tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76938812108649875142024-02-20T03:10:34.242-06:00Musings of a Wanna-Be WriterI've decided its time to venture into the world of blogging as a way of pushing myself to write more. Exactly what I'll write about is still to be seen.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-46570006820993296302015-07-04T21:12:00.003-05:002015-07-04T21:12:59.850-05:00That Coke Has TWENTY TriglyceridesOkay, again on the topic of weight. A friend of mine (not skinny, but definitely not fat) who lives in a small "city" nearby was at breakfast with her hubby in a local diner when she overheard a couple of yokels, who were none too skinny themselves, loudly ranting between themselves about how horrible fat people are. Apparently they combined their single-digit IQ's and determined that all overweight people are fat because they WANT to be fat.<br />
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These geniuses supported their case by discussing a neighbor who was "so fat she had to use a wheelchair." They then went on to talk about how her garbage contained many Coke bottles.What scintillating lives these two must have that they feel the need to critique the contents of their neighbors' garbage.<br />
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The culmination of their dual diatribe came when one of the geniuses commented that he knew that "Every one of those bottles of coke has 20 triglycerides!" My friend was so stunned by this "revelation" that she didn't laugh out loud, slap them, or tell them off.<br />
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I guess we know which end of the gene pool they come from, don't we?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-45411465493698745712015-07-04T19:21:00.002-05:002015-07-04T19:21:40.171-05:00Sweet, Sweet RevengeIn my last blog entry I talked about Madame Snarky, who has all the tact of a bull moose, and her comments about my weight. Well, I got a bit of revenge yesterday. We went to the pool again and she was there. She didn't say anything about my weight, but she and some others got off on the topic of religion. Those who know me well know that I usually avoid theological discussions with unreasonable people, which includes most of the religious people I know. In fact, I only discuss religion with some people for the express purpose of pissing them off.<br />
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In the midst of the religion discussion, MS revealed that he is Jehovah's Witness or, as D says, Jehovah's Witless, which seems more apt to me. She then promptly started telling us all that HER beliefs were right and everyone else was inherently wrong. At one point I put my hand up and told her directly not to preach at me. She continued and, trying to be tactful and not wanting to ruin my own good mood, I immediately removed myself from the discussion while she was telling Linda (a devout Christian) how wrong her beliefs were. <br />
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When I rejoined the group a few minutes late I was pressed give my religious views. You should have seen the look on MS's face when I looked her in the eye and told her I am an atheist. It was PRICELESS! I might as well have grown horns, hooves, and a tail. At least she distanced herself somewhat from me after that.<br />
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I wonder how long it will take her to try to get me kicked out of the gym because I'm a bad person.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-79765053980104115062015-06-26T19:13:00.000-05:002015-06-26T19:13:39.946-05:00I get it! I'm FAT!Okay. SOME people obviously weren't taught good manners as children.... Or they have forgotten them.<br />
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As those who know me in person are aware, I'm "fluffy" at best. In fact, some days I feel I border on Gabriel Iglesias' definition of "DAMN!"<br />
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I have been going to a gym to exercise in the pool for well over a year. Since I don't swim as such -- my attempts would be more aptly described as creative drowning -- I do, generally stay moving while we are there, usually an hour or so. at a time. It's not much, but at least it's something. I refuse to use the evil machines in the gym part because I've never met one that didn't cause my knee or back pain to get worse, so I don't expect to lose much, if any, weight. I;m just trying to stay as mobile as I possibly can..I usually don't feel too bad about my weight when I'm there because many of the others who use the pool are there for the same reason.<br />
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Unfortunately there's usually one person in any group with no tact whatsoever. I've met more than one in my visits to the pool. <br />
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First there was the man who always wanted to chat but apparently didn't like ANYONE, especially overweight women. I called him Grumpy.<br />
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Next was a man who, decided to tell me, without me asking for his input, that, if I would just do as he said I could "lose all that weight." No, he wasn't a trainer at the gym. He was just some random man who thought that, as a woman, I should be happy to be offered his male guidance.<br />
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The pièce de résistance, however, is a woman whose tact switch seems to be permanently shut off -- maybe even congenitally missing. Over the weeks she has made several comments to me that were snarky, at best. Generally she feels it necessary to point out to me that I am overweight, as if I had no idea. In the past I've tried to just laugh it off, even though I was upset.<br />
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Today, however, Madame Snarky (MS) surpassed herself. Four of us were discussing the difficulties of finding swimsuits that fit and in which we are comfortable. While Linda was talking to someone else, MS asked, "Why don't you just go to a fat farm?" Because of my issues with confrontations and the sheer shock, I simply responded that I couldn't afford it. I told Linda about it and, not 5 minutes later, in front of Linda, MS started telling me I needed to be moving faster. Linda told her outright that she needed to stop being so rude.<br />
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Linda also reported her behavior to the front desk.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-68477483864133367512015-03-03T14:17:00.000-06:002015-03-03T14:18:42.829-06:00Ya Gotta Love a Two Year OldI'd never met a two year old with impeccable manners before until my youngest son's youngest son hit two. When I show up at his house he guides me to "my" place, urges me to sit down, and makes sure the footrest of the recliner is up and I am resting comfortably. Also, when he gets a snack such as crackers he insists on sharing them with the other children in the house and, often, the adults as well.<br />
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The rest of the time, however, I wonder when this little pistol of a two year old replaced my angelic little darling. He expects to get his way in all things, especially when it comes to food when he has it, which is anytime he is awake. ,xxxx, zzzzz,, xxszxx, z,\*"*¾s. (That was a message from the young man himself. He got to my tablet while I was away from it for a few seconds.) He's the only child I've ever met who wake up thin and is chunky when he goes to bed.<br />
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He's also a master builder and climber. If something he wants is out of reach, he will devise a way to get to it. I've seen him climb the refrigerator shelves and use chairs of different heights, rambling from a child's chair to a barstool to build stairs so he could reach the cabinet where the snacks are kept.<br />
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I figure by the time he's fine he'll be rebuilding computers and retiring the house.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-57874438687715118192014-01-02T22:49:00.000-06:002014-01-02T22:49:14.233-06:00It has been way too long since I blogged. I don't even know when the last time was, but it wasn't recently. Far too many things have happened in the meantime. In 2013 I lost a sister (in Feb) and a nephew (in March). I also got a new grandson (in Feb) and my first great-grandson, who was born early (in January) due to complications. The same granddaughter who gave birth to the great-grandson is pregnant again and should have the baby in March. Maybe I'll get a new great-grandson for my birthday. Probably not, though, unless there are problems, so I hope that it's a little later.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-20972436861377799332012-04-15T18:40:00.001-05:002012-04-15T20:48:34.938-05:00G is for God, or the Lack Thereof – April 2012 Blogging from A to Z Challenge<div style="background-color: white; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><b>I wrote this and submitted it to someone who was asking for stories of how and why people became atheists. I have decided to include it here, as well. The link to the other site containing this article is. </b><a href="http://davidgmcafee.wordpress.com/2012/04/14/atheists-coming-out-series-featured-story-2-cleta-darnell/" style="background-color: transparent;">http://davidgmcafee.wordpress.com/2012/04/14/atheists-coming-out-series-featured-story-2-cleta-darnell/</a> <b>My part is the same, but there are other stories there as well. I already know that I will probably get heat from this, but I'm standing by it.</b></div><div style="background-color: white; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I know a lot of people who have been “converted” to one religion or another.</strong> I, on the other hand, was raised in a solidly Southern Baptist family and, for want of a better word, eventually <em style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">de-converted</em> from Baptist to Atheist. Far from preventing me from straying from religion as they hoped, my family’s ideas, actions, and attitudes made me less of a believer over the years. <strong style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I have always believed that the only reason most of them ever did the “right” thing is out of fear of otherworldly reprisals.</strong></div><div style="background-color: white; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">My earliest memories of going to church are of crying when I didn’t get to go to Sunday school. I now know that it was the <em style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">social aspect that attracted me</em>, even though I was often treated badly or ignored by my classmates. Their families had moved up, financially, faster than mine and I was often ostracized for not dressing as well as the others. I now realize that an undiagnosed hearing loss, which left me clueless to the nuances of things around me, also contributed to my lack of conformity.</div><div style="background-color: white; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">In an attempt to fit in, <strong style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I was baptized around age 10 or 12</strong>. I knew even then that <em style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I didn’t really mean it</em>. I only vaguely remember deciding to be baptized. My recollection of it may be hazy, but I know that I did it mostly out of peer pressure. I was still something of an outsider among the kids in both my school and my church (many of whom were the same people) and I somehow thought being baptized would bring me more acceptance. Despite my need for acceptance, the process left me feeling like a charlatan. <strong style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The whole thing went against my logical side.</strong> Long before the whole “intelligent design” movement, I asked several people including my parents and my Sunday school teacher, who was also one of my teachers in public school, if it wasn’t possible that there was a compromise between evolution and creationism. <strong style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">My inquiries were met with a resounding “No!”</strong> That rejection of any possibility of free thought opened my mind to the possibility of being free of my family’s delusions. Now don’t get me wrong, I didn’t go straight from wannabe believer to atheist with no steps in between. <em style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I started out as a questioner.</em></div><div style="background-color: white; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">My initial salvation from religion began when I was a teenager</strong> in the form of my best friend’s freethinking family. Though she and I drifted apart many years ago, I still think of the good they did for me. In fact, I still think of her mother very fondly and visit her on occasion. If it weren’t for that family, I don’t know what I might have done when my mother, who was the center of my world, died when I was barely fifteen. Everyone in my family except my father had spouses and children to rally around them and <strong style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Daddy, well, he had his church</strong> – the same church I already felt out of step with. My friend’s family served as my anchor when I felt everyone and everything else had set me adrift. Without their support, I believe I would have gone into a serious downward spiral.</div><div style="background-color: white; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The other thing my friend’s family gave me was permission to question, to wonder if what I had learned was based in fact. Questions that were met by my family and church with “<em style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">No</em>,” and “<em style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Don’t question, just believe</em>,” were met with discussion and encouragement when posed to her family. With them I was exposed to other religions, specifically Catholicism, which was their family’s “official” religion. With them, I attended masses in both Latin and Spanish. The Latin I knew nothing of and the Spanish I knew a little of, but they explained things as they went along, or after the fact when appropriate. Prior to this, my only exposure to “other” churches was attending my sister’s wedding in a Methodist church and a couple of visits to the fundamentalist Baptist church my niece attended. They were so strictly fundamentalist that I was asked to leave a skating party I attended with my niece because <strong style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I wasn’t wearing nice enough clothes, specifically a “Sunday school” dress.</strong></div><div style="background-color: white; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">In my experience, being honest meant being ostracized and shouted down – most of all by my family</strong>. I did get a few licks in, though. As a rebellious teenager left alone with a detached father, I learned how to lash out when I wanted attention. It was not uncommon for me to threaten to date a black or hispanic boy or, worse yet, a CATHOLIC! <strong style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">My favorite jab at Daddy, though, was to refer to the bible, his beloved bible, as a book of Jewish fairy tales</strong>. That one statement could cause a full relief map of the state of Texas to appear in the veins on Daddy’s forehead.</div><div style="background-color: white; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Daddy never did give up on his religion. One day, Mere weeks before his death at age 94, he asked me what I was reading. I told him and he thumped, literally thumped, his bible and said, “This is the only thing I need to read.” Because of his age, and my refusal to mar his last days with dissent, I neither laughed at him nor answered with what I thought. Later that day, I vented by updating my Facebook status with, <em style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">“If you never read anything other than what you already believe, how do you know that what you believe is true?”</em></div><div style="background-color: white; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">As an adult, I tried never to begrudge Daddy his religion. Before he died, I made a nice hand-stitched cover for his old bible. I fear it gave my family false hope of my impending “salvation,” but I would have done the same no matter what book it was. I also helped arrange for him to be buried with his bible. It was his companion in life so I felt it was only right that it accompany him in the casket. My main reason for this was to minimize the potential for fights and bad feelings among several of his grandchildren who had already expressed an interest in having the bible. Putting the bible in his casket with him took it out of play. When the man from the mortuary asked if we didn’t want to keep it, I told him that too many people wanted it and this was a way of preventing family squabbles. I refrained from telling him I felt it was <strong style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">just so many pages of fiction and there are plenty more copies of it to go around.</strong></div><div style="background-color: white; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Daddy wasn’t the only religious zealot in our family</strong>. My oldest sister, more than 15 years older than me, can hold her own as a religious fanatic. Once, when my son was acting up, as children will do, she told me to put the heel of my hand on his forehead and tell the devil to “<em style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">be gone</em>.” Now bear in mind that this woman has one son who has been in prison since his late teens for murder, and her oldest son has almost completed his life’s work of drinking himself to death. Looks like that plan really worked for <em style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">her</em>; and still, <strong style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">she has the gall to wonder why I don’t believe.</strong></div><div style="background-color: white; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Her daughter is my favorite family bible-thumper despite the fact that for quite some time <strong style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">she was a member of a Christian sect that I considered to be a true cult</strong>, where the pastor often used the pulpit to rail at her parishioners for a variety of personal transgressions because, after all, anyone and anything she didn’t like was “<em style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">evil</em>.” My niece and sister, among other family members, now know my opinions about religion, but at least <strong style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">my niece has finally learned that she will never be able to change my ideas and attitudes, so she accepts them</strong>. That doesn’t stop her from occasionally trying, but she has learned to gracefully accept “shut up” as an answer. I wish her mother would do the same. She loves to make little jabs at me whenever possible. Her most recent attempt involved quite pointedly discussing with her daughter, in front of me, how “<em style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">When we go to heaven, God will make us forget friends and family members who weren’t saved so we won’t be unhappy</em>.”</div><div style="background-color: white; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It’s no surprise to me that I hedged about my (non) religious views for years.</strong> It’s only with the advent of the atheist groups online, which I found through a nephew who also happens to be an atheist (thank you, Donald [<a href="http://contributor.yahoo.com/user/111823/donald_pennington.html" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">http://contributor.yahoo.com/user/111823/donald_pennington.html</a> ]), that I have become more open about my views. <strong style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Many people who matter very much to me still disagree with my views, some quite vocally so. Nevertheless, I find feeling free to express my thoughts and feelings about religion to be liberating.</strong></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-1506498365795929022012-04-13T23:54:00.000-05:002012-04-13T23:54:03.023-05:00F is For FREEDOM – April 2012 Blogging from A to Z Challenge<div class="Standard">What happened to freedom in the USA? When did we begin to lose it again? There are those who would go back to the days of McCarthyism, which apparently they consider “the good old days.” Today’s scapegoats are no longer “communists”. They are women, poor people, and gays – basically anyone who might take away money or power from the “haves.” I’m not talking about just the financial “haves.” I’m talking about the biased and bigoted “haves” as well.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="Standard"><br />
</div><div class="Standard">The “haves” are the ones who would make it a potential felony to demonstrate in the presence of the Secret Service. This country was FOUNDED on dissention and demonstrations.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="Standard"><br />
</div><div class="Standard">The “haves” are the ones who would make it illegal the videotape the police, or audio tape a court session. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="Standard"><br />
</div><div class="Standard">The “haves” are the 1%. They are the people who believe they should pay a lower tax rate than the middle class. After all, they are worth more financially so doesn’t that make them worth more socially? They are the ones who expect extra tax breaks on the premise that they will “create jobs” then they outsource to other countries and put hundreds of people out of work.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="Standard"><br />
</div><div class="Standard">The “haves” are the hyper-religious, and even sometimes the moderately religious. They feel threatened by anyone and everyone who doesn’t believe in their version of god. More than that, they fear and hate anyone who doesn’t believe in God. Basically they fear that which is different.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="Standard"><br />
</div><div class="Standard">The “haves” are the people (mostly conservative men) who want to control women by limiting their access to health care, contraception and, yes, abortion. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="Standard"><br />
</div><div class="Standard">The “haves” are the people who believe they can, and have the right to, “close down” Planned Parenthood. NEWS FLASH! Planned Parenthood is not a public agency and you don’t have the authority to close them down.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="Standard"><br />
</div><div class="Standard">The “haves” are the people who can afford their medical insurance or to pay out of pocket, so they don’t see why anyone should need a safety net. And no, there really is no medical safety net unless you are in abject poverty with children to raise, are disabled, or are over 65 – or you’ve been elected to the US Congress or other high office. (I’ve actually heard someone say, “If they can’t afford medicine, they shouldn’t get sick.”)<o:p></o:p></div><div class="Standard"><br />
</div><div class="Standard">The “haves” are the people who don’t have to worry about their Pell grant being cut off mid-semester, not because they aren’t doing well enough in classes, but because they are progressing too quickly, or who are told they have already “received their limit” when they were counting on the money they were promised to pay their rent and buy food.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="Standard"><br />
</div><div class="Standard">Mostly, though, the “haves” are the people who fear that someone will learn that they aren’t perfect. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="Standard"><br />
</div><div class="Standard">I have news for you “haves.” There are more of us than there are of you, and we already know you’re not perfect.<o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-38604939414781034052012-04-12T13:35:00.000-05:002012-04-12T13:35:19.327-05:00E is for Ed-U-Ka-Shun– April 2012 Blogging from A to Z Challenge<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sorry I'm falling behind in my quest. Maybe I'll finish this April challenge some time in May. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Please excuse me while I step up on my soapbox.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Education, or the frequent lack thereof, is one of my major pet peeves. Uneducated education can come in several forms: home schooling, religious schools, private (often elitist) schools, and substandard public schools. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">My problem with home schooling is twofold. First, I honestly don't believe there are many people out there who are truly qualified to teach a child everything he needs to know. As a reasonably well educated person, with an associates in Computer Science and a BA in English, I would never presume to believe I could teach a child, for example, higher math. Yes, I had quite a bit of math in college, but that doesn't make me an expert. And as for the sciences, forget about it. I am a “literary” type of person and, although I know enough about most of the sciences to appreciate them and (hopefully) discuss them intelligently, I could never answer the more in-depth questions that could arise – nor would I have adequate access to other educators who would have the needed information. Second is my distrust of home schooling. Almost everyone I have known who home schooled their children has done so in an attempt to control the information they receive, whether that is ideological, social, racial, or any other “al” you can think of. I've heard people who home schooled their children say they don't want them exposed to “unacceptable” ideas like evolution, other religions, racial equality, etc....</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Next on my list is religious schools. For the most part, religious schools exist for the sole purpose of indoctrinating their students in the guise of education. In many of these schools, science is considered evil unless it can be presented in a way that promotes the religion of the founders of the school. I dare you to find a Southern Baptist school that teaches evolution instead of creationism – or a Catholic school either, for that matter.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">On down the list of non-educational education is the elitist private school. In some of these, the children are so insulated against other “classes” that they have no idea what real life is. In their world everyone has a vacation home and a trust fund. This can be as bad as, if not worse than, religious or racial separatism. By virtue of their elevated financial status they may well be some of the leaders of our future, which does not bode well for lessening the gap between the haves and have nots.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Last, but not least, on my list is inadequate public schools. While there are quite a few magnet or charter schools out there that provide an excellent education, there are also many schools that are hanging on by the skin of their teeth, educationally speaking. If a child lives in an area with inadequate schools and his parents aren't motivated or, in many cases, able to personally transport their child to a better school, that child is cheated. On top of that, we have all heard about the push by certain groups to eschew teaching evolution in favor of creationism. Personally, I don't think that creationism has a possibility, at least equal to evolutionism rather than a sole fact-based concept.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I have one last point to make. Isn't our job as parents, grandparents and/or educators to teach children to think instead of just telling them what to think? </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Think about it, then encourage them to think for themselves.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">OK. I'm off my soapbox now,</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-2110106300047989692012-04-08T15:51:00.000-05:002012-04-08T15:51:11.484-05:00D is for Decisions – April 2012 Blogging from A to Z Challenge<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; page-break-before: always;">I hate decisions. I don't mean just the big ones like, should I leave one job and go to another (apparently better) one. Those I can work through logically even if, due to factors beyond my control, those decisions turn out not to be the best. I mean the day-to-day decisions. Unless I'm “in a mood for” something or someone requests something specific, I hate deciding what to make for dinner, what restaurant to go to (unless a Chinese buffet is an option), which brand and/or size of a product to buy, etc. . . . I rarely care what kind or color of furniture I have except that I want it to be comfortable and not too fussy, and overly ornate window dressings tend to irritate me. I don't even care what color a room is as long as it's not vile. I don't even care what kind or color my car is as long as it is reliable, not too much of an eyesore, and doesn't invite the police to stop me.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">On a personal level, once I find a style of clothes I like, I'm prone to stick with them until they're woefully outdated. Even among those limited styles, my color palette is somewhat limited as I tend toward black, blues, and the occasional maroon or purple. Nor am I the type to fuss and worry about my hair – I believe that simple is best. Just cut it where I can comb it and go. I never learned how to do all the elaborate things that others do with their hair. This part is rather odd, as I grew up with a mother who loved to go to the hairdresser and my oldest sister is one of those “never a hair out of place” people. I honestly believe that she has shampooed her own hair far less times than she has had it shampooed by someone else. The frugal side of me rails about that type of primping.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I think I've always disliked decisions because I've always worried about how those decisions might affect others. I used to worry about every word I wrote lest I should offend someone. I even censored my own journals, when I wrote them, in case someone read them and was offended. Then, recently, I realized that most people really don't give a damn about what I say, and of the ones who do, most of them don't censor their opinions to avoid upsetting me. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">This realization has made it easier for me to openly express my more “unpopular” views such as atheism and other topics on which I disagree with many people I know. I guess that means I don't dislike decisions so much any more.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-28921602960032483502012-04-07T01:53:00.000-05:002012-04-07T01:53:14.728-05:00C is for Contraceptives – April 2012 Blogging from A to Z Challenge<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Ah, the hot-button subject. EVERYONE should have easy, if not free, access to contraceptives if they want them. I win!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">What? You say that there is still debate about it? I heard a reference today to contraceptives being “against the Catholic church's conscience.” How in the hell can anyone with half a brain think that what is, effectively, an un-taxed corporation has a conscience? That is utter, unadulterated bull! </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Of course the leadership of the Catholic church doesn't want its members to have unfettered access to birth control. With it there would be far fewer gullible people to support the church! It's the same with Mormons. What is the one thing (other than Mormons) that you see more of in Utah than anywhere else? Twin strollers. This isn't because they have more twins. It's because they have more stair-step kids. Take it from me, unless you are independently wealthy, stair-step kids are damn hard to feed, clothe, and educate! </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Why, you ask, should I be considered an expert on this topic? Hmmm... Maybe because I had 4 kids, 4 and under and, nearly 4 years later, 5 kids 8 and under! What they didn't tell us back then was that antibiotics frequently interfered with the pill's effectiveness, and I was often on antibiotics because I was prone to incessant earaches and tonsillitis, so it never quite worked right for me. Don't get me wrong. I love my kids and wouldn't change a thing . But shouldn't women – no, FAMILIES – have at least a chance of deciding how many children they want and how far apart they are? Do these idiots who want to make it difficult, if not impossible, for women to get contraceptives know what pregnancy after pregnancy does to a woman's body? What about abstinence? They're already bitching about there being so many one-parent families that need help. Try cutting your husband off from sex so that you don't get pregnant and see how long the marriage lasts. Presto, more one-parent families!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When it comes right down to it, shouldn't readily available contraceptives be considered a boon to men as well? How many poor, lower middle, and middle class men are child support poor? If anything you would think men would want more effective birth control! And not just condoms. Aside from everything else, people in a truly committed relationship generally hate having to use condoms.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">And then there is the topic of overpopulation! Haven't we been hearing for years that Earth is overpopulated? We still hear dire predictions of what will happen if the population keeps growing like it has. Not that I hold 100% to everything about overpopulation. I think that in some cases (China) it has been taken to ridiculous extremes. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Another thing. I know people who honestly believe they are not cut out to have children. So should they be denied the basic comfort of close interpersonal relationships? If a person doesn't want a child, or genuinely believes that he or she would not be a good parent, he or she shouldn't be forced to abstain from all sexual contact to avoid becoming a parent solely because of a bunch of uptight men? (And a few women, I might add.)</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In short, to all those contraceptive naysayers out there....... GET A LIFE!</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-91208555109191604902012-04-06T15:21:00.001-05:002012-04-06T15:21:41.206-05:00B is for Babies -- April 2012 Blogging from A to Z Challenge (Unofficial)<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">OK. Today is, hopefully, a non-controversial post.<br />
<br />
As a mother of 5, grandmother of 20, and great-grandmother of 1, I would like to think I know a lot about babies. I live with my son, who works nights, and his fiancee, who works days, and I am between jobs so my current job is that of a live-in grandma. Not the worst job in the world by any means. It is, however, a lesson in humility. I've seen babies who were fine on breast milk and/or formula until they were several weeks old and babies who needed more than just milk almost from birth. I've dealt with colicky babies and calm babies, good eaters and poor eaters, little ones who had to be burped after every half-ounce and infants who screamed bloody murder if they weren't completely full before the bottle was pulled from their mouths, babies who were never sick a day in their lives and babies who got sick every time they turned around.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I relearned last night that the only thing anyone really know about babies that each one is different. I was taught this lesson by my youngest grandson, who is 23 days old at this writing. During the day he is a very good baby, only crying when he is hungry or needs changed, but at night he gets fussy. I wasn't aware of exactly how fussy he was at night because his mommy usually takes him to her room at night. Last night was my son's night off and he had “bitty butt”, as I call him, in the living room. He would settle in for a few minutes than start fussing and work himself up pretty badly. The only time he seemed to calm was when one of us was holding him tight, and he would only sleep until we put him down. We finally found the solution. As soon as we swaddled him he went right to sleep and slept like a baby....well.... like most parents hope their babies will.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-51467685402924041822012-04-05T09:49:00.003-05:002012-04-05T09:51:05.055-05:00A is for Atheist -- April 2012 Blogging from A to Z Challenge (Unofficial)<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">WARNING -- BLASPHEMY ALERT!!! If you think this might offend you, it probably will.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A is for Atheist.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">That's what I am.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">So please do not send me</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Your religious spam.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I trust what is proven,</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Things scientists show,</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Not “heaven” above us</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Or “hell” down below.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">No book only proven</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Within its own pages</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">No evidence needed</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Just myths from past ages.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">And if in the end </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I am wrong, which I doubt,</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">You go to your heaven</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">And please leave me out.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">For endlessly praising</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Some self-centered god.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sounds terribly boring</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">And quite smacks of fraud.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">For why would a deity</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">So desperately need</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Millions of people</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">His ego to feed?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">So pray me no prayers</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">And leave me no tracts.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Just treat me as equal,</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">And show me true facts.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-18539382725025736542012-04-05T09:45:00.000-05:002012-04-05T09:45:42.115-05:00April A-Z Challenge -- I missed the signup.I guess I should have been watching things more closely. I've decided to do the challenge even though I'm starting late and not in the "official" list.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-69441588042020938552011-07-12T19:37:00.000-05:002011-07-12T19:37:04.712-05:00I wish I could write.No matter what I do, I can't seem to write. If I sit with a pen and paper I doodle, make some useless list to add to all the other useless lists I have lying about, or just sit and stare. At my computer I end up playing some mindless game or reading/looking at random web pages. I haven't even been blogging lately. I'm working on it, though.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-11303697030950309972011-05-20T16:06:00.000-05:002011-05-20T16:06:02.742-05:00No internet accessI haven't been able to post lately because I currently have no internet. Its frustrating, but that's the way it is. I'll get back to this more often when I have internet again.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-81993554626010327332011-04-28T23:02:00.000-05:002011-04-28T23:02:16.449-05:00Y is for Youth -- Day 25 of the "A to Z Blogging Challenge"Everything today seems to be about youth. Trying to get a job after 50 is difficult, at best. Nevertheless, I wouldn't trade my experience for youth. I'd hate to have to learn all those lessons the hard way again.<br />
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When I decided to make this blog entry about youth, I decided to search for a quote or two to use. Below are a few interesting quotes about youth. They all come from www.thinkexist.com. It never occurred to me when I started looking up quotes about youth that the best one of all would be from Sophia Loren.<br />
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"Youth is wasted on the young." George Barnard Shaw <br />
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"You can only be young once. But you can always be immature." Dave Barry<br />
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"An inordinate passion for pleasure is the secret of remaining young." Oscar Wilde<br />
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"It takes a long time to become young." Pablo Picasso<br />
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"You are never too old to become younger." Mae West<br />
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"In youth we learn; in age we understand." Marie Von Ebner-Eschenbach<br />
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"Youth is easily decieved, because it is quick to hope." Aristotle<br />
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"There is a fountain of youth: it is your mind, your talents, the creativity you bring to your life and the lives of the people you love. When you learn to tap this source, you will truly have defeated age." Sophia LorenAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-1038966362102770882011-04-28T00:56:00.000-05:002011-04-28T00:56:33.007-05:00X is for Xyresic Xanthochroid Xanthippe -- Day 24 of the "A to Z Blogging Challenge"I am a xyresic xanthochroid xanthippe. There, I said it! Its out in the open for all to see. I'm not the least bit ashamed, either.<br />
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What, you ask, is a xyresic xanthochroid xanthippe? The following definitions are from my favorite source of obscure words, the Grandiloquent Dictionary (<a href="http://www.islandnet.com/~egbird/dict/dict.htm">http://www.islandnet.com/~egbird/dict/dict.htm</a>)<br />
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Xyresic: Being as sharp as a razor.<br />
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Xanthochroid: A blond haired and blue eyed person with fair white skin.<br />
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Xanthippe: An ill tempered woman.<br />
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Therefore, I am an ill-tempered woman with blonde hair, blue eyes, and fair skin, and I like to think I'm as sharp as a razor. Ok. So my hair isn't completely blonde, it has a lot of red in it, and I do have freckles now, though as an infant my skin was as pale as porcelain. Oh, and some days I don't feel so sharp. But I still think I qualify. <br />
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I'll bet you didn't think I'd come up with even one legitimate word starting with X for today, no less three. <br />
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Blog on, friends.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-91836068892032217332011-04-27T13:38:00.000-05:002011-04-27T13:38:32.433-05:00W is for Weddings -- Day 23 of the "A to Z Blogging Challenge"Weddings are a hot topic these days for many reasons, so I thought I'd jump on the bandwagon with this one. No, I'm not talking about the William and Kate wedding. That is irrelevant to me. I never got the Charles and Diana thing. Why should I care? I am, however, talking about weddings in the form of nontraditional marriages - specifically same-sex and transsexual unions.<br />
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Why do I care about this topic? I care because I hear every day about people who truly care for each other who are penalized for their sexual preference or gender identity, especially in the area of marriage. This came to mind when I saw a TV news item about a proposed law in Texas that reverses the right of transgender people to marry using their post-surgical gender on the marriage license. Aside from preventing couples from getting married, this law could be used to retroactively and forcibly annul previously approved transsexual marriages. Shades of California! I hope Texans come to their senses over this travesty.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-83461394608622755862011-04-26T13:05:00.000-05:002011-04-26T13:05:50.561-05:00V is for Verbivore -- Day 22 of the "A to Z Blogging Challenge"A verbivore, according to the Grandiloquent Dictionary (http://www.islandnet.com/~egbird/dict/dict.htm) is a person who devours words. I'd say that is a good description of me, as well as many of my acquaintances who love to write. Few things give me more pleasure than finding just the right word for a situation. <br />
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I chose this word because, to be perfectly honest, I couldn't come up with a unique topic for the letter V. Since I love words so much, I decided to fall back on my old habit of just looking through lists of words to find the one I wanted, and found verbivore.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-19813064223556663892011-04-26T12:57:00.000-05:002011-04-26T12:57:37.464-05:00U is for Unhappiness -- Day 21 of the "A to Z Blogging Challenge"I've spent far too much of my life unhappy for various reasons -- loss of loved ones, pain, bad relationships, depression, etc.... I've been working on that, though. My wake up call came many years ago when I chatted daily on IRC. That's Internet Relay Chat, for those of you who don't know. IRC was (and still is, to some extent) text-only chat - No GUI, no premade smileys. A plain smile was :) and the permutations were endless. My personal smiley was @>;^> That is a devillish smile on someone whose nose has been broken (for one too many mischievous remarks), winking, with horns holding up a halo with a bun on top of the head in the middle of the halo. I used ascii codes to color the various parts, too -- red for the halo/bun and the lips, black for the horns and nose, and blue for the eyes.<br />
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Anyway, back to my wake up call. I was chatting with a long-time friend on IRC and he told me that I was too negative, that conversations with me were depressing and made people feel bad at times. I logged off and cried for a while. Then I started reading some of the messages I had sent and realized he was right. Almost everything I said was negative. Since then I've tried to turn it around. That's not to say I'm always successful in my efforts to be more positive, but at least I try. If I find myself in Eeyore mode, I stop, take a breath, and look for something positive to focus on.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-52887429943305665882011-04-25T13:38:00.001-05:002011-04-25T13:38:51.159-05:00T is for Time-- Day 20 of the "A to Z Blogging Challenge"One of my favorite lines is that time is nothing more than a construct devised by mankind in an attempt to define, and therefore control, his environment. One of my friends would tell you that is a "Cleta-ism." Apparently he has made a list of them.<br />
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Time has always been one of my enemies. I can lose track of time in the blink of an eye, especially when I'm doing something I enjoy. If I have to be somewhere to be at a specific time I don't dare pick up a book or get online unless I have an alarm set -- and it had better be a loud and/or annoying one.<br />
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I semi-jokingly tell people that I have two modes, half an hour early and half an hour late. I like to start the day half an hour early so that, by the end of the day, I am on time.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-42293345047245058772011-04-25T13:36:00.000-05:002011-04-25T13:36:34.587-05:00S is for School -- Day 19 of the "A to Z Blogging Challenge"Gather 'round and let me tell you a story of someone who changed her own life. At age 28 she decided to go to college even though she had five kids, ranging in age from 2 to 10. The year before she started school the income for her family of 7 was under $8,000. She couldn't find a job that would pay enough to cover child care so she went to college instead. She got very little emotional support in her educational quest. Her husband took an "I'll just let the little lady get it out of her system" attitude. Her father told her repeatedly not to rock the boat in her marriage and if she ever ended up making more money than her husband she should downplay it to avoid bruising his ego. Her children (one in particular) complained bitterly that she wasn't always home any more and stopped baking bread as often. <br />
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Despite all the problems she encountered while going to school she gave it her all. She thought she was stupid in high school, until she looked back and realized that she had fairly well breezed through with mid B average. When college started she became a woman obsessed. She, who had routinely resorted to writing excuse notes for school in crayon, set out on a quest for the perfect ink pen. The addiction started simply, with her first trip to the college bookstore, and rapidly grew to include pencils and highlighters, too. Soon everything related to her four classes was color-coded. Specific pencils for math class and specific types and colors of pens for taking notes and matching highlighters for marking her books, all of which matched the folders she had designated for the classes. <br />
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When she got a part time job she used color coding in her schedules. One color for classtime, one for work, one for lab time, and one which was rarely used because it was for leisure. It was the only way she could keep things on track. Her time with her kids was often used as study time, with her reading her assignments to the children as their bedtime stories. Not many kids these days know much about Dante's Inferno" (part of the 14th century writer's Divine Comedy") or the many plays of Shakespeare, but hers did.<br />
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Maybe that's why my.....er...her kids have such twisted senses of humor.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-71096186749306803892011-04-25T13:26:00.000-05:002011-04-25T13:26:19.012-05:00R is for Research -- Day 18 of the "A to Z Blogging Challenge"I love doing research. I love it on the internet. I love it in a library. I love it in books. To me, research is like a treasure hunt. <br />
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I learned to research when I could barely read. We had a set of encyclopedias when I was growing up. It was old, and one volume was missing, but I loved it. I also loved the huge dictionary Mama bought later on. It weighed about twenty-five pounds. It wasn't just a dictionary. It had a thesaurus, measurement conversion charts, and Spanish-English, French-English, and German-English dictionaries in the appendices. I learned to research using these beloved books. <br />
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I would pick a volume of the encyclopedia at random and flip through it until I found something that looked interesting. I would read the entry, and write down the references at the end, then I would look them up and read them. I could entertain myself for an entire day this way. <br />
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After we got the dictionary, I expanded my research hobby to use it. I learned words from it that other people my age had never heard of. I didn't know about things my classmates knew, like sex and current trends, but I knew a lot of other things. I learned that the other languages in the dictionary had a lot of similarities to English. Once I spent a whole weekend looking for the longest word in the dictionary. <br />
Hmmmm... I wonder my desire to write has to do with my love of books as a child. Probably so.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-81623038378180066072011-04-25T13:22:00.000-05:002011-04-25T13:22:31.572-05:00Q is for Quiet... and the Lack Thereof -- Day 17 of the "A to Z Blogging Challenge"I live with my son and his family, and I'm the stay-at-home grandma and live-in babysitter. My son's five kids range in age from 13 to 3, so you can imagine how noisy it can be. The boys, ages 13 and 8, love their shoot-em-up XBox games and the girls' favorite game involves shrieking as they stampede through the house. I call this shrieking havoc. <br />
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Not all of the kids live here full-time. The older boy and the oldest girl live with their mothers and spend weekends here. My son has custody of the younger boy, but is very generous with visitation for his mother, so he spends a lot of time with her. <br />
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Now this makes it sound like it shouldn't be too loud here sometimes, but that's not the case. The two little girls, who are my son's children with his current wife, are the noisiest of the lot. I always thought when my kids were growing up that they were noisy because there were 4 boys. Now I know that it would have been worse if they had been girls. Little boys yell. Little girls shriek.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693881210864987514.post-81627064850635528112011-04-25T12:23:00.000-05:002011-04-25T12:23:20.005-05:00P is for Poverty -- Day 16 of the "A to Z Blogging Challenge"Still catching up.<br />
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I am an expert on poverty. Not in the statistical or "official" sense of the word. I have lived it. I have lived it. When I was growing up I didn't really think we were poor except when Daddy's union was on strike or there simply wasn't any work. We always had a roof over our heads and there was always food on the table,even if it was the precursor to food stamps, commodities. At the time I didn't know how hard it was for my parents to provide these things at times. I do now.<br />
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Looking back I realize that until I was 6 my parents owned their own little hovel....er... house at the edge of town in an area called Rock Creek. Rock Creek got its name from the fact that it was lower in elevation than the rest of the town and if you dug down a few inches you hit solid rock. I don't know how they ever dug the cesspool we had. The house was one bedroom for the seven of us. My oldest sister got married when I was two and my second sister got married when I was about five. A few months later we moved to a new house, the other side of the cemetary from Rock Creek. Fortunately our landlord/mortgageholder was very understanding. He knew that Mama and Daddy would always pay when they had the money. I think Daddy paid off the house with the money left over from Mama's life insurance when she died. <br />
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As for there always being food on the table, it was often beans and potatoes or vegetables from my second oldest sister's garden. To this day I can't stand green beans, even fresh ones with new potatoes, which was a favored staple in our house in the summer. Everyone else loved them, but I always hated them. <br />
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Daddy did his part, too. When he was out of work he made a lot of trips to the dump and scavenged metal for recycling. Unfortunately, this meant that our yard often looked like a junk yard, which was in keeping with the house to our west. It was owned by an old man of indeterminate age by the name of Mr. Keck. A lot of people were scared of him, but he was never anything but nice to me. His yard and house were a maze of junk. I don't think he ever threw anything away. I remember the inside of his house as a dark, dank maze of miscellaneous "stuff." I remember once when I was about 16 I asked him for some yellow paint to redo my room and within minutes he handed me a half-dozen partial cans of paint in various shades of yellow and white. I combined them in a clean trash can and painted my room with it. It came out great!<br />
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Ok. I seem to have strayed from the topic of poverty. I guess I'll have to write another blog later about my bouts with poverty as an adult.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07442261935221325880noreply@blogger.com0