The greatest orchestra ever assembled.

By Gery L. Deer

During my college years I played piano at restaurants to pay for school. Every Friday and Saturday night I entertained people as they dined from early evening until closing. In the summer, the crowds would tend to linger and, fortunately for me, the tip jar would need to be emptied more often. I often stayed well after closing and didn’t start the hour-long drive home to the family farm until well after 2 in the morning.
I always had a hard time getting to sleep and it was worse after a night like that. Thoughts raced through my head and kept me awake but that was helpful on the drive home. You would think that the long drive would help me calm down but it always seemed to go too quickly. I got in the car and before I knew it I had passed the corner post of the north fence that bordered our farm. As I approached the driveway, I steered my 1971 Mustang between the brick light posts that dutifully stood guard at each side. The car’s headlights illuminated the dark passage as the car dropped off the pavement and onto the quarter-mile long gravel driveway that led to the house. Just as I rounded the first turn in the driveway, I slipped the car into neutral and cut the engine.
The powerful heart of my old muscle car was snuffed out with the simple twist of the key. Then, like a submarine running silent beneath still water, I coasted the rest of the way down the long curvy gravel drive in relative silence. There was no one awake at this hour so I did my best to be considerate of that. My parents had long since gone to bed, though it wouldn’t be long before my Dad knew I was home. He could hear my car when I turned off the main road onto ours almost a mile away - even when he was asleep.
The first half of the driveway was lined with pine trees that canopied the route and always made me feel like I was passing through a long tunnel that led to a different world. That was just one of the things I always liked the farm in the summertime, especially at night. The smell of new hay drying in the field, the sound of the corn stalks crackling in the night breeze, and the relaxed demeanor of the animals as they grazed in almost total quiet seemed to rejuvenate me from my exposure to the bustle of the city. When the car finally stopped, I cranked down the driver’s side window and climbed out onto the hood. I rolled up my jacket and tucked it under my head, leaning back on the windshield so I could just lay there and stare up at the sky.
At night, the pitch-dark summer sky that hung over the farm was speckled with the pinpoint light of stars that seemed to be placed on a canvas stretched over the trees by some great being who’d been dabbling in abstract art. When there were no clouds and no moon, I could see the dusty path of the Milky Way overhead all speckled in white and blue and yellow and red. It was like someone had spilled a gigantic bottle of multicolored glitter on a massive piece of black felt. From time to time, in the later part of the summer, I would catch a glimpse of a shooting star or two. Of course what I called ‘silence’ was actually pretty noisy.
As if it were a planetarium show, nature had her own musical score to go with the spectacular view I had of the sky. As I watched the stars, the natural orchestra that surrounded me tuned up and began to play the overture. For a short time, just after sundown, it was quiet. Then, as if someone raised a curtain at just the right moment, the night-long serenade began. Lying there on the hood of my Mustang under a blanket of stars I was surrounded in the ratcheting sound of crickets filling the air from all directions. From the pond in the back field, like the bass clarinet in the philharmonic, the deep, throaty call of frogs courting their mates echoed through the valley.
The percussion section punctuated the frog song as the century-old oak tree nearby rang out like a tympani when an owl landed with a hard thud on one of the upper branches. In the bowels of the old tree, the owl’s white, downy chick was rousted from her sleep and began to screech her impatient hunger.
Off in the distance, one of the cattle groaned long and low as she maneuvered her calf to bed for the night. The wind played the treetops in harmony with this early morning melody. The pre-dawn winds were starting up as the eastern air began to warm with the rising sun. The orchestra was coming to the last measure now and the sun was about to enter, center stage. I saw the slight orange glow on the eastern horizon and the stars had already begun to disappear. This drive-in movie was about to end.
I looked at my watch. Geez, I thought, it’s four in the morning already. But now, I was calm. Now I could sleep. That was more than 20 years ago and the farm has changed a lot in that time. Back then, the excitement of the future lay before me and wouldn’t let me sleep for fear of missing something. Now the worries of life keep me awake at night. What I wouldn’t give to lie out there on the hood of that car again watching the best movie Hollywood never made and listening once more to the greatest orchestra ever assembled.

It's bad when illegal immigrants are leaving ...

According to a February 10th CNN report, construction worker Pedro Pablo, an illegal immigrant from Guatemala, came to the United States four years ago in hopes of providing a better income for his wife and five sons back home.

When he arrived in California Pablo found construction jobs plentiful but over the last year he has only worked three days. "I left my family and lost four years with them,” he told CNN reporters. “I will ask them to forgive me.”

How bad must it really get before Congress stops deliberating on pork spending and starts doing something that might actually have an effect on our economy? It’s easy for our representatives to sit in their offices, look at statistics and take our tax money for whatever they want, completely unaffected by the financial crisis facing the everyday citizen.

I find it disturbing when the morning news has a headline about illegal aliens who risked everything for a chance at “the American dream,” but are instead returning to the poverty they left behind because even they cannot find work.

I have but one thing to say: Mr. President, where’s that change you promised? Since the inauguration we’ve seen an increase in layoffs, business closures and food prices and, instead of money going to the people, it’s being slated for Wall Street fat cats, corporate execs and lobbying groups. I will give credit where it is due, however.

The president did put a cap on how much money a corporate executive can receive from the government bailout funds. Gee, it must be tough to survive on only a half-million bucks. How will they ever make it? (Yes, that was sarcastic.)

I may be mistaken, but flying off to Indiana and Florida for more meaningless soapbox speeches is only spending taxpayer money for nothing. I can’t even imagine how much jet fuel Air Force One uses on trips like that. The campaign is over, and, as you, Mr. President, are so fond of reminding Republicans, you won – and we’re still waiting.

To be fair, Congress must work to put together a viable solution but what the White House considers to be viable is laced with overspending – from both sides. The current House and Senate versions of economic stimulus bill are together more than 1,500 pages long. Buried in those pages are the billions of dollars intended to stimulate the economy but the waste lies shrouded in the tapestry of good deeds.

The people of America should be furious that our tax money is going, not to immediately prime the economy, but mostly to corrupt organizations like Acorn and projects like consolidated block grants for Puerto Rico and American Samoa (page 18, line 14 of the Senate version of the bill). The block grants include nutritional funding for children, which is not a bad thing of course. But what about a block grant for the children of unemployed parents in towns like Morain, Ohio where GM has closed a factory?

If that’s not enough short-sightedness on Capitol Hill, the Treasury Department has now authorized a second bailout for the banks in hopes of making credit more readily available to consumers. Wasn’t the first $700 billion supposed to do that? Oh wait, that went to executive office décor – sorry, my mistake.

In a way, I would love for our overpaid, egocentric representatives in Washington to have to walk in the shoes of their constituents. At the same time, I wouldn’t wish the stress and uncertainty on anyone – not even Congress. It seems like these people do not see themselves as accountable to the American public, at least not until the next election.

In his play about the life of King Henry V, Shakespeare said, “The King is not bound to answer the particular endings of his soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of his servant". We don’t have a king, but the people making our laws certainly see themselves that way sometimes. Dare they don the cloaks of common and walk amongst the people just once? I think not. It would be below most of them to have to share in the suffering of the people, however great or small it might be.

I wonder if Nancy Pelosi has to decide today whether to put gas in the car or buy milk for the kids? I kind of doubt it. Don’t worry Nancy, we’ll make it. We commoners are smarter than you give us credit. Speaking of credit, can I borrow $20 for gas?