More lessons learned at the cheese counter of the Dahlonega Walmart
A Christmas Story by Uncle Bubba
What is the Spiritual Path? It is the loving embrace of a lifelong continuing education course . . . taught by the Master of Life.
Today is the Winter Solstice . . . the shortest day of the year. From around 900 AD to 1375 AD, our ancestors built their most massive earthen pyramids to face the sunset of the Winter Solstice. From the temple mount, priests and leaders would participate in ceremonies marking the end of a year and the beginning of a new one. After that time period, they shifted the orientation of their temple mounts to face due south. The Summer Solstice had become the end of an old year and then beginning of new one. It was a lot more fun to party, when folks could wear short sleeves and mini-skirts.
A few days ago I was zipping toward the Walmart cheese counter to grab one of my indulgences . . . Cabot Farm Extra Sharp Premium White Cheddar Cheese. I have given up on seeing the Sephardic Princess there, but still need my cheese every morning! The store was packed with a cross-section of society . . . all frantically buying “things” to show their reverence to the god, Commerce. Almost everyone showed that they were good conservative citizens of the Fourth Reich by displaying grim faces and wearing colorless clothing. Have you noticed how miserable Americans have become during the past 16 years? The music has died.
I was oblivious to the mass of gray and dead souls shuffling around like zombies, when suddenly a mother in her mid-thirties, wearing a bright-colored Santa’s Helper type dress, intentionally side saddled in front of me to block my path. Beside her were her three children in bright colored clothes. The youngest daughter was wearing reindeer antlers. I was trapped between the sausage counter and the frozen fish island . . . with nowhere to escape.
The lady then looked me straight in the eye, smiled sweetly and said, “Merry Christmas!” I smiled back and said, “Merry Christmas to you too!” This lady, full of love for other humans, had instantly turned my humdrum December into a time of happiness.
I continued on twenty feet to grab my cheese and looked back. The Lady of Christmas Cheer was saying “Merry Christmas” to other people around the meat and fish counters. No one smiled. No one said “Merry Christmas” back to her. Most of the dead souls returned her smile with blank faces. A few smirked at her like she was insane.
Particularly nasty looks were returned by a couple in their fifties. He was dressed in all black. She had short bleached blond hair and was packing a small semi-automatic pistol in her side holster. The first thing that white trash do when they get their pistol toting permit is to walk around Walmart and local convenience stores to show off their guns. The woman continued the smirk on her face long after being told “Merry Christmas.” As the couple was passing me, the woman loudly told her husband so everyone could hear, “Crazy librul! We showed them, didn’t we!”
Huh? Saying “Merry Christmas” is now a subversive political statement? And you tell me that there are not a whole lot of insane people in the United States these days?
The tree that bears good fruit
Two of the most important lessons that Yeshua ben Yusef (aka Lard Jaysus) was sent to tell us were the parables of the ten talents and the description of a good tree that bears good fruit. Summed together, what they essentially say is that it does not matter what your skin color is or how much money you have, it is how you live your life and treat others that really matters. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. The Lady of Christmas Cheer bore exceedingly sweet fruit that day in the meat section of Walmart.
Lesson learned at the country store under new management
Since that day I have tried to emulate the Lady of Christmas Cheer, wherever I go. Funny thing . . . I have been blessed far more by saying “Merry Christmas” to strangers than I could have possibly imagined. Harried store clerks and employees at a busy veterinary clinic seemed to appreciate the kindness more than anyone else. However, I did run into an international version of the short-haired blond, packing a pistol.
There are far too many Muslims that are suffering under the extreme delusion that people in the rest of the world want their lands to become blood-drenched, hate-filled cesspools as Islam has created in the Middle East. The latest strategy in the United States is for them to do things here that would get Christians beheaded or stoned in their mother lands. The idea is provoke incidents by people, such as the short-haired blond in Walmart, which made Muslims appear to be victims.
A wealthy Pakastani in Atlanta recently bought a rural country store near the US Army’s Frank Merrill Mountain Ranger Training Camp. That alone, I hope has caught the attention of Homeland Security. The store is over a century old and had a long tradition of putting up many “old timey” Christmas decorations this time of year. The new owner removed all the Christmas decorations and fired the Christian employees. In their place are now clerks, whose knowledge of English suggests they just stepped off the jet. Loopholes in our immigration regulations allow owners of businesses to bring in distant family members to work here with minimal red tape.
No knowing what had happened to the store recently, I walked in to get a soft drink. The lady was playing Muslim religious music loudly. I could make out “allah akbar” repeatedly amongst the incomprehensible words. In many Muslim controlled countries, playing Christmas carols in public will get you a death sentence for “committing blasphemy against Muhamad.”
I was determined not to play her game, and so was friendly and wished the grim-faced Middle Eastern lady a Merry Christmas as I left. Her response was to look at me like I was the devil incarnate and turn up the volume on the CD player. Methinks that she will be spending eternity in the same cell in hell as the short-haired blond, packing the pistol. Appropriate fate for both of them.
A traumatic seven year anniversary
For most of you, December 21st is just another day. For me nowadays, I wake up wondering if something horrific is going to happen any moment. Seven years ago today, at 8:10 AM two deputies appeared at my door without warning. They handed me eviction papers from FannieMae stating that I and my belongings had to be out of the house by Christmas Eve. I was shocked and told them that it was impossible. I was scheduled to close on a FannieMae mitigation loan in three weeks and FannieMae had announced publicly that no evictions would occur during the Christmas holidays. They didn’t care and continued to smile.
I raced back to get the legal documents from FannieMae. The deputies had their hands on their guns when I returned, hoping that I would be carrying a weapon so they could shoot me. Alas, I only had legal papers showing that I was approved for a loan. They didn’t care.
To sum things up, a lot of people including the Mississippi mortgage company, who filed a foreclosure on my house, when they didn’t even own the loan; a law firm that made over a billion dollars from the recession; a real estate firm that was paid $1000 by the federal government to deliver legal papers to me, but didn’t . . . and several FannieMae employees . . . had broken a slew of federal and state laws to insure that I would be evicted on Christmas Eve. It was grand slam by the occult . . . which is far more powerful in the United States than most of you realize. What they hoped for is that I would do something violent and end up in jail on Christmas Eve and then hopefully commit suicide in a few days. I got the eviction delayed, but not cancelled.
Within an hour after I really was homeless, I was coming out of the Murphy, NC Ingles Supermarket with non-perishable food items, which wouldn’t freeze in 10 degree weather. A North Carolina highway patrolman drove up to me, lowered his window, smiled and said, “Boy we are gonna tetch you respect for ArTHARity. However, after that that incident, things didn’t go as planned by the bad guys.
I decided to turn being homeless in the middle of winter into an opportunity. How many Native American guys dream of being able to take a year off from their responsibilities to live in the wilderness? Here was my opportunity. Dang if didn’t turn out to be the educational experience of a lifetime. The Master of Life used these evil people to open up doors that I ever knew existed.
Lesson learned in the Walmart bread and potato chips isle
Yesterday I got a haircut so I wouldn’t look like the grinch that stole Christmas, when visiting with family members this weekend. Afterward, I dropped by Walmart to get English muffins and dog food. When in front of the muffins, I noticed two, “high bred” women in their late 20s come up to me. They looked like University of North Georgia professors and from the wine on their breath and giddy demeanor, I could tell that they had just come from an office Christmas party. One of them said, “Did you ever find your Cherokee Princess at the cheese counter? I loved that article. I assigned it to my American History classes.”
“Hot dang,” I thought, “This Christmas is getting better and better.” We chatted for awhile. The conversation got friendlier and friendlier. Then one of the ladies reached up and squeezed the biceps on my right arm. She smiled, “Hey, you are built like a rock. You must chop a lot of wood.”
Note the male ego-meter going past one hundred, after that remark.
Then she said, “Hm-m-m . . . I would go out with you in a heartbeat, if you were younger.”
Male ego-meter drops back to zero.
May all of you have a very Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah. Remember that all of us are just genetically, brunswick stew. Treat other people the way that you would like them to treat you.
Christmas Day 2010 . . . 10 inches of snow
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