypocrisy. Everybody’s doing it. And now, there is meanness in the streets. Bullies rule.