I See Stupid People

2012 - The Political Storm that is Coming

2011-12-27T13:18:00.000-05:00

Christmas is over; all of the bright lights and gifting is gone, and now it is time to get serious again. We haven't much time left, so - right into it.

Yes, I am a Ron Paul supporter, and I always have been.

This surprises no one who knows me well. They have gone with me to Ron Paul speaking engagements, many of which I organized, have sat at the same table with me and Ron Paul, and discussed politics and family and Americanism, long before Paul was a Presidential Candidate. They have seen the pictures of me at Ron Paul events, at straw polls, at Republican Party debates, from Columbia to Myrtle Beach, during the Presidential Candidacy of 2008. They know that hanging in my parlor is an 8X10 picture of me and Ron Paul shaking hands.

In 2007, I became very much aware of the lies that were being told to the American public, not only by Obama and the Democrats, but by the GOP and then-President Bush, as well as local candidates and governments. I realized exactly what would happen - that RINO McCain would be shoved down our throats as the GOP candidate of choice, that he had no chance against the Golden Boy Obama, and that there was collusion on the parts of both the Democratic and Republican Parties to quash the American People and their Constitution. I realized that I, as an outspoken and adamant individual, had two choices - to either stand foursquare on behalf of the American people and face vicious opposition, or to tell everyone to go eff themselves and go make plans for my family for the coming collapse.

It was easy to fight when I had a DH who stood foursquare behind me, backed me in everything I did; it was easy to fight for what was right and honest and true when I was healthy and strong and could take on all comers. When my DH became crippled, and his doctors gave us an expiration date for him of two years, and I was at the same time diagnosed with lupus, I took a hard look around me. I realized that the very people for whom I was fighting were following the passionate, emotional, and deadly freedom-killing rhetoric of my opponents. I decided to tell them, in a word, to "take this job and shove it". They were not worth it. Did it offend them? You Betcha. Did I give a shit? Not at all. I let them know - to their everlasting insulted shock - that they were not as important to me as my DH and my life.

So I did what I had always wanted and planned to do - I quit everything, bought a farm in the middle of nowhere, and started becoming self-sufficient - and silent.

DH's official expiration date has passed (thee years ago) now; and he is living a happy and productive life - as far as he can, with the drugs and pain forcing him to take morning and afternoon naps, with it taking him five times as long as it used to, to accomplish even the simplest tasks. By eliminating not only much of the stress but the unwholesome food, contaminated Savannah River water, and humid miasma that passes for air in SC from my life, I am healthier, stronger, and can do far more than I used to, far more often.

So as I watch from a very remote location, I am merely struck by the continuing gross stupidity, gullibility, and simple-minded, mouthbreathing brainlessness of the Vox Populi. They are falling for the same old rhetoric and same old lies again. They haven't the wit or wherewithal to understand what is happening to them, what is being perpetrated upon them, what is being taken from them under the guise of promising them 'better' - at "someone else's" expense. They are still just as mawkishly stupid and emotionally driven as they have ever been.

I admire Ron Paul for still trying to educate them, but he casts pearls before swine. Most aren't bright enough to even read and understand their own Constitutional rights, or that they are being taken away from them. They are and will continue to be useless, emotional, mouthbreathing morons with the attention span of moths - battering themselves to death against any bright light the media shines for them.

They deserve exactly what they are going to get this year, and I have no sympathy for them. At all.

Sadly, not even Ron Paul can save them from the Congresscritters they insist on re-electing to steal from them, the local-government morons who are lining their own pockets and making their own rules to suit themselves and their donors, that will leave their constituents poorer, less educated, and less free, month by month, year by year, one law and ordinance at a time. Ron Paul cannot save people from themselves, and expecting that his election (or any Presidential candidates' election) will turn this country around is courting - even demanding - failure.

Oh, yes, at the close of 2011, I still See Stupid People - but fortunately, it is through a telescope of time, distance, and space, like watching sunspots erupt on the surface of the gaseous star over our heads. They may eventually affect me, reach this far, but only minimally. They burst and burn with their own ignorance, their own emotional rhetoric, their own flaming desires - that all too quickly are swallowed by the great dark vacuum of Congress, Washington, and their own selfish and self-involved flares of sudden brief and brilliant ineptitude. Sound and fury, signifying nothing... at all.

Happy New Year! Or, as the Irish bridegroom said, "Brrrrrace yeself, Bridget!" - the foreplay is over, and now the hard fucking begins. Bend over and take what you asked for, begged for, and demanded for so long.

Thoughts on Co-Prepping and "Home-Grown Terrorism"

2011-12-03T10:52:00.001-05:00

Some links about "Home Grown Terrorism"

http://www.fas.org/irp/eprint/rightwing.pdf

http://www.scribd.com/doc/13290698/The-Modern-Militia-MovementMissouri-MIAC-Strategic-Report-20Feb09-

http://oathkeepers.org/oath/wp-content/uploads/ColoradoFBISurplusStore.pdf

OMG! These are the types of people I live around.
This week was pretty hectic at work. I was pretty involved in a lot of various out-putting of 'fires' - everything from social-services-induced drama with some teenagers to co-teaching a class on American History (I was able to give the Southern perspective and some factual information about the War of Northern Aggression ).

Talking to one of the teachers about her horse ranch, we discussed the recent lifting of the ban on horse-slaughtering in the US. Yes, that's right - the ban that PETA and HSUS fought for six years ago has now been lifted, and horses will now be able to be processed for meat for human consumption. My friend actually owns two ranches, one here and one in Wyoming. We discussed what this would mean not only to the wild horses of the Plains, but to horse ranchers in general, as well as human consumption and availability of horse meat. (When the US was slaughtering horses, most of the meat went overseas.) Horse ranchers will once again be able to 'cull' their herds, and the price of good sound rideable stock will go back up. The cost of good animals will soon be higher - since the culls will soon be sent to slaughter. So if you are thinking about getting a horse or two or several, you may want to look into it rather quickly. If you don't know anything about horses, their care, upkeep, and requirements as well as their training, find someone local who does, to school you.

We had a 47,000 acre ranch sell here yesterday for $11.7 million. The bid opened at $10 million, and there were no takers. Since this ranch employs many of our local cowboys and particularly the managing family who are friends of mine, we were concerned. There was some spirited bidding between Cabela's, Bass Pro Shops, some overseas buyers and some Ted Turner factions, but the winner was an American family from ND. This family of 7 brothers owns much of the land in ND, some in SD, and now a part of NE. It will continue to be run as a cattle ranch/hay-and-corn harvesting ranch. We are all breathing a sigh of relief that the land won't be brutalized and overgrazed by some get-rich-quick schemer, or turned into a holiday property with delusions of "ranch life" for the rich and bored. Life will continue; lots of beef, lots of production, lots of good solid investment in the future of not only beef but the ranching way of life that is all too quickly disappearing.

One of the local large ranchers has a wife with whom I work. We were talking about the sale and the ranching way of life. She noted that many folks who call themselves 'ranchers' now might have only 20 head, where they used to graze 500. Some kids are growing up to go to college and never come back. Her own husband joked that, "If we had known what it was like 20 years ago, we'd have sold grandpa's property and gone to town and gotten jobs!" Ranching is a risky proposition even in the best of times; and takes constant application. Her DH and two sons are jacks-of-all-trades; dig wells, repair their own tractors and machinery, even bore out engines when necessary. But as she said, the most important thing is that they hold onto the property - because even if cattle go down to $.15 a pound, they'll still have their gardens and their own meat. Most of the folks around here are canning and dehydrating fools, and are stocking our basements and pantries and freezers with alacrity. We are a dawn-to-dusk beehive of self-and-mutually-reliant 'terrorist activity'.

"Winter" is coming, the dark winter of struggle and survival, and we are watching it from our High Plains location; investing in everything to ensure that we will have food, not just for ourselves, but for each other and even to sell. The lye came in, so now I can make soap from the 50 lbs of pigfat I rendered down for lard. This spring I will go East to attend a UNL college course on - beekeeping. Wax and sugar from tiny little critters to advance my own self-sufficiency, as well as to share, trade, or even sell.

Incidentally, our first steer that we had processed came out to $250 for 4 100-lb boxes of steak, roasts, and burger... guess that definitely makes me a terrorist, since I've got more than 7 days of food, not counting the 400 lbs of pig (including the backfat) we got from the processor last month. There are several hundred "terrorists" around me, though; all planning and prepping, stocking up and harvesting, so we are in good company. Every news story, every new development, from a ranch sale to a slaughterhouse, we carefully fit into our futures. We don't talk about it much; there are no meetings of preppers, no political organizational meetings, no shouting disagreements at the local bar or restaurant. We are too busy to Occupy other peoples' property, too busy to go to meetings or protests, too industrious to sit and listen while folks tell us what is coming. We already know. We share work and skills and output, recipes and materials, and we work together to make our own lives full - often without a dollar being exchanged.

Actions Speak Louder

2011-11-08T08:26:00.003-05:00

Tomorrow I take a day off from work, and load our first prepped steer into the trailer, and take him to the butcher. We will fill our freezer with meat we have raised ourselves, on our own pasture, with our own labor. Grass-fed and plump, Springer will provide beef for the whole winter.

Friday is our big Veteran's Day celebration here in town. For weeks we have been planning. I put up a prize of $10 for the best "Thank You" card made by our local students (one at each school) , and those cards now decorate the large bulletin boards at the entrance to our schools. The Vets will come in and eat a huge Thanksgiving-day type meal, put on by our students. Then we will have students whom our American Legion has sent to the State Capitol over the summer talk about what they learned in those government classes. The school band will play patriotic music, and the assembly will thank the Veterans for what they've done for us. Afterwards, I will take down the handmade cards off of the bulletin board and give them to the American Legion Ladies' Auxiliary for their holiday trip to the Veteran's Home, and those cards together with the hand-packed 'ditty bags' , baked goods, and gifts, will be disbursed to the veterans there. (Many students didn't do it for the prize - they turned in their cards after the prize deadline, after the winner had benn chosen, to show their thanks for their Veterans.)

People live their lives according to their moral code. Even serial killers and psychopaths have a moral code (even if it differs from the norm). Your behavior is dictated by your beliefs. If there are things that you will not do - like shoplift, or rape, or scam others - that is your moral code; you follow a belief system. If you are Bernie Madoff, or Manson, or Dahlmer - you are following your belief system. You cannot divorce yourself from it. Your actions state who and what you are, even if you manage to fool a lot of people into thinking that you are otherwise.

A person who stands foursquare in the public eye against government waste, and then is elected and brings home endless pork-barrel projects like Roads to Nowhere or taxpayer dollars to support businesses that fail once the government money runs out, then your actions belie your statements. You support government waste, and you prove it by your actions. If you stand in front of the microphones and talk about "the sanctity of marriage" - and 10 years ago you dumped your wife because she had gotten cancer, even though she waited for you while you were a prisoner of war in a concentration camp, and took care of your broken body afterwards - you are a hypocrite. If you "fight to stop illegal immigration", yet have a construction company that asks no questions and profits by not paying taxes or Workers' Comp payments on the illegal immigrants you hire, you are a hypocrite. Your actions cannot be divorced from your words, no matter how passionate and well-constructed your phrases are. Your actions exemplify your true beliefs, and your words are meaningless in context. You therefore cannot be expected to stand for the things that you say you believe, because the moral code in which you believe - and that dictates your actions - causes you to do the opposite.

Sadly, most people do not take these things into account. They do not look at someone's successes and failures, their previous actions and those actions' results. They simply believe what they hear in sound bytes, and make their decisions accordingly. People believe the most passionate and most attractive speaker who caters to their own self-interests, and look no further. This is why we have serial killers and child molesters who can operate for years undetected, or con artists who can schmooze millions out of eagerly unsuspecting investors, or elected officials who can get re-elected, over and over, by promising whatever the electorate says they want this year. None of them have to take responsibility for what they have done or are doing, because no one is paying attention to anything but their words.

So listen to all those fancy speeches about "what we should be doing" or what we "should" believe. I live my life according to my beliefs - that grass-fed, home-grown beef is better than store-bought, that people can actually run their own lives according to their own beliefs, that support for Veterans isn't just a pretty picture or fanciful comment posted on a Facebook page to show your "friends" your "patriotism".

I live what I believe.

Who needs a Manifesto?

2011-07-26T10:12:00.000-04:00

OK, here's mine - I don't give a shit, and none of you - or the mysterious 'them' - are worth a bullet.

I just thought I'd put that out there in blogworld, since 'people clinging to their guns and religion' are all apparently terrorists or potential terrorists, always on edge, just waiting for the opportunity to snap and go on a wild and purposeful (to them) killing spree.

Thanks, I have enough to deal with here. The garden went in late, due to some late killing frosts and freezes, and I just picked my first zucchini today. Yay - grilled zucchini! Yummers. It has been hot Hot HOT here, but we got a raging thunderstorm last night and more are predicted all this week. The cattle are loving it, the horse too, even the chickens are happy. It is cooler in the 60 mph breezes and icy rain. Something that a lot of people don't know is that lightning enhances plant growth - it stirs up nitrogen in the air and makes plants 'go fool' rapidly absorbing it. I was a little unsure about putting the whole garden under heavy-duty garden cloth; but it works out REALLY well, almost no weeds and the plants really seem to love it. The calves are getting big and the chicks are growing; we'll fill the freezer this fall.

So Jasper County hired another deputy administrator, George Hood, for $80K a year, and the job was never posted or published? I don't care. So this group is fighting that group in Beaufort County over taxes and schools? Nothing's changed. So the local and national media are still desperately clinging to their firm belief that a redistributionist marxist government "TAX THE RICH and give it to the lazy!" is the best choice for not only Beaufort, Chatham, and Jasper counties, but the US? Nope, still don't care.

So an idiot editor from the Savannah Morning News drives out to Montana for a week, never leaves the Interstate, and disrespects every single state he crosses as 'bland and boring'? Yay, Frank! Thank you, thank you! You always were a superficial moron, the type that thinks that Olive Garden and Applebee's are fine dining, believes that renting a cheesy motel room that looks like every other cheesy motel room in every other city or state is the only way to travel, and that the people who live in bland and boring places must also be bland and boring. Keep driving, Frank. Like the "Ugly Americans" who take the "39 countries in 19 Days!" bus tours of Europe, and then come back and tell their friends, "Europe ain't so hot", you are totally blind to everything but yourself. Don't tell your superficial readers that it's glorious and beautiful and amazing out here, if you ever get off the Interstate and explore and actually learn about the areas, because then they might all come out here, panting over the latest "in" spot or things to do. Stay away, and keep your hordes of drooling mindless lemmings there with you. I don't want you, or the people to whom you grandly pontificate, to ever discover the glorious diversity and wildly intense beauty of the Western Plains. "No vacancy" signs are permanently up for simpering self-satisfied morons, TYVM.

My guns are loaded and often cleaned and fired - not because I'm looking to kill anyone, but because occasionally a mountain lion strolls through, or a pack of coyotes thinks my cows look like dinner, or because snakes, raccoons, skunks, and badgers think my yard or pasture might be a smorgasbord. Deer and antelope actually do play out here, and the turkeys are huge - I might have a hankering for turkey even before Thanksgiving. But shoot people? Nah - not worth the waste of copper and black powder.

You all go do whatever it is that you do, fight and argue incessantly over whomever and whatever is your assigned topic this week, worry about your jobs, your car payments, your house payments, whose screwing you this week or next month. Yawn. "Talk amongst yourselves. Here's a Topic - the mainstream media is neither mainstream nor an honest use of media. Discuss!" As for me, it's time to chop down the tops of the twenty-or-so, four-foot-high potato plants, so that their roots are ready to be dug up and screened next week for storage. I have a life, thanks so much. That's my Manifesto - I have a life, I love it, I don't care what self-inflicted trauma you're courting, leave me alone. River tubing tomorrow! YAY!

Happy Fourth of July!

2011-07-04T10:30:00.000-04:00

So the news is saying that only heavily-political-red-states are celebrating the Fourth of July.
No shit, Sherlock.
Out here we have a town picnic potluck, where everyone brings a bowl or a casserole dish. Then everyone goes over to the ball field where the Fire Department puts on a fireworks display - after the American Legion Honor Guard marches on to the field, everyone says the Pledge of Allegiance, they play the Star Spangled Banner, and then the show begins. Yes, Mike is in the Legion, and I am in the Auxiliary - between his USAF service, my father's and son's USAF service, Mike's father's service in the Marine CORPS (not "Corpse") - we qualify for membership. Mike doesn't get to march and carry a flag; between his disability and trying to walk with a cane AND a tall flagpole, it just wouldn't be safe - for the flag.

Most folks carry guns on their hips out here. I know I've said it before - but it just tickles me pink that they do - and no one has been shot around here in 40 years. Lots of coyotes have bit the big one, of course; as well as snakes, skunks, badgers, and pretty much everything else that tries to kill or destroy folks' property. No one stands out in the middle of the street and fires off shotguns like they did in California; to shoot a gun without a purpose is a waste of ammo, is de classe. No one reaches for their guns at all, unless they plan on killing something. No play, no threats, here; just pure responsibility.

The rain has been pretty steadily coming down this June; VERY unusual weather. Yet yesterday and today it is hot, Hot, HOT - 94 deg and 50% humidity. The hills - which by now are usually a dried brown - are green and covered in flowers, every type, from cactus and yucca to wild roses and marigolds. The grass is THICK in the West pasture; hip-high in some spots, the cows can't graze it down fast enough. Although the West trough area is mowed flat as a lawn, since they graze going to and fro...

Thursday night we had a HUGE storm, 80+ mph winds, heavy rain - we got 1.5 inches in 5 minutes. But, hey, it's the Sandhills - everything drained away within an hour. But it took a LOT of tree branches down, so Friday we spent cleaning and sawing. Saturday we hopped on the 4-wheeler and rode the fence line... 3 hours of checking posts and staples and barbed-wire, securing that which was loose, pulling tight and tapping in. All secure. We checked the washouts and the blowouts; the former we pulled barbed wire up out of and re-secured, the latter - well, they are filling in nicely and getting covered in grass.

Margaret is getting better with 'her' calf. Thursday it was so hot (before the storm) that I had her tie him to the fence and wipe him down with cool water and a curry brush. Ostensibly it was to cool him down - but really it was to get them both more familiar and comfortable with each other. She brought her little sister, Elizabeth, over, who is also afraid of but drawn to the animals. I taught her to scrub Gracie the horse down too. Gracie is the best creature for little ones to learn on - she will stand stock-still for hours to be petted and brushed, and never startles or takes offense at young ones. Elizabeth's head doesn't even top Gracie's withers, and Gracie is (around here) considered a very short horse, only 13 hands. I believe in starting them young, though... Both girls were raised in the 'big city' of Valentine, (pop 2600) and have never been near farm animals before. It is a good experience for them. Yesterday Margaret went into the corral by herself, fed the cattle and horse, and didn't even have to corral her calf - just walked up to him and put the halter on. They are getting better and better. Now if we could just convince Billie Jean that no one is going to hurt her baby! Oh, well - it'll come.

On a sad note, my son is in jail in Savannah for non-payment of child support. Did I see this coming? Of course. Out of all my children and fosters, he was the only one who got a 4-year, fully-paid scholarship to pursue his dream in music - and three months later dropped out to get married to "the love of his life". He was also the only one who refused to work a job for even a year, jobs were "too demeaning" and employers "didn't respect him" - and who told us that it was our responsibility to work to support him and his love. Um, no. So 13 years later he has two kids that he never sees, can't/won't support, and a lot of friends who enable him in his superiority complex. They'll pay his bills, applaud his every move, and "understand" him and his endless self-inflicted trials and tribulations, because his mean ol' Mommy and Daddy wouldn't and still won't. "I told you so" is pretty much useless - he's 31 and old enough to be responsible for himself and his own decisions.

Love him? Of course, he's my son. Enable him? Nope, I stopped doing that years ago, when he told me he was an adult, TYVM, and would make his own decisions; I knew nothing, he knew so much more than I. Most kids feel that way, of course, for awhile; that's their way of cutting their apron strings and becoming adults. The only thing that cuts me to the quick is that Mike sacrificed so much for him and his brother; he took them in, worked 2 + 3 jobs to support them, raised them, loved them, treated them as his own (and everyone thought that they WERE his own!) and even adopted them - because THEIR biological father, my ex, was too good, too smart to work or to pay child support. So I feel badly for my son, but not badly enough to pretend that he isn't responsible for his own life path. To us, the fact that he fell for Obama's "Hope and Change!" pretty much said it all... he's always felt that he was owed a living, and that won't change now. And in today's society, he can find an endless supply of folks who will continue to enable him in that attitude, partly because they share it. It's as if they all reached a point in their maturity and growth where they could choose between taking responsibility for their actions, setting goals, achieving them, and working towards overcoming the daily and yearly challenges of life - or slamming into a brick wall, over and over, while screaming "Life isn't FAIR!"

No shit, Sherlock. Who told you that it was? Why are you griping about the cuts and bruises and broken bones you have gotten from that brick wall - and returning to slam into it, over and over?

So as hot and bright and busy and bustling as our days are out here now, as proud as we are of what our children and foster children have achieved and accomplished, as happy as we are that we are still able to help and teach children what's important and good and satisfying, that little cloud always hovers over us - there's always one whom you cannot save, cannot talk to, cannot convince, cannot teach. No play, no threats, here or ever, anywhere; just pure responsibility. And so this Fourth of July, we are proud to live in a land that is free, where individual rights to choose are still wide open - but that goes hand in hand with taking responsibility for those choices, something the 'blue state' people will never get - and, don't want to.

Been Busy

2011-06-27T10:38:00.001-04:00

Wow.

Lotta things going on. Used the incubator in the basement to warm up some of our chicken's eggs; half of them hatched and we now have some almost-ready-to-go-outside chicks. Would have put them out last week, but the severe June storms dropped the temps at night down into the 40's.

A cute little neighbor girl wants to show one of our calves for 4H. She has been coming over every day since he was born. Little LTF Ashley Wilkes has already been banded and his little nuts have atrophied and are about to fall off. He is an adorable little steer - black with auburn coloring, and so stocky! His Mama is Billie Jean, the "boss cow" tough and temperamental. Every day Margaret separates the calf from his family, and is trying to teach Ashley to walk with a halter and lead. They are funny.

Gracie the horse didn't come in to supper with everyone a few days ago. The calf was in the corral with Margaret, and Freckles the cattle dog had herded all of the other cows over the hill away from the corral. I walked up the hill to see if I could see Gracie. There she was, way, way down at the bottom of the third hill, at the tub salt lick. I whistled and clapped my hands. She looked up and started trotting toward me. Suppertime!

Unfortunately the cows heard me too. Here came Billie Jean, mad as - well, a mama cow, straight for me. Freckles was gone, nowhere in sight. Gracie was still a hill away, coming fast, but she wouldn't get to me in time. So, I did what my instincts told me to do. I dropped straight down in a squatting position, and made myself as small as possible. Billie Jean, her big eyes rolling, stopped. She didn't know what to make of me. Had she charged, my legs were gathered under me to roll out of that straight line charge. Even though she is dehorned, being slammed and then trompled by 950 pounds of 'mad cow' was not appealing.

Billie Jean is usually a tractable cow; she will stand for an hour and let me punch and massage her udders and milk her, loves to have her back and neck scratched, loves to take alfalfa cubes from my hand. But a mama cow seperated from her baby is nothing to fool with. Wile Billie Jean was deciding whether it was still worth it to charge me, Gracie came trotting up and put herself between me and Billie. She didn't move until Billie walked off, still bawling for her calf. Then Gracie and I walked down the hill together.

Just another day in the life. I stay busy; now that my job is over for the summer, I am working with the plants, the animals; the town dumped abt 10 cords of wood in the yard from their tree trimming in the park this year and I am working to get that all put away and neatly arranged. It's mostly 'green' wood so it is going on the bottom of the pile, while the wood we got from last year's harvest will be split and stacked on top. Tammy and her fiancee are coming the last week in July and we are looking forward to that. The weather has been weird - very wet and rainy, and colder than normal (today it will get UP to 75 degrees). Egg sales have dropped off like they always do in the summer; folks are more able to go to town and shop, and many locals leave for the summer and go elsewhere; to families, on trips, etc. It is normally very quiet in the summer here... which gives me time to do things I need to do. And then of course there are the forums I write for, as well as my FB friends to keep updated. There are two quilts and a pair of curtains in the sewing room I'm working on; I just finished a 'way kewl apron last week. I also did the final firing on a really nice ceramic pitcher and bowl I've been working on.

I have a lot more energy now; I started using Melaleuka products (made in Idaho) - vitamins that REALLY work, and natural products that don't impact the environment, that are even cheaper than store-bought because they are concentrated. We've cut out most of the artificial food now; grass fed beef and corn-fed pigs come from local ranchers and farmers, my neighbors and I swap and share canned and fresh vegies, and even our grain is grown in South Dakota, a stone's throw away. We are stocked up and content. This fall our first home-grown steer will be ready for butchering; he is strong and muscular and should make good eating.

Life goes on.

Move Along - Nothing to See in the Middle East

2011-01-29T10:35:00.004-05:00

The London Telegraph printed a 'secret' (is anything secret anymore?) document, showing that the US had brought an Egyptian dissident to America, and trained him in how to organize an overthrow of the Egyptian government. Read it here: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/africaandindianocean/egypt/8289698/Egypt-protests-secret-US-document-discloses-support-for-protesters.html

You'd think America would stay out of these endless uprisings, be upfront and deal fairly with whomever is in power - fair trade and no trade deficits. But there is money to be made, oil and minerals abound, and Egypt is at the Suez Canal - they can stop oil shipments any time they want. Never mind that there are not only vast resources under our own country - which, by the way, BP is assiduously extracting in the Northwest - or that the main reason fuel prices are so high is because, in the 70's, Congress with her lobbyists restricted the number of fuel refineries in the US. If you can't refine it locally, the price for shipping and refining goes up. Never mind that much of our Alaskan oil resources are being sold to China and the Far East. No, we must deal with OPEC - whomever might be in charge this week.

This stinks - as it always has - of profiteering. Recently, Newsweek printed an article that said that NATO is requesting that Russia return to Afghanistan, to train troops and assist the Americans. The vast amounts of cash that Russia dumped into Afghanistan while they were there contributed to the fall of the Soviet Union - and the US was there, in opposition to Russia, training those mountain people to fight against the Communist regime that Russia backed and espoused. So naturally, Russia is demanding concessions from NATO. And so the game continues...

It was we who put Saddam Hussein into power, gave him the funding and weapons to form his own little dictatorship, and then were forced to go back and take him out again when he got out of line and dared to try to bite the hands that fed him. And apparently, our wonderful government is doing it again - training fundamental Muslims on how to overthrow their current dictatorial government to replace it with one of their own. Keeping the Middle East in an uproar, funding first this and then that future dictator, is what our own government is doing - for our own good. It's all about democracy and freedom, though, isn't it - replacing one regime for another and using American dollars and American blood to grease the wheels of 'progress'. That makes it all ok.

People will tell you that you just don't understand, that no one can understand the intricate ins and outs of dealing with other countries, other governments, especially those led by religious fanatics, unless they are involved in it daily. Besides, it's boring. Who cares about the Ayatollah any more? Wasn't he Iranian, anyway? What's the big deal? It has nothing to do with us, in our little lives, our little communities, trying to get that dog park built or that ruling overturned. We have to help first this poor afflicted soul, then that one, with money, and armaments, and training, so that they can fight the previous poor afflicted soul who took those same monies and armaments and training and used them to become the current dictator. Isn't it fun?

It's like a game of chess where you are always the white, and your opponent in black keeps changing. Of course, when you have an endless supply of American blood and American money, you actually own the chessboard and can dictate who the players are. Never mind that your poor little pawns keep getting blown up, lives and bodies shattered, and that the cost of living for the common man keeps climbing with no end in sight. Who cares? They're just pawns in an end game of money, drugs, and resources, the benefits of which the pawns will never see. Tell them it's for freedom, it's for God and country and the American way of life, it's to spread democracy across the world! They'll buy it. Teach them that the oppression in the world is all their fault, from Africa to America to the Middle East, and that they have to do something about it. They'll buy it. We've dumbed down the education in this country so far that no one even questions their inherited guilt any more. Send 'em to Wal-Mart, and tell them to fahgeddaboudit. It has nothing to do with them. Nothing to see here. Let's go save Egypt!!

Why Liberals are Blaming Palin and Beck For Giffords' Shooting

2011-01-09T21:33:00.002-05:00

Because they have to.
You see, liberals believe that we are all intrinsically evil. They believe that no one (aside from them) has the ability to make a choice. We are all too stupid, too uneducated, too emotional to decide to either pick up a gun and enforce our demands and desires - or choose to not pick up a gun, not harm others, not force our will through violence or violent suasion. While they may not believe in a god, they DO believe that Man qua Man is a goofball, an idiot, an irresponsible doofus who has to be protected from himself, or he will invariably do something stupid.

Liberals also believe that it is they who are given the gift of sight; that they can see exactly how everyone should behave, and that they are amazingly suited to direct that behavior. It is this extreme arrogance that causes them to enforce laws that restrict all of those "other people" - the lesser beings who are mere crawling, gibbering masses of fundage for their cartoonesque plans to "rule the world!" We can't be allowed to have guns because we'll probably kill someone. We can't be allowed to state our opinions, because someone might be influenced by them. We can't be allowed to live our lives the way we choose, because they didn't choose that lifestyle for us.

It is for these reasons that they have assiduously worked to lower the educational processes in this country to emotional feel-goodism, the removal of intellectual competition and free thought, and an 'everyone gets a prize' mentality. It is for these reasons that they have reduced the intellectual debate of issues to name-calling. It is for these reasons that they insist on excusing everyone who commits a criminal act by giving them excuses like, "It wasn't his fault, it was society's/his mother's/his race's/ his economic status's fault". Today, of course, it is "Beck, Palin, Limbaugh, and the Tea Party's fault". What they do not tell you - what they cannot explain, even amongst themselves - is that, when it is "someone else's fault" then it is EVERYone's fault, and we are all guilty and all shameful, horrible people. No one can be - or should be - held responsible for his or her own actions any more.

Bluntly, this attitude will destroy this country more surely than illegals swarming over the borders, nuclear explosions, or mass insurrectionism. Because it takes away the very foundation of this country; the foundation espoused and enumerated in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. And that foundation is the basic individual freedom and the concordant (but often ignored) personal responsibility required of every individual to keep and enhance that freedom. When you are a nation of slaves to mutual and mass guilt, you are no longer a free people.

Now the liberals are screaming, "Off with their heads! Take away their guns, take away their freedom of speech, they aren't smart enough, good enough, to handle it!!!" Well, if you are stupid enough to take Palin's or Beck's or Limbaugh's quotes and posts and exhortations literally, then you are exactly, made to order, what the liberals say that you are. If you are stupid enough to read Mein Kampf or the Communist Manifesto (as the shooter's own Youtube videos attest) and take them to heart, you are exactly what the liberals say that you are. However, if you are smart enough to think and reason for yourself, and weigh truths against lies, facts against falsehoods, and opinions against dissenting opinions, you will realize that they are all trying to manipulate you - and you will not participate in that manipulation. You will not allow mass guilt to take the place of personal responsibility. You will not allow the concept of blame to take the place of responsibility. You will not permit the fanatics of any stripe to use you as a ping-pong ball on their slate of conquest.

It's the New Year! It's Gotta be Better, Right?

2010-12-31T11:34:00.003-05:00

Um, yeah, sure.
Sitting here on December 31, 2010, with a 60-mph-whiteout blizzard raging outside, I am cozy and secure. The woodstove is cranking out the heat, and needs to be fed every two hours or so; the clever animals are snuggled down in the hay beds I made for them in the pole barns. We had homemade waffles and homegrown eggs for breakfast. The freezers are full of produce, not to mention 1/4 of a cow and almost a whole butchered hog, still. Mike is baking bread in the kitchen, hoping that the flickering power stays on long enough for the oven to bake it. Jars of produce, of apples and apple butter and even apple jelly sit on the shelves downstairs, next to 60-lb, 5 gallon buckets of rice, wheat, oats, sugar, and honey, snuggled in with # 10-sized, freeze-dried cans of fruit and vegies, dried spices and flavorings.

And yet, here I sit, going over seed catalogs, drawing out the garden - the garden that right now is frozen, six inches down, under its blanket of snow, that looks like a barren wasteland instead of the virulently productive summertime landscape it becomes. Why on earth when I have so much already, would I want more, more, more? What sort of paranoid fantasy is churning my guts and driving me to choose another spring of hard labor, another summer of endless harvesting and canning and dehydrating and preserving? What sort of maniac would wear themselves out, every year like this?

I bought a lot of seeds already, this past summer, when the stores put them on sale, clearance racks full of unwanted, discarded, picked over seeds. Then they were 97 cents a pack (few people realize that seeds will germinate 2-3 years after the year for which they are produced and packaged). I bought fall trees and grapevines on sale, that sit in my greenhouse right now, barely warmed to above freezing, going thru their cold-hardening without exposing them to the 30-below temps and pounding wind that they will have to be strong enough to endure next year. What do I need an orchard or a vineyard for?

The seed catalogs sent to me this week are giving the lie to the "YAY! No more recession!" pathetic fantasies that are gripping the media and every talking head with a passionate frenzy. The seed prices haven't doubled - they've tripled, some even quadrupled, just since last spring. Of course, seed companies had to pay more this year; for fuel, for water, for shipping, for fertilizer in the fields to produce these tiny seeds, as well as for printing and packaging and producing their glossy colorful catalogs.

If seed is higher this year, produce costs will be higher this summer. If it takes more to produce it, then the end costs will be higher. This is just simple math, anyone can do it. If weather plays a factor, prices will leap upward. Look at Florida, just this week, where fresh vegetable prices at the farmers' markets doubled in one week. Literally doubled. They said it was because of the two previous frosts, and that was a part of it, of course. But when a farmer has to pay double for his fuel, his production, and his own expenses, the buyer of his produce will pay for it.

It has been a long time since we have seen food shortages; few alive now remember (or, they choose not to remember) the sanded sugar, the green meat, the wilted vegetables that stores were passing off at high prices in the late 70's and early 80's. Back then, folks grumbled and whimpered and whined, and ate soy burger instead of beefburger, ate whatever they could afford, cut out sweets and coffee. This year, I have a feeling things will be different... and not just because the prices will be so high, or the stores will be so empty.

Things will be different because the mouth-breathers, the gullibles, the same ones who fell for the "Everyone deserves a home!" political, media-driven housing bubbles and dot-com bubbles, are falling for the media and governmental lies that "Everything is looking up! I'm fine, you're fine, we're all gonna be just FINE!" self-congratulatory wolf cookies they have desperately, frenetically, believed in, over and over again. When, once again, it turns out to not be true - this time not just resulting in bankruptcies, housing repos, and moving in with Mom and Dad, but real base desperation and hunger for basic necessities - things will be very bad. Those who still believe that the world owes them a living will be shocked to their core when they realize they have become grasshoppers, out in the cold with no food, no where to go, and no one to care for them. They will be angry. They will be resentful. And they will take it out on those who 'have' - have a little more, have a little security, have a little job or a little income or enough foresight to pre-plan.

Me, I'm not too worried about divulging what I have on here. Those who read this, who have failed to plan will not be able to make it this far; they will run out of not only fuel and food, but the incentive to go to the back of beyond, when there is so much to take all around them - and so many unarmed, undefended, unprotected sheeple around them to take from. The folks around me have the same attitude as I - we have what we have, we are armed and won't allow not only ourselves, but each other to have it removed from us easily. We work hard, we stock up, we grow what we can and share what we have, we keep our guns loaded and our powder dry - and wait.

Yes, Happy New Year - here's hoping that all the signs that I see, all of the plans that I've made, all of the work that I'm doing and have done are totally unecessary; that they are merely the paranoid fantasies of someone who thinks that most folks are self-righteous, self-promulgating assholes who firmly believe that their survival is paramount, when they have never lifted a finger to ensure it, other than to sign their EBT application or Welfare deposit slip, or to beat an old lady to death for her Social Security check.

But - what if they aren't? What if I'm right? What are YOU doing to ensure your own survival?

No Catharsis for Most

2010-12-20T09:11:00.004-05:00

Not too many folks believe it, but I am actually a kind person. For example, a woman owned a 26 year old horse and had no where to keep it. I told her she could leave it on our property, for free - as long as she paid for its feed and hay. Well, finances being what they were, she didn't feed it. I won't let any animal starve if I can help it, so we paid for feed and bought it hay. Finally the horse - old and crippled and arthritic - had to go. I told the woman that she would have to put it down. She finally got a relative to come and get it and have it shot and buried on their property.

A year passed, and we had written off the expenditures of the horse as a bad debt. Suddenly, this past weekend, a Christmas card arrived from this woman - with a $500 check inside. We were stunned, pleasantly so - and I told her. It had taken her 3 years to crawl out from her bad debt and miserable divorce, yet she paid it off at last. She said it was a catharsis for her - to pay off every debt she owed.

And I look around me at all of the miserable people, whining that they can't get ahead, that no one will help them, that no one will succor them, that no one cares. Most of them have been cared for all of their lives; expect someone, anyone, the government, their neighbors, their families, their friends, to pay for what they want and need. They take and take and take, with no thought of what they owe. They walk away from debts they incurred as if those debts had nothing to do with them. They insist that because they can do what any rabbit does - screw and breed - that the world OWES them and their ever-so-precious (usually spoiled, rude, obnoxious, demanding) brats. They vote for people who promise them more and more, never caring who is paying the penalty or the bills for those politicians who promise them freedom from want. Some of these greedy, grasping morons actually believe that President Obama is using his own money to pay their bills, while others believe that the Federal Government has lots of free money, and when they run out, they print more. There is no economic education any more; no responsibility, and no need for them. People are stupid and believe what they are told - that they DESERVE the sweat off of other peoples' brows.

These people in their whining self-pitying misery will never know the freedom of paying off one's debts, the satisfaction that comes from accomplishing financial success, of raising children who strike out on their own and succeed. They will never know the extreme pleasure of getting a call from their daughter, as I did last month; that this tall, willowy, wonderful child, who worked three jobs to put herself thru college (even with scholarships and grants) got a job that pays $75,000 a year with benefits. They will never know the joy of success, of overcoming failure, of becoming adults who take responsibility and life into their own hands and wrest all that they can from it.

I heard a great quote yesterday, and it rings true - "Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death". The sad part is that they are too stupid to even know that they are starving.

Can't Dance, Too Cold to Hunt Crickets

2010-12-12T09:45:00.003-05:00

It's early morning, and it's cold - 9 degrees. The kiln I fired off yesterday heated the whole house from it's little cavity in the basement; it is now cooling. I can't wait to open it to see my newest creations - gifts for family and friends and co-workers.

There's a pork roast thawing since last night too; from the pig we bought butchered from a local rancher. Grass-fed and luscious, about $.50 a pound, that pig will last s a long, LONG time; bacon, hams, roasts, ribs. They even saved the fat for me, which I rendered into lard.

We might get a snow day tomorrow; it is supposed to start snowing tonight again. It's not so much the snow that is bad - it is the ice underneath, that makes the paved roads treacherous enough, but also makes the gravel paths to the local ranches impassable. Since we have next Friday off too (a failed experimental push to put our school calendar at 4-day weeks), that would mean a possible 3-day work week. Not good for the January paycheck, but WTH - I can get more stuff done.

One of my friends asked if any of our family was coming for Christmas; I told her , no. Half are in Vegas, half around Savannah. She suggested we all meet half-way. I laughed, I said, "I AM half-way!" but everyone is working, busy with their own lives - exactly how I raised them to be.

I took Mike to see the cardiologist this past Friday. He had an 'incident' the previous Friday, where his ankles suddenly became swollen, almost as big as his thighs (thighs once described as 'braugh!' by an Irish nurse). Tests all week, then the visiting cardiologist saw the results Thursday and insisted we see him this past Friday. The cardiologist said Mike needed a heart cath. It has to be done in Lincoln, 5 and a half hours away. It only takes 3 hours - but if they put a stint in, they'll keep him overnight.

I'm not too worried - shit happens, one deals, and that's the end of it. So rather than making that almost-6-hour trip, waiting, then either scrabbling for a motel room at the last minute or driving back ANOTHER 6 hours, (and who knows what the weather will be - snow or ice or bright and clear) I made motel reservations for both the night before and the night after. We'll leave the day before, drive slowly, take our time, get a good rest, then go to the appointment. Then - no matter what happens - we'll have the motel room for that night, too. Sleep well, then back home again.

But not just ANY motel. Since my current job includes making reservations for over 30 people, all over the state at different times for different events, I 'know' most of the motels in the big cities and tiny hamlets. I know what Mike requires - a comfy room that includes, not just a bed for me, but a recliner for him, because he cannot sleep in a normal, 'flat' bed. Peace and quiet. Safety and accessibility. Short access to food. Maybe a pool; definitely a whirlpool, to take away and stretch out the tightened muscles from the long drive. We are going to make a little 'holiday trip' out of it; since we are expecting no one, and I'll have two and a half weeks off work for Christmas vacation, we are going to make the most of it. So - why not the Embassy Suites? It is what the local folks call "spendy" - not your $39 a night place. But - nice. And close to the hospital.

Also importantly, if I have to spend that night overnight while he is in the hospital, I don't want to have to go out and about looking for food or maybe a bar in which to have a (single, calming) drink. If I want to explore, there are amenities snuggled right up to the motel in the next block - antique shops, and something called "The Haymarket" which I assume (from the descriptions and satellite pictures) is a lot like City Market in Savannah. Maybe I can find something cute and fun to take away his fear and trepidation about still another potential surgery.

This is what I do, this is what my life is like now. While my friends are all agonizing over what to buy everyone for Christmas, who's coming to the feast, who's cooking, which family members are going to be a pain or get drunk or whose kids will tumble into the tree, I am busy struggling for calm, for normalcy, for an even and steady flow to my life. Grasping at small joys, creating small pleasures, turning fear and pain into comfort and stability. WTH - I can't dance, and it's too cold to hunt crickets. "It is what it is" - another pretty common local idiom.

Foodie Confessions

2010-11-19T19:13:00.004-05:00

I love to cook and bake. I love to try new tastes, new flavors, new twists on old recipes. Sweet potatoes? Sure, you can dot them with butter, cover them with brown sugar and cinnamon, top them with marshmallows. But I like to take things a little further. Add a can of mandarin orange pieces, juice and all. Add some chopped walnuts or pecans. Maybe a little maple syrup?

Recipes? Hmmmm... my daughter asked for my recipes when she went away to college. So that year for Christmas, I designed a flip-up, full page calendar book - with corresponding monthly recipes; Easter, St. Patrick's Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas - even picnic and grill recipes. Bean dishes for the cold months. Recipes that took advantage of each harvest each month. Recipes for homemade pasta, recipes for pies and cakes and cookies, and recipes for everyday meals as well.

Thanksgiving and Christmas are always my days to shine. Dad used to have a drop-in, open-house kind of holiday attitude, and there had to be football snackages for the early afternoon, food for the big meal, and evening snackages for the folks wandering around with drinks in their hands. So cooking for the holidays at our house started at 4 AM and didn't finish until late afternoon.

I always make at least 3 kinds of pie for the holidays; fresh pumpkin (not from a can), pecan, and the third one varies depending on the harvest for that year. It could be cherry, apple, or blueberry, but all are served with real whipped cream. Dad and I hated Cool Whip, and never allowed it on the table. Those nasty airy little fluffy "salads" people make with it gave us the heebie-jeebies.

Mike has never carved a turkey at our house. It isn't his fault - I even bought him an electric knife. But my turkey is so moist that it falls off of the bone. I make what my Southern friends call "Yankee stuffing" - crumbled bread, lots of onion and celery, garlic, salt, pepper, and some secret spices that make it piquant and biting. Halfway through the turkey's baking time, I snatch it out of the oven and pack it full of this stuffing til its little bones crack and it can't keep its little legs together. Then I baste it even more heavily than I did at the start (more real butter and spices) and put it back in the oven to finish. I use a sturdy roaster with a tight lid that keeps the juices and flavors inside. When I take it out of the oven and pull off that lid, you'd better step back! - the steam will curl your hair and fog your contacts!

We have mashed potatoes and gravy. I never use fake or dried potatoes; I always boil wonderful red potatoes, then whip them into a frenzy with a 1/2 pound of butter, a little milk or cream, salt, pepper, and parsley. Sometimes I like to pop them under the broiler for a minute to get a light brown crust.

Yeast rolls. On the yeast rolls I sometimes cheat and buy store-bought if I don't have time; otherwise I make some plain, and some with grated cheddar cheese and spices.

My deviled eggs are weird, apparently. I like them to be flavorful, not bland; the yolks are whipped with lemon juice, garlic and onion powder, worchestershire sauce, mustard and mayo; sprinkled with parsley and paprika for color. Folks eat 'em like cookies.

I make chocolate rum balls, and a "Drunken Sot" fruitcake that soaks in French Brandy and dark rum for six weeks. No candied fruit ever even accidentally falls into that fruitcake batter; it is all liquor-soaked fruit with a rich cake dough to bind it all together.

Only butter, not margarine or fake butter, is ever served at my table; real cheese, not cheese mix, real flavorings, not artificial. I take pride in using only the best ingredients; if all I have available are cheap imitations, I don't make that recipe. No substitutions, please!

I'd love to tell you the measurements for all of these recipes, but to be honest I haven't measured anything in years. I add stuff until it looks right, or smells right, or tastes right, then serve it. Cooking is my creativity, my joy, my pleasure, and watching peoples' faces light up when they bite gives me the greatest pleasure of all!

Thankful? Um, OK

2010-11-04T07:24:00.004-04:00

You have no idea what it's like.

Every day, coming down the stairs, wondering if your partner is awake, asleep, or unconscious.

Some days are 'good', days in which he laughs and makes you laugh, silly things you say to each other, keeping it going. He has a whole 'cow conspiracy' theory, now, that cows are plotting to take over the world. They have lookouts. They are opposed to the horses, but sometimes use them as decoys. They gather around the phone lines, making calls to other groups gathered around other phone lines, communicating in vastly stealthy ways that humans never seem to notice. His mind had always been very creative; he should have been the writer, not me. The things he has come up with in the past have kept me thoughtful, inspired me, kept me laughing.

We haven't slept together in years, because we can't. He has to sleep in a "V" position; sharply done. He can only sleep on his back. He slept in a recliner the first two years; I bought him a bed that has that 'memory foam' in it, that raises head and feet like a hospital bed. It's the only way he can sleep. I have my own room upstairs, with a pillowtop queen size mattress where I sleep - usually on my side, stretched out.

He always was a little OCD; concentrated so hard on what he was doing that he could not notice any distractions. It's why he was a helluva firefighter as well as a paramedic; no one and nothing would change his thought processes and actions. Now, though, the OCD is pronounced; to complete a task - ANY task - he has to concentrate fully on it, or he wanders away and forgets. His palm pilot has lists on top of lists on top of lists. Not only does he write down 'mow the yard' but he also writes down "pick up limbs" , "check the gas in the mower", "Check the mower tires", "empty the bag into the compost pile". He is still creative - in a determined sort of way. He keeps track of every different bread recipe he tries or changes, even down to the length of knead time, how much extra flour he uses, etc.

When we sat in front of the lawyer for the last time, he told us that the medics and attorneys for Workers' Comp had given him an approximate death date. In other words, based on his type of injuries and surgeries, as well as the following medications that he would be on 'for the rest of his life' - they had stamped him with an expected expiration date. Most people in his situation rot away quickly, emotionally and physically; stop taking their meds, stop going to the docs, stop wanting to live. It's why they didn't want to promise him his retirement payments, and why Social Security fought so hard against giving him back the money he put in for years - they were waiting for him to die. Of course they'd have to pay his spouse much less.

The drugs made him vicious and violent at first, then they made him forget... forget the past 20 years of marriage, forget the feelings he had as both a man and a husband. Those were hard times at first - like having someone who loves you and whom you love suddenly get Altzheimers, the vicious cruel kind of mindlessness. He didn't understand the people around him any more. He didn't understand the traffic whizzing by him when he drove. He didn't understand stores and clerks and the people with whom he used to interact every day. They spoke a different language, had a different thought process, ran around and over him as if he didn't exist any more, which added to his confusion. This frightened him, and the fear made him angry, lash out, violent. Because I knew that this was not him, was just the fear, the pain, the confusion that overwhelmed him, I put up with the violence - even when it was turned on me. I fled when I had to, to save my life - but I always came back, because I knew he was not really abusive. This new person was not the man I married, but was a desperate, confused stranger in pain, who needed someone to protect him.

So now we are where there are almost no people. Where those who do live around us are easy to remember; names, faces, habits - because there are so few of them. He knows the chickens and the cows and the horse and the dogs because he interacts with them every day, all day. His woodworking shop and small engine repair shop are his refuge; where he can think carefully about projects, and do them incrementally until he gets them perfect, with no one to disturb his thoughts. Where food and weather are the main topics of conversation in the house. Where he can plan a whole Halloween or Christmas decoration extravaganza weeks in advance without being interrupted. Where his hours in front of the TV or the computer are mindless escapes from his ever-present pain and his few 'responsibilities'.

From a deeply passionate, loving, demonstrative marriage we have settled into a comfortable caretaker/patient existence; still mutually dependent, but differently. Like a steadily dripping waterfall, we have worn a groove into the rock of our marriage, and it is a comfortable if uneventful trap. Emotions aren't permitted, they cause upset and aren't worth the trouble. No pressure to perform, unless you count that the cows need food occasionally in a blizzard, or that the wind whips around the house and peels the occasional piece off and has to be repaired. All is quiet; the long days and nights silently blending into one another. He has outlived his "expiration date", and continues to do so, unmolested and uneventfully.

Heh heh heh heh

2010-10-16T12:15:00.003-04:00

I love Halloween.
Ever since I was a kid, or won the costume contest against 30 friends and co-workers, when I was dressed as a hooker in a glittering red jersey dress with a $100 bill pinned to my bosom, or dressed my own kids in homemade fun and/or terrifying costumes, I've loved Fright Night. It's playtime for everyone; kids and grownups alike.

There was the time we spent $1000 at Spencer's for the Haunted House, and the fire chief ran screaming from his office when we set up the zombie who ripped his own head off on the chief's desk. The year we hung our son from the tree and he grabbed at the munchkins going underneath, sending them screaming down the street. Corn syrup and red food dye makes killer oozy blood; blacklight makes everything weird, glowing, and spooky; there's all sorts of things you can do, on a budget or not.

Last year the kids in our neighborhood were depressed because we were out of town for Halloween. But not half as depressed as we were, not being there! This year we'll make up for it. The headstones are already set out; the coffin awaits its zombie, the pumpkinheaded scarecrow is tied upright to the cornstalks in abject terror. But there's more to come... the shrieking ghost that will rise from one of the graves, blowing smoke, the eight-foot spider with the glowing eyes, the cobwebs that have yet to be strung, lights and sounds and horrible music are all either en route or still waiting in the basement for their chance to instill sudden gasping fear.

This year I'm going for Tim Burton's Red Queen look. My long grey hair can be easily tortured into that red mop, and the dress and tiny crown will be perfect - as will the makeup. I do love the Halloween makeup; the fun changing of an ordinary face into something funny or ghastly or gross. Oh, and there's a costume contest and dance at the Casino the Saturday night before Halloween - maybe I can reprise my previous successes!

Yes, I have experience in stage makeup; I used to do everyones' makeup in the plays I was in, long ago. When the makeup artist for The Wizard of Oz (a friend of one of our stage managers who came to our play to help and critique) takes one look at you, smiles approvingly, and says, "SHE'S GOT IT! Now, the rest of you, do the same!" - you know you've got to be pretty good. Now that I'm back in an area that puts on plays and productions as a matter of course and competition, I am having a blast teaching the kids (and adults) all that I've learned over the years, and not just on Halloween.

On Halloween you can step outside of yourself, play and pretend just like you did when you were five. You can be anyone you want; no rules, no bans, no snotty people sneering down at you from self-imposed superciliousness or spewing sniggering sarcasm. Those who don't play can leave their porch lights off and pretend that latex-scarred evil isn't lurking around every lilac bush, or small furry unhinged animals aren't traipsing past their manicured lawns. Who needs them? It's Halloween! Let's PLAY!

Some Just Don't Get It

2010-08-29T09:05:00.003-04:00

People are all about "saving money", you've got Clark Howard on TV and all sorts of folks in all sorts of ways repeating the same old "here's how to save money!" garbage from 10, 20, even 50 years before, recycled from books they've read and magazine stories they've ingested from the supermarket checkout counters.

Coupons? Worthless pieces of paper. I remember the "Coupon Lady" who spent hours salvaging coupons from magazines, newspapers, mailouts, etc. She was touted as "saving" hundreds of dollars a year. Here's a hint, genius - when you spend money on newspapers and magazines to get the coupons, you aren't saving a damned thing. When you buy the overpriced name brands with a 15 cent off coupon for 30 cents more than the store brand, you are wasting 15 cents a can/package. Store brands come from the same places as name brand products - they just have different labels.

Buy in bulk, carve out a closet space with shelves, and rotate your purchases so that the cans you bought 3 years ago don't explode, and you'll save money - especially since prices are inching up weekly. Better yet, buy another freezer and start buying the BIG cans and bags and freezing portions; or learn to can, and buy farmer's market produce and can it yourself. A dented can that is not leaking can be bought at warehouse and big box sales; buy them. If you are uncomfortable with particularly deep dents, open the cans and freeze or recan them.

Many of the 'cheap' imported produce "specials" have rotted or green produce in the mix - not to mention that anything grown outside of the US isn't regulated as to fertilizer and pesticides. That poor Brazilian is just as likely to use human feces to fertilize or American-banned DDT to de-bug his produce as you are to drop by the Home Depot and pick up a can of bug spray on your way out.

Meat is a common staple where I live now; I can buy 1/4 of a grassfed free-range cow and have it cut to order - 300 lbs of beef for $400. That includes everything from ribs to ribeyes, burger to brisket. There are still meat processors in every major town, though, and they usually have good deals on bulk meat purchases, and will cut/grind it for you too. My cow in the freezer shares space with the remnants of last year's deer hunt of 2 big 60-lb-after-butchering mulies, and until recently the carcasses of several hunted turkeys. (I LOOVE turkey and it doesn't last long at my house). If you can't or don't hunt, most hunters only want the cape and head of the deer, if you ask them for the meat they will often give it to you.

Learn how to do things. Learn how to bake bread - and buy 50 lb bags of flour instead of the 5 or 10 lb sacks. You'd be surprised how much cheaper it is than buying 1-3 loaves of bread once or twice a week at the store - and it is better for you; no preservatives and you can put in REAL whole wheat flour, make French baguette bread for garlic bread, etc. Learn how to make pasta - pasta is soooo simple; one egg, a cup of flour, a dash of salt, a little water and a sharp knife and a rolling pin, and you can make a bunch of pasta, enough for 2 meals for 4-6 people. Better yet, you can add spices and flavorings and make everything from garlic/basil pasta to almond-flavored dessert pasta. Once you really get into it, a Kitchen-Aid mixer with attachments will make ravioli, lasagna, and all types of pasta shapes easily. Another thing I use my Kitchen-Aid mixer for is not just kneading bread but (with other attachments) grinding meat into hamburger, slicing it for jerky, juicing fruit, and even finely grinding fruit for rollups and other desserts. Yes I can do all these things by hand - but since I buy in bulk and make things in bulk, the Kitchen-Aid makes the process faster and more uniform. Learn how to grow vegies, and learn how to treat them so that they are bigger and better than last year. Raspberries will keep those bratty kids down the block out of your yard. Fruit trees are not only decorative, but will produce for years - as long as you can keep said brats down the street away from them.

The 4 must-have implements in my kitchen for bulk buying and processing are: A BIG pressure-cooker canner (to water-bath low acid fruits and vegies is dangerous, and you can even can meats, soups, and whole dinners under pressure!), a dehydrator (sundried tomatoes without the flies, dehydrated onions, dehydrated cabbage for soups and stews, banana chips for snacking or preservation - the opportunities are endless), my trusty Kitchen-Aid mixer - or you can use a blender, a grinder/chopper, and/or a knife - and a freezer. I have two of the latter - a big standup that we use for 'now' stuff like the homemade bread, butter (bought in bulk) milk, opened bags of vegies that we are using, etc. The big chest freezer in the basement is for the big meats and big veggie and fruit bags.

Don't tell me, "ooh, that's a lot of work!" or "I don't have TIME" or "I have KIDS!" - I have been doing this for 40 years. Yes, 40 years, usually holding down 2 jobs; and my kids not only learned how to cook but how to shuck corn, how to can, how to dehydrate, how to garden, how to do every and anything for themselves - and they learned how to butcher and process chickens and larger meat as well. Clark Howard and the Coupon Lady be damned - they don't have a CLUE how to save real money over time. Let them natter on about credit cards and things that most people don't have or can't afford any more - it's time to get back to basics. The basics I've lived for 40 years, through good times and bad.

Lovely Beef

2010-08-28T19:54:00.004-04:00

I have several definitions of mendacity. One is "wolf cookies". Another is "bat guano". Another -which I am given to in sudden extreme circumstances - is my "Ahhhh...AAAhhhh...BULLSHIT!" sneeze. I've been sneezing a lot lately...

This morning, like most Saturdays, I woke up with the full intent of chillin' online, checking out the prices on the drapes I plan on buying at JCPenney's, watching the weather, chatting with my online friends. I thought that today was a good day to investigate recipes that involve raspberries or strawberries with chocolate, too. It just felt like a fruit-and-chocolate day... having a freezer full of fruit and a shelf of hard-candied and liquid chocolate is comforting. I buy supplies twice a year now, and knowing what I have on hand, and that I can make anything without running to a store, is kinda fun. It was not to be.

I had forgotten that today was the much-touted "Restore Honor" rally in Washington DC. I had a friend send me a live link to it. So I watched. As usual, there were hundreds of thousands of people there - and little media. The MainStream Media likes to pretend that the Tea Partiers and conservatives are small in number, sorta like Jim Jones' adherents or Branch Davidians - just a bunch of kooks who will immolate themselves, or eventually do something stupidly illegal so that they are immolated. I know that they are much more. And what they are should sink dread and fear into any unemotional observer.

Because, you see, much like the AntiWar movement, the Martin Luther King movement, any social movement that stirs hearts and minds, the Tea Partiers have been co-opted. Co-opted by snake-oil salesmen like Glenn Beck, a heretofore unknown who vented spleen and spittle on staunch Constitutionalists as little as two years ago. People like Sarah Palin, who supported John McCain - McCain, who intentionally used her as "th' woman" in his campaign, who is a friend of LaRaza and a notorious two-faced liar. Sarah started out as a maverick and ended up as a mouthpiece for the status-quo neo-conservatives. These two, and many others like them, have worked tirelessly to deny the stark realities that are staring millions in their faces - the realities of job losses, home losses, doubled taxes, increased costs, deflation and inflation that are eating their homes, families, and pocketbooks alive. A bunch of soothing wolf cookies and bat guano spread over the deeply passionate and unthinking masses, who lap it up like chocolate.

While the Tea Party movement started as a virulent protest against a two-party, entitlement-minded oligarchy, it has been neutered and soothed by the neo-cons into believing that the Democrats are the Evil Ones, that only a return to a Republican, religion-based oligarchy can save them. The names will change, but the thievery will remain.

We did the same thing to our bull calf last week. We already have a herd bull, thick-muscled and strong, black as night, hung like - well, a bull - who carries three colors and is naturally polled (dehorned) to breed cows that will be of different colors, but of strong lineage and polled as well. Our bull is going to be our herd bull for many years to come; he has already enthusiastically mounted the cows we bought with him after the cows gave birth to two lovely (and unrelated) calves - a bull and a heifer. A rampant and handsome, born to breed, well-hung young bull was one too many bulls in the paddock - so we banded his testicles and 'nutted', 'steered' him - whatever suits your delicate sensibilities. We will keep him tame, calm him, fatten him, and butcher him when he is full-grown and weighted. You have to do this when you are trying to maintain a line of specificity; the breed traits the bull calf carried (horned, small female udders, only two colors) were not what we wanted to continue in our herd. He will make some lovely beef, though.

And that is what the neo-cons have done to the Tea Partiers; they have seduced them with soft lies, petted and stroked them, lured them into the stalls, flipped them over and slipped bands of glorified promises onto their balls, then turned them loose among the herd, to mouth their platitudes until their balls atrophy and drop off. Then they are ripe for the butchering; the herd bulls will continue their own lineage, undaunted by and ignoring the ball-less, ignorant steers who walk briefly among them, mooing helplessly and ineffectually for their own place at the hay bales.

But - But - We're Saving the Planet!!!

2010-08-09T23:23:00.002-04:00

Two months ago, I drove 2.5 hours to Rapid City, South Dakota. It is the closest place with a Cabela's - from which I order online a lot of the time, as well as shop the store whenever I am up that way. I dearly love Cabela's - Bass Pro Shop is a piss-poor imitation. Cabela's has sold me a wonderful cast-iron grill/smoker, some excellent silk long underwear, all manner of fishing and hunting equipment. On that last trip, I picked out an outstanding 30.30, a great fitted scope, and some ammunition for all of my varied weapons, as well as the 30.30. They treat you like gold at Cabela's - one gets all manner of stuff from all of the different departments, and they hold everything for you behind the individual counters until you go up to the checkout - then the personnel bring everything to you at the register, and even load it onto the truck for you.

I live in Nebraska, but am perfectly able (with the usual background check) to buy a rifle or shotgun plus ammo in another state. They are a little more chary about handguns - but it's possible as well.

Today I learned that the States, my own among them, are putting on - painting classes. Sounds insane, right - I mean, who hasn't gotten tired of their wall colors and planned a new decorating scheme, taped up the corners and outlets, and renewed a room or two - or even a whole house, inside and out? How hard can it be? Who the hell needs a CLASS to PAINT??

Well, the EPA says that you do. And every single state has to hold these classes so that people can get certified in the right way, the GREEN way, to apply paint. Here's the kicker - If you DON'T pay the $200 per person for the class - you can't paint your house. Ever again, after October 1st, 2010. Not one interior wall. Not one inch of trim. If you get caught painting your house, inside or out, you can be ARRESTED, CHARGED, and FINED.

This is all part and parcel of the Federal Government directive on the steps you must take to sell your home. Even if you never have any intention of selling your home, the fact is that all homes must now be maintained - to EPA standards. The painting classes are just the start - there are also windows, doors, and insulation, as well as heating and air conditioning that, if replaced, repaired, or installed, you will have to take classes to do so - and if you do not meet the EPA's standards for maintaining a "green home", you WILL BE FINED.

So, let me make this clear for you. I can go across state lines, purchase enough weapons and ammunition for my own private war if I so choose, and people will nod and smile, joke and laugh, fit the scopes for me, even let me take practice shots, and load the things for me if requested. They'll even load them into my pickup and thank me for my patronage. But - if I go to the Home Depot in the same town as Cabela's, and buy paint, insulation, or parts for my heater, I can be investigated, ARRESTED, CHARGED, and FINED by the Federal Government - or any designated representatives thereof.

Does anyone else find this LUDICROUS?

The Abiding Unhappiness

2010-07-31T09:13:00.003-04:00

You can always tell when there is a recession; the TV is covered up with 'new and exciting inventions' as people struggle to make a buck on their fondest ideas. Everyone from Dyson to the Bassmaster is hawking the latest thing to make your life easier, more productive, happier, etc.

Lots of folks think that I am a miserable old soul, always grumbling and griping. The truth is that I am unbearably happy in my own life, for the most part. I choose to be. I know that 'things' don't make me happy - but making things, creating things, growing things, and having people buy those things - or enjoying those things myself - makes me happy. Right now there are 150 tiny baby poinsettias in my greenhouse, stretching toward the sunlight, growing new leaves, loving the moist and humid heat I have to artificially provide for them (it is normally about 90 deg with 35% humidity here in the summer). As it cools off here the end of September, I''ll be moving them to my nice warm (50 deg) basement, restricting their sunlight to gro-lites for only 12 hours a day, to make them bloom by the end of November. I already have two places where I will put them for sale. I already have the pretty gold, green, and red foil to wrap the pots in. The challenge won't be in selling them to make the money - but in making them perform exactly how I want, and sharing that performance with others.

I eat things simply; whole-wheat or oat homemade bread, locally grown beef, chicken, and fish. I don't require a lot, and I only like spending money on things that will grow my farm. I don't party a lot, because I 1) don't have time, 2) have too much on my mind and too much on my plate to have a day-after sleep-in. One of the stores I shop online had a massive clearance sale; I bought dress pants for $5 and work dresses, skirts, and blouses for $10. Not that cheap material or poorly sewn crap you get at WalMart or the outlet stores, either... good stuff, sturdy stuff, well made stuff that no one else bought at a premium price.

Yet I watch people going on trips that they can't afford, and then desperately playing catch-up to pay their bills. I watch people spending money as soon as they make it, insisting that they 'deserve a break', 'have a right to enjoy themselves'. OK, maybe they do. But why they need to grasp their 'happiness' with both hands, cling to it desperately, rub their faces all over it like a child with new velvet, then throw it away and regret it less than a month later is beyond me. Why they need the changes, the constant newness, to revitalize themselves and make themselves feel worthwhile all over again is beyond my comprehension. They stink of anxiety, fear, and desperation the way old nursing homes stink of pee, no matter how vigorously you try to clean them, paint them, and make them new.

Either you and your life are worthwhile, or -they're not. Either what you do, who you are, and where you're going are important - or they are not. When you vibrate so rapidly and so desperately that you are in reality standing still, you aren't really moving at all. When your needs cannot be met and your longings cannot be fulfilled no matter how much you run to and fro, buying first this, than that, to make yourself feel better, you are not succeeding at anything... except deepening your own desperation.

Everything is FINE.

2010-07-23T09:14:00.005-04:00

It's coming. That indefatigable, irreversible moment of destruction - like lying in the water bleeding, and watching the sharks circling.

Now Bernanke is saying "the economic future is uncertain".

What a dyed-in-the-wool, Kenyesian-rhetoric, mouth-drooling liar he is.

The economic future is damned certain - and it is the politicians and the media who are insisting that no one should panic, no one should worry, just a little problem, no worries. They are as full of shit as a Christmas turkey. The reason they are not telling you the truth is simple - they are as terrified as anyone else, but if they SAY it, then it happens more quickly.

For 20 years I wrote about, protested about, and yelled about Austrian economics being the only way to save this economy. For 20 years people said, Why save it? It's fine. Don't be silly. This is working. Austrian economics is a pipe dream, a fantasy. It won't get too bad. We're fine. We are all fine. So what if governmental regulations shipped all of our manufacturing jobs overseas? We didn't want to work in manufacturing anyway. Look, you can buy everything so much cheaper at WalMart now! Why fix things when you can buy another for less? My job is just fine. Everything is just fine. Look how our areas and communities are growing and prospering! Look how many people are buying houses here! Don't worry, we'll have plenty of money for roads and schools from the taxes! You don't know what you are talking about, siddown and hush and stop aggravating us. Everything is FINE.

Ghost towns of subdivisions. People losing their homes. Losing their jobs. Living hand to mouth and pretending for the sake of pride that they are home-cooking to be more centered on the family, not because they can't afford to go out and eat. Like the administration and the media, no one wants to admit the truth - because to admit it is to make it real. But Everything is Fine.

Service jobs that went away when no one that could afford the services. Infrastructure getting more and more expensive, while empty houses sit, collecting no tax revenues, liabilities to the community, the remaining taxpayers. Food prices going up - have you noticed the meat at the meat counters lately? That is an indicator of the economy. Are there weirdly brown sections in your burger? Are they starting to sell meat that doesn't look "right"? What's that odd green spot on that steak, and why is it more than $3.00 a pound? Sugar, flour, rice - all the staples inching up in price, week by week. And the "global economy" that everyone touted is bringing in more and more questionable food and medicines from countries no one cared about 10 years ago... countries that don't have rules, countries that historically have never cared about their populace or what they ingested. But Everything is Fine.

To save us all, the government is borrowing money desperately, not just from children who haven't even been born yet in this country, but from other countries. China held our debt but has since sold it to Japan. We are swapping our money on a new world order now; the same tired dollars that have no value, trading them for nothing, basing them on nothing, pretending that a dollar is still worth a dollar even though it can't buy as much as it did last week, last month, last year. But everything is Fine.

The unemployed sit on their backsides because if they accept one of those paltry service jobs, they'll make less and spend more than they would sitting at home collecting a government check. It's everyone else's fault, and everyone else's problem. No need to take personal responsibility for one's votes and choices. Because unemployment isn't the employers' problem any more, it isn't even the States' problem - it like most everything else has been taken over by the Federal Government. That's OK, though - the Feds print their money, they have plenty to spare. Most don't know and don't care where their checks come from - as long as they show up in their mailboxes every week. Everything is Fine.

When folks grouse to me about how expensive everything is, how their jobs are in danger or gone or going, I just shake my head. Stagflation, deflation, inflation; they are all just weird egghead words to them, that mean nothing. The Great Depression was a bad historical period in the nation's history, but the teachers and the books all say that could never, will never, happen again, like Noah's Great Flood. We've been promised. We'll be fine. We'll tough this out like we always have. Sure, things are kinda rough right now, but we'll be Fine. Got a lil garden growing in the back yard. Got a couple of things I can sell to tide me over. Got a 401K that is tanking, but it'll rebound soon. I'm fine. Everything will be Fine.

Why do you think I was so adamant that developers pay up front to provide infrastructure for people who hadn't even moved there yet?

You can't expose the Emperor or his nakedness to the people who refuse to see. When - if - they finally, irrefutably, have no choice but to see, they will panic. They will point fingers and blame. They will feel justified in demanding their entitlements - everything from the spoiled and rotten food still in the grocery stores, to their checks, to their lifestyles and their lives.

When Darwin finally is proven right once again, those who have never had to, learned to, or tried to survive will be swept like the lemmings that they are to the sea. It will be a sea of violence, of self-serving humanity, swamping themselves and each other in violence, selfishness, depredation, and rage fueled by desperation. There won't be polite hoboes wandering from town to town, knocking on doors, asking for work. That is what the politicians and Bernanke won't tell you, as they wait for November and the January swear-ins, hoping to be able to stave off the ultimate, to place the blame on someone, anyone, else. To say it is to make it real. And it isn't time to make it real - yet. Those who want to blame Obama or the Tea Parties or Fox News or the New Black Panthers or whatever or whomever will end up just as hungry, just as poor, just as third-world-country broke. Have you got at least two years of food stored away? - because you can bet that your nouveau-hero Glenn Beck does.

You see, this has been coming for 74 years, through every administration, through every Presidency, through every Sturm und Drang of every political and social fight. And everyone sat through it all, watched it without knowing what they were watching, denying the trends, arguing about how many angels could dance on the head of a pin instead of what really mattered. Most watched agape at the magicians' right hand tossing sparkly lights, ignoring that his left hand was delving into their pockets, laughing in glorious surprise when the magician produced the victim's empty wallet in front of him! What a neat trick! Do it again!

Yup, everything is FINE.

My vacation

2010-06-16T19:16:00.003-04:00

My job only lasts 10 months out of the year, so I get 2 months of "vacation". Two months of freedom, yippee!!

OK, so I still wake up at 5:30 every morning. There's so much to be done! The greenhouse is up already, and there are plants in it for my fall sale/opening. The garden is (mostly) weeded and I have lettuce and spinach and peas to harvest. The onions are HUGE - good grief! - and still not near ready to pull. The cows and chickens need their feeding twice a day and the trough needs filling every other day. Gracie the horse nickers at me over the fence whenever she isn't out in the fields enjoying the sun and green grass. Some days I get time to go up on the hill with her, and we just sit and talk for hours, not saying a word.

Spring brought me babies - two bull calves, kittens, and a new Australian shepherd/heeler cross puppy I am training to herd. So they keep me busy. The Momcow who had the last baby, Pauline, has completely changed her attitude. She has gone from a shy and quiet little heifer to a first-time MOTHER with attitude.

I have been working in the ceramics shop downstairs, too. I've got some more dwarfs to paint and a nice pitcher and bowl for my bedroom to decorate. Not to mention the fact that I've got some really nice canisters that were given to me by someone who moved - they are like blank canvases, and I am painting local scenes on them. I took pictures of some really nice windmills and old buildings around here to get my perspectives right. But what I really love are the snow scenes!

I've started an orchard, too; last year I put apples, big pie cherries, gooseberries, and plums in, this year it's more apples, the little sand cherries for jam, and some pears. They are just sticks with leaves right now, of course, but they'll grow. Like the sand cherries and peaches where I used to live, they'll provide me with some great fruit, as long as I am patient.

My neighbor Sarah is having her second child in three months; I am quietly working on a little baby quilt for her. Did you ever notice that the first baby gets all the cool stuff, but the second one - not so much? Because of where we live, I found a cute tiny cowboy and cowgirl print, and a nice bold ropin bronc-bustin print. (Here it applies to both boys and girls! One of my 'pets' at school has a voice like an angel -and barrel races, ropes and ties cattle in rodeo performances all summer. )Put those two prints together with some other 'inanimate' blocks and it will be so cute!

Oh, we'll go to the dam and the falls and get some fishing in this year. The water is so clear you can see 8 feet straight down to the bottom, and the bass and trout and crappie are huge. Fed from underground springs and runoff from the mountains, over miles and miles of sand under and on top of the ground, the water is cold, too... plunge into that on a 90 degree day and it takes your breath away! The new pup loves to plunge into water and then dry off on the grass. At a garage sale, we found a set of binoculars for $25 that has a digital camera built in, so I can't wait to try that out in the evenings when we go watch our wildlife wander.

I guess it doesn't sound like much of a vacation to most folks; it may in fact sound a lot like work! But not being at anyone's beck and call, not having to answer the phone, not having to sit in a building for 9 hours a day, is pure pleasure.

Change? I got yer Change...

2010-04-08T22:49:00.002-04:00

I love change.

I am easily bored. Boring people gripe my ears. Stupid people, who eagerly grab at anything or nothing to worship and follow or scream and rant and rave about, bore me. I like intelligent conversation, witty repartee, not the sandbox "Yeah? Well you're stupid too, so nyah!" style of argument. I like debate. I like incisive wit, and have a passion for puns, double entendres, anything that proves that my companions are thinking, not merely emoting.

I love the violent thunderstorms and the silent snows; the blasting blizzards and the sunlit spring tumble of fresh unfrozen water freed at last from its bounds. I like the struggling two leaves that become four, than six, then a hundred, the flowers that burst into bloom and then into fruit.

I like change that is progressive, natural; not forced or false or that steps or tumbles backward. I like change that is challenge and thought and effort and work and deed, not mouthing platitudes for the latitudes. I like change that means something positive, not something detrimental. That could include the changes of a shoreline that a hurricane creates, or the change in landscape that an earthquake dictates, or the change in foliage that a firestorm demands. These things can have positive influences, when looked at from a perspective of growth and progression.

I don't like change that suits a personal or political agenda, or demands that everyone ELSE change for someone else's goals. I don't believe that all change is good, even if it is inevitable. I believe that one has to step back, and unemotionally determine the good and bad of change, the future of the change or without it, compare the two, and consciously decide between change or no-change. Thoughtless and/or emotionally-inspired change rarely has a good outcome, no matter how many people wish it could be so.

The two things that never change are: 1) People want to, desperately need to, be empowered. Whether that empowerment comes from forcing others to their way of thinking/believing/praying/living, or from being a part of a group that fights that force, people seek empowerment. Very few can empower themselves, enrich their own lives through their own actions - most insist that by stomping on other people they empower themselves. They are wrong, and can never figure out why, like serial killers or rapists, their latest victims still do not satisfy that aching, sucking, black hole in their gut.

The other thing that never changes is that 2) most people don't recognize a good change, a healthy change, a change for the better. They believe they do, they think they do, they cast about endlessly for someone to tell them a 'good' change from a 'bad' change. Terrified of being wrong, they will follow anyone who sagely or vociferously says that this or that change is good for them. They haven't the self confidence to know what is right for them, much less for others, and so trust others to tell them what is right or wrong. Again, there is that black sucking hole of self doubt in their middles, that they will never own, admit to, or claim.

I'd like to say that I have never felt that self-doubt, but that would be a pompous lie. I have doubts. I have fears, and fears that my doubts are true. These doubts keep me from falling for the "change is good!" scenario, when common sense, rationality, and careful study proves that not all change is good or inevitable. These doubts cause me to think, to investigate, to compare, to ponder, to hyper-project many months, even years, into the future, to determine if proposed change is good - or if it is just something that someone else wants to change, to empower themselves over others. Over me.

Fearless

2010-03-20T09:04:00.003-04:00

OK, it barely made it to the news; a mere 2.7 earthquake on the Richter scale, 60 miles east of me. Yawn. I didn't feel it... it was after all early in the AM on a school day, and I was busy getting the bulletins out to the kids and teachers, filling out the paperwork and making the class advisements, getting everything ready for next Monday which will be a half-day and a pain in my rear. Too many people get overexcited about the damnedest things where, if they would just take a breath, they would realize that accomplishment isn't dependent on the panic principle.

I have made a friend with a retiree from the USGS; a funny and friendly older gent who hides his engineering knowledge and voluminous skills under a 'hail fellow well met' kind of attitude. He is going to be loaning me a book about the area and its faults and earthquakes; a voluminous research with pictures. I like that kinda thing. I like learning things I didn't know before. I may have to cruise down and check out the fault line - or is it a fold line? - west of us.

No, I don't operate on the Panic Principle. Never have. Don't like drama queens and kings. Believe everything can be handled with reason, understanding, preparation, and a calm approach. I love it when the NOAA warning system goes off, telling me that a tornado may be approaching. I figure that everything I can tie down has already been tied down, I can only do so much - and then clean up afterwards if necessary. So I go outside with my camera and get kewl pics of the skies and clouds and rainbows, and wait to see if there will be any damage. There rarely is.Like most fears, when they pass, you get to realize how little good panic and hysteria really do. Even though some people need that constant upheaval in their lives, I don't.

I have always liked the quote, the Litany Against Fear, from Dune. "I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain."

Fear is overrated. Experience, now. Experience is key. So even when one has a fear, the only way to overcome it is to attack what one fears, educate oneself about every tiny fact of it, let the fear become understanding and accomplishment instead. Then one has a wealth of knowledge or experience on which to draw.

It isn't that I am fearless. I am a reasonable human, though, who can gauge levels of potential and determine all possible and likely outcomes, then act (or not act) accordingly. So no I don't fear earthquakes or tornadoes, any more than I feared hurricanes or floods or mouth-breathers. I simply gauge appropriate defenses against them before they occur, and responses to them afterwards. Only I remain.

The Kleptocracy

2010-03-14T08:09:00.002-04:00

There are people whom many call 'products of the entitlement mindset' - people who honestly do believe that the world owes them a living. They are catered to by the bleeding hearts who say, "But look their children are starving!" or "Everyone deserves a home!" or other fatuous and ultimately self-serving platitudes. We have now evolved into a whole generation of people who see absolutely nothing wrong with taking other peoples' earnings, profits, and property, even their lives, to suit their own demands and requirements.

The cashier at Wal Mart who rings up her friends' groceries, only charging for one out of every 5 items. The door-greeter and security guards who look the other way as people carry unpaid-for items out of the store. The clerk who takes things home from the job. The person who doesn't use their real name or address to seek medical care. The purchasing agent for any bureaucracy that adds items onto a purchase order that never get used at the bureaucracy, but instead get taken directly to his or her home - sometimes even shipped there. The judge who goes into a high-end car dealership to 'test-drive' a vehicle - and doesn't bring it back for over a week. The politician who superciliously informs people that they "owe" him and his wife vacations, or the use of public property for his own private interests. All of these are real people, all of these things happen all of the time, all of these things cost everyone by raising prices or using tax dollars to pay for their stealing. Because, call it what you like, it is stealing.

What happens in a disaster, like in Haiti or Chile? The kleptocracy steps in, just like they did in the aftermath of Katrina, taking whatever they need - or sometimes, all too often, things they don't need, just to have, or to trade or sell. And everyone makes a joke or turns the other way - or excuses them - "They don't know any better." "They needed it." Or my personal favorite - "Let them have it! They can't help themselves!" - yes, they can help themselves. And they do, to everything that isn't nailed down or red-hot, or protected by highly armed, highly criticized owners of that property. "Why don't they just give it to them?"

I always note that the ones who exclaim the latter are NOT the ones who are being invaded or assaulted; those who, in fact, think that it can never, will never happen to them. The shopkeeper snatching an hour of sleep here or there, his shotguns by his side, probably thought that, too. Yes, the exact same thing that those beat-up or heavily-armed people thought, six months or a year ago.

As the economy bottoms out, as schools close and more and more people are laid off, as things slowly fall into an economic mire, I wonder just how long all of those self-righteous people, living in their safe and gated communities, think they can hold out against the kleptocracy that they encouraged and pitied last year and this year. Do they really think that unarmed security guards will fight and die to protect them and their property? Do they really think that, in the event of a hurricane, massive flood, power outage, earthquake, pandemic, or any 'natural' or unnatural disaster, that they are safe? Or will they be crying out, "Where am I going and why am I in this handbasket?"

Here is my Whole Cloth

2010-03-04T10:34:00.003-05:00

Almost two years here.

Things are getting pretty intense; and no I don't mean politically or socially. They are intense for me, because doing what I've always wanted to do was a scary jump into a void. Not of knowledge, I had that. Not of experience, because I've had that, too. But of occurrences. When single threads start coming together to make a whole cloth, the cloth sometimes has colors that one does not expect. The challenges of weaving together a life from different threads are, in a word, multitudinous.

Who, after all, believed that this was what I really wanted? So many folks came up to me and said, "If I'd'a known you were like THAT..." and "You can't be SERIOUS!" and even "You'll be back!" - the folks who obviously didn't know me at all, of course.

I have things on my webpage and blog now that would interest no one in Beaufort or Jasper County, certainly no one whom I used to hang out with. How many of you would want to view the graphic pictures of my boss cow, Billy Jean, delivering her first calf? To me it is a miracle, and not just of birth, but of life and future and hope and change that matters personally, not in some unreal fantasy or phony political promise. How many of those folks who used to buy my eggs back in Hardeeville could relate to the fact that here there are no ordinances to ban my chickens, that my cows can be seen from the road in front of my house, that my eggs are the biggest and brownest and most sought after in town? How many of you would marvel at the progress of my reversible quilt, with the summer fruits on one side, the Christmas colors on the other, and the ruffles all around? Would you want to hear of the fourth snowiest season ever recorded that occurred this year, of what fun it is to whisk through snow-covered streets and skid into turns on ice, or to watch the snow drift down like tiny cellophane flakes?

Would you want to see pictures of the day-old calf gamboling happily around his mom, or the way the other cow and even the bull babysit him, or the way they all lay together in the afternoon sun, a happy and content family? Do you want to hear how we bake our own bread, fill our woodbox for the next snowstorm, take out the ashes and put them with the manure and kitchen scraps to compost? Do you care how we clean out the coop and corral, sludging through manure that we see as glorious and full of natural fertilizer and mulch, good for our growing things, an endless circle of life? Do you care if we steer the newborn bull for processing later, or keep him whole to sell his semen to promote good breed traits? Do you want to know if we will band or use the paste to dehorn him, do you care if he appears to be a successful production of homozygous traits?

Do you want to know that my lupus lesion has quit splitting open and has stopped oozing and bleeding, and that my body is actually starting to clean itself out and correct all the damage done by fast foods and a faster lifestyle? Do you care that my DH, whom so many were so interested in insulting and trashing just for being married to me, has found a quiet joy again in building things and working on engines, and working with animals who do not judge him, who do not scream at him and curse him as most of his patients did, who appreciate what he does for them - and who are fond of him and show it? Do you care that he no longer has to work a 60-hour work week, but can take his time as his pain levels dictate, and work at his own speed, and still be respected and included in a comfortable and friendly lifestyle?

I am happy to have left the WalMart and Starbucks world behind. I am content in what I have chosen. Folks say that I should write a book about what "really went on" the past 20 years, but you know what? None of it was important, as much as they like to think it was. Mean and angry and perpetually cruel people banding together to tear each other apart have no interest for me - or, now that I'm gone from their sights, in me, either. Any book I write will be about the joys, the hardships, the overcoming, the successes, even the failures; the building of my life the way I choose, not fighting those who choose different paths and want to drag me vociferously with them, or down if I do not agree with them.

Here I am, weaving the threads of all of my knowledge, all of my experiences, and all of my desires into a whole cloth, something to last, something to remember, something that is real and able to be felt, held, and used in a good clean manner. Something that all of the naysayers and eternally self-involved can never take away. Here is life. Here is joy. Here is hard work and success and achievement, sweat and dirt and tiny green plants poking their way into the sun, tiny newborns growing to full and heavy production. Here is blood and bone, feather and fur, knife and axe and fingers separating meat from skin, nitty and gritty and hay and manure, life and death in its most definite beginnings and ends. Here are long silent nights and endless silent days, with nothing but the cackling of an egg-laying hen or the indulgent moo of a mothering cow, or even the gobbling of the wild turkeys or the far-off howls of the yotes being hunted once again. Here is my whole cloth.

Season's Greetings

2010-01-16T09:38:00.005-05:00

I have a passion for seasons. I don't like the vaseline-smeared-lens-fantasy of always-summer-at-the-beach ideal of eternal joy.

Let there be fall, with the wet-leaves smell, the crisp bite of the first fire that scents the air with a smoky promise of good warmth, to challenge that fresh clean first cold snap. The rustle of leaves that betrays the squirrel in the tree, or the sneaking deer coming up to the pond for the evening drink. The 'settling' conversations of turkeys in the trees outside my bedroom window as the night moves in ever earlier, ruining their little foraging plans and causing them to grumble. The deep lowing of the cattle over the hill, clearly heard in the evening chill, as the coyotes howl and whine and complain around them, looking for a victim amidst the sharp hooves and willing horns.

Let there be spring; the tulips pushing through the ground as mightily as they can, hard green heads against the hard gray grass. The gray branches of the maples and cottonwoods suddenly covered in soft green fuzz as the new leaves struggle to stretch to the sky, juxtaposed against the cedars and loblollies, blacker and more ponderous with the gentle new growth around them. They are the old dogs, the sturdy dogs, who have survived another winter with their foliage and dignity intact, and now hover over the giggling new growth, growly and protective over the spring growth, guarding it from the sudden and capriciously violent spring storms. Small fluffy chicks peeking out from uinder their mothers, shy and skittish, while the hens dare the roosters to come one step closer. New calves are staggering and investigating, running too far and bleating, returning to a lowing and comforting, never perturbed mother.

Let there be summer - a brief one, anyway. One that lets the garden tumble over itself in wild abandon; the lilacs bushy and throwing their purple raiment about like careless silk scarves, draping the burgeoning sunflowers and shy salvia with extra color. Green beans snapping in the sun, heavy tomatoes hanging in red Christmas-ornament colors, begging to be picked to free the branches to reach higher. Pumpkin, watermelon, and canteloupe vines sprawling across the rows in wild abandon, throwing out first the golden flowers as big as your hands, then the green balls of fruit that hide so much promise in their juicy interiors. The potato plants reaching for the sky, burying their gold like misers underneath layers of mulch and sand. The ground-hugging strawberries that nestle together like gossips, sharing their pollen and secrets with the bees, pregnant with the hope of a red and glorious birth. The apple, cherry, blueberry and gooseberry trees and bushes that rise disdainfully above them, waving their arms full of flowers and then proud and multicolored fruit. The calves are playing next to their mothers or dozing in the hot afternoon sun, the chicks are becoming aggressive as their teenage temperaments emerge; either trying to crow or racing each other endlessly after whatever bug enters their domain. The rush to can or dehydrate or collect the bounty, put it away to be enjoyed all year long. The rush to fatten, arrange, prepare to butcher or smoke or skin or defeather before the long-hanging sun finally settles into a brief and cooler nap. The endless sweat puddling in the clothing, drawing dirt and bugs, dripping in salted brine from your hair and face, so that a sudden plunge into the icy trough is a welcome but brief relief.

Ah, but winter! Winter is the best! Stomping in from the ice and snow outside, stripping off the layers of coats and snowproof overalls, thick heavy boots and gloves endlessly soiled by tramping through the toil. One makes quick work of feedup time; keeping the heated trough full of water for the big critters, knocking off the ice from the chicken waterer, piling up the snow from last week's blizzard as a wall to protect the chicken coop from tomorrow's predicted snows. Brushing the glittering snow from the cows' and horse's backs where it has melted to their heat, then refrozen in a winter ice cap to their heavy winter fur. Tracking rabbits in the snowy moonlight, scanning the sparkling starlit sky for any sign of those elusive wonders, the Northern Lights. Bright sunshiny days where 'diamond dust' - those glittery sparkles of frozen humidity that dance in the breeze, too light to fall to the ground - swirls around you in a softly billowing cloud of glory. Long black nights where the only sound is the crackling of the wood in the woodstove, the "ping" and "pang" of the cold metal stovepipe heating under a new assault of freshly blazing firewood, the rumble of the slowly collapsing log pile as it sacrifices itself in agonizing slow-motion to heat and light. Days of planning, days of dreaming over the seed catalogs and order books - what shall we have this year? What new adventures shall we undertake once the frost line permits the plow to cut instead of bounce? Endless evenings in the sewing room working on the next quilt, or in the ceramics room, painting pictures of sunlight and shadow on smooth clay canvas. No rushing, no hysterical to and fro, no gotta go see-buy-have-possess. Just the slow drowsy glide of one short day into the next long night; a chance to dream, to read, to think, to plan. Like the earth, a knowing that spring will come, and a restful preparation for that coming. A conviction that perfection can be attained, that this year and every one following can only get better and better, as the seasons slide into each other with graceful endless subtlety.

He was PUSHED!

2009-09-12T13:57:00.003-04:00

Y'know, I've known Joe Wilson for several years.
I know he retired as a Colonel from the National Guard, and that all four of his sons serve in the military and have been to Iraq - so all of those morons screaming about his ignorance of Iraq and his lack of patriotism can kiss my entire ass.

I know what he has done for all of those folks who now call him "racist" for standing up for what he believed in - his constituency is about 40% black. What he has done to raise their standard of living and help provide jobs and education for them is incalculable. And of course - as is so common in SC - the very people whom he has helped have turned on him for one instance of heated and emotional outspokenness, and called him names.

And for what? For speaking - as he always does - the truth, forthrightly and plainly. I have argued with Joe over points, and he never gets mad - but then he and I are friends and respect each other. Joe was tired of the disrespect shown to the American people and to the Congress by POTUS; the endless lies and half-truths finally got to him. So he simply couldn't help himself. It wasn't orchestrated, planned - it was simply the visceral action of a man who has tirelessly for many years tried to discuss and reason and play fair with others, and simply couldn't stand the lies any more. Pushing Joe Wilson to stand up and cry out, "YOU LIE!" means that the perpetrator repetitively refused to enter into a real discussion, the opposition had refused rational discussion time and again, and had purposefully and deliberately set himself up as the one telling the truths "to the American people" when all around him knew better. Joe rarely loses himself or his gentlemanly demeanor - so mark that one on your calendar. He had to be pushed to the limit of his reasonable, intelligent, and rational mind to do that. You can only kick a dog so many times before it turns on you. Joe turned and bit.

When it happened, I took one of the photos of Joe and me to work the next day to show my friends. They had all heard about it - and all were in his corner. My other friends whom I sent emails to all signed up on his webpage, and many sent donations and encouraged THEIR friends to back Joe. Some are even asking him to run for President in 2012. His response was much what others said they were screaming themselves, unheard and perennially ignored, in the privacy of their homes during that speech or in town hall meetings across the country. Because they won't drink the POTUS KoolAid, they are called "terrorists" by their own government officials.

Damn the Democrats who pretend to be the lily-white offended party - who as a group booed President Bush, and then self-righteously talk about decorum. And damn the pathetic limp-wristed and weak-kneed NeoCons, the RHINO (Republican In Name Only) cowards who are demanding that Joe apologize. You bunch of self-impressed Froot Loops - it's about time you realized that you are representing no one but your own special interests, and the thinking, reading, and cognizant American public has had enough of you. Be afraid. Be VERY afraid. Now thay have a rallying point and a leader - and his name is Joe Wilson. Yes, it is time to clean House and Senate alike. Time to take this country back from the socialists and liars, who slide on their bellies like insidious snakes into our living rooms and tell us how much more they will give us, while taking everything from us.

Good Riddance

2009-08-26T08:02:00.003-04:00

Ted Kennedy died of brain cancer.

Who the hell cares?

I'll bet the Kopechne family doesn't - if there are any of them left.

Now of course we will be regaled for the next two weeks about all of Kennedy's exploits; one of the people who was the most instrumental in the past 30 years in destroying the Republic and making his home state of Massachusetts a tax hell-hole and socialist nightmare.

Like Paris, Britney, and Michael, stupid, drunken, stoned, selfish and greedy idiots are portrayed in the media as being people who should be admired and praised and followed after.

Like the folks who follow 'reality TV' that isn't real, and the "Survivor" shows that are pure bullshit, too many people mindlessly follow after unadulterated garbage, mouth breathing and panting after untruths and falsehoods while neglecting what is going on right in front of them. We really are going to hell in a handbasket when people like this are lauded and praised, and good and decent, hardworking, successful-by-their-own efforts Americans are sneered at and criticized by the media and the idiot public.

I hope Mary Jo has the privilege of escorting that worthless drunken bastard to hell.

"Oh, NOOOOO!!"

2009-08-08T20:09:00.002-04:00

So Glenn Beck, the new darling of the Neo-cons, has discovered something evil and subversive in the new "Cash for Clunkers" program - ALL information entered into this new Welfare system can be tracked by government agencies foreign and domestic for whatever reason.

They're after us! They're after us! The sky is falling! The sky is falling!

Dumbazzes. We've been tracked for years, since before the Patriot Act, and NOW they're freaking? Reminds me of Madeleine Kahn in Blazing Saddles, "It's Twue, It's Twue!" Star Wars was already firmly in place in the heavens, long before Ronnie Reagan broke the news. (I know - my brother worked on it in the '70's.) So were a lot of other things - things that people insisted were mere conspiracy theorists' maunderings.

Like the Tea Parties and all of the other hysterical reactions, this stuff just cracks me up. Where was everyone 20 years ago when this really started happening? Most folk today weren't even born in 1914 when the Fed Reserve was started and started printing money without backing in gold. Yet like good little sheep they have followed along, going along to get along, whining about the dot.com revolution and Enron and the housing scandal and Madoff that cost them millions in unsecured funds -because they were not smart enough to understand that WHEN THERE IS NO INTRINSIC VALUE, money means nothing - literally nothing. It is a fantasy of "legal tender" that has no basis in reality. And because it is not reality-based, tangible and fungible, it can be manipulated by anyone seeking "riches" and power. Just like their 'freedoms' and their 'rights', that have been expanded so far with hysterical hyperbole, emotionalism, and fear, so as to mean absolutely nothing.

They think the whole think started when they woke up last year, when it has been going on for decades while they danced and sang at all the parties funded by nothing, backed by nothing. They are screaming, ranting, and raving at the end, not at the beginning. And there is nothing that can be done to save them now - all of those self-satisfied people who have suddenly had the rug snatched out from under them, whimpering and whining because Mommy, it hurts! Kiss and make better!

Economics 101 - FAIL

2009-07-31T08:06:00.003-04:00

One of my fondest memories is watching John Rogers, the headmaster of Thomas Heyward Academy, pound his head on a cement block wall when Jasper County Chairman DP Lowther announced - "We were in the red but I borrowed more money so now we're in the black, and everything is good!"

What IS it with stupid people who don't understand how money works? Not even the basics?

The American public bailed out GM with money that it didn't have; it borrowed on future hopes and dreams, not reality. Then they started the "Cash For Clunkers" program that was supposed to go until November - which it didn't, it is already out of money as people have turned in their "old" and not-so-old cars to government-owned-and-operated GM for new cars and trucks. So now the government wants to borrow even more money to ensure that this program lasts, "because it is doing so well". WHAT THE FUCK?

Is no one thinking AT ALL?

Where is this money coming from, and will it ever be paid back - and by whom?

The whole idea for "trade in allowances" is so that the receiving dealership can make money on used car sales - either on their own lot or with sales to a broker. That won't happen, because the money forked out for these cars, FAR OVER THEIR ACTUAL WORTH, is gone. GM doesn't care, it isn't "their" money, it's the government's. The "buyer" doesn't care; s/he's got their cash and their brand new vehicle. Whether or not they will still have them, or be able to pay for them, six months down the road, doesn't matter. Whether they will have a job six months down the road, or even food to eat, doesn't matter. Deguvmint is givin dem money now bygod and they will take it, and the purty shiny new car too.

Thanks, I'll stick with my Toyotas. No government had to bail them out; quality vehicles that sold for far less than a GM plastic fantasy. Tough and impossible to kill, even with bullets in the radiator. Paid for and proud, no cost now, except taxes, tags and insurance. And the fuel to run them (not very often, I don't go anywhere much). Not for me the lure of increasing debt and then the inevitable casting off of the unusable, overly expensive GM albatross from around my neck, no thanks. I won't buy into the whole "gubbermint owes me a car, too!" scam being perpetrated on the stupid. Although I do know who will be eventually paying for it, just like Jasper County's dream of being in the black while delving ever deeper into taxpayers' pockets. Betcherass.

My beloved friend John must have concussed himself by now. Are people really this stupid? Yes, by god, they are. The Cash for Clunkers program is a success, oh, my yes indeed. Until the time comes - and it always does -to pay the piper.

No Roller Coaster, thanks

2009-07-23T10:42:00.005-04:00

Yesterday my next door neighbor came up to the house in a mild panic. She had gotten all of her stuff together to paint (oil-based) and - had forgotten brushes. She thought she had some big ones but didn't. It's a 40 mile trip one way to buy brushes, and she was in a hurry. Well of course we have brushes - tons of 'em, use 'em all the time since last year, fixing the place up. So we gave her some.

Then she is having karaoke at her bar this weekend and needed posters. Everyone in town now knows that I have a smashing art program and do great posters, so she asked me to make her six. I made 8 - just in case - and put them up around town for her.

My fee? Drinks at karaoke night of course! LOL

Contrast the busy working atmosphere and aggressive fun challenges of everyday life with the desperate and pathetic drama queens I'm used to dealing with, and the comparisons are stark.

I really did want to snatch them up, shake them by their collars and shriek in their pathetic faces, "SHADDUP! STOP WHINING!" - but then of course that made me 'mean', 'unsympathetic'. I don't understand the attraction of drama queens to others. They can't hold a job. They can't stay in school. They can't they can't they can't - do anything on their own. They'll see doctors endlessly and come up with different diagnoses every time - and different drugs. Then of course they get "addicted" to the drugs. (Bullshit. They don't know what an addiction IS.) Then of course they lie about not only their diagnoses but their drugs. Then they lie about their jobs. Then they lie about their lives. Then they lie about their motivations. They tell different lies to different people, never thinking that -hey - some of these people know each other and might talk to each other. When caught, they say they were misunnerstood - or blame it on the drugs, their desperation, etc. People whom they say were dying weren't even sick. Trips they had to take to save someone else were non-existent. Rapes and assaults that never occurred, could not have occurred, in the time frames they give. Lies, lies, and more lies to cover up those lies. It is a never ending fantasy life with them, and they drag people into it as rapidly and voiciferously as they can.

WHY do they do it? Because it works for them. They get the attention they so desperately need and demand, 24-7, from people who enable them as surely as some parents, friends and family enable drug addicts and drunks. There are always people around who NEED to play the strong and protective type, who NEED other peoples' endless dependence on them, who are gratified by the drama queens' endless helplessness and whining, lies and manipulations, because it makes them feel superior. And the Drama queens LET them feel superior, all the time thinking that everyone around them is soooo stupid to be manipulated - and that it is they, the queens, who are really superior. ("Look how many people I can get to buy into this crap, over and over again!") It is an endless and gripping, roller coaster fantasy world of mutual dependence and mutual disgust, mutual superiority and mutual disdain. The word "respect" - either self respect or respect for others - is lost in the endless drowning waves of self-indulgence and sympathy.

Yawn. So glad I'm out of that. My definition of passion is mutual respect, mutual effort, and mutual enjoyment. Those who need the endless Sturm und Drang, highs and lows, of dependence and desperate, whining, crying, lying, self pity and self-indulgence, are fooling themselves. But hey - whatever floats their boat. Straight-up and point blank is where I live. Don't like it? Need that soft cushion of lies, dependence, and simpering giggles? Go for it. Just don't make me listen to it. I have a real life, and real relationships, not founded on lies and self-delusion. Don't tell me you've found your permanent career (for the third time this year) or your One True Love for the fourth marriage. You bore me. Lie to yourself all you want. Just stop lying to me. We both know what you are.

Now, what should I wear to karaoke night? On with real life. At least when I pretend to be something I'm not, it's obvious, tongue-in-cheek, fun, and no one gets hurt.

You have GOT to be kidding me...

2009-07-12T10:00:00.003-04:00

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

There I was yesterday, talking with my daughter on the phone, having a good long conversation about any and everything. Suddenly the phone 'blipped', alerting me that there was someone else trying to call. I looked at the phone to see who it was.

The number was for someone 'back there'. Now, let me tell you about this person. For 20 years she was one of the nastiest, meanest, rudest, most backstabbing, lying people in my life. She thought she knew everything, especially about me. She accused me of everything under the sun. She even sat in front of my DH at my last meeting, making snide comments and calling me a liar out loud with her dau-in-law. She always insisted to everyone who ever listened that I was doing everything that I suppose she wished she could do - cheating, sneaking, and stealing. She was vicious and had no sympathy for anyone, ever, at any time - except herself. She was a "good churchgoing Christian woman"- the type that one would not attend any church she went to if one could help it, because her face was always in everyone else's, telling stories and shoving her own lack of self-respect and common decency in everyone else's faces. No matter how polite anyone was to her, she was adamant that she knew everything, and always demanded that she be catered to. Did she care that she hurt my children with her lies, or that she insulted my husband with them? Of course not! Did she feel anything for the friends of mine whom she harassed and did her best to insult or embarrass because they were my friends? Don't be silly. She couldn't care less.

So, over a year after I leave and go 1700 miles away, why on earth would this person track me down and try to call? I gave maybe three people back there my phone number... mainly because, between my 60-acre farm and my job responsibilites, I am rarely near a phone. Email is about the only way to reach me with any certainty.

One of my new local friends said it best "She misses you. A dysfunctional relationship is better than none at all. She's probably ran out of people to insult and torment. Why not invite her out to see the sights? Our area has a lot of places where bodies will never be found - and haven't been for YEARS."

See, that's what I like about where I live. Blunt speaking and honesty, and no false sweetness and light. Termagants aren't permitted to try to run peoples' lives out here - they are told off and put in their places.

I don't know why this poor, pathetic, purposefully cruel and vindictive creature suddenly, desperately, needs to speak to me. But I do know that she will get quite a shock if she calls back. Because, you see, I don't have to be polite or nice to her anymore, don't have to listen to her, don't have to put up with her rants or rudeness or self-righteousness any more.

The funny thing is that I have been good friends with her daughter for years and years. Her daughter is her mother's exact opposite - funny and fun and crazy, full of love and intelligence, and not afraid to speak her mind or show her affection. She has always been a bright spot in my life - and I never wanted to offend her, even though she knows exactly what her mother is. We simply don't discuss her mother, we just discuss things amongst ourselves and enjoy each other's company and emails and conversations. I don't judge her by her mother, just as she has never judged me by mine.

I'd hate to lose my friend. But if that phone rings again and it's her mother, what I will say to her will of course be repeated and exaggerated and embellished and lied about, like every other thing I've ever said to this cruel and vicious, hatefilled woman. But it will be said... and I will be laughing at her and enjoying every damned minute of it. You see, I don't have to put up with that sort of hysterical and vicious hate, that severe and open mental derangement any more that other people excuse as "just her way" - it may be sad and pathetic and just too bad, but it isn't my problem any more. And don't think that I won't let her know it, in no uncertain terms.

And if my daughter has to put up with her cruel crap, she won't hold back either. She's heard enough from this insanely jealous, insanely cruel woman all of her life that she has had enough, too.

Busy? No, TG, Not at All

2009-07-07T09:05:00.003-04:00

And so life goes on.

Dad always said the old 'hole in the water' - If you ever think you matter, stick your hand in the water and pull it out. The hole that is left is how much you matter.

Which is totally what I expected - no matter what my friends said - and said that they wanted.

When one of my new friends asked what we were doing for the Fourth, I said, "the potluck picnic in the park and then the fireworks."

"So you don't have plans?"

I spent the last 20 years of my life having plans. Being at everyone else's beck and call. Going to their parties and having meetings, not being able to just sit back and enjoy food and desultory conversation. Not having many real friends, but only business acquaintances who wanted something. Being treated like I was "Special" even though they and I both knew I was not - they just wanted something. Or working to make sure everything went as planned, all of the people and things in the right places, all of the plans and meetings going off as scheduled and desired.

Unhappy? Desperately. I'd much rather sit around with some friends new and old and talk about plants and weather and places we've been and why we don't want to be there any more. Some new friends - a brand inspector and a cowboy - sat with us and told us about their adventures in Wyoming, Kansas, and Colorado - and why they came here and didn't ever want to leave. All of us at the table agreed it was the people that made the difference. Sure, scenery was nice, but the political crap and liberal garbage was draining and boring and ever-present. Better here where everyone thinks the same way, feels the same way, and appreciates the same things. Good food, honesty, and hard work. Quiet fun, not forced smiles and forced activities that no one really wants to do. NOT having to smile indulgently over other peoples' rude, ugly, and stupid whiny children and listen to their just as rude, ugly, stupid and whiny parents gush about them. Here, children are seen and not heard - they go play and don't bother the grownups. You can appreciate them and their parents' parenting skills even more, when the kids all say, "Yes, mam" and "No, mam" and "Excuse me, mam". Had my kids been raised here, they would have fit right in, not been considered freaks like they were back east, polite and honest and never intrusive.

So, yeah, as I fade into the sunset and other peoples' memories, no longer a "threat" to their insecurities, I fade quickly out of their lives and mutual and shared hysterias and fanaticisms. I disappear off of their minds and Facebook pages and forums and blogs. And I am content to do so. Now I'm just "the lady with the white fence with roses on it". The lady who does ceramics in her basement. The lady with the wild garden and the strangely painted boxes that scoot between the rows of her garden, where the chickens cluck and scratch. Or even just the school secretary. I am no one, and no one needs or demands anything from me any more. Thank God.

Glad to be that hole in the water, glad to be that empty space so quickly filled in with the gush and roll of nonentity. Glad to be with people who really do think and act and behave and believe as I, who don't need to be cosseted and cared for and handed their lives on a silver platter, because they have no idea what to do with them and never did. Glad to be very far away from those miserable, angry, and pathetic people who can only feel empowered when they lie and cheat and steal and grind others underneath them and their sick and sickening desires.

This is my Eternal Summer

2009-06-03T16:36:00.004-04:00

My life is so very different now.

I only 'work' 10 months out of the year; of course there are times when I do have to go in during the remaining two months. Next week I'm scheduled for a class to keep/enhance my certification in what I do; I have State reports to file the first of every month, and I have to sort and distribute supplies when they come in - which they will, off and on, for the next two months until school starts again.

Which is perfect for me. I have a HUGE garden - well, actually two of them, all told about two acres. There s the West Garden, which is all of my 'everyday' garden foods - tomatoes and radishes, collards and mustard greens, spinach and lettuce, squash and zucchini, and carrots and cabbages and corn and green beans and onions and... well, the usual stuff.

The East Garden is my 'experimental' garden. Here I'm growing not just things that I know will grow well here - like potatoes - but things that I've been told won't grow at all, or have never been tried, or that sprawl out too much for a smaller, more precise garden plot. A row of pumpkins, a row of watermelons - the small, 'early' type, that grow quickly and don't take 120 days or more of hot weather. Cantaloupes and 'muskmelons'. Oats and wheat. peanuts, and potatoes - two rows of potatoes.

Oh, crap, I think I've planted too many potatoes. I really didn't expect them all to come up - some were just old potatoes from storage. But it seems that every one of them is determined to grow. Every. Single. One.

There's strawberries, too, in between one apricot tree (I planted two ) and the plum tree next to the apple tree down the driveway. Gooseberry plants and blueberry plants, too. It's a long driveway.

Now that everything's in the ground, I have to weed them and feed them and keep them bug-free. There is the cutest HUGE pair of bunnies that gambol across other peoples' yards - not mine as yet. Hassenpfeffer, anyone? Because for sure I'll be looking for them if they wander into the gardens. There's a four-foot king snake in the East Garden - and I won't bother her. She eats gophers and they say that watching a king snake fight off a rattler - and kill it - is something to see. I planted the onons and garlic on the perimeter of the West Garden, and that plus the fact that there's a lot of horse poop and other compost in the rows may be off-putting to the deer. If not - I have a big freezer.

I may end up loading the quantities of produce into the back of the pickup bed and selling them by the road. Anything that's left, that I can't can or dehydrate or freeze or cook right away, just might be for sale... or left on neighbor's back porches, even in their unlocked cars... ahem.

Then there's the chickens. 10 hens and 10 roosters, just a month old so far. I'll put one of two roosters - the most obnoxious ones - with five hens each in chicken tractors, chicken coops with attached yards on runners, built to scoot between the rows in the garden, to keep down the bug invasions that happen the end of July here. They will spend their fertilizer between this year's rows, preparing for next year's rows. The rest of the roosters will be fattened in a separate pen and will be trussed up, lined up hanging upside down, then their throats cut, then processed for the freezer. THAT will be a messy weekend in August. Then my 10 'girls' will be producing their big brown eggs starting at the end of the summer...

We had to replace the wall oven. The old one will make a perfect miniature smokehouse; we stashed it back. I'm raking up the spoiled hay from the winter horse-feed bale out of the barn, and using the dry hay to mulch, the rotting hay and horse poop to start the new compost pile. We have to take down the storm windows and clean them and the huge old fashioned leaded-glass windows in the frames have to be reglazed and recaulked. We did some last year before winter set in, but not all. It is a challenge. Then there's things to build and things to rebuild; wood to chop for the cast-iron stove and set up to dry and cure for the winter.

Doesn't sound like much of a "vacation", does it?

But I'm planning on taking a short trip the end of June to my brother's in Idaho. My brother - whom my mother abandoned in a boardinghouse when he was six - and I found each other again 10 years ago. Since then we have taken great pleasure in each other's company. But there's a national miniature cattle show not 60 miles west of him. I have sparked his interest in these cattle; 22% butterfat in the milk, makes excellent cheese and butter, and they are foragers, like goats, don't require the hay and corn and grain feed-ups that the big cattle do. He has a house and money with no real property, and I have 60 acres. We are talking about starting our own little herd here; of good grass-fed beef and good cheeses and butter. Most times I preach against going into business with family, but, well... The long weekend in Idaho sounds like such fun, whether we buy cattle or not. They're not in the Plan for another two years, but..

Then of course there is the Star Gazer's Party in July; where everyone gathers at the local river and national park for a whole week to lay on their backs and look at the stars. DH and I missed the one last year, he had bronchitis. But this year I am determined to go. The astronomy professor from UN brings his class and telescopes down to the river and holds free classes on the stars; where they are, what to look for. There is no refraction of city lights here; nothing to get in the way of star-viewing on most nights. The skies here are so covered with tiny points of light that just sitting outside and looking up is like looking into black velvet with a bright light behind it; billions and billions of tiny sparkles. Of course when I say "everyone" - that means about 500 or so people. We are quite glad to be in flyover country.

This is why I moved, what I've always wanted, what I've worked toward and lived for my whole life. To grow things, to produce things, to create things, to be a vital part of life and living, to cast off the Disney World and China Mart existence, to seek after the real meaning of life, the real adventure of it, the real promise of productivity and joy that I find deep within me. My life is my vacation. And even when the snow flies, even when I go back to work full time, this is my Eternal Summer.

The Difference

2009-05-25T08:19:00.003-04:00

I used to be on a Festival Committee, and am on the one where I live now, too.

This past weekend was my new place's Festival. First we had a parade that was announced by me (I was asked at the last minute; wth, I was already bringing the equipment we'd borrowed to do it anyway). Then there were children's games and horseshoe pitching in the park. Then there was a rodeo, then a huge supper with barbeque, potato salad, beans, cake, and drinks.

I had to spend three weeks calling people to work on the buffet line and bake cakes. All of my volunteers showed up, and we had cake left over - all different types. The folks in charge of the rodeo had different tasks; the guys in charge of the pit BarBQ had different tasks, the folks in charge of the beer garden and dance had different tasks. But it all came together in one day.

Unlike in the past, I didn't have to beg anyone to work, and neither did any other organizer. All of my people showed up, and NOT ONE demanded to be paid for it - again, unlike in the past. Even the one deputy - yes, that's all we needed, ONE, for traffic control on about 500 people - was a volunteer! People didn't pay to be in the parade, it was volunteer. People DID pay for their barbecue dinners - $4.00 for adults. They also paid a dollar or two if they roped or rode in the rodeo. Everything they wanted they paid for - even the Methodists' concession stand. No entrance fee or cover charge for the dance; the band cost $500 and played from 8 to 1 AM. The Beer Garden cost $1.00 a beer. There was no violence, no drunken behavior, no rowdiness. And at 1 AM everyone who hadn't left already went home.

Such huge differences from what I'm used to seeing; the rude behavior, the selfish demands for people to be PAID for their time to get a festival up and moving, the rowdiness, the destructiveness, the demands for everything for free. Even though I worked all day on the festival, I still paid for my and DH's meal - because that is the way it is done and supposed to be. We volunteer to keep the festival going, not to get a freebie. I always did it before - did it all for free - but was constantly surrounded by people who would only do it for so long and for so much. It always used to piss me off that they were so mercenary, and cared so little about their community, that they thought they should make a profit off of it.

Now I don't have to deal with that crap any more. Here you not only help each other, but you don't demand to be catered to, you don't make a profit off of others' efforts, and you don't have to listen to the endless whining about "someone else might get more than MEEEEE!" or listen to the "Well, what you SHOULD do is -" from people who won't lift, who have never lifted, a single God-Damned finger that didn't profit them somehow. And that is the biggest difference of all.

What makes me Tick?

2009-04-30T18:37:00.002-04:00

My "guilty pleasure" is backing underdogs, making them feel like they are not worthless, giving them a grasp on reality rather than being swamped by adversity.

Nothing makes me angrier than to see some person who thinks a little differently, or acts a little differently, become the scapegoat for many self-convinced, self-righteous people, feeling badly because he feels the whole world is against him - and he's often right.

The most recent 'case' I'm working on is a teenager who has been told most of his life that he has to conform. Now we all know that teens are just not that good at conforming anyway. But this kid - and several other 'misfits' like him - are constantly being harassed by adult do-gooders who think that it is their bounden duty to make these kids act like other 'perfect' kids. My 'misfits' all hang together, all do things together, before and after school. Their parents take very little interest in what they do. Their teachers claim that they are the worst troublemakers. Their peers are encouraged, subtly and not, to make fun of them and mistreat them.

So where do these kids come for a friendly voice and support? Me... I know, you'd never suspect it. But I married a "bad boy" - not because I had a sick yen for a "Bad Boy" but because I could see that he wasn't a bad boy - he was just really really smart, honest, and, yes, deep-down kind, not the artificial kind-for-a-reason type of person.

My 'misfits' are all that way - all smart, funny, and the 'give you the shirt off your back' type of people. They simply don't follow other peoples' ideas of the 'perfect child'. They are so smart that they are bored by schoolwork, frustrated by it, and that frustration is read as being stubborn and stupid. My favorite came to me the other day, almost in tears (that he won't let anyone else see - he's TOUGH, dammit) and said vehemently, "I'm a f**king genius!" I said very calmly, "Yes, of course you are."

He stopped the beginning of his frustrated rant and looked at me, quietly amazed. "You mean that?" "Of course I do," I replied, because I did and he is. "You, T____, B_____, C____ - you are all geniuses. You are simply frustrated by what is going on here. Smaller minds and smaller spirits always try to drag people down to their level. You resent that - and you should. But not the way you are doing now. You can show ALL of these people - if you only put your mind to it! Think, J____, THINK. Don't react to them, don't let them make you do what proves them right. Outthink them, out-reason them!" He was floored. Then he went to talk to the other guys, and they all agreed - they were going to do the right things, the decent things, the things that made them happy, not miserable, and not give a damn what pigeonhole anyone else tried to stick them into.

I love doing that. I love making people see their potential, making them realize what they can do, far beyond what anyone else expects of them. I've often been accused of being a nasty, mean spirited bitch, and I enjoy that reputation; I promote it, and let others expound on it. Because it hides what I'm really doing - life by life, person by person, teaching people that they really are somebody, really are worthwhile, without all of that artificial bullshit, the socialist do-gooder hype of conformity and equality. Why shouldn't children or adults become everything they can be, everything their talents have meant for them to be, without conforming to someone else's ideal of right or wrong?

And so it begins...

2009-04-25T08:33:00.004-04:00

A swine flu epidemic breaks out in Mexico, in four different regions, that at first the Mexican authorities say there is 'nothing to worry about' - and now they are shutting down public places and pulling people who 'look sick' off of trains. There are people infected in NYC, Texas, and California - no comments yet on whether or not any of these are illegal immigrants (we'll never know, thanks to the politically correct). Much as when my neighbor became infected with tuberculosis, the doctors asked him point-blank if the truck he drove for a living was unloaded by illegals, and his worker's comp wouldn't pay the bills because he couldn't "prove" he got it on the job - although everyone, even his employers and the doctors, knew that he did. Let's pretend it isn't a problem, that open borders are still ok, and that there is nothing to worry about from people coming here who are coming from poor animal-raising and farming techniques, poor or non-existent sewage and water treatment - where fertilizing crops or feeding pigs and chickens with raw human or other waste is still ok. Coming from places where cleanliness of not only persons but food production is not an issue. Coming here.

I'm not too worried, personally. Not a whole lot of folks come where I live on purpose. No illegal immigrants, no legal ones, either. Everyone knows everyone. We are an isolated pocket of humanity that grows its own food, has its own clean underground water supply, travels little (no time!) and rarely seeks medical treatment or crowds.

But for my friends and wide-flung family, I worry. I know where they live, and I know what surrounds them - miles and miles of people who think that the world owes them a living. People who, during a pandemic, will kick down doors looking for meds and food - and even the healthy ones will use it as an excuse to pillage for their own wants.

Of course it won't get that bad. The CDC will stop it, just like they've been able to stop the tuberculosis. If there is a serious outbreak, the National Guard will come in and lock down any violence. Martial law will be declared if necessary. They'll keep the contaminated food and the carriers and Typhoid Marys from spreading the diseases. Our government will protect us as always.

Of course it will.

You keep right on believing that.

No Sympathy for Fools

2009-04-20T07:49:00.003-04:00

The bedding plants - over 1,000 of them - are up and we're getting ready to put them in the ground; the chickens will be in the second week of May, the fruit trees in about a week or so. I got my rabbit and deer repellent, gopher repellent, bug repellent (I am a fan of Sevin dust) and the sulphur to put in the soil for the blueberries. There was the annual sale on strawberries - buy 25 get 25 more free.

Then we have the Future Farmers of America banquet tomorrow night, Prom Saturday, Graduation in 20 days. 20 days! How time flies.

Then there are the emails. Hundreds of them every week. Friends panicking, losing their jobs - what will really happen to them? No one knows. During the bubble far too many investors threw money at far too many ridiculous ideas that didn't (couldn't) pan out, and now friends and enemies alike are paying the piper. As much fun as it is to be able to say, "I TOLD you so!" it is sad to watch my friends suffer under my enemies' deserved comeuppance. And of course those same enemies are in complete and total denial still. At least in public. What they are scrabbling about doing behind the scenes to save themselves ,and still be able to screw others, remains to be seen.

I have never lived my life on the Panic Principle, though I know many who do. They LOVE the hysteria of "OHMYGAWD WHAT am I going to do next?" Occurances that are easily predictable, or that even come every year, they don't plan for, don't think about, don't worry about - until they arrive. They deny natural and predictable results, angrily or sarcastically, insisting that these things could never, will never, happen to THEM. Then, when they inevitably do, they rush around shrieking and wailing, "HOW could this happen?"

The reply - "Because you are stupid" doesn't sink in.

My friends keep trying to draw me back in to the embroilments. They don't understand that, like Bill Murray, "I don't - oh, what's the word - CARE." Honestly, if I cared I would still be there, fighting and standing up and being counted. The problem is that it cost me in money and time over 30 years to stand and fight for other people - stupid people, who refused to learn from their mistakes, who insisted that the status quo was right, who insisted that no matter how their skin was crisping and their guts were boiling that they were NOT on fire.

99% of all people are sheep or lemmings, following each emotional leader over the next precipiece, whining about what happens to them as they bounce off of the rocks on the way down. I quit. I gave up. They don't want reason or common sense, they want mommies that tell them that everything will be all right, poor little babies. They make me violently ill. Why would I want that emotional and constant Sturm und Drang, the endless prattling, the endless nattering, the alternating terror and vicious stabs at each other that these mindless prattling children go through, every day - that they desperately NEED to feel alive and functioning?

Nope. I have a life, and it has nothing to do with them any more. It never really did - what I did with my kids, what I grew in my garden, how I lived my life, was totally seperate from dealing with people who whined to be saved - and then gloated and postured when they WERE saved, pretending that they did it all on their own.

I'm busy, here. Through trying to educate the stupid, through trying to help the helpless, through arguing over how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. Fiddle while Rome burns around your ears. Yawn. Your shrieking is endless white noise. You are determined to remain blind, ignorant, selfish, foolish, and arrogant. Rot in it. Wallow in it. Enjoy it as only you can. Animals wallowing in your own filth, claiming it for attar of roses. "Sympathy" is in the dictionary, between "syphilis" and "shit". Accuse anyone else who even starts to view things, see things, talk about things, or sound like me of being me (the most pathetic and mindless stupidity of all). You have GOT to be kidding. But, of course, you're not... you are that blind.

A Friend's Poem on the Economy (Ha. Ha?)

2009-03-29T09:23:00.003-04:00

No I didn't write this but I wish I did. A self-described octogenarian, friend of mine who lives in Columbia did. An ex-DJ, ex-radio broadcast news reporter, wrote it. John Wrisley, a fracking genius though he doesn't know it; funny, friendly, concise, and a voluminous writer and blogger.
It just doesn't get any better than this!

We'll Find Our Way Back

The great middle class has been knocked on its ass
And doesn't know what to do.
The bubbles have burst, and, expecting the worst,
They are bidding their fortunes adieu.

There's no room for mirth when we see our net worth
Drop eighteen percent or more.
We're poorer today than we were yesterday,
And the pain is too harsh to ignore.

401(k)s in a swoon, pension plans out of tune,
Add up to a great tale of woe.
Whom shall we blame? Who'll bear the shame?
Who is it made off with our dough?

When stock prices dropped, and real estate flopped,
Where did all the wealth go?
Did some son-of-a-bitch get filthy rich
While we became burdened with woe?

There's been hanky panky by young Doctor Bernanke,
And tricks by Tim Geithner to boot.
Look behind scenes to see what it means.
Lets trace the distress to its root.

In days of old, true money was gold -
Four-hundred-eighty grains to the ounce.
A unit of measure that one could treasure,
And keep honest tabs on accounts.

A means of exchange, gold helped to arrange
The commercial affairs of mankind.
It brightened the world as its value unfurled;
As trade 'round the globe intertwined.

But it was tough, there was never enough
Of the bright shiny metal called "gold."
"It's holding us back. Please cut us some slack,"
Said the bankers from inside their stronghold.

"Let us use paper and we'll cut you a caper
That will turn this old world on its ear!"
Mistaking paper for wealth, the entire commonwealth
Was convinced it had nothing to fear.

The game worked many years, and amid the loud cheers
We were taught to get "rich" on the cuff.
We loaded up debt and we're paying it yet -
Now the future looks exceedingly tough.

It doesn't seem fair to be forced to foreswear
Those freewheeling days of the boom.
But an irritation brought on by inflation
Leaves us little but gloom.

The boys in D.C. behave outrageously
As they pretend to know what to do.
What really rancors is their gifts to the bankers.
The last one they'll help will be YOU.

And they're not really helping, despite all the yelping!
They're just piling up trillions in debt.
We hear all the blab, but who'll pay that great tab?
It'll be all our kids, you can bet.

As depression bites deep, we may wake from our sleep
And learn from the lessons of old.
We'll find lunches aren't free, and - doubtlessly,
We'll find our way back to gold.

~John Wrisley, March 28th, 2009

Back, Succubi!

2009-03-27T13:00:00.003-04:00

"The sky is falling!! The Sky is falling!"
"I lost everything and had to declare bankruptcy - but I'm still gonna party and go out and enjoy life."
"I don't make him spend money on me. Gee, how could I STOP him? (giggle giggle) Oh, looky, I got what I wanted - again!" Tee. Hee.

"I'll let you know if I survive the surgery two weeks from now."

"DO you SEE who's getting a bailout this time?? Isn't it outrageous?? Aren't you upset?"

"Join the "National Tea Party" movement, the "We Surround Them" movement, the "News with Views" subscription group, and get the word out!"

Yawn. Go. AWAY.

For 25 years I tried to educate people, help people, and tell people what was going to happen. They dissed me. They insisted I was wrong. They smiled indulgently. They sneered and criticized voiciferously. Now suddenly they want my SYMPATHY?

What a bunch of drama queens.

If you could read and write and do simple math you had to know what was going down. Now your heroes have feet of clay? And now you 'discover' the ones who wrote the exceptions in the bailouts got campaign contributions from the very ones they 'saved'? And now the hopeyfeeleychangers are either scuttling back into their burrows or still stridently insisting that their Saviour will save us all? And now you think is the time for everyone to rally round and fight?

Go play with yourselves. Talking to you is an exercise in futility, and listening to your screeching and endless meeeeeeeism is like fingernails on a chalkboard. Go wank, as the British say. Waste your seed and your panting useless sweating efforts on your all-too-brief self-satisfaction. Again.

I do admit that it is sometimes fun to watch those who have been making excuses for ten years or more, continue to get defensive and make the identical excuses over and over again. They should tape them so all they have to do is play them endlessly on their voicemails, post them on their facebook pages, a litany of self-excuse and self-pity and self-righteous indignation. All you have to do is prick them a tad bit with a tiny needle, and off they go again, hysterically insistent. It's like tormenting a chihuahua. You know he's going to growl and posture in exactly the same way, teeth bared and bouncing, every time - and that's what makes it so damned funny. Look, there he goes again! Bark, Peppy, Bark! Nothing changes.

But I am tired of the repetitive plaintive whines for attention, the constant emotional manipulation of the stupid by the stupid. You deserve each other. Go bark at each other for eternity, trapped in your senseless and noisy hell.

Join you? Help you? Care about you? I don't even like you. And you are nothing like me - and never will be. Dream on. Don't try to validate your simpering incompetence and pathetic misunderstanding of yourselves by asking me to be a part of it. Don't whine that you "Didn't know, had no idea!" Yes you did. But in your own mind, you told yourself it couldn't, shouldn't be true. You lied to yourself, to me, to everyone around you, and now you want my indulgence, my attention, my help, my participation?

HA. Simper, whimper, and whine your way out of this one, this time, all by yourself. Your eyes are not opened even yet to all the damage you have caused by your own ignorance, selfishness, greed, and prating. Stop grabbing for me, trying to read me like braille, trying to find the sympathetic bumps you can use to try to manipulate me to your side. Go find someone else to suck the life from. Back, succubi!

Heritage - An Excuse to Party?

2009-03-17T07:38:00.002-04:00

I'm Irish. And I have never been to St. Patrick's Day in Savannah. Never went to the parade, never stayed on River Street during that time, never drank green beer.

Of course I'm Irish, and of course I like to drink. I've been to Irish pubs, especially when they've had Irish performers, and sat and drank and sang the 'auld' songs. Irish folks are moody; sometimes happy, sometimes in deep depression or anger - but they sing. They sing anyway, in spite of, or because of. When my father used to get depressed, he was the epitome of the Irish - mournful, sad, soul-searching. He taught me that depressions were normal, even healthy; that you make up your mind to feel that way until you don't, any more. He taught me my Irish history when I was very young, as well as our family history - none of it written down, all by word of mouth. He took me to where the family lived, and their brogue was so thick still you could cut it with a knife. Every time we visited the family for a week, for six weeks later I had a distinct accent!

Juxtapose that against the hysteria and phoniness of what happens every year in Savannah, and you can see why I couldn't care less about socializing with the people who get drunk and pee in the streets, who think that green beer and green fountains are Irish, who have never tasted corned beef and cabbage or shepherd's pie.

Tonight I'll go to my friend's little pub and have corned beef and cabbage and a quiet, neighborhood party. We might sing the songs - or we might not. But we will have good and peaceful camaraderie. The children of all ages will be there - as they usually are - shooting pool, talking, playing pinball and throwing darts, hanging with their parents and friends, respectful and friendly, just like good Irish children are. Why does anyone desperately need an excuse to get drunk, fall down, fight, drool, or be a part of a huge uncaring crowd that has no reverence for St. Patrick and no idea of what he really did for Ireland? No concept of what it is to be Irish, to have family that fled tyranny and slavery and starvation for a better life? Who have no idea of why the Irish work or play so hard, or sing so boisterously, or with such deep and tearful emotion? No, thanks. I know who and what I am, and that's all I need to know - or to be around.

An Inspiration? Hardly...

2009-03-16T08:03:00.003-04:00

I was talking with my son a few months back, and he was telling me how much I had influenced him; strong work ethic, planning, setting goals and working for them, being creative and thoughtful, firm and decisive, without bullshit or artifice. Always being who I was, and be damned to those who didn't like it. This has, he said, influenced him to not only run his acting troupe, but to plant and can vegetables every year, to keep going upward in his job, to further his education, and to do the things he loves to do. He has become an instructor for "Leave No Trace", a group that protects the environment by, not yammering after others to wear leaves and go off grid, but by responsibly, individually, quietly, noticing and caring for their own individual environments.

Just this weekend my daughter said that she never felt that she could live up to me; I was so firm, so decisive, never scared, always doing research then making common-sense decisions. Never caring what others thought, but following my own path, doing what I felt was right, damn the torpedoes full speed ahead. She always felt like she couldn't even approximate all I had done and even all I still intended to do. This from a young lady who worked full time since she was 14, was valedictorian of her high school, and went on to graduate summa cum laude from college as a biologist. Who didn't quit, who worked three jobs and ate Ramen noodles to put herself through college - and still found the time to work a potter's wheel and play on the basketball team.

Somehow I've never thought of myself as an inspiration to others. I just did what I thought was right; made the choices that felt right, and told others what I thought. Very few people saw me tossing and turning at night, knew that I felt that frisson of fear deep in my gut, knew that I would sit down and make lists, all the time, with "Good" and "Bad" checkoff columns. When I got sick, I didn't sit and whine or make a big deal about it - I was embarrassed because I had so many things to do and I didn't like my body rebelling and not permitting me to do them. So I simply went on ahead, as hard and as fast as I could, making fun of myself and my illness, belittling it and making it seem less than it was. Mostly because it pissed me off - limits of any sort piss me off.

I don't know what to do with compliments or gratitude. Honestly, my father raised me to be suspicious of them; the flattery of others was always suspect. Usually it had an underlying purpose and a reason other than to make someone feel good. I find it so weird that people are impressed by what I do as a matter of course or a matter of conscience.

But it is nice to hear from your own children that they were positively influenced. A lot of parents wait their whole lives to hear that. Some never do. I just wonder that the people closest to me never saw the angst, the late nights up pacing, the constant worry that I HAD to accomplish, HAD to do all I did... and did it, much of the time, with a clamped-down feeling in my gut. It wasn't easy. Not a single step. And not being positive, every step of the way, didn't help at all. But being able to recover from downfalls, to spring back fully formed and girded, snarling and ready for the next step, was an imperative. I'm glad my children have that rebound. And I'm glad that they know now that each step was NOT assured and was NOT as easy and as effortless as it appeared. But when you want things, you do things. And if those things don't work, you step back, take a good and reasoned look - and do them differently. If they learned nothing else from me, I hope that they learned - resilience.

The Difference

2009-03-13T15:12:00.002-04:00

Want and need.

Some people "need" a new coat or new shoes, when they have a closetful. Some need a sushi fix, or a doughnut fix, or a white chocolate mocha latte. Some people need to get out of the house every night or at least every weekend.

Some people I know need to feel loved, need to feel - something, anything at all. They'll go to Disney World or the movies or a new bar or a new restaurant, desperately looking for their fulfillment. They'll squeal when they see people whom they've seen all week as if they haven't seen them in months. They'll sit and gaggle and gossip and giggle, ooohing and ahhhing over everything, pointing out people to other people. The guys will sit and talk about the game (whichever one was on this week) or about their women or their friends. And the evenings pass in hazy recollections and giggling unremarkable incomprehensibility. But they NEED to do that every weekend.

I have friends who need to leave the quiet certainty of their homes to go to other cities and towns, to meet other people, to shop in other places. I have friends who will drive 250 miles one way just to shop somewhere. They need to get away, they need to do and go and see.

Even friends on the edge of bankruptcy need to keep their heads up and their chins up and make people think that they are just fine. They spend what little money they have left to gad out and about, pretending to others and to themselves that things are not as bad as they seem.

A long time ago I read a fictional book about terrorists blowing up the Stock Market - as well as destroying it via an internet virus. All of the information was destroyed and would have to be rebuilt from the archives - which could take months. One very smart man stood up and said, "Look, the Stock Market is purely fantasy anyway. We can put up arbitrary numbers and no one is going to check them; they won't be able to. So we'll just say that we had a minor glitch but the problem is fixed already, and we will run the tape just as if there was never any interruption." In the fictional book it worked. Somehow, knowing what I know about politics and the gullibility of the American public, I think that it would work in real life too. People would rather believe desperately that everything is fine Fine FINE than to face the truth and deal with it.

So many people, so bent on the superficality of life, bent on having everything they need, need, need, not ever stopping to reason and think and plan or at least look at what they are doing, where they are going. So many people who cannot be honest with themselves, much less others, who prate on and on about their latest purchases or their latest trips or their latest entertainment. So many people talking about what they need, what they have to have, what they are determined to have, even if their pocketbooks and their common sense dictate otherwise. So many people, demanding that their lives reflect the high drama of movie sets, desperately needing the Sturm und Drang of shrieks instead of smiles, heights of joy and depths of tragic sorrow and pain, needing the rapid slides from one to the other, needing more and more excitement and furor as their lives go slowly to hell. Having no real beliefs, no foundation, no basis for their thoughts and hopes and needs and dreams, as well as no plans or goals for themselves, they must manufacture the uproar in their lives to feel alive, important, and valuable.

Yes, it is all to easy to fool the sheeple, who have to buy the latest Shamwow or Snuggie to prove to themselves that they are on the cutting edge, that they matter, that they are important.

How pathetic they truly are, they have simply no idea.

Stone Carvings

2009-03-08T11:31:00.005-04:00

I have been all over the lower 48, from Washington, DC to Seattle, Washington, from Orlando through Nawlins and San Antone to Albuquerque. The West is one of my favorite places; clean air, skies that have no glaze of humidity and through which you can see for miles. Dark and brooding thunderstorms that spring up at a moment's notice and shatter the air with thunder and crackling lightning and bursts of sharp rain and even sharper hail - and then a rapid clearing and a fresh washed scent. Snow that seems to melt away before it gets dirty and muddy and fouled with scraped-up trash and car sediment.

But I had never seen the Badlands, or Mount Rushmore, before last year. Odd, because I am all about history and impressive nature. These two historical monuments, one blatantly man-made and the other a massive formation of nature, deeply impressed me. I know, it isn't endless streams of gaudy fun like so many people need to survive their boredom. But standing on a massive cutaway edge, looking down at the sedimentary rock that looks like a layered cake cut by a giant hand, takes my breath away, impresses me more than I can say.

Look at the colors of the sedimentary rock here, slashed away by a Great Cataclysm of what they assume was the lava flow of some volcanic activity that dumped tons of ash elsewhere in the Badlands Park. Imagine traveling thousands of miles over wide open prairies, and then suddenly having to figure out how to get over this with oxen and wagons. To go around would have taken them hundreds of miles and days out of their way - not good when a winter was coming for which they were unprepared and unsheltered. The Badlands hid not only Indians but rustlers and criminals of the day, so making the choice to go into these bare and fearsome canyons hald a lot of peril, both natural and man-made.

Here you can see how quickly a storm can come up; look at those amazing thunderheads. Yet we had no rain where we were; the rain fell 50 miles north from us.

Here is a deposit of some of that volcanic ash. It has been carved by wind and rain into interesting shapes. It looks hard as rock, but if you pick it up it blows away into dusty ash.

A hundred miles west of the Badlands is Mt. Rushmore. You can take a 100 pictures of it and they all seem to look alike. But what you usually can't see in all of those pictures is that the shadows from the changing position of the sun alter the expressions of the carved faces. In some, they look wise and pompous.

In others, there is a shadow of a smile or frown on one or two of the stone faces. We were there before "the season" - over Easter Weekend at the end of March. Tourist season doesn't start there til the first of May, when there are lots of things for the kiddies and those ennui-infected tourists to do. When we were there it was chilly and not very crowded, and almost everything was closed, except the monument itself.

Stone carvings, old and new, manmade and nature made. All amazing, all different, and all expressions of voluptuous passions and profound elemental drives. Yes, the West is amazing - for those with eyes to see and hearts to hear. The peace and stillness belies the endless movement, the restlessness, the drive to do something, to move, to live, to become something else. The very earth here goads one to become bigger than s/he is. Maybe that's what those who say that the West frightens them with its big and open spaces really mean - that they are afraid of all of this wild and rampant power, afraid to tap into it, afraid to try to become and create all that they can. Afraid of the endless silence that forces them to see who and what they really are; without the endless chitchattering of voices and moods and liars and cheats and advertising filling their ears, their hearts, with the superfluous, the empty, the mindless and purposeless nattering.

Choose

2009-03-01T21:54:00.003-05:00

Yes, my Conspiracy Theorist friends are ranting still, more voiciferously than ever; this proves that, and they were right all along, see see see?

Well, of course they were - and are. So what? Even Newsweek declared two weeks ago that "we are socialist" - like THAT was any big surprise. What was that Ben Franklin said? Ah, yes - "Only a virtuous people are capable of freedom. As nations become corrupt and vicious, they have more need of masters." Ben Franklin - April 17, 1787.

Virtuous - clean living, honest, full of integrity, never straying from a positive and forward looking life. Ol' Ben wrote, in his 20's, 13 steps toward a more virtuous life, and strove to emulate them throughout. But what I have seen in the past 30 years is people who think that "virtuous" means screaming in others' faces, lying behind their backs, and justifying their vicious, self-promoting, and self-seeking actions based on their belief in one god or the other. Be it the god of the skies, the god of the earth, the god of mammon or government - their behavior is all excused by their god. They point their fingers at others' violations, ignoring the mote in their own eyes. God help someone who tries to live an honest life; they will drag him or her down in lies and disrepute. The most honest and decent folks I know have been dragged through the mud and filth of lies and jealousy and hate. Either join them in their shrieking, animalistic behavior - or suffer the consequences of same. Those are the choices these self-righteous and non-virtuous people offer.

Not me. I step back. I step away. I deny them. I refute them. I choose - to go where my heart leads and my mind can think, where my dreams can be fulfilled, where I can live without their usury, their grasping demanding power plays. I choose. I choose not to shriek, not to be a part of the endless joyful sadomasochistic agony they have built for themselves. Let their fingernails scrape on the rocks of the Hell they have built for themselves. Let them batter themselves to death on the hatred they manufacture for each other.

I have no need of, no desire for, a master - nor to be one. And that is the one thing that no one ever seemed to grasp about me - that power means nothing to me. Life is too short to live without joy, without laughter, without the simple pleasures of sweat and production, sharing and caring for those whom we love. Power is the crutch of the insecure, the desperate, the poisoned souls who can find no joy in themselves, but must seek it in the domination and direction of others. Too bad they never realize how pathetic they are.

Circle of Friends

2009-02-14T09:26:00.004-05:00

When I made up my mind to start a new life and to choose to go into a different direction, I knew I would catch a lot of flak from people. Even though I had never made any secret of what I wanted, where I really wanted to be, and what I really wanted to do in and with my life, many folks had pigeonholed me in a certain persona. They were shocked - some were even angry - because they didn't know me but only thought that they did. Some were downright nasty about my choices. They didn't like the fact that their little problems and knifings and gossipy false nastiness simply didn't matter to me - they resented that they didn't matter to my life, loves, future and pursuits.

So they were pretty nasty when I went ahead and did what my real friends had always known I was going to do. Vicious. Vengeful. Saying even more nasty things than they ever did before. They just KNEW that the gossip that they had always spread about me was TRUE, and my moving away from all of the 'lovers' and 'incomes' that they had assigned me in their own perverted, tiny minds refuted that. That made them angry. And never moreso than that little group who said those nasty terrible things - right in front of my husband, without even being aware that he was there, because most of them did not even trouble to know that I was married to him!

Well, one of my old friends invited me to join Facebook. Here I can have little conversations, IM's, and emails back and forth with the people whom I choose to allow onto my page. I have 16 friends and family on there. Very limited. Only people who know me well, and whom I know and am fond of - and trust. We play and send each other drinks and pillow fights and little fun notes, and cheer each other up and share each other's playful senses of humor. Because humor is the most important qualification between me and my friends. Like children in a daycare without supervision, we play happily, and no one needs a timeout or a spanking. We share our day-to-day and are happy in our own little spaces, sending each other hugs and cuddles and giggles and memories.

So what should of course happen this week, but one of those mean and nasty, backstabbing little gossips suddenly wants to "be my friend" - i.e., have access to my pages on Facebook! Apparently she has run out of people to talk about, and needs to pry into other peoples' lives again. Needs to empower herself by sneering once again, stealing from others' lives once again, to make herself feel all better about herself once again.

Um, no. That's what the ignore button is for, and you better believe I'll press it any and every time one of those nasty backstabbing small minded folk tries to invade my happiness. I don't have the time to waste on them. I don't feel like having them comment endlessly on what me and my dearest friends do to or with each other, because we love each other and want to continue to share that closeness over time and miles. They don't - will never - have that, so they are jealous of, and have to destroy those, pick apart those, who do. They are pathetic, have always been and will always be pathetic. Emotional vampires, living off of, sucking the joy out of, and trying to destroy others purely for their own emotional empowerment. I don't have time for them. I never did. And that is what pisses them off most of all... that they don't matter to me, my friends, and my life All of their gossip, their lies, their intentional vicious cruelties have no impact on what and whom I love, nor how much I care about them.

Sorry, Sunshine - guess you'll have to gossip about the same old tired people still. You are not - were never - a part of my life, no matter how much you insisted that you had to be. Go wallow in your own filth; you are through making up and slinging filth about me and mine. We still love each other and care for each other, and always will; no matter how hard and desperately you tried to destroy that. If I thought about you at all, I might pity you for what you do to yourself, and to all of the other people who innocently trust you until they find out what you really are. But I don't have the time nor the energy for even that. Yawn. You are nothing to me and my loving caring circle of friends, no matter how badly, how desperately, you need to feel otherwise. You are nothing more than a fly - you talk shit and bother decent people. Go bother someone else. Consider yourself firmly swatted. And ignored.

I'm going to go send my friends some drinks, kidnap a couple more, and keep that pillow fight going! Whoo hoo! Take THAT, with the Tootsie Roll pillow! Did you get the virtual lingerie? did you like it? Hee hee. Let's PLAY! Life is good, we love each other, and we enjoy each other's company still... those long evening chats, those early AM rushing-arounds, those weekend giggles. Did you get the Valentine's card? Did you like it? What did you think about what she said? Did you get those taxes done? Hee hee. Look at THIS picture - bet you've never seen anything like this before! Oh, look - another quiz! What did you mean by your answer to #8? Oh, man, that's funny! Did you hear about...

Playtime. Love-time. Sharing time in virtual space with people we love - the next best thing to being in each other's homes and holding each other, telling jokes and giggling side by side. I took off on a Tangent - a 1965 Convertible Tangent - and we all shared the ride. It's life, fun and crazy, affectionate and caring, and no one around to snoop and sneer and infer evil things from the love we all share. Why screw up something perfect?

Pop pop pop music

2009-02-04T23:11:00.000-05:00

Everything on my iPod is upbeat; walking and workin music, even driving music. Bad enough when I sing to music; the iPod is for when I sing when I'm by myself, because most of the time if you can't hear the words, you might mistake it for two fighting tomcats, or something in pain.So this is what I listen to -

Bob Seeger and the Silver Bullet Band - everything they ever made. "The Fire Down Below" is so true; I sing it for one of my friends.

John Denver - my passion and my only country indulgence. The "I am the Eagle" verse always gets me...Alanna Morrissette's "Black Velvet" (I HATE whiny women's songs; this is one of the most seductive ever made)

Jimmy Buffett - I am a closet Parrothead. "Boat Drinks" is my favorite, but "Pencil-Thin Mustache" will make me grin and tapdance.

Neil Diamond - I am soooo square. Sigh. But "Brother Love's Traveling Salvation Show" - man, if I could sing, I'd make you cry listening to that! "Comin' to America" reminds me of my Irish family's quest for independence. Grampa came thru Ellis Island, had his name changed by the folks there, got a job as a cop, and raised a family of five. Grampy jumped a ship bound for Austrailia, and swam to the Island. He married a Sioux Indian woman, and raised a family of seven on a coal miner's salary, because he could never send back for his wife and kids in Eire. There were 10 but 3 died; two at birth and one in the mines when he was 16. From Grampy I learned patience, from Grampa I learned Gaelic. So that song still makes me cry, wth pain and pride.

The entire "Messiah" - I had to learn all the parts to the whole thing in choir, even though I was a first soprano; because I had to help the guys come in at the right time. Nothing says Christmas to me like "The Messiah".

There's a few other diddly-bop songs; "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" and "Vogue". No teary-eyed or unrequited love songs; my music has to make me move, lift me up, inspire me.

My karaoke signature song "The Rose" is on there; because it isn't a crying song, but a song that reminds me that no matter how dark and dismal things may appear, there's always a little spark of life, of love, somewhere. Like the kid with a shovel in a roomful of manure, I keep digging for the pony that just has to be there!

Usually by the time I get through all those tunes, I'm done with my work or have gotten to where I am going! Not, of course, without a few strange looks along the way!

No No No NO!!

2009-01-27T07:36:00.002-05:00

It's happening again!
Grrr. When I came here last May, I started exploriing the politics of the area, to ensure that no idiots were going to change this place into the same avaricious and overrun,, mean and nasty, grasping and overordinanced sort of place I came from. Well, I met a guy who turned out to be the head of the Economic Development Board for the County. My age, forceful, intelligent, and frustrated. He knew what he wanted but didn't know how to go about it and couldn't convince any of the others - stuck in the same development mode of the 1980's - to see things in the right light. So I gave him all of my PowerPoints, everything I had used in the past, to show what and how things could be done. I attended three of their meetings. The last one - back in Spetember - I pretty muh let them have it. They were trying to figure out how to get some development into the area - with the same-oh same-oh, TIFs, let government (i.e., taxpayers) foot the bills, etc etc etc. I laid out for them exactly what it WOULD cost them and why they shouldn't do that. I gave them the basics of a plan. They offered me a job. I turned it down. No way did I want to drive 40 miles one way every day to work. I wanted to stay right where I was. I had stuff to do. I wasn't invited back.

Then last night I got an email from the Director. They are nominating me to be on the Board. My area needs to be represented, my input needs to be put into operation. The past few months they have reviewed everything I gave them, and they are anxious to put it into effect. Anxious - not whiny, not fighting, not protesting for the sake of protesting, or making stupid accusations out of their own self-enforced ignorance, as happened before, where this plan was first implemented. They are educated and intelligent and know a good plan when they see one. And now they are going to implement it and want my help.

Crap. I have things to DO here! Here, at my home, in my town. I don't have TIME for this!!

But you know I'll do it. Dammit. There are things that I want to do here that will require political involvement to ensure that I can continue to do them. I have to keep this place pristine with intelligent and directed development so it doesn't impact me and the folks around me who enjoy the same things that I do. Gotta keep the development thieves, the control freaks, and the slobbering liberal idiots, who want to give everyone else's prosperity away, out of here.

Dammit. Oh, well, at least this time I'll be dealing with people who have actual brain function; who don't see education as a curse or hard work as an anathema, who don't sit on their butts with their hands out, demanding that everyone else succor them. Sigh.

But I have stuff to DO!

Painful And Personal Thoughts

2009-01-18T10:02:00.004-05:00

I've always described myself as a SLUF - Short Little Ugly Female. I didn't mind being unattractive - I was clean and 'had a great personality' and could think for myself. I liked pretty and comfortable clothes and could use makeup and jewelry - but my most outstanding feature, to me, was my forceful personality.

Six years ago I developed a sore on my face, right on my L cheek. It grew into a scar and really looked bad - but I didn't worry too much about it. It was just - there. My daughter, a biologist, didn't like the looks of it and sent me to a pathologist. He said it was a lupus lesion, a classic sign of lupus. It could be removed, but it would just come back - and eventually would spread all over my face, in what they call a "butterfly" pattern - both cheeks and across my nose. More research proved that I had systemic lupus - which explained a LOT; how and why I would get massive infections, even sepsis that forced parts to be removed so I could survive, the constant urinary tract problems, and what was causing them. My own body, my own immune system, revolting against itself. The female doctor I saw wanted to put me on steroids; but I HATE steroids. They damage the bone and don't really prevent anything, including the progression - they just make whatever is happening not strike so hard or last as long. So we agreed I would just take the antibiotics when I had a flareup, to help my immune system beat whatever infection was next on the list. At least antibiotics go away after awhile, and don't damage bone and connective tissue. I also had to change my lifestyle, drink different fluids, eat different foods, change everything about my intake, avoiding certain things. It's hard, but doable - especially now, when I live where food is so much fresher and the water is so much purer.

Well, this past couple of weeks, I have watched a couple of developing 'blisters' on my nose and on my R cheek. I can't wear makeup any more, of course - the lesion doesn't like it and starts to bleed and suppurate, the scar tissue underneath refuses to hold it, and any coverups just don't work. So I have been makeup-free for about a year. These 'blisters' are the exact same way the first lesion started. True to form, the disease is progressing.

Because of how it looks, I went to my boss this week and told him that the lesions, even though they looked bad, were not contagious, not infectious, but simply a form of the disease. I felt that I had to do that - as the first person that anyone sees when they walk in the door of the school, I didn't want any parent to think that I was going to give their kids something.

This was awkward for me, because I hate whiners and complainers, and don't like to share my feelings or personal life with anyone - usually because (and I proved it last May) small-minded and vicious people use them to insult and lie about, and to try to hurt, me. But something had to be said, because I preferred the blunt open truth to whispers that build behind one's back.

I have never been a beauty, but this painful and really ugly outward development depresses me. It would be different if it was painless and didn't suppurate, but it isn't and it does, and makes me feel sore, and look as if I have a terrible contagious disease. ARRGGHH.

I'm just glad I'm not around those terrible nasty people that I was last year, who use what they perceive as others' weaknesses as a club to beat them down further, just so they can prove to themselves that they are superior. My "weakness" is my stupid body that can't keep up with me, that refuses to do everything I want it to do, that hangs off of me like a demanding child or gummint-dependent whiner, demanding attention just for existing. Here at least I am not on call 24-7, having to listen to everyone's constant complaints and whining, where I can rest this battered and weakened body, and not have to feel like I am under public scrutiny every single waking moment. Life is simple here, and is what I needed - especially as my stupid disease with its painful and miserable effects progresses.

Like my longtime friend Gina, who when I told her I had lupus, said "What scar?" - some people see what is within, ignoring what is on the outside. Unfortunately it is the common nature of the bestial-minded to stone the 'pink monkey' in their midst. Better to be upfront and rational, to forestall any such reactions - or to be prepared for them.

But it is really a nasty-looking progression... maybe if it didn't hurt so much, it wouldn't be so bad. Just another PITA to deal with... sigh. I'm just glad my friends can't see me now - their expressions of loving sympathy would be too much to bear. I don't want sympathy, I don't understand it, and I don't like it... I don't like being pitied. I like being normal. I hate being deformed - as if being short and ugly wasn't enough... arrrrrrgggggghhhhhhh.

"Everything Goes When the Whistle Blows"

2009-01-09T06:24:00.004-05:00

That used to be one of my father's favorite sayings. In other words, when trouble happens, it happens all at once, slamming you from all quarters, like the parking lot of a factory when the end-of-shift whistle blows.

Last Friday I went in to work. I didn't have to; wasn't scheduled to come back until this Monday. But it was the 2nd - and I had some State filings to do that could only be done after the 1st of every month, and I wanted to get everything arranged and my computer ready for the following Monday and the re-start of school. I wanted to be prepared. Shawn was due in to put the new parts on the newer copier, and we were going to be prepared for the new start and new school year.

Well sure enough the main program I use had apparently lost its little mind over the holiday. I got on the phone with the programmers, and of course they had never heard of, much less seen, the problem with which I presented them. Being good folks, they got right on it, downloaded the info as well as my back up (TG for backups), cobbled it all together, and got it fixed within the hour.

Unbeknownst to me, they had also changed the information pathway, though. So Monday morning when I got in, the program - was frozen. That plus the copiers - both of them! - were immediately pounced on and immediately gave up the ghost. Then my boss the superintendent, got a call - his mom was very sick. Then my associate in the office, the bookkeeper, got a call - a bull had shoved into her husband's leg while he was a-horseback herding the bull into the chute, and broke her hubby's ankle.

By the end of the day, the principal and I were holed up in the boss' office, eating chocolate and trying to figure out what to do next. We laid out a plan for recovery, and implemented it Tuesday morning. By Thursday, all was back to semi-normal. Problems solved, kids taken care of, teachers put straight, machinery back in working order, program paths replaced and information recovered. Whew.

Today is Friday, the last day of the week, and a welcome ending to an insane period. We went down to the local bar and grill last night, and there sat some of the same folks who were involved in the whole mess - and we ate and laughed and commiserated. The HS basketball team came in after practice, and we all sat and watched the first quarter of the Oklahoma/Florida game in the BCS championship, cheering on the Sooners. Life was good - again. In spite of the usually moronic, blithering announcers who had apparently decided to canonize the quarterback for the Gators - no matter how many of his passes were intercepted or how many times he was sacked in the backfield...

Yep, everything does go when the whistle blows - and recovery just takes stepping back, reassessing what one has, and rebuilding on it without wasting time panicking, worrying, finding fault or blame, pointing fingers or raising heck.

Pieces of a Life

2009-01-03T13:10:00.002-05:00

Today is the customary day to take down the tree and decorations. There is a blizzard blowing outside - 25-35 mph winds - , but the house is warm and peaceful. So we'll do the inside stuff now.

I heard something this week that made me laugh incredulously. Apparently some people think we are rich. Hmmmm? What are you smoking? The tree and decorations so lavishly displayed, the house with everything just so, the car and truck in the driveway, the fact that we aren't very social - are these the clues that we are rolling in it?

As I was taking down the tree I thought about this. Here is the red and gold tinsel, that I bought on sale after a Christmas 8 years ago because no one wanted it. Likewise the red-rose and gold wire ribbon. Every year they are used - I have several other color schemes too - they are taken out of their carefully folded wrappings of news paper and reused. Then every year they are laid out or rolled up respectively, and stored away in taped boxes until next time.

Here are the tiny plaster ornaments that the kids and I painted one year. We painted so very many; teddy bears and kitties in pajamas, Santas stuck in chimneys, toy boxes, Christmas trees, gingerbread houses, angels. There's only half of them left, though. Because a friend had her house burn down three weeks before Christmas, and I knew that she had had a huge collection of Christmas ornaments, gathered over the years. So we took some of what we had made to her. If one loses precious memories, it's time to make others.

Here are the glass ornaments with the intricate roses painted on them. My living room has always been done in red with roses. Here are the ornaments left over from my father's tree - barely faded now, with the black glass underneath, like dark water under brightly colored ice. Here are the porcelain ones, the handmade lace ones, the brilliant glass icicles - all bought on sale or given as gifts. And don't forget the 20 or so birds; the big blue jay and peacock, the tiny wrens and chickadees, bightly feathered and perched everywhere, discarded from this decoration or that. The ornaments that the kids have made over the years are here, too; their names printed in childlike hands. They all go into the ornament box; everything packed carefully and tightly so it doesn't shift and roll and crack, for next time.

On the wall is the huge Scarlett O'Hara print; she is in that vibrant red dress for Ashley's Birthday Party, one eyebrow cocked, waiting for the threated and usual resentment, vituperation and criticism, apprehensive, yet still defiant. She was on sale, too - a place going out of business, having to sell everything including their numbered prints. She is not only the representation of what I have striven to become and overcome - she is an investment. No, I "will never be hungry again", either.

The furniture is old but it was what I wanted, what I saved for, what I finally got. It is sturdy and quietly beautiful. Mike's car and my truck are what we needed, and what we wanted - things to last us many years, things we had to have, for his comfort and my work. Nothing fancy, nothing over the top, no frills and furbelows.

We don't eat at the latest advertised restaurant, or indulge very much in anything at all. Over the years we have seen good food descend into mediocre food, and from there descend into highly spiced and highly processed garbage, each new fad swiftly replacing the last, and most of it pretty foul - glazed horse poop with a piquant sauce. Tomorrow I might make a roast, and we'll dine on it all week - from slices to stews to soups, we'll make it last. And it will be nutritious and still taste good, too!

No we are definitely not rich. What we are is reasonable and practical... we see what might happen and what might come, and settle in, just as one closes the horses into the corral when the wind blows from the north and the storm clouds gather, seals the doors and windows, and lays a fire - just in case. We save what is valuable and discard what is not. From Christmas decorations, through our friendships, to the small things of our lives, the pieces we save and cherish are what make us whole.

EVERYone deserves a Bailout!

2008-12-27T11:27:00.003-05:00

If you click on the form, it will open for your better reading. I strongly suggest everyone print it out and send a copy with your tax return. Whatthehell, everyone deserves a bailout - see below for Santa's Bailout hearing!!!

And then of course -
Watch Santa plead for a bailout before actual members of Congress!! Santa's Bailout Hearing

Happy Holidays...

2008-12-22T08:17:00.003-05:00

Sometimes it is hard to keep traditions going. People move, people die, families split up, and different income levels can keep folks apart, wishing for home. But these are exactly the reasons I started or revamped my family's Chirstmas traditions.

Growing up in, and later going to, Mom and Dad's house was always fun; it was a huge house that was open and built for large parties. There was always a crowd of Dad's friends there, making merry, playing pinochle and poker, dressed to the nines, drinking and eating and having fun. Everyone was invited and folks would drop in unexpectedly all season long (he was in broadcasting, and many of his friends worked odd hours.) You might go into a room and see a state official with his arm around his wife, tossing back a couple and laughing in a crowd, and into another room and see an elected official playing an intense game of poker. It was a great and exciting environment for a child to grow up in. Midnight Mass was a requirement for any who were left standing by then; we kids would get out of bed at ten, dress in our best, and join Dad and his friends. When I was older and had married and moved away, I missed them. But the year I came back, divorced, weary, with two small children, my parents had their annual big bash - and out of the blue came a phone call. DH's mother (of course he wasn't DH then, just an old friend from church), asking if we could stand a few more folks at the house, they were a mile away at their Aunt Cathy's. We said, Sure! And thus began my relationship again with DH, an old friend who became a great deal more! But when my parents grew older, retired, and sold the house and moved to a tiny apartment, they stopped their celebrations, stopped doing anything, making anything, decorating, even going out to Mass. It didn't help that the Mass was let go, and became a 6:00 on Christmas Eve 'thing' - more commercialized, less full of wonder and amazement.

I continued the 'open house' theory when we moved away. Any and everyone who wanted to come by, could. Even when we had very little money, there was always food on the table, "snackages" set up on fold-out tables, an iced-down vat of eggnog next to a steaming crockpot of mulled cider, slices of oranges and sticks of cinnamon floating in it, with the bottles nearby for those who liked liquor in their drink.

Devilled eggs were a tradition at every holiday meal, and our secret recipe always won raves and looks of surprise when newcomers bit in. The hardest part was keeping DH away from the plate, as devilled eggs are his favorite! Everything homemade, from the cheese balls to the cakes and cookies. Every year I would introduce something new - rarely a sweet, usually a spicy addition. Before I married DH, turkey was on the table for both Thanksgiving and Christmas; afterward, because of his passion for ham, Ham was the main course at Christmas. We tried and liked the honey baked, cinnamon coated, circle-cut hams - but honestly our favorite is a huge bone in shank, skin stil attached, steaming hunk of salty, peppery, fat-girdled, slow roasted, pink and tender, feast of pork!

Christmas lights had to go up the weekend after Thanksgiving, and could never be taken down until the weekend after the New Year. Even when we just had a small tabletop tree, the order was preserved. Now that we have moved to a place where they can appreciate decorative endeavors, our lights went up the Wednesday before Thanksgiving - only because snow and cold were predicted for the weekend of Thanksgiving! But we still didn't plug anything in until Sunday night...

Many years ago my friend Peggie owned the store at the red light. From one August through November, we created by hand a full ceramic village, sitting in the store and painting in our slack times. We displayed it in the big picture window right on the corner. I made an identical village for my own home, piece by piece. Every year we added to it; streetlights, skaters and ponds, firemen, more people, trees. I love putting it up; a snowy scene of a quaint and happy village, a light underneath each house, casting a glow on the 'snow' from the windows. Oddly, the place where we live now looks rather like it - the bar and grill built in next to the post office with the mailbox and flag out front, the glowing windows of the tiny clapboard and stone church lit from within...

Christmas morning is when we open the presents. I am usually up long before anyone else, to get the pies and ham started early. We would sit around the tree and DH or the kids passed out the presents. There were always clothes and practical presents - but at least ONE thing that each child really really wanted. Our favorite memory is the year when our middle son wanted a drum set - 'a real professional one'. One of our friends in Beaufort owned a 'junk shop', and in November a young man sold his professional, band-worthy, complete drum set to our friend. We smuggled it to the house and hid it in the garage. That Christmas morning, our son came tearing out to look for his drum set under the tree, but didn't see it. He was so sad. His last present was a small jewelry box. We could see him fighting back tears of disappointment as he opened it. All that was in it was a note - "Look in the garage". He went tearing out there in his pajamas, and didn't come in for four hours - and when we did finally get him back inside, we had to run cold water over his hands from where they were so cold, wrapped around the drumsticks! He still owns the drumset, BTW.

We used to invite over the cops and firefighters and EMTs on duty, but that tradition won't go over here - there's only one deputy and he lives here in town with his family, and the firefighters are all volunteers and will be home as well as the EMTs. But we'll still have the cakes and cookies, cheeses and meats, laid out for our Christmas Day evening tradition - that of watching "It's a Wonderful Life" , "Miracle on 34th Street" and "A Christmas Carol" intersparsed with the Claymation stories of Rudolph, Frosty, and Santa. Now DH can have all the devilled eggs he wants. And this year we can finally have a real "Yule Log" in the woodstove, instead of just the decorative one on the table or sideboard!

It's that Time Of Year...

2008-12-05T07:33:00.003-05:00

This post is a Christmas wish for all of my friends in the Lowcountry blogworld. I know - everyone thinks I am this mean and small minded person who ferrets out stupid people, and gores them with joy and mean-spiritedness. But what makes me so mad is the people who are determined to not only be stupid, but to be cruel and hurtful simply to vent their own helplessness, their own insecurities, against others. My biggest problem is that I believe that all people, everywhere, have the ability to be good, decent, and productive people - some, too many, simply choose not to. They choose the darker path, the path of stupidity and cruelty, when they would be so much happier if they accepted not only others, but themselves, as who they are. That is and has always been my frustration - that people look down at their feet, or over at their neighbors' house, instead of grasping for their own particular star.

So for the people whom I love and left behind, as well as those who are glad I've gone - here's what my life is like now. Joyous and happy and hardworking and full of glorious days and radiant, silent, amazing nights. Life can really be this way. I finally chose it, and hope that someday, you will too... or at least find something within yourselves that truly makes you happy.

Make a Smilebox slideshow

Griswoldian

2008-12-01T07:37:00.003-05:00

There's really no other word for it.

That's my house. Yup, right there. And we're not finished yet, TYVM. There's still the six-foot-high, three piece yard card being repainted from the previous owners, and the extra extension cord we have to put up (60 mph winds yesterday, a little difficult to raise a ladder) over the bay window. The arbor by the road is lit, and the front porch is blue with twinkling star lights, to complement the snow family in the front window (also blue) and the dining area and kitchen behind it (also blue, with snowy tablecloth, towels, and decorations). The verandah is multicolored to compliment the entrance into the front room, redolent with red and gold decorations and multicolored lights.

Every single stashed away indoor and outdoor decoration is up and out and glittering. Well, except that I have a string of icicle lights and a looong string of white multi-function lights that work, that I may have to find a place for. Hmmmmm. At least THIS house has 6 outdoor receptacles.

I do love Christmas, and this old house is a decorator's dream. Big windows, many many characterizing features. Waiting to see how and if the predicted snow Tuesday and Friday falls, to get better pictures...

"Trim every blessed needle on the blessed Christmas tree

Christmas comes tomorrow

Trim you

Trim me...."

Now you'll be singing THAT all day...

"It's a - Family Tradition"

2008-11-19T19:51:00.002-05:00

I've loved to cook and bake my whole life, and have always gone overboard for holidays. Holidays mean lights of all types, from soft candle glows and kerosene lamps to bright and cheerful lighted decorations. So the dim candlelight flickers off of the china that holds the meats; turkey for Thanksgiving, and ham for Christmas, mashed potatoes swimming in butter, a gravy boat (owned by my grandmother) standing staunchly nearby. Always homemade yeasty rolls, and pies, pies, pies! Pecan, cherry, and pumpkin, with real whipped cream and lots of rich flavors. My Chocolate Rum Balls have been the downfall of many a poor party-goer; they just taste sooo good, melty and sweet, that folks get drunk off of them without even realizing it! A dear friend who writes a column still blames the rum balls for her interesting post-holiday column one year, and an EMT who shall remain nameless had to come off of the truck and be replaced as he dozed happily on my couch, unawakened by the tones that called him to duty, after indulging in the tiny morsels. (They were warned, but, you know....) Another treat is my Drunken Sot fruitcake. It is not the normal fruitcake with unrecognizable "candied" fruit; it has bananas, cherries, white raisins, walnuts, pecans, pineapple, and whatever else is in abundance that year. The fruits are soaked in a mixture of dark rum, French Brandy, and real butter until they double in size, then are added to the dark batter, rich with eggs and honey, cinnamon and cloves. After they are baked, I brush them all with the butter-rum-brandy mixture, and pop them in the freezer. I usually bake them the first week of November, and brush them again every weekend, then put them right back in the freezer, until I give them out over Christmas. Even people who HATE fruitcake ask for this every year. I don't know why.

Then there's the decorating. I have boxes and boxes and BOXES of ornaments, and I like everything to look just so - from the trees in every room, to the tabletop decorations, to the lights inside and out. Every year I add something else. The village I made years ago, with the houses and streetlights and people, was updated last year with a carousel, this year with a train and skating pond/river. Mike rigged my pickup with an inverter one year so that I can have Christmas lights around it, too. (Some folks may recall a certain hayride...) I love the lights, the music, the sights and sounds and smells of Christmas, and am always on the lookout year-round for the "perfect" addition to my ever-growing collection.

We always have an open-door policy at Christmas; friends who have 'no place to go' are always welcome at the table - and with enough warning we make a stocking for them, too.

Our favorite thing to do in the evenings leading up to Christmas Eve is to sit in front of the TV and watch all of the 'old' Christmas movies - and we are constantly adding to that group too. But we are very particular; brainless garbage or oversimplified remakes are not included just because they have a Christmas tree or someone dressed in red velvet. I and my best friend love "It's a Wonderful Life", but there are others... Rudolph and Frosty of course, and "Miracle on 34th Street" (the b/w one of course, the Natalie Wood one, and the most recent one are all in the library here) , and the one that no one else has ever heard of, "A Wish for Wings That Work" with Opus the penguin and Bill the Cat. Yes, we even like Bill Murray's "Scrooged". And as many times as I've seen them, I still cry at all of the 'appropriate' places.

Presents don't mean that much to us; gifts are something we prefer to give when we find something someone else would really REALLY like, or just to send an email card or make a phone call. We didn't raise our kids to require presents and false feelings of being forced to acquiesce to advertising hype. Just this past week, we loaded up our daughter's truck with all of our son's old He-Man and Castle Greyskull toys, and she took them to him. He had reserved a spot on his bookshelves just for them, and reports say he was playing with them as of old! Hee hee. What could be a better gift to an all-grown-up child than a chance to relive one's childhood?

The things that matter to us are things that bring us and others joy; from the groaning tables of food, thru the brightly colored and happy lights, the music and movies, and even down to the silly little button, "HO-3" we wear... Joy is in the ears that hear, the eyes that see, the hearts that share. These are our traditions.

$10 Steak Dinner?

2008-11-15T23:26:00.002-05:00

Umm, well, yes - when you live in beef country, you can go to a fundraiser for the American Legion and pay $10 a head for donated, sweetly tender, grassfed Angus beef, over an inch and a half thick, cooked over an open charcoal grill, plus a baked potato and multiple salads and desserts and bread, even a drink.

I admit it, I am in my element here. No high-priced fancy imported beef - these steaks were, just last week, walking the hills around my town. The potato farm started digging last week; hundreds of flaky potatoes in their skins, not hard and tiny culls and nubbins. Real food, grown and raised by real people who take pride in their work, and who happily donate it to raise money for good causes. But dang, BEEF! Real Beef!! I am lovin it! I could cut it with a butter knife!

Yummers.

Sami's boyfriend shot a deer today, the first day of hunting season. He'll be bringing by the meat tomorrow. .. he just wanted the rack, after all. The wild game this year has been so abundant that each deer or turkey license gets two tags apiece. Sami is so proud of her boyfriend - and so proud too of her Honorable Mention in the District Drama competition. She and the Club go on to compete in the State finals - after, of course, they perform their play for the townspeople next week.

It's not just the food, both wild and tame, here that attracts. It is the people; the openness, the willingness to participate and have fun and share. Over 500 people crowded into the Hall tonight to pay $10 a dinner, chat and visit, introduce and re-introduce, and to just have fun. Paul and Enid joined us in the bar a block away afterwards, and we sat and talked family and hunting and politics and Christmas decorations with Pat and Marty and some other neighbors. Nothing rowdy, nothing obnoxious - Paul taught Marty's kids to shoot pool while we chatted and laughed. Janet came out of the kitchen and sat with us too.

The American Legion now has the money to send some more kids from the high school this next spring to a week-long leadership training, that they do every year in Lincoln for over 400 kids. Since we joined the Legion, we can be a part of sending ditty bags to Iraq, and last week I baked 9 dozen cookies for the Veteran's Day program. There were over 200 dozen cookies donated - more than enough to take to Hay Springs for the Christmas Tour of Lights sponsorship, too. Next week the FFA is entering kids in the Parly-Pro competition - what could THAT be? Why, it's where kids learn Paliamentary Procedure and practice it, and are judged on it. Robert's Rules of Order is practically a religion here; everything is pro forma and run by The Book.

And who provides the funding for all of this? Not some vast government bureaucracy, not the parents, not the teachers, not the School District. But the people that belong to the American Legion and Local Farmer's Union, that teach the children not just books but hands-on, practical, life training. They raise the money from donations and membership fees and fun things like steak dinners and pancake breakfasts and picnics. Everyone participates, everyone encourages, everyone works 16 hour days and still takes time to join in the fun and to volunteer to make life better for each other. No running around with their hands constantly out, their mouths constantly open in a whine, begging for this or that while the kids sink ever more increasingly into mindless stupors of drugs, sex, and hapless, helpless, government dependence. There's 'way too much to DO here.

Man that was an AWESOME steak...

Call of the Wild

2008-11-07T22:38:00.004-05:00

Did you ever read it?
Silly question - who reads any more? If it isn't a movie or an audiobook, no one knows it.

It was always one of my favorites. Man against the elements, Man against himself, Man against Man - all of the classic elements in a 'dog' story. The movie didn't do the struggles, external and internal, proper justice - but then they never do.

"Buck" crossed my mind yesterday as I watched my beloved Sasha cavorting in the blizzard. Sasha would have been one of those high-bred, soon-to-die kidnapped dogs, forced to pull a sled until she dropped. Buck would have disliked her immensely - spoiled and fussy, even though her breed was bred for mountains and snow and cold, to take down antelope with a snarling leap like a cougar. She might think she could do it now, but... she likes her sleeping bag and her warm spots far too much. Work? Not my blonde beauty - she would be insulted by the very thought of it. Brush her and snuggle her and call her beautiful, and she laughs delightedly. She can bark, and when she does, it is a deep chesty powerful roar - but it is merely noise. Long gone are the painful, poignant memories of being kept in an 8x10 cage, bred for puppies, starved and broken-tailed and covered in mange.

When I got the email from an old and dear friend about how the black woman told my friend's husband that Barack Obama was going to pay her mortgage and give her free vouchers for gas - and she knew it was true because their preachers had been telling them in the churches for three months - I thought of Buck again.

Spoiled people who have never known hunger, true hardship, true poverty. Spoiled people who have never gone a day without food, or a month without meat, or night after long winter night without heat.

I was on a forum today, reading about a woman whose husband is being transferred, and she wanted to know of a place where: She could buy a house no more than five years old, preferably in a planned community; the schools were excellent; the playgrounds immense and planned activities for her three elementary-age children omnipresent; where malls and boutiques and coffee shops were all close by. I thought of Buck again, shivering in his dug-in hole in the snow in the Alaska wilderness, fighting over gristly meat tossed out to a pack of slavering, starving dogs that had been driven and beaten to put forth their efforts.

No, the three great struggles that forge the human (and canine) spirit are no more. Man against the elements? We whine that someone should house us and pay for our fuel to heat our homes and drive our vehicles. We complain about rain and snow and sunshine, darting from our warm or air-conditioned house to our warm or air-conditioned car to our warm or air-conditioned work, never getting out and challenging the elements, growing our own food or heating our own home by the sweat of our brows. Man against Man? No, everyone has to win a prize, or it isn't FAIR. Competition means a level playing field and fair play and smooth sailing, not overcoming the bumps and swamps and pathos of our lives. If someone gets a little less than they have been told that they deserve - whether from fate, or from a lack of direction and purpose, or from sheer laziness and self-indulgence - why, give them what they want anyway. They DESERVE it.

Man against himself? What does that mean? Why would you want to compete against yourself, why should you feel that you should prove yourself at all? So much easier to strut around and bark loudly and proclaim to the world that you own it, without ever having done anything to gain it or earn it. Turn on American Idol, or Survivor, or politics, and watch someone else pretend to overcome something, from the comfort of our living room recliner, and cheer or cry crocodile tears for emotions we cannot feel and never know. Emotions that we have not earned. For how can you know pleasure without pain, love without hate, fulfillment without despair, passion without ennui? Simply, you cannot. You can argue that you do, even think that you do. But it is false, tissue-paper emotion, ripped swiftly by our tears and cheers, meaning nothing, holding nothing, accomplishing nothing.

Yes, Buck knew what was important.

Survival. Mutual work output for mutual goal accomplishment. Deep trust, deep loyalty, honesty, and deathless love. Fulfillment of the body, use of the muscles and brain to accomplish, succeed, survive, and to do it better than you ever thought possible of yourself; and fulfillment of the soul, the passionate and raw emotions, tempered with common sense and matured with an ever-growing understanding.

Look around you. See that anywhere? Or are you like my Sasha, knowing and believing that the food bowl and belly will always be full, that she will always be petted and snuggled and spoiled and made much of, without ever having to lift a paw?

Election Whoas

2008-11-03T21:38:00.003-05:00

Stopit. Knock it off already.

Any one who has any brain function at all already knows for which candidate they are going to vote - or has already voted absentee. I realize that that lets out about 60% of the population, not counting the ones who are slavering over this candidate or that one, believing whatever rhetoric stirs their hearts and gonads this year, but still.

Doesn't stop the phone calls, the emails, the constant barrage on the TV news of course. THEY have to act as though they are the ones who invented sleaze, political mindgames, and lying as an art. Yawn. I'm not even going to watch the news tomorrow - inevitably they'll have that little town in - is it Maine, or New Hampshire? - that votes first in the country, and the rest of those crappy news stories that pompously pontificate, predict, and prevaricate all the way til poor little Hawaii closes its polls. Ho-Hum. They only thing that matters is the results - and with all of the accusations of voter fraud, the mismanagement of polling places, the failure and susceptibility-to-hacking of voting machines, and the lies, vote-buying, intimidation, and briberies of ACORN, even the certified, sanctified, results will be in doubt. How low is your chad hanging?

Leave me alone. Stop calling me. Go jump up my ass, my state already voted last week by absentee ballot - a necessity in rural communities. Go away. GO. AWAY. DON'T leave a message on my answering machine.

I have a life. You need to get one - and to realize that it isn't the Commander in Chief who will make those all important decisions, but the lawyers in the House and Senate. And unless either side does what the Conspiracy Theorists fear and comes knocking on your door to take you to an internment camp or Gitmo, or to take away your guns, what they decide tomorrow won't change tomorrow, won't affect your job or your life tomorrow, or for the next three months or so anyway. Go away. Get over yourselves. You are not as important as you insist that you are.

Sheer hysterical enthusiasm cannot override pure unadulterated cynicism. I already did my duty - go do yours and shut up already. No! STOP! Not on the LAWN! Too late - another rambling voiciferous idiot did his doody, right out in front for all to see. And it is the rest of us, the cynics, who will have to clean it up. Sigh. What else is new?

"Liberal" Women Who Lie To Themselves

2008-10-30T07:31:00.002-04:00

Liberal women were all drooling and cheering over Hilary Clinton and Nancy Pelosi, but when Sarah Palin arrived on the scene, suddenly they focussed on Obama as their hero.

I could make national headlines if I hung Obama in effigy as a "Halloween decoration" - and back east I'd probably go to jail for a hate crime, get hate mail and death threats. But the news media thinks it's funny that a liberal hangs Sarah Palin in effigy.

You can't have it both ways. Either you really do admire a woman who has worked her ass off (in a "man's world") to achieve all that she has achieved, or you don't. Either you are honest or you are allowing yourself to be played by the liberal angst and fanaticism to only like certain women who fit a certain ideal - and all the others are nonentities, scrap on the man-pile, grist for the man-mill. Women who pontificate about how men have kept them down or abused women are amazingly silent on the Palin effigy. They should be outraged. They should be angry. Yet - they are not. What does that tell you about their real agendas, their honesty, their integrity, and their admiration? That they are all lies. Maybe they truly don't know that they are lying to themselves, but they are.

When it is ok, even FUNNY, to hang a white woman in effigy, but not ok to put a noose in a tree or on a locker, depending on who the victim is, that completely decimates their whole politically-correct mantras, and exposes them for what they are - mouth breathing, media-run panderers to liberalism and falsehood.

Don't talk to me about supporting rights for all, and equality, and fairness. You wouldn't know fairness if it dragged you into a courtroom and prosecuted you for your own stupidity and gullibility. You wouldn't know equality and freedom, hiding behind your support for only 'particular' women whom you are told should be admired. And most importantly, you are living and promulgating a lie, a falsehood, a weak-kneed pathetic attempt at fair play that only separates, not unifies, women... and patting yourselves on the backs for it!

Go play with your other weak minded liberal simpletons, and grouse about how women are STILL treated shabbily, isn't it AWFUL, we need to get behind a woman who is independent and forthright and not only believes in what she says but acts on it. Go pee in your own sandbox and try to cover it up. The grownups are talking. Don't bother us.

Exactly Why

2008-10-23T07:13:00.002-04:00

A good friend of mine wrote this week once again that he believes, he KNOWS, that we must return to the gold standard both nationally and globally. However, in his post, down near the end, he wrote, "It would scuttle the grand plans of the political con artists who yearn to get rich by running the paper-money printing press overtime." And that to me is exactly why we will not ever return to a gold standard.

People don't even understand the basics of economics. Not their fault; of course, they believe what they are taught and told by people whom they trust, from teachers to professors to politicians. They don't understand that the stock market is a large imaginary, mutually-agreed-upon loss and profit quagmire. Its promotion solely depends on those who will profit the most from it. In good times, this is fine, it's ok, to be a little bullish, faithful, aggressive. In bad times, bearish times, folks are frightened. But of what? Common sense will dictate your investments, if you understand enough to ignore the hoopla and passion and to determine for yourself where the next boom (or bust) will lie. Never play with money that you don't have, don't trust a certificate but cold cash. Simple - yet all too easily run amok by ugly and talentless American Idol wannabes who know that people, especially gullible uneducated people, will follow hype instead of reason. Nevertheless, remember in the back of your mind that until your stock splits or sells and you have cash in hand, the whole stock market is purely imaginary; betting on products or services that have not even been invented yet. The dot com boom and bust, the Enron debacle, the housing boom and bust - all of these were led by people who knew exactly what they were doing and how money works - and who overhyped their products and seduced the gullible (as well as paid off the politicians) to keep their pockets lined at John Q's expense. They counted on the fantasy and excitement, the get-rich-quick eagerness and swallow-it-whole philosophy of the purposefully, determinedly ignorant. (The top three orchestrators of the Fannie Mae/Freddie Mac debacle are now Obama's financial advisors. Hand in glove, hand in glove, follow the money!)

Our dollars are built on the same fantasy, the same false sense of security. They have no grounding in gold, no basis in anything valuable and rare. If you print more dollar bills based on nothing at all, then you are being paid with nothing, are spending nothing. It is for this reason that prices of everything go up and the dollar's worth declines. The fantasy is fine and it works - for a little while - as long as people believe in it. But when it stops working - as it inevitably does, as more and more dollars are printed with no basis for their value - then people start scrabbling around for something that they can trade, or hold, that is valuable.

It is for this reason I believe that, by either force or suasion, the governments of the world will gather up all of the gold held in the hands of individuals. As governments take over banking and finance for their countries, they and they alone must hold the basis of that finance to make a profit or even to stay solvent and stable.

Have you ever known anything run by a government bureaucracy to make a profit or even to stay stable financially? Their attitude of - "If we need more money, will just raise taxes!" or "If we need more money, will just print more!" has gotten us where we are today. And it is a fantasy swallowed whole once again by the American people. There's really no hope for those who insist that they know nothing about economics, but insist on letting, even demanding, that their government or their stockbroker buy them into prosperity.

Don't Bug Me - My State's Voted

2008-10-17T07:11:00.004-04:00

OK, well, part of us have.
Several years ago, the State Legislature took into account that they were spending a lot of money to open polling places and keep them open 12 hours. In our very rural areas, it was a huge waste of money and time. So what they do now is - the second week of October, they send out paper ballots to every registered voter, with self-addressed stamped envelopes to the county Election Commission. You fill out your ballot at home, pop it into the envelope, and mail it off. No voting machine expense; no machines to break down or to be tampered with. No poll workers and poll managers to pay. You can take an hour or more to read the amendments and questions, if you want. And no one stands behind you at a machine, no one stands waiting on the porch. Fill in the circles, zip, pop, sign, done.

Our county Election Commission folk are the most laid back people you'd ever want to meet. They'll sit and chat with you for an hour or more - about everything, about nothing. Why not? No stress. No problems. Everyone does what they are supposed to do; the folks who get the ballots can read and write, understand the importance of what they do, and send them back promptly, clean and crisp, just like they received them.

Out in the County, no one talks politics. Well, maybe some local politics - like Joe has seven kids and doesn't need to be on this Board any more, he's tired and wants to quit... no ranting, no screaming, no in-yer-face THIS IS WHAT YOU MUST DO. Every once in awhile a TIC or sharp little comment about Obama, but that's all; eyebrows and shoulders shrugging, no fanatical shrieking. It is a given that the Fed Gov will screw us no matter who we put in; nature of the beast, not as important as getting the calves loaded in the trucks this morning.

You know, in SC this could never happen. Too many emotional people and too much angst and mayhem, last minute 'revelations' that, for people who know how to read and who vote on lasting reason instead of burbling passion, are not revelations at all, but simply examples of what they already knew. Unlike the fellow we worked on in the wreck one Election Day, who told us he couldn't go to the hospital, that he had already voted in Point South, Ridgeland, Bluffton, and Switzerland, and still had to vote in Hardeeville and Savannah before the polls closed, or the infamous Jasper County Election Commission member who showed up to the Election Commission office with three hundred signed and voted absentee ballots in his hand; no cheating, no lying, no posturing for this candidate or that. It's over.

So all of those screaming and hissing telemarketers and pollsters can be ignored with the simple phrase, "Already voted". We have more important things to do now. Go away.

Making New BlogFriends (Who Really Dug the Hole?)

2008-10-12T14:47:00.005-04:00

I still get emails from all of my fun Conspiracy Theorist friends. We have great times, sending each other links, ranting about this or that. The other day I got an email from a friend, that had a link to a blog in it to a fella named Ron Smith, a talk show host and fellow ranter in Baltimore. Well, his disgust with Congress and the media were evident. He asked, "Who Dug the Hole?" in which we now find ourselves, and demanded that Congress stop pandering to multibillionaire concerns. So, well, I wrote him an email back...

Dear Ron -

It is so easy to blame Congress for the woes of the economic collapse, and
the media for ignoring and ridiculing Ron Paul. But, as Walt Kelly stated in
his long-ago (but still pertinent) cartoon political commentary - "we have
met the enemy, and he is US!"

WE as a nation have repetitively sneered at people like Ron Paul, while
supporting fiscal irresponsibility and social injustice in the forms of
Senators like Obama and McCain, or Presidents like Bush and Carter. WE as a
nation insist that our children learn black or Native American history and
literature as separate entities, while ignoring economic and uniracial
history. WE as a nation demanded cheap Wal Mart products, even after their
melamine killed our pets by the thousands, and their powdered milk - spiked
with the same plastic - is now killing thousands of children. WE as a nation
demanded housing for everyone, whether they had any inclination or
ability to repay the loans for that housing or not. WE as a nation have
decided that robbing Peter to pay Paul is more than expedient, it is morally
right and cosmically just - as long as we are Paul and not Peter. People get
the government that they deserve.

WE as a nation demanded that news be entertainment, not facts. WE as a
nation refuse to read anything but publications that originate in our
country, never taking into account the opinions or experiences of people in
other nations. Worse, if anyone 'across the pond' dared to comment on what
we did, they were suddenly the Anti-Christ - as if WE were alone the
purveyors of truth, justice, knowledge, and religious fervor itself. WE
encouraged the lack of education in our schools, so that newspapers are now
written on a fourth grade reading comprehension level - those newspapers
that have survived the lack of interest and knowledge of the American
people. WE demanded that our children learn that everyone gets a prize,
instead of the fruits of honest work and competition.

WE elected these pandering, mouth-breathing, vacuous morons to office, and
we keep re-electing them as long as they promise to save us from ourselves.
WE not only dug the hole, we urinated and defecated in it to fill it, and
what sprouted was something not rich and strange, but twisted and unhealthy
and rotten from within. So to hear the blame placed at the feet of the
morons whom WE chose to plant into this pit of excrement is to deny that
they are the fruit of our self-enforced lack of reasoning, character, and
willingness to work for ourselves and succeed on our own. WE are a nation of
pasty-faced, whining, ignorant, emotion-driven slugs, with grasping pincers
in our ever-open mouths, looking for the next 'reality' show to give us
meaning to our empty and worthless lives. WE got what we asked for - why is
anyone surprised, shocked, or even angry about it?

Dear Wiley,

This is one of the best rants I've ever read. Not only is there much truth in it, but the passion is so great and the expression so keen, I can only offer my sincere admiration for what you've written.

Cheers,
Ron

It's nice sometimes to communicate with people who still, in spite of everything, can read, write, and comprehend.

All I can say is...wow

2008-10-09T07:28:00.002-04:00

Yup, I'm working at the high school across the street.

This is a very weird place.

Yesterday half of the school was gone. To a cattle-judging clinic. Today and tomorrow there are a bunch of kids out - they are showing cattle in Rapid City, or helping their parents move their cattle to another pasture. All of these absences are excused. WHAT? Unheard of! Preposterous!

But why?

These high school kids have purpose and direction. They know what they want to do with their lives, and are - happy. Yes, HAPPY. Not for them the teenager angst, rebellion, drugs, suicides - nope. Their pants are cinched tightly at their waists. There's no graffiti, no gangsign.The bathrooms all have doors. Some lockers stand open, and are not gone into or broken. They know how to wear their hats - and to take them off inside. They are doing what they love and daily learning more about it. The classes they take are classes like marketing, Agriculture research, economics... oh, yes, and literature and history and geometry and trig. Everything they learn relates to the world around them. This weekend we have two kids going to the tryouts for the State choir. We have a band that practices every day after school, and really rocks the football games - and two (count em - two) performing choirs. All in a school of 150.

You could say that it is the smaller classes and personal attention that makes a difference. And that might be true to a certain extent. But the teachers here WANT to be here, love the area, know what they are teaching, and work together to interrelate instruction at all levels. Everything they learn relates to what they already are, and where they are going, what they want to be. Some are going to be lawyers and doctors - some of course vets and ranchers. But all are eager to learn, come to school every day, most early so that they can get a head start on their first class.

Class times and even class change times are quiet; the kids are intent on where they are going and what they are doing next. No one stands in the halls or takes off without signing out - and a good reason. Kids that DO start to slack off or go astray immediately are called in to the principal's office along with their parents, and everyone puts their heads together to figure out how to make this child's life better, how to help him to get what he wants and where he needs to be. Teachers volunteer to tutor kids on their 'planning' - off-time - periods. And the whole goal is to educate children; not to one up each other, not to prove their worthiness, not the teachers, the administration, nor the children. Everyone already knows that they are worthy - so they help each other.

"Feel I'm slippin into the Twilight Zone..." this is reality, not fantasy, and no exaggeration. I could tell you more but I am eagerly looking forward every morning to getting up and going to be a working part of this. And you probably wouldn't believe it anyway...

commacomma down doobie do down down...

2008-10-07T08:00:00.002-04:00

Winter's coming.

Sunday night we're supposed to get snow.

Comma comma down doobie do down down... come on down....

It's been getting gradually cooler here, as each successive low front passes through. If it does snow, it means that winter this year will be hard; and as we go, so goes the country.

But not all snow is bad. Snow is precipitation; and snow provides the water to our river and our underground aquifer. We got so much precipitation this past spring - more than in any recent memory - that the river, normally pumped almost dry for irrigation and cattle, is still running fairly high. There were two hay harvests instead of one, so the winter feed is going to be good, which means that the cattle will be fat. (So will the wild critters.) Snow acts as an insulating blanket if the temps drop below freezing. (It doesn't snow when it is below freezing - it just gets that way after the front passes.)

I'll still be walking to work every day; the high school is across the street and down a block. Part of the reason they hired me is that, on snow days, I can go to school early and call within my snow ring, to tell parents not to bring their kids or let them drive on dangerous roads. That sounds harsh, but I'm looking forward to it. The folks here in town will come in anyway, and make sure that the power and generators are on and that the heat is running to keep the pipes from freezing. The cooks will come in. If it gets really bad, and power fails for a while, the school is the shelter for the elderly to stay warm and fed.

Back at the house, I'm all set. The wood box on the house is full of dry tinder, kindling, and logs; I open the door next to the woodstove and there it all is, ready to start the fires. I can cook on or even IN a woodstove; done it. I can build a fire and keep it going for three days in the pouring rain; I've made a fire so hot in a cast iron stove that the stove turns red all the way up to the pipe. And this firebox is small, which means that I can get it really hot, and it won't take much to get it that way and keep it that way.

My new friends (and some of my old friends)are all very worried about how two southerners will weather the winters here. Cracks me up. We didn't live down south our whole lives, and a couple of places I've lived in the winter didn't have electricity run to them. We've spent the whole summer tightening every air and cold leak in this house; securing the barn roofs from the cold and harsh north winds. We know what's coming. We know what to expect.

I'm looking forward to it, actually. While my friends back east will be sweating in their tree stands, I'll be tracking my deer and antelope through the snow. When I make my kill, I won't be dragging it through mud and skeeters, but sliding it on frozen ground and snow. And the turkeys are fat and pretty on the hill already; we saw them yesterday morning.

This week I have to finish raking the leaves and pile them around my plants and dig my amarillis and star lily bulbs; everything else will be buried under leafy mulch. Finishing up the Halloween yard decorations, and looking forward to the Christmas ones! If it freezes this week, the potato farm down south will swing into harvest, and I'll get a 50 lb sack of potatoes (not the little nubs we used to get back east; BIG tubers the size of your two fists held together) and put them in the basement next to the other food storage.

Winter's coming. And this little squirrel is getting her nest ready for it... and the big devastating financial hits that are predicted to go into full swing this winter will roll over us like the snow. Preparation is always a good thing.

Can you be Saved?

2008-10-02T08:10:00.004-04:00

"Something's Wrong in the World Today". And the singer may not know what it is. But I'm thinking that I do.

I was perusing the news stories this morning. I prefer the silence of my computer to the yammering and simpering of the folks on the TV, especially in the morning, before my first cup of coffee is finished. People who know me, know not to talk to me before coffee. My BP is so low in the mornings (about 90 over 60) that communication is a baaaad thing. When I traveled, there always had to be a coffee maker in the room; I would not go out in public, not even to a 'free breakfast', without coffee. So every morning I sit with my cup in front of my computer to find out what happened overnight and see what's going on in the world.

A man in Vermont raped and killed his niece, and convinced another girl that her death was because of a 'termination' organization that would kill little girls for not having sex with him or otherwise misbehaving. A 'mother' killed her foster kids and put them in a freezer. Caylee's Mom is 'now' a suspect. The millionaire adventurer's plane was found in California (weren't they searching in Utah? Whoa. Someone needs Mapquest badly). An Omaha woman, a teacher and a mother of a 9 year old girl, was found guilty of taking a 13 year old boy to Mexico to have sex ("He seemed like a man to me" - granted the kids here are more mature than their citified peers, but WHUT?).

WTF is going on? Well, it seems pretty simple to me. People simply don't feel the need to practice self-control any more. We have become a 'me first' society, where our own immediate desires aren't even thought about, simply acted upon. SOMEone will bail us out, SOMEone will save us. Even the politicians are promising things to 'save' us, from each other, from terrorists, from bad investments, from our children, our parents, our neighbors. There's no need to take responsibility for ourselves any more - there are legions of volunteer, non-profit, and state and federal organizations to save everyone. So no one protects their children from rapists or molesters - someone else will save them. No one takes responsibility for the jobs they undertake, so even foster children, put into the system to 'save' them, are molested or die. Kids are like Doritos, any more - "Go ahead and crunch them - we'll make more". Teachers entrusted with the health and welfare of their students in their care decide that they can be used to satisfy some sick controlling need for sex. The very people whom busy parents trust to 'save' their children in foster care or in the school are the ones corrupting and killing them.

No. One. Can. Save. You. You come into this world alone, and you will go out the same way. No matter how many friends you have, none of them will save you - they are all too busy trying to save themselves. Terrorists? There is no salvation from a crazy person. Child molesters and killers? No one can save your children from them - all you can do is BE THERE to protect them from their uncles or their teachers or the weirdo up the street. But you have to take responsibility, you have to take charge of your own life and your children's lives.

Our daughter is the kindest person, the most giving person, I have ever met. She'll help someone in a heartbeat. Even though she took karate for six years, and will not hesitate to use it to defend herself, she is still soft-hearted and loving. Looking back at some of her boyfriends over the years, I am well aware that sometimes the only thing that kept her from being an abused girlfriend was her ice-cold father's comment to every one of them - "This is my baby. You hurt her, I kill you." He meant it. They believed it. They should have. Now, her dad is a kind and gentle man, normally - but he took and still takes responsibility for his daughter, and makes no bones about it.

No, that song is wrong. There's not "something wrong with our eyes" - there's something wrong with our minds and hearts, that we permit child molesters, abusers, all of the selfish and self-seeking predators among us, to live and perpetrate themselves on others, over and over again. There is something wrong with masses of people expecting "other people" to take their responsibilities off of their backs, out of their hands, and to save them. The choice to abuse drugs, to let drink or drugs control us, to misspend money or time, or to harm ourselves or others is still a choice, and not only indefensible but inexcusable, and should be met with swift and direct consequences. There is something wrong with expecting any politician, government, bureaucracy, or teacher to do what we refuse to do for ourselves or our children. And that's what's wrong, what's missing - our accepting our responsibilities to protect and defend ourselves and our children. There can be no excuse for rescinding our responsibilities to others for our own safety, our own welfare, our own lives, our own children, our own stupid mistakes or selfish actions. We are "livin on the edge" - but it is an edge of our own making, of our own whining refusal to accept the responsibility of our lives and the choices we make, to fob off our lives on someone else, anyone else.

Women on Women

2008-09-29T10:35:00.003-04:00

I feel sorry for Sarah Palin. I can commiserate with her.
Women in the public eye get accused of so many things, and the minute it leaves someone's mouth, it's true.

Ted Kennedy could have a cute young thing at his side, and even drown her, and men everywhere applauded that nasty, womanizing creature as being virile, hard-drinking, hard-living, and popular with the ladies. But let a WOMAN be a 'cougar', go after younger men, and have numerous affairs, and she's a slut. And even if she doesn't, she'll be accused of it... by other women. No applause. No "you GO grrrl!" Nope. Lies become fact with just a whisper and a raised eyebrow.

The "strong woman" factor is exactly what the political pundits aren't counting on. Women in public life of any sort, who have been accused of having numerous affairs, or of being gay, or both, will rally to her more and more as the snide and vicious comments pile up. You see, we know what it's like to live a life above reproach, and to go after what we want with an eye on our goal, and yes to occasionally use our femininity to get what we want. Not crossing the line - ever. But a smile or a hug at the appropriate time could get us closer to our goal, so we'd use it, you betcherass. And get accused of much more. Friendships, even lifelong friendships, are suspect. Mutual goals? No such thing - they must be getting it on under the sheets. A "REAL" man putting up with a strong woman, living with her, loving her? Couldn't happen. It's all about the sex. Couldn't be anything else.

I will never - no never - forget the day I was kissing my hubby goodbye in public. A woman (a well-known town gossip) I had known for 20 years drove by with another woman who called herself my 'friend'. The first woman shrieked at me, "stop kissing that man in public!" Hubby had to show her his driver's license to prove to her he was my husband. My 'friend' had obviously never told this gossip that I was married. The gossip's complete shock at seeing my hubby's license told me everything I needed to know - both about her and about my self-proclaimed 'friend'. For 20 years the gossip had assumed I was a single mom - and my 'friend' had never told her any different. So I smiled sweetly at both of them and said, "Guess that ruins a lot of the gossip around here, doesn't it?"

SCHMACK.

If I had done half of what I had been accused of over the years, I would either have been disease-ridden or the richest woman in town. Why is it so hard for other women to believe that a forceful, aggressive woman can actually be a loving wife and mother? I had cared for some other peoples' children so that even today they still call me "Mom". I took care of the sick and hurt, and succored the poor, and still loved to cook and bake and 'be a mom'. To have Dems question Sarah Palin's ability to run a country and a household, or her fidelity, or her style and substance, smacks severely of the gossip in her incredulity of "You're MARRIED?" and the reduction of intelligent, multi-faceted individuals to two-dimensional, small-minded, and mean, cruel, self-seeking people. And yet the Democrats insist that they are the party for women, the Party that supports women's equality, women's abilities, women's rights.

Well, not this woman. Hurray for Palin - and the more the Democrats act like snide and sneaky gossips, tooling around in their cars and making snide and superficial judgements on surface determinations, the more they expose themselves for exactly who and what they are. And women who have suffered for years, even decades, under gossips and their non-supportive, backstabbing 'friends' might just have the last laugh on all of them. Whatever else Sarah Palin is, she - thanks to the snide comments - is coming out far cleaner, far more competent, and far more adjusted to reality than her detractors.

And that is probably what pisses them off the most. By simply and openly being who and what she is, their own insecurities, their own small-mindednesses, are showing them for what they truly are. And every woman who has ever been or had to be strong, forceful, and determined is, openly or secretly, rooting for her.

SCHMACK 'em once for me, Sarah! And for all of us...

And if they can't disrespect you on a personal level, gee, I guess they'll have to do it on a professional one... which these sneaks and gossips will never learn to do.

Homecoming Friday Updated, wth pics!

2008-09-26T08:20:00.003-04:00

Today is Homecoming for the local High School. Actually, it's been an all-week event, and the culmination is today. At 11 AM there is a town parade, led of course by a very hyper-rhythmic school band.

Then there is a town picnic sponsored by the Booster Club; a real social event, $3 for grilled ribs and brats, and potato salad and a drink. Then the game, at 1 PM, and later this evening, the Homecoming Dance that the whole town attends.

Referee Ballet? Who knew?

The winning touchdown, with 40 sec left - final score, 32-30, Cowboys over Longhorns. Go Cowboys!! Go Black!

Yup, I live in a Football Town. Actually I live in a Football State, now - as well as a community that believes in group get-togethers. Pinochle, poker, and bridge nights are Wednesdays at the local Bar and Grill - good food and lots of fun, and they don't play for matches. A good sense of humor. Did I tell you the one about the nervous female pilot who was told to talk to her instructor to relieve her anxety? She asked him why deer pooped pellets, cows pooped disks, and horses pooped chunks, when they all ate the same thing. He said he didn't know, and she replied, "Hell, I can't talk to you - you don't know $hit!" They talk about using caps and dynamite to blow up buildings and blow out land for cellars here as a matter of course. Totally different world - no paranoia about potential terrorists, a lot of good fun, and some seriously crazy folk here. The kids all carry guns - they compete in shooting matches. No one brags about hunting, but everyone does it. (This year with every buck tag a free doe tag is issued, get em while they're fat.) Fun people.

We've been listening to the band practice all week, and the pep rallies yesterday were 'way cool. The horses in our pasture line up near the fence to watch and listen, heads up, ears cocked forward, as the band marches by. Seems like everyone wants to be a part of the excitement!

Yup, this weekend looks to be pretty awesome again. Not for us the fighting to get in the door at some overtouted overblown concert - the casino 40 miles from here puts on concerts regularly, with names like The Oakridge Boys or Clint Black, but they are never crowded. No trying the latest sushi place or Mexican or Chinese place - homegrown beef and pork is good enough.

Saturday night for our anniversary we'll just go down to the Hub and have steak dinners and drinks with friends. Then back to the farm, the peace and quiet, listening to the crickets chirp and the coyotes howl.

Who Pays?

2008-09-23T09:56:00.004-04:00

The other day I got an email from my 'almost DOL' - the lovely girl who lives with my middle son. She really is lovely, and the best part is that she has no idea; she works hard and is so good for my son. The only problem is that she is supporting Obama. She sent me the computer-generated link to Obama's video and his economic plan.

Well, out of respect for her I watched the video. Then I went further - and examined Obama's plan. Good. Lord.

Now let me make this point - neither Obama nor McCain have studied economics. They are both in-line Party men, and think that the cure for too much government is - more government. The litmus test for ANY government proposal is - who is going to pay for it? Because the FedGov may print more money than we have gold, but that doesn't mean that we have limitless money available - what that means is that every extra hundred, thousand, or billion they print devalues every dollar all around the world.

But Obama's plan calls for increased government involvement in business - as in they are going to require that all of the American gas companies 'give' $1,000 to every family "out of their profits". Uh-hunh. Yet there is NO call in the 'drill and skim' plan for - more refineries. Anyone who knows anything at ALL about the oil in America knows that no matter how much we pump and drill, Congress has limited the number of oil refineries that can be built. This means that either the oil sits in pipelines, in tanks, or on ships, waiting to be refined, with a huge backlog - or it has to be shipped overseas (where there are no refinery restrictions) to be processed, and then either traded for refined oil or shipped back. Either way, the costs are huge. Until Congress relieves this governmentally-instituted backlog, gas prices will climb - and neither candidate will admit it. So who will pay for that $1000 check? You and I will - at the gas pumps.

Obama says that he will create thousands of new jobs in the 'alternative energy' field. Let me tell you how he and Congress are already doing this. They have instituted a 'green credit' plan (this is not unlike the ones in other countries). Sound good? Let me tell you how it REALLY works. I and my neighbors practice organic and responsible growing and grazing practices; many practice no-till planting or rotational grazing. This makes sense; it does not damage the soil or deplete the grasses and cause soil erosion. However, a 'green credit' brokerage company can come out to my acreage and certify me. They pay me $500 to $5000 a year to 'stay green'. Companies that need 'green credits' pay money to the brokerage company per credit. They get credits for every acre that is under someone else's organic production. Now who do you think is paying for this falsification of 'green credit'? The consumers who buy the company's products! More - all of the new technologies like wind and solar power are being subsidized to the already-established power companies to develop - and we're talking not hundreds of thousands of dollars, but millions! Millions to buy the 'wind rights' over a farmer's property, millions for the production/erection/hookup of the turbines or collectors to the grid. Who is REALLY paying for all of this invention and creation? The American taxpayer.

Oh, there's more, a lot more - and every single 'tax break' or 'rebate' or increase in bureaucratic oversight that Obama's plan indicates will cost taxpayers more money, either on their taxes paying for bailouts and increased bureaucracies, or at their continuously ringing cash registers. More roads, railroads, and airports? Who's going to pay for that, when it costs $1 million to build a single mile of roadway, and $10 million startup (not continuing) fundage for an airport the size of Hilton Head's?

Again, that's not to say that McCain has any other feasible plan, such as reversing the $70 billion dollar trade deficit with China by eliminating the shipping of all of our manufacturing jobs overseas, cutting out all of the trade agreements that deplete our internal cash flow and send our money overseas to buy more and more 'planned obsolescent' goods. But still - neither one is telling America the truth, that they need to hear - because the one candidate who actually DID tell the truth about the economy, and continues to do so, was dissed into oblivion by the hopeful masses and mouth-breathing media alike. And the truth is simply this - that as long as Congress continues to handicap business, blame it for all of the evils in the world, and take its money away to hand to the eager grasping public who think that they 'deserve' it, and then paying taxpayer dollars to bail them out over and over again, we will continue to fall into this sinkhole of fiscal disaster.

I'm through with being Cassandra, telling people truths that they don't want to hear, while they scurry to this side or that, looking for someone to hold their collective hands and tell them that life is fair, that government is the cure-all, and that their friends in government will protect them. They want to be told that Congress is in it's heaven, and all is right with the world - go watch Survivor or American Idol and believe, believe. Good children. Stupid children. I've had enough of soft, assauging, spiritually uplifting, comforting lies - when will YOU? And the answer is, of course, never. Yawn. Go play. Go believe. Go emote.

Getting Stronger by Inches

2008-09-20T13:39:00.004-04:00

Today has started to be a busy day... The wild turkey flock was in the back garden until the stray came around to chase them; then they flew up in the trees next to my BR window.

Yesterday I finally finished painting the house's red trim in front, so I started the sprinklers this AM (been pretty dry all week).

Then it was time to feed the horses. Snip (L behind Willie) has a raw spot on his cheek from where his halter was too tight; we treated that. Willie (L) is putting

on weight at last, while Lake (R) is pouting as usual, because she is not the sole recipient of our attention.

By this time it was 8 AM, so we started working on the stovepipe for the woodstove. It wasn't sealed on the roof correctly, and so we have to reseal it - but that's not the worst part. Down below it leaks right onto the stove, and it has rusted out the bottom pipe that goes into the stove. So we had to change it out. That was a real drag. We found a bird's nest in the flue!

I've toted the paint up to my bedroom and will be going out there to paint my window frame after I make lunch.

You know, it takes a lot of effort every day, 6 AM til 11 PM, getting things in order. We are constantly busy - after all, this house wasn't lived in for almost two years, and a lot of things were let go for a lot longer than that. When I first started, I felt so enervated, so exhausted all of the time. My knees hurt, back hurt, head hurt. Some days you could hear my knees like old rusty hinges, creaking and groaning.

But steady exercise and a reintroduction of healthy, not fast, food, has made my body start to repair itself. I don't make my own bread or cook my meals from scratch because I like to (although I do) or because I have to (even tho there is no "fast food" for 40 miles) I do it because we wanted, needed a simpler and better lifestyle. Slowly the pure water is washing out the residual poisons from our systems. We can feel it! The vegies and the real, fresh, local meat are strengthening us.

No I don't think I'll ever be as young and strong as I used to be. But slowly, the days dawn and I look forward to getting up and going and doing and fixing, creating and growing things. I can't wait to get out of bed in the morning. My life isn't getting any easier - but it sure is getting better.

Gold and Silver, Silver and Gold

2008-09-18T09:03:00.005-04:00

I've got friends who started buying gold and silver 10 years ago. They are as adamant as JP Morgan, who said, "Gold is money. Nothing else."

I watched the "gold rush" in the 80's, when my friends were in a panic, 'getting in' on the gold rush then, buying Krugerrands left and right, bragging about their rapidly increasing wealth, rubbing it into the faces of those who weren't 'smart enough' to get in on the Gold Rush. Three years later I lost a friend when the price of gold had dropped into the basement, and I teasingly asked, "So, Ken, how's yer Krugerrands?" Ouch. It was wrong, even mean, but it still was fun.

I have friends who are buying silver bars, small ones, two a week, standing order, comes right out of their paychecks. They have stashes of them everywhere. They buy the small ones because, they say, they want to be able to buy groceries and have the grocer able to make change - or, if he can't, at least they won't lose much. Friends who are buying jewels, stashing them away, in ornate settings of gold. They believe the combination will help save them, too. I won't even respect the people who are buying worthless scraps of paper; "gold certificates". Sure, they are increasing in value right along with the gold - for now. But what were greenbacks, the old 'In God We Trust" dollars, but once-upon-a-time gold certificates? Who is going to make the ultimate decision as to whether or not they are valuable or worthless? Not the folks buying them.

Maybe it's the Irish in me. I just don't get it. Know what I believe in? Food. The ability to raise one's own from seed, from chicks, from heifers and sows and nannies. Say you've got a gold or silver bar. Say I've got a chicken yard. You're hungry. I'm not. Can you eat that gold bar or Krugerrand or necklace? Nope. Can you trade me? Yup - but I set the price. Law of supply and demand. If I don't want to trade, I'll still eat. And because I know how to preserve food, I can eat in the dead of winter right thru til the next harvest, the next birthing, the next hatching. If you sit on your gold and silver, what will happen to it? Will it hatch out tiny gold bars? If you keep it in a nice barn or pasture, will it give birth to cute little baby toe-rings?

I will of course have bills to pay, so I will be able to trade the necessities of life for the necessities of life. But gold? Silver? that's for people who can't produce. Of course, that's just my Irish coming thru.

What if gold and silver become illegal to have and hold again? Do you think the same could happen to gardeners or animal husbanders? Yes, I realize many local governments have made it illegal to have a garden or a chicken, much less a cow or pig, in their jurisdictions. But as long as one is deep in the country, and gets grandfathered in, getting one's productivity banned is far less likely than having one's gold or silver confiscated.

More - not too many folks will steal something that they have to work to make produce - but they will steal gold and silver. What will happen to my friend with the storage unit full of silver bars, or the one with the safe full of jewelry? What will happen when they take out these things and try to use them?

No, if they really believe that things will get that bad, then they have to know that whenever you have more than everyone else, then everyone else will want to take it away from you. Flashing gold or silver around a supermarket full of struggling folks - maybe not a good idea.

See, that's the thing we have forgotten most in our service-economy mindset - when people need things, they don't look to the drones, the salespeople, the middleman, or the guy with the most gold - they look to the producers. Maybe that's why corporations are buying up ranches and farms out West. You might want to think about that. Which folks are going to be the producers, and which the drones who need?
"Silver and gold
silver and gold
Mean so much more when I see
Silver and gold decorations
on every Christmas tree." (with apologies to Burl Ives for my lousy voice)

Pretty, and bottom line pretty useless, if you ask me.

A guest blog

2008-09-17T11:12:00.002-04:00

Rebekah Sutherland is a very close friend of mine. With a Ph.D in Education and a Master's in Science, she is well-educated. Our discussions in person and in emails about politics, economics and the poisoning of our water with tritium are always spirited, and she always has documented evidence in her hands to back up her contentions. She is passionate about what happens in the world around her - passionate, literate, and outspoken, which frightens some folks. She sent me this today. Thought you might like to read it.

Rhetoric vs Reality - Financial meltdown ignored
This morning news arrived that AIG is bailed out by the Federal government. Yesterday Leheman Brothers declared bankruptcy because it was refused assistance by the government.
Leheman was a company involved in risk via stock investments.
AIG is a company involved in risk via insurance policies.

Hmm. All companies are equal, but some are more equal than others.
Americans have become desensitized by watching several years of reality TV. They have lost their perspective about reality. They are mentally numb and it is not an accident.

If the recent financial failures had occurred in the 1940s, this nation would have been pouring into the banks demanding withdrawal of all bank accounts. They would have seized control of their local city councils and county councils. They would demand representation by Congress. There would be real political heat burning the toes of those in control.

Today, the people yawn at the recent news. After all, they think, the government always recovers. Right? In the end, everything will turnout okay. That is what happens on reality TV. It does not affect American lives. It is a mirage. It is pretend. One does not shoot the television when the bad guy comes on the scene. Right?

Very shortly, the focus of all that is happening in the financial sector will turn toward those with credit card debt. Student loans, credit card balances, etc. will be called into question and payment will be demanded.

What will happen? Americans will find themselves face-to-face with a financial controller that demands payment. No longer will rhetoric be ignored . . . reality will focus on the balance sheets of individuals.

Americans will cry . . . and the Federal government will be in very tight control over the banks and lending institutions by that time. The plan also includes smashing silver and gold as a means of exchange. We will be paperless . . . and nothing else will be allowed. It will be made illegal.
Make your prediction. What will be in your wallet on that day?

In reality, there are only two parties. No third parties really exist. One party offers Communism. It is in the party Platform. Read it. The other party offers Fascism. Observe the voting behavior and you will see the pattern. America will vote for one or the other. There is no moral option, because those votes will not count . . . the computer will do the dirty work; heretofore, that nasty chore was done by the vote counters.

Time to change the American perception. This is not a drill. It is real. [End]

Mr Potter Wasn't All Bad

2008-09-15T09:01:00.003-04:00

I had a standing loan with WaMu for about 10 years. They put our daughter thru college, and helped us pay for things when DH got injured. WaMu was probably the best group I had ever worked with as far as responsive and helpful loan companies.

It all started with a chair for DH's birthday. Most furniture companies don't finance purchases, they farm them out, and we were farmed out to WaMu. We got the loan without a problem, but th furniture company refused to come up with the chair. We went round and round with them for 6 weeks. I finally went down to the WaMu office and spoke to Carol, the loan officer. Within 48 hours, all of our money was repaid and we went elsewhere to buy the chair, with WaMu's hearty agreement. The furniture company went bankrupt, but we hung with WaMu, expanding a $600 loan over time to $4000. We made payments and they made loans; it was simple and direct, the people were friendly and understood money. When we finally paid them out last year, 2 years after our daughter's graduation, it was like we were losing old friends.

We've been customers of BOA for over 27 years, if you count the buyouts of the banks we belonged to - C&S, etc, that gradually became a part of the BOA chain. (New tellers were always stunned to see all of the leading zeros at the start of our account numbers - "Wow, this is a really old account!") They finally acquiesced to refinancing our home 5 years ago, during the big rush, which lowered our payments and put some money in the account for us. BOA even took up our car loans, and were persnickety about on-time payments - not friends, like WaMu, but professionals who sent reminder letters out 10 days ahead of time. Dealing with them was not as friendly as WaMu, but they were far more knowledgeable about money matters, and when DH was hurt, found ways to keep our accounts current. We were quite happy to pay them off and own our cars. They didn't aggravate us or anything - it was just a joy to own our things. Unlike some banks and loan institutions, BOA doesn't charge for an early payoff.

We got used to the professionalism at BOA and were sorry to have to change for our operations out West, but the closest BOA is 600 miles from us. We still keep three accounts open with them, one a small-limit credit card. While the bank here is as friendly and fun as the WaMu folk, they lack the financial grasp of products and their uses as had the folks at BOA. Now I watch BOA use their market savvy once again, to buy out Merrill. (I sneer quietly - Merrill and I had a falling out 20 years ago, and I have watched their young-pup money-grubbing antics, and their wild-eyed enthusiasm for questionable market deals, all this time, waiting for the axe to fall.)

BOA reminds me of Mr Potter in "It's a Wonderful Life" - good market savvy, and following the aphorism, "Don't buy until blood is running in the streets". You may not have liked Mr Potter, or indeed BOA, but their financial savvy cannot be denied; they'd rather deal in money than in confiscated property, etc. And being a customer of theirs for so many years, being able to compare them with other banks and loan institutions, one can see how and why things are happening the way that they are. Unfortunately for those of a Kenyesian mindset, those who base their market dealings on steadily increasing returns rather than friendship - in spite of all of the happy happy joy joy friendly helpful fantasies of the George Baileys of this world - are the ones who survive, even prosper, in fiscal crises.

A Smoker and an Oyster Evening

2008-09-13T23:34:00.003-04:00

Well, it's true - my friends all know I won't touch an oyster, for reasons I've stated. Except that, last March on a dare from my dear daughter, I ordered a plate of Rocky Mountain Oysters. Know what? They're GOOD - like breaded and deepfried steak fries. Yummers. They are a delicacy here, and are served at every bar-b-q. If you get the chance, I highly recommend that you try them... they're worth the sideways looks and chuckles.

So tonight was the fire department "smoker" - a bar-b-q, poker and blackjack and craps night, too. Oh, you mean they gamble here, too? You betcha. No sanctimonious blue laws or politicians here. Beer poured from four taps, everyone was drinking and gambling and having a great time, talking and socializing. Since tomorrow is "Friend Day" at the Methodist church, three different ladies at three different times came up and asked us to go with them, too.

Church ladies? Drinking?? Gambling?? OMG! Yup, Catholics, Methodists, Episcopalians all under one roof, helping the Fire Department raise money. No one with their nose stuck up in the air, or whispering behind their hands. Everyone cheering the Nebraska Huskers on to their win.

Since the bar and grill is next door to the fire department, and my friend owns it, I went over there and hung out for an hour, too; watching the game and talking about yesterday's high school football game. Football, liquor, socializing, and non-judgemental folk out having a good time and enjoying each other's company. They even raffled off a poker table!
the poker table

Gee, why'd I move? Let me think a minute... musta been the Rocky Mountain Oysters, or simply, 'the nuts'. Yeah, right, that's it.

Liberal or Conservative?

2008-09-11T09:23:00.003-04:00

A good friend of mine is mostly liberal, and can't understand why I am a "conservative". I take in strays, I grow my own food, I hate Corporate Welfare as much as social Welfare, I am opposed to a war that kills our young men and women while the rest of us simply go to the mall and pretend that the war doesn't touch us at all. My friend knows that I know that the recruitment of Palin to the McCain campaign was a political tactic worthy of Lee Atwater, nothing more, and that I agree that Palin is a "stalking horse" - the horse used by hunters to preceed them into a herd of deer, hiding behind the horse til they get close enough to slaughter. I don't trust or like McCain. But then again, I don't trust or like Obama. I really despise Biden - so far left of center that he does not even register in peripheral political vision.

The point is, I guess, is my political philosophy is laissez-faire - leave things alone. Government intervention in anything is pretty much a guarantee that something will get screwed up. Too many politicians don't read what is put before them - they depend on their friends or their lobbyists to translate for them and tell them how to vote. They have little to no grasp of what life in the real world is like. They run their lives on getting the vote - not on getting the facts. That goes for all parties and all adherents to parties.

I was a Libertarian for 12 years, and rose rapidly in that party's ranks - but still, their failings are that they know what they want, they simply do not know how to get it, and whine and stomp their feet because they can't. They are as ignorant in the difference in what 'should' be and what 'is' as is a five year old. They will never accomplish anything political, simply because they would rather scream - "That's not how it is supposed to be!" than to figure out ways to change things to what they are supposed to be. They will even ridicule folks who show them how to change things and make a difference - because then they fall back on - "that's too hard; we are educational and Constitutional, not political". A political party that refuses to use the political process to make things happen is useless, a mere soapbox for the frustrated. They would rather say, "I TOLD you so!" and be right, than to make things right.

Back to liberal vs conservative - I simply want the right to make my own choices. If I take in another stray, I want the right to do so - or to choose not to. If I grow my own food organically, I want it to be my choice how it is done, not someone else's. If I make a choice, then I want the right to rise or fall on the merits of that choice - be it a lifestyle choice, a financial choice, or a future-determinate choice, without government involvement or supervision. I don't like bailing out with my hard-earned cash the Savings and Loans, Corporations, Welfare mommies, the idiots who got caught buying more homes than they could afford, or the idiots who are now running up billions of dollars in credit, from the White House to the house down the street, or other countries that have gold in their ambassadors' pockets and a lack of food in their natives' homes. I have the right to rise or fall on my own merits - and so do they. People - all people - should pay their own way. The world owes no one anything for simply existing.

So I am a 'conservative' because I don't feel that government is the answer to all of the country's, or the world's, problems. Unfortunately, most 'compassionate conservatives' and those who use all the other cowardly, half-way appellations and excuses for voting to give more of my money away, don't have the courage to say these things, especially when they are in office or running for higher office. I have found that most people really do want a nanny government, a birth-to-death babysitter that doesn't allow them to fail - or, ultimately, succeed; that treats them as helpless and stupid children, and makes excuses for them when they fall out of their cribs. But that doesn't mean that I do. Their pathetic whiny helplessness is not mine. So as much as I despise McCain - and yes, the manipulation of Palin into the mix - I despise the Obama/Biden camp still more. Both the same bodies, hearts, and souls of the two-headed chimera of nanny government that will swallow us, pocketbooks, flesh, bones, regulations, and all.

Gimme it! It's MINE! (update)

2008-09-09T23:38:00.006-04:00

You know, in real life I am a pretty calm and reasonable person, usually happy and cheerful.

The first time FedEx messed up my delivery at 'the new place', I was understanding. All I did was send a nice email to the office, saying that I understood that there were two families with our last name in our new, tiny town, and that maybe the delivery person should read the ADDRESS instead of the name and assume...

But today I got pissed. I've been waiting for something for three weeks, and it finally got shipped out Friday. Whoo hoo!!! FedEx has a cool tracking system so you can see where your package gets scanned in, then out, every step of the way. So I watched it off and on all weekend. This morning it said that it was "on the truck for delivery". So I opened the front door, and busied myself slicing and dehydrating tomatoes, cleaning the bathroom and kitchen, mopping the floors, all within hailing distance from the door. Finally about 3 PM I thought, better check the status, it isn't here.

There on the tracking log it read - "package delivered, put at side door, no signature required".
WTF? Did s/he walk up while I was walking the dogs (even tho I kept the front of the house and the road in view)? I went to the side door - actually the BACK door, but since it is close to the side driveway, maybe... Nope, no package. I went to the verandah on the other side of the house... nope, no package. I went to the front door. Nothing. So I called them and told them. Of course they didn't have a clue where I was, so they are going to send out a note to the FedEx contractor for this area.

Meanwhile, there are supposed to be thunderstorms tomorrow morning, and my package is either at someone's door and they didn't see it/don't use that door, or at a vacant house somewhere (there are a couple here), or - who knows where, with the possibility of getting soaked. The nice thing about this place is that if someone DID come home and see a package that wasn't theirs, they would drop by and deliver it, or at least call. No calls, no visitors.

I guess what really pisses me off is that when we bought this place, one of the first things we did was to get some LARGE house numbers, paint them bright red and white (goes with the house) and put them right on the front proch. You can see them from the road. The houses are numbered sequentially all through the town - and the town only has 10 streets. So it is really really hard to miss an address. Part of what pisses me off, too, is that UPS can find my house, no problem, every time. It isn't like I only order stuff to be delivered once in a blue moon - I am a regular customer of a couple of places. Still another part that chews at me is that I had things to do today, like go pick up a prescription, that I forewent to be home for a nonexistent delivery.

So tomorrow morning some delivery person is going to get a nasty note about their incompetence, and we'll see what happens then. If wherever they left the package has residents who work all day, and who simply took the box inside without looking at it, how will the FedEx person get it back if they are at work again tomorrow?

Meanwhile, somewhere out there, is a very big box with some stuff in it, out in the dark, alone and cold and with rain threatening... and my name on it. And the FedEx courier is sitting somewhere warm and dry, actually thinking that s/he earned his/her paycheck today.

UPdate: well, got a call this AM from the local FedEx guy, trying to locate the package. I told him that I stayed home yesterday and I HAD to go 40 miles to the pharmacy today to get a prescription. Sure enough, he called back in an hour and offered to leave the 'found' pkg at the pharmacy for me. (They are really nice folks there.) This tells me that the pkg never left that town (the county seat) at all - because no one would make an 80 mile round trip to find a package, when they could just take it over to the right house in the same town.

I know what it was, of course. People in my little town are not expected to have enough Internet access or savvy to check up on things like that. Someone got lazy, didn't want to make that long drive for one package, got caught and had to cover their ass really fast.

Don't ever lie to me. Ever. It pisses me off, and some way, some how, thru me or thru karma, it will come back to haunt. If the guy had simply waited and delivered it today, that would have been fine. If he had called and asked if he could meet me in town initially, that would have been fine too. But to put on the log that the package had been delivered when it wasn't - THAT was a blatant lie, and a result of sheer laziness. I really hate that. When you are hired to do a job, you do the job, no matter what a pain in the butt it happens to be.

September 8 on the Farm

2008-09-08T17:08:00.002-04:00

Yes, it is coming on to autumn quickly here...

Not much else to say, is there?

A Brief Relapse

2008-09-07T09:26:00.003-04:00

Well, here it is - A journalist, taping a protest, shot at with rubber bullets and flash grenades by the police - not in Iraq, not in China, but in St Paul, MN at the Republican Convention.

http://hefestusproject.com/?p=44
VIDEO: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d8CTdzA2DI8
Mass arrest of journalists at RNC

Of course the Democrats are going to scream that it is all a Republican plot, that it is all a show of their evil power. They don't know that 260 delegates inside the convention - good, stout Republican delegates - were detained as well, stripped of all brochures and signs and paraphernalia that supported a candidate other than McCain. Five will get you ten that the same thing happened at the Democratic Convention - a show of unity, a show of togetherness, a show of solidarity, demanded, emphasized, and enforced.

In other blogs this morning, folks are lamenting the downfall of Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae, saying it has been happening since 2007; lamenting the collapse of the retirement investment funds. 2007? 2007? Where have people been the last 20 years? The artificial, on-paper recovery has been a farce since the 1980's, when dot-coms and Savings and Loans were allowed to fleece the market by government sanction. The artificial growth period was enhanced by the "Out of money? Why we'll just print more!" attitude of the Federal Reserve. When your money is based on a Ponzi scheme of fiat money, it will lose value, and so will everything you buy with it - no matter how many investments you make or how you make them.

And do you know why I don't bother to write political commentary any more? Because there's no point. Folks are more interested in who Paris is sleeping with or who Britney is screaming at now. People will believe what ever they choose; telling them different only makes them want to scream insults, accusations, or vituperations. They don't read, they argue. Alan Greenspan's book is not on their shelves; neither are Milton Friedman's. They read a 250 word blog and think that they know all there is to know about a topic; don't research, don't educate, don't delve into the whys and wherefores. After all, Headline News and text messages tell them all they need to know, why bother?

Sorry. I guess what pissed me off the most was the lament of the journalist who wrote the above story link... His total shock at what had happened, his total disbelief that such a thing could happen in America of all places. Yup, well, I've been seeing it and commenting on it for 20 years, and no one believed me then. No one will believe this now. It will be swept under the rug like everything else; people quietly apologised to or paid off with non-disclosure riders. Keep your mouths shut. Everything is FINE. Dissent with the status quo is unhealthy - whether it is the status quo of the Republicans, the Democrats, or even the Libertarians. Not to mention a monumental waste of time.

OK I'm done. Next blogs will be a return to the pastoral, back to the social commentary again. Pardon my rant - I just get aggravated every once in a while. People who suddenly discover that they've been wearing blinders all of their lives, who gasp in horror at something that has been going on for decades right under their noses, stories and tales that they sarcastically dismissed as being circulated by Conspiracy Theorists and loonies, just irk me a little. Make more room in the fallout shelter and the loony bin - here comes another handful of wide eyed, stunned believers.

I Have a Little Colt

2008-09-05T20:23:00.003-04:00

Yup, there he is, in my pasture. His name is Pretty Boy.

Well, really, he isn't mine. I'm renting my pasture out for two months to a teenager who has three horses - Willie, a 16 yOA gelding, Snip, a 6 YOA gelding, and Pretty Boy, who's a year and a half. Pretty Boy is a paint 'stang, bought off of the Indian reservation. The young lady who owns these horses wants to lean how to break them. So far she has been unsuccessful, but you have to admire her persistence. Snip doesn't like anyone on him, and bucks. Sometimes you can ride him for an hour - but then he'll buck you off. Willie is too old; he'd make a great child's horse, but hasn't been well cared for and needs fattening. And of course Pretty Boy is too young.

Well today the power went out because the pole near the high school caught fire. I was glad that my pickling and baking were done for the week! I heard Pretty Boy neighing in the pasture; apparently his high youthful spirits had pissed off Snip, and Snip was chasing him. So I walked over to the fence. Snip turned away and started munching. Pretty Boy came over to me for comfort. I stood there for over an hour, scratching him, talking to him, while he nuzzled me and whiffed and sniffed my neck, my hair, my arms. I stood there and gently whispered to him.

Yes, many years ago, I use to have an affinity for animals. When I was still a child, I found an injured full grown possum once in the woods, picked him up and carried him home. He had gotten ahold of a sardine can and licked and licked, and started his tongue to bleeding, and kept licking... I gave him some water to drink, and an old towel to lie on, and just sat next to him and whispered. After about three hours he got up, gave me a look, and wandered back across the street into the woods. Mother was hysterical - a WILD ANIMAL!!! With SHARP TEETH!!! Next to my neck!!!

I cared for my friends' horses at different times, and they would stand still when they were injured and needed medical care to let me treat them. I didn't like to "break" horses, I 'gentled' them. The training takes a lot longer and a lot more attention, but it lasts longer. I was pretty good with most critters. Maybe that's why I enjoyed being an EMT so much - my patients trusted me to take care of them, too; and with a little comforting and soft words they would let me treat them or their children when no one else could.

Nowadays it is a big deal to be a "horse whisperer". But anyone can do it - anyone who simply lets themselves go, who doesn't think about the future or the past, who just responds to and treats the 'now'.

I am just glad Pretty Boy and I understand each other now.

Grumbling against God

2008-09-04T09:43:00.005-04:00

God, I told you what I wanted and why I moved here. I thought we had a deal.... I would finally get to do exactly what I wanted with my life, and stop being responsible for trying to explain to, help with, other people the common sense ways of doing things.

Oh, hello, dear reader - you caught me in a sort of prayer... well, my ongoing discussion/rant with God.

Last night a friend invited me to a meeting to help them do something for a CDBG grant. Well, since I am new here, I spent the first 40 minutes just sitting in the small group, listening to them debate. Then one of the out-of-towners asked my opinion. Those who know me well know that I should NEVER be asked for my opinion. Because, well, I'll give it.

So I told them exactly what had been done to get the exact results they wanted, how to do it, how much time they would need. One guy there (there's always one) was bitterly critical and sarcastic - you know the type, "This is the way we've always done it, why should we do it any differently?" I explained that if you do what you've always done, you'll get what you've always gotten.

By the end of the meeting, I had been offered a job helping them. Yes, a real paying job, not a volunteer savant/public servant/public scapegoat. They actually PAY for what they get here, don't expect it to be handed to them on a silver platter so that they can pick it over and whine about it for free.

ARRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH. This is NOT what I want. I was invited to the meeting by my friend so that they could have the benefit of my knowledge and experience, and use it for their own ends. Good ends, too - they need some roads paved, a fire truck, a community center, a furnace for the library. I explained leveraging funds, talked about other resources, talked about how to make money work for them, how to use in-kind services, how to get private money, how to combine communication and information resources. I was there just to share knowledge and experiences that could help my new community, nothing more.

I am going to finish my pickles and bake some bread today, then go outside and chop up some more wood for the stove for winter. I have to dig my winter onion patch and work on the compost pile. THIS is what I want - nothing more. DAMMIT.

God, if you sent me here to do this AGAIN - in a place where people can actually think, are educated, are responsible and responsive, and can reason effectively; a place where people don't whine 'mememe' constantly with their hands out - I am going to be permanently pissed. Have a pickle and lighten up on me, willya?

This is how it always starts; first, a favor for a friend, then... embroilment. Argh. Not. Again.

Run!! Run!!! Everybody RUN!

2008-09-03T09:08:00.002-04:00

Yawn. Another Weather Channel artificially induced hysteria. This is like an ongoing 'sweeps week' for them, so they can sell more pontifical advertising.

Businesses talking about closing Thursday and Friday for Hanna, and people glued to their TVs and radios, watching, waiting, panicking, discussing. Again, yawn. Wassa matter, you never seen rain and wind before? Never seen a flood before? Never seen a tornado before?

There are two choices in any storm - it will either be devastating, or it won't. If it is, you could lose your business, or it could be severely damaged; you could lose your house, or it will be severely damaged. Either way you will have to deal with insurance companies, FEMA, and all levels of governments' competence or incompetence. You will be frustrated and aggravated. But - you will deal.

You have two personal choices to make - to leave or to stay. Leaving means it may cost you a lot of money, time, and aggravation for absolutely no reason at all. Staying means it may cost you a lot of money, time, and aggravation, for absolutely no reason at all. Your choice. Either way, you will deal.

I watched the weather channel coverage of Gustav, and all I could think about was my friend Obnoxious Wit's "Hurricane damage" of his patio chair turned over. The folks at the weather channel make their living inciting hysteria and fear, usually for no reason - no matter how far down the cameraman kneels, that water ain't deep. A single piece of unsecured guttering in the middle of the road isn't "storm damage", it's rusted screws that gave way in the wind. A torn ad banner isn't storm damage, it's bad planning. When they show "massive flooding and storm surge" and people who have BEEN there know that it does that repeatedly in a heavy dew at high tide, they show themselves for exactly what they are - incompetent fear-mongerers.

However, if you see Jim Cantore, make sure he gets a shot of your "flooding" and "storm damage". After all, the insurance company has to believe you somehow... what better way than to be featured on national television? Wear your ripped shirt and jeans, and carry a chainsaw, it'll be more believable. Take the jonboat off of the trailer and drag it from the street into your front yard, leaving a muddy gouge. THAT oughtta wow 'em. It's all a play, and you get to be the extras on a very small, brief stage. Have fun.

My Big Brother Jim

2008-08-31T23:40:00.003-04:00

My Big Brother Jim used to be an electrical engineer. Are you old enough to remember "Sensurround", that they created for the movie "Earthquake"? That vibration from the speakers that shook your seat in the movie house? He invented it. It was a pretty big deal when it first came out... He spent 16 years in college, working full time, to have an understanding of electronics and how it worked. He invented a lot of really wild things, useful things, and made a lot of money. He was in on the government's development of the "Star Wars" national defense system before then-Governor Reagan even knew it existed. Then he chucked it all to move to a tiny town in ID to run an electrical, TV, and computer repair shop. (Guess it runs in the family.)

The only problem was that NAFTA happened. If you wonder why I am so pissed off at NAFTA and its evil twin, CAFTA, it is very personal. You see, once NAFTA came into play, my brother became what they call 'supernumerary' - he was unecessary, because quality electronic equipment was no longer made here, was no longer - could no longer - be repaired here. Built in, cheap obsolescence, made overseas and sold to the eagerly salivating consumers of America by Chinese and other third world countries. My brother was unemployed - and he had a wife and children to support. He didn't quit his knowledge, his history, his education, or his country - they quit on him. So what did he do?

Well, he was classified as "too old" by most employers (who BTW never said it, merely wouldn't hire him, or would hire him briefly and turn him loose). Now, Jim is a healthy old boy - still runs everywhere he goes, still is active in his church and his community - he snowplows his elderly neighbors' driveways in the winter - still cross-country skis, still is funny and open and friendly. Even after he started getting Social Security, he wanted to work. So what did he do?

Jim's an over the road truck driver. He delivers all over the country, in all weathers, in all traffic. He is 68 this year, still sharp as a tack, still incisive, still curious and still learning. Oh, his hearing's a little shot; can't hear out of his left ear even with a hearing aid. Bt his right ear works, his hands, legs, and mind still work, and he is still a tough bird who refuses to accept defeat.

Friday he called me to tell me he would be coming 'close by' our new home on Sunday - driving down the Interstate through North Platte, only 164 miles away, our route to North Platte spanning over 2-lane roads. So we went to meet him today for lunch. What fun it was to see him again! And to watch him show off his big rig, so proud that he could work and support his wife and their country lifestyle.

Want to know why I have very little sympathy for those who give up because they can't achieve their goals right away, can't get the job they want, can't have all they want, right now, and who just sit back, give up, and whine? Want to know why I am so rude to people who whimper with every excuse why they can't live the way they think that they deserve, and who demand that others 'should' work and provide the things that they should be doing for themselves? Want to know why I don't think it's right for my hard-earned cash to go to support the excusers, the whiners, those who look for every one to blame for their lives except themselves? Look at this balding, aging, laughing guy, who last year refused to let even cancer beat him, and tell me why I should feel sorry for those who insist that they "can't". Because I simply - don't.

Labor Day Politics from the Barnyard

2008-08-29T10:20:00.004-04:00

Yawn.
A hunter who had a standing reservation at a motel in Denver was thrown to the floor, handcuffed, and dragged away from the motel where Nancy Pelosi was staying, because someone noticed he was checking in with guns. Duh. What do you hunt with in Colorado? Rocks? Spears? Everyone I know who hunts either goes to Colorado, Wyoming, or Montana for the hunting season - or wishes that they could. Democrats r stoopid. So are some Feebs.

The newscasters are breathlessly arguing about who McCain is going to announce for his Vice Presidency - in an hour. Shut up and wait for it.

The Republicans have cancelled their Convention because of Hurricane Gustav. OK, Republicans r stupid, too - you don't schedule a gun-paranoaic Convention at the start of hunting season in a capitol of wildlife hunts, and you don't schedule a Convention anywhere near a coastline during hurricane season.

Sorta makes you wonder who these people are that want to tell us they can lead a government, doesn't it?

I have horse poop to shovel - good, honest, horse poop, that doesn't pretend to be anything else but horse poop; doesn't try to smell like roses and certainly doesn't dress in expensive clothes and an insincere smile to fool me into thinking it is high-quality horse poop. It gives me the same quality fertilizer every year; slow-release, soil-nourishing, water retaining horse poop.

I have more cucumbers to pickle; they are long and green and crunchy, and I know exactly what to expect when I cut them, put them in the jars, cover them with brine. If I do everything right, the lids 'shnick' down and I have pickles. This is the joy of what I do - no frills, no alternatives, if you do something exactly right you get the exact outcome you hoped for. Only the insane do the same thing over and over again and expect different results.

So why is everyone glued to their TVs watching the same candidates over and over again, salivating over each new pile of poop that falls off the truck, believing that THIS time things will change?

Idiots. I have work to do. Have a lovely long weekend. Hope you are ready to be in your next pickle, because I can hear the lids 'schnicking' down from here, sealing us all tightly in... Because in spite of all of the breathless idiocy running rampant and the horse poop being flung, these morons are playing us exactly right to keep us in the same fix, while we stumble blindly about the barnyard, believing that things will change.

The Pink Snails

2008-08-27T08:27:00.007-04:00

When I was in high school, I took Art. We were in 'oils', and the teacher told us all about shadow and light, and then told us to paint a still life, a potted plant.

Well, I felt like the teacher was just fobbing us off. She and the seniors had a big art show coming up, and she wanted to work and spend time with them, not us new kids. So I was bored. So I did the still life, working on the shadow and light - and then I painted large pink snails, with curious faces looking out from around the plant and pot.

The teacher got pissed. She threw the canvas back at me and told me that I would never be an artist, that I had no talent whatsoever, that I should drop out of her class altogether. That hurt. That made me angry. Between that and a mother who drew cute little squirrels and never posted my pictures on the refrigerator because they weren't good enough, I had lots of reinforcement telling me that I was not, could never be, an artist. I could have taken it all to heart, but I didn't. I could have become emotionally scarred, meek, and helpless, or I could have gotten hurt, then angry and vindictive, and taken it out on other people. I did neither.

I started quilting, and started doing ceramics. I never cared what other people thought - I did these things because I wanted to make things, I wanted to use the colors I liked, wanted to stretch my horizons and see what I could do. The very first time I sold some of my ceramics, I said to myself, "Screw you, Mrs. Y!" As I continued to expand my talent and my horizons, both my mother's criticisms (that continued even after I bought the bigger kiln and set up my own shop, making things to order and selling things every weekend) and that nasty teacher's comment faded into white noise.

You see, it doesn't matter what cruel and vicious things people say about you, or your work, or what you want, or what you believe in. What matters is what you think that you can do, what you think that you want to do, and finding a way to do it no matter what. Sometimes you can use their cruelties, their insecurities, their attempts to take you down as a goad to drive yourself further, harder, and faster.

I was invited to the 12th grade graduation of a young girl who was homeschooled her whole life, this past June. We all wrote our advice in a book for her, to take with her and read when she went to college. I wrote, "Dearest Mars, there will always be people who will try to tell you what you can't do, because they are afraid and insecure. You should always listen to people and give them the respect due them; take everything they say and see if it fits what you need to know. If it does, use their advice - but if it doesn't, then smile and say thank you and go your own way. Only you and God know what you are truly capable of. " Last week Mars caught up with me and told me that that was the best advice she had ever gotten! Mars is different, considered odd, strange, because she doesn't go along with the crowd, doesn't aspire to or hope for the same things other 17 year olds do. She knows what she wants and is comfortable in her own self. But rarely do children hear from adults that feeling that way, being that way, is OK.

I still have that old canvas with the pink snails and still life. It has reminded me for almost 40 years to never let my hopes, my dreams, my desires be crushed or altered by people who have their own problems, their own agendas. To never allow their opinions, formed within their tightly boxed, tamped-down, and emotionally reactionary lives to influence mine, to draw me or to paint me as a reflection of themselves. "To thine own self be true..."

WOMEN! Geez...

2008-08-26T08:44:00.003-04:00

My new friend has invited me out this weekend to meet her best friend of 20 years. It is supposed to be a girls' night out, to comfort her friend.

You see, her friend has been dating a local guy for four months. His wife had left him (for the FOURTH time) alone, and he had decided that she wasn't coming back, he was going to start a new life without her. For four months it was idyllic - and then the almost-ex-wife came back home. The guy dumped my friend's friend, and she is angry and hurt. My common sense and attitude about men is requested to help her recover her self-respect.

This happens all the time to me. We got this property on the cheap because after over 12 years of marriage, with loans and mortgages taken out in both their names, the male partner in the marriage came home one day and said he was bored and felt tied down, and was leaving - loaded up his motorcycle, and left. Two years later, the woman who was left to sell the house, pay the debts, and raise the kids told me sadly, "I still love him, and I'd take him back in a minute." WTF??

Sorry, I simply don't get it.

There's a reason some pathetic guy leaves a woman who would spoil him rotten and takes back a woman who leaves him for another man - four times. There's a reason some snickering airhead dumps his responsibilities in his wife's lap, abandons his kids, and lets everyone suffer for his own selfishness. And that reason is - we put up with it. Women put up with that crap. (Some men do, too.) In "love", most women are not rational, are not sensible - we revert to what they call 'the weaker sex' and let a man take advantage of us, abuse us, define the parameters of every relationship. We believe in the love songs and the chick flicks, we get all doe-eyed and cry at the slightest hint of warmth or affection. Women send each other sappy emails that they don't send their men friends, to remind each other that we are 'the weaker sex'. We live down to the Hollywood ideal of simple-mindedness and male supremacy. We buy into the 'separate but equal' crap that is used to limit us, handicap us, make us even feel proud of our 'weakness' and 'spiritual rib dependency'. We cheer a woman who stands out from the pack and makes a difference "for all women" - and by doing so, we lessen the effectiveness of all women to make a difference, by working in equal partnership with men. And it is there we fail each other, fail our relationships, fail ourselves. We hold no man accountable for his actions, because he simply can't help himself - and because we don't want to be thought of as a bitch. Men may draw the lines between male and female acceptable behavior, but women all too eagerly color them in.

Most women (and men) can't handle a rational, equal parnership. Men say what they "won't do" in the relationship - change a dirty diaper, cook, clean up after themselves - and women take up the slack. Men say what they won't accept in a woman - yet expect a woman to accept all of their faults anf foibles, simply for the joy of sharing their company. When a man meets a woman who is confident, sure of herself, and who makes her own decisions, they call her a ball-buster, and don't even try to work with her, have an equal partnership with her - or they try to minimize her, put her in her place, make her lesser than she is in her own eyes, or otherwise intimidate her - so that they can feel better about themselves. Many men are intimidated by women who know who they are and what they want to accomplish, or are afraid of what 'the guys might say' if they have a truly equal partnership with a woman. Some women, to avoid being thought of as a bitch, turn into manipulative, simpering whores, getting all that they want from men be being so dependent, so clingy, so artificially and disgustingly 'feminine', that the man feels bound to 'protect' her, 'help' her, 'care for' her so that he can feel good about himself and his (pathetically insecure) manhood. (There are even webpages now where such women can locate a "sugar daddy" to give them all that they want, as long as they play that role.) Other women think that if they lie, cheat, steal, and harm others enough, they can be 'just like a man' and gain their respect. Both are wrong, and both hurt women everywhere by buying into this manipulation and perpetuating the male faith in the myths.

It would be nice if we could throw out all those simpering love songs, whiny desperate country songs about 'mah mah-yun dun lef me agayun' and chick flicks, and slap each other around with some heavy doses of self-respect occasionally. Then women might realize their true worth - and men would either have to meet us on equal terms or be nullified as we pass them by, intent on our own goals and purposes. A simple dose of self-respect on both sides would not harelip us, and might even bring us to more real, more concrete, more believable and permanent relationships. But until women realize that they are their own worst enemies, not only enemies of themselves but enemies of women in general, by refusing to be individuals with individual goals, hopes, desires and dreams, they will never be "a success for women everywhere" - nor a success in their own personal lives. Once we come to the realization that we are all individual people, with individual rights as well as individual responsibilites, maybe we will stop excusing each other's behavior as "he's just a man' or 'she's just a woman' and start appreciating each other for our individuality (and kicking the irresponsible airheads, who use their own and other people's sexes as excuses for their behavior, to the curb where they belong).

Got Bread?

2008-08-26T00:04:00.002-04:00

Bread is my passion. Yeasty rolls with melting butter and honey; lusty crusty whole wheat, garlic bread, garlic cheese bread, the soft white insides of scones when you bite through the flaky quick-fried crust - I could live off of bread alone, no matter what the Book says.

I found a new bread recipe today, very simple, very eloquent, very large - makes five loaves at once. Yummers. It started out to be such a bad day I decided that I really needed to beat something up, and kneading bread dough gives me that rough-and-tumble, stretching and pounding, powdery and messy satisfaction of abusing something that will actually be better for it. Three were regular size loaves, one I braided, and one I rolled up into little balls to freeze for later. There is nothing like reaching into the freezer, grabbing a Ziploc out, watching some little balls of nothing much thaw and rise, and popping them into the oven while one makes breakfast (or lunch, or supper). Then wrapping them in a towel, putting the fresh yeast rolls onto the table in a charming basket right next to a bowl of real butter and a honey bear.

The loaves rose quickly, baked prettily, and came out light and fluffy and golden. I let them cool, sliced them, then slid them into Ziplocs and into the freezer.

The more I go into town the less I like going. It seems like such a waste to go into the grocery store and buy - loaves of bread. Flat and tasteless, insides that turn to glue when wrapped around cheese and mayo or peanut butter and jelly, crusts that have a dampish and decidedly tough bite to them. I like freezing and storing bread so I don't have to go get some every three days or so. But now I'm starting to make and freeze my own, in 'bulk''; and between the better flavor and the fewer additives, I really feel like I'm accomplishing something.

With bread, the day got better.

Still Hate Mondays

2008-08-25T12:52:00.003-04:00

OK, I got online this AM and prepared to order my multiplier onions. These are heirloom onions, that come back year after year and are steady producers of many many onions out of one. They also keep in storage for up to 12 months. Yay. Need to plant some now for spring.

"Order Failed. Credit card address not verified."

Crap. It's an online account with a MAJOR bank; we switched to online banking. So of course the mailing address doesn't come up (even tho it should for orders).

Call the bank help line. Can't get in. They don't recognize my numbers.

Crap. Call again, get an associate named John. John signs me back in step by step. I often wonder about the "Johns" - do they have photographic memories, or can they just write my new codes down? I am not rich, but John might be broke. How will I know?

Crap. The "pending" order is still on my account - twice. Crap. This ties up my money.

Call the catalog company. Nope, it didn't go thru.

Bank - might take three days to clear the order off the account as not paid.

Crap. A company I do regular business with billed my other (now rarely used) account for something. The bank didn't send me an email to my current address, but the old one. Now I have to transfer money to keep my accounts evenly aligned, couplea dollars in the right places so I don't get OD charges later. Crap. Crap. CRAP.

A simple order has now taken 2 hours. But my bank info is straight again - I signed out, went away, and went back - but everything is fine - except that those two orders will be pending for another couple of days, nothing they can do about it.

All the stuff I had to do today, and I wasted two hours of my life dealing with banks. CRAP!

Computers - they make your life easier.

Just send me the freaking paper catalog, I don't care how many trees we kill, and I'll write a check. Dammit.

Why do Mondays ALWAYS suck?

Early Morning

2008-08-24T08:00:00.002-04:00

I woke up at 5 AM (7 EDT) today. Not unusual, but I do try to go back to sleep most mornings. It is silent here this early; the turkeys are strolling down the road from my backyard, getting bigger every week. But no twittering birds are awake in the maples and cottonwoods; the stillness is amazing. The glow in the east is slightly golden, reflecting off the white houses, giving everything that almost orange, softly lit incandescence, almost as if they were lit from within..

There are things to do as always, and it being Sunday makes little difference. There is the chicken buffet at the Hub to consider on Sundays; 11 til 2; those hours are the only change in their weekly service schedule. Will we be done with our morning tasks in time, or will we forget and work straight through? My schedule is work and work and work; all getting the house and the yard ready for winter. A gentle reminder yesterday morning was the 44 degree temperature; snow and cold are on their way. Must get the compost pile built, must get the painting finished, must get the wood stacked by size for the stove. Then must do all the regular housework; the cleaning, the laundry; fitting in the daily demands with the future ones. The sky now is dark at 8:30; just last month the sky was light until after 9 PM. It will be 92 here on Tuesday again, and in the 80s today and tomorrow. But life here depends on the weather. The sunflowers that no one thought would bloom in time are blooming. The board fence out front that I painted white with red roses on the fenceposts are causing cars to slow, and neighbors to stop us and congratulate us on our progression. But all it is to me is another task on the list completed. The list gets no shorter; as things are completed, others are added. I go to bed tired every night.

But it is a good tired. Abby, the beagle from next door came over and made friends at last. She had a massive stroke when she was a pup, and now her gait is awkward and her mind is still a puppy's. No one has time for Abby; she cannot be an inside dog because she cannot be house trained. But she is sweet and affectionate when you give her a chance. She has been trying to gather the courage for three months to come under the fence and see us. Yesterday she stood right behind me as I worked, barking quietly at me. So I laid down flat in the grass to show her I was not a threat. She and I became fast friends, her dancing around me as I worked, trailing me back and forth - and this morning she wandered onto the porch, looking for me.

Yes, even with all the things I have to do, I am doing them for myself now, no one else. No more people call looking to be saved from themselves and their blind, selfish, and stupid choices. No more sirens blaring. No more screaming people insisting that THEIR agenda is the most important, how dare I listen to anyone else? No more daily reports of this or that person doing this or that with some evil agenda. No more phony church gatherings where the agendas are evident in the cliques; where God is nowhere in evidence.

It feels good to wake up in the silence of pre-dawn every morning, and listen to the world around me begin its day. A few sleepy twitters and the birds are awake, the sun is up, and the dogs dance to be let out to chase and threaten the bunnies from the ends of their leashes.

Think I'll make some blueberry pancakes this morning.

51 and Gaily Advancing

2008-08-22T08:59:00.002-04:00

I turn 51 at 8:12 this evening.
Dance dance dance
I don't lie about my age, I lie about my height - I'm 5'9".

I am damned proud to have lived this long (especially the way I abused myself in my youth). Working three jobs with three hours sleep a day, leaping up in the middle of the night to go fight a fire or cut someone out of a wreck after a long 12 hour workday. Raising three kids who have yet to see the inside of a courtroom or jail cell, who have their heads screwed on tightly, and their courage screwed tightly to the sticking point. Working my ass off for 20 years for people who not only weren't appreciative, but were downright nasty, as they sat on their butts and held their hands out for more. When I started smoking, it was because it kept the hunger pangs down so I could make sure my kids had food. When I started drinking, it was free beer for the paid performers on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday nights. Hard-drinkin', hard-smokin', and hard livin', and no apologies, no excuses.

I've learned a lot, and mostly I've learned that you can never stop learning. I've learned that the people I love the most will drift away, turn their backs, or screw me - but that hasn't stopped me from loving again and again. I've learned that you really can't fix stupid people, no matter how much you care. I've learned not to counsel men who think with the wrong heads or women who are ruled by emotion, but to just smile at them on their way to their own private Hell. I've learned not to deal with liars, cheats, or thieves, and to tell them what they are, no matter who is listening. I've learned that, for most people, having power is more important than doing something good with that power.

And I've learned that some how, some way, some day, the brass ring will come - the big dream, the ultimate goal, the culmination of all of my hopes and dreams and yes, fears - and I will grab it in both hands, wrap my mind and body and soul around it, "forsaking all others" to live the life I want without excuse or apology. As long as there is life in this abused and sore and aching body, as long as there is a goal to shoot for or a task to accomplish, the highest commitment one can make is to oneself. "To thine own self be true".

Yes, I am 51 today - a little more than half a century old, and looking forward to another half, with all the excitement, hills and valleys, challenges and struggles ahead to my ultimate goal - to stand at the Throne and say, "Did you SEE that? Wasn't that AWESOME?!? And I was THERE!" And He will chuckle indulgently and say, "Yes, yes, I was there. I saw. Now come this way - there is more to be done..."

Wind Turbines, Carbon credits, More Horses, and Sunburn

2008-08-20T11:01:00.003-04:00

Well, I got sunburnt Sunday at the tractor pull, then again yesterday when I went out to sand the long fence in front of the garden. It is a white board fence - well, WAS a white board fence - that delineates the garden from the city sidewalk (except the sidewalk is overgrown and if you didn't know it was there you'd never know). Since it will be the front produce garden for next spring, which means it will be where I sell and advertise my starts from the greenhouse that is going in behind it, and is about 1/2 an acre, I have to make it pretty and match the board fence that runs down the other side of my house-yard. The whole thing - house, garden, yard - will be my showcase for the business.

Yesterday Phil came up to hubby and told him that there were some teenagers who had horses that needed feed. He could not sell them hay yet - he is busy haying the fields this week, with all of the clear weather - and we might consider renting the pasture to them. So the kids came by to discuss business with us. They are juniors in the local high school. They have three horses they need to board til the winter - a pinto gelding, a chestnut mare, and a chestnut colt who is about to be made a gelding. So we made a financial deal for them to put them in the pasture. What the heck - we won't be using it, and Lake the current resident has been pretty lonely. Rather have it chomped down than a fire hazard come fall...

I had to knock off the sanding early yesterday because there was a Farmer's Union meeting on carbon credits and wind turbines. There were 50 people there in the middle of the day - quite a determined crowd. Turns out that, thanks to AlGore, there is a very cool way for farmers to make a profit.

You see, corporations that produce carbons in their manufacturing, or oil and gas companies, all have to meet certain Federal standards for emissions. Well, they can do this in part by purchasing carbon credits. When they do this, they not only don't get fined, but they get tax relief. So several independent companies have formed to negotiate tax credits for them. Here's how it works: the independents take the corporations' money. Then they deal with the Farmer's Unions to find farmers who are practicing sustainable farming and ranching - like no-till farming, wind turbine development, tree planting, or rotational grazing. They have figured it down to how much each practice per acre keeps carbons out of the atmosphere. The independent companies send out inspectors to the farms and ranches, verify how many acres are using responsible practices, and certify the farm or ranch. Depending on the practice, a farmer can make $800 - $5,000 a year for utilizing these practices; all non-government corporation cash. So they can get paid for doing what they do anyway to keep their farms and ranches productive!

There are also some government programs for large property owners to construct wind turbines on their leased properties. Not only can the turbines be erected at no cost to the property owner, but the KWH that are produced can garner a monthly profit for the landowner. A farmer with 6 wind turbines can get up to a $1000 KWH check per month, not including the leased property payment.

The back part of my property is the highest ridge around my little town, and has been determined by the USDOE maps as one of the windiest places in the country for producing sustainable winds of 17 mph, and hi-level winds for at least two-thirds of the year. Yes I knew that before I bought it.

Ahem. As much as I believe in sustainable energy, those little fillips of information could prove very useful. I still will do the greenhouse and the organic, heirloom-seeded produce; that is my main focus and my main drive for purchasing this property. But a little extra income never hurts... and something that won't bother my eventual milk cows in the pasture will be very comforting - a "cash cow" among the cows.

I still want to make a deal with the town so that they get the bulk of the profits, but according to the FU, towns and counties cannot build or be involved in these things for profit yet, by State law. Sigh. I need to see an attorney and see what kind of things can be done to change that, or to cut them in. It is the only socially responsible thing to do, after all. I came here to make a gentle profit, not to rip people off. T Boone, Warren Buffet, I am not...

The Fair, Mutton Bustin' and An Introduction to a Wrangler

2008-08-16T10:41:00.008-04:00

The first place winner of the annual quilt competition. Quilting is big here - and it isn't merely the colors or the pattern used. What you can't see, on this one, is the intricate leaf-pattern of clear-threaded, quilt stitching that adds that 'pouf' and makes a lovely underlying pattern all its own on the material. One of my artist friends asked me if I was thinking about competing next year - I told her, "After looking at all of this, I think I'll just go home and buff the floor!"

Another intricate pattern and much attention to detail. The main rule is - these quilts had to be made since the last fair, last August. There were over 50 quilts - in a county of only 6000 people.

OK, Mutton Bustin'? What's that?

It is the introduction to the rodeo for the tiniest tykes. There is only one qualification - being under 60 pounds to compete. Like the grownup riders, the mutton busters get their own numbers attached to their shirts. Like the grownup riders, they march down to the gate, line up, get assigned their ride. The gate slams open as they are tossed onto the back of a full grown sheep. Then their ride is timed from gate to buckoff. There were twenty of them, five, six and seven year olds, serious and determined, lined up for their own little rodeo. The ones who were bucked off into the mud didn't cry - the boys nor the girls. They would get up, dust themselves off, and walk off the arena, heads held high. They had ridden! They had competed! Even the ones who had lost had a gleam in their eye when they walked through the stands afterward.

And that's how their kids are raised - self-confidence and competition at an early age. No bleeding hearts whining about 'everyone deserves a trophy' - the kids would consider it an insult to get a prize for merely competing. Winning is what counts. Self pride and making the effort is what counts. There was no one around to whine about the 'poor abused sheep' either... the sheep barely noticed that the munchkins were on their backs.

After the mutton bustin', there was the grownup rodeo.

In the arena for the grownup competitions was a friend of mine, Rick Weber. He owns a ranch where he raises quarter horses. He also owns a real estate company. He was one of the sponsors of the rodeo. But he loves the animals, the rodeo, and his community so much that, instead of playing up his largesse and self-importance, he sat astride his big cow horse, dressed in chaps and a plaid shirt, wrangling the broncs and the brahmas as they bucked off their riders. His son rode next to him. Tall in the saddle, Reese Weber helped herd the stubborn bucking animals out the gate after their riders had left their backs. Cool and confident, Reese would circle his lariat and rope a plunging, stamping, bucking and galloping brahma's horns, bring him in, run him out the gate. He and his father were a team, one roping, one sidling close in to the animals, herding them, forcing them to run out the gate instead of over the competitors or the clowns in the arena.

Reese is a fascinating character, too. He is going to be a veternarian. He loves the ranch, loves the horses, loves the wide open country and the animals and the challenges. He is soft spoken, not arrogant, very matter of fact, usually cheerful, full of common sense and humor. He is warm and friendly, purposeful and yet kind to his horses. He is tough as nails; a brahma slammed him against a wall, and he and his horse never stopped, kept right on going, took that 2050 lb animal right on out of the gate.

By the way, Reese is 12 years old. That's right. Twelve. And he is not unusual for a twelve-year old here. The ones who ARE unusual, are the goth kids, the pierced kids, the city-dressed-wannabes. Even with their unusual hair colors and dress, they still don't leave trash anywhere, and they still step aside for, speak respectfully to, or help their elders up the stairs.

This is a terrible picture of Reese, lassoing a bull at high speed while his Dad looks on and assists from the rear. But you get the idea....

Nertz to Bob Vila

2008-08-13T19:06:00.006-04:00

Yup, everytime I start a project here (and I have many many projects) I talk to myself as if I was on DIY. "This old oak floor, paint-spattered, grimy, worn, dried-out and with an obvious long-time rug wear spot in the middle..."

Maybe you don't know it, but Bob Vila used to always heavily advertise his sponsors on his shows. Nothing was ever as good as what his sponsors gave him to use. If Craftsman or DeWalt gave him tools, they were the best. (Craftsman used to be the best but went downhill.) I used to get so disgruntled with Bob when he would push a product that I knew from experience wasn't worth a crap, or took more effort or preparation than he advertised.

When I was a kid, we had real oak floors (until Mother covered them up with a grotesque gold deep pile carpet). Every four months or so, we would put paste wax on old towels, sit on them, and rub our butts over the floor. Then we would get clean old towels, sit on those, and chase each other around the floor until it glowed.

Nowadays, of course, the 'wood' floors you get at Home Depot or Lowe's are rarely real wood planks, carefully varnished and protected from the elements. Mushed together ground up wood and paper products in glue, formed and made to look like wood, with a fake grain and veneer. Not meant to last; built-in obsolescence, destined to be ripped up in five years or covered.

But this poor old floor, in what had obviously been the kids' room, had been neglected for so long. I could have sanded it down and restained and polyu'ed it, I guess. But a polyurethaned floor just looks so - well, fake. And this wood was thirsty. Dried and sad. I knew that Murphy's Oil Soap would clean it, but then what?

I have always had a bad habit of wandering around hardware and supply stores, just looking. I can spend hours in them, thinking about what I want and need to do - and what they have on hand so that I can do it. Well, I found two quart bottles of this stuff... not brand name stuff, not famous name stuff. "Wood Wax". All it had in it was carnuba wax, beeswax, and orange oil. It looked like either crystallizing honey or hardening yellow mucous. It did have a nice smell, though - that orange oil. So I bought both bottles to test. Why both? Cause if it was what I needed, I wouldn't have to go back - and because I have a houseful of wood that just needs a little help, not the deep help the floor needed, so I'd probly find a use for it.

First dose - it sucked it in, literally drew every drop down into its woody little pores. I took an old towel, folded it, and rubbed it after it dried - a very dull sheen was the result. So I got down on my hands and knees and took a scrubber to the old paint spots. Why after I applied the oil, and not before? Because the wood absorbed that oil and made it easier to lift up the latex. I am all about easy... and I did NOT want to sand that floor!

After the second dose, and a second polishing, you could see the legs of the table and chair reflected in it. The ground-in rug imprint had vanished. So I gave it a third dose... tomorrow the buffer, but I can tell you right now that that oil and that wax seemed to be exactly what it needed. It is beautiful, shiny, and you can see the intricate and varied striations of the wood grain now. I don't have kids around to park their butts on towels, but I do have a hand-held buffer that will work just fine. Nothing prettier than 100 year old wood brought back to life.

All done without high-end, brand-new brand-name products, expensive tools, or layers of sawdust and male power-tool posturing. Bite me, Bob.

Parade and Rodeo Queen

2008-08-13T08:38:00.004-04:00

Yup, here she is, the Rodeo Queen, a lovely young lady with grace and style and a beautiful seat. She led the parade last night at 7 PM - the parade that opens a week long county fair, that ends with (gasp) a rodeo. No weebley float for this young lady!

I loved this. The family is so proud of grandma - she still is "doing chores" at 103. Actually, she looked kinda pissed, like this whole silly parade idea was keeping her from them!

One of many horse-drawn conveyances in the parade. This one was especially cute; the ponies insisted on trotting, were anxious to pull.

Here it is all about pride in heritage - EVERYONE's heitage. They guy dressed as an Indian - is an Indian, and a member of the Sandhills Museum Board. There were Indians of all ages riding horses and floats, showing off their skills and waving and having a good time, right in there with everyone else; not separate at all. Apparently Russell Means is full of crap (which I've always known).

I really felt sorry for this guy; even though you could tell the costume was air-condtioned, it was awkward. But he was sure having a good time!

Everyone threw candy, even the cops. Apparently the eastern folk who can't keep their poor iggnurunt children from running under the wheels of cars and floats to get that last piece of candy don't live anywhere near here.

More pics from the fair later this week, as we attend all the different events. For a slideshow of the parade, go to http://s283.photobucket.com/albums/kk312/WileyCoyote_NE/Cherry%20County%20Parade%20081208/?action=view&current=4151adc7.pbw