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Send a letter to the editor to P.O. Box 1600, Dawsonville, GA 30534; fax (706) 265-3276; or email to editor@dawsonnews.com.
DawsonOpinion
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 28, 2022
This is a page of opinion — ours, yours and
others. Signed columns and cartoons are the
opinions of the writers and artists, and they
may not reflect our views.
Junior E. Lee
takes a look
at Y2KXXIII
The new year is
upon us. 2023. It
seems like only
yesterday that we
were up at mid
night on New
Year’s Eve, 1999,
DICKYARBROUGH
Columnist
wringing our
hands at what
catastrophes might await us at the begin
ning of Y2K - the year 2000. It was thought
there could be a problem in the coding of
computerized systems that would create
chaos in computers and computer networks
around the world as the year 2000 made its
presence known. Some even predicted our
telephone network and power grid would
blow up as a result. It didn’t happen. As we
approach Y2KXXIII, I am still getting calls
wanting to extend the warranty on a car I
don’t own and Georgia Power is still hosing
its customers.
Had the Yarbrough Worldwide Media
and Pest Control Company, located in
Greater Garfield, Georgia, been around in
those days I doubt there would have been
all that handwringing. That is because the
world had not yet been introduced to Junior
E. Lee, one of the nation’s preeminent
media analysts as well as a pest control pro
fessional. Junior would have said that our
computers crashing was about as likely as a
Bilobed Looper singing selections from
Handel’s Messiah. Junior is famous for his
pest control tropes.
There is no other organization I know of
that has a preeminent media analyst who is
also a pest control professional. Listen to
Rachel Maddow or Tucker Carlson blather
on about whatever and then ask them if
they know the difference between
Sicariidae and Scutigeridae and see the
blank look on their faces.
I called Junior this week because I knew
you would be anxious to get his take on
what Y2KXXIII has in store for us. I found
him out at Arveen Ridley’s place spraying
for cow ticks. He told me he had not yet
finished his analysis of our highly-antici
pated Round-or-Square poll (“You provide
the dough and we will cook the numbers.”)
but there were several trends developing
that he found of interest and thought you
would, too.
First off, Junior E. Lee thinks that some
where along about the middle of August,
Donald Trump will have ran out of people
to insult and will be forced to demean
Beanie Babies. (“Pongo is a stupid penguin.
Just stupid. And fake. Terribly fake. He has
never supported me. Pongo doesn’t appreci
ate all the incredible things I did for pen
guins during the China vims. He’s a bad
penguin. Really bad.”)
As for our current president, Junior says
that after trying to locate a dead congress-
woman at recent speech and asking a
wheelchair-pound state senator to “stand
up, let the people see you,” don’t be sur
prised if Joe Biden compliments Gerald
Ford for all the electric vehicles he is pro
ducing at his factory in Detroit.
I asked Junior E. Lee if the poll showed
some interesting trends developing in
Georgia. Ever the pest control professional,
he said he thinks woodpeckers will eat an
increasing number of Emerald Ash Borers
this year before they can mess up anymore
of our trees. I told him I knew you would
find that fascinating but what about our
economy?
Junior said while our state is in excellent
shape financially, the poll indicates that we
can save even more money. He says we are
wasting paint putting lines down the middle
of our highways because nobody ever goes
north. They all come south. I didn’t want to
offend Junior, but that is nothing new.
In the category of sports, Junior E. Lee
thinks the new football coach at the You-
Know-Where Institute of Technology may
have sniffed a bad bunch of malathion. The
guy claims he is going to “dominate” his
opponents, including the University of
Georgia. I asked him what the polls show
regarding that possibility. Junior said it was
about as likely to happen as a Bilobed
Looper singing selections from Handel’s
Messiah. Junior and his pest control tropes
again.
There was so much more I wanted to ask
Junior but he said he was in a hurry to get
to Aunt Flossie Felmer’s and poke around
in her drawers. He claims he is looking for
fire ants. Frankly, I think Junior spends too
much in Aunt Flossie’s drawers but I don’t
say anything. Finding a preeminent media
analyst who is also a pest control profes
sional is not that easy. I mean, can you see
Rachel Maddow or Tucker Carlson crawl
ing around in your basement, spraying
hexaflumuron to try and get rid of termites?
I didn’t think so. Happy Y2KXXIII.
You can reach Dick Yarbrough at dick@dickyar-
brough.com; at P.O. Box 725373, Atlanta, GA
31139; online at dickyarbrough.com or on
Facebook at vwwv.facebook.com/dickyarb.
DR. ANDERSON
Ukraine police a little different from ours
By Dr. Larry Anderson
Anderson Family Medicine
The law enforcement in Ukraine is a
little different from what we have here.
The National Police is the law enforce
ment agency for the country. Cities and
areas still have a chief of police, but it is
all under the National Police.
Five years ago, a serious change was
taking place. Reform to rid the system
of corruption was begun. Many officers
resigned or were fired. The Houston,
Texas, police department was asked to
come and train everyone. Everyone
went through training.
Houston was very professional, and
policing took on a new face. The
National Police is very proud of the new
direction it has taken. You can see it in
the way they act with each other and
with the public. I went with the major
who heads the Domestic Violence sec
tion as he delivered food and gifts from
his personal car to underserved families.
His police vehicle was in for repairs.
This is a profound change as to how the
public perceives the police.
The blackout in the country did not
exclude the police stations. We used
flashlights at times to navigate through
their offices. This means that their base
radios were not working and they relied
on portable radios for communications.
Unfortunately most only had a range of
2 kilometers or 1.2 miles. In the city,
that was not too bad, but those out in the
countryside were not always in range of
other officers. That could be a problem.
The National Police also started a
Human Rights division. This was to
assure that rights were not being violat
ed. Each area had an officer assigned to
them, but they were only responsible to
the National Police office.
In one district, the Human Rights offi
cer was a lieutenant colonel, and the
officer in charge of the region was a
general. She did not report to him.
Yes, you read that right. In most areas
that I visited, there were up to 50 %
female officers on duty. This was not
affirmative action but a purposeful rec
ognition of ability regardless of gender.
The Ukrainian women are not shy about
stepping up to the plate and taking part
in keeping their country safe or fighting
with the military.
The desire to have their country free
of the invading Russians runs strong.
Everyone is doing their part. Support
Ukraine. If we don’t stop them there,
then where will we stop them? Be Safe.
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2023 is time for a normal, boring year
As we wrap up
this year, I’ve been
doing a lot of
reflecting on just
how the year has
gone and how dif
ferently things
have been over the
last few years.
The last time Christmas felt
remotely normal was 2019.
We went to Christmas Eve
service, even though it wasn’t
our church but it felt magical
to be out at night and see the
lights, to hear the sermon, to
have hope.
When we left, we thought
we’d get something to eat but
all the restaurants were closed
and so was the grocery store,
so we got snacks at the gas sta
tion that was still open.
Nachos. candy, and aloe waters
made it feel like it was a fes
tive, joyful Christmas
Then in 2020, the pandemic
hit and everything seemed
upside down and sideways. I
was scared. I wasn’t worried
about myself, not even a little
bit, but I was worried about my
mom and my uncle two hours
away. Bobby had cancer and
heart problems but never told
me how serious things were.
Mama was a cancer survivor. I
worried about them both and
how they’d get groceries and
everything when things were
so uncertain and so scary.
We didn’t get together dur
ing those holidays.
For Bobby’s birthday, I got
him a TV since the one I had
bought him 15 years earlier
was not able to display the
HD programs well. Cole and I
got up one morning and took
it to him. Cole setting it up for
him. Bobby grinned broadly
behind his mask, saying it was
“all right, all right.” which
meant he was tickled about
his gift.
I didn’t know that a few
weeks later, we’d lose Ava,
our sweet German Shepherd
— maybe the
sweetest dog I’ve
ever known. She
had been sick for
a while, a long
time actually, but
it had progressed
over the last few
months.
It got to the point we were
taking her to the vet weekly,
sometimes a couple of times a
week. All they did was throw
one prescription after another
at the symptoms, never telling
us what it was but we feel like
it was cancer.
She passed away on our
bedroom floor, surrounded by
all of us as her heart took its
last beat.
I was angry at 2020 and
cursed it, screaming profani
ties in between my sobs.
The next year, just as we’d
think things were easing up,
we’d get a new lockdown or
warning or a new strain to
contend with.
Mama worried. I worried,
too, but again, mostly about
her and Bobby.
“I don’t want you to get it.”
she’d say. “I don’t know what
I’d do if anything happened to
my baby.”
I get it. I do. A parent wor
ries non-stop. As in unceas
ingly. To say we don’t is a lie
we tell ourselves.
But I assured her I was like
Granny and too mean to catch
anything. “Remember how
Granny said Old Scratch him
self was scared of her? Well, I
am Helen 2.0—just as mean,
with new. improved methods
of meanness.”
Mama tsked tsked at me,
not wanting me to make light
of something so serious.
The year went along and I
thought maybe we’d see a bit
of normalcy in some regards. I
was able to take a course
through work to earn a board
certification I had wanted for
a while — for free.
Then as I was preparing for
the boards, I got the text that
changed so much.
“Sudie, we’ve had a wreck.”
I immediately went into
panic mode — were they OK?
What happened? Where were
they?
I immediately took off to
check on them. Bobby had a
broken wrist but claimed to be
OK; he thought he’d be fine.
Mama had a crack in her chest
bone and it hurt so bad she
couldn’t get up out of a chair
or lift anything. I drove back
and forth several times a
week, thankful that I had sick
leave and vacation days and
that my boss was so support
ive in working with me to
schedule them.
But Bobby wasn’t OK. A
few weeks later after he had
gone to the hospital due to the
pain, he was finally trans
ferred to the VA. He had
always received good care
there and we hoped — we
believed — if he had made it
there he’d be okay. But Mama
called me at 3 a.m. to give me
horrible, heartbreaking news.
I screamed into my pillow
and sobbed, only stopping to
deal with the arrangements
and the whole business side of
death that is so numbing but
has to be done.
Days, weeks, months
passed, and I was in a grief
fog. Mama was too.
I thought — hoped —
things were going to maybe
shift a bit and be better.
On the anniversary of his
passing, I had requested the
day off. I had a different boss
than the one I had the year
before but she understood.
“We’ve got a light week that
week; so take as much time as
you need.”
As we headed towards
Mama’s, my phone started
pinging with texts from my
co-workers talking about an
email we had received about a
Zoom meeting that had been
put on our calendars for that
day. I was trying to stay in the
loop about what was going on
as I was taking Mama to run
her errands and finally an hour
later, one of my colleagues
responded with: “We were
just all laid off.”
I think at this point, I was in
shock.
Mama asked me later if I
cried.
“Not yet,” I told her.
She told me she had cried,
because when you’re a parent,
you do that. You cry tears
about things that impact your
children that you have abso
lutely no control over.
I cried later though. I cried
when Doodle needed emer
gency surgery — but Mama
thankfully helped with that
since I was laid off. I cried
when a job that seemed prom
ising and was too good to be
true turned out to be a total
scam. I cried when I went
through two rounds of intense
interviews for a position that
seemed absolutely perfect for
me yet passed me over for the
next round. I did a lot of cry
ing. And screaming into the
universe about how unfair
things were and how the last
few years have been nothing
short of a train wreck driven
by circus clowns that collided
with a dumpster fire.
It’s been a really rough last
few years — for all of us.
I don’t know what 2023
holds. I don’t. I do know this.
I hope and pray that it is bor
ingly normal, whatever that
may be, and that it brings all
of us some much needed and
overdue joy.
Sudie Crouch is an award
winning humor columnist and
author of the e-published
novel, "The Dahlman Files: A
Tony Dahlman Paranormal
Mystery."
SUDIE CROUCH
Columnist