Scottish Separatism: The United Kingdom Nearly Died for Maggies Sins

The vote for Scotland to leave the UK, which barely failed to pass, kind of snuck up on me and I haven’t had the chance to really dig into.  I do find it fascinating….

There is a great article on the Huffington Post by Robert Kuttner that I’m finding to be a great place to start.

Here is a brief excerpt and a link to the full article.

 

Now commentators all across the spectrum are pronouncing that the old United Kingdom is as good as dead. The independence referendum failed, but in order to placate the Scots, London will have to concede far more regional autonomy. The regional parliaments of Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland will gain far more power, leaving the awkward question of whether little England should get its own parliament too.

The Brits can thank Maggie Thatcher for all that. It was Thatcher who set the U.K. onto a course where British extremes of inequality rival those of the United States, and where valued public institutions are being tossed on the rubbish heap. It was policies set in motion by Thatcher and her successors that finally promoted the Scottish revolt.

via The United Kingdom Nearly Died for Maggies Sins | Robert Kuttner.

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Chapter 85: The Tiger at 2:00 a.m. | My Southern Gothic Life

New post up on my other blog….

Chapter 85: The Tiger at 2:00 a.m. | My Southern Gothic Life.

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Tell Thom Tillis…

This is a great series of ads from Kay Hagan….

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Chapter 84: The Last of the Great Southern Ladies

I’m thinking tonight of a dying breed. The true “Southern Lady”. Even the definition of a Southern Lady is a challenge. Some see her as a weak, charming delicate flower. Most of us know “Steel Magnolias” is an understatement.

Let me begin by saying, no reference is intended to reflect any real person living or dead. I’m talking about my fictional friend “Sally Anne” who is an amalgamation of many ladies I have been privileged to know…

Sally Anne is a tough broad. Or she would be if I was writing a film noir script about a Yankee girl. “Tough Broad” is frequently viewed as a term contradictory to “Southern Lady”. That is a mistake.

“Southern Ladies” are “Tough Broads” with a better publicist.

They have it all…and get away with murder. Frequently in fact as well as in fiction.

They have that proverbial iron fist hidden in the velvet glove. They have the scent of “moonlight and magnolias” that can hide a desperate heart and desperate actions. They know their power is really in what they seem to be instead in what the are- up to a point- and have the balls to cross the line when necessary.

And some have the guts to just be who they are….

Remember, Scarlett O’Hara married a man she didn’t love, killed a Yankee soldier, stole her sister’s fiancé, all but slept with her best friend’s husband and still saved both Tara and her reputation. And is still the “Gold Standard” for Southern Ladies

A true Southern Lady has more balls than any Southern Man.

My fictional Sally Anne would be the person I called when my Father was dying one of many deaths in a hospital out of town. She would insist on going with me and sleeping on the floor while we waited…

She would have been the person I called when I was a twentysomethting emotional mess after he died and wrecked my car, late at at night, and said “come over here” we will fix it in the morning. And had the contacts and experience to do so…

She would never have said a word about any of this…

She would have loved her Father and her family no matter how many “Jerry Springer” moments there might have been. Because she loved them…

My Sally Anne would have been real. Very real. She might have said “fuck” as often as others said “hello” and allegedly might have gone water skiing naked at Smith Mountain Lake on the Fourth of July, but she was a true “Southern Lady.”

Why?

Because, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t hide how much she cared about other people.

And because no matter how many times she might behave “inappropriately”, she had the heart and soul of a champion.

She cared about other people.

Deeply.

She always tried to be there for them and take care of them…

No matter how hard she tried to hide it.

That’s what would make Sally Anne the last of the “Great Southern Ladies”…..

And why I’m glad she is a character on this blog….

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Chapter 83: Comrades in Arms | My Southern Gothic Life

I posted a new post on my other blog a couple of days ago.

Here is an excerpt and a link to the full post:

 

It seems every generation has their wars; some are just more obvious than others.

I’ve been reading a biography of the poet Siegfried Sassoon and studying the British “War Poets” of the First World War.  Stories of young men struggling with the realities of war and trying to reconcile them with the peaceful, conventional world they were fighting to preserve.  Many of them were young men trying to reconcile their sexuality with the roles they were raised to play in a world that was fast disappearing.

In theory, my generation had no wars.  We were too young for Vietnam and too old for the first Gulf War.  I remember being in my early teens when the Vietnam War ended.  I remember being outside as fireworks exploded and everyone tried to make merry over the fact the Paris Peace Accords had ended a war no one had really wanted by then.  I remember my neighbor, whose son had safely survived the conflict, hugging me and saying:  “I’m so glad you won’t have to go to war.  You are safe.  We can all get back to normal.”

More:   Chapter 83: Comrades in Arms | My Southern Gothic Life.

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Chapter 82: A Death in the Family | My Southern Gothic Life

I’ll be relaunching this blog soon, but in the meantime, here is a new post on my other blog:

 

Chapter 82: A Death in the Family | My Southern Gothic Life.

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My Southern Gothic Life | When I was younger I could remember anything, whether it happened or not; but I am getting old, and soon I shall remember only the latter. (Mark Twain)

New post up on my other blog.

Here is an excerpt and a link to the full post:

 

My Father has been a peripheral character in this blog.  It is very difficult for me to write about him.  Mainly, because of our complicated relationship that was ultimately unresolved due to his early death.  He died in 1983 when I was 24 years old and he was 54.  We had a complex relationship that, 30 years later, I am still trying to understand.

via My Southern Gothic Life | When I was younger I could remember anything, whether it happened or not; but I am getting old, and soon I shall remember only the latter. (Mark Twain).

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