My Cousin Elmo says, “They said all I needed was to wear a mask to enter the store. They lied. Everyone else had clothing on.”

On March 22, I posted a fiction story called “Consent,” about the US Postal Services app, “Informed Delivery,” spying on a person. Now, this has come to light, as reported by Yahoo News.

The US Postal Service is tracking social media posts as part of a secret program searching for “inflammatory” messages. The program, known as the Internet Covert Operations Program (iCOP) had not been made public and involves analysts combing through social media sites looking for “inflammatory” postings and then sharing those posts with government agencies.

ICOP specifically tracks protests across the country. A March 16 government bulletin, marked as “law enforcement sensitive,” shows that “analysts with the United States Postal Inspection Service (USPIS) Internet Covert Operations Program (iCOP) monitored significant activity regarding planned protests occurring internationally and domestically on March 20, 2021.”

“iCOP analysts are currently monitoring these social media channels for any potential threats stemming from the scheduled protests and will disseminate intelligence updates as needed,” the bulletin says.

So much for fiction and freedom.

This world is not my reality. I come from another time, another place, different from this one.

First, let me say that I use the words “man,” “his,” and “he,” because from where I originate, those are proper pronouns for the male of my species. Please feel free to substitute the ‘pronoun’ of your liking while reading this.

Also, where I am from, a man carries a wallet, his keys, sometimes a pocket knife, sometimes a handkerchief, a pocket watch, or wears a wristwatch. In this reality, however, he is almost always forced to have a cellphone on his person.

The cellphone throws everything off balance. It throws me off balance.

Perhaps if I got rid of it, I could return to where I belong.

so invisible am I
that I cannot behold my own
broken reflection

My Cousin Elmo says, “If kingdoms are ruled by kings and empires are ruled by emperors, then countries…”

It doesn’t take very much to leave me feeling accomplished.

It was early still when I began working on the front yard sprinklers, which still need more adjusting before they stop watering the sidewalk and driveway. By the time the sun fully crested the mountains to my east, it was time to head inside and get another cup of coffee.

No longer wet or chilled, I started rewriting and editing all four news stories I had put together from the night before. It’s a great feeling to have my weekly assignments finished and ready for publishing.

Once I finished that task, I grabbed the four weeks’ worth of past newspapers and started cutting them up. Before long, I had all my stories clipped and the ten pages they filled glue into my scrapbook.

At lunchtime, I got caught up in my journal. I had worked on my news stories for so long last night that I went to bed without writing anything about yesterday’s events.

Finally, Buddy (our dog) and I took a walk through the neighborhood. He was so excited, he forgot his leash training.

The walk was good for me too, as I can always use the exercise.

My Cousin Elmo says, “Silly me, I thought changing the picture on a pancake mix’s box was going to bring about World peace.”

My Cousin Elmo says, “My wife asked me to take her someplace expensive. I took her to the lumber yard.”

Though hundreds of miles and four-and-a-half decades from where I am now, this tale of murder and the hunt for justice within one family hits close to my childhood.

Mummified remains, covered in a quicklime mixture, were found along the North Canadian River, near Jones, Oklahoma, on April 18, 1980. Investigators learned that the victim, a female, had been shot three times elsewhere, then discarded by the riverbank.

The medical examiner estimated that she was between 18 and 25, five feet six inches tall, and weighed between 115 and 120 pounds. She had a heart and ribbon tattoo above her left breast and an appendectomy scar and was dead about ten days.

One of the wounds contained clothing fiber and a dime, driven into her chest by a .45 caliber bullet. Because quicklime was spread over her in a possible attempt to accelerate decomposition, she became known as the Lime Lady.

Investigators used traditional techniques to attempt to identify her, but all efforts failed. Finally, in 2014, viable DNA was extracted and the Doe Project began testing in 2019, generating a usable profile by year’s end.

On January 30, 2020, Tamara Lee Tigard finally got her name back.

Tamara was born in Alameda, California, on April 18, 1959. Incidentally, that is the date on which she was first found dead in 1980.

She joined the U.S. Army following high school, attaining the rank of Specialist E-4. It remains unclear if she had already been mustered from the Army or was still in.

She married Chadwick Ryan Carr, who was last known to be living in Tennessee, on February 24, 1979, in Las Vegas. Accounts vary as to whether they were divorced or not.

She was seen last on March 21, 1980, in Las Vegas, on a walk.

Her immediate family, Patsy and James Tigard, and sister, Cynthia Butts are deceased. Meanwhile, Tamara is interred in an Oklahoma Cemetery under a brass marker that, aside from her name, year of birth and death, and branch of service, “Beloved Daughter and Sister.”

Tamara is a cousin of Patricia Ann Tigard, a woman I grew up with and who was found murdered in October 1976 and left like so much trash near the Smith River along Hwy 199, between Crescent City and Hiouchi, California. Her murder remains unsolved because her killer is widely believed to be already dead.

Today is Tamara’s birthday. She would be 62-years-old.

The investigation into Tamara’s murder is ongoing. If you have any information, call the Oklahoma County Sheriff’s Office at (405) 713-1017.

My Cousin Elmo says, “The only reason God created the monkey is that He was disappointed in the man.”