My sister drove over from Springfield, IL, a day ahead of time to accompany me on our adventure to Seattle. She packed and re-packed, having not flown since before 9/11, and hardly knowing what to take because the climate in the Pacific Northwest is...well...just different from the Midwest.
The first leg of our flight was to leave for Chicago Midway at 7:00 AM, which meant that we needed to be at the airport by 5:30 AM. Ugh! I had booked a cab, but my neighbor volunteered to take us in my vehicle since he claims he is always up by 4:00. Fred calls himself my nosy neighbor. He and his wife have lived in their house across the street for far longer than I have lived here. He has a key to my house and does so many little things to help me out...and this was one of them. Saved us close to $30 in cab fare and tip! We only live 10 minutes from the airport.
Fred was on time. He dropped us off at the curbside check-in for Southwest Airlines and drove off. The Skycap took one look at our itinerary and said he had to take us inside to the ticket counter. I was confused because that hadn't happened to me before. After the fact, he informed us that Midway Airport was closed due to bad weather in Chicago. We were re-ticketed for Kansas City, which wouldn't leave for quite awhile. That meant that, instead of arriving in Seattle before noon, we would get there late-afternoon. It also meant that we didn't have to arrive at the airport so blasted early in the morning!
The rest of the trip went without a hitch. Our baggage arrived in Seattle with us. We had no problems with security. And when we touched down, my family was there to meet us at the baggage claim area to take us home to their house in Bothell, WA.
Of course, our bodies were still on Midwest time. Megan (my daughter) knew we would be hungry since their clock didn't say the same time that our stomachs did, so she had a spread of hors-d'oeuvres, from shrimp cocktail to crackers and spread, nuts, snacks--you name it. And then we had an early supper of hot soup that was just what the doctor ordered.
Meg and Den had also thought of every detail in setting up a room for my sister and I. Our bedroom was actually what would normally be the living room--the first room in the house when you enter the front door. They had brought down my grandson's single bed with brand new bed linens and had made up the futon for me. They had put the TV and clock up high where both Shari and I could see it and arranged a table for us to have back-to-back computers, and two night stands together for our matching nebulizers. There were boxes of tissues everywhere and surfaces on which to put our luggage. They had a matching Christmas stocking with Shari's name embroidered on it hanging from their mantel. (I already had one.) There was even a Santa Claus candy dish with candy in it and tissue boxes scattered all around for my miserable nose!! It was all just really special and showed how very much work they had done just to provide for two old ladies who would reside with them for 15 days!
To be honest, I had worried for weeks that Shari would not be able to sleep well in the same room with me because I don't sleep well...and I snore...and need the TV on all night. If I can believe what she says, that never became a problem. She says she slept very well and was never bothered....nor was I...with our differing sleep patterns. It worked out. Hallelujah!
Monday, December 26, 2016
Friday, December 23, 2016
Seattle Trip in Pieces--Part I
My sister (from Springfield, IL) and I were booked to fly to the Seattle area to visit my daughter and family for a couple of weeks. It was her first trip by plane anywhere since 9/11, and my second trip to the Pacific Northwest this year.
Shari (my sister) is more mobile than I, but she has COPD as I do. In short, she could not have walked the airports without having to stop and catch her breath every whipstitch. I, of course, could not have walked the airports at all due to back problems. We were slated for handicapped support. Thank God for the wheelchair pushers! Some are better than others, but my two experiences flying to Seattle have shown the Indy pushers to be the best. The dude that was pushing us from our flight in after 10 PM was pushing our TWO wheelchairs simultaneously and pulling our TWO carry-on bags behind him. (Not sure how he did that!!) When we got to the baggage carousel, he had called for help because we had three checked bags between us, plus the two carry-ons. When we got to the curb, the additional dude went out and stopped traffic to let our taxi in. We tipped both of them handsomely!
When we got back to my little house-on-a-slab, the driveway was slick with ice from the previous storms. We managed to get stuff in the house, then collapsed with some wine. Home!
One of my sister's friends on Facebook had dubbed us "Thelma and Louise"...after the movie (that I never saw)...but I played it up on FB. When we were deplaning at one point, the flight attendant that was escorting me off the plane wasn't flustered at all when I mentioned that she should take my sister next because we were traveling together. She joked, "I've got ya, Thelma. I'll go back for Louise in a second." She had no clue...but it was funny!!
The taxi trip from Indy International to my house is about $20 and 10 minutes. Totally worth it! Home to the heartland. Love it, yet still miss my experience with my Seattle family.
God provides!
Shari (my sister) is more mobile than I, but she has COPD as I do. In short, she could not have walked the airports without having to stop and catch her breath every whipstitch. I, of course, could not have walked the airports at all due to back problems. We were slated for handicapped support. Thank God for the wheelchair pushers! Some are better than others, but my two experiences flying to Seattle have shown the Indy pushers to be the best. The dude that was pushing us from our flight in after 10 PM was pushing our TWO wheelchairs simultaneously and pulling our TWO carry-on bags behind him. (Not sure how he did that!!) When we got to the baggage carousel, he had called for help because we had three checked bags between us, plus the two carry-ons. When we got to the curb, the additional dude went out and stopped traffic to let our taxi in. We tipped both of them handsomely!
When we got back to my little house-on-a-slab, the driveway was slick with ice from the previous storms. We managed to get stuff in the house, then collapsed with some wine. Home!
One of my sister's friends on Facebook had dubbed us "Thelma and Louise"...after the movie (that I never saw)...but I played it up on FB. When we were deplaning at one point, the flight attendant that was escorting me off the plane wasn't flustered at all when I mentioned that she should take my sister next because we were traveling together. She joked, "I've got ya, Thelma. I'll go back for Louise in a second." She had no clue...but it was funny!!
The taxi trip from Indy International to my house is about $20 and 10 minutes. Totally worth it! Home to the heartland. Love it, yet still miss my experience with my Seattle family.
God provides!
Thursday, November 10, 2016
If You Voted for Donald Trump...
Back in the early throes of the 2016 election process, when Donald Trump threw his hat in the ring as a Republican candidate for president, I chuckled to myself. Yeah, right... I live in the Indianapolis area. Just a couple of years before that, the Indianapolis Motor Speedway announced that they had secured Donald Trump to drive the pace car for the Indy 500-mile race. Some 500 fans started a petition to have him removed from that honor. Why? The fans reasoned that Mr. Trump had nothing to do with Indiana, with racing, with history, or anything else other than being rich. The petition gained momentum and came to the attention of the big wigs at the Speedway. They were in a tough spot. They had already talked to Trump about it, so it would have been embarrassing to shut him down due to fan unrest. Word got back to Trump, somehow, and suddenly he had "something come up" that caused him to cancel his planned appearance at the race. He sent his regrets, saved face, and everyone was happy. Including me. If he isn't qualified to drive a pace car for a stupid race, what makes him--or anyone--think he is qualified to lead the most powerful nation on the planet? Like the fans signing the race petition, I reasoned that he has nothing to do with politics, no experience in government, nothing to do with history, or anything else other than being rich. (Have we heard this before?) Thus, I considered his candidacy to be a colossal joke, knowing that the Republicans would get him under control for the sake of their political party.
To be honest, I have never liked Donald Trump as a person. In all of his pre-political public appearances, I saw him as an arrogant narcissist, so full of himself that he couldn't see beyond his vain orange comb-over. So he has money. Whoop-de-doo! So do other people, but they don't make such outlandish public asses of themselves as he did. In his private life, he has been investigated, litigated, bankrupted numerous times, and involved with shady charities and "universities" that didn't produce a thing. He is on his third wife, the current one being a former immigrant model of which there are naked pictures all around. It seemed to me that he had lied, cheated, and maybe even stolen his way to success, and I am not impressed with his money. This was all before his candidacy. After he declared for office, I just knew he wouldn't get past the primaries. On the Republican side, there were six or seven (I forget which) serious candidates for office. On the Democratic side, only two--both of whom were more qualified for the presidency than any of the others.
And then things got insane. Through the course of the campaign process, he insulted just about everyone he could insult. He made fun of another candidate's wife's looks. He ridiculed a reporter with a physical handicap. He called Mexicans druggies and rapists. He used horrible, demeaning words in reference to female reporters and his female political opponent. He insulted another politician who had been a prisoner of war in the service of our country. He said he would deport all Muslims from America. He decried companies that outsource their labor to other countries, yet his own clothing line carries tags saying "Made in Mexico" or "Made in China". He uses tax loopholes to pay no taxes. He has blatantly lied about his life, his qualifications, and other people. He kicked women with crying babies out of his rallies. He suggested violence, and even (to some opinions) incited it. He said he would build a wall at the Mexican border of the US to keep illegal aliens out, and said that he would make Mexico pay for it. As the days went on, he got more and more outrageous. At the Republican Convention, his wife spoke--his third wife--his immigrant wife. Her speech, which she claimed to have written herself, contained whole verbatim paragraphs of a speech given by First Lady Michelle Obama at the Democratic Convention years before. (There was no denying it. There is video of both speeches. The plagiarism was word-for-word.) Imagine my incredulity when, in spite of all of this, Donald Trump gained the nomination as the Republican Party's candidate for President of the United States!
Then things got worse. More lies. More insults. More stupid campaign rhetoric. More implicit faith on my part that this man would be stopped at the voting booth. But then the unthinkable happened: Ol' "Grab-'Em-By-The-Pussy" Trump actually won the election! As in Mr. President-Elect. As in Commander-in-Chief. As in the person parents point to in order to inspire their children: "Someday, Johnny, you too could be President just like him." Unbelievable! Terrifying! Absurd! When I went to bed on Election night, I was disheartened by the fact that my candidate, Hillary Clinton, was running behind in spite of polls that said she would win. And when I got up this morning, I was crushed with the news that she had, indeed, lost the election. Clearly, we have lost our marbles as a nation. I'm embarrassed. I'm ashamed. I'm shocked. And I'm afraid. But there it is.
With this one election, some things have changed. If you voted for Donald Trump, you have reduced your own rights and have altered American values, probably for good. If you voted for Donald Trump, your candidate won the election. Congratulations! Throughout the campaign, I watched his fanatic followers exhibit the worst kind of behavior, American against American, that hasn't been seen in this country for 50 years.
If you voted for Donald Trump, you:
*Have shown that racism, sexism, disrespect, and homophobia still exist in this country because you voted for a man who displayed them all and encouraged them in his rallies.
*Have lost the right to complain about the "dumbing down" of America--the lowering of standards. You swallowed his rhetoric without fact-checking or doing your homework. You gullibly accepted whatever came out of his mouth as the truth.
*Have lost touch with what truth really is.
*Have lost the ability to hold anyone in leadership to a higher standard. You can't object if your child's teacher used to be a stripper because the First Lady of the U.S. has nude pictures on the Internet. You can't pretend that people who are arrested for drunk driving should be severely punished because a former elected Republican President had been arrested for DUI in his earlier life, yet he got elected anyway.
*Can't brag about how Donald Trump represents American "family values", because he doesn't, and you've overlooked that. He's been married three times to trophy wives; has been accused of inappropriate behavior with women; and was heard on an open microphone to say that he just grabs women "by the pussy" because "when you're a star, they let you". He publicly encouraged his followers to tell his opponents to "go f**ck themselves". He lied every day of his campaign
*Have no leg to stand on when confronted with the dozens and dozens of hypocrisies that have occurred in and around the man you voted for. You saw them; you heard them; but you voted for him anyway.
*Cannot complain about how things go in government for the next four years. The Republicans dominate the House of Representatives, the Senate, and the Executive Branch, so I hope you get what you voted for--whatever that is.
I have to admit that I am shaken. I've always been one of those who believed in our government system as a well-oiled machine that worked. I'm naive, of course, but I've had faith in the whole notion of "my country, right or wrong". I knew what America stands for--or thought I did. Perhaps I knew what I stand for, and thought America did, too. It's a shock to find out otherwise. If the majority of Americans can vote for the likes of Donald Trump to be our leader in the free world, then I simply don't know what we're about anymore.
I came from a non-political family. That is to say that the adults didn't talk politics around us kids. I was aware that my grandparents could be considered Democrat because FDR took the nation through the Depression and they were able to save their farm. I did learn, however, all through the petulant 60s and part of the 70s--from my military father--that the Commander-in-Chief is the boss, not because of who he is, but rather what he is. My faith in America's election process and the common sense of almost half of the nation that voted for Mr. Trump has been shaken. I have no respect for the man, but he is now the President of the country I love. "Hail to the Chief" may choke in my throat, yet I will carry on in the legal avenues provided to me as a citizen. We, as Americans, obviously have taken too much for granted. I wish I had my younger years as a non-political animal to do over. I think maybe I've lived too long.
God bless America. We have some serious work to do!
To be honest, I have never liked Donald Trump as a person. In all of his pre-political public appearances, I saw him as an arrogant narcissist, so full of himself that he couldn't see beyond his vain orange comb-over. So he has money. Whoop-de-doo! So do other people, but they don't make such outlandish public asses of themselves as he did. In his private life, he has been investigated, litigated, bankrupted numerous times, and involved with shady charities and "universities" that didn't produce a thing. He is on his third wife, the current one being a former immigrant model of which there are naked pictures all around. It seemed to me that he had lied, cheated, and maybe even stolen his way to success, and I am not impressed with his money. This was all before his candidacy. After he declared for office, I just knew he wouldn't get past the primaries. On the Republican side, there were six or seven (I forget which) serious candidates for office. On the Democratic side, only two--both of whom were more qualified for the presidency than any of the others.
And then things got insane. Through the course of the campaign process, he insulted just about everyone he could insult. He made fun of another candidate's wife's looks. He ridiculed a reporter with a physical handicap. He called Mexicans druggies and rapists. He used horrible, demeaning words in reference to female reporters and his female political opponent. He insulted another politician who had been a prisoner of war in the service of our country. He said he would deport all Muslims from America. He decried companies that outsource their labor to other countries, yet his own clothing line carries tags saying "Made in Mexico" or "Made in China". He uses tax loopholes to pay no taxes. He has blatantly lied about his life, his qualifications, and other people. He kicked women with crying babies out of his rallies. He suggested violence, and even (to some opinions) incited it. He said he would build a wall at the Mexican border of the US to keep illegal aliens out, and said that he would make Mexico pay for it. As the days went on, he got more and more outrageous. At the Republican Convention, his wife spoke--his third wife--his immigrant wife. Her speech, which she claimed to have written herself, contained whole verbatim paragraphs of a speech given by First Lady Michelle Obama at the Democratic Convention years before. (There was no denying it. There is video of both speeches. The plagiarism was word-for-word.) Imagine my incredulity when, in spite of all of this, Donald Trump gained the nomination as the Republican Party's candidate for President of the United States!
Then things got worse. More lies. More insults. More stupid campaign rhetoric. More implicit faith on my part that this man would be stopped at the voting booth. But then the unthinkable happened: Ol' "Grab-'Em-By-The-Pussy" Trump actually won the election! As in Mr. President-Elect. As in Commander-in-Chief. As in the person parents point to in order to inspire their children: "Someday, Johnny, you too could be President just like him." Unbelievable! Terrifying! Absurd! When I went to bed on Election night, I was disheartened by the fact that my candidate, Hillary Clinton, was running behind in spite of polls that said she would win. And when I got up this morning, I was crushed with the news that she had, indeed, lost the election. Clearly, we have lost our marbles as a nation. I'm embarrassed. I'm ashamed. I'm shocked. And I'm afraid. But there it is.
With this one election, some things have changed. If you voted for Donald Trump, you have reduced your own rights and have altered American values, probably for good. If you voted for Donald Trump, your candidate won the election. Congratulations! Throughout the campaign, I watched his fanatic followers exhibit the worst kind of behavior, American against American, that hasn't been seen in this country for 50 years.
If you voted for Donald Trump, you:
*Have shown that racism, sexism, disrespect, and homophobia still exist in this country because you voted for a man who displayed them all and encouraged them in his rallies.
*Have lost the right to complain about the "dumbing down" of America--the lowering of standards. You swallowed his rhetoric without fact-checking or doing your homework. You gullibly accepted whatever came out of his mouth as the truth.
*Have lost touch with what truth really is.
*Have lost the ability to hold anyone in leadership to a higher standard. You can't object if your child's teacher used to be a stripper because the First Lady of the U.S. has nude pictures on the Internet. You can't pretend that people who are arrested for drunk driving should be severely punished because a former elected Republican President had been arrested for DUI in his earlier life, yet he got elected anyway.
*Can't brag about how Donald Trump represents American "family values", because he doesn't, and you've overlooked that. He's been married three times to trophy wives; has been accused of inappropriate behavior with women; and was heard on an open microphone to say that he just grabs women "by the pussy" because "when you're a star, they let you". He publicly encouraged his followers to tell his opponents to "go f**ck themselves". He lied every day of his campaign
*Have no leg to stand on when confronted with the dozens and dozens of hypocrisies that have occurred in and around the man you voted for. You saw them; you heard them; but you voted for him anyway.
*Cannot complain about how things go in government for the next four years. The Republicans dominate the House of Representatives, the Senate, and the Executive Branch, so I hope you get what you voted for--whatever that is.
I have to admit that I am shaken. I've always been one of those who believed in our government system as a well-oiled machine that worked. I'm naive, of course, but I've had faith in the whole notion of "my country, right or wrong". I knew what America stands for--or thought I did. Perhaps I knew what I stand for, and thought America did, too. It's a shock to find out otherwise. If the majority of Americans can vote for the likes of Donald Trump to be our leader in the free world, then I simply don't know what we're about anymore.
I came from a non-political family. That is to say that the adults didn't talk politics around us kids. I was aware that my grandparents could be considered Democrat because FDR took the nation through the Depression and they were able to save their farm. I did learn, however, all through the petulant 60s and part of the 70s--from my military father--that the Commander-in-Chief is the boss, not because of who he is, but rather what he is. My faith in America's election process and the common sense of almost half of the nation that voted for Mr. Trump has been shaken. I have no respect for the man, but he is now the President of the country I love. "Hail to the Chief" may choke in my throat, yet I will carry on in the legal avenues provided to me as a citizen. We, as Americans, obviously have taken too much for granted. I wish I had my younger years as a non-political animal to do over. I think maybe I've lived too long.
God bless America. We have some serious work to do!
Tuesday, November 1, 2016
Halloween Highlights, 2016
Mom (dressed in a very low-cut costume) brought her toddler son to the door by the hand, coaching him all the way.
"Knock on the door. Now say Trick or Treat." (He really couldn't even talk yet.) " Now stand back so she can open the door. Now put your bag out for the candy. Now...what do you say?"
"Dat-doo".
Yeah...that'll work!
Another little fellow and Mom showed up at the door. He was dressed in black, head-to-toe, but his costume was outlined in front by bright blue LED lights. (I saw him coming from a block away!) Mom prompted him to say "Trick or treat", then watched as he refused the candy I was offering, took some out of his little pumpkin, and handed me a piece! Mom said, "I don't think we've quite got the concept yet..."
A group of three young lads came to the door. I recognized a ninja costume but was stumped on the other two. I said, "I can't keep track of the characters from those fantasy books you kids read." After they said their thank-you's and had turned to walk away, one of them muttered to the other, almost under his breath, "We aren't from any books!"
(Heaven forbid! Books??? What was I thinking?)
Had another group of three middle-school-looking young ladies come to the door. One was costumed as a police office, in skin-tight black leggings and an equally skin-tight top, with a wide black belt with bling on it, and had purple braided hair extensions piled on top of her head and down the sides. Oh...and a badge. Sexiest looking policeman I ever saw!
My daughter texted me, "Want to see my wiener?"
Then she sent me a picture of my grandson in his Halloween costume. He went as a hot dog. :)
The next picture she sent showed my granddaughter in her costume. I thought she was a witch because I knew they had been looking for a witch's broom for her get-up, but all she had on her head was a big red bow instead of a witch's hat. When I inquired about it, I was informed that she wasn't a witch; she was Kiki. You know... as in Kiki's Delivery Service? Sorry to say, I didn't have a clue! Had to Google it. Turns out that Kiki's Delivery Service is Japanese anime (a genre of cartoon animation from Japan) of which Robin is a big fan. Who knew??
Plainfield set trick or treat hours for 6:00-9:00, and my visitors pretty much shut off by 8:00. I think I only had three ghoulies and ghosties after that. And I have to hand it to the "helicopter parents" of Plainfield: almost no child of any age was unaccompanied by one or more adults in the background. Still, turnout was light tonight, even though temps were in the low 60s.
SO...WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH ALL OF THIS LEFTOVER CANDY?? Poor me. I guess I'll just have to eat it!
"Knock on the door. Now say Trick or Treat." (He really couldn't even talk yet.) " Now stand back so she can open the door. Now put your bag out for the candy. Now...what do you say?"
"Dat-doo".
Yeah...that'll work!
Another little fellow and Mom showed up at the door. He was dressed in black, head-to-toe, but his costume was outlined in front by bright blue LED lights. (I saw him coming from a block away!) Mom prompted him to say "Trick or treat", then watched as he refused the candy I was offering, took some out of his little pumpkin, and handed me a piece! Mom said, "I don't think we've quite got the concept yet..."
A group of three young lads came to the door. I recognized a ninja costume but was stumped on the other two. I said, "I can't keep track of the characters from those fantasy books you kids read." After they said their thank-you's and had turned to walk away, one of them muttered to the other, almost under his breath, "We aren't from any books!"
(Heaven forbid! Books??? What was I thinking?)
Had another group of three middle-school-looking young ladies come to the door. One was costumed as a police office, in skin-tight black leggings and an equally skin-tight top, with a wide black belt with bling on it, and had purple braided hair extensions piled on top of her head and down the sides. Oh...and a badge. Sexiest looking policeman I ever saw!
My daughter texted me, "Want to see my wiener?"
Then she sent me a picture of my grandson in his Halloween costume. He went as a hot dog. :)
The next picture she sent showed my granddaughter in her costume. I thought she was a witch because I knew they had been looking for a witch's broom for her get-up, but all she had on her head was a big red bow instead of a witch's hat. When I inquired about it, I was informed that she wasn't a witch; she was Kiki. You know... as in Kiki's Delivery Service? Sorry to say, I didn't have a clue! Had to Google it. Turns out that Kiki's Delivery Service is Japanese anime (a genre of cartoon animation from Japan) of which Robin is a big fan. Who knew??
Plainfield set trick or treat hours for 6:00-9:00, and my visitors pretty much shut off by 8:00. I think I only had three ghoulies and ghosties after that. And I have to hand it to the "helicopter parents" of Plainfield: almost no child of any age was unaccompanied by one or more adults in the background. Still, turnout was light tonight, even though temps were in the low 60s.
SO...WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH ALL OF THIS LEFTOVER CANDY?? Poor me. I guess I'll just have to eat it!
Sunday, October 30, 2016
By Accident of Birth
Let's assume, for the purpose of my missive here, that if you are reading this, you are a WASP--white, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant. In other words, the assumed "norm" for Americans. Let's also assume that you were born in the United States and take for granted the rights and privileges that go with that. You probably are older than 30, and have formed lots of opinions about society, politics, mankind, religion, relationships, etc., all based on your experiences in life and the American culture in which you were raised. You have established your fears and biases, also based on those, and are surrounded by people who believe as you do because THEY are American, too.
Now, suppose for a moment that, by accident of birth, you weren't born in the U.S. of white parents. Or that, by accident of birth, you were born with a physical/mental handicap. Or that, by accident of birth, you were born to drug-addicted parents. Or your family fell on hard times and you were homeless. Or you were born gay. Or...or...or... How would your reality change? And what could you do about any of that? The answer is: nothing. You certainly didn't choose those circumstances.
I had a 4th grade student once whose mother and one brother were killed in a car accident. He was the cutest thing, but he was lost. His father was in prison somewhere in Florida. When Mom died, no one had custody of him. Stepdad tried to help, but had no legal rights. Sometimes, he didn't know what bus to get on at the end of the school day. Was he supposed to go to his aunt's? His grandmother's? Who knew? At recess one day, he came to me to complain that someone had treated him badly. Whatever the issue was, the other kid had said, "Well, at least I have a mother!" Words cannot express the anger I felt toward the other child. He had broken no playground rules by which I could punish him, but all of the love and hugs I could give to James would not change the hurt he had experienced with those words. It certainly wasn't his choice that his mother was dead.
I had another student in 8th grade who was autistic and stuttered. He was very bright--in fact had the highest grade in that class one term--but the other kids taunted him mercilessly because he was different. I provided preferential seating to keep him away from his tormentors but had to keep a watch on him at all times because, when he reached the end of his tolerance, his eyes would get wild, and he would explode. Most of the time, it was easier to work with just him than it was to deal with the tormentors, which just wasn't fair. One day, I took Sean to the hall to try to calm him down because the other kids had driven him to distraction. I tried to explain to him that people who put him down were just insecure about their own reality, and that the problem was with them and not him. His response floored me. He said, "If they are insecure and unhappy, then they must know how it feels to be me". It broke my heart. I wept in front of the child. Sean didn't choose to be born afflicted. HE couldn't change how he was, and I couldn't change how he was. I sent him to safer surroundings that day, then lit into the class about their treatment of him. Did it make a difference? I don't think so.
I wish I could attribute these things to immature minds. Kids. Yeah, kids. Unfortunately, it isn't so. I've seen worse from adults. Adults who are so egocentric that they don't get it.
Don't like black people? Better be grateful that you weren't born black. That means don't go to the tanning beds to make your skin darker and don't get collagen injections to pump up your lips, or butt implants to give you a booty.
Don't like immigrants? Don't look too far back into your own history. Unless you are a Native American, you are the product of immigrants.
Hate gays? Why? How many do you know well? What have they done to you? Do you think it will rub off on you? Do you honestly think that people would choose to be someone that society shuns? And what business is it of yours??
We can't choose how we were born or what happens to us in life. We should NOT judge others by conditions not of their choosing. God didn't bless me with a lot of hair. I didn't choose it. I can't change it. If you judge me by what's on my head...or the color of my skin...or my sexual preference...it's YOUR problem, not mine.
If, by accident of birth, you were lucky enough to be born in a sanitary hospital somewhere in the U.S. instead of in a dirt-floor hut in the Congo, you are blessed, indeed. But you need to understand that we are ALL children of God, in need of care and concern. Before you judge others for whatever they do that counters all of your beliefs, make sure you understand the culture. Because--guess what? Being American does not excuse you from being a world citizen.
Even if your birth was an "accident", you are special. The accident of your birth has changed the world.
Now, suppose for a moment that, by accident of birth, you weren't born in the U.S. of white parents. Or that, by accident of birth, you were born with a physical/mental handicap. Or that, by accident of birth, you were born to drug-addicted parents. Or your family fell on hard times and you were homeless. Or you were born gay. Or...or...or... How would your reality change? And what could you do about any of that? The answer is: nothing. You certainly didn't choose those circumstances.
I had a 4th grade student once whose mother and one brother were killed in a car accident. He was the cutest thing, but he was lost. His father was in prison somewhere in Florida. When Mom died, no one had custody of him. Stepdad tried to help, but had no legal rights. Sometimes, he didn't know what bus to get on at the end of the school day. Was he supposed to go to his aunt's? His grandmother's? Who knew? At recess one day, he came to me to complain that someone had treated him badly. Whatever the issue was, the other kid had said, "Well, at least I have a mother!" Words cannot express the anger I felt toward the other child. He had broken no playground rules by which I could punish him, but all of the love and hugs I could give to James would not change the hurt he had experienced with those words. It certainly wasn't his choice that his mother was dead.
I had another student in 8th grade who was autistic and stuttered. He was very bright--in fact had the highest grade in that class one term--but the other kids taunted him mercilessly because he was different. I provided preferential seating to keep him away from his tormentors but had to keep a watch on him at all times because, when he reached the end of his tolerance, his eyes would get wild, and he would explode. Most of the time, it was easier to work with just him than it was to deal with the tormentors, which just wasn't fair. One day, I took Sean to the hall to try to calm him down because the other kids had driven him to distraction. I tried to explain to him that people who put him down were just insecure about their own reality, and that the problem was with them and not him. His response floored me. He said, "If they are insecure and unhappy, then they must know how it feels to be me". It broke my heart. I wept in front of the child. Sean didn't choose to be born afflicted. HE couldn't change how he was, and I couldn't change how he was. I sent him to safer surroundings that day, then lit into the class about their treatment of him. Did it make a difference? I don't think so.
I wish I could attribute these things to immature minds. Kids. Yeah, kids. Unfortunately, it isn't so. I've seen worse from adults. Adults who are so egocentric that they don't get it.
Don't like black people? Better be grateful that you weren't born black. That means don't go to the tanning beds to make your skin darker and don't get collagen injections to pump up your lips, or butt implants to give you a booty.
Don't like immigrants? Don't look too far back into your own history. Unless you are a Native American, you are the product of immigrants.
Hate gays? Why? How many do you know well? What have they done to you? Do you think it will rub off on you? Do you honestly think that people would choose to be someone that society shuns? And what business is it of yours??
We can't choose how we were born or what happens to us in life. We should NOT judge others by conditions not of their choosing. God didn't bless me with a lot of hair. I didn't choose it. I can't change it. If you judge me by what's on my head...or the color of my skin...or my sexual preference...it's YOUR problem, not mine.
If, by accident of birth, you were lucky enough to be born in a sanitary hospital somewhere in the U.S. instead of in a dirt-floor hut in the Congo, you are blessed, indeed. But you need to understand that we are ALL children of God, in need of care and concern. Before you judge others for whatever they do that counters all of your beliefs, make sure you understand the culture. Because--guess what? Being American does not excuse you from being a world citizen.
Even if your birth was an "accident", you are special. The accident of your birth has changed the world.
Monday, October 24, 2016
Profanity
As a classroom teacher once upon a time, I began each school year with my lecture about what my class rules were. One of them was that I would not accept profanity in my class, nor would I accept less-than-profane-but-almost-equally-unacceptable use of crass vocabulary. (For example, if I student came to me and said, "I have to go pee," I wouldn't give permission to leave the room until the request was made more socially acceptable.) My usual comment was, if you wouldn't say it to your minister or your grandmother, don't say it to me. (Of course, that was usually followed with, "You don't know my grandma!")
Without fail, during the course of that class, one or more students would ask, "Who decides what is a bad word and what isn't? They are just words, so what's the big deal?" I was ready for that. I pointed out that "bad words" are divided into two classes--curses and profanity. Curses are more religiously oriented--hell and damn--with which a person wishes ill on someone else by condemning them to eternal damnation in Hell. Profanity, however, refers to body parts, bodily functions, and sexual acts--all of which polite society used to consider as private. If it's okay to use those terms in public, why is it NOT okay to DO those things in public? Why do we have gender-separate bathrooms? Why not just drop your trousers and defecate in public? No? Why? Or...perhaps you'd rather just talk about it in graphic, profane words. What's the difference?
One reason to refrain from using profanity is to keep a civil society. If we all give in to profane/crass language, where do we go from there? If you call someone a motherf'er, what's left? What's beyond that? And if one uses that kind of language in a minor situation, what will be available in a worse one? When I was active in dramatic productions, I was always coached not to go to the ultimate in volume or drama because there would be nothing left for other situations. I took that to heart.
We all--every stinkin' one of us--knows the words. Choosing to use them or not is what makes the difference. Over the last couple of months, I've done battle with a dear relative over her choice of language. She wasn't raised the way she comes across, but she thinks that she should be accepted for whatever comes out of her mouth, no matter how much disrespect it creates. I'm sorry. I love her too much to accept it. Disrespect? Using those words means she has no other resources. Profanity means there is nowhere else to go to express oneself. It spells disrespect for the recipient and disrespect for the self. Some of us--although the number is dwindling--would like to keep respect as part of our family heritage.
I will not dishonor my parents' and grandparents' memory by giving in to the "gift" of unleashed profanity. When my generation dies out, polite society may also. I don't know. I'm no prude, but I DO understand that a curse word here or there is a whole lot more effective when used sparingly. I refuse to give in to today's so-called standards. So I'm a dinosaur!
Without fail, during the course of that class, one or more students would ask, "Who decides what is a bad word and what isn't? They are just words, so what's the big deal?" I was ready for that. I pointed out that "bad words" are divided into two classes--curses and profanity. Curses are more religiously oriented--hell and damn--with which a person wishes ill on someone else by condemning them to eternal damnation in Hell. Profanity, however, refers to body parts, bodily functions, and sexual acts--all of which polite society used to consider as private. If it's okay to use those terms in public, why is it NOT okay to DO those things in public? Why do we have gender-separate bathrooms? Why not just drop your trousers and defecate in public? No? Why? Or...perhaps you'd rather just talk about it in graphic, profane words. What's the difference?
One reason to refrain from using profanity is to keep a civil society. If we all give in to profane/crass language, where do we go from there? If you call someone a motherf'er, what's left? What's beyond that? And if one uses that kind of language in a minor situation, what will be available in a worse one? When I was active in dramatic productions, I was always coached not to go to the ultimate in volume or drama because there would be nothing left for other situations. I took that to heart.
We all--every stinkin' one of us--knows the words. Choosing to use them or not is what makes the difference. Over the last couple of months, I've done battle with a dear relative over her choice of language. She wasn't raised the way she comes across, but she thinks that she should be accepted for whatever comes out of her mouth, no matter how much disrespect it creates. I'm sorry. I love her too much to accept it. Disrespect? Using those words means she has no other resources. Profanity means there is nowhere else to go to express oneself. It spells disrespect for the recipient and disrespect for the self. Some of us--although the number is dwindling--would like to keep respect as part of our family heritage.
I will not dishonor my parents' and grandparents' memory by giving in to the "gift" of unleashed profanity. When my generation dies out, polite society may also. I don't know. I'm no prude, but I DO understand that a curse word here or there is a whole lot more effective when used sparingly. I refuse to give in to today's so-called standards. So I'm a dinosaur!
The Strong Woman
Heroes are made, not born. So are strong women.
As a gender, females are petted and pampered as children. Some of us never make it past the Entitled Princess role. Others of us transcend the make-believe world into reality fairly early in life. Nature or nurture? Who knows? Why should it matter? To quote an overused saying, it is what it is. Nothing can change that.
I've just returned home from nearly a month at my sister's in Illinois to attend and assist with the funeral and funeral aftermath of her husband of 55 years. My brother-in-law had Fronto-Temporal Degeneration. Dementia. He was first diagnosed in 2011, although the signs were creeping in several years before that. Shari endured untold years of disrupt and tantrums and a mind that was slowly, slowly slipping away, made worse by the fact that he knew it and fought with it every step of the way. He was "[raging] at the dying of the light"...and she had to figure out how to get them both through every day of that. She kept him home and took care of him, in spite of the increasing isolation, until health issues took him to the hospital, perhaps one month before he passed.
Understand that she and I were always in daily contact by email or phone. All I could do was sit back and provide words from 200 miles away. I visited when I could--the last time in August just before his first trip to the hospital. I was worried about her; worried from the standpoint of wondering how much more she could take. During his entire 3-week hospital stay--one week the first time, and two weeks just a week after that--she spent almost every night in the hospital with him, just to help keep him calm. He really didn't want her out of his sight. No one else mattered to him, as it should be. Then, when the doctors said they could do nothing more for him, she was faced with The Decision because of the prognosis of the quality of his life then. There was no going back. I think she was scared and feeling vulnerable and alone. She did the right thing by putting him in hospice care, then started the vigil of being there every day as he declined into the inevitable oblivion. Strong? Yes. What other choice did she have? There was nothing else she could do that would honor her husband's life and allow him to pass peacefully.
Over the last five years or so, I have seen/heard each of her two daughters and a grandchild or two tell her that she is a "strong woman" and that they get that from her. Ha! They don't have a clue how to be strong like she is! Throughout it all, only one of them hasn't asked for/taken money to help them out of financial situations, not all of which are legit. Daddy/Grandpa was dying, but oh well!
So, how did my sister become a Strong Woman? She, like me, was born with it and lived it. Our grandmother was the matriarch of the family. She was born in a Poor House in Savannah, IL, of a crippled mother and no known father. Orphaned by age 12, she was raised by an aunt and had to find her way in the world. She became a teacher, traveling around to find a place to be. She ended up as a school teacher on the frontier of South Dakota where my grandfather from Illinois gathered her up to marry her and bring her home to the farm in IL. She was too proud to admit her humble beginnings, so she over-achieved. She raised three really respectable kids during the Great Depression when they weren't always sure if they could keep the farm. The livestock and garden provided food when there was otherwise no money.
Years later, my dad went off to war with the Navy, and my mother and two sisters lived at the farmhouse with the grandparents. (I wasn't born yet.) One fine April day, the house caught fire and burned to the ground when my mother was in town. When she returned to see the house mere smoldering ruins, she began to cry, and our grandmother who met her at the car said, "Don't you start! I have been through this whole day without crying, and you will, too!" And that, my friends, tells the whole story of where my sister's strength comes from. A scant few months later, the youngest of the sisters, a mere toddler, strangled to death from a blinds cord hanging too close to her crib at the grandparents' new home in a garage. That sealed the fate of the women's strength. Get through it. Get over it. Move on. What other choice is there?? Or, as my friend Phyllis would say, "Don't fold up. You'll just have to unfold again."
I think my sister's children are all expecting her to fall apart in grief. I know better. She will have her moments, which she is entitled to have. Will she feel all alone? Yes. Will she be scared? Of course. Will she fall apart? Not on your life! She started grieving the loss of her husband long before he died. She carried herself well all during his ceremonies--better than some of those who had no real reason to behave as they did. She has taken control. Why? Because she has to. Who will do it if not she? She's pretty awesome, in my estimation.
In the midst of all of the comments from family about how strong she is, there is no commentary about how old she is. She puts up a strong front...but the fact is that my sister will turn 75 on Pearl Harbor Day in December. She doesn't look 75. She doesn't act 75. Yet it stands to reason that the family should no longer expect her to finance their family meals or holidays, or keep the swimming pool open for their pleasure unless they are willing to come and do the work. Ultimately, it is up to her. In the meantime, she is my hero.
Shari Andrew wasn't born with her hand out. She and her husband worked their buns off through thick and thin to have what they have. Now half of that income is gone. I hope the rest of the troops are ready because my sister, the strong woman, is about the become a whole lot stronger to shut them all down and take care of herself, first.
Are you listening, Shari??
As a gender, females are petted and pampered as children. Some of us never make it past the Entitled Princess role. Others of us transcend the make-believe world into reality fairly early in life. Nature or nurture? Who knows? Why should it matter? To quote an overused saying, it is what it is. Nothing can change that.
I've just returned home from nearly a month at my sister's in Illinois to attend and assist with the funeral and funeral aftermath of her husband of 55 years. My brother-in-law had Fronto-Temporal Degeneration. Dementia. He was first diagnosed in 2011, although the signs were creeping in several years before that. Shari endured untold years of disrupt and tantrums and a mind that was slowly, slowly slipping away, made worse by the fact that he knew it and fought with it every step of the way. He was "[raging] at the dying of the light"...and she had to figure out how to get them both through every day of that. She kept him home and took care of him, in spite of the increasing isolation, until health issues took him to the hospital, perhaps one month before he passed.
Understand that she and I were always in daily contact by email or phone. All I could do was sit back and provide words from 200 miles away. I visited when I could--the last time in August just before his first trip to the hospital. I was worried about her; worried from the standpoint of wondering how much more she could take. During his entire 3-week hospital stay--one week the first time, and two weeks just a week after that--she spent almost every night in the hospital with him, just to help keep him calm. He really didn't want her out of his sight. No one else mattered to him, as it should be. Then, when the doctors said they could do nothing more for him, she was faced with The Decision because of the prognosis of the quality of his life then. There was no going back. I think she was scared and feeling vulnerable and alone. She did the right thing by putting him in hospice care, then started the vigil of being there every day as he declined into the inevitable oblivion. Strong? Yes. What other choice did she have? There was nothing else she could do that would honor her husband's life and allow him to pass peacefully.
Over the last five years or so, I have seen/heard each of her two daughters and a grandchild or two tell her that she is a "strong woman" and that they get that from her. Ha! They don't have a clue how to be strong like she is! Throughout it all, only one of them hasn't asked for/taken money to help them out of financial situations, not all of which are legit. Daddy/Grandpa was dying, but oh well!
So, how did my sister become a Strong Woman? She, like me, was born with it and lived it. Our grandmother was the matriarch of the family. She was born in a Poor House in Savannah, IL, of a crippled mother and no known father. Orphaned by age 12, she was raised by an aunt and had to find her way in the world. She became a teacher, traveling around to find a place to be. She ended up as a school teacher on the frontier of South Dakota where my grandfather from Illinois gathered her up to marry her and bring her home to the farm in IL. She was too proud to admit her humble beginnings, so she over-achieved. She raised three really respectable kids during the Great Depression when they weren't always sure if they could keep the farm. The livestock and garden provided food when there was otherwise no money.
Years later, my dad went off to war with the Navy, and my mother and two sisters lived at the farmhouse with the grandparents. (I wasn't born yet.) One fine April day, the house caught fire and burned to the ground when my mother was in town. When she returned to see the house mere smoldering ruins, she began to cry, and our grandmother who met her at the car said, "Don't you start! I have been through this whole day without crying, and you will, too!" And that, my friends, tells the whole story of where my sister's strength comes from. A scant few months later, the youngest of the sisters, a mere toddler, strangled to death from a blinds cord hanging too close to her crib at the grandparents' new home in a garage. That sealed the fate of the women's strength. Get through it. Get over it. Move on. What other choice is there?? Or, as my friend Phyllis would say, "Don't fold up. You'll just have to unfold again."
I think my sister's children are all expecting her to fall apart in grief. I know better. She will have her moments, which she is entitled to have. Will she feel all alone? Yes. Will she be scared? Of course. Will she fall apart? Not on your life! She started grieving the loss of her husband long before he died. She carried herself well all during his ceremonies--better than some of those who had no real reason to behave as they did. She has taken control. Why? Because she has to. Who will do it if not she? She's pretty awesome, in my estimation.
In the midst of all of the comments from family about how strong she is, there is no commentary about how old she is. She puts up a strong front...but the fact is that my sister will turn 75 on Pearl Harbor Day in December. She doesn't look 75. She doesn't act 75. Yet it stands to reason that the family should no longer expect her to finance their family meals or holidays, or keep the swimming pool open for their pleasure unless they are willing to come and do the work. Ultimately, it is up to her. In the meantime, she is my hero.
Shari Andrew wasn't born with her hand out. She and her husband worked their buns off through thick and thin to have what they have. Now half of that income is gone. I hope the rest of the troops are ready because my sister, the strong woman, is about the become a whole lot stronger to shut them all down and take care of herself, first.
Are you listening, Shari??
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