We're all all right .... but this is our last chance

N.C. Wyeth -- "Robinson Crusoe" / 1920

My disdain for America resurfaces
Part 1 of 2 (or 3 or whatever)

This idea has been going through my head seriously for a month or two now, although the seed was planted more than a few years ago, and perhaps even a couple of decades ago.

Way back: I once knew a man who somehow had wrangled himself a job at two newspapers, one in Michigan and one in Florida. You probably can guess where this is going: Warm-weather months in Michigan and cold-weather months in Florida.

Last year: The idea of having a home in Europe and another in America was on my mind -- for more than one reason. The primary questions that never were resolved satisfactorily (to me) were exactly where -- in which European (yes, European, none other) country and city, and in which American state and ....

I awakened smiling this morning. One or two or, possibly, three of you reading this might know exactly what I mean with those words. In essence, it means I am happy, content and sort of pleased at this moment. Besides that, I have a couple of stories I want to write. Here is one:

I have told a few people this, but the more I think about it, the more unusual it seems. When I arrived in Poland last December, I went through customs at Frederic Chopin Airport in Warsaw and had my passport stamped. That was the only time my passport was out of my pocket until I departed Frederic Chopin Airport in Warsaw in April.

During this time span, I stayed in an apartment complex which made arrangements for me to arrive on a day there were no other guests present and the entire staff was on holiday. A manager met my companion and I at the front door, showed us around, handed us keys not only to our room, but to the front door, and left. We had the place, which included a couple of buildings with three or four restaurants, to ourselves if we chose to go roaming. No identification requested, no payment necessary. Simply, welcome to Warsaw. Enjoy your stay.

I initially was scheduled to stay there for a week, but kept modifying my plans. And, until I decided to leave after two weeks for a private apartment elsewhere, no one even asked me to pay a penny for the suite I had been occupying. By the way, no passport or any form of identification was requested to rent the second, private apartment, either.

Then, there was the bank incident. Somewhere on a path between ignorance and incompetence, a major American bank with a nationwide system froze one of my accounts. A small-town bank in America and a major Polish bank in Warsaw got me through that mess, which lasted about a week. No identification was required at the Polish bank during this dilemma, either.

Beyond that, the nationwide American bank went so far as to ignore contact not only from me and my so-called "personal banker," but from my attorney in America. Only after five or six days and I finally had said I would be on my way to the American consulate in Warsaw the next day, did the issue mysteriously resolve itself.

Here is a country, Poland, that not even twenty years ago had the Soviet Army still occupying it -- and, I was, feeling free as a bird. Back in my so-called homeland, in America, a nation which supposedly set everyone free during 18th and 19th century processes, I have to prove my identification, fill out an application emphasizing very personal information and often provide references to rent a car or to begin visits to a dentist or to rent an apartment or to board an aircraft. Only a nation of idiots, I believe, would submit to this sort of treatment.

As you can see, my old disdain toward life in 21st Century America is returning. This place has ceased to be a republic. No doubt about it. The power mongers rule. Time for a change for me again, even if only temporary. Yes-s-s-s, it is pretty obvious that I am working myself up to getting the hell out of Dodge again.

So then, after this mini-tirade, I think I might write about my mini-adventure on the return flight from Poland to America. Some few individuals have heard part of this story, but no one other than Benny and White Bear has heard it all and, as usual, White Bear took a nap while I was telling it so he is rather uninformed, too.

A clue: The word, "guns," came up .... twice .... once at the Warsaw airport, and again on the flight.