Halloween Vacation Ramblings or Why I am NOT Reading the News This Week ...



 

Sigh!  I'm on vacation, disconnected from the world, happily hanging out, sippin' my morning java and decide to check the news, turn on the laptop and BIG MISTAKE.  So, here I am on my well-worn soapbox.  Again.  Sigh.  This was the headline that greeted me:


Obama Reportedly Unaware of World Leader Phone Tapping
 



Ya think?  He's the leader of the free world and he was unaware of the phone tapping?  What is going on with journalism lately?  I'm all for freedom of the press, but it seems like the press has been overrun by a bunch of addlepated twits who have not a flipping clue about what responsible journalism entails.  They are not even remotely interested in responsible journalism and are far too enamored of the sound of their own jibber-jabber.  Their worst offense, however, is they think the American public is stupid.  How else to explain this type of headline.  I mean, really?  The leader of the free world unaware of world leader phone tapping?  REALLY?  I don't know what I find most insulting, that they are reporting the obvious (we spy on other countries) or that our leader was unaware of it or they really believe we are feeble-brained enough to swallow this drivel! Gasp!  You mean to tell us we spy on other nations?  Nooooo!  Say it ain't soooo!  I am shocked!  Shocked I tell you!  Golly, because I know other nations would NEVER spy on us!

What's next, oh, journalistic oracles, are you going to divulge the names of our undercover agents (let's not call them spies, such a nasty, devious word!) and print them on the front page of your informative publications, so that those poor, innocent, TRUSTING countries (you know, the ones whose denizens take to the streets shouting anti-American slogans, but have noooo trouble accepting our monetary aid or expecting us to send our guys into battle to protect their sorry-cowering-behind- reinforced-walls derrieres) will know the "enemies" in their midst?  Oh, no, no, wait, I know what your next leading story will be, gasp, shock, surprise!  There are huge bodies of water known as oceans out there!  Two are called the Pacific Ocean and the Atlantic Ocean!  Or, hey too much sugar is bad for you!  Or, wait, wait, really big news ... Politicians lie through their teeth.  How can you tell when politicians are lying?  Their mouths are moving!  Or, gee, how about another scintillating expose on "celebrities" who have become famous because they made a sex tape which was somehow leaked, oopsies! How did THAT happen?  They are now worshipped and looked upon as role models (from hell, but, hey, that's just my opinion).  That one is a particular pet peeve of mine.  Especially when I hear young girls say they want to be just like them.  Really?  I told one of them recently.  You want to be known for having multiple sex partners and filming yourself?  Wow, what a goal!  Your momma is going to be soooooo proud!  As will your future children.  Puhleeze.  Setting that accomplishment bar really low there, missy!

I mean, come on!  Do you really think phone tapping is new?  Or newsworthy?  I may, or may not, be particularly fond of the current administration, but since when is keeping an eye (or an ear) on other countries' governments news?  Do you really believe our president would be unaware of such a thing?  And do you really think other (friendly and unfriendly) governments are not listening in on us?  Really?  Because if you believe any of that, then you should be writing a letter to Santa Claus asking him to please leave ALL politicians, and their toadies, nice presents under the tree this year, because they are such nice, wonderful, honest, law-abiding, family-loving people.  I can't figure out if this article is meant to, yet again, smear the Obama administration, by making him appear foolish for not knowing about the phone tapping or if it's meant to provoke sympathy, causing the public to think "Oh, dear, there they go again, picking on the President!"  Or if the news media thinks we are stupid enough to swallow any of their drivel.  Frankly, I am surprised they haven't brought the race card into it (yet).  Maybe later.  That's another one I am so blooming tired of.  If you agree with something he says, or does, then you are agreeing with him because he's black.  If you disagree with something he says, or does, then it's because he's black.  Okay, does ANYBODY remember he's also half white.  Yes, I think it's great there is (at long last) diversity in the White House, but I sure as heck hope (and I am being way idealistic and unrealistic, I recognize this) he was voted for because he was the right choice (or so the voters thought) and not because he was half anything. Or the lesser of two really, really bad choices.  Do I choose the bad tomato or the bad fish?  Hmmmm, the bad tomato will taste bad, but the bad fish could possibly kill me.  Fugu fish, anyone, anyone?  Yep, I'll go for the tomato!  I have never voted for someone because of their race, religion or ethnic background.  I have always voted for whoever I thought was the best choice.  Or the lesser of a bunch of bad choices.  If you have voted for someone based solely on their ethnicity, race, religion, social background, you, pardon my French, are an idiot.  Maybe your choice is in power, but you are still an idiot and God help them, you.  And us.

How about journalists focus on, oh, I don't know, stuff that really matters.  Like, shoot, let's pick a topic, any topic, anyone, anyone?  Okay, I'll pick.  Because it's my blog.  Let's go with how the recent government shut-down hurt people.  You know, those poor, slogging-away-for-minimum-wage people, or the ones who went without possibly life-extending or life-saving treatment (and are still going without it) because the duck-butts (oh, I do love that expression!) in charge of our government (and I am talking about BOTH parties here, no favoritism) were arguing like petulant six-year olds on the playground.  Let's see who blinks first.  I hope all of you got dry-eyes and now have sandpaper eyelids that itch and scratch whenever you close your eyes.  Let's focus on how a little boy dying of cancer (inoperable brain tumor) wants to deliver teddy bears and laughter to other sick children, let's see him reported on day in and day out.  Instead of crazy like a fox celebrities who prance naked onstage and call it art.  That's my brand, it's my art!  Really, flashing your boobies and other private parts to the world is art?  Hmmm, it must be, since the public laps it up like sour milk at a yogurt festival.  Ugh, bad, bad analogy.  I've stopped watching entertainment shows because they went from being mildly entertaining fluff to truly nauseating.  Honestly, if I saw one more feature on someone's tongue or spitting or butt/boobie flashing I was going to go Rambo.  Or another feature on someone being arrested for drunk driving because, oh, my, they are overwhelmed by the fame.  Well, if you are overwhelmed and feel like getting drunk off your butt, go home, shut the door and get snockered in private.  Don't be out there driving, snockered to the gills, putting innocents in danger ... oh, wait, I forgot, if you do it privately, you don't get your picture in the rags!  I mean, come one, now, you feed off them, they feed off you.  It's a win-win!  Then, FLASH BULB!  It hit me, I can hit the "Off" button .on the remote and problem solved!  Voila!  Why is it society is so captivated by other people's privates?  Could it be because they have a huge, gaping hole in their lives and are desperately trying to fill it?  Only they fill it with trash and it can never, ever fill your soul. Dang, I bobbled and weaved.  Oopsies!

Back to my rant.  Let's focus on veterans who after serving their country are now living under bridges, homeless and unwanted, because their brains are turned to mush and their government, you know, the bureaucrats that turned them into soldiers, basically turned its back on them the minute they served their time.  Politicians and bureaucrats, those red-tape producing buffoons, should be ashamed of themselves.  Oh, darn.  Forgot, in order to feel shame you need to have a soul.  And morals.  Silly me.  Soul, morals, there's no place for them in politics.  What was I thinking?  Yes, these service men and women, they signed up knowing they were heading into danger, but they went and then when they returned, what?  The red tape to get benefits is massive and a lot of them end up homeless, drug-addicted, violent, without focus.  That's the thanks you get for serving your country?  There should not be a need for the Wounded Warrior Project.  There should not be a need for vets asking for donations on the streets and, yes, I am perfectly aware a lot of those are con artists but not all of them.  Just as I am perfectly aware a lot of people on welfare are "working" the system.  A lot of them are not.  Let's not lump people into one miscellaneous blob of miscreants.  The families of our service men and women should not be worrying about putting food on the table while their loved ones are away, possibly getting blown up, or once they are back.  Parents of sick kids should not be worrying about how they are going to pay massive medical bills, provided they are able to find a place which will treat their uninsured, or under insured, children.   Sick people should not be dying due to lack of funds for treatment.  The first question a sick person hears should not be "Insurance card?"  It should be "How can we help you?"

And, yeah, maybe the President was not aware of phone tapping, maybe he was.  Maybe he gave the order, maybe he didn't.  But this type of reporting is just b.s.  Phone tapping, really.  Who cares?  Everyone spies on everyone else.  Forewarned is forearmed, in some cases.  Let's stop this "wagging the dog" style of journalism and focus on issues that really matter.  Sure, you can still print fluff stories about (questionably) famous people who spit, swill, snort, change partners like I change purses and name their babies as if they were farm produce or directions on a compass.  Those poor kids are going to go through hell in school.  Not only will other kids find articles about their parents butt-naked online, but can you imagine the name calling?  Please let's see some real meat and potatoes reporting for a change.

Who was it that said "Speak softly and carry a big stick" ... I believe it was President (Teddy) Roosevelt.  Do you really believe we are respected because we are "nice?"  Uhhh, I don't think so!  We are respected because we are strong.  We just have to ensure that strength does not make us bullies.  But let's get one thing straight, if we are perceived as weak, we are lost. Society preys upon the weak.  We have not yet evolved so much as a race, and by race I mean the human race, that we respect the peaceful, we are still at the point where in order to ensure (relative) peace, we have to arm ourselves for war.  We need to be perceived as not afraid to whack people upside the head with that big stick, fight dirty if we have to, if it entails protecting our own.

We are fighting on oh, so many, many fronts.  Spiritual, moral, religious, family, political.  Let's redirect our attention away from people's private parts and lives.  Let's focus more on issues that really matter, issues whose outcome will affect us as a people, as a society, a world, a planet.  We need to  hold our elected officials accountable, across the board.  I believe in freedom of the press, however, journalists have to acknowledge and work with the fact that with freedom comes great responsibility.  I believe in separation of church and state, let's just make sure freedom (and respect) of religion is part of our society.  I will respect your choice to not believe, you will respect my choice to believe.  You have as much right to cover your head as I have to wear a cross. I choose to celebrate Halloween (candy, candy, candy!) and you will respect and refrain from telling me I will burn in hell for doing so.  Because you really don't know that, do you?  If you have a direct line to the Father, I want to see a signed affidavit saying so. Oh, and since we are on the Father issue, you will also respect the fact I believe Mary is our Heavenly Mother, just as I respect your beliefs or lack thereof.  It's a mutual thing, this respect business.  It's not an exclusion-driven one.

In an article about Hurricane Sandy, a fertility clinic, embryos and babies, in the comments section, one reader said wouldn't it be great if, somehow, there could be a way to save aborted fetuses and give them to people who want babies and are unable to have them.  I thought, wow, way to turn a horrific situation into a Silver Lining.  Instead of death, life.  Instead of destruction, love.  Now, mind you, I am pro choice, it's your body, your choice, your burden to bear.  Whatever your choice may be.  I keep thinking of that young boy who went to church and asked to please, please, be adopted.  Someone said it would have been better if his mother had aborted him.  I thought, no, that child has a purpose, he had to be born.  His plea is a testament to the human spirit.  He had the courage to get up there, in front of the congregation and say I am here, I am here. I will not be broken. Can you imagine the courage that took? There is so much sadness in the world, so many children waiting for a home, a family, a tribe.  Someone I know, good marriage, had three little boys, stay-at-home mom, stable financial situation, got pregnant a fourth time and decided to abort the baby.  It was a mutual decision by both, her and her husband. He had a business trip scheduled and she asked me if I would go with her and I did.  Somehow I thought she would change her mind, but no.  After that day our friendship changed.  I distanced myself from them.  Even though you try, you can't help but be judgmental.  As someone who always wanted to grow up, get married and have babies, I could not wrap my head around her choosing to get rid of her child.  I totally judged her and her husband.  Eventually they moved out of state, we exchanged holiday cards, but really did not keep in touch otherwise.  A few years ago they moved back, coincidentally near my apartment.  I saw them recently in church and we got to talking.  Her boys are all grown up now, two in college, one is graduating from high school next year.  They are a beautiful family.  She asked me if I remembered that day and I said yes, I did and I apologized for having distanced myself.  She smiled and said she loves her boys, her husband, but she has always wondered about that fourth child, if it would have been a girl, what would she have been like.  Choices have a tendency to come back and haunt us.

If you become an American citizen, please do so because you really believe in that oath you will be taking, in that flag, that beautiful, beautiful red, white and blue you will be swearing allegiance to.  When I became a citizen I had to swear I would be willing to bear arms against my birth country.  It was something I struggled with (as did my father which is why it took way longer for him to become a citizen), until I realized if it came to that, it would be because this country, the one that took me and mine in, was under attack and yes, absolutely, I would bear arms against whoever would attack it. I know I come across as Flag-Waving Frannie when I stick up for the U.S., but I lost one country already, I'm not about to lose this one or keep my mouth shut when I perceive it is being smeared, disrespected, attacked.

At work recently I overheard co-workers talking about a funeral Mass where both the American and Cuban national anthems were played and how emotional everyone got.  Totally understand.  Every single time I hear either one of them, emotion is overwhelming and the tears flow.  As anyone who has ever seen me cry can attest to, I do a MAJOR ugly cry. Having sunglasses on helps, but they do not hide the bright red Rudolph the Reindeer nose, blotchy face and swollen lips. Oh, how I wish I had inherited the "glycerin in the eyes" cry, where the eyes grow luminous and glisten, lips tremble prettily.  But nooooo.  I do the Ugly Cry.  Why do I cry?  Well, when I hear one anthem it reminds me of a world that was and will never be again. A world full of joyous laughter and loving family, rhythmic music which sent my parents dancing down the hallway of our house at the beach, days scented with fine tobacco, starched linen, lemony cologne, roses and jasmine blooming, and a dash of "lechoncito asado."  The other anthem reminds me of a world that is, where the flag still flies free, beautiful and proud, of baseball games, hot dogs and Abbott and Costello doing "Who's on First?"  A world which is constantly under attack, but manages to come through shining, head held high. each and every time, a world which must be protected at all costs because although far from perfect, it is the home of millions, and the hope of oh, so many.

Okay, I have vented, raged, spouted.  I'm going to ignore the news this week.  And I think I'll name my next pet Croissant or maybe Peach Pie.

Until next time, be safe, be blessed, keep the faith and pay it forward ... you never know, it may be an angel you are giving that dollar to.

Hebrews 13:2 - Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: For thereby some have entertained angels unawares.  King James Bible "Authorized Version," Cambridge Edition.

A Thankful, Rainy Wednesday ...

My friend Connie regularly does a Thankful Thursdays post on her blog, Rx for the Soul.  I don't have to tell you I am thankful for those posts every Thursday.  Actually, I am thankful for her blog ... and her friendship.  Today I am taking a page out of her book, so to speak, and doing a Thankful Wednesday post.  Or maybe I should call it Winding Down Wednesday, because for the first time in what feels like, well, months, I feel truly relaxed.  Don't know particularly why, I just do.  These past two months, more or less, have seen me majorly (yes, I know, I made that word up, sue me) wound up.  I have been easily ticked off, fed up, seeing the unpleasant side of humanity and, Lord, that is ever SO easy to find these days.  I was pretty well ticked off when I wrote my last post.  Things wonky at work, the world, politicians making asses idiots, darn, can't come up with the right word without sounding rude, but you get the picture, out of themselves.  The news are horrific no matter where you turn.  For the past few months I have felt like I'm treading deep, deep, jellyfish swarming, shark-infested waters, holding my breath until I park my little car at home on Friday and know I do not have to leave my cocoon until Monday morning.  It is only at home that I breathe peace.  Those blessed, all too few, hours when I am home during the week are something I cherish and guard jealously.  I get home, give thanks to the Father for getting me to, through and back home from, work safely.  I light my candle, get into my comfies and breathe peace.  If only for a few short hours.  And Friday night, well, Friday night is just extra-blessed.  Just knowing when I wake up I can do whatever I please. Garden, write, watch a movie, play with my four feline children.  I stretch, get up, make my café con leche and give thanks, as I do every morning.  But weekend mornings are just extra-special.  No agenda, no calendar, just peace, blessed, blessed, joyful peace.

Still and all, I have not been quite centered for a while.  Today started off like every day, get up, feed the kits, shower, café con leche, morning prayer and off to work.  My boss has not been feeling well, but went in today and it was good to see her.  Weather this morning was Fall-like (for my neck of the woods, anyway), but it turned really stormy early in the afternoon.  I was just finishing up reviewing some documents when my boss, who was on her way home, called me and said "Go home, now.  The weather is terrible and it's going to get worse."  I looked outside and it was pouring.  I grabbed some stuff I could review at home and left.  Got drenched in the two steps to my car, but I was on my way home.  Poured almost the entire time, hard rain, it felt like hail at times.  Thankfully traffic, although quite heavy, moved along and there were no accidents (a miracle, truly).  One hour and 50 minutes later I was parking my car.  It stopped raining about 10 minutes away from home and I thought, well, that's enough of that storm!  But about five minutes after I got home, right after I fed the outdoor cats (who seemed rather surprised to see me) the Heavens opened and it has been pouring ever since.

To say I have been tightly wound for a while is to put it mildly.  Yet, today, a few hours ago, when I got home and started to review some work, all of a sudden I felt this peace come over me. When I got home, I lit my "Pumpkin Carving" candle (it's October, pumpkin season!), changed into my "comfies" and turned on my laptop to connect to my firm.  In the middle of reviewing my work, I suddenly felt myself unwind, relax, let go.  I thought, how very, very blessed am I.  It is pouring and I am home, safe and snug as a bug in a rug.  There's a well-stocked pantry and fridge in my cocoon, new posts from two of my very favorite blogs (Frances Schultz' and Hollye Jacobs')  to read once I finished work, kettle happily whistling on the stove, I'm working from home because my lovely boss sent me home early due to bad weather, seriously, how many bosses DO that???  Here I am, home.  With my kits, lovely candle scenting the air, along with a peach pie bubbling in the oven.  I am home.  I am blessed, I am blessed, I am blessed.  And thankful.  Sometimes I get so focused on what is wrong with the world, with society, that I don't see the forest for the trees.  I stop seeing the blessings and see only the inane, the ridiculous, the sheer stupidity that seems to dominate the news these days.  Dweezils being carried around or prancing around naked and calling it "art."  That's not "art" that's a pathetic call for attention, which of course the news media rushes to cover as if it were the cure for cancer.  Art is Picasso, Botticelli, Rembrandt, Redoute's roses (particular favorites of mine), Dali, Cassat (another particular favorite), Gaudí, Monet, THAT's art!  Prancing around naked, no, no, sweetums, that's being a ho and you're not doing it in the name of "art." You are doing it for the "shock" value (by the way, just my humble opinion, but society as a whole should be WAY over seeing people's privates by now, I mean, really?) and because you know it will get and keep you in the news, which you, come on now, be honest, you crave AND for some reason I cannot quite fathom, makes you money!  Hmmm, haven't been in the news for a day or two, let me flash my boobies!  Or worse.  Please, don't tell me that those "oopsies, flashed my privates" moments are real oopsies, nuh, I don't buy that for a second.  What in heck ever happened to underwear???  But, again, I digress.

My ranting at the inanity of the world is not going to fix it.  Sure, it lets off some steam, but it really accomplishes zip, nyet, nada.  It takes the focus off what is really important, health, waking up to another day, faith, joy, laughter, having a job (and a decent boss who sends you home early in inclement weather, calls when you are out sick to see how you are feeling and has your back), a solid circle of friends. It took watching the documentary about Valerie Harper the other night, a news report last night on a street being named in honor of a little girl who passed away from cancer, and finding a little note handwritten by my Mom which says "You are never too old to learn how to live" to make me come to my senses.  I've been in a phhhhtt mood and it has accomplished zip, I am not living, I am wasting precious, precious time and I am not appreciating the gift that Life is.  I am thankful not only because I realized this, yet again, but also because the Father did not, yet again, reach down from Heaven and smack me upside the head.  I am fairly certain he has wanted to do this a time or two (or a dozen) these past few months.  The other day I was rushing off to work and realized I had not done my morning prayer.  For about a nano-second I thought, ah, well, I can do it tomorrow and something just stopped me.  It was like someone telling me "If you don't have five minutes to sit down and talk with your Father, you are in DEEP bat guano, missy!"  So, time was made, lip gloss can wait, morning prayer was said.  Honestly, for the past few days, it's like I have been getting these little messages to wake the heck up and smell the coffee, the roses and the scented candles.  I think I was THISCLOSE to a major smack and narrowly avoided it. Today I was looking at pictures of my godfather online and thinking all that time wasted feuding with his sister and for what?  I believe it was my Guardian Angel yanking, gently, on my ear, letting me know that in my own way I was doing the same darn thing.  I do love my Guardian Angel.

Which brings me to this post.  Today is the Feast of the Holy Guardian Angels, according to a Catholic website I get emails from.  I believe in angels.  I have believed in them all my life.  One of my first memories is of my Mom cutting silohuettes of angels out of beautiful gold and red foil (it was almost Christmas Eve and she was decorating our dining room walls), they were playing trumpets and harps and she told me when we were asleep they would play beautiful music to give us sweet dreams.  I loved that idea.  A picture similar to this one was in my bedroom as a child, I loved the angel looking out for the children.  I believe in Guardian Angels and I know for a fact mine works overtime ... a LOT (and am willing to bet some of the time is heard to mutter "Why, why, why?").  Maybe it was my Guardian Angel finally getting through to me today, telling me to relax, all is well, we are loved.  Our Father is in charge, it is not my job to rant and rail at what I perceive as idiocy and foolishness.  It is my job to follow His rules, to do unto others, to do what is right, even though at times it makes me feel like a walking, talking anachronism.  Ah, my Guardian Angel is most wise and patient.  And for that I am most thankful.

Until next time, be safe, keep the faith and be kind to each other!

I Am Tired ...



Today is Saturday, blessed, blessed Saturday.  One of the two days in the week when there is no agenda, no schedule, no plan.  Just time at home.  To garden, putter, draw, watch stuff I've DVR'd during the week, just hang out.  Woke up early, got some orange juice and sat down on my comfy, cozy sofa to say morning prayers.  This ritual centers my day.

 

Checking out the week's news, I found some reports that have me firmly convinced we, as a society, are going to hell in a handbasket.  It seems that in our ever-increasing quest to become famous (if only for a fleeting 15 minutes) people will do almost anything.  For example, there is the news report about some imbecilic teens who posted a video of themselves putting a kitten in a microwave.  Which begs the question ... where in HELL did they get this idea?  Why would anyone do such a thing?  What is it with the abuse of the defenseless?  Someone suggested the perpetrators may have been, in turn, abused and you know what?  Could be true, but I am tired of that being an excuse for inflicting hurt.  Done with it.  My sympathy is tapped out.  I have not one ounce of empathy, sympathy, caring for them.  I don't care if they were beaten black and blue, hung from a tree limb by their toe nails.  I just don't care.  If you are able to tell right from wrong and you choose wrong, you should be held accountable. I don't care what you went through in your childhood.  I don't care if you went head-first through a window.  I just don't care.  If you want to inflict hurt that much, then you should inflict it on yourself, do the world a favor and just blow yourself out of this world.  You do not deserve to live.  If you hurt, maim, kill, rape, torture, you should just be obliterated from existence.  Sometimes I wish I could sit down with these people (and I use that term loosely) and talk with them, to see if we can figure out exactly at what point did they break.  Because all of us at some point in our lives were happy, innocent, trusting, little souls.  And, yes, I totally get it could be one cataclysmic event or a succession of small, yet still horrific, events that just led to that breaking point.  Believe me, been there.  Like a friend of mine says "I've been to the dark side."  It ain't pretty.  Truth be told, it is MUCH easier to choose to stay there, than it is to claw one's way back to sanity and life and Light.

There was a recent case in the "city" I live in and I use that word loosely because, really, I don't think it is a city anymore, it has become a gathering place for miscreants who perpetrate their acts and then use their horrible childhoods, their race, their ethnicity, as an excuse to skate free and clear, but I digress.  There was a case in this ... city where an elderly man was shot by a juvenile in what is being called an "attempted robbery."  This kid just rode up to this man who was getting into his car after grocery shopping, rode up on his bike, apparently tried to rob him, then shot him point blank killing him and then he ran away ... on a bike. Obviously, he knew he'd done something wrong, it's not like he stuck around waiting for the police to arrive, like one would do in an accident.  So, he's not stupid.   I don't think that kid wanted to just rob the man he killed.  I think it was a gang initiation.  Yesterday they announced the kid had been arrested.  Has a rap sheet a mile long.  They don't know whether they should charge him as a juvenile or as an adult.  Oddly enough his parents, or at least his mother, was in court.  So, where was she when her kid was out robbing people?  Why is it that the parents of juvenile delinquents suddenly show up in court yammering about how good their child is?  Going on about how that child is "the light" of their life.  Good child.  Goes to church on Sundays.  Would NEVER do anything against the law! This is patently unfair!  My child is INNOCENT.  Really?  With a rap sheet a mile long?  Where are they when that "good child" is holding people up, robbing, beating someone? This "child's" attorney is saying his client is being railroaded, he had a head injury a while back, his childhood was terrible. Big whoop.  I just don't care.  Don't give a flying fig.

I say, you take a life unless it was in self-defense, you should pay with yours.  Bottom line.  I am tired of people, whatever their age might be, using their sucky childhoods as an excuse to be a criminal.  I don't care.  If you're able to tell right from wrong and choose to do wrong, you should be held accountable.  He took a life, he destroyed a family.  He has to pay.  Life in prison?  No.  Death sentence, absolutely.  We have to send a message that if you do the crime, you will pay.  Today there are just way too many delinquents who have learned how to "work" the system.  Way too many saying they are being arrested because of their race, ethnicity, whatever.  I don't care if you are white, red, black, purple or polka-dotted, if you're born and bred in the USA, from another country, from another flipping planet, if you commit a crime you should be held accountable.  Regardless.

Same goes for the stand your ground law.  If you come into my house, I don't care if you are armed with a play gun or a butter knife.  I am going to shoot you.  Not going to shoot you in the knee, not going to shoot you in the arm.  I am going to shoot to kill.  Because you have no right, no business being in my home, threatening me.  Now, a defense attorney would say "Well, how were you threatened?  Did this person lunge at you?  Verbally threaten you?  Come at you with a life-threatening weapon?"  Me:  "Well, this person broke into my home, I'd call that pretty threatening, so yeah, I shot him."  Attorney:  "Well, my client had a very violent childhood.  My client does not know any better."  Me:  "Really?  Then, may I ask why your client chose my home, instead of my neighbor's, who is 6'3" and a linebacker, home?"  Attorney:  "My client does not know right from wrong!"  Me:  "Okay, (turning to speak to perpetrator) would you shoot yourself, please?" Perpetrator, sorry, Alleged Perpetrator:  "Hell, no, @#$$%!  I'm not doing that!"  Me:  "Why?"  Alleged Perpetrator:  "It $%^&*!@ hurts!  I could die!"  Me:  "Ah, so it would be wrong to shoot yourself?"  Alleged Perpetrator:  "@!#$@#$! Yeah, it'd be #$$@! wrong!"  Me:  "Fry him."    Rough childhood?  Too bad, get in line.  There's plenty of people who have had horrific childhoods and gone on to have productive, contributing lives.  Who have chosen to make sure others do not go through what they went through. Those are the people worth talking about.  Those are the real  heroes.

Same goes for politicians who prey on the elderly, on the vulnerable, who use loopholes to rig elections.  Who, when on the campaign trail go on and on ad nauseam about family values, the sanctity of marriage, truth, justice, apple pie and the American way.  Then they get caught with their pants down, wonking an aide, or soliciting sex in a public bathroom, or sending pictures of their privates to some skank who they met through the internet or making money from some skeezy, barely legal, scheme.  And here comes the public apology, the beating on their chest, the "I'm only human" speech.  Really?  Mind you, I'm just as human as the next person, but at least I do not run  for public office on a platform of "family values" while I'm having an extra-marital fling or sending pictures of my privates to people ... side bar:  WHY, can someone just tell me, WHY do people do this?  And a LOT of these people are PARENTS!  Do they even think their kid, or kids, will one day read about this?  That would be an interesting dinner-time conversation.  "So, Dad, tell me, do you ever hear from Ms. Vinyl Pants?" or "So, Mom, ever hear from your 8th grade student that you ... uhhhh ... tutored?" Puhleeze.

The public is steered towards focusing on the inane while the really important issues get pushed to the back of the line.  We march and yammer against same-sex marriage while children are beaten to death by the very people that gave them life.  We focus on taking "God" out of the pledge of allegiance because it "offends" some people, while on the other side of the world our men and women have to up-armor their vehicles from other vehicles that have been destroyed, harmed by IEDs or in attacks.  We petition for no large sodas, while people are going hungry right next door.  Where in hell have our priorities gone where we worry about sodas making us fat, but don't care about people going hungry, going without medical care because they just cannot afford it?  While people are sleeping under bridges?  While thousands of innocent animals are euthanized every single year because irresponsible owners do not get their pets fixed, then dump them when they cease to be amusing?  But, hey, super-size sodas are no longer being sold!  Big win for the human race!  Why is a fund-raising drive necessary for a kid to get life-saving surgery while people are sunning themselves on million-dollar yachts?  What is wrong with you people that you turn a blind eye to the suffering in the world?  I have always wondered how on God's green earth people could work in concentration camps and then go home to their families at the end of the day.  How could they march families into gas ovens and then sit down with their children at dinner.  How is that possible?  How can people hold up signs saying "God hates (pick your theme here)" and claim to be Christian?  Because, at least the way I think, God and hate do NOT go together.  As a matter of fact I think it is a testament to God's love for us that we, as a race, still exist.  Because if it had been me, I'd have pulled the plug on the human race a long time ago.  Why are white supremacy groups proliferating?  True, there's an overwhelming abundance of crime, but putting on really ugly boots, shaving one's head and claiming to be superior because of one's skin color (or lack thereof) is not going to solve the problem.  I have one friend who was getting chummy with one of these groups and I told him "You realize, the minute they find out you're part Cuban, you are out of their little club, right?"  But no, he said they were "quite nice" actually ... until they heard his last name and ooopsies!  All of a sudden, he was not their friend,  Frank (name has been changed to spare him at least some embarrassment), he was a dirty spic.  And while we are on the subject, could someone tell me how that term originated?  I never heard it until we moved here from L.A. and someone called me that my first day of school here.  I thought they were talking about the detergent Spic and Span and calling me dirty, so I slugged them.  And, yes, my parents got a call from the office.  It wasn't their last.

It is time to be held accountable.  From the very tippy top of our thoroughly-corrupted on BOTH sides of the fence political system.  Responsibility for one's actions has gone out the window.  It is never one's fault, it's always someone else's or the result of something that happened in one's life.  Bull.  Yes, life can blow, childhood can be horrific, but as a society we need to be held accountable.  Goodness knows, I can be one of the most irreverent, religion-challenging people ever, but you know what?  I grew up saying the pledge of allegiance, saying "one nation under God ...." and it did not bother me one bit.  I know what I believe in, I know what I hold dear.  And nothing, no words, no laws, no whatever can challenge my beliefs, my faith.  Those who feel threatened by the word "God" must be very, very insecure within themselves to want the word taken out.

We need to, as they very vulgarly say these days, grow a pair, own it, admit it. Until that happens, we are just standing on really, really shaky ground.

Well, I have weebled and wobbled, vented and raged, time to go garden a bit.  Until next time, be safe, be blessed and for Pete's sake, be kind to each other.

This One's For the Dads and the Granddads ...

I really did not plan on writing a post today.  It's been a rainy on and off kind of weekend.  My one foray into the world consisted of taking one of the babies to the vet yesterday morning.  After a rather challenging week, all I wanted was to cocoon and close the door on the world.  It's been a lazy kind of weekend.  The kind where you have a "To Do" list and you wind up doing absolutely zip of what was on your list.  Instead you bake, write, watch movies, sketch a bit.  Suddenly you find it's almost time for bed and weekend's over.  Time to up-armor and get yourself ready for another week.

Reading the news, I found an article entitled something like "Bored Dads at New Direction Concerts" with accompanying photos showing dads bored out of their skulls while their daughters giddy with joy watched their favorite group perform. Looking at the photos, I thought, now, THAT's a DAD.  I remembered one of my father's favorite sayings "That is a father's sacred duty."  He came up with that one when I was about 13, 14 and was going to see Bobby Sherman in concert.  One of his buddies was shocked he was going INTO the concert with me, not just waiting for me in the lobby.  Nope.  Not my Dad.  He was going to the concert with me.  Which I totally loved, it was like having my own private bodyguard who bought me all the posters for sale at the concert and when people blocked our view of the stage, he, very gently, tapped them on the shoulder with the rolled-up posters and asked them to either sit down or move.  He once stuffed cotton in his ears because, as he told my Mom, his ears almost bled from all the screaming at the first concert.  It became a ritual with us, go to the concert, then out for dinner.  Usually at my favorite restaurant ... McDonald's!   Yeah, I was a gourmet even then ... not.  Years later, a few weeks before he transitioned I was sitting by his bed reading, he had been sleeping, I looked up and he was looking at me, his memory came and went in those last days, he always knew me, but he didn't remember my childhood.  The look on his face was so intense, like he was trying very hard to remember, then he said "I must have been a very good father, because you are such a good daughter."  I told him "That is a daughter's sacred duty, Daddy!" He didn't remember his "sacred duty" saying, but I hope I made him feel even just a tiny bit as secure, safe, loved as he made me feel when I was under his care.

At one concert in Disneyland, he started screaming along with the girls, but stopped when a policeman walked by and gave him "a look."  I will always remember my big, strong Dad yelling along with my friends  and me "Bobby, Bobby!" and my friends saying I had the coolest Dad.  None of their dads went to concerts with them.  My Dad not only took me to see Bobby Sherman, we also saw the Beach Boys, the Rolling Stones, even Rod Stewart (he called him "El Rubio Loco" which means "The Crazy Blonde").  At home sometimes he would launch into  his Rod Stewart imitation.  I am sitting here laughing and crying at the memory.  He has been gone over 10 years, sometimes it feels like centuries, others like yesterday.  Whoever said time passing makes the loss easier was out of their gourd.  It doesn't, you just learn to deal with it, you put on your big girl bloomers and head out into the world.  You give thanks for the good memories, slap on the Spackle, trowel on the make-up and off you go.  I always remember the line from Simple Abundance to "bless your circumstances, through gritted teeth if necessary."  That is one of the best lines ever written.


I am thankful for those dads and granddads that take the time to go to the concerts with "their girls."  I thank God they still exist, because sometimes in our consumer-obsessed society it seems like family values have fallen by the wayside.  So, it is wonderful to see there are still dads and granddads out there who take the time to take their daughters to concerts, who look out for them and endure ear-bleed provoking screams.  Those are memories they and their daughters will carry in their hearts for the rest of their days.  I was blessed to have my Dad and my Abuelo in my life.  My grandfather walked me to school and back home every single day of my life, until we moved to Miami and he became ill.  Before that, he was like clockwork.  We would walk to school, talking and going over my homework, particularly if it was math, never my strongest subject.  He would be there to walk me home, no matter the weather.  In rainy weather, there he'd be, huge umbrella at hand, holding my red galoshes and raincoat, which he would carefully button all the way up, then tuck me under his arm and raincoat and off we would go.  I loved those rainy walks home, because I knew that my Abuela was waiting at home, hot chocolate and buttered toast on the table.  He taught me to dance. My parents and grandparents, always made me feel loved, safe.  Something kids always need, especially now, more than ever.  So, this one's for the Dads and for the Granddads who take the time.  Who love and protect.  Walk to school and walk home.  Make lunches and snacks.  Review homework, check spelling.  Spin fairy tales and are at the ready to ride to the rescue, no matter the time or place.  May you flourish and grow and may there be many, many more of you.

Until next time, be blessed, be safe and be kind to one another.

My Friend Is Home

Butterfly Nebula

My friend is Home.  I have been trying to write this for a few days now.  Today is the 4th of July, later I will watch the fireworks with my neighbors and their kids, we'll munch on hot dogs and potato salad and oooh and aaahhhh.  But before I join them, I have to finish writing this post.  So, here goes.

Never ever, I have said this before, never ever let me put anything away for you.  Because it will be safe, you just will never see it again.  I have been going through boxes and albums looking for pictures taken a long time ago, of us three (those being Fairy GodMother Ruby, Fairy GodMother Geo and me) one day we went to lunch at the Olive Garden.  It was at one of those Olive Garden lunches that Geo surprised me with a beautiful amethyst bracelet she had made for me for my birthday. She worked these tiny little amethyst butterflies into an absolutely beautiful bracelet, weaving them into what at first sight look like flowers, but when you look closely at them, you realize they are tiny butterflies.  I have several bracelets made by her, I wear at least one of them every day.  Anyway, we took pictures that day, but I have not found them.  Somehow I know Gina (I mostly called her Geo, but she said her friends called her Gina, so I started calling her Gina Bella) is looking on from Heaven, smiling and going “Babydoll, WHERE did you put those pictures?”  Babydoll, she called me babydoll, not sweetie like I said when speaking about her to her kids at the memorial service.  I knew that didn’t sound quite right.  Then it came to me in the middle of the night.  Babydoll.  I started writing this Monday night, when I got home, after I got the news.  I deleted everything because it was just too stream of consciousness, mixed up with why, mixed up with oh, I am so going to miss her, mixed up with more why, why, why.  Why do twerps live forever and lovely people are called Home it seems way too early.  I’m thinking the Father wants the lovely people, the twerps not so much, so He has them live longer to see if they will stop being twerps.  A lot of them don’t.  My ramblings were a hodge-podge of emotion.  They still are.

My sweet friend, older sister I always wanted, mentor, cheerleader is gone.  I know she’s gone “home to glory” as someone says in one of the Mitford books.  I know she is free from pain.  She is free to dance.  She is Home.  She is Home.  Straight to Heaven, that one.  I’m pretty sure her wings are varying shades of purple and beautiful butterflies follow her all around Heaven as she explores her new Home.  My friend has gone Home.  Tried to write again on Wednesday, the 3^rd, when I got back from the memorial service, but I was so tired.  Two nights of sleeping only a few hours will do that to you, I guess.  I conked out early in the evening, right after feeding the kits.  Sat down to watch a movie, next thing I knew it was 2:00 a.m. and I had a crick in my neck.  So, I grabbed Smokey Noelle and went to bed.

My lovely boss was kind enough to allow me to take Wednesday off to attend the memorial service.  Making this actually a five-day weekend.  Normally this would be reason for celebrating, five days off from work.  But, really, although the 4^th of July is one of my all-time favorite holidays, I am not much in the mood for celebrating.  My friend went Home and although I know there really is no reason for sadness, she is free once again, free from pain, free to be, free to … fly.  Still, I am sad.  Because even though we had drifted apart and she had moved away, we had not spoken in a few years, I still knew she was there.  And thought maybe someday one of us would call the other and it would be as if no time had passed.  I sure am going to miss her.  Even though I know she is, at long last, Home.  She can move around free of pain, she can breathe freely, she can create once more, she can sleep.  She can dance again.  Some years ago I bought two Hallmark Christmas ornaments of a ballerina, one was for her and one was for me, twin dancers I told her and for some reason that gave us the giggles.  Which happened a lot with us.

The memorial service was quite moving.  Family, friends.  Hugs were exchanged, laughter and tears mixed freely.  I was (and am) blessed to have gone with my Fabulous Fairy GodMother, Ms. Ruby.  She makes an excellent co-pilot, reading directions and providing fruit, Jamaican patties and coconut water.  More on that later.  We left early in the morning, she drove to my place and left her car in my parking space (reserving it, as it were).  Caffeine was in order for me, I was definitely muzzy-headed, so we drove through a McDonald’s drive-thru where I got the biggest hot caramel mocha latte they have.  Can’t stand the cold coffee thing in the morning.  I need my hot java!  Filled up the gas tank and we were off.  Someone needs to talk to MapQuest.  The directions provided were excellent.  Got us to the little town we were headed to.  Getting to the actual memorial service was a whole different story.  It took three phone calls to finally get there.  We were late by 5 minutes and I kept thinking “Oh, sure, we’re going to get there late and they will say it’s the Cuban’s fault.”

Her granddaughters were there.  Last time I saw them, they were these beautiful little girls.  One very serious and studious, the other one quite the character.  Both so sweet and funny and endearing.  Now they are beautiful young ladies.  Their brother, who I remember quite well, especially a hair cutting incident which makes me laugh every time I think of it, was not there.  He chose to stay home, which I can so understand.  Her grandchildren are going to miss her oh, so very, very much.  She was one special grandmom.  The children's mother is a blonde carbon copy of her mom.  I saw my friend in her daughter, in her granddaughters, in her son and his wife (she makes excellent scones).  I felt her sweet and gentle presence all around us, as we told stories and laughed, cried.  Sometimes at the same time.  Ruby and I had made plans to go visit this weekend, on Saturday.  Somehow I knew she would leave us before then.  Instead, we drove up Wednesday for her memorial service.  Her family kindly invited us to join them for lunch afterwards.  They were all getting together at my friend’s and her husband’s favorite Chinese restaurant.  However, I still have crowding issues, so we said our good-byes and headed home.

It rained off and on.  My most excellent co-pilot provided me with fresh fruit, cantaloupe and cherries, yum!  We pulled off the road at a little rest area after a while.  It had stopped raining, we put the windows down, enjoyed a nice breeze.  The rest area had lots of trees and there were birds all about.  We tossed them bits of coco bread while we feasted on Jamaican patties, coco bread and coconut water.  It was very peaceful, green, soothing.  We spoke about her, all three of us worked together at one point in our lives.  Birds started flying in, I threw little pieces of bread out the window and they gobbled them right up.  Until these three big vultures flew in and started horning in on the bread.  I told Ruby, "Maybe they were attorneys in a former life!" and we laughed ourselves silly, because every year at the same time vultures descend on the courthouse downtown and people joke that they were attorneys in a former life come back to visit their old stomping grounds.  We used to watch them from our office when we worked together.  We laughed a lot at that office, worked hard, but also laughed a lot. 



Even though I miss her, always have, always will, I know she is Home and it is good.  She was such a presence in my life. From the minute we met, something just clicked, as if we had known each other always.  She was best friend, older sister, mother, confidante, wise counsel, all rolled up into one.  She was funny, bright, infinitely kind.  I never knew her to say an unkind word about anyone, not even those who were unkind to her or rude.  Once a co-worker (who had the grace and manners of a mad bull in a china shop) made a rather rude remark, we were going to the ladies’ room  and this person was walking behind us and said “I don’t know how those teeny little feet can support those big butts!”  Geo was a bit sensitive about her weight (we are both rather rotund) and I knew that remark hurt her.  I whipped around, responding “Well, not all of us can have water skis for feet like YOU do!”  Geo told me “I can’t believe you said that to her, that was mean!”  Maybe I shouldn’t have, but that person really bugged me.  I told her, listen, if she can't take it, she shouldn't dish it out.  This person knew knew how sensitive Geo was and still she made that crack (and others).  She’s lucky I didn’t kick her in her bony shins.

Whenever we spoke about this particular co-worker of ours, who I have always thought must have been nursed on lemons instead of mother’s milk, my friend would always say “Why is she so mean?”  My personal opinion was that this person detested us because even though, yes, we were quite round, we were cute and feminine and, most of all, happy.  People liked us.  No matter how round we got, we were still cute because we were so short.  Another crack she made one time was that we looked like a double zero when standing next to each other.  I said better a double zero physically than in personality.  That did not go over well.  (And no, I did not hold my tongue.  People like that enjoy bullying others and I just don’t cotton to bullies.)  And people still liked us.  No one liked her because she had such a sour attitude and always looked at you like she had just bitten into a really, really, really sour lemon.  She would always critique whatever we had ordered for dinner.  This really bugged Gina.  So, I took pains to bug Ms. Sucked on Sour Lemons.  I decoupaged photos of all sorts of delicious treats onto my document stand, so that whenever this person looked over to my desk, she was confronted by this plethora of treats.  I wanted to decoupage the words “Bite Me” but thought it’d be a little much.  Darn.  Geo, however, was unfailingly nice and kind to her.  Because she just was that nice.  Me, not so much.

You know how I sometimes say a LOT of those who proclaim to be Christians are the farthest thing from being Christian?  Well, Gina was the true embodiment of being Christian.  She wasn’t preachy and she wasn’t holier than thou.  She just was kind and sweet and loving.  Even to the jackasses in her life.  I am still working on that aspect of my personality.  Really, really, really try to “do unto others.”  But sometimes it is darn difficult and other times I am just plain mean to the twerps of the world.  Even worse, I actually enjoy it.  Bad, bad, bad Glitterina!  But I think the Father understands.

Geo is the reason I started drawing after my parents’ death.  She saw me doodling one afternoon and said “Oh, babydoll, you are good!”  Then she asked me to do some bookmarks and cards for her grandchildren.  She wanted to pay me for my efforts, I would not take her money.  So, the first time we went to Michael’s, she paid for all my supplies.  That was our idea of fun, going to Michael’s and then to lunch at either The Olive Garden or The Cracker Barrel.  Yep, we were wild women.  I always pictured her as a little tiny purple-winged fairy buzzing around my head, giving me ideas, inspiring and encouraging me to create, create, create!  She introduced me to the Mitford series by Jan Karon, giving me my first book, Shepherds Abiding, which in turn led to my actually reading the Bible because Father Tim quotes it so much.  Joyfully.  He finds joy and comfort in his faith.  Wow, I just had an “Aha!” moment.  Joy and comfort in faith, something my parents had, my grandparents as well.  I did too at one time, then I lost it.  Gina helped me find it again.

She loved her family and her friends.  Holidays and birthdays. She believed Valentine's Day was for friends and family, not just for romantic couples. She loved the color purple, birds and butterflies.  She believed in imagination. She believed people were good. She had a deep, unshakeable belief in God.  We could talk about anything and everything under the sun.  We would laugh over the silliest things.  Once I stopped at The Cracker Barrel to pick up dinner.  She loved their sugar-free apple pie.  We couldn’t figure out what a white sauce they included was.  We were really quite puzzled about it.  We poked at it with a spoon.  It was awful thick.  First we thought it was gravy for the biscuits, but it didn’t taste like gravy, we tasted it again … and figured out it was melted ice cream for the pie.  The mystery dish was ice cream!  We laughed ourselves silly over that.  We always laughed.  That is what I remember the most about our visits.  Laughter, hugs, wonderful intelligent conversations.

Her home was my refuge during a very turbulent time in my life.  When it was cold, she would make this wonderful soup and call me to go get some.  She would always send me home with a CARE package.  Once I was over at her house for dinner, her husband had made this wonderful pork roast and she had made one of her amazing salads.  I said “Oh, we’re not having Greek salad?”  She went to the fridge and grabbed some feta cheese, added it to my salad plate and said “There!  Now it’s Greek!”  I still laugh when I remember that.  How do you make Greek salad?  Put some feta cheese on it!

I’d pull in to our office parking lot and look for her car.  She made going to work fun.  When she retired, it was no longer fun to go to the office.  We talked almost every day, sometimes more than once.  If it was raining when I left work, she would call and say “I’m praying you home, babydoll!”  Once we were at Michael’s and I saw this dragon stamp, I’ve always had a thing for dragons, but I put it back because it was over my budget and I already had enough stuff in my basket.  When we got to the car, she pulled the dragon stamp out and said “Here you go, make something pretty with it!”  I told her “That is the dragon I want to get tattooed around my ankle for my 60^th birthday!”  Well, she gave me this look, you know the “Mom” look?  Then she said, “Okay, babydoll, whatever you say.” Another time  I remarked how I had always wanted to do a “Santa” tree, a Christmas tree with only Santa Claus decorations.  That year as the holidays approached, she called me one day inviting me to lunch on the weekend.  When I got to her home, there was this beautiful Christmas box with a big gold French-ribbon bow on it.  Inside was a collection of Santa Claus ornaments.  She had gone to the Cracker Barrel and bought one of each and every Santa Claus ornament they had.  I wanted to cry.  She really LISTENED.  And she really cared.  She took time for you.  She had a bazillion and one health issues, yet never complained.  I have always remembered that kind gesture.  One of many.

We shared so much laughter.  Once I was sitting in her Florida room, it looked out onto a lake and the garden, lots of lovely trees, birdfeeders, she loved birds and butterflies.  So, I’m sitting there, her husband was outside grilling something for dinner, she was in the kitchen getting a salad together, we’re talking and I’m looking outside and see this rather odd-looking bird at one of the birdfeeders.  Wasn’t wearing my contacts, had taken my glasses off.  Something about this bird really caught my eye and I tell  her “Wow, there’s a really weird bird at the birdfeeder!”  She comes on over, starts laughing, opens the window and starts calling her husband and pointing at the bird.  Then she goes “Babydoll, put on your glasses.  Your ‘bird’ has a tail!”  It was a rat!  I knew that bird looked weird.  There was this rat munching out at the birdfeeder, calm as you please!  For a while afterwards, every time we talked on the phone she’d go, “Seen any birds lately?”  We’d laugh like silly loons.  If I were to write a book about our friendship, I would title it “Hugs, Soup, Faith and Laughter.”  Oh, my, I do so miss her.

We had a falling-out years ago, over something so not important.  A difference of opinion.  We never spoke again after that.  Sometimes I would pick up the phone to call and say “Look, this is silly.”  But I never did.  Now I wish I had.  Too late.  But I have so many, many good memories.  Of laughter and tears, good books shared, hugs and soup, conversations about anything and everything under the sun.  Comfortable silences.  She was bright, funny, witty, kind, so, so kind.  Her hugs were home.  I know we will see each other again.  One day.  My friend is Home.  When I got the phone call, the first thing that went through my mind was, she’s Home.  My friend is Home.

Well, it is thunder-booming.  Hanging out with Fairy Godmother Stephi, Queen of the Macedonian Fairy Tribe tomorrow.  Until next time, be blessed, be safe, be kind to one another.  Have faith.  Give thanks for your many blessings.  Your families, your friends, sometimes they are one and the same.  One time when I was having some health issues, she called me asking "You do believe, right?  You believe in Heaven?  You are saved?  Because I refuse to think of me being there looking for you and not finding you!" I assured her we would find each other in Heaven.   My friend is Home and one day we will find each other in Heaven.  My friend is Home.  Always on my mind, forever in my heart.

 

I Want to File A Lawsuit ...

My grandmother always said white roses symbolize peace.  Something the world needs, oh, so very, very much.  Today I am writing about the brouhaha surrounding Paula Deen.  I love her cooking shows, she always makes it seem so fun and easy.  I've seen her interviewed many a time, have seen her host people of all races on her show. While the "y'all" got at times a bit thick, she always seemed charming, hospitable and gracious to a fault.  And while I do not condone, never have, never will, the use of that despicable word, I do believe there has been a knee-jerk reaction.  It seems the world is hell-bent on destroying her.  And it is not fair.  There are way worse people out there, let's see the press and the world at large go after them.  We all make mistakes, we all say stupid things when we have been hurt, attacked or are just plain ticked off.  Like a very wise man once said, let those who are without sin cast the first stone.

From the Teaching Tolerance blog, post entitled "Straight Talk about the N-Word" Number 40, Fall 2011:

"How did the n-word become such a scathing insult? We know, at least in the history I’ve looked at, that the word started off as just a descriptor, “negro,” with no value attached to it. … We know that as early as the 17th century, “negro” evolved to “nigger” as intentionally derogatory, and it has never been able to shed that baggage since then—even when black people talk about appropriating and reappropriating it. The poison is still there. The word is inextricably linked with violence and brutality on black psyches and derogatory aspersions cast on black bodies. No degree of appropriating can rid it of that bloodsoaked history."

The words "bloodsoaked history" hit home for me.  Because I understand how and why the "N" word is offensive.  I have trouble when the kids working in my office use it.  I've even told them.  But, still, I hear that word used ... A LOT.  Yet, they are still employed and not reprimanded, in any way, shape or form, for using that word.  A LOT.  I am writing today regarding the ruckus about Paula Deen having used it some years back about someone who held a gun to her  head.  I would certainly never use that word.  Nor have I ever.  But, chances are if someone held a gun to MY head, that someone would be called about all the worst words I could think of and would even invent a few.  Yet, everybody and their great-grandmother has gotten on the "let's kick Paula Deen down" bandwagon.  With people, never heard from before, saying how she discriminated against them.  I think it's about their 15 minutes of fame.  It reminds me of that case years and years ago, when a young girl was missing from her home, then turned up with racial slurs written all over her body, said she had been raped by a group of men.  There were rallies, press conferences, then it turned out she was lying.  But she had her 15 minutes of fame. And, man, was the racial divide ever stirred up. Giving a perfect platform for nimrods from all walks of life to spew their vitriol. From calling people uppity to calling people racists, they all had a field day. Nowadays you can say anything about someone (especially if they are famous) and immediately the press is all over it, hungry jackal-jaws snapping.  Innocent until proven guilty?  Out the door.  Race-related?  Hell, let's stir up the pot and make for even MORE divisiveness!  It sells!  It gets ratings!  It generates revenue!  All hail the almighty dollar! Because, seriously people, do you REALLY think it has to do with being offended by the use of a word?  I wish it were so, but I do not believe so.

I don't.  If it was really about being offended, then where are the headlines when entertainers (and I use that word REAL loosely) use that word like I use the word "hey" or when they describe women as hos, bitches, the "C" word (just as offensive in my book as the "N" word), where is the clamor over that?  If the companies that have dropped Paula Deen like the proverbial hotcakes are SO offended by her use of that word, then I am guessing they are going to be dropping a lot of entertainers (and again I use that term REAL loosely) from their stores as well.  For using the "N" word freely and just as freely using derogatory terms about women.  Oh, wait, wait, wait.  My mistake.  Excusez moi.  Pardon me.  THAT is freedom of expression, you know, covered by that freedom of speech thing.  Or, even better, artistic expression.  It's an artistic concept.  Sure, of course.  I get it.  Not.  Then again, there are those that claim they use that word to rob it of its power. 

I find myself offended by the behavior of some ... artists.  They use foul language, spit at people, throw stuff at people.  Granted, paparazzi are annoying as all get-out, but ya know, they do keep your names in the headlines and isn't that what your lives are all about?  Or else why did you get into the business if you do not crave the limelight? Oh, wait, wait, I forget, you are above the law, right?  Again, I forgot.  You can speed, spit, swill, spew, but it's artistic expression.  But still it offends me.  So ... class action, anyone?  Come on, it's fun!  Our names will be in the papers.  ET and OMG Insider will want to interview us!  And we can make even more fun of Paula Deen!  We'll be rich!  Well, maybe just extremely well-off after attorneys' fees and costs are taken out of our settlement monies.  We will get our 15 minutes of fame!  Ah, the possibilities!

She used that term, what, 20 some years ago?  She admitted it under oath.  Imagine that.  Telling the truth ... under oath.  This begs the question, how many politicians, business people and cheating spouses shudder at that concept?  She wanted a "plantation" style wedding reception, with African-American men serving, not the brightest idea.  So who was at fault more.  Paula Deen for that not-too-bright concept or those that went along with it?  Including the men who agreed to work as servers.  I mean, if you are going to do a "plantation style" anything, well, you'd have to use African-Americans in a subservient role because, repulsive as it may be, that was the norm ... back then.  And so many people now crawling out of the woodwork claiming they were mistreated and offended by her behavior, years ago.  Really?  You were that offended and you waited until now?  Why?  Still, that plantation thing was an idiotic idea, in my book.  Sort of like, oh, I don't know, someone making a comedy album about the day Castro finally dies and what will go on in Cuba then.  A Cuban comic (try saying that three times in a row) made such a recording many years ago.  I loved his comedy albums, that one not so much.  It hit a nerve.  Much as the use of the "N" word hits a nerve with some.  I know it offends me.

So, yeah, I am thinking of filing a lawsuit. The "N" word offends me when it is used by anyone, I don't care if they are white, black, whatever their race, ethnic background, even polka-frikking-dotted, it offends me. My first friend in this country was African-American, his name was Kenneth. We were in the third grade together.  It was back when schools were being integrated and some people did not take kindly to that.  I didn't speak English, he didn't speak Spanish.  Yet, by some miracle, we became friends.  He was soundly beaten a couple of times just because of his skin color.  By older kids, 5th and 6th graders, who yelled that word over and over. He returned to school each time. When I asked my parents why kids did that, they told me those kids probably heard those words at home and some people judged people by their skin color or religion or where they lived or came from, which was silly because really we are all the same.

While in third grade, I was beaten up by a bunch of African-American girls, have no clue why, I'm guessing they were ticked off at being called names and I happened to be walking by when they finally got tired of hearing that word yelled at them. You know who came to my rescue? Kenneth.  Now, that, my friends, took guts.  In my first real job I was mentored by a lady by the name of Ruby. I love that name, it's also the name of my Magical Fabulous Fairy GodMother, Ruby.  She of the healing hugs and Jamaican patties.  But I met her in my 40s.  The Ruby I'm talking about now, I met her when I was 18.  She is one of my dearest friends, read at my father's funeral mass.  We have been friends for decades.  One time someone came to our department looking for her and I told them "Go around the corner, she's sitting at a desk, lady wearing a blue dress."  Minutes later this person returned and said "There's nobody there, just some black woman!" I asked "Is she wearing a blue dress?" The guy said "Uhhh .... (brainiac, magnificent vocabulary this guy had), yeah."  I looked at him and said "Well, that'd be her then."  He muttered "Well, you could have said she was black!"  What did that have to do with the price of beans?  I did say lady sitting at desk, blue dress.  Hello?  What that man had for brains I will never know.  My guess is peas.  Dried-up, old and withered peas just rolling around that empty white pointy little bald head.  Sidebar:  You know one of my favorite things about getting together with my marvelous, magical Fairy GodMother Ruby's family?  You see all shades at that table, race is a non-issue.  And what a marvelous gift that is.

There are true victims out there.  Some have survived.  Some have not.  The name Emmett Till comes to mind.  There are people who died hearing that word being yelled at them.  There are people who still defend the slavery concept.  There are people who flat out deny the holocaust occurred.  Or who justify it.  Who think they are better than others merely because their skin is the color of paper.  Cannot for the life of me wrap my brain around that concept.  People who proclaim "I'm white and I'm proud!"  Really?  They set the excellence bar rather low. I don't know, I'd be proud if, say, I discovered the cure for cancer.  Figured out a way to feed the hungry, shelter the homeless, stop people from being cruel pinheads.  But not because my skin is lighter than my neighbors' skin.  You hear hateful words bandied about so nonchalantly these days.  You hear the "N" word, you hear derogatory terms used for just about any race, ethnic group, any and everyone who is deemed "different."  The "N" word particularly resonates with me.  Maybe because I was a child during the civil rights era, I don't know.  But I find that word particularly despicable.  Especially when used by young people because when I hear them use it I think, Martin Luther King, Jr. marched for you.  His followers put their lives on the line for you.  In the end, he died for you at the hands of a racist. And you repay him like this?

I want to file a lawsuit against anyone who uses the "N" word.  I want to file a lawsuit against anyone who uses derogatory terms about women, any ethnic group, nationality, people who have a different sexual orientation, whatever. Because that type of behavior is offensive to me.  I want to file a lawsuit about disrespectful "celebrities" who don't have the brains of a garden slug.  I want to file a lawsuit against those who purposefully inflict hurt on others, just because they had the urge to do so, knowing full well what they were doing.  I want to file a lawsuit against the idiot teacher, yep, a TEACHER, who once told me I was not white because I was born in Cuba and Cuba is in the Gulf of Mexico, so I was deemed Mexican.  When I informed this teacher that Mexican was a nationality, Cuba is in the Caribbean Sea and white is a race, NOT a nationality, she gave me detention. She was actually a substitute with a SERIOUS chip on her shoulder, I do believe had one looked at the back of her neck one would have found either the number 6 three times, or the KKK logo.  I'm guessing she's a Tea Party member nowadays, if she's alive.  I want to file a lawsuit against judges who let criminals with rap sheets miles long go free with just a slap on the wrist, I find that offensive. I would say I want to file a lawsuit against those attorneys who represent them, but there's that pesky "right to counsel" thing.  I want to file a lawsuit against the clerk who when I turned in my citizenship application said "You should drop that first name, it's not American enough."  I informed her my first name, unusual as it may be (to some), is a family name going back to my great-grandmother and she could put THAT in her pipe and smoke it!  I want to file a lawsuit against parents who leave babies in cars alone.  Against people that have slaughterhouses and butcher animals "for religious purposes" except you just know there will be some nimrod attorney who will bring up that "freedom of religion" thing.  Dang!  I want to file a lawsuit against employers who demean, disrespect and discriminate.  Against nimrods who claim their religion is The One True Religion and those that do not convert will Burn In Hell.  Oh, wait, there's that pesky freedom of religion thing again.  Against people who stir the pot and make the racial divide even wider.  On BOTH sides of the issue.  Because racism and bigotry are not just a "white" thing.  Horrible, heinous, terrible things have been done by cretins who believed themselves superior just because of their skin color (or lack thereof).  But people of all colors, races and creeds have marched together for equality ... for ALL. Not all Southerners are racists and not all racists are Southerners.  Not all Christians are Christian, just sayin'.  Not all Jews are cheap, I  have known plenty of uber-frugal Catholics in my time.  Not all Hispanics speak with an accent.  Once I was told I "talked English real good for a little Cuban girl, you have no accent, you could pass for white!"  What is it with the white thing?  Mind you, they really were trying to be nice.  I just said "Well, thank you. I learned English while on the banana plane from Cuba."  They thought that was the funniest thing.  Let's stop generalizing.  There's good and bad across the board.  Trouble is, good does not make for high ratings.  And I sincerely doubt that all those companies who dumped Paula Deen are all perfect and holy and have never themselves used derogatory terms or made a mistake.

Say, whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?  Or responsible journalism? Oh, wait, responsible journalism, OXYMORON.  Class action anyone?

Well, the skies are gloomy, it is thunder-booming and about to pour.  I'm signing off, brewing some coffee (café con leche!) and enjoying being home while it pours. Usually I am stuck in traffic with some nimrod behind me flashing his lights.  Being at home during a rainstorm is a rare and much treasured treat. Until next time, be blessed, take care of one another, remember, we are all His children.  Peace and keep the faith!