Having been bombarded with politics for the past year and a half, I’ve concluded that politics has become the ongoing serial featured in the Saturday Matinee of entertainment.
I was, one time, many years ago, subjected to a “Really?” moment – that moment had little, on the surface, to do with politics. It was about grocers and came up in a conversation with a class mate while we were waiting for the bell to ring summoning us from the campus grounds to class.
We would sit out the lunch hour in conversation as we didn’t carry our lunch and didn’t have the where-with-all to pay the cost. Don’t get me wrong, we didn’t feel poor, that’s just the way of it. The education was free – though at times we did feel like we were being warehoused and baby sat being there, rather than educated.
The term I heard that day wasn’t much, in the general scheme. It was “Food Deserts”. At the time I couldn’t grasp the concept and none of us had a definition to explain much about it, and, truthfully, it had little meaning to any of us.
I forgot about it, mostly, over the years until a casual conversation in college mentioned it and a vague definition came through. Then I forgot about it again as it wasn’t in my sphere of interest.
Then dra-mama’s recession happened and Change. And all the hollowed big box stores built over the years began to close, collapse and disappear.
This morning I ran into an article, having first covered the national debt, current trade deficit, Trumps missing a debate there is no necessity for him to participate in . . .
The article. Yes. Well, the article was talking about Wally Worlds closings. A 150 of them. All over the place. But the article finally defined a Food Desert. It did.
The federal government considers a neighborhood a food desert if at least a fifth of residents live in poverty and a third live more than a mile from a supermarket in urban areas, or more than 10 miles in rural areas.
Another 31 neighborhoods in 15 states will also lack access to grocery stores after Walmart’s closures. But those aren’t as impoverished.
One never knows, do they. After all those years of education, and lack of real interest, all those jobs and living, I finally, stumble footed as it was into an item that explains it all.
I take exception to parts of the story. I do.
I’m still not poor.
Well, until I listen to a politician tell me how much better it would be if the government did for me.
Then I’m depressed and wish they’d go away and allow me to laugh at the puppies playing in the dust as I clean my rifle – or pictures of the same meaning float through my active imagination.
From the reaches,