Driven crazy

Editor's Note: Commedienne Pam Stone writes her column for The Tryon Daily Bulletin twice each month from her office in the "Unabomber Shack" on her Gowensville farm. Want a chance to respond to this column? Go to Pam’s blog at www.tryondailybulletin.com.

I have a slight beef regarding driving as late. May I vent? Thank you.

First of all, I don't really enjoy driving our dually truck. As an environmentally-minded gal, I hate it (although, being diesel, it manages to free-base about 22 mpg) but it is a necessity when you have horses and a nursery. It is purely a work vehicle and I'd much rather drive the Honda except that trying to load hay and feed into the back of it can only be compared to trying to squeeze Tommy Lasorda into a speedo. Sure, you might be able to do it, but it's way too hot for that kind of work.

If there's one thing I can't understand, it's this: if you don't have livestock or you're not an electrician, why on earth are you driving a Ford Behemoth, anyway? I have a friend who swears she feels safer. Given the rate of deaths by roll-overs, this doesn't make much sense to me. What I suppose Ford or Chevy could honestly advertise is that they can at least guarantee you an open-casket funeral. You'll be dead but your hair will look great.

The most obnoxious part about driving our truck is trying to park, er, dock. As I circle the Bi-Lo on a Saturday afternoon, I literally have to pass on at least three or four spaces that I can't squeeze into. Sometimes I have to park at a distance, another area code, if I want to finish shopping by midnight. So imagine my delight after wheeling this whale around the parking lot when I see the perfect spot, the perfect spot, and it's right next to the store. Delighted by this berth, I maneuver the dually into the space only to see the sign: "Reserved for new parents" What?! Are you kidding me?

Now listen, obviously I support the Handicapped Signs. But a new parent can also be a huge, hulking, father who can carry his six offspring on one arm and clearly doesn't need to be this close to the store! I mean, let's be fair then: what about a sign for me? How about "Reserved for exhausted horse trainer who is now going to be subjected to your screaming kids in the store aisles?" Yes, a little wordy, but you get my point. I just unloaded twenty bales of hay, cleaned stalls, worked three horses, taught two lessons, swept the barn aisle, cleaned tack, and I'll trade that weariness any day for unbuckling Missy out of her car seat, thank you very much.

I suppose there are but two solutions. Number one: ditch the truck or, number two, get pregnant. Or maybe put a Clemson cap on the terrier and strap her into a car seat. Hell, that's the way I use the carpool lane…

Extreme Religion!

Editor's Note: Commedienne Pam Stone writes her column for The Tryon Daily Bulletin twice each month from her office in the "Unabomber Shack" on her Gowensville farm. Want a chance to respond to this column? Go to Pam’s blog at www.tryondailybulletin.com.

Well, why not? We have extreme snow-boarding, cycling, and, really, religion's been extreme for years. The Crusades, The "Troubles" in Northern Ireland, Henry's split with the Pope, fifty thousand Huguenots slaughtered in France, Eric Rudolph blowing up family planning clinics, Olympic Park (all of these come under the heading of Christian examples, by the way), and now, most recently, Islamic fundamentalist extremists. Different religions, same approach: "You do not agree with me? Then I kill you all. Now, let us pray." It's almost comedic if not so mortifying. Each generation witnesses horror. I suppose it's our turn...

And yet we continue, in our own, personal, ways, to follow. Whether it be to twice Sunday services, a Wednesday evening Bible study, praying five times daily (now that is self discipline. I usually only get half way through the Lord's Prayer before dozing off...) to Allah, plugging through Hebrew classes in the fifth grade... we're all searching, we're all seeking comfort and guidance.

Suddenly, there's another newsflash: the latest image of the Virgin Mary has been seen under an overpass. That is an improvement since the image before that was a cheese sandwich and, before that, on a screen door. I can't tell you how happy I am when I read these items in the paper. It stops me dead in my tracks before I can fall prey to bigotry and point a finger at Islam and say, "These people are maniacs."
Because the overwhelming majority are not and it's heartening to see the moderates speak up against those that continue to pursue murder and mayhem. I reflect upon my Muslim uncle (a most mild and charming man) and the waiter in Las Vegas who, after several return engagements, became my friend as he was always working the late shift that I took advantage of after a show. I am always ravenous after a show. And it's got to be scrambled eggs with cheese and raisin toast. Don't ask me why. It's the only time I eat it, ever.

Mohammed and I discuss politics between decaf refills or when it's slow on the floor and he has a chance to talk. He shows me where he is able to commit to his praying, in a tiny alcove that houses the coffee machine and silverware. His prayer rug is rolled up and leans against the wall behind the door. It is touching. He is so spiritually evolved and intellectual that it is a constant challenge to keep up with him. What I can confirm is that his message is peace. Always. That what must be chosen is the ballot, not the bullet, and everyone in every country has a moral obligation to closely follow foreign policy and witness how it affects the world.
I haven't seen Mohammed in a couple of years. I don't even know if he still waits tables at Harrahs. I've been mostly home doing my radio job and teaching dressage.
When breaking news shows another day of indiscriminate violence and bloodshed, I do send a fleeting thought his way and on Sundays, as I dress for church, my eyes linger over the delicate bracelet that he gave me as a gift when he returned from a trip to Egypt with his children. I had crumpled into the chair at my usual table, bleary eyed after performing three shows on a Saturday night to packed houses of people who had just lost their kids' college funds at the Craps Table, when he approached me with a tiny parcel. "I am so glad to see you again!" he said, placing the box next to my dinner plate. "I saw this on my visit and thought you would like it."

The bracelet is thin and plain with the exception of the engravings of the symbols of Christianity, Islam and Judaism, all entwined. It's not real silver and it was probably around five bucks. But it is one of the most valuable things I own.

So when we all watched the recent, frightening, news of two London Mercedes, laden with bombs and the same people trying in vain to ram the Jeep Cherokee through the Glasgow Airport doors, I thought, "Well, Mohammed, we pray different prayers but I know both our prayers were answered."

Because both terrorist attempts were largely unsuccessful.

There is reason to rejoice.