Albert
Delbert
Ebert
Filbert
Gilbert
Norbert
Robert
Delbert
Ebert
Filbert
Gilbert
Norbert
Robert
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
A moral
There was one year, every row was perfectly straight and equally spaced, it looked as though it was done by a machine. Each seed was spaced exactly the same distance, all the onions and garlic too. A beautiful site, amazing, awesome, simply lovely. We stood admiring our handiwork. Nothing grew.
The artist worked for two years on the sculpture. Placing specks of clay day after day. After two years the artist had a tall statue made of clay, ready for the next step. Realizing exhaustion and needing a vacation before moving on in the process the artist decided to take a vacation. He told the gardener to wet the statue every day. When the two week vacation, the artist arrives home, where his statue one stood was a mound of wet clay.
Moral of the story? Don't do anything too perfectly, you anger the gods.
The artist worked for two years on the sculpture. Placing specks of clay day after day. After two years the artist had a tall statue made of clay, ready for the next step. Realizing exhaustion and needing a vacation before moving on in the process the artist decided to take a vacation. He told the gardener to wet the statue every day. When the two week vacation, the artist arrives home, where his statue one stood was a mound of wet clay.
Moral of the story? Don't do anything too perfectly, you anger the gods.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Memorial Day in America
It begins about May first, if not sooner. It is the grandest American celebration, second only to July fourth. The importance touches every American, filling their hearts with sadness and joy.
It is about everything American, hot dogs, picnics, family and remembrance.
We celebrate all who have fought for our way of life. Not necessarily for the reasons we went to war but for the solidarity of the nation. We, who have joined together to act as one to protect and serve all that we stand for, all that we are.
Some believe it is to honor those who have died in service for their country. It is also to honor all of whom who did not have the ability to serve their country risking their lives, those whom the military deemed unacceptable to fight for the right to die for their nation. The mothers who stayed home and wrote letters, the sweethearts who worried stateside. The fathers who shook hands farewell and the children who hugged and kissed the parent who would depart, deployed who knows where, doing who knows what, who may not return.
it is not about celebrating the nations leader, it is us, all of us, together.
For the youngster memorial day seems a sad affair, with the reminder of those who lost their lives fighting in combat, the soldier in uniform, separated from the nation by the dress fatigues of battle, the sacrificed, marched off in the official warrior garb of the citizens who the nation is willing to risk for the survival of the remainder. Except for the party atmosphere, it is a requiem, a funeral, a burial of the fallen. It is a confusing holiday, the overwhelming sadness of the nation for the fallen warriors and happiness for the celebration of the nations way of living, the lifestyle fought for, the living, those who carry on.
The adult celebrates everything American, the climate, the landscape, the opportunities, and they celebrate the price paid for such an existence. Thank you father, mother uncle, aunt, brother, sister and grandparent for giving us the opportunity to foster freedom and nurture it with our every breath.
Now that we are a country boasting an illegal population living under the radar we have a further obligation, us the living, to strengthen the freedoms of which this nation has been built. If we are to flourish as a 'free' nation, we must continue to fight for those rights we hold dear. We must share the passion with every resident, relishing the freedoms for which we are so proud. We must teach the new neighbors how important it is to be in a free society. The only way possible is by respecting the laws for all people, not just for those born here.
We are Americans, we are a people planted here from all the nations on the planet, we are all immigrants here because this is the land of opportunity. The opportunity to pursue happiness, not that we all do achieve it, but that we have the right to work for our happiness, suppressing the rights of others is not the free society, it is the land of the fear. It is the oppression of hunger and want, it is the fear and greed that is never satisfied. We as a nation cannot lead the world beyond survival, if we are afraid. We must live our lives as a free people and celebrate the rights we have, we must show the rest of the world that we are a healthy happy nation because our freedoms are something we hold dear and can not be taken away from us.
When we oppress, depress and suppress others we are choking our life's breath. We can not achieve happiness stepping over the lives of others, we can only grow and prosper when we share the opportunities.
It is not necessary for us to give away, what we have worked so hard to acquire, but to share the knowledge of the skills we have honed. The smarter my neighbor the smarter me. We expand exponentially when we give every one the opportunity of knowledge. Ignorance is evil, ignorance is the root of dissatisfaction, ignorance suppresses the expansion of the species. We all are important, we all have something to contribute. The housekeeper is as valuable as the scientist. Without a house kept in order chaos reigns. Chaos is the evil of ignorance, ignorance is the evil of chaos. We need each other to grow, and maybe that is what the Memorial Day celebration in America is all about.
It is about everything American, hot dogs, picnics, family and remembrance.
We celebrate all who have fought for our way of life. Not necessarily for the reasons we went to war but for the solidarity of the nation. We, who have joined together to act as one to protect and serve all that we stand for, all that we are.
Some believe it is to honor those who have died in service for their country. It is also to honor all of whom who did not have the ability to serve their country risking their lives, those whom the military deemed unacceptable to fight for the right to die for their nation. The mothers who stayed home and wrote letters, the sweethearts who worried stateside. The fathers who shook hands farewell and the children who hugged and kissed the parent who would depart, deployed who knows where, doing who knows what, who may not return.
it is not about celebrating the nations leader, it is us, all of us, together.
For the youngster memorial day seems a sad affair, with the reminder of those who lost their lives fighting in combat, the soldier in uniform, separated from the nation by the dress fatigues of battle, the sacrificed, marched off in the official warrior garb of the citizens who the nation is willing to risk for the survival of the remainder. Except for the party atmosphere, it is a requiem, a funeral, a burial of the fallen. It is a confusing holiday, the overwhelming sadness of the nation for the fallen warriors and happiness for the celebration of the nations way of living, the lifestyle fought for, the living, those who carry on.
The adult celebrates everything American, the climate, the landscape, the opportunities, and they celebrate the price paid for such an existence. Thank you father, mother uncle, aunt, brother, sister and grandparent for giving us the opportunity to foster freedom and nurture it with our every breath.
Now that we are a country boasting an illegal population living under the radar we have a further obligation, us the living, to strengthen the freedoms of which this nation has been built. If we are to flourish as a 'free' nation, we must continue to fight for those rights we hold dear. We must share the passion with every resident, relishing the freedoms for which we are so proud. We must teach the new neighbors how important it is to be in a free society. The only way possible is by respecting the laws for all people, not just for those born here.
We are Americans, we are a people planted here from all the nations on the planet, we are all immigrants here because this is the land of opportunity. The opportunity to pursue happiness, not that we all do achieve it, but that we have the right to work for our happiness, suppressing the rights of others is not the free society, it is the land of the fear. It is the oppression of hunger and want, it is the fear and greed that is never satisfied. We as a nation cannot lead the world beyond survival, if we are afraid. We must live our lives as a free people and celebrate the rights we have, we must show the rest of the world that we are a healthy happy nation because our freedoms are something we hold dear and can not be taken away from us.
When we oppress, depress and suppress others we are choking our life's breath. We can not achieve happiness stepping over the lives of others, we can only grow and prosper when we share the opportunities.
It is not necessary for us to give away, what we have worked so hard to acquire, but to share the knowledge of the skills we have honed. The smarter my neighbor the smarter me. We expand exponentially when we give every one the opportunity of knowledge. Ignorance is evil, ignorance is the root of dissatisfaction, ignorance suppresses the expansion of the species. We all are important, we all have something to contribute. The housekeeper is as valuable as the scientist. Without a house kept in order chaos reigns. Chaos is the evil of ignorance, ignorance is the evil of chaos. We need each other to grow, and maybe that is what the Memorial Day celebration in America is all about.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Odd
My brother was born in Brooklyn on May 14. Thirty three years after his birth my parents moved to upstate New York, and their closest neighbor has a son also born on May 14. His age is 56, my brother 65. I moved to New Jersey in 1988 and my closest neighbors daughter was born on May 14.
In New Jersey I had a dentist whose assistant shares my birth date. Less than five years ago the dentists daughter had a daughter who shares the same birth date as me.
I went to a birthday party for a friend named Robert and there were four other Robert's in the room. There were less than fifty people at the party.
If you are named Mary, Marie or Maria, most people you meet will change your name according to whether or not they like you and other persons they know named Mary, Maria or Marie. They don't care what your name is. If they do not like you and they have a friend they do like with the same name, they will change your name as to not have the negative association rub off to their relationship with the friend they like. if they don't like you and your name is Mary and the good friend they like is also called Mary, they will call you Marie or Maria. If they like you and your name is Mary and their friend is named Maria they will call you Maria, no matter how many times you correct them.
My grandfather was born on Easter, my cousin on Christmas, my brother Father
's Day, My sister, Mother's Day, me St Patrick's Day, and my uncle and cousin share the same day.
I had a friend whose granddaughter was born on the same day as she, so she would play forgetful with the child, asking her when her birthday is and stating that her birthday is the day after, so the child could have her own special day.
In New Jersey I had a dentist whose assistant shares my birth date. Less than five years ago the dentists daughter had a daughter who shares the same birth date as me.
I went to a birthday party for a friend named Robert and there were four other Robert's in the room. There were less than fifty people at the party.
If you are named Mary, Marie or Maria, most people you meet will change your name according to whether or not they like you and other persons they know named Mary, Maria or Marie. They don't care what your name is. If they do not like you and they have a friend they do like with the same name, they will change your name as to not have the negative association rub off to their relationship with the friend they like. if they don't like you and your name is Mary and the good friend they like is also called Mary, they will call you Marie or Maria. If they like you and your name is Mary and their friend is named Maria they will call you Maria, no matter how many times you correct them.
My grandfather was born on Easter, my cousin on Christmas, my brother Father
's Day, My sister, Mother's Day, me St Patrick's Day, and my uncle and cousin share the same day.
I had a friend whose granddaughter was born on the same day as she, so she would play forgetful with the child, asking her when her birthday is and stating that her birthday is the day after, so the child could have her own special day.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Did you touch anything?
In 'the old days', women always wore gloves, they also always wore dresses and hats but that is not the focus here. Back to gloves, they mostly were always white, until the age of fashionable women needing fashionable distractions, so they were matching their gloves to the other attire of the day.
White cotton gloves covered ladies hands. These ladies we never permitted to touch anything, it was always the glove that met the banister or doorknob.
Before leaving their residences women donned their white gloves, stretching their fingers between each other to be sure the fabric was in place, their suit of armour before battle. They, the women felt protected once they were gloved, they were safe, they could travel with impunity.
Young girls felt especially empowered with their first pair of gloves, as a right of passage, a maturing, coming of age, a key to unlocking the whole world to them, and they were protected from any of the ills.
The females were always cautioned not to remove their gloves, yet to take care what they touched and do not touch your face with your gloves.
'Those were the days after World War II when women ventured beyond the home, when women had no servants to do the daily shopping. The days when coal was the fuel delivered to each home. When someone shovelled a barrel full and rolled it on its rim to the rear of the domicile and its contents emptied through and opening to run down a chute to pile on a basement floor for the homeowner to shovel into a small bucket to sit by a furnace and to then be shovelled into the pot belly of fire to further fuel the water heated radiators that hissed through out the winter.
It was the days when horse drawn wagons rolled down the streets offering fresh fruits and vegetables to the homemakers. When all the automobiles were black. It was the time before air-conditioning, when in summer the windows were wide open and at night the sound of a distant train would roll into the window onto the slumber greeting little ears transporting their imaginations to far away places a mile down the road, as they fancied themselves sitting being jostled along the tracks with the other passengers.
The days when people amused themselves, whistling was fashionable along with playing spoons on ones laps. When people gathered at someones home to play the musical instruments they carried along, when a harmonica and accordion were a band.
Travel en mass was a new past time, a Sunday trip to the country, only a few miles from the city, to see cows, horses, pigs and chickens on farms, the old way people use to live.
Girls were protected in those days, they were guarded. Their safety and value exulted, they were made to feel important, special, nothing was permitted to touch them.
With them, these women also carried small purses, into which was placed their treasured gloves which were removed when they reached their destinations, the home of a friend with whom they were visiting. The gloves were smoothed straight, the pair together then folded in half and slid into the small purse, to wait to be removed upon leaving. These purses were usually placed upon a small anteroom table, near the entry door to the home, to be sure to be noticed, that these women had their 'coats of armour' for travel.
Now, into the future of the past, the women venture everywhere, hands unafraid to touch anything beyond the home, and the women attached to these hands will now become the guardians of the safety off all, alongside the men in America, as it is in other lands, women defending the safety of a nation alongside the opposite sex, equal in the responsibility of the well being of all, equally expendable, and dependable, necessary to guard, willing to finally be equally accountable and useful for what we hold dear. No longer standing by, with white gloves, 'un-permitted' to touch anything outside the home.
Whether or not their participation is necessary is food for thought, but that they, the females are finally empowered, permitted, allowed, and accepted
to protect and serve the great nation where we reside. And we will have the privilege of honoring them in the manner that we honor all who serve and protect this great nation. "You've come a long way baby."
White cotton gloves covered ladies hands. These ladies we never permitted to touch anything, it was always the glove that met the banister or doorknob.
Before leaving their residences women donned their white gloves, stretching their fingers between each other to be sure the fabric was in place, their suit of armour before battle. They, the women felt protected once they were gloved, they were safe, they could travel with impunity.
Young girls felt especially empowered with their first pair of gloves, as a right of passage, a maturing, coming of age, a key to unlocking the whole world to them, and they were protected from any of the ills.
The females were always cautioned not to remove their gloves, yet to take care what they touched and do not touch your face with your gloves.
'Those were the days after World War II when women ventured beyond the home, when women had no servants to do the daily shopping. The days when coal was the fuel delivered to each home. When someone shovelled a barrel full and rolled it on its rim to the rear of the domicile and its contents emptied through and opening to run down a chute to pile on a basement floor for the homeowner to shovel into a small bucket to sit by a furnace and to then be shovelled into the pot belly of fire to further fuel the water heated radiators that hissed through out the winter.
It was the days when horse drawn wagons rolled down the streets offering fresh fruits and vegetables to the homemakers. When all the automobiles were black. It was the time before air-conditioning, when in summer the windows were wide open and at night the sound of a distant train would roll into the window onto the slumber greeting little ears transporting their imaginations to far away places a mile down the road, as they fancied themselves sitting being jostled along the tracks with the other passengers.
The days when people amused themselves, whistling was fashionable along with playing spoons on ones laps. When people gathered at someones home to play the musical instruments they carried along, when a harmonica and accordion were a band.
Travel en mass was a new past time, a Sunday trip to the country, only a few miles from the city, to see cows, horses, pigs and chickens on farms, the old way people use to live.
Girls were protected in those days, they were guarded. Their safety and value exulted, they were made to feel important, special, nothing was permitted to touch them.
With them, these women also carried small purses, into which was placed their treasured gloves which were removed when they reached their destinations, the home of a friend with whom they were visiting. The gloves were smoothed straight, the pair together then folded in half and slid into the small purse, to wait to be removed upon leaving. These purses were usually placed upon a small anteroom table, near the entry door to the home, to be sure to be noticed, that these women had their 'coats of armour' for travel.
Now, into the future of the past, the women venture everywhere, hands unafraid to touch anything beyond the home, and the women attached to these hands will now become the guardians of the safety off all, alongside the men in America, as it is in other lands, women defending the safety of a nation alongside the opposite sex, equal in the responsibility of the well being of all, equally expendable, and dependable, necessary to guard, willing to finally be equally accountable and useful for what we hold dear. No longer standing by, with white gloves, 'un-permitted' to touch anything outside the home.
Whether or not their participation is necessary is food for thought, but that they, the females are finally empowered, permitted, allowed, and accepted
to protect and serve the great nation where we reside. And we will have the privilege of honoring them in the manner that we honor all who serve and protect this great nation. "You've come a long way baby."
Saturday, January 26, 2013
walking
plodding
trod ding
waltzing
clomping
gliding
An image the minds eye sees is a whole, from top to bottom, one flowing piece of a person, the outward view of the you. It covers everything as a perfect form. The mind's eye see the self in Toto, all of you, a view of the outside of you from the inside. Like an out of body experience, the mind's eye over there, looking at you here. magic.
When the ankles are broken, a new image is formed alongside the original, you the first and you the second. This new image is as majestic as the original. Though the flow is broken from the ankles to the feet there are seams at both ankles, like healed scars, a small protrusion that shows a break in the flow the two images of you side by side.
They both look like the cement statues found in gardens, the white stones with the smoothness from dancing with the weather.
But, walking now is a studder, each step a hesitation of thought. The mind, unconnected from the feet, must grope for a new path to transmit the impulses to move. The feet look the same, the legs look the same, the bones seamed at the ankles, less sleek, less reliable, less rapid.
The minds eye effortlessly flows along the body, connections intact, save for the ankles. Confusion, it is not the road map originally built. The model resembles the original, they look the same, except for the seams at the ankles, visible to only the minds eye.
Walking, a normal flow of information from the brain to feet, those transmissions of electrical impulses all executed without the conscious mind's thought or interference. Lift, ambulate, halt, destination achieved while the conscious mind is drifts elsewhere.
Statues, the two, standing side by side, the minds eye transmitting first to the original work of art and the legs do not move, the minds eye then retransmits the messages to the new original and there is motion. The design of the original is there, never to be deleted, the minds eye always tending there first. The delay may be dangerous at some time, all one can do is practice, practice, practice. The mind always taking the original route followed by the new original route, new pathways to walking.
When knees lose their cartilage walking becomes a grinding action, bone upon bone ringing a shuddering of scrape, scratch and abrasion, up through the ears, causing vibrations everywhere. Grind scrape, scratch, ache. grrrrr.
But when ankles are broken the minds eye rebuilds the model of the self alongside the original, first working schematic. It, the minds eye, always reroutes through the first model before it reaches the new model of wires, nerves and muscles, it always returns to the first one before it can reboot the body through the second one. You with broken ankles are not slower than before, the road is just longer.
trod ding
waltzing
clomping
gliding
An image the minds eye sees is a whole, from top to bottom, one flowing piece of a person, the outward view of the you. It covers everything as a perfect form. The mind's eye see the self in Toto, all of you, a view of the outside of you from the inside. Like an out of body experience, the mind's eye over there, looking at you here. magic.
When the ankles are broken, a new image is formed alongside the original, you the first and you the second. This new image is as majestic as the original. Though the flow is broken from the ankles to the feet there are seams at both ankles, like healed scars, a small protrusion that shows a break in the flow the two images of you side by side.
They both look like the cement statues found in gardens, the white stones with the smoothness from dancing with the weather.
But, walking now is a studder, each step a hesitation of thought. The mind, unconnected from the feet, must grope for a new path to transmit the impulses to move. The feet look the same, the legs look the same, the bones seamed at the ankles, less sleek, less reliable, less rapid.
The minds eye effortlessly flows along the body, connections intact, save for the ankles. Confusion, it is not the road map originally built. The model resembles the original, they look the same, except for the seams at the ankles, visible to only the minds eye.
Walking, a normal flow of information from the brain to feet, those transmissions of electrical impulses all executed without the conscious mind's thought or interference. Lift, ambulate, halt, destination achieved while the conscious mind is drifts elsewhere.
Statues, the two, standing side by side, the minds eye transmitting first to the original work of art and the legs do not move, the minds eye then retransmits the messages to the new original and there is motion. The design of the original is there, never to be deleted, the minds eye always tending there first. The delay may be dangerous at some time, all one can do is practice, practice, practice. The mind always taking the original route followed by the new original route, new pathways to walking.
When knees lose their cartilage walking becomes a grinding action, bone upon bone ringing a shuddering of scrape, scratch and abrasion, up through the ears, causing vibrations everywhere. Grind scrape, scratch, ache. grrrrr.
But when ankles are broken the minds eye rebuilds the model of the self alongside the original, first working schematic. It, the minds eye, always reroutes through the first model before it reaches the new model of wires, nerves and muscles, it always returns to the first one before it can reboot the body through the second one. You with broken ankles are not slower than before, the road is just longer.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
yep and yup
When someone says yes, it is an affirmative action, it reinforces the positive and gives credence to the conversation.
On the other hand, yep is an absolute affirmative motion. There seems to be no ambiguity to the condition. Did you do as I asked? yep. No one can debate the condition. Consider: Did you do as I asked? yes. Is the yes in fact confirmation of the action or simply acknowledgment of hearing the question? There is no doubt with the yep or as some people say, yup.
Nope confirms the same action in the negative sense and also is an absolute term. But nope shall not be discussed at this time.
Yes is a civilized gentle sway to the affirmative, it neither needs prodding nor weight from adjectives or conjunctions, ah, yes! on some occasions confirms complete satisfaction with the positive position that the yes is moving to, but that is a subjective personal preference which can be altered as with the weather.
Yup and yep stops the action without extension without frills, it defines the action and completes the conversation. There is no need for embellishment.
Yup finishes the thought, it leaves no room for barter, there is no further emphasis or intrusion, it is as they say, a done deal, finis, absolute.
The strength of the yep and its companion yup is the dropping p sound, it does not trail off into the wilderness like the s in yesssss, which flows off into the clouds and lingers floating above as an afterthought. But the yup drops the voice, the breath and the muscle action into an end. There is no debate, it is a direct response to the question posited and closes the doors behind it.
Yup and yep historically have been classified as slang, and at some time should if it has not already occurred, be classified as a real word that has no comparison of strength or power save for the offensive NO! Yep and yup have greater power again because of the action of the vowel o in noooo that trails off into oblivion.
So, when you want to be understood beyond the shadow of a doubt, yep and yup are there to serve and make the meal complete. bon apetit
On the other hand, yep is an absolute affirmative motion. There seems to be no ambiguity to the condition. Did you do as I asked? yep. No one can debate the condition. Consider: Did you do as I asked? yes. Is the yes in fact confirmation of the action or simply acknowledgment of hearing the question? There is no doubt with the yep or as some people say, yup.
Nope confirms the same action in the negative sense and also is an absolute term. But nope shall not be discussed at this time.
Yes is a civilized gentle sway to the affirmative, it neither needs prodding nor weight from adjectives or conjunctions, ah, yes! on some occasions confirms complete satisfaction with the positive position that the yes is moving to, but that is a subjective personal preference which can be altered as with the weather.
Yup and yep stops the action without extension without frills, it defines the action and completes the conversation. There is no need for embellishment.
Yup finishes the thought, it leaves no room for barter, there is no further emphasis or intrusion, it is as they say, a done deal, finis, absolute.
The strength of the yep and its companion yup is the dropping p sound, it does not trail off into the wilderness like the s in yesssss, which flows off into the clouds and lingers floating above as an afterthought. But the yup drops the voice, the breath and the muscle action into an end. There is no debate, it is a direct response to the question posited and closes the doors behind it.
Yup and yep historically have been classified as slang, and at some time should if it has not already occurred, be classified as a real word that has no comparison of strength or power save for the offensive NO! Yep and yup have greater power again because of the action of the vowel o in noooo that trails off into oblivion.
So, when you want to be understood beyond the shadow of a doubt, yep and yup are there to serve and make the meal complete. bon apetit
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
about Lance Armstrong?
In the beginning it was monumental, an American competing in the Tour de France. The novelty, watching the cyclists climb and descend the slopes, the thrill of one of us attempting to achieve a dream. It was wonderful. We watched and rooted for the American playing by the rules and besting the rest. We had our hero, winning the most grueling of tests. And his team of cyclists and support staff, helping him achieve. The most wonderful example of teamsmenship, a group of individuals working together for one of their BEST to be the best of the best.
All the tv's in America were turned on to the test, everyone sitting on edge rooting, concentrating, hoping, wishing, wanting and celebrating the winning. It was a boost in the arm of America, we had a hero, a role model.
Then, year after year, as Mr Armstrong continued to excel doubt arose. Could sustained perfection be achieved with only human effort. And still we cheered. He said it was all him, just him, and nothing else but him.
All those titles, all those medals, all those times we saw him standing in front of the cameras with the yellow jersey, and we were proud. One of us had the strength to compete, for days, and make us all satisfied with his efforts. A modern day champion.
He cheated us of the nation honor we so desperately needed, he deceived us with his denials and affirmations of honesty, he manipulated our trust, nay, he manipulated our nationalism, much like the leaders of the nation. He sold us a bill of goods and we had no reason to doubt. Authorities attested his right, and his urine too.
Then over the years, allegations arose, and he still denied and we still accepted, and we still trusted. We didn't think anyone could be that stupid, selfish, self serving, deceitful, demented into thinking winning the prize by cheating was the same thing as really winning the prize. He stole the accolades, he stole our hearts and he conned us all the years he was competing and all the years he continued to deny allegations.
And now we should forgive him, in his hour of contrition, finally he was really caught and he is emotional about being found out. He could not possibly be emotional about all the years we bowed to him, the star. Disgust is more appropriate. Cheating us is one thing, maybe we could forgive that, his having been ill and battling cancer, is that true??? But living the lie all these years, garnering our respect for the illusion of excellence, never.
We forgive his stupidity, we forgive his selfishness, we forgive his cheating, but we can not forgive his lying, deceit and years of living the lie at the top.
Few Americans have grand lives, some have good lives and only one Lance Armstrong got it all served to him on a silver platter, or was it gold. The average American has to work every day to provide for family. It is difficult every day to work for a mere pittance and then see someone blatantly garner attention, riches, fame and success by stealing. The average American seldom steals and can probably tell all the times a pencil was taken. And here is our star, our champion, cheating us again, of all the days we had self respect for our own endeavours, for our own struggle our own diligence in being an upright citizen of the nation and the world. And now with his contrition he is again trying to win our hearts.
Oprah, the Mother Terese of the air waves may rally into his corner but the rest of us are rooting for the underdogs who get knocked out in the first round, the true heroes, the fighters who did not step on their opponents to reach the top.
Mr Armstrong broke our hearts, and now he is reminding us that our hearts are broken. A wound that will never heal, like Mr Nixon, he took what was not his for the taking, and never will be. We Americans have a code of honor and respect, we have a rule of law, and we choose to follow it. Anarchy will not rule. He made his own rules, they made their own rules and never shared it with us, and then lied about it too, and THAT will not do.
All the tv's in America were turned on to the test, everyone sitting on edge rooting, concentrating, hoping, wishing, wanting and celebrating the winning. It was a boost in the arm of America, we had a hero, a role model.
Then, year after year, as Mr Armstrong continued to excel doubt arose. Could sustained perfection be achieved with only human effort. And still we cheered. He said it was all him, just him, and nothing else but him.
All those titles, all those medals, all those times we saw him standing in front of the cameras with the yellow jersey, and we were proud. One of us had the strength to compete, for days, and make us all satisfied with his efforts. A modern day champion.
He cheated us of the nation honor we so desperately needed, he deceived us with his denials and affirmations of honesty, he manipulated our trust, nay, he manipulated our nationalism, much like the leaders of the nation. He sold us a bill of goods and we had no reason to doubt. Authorities attested his right, and his urine too.
Then over the years, allegations arose, and he still denied and we still accepted, and we still trusted. We didn't think anyone could be that stupid, selfish, self serving, deceitful, demented into thinking winning the prize by cheating was the same thing as really winning the prize. He stole the accolades, he stole our hearts and he conned us all the years he was competing and all the years he continued to deny allegations.
And now we should forgive him, in his hour of contrition, finally he was really caught and he is emotional about being found out. He could not possibly be emotional about all the years we bowed to him, the star. Disgust is more appropriate. Cheating us is one thing, maybe we could forgive that, his having been ill and battling cancer, is that true??? But living the lie all these years, garnering our respect for the illusion of excellence, never.
We forgive his stupidity, we forgive his selfishness, we forgive his cheating, but we can not forgive his lying, deceit and years of living the lie at the top.
Few Americans have grand lives, some have good lives and only one Lance Armstrong got it all served to him on a silver platter, or was it gold. The average American has to work every day to provide for family. It is difficult every day to work for a mere pittance and then see someone blatantly garner attention, riches, fame and success by stealing. The average American seldom steals and can probably tell all the times a pencil was taken. And here is our star, our champion, cheating us again, of all the days we had self respect for our own endeavours, for our own struggle our own diligence in being an upright citizen of the nation and the world. And now with his contrition he is again trying to win our hearts.
Oprah, the Mother Terese of the air waves may rally into his corner but the rest of us are rooting for the underdogs who get knocked out in the first round, the true heroes, the fighters who did not step on their opponents to reach the top.
Mr Armstrong broke our hearts, and now he is reminding us that our hearts are broken. A wound that will never heal, like Mr Nixon, he took what was not his for the taking, and never will be. We Americans have a code of honor and respect, we have a rule of law, and we choose to follow it. Anarchy will not rule. He made his own rules, they made their own rules and never shared it with us, and then lied about it too, and THAT will not do.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Joe's House
The only old victorian left on the block, sandwiched between row houses that have no front yards, only cement. It is not the grand victorians one sees in the motion pictures, but a smaller version. It is called a two story, even though there is a full basement below ground. The classic form with the peaked gables.
You step up to the front door which is covered by a canopy held up by posts. A small antehall holds a larger than life size David, done in classical style, it is a portrait of Joe in marble, covered in a toga sheet because the neighbors took offense at being greeted by a nude of Joe on their street.
Past the second door is the staircase to the second floor, the sleeping quarters I guess. I have never been up there. But looking at the main floor I expect it is a utilitarian abode.
To the left of the staircase is also a narrow passage. There is a doorway close to the front entrance, a double door entryway. It is wide open to the living room. There is no couch, no furniture. Plywood panels stand in the center of the room stretching the length of the room. Each of the panels are filled with red clay, along the floor is a hose. Behind the living room of course is the dining room, with a dining set to seat about six. By the window is an avocado plant that has climbed the wall and half of the ceiling. Joe looks fondly at the plant, his child, raised from a pit. Books everywhere, piled like the mad scientists lab.
The entrance to the basement is under the stairs leading to the second floor. That staircase is narrower than the other. It is a little peoples staircase. In the basement along the walls below the living room are red drippings, from when Joe sprays the clay so it will not dry out until he wants it to. It is an interesting sight. Some may say it is disrespecting the house, others may say it is honoring the house. Joe got a commission to do some clay reliefs for La Guardia College in New York and he is using his home as his studio, It is a wonderful artists haven,
The front room in the basement has small wooden workstations with small benches, enough for six students who are guests by invitation only. There is more than six inches of marble and alabaster powder covering the floor.
There are weekly two hour sessions with a ten minute water or soda and cookies break supplied by Joe, for this he charges two dollars which he uses to pay for the refreshments.
Joe sits on a taller bench, the kind used for models. He doesn't do any sculpting, he watches what the others are doing and chats. They are there for his inspiration. His hawks eye observing the style an content of the pieces being produced. Each week each student must bring their tools and pieces back and forth to Joe's house. So the pieces are not large, probably less than twelve pounds each.
It is like waltzing into a wonderland, a tiny cubbyhole with seven creative minds crammed into a tiny space, almost elbow to elbow, The creative energies so strong, so powerful the room is transformed to Rodan's studio or Michaelangelo's. The intense focus by each student as each tap of the hammers on the chisels decidedly in place, a chip of stone flies through the air and an article begins to take form, a leg, an arm, a nose. It is the longest fastest two hours, whe Joe announces nine o'clock, the session over. Everyone closes up the bags that carry their tools. Each piece is wrapped in thick cloth, mostly old towels. Everyone whiter than when they walked in, slowly climb the stairs. They say goodnight to Joe, And they say goodnight to David too.
You step up to the front door which is covered by a canopy held up by posts. A small antehall holds a larger than life size David, done in classical style, it is a portrait of Joe in marble, covered in a toga sheet because the neighbors took offense at being greeted by a nude of Joe on their street.
Past the second door is the staircase to the second floor, the sleeping quarters I guess. I have never been up there. But looking at the main floor I expect it is a utilitarian abode.
To the left of the staircase is also a narrow passage. There is a doorway close to the front entrance, a double door entryway. It is wide open to the living room. There is no couch, no furniture. Plywood panels stand in the center of the room stretching the length of the room. Each of the panels are filled with red clay, along the floor is a hose. Behind the living room of course is the dining room, with a dining set to seat about six. By the window is an avocado plant that has climbed the wall and half of the ceiling. Joe looks fondly at the plant, his child, raised from a pit. Books everywhere, piled like the mad scientists lab.
The entrance to the basement is under the stairs leading to the second floor. That staircase is narrower than the other. It is a little peoples staircase. In the basement along the walls below the living room are red drippings, from when Joe sprays the clay so it will not dry out until he wants it to. It is an interesting sight. Some may say it is disrespecting the house, others may say it is honoring the house. Joe got a commission to do some clay reliefs for La Guardia College in New York and he is using his home as his studio, It is a wonderful artists haven,
The front room in the basement has small wooden workstations with small benches, enough for six students who are guests by invitation only. There is more than six inches of marble and alabaster powder covering the floor.
There are weekly two hour sessions with a ten minute water or soda and cookies break supplied by Joe, for this he charges two dollars which he uses to pay for the refreshments.
Joe sits on a taller bench, the kind used for models. He doesn't do any sculpting, he watches what the others are doing and chats. They are there for his inspiration. His hawks eye observing the style an content of the pieces being produced. Each week each student must bring their tools and pieces back and forth to Joe's house. So the pieces are not large, probably less than twelve pounds each.
It is like waltzing into a wonderland, a tiny cubbyhole with seven creative minds crammed into a tiny space, almost elbow to elbow, The creative energies so strong, so powerful the room is transformed to Rodan's studio or Michaelangelo's. The intense focus by each student as each tap of the hammers on the chisels decidedly in place, a chip of stone flies through the air and an article begins to take form, a leg, an arm, a nose. It is the longest fastest two hours, whe Joe announces nine o'clock, the session over. Everyone closes up the bags that carry their tools. Each piece is wrapped in thick cloth, mostly old towels. Everyone whiter than when they walked in, slowly climb the stairs. They say goodnight to Joe, And they say goodnight to David too.
Monday, January 7, 2013
Un United Health Care
Dear Americans,
If you have ever been sick or know someone with a chronic illness, you are aware of the important role the local pharmacy plays in alleviating some of the stress. You know the relief of seeing someone and knowing who you are speaking with. The local pharmacists, often a member of the community, someone you see walking down the street and you both wave hello. They are the people who take the stressful edge off being ill, having to take medication and being afraid. Without these people, the strangeness we feel would be worse. We appreciate how they help make us feel safe.
Now, UnitedHealthcare is penalizing us for wanting to do business with oual pharmacies. They want us insured, to use a mailorder pharmacy or a large chain pharmacy like Walgrens. If we choose to have our prescriptions filled by our local pharmacy, which UnitedHealthcare has reclassified as nonpreferred pharmacy, we are charged more for our copay portion of the prescription.
I have been insured by AARP Medicare Rx Plans through UnitedHealthcare since 2006. Boring Rexall Drug and Cole Camp Pharmacy have been preferred pharmacies until 2013. They have now been moved to the nonpreferred pharmacy statis at UnitedHealthcare. I am also a senior with more than one chronic medical condition which causes me to need the services of the local pharmacy almost as often as the grocer.
That I have been told where to have my prescriptions filled or should I say, where It will cost me more to have my prescriotions filled if I choose not to use UnitedHealthcares preferred pharmacies causes extra tension and stress. If I see my physician and a prescription is written I must then drive more than forty miles one way to have the script filled or wait an additonal day or two to have it delivered.
Had I been able to see and read the notice of policy changes UnitedHealthcare sent last year, I would have changed my provider, cataracts and cataract surgery made that not possible. But that is not the point, there are millions of seniors doing business with UnitedHealthcare because they were referred by AARP, a group they trust. Now, AARP says they do not help UnitedHealthcare set policy but do strive to find value for their members.
I have heard that AARP owns the mailorder pharmacy that UnitedHealthcare uses, but my email to AARP requesting verification has as yet been unanswered.
If UnitedHealthcare continues with this policy of listing my local pharmacies as nonpreferred pharmacies it will probably put the local pharmacy out of business. The chronically ill are among the poorest of seniors, an already financially strapped group, and we will be forced to wait to have prescriptions filled by people we do not know and we will have to wait for the mail to be delivered to get the medication we need.
PLEASE, can you get involved in helping undo this error in judgement by UnitedHealthcare, the do not hear or do not care what we are saying.
Sincerely,
miceLLe
If you have ever been sick or know someone with a chronic illness, you are aware of the important role the local pharmacy plays in alleviating some of the stress. You know the relief of seeing someone and knowing who you are speaking with. The local pharmacists, often a member of the community, someone you see walking down the street and you both wave hello. They are the people who take the stressful edge off being ill, having to take medication and being afraid. Without these people, the strangeness we feel would be worse. We appreciate how they help make us feel safe.
Now, UnitedHealthcare is penalizing us for wanting to do business with oual pharmacies. They want us insured, to use a mailorder pharmacy or a large chain pharmacy like Walgrens. If we choose to have our prescriptions filled by our local pharmacy, which UnitedHealthcare has reclassified as nonpreferred pharmacy, we are charged more for our copay portion of the prescription.
I have been insured by AARP Medicare Rx Plans through UnitedHealthcare since 2006. Boring Rexall Drug and Cole Camp Pharmacy have been preferred pharmacies until 2013. They have now been moved to the nonpreferred pharmacy statis at UnitedHealthcare. I am also a senior with more than one chronic medical condition which causes me to need the services of the local pharmacy almost as often as the grocer.
That I have been told where to have my prescriptions filled or should I say, where It will cost me more to have my prescriotions filled if I choose not to use UnitedHealthcares preferred pharmacies causes extra tension and stress. If I see my physician and a prescription is written I must then drive more than forty miles one way to have the script filled or wait an additonal day or two to have it delivered.
Had I been able to see and read the notice of policy changes UnitedHealthcare sent last year, I would have changed my provider, cataracts and cataract surgery made that not possible. But that is not the point, there are millions of seniors doing business with UnitedHealthcare because they were referred by AARP, a group they trust. Now, AARP says they do not help UnitedHealthcare set policy but do strive to find value for their members.
I have heard that AARP owns the mailorder pharmacy that UnitedHealthcare uses, but my email to AARP requesting verification has as yet been unanswered.
If UnitedHealthcare continues with this policy of listing my local pharmacies as nonpreferred pharmacies it will probably put the local pharmacy out of business. The chronically ill are among the poorest of seniors, an already financially strapped group, and we will be forced to wait to have prescriptions filled by people we do not know and we will have to wait for the mail to be delivered to get the medication we need.
PLEASE, can you get involved in helping undo this error in judgement by UnitedHealthcare, the do not hear or do not care what we are saying.
Sincerely,
miceLLe
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
1.1.13
Happy New Year.
It has been said that, how you spend your new years day is a module of how your whole year will be.
That being said, one third of the day is spent sleeping, 8 hours
one hour for lunch
one hour for dinner
fifteen minutes for breakfast
one hour preparation(probably longer for both) 3.15 hours
grooming 1 hour
The Rose Bowl Parade and
various football games 3 hours
Games on line 2 hours
new years phone calls 1 hour
Broken hot water heater 2 hours
Misc/blog 3.34 hours
The day began peacefully. A blanket of snow quieted the winter chill. Eighteen degrees and no one wanted to go out. The day just a little gray, the sun hiding enough to keep the chill in the air. The cats slept the day, except for food breaks now and then. It was a wonderful beginning to a new year. There was a tranquility to be jealous of, if you were the jealous type. It began as one of those Sundays with the newspaper. Even though it was a Tuesday, if felt like one of those special Sundays, one of those days you had to yourself.
Then there was a crash into the window. Looking out one saw the bird, dead below the window with the feather marks. A not to common occurence, the one that makes the birds more personal, closer to home, not perched in the tree, on a wire or in flight feeding. It was probably planning to perch on the houseplant sitting by the window waiting to catch some winter rays of seldom sun. If the plant was not there....
A shower before dinner made us aware, with a cold feeling, there was no hot water. Learning from a friend what steps to identify the heating element on the water heater took us to the basement, flashlight, screwdrivers, pen and paper.
Switch off the circuit breaker, unscrew the housing cover on the water heater, find the heating element and identify the serial number and relevant identifiers.
Go back up stairs for the magnifying glass, two different ones, to be able to see what was close to the wall. Sitting on the cement floor, magnifier, flashlight and head almost into the wall. Too bad we dont know what we are doing. We got some numbers and went on line to see if we could find heating elements in the hardware store.
The heater was installed in 1972 when the house was built, it is going to be interesting to see what happens tomorrow. We are mechanically challenged.
Next, a phone call from a family member sharing sad news of a young man dying suddenly. He resided in California and his mother is on the east coast. Friends were trying to get a seven pm flight for her to California.
They also say, things happen in three's, in our house it is sixes. We ended 2012 with the icemaker needing service and the convection oven fan not working. We called for service. The motor for the fan must be ordered and will cost fifty dollars. The icemaker was supposedly fixed but does not work, so that repair person will return and that bill will be exciting. We never asked about charges, we just used the company referred by Frigidaire.
Playing Pinochle on Pogo.com*this is not an advertising plug. Two of the games had thirteen points to make the meld. [Not a relevant piece of information, just an oddity for 2o13.
It is nighttime, dinner is over, football still on tv, the cats are playing and the home has returned to a peaceful abode. Cold showers wake one up enough to appreciate the warmth. Towels warmed and hair dryers on high. We are glad we do not have to do this outside.
So to summarize, inconvenience, unforseen expense,shared sadness will be expected for the coming year. 365 days, a third of it sleeping. May the sleep be the restfull, rejuvinating medicine to heal the sores scratched during the other thirds. And may your year, be peaceful, kind and gentle.
It has been said that, how you spend your new years day is a module of how your whole year will be.
That being said, one third of the day is spent sleeping, 8 hours
one hour for lunch
one hour for dinner
fifteen minutes for breakfast
one hour preparation(probably longer for both) 3.15 hours
grooming 1 hour
The Rose Bowl Parade and
various football games 3 hours
Games on line 2 hours
new years phone calls 1 hour
Broken hot water heater 2 hours
Misc/blog 3.34 hours
The day began peacefully. A blanket of snow quieted the winter chill. Eighteen degrees and no one wanted to go out. The day just a little gray, the sun hiding enough to keep the chill in the air. The cats slept the day, except for food breaks now and then. It was a wonderful beginning to a new year. There was a tranquility to be jealous of, if you were the jealous type. It began as one of those Sundays with the newspaper. Even though it was a Tuesday, if felt like one of those special Sundays, one of those days you had to yourself.
Then there was a crash into the window. Looking out one saw the bird, dead below the window with the feather marks. A not to common occurence, the one that makes the birds more personal, closer to home, not perched in the tree, on a wire or in flight feeding. It was probably planning to perch on the houseplant sitting by the window waiting to catch some winter rays of seldom sun. If the plant was not there....
A shower before dinner made us aware, with a cold feeling, there was no hot water. Learning from a friend what steps to identify the heating element on the water heater took us to the basement, flashlight, screwdrivers, pen and paper.
Switch off the circuit breaker, unscrew the housing cover on the water heater, find the heating element and identify the serial number and relevant identifiers.
Go back up stairs for the magnifying glass, two different ones, to be able to see what was close to the wall. Sitting on the cement floor, magnifier, flashlight and head almost into the wall. Too bad we dont know what we are doing. We got some numbers and went on line to see if we could find heating elements in the hardware store.
The heater was installed in 1972 when the house was built, it is going to be interesting to see what happens tomorrow. We are mechanically challenged.
Next, a phone call from a family member sharing sad news of a young man dying suddenly. He resided in California and his mother is on the east coast. Friends were trying to get a seven pm flight for her to California.
They also say, things happen in three's, in our house it is sixes. We ended 2012 with the icemaker needing service and the convection oven fan not working. We called for service. The motor for the fan must be ordered and will cost fifty dollars. The icemaker was supposedly fixed but does not work, so that repair person will return and that bill will be exciting. We never asked about charges, we just used the company referred by Frigidaire.
Playing Pinochle on Pogo.com*this is not an advertising plug. Two of the games had thirteen points to make the meld. [Not a relevant piece of information, just an oddity for 2o13.
It is nighttime, dinner is over, football still on tv, the cats are playing and the home has returned to a peaceful abode. Cold showers wake one up enough to appreciate the warmth. Towels warmed and hair dryers on high. We are glad we do not have to do this outside.
So to summarize, inconvenience, unforseen expense,shared sadness will be expected for the coming year. 365 days, a third of it sleeping. May the sleep be the restfull, rejuvinating medicine to heal the sores scratched during the other thirds. And may your year, be peaceful, kind and gentle.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
standing where it is
The house is still there. A bit worn, tired, and in need of some repairs. But it is still a warm shelter, it is clean, it is useful. More than forty years old, still solid, built to withstand tornado wind, maybe, it has not been tested. High winds only bring tree limbs to rest on the roof, erosion has washed away much of the brown dirt hugging the foundation. Each year, more is added for wind to whisk away in the dry times. Yet it is a good house, built with love by the original owners. There was attention to detail like positing the homestead due north, in winter, where the sun will rise to warm the children's bedrooms to ease the chill of the night.
The fireplace in the dining room is large, not so large as one can step into but large to warm the home, and by the way, it is central with all air flowing toward the bedrooms of the H shaped home. The second owners were not as kind, they replaced items with those of less quality. They covered the wallpaper with paint, and the wood floors with carpet, wall to wall. The tile in the bathrooms were the seventies pink and grey, but the finest tile, with pieces specially made to fit the corners and edges. Now, they are cut, and the cut tiles around the tub show they were not even sanded. The towel rack is slightly tilted. The linoleum in the kitchen has burn marks, made probably by the ash of cigarettes hanging from someones lip, lots of cigarettes. There were fire alarms in every room, unnoticeable battery operated discs that would blare when the oven was lit. Reminders that someone smoked, or that the house was heated with wood. The black on the walls would attest to that, and the film on the windows too. Ash in the kitchen cabinet or is it simply years accumulation of dirt, either or both.
When dreaming about how to spend the lottery money we will win, when we play the lottery someday, the little instances of loving care this home needs, grows to the wish list of true dreamers, indoor swimming pool, sauna, whirlpool, windows, walk in closets and on and on. But mostly it is the wish to pay respect to a thing that most persons would say is not alive, this house, this home, the place that hugs us to sleep at night, and warms us awake in the morning. The place we take for granted, until, adversity puts it in jeopardy, this place that has been good to us for so long, and when we have to leave, we would like to pass it along, in better shape from when we got it. But that too is probably just the stuff that the dreamers of winning the lottery dream. We will just leave it, standing where it is, and if we are smart, we will not look back.
The fireplace in the dining room is large, not so large as one can step into but large to warm the home, and by the way, it is central with all air flowing toward the bedrooms of the H shaped home. The second owners were not as kind, they replaced items with those of less quality. They covered the wallpaper with paint, and the wood floors with carpet, wall to wall. The tile in the bathrooms were the seventies pink and grey, but the finest tile, with pieces specially made to fit the corners and edges. Now, they are cut, and the cut tiles around the tub show they were not even sanded. The towel rack is slightly tilted. The linoleum in the kitchen has burn marks, made probably by the ash of cigarettes hanging from someones lip, lots of cigarettes. There were fire alarms in every room, unnoticeable battery operated discs that would blare when the oven was lit. Reminders that someone smoked, or that the house was heated with wood. The black on the walls would attest to that, and the film on the windows too. Ash in the kitchen cabinet or is it simply years accumulation of dirt, either or both.
When dreaming about how to spend the lottery money we will win, when we play the lottery someday, the little instances of loving care this home needs, grows to the wish list of true dreamers, indoor swimming pool, sauna, whirlpool, windows, walk in closets and on and on. But mostly it is the wish to pay respect to a thing that most persons would say is not alive, this house, this home, the place that hugs us to sleep at night, and warms us awake in the morning. The place we take for granted, until, adversity puts it in jeopardy, this place that has been good to us for so long, and when we have to leave, we would like to pass it along, in better shape from when we got it. But that too is probably just the stuff that the dreamers of winning the lottery dream. We will just leave it, standing where it is, and if we are smart, we will not look back.
1915 - 2012
Some cites on Google say the unemployment rate in the United States in 1915 was seven percent, others nine, and one stated that ten and a half percent in Chicago were unemployed.
In those days sanitation was not as clean as today, the streets were filled with horses, their waste and flies. We often think of the romance of the horse and buggy days but seldom reflect on the urine and feces flowing freely through the streets, where people stepped and women dragged their skirts. Except for the wealthy elite, most had one coat which was passed on down to younger siblings or from parents to children. Cleaning a coat in 1915 novel. Rugs were hung on the line and beaten to remove loose sediment. Milk was unpasteurized, not necessarily a bad thing, but an easy breeding ground for every thing. Refrigeration was a chunk of ice chopped at your doorstep by the man who rode around town in his wagon. Lye was the soap of choice or the only choice. Clothes were ironed with a heated piece of cast iron placed on the same wood burning stove that prepared food.
It is 1915, the streets are filthy, people are hungry and out of work. Worry is mounting, how to feed the family, each day eating less and less. Sleepless nights further weaken the populace. War breaks out, men are leaving their families to die on foreign soil. Some service men never left fifty miles from home, die and are buried thousands of miles from their family.
Still unemployment is high, people are becoming weaker, the nation as a wave of humanity is flowing to the abyss, around the corner the influenza epidemic which will erase the millions of specs of the foam of the wave. And nothing will stop it. Fatigue, filth, hunger, fear, and want will meet on the battlefield and win the skirmish with man/and wo-man. A cough shared in the same room, a hand shake, a kiss, a piece of paper passed from one to another and an epidemic is born to run its course. Mass graves, mass mourning and a major event is recorded for the future.
And here it is 2012 on the doorstep of 2013. Unemployment is high, Super Storm Sandy made sanitation in many states a challenge, people are hungry, they are afraid, they are homeless, living in the streets, sharing the dirt with their neighbor. Clean water no longer flowing from pipes, heat again from burning wood, carcasses floating down main street a main stream on the doorstep of history repeating, it is different, yet, it is the same. Will we be prepared, will we be ready, will we care, or will they.
In those days sanitation was not as clean as today, the streets were filled with horses, their waste and flies. We often think of the romance of the horse and buggy days but seldom reflect on the urine and feces flowing freely through the streets, where people stepped and women dragged their skirts. Except for the wealthy elite, most had one coat which was passed on down to younger siblings or from parents to children. Cleaning a coat in 1915 novel. Rugs were hung on the line and beaten to remove loose sediment. Milk was unpasteurized, not necessarily a bad thing, but an easy breeding ground for every thing. Refrigeration was a chunk of ice chopped at your doorstep by the man who rode around town in his wagon. Lye was the soap of choice or the only choice. Clothes were ironed with a heated piece of cast iron placed on the same wood burning stove that prepared food.
It is 1915, the streets are filthy, people are hungry and out of work. Worry is mounting, how to feed the family, each day eating less and less. Sleepless nights further weaken the populace. War breaks out, men are leaving their families to die on foreign soil. Some service men never left fifty miles from home, die and are buried thousands of miles from their family.
Still unemployment is high, people are becoming weaker, the nation as a wave of humanity is flowing to the abyss, around the corner the influenza epidemic which will erase the millions of specs of the foam of the wave. And nothing will stop it. Fatigue, filth, hunger, fear, and want will meet on the battlefield and win the skirmish with man/and wo-man. A cough shared in the same room, a hand shake, a kiss, a piece of paper passed from one to another and an epidemic is born to run its course. Mass graves, mass mourning and a major event is recorded for the future.
And here it is 2012 on the doorstep of 2013. Unemployment is high, Super Storm Sandy made sanitation in many states a challenge, people are hungry, they are afraid, they are homeless, living in the streets, sharing the dirt with their neighbor. Clean water no longer flowing from pipes, heat again from burning wood, carcasses floating down main street a main stream on the doorstep of history repeating, it is different, yet, it is the same. Will we be prepared, will we be ready, will we care, or will they.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
The most popular posts on this blog was not written by me, they were written by my father and his friend, way back in the nineteen-forties. The letters written to my mother during world war two. They are about a man alone in a foreign country. He followed the rules and wrote covert letters. All that he could not say because the letters were censored and for fear of punishment lest he say something he should not have. He writes about the weather, the mud, the rain. The constant rain of war. He does not speak of the perils or the fear. Simple notes that give one an impression of a new father fighting in war. He chose to volunteer because all his friends were drafted and he felt he had to go to help them all win the war.
He was not especially tough or arrogant. He came from adversity and made good for himself. He was not rich, but learned the value of reading and thinking for himself.
While in Europe on holiday, (joke) he learned about the peoples of the countries he visited. His letters more present his appreciation of the local populace and their battle to survive during war, that the hardships the military faced. He immediately warmed to them all and felt a little more at peace while fighting, because of the kindness the 'locals' afforded him.
There is no description of anything much except for Uncle Franks letter warning him, when he got closer to combat, to not go into any buildings for shelter but to dig his fox hole. That recollection was vivid, that was the only time you could get a tinge of caution from his words.
Most of the letters are about the cold or the wet and the request for socks and cigarettes. Smoking was a big deal in those days. Watch any of the old movies showing everyone with cigarettes in their mouths or the poise of offering a cigarette from a case to another, the match or lighter the focus of the camera, and the ballet of the parties meeting. Prelude to romance. But during the war it was the only escape, the first drag, the fade from reality. Cigarettes seem to be more important than food, or food so available and cigarettes less so.
On the other hand, Tony's (Nunzio) letters were written stateside. His vision so poor it is a surprise he was ever accepted into service. He was stationed in all the places everyone wishes for military service. Colorado and California. He was more worrying about all his friends, he was at home concentrating on the plight of all his friends. You can see the measure of comfort he had compared to being in a combat zone. You can also feel his disappointment that he is not out there with his friends.
With both writers, it is evident how homesick they are, how much they miss the familiar. And how strange it is for them , as little boys, it is to be away from home. Fighting or working to support the fighters more a secondary sense. With Tony you can feel his commitment to the safety of folding the parachutes in the proper way. That he was in a personal relationship with whomever got that particular chute. How important it was for him to do it right, his total sense of responsibility, an honourable man.
With my father, you can sense how much he did not want to be there. He did not say so in so many words but like someone having to do something distasteful, like swallowing Castor oil. He had to do it, and did not want to. And it just kept dragging on, soon he would be home, soon the conflict would be over and month after month, wishing or writing, it has to end soon.
Seeing the Follies in Paris, was probably his favorite. He loved to go to clubs and listen to the music. I am not sure if he also enjoyed the girls, my recollection of him was a prude.
Around the world his and Tony's letters are being read. Seventy year old notes home. It is a compliment to my effort to see the words of faded pencils and the persistence of putting them all on the web, instead of trying to get a book published and making millions of dollars. (chuckle.) It was years ago I began with the first letter my dad wrote. It was the gotta do it inspiration. The idea that my mother saved them all those years, and my sister sent them to me after my mother died. Along with boxes of other papers to sort through. The stuff to discern whether of not to throw it out. The letters sat for two years before I even opened one. And then I read another and then another and then another and then realized it had an impact on me. Not the conscious kind of slap in the face but the visceral touch, even though his letters didn't say much. They touched something that sparked the need to share the information. And now I have been proven right. The most popular items on this site were not written by me. And yet, it makes me feel good, that perhaps they are doing some good somewhere in this world. For those of us who will never see combat and for those close to the front lines these notes seem as real as if they are happening today.
So I am not the great writer I had hoped to be, and I have found something that is touching all of us, where ever we are. Happy New Year.
He was not especially tough or arrogant. He came from adversity and made good for himself. He was not rich, but learned the value of reading and thinking for himself.
While in Europe on holiday, (joke) he learned about the peoples of the countries he visited. His letters more present his appreciation of the local populace and their battle to survive during war, that the hardships the military faced. He immediately warmed to them all and felt a little more at peace while fighting, because of the kindness the 'locals' afforded him.
There is no description of anything much except for Uncle Franks letter warning him, when he got closer to combat, to not go into any buildings for shelter but to dig his fox hole. That recollection was vivid, that was the only time you could get a tinge of caution from his words.
Most of the letters are about the cold or the wet and the request for socks and cigarettes. Smoking was a big deal in those days. Watch any of the old movies showing everyone with cigarettes in their mouths or the poise of offering a cigarette from a case to another, the match or lighter the focus of the camera, and the ballet of the parties meeting. Prelude to romance. But during the war it was the only escape, the first drag, the fade from reality. Cigarettes seem to be more important than food, or food so available and cigarettes less so.
On the other hand, Tony's (Nunzio) letters were written stateside. His vision so poor it is a surprise he was ever accepted into service. He was stationed in all the places everyone wishes for military service. Colorado and California. He was more worrying about all his friends, he was at home concentrating on the plight of all his friends. You can see the measure of comfort he had compared to being in a combat zone. You can also feel his disappointment that he is not out there with his friends.
With both writers, it is evident how homesick they are, how much they miss the familiar. And how strange it is for them , as little boys, it is to be away from home. Fighting or working to support the fighters more a secondary sense. With Tony you can feel his commitment to the safety of folding the parachutes in the proper way. That he was in a personal relationship with whomever got that particular chute. How important it was for him to do it right, his total sense of responsibility, an honourable man.
With my father, you can sense how much he did not want to be there. He did not say so in so many words but like someone having to do something distasteful, like swallowing Castor oil. He had to do it, and did not want to. And it just kept dragging on, soon he would be home, soon the conflict would be over and month after month, wishing or writing, it has to end soon.
Seeing the Follies in Paris, was probably his favorite. He loved to go to clubs and listen to the music. I am not sure if he also enjoyed the girls, my recollection of him was a prude.
Around the world his and Tony's letters are being read. Seventy year old notes home. It is a compliment to my effort to see the words of faded pencils and the persistence of putting them all on the web, instead of trying to get a book published and making millions of dollars. (chuckle.) It was years ago I began with the first letter my dad wrote. It was the gotta do it inspiration. The idea that my mother saved them all those years, and my sister sent them to me after my mother died. Along with boxes of other papers to sort through. The stuff to discern whether of not to throw it out. The letters sat for two years before I even opened one. And then I read another and then another and then another and then realized it had an impact on me. Not the conscious kind of slap in the face but the visceral touch, even though his letters didn't say much. They touched something that sparked the need to share the information. And now I have been proven right. The most popular items on this site were not written by me. And yet, it makes me feel good, that perhaps they are doing some good somewhere in this world. For those of us who will never see combat and for those close to the front lines these notes seem as real as if they are happening today.
So I am not the great writer I had hoped to be, and I have found something that is touching all of us, where ever we are. Happy New Year.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Insurance in the land of the free
The homeowner and auto insurance is carried by the same provider. We have been doing business with them for more than twenty five-years. They are not the inexpensive providers you hear advertised on tv. They are not the sort of organization that argues with every claim, instead they pay promptly and courtesly. Like when the roof was damaged with hail from a tornado, there were no problems about the claim and the payment was made right away, and we got the roof fixed.
For the autos it is an interesting dilemma, one was bought used in nineteen ninety seven for thirty thousand dollars and paid for in installments with interest. That car now, looks good, the paint still shines. It was a lemon, a very expensive lemon, with repairs each year at about a minimum of another thousand dollars. We kept fixing it because a thousand is cheaper than buying a new one, and we are surprised each year but the new problem, something we never heard of before, or since. So we keep fixing it. We carry collision on it, which means they will replace the car with with the same thing or an equivalent of the same value. The car is now worth on the blue book listing at about three thousand dollars. Collision insurance fees go up each year even though the price of the car goes down each year. We debate dropping collision, but if someone hits us and totals the car then we would have to pay for the collision repairs. And usually when an accident happens it is when one can least afford it. So each year we complain or try to get the rate reduced, instead we keep raising the deductible, our out of pocket expense before the insurance company will begin paying. We want to keep the car till it dies completely. A new car is an expense we do not want to incur if we can help it.
The other car, truck really, used to cart hay, seed, equipment and anything we need to maintain the farm. It was bought six months after the other car we have. The price was about sixteen thousand dollars, and has not been an expense since we got it. We have only had maintenance charges, oil change, tune up, tires, and air conditioning refills. Both machines have more than a hundred thousand miles, the truck is closer to a hundred fifty thousand.
The only other insurance we have is health insurance. We got the changes in policy for twenty thirteen, and it is one confusing document, actually three confusing or incomplete documents requiring a phone call to the provider for clarification.
Of course, we get the voice that offers to assist or redirect the call to a real human, but that does not happen immediately, we get the next voice that informs us that we know that we can go to the company web site to get all our questions answered.
The the next voice, after listening to some static melodies, tells us that our call is important to them. Reminds me of the phone call we got from Mitt Romney, the intro voice tells us that Mitt is contacting us with some very important information, then a recording of Mitts voice is heard. If it is such important information he wants us to have, he should have called us himself, or gotten a real person to make the call. How do we know, it was really from him, how do we know he is real. But I digress, this discussion is about insurance in a free country.
The new changes talk about who the insurance company wants us to do business with. The insurance company is telling us that they have preferred providers and non preferred providers and the price for prescriptions differs accordingly. If we do not do business with the companies they want us to use, they prescription we get filled. Here is where it gets tricky. They sort the various drugs or medications into tiers, and they further sort the tiers into generic or non generic or brand names. The co-pay for the generic drugs is less than for the brand names, and the co-pay is further sorted into tiers. Tier one drugs have the lowest co-pay, all the way up to tier five, which is exactly thirty three percent of the cost of the drug. But ninety day supplies are cheaper than thirty one day supplies. Now if you think you got that all sorted, it is further, still, changed, because there are some drugs that must have prior authorization before the company will pay any part of the prescription charge. And there are some drugs that are not on the list in the printed documents received, so either the website must be visited or a phone call to listed to all those voices and static music, and it is an important call to them so we must hold on until they are finished with us.
Now this is just an explanation of the drug part of the insurance. Anyone in need of medical insurance, especially some who have chronic illness or 'conditions', are in less than optimal operating order and must then have someone read all the info and explain it so they can understand it, or call or visit the company website and have it explained to them before they can explain it to the insured.
Then, of course there are the other rules the insurance provider has set down. Such as which procedures they will pay for, and where they are done, and for some, who will provide their medical care is also dictated.
So, in summary, it use to be that the patient and the patients health provider decided the course of treatment, then the government stepped in and decided which health care providers would provide which care, and now it is the insurance companies which tell us, what treatments and treatment providers are right for us. They also tell the treatment providers exactly how much they will pay them for any service, no matter what the provider wants to charge. Doctors can no longer prescribe over the phone for a patient, they must see the patient before any service is provided. Hey doc, I think I have pneumonia and out to be admitted to the hospital, can you please make those arrangements? No, you either make an appointment to see me at my convenience or go to the emergency room.
Now, besides these dilemma, the doctor shortage is also adding to the difficulties of getting medical care. The AMA controls the amount of doctors graduated each year, to keep their income at high levels and demand at equally high levels. Good for job security except if all the patients die waiting to see the doctor.
For the autos it is an interesting dilemma, one was bought used in nineteen ninety seven for thirty thousand dollars and paid for in installments with interest. That car now, looks good, the paint still shines. It was a lemon, a very expensive lemon, with repairs each year at about a minimum of another thousand dollars. We kept fixing it because a thousand is cheaper than buying a new one, and we are surprised each year but the new problem, something we never heard of before, or since. So we keep fixing it. We carry collision on it, which means they will replace the car with with the same thing or an equivalent of the same value. The car is now worth on the blue book listing at about three thousand dollars. Collision insurance fees go up each year even though the price of the car goes down each year. We debate dropping collision, but if someone hits us and totals the car then we would have to pay for the collision repairs. And usually when an accident happens it is when one can least afford it. So each year we complain or try to get the rate reduced, instead we keep raising the deductible, our out of pocket expense before the insurance company will begin paying. We want to keep the car till it dies completely. A new car is an expense we do not want to incur if we can help it.
The other car, truck really, used to cart hay, seed, equipment and anything we need to maintain the farm. It was bought six months after the other car we have. The price was about sixteen thousand dollars, and has not been an expense since we got it. We have only had maintenance charges, oil change, tune up, tires, and air conditioning refills. Both machines have more than a hundred thousand miles, the truck is closer to a hundred fifty thousand.
The only other insurance we have is health insurance. We got the changes in policy for twenty thirteen, and it is one confusing document, actually three confusing or incomplete documents requiring a phone call to the provider for clarification.
Of course, we get the voice that offers to assist or redirect the call to a real human, but that does not happen immediately, we get the next voice that informs us that we know that we can go to the company web site to get all our questions answered.
The the next voice, after listening to some static melodies, tells us that our call is important to them. Reminds me of the phone call we got from Mitt Romney, the intro voice tells us that Mitt is contacting us with some very important information, then a recording of Mitts voice is heard. If it is such important information he wants us to have, he should have called us himself, or gotten a real person to make the call. How do we know, it was really from him, how do we know he is real. But I digress, this discussion is about insurance in a free country.
The new changes talk about who the insurance company wants us to do business with. The insurance company is telling us that they have preferred providers and non preferred providers and the price for prescriptions differs accordingly. If we do not do business with the companies they want us to use, they prescription we get filled. Here is where it gets tricky. They sort the various drugs or medications into tiers, and they further sort the tiers into generic or non generic or brand names. The co-pay for the generic drugs is less than for the brand names, and the co-pay is further sorted into tiers. Tier one drugs have the lowest co-pay, all the way up to tier five, which is exactly thirty three percent of the cost of the drug. But ninety day supplies are cheaper than thirty one day supplies. Now if you think you got that all sorted, it is further, still, changed, because there are some drugs that must have prior authorization before the company will pay any part of the prescription charge. And there are some drugs that are not on the list in the printed documents received, so either the website must be visited or a phone call to listed to all those voices and static music, and it is an important call to them so we must hold on until they are finished with us.
Now this is just an explanation of the drug part of the insurance. Anyone in need of medical insurance, especially some who have chronic illness or 'conditions', are in less than optimal operating order and must then have someone read all the info and explain it so they can understand it, or call or visit the company website and have it explained to them before they can explain it to the insured.
Then, of course there are the other rules the insurance provider has set down. Such as which procedures they will pay for, and where they are done, and for some, who will provide their medical care is also dictated.
So, in summary, it use to be that the patient and the patients health provider decided the course of treatment, then the government stepped in and decided which health care providers would provide which care, and now it is the insurance companies which tell us, what treatments and treatment providers are right for us. They also tell the treatment providers exactly how much they will pay them for any service, no matter what the provider wants to charge. Doctors can no longer prescribe over the phone for a patient, they must see the patient before any service is provided. Hey doc, I think I have pneumonia and out to be admitted to the hospital, can you please make those arrangements? No, you either make an appointment to see me at my convenience or go to the emergency room.
Now, besides these dilemma, the doctor shortage is also adding to the difficulties of getting medical care. The AMA controls the amount of doctors graduated each year, to keep their income at high levels and demand at equally high levels. Good for job security except if all the patients die waiting to see the doctor.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Now
Well this is the beginning of the 'dying time'. Already we have heard of one death and await the notice of the other two, since they usually occur in threes. The mood is sombre. It is also a good thing that it is the time of celebration. Guess the founding fathers, tsk tsk, thought of everything. Keep people celebrating so they can weather the storm. In the darkness of winter, find a good excuse to celebrate. If it rains celebrate, if it does not rain celebrate.
Someone suggested a special thank you for care givers. Thank you to all of you who care for someone. You make their lives less lonely and give them reason to smile. Since they are unable to make it on their own, they feel that they are burdens, the less you make them feel as though they are the weight of the world the more they will be able to feel good about themselves. Yes, we know it is a tireless endeavor but it gives the community a sense of oneness. It connects us all by the care we share.
Death may not be really a finality, it may just be that they no longer are able to speak to us. They may be here watching and have no voice. That would be a kicker. That would be total helplessness, being here with us unable to effect any change. Maybe that is why they call it hell.
We all think about death, our own. It is the end of the body, we have not idea what happens to the mind. Religions make up their own ideas as to what will happen, like the virgins who will service the warriors of Islam. That is a really good sales pitch for young men at puberity. It gives their mind something to distract them while they blow up somebody else. Like the crusades of old, there are promises of rewards. And sex is a good control mechanism.
And now that we have introduced the idea of the end of the life of the body, lets get on to the reality of living. Quality control,you might call it. Even if you are just blowing your nose, do it the best you can. Living life to the fullest is merely doing your best, being your best. It does not have to break sales records, or world records, only the few get that honor. It is just being able to live with yourself. Even at your laziest, do it the best. Don't do it half hearted. Then there will be no regrets. The if only tyranny of life. if only I made the bed, I'd be able to go to sleep now instead of having to sleep on the mattress or stay up longer and have to throw the sheets on the bed.
Now is the only chance you get to make yourself happy, there is only right now. this very instant, there is no past there is no future. There is only right now, so don't waste it on pettiness, make it bestness.
Someone suggested a special thank you for care givers. Thank you to all of you who care for someone. You make their lives less lonely and give them reason to smile. Since they are unable to make it on their own, they feel that they are burdens, the less you make them feel as though they are the weight of the world the more they will be able to feel good about themselves. Yes, we know it is a tireless endeavor but it gives the community a sense of oneness. It connects us all by the care we share.
Death may not be really a finality, it may just be that they no longer are able to speak to us. They may be here watching and have no voice. That would be a kicker. That would be total helplessness, being here with us unable to effect any change. Maybe that is why they call it hell.
We all think about death, our own. It is the end of the body, we have not idea what happens to the mind. Religions make up their own ideas as to what will happen, like the virgins who will service the warriors of Islam. That is a really good sales pitch for young men at puberity. It gives their mind something to distract them while they blow up somebody else. Like the crusades of old, there are promises of rewards. And sex is a good control mechanism.
And now that we have introduced the idea of the end of the life of the body, lets get on to the reality of living. Quality control,you might call it. Even if you are just blowing your nose, do it the best you can. Living life to the fullest is merely doing your best, being your best. It does not have to break sales records, or world records, only the few get that honor. It is just being able to live with yourself. Even at your laziest, do it the best. Don't do it half hearted. Then there will be no regrets. The if only tyranny of life. if only I made the bed, I'd be able to go to sleep now instead of having to sleep on the mattress or stay up longer and have to throw the sheets on the bed.
Now is the only chance you get to make yourself happy, there is only right now. this very instant, there is no past there is no future. There is only right now, so don't waste it on pettiness, make it bestness.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Dear Diary, 11.25.12
Dear Diary,
The year is almost over, another month and it will be twentythirteen. I wonder how difficult it will be for all those people who are supersticious about the number thirteen.
Well, we have the man who will be president for the next four years. Will the congress work with him to make some positive changes to put people to work. If history repeats itself, the government will order some public works projects to repair some infrastructure. The Super Sandy storm created some jobs. The east will be busy repairing the damage. The trees, if we are lucky, will be replanted. They are so important to add some beauty to the crowded streets.
When there was the ice storm in Springfield Missouri and many of the trees froze and broke and uprooted, they removed them. The view became sky and houses and streets, and cars, that was it.
We had a very nice thanksgiving, even though I made a mistake and let the turkey defrost too early. I had to cook the turkey on monday and had to make do with sliced turkey on thursday. The apple pie came out great.
Celebrations are so important, especially before the winter doldrums. We can look back on the fun we had, while we wait for the sun to return.
Thanksgiving is my most important holiday. It gives us the opportunity to truly look at our lives and acknowledge all of our successes. It is the time when we reflect upon our choices. Choices are the things we have to live with. If we make a mistake and choose the wrong thing how do we correct or accept the consequences.
I am one of those persons who learns from my mistakes. Most of the time I choose the wrong thing and then have to make the most or best of it. It is like choosing to go left or right. Left is filled with dilemas and right is the smoothe road. I always choose left, it looks right to me. Funny how I always do that, maybe it is because I am left hand dominant. Left to me, is always right.
We celebrated that we are all safe. No longer do we take that for granted. The danger that is ever present has us on guard.
Things will become more difficult. There are too many people in the world , unemployed or underemployed.
The problem is the boom bust economy. There are only so many cars a person can buy, or homes, or toys, or things. Charity does not really work. People would prefer to earn their own. Some persons think it is owed to them, those are the ones who are what one might call lazy. They expect everything to be handed to them. Those are some of the residents of the many prisons. Jail is a better word to use. It is the place where society puts all those individuals they neither have the time the resources or interest in adapting or converting to society's rules.
But many of those in jail are the product of the war on drugs. Drugs is money in somebody elses hands. If drugs like pot were legal there would be other accepted wealthy individuals in society. Now those drug lords are persona non grata and they live below the edges of 'the right' people.
But that is another industry which would see layoffs. Prison guards abound. And what would those persons in prison for drug offenses do when they got out. There are no jobs for about twenty million, that would add about another million with out jobs.
But we all know what will happen. There will be a war, somewhere, where all those unemployed persons can go to get shot, and either get buried or move on to veterans hospitals, another industry which will employ.
The population growth must be delt with, all those mouths to feed. And the greedy don't give a dam. They only know that they want it all. So in the new millenium we are still the same. It will take generations to adapt to a better way of living. Johann Guttenberg made things better, so did the computer, and Bill Gates with Microsofts software. Now all we have to do is bring the poorest of us, up to the standards of being alive, instead of trying to survive.
I am grateful that I have the opportunity to think, about these things and others, I wish I had some answers to make things better. I hope I am not one of the individuals that make things worse.
Yours truly.
miceLLe
ciao!
The year is almost over, another month and it will be twentythirteen. I wonder how difficult it will be for all those people who are supersticious about the number thirteen.
Well, we have the man who will be president for the next four years. Will the congress work with him to make some positive changes to put people to work. If history repeats itself, the government will order some public works projects to repair some infrastructure. The Super Sandy storm created some jobs. The east will be busy repairing the damage. The trees, if we are lucky, will be replanted. They are so important to add some beauty to the crowded streets.
When there was the ice storm in Springfield Missouri and many of the trees froze and broke and uprooted, they removed them. The view became sky and houses and streets, and cars, that was it.
We had a very nice thanksgiving, even though I made a mistake and let the turkey defrost too early. I had to cook the turkey on monday and had to make do with sliced turkey on thursday. The apple pie came out great.
Celebrations are so important, especially before the winter doldrums. We can look back on the fun we had, while we wait for the sun to return.
Thanksgiving is my most important holiday. It gives us the opportunity to truly look at our lives and acknowledge all of our successes. It is the time when we reflect upon our choices. Choices are the things we have to live with. If we make a mistake and choose the wrong thing how do we correct or accept the consequences.
I am one of those persons who learns from my mistakes. Most of the time I choose the wrong thing and then have to make the most or best of it. It is like choosing to go left or right. Left is filled with dilemas and right is the smoothe road. I always choose left, it looks right to me. Funny how I always do that, maybe it is because I am left hand dominant. Left to me, is always right.
We celebrated that we are all safe. No longer do we take that for granted. The danger that is ever present has us on guard.
Things will become more difficult. There are too many people in the world , unemployed or underemployed.
The problem is the boom bust economy. There are only so many cars a person can buy, or homes, or toys, or things. Charity does not really work. People would prefer to earn their own. Some persons think it is owed to them, those are the ones who are what one might call lazy. They expect everything to be handed to them. Those are some of the residents of the many prisons. Jail is a better word to use. It is the place where society puts all those individuals they neither have the time the resources or interest in adapting or converting to society's rules.
But many of those in jail are the product of the war on drugs. Drugs is money in somebody elses hands. If drugs like pot were legal there would be other accepted wealthy individuals in society. Now those drug lords are persona non grata and they live below the edges of 'the right' people.
But that is another industry which would see layoffs. Prison guards abound. And what would those persons in prison for drug offenses do when they got out. There are no jobs for about twenty million, that would add about another million with out jobs.
But we all know what will happen. There will be a war, somewhere, where all those unemployed persons can go to get shot, and either get buried or move on to veterans hospitals, another industry which will employ.
The population growth must be delt with, all those mouths to feed. And the greedy don't give a dam. They only know that they want it all. So in the new millenium we are still the same. It will take generations to adapt to a better way of living. Johann Guttenberg made things better, so did the computer, and Bill Gates with Microsofts software. Now all we have to do is bring the poorest of us, up to the standards of being alive, instead of trying to survive.
I am grateful that I have the opportunity to think, about these things and others, I wish I had some answers to make things better. I hope I am not one of the individuals that make things worse.
Yours truly.
miceLLe
ciao!
Sunday, October 14, 2012
It is summer in autumn or is it spring
there is a second blooming for the flowers
they think it is spring, they have finally had a long drink
The leaves that have not fallen from the drought
are red orange brown yellow and green with patches of red
It is autumn at the top of the garden
the trees are acting as they should
pumpkins have appeared at the stores
with the mums they bring cheer
Ladybugs(beetles) hug the windows
waiting for a chance to come in
to rest to go dormant
to wait for the next spring
The flutter of their wings make them easy to spot
as they approach their landing
close to the warmth
Chimes hum with the breeze that rustles the leaves
an echo of ommmmmmmm
singing praise to the puffy white clouds
the tufts of cotton sitting in the sea of blue
the palest of blue
a soft fabric of sky
giving smile to the eye
All is peaceful and calm
save for the rustling of the leaves
and again behind is the tic of the clock
the reminder of time
the time that was not there
before the sound touched the ear
only the chime, the leaves rustling
and a single bird chirping near
The branches of the trees are waving
farewell adieu
hugging the sun
which will soon disappear
A sunday in autumn
peaceful and calm
a sun day with the leaves
to soon disappear
happy sun day
happy cheer
a peaceful calm day
over here
I hope it is the same
over there.
there is a second blooming for the flowers
they think it is spring, they have finally had a long drink
The leaves that have not fallen from the drought
are red orange brown yellow and green with patches of red
It is autumn at the top of the garden
the trees are acting as they should
pumpkins have appeared at the stores
with the mums they bring cheer
Ladybugs(beetles) hug the windows
waiting for a chance to come in
to rest to go dormant
to wait for the next spring
The flutter of their wings make them easy to spot
as they approach their landing
close to the warmth
Chimes hum with the breeze that rustles the leaves
an echo of ommmmmmmm
singing praise to the puffy white clouds
the tufts of cotton sitting in the sea of blue
the palest of blue
a soft fabric of sky
giving smile to the eye
All is peaceful and calm
save for the rustling of the leaves
and again behind is the tic of the clock
the reminder of time
the time that was not there
before the sound touched the ear
only the chime, the leaves rustling
and a single bird chirping near
The branches of the trees are waving
farewell adieu
hugging the sun
which will soon disappear
A sunday in autumn
peaceful and calm
a sun day with the leaves
to soon disappear
happy sun day
happy cheer
a peaceful calm day
over here
I hope it is the same
over there.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
A ride in the country
Sprinkles of rain greened the fields, showing signs of spring in September. Along with the sprouting hay seen from the road, were cows, new herds to graze the land. Just as the green popped so too was cattle of every color. Further along the road where the fields faded into brush and trees the road forks over a stone bridge that traverses a still dry creekbed. Here the road has been gravelled. With each passing vehicle the white dust brushes up and kisses the trees. Almost the snow scene of winter except for the leaves on decideous trees, and the patches of goldenrod glistening in the sun. It feels as though it is the beginning of spring, rather than the entry into autumn.
The dry summer slowly fades from memory until the sight of a dry pond that is being excavated to a larger size in the hopes of hitting an underground spring or a large enough size that will sustain a small herd through tougher times and not go dry.
There is little to no industry here, mostly small scale farming and a few of the chicken barn operations, Tyson signs warn of the scent of excrement, large metal buildings usually four but as many as twelve in one confined area, where the lights can be seen on through the night and the stench waifs the air for miles.
Further into the road is less rural, somewhat primative, dust covered mailboxes mark the site where cars turn off to a pathway to a homesite, buried deep within the woods. Even here though are the familiar signs of civilization, beer cans and the paper debris from a meal provided by the golden arches.
There is a stone and wood log home with blue barrel halves filled with earth and plants blooming, herbs spices vegetables and flowers, an oasis of activity all neatly tended. A place someone calls home hidden with the trees kissed by nature and hugged by homeowners who are happy to be here.
The dry summer slowly fades from memory until the sight of a dry pond that is being excavated to a larger size in the hopes of hitting an underground spring or a large enough size that will sustain a small herd through tougher times and not go dry.
There is little to no industry here, mostly small scale farming and a few of the chicken barn operations, Tyson signs warn of the scent of excrement, large metal buildings usually four but as many as twelve in one confined area, where the lights can be seen on through the night and the stench waifs the air for miles.
Further into the road is less rural, somewhat primative, dust covered mailboxes mark the site where cars turn off to a pathway to a homesite, buried deep within the woods. Even here though are the familiar signs of civilization, beer cans and the paper debris from a meal provided by the golden arches.
There is a stone and wood log home with blue barrel halves filled with earth and plants blooming, herbs spices vegetables and flowers, an oasis of activity all neatly tended. A place someone calls home hidden with the trees kissed by nature and hugged by homeowners who are happy to be here.
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