Life Goes On -or- Is It All Homemade Bologna?

James Brown and President Ford both gone within a few days, but life goes on. Both men played a bit of a role in my own life, James Brown probably more than Gerald Ford. As a small white girl with red hair, I used to try to mimic James Brown's dance steps (probably cute at the time, but so not as good as he was) and his music was a part of my growing up days. As for Ford, to me he was a welcome respite from Nixon as I was in my huge activist days o' life when he took over the presidency.

But life goes on and, for all I know, it could all be homemade bologna.

The Jesus Ladies in their church hats, woolen coats, support stockings and sensible shoes still arrive each morning at the train station to spread the Word. Yes, you too can be saved, just read the Watchtower.

A street drunk named Willie insisted on reading a passage from the Bible to me. I couldn't help but note that his bookmark was an Union County Jail release stub. Ah, but Willie is basically okay; he's only harmful to himself and alcohol is his demon, not Satan.

New Jersey is the Garden State and, while some areas are really beautiful country, where I live is part of why the state is the most densely populated state in the country. Urban living in the 'burbs, so to speak. Living in a rather rough small city with big city crime woes hasn't been challenging for me. The gangbangers shoot each other up on a nightly basis as of late, but they just nod and say "How ya doin'" or "hola" as I walk by. I don't interest them. I don't look wealthy enough to rob and I'm so out of their element that they don't know what else to do but nod and say hi.

There I was standing awaiting a taxi near the train station one rainy night last week. All of a sudden, men with badges on chains and guns scoot by me from somewhere and arrest the barber from the hair shop next door. Um, okay. I've seen what I thought was him dealing drugs on the corner before but dismissed it as my own imagination as no one would be so foolish to deal on such a well-traveled public street corner. Right? I've even exchanged "how ya doin" with the guy and talked about the weather. We've even shared a cab. He never offered me drugs. I'm not sure if I should be offended at being dismissed or happy. I fear I must be getting old or something. Years back, street dealers offered me drugs. Not that I took them up on their offers, mind you. But, sheesh, at least they asked.

I overheard a New Jersey urban variation on the Verizon "can you hear me now" cell phone bit the other day. A man was yelling into his phone, "Can you hear me?" "Hey, do you hear me?" "Dammit, if you hear me, speak up!" "Well, if you're hearin' me, why the #%$ don't you just say somethin' an' let me know so I don't go on like a ^#$@in idiot!" I guess Verizon wouldn't want to use that in their ad campaign.

The homemade bologna just keeps keepin' on.

My exciting news from a while ago has turned pretty much to dust. I should know after all these years not to count on something before it's a done deal. But I'll keep makin' the bologna and exploring my wasted potential. I'll keep watching both the Jesus Ladies and the gangbangers with a watchful eye from the outside as I look inward.