Moments of Our Lives
AuntB, circa 1949
Though she's changed a bit since this photo was taken, many of you will recognize our Finest FReeper today, as she's been an active FReeper since October 15, 1998. AuntB (aka Billie) and I share the same given name, but it's not the only thing she and I have in common: both of us love the beauty of flowers, and one of her many interests (outside of politics) is flower arranging:
"I've done the weddings for every kid that grew up around here and made some pretty good money at it too! That business kind of went by the wayside when I got buried in this land rights mess and my health went to heck."
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I love the way she starts her story; it begins:
"It is said there are 'moments' that define our lives.
I’ve given that some thought and believe it’s true,
and in those 'moments', there are often people."
Here are some of those moments, and people, who touched her life.
Free Republic Washington DC Rally
Fall, 1998
I’m a certified information junkie. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing; I’ve got a radio on, or I’m peeking at a book, researching a report, or watching C-Span ... as I was that day when there flashed on the screen a gorgeous creature named Connie Hair (Clinton's A Liar) reading an essay from some internet group named Free Republic. Shortly she introduced Jesse Peterson, a familiar face. Five years earlier, Jesse, some other good citizens, and I joined in a protest in my home town.
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I don’t like computers, but I was obliged to get one to do medical research, and when the person who helped me set it up asked if I’d like a "news chat", I declined. I had no need for a bunch of geeks with nothing better to do than talk to strangers about current events that they probably didn’t understand. For my needs, a group of like-minded activists in my area, my typewriter, my telephone, and my fax machine had always served me well - until I saw that rally on TV that quiet Sunday afternoon.
I made a lot of mistakes when I first joined FR - on a machine that I had no idea how to operate! (I hope the posters who suffered them have forgiven me; I didn’t read the rules until about a month ago.)
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I’ve never had any complaints about my behavior in public. My Mama taught me the kind of manners that don’t need policy rules; they're good enough anywhere. I've used the ones she learned from her God and the ones I've learned along the way so far.
These are the Rules: A Baker's Dozen
Many are borrowed; it's hard to improve on perfection. I'm pulling a Ghandi here as well. He once said to judge him by his most recent comments; that he, too, may learn some things and change his mind on a given subject!
- Protect the innocent.
- Never ask someone to do something that you are not willing to do yourself.
- Leave it like you found it, or make it better.
- Keep your promises and pay your bills - on time.
- Silence IS consent.
- Slavery didn’t happen because people are black or white. Evil isn’t particular about color.
- Be careful what you wish for.
- NEVER LET ANYONE TELL YOU THAT YOU CAN’T MAKE A DIFFERENCE.
- Greed is more devastating than poverty.
- Your rights stop where my nose starts.
- You are only as strong as what you stand next to, that from which you draw your strength.
- Youth and strength are no match for old age and treachery.
- Never try to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and annoys the pig!! (this is the one I can't seem to get right!)
Mr. Larry Brunette
McLoughlin Junior High
Medford, Oregon, 1961
Mr. Brunette was my seventh grade American History teacher. He was a reserved, distinguished man, until he came alive with the very spirit of the founding fathers. Losing his wife and son several years before in an auto accident, he dedicated the rest of his life to teaching American History. I can still close my eyes and smile as I see him standing there, looking every bit the 19th Century English butler - complete with tie, vest, watch fob, and manicured mustache. Mr. Brunette made "How A Bill Becomes A Law" almost a spiritual experience.
William Cicero Nix
I didn’t appreciate the political genius that my father was until a few years ago, and I am thankful for the 15 short years that I spent knowing him. Somehow, in spite of being a precocious child, I managed to listen and remember much of what he tried to teach me. I never met anyone who read to the extent he did. There was much I couldn’t absorb at the time, and he would say, "You’ll understand someday." He was mostly correct, but I fail yet to understand any man’s subjugation of another.
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TV came to Southern Oregon in 1954, and our family was one of the first in line to haul the monster home. (Yes, Ronald Reagan really did sell soap.) It was the first I saw of the Jewish Holocaust by Nazi Germany. I asked my father to tell me why people would walk silently to their death and not fight for freedom. The one thing he could not do was assure me it couldn't happen again if we failed to learn anything from it.
Politics and history were the passion and conversation in our home, with Mama to balance it out with a good dose of "ol’ time religion" and compassion. Vacations were cultural tours, whether it was the desert in New Mexico, the OK Corral, or a State Capitol.
Daddy was raised by his Cherokee Indian grandmother, and one of the values he learned from her was to love and respect the land, all it’s creatures, and other people's rights. He instilled these values in me as well. My father was laid to rest only two weeks before President John F. Kennedy was assassinated.
My Brother Bill
I don’t have a brother named Bill, but there have been times when I imagined such a scenario. Daddy was a salesman and he was charming. I started doing some research on my family around 1990, and to my surprise, Daddy often seemed to be in the same places as Bill Clinton’s mother. I even have relatives from Malvern, Arkansas, named Kelly. I asked a nephew once what he would do if he found out he was related to Bill Clinton. He said he would slit his own throat. That’s about the reaction I felt, so I never carried the investigation very far.
I had done so much better in my life than poor ol’ Bubba that I’d hate to make him feel like the black sheep of the family. Bill Clinton didn’t own a home until someone bought him one. I worked and paid mine off by the time I was 45. I’ve never been accused of a crime, much less lied under oath. I had much better looking kids. I gave blood, Bill sold other people’s, after it was contaminated. I divorced a much nicer person than the one he’s stuck with. If I shake my finger at you and say, "I never had sexual relations with that woman!", it’s the truth! And I was never impeached.
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Daddy said you couldn’t pick your relatives anyway and sometimes you were better off leaving them behind and never looking back. I wouldn’t speak to Bill Clinton if he were my twin. I decided, why bother?
There is an old fable about the tree of life. Each of us is a leaf. You can trade your leaf for any other leaf on the tree; trade lives with any one you could imagine. If I ever start feeling sorry for myself, I stop and realize that I’m blessed to have my leaf; I've never found another I’d be willing to exchange it for. Brother Bill needs to finally shut up and get a life.
Apprenticeship
Our high school had a "scholarship" for juniors, created by a local couple for a student nominated by teachers. Mr. and Mrs. Ray paid me to work in their insurance/real estate office. They were in reality, retired, with a few select clients. Most of the hours of that year were spent with me reading out loud or typing script of books written by Will Rogers, Emerson, Ayn Rand, the founders of our nation, just to name a few.
I got to meet Wayne Morse, the outspoken Senator, and learned about government. The depth of knowledge of those two fine people cannot be properly expressed. They taught me more church history than most people ever learn outside a religious institution; not just theirs, but all of them. To my knowledge, only three girls got to experience this tutorage before Mr. Ray died suddenly at the end of that year. I claim, with pride, membership to that fraternity and have wished that such an education were available to more. Mostly, they taught me that there really are "good" souls out there.
Conrad
At 24 years of age, after a few years of hit and miss college classes and starting a family, I landed a job at our local Credit Bureau. It was there I cultivated an addiction as an information junkie and became active in politics. You can thank Senator William Proxmire for making paper work impossible and no longer being able to collect a legitimate bill.
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The FBI would come to me and my staff when they couldn’t find someone. For those of you suddenly concerned about Law Enforcement and the Patriot Act getting into your financial records, there's nothing new here.
We got it right. We had to. When an occasional fanatic had an application turned down because he had a lousy credit history, I was the person who dealt with him face to face; more than once I engaged someone with a gun and a BAD attitude. Still we managed to respect the privacy of all concerned. We got it right and we did it without computers.
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My interest continued into more of the consumer advocacy realm. For a time I wrote a column in a small local newspaper. I was Conrad - an acronym for CONsumerRightsADvocate. This advocacy has followed me through every job and endeavor. People in need usually found me. It didn’t pay the bills, but I’m gratified for the opportunity to set things right once in a while. Sometimes the little guy wins.
The Dumpster
Museum in Papeete',Tahiti, March 1985
A church in Papette', March 1985
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I spent 1985 and 1986 in Portland being the good corporate wife; entertaining foreign businessmen and CEO’s, opening retail stores, hosting conventions, and traveling to places like Tahiti and Puerto Villarta.
A medical clinic asked me to be their credit manager; one day I was eating lunch on the outside patio lounge of the clinic when another employee informed me that the dumpster four feet away was full of aborted fetus's.
For the first time, I had to leave a job for ethical reasons. They thought I was deranged; it was just business, after all. There are more abortions performed than are reported or that most people realize; also a common practice is to use another diagnosis so the insurance companies might more readily pay.
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Before long, it was time to come home to Southern Oregon, where - in just a few short years - many things had changed. Thousands had moved into this beautiful area; they wanted to make new rules about who the rest of us are and how we should live our lives and how to use our land. They brought with them their crime and their enlightened notions.
We’ll be fighting that battle for a while longer, but we’ve also made some headway with the help of good citizens such as I found on Free Republic: the good stewards of our nation. Every time (and there were many) in the past four-plus years that I've put out the call for help for my neighbors, so many of you answered again and again. You know who you are, and I will be forever grateful to have been a part of it all. ~AuntB
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Klamath Falls, Oregon, May, 2001
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Most all of us share our home and our hearts with at least one little four-legged critter, and AuntB said hers is the "greatest little mutt anyone ever shared a home with!" This photo was taken in the Fall of 2000, in her backyard. Please meet Regis Halfling:
And finally, if you will, step back a "Moment in Time" and imagine meeting AuntB in the 19th Century. No Shrinking Violet, as you can see! But would you want her any other way? :)
Costume Party, Halloween, 2000
Congratulations, AuntB!
Today's Finest FReeper
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A Few of FR's Finest.....
