tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87486092024-03-07T22:25:57.528-05:00HERMALANDLife is what happens when you have planned something else.
Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14199189333673948801noreply@blogger.comBlogger362125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-52269689516505615252010-07-17T13:53:00.003-04:002010-07-17T14:49:14.066-04:00BLOWING IN THE WIND!They risk their lives in the blazing sun and there are bodies strewn in the pathways. The landscape is barren, no water to be found, and yet they keep coming, determined to reach their goal. Those who don't make it are left behind to wither and rot in the sun, until there is nothing left but a pile of bones to indicate what was once a human being. <br /><br /> The problem of Illegal Immigrants has been left undetermined for so long that the stream of people crossing the border has become a way of life. Border guards do their best, but the border is so long that it is impossible to guard it. Even the National Guard has been unable to halt the flow. Some of those who come across are very unsavory people, drug lords, prostitutes, pimps, and children to be sold into sexual slavery. On the other hand, most of the immigrants are just ordinary people, desperate to escape the poverty and violence that go unchecked in Mexico.<br /><br /> It is an angry, violent land. In some spots, tourists enjoy the sights and sample the food, in other places entire families are shot and killed by invading drug lords. Some towns are so terrorized, the citizens live in fear. Calling the police or the military doesn't help, because so many of them are sympathetic to the outlaw groups who brandish guns and kill for no reason.<br /><br /> In this unhappy, violent land, who can blame these people for leaving? If Americans were in the same circumstances and a better life were available in Canada, we'd all start walking immediately, driven by desperation. We'd work at any jobs we could find, we'd work for lower wages. We'd thankfully send our paycheck home to help feed the children. We'd live twenty to a room and put up with inconveniences, happy to be in a land where violence didn't strike with every sunset.<br /><br /> How different things would have been had we welcomed these strangers! Suppose we had said to them, "We lift the lamp beside the Golden Door!" Instead of this, we watched this horde arrive with resentment and discrimination. We resented basic services they were given, lest babies be born on sidewalks or people die on the streets. <br /><br /> Along the way, Americans have developed a rosy picture of former immigrants, of those people who passed through Ellis Island and made their way in a new land. Hard-working, proud, wonderful people who left their sweat on the landscape, farming soil, chopping trees and carving out our country. This is only partially true, as with every human being, there were also those who weren't so savory, who were horsethieves, malingerers, bullies and criminals. As with every group of humans, some were good people, some not so good, but Americans seem to have canonized our settlers and compared them to Mexicans, whom they feel are primarily drug dealers and dealers in sexual slavery, theories promoted by people like Lou Dobbs and other Media fearmongers.<br /><br /> There are no people as generous as Americans. They extend a helpful hand to all who are in need of assistance. When Haiti suffered from the ruin of a violent earthquake, Americans reached in their pockets to donate millions of dollars. Other disasters have strummed the hearttrings of American donors. They give freely and generously, except to Mexicans. <br /><br /> Americans feel that Mexicans are taking American jobs and nothing irritates them more than to hear some politician talk about "jobs Americans won't do!" They also feel that Mexicans are draining the country of its resources and, with many Americans needing help themselves, they resent what is given to Mexicans. What is even more important is the attitude of the Illegals, who insist that portions of our country belong to them. Undoubtedly, one could counter this with the fact that, if we took the Southland from the Mexicans, they in turn took the territory from the Indians. There are stories of American flags being held upside down and replaced with Mexican flags and supposedly, children are being taught that several states really belong to Mexico.<br /><br />This hasn't helped the situation at all and has helped lead to Arizona's Law, which gives the police the right to check Identification and citizenship. The person failing this test is then sent back to Mexico, without a thought as to what he or she is being returned to face. Let's admit it, Illegal Immigrants are refugees, fleeing from poverty, from near starvation, from lack of jobs and the murderous raids of drug lords. They live in a battered, shattered land with no hope for the future and want to live what is called the "American Dream." That this Dream is slightly askew these days is being truthful. It is worn by Recession, joblessness, homelessness and the bitter taste of financial failure in the mouths of most Americans.<br /><br />Arizona is wrong to pass such a law, because this is the duty of the Federal Government. The Arizona Law is just plain unConstitutional. It isn't the Law itself that is the worry, it's the repercussions of such legislation. If we bend even one rule in the U.S. Constitition, then the rest of it is worthless. We must uphold that document in order to strengthen and abide by it. Failing this, we have nothing but a useless piece of paper. We would have no union, no United States of America. Any State who disagreed on any subject could then pass legislation to follow their own path. We fought that long and arduous battle once before in our tumultous history. There is no sense in fighting it again. The Constitution must remain like a companionpiece to the Holy Bible. We can't afford to allow one state to try to change the rules. It is the precedence of the Arizona Law that makes it so dangerous. It could lead to the loss of Civil Rights, our Freedoms and the equality of every human being. <br /><br />In the meantime, let us insist that the government take action. Let us insist that politics and partisanship be set aside to solve this problem, a problem so raw and violent that it is bleeding harsh resentment and anger into the heart of America, an open sore that will not heal! Let us cover that wound and solve this problem before our Constitution is torn apart and shredded into bits of paper and tossed into the raging wind.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-39926161411641937772010-07-05T14:52:00.004-04:002010-07-05T15:46:22.654-04:00THE THINGS THAT COUNT!My feet ached for the first five years of my life and I blame it on the fact that they crammed my feet into Helma's shoes. She had tiny feet and only wore a size 4 even when she had attained adulthood. To this day, my toes are curled inward, even though they no longer ache. Like the Chinese woman whose feet are bound, one eventually adjusts to the pain.<br /><br /> We always wore hand-me-down clothing or wore the dresses Mom made out of flour sacks. Back then, flour sacks were large fifty-pounders, stored in decorative material that Mom rescued after the flour was used in making biscuits and her sugar cookies and sewed into shirts and dresses Deed went to school in colorful floral shirts, and Helma and I were decked out in these homemade dresses that may have been patchwork but we proudly wore them.<br /><br />I remember one dress that is immortalized in several pictures. Instead of discarding it when I outgrew the garment, Mom simply let out the hem and seams and then the dress could be used for another year. I have seen pictures of myself at different ages, wearing that same dress in its various sizes. Mom saved it for special occasions, for Sunday school meetings or trips to a relative's home.<br /><br />Years later, I fell in love with a dress that was owned by Donna, my neice. It was black and beautiful, stitched to perfection, an Alexander McQueen, a far cry from the dress I remember from my childhood. Donna, always generous, allowed me to wear The Dress on several occasions and so I went forth in style, wearing this dress that probably cost more than most men earned in a year.<br /><br />Then Donna decided that I was wearing The Dress more than she wore it and calmly asked me to leave it hanging in her closet. I complied, but my heart was broken. I loved The Dress more than any of my various boyfriends. So I was demoted back to my usual garb, left with memories of The Dress.<br /><br />As for boyfriends, I had just a few, an assortment of characters I remember to this day. I met a fellow with an impressive car. It had a skylight on its top, which made it possible to stand up at football games, while remaining protected from the cold weather from the shoulders down. Even though this boy was about the homeliest fellow I had ever encountered, I went with him throughout the football season. Sometimes a girl has to think of comfort instead of lively company.<br /><br />My first kiss was from a boy named Al. It is not a memory I cherish, for Al had teeth so yellow they looked like daffodils and his breath was rancid. He walked me home from the movies one day, a two mile trek. We were chatting comfortably when suddenly he grabbed me and landed a kiss on my mouth. I almost retched! It wasn't Al himself, because he was a nice enough fellow. It was those yellow teeth and that terrible breath that turned my first kiss into a traumatic experience I still remember with a shudder.<br /><br />Then, too, there was Hubert and Bud. I roamed the city, getting one lousy job after another, and everywhere I looked, it seemed that they were there. It was difficult being the belle of the ball with two brothers who lurked like mysterious shadows. If I stood on a street corner chatting with a guy, convinced I was both charming and irresistible, I would glance over my shoulder and there would be Bud, staring at me with those dark, deep set eyes. Then, too, one day I took a pack of cigarettes into a cafe, lit one up in my most sophisticated fashion, then looked over the side of the booth where I sat and encountered two green eyes watching me. Hubert never said a word about my cigarette habit to Mom, but he ruined my moment as a high-classed gal, on a par with Veronica Lake and those beautiful women on the silver screen. With Hubert or Bud watching me, I once again became that plain, dumpy country girl.<br /><br />Of course, I wanted to be a movie star, the likes of Judy Garland who sang so beautifully. So, I would walk down to the lake and stand on the old, gray, gnarled picnic table, slanting as it was, with boards rotting through. I would stand up there like Judy on a stage and warble my song as professionally as I could, holding out my arms and dancing around, careful to keep my balance on the old table. One time I finished my song, and heard the sound of applause. There was a moment of shock, then I looked in the direction of the sound of clapping and there was Joe Bernardi, my brother in law, smiling and applauding my effort.<br /><br />This embarrassing moment remains in my mind, because slowly, painfully, one gives up his dreams. I did not reach movie stardom, I did not rival Judy Garland, I did not accomplish my goal of living in Hollywood. I did not escape Bud and Hubert, who joined together to make my life miserable. I finally had to admit I was a 17 year old failure, not an actress, not a singer, not a high fashion model, just an ordinary girl with more dreams than talent, the tail end of a huge family, afflicted by brothers who found me amusing.<br /><br />So even today, seventeen year old girls dream, fueled by Mylee Cyrus and Jennifer Aniston and all the stars and models that fill their imaginary world. It's a rite of passage, a phase of living...and about twenty years later, you finally learn that you may not be rich or famous, but you are yourself, unique as we all are, capable of love and laughter and surmounting life's problems all of the things that count in this world!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-11152317756813924942010-06-20T22:29:00.003-04:002010-06-20T23:22:08.086-04:00IT'S TIME FOR SOMETHING BETTER!Once every decade there is a photo that captures the eye and stays in the memory, evoking either horror, pride or amusement. Thus the photo of the military raising the flag on Iwo Jima is recognized by just about everyone, and who could forget the picture of the joyous sailor embarking from his ship to kiss the gal waiting for him on San Francisco's wharf?<br /><br /> Two photos from the last decade will stay with me forever. One is that image from Abu Ghraib, with a prisoner tied to a rough imitation of a cross, stripped of his clothing, his dignity, his humanity. There is no sense of national pride when one views such a picture. It brings a sense of shame to think that our countrymen could sink so low.<br /><br /> The other photo I will never forget is the view of that spewing, deadly fountain of oil roaring upward from its broken source. On television every day, it is like a perpetual reminder that human beings may have finally succeeded in their determination to ruin this planet. It is bad enough that we have strewn pop bottles and plastic and cigarette butts along the roads and the beaches. It's another to have that gusher destroying an entire ecosystem.<br /><br /> There doesn't seem to be anyone in the world who knows how to turn off this roaring, dangerous and constantly bellowing spigot. We have very little control of it. It is Mother Nature being vengeful, angry and merciless, reacting to recklessness and utter disdain for the treasures we have been given. There was a lack of safety measures, a disdain for the consequences of what might happen, a search for greater profits by a huge Corporation with tremendous profits earned already. <br /><br /> As I write this, thousands...perhaps millions...of animals are gasping and dying, coated with the black liquid we have often called Black Gold. We feed on this substance, we have made it a God. We have paid billions of dollars for the privilege of using it. Most of it has been imported from distant lands, the very lands that house the terrorists that threaten our demise. These lands have customs very different from our own. Their women are hidden behind veils and live minus freedoms that we take for granted.<br /><br /> Despite the terrorism, the inequality, the misery...we have enriched these nations and bought their oil. Huge tankers arrive at our ports every day as we devour this substance, this thick black juice that fuels our nation.<br /><br /> But getting the oil from foreign countries isn't enough to please us. We must seek oil on our own land. So we have found it in Alaska, where the pipeline sits like a huge, winding snake stretching across the wilderness. We have found it in our Western states and in Texas, where the oil provides some employment. Even that isn't enough to satisfy our hunger. We looked toward the oceans to find even more.<br /><br /> Oil rigs are ugly. They rear up on the horizon like warts on flesh, ruining the scenic beauty of the ocean. They are ugly enough when they are working as they should, but get even uglier when they explode and kill. Yes, eleven workers were killed on the rig they dared call Deepwater Horizon, and I'll warrant there have been other deaths on many other rigs.<br /><br /> These deaths are disturbing, these dead fathers, husbands, sons, brothers, grieved by their families and gone forever. In the meantime, the oil continues to gush, with no mercy for the chaos it causes, and the Corporation hides truth because of fears for their profits.<br /><br /> Somewhere in the Southern ocean, a brown pelican is dying, sodden with oil and lacking understanding. It's HER ocean that has always been her home, this gentle, sweet creature who loves to sit on posts, sitting there looking over the world she belongs in, the world she should always find safe.<br /><br /> It is you and I who destroyed this pelican's world with our hunger for oil and our love of our cars. We haven't taken the time to find another source of fuel. We use the expedient method. We're in a hurry. We don't have the time or the money or the imagination.<br /><br /> Tell that to the brown pelican as she sits with her dripping coat of oil, waiting for the death that will surely overtake her. Tell her we just don't have the ingenuity and determination that we used to have, when we invented all the machines, the technology, the miraculous paraphernalia in the world today. At one time, we managed to send a man into space. Then, we did not stop dreaming, but sent men to the moon and brought them back to earth safely.<br /><br /> We have won wars. We have laid train tracks across the country. We have created the computer and the Internet. We have tossed out the laundry tub and invented the automatic washer. We have made Medical history by banishing polio, smallpox, malaria and other diseases.<br /><br /> So tell the brown pelican we've come to the end of our American spirit. We cannot take oil, oil rigs and oil spills out of our lives and find other fuels that will energize our country, save billions of dollars, and perhaps in the future, thousands of pelicans and other animals from inevitable spills.<br /><br /> We finally have a President who is urging us to move ahead, to harness the wind, and look upward at the sun. With energy abounding in that beautiful Orb, Our Star that supports and nurtures us can send that energy downward to us if we can only capture it.<br /><br /> There is oil on the outer islands. There is oil in the marshes. There is oil on the beautiful beaches where children used to play. There are thousands of people who now have no jobs. The beautiful Southern shoreline faces years of ruin, with an end to fishing, shrimping, oyster beds, and birds like the pelican that live on the coast.<br /><br /> The oil spill may spew upward for weeks...or months...or years to come, because man is helpless to halt it unless the relief wells work. So, let us plan on some relief of our own....and find that source of energy that is waiting for us. As Ted Turner has said, "Oil has served us well for more than a century. It's time for something better!"<br /><br /> It is a challenge we can meet. It is a need we can fill. We may have to phase the use of oil out very slowly, but we can accomplish our goal. There IS something better, a country free of fossil fuels, free of dependence on the good will of wildly wealthy sheiks and kings, a country no longer dependent upon oil, a country no longer in danger of another huge oil spill!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-12853319833344045702010-06-11T20:36:00.002-04:002010-06-11T21:50:06.454-04:00THE JOURNEYWhen I was very young, I can remember Hubert and Bud riding horses in the hills and fields behind our house. They would sing and shout and yodel and the sound of their voices echoed across the green of the land, through the cornfields and meadows, to bring delight to my young ears. They were strong and lithe back then, aglow with the beauty of youth, both of them trim and fit, both of them handsome young boys.<br /><br />Oh, how I loved them even then, caught up in the adoration of a young sister for her older brothers. I watched them as they raced those old plowhorses back to the barn, then jumped off to laugh about their ride. They were inseparable back then, always laughing, enjoying the pleasures of youth together.<br /><br />The family left Illinois before Helma and I were born, loaded possessions in an old car and rumbled up to Michigan. There were jobs in Michigan, it was said, jobs that didn't involve labor on a farm. The brothers planned on getting jobs in the auto plants. Henry Ford was looking for men and they were ready to work.<br /><br />Unfortunately, Hubert and Bud were too young to get jobs in the plants, but the older boys were soon employed. Herman, Harry and Homer were old enough and punched the timeclock every weekday, rustling around to get something to eat before they had to leave for work. They came home greasy and exhausted, falling into bed to grab some sleep before morning came again. Herman spent his lifetime working in the plants, but the other brothers eventually went on to other careers.<br /><br />They rented a house in a crowded neighborhood, with houses lining the streets and streetlights casting their light through the shadows of the night. From the house, one could hear the rumble of streetcars as they labored down the tracks and the view from the windows were not scenic vistas, but a seemingly endless world of chimneys and housetops. Pop had also obtained a job in an auto plant and he was as miserable as a born farmer can be, hating the job, hating the house, hating the rows of houses and the crowds of people walking past on the sidewalk, going somewhere, too busy to stop and chat. He hated riding the streetcars, shoulder to shoulder with countless others, all smelling of grease and perspiration, all staring out the windows and the passing storefronts and miles of sidewalk.<br /><br />Once in a while, the lure of the big city affected Pop and, according to Mom, he would fail to come home when his shift was over and would stagger in late at night, still awake in the wee hours of the morning, and definitely under the influence of demon alcohol.<br /><br />One night, Pop staggered home, opened the door of the house, and fell into a stupor on a couch, only to discover in the early morning that he was in a strange house. He managed to get up and hurry home before the unknowing family discovered his presence, but Mom was already out of bed to greet him and definitely ready to berate him. No one could bang pots and pans around and tell someone off like Mom could. Pop would listen, then wander to his chair and light his pipe, unperturbed by her anger.<br /><br />In his heart, he yearned for Illinois, for the people he had known and talked with throughout his life. He missed the fields and the woods of the farms where he had planted crops and traded horses to make his living. He wanted no part of city life and resented their lives there. His young children were running wild on the city streets and he felt that no man should spend his life working in grime and grease when there were crops to plant and fields to plow. the soft breezes, the falling rain, and the sun smiling down as you worked.<br /><br />Mom, too, had her problems. The older children were working most of the time, but she was left to manage the younger scamps. Hubert and Bud explored the neighborhood and fought with some of the aggressive older boys. They would return to their rented home with scrapes and bruises, while Mom fussed and fumed and washed off the wounds with Fels Naptha. When a group of boys tied Hubert into a cardboard box and left him on a streetcar track, it was Bud who ran home for help. Mom's heart leaped into her throat, as she prayed that a streetcar wouldn't come barreling past before she could get Hubert out of the box. Fortunately, she made it there and a disgruntled Hubert was freed.<br /><br />It was episodes like this that made Mom uneasy and dissatisfied with city life. Her lively boys were magnets for trouble and it didn't take them any effort to use their fists to protect themselves. They were strong and fit, from their early years on the Illinois farms. They knew they could lord it over these puffy. weak city kids. They walked together, Kings of the Road, winking at the girls. scowling at the boys, but always courteous and polite to the older folks.<br /><br />When Hubert tied the string around his penis, Mom knew it was time to do something about their behavior. His organ had swollen to encompass the string and Mom didn't know how she could extract it. When Pop came home, he helped get the string out and Mom put lotion on the red, swollen organ, while Hubert tried to hold the tears from his eyes and babbled nonsense when asked the reason for the string. No one ever knew just what had happened, whether Hubert tied the string himself...or did he finally meet his match and was humiliated by strange boys holding him down, taking down his pants and subjecting him to this indignity? If Bud knew the answer, he didn't tell, so throughout the years, the story was told that Hubert tied the string himself.<br /><br />Mom and Pop knew then that their city days had to end, but where could they go? They rattled around in Harry's car, looking for places to rent. Harry and Herman decided that Pop couldn't make any money as a farmer. If he was going to quit his job at the auto plant, he had to go into business for himself, where he could make money and maybe even end up rich. Pop was flabbergasted by this idea. He had never wanted a store. His life, he felt, belonged to a farm, and business was beyond his imagination.<br /><br />In the days ahead, they located a store on a little rural street in a little Michigan town, with buildings stretched up and down this street like beads on a necklace. The store was a tiny grocery, with two gas tanks in front. With the riches garnered from the auto plants, Pop was soon ensconced in his very own business.<br /><br />So, the younger children were enrolled in the red brick school, while Pop and Mom ran the grocery store. My only interest was the bins of cookies that lined an outer wall. I would snatch a cookie several times a day, until Pop began to guard the bins. But he hadn't counted on my host of nieces and nephews who also raided the bins. Sis, Junior, Ronald, Donald, Richard, Norma Jean and Bette June and I would stake out Pop's position, then one of us would creep through the door in the direction of the bins. By hiding behind a counter filled with grocery items, we could make it across the room, then quickly take cookies and stuff them in our pockets, while Pop was busy with a customer. Then we would run out behind the house and enjoy our sugary treat.<br /><br />One time, Hilda ran into one of the gas pumps and the excitement that followed allowed us time to empty the bins. The problem was, there was one cookie left over, and Ronald claimed it as his due, because he had been the one to sneak into the store and empty a bin. "Not fair!" we cried. "We have all taken turns getting the cookies. Why should you get more than us?" We ganged around Ronald and tried to grab the cookie from his hand, but he ran like the wind and disappeared into the house, where he told Mom we were beating up on him and we ended up getting scolded.<br /><br />Pop was not happy. Running a store was not his cup of tea. He ended up handing out credit to all of the financially strapped people in the neighborhood, whose numbers seemed to be astronomical. They always promised to pay him back, and some of them tried to do so, but times were bad and hiring had cut down at the auto plants and so, the return was scant.<br /><br />Helma entered school, a fact which filled me with bitter envy. I was so incensed by this unfair fact that I vowed I would seek my revenge. So, when Mom walked Helma to the school, I followed not far behind. When Helma sat at her little desk, I found a perch near a window and spent the day glaring through the glass at her. She complained to Mom, who tried to keep me home, but I slipped away and continued sitting at my post. Finally, the teacher told Mom that, if I was going to attend school every day, I might as well do it correctly, so they placed me in a class.<br /><br />I was extremely happy, even though the teacher was an ogre who slapped tape on my mouth because I wouldn't stop talking. If I had known the Constitution guaranteed me Freedom of Speech, I would have informed Mrs. Williams. As it was, I had to stop talking and pay attention, which was never easy for me to do.<br /><br />This was a very strict school, with some very strange methods of punishment. Deed was punished for some extraction and was forced to stand on tiptoe with his nose placed in a ring that was screwed into the wall. After being punished this way several times, Herman placed a visit to the school. When he had finished lambasting the principal, the nose ring was removed from the wall.<br /><br />Again, Pop and Mom decided to move on. The store shelves were empty, the till was empty, and Pop was unhappy being a businessman. So, once again we began to look for a place to live, a house to rent, a place surrounded by fields and woods. Pop found his farm and I found the happiest years of my childhood, blissfully leaving Mrs. Williams behind.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-69931197459000901522010-06-03T13:24:00.002-04:002010-06-03T14:04:16.195-04:00BROTHERS - SISTERS - I HARDLY KNEW YOU!My father, whom we all called Pop, was not a big man. He was small and wiry, with skin so browned and toughened by the sun that it resembled leather. He had big, broad, work-worn hands that held a steady grip on a plow and paused now and then to run along the flanks of a tired horse or mule. His black hair had turned to gray and he had a round bald spot on the top of his head. When children piled onto his lap, as they did when he sat in his old green chair, they would play with his hair and make it stick up like devil's horns, giggling and laughing at the way he looked.<br /><br />He loved children. He wanted thirteen children. He had his favorites. Many of his grandchildren have fond memories of sitting on his knees, while others only have the memories of knowing a very old man. An old-fashioned man, he wanted the farm to provide everything we could possibly need. When Mom had to ask for money to buy such commodities as sugar and salt, he was reluctant to reach into his wallet to give her what she needed. He felt that a good farmer raised everything his family needed. To see anything "store bought" seemed to be an insult to his life's work.<br /><br />Somehow, smack in the center of a gravel pit, he raised his yearly crop of corn, using no fertilizer, no method of bringing water to the fields, nothing but the sun and the rain and the constant work with the plow. God must have smiled down at him, because year after year that crop of corn filled the local markets and the stand along the street running by our house. He made enough money from the sale of corn to buy a few mules to help with the work. He made enough money to grudgingly give my mother a few dollars for that sugar and salt.<br /><br />From seven boys, Pop only raised one true farmer. Hubert shared his love of the soil, while Bud had his nose stuck in a book, and none of the others paid a bit of attention to Mother Nature. They helped on the farm because Pop insisted, but made their way in the outer world as soon as they became adult, while Hubert came every week to look over the status of the corn.<br /><br />I remember that my brothers, Hjalmar and Harold, whom we all called Bud, were prone to ponder. They would sit outside on the porch and, rather than carry on a lively conversation, would just sit there, stare at the sky and the green of the trees, and silently ponder. I never knew what they were thinking about and they seldom wasted a word in my direction, but I always thought they were solving all of the world's problems as they sat there.<br /><br />Hubert never pondered. He chatted and smiled and now and then lost his temper with a balky child. He was completely in the moment and lived in a world of here and now, while I think that Bud was off in tomorrow's world, contemplating the future.<br /><br />Most of my brothers and sisters were ten or more years older than me, which made them seem more like Uncles and Aunts than true siblings. To me, they were gods and goddesses, ruling the realm of adulthood, free to select their own activities and not forced, as I was, to trot to school every day, memorizing dates of the Civil War, trying to remember the names of the Presidents and, worst of all, working those enigmatic sums in that hated Arithmetic Book. <br /><br />I especially hated "story problems." Joe took a train to Baltimore on a trip that took him two hours, while Jim took a train from Detroit that took him eleven hours, how fast was the train traveling? This kind of question did not teach me Math at all, but certainly stimulated my creative side. Yes, Joe enjoyed a pleasant trip, but Jim was mugged at the train station and spent two hours in an Emergency Room before he could make his way to Baltimore.<br /><br />I remember showing my sister, Helen, the manuscript of my first novel. My heroine was named Fairy and how well I remember Helen trying not to laugh as she read my lines. My hero was named Larry and so it went...."Larry took his Fairy in his arms!" Helen read the entire book, then advised me to never again place a story in England, which I knew nothing about, and never again writing about a daughter of the Queen. I felt this was terrible advice, since I wanted my heroine to be a Princess. <br /><br />"Write about what you know," Helen told me, reaching into her grim, humorless adulthood to hamper the writing talents of a genius like myself. I glowered at her and vowed to never show anyone a story again. It was obvious they didn't appreciate anything above their comprehension.<br /><br />So I lived life on the Farm, a wild-haired, sun-tanned girl with absolutely no Mathematical ability, running in the orchard, playing in the fields, my best friends my dogs that followed me around like loyal shadows. Each day, I had an older brother or sister to contend with, to try to understand from the level of childhood. Looking back, I see that I hardly knew them at all, that I didn't know their dreams, their hopes, their ambitions. I didn't even know if they believed in God. I didn't know if they had ever loved or lost. I didn't know if they had had their hearts crushed by life's little cruelties. <br /><br />They were actually strangers. Only Helma and Harlan (Deed) were anything near my age and our relationships were thus that I was the perpetual younger sister, not too bright, never to emerge from this trap to become an equal. Our family was so close that hardly a day went by that we didn't get together. There were picnics, ballgames, musical moments and both arguments and laughter, but these older people lived in a secret world I could not enter. Now, as the years have passed, I wonder what I missed, what great relationships passed me by, what friendships were never mine. The tragic truth is....I will never know!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-58283210180000612072010-05-07T15:18:00.003-04:002010-05-07T16:02:28.242-04:00GROWING OLDERI have heard it said that you know you are old when you reach down to pull up your socks and find out you aren't wearing any. There is some truth in this, and there are several other ways you can perceive that you are indeed growing old.<br /><br />A friend of mine in Grand Rapids said that, as you age, every organ in your body either dries up and withers away, or leaks. This might be a gauge to use to judge your true age.<br /><br />From time to time, I have seen the charts in magazines and newspapers where they have tried to help you view your physical age. You see, you may be only 30 years old, but if you enjoy yourself too much with life's little pleasure, you may actually be much older. Benjamin Button went from old age to infancy, but the rest of us follow a familiar path. We are born in various circumstances, and it's all downhill from there. Agewise, that is.<br /><br />If you drink, smoke, eat too much, sit on your duff several hours a day and take no interest in the world....alas, you are doomed. The most important thing is good nutrition and, unfortunately, this does not include chocolate covered doughnuts. Exercise is also important, so try to lift yourself up occasionally. Take a walk, or at least a stroll, and maybe even run the vacuum. Exercise buffs never include running the vacuum as a way to slim your Abs, but if the dust and dog hair is two inches thick on the carpeting, it helps.<br /><br />Generally, as you get older, you begin to shrink. Your body lowers, bones sinking wearily into joints, and flesh hanging down in unsightly folds. You lose inches from your height, but your shoe size generally remains the same. At an advanced age, comfort seems more important than fancy shoes and you find yourself buying them three sizes bigger, giving your toes the space to absorb all of those inches you are losing in height. Forget stilettos, or you'll be in a wheelchair much sooner than you planned.<br /><br />The enemy of good health is Belly Fat, especially as you grow older. You know you have Belly Fat if you look like you are nine months along and you haven't had sex in several years. The way to avoid Belly Fat is to exercise strenuously and eat nothing but celery and carrots until you are fifty. Then, you can avoid Belly Fat and only suffer from a healthier condition, called Belly Sag. Belly Sag isn't pretty, but it won't kill you.<br /><br />There are some advantages to getting old besides wearing a red hat. When you are bent over, wizened and wrinkled, you can be as mean as you want. You can use a cane and whack at anyone who displeases you. You can scowl and complain and be as miserable as a dark cloud on the horizon. There isn't a thing other people can do to defend themselves from your meanness. They can't whack back or tell you just how dismal you are....you are much too delicate, fragile and aged for that! They may kindly try to lighten your mood, point out the beautiful flowers or the blue sky, but you can sneer at these attempts. You can wreak your revenge for every irritation, every trouble, every slight you have encountered throughout the years.<br /><br />However, you may get better care if you are a sunny sort, a lovable old Bo Peep. Then you might get your diaper changed at a faster rate, or be given a special dessert at mealtime. So it is up to you to decide just which type you want to be.<br /><br />As age approaches, it's time to think of the trials and tribulation of advanced age. Will you stay in your home, watched over by a "caregiver"? Or will you live in a back bedroom in the home of one of your children? Or will you enter a Nursing Home and try to think of it as your "Home Away from Home," rather than a warehouse for the aged?<br /><br />There is no cure for old age, even though the Beauty Barons tell you otherwise. You can slather your face with age-defying creams, be treated with Botox and Collagen, have the fat sucked from your limbs, dye your hair, pluck your brows...and your chin hairs.....flirt with young men like a Cougar....and, alas, the wrinkles will eventually win! Gals like Cher can spend millions keeping up the impression of youth, but eventually these just won't work.<br /><br />The best way to proceed is to embrace your creeping years with gay abandon. Pretend you are having the time of your life, whether you are or not. Point out that only the aging can join the AARP, or can sometimes get 10% off a restaurant meal. One thing is sure, you will not grow older alone. Like Mark Twain's description of Hell, you'll have a lot of company.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-41080344185821543462010-04-17T23:24:00.003-04:002010-04-18T00:01:46.276-04:00SAYING GOODBYEThis month I have visited the Valley of Death. I have sat at a hospital bedside and watched a grandson die, my heart pounding as though it were being ripped from my body, the pain inside me so intense it was like a penetrating knife, cold and sharp. It was a big hospital, with corridors as long as city blocks, stretching into another long corridor and another. Sometimes I wandered aimlessly from one long stretch to another, seeking something as simple as a cup of coffee, leaving my bedside post for a moment, trying to clear my thoughts. It was a "trauma hospital," filled with gloom. Each unit had a locked door, with a telephone on a wall where one could communicate with a nurse about your need to enter the premises. <br /><br /> I stayed through the nights, sleeping on little settees made of flimsy wood and thinly padded seats, my purse under my head for a pillow, my legs folded like an origami fan as I tried to balance myself. I would wake up tireder than when I fell asleep, creeping out of the waiting room, hoping not to awaken the group of other sleeping visitors, nestled in various couches and chairs, slumped in slumber, awaiting word on the condition of their loved ones. We were a sad, silent group.<br /><br /> When it was over, when my grandson had drawn his last precious breath, I was strangely composed. I could only think of leaving this hospital, this warehouse of dying people, to get outside into the cold, crisp air and shake the essence of tragedy from my body. To leave my grandson behind in these strange hands, to leave him to be lifted and manipulated and loaded into a black vehicle like a sack of potatoes was almost more than I could bear. I wanted to pick him up and carry him with me, but I couldn't. So I walked outside to the car and we headed homeward, leaving a huge piece of our hearts behind.<br /><br /> Since then, I have been immersed in sorrow. I have wallowed in my grief. I held up for the funeral, with all of its trappings, the flowers that then sit around and threaten to wilt and must be carried to Nursing Homes or Hospitals, the cards, the letters, and that pathetic sack filled with the earthly remnants of the deceased....a ragged pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a scuffed pair of shoes, and five dollars in a wallet. <br /><br /> It was heroin that killed my grandson at the age of 22. Heroin that he became addicted to at a younger age and somehow could not shake away from, despite a stay in ReHab and other efforts to cure him. On the day that he died, he was happy because he had passed a drug test and this meant that he had been a month and a half off the drug. Then a friend called....and called again and again. He decided to go with him, telling me he was just visiting a friend and they would play video games together. I believed him. He was lying.<br /><br />So, he Overdosed on the streets of Detroit in the parking lot of a Wendy's store....a heartbreaking end for a young man with a bright, ready smile and a truckload of friends, all of whom mourned his passing. The other young man survived and is now trying to cure his own addiction to heroin. We are standing behind him and cheering him on, because my grandson would have been happy to see his friend break free from this habit.<br /><br />How many young people are falling into this trap? More than I ever knew until I entered the shadows of addiction. In the village where I live, there are more than a hundred young people using the drug. It's cheap and it's a thrill. It will even be given to you free...until you're caught! That's just the number of young people I know about. Heaven knows how many others are out there.<br /><br />They are dying....one here, one there. The Overdoses occur regularly, and many survive. Some don't. The deaths pile up, young people with long lives ahead of them, dead of a vicious poison racing through their veins, stopping their hearts, starving their brains of oxygen.<br /><br />What do do? When this scourge enters your life, don't hesitate. Try Rehab and, if you can afford it, make it a long stay. Try a doctor. There is medication that helps take away the urge....too late for my grandson, but worth a try for others. Don't hide the addiction, because friends and family can help. Communicate with others, because they can help you pinpoint the source of the drug. Remember, there are thousands of parents in your same predicament today and you want to do all you can before it is your child dead in a faraway hospital bed.<br /><br />I have emerged from the sodden, mournful, doleful state where all I did was cry and wonder if there is a God and, if so, where was the miracle we needed? I have made my peace with my grandson's death and I am working on making peace with God. There is a huge, empty, black hole in my heart that may never be filled with love and laughter again. I know others have suffered so and survived. I know useless, unnecessary deaths are something many, many of us encounter. So I'll lift up my head and walk forward, one step at a time, and celebrate the fact that our troubled young man is finally free of the hateful scourge that so brutally took his life.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-90978733335357752302010-02-22T17:01:00.003-05:002010-02-22T18:01:21.277-05:00WHAT'S IN THAT TEA?What is the problem with Republicans, concerning Health Care Reform? They scream about cost, but didn't say a word when George W. Bush unloaded our money in Iraq. They didn't scream about the waste of money given Halliburton. Nor, when George W. Bush suggested bailing out the bankers, we didn't hear one Republican scream! That deficit just kept going up, and the Republicans were very silent. If President Bush wanted a few billion more to spend, he could depend upon the Party of Yes!<br /><br />Their objections seem to be based on the hope that Obama will fail, as Rush Limbaugh admitted. They seem to be doing all that they can to make that happen, even if they have lie in their Ads to make the Elderly shiver with fear and believe that they'll be subjected to Death Panels..... even if they make countless trips to speak on CNN about how conservative they are! They were spendthrifts, however, when it concerned George W. Bush. With Obama, they pretend to be frugal. Futilely frugal! Remember, when Health Care Reform was suggested, one Republican said that, if they could defeat it, it would be Obama's Waterloo. So the Party of No banded together to try their best to defeat Health Care, as though they are French gendarmes chasing after Napoleon.<br /><br />It doesn't matter to them that there are about 40 million Americans with no Health Care at all. If these Americans get sick, they will try to fund their Health Care through Medicaid. In doing so, it will cost the tax payer just as much as if these sick people had some sort of governmental coverage. Other Americans could lose their homes and savings over the cost of just one serious illness. Costs are inflated and often insurance companies refuse to cover their customers. <br /><br />Then, too, there are the young people. Many youths have advanced in age to a point where they are dropped from their parents' insurance policies. They have no insurance at all, even though they are at a time in life when accidents and calamities seem to happen. Many of them are jobless. Even the ones with low-paying jobs have trouble paying premiums. They can hardly afford their inflated car insurance payments, let alone carry health care. It is obvious they need some kind of help, but the Party of No isn't interested in helping anyone. Besides being the Party of No, it's the Party of "Too bad, Chum, help yourself!"<br /><br />What is the Republican problem with Health Care Reform? If it's price, let's point at the fact that it hasn't bankrupted Canada. Nor has it bankrupted England or other European nations. A majority of these citizens appreciate their Health Care and wouldn't change it for any reason. Many of them pay taxes to pay for it, but still want to keep it.<br /><br />Mention "tax" to a Republican and they turn purple. They obviously want a country with no government at all. They can then wear their guns around their middles and hold early morning feuding gunfests. They can annihilate minorities, unions, the ACLU, Al Gore, Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, Birth Control, Women's Rights and all of that long list of Republican Pet Peeves. <br /><br />Republicans seem to be playing games. They refuse to cooperate in any way, refuse to talk with Obama about Health Care Reform, just gather in a useless pile to vote No on everything, accomplishing nothing, doing nothing, yammering about their Tea Parties and how the country is rebelling.<br /><br />Yes, I know many people who are rebelling over the behavior of the Republican Party. They have caused a broken government. When a political party fails to think of the people it is supposed to serve, it is time to boot it out and start over. President Obama has done everything possible to placate and please the Party of No. Instead, they just keep on being the Party of No. No, no, no, no!<br /><br />The Governors of our various States met with President Obama today, a bipartisan meeting with both Republicans and Democrats involved. They talked about issues, settled some problems, and said that the Stimulus had helped keep and provide jobs in their states. Governor Crist of Florida, a Republican, said that he couldn't understand the lack of respect for the President. He said that he would cooperate and help the President in solving problems, because this is what a politician is supposed to do.<br /><br />Now isn't it a pity that the Republican Congress isn't filled with Governor Crists? He's level-headed, sincere, and acts like an honorable man. This is the Republican I would vote for, one who shuns the Party of No and considers the plight of the people.<br /><br />If anyone thinks we can climb out of this Recession (Depression) without spending some money, I wish they'd come up with some answers. We're not going to do it with Monopoly Money, for sure! If we wait too long, we'll sink into a mire of suffering like the people endured in the 1030's. Republicans were President back then, too, but the Depression continued until the people elected a Democrat. He instigated Jobs Programs, started what he called the New Deal, and people like my family once more had groceries in the cupboard. This is what Obama is trying to do! This is what the Party of No doesn't want, because they want to defeat Obama! Your empty cupboard is no concern of theirs, they are only interested in their goal.<br /><br />Health Care Reform is important because our medical and insurance costs are wasting millions of dollars. Aside from that, health care is a universal right. Every man, woman and child in this country should have adequate health coverage. Even the Party of No is completely covered. They don't even pay their premiums. The taxpayers do it. So what on earth are they whining about? They have it pretty good themselves, and don't even consider it Socialism or Big Goverment. <br /><br /> Is there something deadly in that Tea, something that withers the brain until it wastes away and atrophies into a whiff of meaningless air? Perhaps they should switch to a Fruit Juice instead. I know one that they'd probably like. It's a bit tart on the tongue, but they would find it familiar. It's commonly known as "Sour Grapes" and works much better then tea. Let's admit it, they all have a case of Sour Grapes, so why waste it?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-28231334313558576182010-02-12T10:44:00.003-05:002010-02-12T11:44:29.907-05:00WHISPERS OF YESTERDAYI wasn't going to divulge this secret, but then I thought I had better join the group. Yes, I had an affair with Tiger Woods. It lasted for years and, of course, I thought I was the only one. I knew he was married, but Poor Me, I loved him anyway. Now that our affair is public, I guess I'll go on Good Morning, America, and try to rake up a little more publicity. Or maybe I can become a Porn Star, if the salary is right and the lighting can hide the sag.<br /><br />Now if you believe that, you will believe anything. As I grew up, I had no self-confidence at all. In one way, I was the spoiled brat of a big family. In another way, I was a poor farm kid, with homemade clothing and bad teeth. I couldn't measure up to the rest of the girls, who seemed like beautiful starlets to me.<br /><br />Later, one of my older brothers and sisters paid for my tooth repair. After hours sat in the dentist chair, I emerged with new, white teeth. Except for one. One of my front teeth was laced with gold. I was devastated! My smile would be like a flash of precious metal, its gleam bouncing off the walls and windows. I solved the problem by smiling without showing any teeth or holding my hands over my mouth area. It took great effort, but I thought the gold tooth made me look like old tobacco-chewing goldminer.<br /><br />The first sexual experience I ever had...if you can call it that, is when a young man, a few years older than me...asked me for a date. My criteria for dating was that the fellow have a car and this one did, so off we went on a date. He even met my parents before we took off, this well-mannered fellow who even wore a suit and tie to take me out. <br /><br />After our dinner, he asked if I wanted to go for a drive. Sure, I said, agreeable that I was. We explored the area, the hills, the valleys, the sideroads. Then he drove to an area I think was called Ploss Lake and stopped the car. I was looking around when I glanced over and saw that he had unzipped his trousers and what emerged was an apparition I could have easily mistaken for a garden hose, so to solve the problem of what and why....I simply opened the door, got out and walked home. <br /><br />That same year, on Halloween night, Sis and I were knocking on doors, gathering up a large sack of candy, to be enjoyed for hours later. We knocked on the door of a cute little white cottage and who opened the door? None other than my former suitor, whose face betrayed his surprise. Behind him stood his pregnant wife, holding a baby. At her knees was another toddler hanging onto her skirttails. Sis laughed at me all the way home as I fumed over that lying rat whom my parents had dubbed "a nice young man!"<br /><br />Experiences like this didn't bolster my confidence at all! Nor did they help me have the self esteem I needed to have to become accepted as one of the leaders of my class.<br /><br />Oh, I tried! One day, one glorious day, I was allowed to join a group of popular girls, girls with fuzzy new sweaters and salon-clipped hair. I felt as though I had been anointed by some High School God who had taken his sceptre and placed it on my shoulders, saying "Let there be light!"<br /><br />At the lunch I attended, one of the girls, whose name was Joan, as I recall, said, "I need help in the library today. I have to tabulate all the books in Section C." <br /><br />I was like an eager puppy, tail wagging! Here was my chance to further my membership in this elite group. "I'll help you!" I blurted, an eager smile on my face.<br /><br />Joan regarded me as though I was a scrap of food left on a plate, an imposter trying to infiltrate her kingdom. <br /><br /> "I'll let you know," she said, in a haughty tone of voice.<br /><br />Curses on Joan with her arrogant air! She has since moved northward into Canada and lives on an island off the coast! At our Class Reunions, the moderator always says..."We have had a note from Joan, and she's the same sweet girl she always was!"<br /><br />Thus, I was once again relegated to my status as a lowly farm girl. Nor did I ever again get an invitation to join the Elite for lunch. You can take the Farm Girl away from the farm, but you can't take the farm away from the girl. Those childish rejections, those schoolgirl ways, cause teenaged girls to shed bitter tears and it takes years to shake off the feelings of inadequacy, but when one does this, if it's possible, it's a wonderful feeling of freedom to be oneself, like a butterfly emerging from a dark cocoon.<br /><br />I told Bud about this experience and he was sympathetic, telling me of his own younger years. Of all the people in our large family, it was Bud who should have been able to finish school, go on to college, earn his degree, and contribute to the world. Instead, he had to find his niche by reading books, through experiences, and joining groups like the school board to be recognized as the intelligent man he was.<br /><br />Hubert, on the other hand, was gifted with a panache that served him well. He covered up the Farm Boy with a veneer of charming sophistication. He smiled easily and made his way on sheer personality. He chummed around with our brother, Hjalmar, who was so quiet one could hardly remember him saying a thing. They were totally different, but stayed close for many years to come. They would earn money playing Poker and, one time, were faced with angry men who were convinced they were cheating. One time they ran across the back area of a hotel, believing they were running across a cement tennis court, and both of them ran right into an empty swimming pool. Bruised and battered, they climbed out and kept escaped.<br /><br />Undoubtedly, the prettiest woman among my four sisters was Hazel. She had the face of an angel, but struggled all her life with weight, as so many of us do. She had a melodious, lilting voice, deep and passionate, with a terrific range. We used to gather around to hear Hazel sing. When I graduated from high school, I used to stay at Hazel's house, using it as a base to make it an easier trip to reach my job at a local hospital. Hazel never got angry with me, this young girl always scrambling around, late for work, taking off in a flurry of dropped clothes, a piece of toast clutched in her hand to eat along the way.<br /><br />I was young and silly and totally irresponsible. Of all things, they put me in charge of Birth Certificates. In my area, there are white babies born who are recorded as black or Oriental, and vice versa. There are babies whose births are not recorded at all. There are mix-ups and foul-ups and the buck lands right on my desk. I was far more interested in a cute young doctor than I was in doing my job. Thankfully, jobs were easy to find back then. I would leave or get booted out of one job, just to get another and go on with my fumbling, bumbling style of life.<br /><br />When did I shred the Farm Girl and become a responsible adult. I'm not sure I ever have. The ghost of that shoeless girl with her flying, tangled hair and complete ignorance of the world around her stays with me like a ghost from the past, like a whisper in my ears, like a summer breeze touching the cheeks and rustling the hair. Do we ever escape the miseries of high school? Do we ever grow past those teen-aged years? Well, maybe some do. Some of us don't, but we muddle through the best we can, pretending a confidence we never had and that may never fully arrive.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-78877390865606578942010-02-04T10:47:00.002-05:002010-02-04T11:30:05.261-05:00STRAY CATS AND FAT CATS!A Republican Governor has likened the distribution of food stamps to "feeding stray animals." According to reports, he said that feeding stray animals is useless, because they just come back for more, and then start breeding, multiplying themselves until you have many more strays to feed.<br /><br />It would be difficult to sell this idea to the many Americans receiving food stamps. Most of them have lost their jobs and have worn their shoes down to the flesh applying for employment in the few places advertising for help. In most cases, they are joined in filling out applications by hundreds of other job seekers. In most cases, the food stamps are the only way they can feed their families in this crisis that has struck Americans in the past few years.<br /><br />The ironic thing is that most people blame the Republican Administration of George Bush for the aforementioned crisis. President Bush may not have caused all of the problems, but he certainly did little or nothing to halt them. In fact, he spent our money....not on efforts to put people back to work...but on the War in Iraq, which the British people are still investigating. Not so here in the United States, we do not spend our time with lengthy investigations on the reasons for fighting that war, because most of us know the answers. We simply sit in our jobless state, hope for the best, and pray for a better tomorrow.<br /><br />At one time in my young life, my parents went on what was called an Old Age Pension. They applied for money to help them out, these elderly folks who had worked in the fields all of their lives and had finally reached a point where even a healthy crop of corn would not sustain them throughout the year. Proud, independent, worthwhile people, they did not want to live off the money given them by their children, simply because their children were themselves poor and had very little to give.<br /><br />So, the Old Age Pension arrived each month in the mail and it was a godsend to them, as they hacked away at the ice on the creek, in order to get water to use. The pump would freeze solid, the creek was the only source of water, and once that ice hole was chopped, they would carry bucket after bucket of water to the house to use for cooking and laundry. <br /><br />Each month, the social worker would arrive to ask questions and ascertain that my parents deserved the pittance they were given. She not only visited my parents with questions, but arrived at the homes of my brothers and sisters, peeking in corners, checking on the status of living styles, making sure that no child could afford to support the parents. <br /><br />This well-dressed, coiffed and well-groomed lady arrived in a shiny big Buick. As a child, I really enjoyed her arrival, so I could admire the gleaming finish of that car. To me, it was the epitome of luxury, with its padded interior and gleaming accessories. I dreamed of growing up to ride in such a vehicle and dress in woolen suits and linen blouses like the social worker.<br /><br />This lady would often corner me as I sat outside admiring her car. "Is Hilda working?" she'd query. "Does anyone eat out every night?" She asked me questions I could not answer, but she managed to scare the me to death, because her eyes were like piercing bullets and her accusatory expression made me feel as though the wrong answer might land me in Leavenworth for a lengthy stay.<br /><br />"Better watch your mouth," my mother admonished me, "or we'll all be starving to death!"<br /><br />This placed a double burden on my shoulders, to a point where I hid when the lady arrived. Eventually, the summer came, the corn blossomed, the garden gave its harvest and the Old Age Pension became a part of the past. The stray cats had found a meager supply of their own food and were able to say farewell to the lady in the Buick, the fat cat who could ride in splendor on the tax money everyone paid.<br /><br />Frankly, I resent any person who treats another human being like a piece of worthless driftwood. Comparing poor folks to abandoned animals has got to be a remark that paves the way to Hell. In the first place, the pitiful plight of stray animals is hard enough to bear. My area has a plentiful supply, frightened creatures who run away at the slightest noise and live a life of hunger and fear. I feed those stray cats. I don't care if they come back or multiply, they are God's creatures and deserve more than life has handed out. I figure that each time I feed a stray cat, I have saved the life of a bird.<br /><br />Walk in the shoes of a jobless man! Walk in the shoes of a hungry child! Imagine yourself hopelessly trying to survive, with no resources to help you. Imagine yourself as Jesus commanded, helping to keep your brother! <br /><br />A Republican friend of mine said, "Oh, all this means you are in favor of Big Government!"<br /><br />I'm not in favor of big government. I'm not in favor of little government. I am in favor a government that works, a government that knows that poor people are not stray animals, unworthy of help. What I am saying is government should be...let me try to get it straight...OF the people, FOR the people, and BY the people! Could anything be clearer than that?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-5954803034044188532010-01-25T10:49:00.003-05:002010-01-25T12:45:09.142-05:00THE DIVIDED STATES OF AMERICAThere are reports in newspapers and in a book about some of the torturous procedures at Guantanamo. These reports concern the deaths of three prisoners there, one of them around the age of 19. These men were not proven to be terrorists, but seemed to be people just swept up by the tide that went through Afghanistan, when all one had to do to end up in Guantanamo is be turned in by an acquaintance or be in the wrong place at the wrong time.<br /><br />The military authorities deemed these deaths to be suicides, but witnesses claim it was murder. If so, it was covered up and never revealed until these articles were printed. It was said the suicides were brought about by the men stuffing rags down their throats, but witnesses say this didn't happen, that the torturers were the ones who stuffed the rags and caused the deaths of these men.<br /><br />Perhaps an investigation will follow, or perhaps these deaths will be swept under a rug, to join the mass of atrocities nurtured and approved by the previous administration, leaders who employed a host of lawyers to make sure their sins would never be punished and events that emphasized the fact that you and I will pay for any illegal action, but powerful and dishonest people can get away with crimes that make you cringe just to read about them.<br /><br />President Obama has been dismayed by the divisions so prevalent in our country. Rightwing, leftwing, one extreme to the other. The Republican Party seems to be led by a group of religiously radical folks, who preach the love and generosity commanded by Jesus in the Bible, but realistically ignore those commands to lead a campaign against their political enemy, Liberals. On the other hand, Liberal Presidents led the country into a maze of taxes and giveaways, to a point where many people felt that their money was being ripped from their paychecks and used to finance sloth and ignorance.<br /><br />Personally, I don't think that God would approve of Glenn Beck, Rush Limbaugh or Ann Coulter, along with the other pundits making our differences as wide as a chasm between two mountains. I would imagine there are more people listening to the three aforementioned people than are reading their Bibles. I would imagine that a daily dose of vitriolic hatred keeps the fires of division burning!<br /><br />With people like Beck, Limbaugh and their ilk leading the troops of Republicans, I doubt if the division in this country will ever be closed. That chasm is fueled by words of hatred. It is burnished and nourished by words of selfishness and greed!<br /><br />When elections consist of Advertisements that are patently false, when slogans and phrases<br />ruin reputations, impugn character, try to make cowards out of heroes and base elections on angry, hateful words and false allegations, how can any voter make an intelligent choice and select the man most capable for the job?<br /><br />When a group of people...the Base....turn religion into a weapon of war and try to infiltrate our government with their beliefs, how can any intelligent person not resent the intrusion into their personal lives, the repudiation of their faith, and the attempted demolition of America as a land where all religions are welcome and cherished?<br /><br />We all know life can be a bumpy road. If one saves up $100, a bill will arrive in the mail demanding $200. It's a fact of life. The best-laid plans of mice and men....well, we all know the phrases, and financial plans seem to be hit more often than anything else. So, if one group of people believes that poor folks, those with no savings, no retirement plans, no medical insurance, are not just unfortunate and reeling under the blows that life can deal, but are lazy, no-good bums with their hands out.....where's the Christian compassion there?<br /><br />We have herded our African American neighbors into poor, rundown, smelly, horrible sections of our midcities, have denied them good jobs until forced to give some to them by governmental law, failed to loan them money for businesses and factories, forced them to exist on pittances handed out by the government, broken up their families because of poverty, slammed their children in jail, then some people ignorant of the facts have deemed them lazy bums unworthy of help. Let us just say that very few people have paid tuition to send their children to the crumbling midcity schools....schools with no playgrounds, with broken-down plumbing, with a lack of teachers and inexperienced administrators.<br /><br />Red states...blue states...states that are half red, half blue....one would wonder what Thomas Jefferson would think of America today. Think about it, colonial America contained this group of highly intelligent men, who sat together and hammered out a Consitution that has served us up to our modern times. It is priceless, a testament to Freedom, promising a better life for every man, woman and child. It doesn't segregate people by race, by religion or color. It simply gave us a pattern to follow, reminiscent of Biblical commands, yet we have tried to interpret those words to mean the opposite of what they say. We try to tack on amendments that reveal our bigotry and foolishness.<br /><br />United, many of these problems could be solved. United, this country could ward off the evils of terrorism. United, our citizens could enjoy an equal lifework in a country where equality is promised. Divided, we are doomed to failure and will squabble away every chance that we have.<br /><br />I lived through a great World War and I can remember the unity then. Every family worked to assure victory on the battlefield. Granted, back then we were fighting soldiers in uniforms. You could tell a soldier from an average citizen. In today's world, we are fighting shadows. We are suspicious of anyone with the dark features and clothing of a Middle Easterner. We fear the possibility of an airplane being bombed, but ignore the fact that hundreds of people die or are injured each month in auto accidents. There is no Fear of Autos, and there should be, because your chances and mine of dying in an automobile far outweigh your possible death in a terrorist attack.<br /><br />To most of us, these terrorists are not only frightening, but spooky. They wrap themselves in outlandish garb and their dark eyes show no glimmer of understanding of our culture and our beliefs. We have even less understanding of theirs. Their religion may be the fastest growing faith in the world, but it seems rather weird and threatening to most of us. We are told that Islam is based on peace and love, but believing this in this wartorn world is difficult to do. Do it we must, because our Constitution promises Freedom of Religion and Muslim-Americans should enjoy the same pleasures that the rest of us share!<br /><br />United we stand, divided we fall....this old saying is very true. We are bringing about our own demise in America. First, we didn't protest and hold Tea Parties as Corporations fled the country to save labor costs in China and India. Secondly, we thronged to the Dollar Stores to buy cheap goods and purchase Toyotas instead of Fords. Third, we believe publicity as though it is Gospel. If someone says a Ford isn't reliable or all Unions are evil, we believe what we hear. Fourth, we are not living up to the Freedom of Religion the Constitution upholds.<br /><br />It is politicians that have brought us down to our knees and, if we elect one good, honest man, we can't recognize this factor because the right or leftwing publicity makes us unsure. We demolish the good ones and then scream to the Heavens when the bad ones are in power. Rightwingers hate the Democrats. Leftwingers snort at the mention of the Republicans. In the meantime, Congress drones on, slow as a melting glacier, accomplishing little, babbling and blathering, but seldom taking action. They bask in the security of lifelong Medical Care, paid for by the taxpayers who struggle to keep their own insurance bills paid. Then, too, millions and millions have no insurance at all!<br /><br />United, we could solve some problems. Divided, we can only enjoy a good fight. Truthfully, we are all at the mercy of the men and women we elect. If a man or woman is intelligent, educated and moral, we have to learn to applaud this fact, no matter which side of the spectrum he represents. Instead, we listen to the likes of Limbaugh and the battle rages on, and we don't seem to have the sense to resort to rational thought. <br /><br />Which returns me to the subject of torture and possible murder at Guantanamo. Do we investigate and possibly prosecute, thus dividing our country even more? Or do we sweep these miserable deeds under a rug and try to convince ourselves that America, the Beautiful still flies an honorable flag? Our choices remain like ugly warts on smooth, young flesh, but we have to decide between true morality or the ugly sins that can twist the minds and behavior of human beings in a time of war. We have to stand together, united, come what may!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-48350468783531640122010-01-15T15:56:00.004-05:002010-01-15T16:58:19.670-05:00TOO MANY!I have always been amused by the tales I heard of the places where Mom and Pop lived with their brood before moving to the Farm. I have written about the lack of electricity, the ramshackle buildings, the leaks in the ceilingx and the snakes in the yards. Before I was born here in Michigan, and after Pop lost the farm he had bought, they rented places to house their growing family, which then numbered nine or ten children.<br /><br /> For a while, they lived in a place they called "The Deefendallar Place." Evidently, somewhere in Illinois, there is a family called The Deefendallars." Mom and Pop rented a home that the Deefendallars owned and, from what Mom told me, it was as bereft of comforts as all of the places they could afford. From the Deefendallar place, they moved to "The Holler." I don't think the Holler was any improvement, but it served them for a year or two until they moved into the house that burnt down.<br /><br /> I've never known what caused that fire, but I do know that the blaze was out of control. Mom got the kids together and got them outside to safety, but Pop was caught upstairs with either Homer or Bud, I'm not sure which. Anyway, he somehow snatched up the baby and made his way down the burning staircase, with flames licking at his clothing and roaring through the gray timbers of the house.<br /><br /> Along with the house, the fire took away all of their clothing and possessions. Years later, the U. S. Passport office insisted that I send them a family Bible or some document that would prove I was not born in either Canada or Mexico. Alas, any Bible or document had been lost in the fire and the only memento I have from my parents is an old gray pitcher with a tiny crack in its rim, so old I am afraid to even touch it. Here and there, there are a few photos of people in my family, scattered about where it is difficult to find them. Somewhere, in that maze of papers and pictures, I have a photo of Bud dressed in his Army uniform and ready for battle.<br /><br /> How different the world was when Bud, Deed, and Hubert went to war, leaving their families behind. By that time, I was almost reaching my teens and we lived in the place I have always called The Farm. Hubert was never sent any farther than Hawaii, which before it was made a state, was deemed a foreign country. Bud went on to be stationed in France, which was finally liberated from the Germans. What battles he fought, what bloodshed he saw, we never knew, for he kept it inside and never spoke of his experiences. Hubert, on the other hand, made much of his wartime battles as he was placed in a platoon that fought mosquitoes in Hawaii. Even today, that semi-tropical paradise is free of mosquitoes.<br /><br /> At that time, the city of Pontiac, Michigan, was a busy, thriving metropolis. It had a dime store that stretched for a city block, and many clothing stores, restaurants, hardware stores and other establishments offering everything you might need. Today, Pontiac is an impoverished wreck of a city, the dime store long gone, the other stores failing or empty. It is a ghost of its former self, a reminder of all that has gone wrong with our country.<br /><br /> Almost overnight, the automobile factories switched over to war vehicles and women began taking jobs as never before. The entire country united in an effort to defeat the Axis, which consisted of Germany, Italy, and Japan. Defeat them we did, and it was a joyous time when my brothers were finally home.<br /><br /> In my mind, I have often compared the War Then to the War Now. There was no ideological division then, everyone was happy that we had pulled out of Depression, and almost everyone cried like babies when Roosevelt died. We were apprehensive of Truman, but he proved to be a feisty, determined President who led us to the victory we claimed.<br /><br /> It was Truman who had the responsibility of deciding whether or not to use the atomic bomb. It must have caused him some sleepless nights, but he finally decided to use it, thus saving American lives. So the Enola Gay took off on its journey and the long war with Japan was over. The heartrending sight of horribly-burned Japanese citizens has haunted us for years, citizens that ignored the leaflets distributed by other planes before the bombs were released.<br /><br /> Today's war is a guerilla war, fighting Middle Eastern radicals that have made it their goal to destroy us. If financial destruction is what this meant, and some say it was, then they have accomplished their goal, for we flounder again in a huge recession that has cost us our jobs and our money. However, the American spirit is alive and well, albeit divided. One has to believe that if the fight for political power would cease and everyone join in to work toward victory, we could win this war as well. Instead, our politicians bicker and fight, Tea Parties attract dissidents, and name-calling never seems to cease.<br /><br /> When my brothers came home, our lives went on as though there had never been a war. Rows of little two or three-bedroom houses, with no similarity to the mini-mansions of today, housed almost every veteran and his family. Low-interest loans were available to veterans and this is how most of them afforded their first home.<br /><br /> Once again, we were all together again and the Farm was the meeting place every Sunday. It was there that we chatted, argued and sang together, with no talk of politics or of war. Bud and Hubert always loved little children and would tease and play with them for hours. I would run in the orchard with my nieces and nephews and not come in until dinnertime. Mom and the sisters and sisters-in-law would set the table and load it with food. Then, the fun really began. We did not eat quiet, formal meals, but constantly teased each other, tossing biscuits around, and joking about everything that had happened throughout the week. Pop, his head down as though he was avoiding all this horseplay, would concentrate on eating his food, his favorite "grease gravy" in a small bowl in front of him. I don't even know for sure what "grease gravy" was made of, be it pork chops or bacon or Heaven knows what, but I know that Pop wouldn't eat potatoes without it. Hubert always dug into the corn when it was ripe, chowing down several golden ears, while Bud liked biscuits as much as myself, busily smearing them with homemade butter.<br /><br /> When Pop was older and sick in the hospital, I went to visit him there. First, he was irritated and commanded me to fetch his clothes because he intended to walk out of this "hellhole." When I didn't move, he looked at me with that gleam in his eye and said, "Don't you hear me? Do what I say!" I was agonized, wanting to obey him and walk with him out of that hospital and back to the family home, but I didn't dare do it! I just sat there, tears rolling down my cheeks, sobbing for things I couldn't change, sobbing because I feared he would never come back home.<br /><br /> Then, he became quiet and thoughtful, looked at me as I sat beside his bed, and told me, "There's too many to leave behind!" I knew then, and he knew, too, that his days in the world were numbered. He knew that he would never again walk behind a plow in a field, the sun beating down on that battered old hat, the wind in his face, the horses pulling together.<br /><br /> As the years go by and memories of those golden days are all that I have, I can truthfully say I feel the same way. There's too many people to love and care about, too many to leave behind. All we can do is hope that someday....somewhere...we will be together again, a hope that is shared by everyone with people to love and laughter to share and memories to carry them onward. Too many to leave behind. Too many to ever forget!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-83129665885973067332009-12-31T12:43:00.003-05:002009-12-31T13:46:26.449-05:00UNDERSTANDING REPUBLICANSI have to admit, I do not understand Republicans, even though I have genuinely tried to do so. The way they look at life seems to me to be totally bereft of the virtues we need as human beings, qualities like compassion and generosity. I also find it difficult to figure out why Republicans seem to have the "Party Line." If you talk to one of them, he or she will say the same things that the next one will say. Do they have bulletins that arrive in the mail to tell them what opinions they should share and communicate? Or is it a universal love of Glenn Beck or Rush Limbaugh, who gives them their "Opinion of the Day."<br /><br /> I have friends with whom I have discussed this situation, and one friend tellsl me that this ideology is taught to the very young. Each baby, he said, is looked upon, not as an individual, but as a future Republican to chant the same phrases the rest of them preach! We've all heard it....."Why should I pay for some lazy slob that refuses to work?" "Why should I help feed children whose parents are so worthless they fail to take care of their own?"<br /><br /> Another friend of mine has the opinion that there is really only one Republican in this country....and the remainder are clones! <br /><br /> They all hate taxes. The Republican Valhalla seems to be a situation where no taxes are charged. At the same time, they are as irritated by big potholes as everyone else and set out their trash on Garbage Day. To expect services without paying for them is a huge dream in a Republican mind. They not only hate to pay for those services, but they want to make sure their contribution is not going to help out anyone else.<br /><br /> The thing is...they dislike the Federal Government. They believe that State and Local Governments should handle it all! However, I have faced a Zoning Board for a minor change in the title to property......and I can testify that this is much more difficult, and costly, than one might think. Local governments are often filled with petty, power-mad people who sit around making up Ordinances that make life more difficult for you and for me. The Federal Government is not petty. They may not be perfect, but they do not care if you cut down a tree, park your boat in your yard, sell a portion of your land, or feed a stray cat.<br /><br /> We've all heard it...."Give a man a fish and he'll eat that day. Teach a man to fish and he can eat every day." I have heard this idiotic phrase from almost every Republican I have ever met. The truth is, this theory works if you are in proximity of a river, a lake or a stream. If you are sitting in a ghetto, with no businesses or factories hiring, with no hope for getting a job, no hope of feeding your family, or catching a fish," this trite little saying is totally worthless.<br /><br /> Republicans all seem to hate Unions. They hate Unions although many worthwhile people are unionized. Firemen have Unions. Policemen have Unions. Postal workers have Unions. I have never heard a Republican criticize any of these. It is just the Auto Unions that have aroused their ire....the huge Democratic Auto Unions that bring a gleam of distaste to their eyes. Most Republicans believe that all Auto Unions are crooked, especially the people they call "Union Bosses." This, in some instances, has been true....but now let's look at Congress!<br /><br /> The Republican Congress and the Democratic Congress have been beset with problems of corruption of various kinds. There are Congressmen like Senator Tom DeLay, accused of money laundering, accused of making a quick buck off the cheap labor of a Caribbean clothing factory, as well as supporting K-Street, where lucrative deals were made with lobbyists, and DeLay allegedly forced junior Senators to vote as they were told.<br /><br /> Inevitably, the scandals in Congress involve either love or money. People in power often have trouble avoiding the temptation of an easy buck. It also takes millions of dollars to finance campaigns, so often these Senators take the easy way out. How, may I ask, can Republicans who believe that the Unions Bosses are corrupt not take a few moments to look at their own organization? It seems they have a Blind Side and use their prejudices to spread their misconceptions in every corner of the country they can reach.<br /><br /> A short time ago, a young Algerian boarded a plane and tried to blow it out of the air. Since that time, President Obama has been criticized, almost to a point of being accused of deliberately allowing the young man to climb aboard that aircraft. He waited three days to speak to the nation and this, Republicans said, is a serious dereliction of duty. Dick Cheney even once again climbed out of his Undisclosed Location to chide the President and accuse him of pretending we aren't at war.<br /><br /> Pretty silly words to aim at a President who just announced that 30,000 more soldiers would be sent to Afghanistan. Pretty silly words to aim at a President whose Nobel Prize speech was entirely upon the subject of the necessity of some wars.<br /><br /> First, during the Bush Administration, a man named Richard Reid tried to bring down a plane. We call him "The Shoe Bomber," and President Bush did not speak about it to the nation for five full days. Not one Republican Senator spoke a word of criticism about that!<br /><br /> Secondly, Richard Reid was allowed aboard the plane and used the same powdery explosive that this Algerian used. No heads rolled in the CIA over this incident and the similarities of the two aborted terror attacks is largely forgotten today.<br /><br /> Third, the Visa allowing the Algerian young man was issued during the Bush Administration. This is also the time that his name was placed on the Watch List, along with more than 750,000 other people. It seems that this Algerian problem was inherited by Obama, along with the economy, along with two Middle Eastern Wars, one of them needless, one of them engendering more Presidential exaggerations and lies than in our history before.<br /><br /> Republicans have won elections with ugliness and falsehoods, hiring people like Karl Rove to dream up slogans and appeal to the Uneducated and Nonpolitical among us. A neice of mine, discussing John Kerry, said...."Oh, I could never have voted for him! He can't make up his mind!"<br /><br /> So, Karl Rove's "Flip Flop" slogan lives long after the election and a capable man like John Kerry is branded for life! Republicans cherish their slogans and spread their ugliness...Birthers...Deathers...Guns...Greed....as well as Evangelical radicalism, such as illustrated the author that wrote a Children's Book called "There's a Liberal Under Your Bed!"<br /><br /> If there is a Liberal under your bed, child, rejoice, you'll get your breakfast tomorrow! If there's a Liberal under your bed, rejoice, you'll find him as Christian as anyone else in this country can be! I don't know why Republicans try to paint Liberals as non-religious, evil sinners, nor why they believe that faith in God is a Republican trait! I know quite a few Republicans and find them as prone to human fault as myself....and I have never called any President a monkey, because I consider apes to be far more intelligent than some recent Republican Presidents I could name. Yet these so-called Christians parade around with ugly posters of a monkey-faced Obama, calling him Socialist, Communist, Fascist. Such is the Lust for Power stronger than the Love of God's Commandments!<br /><br /> I have trouble understanding Republicans. One of the reasons I voted for Barack Obama is because he said...."I am my brother's keeper!" This, to me, is true religion, true spiritual faith...for Jesus commanded us to love our neighbor as much as we love God! Jesus was truly a Liberal, preaching love, peace, understanding and forgiveness. I am trying to do this with Republicans, Lord, but I find the task impossible to accomplish!<br /><br /> Nor do I understand this silly business about Christmas. If a restaurant owner with customers that are primarily Jewish wants to hang a banner saying "Happy Holidays," I completely understand and I hope this restaurant thrives, makes a profit, and hires a jobless Chef! Does this mean I am against Christ and want to remove him from Christmas? If you believe that, you should tune out Glenn Beck for awhile and donate a few bucks to the Salvation Army bucket outside your local store!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-44802606866845764222009-12-27T16:11:00.002-05:002009-12-27T16:50:24.535-05:00AN EXPLOSION OF BABIES, PART 11I was watching television a few nights ago, when Joy Behar came on. I've always liked her on the View, and I found her new show to be interesting. Her guests were a group of women who believed in what might be called Patriach families. In these families, the man is the Lord and Master. His wife is supposed to be submissive, come what may, especially in the bedroom, where she is supposed to "give in graciously" to his needs. If she has needs...or let's say, a lack of needs....this is to be ignored while she gives in graciously in her sweet, submissive way!<br /><br /> Most of these women are deeply religious and consider Birth Control to be a form of Abortion. They not only pop out babies with regularity, but most of them Home Schooled their children. Many of them also work, as well as taking care of their household duties, tutoring their children, and giving in to the Patriach whenever he so desires.<br /><br /> These women firmly believe that God has commanded them to live this way. They believe that having children one after the other is their ticket to paradise. They believe that God has commanded women to submit to their husbands and beget children, the more the better, until their bodies finally dry up the source.<br /><br /> I have to admit that I didn't understand or agree with the way they felt. It is the first time since the towers fell down on 9/11 that I felt like shouting at the television and tossing my shoes at this group of women. If a woman is no more or no less than a walking Womb, then why on earth did he give them brains? If procreation is the only thing expected of a woman in order to enjoy the pleasures of Heaven, then Hell may be full of independent gals who are doctors, lawyers, engineers, scientists and soldiers.<br /><br /> The world is filled with hungry children. We see pictures of them in Africa, their little bodies wasting away to a pile of bones, flies buzzing around their little faces as they die in the arms of their mothers. We also have millions of hungry children in the United States of America. So, while these mothers are popping out babies to add to the numbers in order to bask in paradise, other mothers are desperately trying to feed their families and keep their babies alive.<br /><br /> There are too many people in the world as it is. In China, they have a "One Baby" law, a law that would decimate a lot of these Patriach families and, if one believes what they say, it would keep a lot of women out of Heaven. The Chinese families who are restricted to one baby usually want that baby to be a boy, because boys can grow up and work and help feed the family, while a girl is only an encumbrance. So the orphanages are full of abandoned baby girls, with not enough families to adopt them.<br /><br /> When it comes to adoption, there are many, many problems. Most people want to adopt a newborn baby. Few people want to take on the problems that may come along with the adoption of an older child, the possibly troubled, belligerent child who could disrupt their lives, cost them money on counselors, doctors or psychiatrists, and take up their time in school conferences! Instead, it is better and easier, they believe, to adopt a blond-haired, blue-eyed infant. Some of them go to China or other foreign lands, but this doesn't make a dent in either the starving children of foreign lands or the abandoned baby girls in China. There are millions still waiting.<br /><br /> One could wonder why God would command women to have children in a world where children are crying for food. One would wonder why God would use children as a ticket to Heaven when little girls are being raped and killed by murderous bastards with rifles and knives, who march their vicious path through their country's poverty-stricken villages. One would wonder why God would consider a woman's life only worth the number of children she could bear, when intelligent women become excellent teachers, doctors, lawyers and other professionals. <br /><br /> Very frankly, I do not believe that God has made this his command. In fact, when the other disciples verbally attacked Mary Magdelene and called her a prostitute, Jesus stepped forward to correct them. He explained that he loved her as much as and even more than he loved the rest of the disciples. In other words, he was a Women's Rights Activist, because Mary Magdelene was not being submissive and obedient and having baskets of babies, but was walking at the side of the man she loved, as an equal.<br /><br /> I believe that the key to marital happiness is a shared sense of humor and equality. Without equality, there is one partner superior to the other and this leads to arguments and trouble. Without a sense of humor, one cannot get through life. A day without a hearty laugh is wasted.<br /><br /> Would I join these women in submitting and obeying any man? When Pigs fly! Would I believe that God commanded women to do little besides bear children? When the lion lies down with the lamb! We have too many problems between marital partners as it is. Marital abuse is rampant throughout our country, with women bearing the brunt of the bruises! To give a Patriarch-like position to an abusive mate is like giving him permission to bring out the cattle prod. How dare these women teach our young girls that their only purpose for being in this world is to have children! How dare them teach our young boys that they will grow up to be Lord and Master over the members of their household! <br /><br /> It is my belief that married people should share the remote, have the number of children they BOTH want to have, and try to survive with as little conflict as possible. Young or old, Gay or Straight, Black or White or any other hue, this is my recipe for happiness!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-26043424889736904702009-12-21T13:21:00.003-05:002009-12-21T14:20:36.509-05:00AN EXPLOSION OF BABIESThere were 12 children in our family. My father wanted 13, but one of my mother's babies was stillborn, so he never got that last child. I was the youngest to arrive alive and healthy, so if Mom and Pop had practiced birth control, or if abortion had been available then and my mother decided to take advantage of it, I would not be here to write this post.<br /><br /> If we had all been born a little later, perhaps we could have earned millions of dollars in a Reality Show. It could have been titled Daisy and John Plus Twelve. We'd have all become world famous and had enough money for shoes.<br /><br /> Having babies has become a national fad. On one hand, we try to persuade teenagers to take vows of Abstinence and not have babies until later in life. On the other hand, the "moral values" of the last few years have encouraged wives to stay at home and pop out babies with gleeful regularity. <br /><br /> Hollywood has led the country. The movie magazines and tabloids are filled with pictures of Suri and Shiloh and Violet and whoever. These cute little fashion models and pictures of pregnant celebrities have led the country on a baby-making spree. With our country's population hitting more than 300 million, not counting about 20 million illegal immigrants, many of them pregnant, this population explosion may lead us to problems we just didn't have before. We may not have enough fuel for our cars. We may not have enough food to eat.<br /><br /> The truth is, large families grow up and become even larger families. My own family is so populated that I have relatives I wouldn't recognize if I walked by them on the street. The kids I grew up with now have great-grandchildren and some of them may even have reached great-great status. At one Christmas gathering, I passed out envelopes filled with money and it wasn't until the party was over that I learned that I had given an envelope to a complete stranger, who was somebody's friend and had tagged along to enjoy the fun.<br /><br /> Now, if you follow the news and the television shows, we have a family with nineteen children. Then, too, we have Octamom, who had eight babies at one time. If my mother had done this, it would have saved her a lot of time, and I wouldn't have been the youngest child, but rather the same age as my brother, Harry, who was 25 years older than me.<br /><br /> Now, a lot of people can't join in the fun and have their own babies, so they have gone the route of surrogates. They pay huge amounts of money and cover the bills of a woman willing to have a baby for them. Sometimes, the sperm used is the father's, but more often it is from material used from a Sperm Bank, and these children usually never know who sired them. There is also adoption and many put Ads in the paper, hoping to find a baby needing a home.<br /><br /> The trouble with adoption is that everyone seems to want blue-eyed, blond newborns and few are willing to take in the troublesome older children who may have behavior problems. As a result, we have thousands and thousands of foster children with no takers. They stay in various homes, often running away, until they are eighteen and considered adults. In their search for babies. many couples take the foreign route, which involves going through bureaucratic procedures and making heartrending visits to orphanages filled with abandoned children.<br /><br /> Then, too, there are the clinics where female eggs are fertilized, then placed into the wombs of women who desperately want children. These eggs are prone to multiply, so often twins or quads or even more babies appear. This is what happened to Octamom. This is what happened to Kate. Spare eggs are kept around in the clinics, lest the couple decide to have another child. Eventually, the unused, unwanted eggs are incinerated. This is a farewell to the precious Stem Cells that could save the life of a Parkinson's patient or someone with some other fatal disease.<br /><br /> I remember the day when the birth of Quints in Canada caused a National uproar. With great curiosity, we followed the path of these five children, watching them grow, marveling at the fact that five healthy babies could encompass one birth.<br /><br /> We figured it out once and came to the conclusion that my mother had spent more than nine years of her life pregnant. Since pregnancy isn't the most comfortable time of life, this is a lot of time spent being uncomfortable. She gave birth to twelve children and I was the only one with a doctor on hand. The others had the benefit of my sister-in-law, Lily, who had no training as a mid-wife, but must have stepped forward to do what she could. <br /><br /> Women my age now have grand-children and great-grandchidren. We also frequently have an assortment of stepgrandchildren. Some of them have stepgreatgrandchildren. I have talked to women who had to count on their fingers the number of grandchildren and stepgrandchildren they have, since divorces and separations took so many former stepgrandchildren out of their lives. We don't live today as my parents lived, with the family gatherings every Sunday to enjoy each other. Now, families often live in different states and visits are few. Times have changed and not all for the good.<br /><br /> I love babies and especially toddlers, but the smaller the number, the greater the pleasure. If you get two or more toddlers together, the energy released could fuel the nation's furnaces with no trouble at all. I used to play ball with my grandchildren, but now I hobble to the nearest chair and wheeze.<br /><br /> This always brings back memories of my Pop with children surrounding his chair. We would play with Uncle Hubert and chat with Uncle Bud, but it was Pop whom we ended with, a huge pile of young children, giggling and milling around. Some sat on his lap and some hung over his chair, playing with his hair, laughing as he poked at them, enjoying the show.<br /><br /> "You're a Goodenun!" he's say, and none of us knew what he meant, but to be called a Goodenun by Pop was a special reward indeed!<br /><br /> Scientists now are recommending that people simply replace themselves and stop having families that our food and energy supply may not support. This is probably wise advice, but I cannot help but cheer the fact that it wasn't advised years ago, when our huge and growing clan made the ancient boards of the farmhouse shake and the joy of togetherness fill our hearts.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-72037316476742871472009-12-13T09:59:00.003-05:002009-12-13T10:45:26.022-05:00STANDING BY TIGER!Do you want to listen to the News these days? Just turn on your television, you'll get a speedy update on the private lives of a Carolina Governor and Tiger Woods. The infidelities of the World's Greatest Golfer are far more important to the Media than the battles raging in Afghanistan or the heartrending problems facing our President today, most of them inherited from a conspiratorial and greedy previous group. <br /><br /> For some obscure reason, the Media has decided that Tiger Woods owes an apology to the public. These Mia Culpa moments add thousands of viewers, especially when the wronged wife stands staunchly and bravely at his side. Perhaps they feel that Tiger Woods should do as some preacher, whose name I cannot remember, subjected us to, a wailing, weeping plea to God to forgive all of his sins. Nothing would please the Media more than a video of Tiger, tears streaking down his cheeks, confessing to his bad boy behavior and pleading with the world to forgive him. It seems that, because he played an excellent game of golf and appeared in many commercials, he owes the public an apology for not being perfect. Actually, the only apology Tiger Woods should make is to the woman he shamed.<br /><br /> Every day, we have been presented with another waitress or floozie claiming to have had an affair with Tiger Woods. They have appeared out of the woodwork, claiming their 15 minutes of fame, proclaiming their love for him, their abandonment, their agony, their sorrow for hurting his suffering wife. They have been given more airtime than General Gates and, of course, Nancy Grace has added to special brand of indignation to the chaos.<br /><br /> The truth is, Tiger Woods' life has undoubtedly been less wonderful than we all thought it was. He literally uplifted the game of televised golf from a droning, boring, hours-long agony to moments of excitement..."There he is. Will he win? Can he do it again?" A well-built, handsome, bronzed hero, he brought legions of people to line the golf courses where he appeared and claimed about a billion dollars in earnings. All of this for a man in his early thirties.<br /><br /> Think about it. He is on one side of the world, while the girl that he married stayed on the other. They are worlds apart and she was rarely seen in the audiences that cheer him on. His life was lived in strange cities, empty hotel rooms, lonely meals in unknown restaurants. His family, his wife, his babies, were miles away. His beloved father, his teacher, his mentor, has died. He's alone on that golf course, the idol of millions, but slave to the loneliness that strikes the traveler who journeys alone.<br /><br /> Why didn't his wife join him? They certainly had the money to pack up the kiddies, take along a nanny and allow her to enjoy the show? Why wasn't she there at his side as he broke records and made those marvelous holes in one, a phenomena in the golfing world with legions of adoring fans? Why didn't she come along and applaud his accomplishments, give him the adulation he evidently craved? Why did she leave him to a life of loneliness, of lonely travel, of dining alone? With women crawling all over him, as they are apt to do when it comes to fame and huge fortunes, why did this wife leave her young husband to make his way by himself?<br /><br /> Marriages may have changed from the days when I was young, but in no way would I have stayed at home when there were horizons to reach, battles to win, excitement and glory to be relished. I'd have been in the stands, cheering and applauding, dancing up and down with the joy of it all. Where was this woman, who should have been at the side of her husband? Where was this woman who took no joy in the millions he was claiming as his due? Artistic temperaments and great athletes have huge egos. I suppose they have to have this to handle the challenges they face. Powerful men have been known to have healthy libidos and Tiger Woods seems to have had his share of these qualities. Where was his helpmeet, his companion, his friend, his wife?<br /><br /> So, by writing this post, I am joining the Media is emphasizing the problems of Tiger Woods and making it a pivotal point in my list of opinions. Just as he has been unfaithful to his wife, Tiger Woods has a compassionate soul. He has financed a wing for a hospital tending to sick and dying children, with no fanfare, no Media attention, no applause for his behavior. This is only one of the charitable contributions Tiger has made. No television programs devoted to these wonderful acts! No daily bulletins, no sleazy women joining the throng, no group of pundits predicting this or that, no call for apology! Only when that behavior is Media-Worthy do the pundits come forth and the News Anchors practically drool with the joy of destroying a national figure. Only then do the lucrative Ads disappear!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-38398161848762767602009-11-22T21:21:00.003-05:002009-11-22T22:37:06.527-05:00GOD, GUNS, GREED AND GREETING EMPERORSHow do you say hello to an Emperor? Do you slap him on the back and say, "Hi, Dog, how ya doin?" Do you grab his hand, if you can find it in those sleeves, and give it a hearty shake? Well, big news this week, President Obama bowed to the Emperor of Japan. In Japan, bowing is akin to shaking hands. Waiters bow at you as you select a table. Concert ushers bow before they lead you to your seat. Yet, our Republican critics made a big deal over Obama's bow, as though to say that, by bowing to the Emperor, the President is lowering himself to the status of subhuman in the presence of a deity!<br /><br />They really have to dig hard to criticize the President these days, unless one counts those lying advertisements that scare the Seniors by claiming that Medicare will be cut, if the Health Reform Bill passes. They are absolutely right, Medicare will be cut, but benefits will not. Medicare will be cut by stopping some of the waste, the waste that has been allowed to drift on for years, using our tax money for items like the payment of thousands of dollars for a single wheel chair.<br /><br />I bought a wheelchair for my husband a few years ago. It cost me $200. Allowing for inflation, let's say that same wheelchair might cost $800 to a $1,000 in today's world, but Medicare has been paying close to $5,000 per wheelchair. This is how Medicare will be...should be...cut, so disregard those Ads that are intended to scare the pants off helpless, nonpolitical elderly folks who are simply trying to stay alive and make ends meet. There will be no cuts to the benefits given in Medicare.<br /><br />Another way Medicare can be cut is by paying doctors enough to cover their labor and costs, but punishing them for turning in overpayments. I once went to a doctor that charged Medicare for two visits when, in truth, I had only visited him one time. Another doctor charged Medicare $400 for a back treatment I never had. In fact, the doctor had informed me that he did not treat back injuries like the one I had and sent me on to a specialist.<br /><br />These overcharges were mild. There are some people who are bilking Medicare out of millions of dollars. Inventing patients, inventing procedures, sending in the bills and collecting the money. Strict oversight will halt these practices and send these criminals to jail. They are practicing Greed, that loveliest of virtues, on the backs of the American taxpayers.<br /><br />Greed seems to have afflicted our country in a way that has made it a virtue instead of a sin. If a fellow cheats his way into prosperity, he is applauded as a "foxy old gent." When people making over $250,000 yearly complain of paying their fair share of taxes, it is greed that is driving their complaints. When a CEO of a failing bank gets a hefty bonus, it is greed that keeps him from returning it to the company he helped to bring to ruin. <br /><br />Greed not only strikes the rich, but often afflicts the poor. Because a few people cheat on Welfare, Rush Limbaugh labels them all as cheaters. The difference is, the poorer cheaters who lie to get more benefits are treated with scorn and contempt. The rich cheater is lauded by invitations to the prestigious functions that only the wealthy are able to enjoy...the finest clubs, the best restaurants, the fabulous dinners...and all of the perks that people give to the crafty fox who cheated his way to the top.<br /><br />Howard Dean used to have a description of the Republican Party that just about covered it all. It was "God, Guns and Greed," and they sure lived up to these descriptions. According to them, God is a deity whose picture should be displayed in every government office, in every school, in every church. At the same time, they believe that people should have the right to carry guns anywhere...be it a governmental function, be it a school, be it a church. They conveniently forgot about two things....the fact that the Separation of Church and State has been the backbone of our multi-ethnic country....and the fact that it takes only one lone nut to blast away several innocent people before he can be halted. This fact becomes more clear when you hear of the carnage at Fort Hood. Driven by religion, this nutty professor shot down several of his fellow soldiers, including one who was pregnant. <br /><br />The truth is, religion in its extreme form can be a dangerous road to travel. Jim Jones was no friendly neighborhood preacher. Leaders of the Mormon cult where young girls, barely through puberty, are married to older men is not exactly ignoring pedephilia. Paying off the victims of pediphiles and moving them to other areas where there are children around does not exactly display benevolent concern for humanity. Jesus Camps, extolling the virtues of killing Muslims, are not exactly Reading, Writing and Arithmetic classes. Perhaps religion is better in smaller doses and, at the first sign of extremism, relatives and friends should use Intervention. Radical religion mixed with greed can bring about some very strange bedfellows. Mix it with politics and you have a truckload of fertilizer ready to explode.<br /><br />There have been countries that have banned religion entirely. Russia, under Stalin, is an example of this extreme measure. Obviously, this does not work, because people must be free to be faithful to their beliefs. It is only when those beliefs turn dangerous that religion becomes alarming. It is only when one religion declares itself superior and aches to fight other religions to rid the world of their curse that religion becomes totally lethal. In this country, it makes a mockery of our Constitution. Freedom of religion is definitely a part of the Constitutional phrases, but its writers were including all religions, not just one. In truth, few of our Founding Fathers were very religious. One of them was a Pastor. The rest were a mixture of Christian and psuedo-Christian beliefs. Some of them were Deists. All were brave and intelligent men.<br /><br />Think of it. If we had to rewrite the Constitution today, who would be capable of writing it? Should we turn the task over to Sarah Palin, who would brag that she could bring down a moose? The one person capable of writing such a tome would be President Barack Obama, because the Constitution is as liberal a document as has ever been written. Other learned people, some Republican, some Democrat, some Independent, would squabble for months about the nuances and cost. They would complain about calling all men equal, when it is obvious financial equality isn't equal at all. They would toss out the Bill of Rights and call it the Bill of Rights and Lefts. It would be a literal mess, because in today's world, we simply can't agree on anything, even whether it is correct protocol to bow to an Emperor.<br /><br />To a Japanese, an Emperor is a link to God, sort of like Goerge W. Bush, who decided that God had approved the War in Iraq, even though God was probably hanging his head in shame. When Bush allowed religious groups to travel to the war zone and tell the military they were "soldiers of God," this was an outright lie. Not one of us knows how God would feel about all of this, so putting words in his mouth is shameful. On one side, they are saying "Allah is great!" On the other, they are saying "God is good." Since both have beliefs that seem to be nearly the same, wouldn't one think we could get along together? But, ah, we have forgotten about Greed....those fallow oilfields, aching to be spurting Black Gold into the air! It is obvious someone, somewhere, decided that God wouldn't mind a little oil in his tank the same as the rest of us. On the other side of the coin, there are the Have Nots who resent the intrusion of the Haves and swear to annihilate their infidel ways. It is easy to resent a rich Uncle, so let's blow up something he loves and reveres and kill as many as his countrymen as possible.<br /><br />Perhaps we should stop saying "God is Good" and change it to "God is Greed!" Then we could charge into other countries, demand they become Democratic like us, where all men are equal except for poor people, who should be grateful for the privilege of pouring more profits into the pockets of their super-equal masters. Perhaps, as an Aristocracy, rather than a Democracy, we could conclude that...for some people anyway...Greed is God!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-85758995755210238482009-11-03T16:46:00.003-05:002009-11-03T19:02:29.520-05:00JUDGMENT DAY!We have spent 800 Billion on the Iraq War, and we are still spending money on the Iraq War. It looks as though we may be spending on the Iraq War or the Iraq Peace, if it ever comes, into infinity. Yet, despite this tremendous burden, Republicans have hit the ceiling because of the possible costs of Health Care Reform. Isn't it a shame that we did not say "No" (the Republican Favorite Word) to the Iraq War, which was needless, and spent that money instead guaranteeing good health care for every American?<br /><br />As they complain about the Public Option, they fail to come up with any alternatives. We have millions of Americans with no Health Insurance at all. Eventually, especially as they age, they will have health problems, as we all do. So, do the Republicans plan on leaving these people on the sidewalks, suffering and dying before our very eyes? Or will they fork over the billions it will take to help these indigent people when they are sick? Wouldn't it be better to vote for this Health Reform now, covering every citizen, to avoid these tremendous costs that are someday inevitable?<br /><br />At one time, Republicans fought like tigers against the Medicare bill. Now they finance Ads to scare the Seniors by warning them there will be Medicate cuts, something that just isn't true. Suddenly, Republicans have become the advocates...the defenders...of the very system they fought so hard to defeat!<br /><br />There was also a ruckus over the size of the Health Care Reform bill, which looks like the pages of a novel the size of Gone With the Wind. However, they passed...without hesitation...the 900 page Patriot Act, which none of them had taken the time to read. The Patriot Act gives a President the right to slam you in jail on mere suspicion, carry you away to any prison anywhere, without a chance to call your family or get an attorney on the line. Yet, they passed it without a single Advertisement against it. They didn't say a word about the 900 pages they didn't have time to read, pages that officially squashed the Civil Rights so cherished in the American culture.<br /><br />Every so often, Dick Cheney appears from the shadows to regale us with his opinion of the Obama Administration, which seems to be similar to my opinion of a den of rats chewing on a corpse. Cheney appears before the cameras, more or less prodding the President into a quicker move into War. Oh, how they loved War, these old politicians, it was their answer to every problem in the world, and Dick Cheney seemed to love War above any other sensible action. In our current entertaining fascination with vampires, Cheney would be an excellent choice for the leader of an underground bloodsucking group, seeking the nourishment of Muslim blood, eying Iran with hungry fervor! Yes, that would be a movie worth seeing.<br /><br /> Does Dick Cheney not know that his time in office is over? Does he believe that any sane person would want him back in a governmental position? How many people does he want to kill in the violence of bloodshed before one of those stints in his damaged heart gives out for good? If Obama is taking his time to make a terrifying decision, a decision on sending 40,000 more young Americans to War, well, then, bless him! Take all the time you need, Mr. President, lest we end up with another Viet Nam and the memory of some 60,000 dead soldiers fades into history.<br /><br />There have been times when War is inevitable, when our nation has been attacked and retaliation is necessary. Nine Eleven was one of those times, but perhaps someone will explain to me in a rational way just how we ended up fighting in Iraq? When bin Laden was cornered in Tora Bora, I hoped, I prayed, that he would be captured or killed, his minions diminished, the whole nasty onslaught of terror and terrorists fade into history. Instead, bin Laden escaped and the nightmare continued. We turned our back on Afghanistan and one would have thought that bin Laden took up residence in Saddam Hussein's palace. Suddenly, according to Bush and Cheney and Rumsfeld, the danger was in Iraq, instead of the Pakistani Mountains where bin Laden had fled.<br /><br />We should leave the governance of the Middle East to the Middle Easterners. We have no business dangling Democracy over the heads of any other country and demanding they install a government like our own. Back when the Founding Fathers wrote our Constitution, our people fought and died for the freedom of this country, for freedom from tyranny, for freedom of speech, religion and all of the other blessed liberties we enjoy. The citizens of other countries need to do the same, rise up against these corrupt leaders and fight for the right to live peacefully and well.<br /><br />Will this happen? Probably not, but let's hope that the Republicans will decide that, if we must spend all of that money, let's do it on benefiting the American people instead of inventing a War.<br /><br />Thus, the huge expenditures and Halliburton nonsense continued, and Dick Cheney led the way, behind the scenes, always shrouded in shadows, a grim, menacing figure who had suddenly gained a power he had never earned. He was Vice President and I think he really lived up to the Vice part of it. It seemed as though President George W. Bush listened to Cheney with both ears, even though he claimed he listened to his "Other Father." Cheney was the dark, mysterious figure in the background, the director advising the actors exactly how to find the path to war.<br /><br />It's over now, and it is only the calm steadiness of Barack Obama that has kept the public from demanding the prosecution of both Bush and Cheney. War crimes might be just one of the crimes they could be charged with. Lying to the public, torture, mishandling intelligence and using it to fulfil their own goals, outing a Secret Agent, misusing taxpayer's funds...all of this could be wrapped up into a believable case. Only President Obama stood between this ordeal and the prosecution of these two men. On the one hand, such trials may have divided the country even further and taken its minds away from the problems at hand. On the other hand, it would have cleared the air and taught the nation that not even a President and his advisors can break the law.<br /><br />As in the case of Nixon, Americans usually swallow the grievances, forget the abuses, and continue on their way.....unless it is the Republicans and Bill Clinton, then the Gavel crashes down and it's Judgment Day! Perhaps the best we can hope for is that someday, in the future, the two perpetrators of the Iraq War Hoax and the fiasco that followed will face a much Higher Authority on Judgment Day!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-60624707099960409162009-10-05T15:49:00.002-04:002009-10-05T16:55:05.017-04:00My mother and father never had Health Care. There was no protection for them or their 12 children. When I had strep throat, I had to go to the County Hospital, where I received the medical care that cured my ailment and I was able to go back home. Since I was backward and shy and had never been off the farm and away from my parents and brothers and sisters, it was a horrifying experience.<br /><br />I remember Bud and Connie came down to see me, but because they thought I had diptheria, they were not allowed to enter the room I was in. So they found a window that looked into my room and talked to me in sign language and words that Connie wrote on a piece of paper she found in her purse. Fortunately, it was decided that I had a Strep Throat instead of Diptheria. Since there were no antibiotics, curing horrible sore throats was a matter of gargling foul tasting liquids and waiting it out. <br /><br />I have thought about all this and wondered what would have happened if one of those twelve children had had a debilitating illness or a serious injury. It was luck that kept us from such a shattering condition, and perhaps God smiled down on us, but it was something else that helped keep us from harm.<br /><br />We had organic food and didn't even know enough to call it that. Our milk came straight from the cows and our chickens were roaming our farm. The vegetables we ate came straight from the garden, the salads were mixed from the lettuce, tomatoes and celery Mom grew. In the winter, the cellar was loaded with cans of those same vegetables. Oh, how I despised that cellar, with its cobwebs, it's dark, damp, dingy atmosphere, it's pile of potatoes growing ghostly white arms in the corner. Still, it was that cellar that kept us in "organic" vegetables until summer rolled around again.<br /><br />There were no chemicals in the food that we ate, nor did we have the preservatives that are prevalent in the food we eat today. I can remember the meals that consisted of very little meat. I remember Hubert chowing down about twelve ears of corn at one sitting, and Bud enjoying a breakfast of five eggs. Both were gangling and youthful then, with the huge appetites of the very young.<br /><br />I remember reading about a seige during World War II, when the German City of Leningrad was surrounded by enemy troops. The citizens had nothing at alll to eat. They boiled their shoe leather and licked the paste off wallpaper. There wasn't a bird, a dog or a cat to be seen, and eventually, they even began eating each other. One of the things I remember about the book that I read about all this is that the first to die were the male teens and young men, who need so many calories to survive.<br /><br />I am looking at this moment at a loaf of "wheat" bread that I bought in the store. It's ingredients are what flour, water, whole grain what flour, sugar, yeast, wheat gluten, bran, soybean oil, salt oatmeal, rye, molasses, butter, yeast, calcium sulfate, monocalcrum phosphate, ammonium sulfate, barley flavor, calcium proponate, mocolyceroes, honey, vinegar, sodium stearoyl, lactlate ethokylated mono-=-diolycerides, natural flavor, malted barley flour, enrichment ferrous sulfate (iron), thiamine hydchloride (Vitamin B1) Riboflavor (Vitamin B2) Niocin (Vitamin B3) and Folic Acid.<br /><br /> These are the ingredients "Aunt Millie" needs to make a single loaf of bread.<br /><br />Every Friday, Mom made her bread. It contained the usual ingredients, flour, yeast, a little salt, a little sugar, milk........I am sure she didn't have any calcium proponate or sodium stearoyl or any of the other items mentioned above. She always included a big pan of buns and we would come home from school and devour those delicacies with dollops of butter melted on them to add to their flavor. The bread had no preservatives. They were not needed, as the bread was eaten before it could mold. No mold deterrent was needed.<br /><br />The truth is, we live in such a hysterical world that we don't even know what we are eating. We don't know what is in our food. We don't know where our food is coming from, and we don't know the effects of our food on our bodies. The directions on nutrition given to us are conflicting and confusing, with items like coffee being scorned one day, then lauded the next. We are told to avoid large quantities of certain fish and seafood because of mercury, and now they are saying the good effects outweigh the bad.<br /><br />Our cupboards didn't contain much "storebought" stuff, although Mom did like her milk and crackers at bedtime. When Deed came home from the Philippines with malaria, he lay on the couch with skin the color of a lemon and a burning hot fever, and Mom plied him with soup. He was served bean soup, potato soup, chicken noodle soup and every kind of soup Mom could create. Along with doses of Atabrin, which was the only medication used for malaria back then, Deed was soon back on his feet. <br /><br />There were few appliances meant to make housework easier and, if there were, we didn't have them. Mom cooked on the old woodstove that belched and bellowed, but turned out tasty biscuits. She did our laundry in a galvanized tub, using Fels Naptha soap as the garment was placed on the scrub board, then she would rinse in another galvanized tub and squeeze the water from the clothes. Mom's wringing ability was like the Jaws of Life. She could wring with a strength of a bodybuilder. That same wringing ability was used on our hair when it was given its once-weekly washing and rinsing, and when she would wring our hair, it was time for howls of pain.<br /><br />Bud used to complain that he perpetually smelled like Fels Naptha soap, which drove his potential girlfriends away. Mom used it for everything, from scrubbing down kids to washing our clothes to curing a case of poison ivy. It might have been easier if it had looked a little more attractive, but it was a putrid shade of yellow, like solidified vomit, and it stung when it met your flesh. <br /><br />Mom believed in cooking the Hell out of vegetables. I remember Deed proclaiming that his cabbage looked and tasted like green mush. There was no chance of bacteria or a virus getting anywhere near the food we ate. Mom boiled and boiled anything on her stove until it was as pure and germ-free. No bugs would loiter in her home-canned vegetables, she claimed, and if they tried it, she either boiled them away or fried them in grease that bubbled and spattered around the kitchen.<br /><br />Those days are gone. We live in a world far more complicated that it was back then. We have lurking viruses and bacterial horrors awaiting around every corner. We have cars capable of reaching more than 100 miles an hour with mangled bodies to prove it. We have lost our sense of brotherly love and each day, one of us injures another. Perhaps there have always been problems like this, but we seem to have more and more of them. A simple life for a huge family on a little farm in a rural paradise is an endangered species these days. <br /><br />So, it had to have been a miracle and a sign of the times we lived in that we didn't need Health Care and couldn't have afforded it in any form. That Mom and Pop could raise twelve children with no catastrophic illnesses or injuries was not only because of good fortune, but because of the food we ate, the clean air we breathed, and the exercise we got on the farm.<br /><br />There's no going back in time. We have a different world now and we need Health Care for everyone, Health Care to combat the chemical dangers in the food we eat, the dirt and debris in the air we breathe, and our lifestyles that do not lead to good health. Above all, we need to look after each other. We are brothers and sisters. We are all God's children. We must give each citizen the gift of good health! This is our world. We are the world. Let's look after each other and make Health Care for everyone a Number One priority right now.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-18753199509704872582009-09-21T13:27:00.002-04:002009-09-21T14:15:17.463-04:00SOLVING THE PROBLEM!I love it when the men in this country enter the "Abortion Debate," discussing what they consider the immorality of women who "sinfully" evade what they believe is the female's responsibility to give birth to their progeny and not destroy it, even in the earliest moments of what could be termed possible existence.<br /><br />Somehow, in this Debate, the role of men has been strangely forgotten. Abortion has become the sole responsibility of the women. The carelessness and selfishness of men is ignored, while all eyes turn on the woman and castigate her for not wanting her child.<br /><br />Some people believe that, even in cases of rape or incest, a woman should give birth to her child, rewarding the rapist or relative, punishing the victim who has been punished enough already.<br /><br />For years, men have been able to spread their seed indiscriminately, without a backward look at the consequences of their behavior. Some men stick around in a fatherly role. Others disappear from the lives of these babies entirely. It is a choice men have that women do not, unless they choose to have abortions. Society somehow excuses the men, using a sort of "Boys will be Boys" approach to the issue. They do not excuse the women.<br /><br />The truth is, the creation of a child is a shared activity. There are no Virgin Births, unless one counts the Biblical lore. Even in Biblical times, the women held the onus of creating new life and, in those days, wives could be cast aside for failing to delivery progeny, while a handmaid or other woman was brought in to accomplish the task. There was no talk of infidelity or sin where this was concerned. The fault lay with the woman who did not get pregnant and deliver children for their mates. Then, as now, women were viewed as objects, as property, with no purpose other than sexual pleasure and creating life.<br /><br />In today's world, many men are not so anxious to sire children, but most of them are pretty darned anxious to enjoy their sexual pleasures. In fact, one of the most profitable medications on our shelves is one that enhances the male ability for sexual prowess. Created under the myth of availability for those suffering from sexual dysfunction, it is used by males throughout the country and is the subject of many rather nauseating Ads where a woman is shown smiling sweetly at an overanxious male who leads her toward what is presumably a bedroom.<br /><br />If this liaison ends in a pregnancy, in many minds, it is the woman's responsibility to bear her child, even if she does not want a child, cannot afford a child, is medically or mentally unable to give birth, or doesn't have the intelligence to raise a child. The offending male isn't given a second thought, for everyone understands that "Boys will be Boys" and, if no marriage is involved, his responsibility ends with meager payments to the mother.<br /><br />Even in marriage, in most instances, the mother is left with the basic burdens of childcare. If she chooses a career, she must juggle the tasks involving both work and home. In the meantime, the male of the family is usually climbing the employment ladder, arriving home to sit on the couch and watch football, sipping his beer and grunting, while Mama handles the dishwashing chores.<br /><br />Some people who dislike abortion are also against birth control, which gives the male even more freedom to spread his seed, leaving the female at the mercy of fate. With today's medicine and proper education, there is no reason for any woman to have a baby that is not wanted and loved, but some people feel that self-protection is not only sinful, but worse. One pharmacist, asked to fill a birth control prescription, shouted "Murderer!" at his customer, as though preventing a pregnancy is bludgeoning a baby over the head with an ax. He would never have accused this baby's sire of this crime, because it is understood that "Boys will be Boys."<br /><br />A good way to prevent abortion is for every one of us to teach our sons to honor and respect all women and to never impregnate a woman who does not want a baby. This, in itself, is simple enough and would solve the problem that is dividing our country and causing such mayhem nationwide.<br /><br />Too many males consider females simply targets for notches on their belts and even in marriages, there is a vast amount of inconsideration for the wishes of the women as politicians preach that wives should "give in graciously to their husbands." Give in graciously? Perhaps these male politicians should be reminded that the Constitutional guarantee of equality does not bear a Men Only sign and that perhaps that husband should "give in graciously to his wife" and go to sleep. And, if a baby isn't wanted by both man and wife, this husband should rethink his priorities.<br /><br />Give the male of the species some responsibility for their actions and make it preventive, instead of after the fact. Males should be punished for causing needless unwanted pregnancies and when society realizes this and drops the age-old habit of excusing our men, the problem of abortion will be solved!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-34393379116273012722009-09-06T17:29:00.003-04:002009-09-06T18:17:09.507-04:00SLAPSTICK POLITICSIf you like pie-in-the-face humor, today's political world is the place for you. We have television viewing of a large group of hired extras holding up signs and screaming into the camera! The signs shout out various labels, all pointed at the President of the United States, Barack Obama! The signs blare out words like "Hitler!" "Facsist!" "Socialist!" and I saw one that proclaimed, "We Are a Christian Nation!"<br /><br />We are? It would be difficult to discern this from the roadshows that are going on right now. Groups of people are bussed in to every Town Hall Meeting, well equipped with above-described signs and, as my father would have said, "awhoopin' and ahollerin'"<br /><br />It's their Constitutional right, they say. It's their Freedom of Speech. However, they forget the Civil Rights of those who attend these meetings to hear the speaker and ask intelligent questions about Health Care Reform. What about THEIR Constitutional Right to attend a meeting, raise their hand politely and ask a civil question? What about THEIR Constitutional Right to hear the answers, learn what they came to find out about, what they came to hear?<br /><br />Are Republicans the only ones with Constitutional Rights? Or is that "Equaityl" business only intended for those of a certain political persuasion, as well as a certain color of skin?<br /><br />What an ugly business this all is, these hideous, hopping, hollering, hellbent hooligans itching for a fight, wanting only to obey the wishes of Rush Limbaugh, Glenn Beck, Ann Coulter and other foul-mouthed icons who want Obama to fail! A few of them have even brought their guns along to emphasize their right to make complete asses of themselves.<br /><br />Can you imagine how George Bush would have disposed of these thugs? He would have arrested them, tossed them out of the meeting, set the FBI on their tails, and hauled some of them off to secret prisons, sans attorney, sans Civil Rights, sans hope!<br /><br />Remember the Dixie Chicks? Those little singers were simply exercising their Freedom of Speech, but remember....the Constitution only applies to Republicans. Republicans stomped on their tapes, called radio stations with dire threats, sent a few Death Threats over the telephone wires to frighten these girls, and tried in every way to ruin their careers.......simply because one of them voiced her dislike for President George Bush! What about HER Civil Rights?<br /><br />What a eerie group of frightening dingbats! Now they are objecting to President Obama making a speech to schoolchildren on their first day in class. Some of them are not sending their children to school on that first day. Some of the schools are closing until the day after the Speech.<br /><br />The Circus is in town, folks, and the clowns are jumping around, showing their teeth in those smeared monstrous smiles! They are showing the true bones of what they call "Christianity!" They are ignoring every instruction left behind by Jesus Christ and, as for the Golden Rule, it is irretrievably tarnished!<br /><br />Every school child in this country would do well to emulate Barack Obama, a poor kid who was dragged from one school to another, often in distant lands, a boy with an absent father and an intellectual anthropologist mother, who was often gone on long, extended trips. Raised by his grandparents, he attended Harvard, excelled at his studies, became a Constitutional Scholar and taught Constitutional Law at a University before become a Senator and then the President of the United States.<br /><br />You can't do much better than that!<br /><br />But, remember, he's half Black! That makes him fair game for the right wing extremist idiots crawling around empty fields and exercising their right to threaten every law on our books!<br /><br />Yet, these Crazies are afraid to have their children listen to Obama's speech. Oh, yeah! If they cared about their children, they wouldn't cling to their nutcase leaders, Dick Cheney with his love of torture, Sarah Palin with her dysfunctional family, Tom DeLay with his rather shady ways of making money! Then, too, there's Rush,. the American Voice of Ugliness, the Sultan of Excrement, spreading his manure among his enthralled listeners. Let us not forget Glenn Beck, guaranteed to make your skin crawl.<br /><br />Love Thy Neighbor, Jesus commanded, citing that this Commandment was equal to the Love of God. These Republicans are spreading this wicked nonsense throughout our country and we're going to have to shut them up with hearty belly laughs! Don't waste your money on a movie with slapstick comedy! Just tune in to any News Channel and some snickering, bellowing and loud guffaws are guaranteed!<br /><br />However, despite the laughter incited by these partisan fools, there's an air of darkness and deviltry, a whisper of a future that threatens the very heart and soul of this country. We can never, ever afford to allow people like this to win any political battle! There is nothing they won't say, nothing they won't do to gain their pathetic goals. They are diabolic in their hate-ridden behavior, dancing a macabre dance that shakes the very meaning of freedom!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-71744097348304872642009-08-24T21:34:00.003-04:002009-08-24T22:24:29.988-04:00CAMPING OUT - FAMILY STYLEA long time ago, when my sons were little boys, we used to take our little trailer out to the woods and the parks and enjoy a few days of camping. We built bonfires in the evenings, brought out the marshmallows and cooked our S'Mores, took long walks along wooded paths, and did all of the things that family campers have done since I can remember.<br /><br />Not long after we announced our love of camping, Hubert decided he, too, would join in the fun. He had no interest in buying a small trailer as we had done, but insisted upon buying a trailer that was as long as two semi-trucks tied together. It was a monstrosity, equipped with every luxury known to man. While we sat in our crowded "home away from home," which Gerry jokingly said was so small that I could sit up in my bed and reach out and make my morning coffee without getting up, Hubert enjoyed the palatial luxury of living in opulent splendor.<br /><br />The only thing he forgot about was driving and parking this enormous trailer. So, we went on a trip into Northern Michigan one time and Hubert decided to join us. The first thing he did, after pulling into the campground and paying his fee, is get the enormous trailer stuck between two equally enormous trees. <br /><br />Talk about rubber burning! He revved up his car and tried his best to pull the trailer away from the trees. We all pushed and shoved and tried to help him and it was late afternoon before the trailer gave way, with a huge belching sound that made us wonder if the whole thing was near collapse.<br /><br />Finally, after many attempts, he managed to get the trailer parked in a campsite, its rear end jutting into the road. Then, we went about the business of camping. While pulling the trailer out of its position between the two trees, Hubert had banged his head against one of the trees and knocked out one of his front teeth. So, there he was, the huge gap between his teeth making him look like a hillbilly minus the straw clutched in his mouth. All he needed was a straw hat to complete the picture.<br /><br />I laughed at Hubert's missing tooth every time he smiled, so God decided to teach me a lesson in humility. I entered the rustic outhouse provided by the park one morning and carelessly knocked my face into its door. The blow to my face sent me reeling. I felt as though I would faint, but I finally was able to walk back to my trailer and peer into a mirror to review the damage. Sure enough, I had knocked out a tooth. I had not only knocked out a tooth, but the vacancy was located in the very same position as Hubert's missing tooth.<br /><br />So there we were, matching bookends, both with gaps in our smiles. For the remainder of the vacation, we would go to a restaurant for our morning coffee. One waitress asked us, "Are you all related?" We smiled at her with our matching toothlessness and simultaneously said, "Yep! We're brother and sister!"<br /><br />My sons found an orphaned chipmunk and promptly named him Gomer. They trained Gomer to walk with a leash, fashioned from a string, and walked this tiny creature all over the park. The problem was, Gomer seemed to be nocturnal and we spent our nights prying him out from the corners of the trailer. One time, he escaped into the darkness outside and we had a loud, excited search until he was located. Hubert and Gerry, our upperclass neighbors, complained that they hadn't had one good night's sleep since Gomer appeared in our lives. <br /><br />Not long after that, Bud and Connie, who owned a small trailer similar to ours, decided to join our camping excursions. We camped in a park that had very stringent rules. If you stayed beyond the time you had paid for, you couldn't just renew your campsite. You had to move your trailer out, take it around the park, then bring it back to re-park it in the same spot you had just left behind.<br /><br />It was the silliest rule I have ever heard and I will never forget Bud's dire expression when the Ranger explained it to him.<br /><br /> "You'll have to move it out, sir," said the Ranger, "and bring it back in again!"<br /> <br /> "Can't we just say we did it?" asked Bud, "and save ourselves all that commotion?"<br /><br /> "No, sir, our rules are strict. You have to pull it out, then put it back."<br /><br /> "Some rules are made to be broken," said Bud. "Let's break this one. I'll never tell!"<br /><br /> The Ranger began to waver. "Well, I guess we can overlook it this one time,!"<br /><br /> That same day, Hubert drove his rig out to join us. There was only one camping space left and the rule was "First come, first served!"<br /><br /> Quickly, Hubert pulled his big trailer as fast as possible around the curves of the park road, heading for that single parking space at the far end of the park. The rear of the trailer weaved ominously as he sped around the curves. Other campers came out of their tents and trailers to watch this mammoth trailer pass by.<br /><br /> Just as he was backing the trailer into the space, a man rushed forward, pushing his tent and gear in a wheelbarrow. He parked his wheelbarrow in the space and watched defiantly as Hubert continued to back his trailer up, not even seeing the poacher whose stood stubbornly by his wheelbarrow, his arms folded across his chest, a determined expression on his face.<br /><br /> The discussion that followed involved all of us, protesting loudly, as well as the Ranger, who was beginning to wonder if we were worth the trouble we caused. Finally, Bud suggested the two families share the campsite. This was agreed upon and so, we had a guest for our bonfire that night, this strange man and his family, who carried their equipment in their wheelbarrow. They had walked several miles, pushing their wheelbarrow, to treat their two sons to a camping trip, so we all especially enjoyed sharing our hot dogs and S'Mores with these precious tots.<br /><br /> I laugh frequently at the memory of our camping trips, of Hubert's freight train of a trailer, of Bud's quiet opinion of using an Outhouse that hadn't been cleaned in at least a year. We had such fun back then, despite the discomforts, but I enjoyed those trips much more than I would have had we been guests in the most luxurious hotel.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-28433627509718541392009-08-05T11:10:00.002-04:002009-08-05T11:55:56.110-04:00THE BULLY BOYS ARE AT IT AGAIN!It's difficult not to be amused by the antics of the Republican Party, who must be the sorest losers in political history. President Obama had just taken his Oath of Office when Rush Limbaugh announced that he wanted him to fail. Since several million people hang on every word that comes out of the Bobbling Broadcaster's mouth, they have continued with a concerted effort to bring about that failure and earning themselves the title of "The Party of No."<br /><br />It has been an interesting, if ridiculous, few months on the political front. On one hand, President Obama has taken an conciliatory approach, appointing Republicans to high office and extending his hand in friendship. On the other hand, the Republican Congressional members continue to dig their political graves by clinging to the old pattern that the country endured for eight long years and which the country's voters rejected by a resounding majority during the last election.<br /><br />Suddenly, after saying not one word about the appalling waste of money that Bush spent on his War in Iraq, a needless war that never should have happened when it did, the Republican Congress has become fiscal experts, bemoaning every penny that Obama spends, declaring themselves to be "Conservative" and "frugal."<br /><br />Where were these complaints when Bush was handing over a fortune to Halliburton and other pet corporations that were throwing our money in the air like popcorn at a children's party? Where were their Conservative, Frugal efforts then? Why didn't they rush down to the offices of CNN to voice their views?<br /><br />Instead, there was a silence so loud it was like the atmosphere in a mausoleum. No complaints, no oversight, no television appearances on the subject of money. Bush ran the deficit up to phenomenal heights, helped by the "Arm of the Presidency" that was an expression used by some Republicans to describe themselves.<br /><br />Actually, Congress should not be an Arm of the Presidency, but should be an equal entity, as the Constitution directs. It leads one to believe that few of these Congressmen have ever read the Constitution, much less cared about anything but political power.<br /><br />Besides the rush to purchase and hoard guns and ammunition, this hateful bunch has decided to press their favorite grievance, that Obama is not a bona fide American citizen and thus cannot be President. I beg to differ. The documents are there and Hawaiian officials have verified that he was born in Honolulu. What more can a person do to convince people the location of his birth? I doubt very much whether you or I could come up with any more verification than that?<br /><br />This is just a looney Conspiracy Theory, which is always great fun, but doesn't have value as factual. The Republican objections have a racial ring to them, as though they just can't bear the fact that an African American could end up as President. Their tactics appeal to every redneck nutcase in this country. It has a KKK flair to it, and one has the feeling that a lynching party would bring cheers from the Limbaugh crowd.<br /><br />Then, too, there's the behavior of the Bully Boys. This bunch is organized and jumps into action when making asses of themselves might make political success. Thus, they helped John Kerry lose the 2004 Election (along with more than a little purging in Ohio) by instigating the Swift Boat Ads. Thus, they tried to ruin the career of the Dixie Chicks by calling radio stations with ugly threats. Thus, they gathered in Florida to make a woman in a coma a political ploy.<br /><br />Now, they have forgotten their Tea Parties, which were absolute failures that did nothing but engender countless jokes from late night comedians, and called upon their loyal minions to try to ruin the gatherings meant to inform citizens about Obama's Health Care Reform.<br /><br />Some fifty million (or more) citizens have no health insurance at all. Many, many more have had problems with insurance companies, who are charging exorbitant prices for needed policies and who often refuse to pay for certain medical problems, leaving their clients with mounting medical bills. They also frequently refuse to insure anyone with a preexisting condition, so if you have beaten cancer twenty years ago, you can forget about being covered today.<br /><br />With these...and other...problems, Health Care Reform is a good idea. A Public Option, run by the government, is also something that is needed, simply because some citizens cannot afford to pay even the lowest rates for insurance. This is a choice that all citizens should have, but it scares the pants off Republican Congressmen. They are frugal, remember, and the thought of paying for other citizens to be insured sends them into nightmares and, besides, what would happen to those healthy contributions they receive from insurance and pharmaceutical companies? <br /><br />So, they have spread their poisonous rumors all over the country, hoping that uninformed, uneducated and heartless folks will listen and believe! Why, Democrats...led by the non-citizen foreigner, Obama, are trying to kill all the old people and fork out millions for abortions. Thus, the poison is leeched out like cough syrup to a stuffed-up toddler and Republicans are hoping to capture the fears of the innocent people trying to comprehend what is going on.<br /><br />The Bully Boys have gathered, infiltrating the meetings run by Democrats to inform the public about the details of the Health Reform plan. They have brushed up on their Swift Boating techniques, their Dixie Chicking skills, and they do as they are told by the likes of Limbaugh, attending these meetings and disrupting them with shouts, screams, threats, etc., which hampers any really interested citizen from getting any information on Health Care.<br /><br />Why do we put up with these Bully Boys, these well-dressed, loyal members of the Bush Base, who have brought such terror and ugliness to our country that we now have to struggle to convince the world we are not brutal animals? Do we want the country they would like to have....a dictatorship with civil rights destroyed and truth ignored? Do we want these Congresses filled with the arms of the Presidency, Yes Men who do not complain about a lying President who approved of torture, not only for adults, but for thousands and thousands of children, children as young as nine and ten, raping the girls, terrorizing the boys, a situation described by former President Carter in a recent article.<br /><br />If this is what anyone wants, they deserve it, every miserable moment of it!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-76346319252949626372009-07-18T14:48:00.003-04:002009-07-18T15:43:02.957-04:00GOOD TIMES GONE BYEach year for many years now we have had a Family Reunion on the Sunday nearest my mother's birthday. Rain or shine, we have met at various parks and yards to catch up on family activities and see the people we may not have seen for a year.<br /><br />Now that so many of the original twelve children of my parents' family have died, our family reunions are dwindling in size. We usually have a representative of each family branch, but the great crowds of people do not attend. With the size of our family and the distances involved, many of the nieces, nephews and cousins do not know each other well. When they do attend, they must feel like strangers.<br /><br />We used to take every opportunity to get together during every season of the year. We had house parties and gatherings, laughing and talking, and often playing baseball. One of my earliest memories is Mom taking over the ice cream churn, an old-fashioned container one had to fill with the ice cream ingredients, top with dry ice, then peddle away as though you were making butter. <br /><br />This was my first taste of ice cream and I remember how good it was, but the amount ladled into the cup was like a teaspoonful, enough for a few delicious bites, then the cup was empty. Yet everyone got their share.<br /><br />We also had houseparties where the family members would dance, hopping around on someone's living room floor. I remember one night that such a party was held at my house. Hajalmar and Nelle drove up from Toledo with all of their kids. When it was time to end the party in the wee hours of the morning, we found that there was a blizzard outside, so Hajalmar and Nelle spent the night.<br /><br />At that time, my husband and I were renting an old house in the downtown area of a village. There were three bedrooms upstairs, so I piled my boys into one of the rooms, kept the second for my husband and I, and gave Hjalmar the third.<br /><br />Hjalmar was not a talkative man. He was usually just an observer, attending picnics and parties, but contributing very little to the conversation. On this night, he was trying to get his young daughter, Dana, to sleep. Dana, however, had other ideas. Hjalmar had evidently found a stuffed monkey among my children's possessions, and I could hear him talking to Dana.<br /><br />"See the Monkey, Dana!" he cried. "Time for Monkey to night- night! Night-night Monkey! Good Monkey! Night-Night!"<br /><br />This went on throughout the night, two o'clock, three o'clock, four. Hjalmar worked hard to get the Monkey to sleep, but was evidently having no success with Dana. Finally, as dawn broke over the horizon, the bedroom was quiet. Dana had passed out from utter exhaustion and Hjalmar had followed suit. Nelle had given up on the bedroom and had stretched out on the living room couch.<br /><br />Drinks were not often served at our parties, but at one party at Helma's house in Detroit, someone brought out a bottle. My husband never held his liquor well and that night was no exception. So, when we left the house to go home, I decided that, for safety's sake, I had better do the driving. This infuriated my husband, who claimed he was stone cold sober. I persisted and so he decided that, if I would not allow him to drive, he would walk home, a distance of more than thirty miles.<br /><br />I didn't know what to do, so when Bud and Hjalmar came out to find out what the commotion was about, I told them my problem. They took off in Hjalmar's car to find my husband. After waiting for what seemed like hours, they returned with him. They had found him on Woodward Avenue, sitting on a fire hydrant. However, before I could drive home, we had to get Eddie in his car.<br /><br />Eddie, Norma's husband, was a Southerner, a congenial, very likable man who worked hard for his family. He had somehow decided to join my husband in polishing off the bottle that night and, in the adventures of the evening, he had forgotten to ask my sister-in-law, Gerry, to dance. So, when it came time for Eddie to go home, he refused to get in the car until he had danced with Gerry.<br /><br /> "Get in the car, Eddie," said Norma. "For Heaven's sake, get in the car!<br /> <br /> "I told you, I want to dance with Gerry!"<br /><br /> "I want to go home, Eddie, get in the car!"<br /><br /> But Eddie refused and continued to refuse, with Norma Jean begging him, until the people left at the party piled out of the house to see what was happening.<br /><br /> "Get in the car, Eddie!" said Hubert, taking Eddie's arm, but Eddie pulled away and repeated his intention. <br /><br /> "I want to dance with Gerry!?<br /><br /> Helma's home was in a subdivision, with small lawns dividing each property. Eddie's car was parked in the driveway, close to the neighbor's house.<br /><br /> As everyone begged Eddie to get in the car, a strange voice spoke loudly from the window of the neighboring house.<br /><br /> "For God's sake, Eddie, get in the car. Gerry doesn't want to dance! Now get in the car!"<br /><br /> This deep voice, coming from nowhere, startled Eddie into complying. The crowd quieted down and went back in the house, and my husband and I began our journey toward home. Hopefully, Helma's neighbor, whose deep, sepulchre voice had gotten Eddie into the car, finally got some sleep.<br /><br />Eddie died one Christmas Eve not long after that, still a young man, leaving his family behind. Norma Jean took over the task of raising her children and did a successful job of it, working in a hospital for many years. <br /><br />I remember those gatherings and laugh at the amusing moments, still looking forward to a family reunion even though my hearing loss makes conversations difficult and even though so many of my brothers and sisters have passed on. Even those remaining look frail and sickly, because age is an enemy that eventually wins, despite any efforts to defeat it. The most one can do is try to delay it and sometimes even that is unsuccessful.<br /><br />I sometimes wonder if the younger crowd, most of them cousins, have the deep need for family relationships that we used to have. I want them all to share that camaraderie, that love, that excitement that we used to enjoy as a family. We didn't have money, we didn't have prestige, but we had so many relatives, we felt rich anyway. I want them to grow up with their generation as I did mine, forming longlasting relationships with nieces and nephews. I think it helps throughout one's life to know one is never alone, never unloved, never living in a vacuum. As long as there's family, there's always someone to care.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8748609.post-21365085912337126842009-07-02T20:02:00.003-04:002009-07-02T21:34:05.980-04:00PENNY CANDYOlder folks always remember what they call the "Good Old Days." Someday the young people of today will do the same thing, say the same words, walk the same path. The past always looks better from a distance. After years have passed, those memories glow like dewdrops in the sunlight.<br /><br />One of the things I remember from my childhood is penny candy. When I visited Norma Jean and Bette June in Detroit, my older sister, Hazel, would give us each a dime and tell us to go on a walk to spend it. We felt rich as we headed for the candy store. Some stores had entire counters filled with an assortment of colorful, tasty chews. We would lean against the counter and try to make our choices, the dimes in our pockets burning our fingers as we tried to make up our minds. The clerks would wait patiently, an expression of boredom on their faces, as we pointed at certain varieties that we wanted to buy. <br /><br />"I'll take one of those and two of those. No, wait, one of those and three of those. No, maybe just two of those and two of those and three of that one!"<br /><br />Finally, with our purchases tucked into little paper sacks, we would leave the store. Then, for an hour afterward, we would chew the candy, lines of strawberry red or lime green dribbling down our chins, that fruity sweet smell so reminiscent of KoolAid forming a miasma around us.<br /><br />Today's world isn't much different, except that the candy has soared in price. For some reason, in today's world, instead of candy, folks carry around something to drink. From water to soda pop to fruit juices to "power" potions, these drinks are carted around as though they are a part of our bodies. We carry them everywhere and take careful little sips, sometimes placing the liquid in fancy cups that retain the chill and leave the drinks more palatable.<br /><br />We didn't do this back when I was a child. Water was obtained from the pump in the yard and the galvanized bucket sat on a stand in the kitchen. If you needed a drink, there was a communal dipper that everyone used. There was no need for water to be purchased. It was readily available from the pump during the Spring, Summer and Autumn. All you had to do is find a little water to prime the pump, pour it in, then take the handle and flail it ferociously until the precious liquid started to pour. <br /><br />Every day, around lunchtime, Mom would take that bucket filled with water, along with the dipper, out to the field. Pop would first drink dippers filled with water. Then he would take off his hat and pour a dipper filled with the cool liquid over his head. His team would wait patiently, knowing that their turn at the trough would come when the day's plowing was over.<br /><br />In the wintertime, the pump would inevitably freeze. Then water became a problem. It was fetched from the stream that ran near the orchard. Mom would break the ice with a hatchet, then dip up a bucket of the water. Pop also had to use the water in the stream in order to give the horses and cows enough water to assuage their thirst. For laundry, Mom always melted snow. This was a slow, laborious process and often involved carrying in what seemed like a mountain of snow, in order to get a small pail of water. <br /><br />After Mom had scrubbed the clothing in the snow water, she would sometimes hang the clothing outside until they froze as stiff as planks of lumber. Then she would bring the clothes inside the house and hang them around the rooms on a makeshift clothesline. This meant that while walking through the house one was slapped in the face by the melting, dripping articles of clothing. They looked like a field of doomed men hanging from where they had been hoisted by executioners, empty sleeves dripping wet, legs hanging to the floor. It seemed as though it took them forever to dry. Once dry, Mom would heat up her flatirons and smooth the material, the kitchen filled with steam and the smell of clean, Fels Naptha soaked, hand-scrubbed clothes.<br /><br />Hubert, Bud and Herman got together and decided to put water inside the farmhouse. They worked for days, digging and sweating in the summer sun, arguing with each other over which pipe went where. Hubert would curse. Bud would admonish him that we children were listening. Herman would spur them onward. Mom sat on the stoop, a doleful expression on her face. I don't think she ever believed they would end up with anything usable. When they finished their task, the kitchen had water available in the form of a little pump. It sat proudly there where the galvanized bucket had formerly reigned.<br /><br />What jubilation it must have been for Mom to have water available at her fingertips. She pumped the first dipper filled with water and drank it, a huge smile on her face. I am sure it was as delicious as a glass of expensive champagne. As for myself and the rest of the children, we entertained ourselves by pumping and splashing the kitchen water around, amazed that my brothers could bring about such a miracle. They stood around, basking in the admiration, acting as though such a plumbing feat was an everyday occurrence for them.<br /><br />The kitchen pump was a vast improvement over priming the one outside, but it still froze up in the winter. Nothing could ward away the icy winds and subzero temperatures that Michigan endured in those long, cold months before Spring. We always knew it was Spring when the pump thawed. It was as joyous an occasion as seeing that first robin or seeing the apple trees budding their bridal blooms in the orchard.<br /><br />The days would pass and soon those old trees reached into the remaining sap of their youth and, despite their age, would burst into pink and white glory. It was my favorite sight, these lovely old relics clad in their bridal gowns, standing at attention in fragrant rows. All of the nieces and nephews and myself would race around the trees, climbing into them, sending showers of petals to the ground, delirious with happiness that summer was on its way. <br /><br />We always had to remember Charlie's heart. All of the adults called him "Junior," but we all decided this was undignified, so tried to call him Charlie instead. When we would run to the orchard, his mother...my older sister, Hilda...would admonish us to be careful, not to allow Charlie to overexert himself. No admonishment held Charlie back, however. He was the rowdiest among us, climbing the trees, racing in circles around the orchard, shouting and laughing until he would have to stop to catch his breath, his heart thumping in that skinny chest. We knew he was disobeying his mother, because we could hear his heart thumping and sloshing. It was as though cold buckets of water were being poured on the joy of the occasion and nudging us with a constant reminder that Charlie was not like the rest of us, that we had to worry about him dying.<br /><br />Charlie was not only the most exuberant of the boys. He was also the meanest. One did not dare cross Charlie. He would fold his tongue backward between his teeth and come after any antagonist with fury written on his face. The only way to halt Charlie's anger was to run very fast and we had some excellent runners. We all knew that Charlie would end up sitting exhausted after any race, his anger abated, his chest heaving, his face flushed with pain.<br /><br />Our little altercations were never remembered and we would continue our games, still friends, still determined to fill our lives with fun. We carried no grudges, but immediately forgot any argument as though it had never happened. We knew that Hilda would meet us with concern and irritation, her eyes taking in the fact that Charlie was straining for breath. <br /><br />"I thought I told you not to exert yourself," she would scold him. Then she would turn to the rest of us and repeat her words. We would stand there with innocent demeanors, our dirt-smeared faces revealing the grueling activity of our games. "We told him. He wouldn't listen!" was always our excuse. This wasn't far from the truth, because Charlie was determined to keep up with the rest of us, come what may.<br /><br />So, while children in the city had counters filled with penny candy and other delights that a city can bring, we had a world filled with blooming apple trees with gnarled branches to climb, a reed-filled lake with water so murky it was a wonderland of frogs, and dippers of cold water from the kitchen pump to quench our thirst.<br /><br />Just as penny candy no longer exists, the value of water has multiplied beyond measure. In today's world, water is as precious as diamonds. Folks pay for the water they drink and dipping into streams as Mom and Pop used to do would send modern folks to the hospitals, victims of the pollution that has plagued our world. So, the Good Old Days were in some ways far better than our lives today, because our streams ran clear and our clean, fresh air was perfumed with the fragrance of blooming flowers. Even so, someday old folks will sit around and reminisce about the 75 cent candy bars they used to buy and the bottled water they drank.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0