Usually, I blog about anything but politics. Well, get ready! That's about to change—at least for the next year.
Georgia may become a state in which I'd be proud to live. A state in which "business as usual" (my husband's term) may end. And all because of one man: Ray McBerry.
For this reason, my readers may find Georgia politics intermingled with relationship issues, gardening, and my love/hate relationship with my "better half" on this website from now until next November.
As the residents of Georgia look around at the dilapidated condition of our state, they surely believe that things will not improve—at least not in the near future. In fact, they may be ready for the bottom to fall out. And most certainly, they're scurrying around attempting to figure out how to handle the dismal future barreling towards us at lightning speed. As for me, I'm waiting for people to, once again, begin digging underground shelters in which to store personal belongings and such (They can't take what they don't see <<snickering>>).
Honestly, it's that scary.
Frankly, to me, there was no hope in sight—until this past Saturday.
As the sun broke the horizon, my husband and I were on our way to Cobb County—for breakfast. The drive was twenty minutes or so, but the reason was well worth it. Since we rarely go out to eat, one might expect said breakfast to be inexpensive. But he'd be wrong. We seldom eat out because the culinary delights created in our kitchen by my other half are far better than anything prepared in any restaurant. But as I've said, we had good reason on this particular morning: A GOP gathering with Ray McBerry as the main speaker.
After we entered the restaurant, the buzzing began. Bean was his usual self—leather jacket; long auburn hair and all. To look at him, one would think someone had persuaded an ancient Pict to dress up as a biker. And if one judges a book by its cover, then meeting my husband may not be his/her cup of tea—as our readers know all too well. On the surface, one cannot see his extraordinary intelligence, gentle manner, and incredible writing ability, even if he is standing beside an exceptionally well-dressed woman—namely me. (I'd actually "dolled up" that morning, while "Prince Charming" simply crawled out of his sleeping bag, sniffed his armpits, changed shirts and said, "OK. Let's roll, babe.") Neither could one guess (unless one keeps the company of re-enactors, "mountain men" and others of that odd breed) how deeply conservative and traditional his core values are. (You should have seen the delighted expression on his face when Mr. McBerry described himself as a Jeffersonian…)
Unfortunately, Bean is also rather—and I'll be tactful here—"frugal." So frugal, in fact, that I now fully understand the expression, "tight as a Scotsman's purse-strings." Given his cheapskate nature, the $10.00-a-pop breakfast was a pittance to pay to see the sea of dropped jaws and puffed expressions. My own jaw dropped when he willingly paid it…
Every Georgian, to my mind again, should've been in the room as Ray McBerry approached the microphone amidst a clamor of excitement. His was anything but a "blow-smoke-up-yer-ass" speech—unlike so many others I've heard in the last twenty years. Neither was it an "I'm-gonna-tell-you-what-you-want-to-hear" lemon-drop session. He outlined his campaign platform with promise in his eyes and conviction in his voice—a rarity in these times of greased palms and "focus group" rhetoric.
Now, I'm not a political genius—that's my husband. But I can discern trumped-up assurances from heartfelt assertions. Mr. McBerry spoke with commitment and clarity. He's the only politician, to my knowledge, even to mention the Marxist/Communist/Socialist institutions we take for granted—but which would have appalled our ancestors. This, alone, warrants our attention in my mind.
As I sat a mere two feet away (Bean, of course, was "the fly on the wall"—as usual. He stood in the back of the room—the best view in the house in my opinion—and observed the reactions of the crowd), McBerry reminded the attendees of the state sovereignty our founding fathers secured for us, advocated abolishing income and property taxes in lieu of a simple state sales tax, protecting our Second Amendment rights, and reminded us that unborn humans are every bit as deserving of life and liberty. He also called for secure, "hard copy" elections and asserted our state's water rights. All these issues were at the top of my list—and I was impressed to say the very least.
When Mr. McBerry finished, Bean and I left. My husband and I are not ones for putting on airs, and staying meant mingling with the "suits." And though for some, clothes can hide the visible signs of decomposition, the stench is still there. As in the case of Aesop's jackdaw, elegant plumage did nothing to disguise the fundamental nature of pests and carrion-eaters: Enter Oxendine's "campers."
Bean was especially incensed when he heard members of the Oxendine camp snicker during McBerry's speech. For a guy who's spent twenty years in "questionable" company, Jeff is unusually principled. His "bullshit detector" is second to none, and he actually amuses himself by befriending shit-weasels and predicting their behavior—drily and almost clinically. He respects honesty and sincerity (even when he believes that "the other guy" is dead wrong), and has no use for pests or carrion-eaters of any stripe—even when they claim to be on his "side."
"We've got more to worry about from the c---suckers in our own f----n' party than from the f----n' Demo-commies," he muttered as we made our way across the parking lot. "Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. The 'old boy network' at its worst. Business as f----n' usual."
But we heard what we thought we'd never hear. McBerry had exceeded our expectations and we were quite pleased—keyed up in fact. So much so, that as Bean and I rode off into the sunrise, he strapped on his metaphoric guns for the first time in a year, snickered, and cussed the radio for not playing Skynyrd's "Gimme Back My Bullets" (Ain't foolin' around/'cause I done had my fun/ain't gonna see/ no more damage done") or Aerosmith's "Back in the Saddle."
And I smiled.
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