My Sweetie's Birthday Begins For Me Today.

My Annie's birthday is tomorrow, so the ritual will go like this today. She is now in Driggs doing some work to help the school system there.

It's a great job. It's fulfilling and satisfying. There are no supervisors to make things miserable. Working for ISU has been a true pleasure for her. I found it that way too.

Oh, and it's nice to see her so happy doing something like this.

I expect her home any minute, so I'm hurrying with the last minute details of this blog. I found a perfect card--funny but not crude, cynical but not pessimistic, interesting but not boring. I like the Far Side stuff. Our family finds this brand of birthday card hilariously funny. So here it is.

I've been working on her "this year's poem" for several weeks now. I put some things together, and then I let it sit for a bit. I felt inspired this morning.

I set my player downstairs. The volume is loud, but not disturbing to my neighbors. I figure Robert Plant is something great for a time, when I my hopes for spring are so intense.

Besides, the vibes are great too for my muse. So Annie, here's your online peek at your poem:

A Slice of Joy Is A Window Into A Soul

Bob Dylan sang Mona Lisa smiled

because

she had The Highway Blues. Looking at a woman’s face

is like looking into depths of the sea. You never know

what lurks there

what boils beneath rolling waves

what changes lie

beneath a surface reflecting blue skies and clouds.

Science believes

they know Da Vinci’s secret--facts about

the painter’s task. But they

will never understand

the look

the power Mona Lisa retains in her eyes.

I figure I married a woman like that, except I like mine

better than

Da Vinci’s woman hidden behind finger-smudged glass

in the Louvre.

Some days I look at her eyes and try to read omens in summer skies

but nothing conjures satisfaction for me

except the look she gives me

any given morning--eyes shining and teasing

a sparkle that tells me

what I need to know.

Why stand and wonder before life’s jigsaw puzzle?

If God wanted life and relationships to be simple

each woman would be

like a fortune cookie

a slip of paper stuck in her ear at ambiguous times.

But nothing appears as it seems

and innocence is an illusion that offers no solace on a winter night.

No infant I observed understood Bob’s blues

or understood

what The Highway Blues

might be: an asphalt python trail that leads

from East to West

from North to South.

Some might contend that a tiny child’s smile might imply

wisdom or understanding

but my wife always said

grinning babies had gas. I never found

happiness

in that bit of trivia, especially while cradling them in my arms.

Who knows why they really smile?

I owned a big yellow tomcat, and although I preferred dogs, I loved him

anyway. I trained him

and he begged. I trained him

and he would sit

on yellow haunches

before looking up at me. A smile

would spread on his feline face

and he would turn his large head from side to side.

I gripped prime roast beef in my hand. He

never gave up the idea

of charming his way through life. He would spring

to bat the beef with paws of recessed claws.

I hoped he did it out of love

out of respect

but those concepts never appeared on his face

as his eyes focused on roasted beef

yet he never scratched or bit me. His grins

infected every audience

who watched with a Cheshire mirror image.

The cat’s new-found love

was for a taste

of the same species of creature

that provided mammalian nectar in his bowl.

Who knows why he really smiled? Maybe he understood irony.

I married a woman with chocolate chip eyes

of mystery

yet she gazes my way

and I realize

that I wrapped my heart

around those orbs decades ago.

It was a time of youth, a time of new love, a time of yearning.

I still love her, even more deeply now as so long ago.

Her face lights up like new dawn in early spring. It tells me

what I need. Doubts fade away

mists disappear before rays of morning sun.

I embrace her eyes and wallow in their beauty.

I know my love. She will never live The Highway Blues

even if she likes to hear Bob Dylan sing it.

I bask

in the velvet softness I see on her face

and I yearn

to feel the static electricity of her touch.

I hear her image whisper to my muse. My love

I wear openly. I flaunt memories

of holding her in my arms. I sing songs of love

in my heart. A vision I see

in those chocolate brown eyes that bewitched me long ago.

They cast

their spell on me as a youth.

Their message remains constant. My love is my Polaris, my guide

because she remains at my side during my brightest day

and the darkest night.

I cherish

each moment and savor the taste of life

because

I know my love will always be at my side.

This is my favorite current picture of my Sweetie, although there are other favorites as well. There are some of those she doesn't like at all, so no one will see them, but I smile right now thinking of those pictures of our past and present,

and for her, I won't put on any pictures of us riding roller coasters or clowning in front of a camera, or standing motionless in distant childhood black and white poses.

But I will place a final picture that someone took during our 2001 class reunion.

It was a good time--a time in our life when cancer was a disease someone else struggled with, a time in our life when our biggest concern was about work and teaching and parking the new car away from the potential scratches of other people's cars. It was a time in our life much like right now.

Nothing that really matters has changed in our times together since that summer day in 2001, so I post the last photograph and smile at the memories it conjures up for me.

Grandpa and Grandma Williams

I really don't know what year this picture happened, but it's how I remember my Grandpa Williams. Occasionally, he would babysit me and Jill, and on those days, he would tickle me. I would laugh until I couldn't breath.

Grandpa had cataracts on his eyes in his later years, and it affected his sight. On one occasion, he didn't do it on purpose, but he stuck his finger in my eye.

I was just little at that time, but I remember how angry I was. Hopefully it didn't alter the way he viewed me or the amount of time he spent with me as a child. I really don't have many memories of him other than that.

My dad would go with him hunting and fishing. I remember pheasant hunting once. Grandpa had a German Shorthair, at least I believe that's what breed of dog it was, and I remember watching the dog zigzag up the field. The dog's nose was to the ground, and his tail was wagging.

He would get further in front of us, and eventually grandpa would warn the dog first. He would shoot one shot when the dog even distanced us further and began brushing birds out of our range--just close enough for a bit of shot to sting the dog a little. Grandpa would curse the dog, and then we'd start again. The German Shorthair did it at least three times.

Years later, a local barber and relative told me what an incredible shot my grandpa was with a shotgun. The barber was Earnest Williams.

Earnest would leave me until last to cut my hair. I would sit for hours. Old Timers from Malad would sit and tell stories and jokes, some of them not for a young boy's ears.

I know this, because when I came home from the barbershop, I told one joke to my sisters. They told my dad, and he took me to the basement in the house on Main Street.

"What does that joke mean?" Dad was really angry. I recognized immediately that it was something I should not have said, but I had no idea what was offensive.

The wait in the barbershop had some disadvantages like this, although many of the stories were funny too, especially some of the things that a couple of the old Welshmen would say.

When my time finally arrived to get into the chair, Ernest would take the large piece of cloth barbers use to keep hair from getting down my neck and on my clothes. He'd shake it once, and then he'd say those words I dreaded. "I'll be right back."

I would sit another 30 minutes in the chair, watching the sunlight fade and listening to the buzz of the lights in that shop. Sometimes I'd play with the chair, forcing the handle back and forth to raise the chair, and then pushing it forward to release it. I would settle back to the ground, and I would pretend I was in some sort of space capsule. The late 50's and early 60's were times when the space was a hot topic. B-movies all showed their take on space travel, and in '61 or so, the first Americans began going into space.

When Earnest returned, he would tell me some of the same stories every time. And he always told me what an incredible shot my grandpa was with a shotgun, one of the best he'd ever seen.

That was after my grandpa's passing. I wish I could remember more.

He didn't have the luxury I have had of being able to spend so much time with grandchildren, doing things that were fun. Grandpa worked hard up until his death to provide for his family.

On a fishing trip, I remember grandpa sitting quietly while a Utah fisherman in a boat approached us. We fished on the bank. The boat came within ten feet of where we sat, and grandpa cursed him. What came next makes me smile. Grandpa warned the idiot in the boat, but the man said nothing. The operator was sullen and creepy. He came so close, that it was a miracle he didn't cut our lines.

Grandpa picked up a handful of good sized rocks, and he pelted the man in his boat. My dad laughed. "My hell Jack!" Dad looked at him, amazed but not as shocked as I was. I was only in first or second grade. I'd thrown snowballs at other kids before, but to see an adult use rocks was something I had never thought I would see.

One thing for sure is this. The creep from Utah didn't make another pass in his boat.

My mom still speaks fondly of her dad. He cooked. And he never forgot her birthday, or any of the other birthdays of his sons and daughters. Family meant so much to him.

Mom refers to him still as daddy. Another uncle was emotional, when he told me once about his last time he spent with his dad before the terrible accident took grandpa's life.

The last picture is one I remember. I was only five or so, but I remember this picture. I'd forgotten about it, until I saw it on one of my cousin's facebook sites.

Grandpa held my cousin Randy on his lap. I remember resenting it a bit. I wanted to sit there. I also remember the shoes I had in this picture. They were Red Ball Keds. At least that's what we called them. There was a piece of rubber on the toe, so the shoes lasted forever. That was a spot where a child my age would wear the toe section out immediately if it were simple canvas. On the back of the shoe, there was also the key trademark, a small red ball label.

It's so fun to see this picture. I called my mom to check to see the approximate time it was. I'm thinking it was summer. Mom said she always had a dinner for the family on grandpa's birthday, but given what clothing I had on at that time, it couldn't have been February. At least I think that is when grandpa's birthday was.

Jill looks to be about six months of age, so I figure it was a Fourth of July dinner. Mom always did that. Even when I was in high school, we had these incredible dinners on the Fourth, potato salad, fried chicken, strawberry shortcake. My mom made birthdays special, because her dad did that for her. She obviously appreciated that, so she did the same for us, and she did it for her family too.

Mom did that on Christmas Eve too. It was Jill's birthday, and mom always had a large dinner. I remember the ones we had on South Main the best. I was very young, a time when Christmas was so special. Mom would invite Aunt Sarah and Charlotte, and Aunt Myra. There were other family members there too, depending on the year. But I remember many from both sides of the family there.

A child's world is a simple one--a life where relationships appear so idealistic and simple, yet when you become older, you notice things that hint at the fact that adults sometimes don't enjoy moments like this, or that adults may struggle with things. They have issues.

The two sides of the family were overtly polite, but things were strained. I never noticed until I was older. But mom invited everyone. She did it when we began doing dinners at Thanksgiving too.

I will always remember those times and people, who still seem so alive in my memory. For me, it's like hearing the sound of a distant train whistle in winter. There is beauty in it, yet there is a mournful sound too. I guess that's why Bob Dylan wrote his song about trains, "It Takes A Lot To Laugh, But It Takes A Train To Cry."

My regret is never having known my Grandpa Williams better. Only knowing three or four stories about hims is so sad at this point in my life. I now am at the age he was, when he passed away. I know his sense of humor only from stories told me by my mother and father. I know his personality only from stories told me by my mother and father.

Dad told me this once, "Don't ever take a wooden nickel." I didn't know what that meant when dad said that to me. It was something he told me, just before I went to college. It didn't take long to realize what it meant. It means not taking crap from anyone.

It was my mission statement in life. I don't believe I was ever mean, except occasionally. It was when something provoked me--like the time I was dancing at a formal dance at BYU as a freshman. I was there with this girl I had dated very seriously at the time.

A return missionary and his date were doing the polka. The music wasn't that kind of music. I was intent on enjoying the moment, and every time this person and his giggling date passed me on the floor, they would bump me. I had enough. I braced myself, like I knew I could as a former offensive lineman, and both sprawled across the dance floor. The girl's legs in the air--the young return missionary on his back sliding in the same direction. I smiled in satisfaction, and my date almost left me standing there. That's the type of person I occasionally was in life.

It was my way of throwing a stone at someone who provoked me like that. I didn't bother them by bumping or touching them, and I expected the same treatment. Things like that happened occasionally, until I became older.

My Annie sometimes still reminds me of times like this, occasionally holding her hand over my mouth. She recognizes the look on my face, just before I say something offensive. It's funny. It's always thought provoking, but it's offensive. But at least I do my best not to do it any more.

Grandpa had a sad life. It began that way, his mother dying when grandpa was an infant. His sister, my Aunt Myra, helped raise him. My guess is that this fact is what made grandpa so loyal in terms of family.

I will forever regret not knowing him. And the loyalty I feel toward my family makes me want to ensure that my grandchildren will know me and remember me.

Unfortunately, I tend to tease them like my grandpa teased me. And I sometimes tickle them until they can't get their breath.

Jack's Man-cave on this day of 1-1-11

First, we'll take a glance at the skies. Although they feature two of three Star Wars kites I've found for Jack and Tommy, we only have two hanging. There isn't room for the Millenium Falcon right now, so I'll eventually set it up and hang it in the basement, until Jack grows tired of the two there already.

At the edge of the picture is the Red Baron Triplane, part of a mobile, that features planes from World War I and World War II. These were Pop Pop's favorites as a child, so I make it a habit of supplying models of those for grandchildren too.

Tommy will get his eventually, but not until after the Zollingers get into their own house and don't have to move things again. The same goes for the Star Wars toys, although those remain in storage in my garage shelves waiting. A mobile set can be done later, but the Star Wars stuff--well, that just doesn't remain available forever.

I beg readers not to tell Lydia, because my daughter is not amused by the collection at this point.

And besides, I recognize that the boys now begin to have different interests in things that I loved too.

Tommy, like Pop Pop, has a love for dinosaurs and ancient mammals. I get those for him, but for Jack, it's not a big deal. I figure that the future might have more dinosaurs in Tommy's room than ships and figures from another galaxy. But Pop Pop can do both too.

In the electrical switch at the left of Jack is a night light: a necessity for any boy, who loves Star Wars. It shows a view of the heavens just at the side of Luke's X-wing Fighter.

This picture was an important one. After being nice on Christmas, while Jack pulled faces in every frame, Pop Pop told him that he would look like that permanently after a sound slap.

I would never slap a grandchild. That's something adults saved for their own children, but the threat is what sometimes makes things right in the world. And besides, when that doesn't work as Jack approaches the teen years, I can always use pictures like this to bribe his continued positive camera behavior--especially ones where he doesn't wear pants.

"I see Paris. I see Kalamazoo. I see Jack's bare kazoo." That works. In fact, it occasionally works now, although I use various places in the rhyme to be creative and obnoxious at the same time.

The threat did the trick. No more silly faces irritated me by ruining the moment. I figure that 25 years of teaching helped me develop ways of intimidating young minds into an environment, that was both efficient and acceptable.

Pop Pop still has his mojo.

And how can a boy's man-cave exist in a faraway galaxy without a Wampa rug? We will soon hang it on the wall.

It's a remaining slice of Pop Pop's redneck impulse to put animal heads and skins on the wall as trophies.

And yes, there is a whole bed spread thing with pillows with ships and a Star Wars Theme, but like Tommy, Jack has a Pirates of the Caribbean blanket too.

It comes in very handy on cold nights in Idaho, not just during the winter months. Our thirty days of summer get a bit cold too, especially when grandma and Pop Pop leave the windows open at night to find cool air in darkened July and August skies.

Life was never better than this. Mom was here to play Wii games. Pop Pop can't do things that require that kind of reaction time, unless of course it involves some sort of German dessert.

So Lydia, when you read this, and as Tommy takes a look at these things, I want you both to know that many of them await your next move, and whatever isn't still in its original box in my garage will mean that a suitable replacement will arrive.

Someday, in a galaxy--hopefully close to Idaho--my grandson Tommy will also get a cheesy blog about the things Pop Pop found for his room. And as for Anna and Samantha, I'll do the same there too.

Anna has the greatest collection of Disney princess dresses in the civilized world, with matching slippers and accessories of course. Little Sammie will get the same too. It will be a time, when a visit will be close, and a home will not be a rental.

Moving stuff is not fun, and besides, I figure Lydia was very nice about the whole issue. Her voice seemed strangled with stress and frustration, and I'm sure her eyes flashed just like her mom's, but unlike my Annie, Lydia didn't "damn me all to hell." But I think it was close.

Approaching A Day That Doesn't Happen Every Day: 1/11/11

It has been an incredible day. New Years has never been that big a deal for me, except in Germany in 1973 and 1974.

I have never seen people shoot private fireworks like that. In the city of Dortmund in '73, the sky lit up, as if a war had begun. The explosions, however, were small.

It wasn't anything like "Shock and Awe" on CNN during the last war in Iraq.

I saw the whole thing from the roof of a high rise apartment building in the center of the city, and we could see a view of the entire area. That's what was so great about being there at that place at that time.

In the Ruhr Valley, there are no mountains--just mine structures, smoke stacks, factories.

And I hear that it is different today, or at least that was my impression the last time I visited the area in the late 90's.

When a LDS mission companion and I walked home that night, there was nine to ten inches of paper on the streets from all the fireworks. It covered area of several square miles, yet the next morning, everything was swept clean.

Today's moments have rivaled the exhilaration I felt watching people shoot bottle rockets over three feet in length, each one with an engine and accompanying explosive that was bigger than a common stick of dynamite.

We began the day early, at least Ann did. I've been getting over a cold, so I've spent at least four or five days sick and unable to be much help. My immunity system will never be the same after chemo, yet I have pulled through this time without getting an antibiotic. I feel good about that, and I feel very good today. I figure staying home through this weekend will ensure that I'm

alright.

But there are several things that help me get better. Ann kept busy today. I helped her season the Prime Rib Roast. She picked up Kristin and some horseradish sauce at the store. She returned home, and I helped fill her fill the dishwasher, while she finished the last touches of dinner. She made this incredible herbal wild rice dish as a side, and bread was rising. "It's just some simple French Bread," she said.

My Annie is the master of understatement. She was not the kind of woman who would stand publicly and tell everyone that I was the greatest man in the world, except for the time she did it and made everyone in a large meeting laugh. Her comedic style and timing are impeccable. First, she does really believe that I am the greatest man in the world, but she only tells me.

It's better that way. I knew this couple once. Just when I thought they were the epitome of a blessed married life, and after hearing them praise each other and say how perfect they both were, and how much they loved each other. I heard about their divorce less than fourteen days later.

My wife never praises me openly, not on facebook, not in church, not in public meetings, but in my darkest moments, she never left my side, and when we are alone, I see the love she has for me in those chocolate chip eyes. I wrap myself in the comfort of their warmth.

She is what made me the best I could ever imagine. Our worst fight was when she told me to stop taking worthless credits and to begin a graduate degree. Until that time, I took classes that had little or no cost, and although they offered salary incentive, they did nothing for me professionally. My Annie put me on track. It took a day to get over being angry with what she said, but she said what I needed to hear, and she said it, because she loved me.

She encouraged me to finish my BA, something that not only changed my life but altered the lives of many students I was able to affect in a positive way in class.

She made me feel calm when the "warrior" in me wanted to pursue an aggressive path, whenever a supervisor irritated me. I didn't always follow her words there. But in the few exceptions she saw me make, I soon found that she hated a couple of them far worse than I did.

But my sweetheart made me the type of person, who in spite of being outspoken at times, succeeded in everything I sought to do. She helped me feel positive about a life, that I feel so much passion for living. I savored everything I did, and I still feel that way about life.

But what I love about her most is the fact that she loves me in spite of my not being the man I was before cancer turned me into the "Elephant Man meets Nosferatu and Quasimodo."

This will be embarrassing for her to see I have written this, but what is nice is the fact that I don't frequent my blog often enough for her to notice. It will be something she will find at a time when she compiles what I have written--hopefully years in the future.

She is what makes my life so blessed.

I read someone talk about how to choose a companion for life, and they cautioned people from looking for a soulmate. It worked out well for me, and I'm not ashamed to say that my Annie is my soulmate, my friend, my sweetheart.

She was beautiful when I married her over 36 years ago, but I think she's prettier now. She still has the chocolate chip eyes, the skin as soft as silk, the smile that warms my heart, and yes, although she occasionally "damns me all to hell," it makes me smile when she does it--except when she wakes me out of a deep sleep to do that. I have to be prepared for it, because if not, I might laugh and make her angrier at me than she already may be.

I don't make her angry purposely. That would be a mistake. See she wraps my legs every night, because of my post-chemo circulation problems, that create a lot of pain and swelling. And knowing my weakness, my "ticklish" spot like she does, if I do anything irritating at all, she'll remind me about the occurance briefly.

"So, Jonie. Do you remember what you said this morning and laughed so irritatingly?" She waits for fear to cloud my eyes, and then she grabs my big toe.

I writh and wiggle, and then I squeal like a little girl.

My grandson laughs. A smile of ultimate satisfaction spreads across my Annie's face.

It's the little things that make so interesting and fun.

But when all is said and done, I know how much she loves me.

She accepts my eccentricities. She tolerates my rage during sports events. She accepts my opinion, even if she doesn't want to hear it.

Friends do that. I was lucky to find one and marry her.

The Times Are A Changin' For Me In The Way I Choose To Live

Never in my life have I been so disillusioned with the political scene in our nation and state. And what is most shocking is the occasional letter to the editor in our local paper or status update on facebook, especially one this evening.

People are ecstatic at their move "to stop the spread of communism in America."

Never in my life have I seen people so wrapped in ignorance. When I read the statement this evening on facebook, I wasn't shocked, because I've been reading things like that for at least nine months: threats against our current President, accusations and allegations of a number of conspiracy theories, unfounded and unsupported statements that question the service of individuals serving our country in various political offices.

This comes from a state that forgave one politician from the 80's for being dishonest with campaign finances. That man served time, and some in Idaho wanted him to return to DC, even though a felon can't function as a public servant. I comes from a state, that forgave another one for enormous amounts of money he spent to attract the attention of President Bush. That governor wanted to become a Homeland Security Secretary. He eventually settled for Interior Secretary, and although he had previously returned to Idaho to run for governor, after saying that he didn't like DC, he returned to the East Coast as quickly as he could. He didn't finish his last term of office. He now works for Insurance interests and makes at least six figures, giving money to those who vote like Big Insurance likes. Idaho voters opted to forgive yet another one for picking up dates in the men's restroom in the Minneapolis airport. Weeks later, our current governor placed this man in Idaho's Hall of Fame, explaining he did it quickly for his past service. Waiting, the governor had explained, might make it impossible to enshrine him.

What defines a person worthy of the Idaho Hall of Fame?

I won't mention our current governor. I guess you can make mistakes, if you're a Republican. Men like this run on "personal values," but when they compromise those same ideals and their actions reveal their hypocrisy, the Idaho electorate "absolves" them. I

'm a Christian with very firm religious beliefs and values; however, I can't abide politicians, who run on values, without any type of political agenda. Men like this collect their wage, make connections with powerful special interest groups, and they eventually retire with extremely large salaries. If you don't believe me, do the research on Steve Symms and Kirk Kempthorne. Start there. Then continue to look at others.

In the words of Mel Brooks from his movie History of the World, Pat II, "it's great to be king."

There are other situations too. I refuse to think about it anymore, because no one cares in Idaho. It's like the tree in the woods. If no one is there to hear it fall, did it really make a sound? They put their heads in the sand, refuse to look at "real" news and research, and opt to vote for people who pander them. These are slick oliticians, who get out their speeches, dust them off and read to the populace about the Constitution before their reelection.

Some Idahoans think our Constitution will eventually "hang by a thread." That comes from a lot of people who quote this material, even though their church reminds them it is not accepted doctrine.

Here's a taste of reality. What puts our country at risk is the connection of our political leaders with powerful people who have power and and who have a lot of money.

Look at Senator Crapo. He is careful now not to take as many free trips like he once did. The "little" golf trip in Georgia cost him a lot of media attention a number of years ago, but no one here seemed to care in Idaho.

Idahoans didn't care, when he gave people from a U.S. Territory tax breaks after their $100,000- $200,000 contribution, and this year, a lobbyist for an insurance interest bragged to friends of ours about Crapo's taking a check for $50,000 after a 15 minute conversation over lunch. And that's a fact not some silly pipe dream scrawled on a chalkboard on FOX Network.

I supported Mr. Crapo when he served in the Idaho Legislature. He was honest. His voice was one of reason and common sense, but his "stint" in DC has been nothing but partisan politics and self-indulgence. He continues to rake in enormous amounts of money to do the same political campaign he runs every year. Why would you need the cash, when he wins with a 70 percent majority. It's sad, considering what is happening in this situation.

His commercial this year went like this: It's not too late to protect our nation and our Constitution. I don't remember the exact words, but that's what he said. Ironically, what threatens our Constitution is his lip service to Idahoans and service to big money and powerful interests. His connection to money and lobbyists disenfranchises his constituents. Does anyone see this? It's not about liberals and conservatives. It's about money buying influence.

Old school journalists, who once took the time to present news in an unbiased fashion, and who sought to inform Americans about what was happening in our country, seemed shocked early this year at some of the attitudes that dominate our culture. They couldn't believe the impatience at our current state of the economy, and even more difficult to believe was how they blame economic failure on the current administration.

First, no one--certainly not our current President--believed that our economic difficulty would mend itself before midterm elections. He knew that when he campaigned, and he mentioned it during debates. He reminded Americans, that whoever had to deal with the economic problems had a long battle ahead.

And ironically, things are slowly improving--even with the negative news reports that persist, which discourages investment and stirs up angry voters, who have no idea how economics really works.

The unwillingness of banks and financial organizations to loan money to people for business expansion or other things to stimulate the economy also has had an effect. Ironically, the same greedy people who contributed to the mess, continue to dominate our culture. They don't want any changes that might prevent the same thing from happening. But they have the power and money to influence voters, and they have done that very thing in the last year.

Secondly, our nation fought a war that cost Americans close to a billion dollars a week for eight years. To believe that this had no effect on our economy or the world's economy is amazing to me. Actually, it's more than just ignorance that refuses to look at this.

Last, fuel costs are close to $2.00 per gallon less than they were when the last administration allowed Big Oil to operate freely. The oil companies made triple digit profit gains during that administration, yet small businesses selling gas closed their doors because of how Big Oil did business.

There was no profit realized by many, and they lost their stations as a result. The Big Boys earned the big bucks here.

Given what happened, I am so shocked that voters want to return to the status quo: a time when the majority party not only declared war on Iraq, but they also threatened China, North Korea, Iran.

They also successfully alienated Russia. Some conservatives believe this to be a positive move. It isn't. We don't need any more wars. Nor do we need the negative relations with foreign countries.

Given infrastructural needs, a few things actually changed in the last few years in a positive light, enabling our economy to benefit. Roads, bridges, cities received money for much needed improvements. There were even attempts by George Bush to bolster and rebuild our power grid. It was a start. The current administration tried to do more.

Given our current debt, those winning this current election have promised to lower taxes at a time when we have domestic problems, which could signal disastrous consequences.

What bothers me and what angers me, is that they want to return to failed economic policies that not only cost Republicans the White House, but those same ideas cost "W's" father in the early 90's too. Trickle down economics has never worked.

No one wants their money to go downward to anyone else. They don't want taxes. They don't want infrastructural needs dealt with in a positive way. They don't want to do anything for our youth, who fight in the military. They want profits from wars.

I believe the danger of returning to failed policies will return us to a deeper economic downturn that we experienced before, but Republicans will "spin" their way out of that too. It will be the "liberals," who are at fault.

I made a decision tonight. There is no more room in my life for politics. This will be the last blog about this whole mess. It will also be my last election, where I take an active role, where I even vote.

I felt this way after the assassination of Bobby Kennedy. It's maybe difficult for a reader to understand me, because it's not that I am unpatriotic. I just can't stand to see leaders in office, who refuse to lead America and its citizens. These are the people who seem to be rising to power. Many of them do not have any intelligence, at least not enough to lead a major industrial nation. Their dedication is to Big Business and Special Interest Groups. This is what threatens our country. This is what threatens our form of government.

So for me, my insignificant vote, that I have cast uninterrupted since 1972, is officially at an end. I am finished with the whole mess. It angers my wife at my saying this, but I just don't have any more pain to give. I don't have any more patience for poor leadership. I don't have any more tolerance for people who promote an agenda of empty promises to the people they represent. I don't have any willingness to public servants with one goal: eventually to collect millions of dollars from those, who seek to control them and employ them as future lobbyists.

My decision is about me and my family. It's all about what I seek to do with my life.

So, to the facebook contributor, who believes he stopped communism with his vote tonight, and who obviously believes that all Democrats are communists, I have this to say: "have you ever really met one?"

I have. I spoke to a class of 35 sixteen-year-old Polish nationals in Berlin during an exchange I did during the early 80's. They asked me what I thought about communism, and I answered honestly, and it's what I still believe today.

I hate that form of government: one that fences their people into a system without recourse or escape, one that refuses to allow people personal freedoms, one that causes so much pain and frustration to those very citizens it should be serving.

After I made my comment, I also told them how much I respected the people, who suffered under those political conditions.

The class stood up and gave me a standing ovation. It took five minutes to get them to quiet down, and then they asked me about America. And I told them what a great nation it was, a country that tolerated people with different ideas and welcomed people from across the world. It held out open arms for human beings who needed a "leg up" in life, as they sought to escape tyrants and bad governments.

Here's another communist I met.

I talked with a man in Meissen, within former East Germany. And I met him just months after his government ceased to be a communist nation. He and his friends were disillusioned, sad, depressed. We talked. He knew I was an American. I knew he was a communist.

This was apparent to me during our talk: he knew I didn't like his preferred form of government. We left after shaking hands, and I told him something in German that made him smile: "One thing about it--you can be a communist within a free, democratic society, but you can't promote democracy within a communist nation."

He smiled. He wasn't suggesting that he was going to lead a coup in the near future. Nor was he gloating at the thought of helping communism rise again. The man just grinned after realizing what it meant to be free. Maybe it made him smile that I was so open about expressing that idea. I was frank, and we were honest with each other during our conversation.

Some people in America today don't understand this very important principle. It's almost like a number of fanatics want to force their own opinion down someone's throat every second during the day.

There is no tolerance. There is no compromise. There is no civility.

For the first time in my life, I am ashamed of people and how they react. I'm ashamed at how they treat others, how they embrace their own self-indulgence, how they confuse arrogance with patriotism.

I believed I taught students to help prevent future adults from making ignorant choices. I was naive, maybe even foolish, but it's actually worse than that. I was stupid. Being educated does not guarantee anything. History teaches that. I should have recognized it long ago.

The people I see react so ignorantly are educated people, intelligent people, passionate people. They just don't really honor what the Founding Fathers intended--a man's right to choose political and religious beliefs without intimidation. That's why people came to the New World.

So how do I exist for the rest of my life without becoming involved in what I view as a colossal waste of time. I will enjoy my grandchildren, regardless of what happens around our family. I will even help educate them, in the event that schools fail to do certain things I find important.

And in some time in the future, when people finally see the truth behind the deceptive rhetoric that exists, I will begin voting. But I will do it only if my vote counts.

I refuse to participate, because as a nation, we have become disenfranchised by politicians, who allow their votes to be purchased. We have a large number of them in Idaho, where one-party politics is alive and well.

Tonight I am finally free of the heartache I felt in the past. I refuse to let ignorant people affect my attitude about life. I will enjoy what matters most, and nothing else will consume any more of my time.

I learned this long ago: two reasons exist for not teaching a pig how to sing: 1) it's a waste of time, and 2) it irritates the pig.

For others who read this, I came from a Republican family. They voted that way for generations. I began that way, and suddenly, I saw what this party did to hurt education on the state level.

So do I ever vote for a Republican? Yes, there were two incredible men who served the Bonneville County area: Reed and John Hansen. They both eventually retired, and now they--according to what I know--passed away. They were good men, honorable men. But they died without a six or seven figure salary in DC and without many of the benefits of accepting money from powerful people. They were good men, who recognized the need for strong schools for our children. They were honorable men, who served like men did in the very beginnings of this great country.