Today's topic, boys and girls, will be about bad guys. You may call them villains or whatever you wish, but they boil down to evil intent. I point your attention to a scholarly article on the subject of today's bad guys: pharmaceutical companies that are price gouging.
http://www.slate.com/articles/health_and_science/medical_examiner/2015/09/generic_drug_price_gouging_how_shkreli_and_other_monopolists_cornered_the.html
The article is full of a lot of big words, but here is the jist:
A small pharmaceutical (drug) company, led by a smirky young CEO, has acquired the rights to an old drug (since the 40s) that is prescribed to fight parasitic infections that sometimes prey on people with AIDS. Under this man's leadership, the price of the pills went from $13.50 apiece to $750. The CEO says he believes that the cost of the drugs should be borne by the people who use them, rather than on the backs of those who don't. (I don't believe that drugs were ever part of a socialist notion that the many pay for the few, but I am admittedly naive about such things, so I'm not sure.) He made another statement, however, that sent up a red flag in my brain. That was something to the effect that the price increase was a "favor to society". I asked myself why. Who will benefit from the price increase, and who will suffer from it? The drug company is the only beneficiary, and the majority of the sufferers are AIDS patients. And who, according to societal myths, are the bulk of AIDS sufferers? Homosexuals. Since we are a nation divided over same-sex issues, I wonder if the agenda of this drug company, led by Mr. Shkreli, is meant as a strike against gay folks.
What Mr. Shkreli has done is, apparently, totally legal. Is it ethical? Not on your life! It's not a matter of supply-and-demand. It's not a matter of a new drug being tested on the market. It's not even a matter of keeping the drug company afloat. It IS a matter of corporate greed with maybe some social issues at the fore?
Back in the 70s, I was doing homebound instruction for a Pontiac (IL) Junior High student who had a heart transplant. Heart transplants were relatively new in those days, but the girl had cardiomyopathy, and there was no other choice. After her successful transplant, she was prescribed the anti-rejection drug Cyclosporin. The cost for that drug was over $2,000 a month. Her father was a state employee, working for the Department of Corrections at the Pontiac maximum security prison. The family had insurance through Blue Cross/Blue Shield, but BC/BS refused to pay for the drug because it was considered experimental. The cost of that one medicine was more than the family's monthly income. What were they supposed to do? Let their child die because they couldn't afford the medicine that would prevent her body's rejection of her new heart?? In desperation, the family went to the media with their plight. Then-Governor Jim Walker got wind of it and worked some magic to force BC/BS to pay up. I think the young lady eventually died...but that's not the story I am focusing on here.
I think I am part of this new Bad Guy thing. My pulmonary doctor has given me a couple of sample inhalers, etc., that seem really helpful, but I can't afford the prescription. We've gone around the mulberry bush with two prescriptions now, both of which are out of reach for me--even with Medicare and supplementary insurance. I live on a subsistence budget. I get by, barring anything catastrophic. I'm sorry that I can't afford $250 a month for a breathing drug, but so far, I still don't depend on anyone else for financial help. The doc and I settled for an older drug that is much, much cheaper...but what would I do if a pharmaceutical company bought the rights and decided to hike the price out of reason?
When I was a kid in the 1950s, poliomyelitis was a scourge. It killed many and crippled more. Even President FDR was affected. And then, Dr. Jonas Salk developed a vaccine that prevented it from infecting more victims. We children back then were lined up at school to be vaccinated--for free. Polio has been eradicated in the world, except among the unvaccinated. Dr. Salk rejected the notoriety he was receiving. When asked "Who owns the patent to this vaccination?", he responded, "No one. Who can patent the sun?" He could have profited greatly from his scientific work; instead, he gave it to the world. Had Mr. Shkreli been in charge, we would still be fighting polio because the poor or under-insured would not have been able to afford the vaccine. If you didn't grow up in my era, you won't understand, but the world can thank God for the likes of Jonas Salk. Mr. Shkreli? Not so much.
I don't want to be held hostage by the drug Bad Guys. I'm not stupid enough to believe that research just happens without financial support, but I also don't believe that putting a drug (or vaccine) out of the reach of those who need it will advance us as a nation. I am also very much suspicious of companies that seem to be aiming at a certain controversial target. I could be wrong, but I don't think so!
Sunday, September 27, 2015
Thursday, September 24, 2015
The House on the Golf Course
Some things have happened to bring these memories to mind, so I thought I'd write about them as family history, from my own perspective.
When my daughter and her first husband, Nathan, were married, they had been living with me. Getting on their own meant getting their own place, so after much research, they settled on a pretty nice apartment up on 38th Street in Indianapolis. (Not such a great area, but not horribly bad then.) It worked for maybe a year, but then--due to a loss of job(s)--they had to vacate. They moved in with Nate's parents for awhile (maybe eight months or so)...and then...and then...and then....
Nate was offered a position as superintendent of a golf course out in the country just south of Plainfield: Friendswood Golf Course. It was a course that was purchased and built around a very old brick school building. Nate would have to take a class or two in environmental stuff, but he accepted the position. The pay was quite low, but one of the perks was a home on the property. It was an old home, but it gave the newlyweds a place to be, independent of both sets of parents, and since Megan was pregnant by this time, it seemed like an answer to prayer for us all.
Did I mention that the house was old?? Yeah...big time. The owner was going to have new carpet put in the whole place and so required that NOTHING be put in there until that was done. But before that could happen, both families converged on the place to see what we needed to do to make the place livable. The kitchen drawers and cabinets were full of mouse droppings. The upper cabinets were gummy with accumulated grease and grime. The floors were slanted, to the degree that if you had dropped a marble, it would have rolled downhill. The floors were plank and full of holes that looked down into the crawl space. When we opened the electrical box, there was an electrocuted mouse stuck behind a fuse. In short, we had a lot to do before the kids moved in!
The first thing I did was obtain pieces of tin of various sizes from a friend. I personally nailed tin over at least a dozen floor holes. Then we stuck pieces of steel wool around the plumbing holes in the house--anything to keep the mice out. We stripped and refinished the birch kitchen cabinets. We made and bought curtains to fit the house and make a nursery. We cleaned everything. (Truth be known, our efforts worked. Mice were never a problem in that house after that.)
The one thing we couldn't fix was the iron-filled water. There was a water softener in the house that would take iron-removing salt pellets, but the kids were generally too poor to keep buying that stuff. The water came out of the faucet looking so bad that no one wanted to drink it or cook with it, so I bought a water cooler for them and went about the business of making sure that they had enough 5-gal. bottles to get through a week. They bathed in the nasty rust-water, however, so the bathtub looked awful and red and ugly. We bought a "tubby" thing to put the baby in when she was big enough to put in a tub. It wasn't pretty.... The snow-white cloth diapers that I had bought for my first grandbaby became orange. We didn't buy anything white by way of clothing or bedding because it wouldn't stay white for long!!
And then there was Frodo the Wonder Dog. Frodo was a buff cocker spaniel...a real cutie...but also so totally spoiled and untrained that she toileted in the house, no matter how often she went outside (which apparently wasn't often enough). Nathan took her on at six weeks. I begged them both not to take a pet. Did they listen? Nooo... And the end result was that Frodo often piddled and pooped on the brand new carpets in the golf course house...the brand new carpets that my grandchildren would be crawling on... I hated that.
Then, not so long after my granddaughter (Robin) was born, her brother was conceived. I had spent hundreds of dollars to give my daughter and family the things that I thought they needed, and even more than what they thought they needed. I sponsored the Quilt Phase, the Kindermusik Phase, and the Creative Memories Phase of Meg's existence back then. She was doing all she knew how to do to help improve their financial situation. It wasn't enough. Never enough. Ryan was born in November of 2003. We cleaned out yet another room of the golf course house--questionable, for sure--to upgrade Robin to a different bedroom while her new brother took the nursery.
There were a lot of happy things going on in that house, but we soon became aware of problems. I would put a blanket on the floor in order to play with my grandchildren but noticed that everything felt damp. After awhile, the excessive humidity in the home became an issue. The kitchen floor became spongy. There were mushrooms growing on the wood window sills in the bathroom. There was mold on the bathroom cabinets and on some of the furniture. The crawl space under the house was damp but not streaming. No one could determine what was causing the moisture. There was no humidifier on the new furnace and no water leaks that anyone could find. I bought a dehumidifier but even that didn't seem to reduce the dampness by much. Then, too, Megan would hear scurrying noises in the walls at night...and we noticed winged creatures descending into the defunct house chimney at dusk. Bats? Birds? We all began to wonder if the free rent was worth whatever health risks could be occurring.
Then came the tornado. It came right down through the golf course. Thanks be to God, the kids and family took cover--even with the dog. (I've written about this before.) A huge tree came down in the back yard, missing the house by mere inches. Nathan had his work cut out for him on the course. The grandchildren stayed with me six miles from the carnage, while everyone assessed the damage early the next morning. Phone and electricity were restored to the golf course house before the first day was over, but it took months to remove all 125 of the downed trees...and then some. The little old yellow house had no damage, although a barn on the course mere yards away was destroyed. We were all shaken but grateful that no one was hurt. The only thing by way of personal property that was damaged was little Robin's outside tugboat sandbox and her Little Tykes jungle-gym-type contraption.
Nathan began to look for other work. Even with housing thrown in the mix, his income at Friendswood wasn't enough to keep the family afloat. He was offered a good position near Muncie, IN, that he accepted. I cried for three days! They were going to take my grandbabies away! In any case, at the end of my three-day mourning period, I jumped on the bandwagon to help them move out of the golf course house. (That's a whole other story.) That started the Muncie stage of our existence, and I did every bit as much for them there as before...but "helping" now was 1 1/2 hours away. The new position was much more lucrative, and the kids bought a house.
Meanwhile, getting out of the Friendswood house wasn't so easy. The non-lease contract the kids had agreed to said that they would repaint the interior of the house upon their exit. They hadn't been in the house very long--less than two years--but a deal is a deal. Consequently, Nate's parents (particularly his father) spent a lot of hours and effort, plus expense, painting the interior of the house for whomever would be the next tenants, while the kids were moving and trying to settle in Muncie. None of the house problems had been addressed, but those walls were sure going to be clean and freshly painted!
I can only speculate what happened at the little yellow house after that. The new superintendent at the Friendswood Golf Course was to be the owner's grandson who already had a home and wouldn't be using the old house. My guess is that the owner began to take a look at the house issues in order to prepare it to be rented out. Before long, rumor had it that the golf course house was unfixable because it would cost too much to bring it up to code. It would be torn down. To save the cost of demolition, the house had been offered to the fire department for a planned training burn. The FD declined. Why? Because they found too much asbestos in the place for them to risk releasing the fibers into the air with a fire. Ack! My babies had lived in that place!!
Thereafter, all that was left to do was observe the demolition of the little yellow house. One day, as Megan and family were visiting in Plainfield, Meg and I stopped by the place when one outside wall had been taken down. It was as if looking into a doll house with all of the rooms exposed because a wall was missing. As we stood there looking in at the bathroom and nursery from outside the house, we noticed that there were walnuts and walnut shells spilling out of a now-exposed wall interior. Lots and lots of walnuts! Walnuts no doubt put in the wall by the furry creatures that Meg had heard over a long period of time. We each shed a tear or two, remembering that their little family had its beginnings in the house that was soon to be no more. Then we returned to the car and left, never to look back.
And so it is. That was probably ten years ago now. Nothing is left to indicate that a little yellow house had ever stood there. The children were too young to have any memory of the place. It was an awful house, but for a short time, it was home to some very special people (and a few animals, it seems). All that love...all that expense...all that hard work (including freshly painted walls)...have gone the way of all earthly things. But the memories...ah, the memories...will remain with us forever.
When my daughter and her first husband, Nathan, were married, they had been living with me. Getting on their own meant getting their own place, so after much research, they settled on a pretty nice apartment up on 38th Street in Indianapolis. (Not such a great area, but not horribly bad then.) It worked for maybe a year, but then--due to a loss of job(s)--they had to vacate. They moved in with Nate's parents for awhile (maybe eight months or so)...and then...and then...and then....
Nate was offered a position as superintendent of a golf course out in the country just south of Plainfield: Friendswood Golf Course. It was a course that was purchased and built around a very old brick school building. Nate would have to take a class or two in environmental stuff, but he accepted the position. The pay was quite low, but one of the perks was a home on the property. It was an old home, but it gave the newlyweds a place to be, independent of both sets of parents, and since Megan was pregnant by this time, it seemed like an answer to prayer for us all.
Did I mention that the house was old?? Yeah...big time. The owner was going to have new carpet put in the whole place and so required that NOTHING be put in there until that was done. But before that could happen, both families converged on the place to see what we needed to do to make the place livable. The kitchen drawers and cabinets were full of mouse droppings. The upper cabinets were gummy with accumulated grease and grime. The floors were slanted, to the degree that if you had dropped a marble, it would have rolled downhill. The floors were plank and full of holes that looked down into the crawl space. When we opened the electrical box, there was an electrocuted mouse stuck behind a fuse. In short, we had a lot to do before the kids moved in!
The first thing I did was obtain pieces of tin of various sizes from a friend. I personally nailed tin over at least a dozen floor holes. Then we stuck pieces of steel wool around the plumbing holes in the house--anything to keep the mice out. We stripped and refinished the birch kitchen cabinets. We made and bought curtains to fit the house and make a nursery. We cleaned everything. (Truth be known, our efforts worked. Mice were never a problem in that house after that.)
The one thing we couldn't fix was the iron-filled water. There was a water softener in the house that would take iron-removing salt pellets, but the kids were generally too poor to keep buying that stuff. The water came out of the faucet looking so bad that no one wanted to drink it or cook with it, so I bought a water cooler for them and went about the business of making sure that they had enough 5-gal. bottles to get through a week. They bathed in the nasty rust-water, however, so the bathtub looked awful and red and ugly. We bought a "tubby" thing to put the baby in when she was big enough to put in a tub. It wasn't pretty.... The snow-white cloth diapers that I had bought for my first grandbaby became orange. We didn't buy anything white by way of clothing or bedding because it wouldn't stay white for long!!
And then there was Frodo the Wonder Dog. Frodo was a buff cocker spaniel...a real cutie...but also so totally spoiled and untrained that she toileted in the house, no matter how often she went outside (which apparently wasn't often enough). Nathan took her on at six weeks. I begged them both not to take a pet. Did they listen? Nooo... And the end result was that Frodo often piddled and pooped on the brand new carpets in the golf course house...the brand new carpets that my grandchildren would be crawling on... I hated that.
Then, not so long after my granddaughter (Robin) was born, her brother was conceived. I had spent hundreds of dollars to give my daughter and family the things that I thought they needed, and even more than what they thought they needed. I sponsored the Quilt Phase, the Kindermusik Phase, and the Creative Memories Phase of Meg's existence back then. She was doing all she knew how to do to help improve their financial situation. It wasn't enough. Never enough. Ryan was born in November of 2003. We cleaned out yet another room of the golf course house--questionable, for sure--to upgrade Robin to a different bedroom while her new brother took the nursery.
There were a lot of happy things going on in that house, but we soon became aware of problems. I would put a blanket on the floor in order to play with my grandchildren but noticed that everything felt damp. After awhile, the excessive humidity in the home became an issue. The kitchen floor became spongy. There were mushrooms growing on the wood window sills in the bathroom. There was mold on the bathroom cabinets and on some of the furniture. The crawl space under the house was damp but not streaming. No one could determine what was causing the moisture. There was no humidifier on the new furnace and no water leaks that anyone could find. I bought a dehumidifier but even that didn't seem to reduce the dampness by much. Then, too, Megan would hear scurrying noises in the walls at night...and we noticed winged creatures descending into the defunct house chimney at dusk. Bats? Birds? We all began to wonder if the free rent was worth whatever health risks could be occurring.
Then came the tornado. It came right down through the golf course. Thanks be to God, the kids and family took cover--even with the dog. (I've written about this before.) A huge tree came down in the back yard, missing the house by mere inches. Nathan had his work cut out for him on the course. The grandchildren stayed with me six miles from the carnage, while everyone assessed the damage early the next morning. Phone and electricity were restored to the golf course house before the first day was over, but it took months to remove all 125 of the downed trees...and then some. The little old yellow house had no damage, although a barn on the course mere yards away was destroyed. We were all shaken but grateful that no one was hurt. The only thing by way of personal property that was damaged was little Robin's outside tugboat sandbox and her Little Tykes jungle-gym-type contraption.
Nathan began to look for other work. Even with housing thrown in the mix, his income at Friendswood wasn't enough to keep the family afloat. He was offered a good position near Muncie, IN, that he accepted. I cried for three days! They were going to take my grandbabies away! In any case, at the end of my three-day mourning period, I jumped on the bandwagon to help them move out of the golf course house. (That's a whole other story.) That started the Muncie stage of our existence, and I did every bit as much for them there as before...but "helping" now was 1 1/2 hours away. The new position was much more lucrative, and the kids bought a house.
Meanwhile, getting out of the Friendswood house wasn't so easy. The non-lease contract the kids had agreed to said that they would repaint the interior of the house upon their exit. They hadn't been in the house very long--less than two years--but a deal is a deal. Consequently, Nate's parents (particularly his father) spent a lot of hours and effort, plus expense, painting the interior of the house for whomever would be the next tenants, while the kids were moving and trying to settle in Muncie. None of the house problems had been addressed, but those walls were sure going to be clean and freshly painted!
I can only speculate what happened at the little yellow house after that. The new superintendent at the Friendswood Golf Course was to be the owner's grandson who already had a home and wouldn't be using the old house. My guess is that the owner began to take a look at the house issues in order to prepare it to be rented out. Before long, rumor had it that the golf course house was unfixable because it would cost too much to bring it up to code. It would be torn down. To save the cost of demolition, the house had been offered to the fire department for a planned training burn. The FD declined. Why? Because they found too much asbestos in the place for them to risk releasing the fibers into the air with a fire. Ack! My babies had lived in that place!!
Thereafter, all that was left to do was observe the demolition of the little yellow house. One day, as Megan and family were visiting in Plainfield, Meg and I stopped by the place when one outside wall had been taken down. It was as if looking into a doll house with all of the rooms exposed because a wall was missing. As we stood there looking in at the bathroom and nursery from outside the house, we noticed that there were walnuts and walnut shells spilling out of a now-exposed wall interior. Lots and lots of walnuts! Walnuts no doubt put in the wall by the furry creatures that Meg had heard over a long period of time. We each shed a tear or two, remembering that their little family had its beginnings in the house that was soon to be no more. Then we returned to the car and left, never to look back.
And so it is. That was probably ten years ago now. Nothing is left to indicate that a little yellow house had ever stood there. The children were too young to have any memory of the place. It was an awful house, but for a short time, it was home to some very special people (and a few animals, it seems). All that love...all that expense...all that hard work (including freshly painted walls)...have gone the way of all earthly things. But the memories...ah, the memories...will remain with us forever.
Monday, September 21, 2015
Laundry Tips
When my daughter and grandchildren were living with me a few years ago--and I was still teaching--the weekends were the only time to do the mountain of laundry that accumulated through the week. In those days, the children were going to visit their father in Muncie every weekend. Megan was taking college courses and using the weekends to do her work. I did laundry. This was my choice. It gave me a sense of control because I would know what was clean for everyone because I was the only laundress in the house that would sort loads and follow through with hanging, folding, and putting away. It was a LOT of work, but it also helped me to feel that I had accomplished something, no matter how exhausted I was!
Then, too, I consider myself the Stain Queen of the Universe. I know all of the tricks and have all of the products that do the job...with effort. (The only stains that have vexed me to this day are the ones in my tablecloths, one of which is a crocheted piece that took me a year to make. I've done everything known to man to get rid of the stains, to no avail. Ugh!)
But, sadly, the daughter and grandchildren moved on. The only benefit of that was that my laundry burden went from 10 loads per week to three. And now, much less. What are my secrets?
1. Use towels more than once. Never washcloths. If you don't have enough washcloths to last a week, buy more!
2. Have enough underwear and socks on hand to last two weeks. I bleach mine in hot water, which means that I have graduated to white cotton "granny pants" from the sexier nylon ones that fall apart after too many bleachings. TMI.
3. Wear clothing more than once before washing. Yeah, yeah...I know that sounds gross...but unless you are a construction worker or exposed to germs or body fluids on the job, how dirty do your clothes get? How dirty are you when you put yourself into them each day? When I was a kid, we had school clothes, play clothes, and church clothes. I was not allowed to play in school clothes. Those got taken off and hung up at the end of the school day to be worn another time before washed. We have become so nasty clean that we are raising a generation of children with allergies and phobias, not to mention housewives who are fatigued in spite of the fact that we have better laundry facilities now than at any other time in America's history.
4. Hide out! If no one sees you, you don't have to be spiffed up! Well...I shouldn't go there.
I'm doing laundry today. Could you guess that??
Then, too, I consider myself the Stain Queen of the Universe. I know all of the tricks and have all of the products that do the job...with effort. (The only stains that have vexed me to this day are the ones in my tablecloths, one of which is a crocheted piece that took me a year to make. I've done everything known to man to get rid of the stains, to no avail. Ugh!)
But, sadly, the daughter and grandchildren moved on. The only benefit of that was that my laundry burden went from 10 loads per week to three. And now, much less. What are my secrets?
1. Use towels more than once. Never washcloths. If you don't have enough washcloths to last a week, buy more!
2. Have enough underwear and socks on hand to last two weeks. I bleach mine in hot water, which means that I have graduated to white cotton "granny pants" from the sexier nylon ones that fall apart after too many bleachings. TMI.
3. Wear clothing more than once before washing. Yeah, yeah...I know that sounds gross...but unless you are a construction worker or exposed to germs or body fluids on the job, how dirty do your clothes get? How dirty are you when you put yourself into them each day? When I was a kid, we had school clothes, play clothes, and church clothes. I was not allowed to play in school clothes. Those got taken off and hung up at the end of the school day to be worn another time before washed. We have become so nasty clean that we are raising a generation of children with allergies and phobias, not to mention housewives who are fatigued in spite of the fact that we have better laundry facilities now than at any other time in America's history.
4. Hide out! If no one sees you, you don't have to be spiffed up! Well...I shouldn't go there.
I'm doing laundry today. Could you guess that??
Friday, September 18, 2015
Garden Blocks
In yesterday's post, I mentioned sending my man James to purchase garden blocks. It's hard to look these up online. Apparently they are called blocks for retaining walls, because that is where I found what I wanted on the Menard's website. I only had $80 on me--which is an unusually large sum for me. I had no clue how many blocks he could purchase for that, nor did I even know how many of the blocks we would need in order to edge my flower garden. The cheapest ones I found online were about $1.50 apiece. James stepped out the measurement with his feet, so he had an idea, but I wasn't sure. In any case, he went off with cash in hand in his jalopy truck.
He was gone a long time. I fell asleep as I usually do at that hour of the day. When I came to, he was here and had already lined the flower bed edges with the blocks...and had enough left over to line another small flower bed...and even line the front under the new fence! He had found the blocks for 89 cents apiece!
Please understand that in the 23 years I have owned this little house-on-a-slab, I have personally made those flower beds...and have had, in that time, at least two types of rubbery edging. The first kind required a little trench, but it all got kicked out by frost over time. The next effort was with small units of edging that had to be pounded into the ground with a rubber mallet. That didn't even last as long. Last winter's cold, along with the mower hitting it, forced it out of the ground entirely. I am no longer able to tend to the outside of the house, but I have to tell you that deciding to buy those blocks was the best decision I could have made. They sit on top of the ground. No amount of cold can dislodge them! And James's putting them down while I was asleep made it a huge surprise to me. It looks every bit as good as I'd hoped!
There is, of course, more to do. The perennial plants need a lot of attention. That and painting the trim on the bay window are on the top of my outside list...but I'm sure happy with what I have, so far!
He was gone a long time. I fell asleep as I usually do at that hour of the day. When I came to, he was here and had already lined the flower bed edges with the blocks...and had enough left over to line another small flower bed...and even line the front under the new fence! He had found the blocks for 89 cents apiece!
Please understand that in the 23 years I have owned this little house-on-a-slab, I have personally made those flower beds...and have had, in that time, at least two types of rubbery edging. The first kind required a little trench, but it all got kicked out by frost over time. The next effort was with small units of edging that had to be pounded into the ground with a rubber mallet. That didn't even last as long. Last winter's cold, along with the mower hitting it, forced it out of the ground entirely. I am no longer able to tend to the outside of the house, but I have to tell you that deciding to buy those blocks was the best decision I could have made. They sit on top of the ground. No amount of cold can dislodge them! And James's putting them down while I was asleep made it a huge surprise to me. It looks every bit as good as I'd hoped!
There is, of course, more to do. The perennial plants need a lot of attention. That and painting the trim on the bay window are on the top of my outside list...but I'm sure happy with what I have, so far!
Thursday, September 17, 2015
To Sleep...Perchance to Dream
Aye, there's the rub!
Thank you, Shakespeare!
I don't sleep well these days. At best, I get five hours. Sometimes more; sometimes less. Today, I was up at 3:00 AM. This is nothing new.
Usually, when I wake up long before an acceptable time, I force myself to stay in bed and continue to doze. Today, however, was a bit different. I was having crazy dreams that made it impossible for me to go back to sleep. As stupid as it sounds, I was dreaming that my ex-husband was trying to force his way back into my life...and other such impossibilities. My conscious brain was rejecting all that my subconscious brain was suggesting...so I woke up with no hope of going back to sleep.
All I want out of life right now is to sleep restfully all night. I guess I need a definition of what constitutes "all night"!! I long ago gave up fighting my circadian rhythm. If all my body wants by way of sleep is five hours, I guess I need to accept that...but why????
If this is part of the aging process, I don't like it, but nobody asked me!
Thank you, Shakespeare!
I don't sleep well these days. At best, I get five hours. Sometimes more; sometimes less. Today, I was up at 3:00 AM. This is nothing new.
Usually, when I wake up long before an acceptable time, I force myself to stay in bed and continue to doze. Today, however, was a bit different. I was having crazy dreams that made it impossible for me to go back to sleep. As stupid as it sounds, I was dreaming that my ex-husband was trying to force his way back into my life...and other such impossibilities. My conscious brain was rejecting all that my subconscious brain was suggesting...so I woke up with no hope of going back to sleep.
All I want out of life right now is to sleep restfully all night. I guess I need a definition of what constitutes "all night"!! I long ago gave up fighting my circadian rhythm. If all my body wants by way of sleep is five hours, I guess I need to accept that...but why????
If this is part of the aging process, I don't like it, but nobody asked me!
The New Fence
I bought my house in 1992. At that time, it had no charm on the outside, but it was home. The next year, a neighbor across the street was taking out a split-rail fence and threw the remains to the curb. I thought my house could use a split-rail fence in front, so I asked if I could have some of his throw-aways. No problem, he said, so I grabbed some posts and rails.
As the responsible little new homeowner that I wanted to be, I called the utilities for them to mark out where lines and pipes are buried in the yard so that I wouldn't dig into something in the process of installing the fence. I bought a used post-hole digger at a flea market. I was soon in the business of installing three split-rail posts with two rails apiece.
Digging the three post-holes was problematic. I hadn't figured on all of the tree roots where I was digging, but I managed. The posts needed to be buried 18" deep, based on the dirt-line of what I had salvaged, and somehow, I managed to "git 'er done". The posts were straight and sturdy. The rails needed to be trimmed to fit, which Neighbor Fred helped me with. And so it went. I planted perennials under the line of the fence and put bark mulch around them ...and it made all the difference in the world in the appearance of the front of the house! Even the former owner of this house mentioned to me that she always thought it needed "something" in front. I was happy!
That was 23 years ago. The fence was beginning to look aged and worn, with lichens growing on it. About a month ago, I was leaning on the fence talking to someone when the rail gave way and fell into the plants. A day or two later, another rail fell...and the post holding them up was wobbly. The time had come... Good-bye old fence; hello, new!
My yard helper showed up last Sunday with his brother. I sent James packing with cash in hand to purchase fencing. Before long, the remnants of the old posts were being pulled out by truck, and the new posts were being installed. The rails that only come in 10' lengths had to be trimmed to fit, but it wasn't long before I had a beautiful new cedar fence gracing the front of my yard. I love it! Now, the task at hand is to change out the perennials under the fence that have been overtaken by weeds and volunteers in the absence of my ability to maintain them. We shall see where to go with this...
James is here today. I've sent him off in search of garden blocks. Not sure how all of that will happen, but I am delighted to have the help. At least the OUTSIDE of the house will look better. We won't talk about the INSIDE right now!
As the responsible little new homeowner that I wanted to be, I called the utilities for them to mark out where lines and pipes are buried in the yard so that I wouldn't dig into something in the process of installing the fence. I bought a used post-hole digger at a flea market. I was soon in the business of installing three split-rail posts with two rails apiece.
Digging the three post-holes was problematic. I hadn't figured on all of the tree roots where I was digging, but I managed. The posts needed to be buried 18" deep, based on the dirt-line of what I had salvaged, and somehow, I managed to "git 'er done". The posts were straight and sturdy. The rails needed to be trimmed to fit, which Neighbor Fred helped me with. And so it went. I planted perennials under the line of the fence and put bark mulch around them ...and it made all the difference in the world in the appearance of the front of the house! Even the former owner of this house mentioned to me that she always thought it needed "something" in front. I was happy!
That was 23 years ago. The fence was beginning to look aged and worn, with lichens growing on it. About a month ago, I was leaning on the fence talking to someone when the rail gave way and fell into the plants. A day or two later, another rail fell...and the post holding them up was wobbly. The time had come... Good-bye old fence; hello, new!
My yard helper showed up last Sunday with his brother. I sent James packing with cash in hand to purchase fencing. Before long, the remnants of the old posts were being pulled out by truck, and the new posts were being installed. The rails that only come in 10' lengths had to be trimmed to fit, but it wasn't long before I had a beautiful new cedar fence gracing the front of my yard. I love it! Now, the task at hand is to change out the perennials under the fence that have been overtaken by weeds and volunteers in the absence of my ability to maintain them. We shall see where to go with this...
James is here today. I've sent him off in search of garden blocks. Not sure how all of that will happen, but I am delighted to have the help. At least the OUTSIDE of the house will look better. We won't talk about the INSIDE right now!
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
Making Lasagna
Here is my recipe for making lasagna. If you wish to make it just like I do, be sure to follow the directions carefully.
PEGGY'S LASAGNA:
Directions:
1. Chop an onion on a cutting board. Leave the dirty cutting board and knife on the counter.
2. In a large skillet, brown a pound of hamburger. Add the onion toward the end of the process.
3. Drain off the fat by using paper towels and tongs to soak up the fat. Put the grease-soaked paper towels in the empty hamburger package and leave on top of the stove.
4. Empty a container of ricotta cheese into a mixing bowl. Add one egg and mix thoroughly. Set aside, making sure that the cheese carton remains on the counter.
5. Prepare a 9 x 13 baking pan by spooning 1/4 cup of a jar of spaghetti sauce in the bottom. Add most of the rest of the sauce to the hamburger/onion mixture in the skillet, saving just a little for the top of the lasagna layers later. Leave the spaghetti sauce jar and lid, plus the measuring cup and spoon, on the top of the stove with the greasy paper towel ensemble.
6. Place lasagna noodles in bottom of the baking pan, overlapping slightly.
7. Spread half of the ricotta cheese/egg mixture on top of noodles, leaving the spoon in the mixing bowl.
8. Spread about one-third of the hamburger/sauce mixture on top of the ricotta by spooning it out of the skillet on top of the stove to the baking pan, trying to get the baking pan as close to the skillet as you can without pushing the bottles of cleaners, pills, vinegar, and other things that are already on the counter out of the way. Be sure to slop the sauce/meat mixture on the stove, the counter, and edges of the baking pan.
9. Sprinkle grated parmesan cheese and shredded mozzarella cheese over the layer. Keep the cheese containers handy near the sink.
10. Place another layer of noodles on top of the first layer, and repeat steps 7, 8, and 9. Leave the dirty, ricotta mixing bowl on the counter. When reaching for the mozzarella cheese package, be sure to knock the spoon out of the dirty ricotta bowl onto the floor.
11. Place another layer of noodles on top, as before. Top with the remainder of the meat/sauce mixture. Sprinkle with more parmesan and cover all with mozzarella.
12. Cover the baking dish with foil, but first find the foil that is buried in the wrapping drawer under the plastic wrap. Leave both foil and plastic wrap cartons on the counter.
13. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes, then uncover and cook for 10 more minutes. After baking, let the baking pan "set" for at least 10 minutes. Oh yeah...I forgot: preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
14. Enjoy!
After-cooking instructions for much later after everything has had a chance to dry hard on surfaces:
1. Get out a garbage bag. Throw away the meat packaging that contains the greasy paper towels, the spaghetti sauce jar and lid, the ricotta cheese carton and lid, the lasagna noodle box, and the mozzarella cheese package.
2. Empty the dishwasher.
3. Place the skillet, mixing bowl, measuring cups, cutting board, knife, and spreading-spoons in the sink to soak.
4. Soak the dried sauce/meat spilled on the stove and counter with 409 spray or other cleaner of your choice.
5. Rinse the pans, bowls, and utensils in the sink and place in the dishwasher.
6. Run the garbage disposer.
7. Put away the plastic wrap and aluminum foil.
8. Clean the soaked sauce mixture from stove and counter. Use cleaner with bleach if necessary.
9. This is very important: rejoice in the fact that you don't fix lasagna very often!
PEGGY'S LASAGNA:
Directions:
1. Chop an onion on a cutting board. Leave the dirty cutting board and knife on the counter.
2. In a large skillet, brown a pound of hamburger. Add the onion toward the end of the process.
3. Drain off the fat by using paper towels and tongs to soak up the fat. Put the grease-soaked paper towels in the empty hamburger package and leave on top of the stove.
4. Empty a container of ricotta cheese into a mixing bowl. Add one egg and mix thoroughly. Set aside, making sure that the cheese carton remains on the counter.
5. Prepare a 9 x 13 baking pan by spooning 1/4 cup of a jar of spaghetti sauce in the bottom. Add most of the rest of the sauce to the hamburger/onion mixture in the skillet, saving just a little for the top of the lasagna layers later. Leave the spaghetti sauce jar and lid, plus the measuring cup and spoon, on the top of the stove with the greasy paper towel ensemble.
6. Place lasagna noodles in bottom of the baking pan, overlapping slightly.
7. Spread half of the ricotta cheese/egg mixture on top of noodles, leaving the spoon in the mixing bowl.
8. Spread about one-third of the hamburger/sauce mixture on top of the ricotta by spooning it out of the skillet on top of the stove to the baking pan, trying to get the baking pan as close to the skillet as you can without pushing the bottles of cleaners, pills, vinegar, and other things that are already on the counter out of the way. Be sure to slop the sauce/meat mixture on the stove, the counter, and edges of the baking pan.
9. Sprinkle grated parmesan cheese and shredded mozzarella cheese over the layer. Keep the cheese containers handy near the sink.
10. Place another layer of noodles on top of the first layer, and repeat steps 7, 8, and 9. Leave the dirty, ricotta mixing bowl on the counter. When reaching for the mozzarella cheese package, be sure to knock the spoon out of the dirty ricotta bowl onto the floor.
11. Place another layer of noodles on top, as before. Top with the remainder of the meat/sauce mixture. Sprinkle with more parmesan and cover all with mozzarella.
12. Cover the baking dish with foil, but first find the foil that is buried in the wrapping drawer under the plastic wrap. Leave both foil and plastic wrap cartons on the counter.
13. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes, then uncover and cook for 10 more minutes. After baking, let the baking pan "set" for at least 10 minutes. Oh yeah...I forgot: preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
14. Enjoy!
After-cooking instructions for much later after everything has had a chance to dry hard on surfaces:
1. Get out a garbage bag. Throw away the meat packaging that contains the greasy paper towels, the spaghetti sauce jar and lid, the ricotta cheese carton and lid, the lasagna noodle box, and the mozzarella cheese package.
2. Empty the dishwasher.
3. Place the skillet, mixing bowl, measuring cups, cutting board, knife, and spreading-spoons in the sink to soak.
4. Soak the dried sauce/meat spilled on the stove and counter with 409 spray or other cleaner of your choice.
5. Rinse the pans, bowls, and utensils in the sink and place in the dishwasher.
6. Run the garbage disposer.
7. Put away the plastic wrap and aluminum foil.
8. Clean the soaked sauce mixture from stove and counter. Use cleaner with bleach if necessary.
9. This is very important: rejoice in the fact that you don't fix lasagna very often!
Friday, September 11, 2015
An Argument for Faith
One of my favorite stories about faith was told by one of my pastors in a sermon years ago. The story goes that a man was on a mountain hike, alone, when he took a misstep and slipped over the edge of a steep cliff. The only thing that saved him from a free fall to the bottom of the canyon below was a small tree growing on the side of the rocks. He was able to grab a branch on his way down and held on. That branch, flimsy as it was, became the only thing between him and certain death. He was terrified and began to pray as he'd never prayed before: God, help me! I haven't lived the best life, but I'm not ready to die!
Suddenly, from above came a voice, clear and loud: Don't be afraid. I will take care of you. The man looked up but saw no one. He started to have a conversation with the voice.
Who are you? Where are you? I don't see you!
I am God. I can save you from your predicament. Just have faith that I will.
But I can't see you! I'm scared and don't know what to do! I don't know how long my strength can hold out!
I love you. I won't let you fall.
But...but...how do I know that? How do I know that you are real and not just a figment of my imagination? How can I be sure that you truly are God?
Simple, the voice answered. Let go of the branch.
The story ended there. The congregation sat stunned for a second or two as the meaning sank in. I'm quite certain that every listener asked him/herself, as I did, if he/she would have the faith to let go of that branch in the sheer certainty that God would provide. The story had all of the elements of real life: we find ourselves in a pickle; we know our human limitations and have no idea how to resolve the problem; we beg God to get us out of it; then we doubt Him. It's a Catch-22, of sorts. 'Tis one thing to say we believe and have faith but quite another to live it. Even Dr. Phil says, "If you're in a sinking boat, pray to God but row for the shore!" That implies that there should be a partnership with God in our lives. It is just so...so...unhuman...to give up all attempts at control. Perhaps we feel that we have more power than we really do. Or perhaps we comprehend that we are flawed and have no control at all. Whatever the circumstance, it is often true that we don't turn to faith until we get in trouble...and then we doubt if even faith can help.
If you pick the cliff story apart, it's easy to see that the man's biggest concern was fear. He was afraid of dying. He was called upon to believe in something he couldn't see and lacked hope of saving his own life. I maintain that, when we strip away all of the layers of our own existence and get down to basics, it is fear that is at the root of everything we say and do.
Almost every year that I taught literature in high school, there would be biblical references in what we read that I felt I needed to explain, along with the historical backgrounds that were the framework of society's collective mind when the classic pieces were written. (Like it or not, both American and British literature have beginnings in religious and political philosophies that modern students may not know.) Chaucer's Canterbury Tales makes so much more sense when the reader understands what a pilgrimage is and why all of the characters were making a pilgrimage to Canterbury for "the holy, blissful martyr" (Thomas a Becket) to bless them. In the course of my explanations and quoting from the Bible to explain biblical references, a student would ask, "Why do we have religion, anyway?" (This is as common as a young child asking, "Where did I come from?" Every year, classes would also ask, "Who determines what is a 'bad word?" "Why couldn't Shakespeare write in English that we can understand?") And so, armed with experience with the question, I spent about 15 minutes of one class per year giving my explanation of why we have religion.
So why do we have religion? My explanation:
Religion is the fabrication of man, and it goes back to the primitive mind--the very beginnings of human civilization--when man was trying to explain the mysteries around him--the stars, the seasons, where he came from, his reason for being, and what would happen to him after he died. Gods were created. Gods of fire, of the sun, of the earth, of fertility, of the crops and the animals. If man was humble before these gods, he thought things would go better in terms of his survival. He felt that sacrificing some of the best of what he had would keep the good gods happy and the bad gods away.
And with that, came rules. If I do everything right in order to keep the gods happy, but my neighbor messes up, that hurts all of us, so we will have rules for people to follow to keep us in good standing with whatever gods there are. What is right? What is wrong? What is expected of me in order to remain in the society of my tribe/family/community, etc? Eat this. Don't eat that. Taboos were established and punishments for breaking them established, as well. Rewards for being faithful to the rules were also set up...and one of those came by way of thwarting man's biggest fear: death.
Then, somewhere out of the mish-mash of cultural myths about the creation of man and the universe ("Where did I come from?") came the Jewish tradition of one God above all, complete with Moses and the Ten Commandments. God was to be praised and obeyed--and feared. Mess up and He will smite you down just as surely as you will die when your time comes. What hope can there be in that? (This is usually where my classroom explanation stopped, but skip to later paragraphs.)
And then came Jesus, the self-acclaimed Son of God, the ultimate sacrifice to God to atone for all human sins. The catch? You have to believe that He can and will do it for it to work. If you believe, you will "live" after you die. Eternal life. Hope that this world isn't all we have to look forward to. According to New Testament scripture, Jesus was born of a virgin, turned water into wine, fed a huge crowd with a few loaves of bread and five fishes, walked on water, healed the sick, raised the dead, forgave sinners, and predicted his own demise. And all that we who profess to follow Him have to do is believe all of that.
And there, my friends, is where my heart and my brain separate. As a fairly intelligent human being, it pains me to ask people to believe the unbelievable...which is why I don't ask them to. I can't explain to anyone why I am a Christian...why I believe in what must seem like hokum to some...yet I am not alone. Millions believe as I do. Why? Because believing in less is devastating! Jesus preached love and forgiveness, no matter if his miracles are believable or not. Living in fear of the retribution of God is guilt-inducing (but apparently not strong enough to change the behavior of those who would do us ill). We humans know we are weak, just like children in need of parents to steer them in the right direction and protect them from bad things. Yet we rebel. If I am in charge of my own life and what happens to me, I am defeated. Better to believe in a power above my own. Better to trust in something or someone ultimately stronger than I that has a finger on the pulse of eternity. My little life means nothing otherwise.
I have a HUGE problem with people who thump their Bibles as authority for discriminating against others...and most of these are folks who claim to be Christians, as I am. I'm ashamed that they pick Old Testament rules to judge others while supposedly living in New Testament grace. It doesn't work. One of my sensibilities that is offended by this is the notion that Almighty God (note the "almighty" part) needs us to support Him. Huh? What makes any human being on the planet believe that the Creator of the Universe needs one single mortal to justify Him? What OTHER excuses do we need to behave badly in society? I'm shaking my head... The whole Kim Davis thing--the county clerk in Kentucky who was jailed for contempt of court because she refused to issue marriage licenses to same-sex couples--leaves me cold. And the backlash isn't over. Today's American society is so polarized that we have forgotten the message of 9/11. I'm sad for all of us. It isn't anywhere close to being over.
Faith is believing in something we cannot see. Faith is believing that the sun will come up in the morning...that our parents will be there for us...that the spring will follow the winter. Faith is having hope that there is something in the world stronger than we are to dig us out of our problems...to forgive us for being mortal and stupid... to give us answers to the mysteries of life. It isn't about right or wrong.
I have a dear friend who is atheistic. He believes that when we die, we are "worm food". He might be right, but like the fellow holding onto the branch on the cliff, I don't want to find out. It gives me peace in this life to believe in something beyond my flawed human strength. What do the seniors in life have to look forward to if we believe as he does? Decline and death. Not very uplifting!
I guess I am at a crossroads here, thinking that Mahatma Ghandi spoke a truth when he said:
Suddenly, from above came a voice, clear and loud: Don't be afraid. I will take care of you. The man looked up but saw no one. He started to have a conversation with the voice.
Who are you? Where are you? I don't see you!
I am God. I can save you from your predicament. Just have faith that I will.
But I can't see you! I'm scared and don't know what to do! I don't know how long my strength can hold out!
I love you. I won't let you fall.
But...but...how do I know that? How do I know that you are real and not just a figment of my imagination? How can I be sure that you truly are God?
Simple, the voice answered. Let go of the branch.
The story ended there. The congregation sat stunned for a second or two as the meaning sank in. I'm quite certain that every listener asked him/herself, as I did, if he/she would have the faith to let go of that branch in the sheer certainty that God would provide. The story had all of the elements of real life: we find ourselves in a pickle; we know our human limitations and have no idea how to resolve the problem; we beg God to get us out of it; then we doubt Him. It's a Catch-22, of sorts. 'Tis one thing to say we believe and have faith but quite another to live it. Even Dr. Phil says, "If you're in a sinking boat, pray to God but row for the shore!" That implies that there should be a partnership with God in our lives. It is just so...so...unhuman...to give up all attempts at control. Perhaps we feel that we have more power than we really do. Or perhaps we comprehend that we are flawed and have no control at all. Whatever the circumstance, it is often true that we don't turn to faith until we get in trouble...and then we doubt if even faith can help.
If you pick the cliff story apart, it's easy to see that the man's biggest concern was fear. He was afraid of dying. He was called upon to believe in something he couldn't see and lacked hope of saving his own life. I maintain that, when we strip away all of the layers of our own existence and get down to basics, it is fear that is at the root of everything we say and do.
Almost every year that I taught literature in high school, there would be biblical references in what we read that I felt I needed to explain, along with the historical backgrounds that were the framework of society's collective mind when the classic pieces were written. (Like it or not, both American and British literature have beginnings in religious and political philosophies that modern students may not know.) Chaucer's Canterbury Tales makes so much more sense when the reader understands what a pilgrimage is and why all of the characters were making a pilgrimage to Canterbury for "the holy, blissful martyr" (Thomas a Becket) to bless them. In the course of my explanations and quoting from the Bible to explain biblical references, a student would ask, "Why do we have religion, anyway?" (This is as common as a young child asking, "Where did I come from?" Every year, classes would also ask, "Who determines what is a 'bad word?" "Why couldn't Shakespeare write in English that we can understand?") And so, armed with experience with the question, I spent about 15 minutes of one class per year giving my explanation of why we have religion.
So why do we have religion? My explanation:
Religion is the fabrication of man, and it goes back to the primitive mind--the very beginnings of human civilization--when man was trying to explain the mysteries around him--the stars, the seasons, where he came from, his reason for being, and what would happen to him after he died. Gods were created. Gods of fire, of the sun, of the earth, of fertility, of the crops and the animals. If man was humble before these gods, he thought things would go better in terms of his survival. He felt that sacrificing some of the best of what he had would keep the good gods happy and the bad gods away.
And with that, came rules. If I do everything right in order to keep the gods happy, but my neighbor messes up, that hurts all of us, so we will have rules for people to follow to keep us in good standing with whatever gods there are. What is right? What is wrong? What is expected of me in order to remain in the society of my tribe/family/community, etc? Eat this. Don't eat that. Taboos were established and punishments for breaking them established, as well. Rewards for being faithful to the rules were also set up...and one of those came by way of thwarting man's biggest fear: death.
Then, somewhere out of the mish-mash of cultural myths about the creation of man and the universe ("Where did I come from?") came the Jewish tradition of one God above all, complete with Moses and the Ten Commandments. God was to be praised and obeyed--and feared. Mess up and He will smite you down just as surely as you will die when your time comes. What hope can there be in that? (This is usually where my classroom explanation stopped, but skip to later paragraphs.)
And then came Jesus, the self-acclaimed Son of God, the ultimate sacrifice to God to atone for all human sins. The catch? You have to believe that He can and will do it for it to work. If you believe, you will "live" after you die. Eternal life. Hope that this world isn't all we have to look forward to. According to New Testament scripture, Jesus was born of a virgin, turned water into wine, fed a huge crowd with a few loaves of bread and five fishes, walked on water, healed the sick, raised the dead, forgave sinners, and predicted his own demise. And all that we who profess to follow Him have to do is believe all of that.
And there, my friends, is where my heart and my brain separate. As a fairly intelligent human being, it pains me to ask people to believe the unbelievable...which is why I don't ask them to. I can't explain to anyone why I am a Christian...why I believe in what must seem like hokum to some...yet I am not alone. Millions believe as I do. Why? Because believing in less is devastating! Jesus preached love and forgiveness, no matter if his miracles are believable or not. Living in fear of the retribution of God is guilt-inducing (but apparently not strong enough to change the behavior of those who would do us ill). We humans know we are weak, just like children in need of parents to steer them in the right direction and protect them from bad things. Yet we rebel. If I am in charge of my own life and what happens to me, I am defeated. Better to believe in a power above my own. Better to trust in something or someone ultimately stronger than I that has a finger on the pulse of eternity. My little life means nothing otherwise.
I have a HUGE problem with people who thump their Bibles as authority for discriminating against others...and most of these are folks who claim to be Christians, as I am. I'm ashamed that they pick Old Testament rules to judge others while supposedly living in New Testament grace. It doesn't work. One of my sensibilities that is offended by this is the notion that Almighty God (note the "almighty" part) needs us to support Him. Huh? What makes any human being on the planet believe that the Creator of the Universe needs one single mortal to justify Him? What OTHER excuses do we need to behave badly in society? I'm shaking my head... The whole Kim Davis thing--the county clerk in Kentucky who was jailed for contempt of court because she refused to issue marriage licenses to same-sex couples--leaves me cold. And the backlash isn't over. Today's American society is so polarized that we have forgotten the message of 9/11. I'm sad for all of us. It isn't anywhere close to being over.
Faith is believing in something we cannot see. Faith is believing that the sun will come up in the morning...that our parents will be there for us...that the spring will follow the winter. Faith is having hope that there is something in the world stronger than we are to dig us out of our problems...to forgive us for being mortal and stupid... to give us answers to the mysteries of life. It isn't about right or wrong.
I have a dear friend who is atheistic. He believes that when we die, we are "worm food". He might be right, but like the fellow holding onto the branch on the cliff, I don't want to find out. It gives me peace in this life to believe in something beyond my flawed human strength. What do the seniors in life have to look forward to if we believe as he does? Decline and death. Not very uplifting!
I guess I am at a crossroads here, thinking that Mahatma Ghandi spoke a truth when he said:
“I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.” I'm trying to maintain my faith when so many things in modern society shake it. All I have ever relayed to my students and anyone else who would listen is that it is necessary in the human existence to believe in something larger than self. May everyone find something to believe in!
Friday, September 4, 2015
My Ex-Hubby Would Love This
All my life, I have hated spicy-hot foods. If something made my tongue or mouth burn, I didn't figure it was going to do much for my stomach. I never even spiced homemade foods with pepper. In fact, pepper shakers in my house went un-refilled for many years due to lack of use.
My once-husband, however, put hot sauce on everything. One time, when I was still married to Mr. Tabasco himself, I laughed uproariously inside when he put so many red pepper flakes on a pizza at Chuck E. Cheese that even HE couldn't eat it. When I cooked, I cooked to make things taste good and was sometimes offended when what I fixed wasn't good enough without adding flakes and drops and sauces. Finally, I decided that it wasn't about my cooking; it was about his tastes.
Over time, as more and more restaurants, etc., have taken on the HOT flavors, I've tried more. I'm still not crazy about things that make my mouth burn, but I've come to accept a little "tang"...a little spicy-hot...to enhance a flavor. Shrimp cocktail sauce, for example, needs to have some zing. So does salsa with chips. My fried potatoes now are always seasoned with lots of pepper. And my homemade chili is now just a little bit warmer than it used to be.
My daughter is now married to a man who puts sauces on EVERYTHING. I think it's a Russian thing, to overcome the flavors of bad meat. But there is no bad meat here. We are all learning to give up complaining about the need to dress even good foods with things that take away from original flavors. Give me a steak, cooked medium, with a little garlic and a little salt, and I'm happy! It won't be spicy-hot, but it will work for me! Still, I am more tolerant of spices now. Is that good?
My once-husband, however, put hot sauce on everything. One time, when I was still married to Mr. Tabasco himself, I laughed uproariously inside when he put so many red pepper flakes on a pizza at Chuck E. Cheese that even HE couldn't eat it. When I cooked, I cooked to make things taste good and was sometimes offended when what I fixed wasn't good enough without adding flakes and drops and sauces. Finally, I decided that it wasn't about my cooking; it was about his tastes.
Over time, as more and more restaurants, etc., have taken on the HOT flavors, I've tried more. I'm still not crazy about things that make my mouth burn, but I've come to accept a little "tang"...a little spicy-hot...to enhance a flavor. Shrimp cocktail sauce, for example, needs to have some zing. So does salsa with chips. My fried potatoes now are always seasoned with lots of pepper. And my homemade chili is now just a little bit warmer than it used to be.
My daughter is now married to a man who puts sauces on EVERYTHING. I think it's a Russian thing, to overcome the flavors of bad meat. But there is no bad meat here. We are all learning to give up complaining about the need to dress even good foods with things that take away from original flavors. Give me a steak, cooked medium, with a little garlic and a little salt, and I'm happy! It won't be spicy-hot, but it will work for me! Still, I am more tolerant of spices now. Is that good?
My Blogger Complaint--Update
Yup! Once again, the problem was mine...er...my daughter's. When she was helping me the other day, she clicked on something that stayed clicked. It shouldn't have been. So...for once, something was NOT all my fault!
My Blogger Complaint
I suppose it was due to happen sometime: ignorant blog-poster (me) collided with the gremlins of Cyberspace. I've been writing on this blog for quite a few years but never had this happen before.
Earlier this week, I made a blog entry entitled "The T-Shirt", and posted it. That is to say, I hit the "publish" button. The entry showed up on the blog. I saw it. My sister in Illinois saw it (and commented to me about it in email). It was there! Really! However, a day later, when I went back to look at it to see if I had made any post-proofreading mistakes, it was gone. In its place was a draft copy of "The T-Shirt" with only the first 2-3 paragraphs present. Thinking that the complete published version was surely there, somewhere, I went about the business of trying to reinstate the rest of the draft copy...and when that didn't work, I somehow managed to delete it altogether. And now BOTH are gone.
In my case, I always assume "operator error", so I had my daughter (in Illinois) get on Team Viewer to look around on my computer (in Indiana) to see if she could find it. Nope. Gone!
The post wasn't deep. It was a sort of tongue-in-cheek look at raising kids, with my long-ago determination that I should have a T-shirt made for me that said, "Just so we understand each other, everything is all MY fault"! I can't re-create that post, so it's lost forever (although I still think the message was laughably sincere. Maybe some other time.
Meanwhile, just in the process of writing THIS post, I see some problems going on with the Blogger program. Maybe I'm not the problem??
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
When Will the Madness Stop??
My grandchildren's schools are on "soft lockdown" today due to a manhunt in a neighboring suburb. A 32-year veteran police officer was shot and killed this morning in Fox Lake, IL. They are searching for "two whites and a black", while the rest of the communities remain hostage to the search. Helicopters, K-9s, cruisers all over the place.
I don't have to tell you how intense it must be on scene. It's one thing when a civilian is killed; quite another when a policeman is the victim. I know there are corrupt cops. I'm not stupid. But there are also corrupt doctors, lawyers, teachers, bankers, court clerks, and people of every vocation in life. Lately, it seems that law enforcement officers are fair game to the bad guys...and it's time for that to stop. Who are you going to call when someone breaks into your house? Why should a policeman respond if he believes his life will be in danger? Because it's his job. He signed on for it. It is his calling in life...but no one leaves for work in the morning expecting to be killed as part of his vocation. And if police seem a little overly-flinchy these days, can you blame them?? I remember the days of race riots in California many years ago when police failed to respond because they were severely outnumbered. If that's what you want for our country, keep griping about cops. Good luck the next time you need one!!
I don't have the answers. I just want it the violence to stop.
I don't have to tell you how intense it must be on scene. It's one thing when a civilian is killed; quite another when a policeman is the victim. I know there are corrupt cops. I'm not stupid. But there are also corrupt doctors, lawyers, teachers, bankers, court clerks, and people of every vocation in life. Lately, it seems that law enforcement officers are fair game to the bad guys...and it's time for that to stop. Who are you going to call when someone breaks into your house? Why should a policeman respond if he believes his life will be in danger? Because it's his job. He signed on for it. It is his calling in life...but no one leaves for work in the morning expecting to be killed as part of his vocation. And if police seem a little overly-flinchy these days, can you blame them?? I remember the days of race riots in California many years ago when police failed to respond because they were severely outnumbered. If that's what you want for our country, keep griping about cops. Good luck the next time you need one!!
I don't have the answers. I just want it the violence to stop.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)