The Poosey Digest: More than a cheeseburger…

Greetings from the Ridge.

As the old saying goes, it’s been enough to depress a hyena.

Unless you’ve been under a rock for the past few months, you know that we’re in the midst of a national malaise… a quiet disquiet that perhaps things just don’t resemble Ozzie and Harriet’s America. The conservatives blame the Obama-kins, the liberals blame the Fox-ites, and an increasing number of Americans get their current events education solely from highly prejudiced sources. Of course the fact of the matter is that neither Republicans or Democrats deserve all the blame for oil spills, global warming, a sputtering economy, simultaneous wars, and a dwindling American influence throughout the world. Both parties have had a hand in creating the serious messes and in some cases neither are to blame.

So if we’re in a spate of national gloominess, how about a little mutual therapy? Why not as a nation take a few common sense steps to pull us out of our joint funk?

As ridiculous as this may sound to most people, I’d say that a first positive step would be to start reading a good newspaper. And I mean the actual news, not the gossip columns, the editorials, or the comics. In terms of pure impartiality, the lamest newspaper is still more objective than the typical cable news broadcast. Even an understaffed and poorly edited newspaper won’t scream at you, won’t shed tears to get ratings, and won’t inflate a story to keep your attention as has become the case with most electronic media. Believe it or not, there are still hundreds of good newspapers out there with one goal: reporting the news fairly. How many cable-gabbers can say the same?

Take a walk. Walking is good… that is if you leave your I-pod behind. God has filled the dullest of neighborhoods with delightful, natural sounds. So far as I’ve been able to tell, birds do not blog, crickets seldom have political opinions, and your neighbor’s dog still barks instead of twitters. Besides, no one ever drove by your house, saw you watching television and exclaimed, "My what a healthy thing to do! I wish I could be active like that!"

If your mind seems consumed with the worries of oil companies, weak real estate values, and big government, go visit a retirement home. Sit and chat a few moments with someone who left his new bride to fight Hitler in France, who learned how to trade cigarette stamps for gas coupons during the war, who seldom saw her father while he worked two eight-hour jobs to support his family during the Depression. Have a cup of coffee with an elderly widow who knows the exact formula for combining ketchup and hot water to make tomato soup for a family of six, who’s sat up night after night with child suffering from whooping cough with no doctor for miles, gathered eggs every morning that she could not afford to eat, and who actually did walk five miles to school for this privilege called "an education."

We are not the longest-suffering generation in our nation’s history. In fact, there are those still alive today who at one time would have considered our current miseries to be sitting in the very lap of luxury. There’s real therapy in chatting with folks who’ve been through the mill and come out stronger.

But perhaps the best therapy of all… and cheap… and most available in the summertime… get out among the people. Not the talking heads of TV or the glorified brats of entertainment stardom. Go to a town barbecue, head out to a festival, barge into a Burgoo. Find real people. You’ll recognize them since they look a great deal like you. Notice that they’re breathing, they’re laughing, they’re enjoying their families, and more often than not they have some degree of faith. They’re on the golf course, in the shopping mall, and perhaps walking by your house tonight. Hitch up your nerve and ask them about their joys, their hopes, and their triumphs.

Herb and I recently found ourselves in the booth of a fast food restaurant and I cringed a bit when a group of teenagers crammed into the booth behind us. I had wanted some peace, quiet, and a cheeseburger. What I got appeared to be a group of kids just set free from their youth group. I’d had over 50 years of conversation with Herb so I eavesdropped on what the kids were saying. In short, it was 20 minutes of big dreams, huge hopes, and nothing but an excited outlook on life. And for me it was more than a cheeseburger… it was a blessed dose of therapy.

You ever in Poosey, stop by. We may not answer the door but you’ll enjoy the trip.