Recently I had the opportunity to experience first hand a multi- cultural and gender event of the "third kind". On the occasion of my daughter's 21th birthday, she and a friend of her's, Regina, were accompanied by me to "Hot Lanta" (Atlanta) for a night of adventure. I was, for this evening, the "designated driver", a position I had never held before. As this was a Tuesday, things were not they're hopping self, and we had slim pickings. Regina was vaguely aware of certain places of entertainment, as she was one year older than Heather almost to the day, and had tasted the fare before. We started the night at a place called "Oxygen" and as we approached the door I sensed that things were not quite as Regina had proported them to be. All the people, everywhere, were Afro-American. There was an atmosphere of oneness and we were definitely not a part of it. I got the feeling that we were not wanted there by some of the people but I didn't know why till later. The doorman was rough and commanding and soon I saw why. As everyone entered the door they were subjected to a "pat-down" search by this very business like but thorough gentleman dressed in swat-team jumpsuit clothing. There was a white female for the women's pat-down. Now I've been to a lot of bars in my time but I have never experienced this type of treatment before. However, I was not going to be put off, it had been months since I had been out and I wanted to dance and have a little fun. So, I paid my five dollars and entered the unknown. Heather was afraid and felt out of place, strangely enough I felt fine. I didn't like the pot smoking by the bathrooms, but I figured if the management and the officer at the door didn't mind I wasn't going to. As we strolled around the bar I could feel the eyes upon us, we stuck out like sore thumbs. But what I noticed was that it was no different a feeling then when I went into a bar with all white guys. They did the same once over that the Afro-American men did. However, I felt hostility. Where the anger was coming from was the women. I felt fearful of their feelings toward us. Because I was not drinking, I was able to view this scene with clarity. The men were doing their men thing but some of the Afro-American women were acting out when they passed by where we were standing and ceased this behavior once they had passed. By acting out, they were strutting their stuff if you know what I mean. One white female was loud and drew attention to herself by deliberately bumping into the men she passed. It was like watching a ritual dance. And the men just sat there. I was beginning to think that I had been in the mountains too long and had lost touch with mating rituals. Regina went to the bartender to find out what was really happening and if there were any other places we could go. Upon her return she informed us that we had blindly stumbled into "gang" night and it all started to make sense. No Karen you hadn't been away to long, you had just dropped yourself into a sub-culture you had never experienced. I had read about and done a paper on gangs but, gangs were something that I had not grown up with, however, I did start to look around and noticed the clothing more closely and the behavior. But the clothing was not a give away it was more the behavior and the mood. If they had been wearing colors then it would have been easier to figure. The Bob Marley group was in the back, the rappers out front and the (for lack of a better word) potheads in the middle. But this division was typical in most bars, it was more subtle than that. There was this sense of being on holy ground where a tentative peace was maintained yet they were acutely aware of each other and ready to react if necessary. It was anything but reassuring but I was not in the least afraid. Maybe I was not a threat to the girls because of our age disparity, or maybe that is typical for that night. I don't know. Heather was most uncomfortable and overwhelmed, she has had no bar experience and it is a world of its own for sure. Luckily the disc jockey started to play some good tunes so the three of us went onto the dance floor for awhile. Eventually we decided to venture out into the streets of "Hot Lanta" to see what else there was to see. The bartender told us about a place called CJ's Landing that offered reggae music. Through the 20 degree weather we raced to a new adventure. Unfortunately, it being Tuesday, it was country night. Besides there was no dancing on Tuesday either. Bummer! The bartender there was most helpful and he put us onto a place called "Odyssey". After we walked around the entire building trying to find the entrance (I don't think they want you to find it ) we came into what I would call your friendly neighborhood bar, kind of like Cheers with a dance floor. Regina and Heather were rapidly approaching their individual levels of intoxication, and I however, don't think I'll drink coke for quite some time as I must have consumed a liter of that stuff. The good part was it was free. Oh, the woes of the designated driver. Anyway, the three of us took to sitting at the bar and talking to the people around us and getting our pictures taken and generally having a good time of it. Regina went off to the restroom and the dance floor and left her seat vacant for a while. Heather was to the point that she was not falling down drunk, just unable to function in her usual way. There were three very charming gentlemen who past the time with us, Ivan, is a biology pre-med student, Derek, a photographer, and Quinn, the actor. Derek and Ivan are Afro-American and Quinn a white male. As in any bar there has always got to be one or two obnoxious drunks and this place was no exception. An Afro-American male about 55 years of age sat down in Regina's chair and asked Heather if he could sit there. Now Heather, in sobriety, would have told him no and that would have been the end of that. However, she was totally unable to handle the situation in her inebriated state. It was like she was a child unable to deal with a foreign invasion. She tried to explain to the man that her friend was in the bathroom and would be right back but he refused to listen. She looked at me as if to say, " Momma help me." And I did, with a ferocity of a mother tiger when a beast is threatening her young. It was amazing to me how courageous I was sober. I was ready to take that guy's face off for harassing my little girl. Ivan was real upset with that guy too. I again told the guy that the seat was taken and he started to call us uppity white bitches and trigger names and phrases along that vein. I decided, in my saneness, to use the bouncer to take care of the problem. Not only did the bouncer do something, but several other guys were ready to take this guy apart. It took five men to extricate him from the bar. Ivan was so angry at this man's behavior that he went into the parking lot after him for being disrespectful to us, women he had just met. I was very impressed with his behavior but what I was most impressed with was that Ivan was embarrassed with the behavior of a man of his own race abusing women, and women from another race. Ivan kept trying to talk some sense into the man to no avail. I never got to thank him for his gallantry because he and his friends preferred to leave before the police might have been called. I learned several things from these events but the most important one I think is the stereotypical mind set that there is some sort of lack of culture or breeding outside our own race. In all the fights I have seen and been in, I have never known a white man to tell another one that he was embarrassed for his behavior toward a woman. This was a first. I wonder if this is typical of Afro- American men or just of Ivan.

There are many things that people do together but the most important is bonding. To share together an experience that is lasting. Mothers bond with their babies from birth, however, it never ceases. The thing that changes is the types of events that they share. I have found that the older my daughter gets, the better our bonding. I have attributed this to her acceptance of who I am and her willingness to let me be that person. I have always allowed her to express who she is even if I am not real happy about her decisions. Recently, she had divorced after little over a year of marriage. She had been physically ill most of the time since the separation. Being Christmas time, her pain was intensified, by her loneliness. She finally came to realize the connection. I had tried not to interfere in this period of awakening, but I felt that a time of healing was necessary. Healing can take many forms but I decided that a small adventure shared by mother and daughter was in order. Many times when Heather was little we would get into the car and take a road and follow it till it ended. This had been a great way for her and I to bond too. It had been very successful in the past, so I used it again. I suggested that a trip up to the big mountains would be fun and she agreed. Tuesday bloomed dark and rainy. The sun hardly dared to show his face. Since Heather would be driving and had worked the late shift, I left the decision to go up to her. She awoke at noon and was coughing constantly. I feared that she was too sick to go. She admonished me for not waking her earlier, as she was raring to go. She asked me if I had our route mapped out, as I had chosen the Cherokee Indian Reservation as our destination. I thought I did! We loaded up and headed to McDonald's for eats. On our way to McDonald's, Heather told me that she had all the RxR's for the monopoly game and that all she needed was B&O to win a new Cherokee. She said it would be nice to win today. When we got our food we drove from the place and Heather removed the game piece from the drink and started to scream, "I won." I almost choked on the hamburger I was swallowing. I told her to go back and get her car. She pulled into the Exxon station to collect all the pieces together. We were giggling like hyenas. To our disappointment, she found that Short Line was the one she needed. I told her she did get the one she asked for and we both had a good laugh. On the road again, we headed out 19 north. The sun finally came out for a while. Even though the trees were bare, the scenery was still beautiful. I was balancing both my food and Heather's while she maneuvered around the curves. I rarely sit in the passenger seat and I came to know that I don't like it at all. Now I have never, in my life been car sick, but this came very close to a first. I had finished my food as we got on 129 north at Turner's Corner. I had my seat belt on but that didn't help me at all. Even though Heather tried not to drive without care to my stomach, the swaying of the truck was nearly my undoing. It brought to mind the time a friend took me flying after a night of Tequila. Never again! I loosened my clothing around the stomach area in hopes that it would alleviate some of the pressure. Wouldn't that have been some positive bonding. Heather would never have let me in her truck again if I had christened it. By the time we reached level ground I was feeling a bit better. I do not recommend eating before traveling 129. I don't know how the valiant daily travelers do it. We stopped in Blairsville to check the map and we found that the place we wanted to go to was by Murphy, North Carolina, we thought. So we proceeded on 19/129. As Murphy appeared on the horizon, there appeared also a Chamber of Commerce, thank the powers that be. I suggested that we inquire about where the Reservation was, as the map was rather cryptic. The attendant was most helpful. It seemed that we were only 60 miles off course. Oh my! We should have used 441, but she showed us the correct route. We found out that the county of Cherokee was given a place on the map but not the city of Cherokee and we had driven to Cherokee county and the city was in another county altogether. Clever hah? Well, we were going to pass through Nantahalla and Heather told me that I had almost lost her here on a rafting trip she took in high school. I thought that was comforting. She pointed out the different sites as we passed them and the infamous rock that almost took her life. I was beginning to doubt my navigational skills when the roads were unfamiliar to me. I had never been through Nantahalla to get to the Reservation. Ops! Well we were having an adventure weren't we? If we get lost we just turn around and retrace our steps. Right? When we finally arrived at our destination, it looked like a ghost town. I know it was Tuesday, but there is more activity in Dahlonega. All the shops, motels and restaurants were shut up tighter than drums. We had wanted to walk around a few shops or something. We drove around the town to see what we could have seen. If we were gamblers, we would have been happy as clams as that was all the entertainment available. Heather thought she was hungry again so we went in search of food. I was hoping for a trout or catfish dinner or maybe some Native-American fare. No such luck. It seemed ironic, all that way and all that was offered was Chinese, Steak House or fast food. We had Chinese, and it was good. As we were leaving town it started to rain. Just what we wanted, dark, wet and curvy. What a combo. But during an adventure we are undaunted. Let it snow we didn't care. We were enjoying the time spent together, no matter what. We had fun trying to find our way back in the dark, and finding radio stations. But the most fun was the Christmas lights in the mountains. Heather pointed at this light in the sky and asked, "What's that, a UFO?" I started to laugh and said, "No silly, it's a house way up the mountain with Christmas lights on it." Heather tickles my sometimes, but all things aside, we both cherish these moments, they are like special presents we give to each other. We are blessed by each others presence.

Almost every year since I moved to Georgia, The Earth Mother has given me a most wonderful gift. This year was no exception. Having been dragged to Florida by my parents at the age of 6, I was deprived of one of the seven wonders of the world of the child, snow. I don't care how old I get, the mystery and joy of snow will remain one of my favorite treasures from childhood. Maybe I treasure it more because it was taken out of my reach. I don't know. However, when I hear that snow is imminent it gives me both fear and elation. The need to maintain contact with the outside world, being able to drive in the snow, and the desire to be all alone with just the snow and my sled, is overpowering. When I'm in the snow I am a child again. When I'm out in the snow all my memories of childhood are good. I could hardly sleep because I knew that in the morning I was going sledding no matter what, I had never tried this as an adult. As soon as possible upon rising, I donned ski pants, Moon boots, scarves, gloves and cap. Instantly I was greeted with a vision of my little red snowsuit with the attached gloves and hood. My sister and I looked like two walking sausages, one red and one blue. I still can't see how we breathed, let alone walked and played. There was a vacant lot next to our house that had a little rise along the side of the driveway. That was our private slope. We would take turns pushing each other down this tiny incline. Oh! We used to get so sweaty and hot, it was all we could do not to start ripping snowsuits off. I experienced this all again as I cavorted in the snow. I improvised a sled from a piece of plastic from a Port-a-Potty. I tried several likely downhill sights along the road to see if I could get a good ride. As I laid down upon the sled and tried to get it to move, I resembled a beached whale trying desperately to regain the water. I couldn't imagine what I was doing wrong. I thought that maybe my choice for a sled was too small. Maybe the slope wasn't steep enough. I was afraid I must have forgotten completely how to do this. I was glad no one could see me. Now, I am not one to be put off. When I want something, I get it. I trudged down the road in search of the perfect hill. After several false starts, I found one that was perfect. Yah, perfectly scary. After climbing to the top and looking down the proposed route, I had second and third thoughts. Did I really want to recapture this particular childhood memory? Maybe I was going through some form of mid-life crisis or something and needed to prove to myself I could still do something that used to scare me as a child. I had forgotten that tall hills and me did not get along when I was a child. I wondered if the courage that made me do it as a child was still in there somewhere. There was only one way to find out. I set my sled in a downward position, sat on it and pushed off. Primal screams are spontaneous responses to terror and I let one go. But when I got to the bottom I felt great. I had conquered "the hill". I am the greatest. I think its magnified when you are an "adult". Maybe its because its farther to the ground and it will hurt more. After a few downs, I was wringing with sweat. I don't remember this much effort expended in a trip to the gym. Aerobics are nothing to this. And then again this was so much more rewarding, ego wise. I couldn't get my daughter to come play, she said it was too scary. She prefers to do 360's in parking lots. To each their own terror, or excitement. My neighbors have express their desire to try "the hill". This should be interesting since we are all over 40. I wonder what their phobias are and if they will surface like mine did. All things accounted for, the Blizzard of '96 has been the best Birthday present yet.

I have seen marvels from my back porch. I have a hummingbird feeder suspended from the ceiling because it keeps me entertained. As I sit in my rocker, the "hummers" brave my presence to sate their hunger for nectar. I have been either accosted or greeted, I'm not sure which, by the birds hovering within a foot of my face and chirping wildly at me. I have braved their many battles for the treat, as they dive bomb each other and chase each other madly at top speed around the porch and my head. If I'm engrossed in study, it can be quit a fright. There are a pair of Hawks that live across the road that make their appearance occasionally. One afternoon I was reading and I heard their cry. I responded with my "human" hawk call and they replied. I thought that was cool but nothing like what they did next. There is an open space behind the house where the sky is visible. As I watched them, the two, in unison, descended at a rapid pace down into this opening. They sped within 4' of the porch and my chair, calling as they went. They lighted on a tree not 10' from the house and just sat there looking at me. I was aghast! And quit delighted. The crows have a habit of harassing the hawks and I scream at them to stop. Maybe the hawks know this, I don't know for sure, but it was a most wonderful gift. Above my head in the beams there is an old nest. I don't know what kind of birds they were, I do know that we had a most unusual association. The parent birds showed great courage to build so close to my chair. Sometimes they would sit in a nearby tree and yell at me to move so they could finish their labors. Eventually their nest was done and 2 eggs were deposited there. (I peeked) As time went by they hatched and I could hear them chirping. I noticed one day that the parent birds had been gone a long time and I knew there was 1 chick left, for I heard it crying out. I went out to talk to it and there it was perched on the side of the nest, trying desperately, it seemed, to gather the courage to fly. I stayed with it for quit a while, encouraging it to leave. I didn't know if it understood me or not, I would like to think it did, it eventually flew over to a cross beam not 2 feet from me. It gave out one last outcry and leaped into the air. I was very pleased to see it go, it had had a tough time of it, but I did hope it remembered me and it was the same one that returned a year later to check out the long abandoned nest.

In the peaceful town of Orlando, there arose one day an anger so great that the wine and the drugs could no longer contain it. The citizens along Parramore St. decided they had had enough. Tearing thru the street, they pillaged and burned and raided the white establishments that had used them for decades, preying on their ignorance and pain. A vast assemblage of "peace" officers was gathered to answer their rage. The scenes of this event brought to mind a poem by Tennyson:
Barricades to the left of them,
Barricades to the right of them,
Shields, helms and batons at the ready
Into the pits of hell
Went the brave 400 (or so).
Crawling like a Caesarian turtle thru the street sending "rioters" fleeing in their wake. I was one of the lucky ones. I had a barricade post. I was spared that treacherous duty. I didn't experience the thrown bottles or the verbal assaults from the inflamed populous. I was also spared the memory of having beaten anyone to a pulp either. Some would have said I missed the fun. That may be so but I still feel the fear, the anger, and the helplessness of the whole situation. Sometimes it brings tears to my eyes to think that in all that effort nothing was accomplished and the rioters and the police departed strangers still. The affects of those 8 days in August of 1980, bring too very close to the heart, how truly innocent we are of that dark hidden side of humanity that can well up and overwhelm our senses when it is stirred. I felt it, I wanted to set it free, I wanted to feel that power of darkness consume me as it had some of my peers. I am grateful for the deliverance from that darkness by what ever is inside me that yelled "ENOUGH" and returned my sanity. As a result of that time in my life I have even less regard for the management and leadership of institutions. There was no care to what we experienced, what had coursed thru the minds and hearts of the line officers, the pain and degradation of yet another lost war.

Pearls that transcend time:

What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger. Nietzsche(1844-1900)

If laws don't include me, they don't apply to me either. "Bad Girls"

Regular people suck. "Running Scared"



Pearls by Karen:

When there is too much law, there will be too much crime.

Very few people ever really follow their emotions honestly.

Truth according to some doctrines is whatever serves the "image".

It has been said that women created civilization to protect themselves, instead I think they built themselves prisons.

History is important to understanding how we got to where we got, not in a chronologic setting, but how an event had influence on the culture at the time.

The price of freedom is work.

The older your spirit growth, the younger at heart you are.

Civilized people don't need laws.

Maybe the absolute truth is that there is no absolute.

If your truth is the absolute truth, don't you think that there would be nothing opposing it?

If women of opposing political parties agree on an issue, they should cross over those dividing party lines and unite in that issue no matter whose issue it started out to be.

The more you lie, the more they will defy.

Many people are prisoners of their own success.

Technology is the "Bane" of tranquility.