Yes. I Have Dropped Off the Face of the Earth

Well Earth, as I have known it now hitting 56 years.

We started our drive back to reality early Sunday morning, arriving at Normal Earth Monday afternoon.

We unpacked, trimmed the grass and grabbed a gallon of milk.

And here we are now, a good 48 hours back in looking out at the bright green grass and already bloomed out daffodils drop their last petals.

Yesterday morning I learned my last favorite aunt passed away at the age of 92. This same lady lost her son two years ago, when my brothers took him in and nursed him until he passed the night of Bob's spinal surgery. The same one who worried about her eldest son last year, when he lost his precious bride of 20 some years at the "not fair" age of 50. She was a gracious, gentile woman who used to watch me as a kid because she didn't birth a daughter and you could just FEEL that she had always wanted a little girl to teach her how to be a gentle woman. Unfortunately I have never been a girly girl. Aunt Nancy needed a girly girl.

But in the meantime, since we left here two days after Christmas, I can tell you we experienced life like we didn't know could exist. I finally saw Bob relax and enjoy life like never before. Even during some stressful times. About two months ago, they had to take his mother into a nursing home (I'm sure they are called something nicer now) with stage 4 dementia. We have known something was wrong for 4 or 5 years now, but getting someone help is never as easy as it seems, especially when they still have enough of their faculties to convince some unconcerned doctor.

We were relieved she was finally getting the care she needed, but we were not the ones facing the wrath of a strong woman who believed everyone was plotting against her to force her somewhere she didn't want to be. But her health and that of her husband was much better served with her being placed somewhere safer.

And then tomorrow I'll head south with a handful of my family to honor a lady who thankfully had her sharp wit up until yesterday morning when her health finally gave out.

I haven't quite settled in here enough to tell you that I feel like I'm home. I know the stress is back and that is never fun. And certainly not how I want to live out my final days.

I set out the bird feeders and bird bath today, weeding the landscaping and cut back the dead clematis. May is wonderful in Indiana. Yeah, I know it's a couple days away.

I'm counting the days until we drive back to the Un-Reality.

Life is Different Here

It really is.

About two years ago now, we decided that would be our last winter in Indiana.  We've owned property in Fort Myers, going on about 12 years now.  And we were always renting during the winter season to Snow Birds (as they are called down in SW Florida).  Those people who escape winter's worst months to warmer climates.

Some might remember, we were facing Bob's upcoming spinal surgery to remove the tumor that was destroying his gait and his calf and left him, as he says, "a half-assed man".

So last year we actually did it.  We were delayed to January 4th and we bugged out of Indy as Chuck Lofton was predicting blizzard like conditions.  We scooted on down to Valdosta, stopping for the night, carried my orchids into the hotel because even that far south was experiencing colder than normal temps.

As we made our way to the Florida state line that next morning, we noticed the sun shining bright and the temps increasing rapidly.  About an hour into our morning drive, we rolled down the windows and breathed a big sigh of relief.

It took a bit of adjustment.  The coach home we have owned since 2007 is in a great community.  We had not yet met many people other than a few of our neighbors.  January last year was pretty cold, even in SW Florida.  So the windows were kept closed and we didn't venture out to the pool or the beach.

Then February came and with it brought outdoor temps. 

And then we got to know nearly all of our neighbors. 

That's when life changed. 

I have always lived what some people think is the country.  It's not actually, but people who live in communities where the houses are packed together believe it is.   We own about an acre and a half.  Across the street, they have the pleasure of mowing about 5 acres.  So we wave to our neighbors and maybe once every two weeks go out to dinner with friends.  It's nice, we enjoy it.  But that is about all of the socializing we do.

And then we became Snow Birds. 

Even with the slow start last year, by February and March, we would be sitting at home and up would walk one of our neighbors asking if we would like to come over for dinner, or go out to a restaurant.  It was such a change from our routine in Indiana. 

And we loved it.  We had planned to stay until the end of March, but delayed our return to mid-April.  Our first morning back in Indiana came with snow whipping around our house.  I did not feel welcomed.

We were able to leave in late December this winter.  When we got here, many of our buddies we had made last season were still up north for Christmas.  It didn't take long to settle in our "retired" feeling routine.

For those few who read here and at my brother's place, you already know he is spending the winter down here as well.  For years, while I was working, he and Bob would come down for 2 to 3 weeks in January before our renters would arrive.  When he arrived last year, we went to visit my mother's cousin (who calls me "once removed" but calls my sister his cousin, how does that work?).  He was volunteering at a state park in exchange for parking his RV free of charge for the winter.  That led Mark to his nomadic lifestyle he is now thrilled to be living.

For these 15 or so weeks out of the year, it feels absolutely free.  Gone are the early alarm clocks buzzing us awake at 5 o'dark.  Gone are the pain in the ass bosses who delight in making everyone miserable.  It feels like we are finally enjoying what we have worked so very hard for.

It will always remind me that Bob is now knocking on the door of 67.  Which draws me back to my father's retirement back in 1991 when Bob and I were first married.  He retired in June at the age of 59.  In August he was diagnosed with liver cancer and by the end of January, just a few dozen days past his Christmas birthday, he passed away as we held his hands and feet.  How very little time he had to enjoy his freedom. 

Wait.  This was meant to be a feel-good post

But life is short.   And we need to make sure we live each day as if it will be our last.  And we fail at that so often.

But right now, life is just so good.  It was warm today in the later afternoon.  Next thing I know, Bob had talked with Mark and they had their fishing poles and bought their fresh water fishing license and were heading to the park located directly behind our complex.  I joined them for a little while, but when the fishing looked like it was going to be a series of Mark catching stick fish, I walked back to our coach home.

Then Bob sent me this picture.  

We are still trying to figure out what kind of fish it was. 

I figure if they are going to be catching that big of fish practically in our own backyard, I need to buy a filet knife.  Nothing better than fresh caught fish.

I haven't bought my fishing license yet.  But believe me, I would rather fish than anything else down here.  Especially deep sea fishing. 

But that's another license and another story for another day.

Stunning silence - He Said She Said - He Said

A continuing He Said She Said Series with a twist.  Our "brother from another mother" from the internet is joining us for this edition.  Welcome Ed from Not of This World. (This guy below is not Ed)

I guess I must first address all of the negative hype going around concerning the movie, "American Sniper".  I had heard those Hollywood idiots which I will not even name because they are not worthy in being mentioned in a post regarding a true American hero.  I'm always amazed at the Hollywood pansies who sit at home with their $60 million dollars and think what they have to say actually matters to anyone but themselves.  Armchair warriors/pacifist are allowed to spew their vile because they are cocooned in their safe little world because of people like Chris Kyle. 

Enough about them.  They aren't worth the blinking cursor time..

We decided we wanted to see American Sniper, but honestly, I was a bit concerned about Bob going with me.  Starting Christmas Eve every year, he is haunted by the memories of Christmas Eve 1969.  Each year the memory seems to become more vivid.  I have heard some theories that many of the Nam guys who has spent their lives productively are finding retirement brings with it full blown PTSD.  You see, they have kept busy, deliberately so.  Now that there is time to sit back and relax, many can't because their minds drift to the worse part of their lives.

Originally I had asked my brother, CnC to join me since he too has come to Fort Myers for the winter.  You'll find those stories at his place.  I began hearing about the huge crowds, so I decided to book the tickets early through Fandango.  When I told Bob, he said he wanted to go.  I've learned I have to let make those decisions.

We met Mark at the Imax Theater.  Several of my friends had already seen the movie and raved about it.  I felt like I might be at the top of a big roller coaster.

During the previews of other movies, all of which were filled with violence, weapons, bombs, etc.  Mark leaned over and said, "Amazing how Hollywood despises guns, huh?" 

For those critics who thought it horrible that Kyle and his buddies called the terrorists savages and evil, it takes only the first scene to understand why their descriptions are on point.  When a mother sees nothing wrong with handing their 5 year old kid an RPG to take out American soldiers, then savage and evil are mild compared to what I want to call them.

Bradley Cooper was simply amazing as Kyle.  His preparation in the physical and mental roles was extensive.  He gained 40 pounds in just 10 weeks for the role, all muscle.  In one scene, Cooper deadlifts 400 lbs.  They originally wanted to create fake weights, but Cooper refused.  Kyle's father and wife have all said that Cooper did an amazing job creating Kyle's walk and mannerisms. 

This was the third movie I've watched featuring the amazing job these SEALs do.  The last thirty minutes of Zero Dark Thirty had me on the edge of my seat as did Lone Survivor.  I read Lone Survivor which went into a great bit of detail regarding the training of the SEALs.  I am constantly amazed they could endure that type of physical and mental training.  

What was most striking about the movie was the ending scenes.  Everyone (except two clueless idiots) just sat and watched.  That was when the tears started in great waves.  I had thought to being plenty of Kleenex.  I had several in my hand when I noticed some face wiping to my left, where CnC was sitting.  I kept my eyes on the screen, grabbed a few more Kleenex and quietly handed them over.

When the credits started rolling the entire theater stood quietly and no one spoke.  No one.  Everyone proceeded to the exits and there was only very quiet whispers, as if we were leaving a church after a funeral.  Sober and somber.  It felt respectful.  As if we were giving Kyle the honor he deserved.

I am optimistic that the movie is doing so well.  Knowing that it matters not what some pampered ass celebrity says about the movie or the man.  It shows that Americans really do believe the SEALs are the good guys.  Maybe some are again getting convinced that America is exceptional, in spite of the last five years of the political leaders attempts at convincing us otherwise. 

God rest your soul Chris Kyle. 

To see what my "brothers" had to say, read CnC's version here and my internet brother's version here.

My Favorite Christmas Song.

Too good not to share.

 

 

He's Leaving Me.

Of course it didn't come as a surprise. He's been hinting subtly and not so subtly for at least three years. It was obvious his feelings were changing, but I chose to stick my head in the sand and not address the real possibility that he would leave me. 

He was no longer happy in his job and I knew that would eventually affect our relationship.  He was having personal family issues and I knew those were also tearing him away. 

But I couldn't let myself imagine my life without him. 

Our relationship began thirty years ago. Looking back now, I realize we were both kids. 

I think back in the ways that he changed my life, and in some cases literally saved it. In fact he was the deciding factor in my decision on dissolving my first marriage. That wasn't his intention, of course, but his advice at a critical time in my life, changed it completely. 

He was there for me then. He was there for me in my worst times of my life.  He has known nearly ever aspect of my life. 

I saw him for what is likely the last time ever yesterday. As I was driving away, I noted the dreary looking day matched my heartbreak over losing one of what I feel like has been one my best friends, someone I could always count on.   I wished him the best and insisted on a goodbye hug. 

I doubt I can ever replace him. Sure, there will be someone new eventually. But right now I doubt I can ever replace the relationship that has been torn away. But I'll go on. I have to. 

We talked about his wife's condition.  She was also a family doc and had to quit a couple years ago because of early onset Alzheimer's. We talked about the disaster of Obamacare. He made his political preferences known to me years ago.  He was a conservative Christian. 

He was more than just my family doctor. He was my friend. Never to be replaced.  

Carlton in Ferguson.

If Alphonso would teach the protestors this dance, we might that not have these race issues in Missouri. 

STOP

It was around the time of Columbine when we noticed the neighbor's teenage son began wearing the goth attire. When he and his friends would hang out in the driveway sporting their long black coats and dark pants, I wondered how one could see their sons expressing themselves by donning the same clothing of Klebold and Harris and not take some type of action.

I remember being especially freaked out one day when I came home to find that the boy and three of his friends were sitting on top of their garage roof. Now obviously I might have been a little too sensitive because of the recent events. And in fact, the boy never caused a bit of trouble in the neighborhood.

Within a few months, the goth fad had faded and nothing horrible happened at the local school.

By the time the boy had graduated, he had turned into a very polite young man who then joined the service.

It was a stark contrast to see the young man come home on leave in his distinguished uniform. I vowed not to be so judgmental when kids go through phases although truthfully I probably haven't changed enough.

Since we live "in the country" according to some, we do not regularly visit with our neighbors, mainly seeing them as they mow their lawns or wave as we pass them going to the mailbox and exchanging Christmas cards once a year.

It wasn't long before we heard that the boy was going to be deployed to Iraq. I remember seeing him in the backyard shortly before his deployment playing with their dog. He was no longer a boy, of course, instead he was a fit young man and I wondered what he might face in his future.

After Iraq, he was deployed to Afghanistan. There had been some neighborhood rumors that he was given some top secret assignments possibly involving assassinations but I still don't know how true those rumors were.

In the last few years, he had come home and began his life outside of military life. Other than a few brief times of seeing him and his girlfriend coming or going to his parents house next door, we knew very little of what his life has become.

A few short weeks ago, Bob noticed him taking out an infant carrier from his car when he and his girlfriend would visit his parents.

And while I fully admit we actually knew very little about his life, we were still shocked when Bob got a text from one of the other neighbors the other night that said that Jeremy had taken his own life.

Suicide is just so heartbreaking. It leaves such and ache that screams, "WHY?"

We cannot imagine what our neighbors are going through. I don't even want to imagine what they are going through.

You want to be able to ease their pain, to make it all go away for people that we really barely know. Of course we can't. About an hour ago, we carted over some food in hopes to make some small dent in their misery. It's impossible of course. Looking into the father's eyes as he thanked us for the food was like looking into the depths of hell, where nightmares seep out of your dreams and attack your very soul.

We came home and wept for their pain, knowing it will never go away for them. I wish people who were contemplating suicide could look at the eyes of their loved ones before they make that choice that can never go away.

 

Thank a Vet Today

Yes. Yes. I know I've been MIA for some time now. And I don't really have an excuse. 

But I'll make one anyway. About a month ago I updated my IPad to IOS 8. And boy, was that a mistake. It's a buggy as the Obamacare website. 

Want to see how buggy?  Here's a pic of my keyboard when I'm trying to type something.  The keyboard also likes to hide the field you are typing in. 

I cannot see what I'm typing. And when I know I've made a mistake, attempting to backspace in a blind field is next to impossible. 

But enough whining and complaining. 

I want to extend my deepest gratitude to all Veterans today. We can never repay their sacrifice. 

When Bill Maher is Right.

Which I would never had believed.

Apparently he talked with Charlie Rose this week according to Real Clear Politics.

Read for yourself.

BILL MAHER: I saw Howard Dean on TV the other day and he said something along the order, he said the people in ISIS -- he said I'm about as Islamic as they are, you know, distancing the vast numbers of Islamic people around the world from them. That's just not true.

CHARLIE ROSE: It is true.

MAHER: It is not true, Charlie. There is a connecting tissue between --

ROSE: Behind every Muslim is a future member of some radical?

MAHER: Let me finish.

ROSE: I was doing that.

MAHER: There are illiberal beliefs that are held by vast numbers of Muslim people that --

ROSE: A vast number of Christians too.

MAHER: No, that's not true. Not true. Vast numbers of Christians do not believe that if you leave the Christian religion you should be killed for it. Vast numbers of Christians do not treat women as second class citizens. Vast numbers of Christians --

ROSE: I agree with that --

MAHER: -- do not believe if you draw a picture of Jesus Christ you should get killed for it. So yes, does ISIS do Khmer Rouge-like activities where they just kill people indiscriminately who aren't just like them? Yes. And would most Muslim people in the world do that or condone that? No.

ROSE: No.

MAHER: But most Muslim people in the world do condone violence just for what you think.

ROSE: How do you know that?

MAHER: They do. First of all they say it. They shout it.

ROSE: Vast majorities of Muslims say that?

MAHER: Absolutely. There was a Pew poll in Egypt done a few years ago -- 82% said, I think, stoning is the appropriate punishment for adultery. Over 80% thought death was the appropriate punishment for leaving the Muslim religion. I'm sure you know these things.

ROSE: Well I do. But I don't believe --

MAHER: So to claim that this religion is like other religions is just naive and plain wrong. It is not like other religious. The New York Times pointed out in an op-ed a couple weeks ago that in Saudi Arabia just since August 4th, they think it was, they have beheaded 19 people. Most for non-violent crimes including homosexuality.

ROSE: I know that they cut the hands off the thief.

MAHER: Right, okay, so we're upset that ISIS is beheading people which we should be upset about but Saudi Arabia does it and they're our good friends because they have oil. Okay. But they do it too. This is the center of the religion. I'm not saying -

ROSE: But they're now fighting against ISIS too. They're joining us in the fight. As is the Emirates. As is Jordan. They are all Muslim countries.

MAHER: Well, they are both fighting ISIS and they are for ISIS.

ROSE: Well, it's not the government. I mean, some of them --

MAHER: Certainly the governments.

ROSE: It's a bit like today about Qatar. The big story today in The New York Timesabout Qatar. And some guy there is supporting, who is a Muslim --

MAHER: But I mean in Mecca where infidels, non-Muslims, are not even allowed in the holy parts of the city. I mean, right there, we don't have that example in other religions. They do behead people. Now if they were beheading people in Vatican City, which is the equivalent of Mecca, don't you think there would be a bigger outcry about it? So this is the soft bigotry of low expectations with Muslim people. When they do crazy things and believe crazy things, somehow it's not talked about nearly as much.

ROSE: Would you come to the table and debate this with a moderate Muslim?

MAHER: Find one, yes. Find one.

ROSE: I promise you I'll find one.

MAHER: Find a Muslim --

ROSE: I do believe that what we see with ISIS is not representative of --

MAHER: As I said, connecting tissue.

ROSE: -- not representative of the Islamic religion. I don't think the Koran teaches them to do these kinds of things.

MAHER: Well you're wrong about that. The Koran absolutely has on every page stuff that's horrible about how the infidels should be treated. But for example again ISIS says that they should perform genital mutilation on all women 11-46. Would most Muslims agree with that? No. Or carry it out? No.

But as Ayaan Hirsi Ali points out, she says --

ROSE: I wouldn't expect for her to --

MAHER: And she would know better than --

ROSE: Exactly.

MAHER: But can we really say --

ROSE: She's been a victim.

MAHER: -- women are treated equally in the Muslim world? I mean, their testimony in court is very often counted as half. They need permission to leave the house in some places.

ROSE: But a lot of moderate Muslims would say in fact one of the things that we need to modernize is the idea of the way we treat women.

MAHER: But in this country, if you just use the wrong word about women, they go nuts. And all these other countries --

ROSE: As they should.

MAHER: -- they're doing things like making them wear burqas and I hear liberals say things like, 'they want to.' They want to. They've been brainwashed. It's like saying a street walker wants to do that.

White Hot Anger

Here Comes the White Hot Anger

Come let it wash over me like the hot steaming lava from a volcano. 

I let myself one day every year to feel the rage. 

I understand some handle it differently. That's okay. I consider it like grief. Everyone grieves differently. No way is right and no way is wrong, just don't judge another's ability to handle it. 

For me. I want. No. I NEED to feel white hot anger every year. It is my tribute to those people that the spawn of satan were allowed to destroy. 

And here we are now having videos played out of Americans beings beheaded by the bastards that managed to escape the gates of hell and currently are allowed to reside on this earth. 

What's even worse?  The idiots that believe the radical Islamists are being discriminated against. 

So let me grieve. It may not be your method of dealing with this life altering event. But it is mine. 

One day out of 365. The victims deserve at least that. 

Amongst the Mangroves

I flipped the channel over to ID (formally Court TV) just a few minutes ago and when the show mentioned something about mangroves a memory of our first trip to Cancun came rushing back. 

Not this one.

Same trip but an unexpected adventure on our last full day there. 

I had originally thought we would take one of our four day to go see the Mayan ruins, but none of my fellow travelers had any interest. When my sister-in-law tried to insist we go because I wanted it, I explained I would feel much worse dragging three people to somewhere they didn't want to be than not going at all. 

So that left us with nothing to do our last full day. Normally that is really what I would prefer, but everyone wanted to do something. 

We asked around and someone suggested we rent a boat with a driver across from the hotel. When we went to book a few hours trip, the guy assured us the "captain" spoke perfect English. 

He was right. The guy spoke perfect English as long as the word was a simple, "hi". Other than that the was zero ability to communicate with a fairly gruff grouchy overweight "Captain". 

The four of us loaded into the boat and not realizing that we really shouldn't wear sunscreen because it kills the fish and we set off. Our guide wasn't happy when we attempted to apply the sunscreen. I guess it would have been better to fry like a lobster out in the gulf. 

We puttered around the outskirts of Cancun with the man pointed and attempting a bit of broken conversation but most of what he was trying to say was completely lost in translation. 

When he pointed to a green "island" type of growth out in the water, the only thing I could understand was "mangroves". 

He slowly pointed the boat in the direction of the floating island and we could see there was actually a small water pathway between the islands.  And in we went. The water path was narrow, really only enough room for one boat. 

About 5 feet into the path, I could feel a small bead of sweat start to form on my upper lip. 

Something didn't feel right. 

I realized that we were now in a very small boat in the middle of Gulf of Mexico and between two large mangroves, both of which hid us from everyone. This was before the age of Internet access and Facebook checkins. And we had paid the boat rental in cash.   We literally could have dropped off the face of the earth and no one, ever would know what happened to us. 

I then realized we had made a very bad stupid tourist decision. Here were two middle age couples like sitting ducks in a boat with a complete stranger. And we even more stupidly had a couple of nice sized diamonds sitting on our left hands that sparkled brightly in the Mexican sun. 

Suddenly I could see the future as if it was being filmed by some horror director. 

Just as I was doing my best to stop imagining some silly graphic crime scene, the guide began to slow the boat. I began to look around the small hull for weapons. 

I could see it all play out in my mind. The guy would suddenly appear with a gun. Quickly shoot my brother-in-law, since he was the biggest. Turn the gun to my husband next. And then that leaves two women, alone, hidden between the mangroves with no ability to protect themselves. First go the rings we should have left behind either back home or at least in the room safe and then I didn't even want to think about what would happen next. 

By the time the boat came to a complete stop within the mangroves, I was nearly panicked. Everyone else on the bait looked perfectly calm. 

Then the guide was able to ask something about taking a swim. Ummm, no not so much. My BIL asked about gators and he assured him there were none. My BIL remove off the boat as did the guide. It was only then I released the tight grip I had on my beach bag, as of it held some magical potion that would ward off bad stuff. 

They swam for a couple of minutes and then they both got back on the boat. 

I finally realized I thought we were likely safe. Why bother with the swimming if you're goal was to rape and plunder?  

The guide then steered the boat farther in as we poked our way through. Just a minute later we saw a baby gator sunning himself on a low mangrove branch. 

Ummm, excuse me. Thought there were not gators in here. If we have a baby sitting there, his momma couldn't be far away. I was glad I didn't jump in the water. 

That was certainly the highlight of the boat trip, but certainly not the end of the craziness of the day. We were to go snorkeling. I had been before, not far off the beach. But this guy decided the best stop was right between Cancun and Isla Majeres. 

This is when I made the mistake of getting off the boat first. The water was very deep and the waves were high. I am normally the adventurous type, but the waves were quickly carrying me away from the boat and I attempted a couple of times to snorkel, but the minute I would barely out my face down in the water, I could just see another big wave overtaking my snorkel. Of course that didn't happen, but as soon as I would pop my head out of the water, there was another swell. At one point the boat was getting close to me and Mr. Guideman gunned the engine and I thought for sure I would lose an arm or a leg in the propeller. 

I finally did enough signaling that I was just DONE. I wanted back in the boat.   

Finally after all that, he managed to take us close to the beach at Isla Majeres and my BIL and I spent 15 minutes of boring snorkeling. 

I was never so glad to get off a boat on my life. 

The Smell of the Sistine Chapel

 

 

I Don't Get It

I was pretty adamant about it. 

I refused to give in to all the hype a couple years back. I'd just roll my eyes whenever I would hear something on TV or refuse to read an article about what the latest craze was that was making all the middle aged ladies I knew lose their minds. 

And one day I was having lunch with a young friend of mine. She insisted I had to have it. 

So, I reluctantly bought it on my Nook. 

Should I sum up my review here or should I make you wait. 

Nah.  I won't put you through the misery I endured. 

It was the worst purchase I have ever made in my life. And after reading to final page, fully expecting that surely at some point there would be one single redeeming sentence in the whole damned thing, I found out I was wrong. If only I had stuck to my original principle and not given the author one single penny of my money.  

Hell, I would rather have given it to Michael Moore. And that's saying something. 

So now, all those rabid women who read the book are back at it. Because some idiot decided to make it into a MOVIE. Gad. Now I have to listen to all those same women drone on and on about who played Grey. 

I could only care less if they had cast Johnny Depp. Thank God, that psycho never made a penny from me. 

Ok, I understand all the idiotic sex scenes described in the book sent some horny old and apparently young women crazy, but I still didn't get it. 

Since I had originally heard many middle aged women talk about Fifty Shades of Crap (sorry, I cannot bring myself to say what should never be mentioned), I had assumed it was some erotic mid-age crisis drivel. 

And again, I was wrong. 

Instead the female lead was nothing but a fresh young newly-graduated college chick. And instead of following in the footsteps of all these crazed empowered feminists, she becomes some neurotic sex slave to a man that is several years older than her. 

That's it. The entire novel is nothing but this chick getting smacked, beaten and sex-slaved by this idiotic character. 

What the hell happened?  

I am NOT a feminist. Mainly because I think they are all idiotic Sandra Fluke wannabes. And that crappy book just proved it. 

I mean if feminists really believe the crap they spiel, then why didn't even one of them complain about this book?

I mean, here is this supposed smart college graduate who instead a of even attempting to become a functional part of society instead decides to be hit and whipped and controlled by this older man. She is not to have a job, see her friends and she must answer her phone the minute her "master" wants to screw her after he's finished with his female sex torture room. 

And not one radical feminist that I heard screamed foul. Not one. 

There was a deafening Bill Clinton silence. 

Feminists, my ass. 

Just Get Over It.

I just must be in a weird mood lately. 

Like in the last year "lately". 

I have all these things to blog about all day long. Imaginary writings during the day that if someone would invent a damned app that would just auto fill this blog would leave you in awe of my amazing talent. 

But when I sit in my chair, which is way too often nowdays, I don't accomplish anything. 

Sometimes I'm working on this new "secondary" career so that I no longer spend months and months at someone else's beck and call and will allow us the freedom to winter far from this frozen hell.  

Sometimes, I'm playing some idiotic game on my IPad that I would never admit to in real life. 

Sometimes, well most times, I'm facebooking.  

Which should bring me to the subject of how horrible it was to learn that two of my five readers have been Facebook friends and have left me out. 

Ok.  That's just a joke. I HATE Facebook drama and decided to poke fun at Dana and Coffey on her post about drama bloggers. 

Which exhaustedly brings me around to my original intent. 

I stay away from drama. My family doesn't do drama and I attempt, at nearly all costs to avoid it everywhere. Not always possible, but it's certainly better than it has been in years.  And somehow tonight I fell. No, that's not right,  I inserted myself into a situation on Facebook with a friend who posted his rant about a bumper sticker. 

Now one would think from reading this blog o' mine that it was a political argument. 

But I refrain from political discussions on Facebook.  And I quickly unfriend anyone who feels it necessary on a daily basis to post cartoons or make comments about my political beliefs. 

Anyway, here was the first part of the exchange.  

This was written by a guy that grew up in my hometown and who, until recently shared many of the same beliefs as I. He has recently had some life changes and I have been sensing this "turning liberal" mantra coming from him. 

"I have a rant (again) and well, quite frankly, it is sure to piss some of you off. And well, I'm sorry about that, but it will not change my attitude. I just saw a pickup truck with a bumper sticker that read "US Army, Vietnam Veteran, You NEVER welcomed us home"

First off, thank you for your service. I cannot express enough how much your service means to me as an American. But here's my issue. The Vietnam War was 40 years ago. The majority of the folks who never welcomed you home are either deceased or at the very least no longer a player in the public or private sectors. You will be the first one to tell a young black man that he needs to get over his ancestors being slaves because that is ancient history and we have made amends to them. Well sir, it's time for you to get over the fact that you were never welcomed home. Every President since Reagan has honored your service. Each one of them has done something to memorialize your service. Many memorials across this great country have been built to show you this generation does care and we do thank you. It's time for you to move past it and allow your heart to heal."

I read it earlier and started to dismiss it. 

And yet tonight it really started to irk me. 

And then I read what a friend of his wrote. 

"Also the same ones that tell us to suck it up they faught real war...they aren't comparable really two very different animals...but both WAR, how does the type of fight entitle you to be "more" scarred. Dont get me wrong love and respect the road they paved for me, but like you didn't want judged don't judge us. We dont choose the WAR."

I thought about my response for a minute. 

As I said, I don't do drama and I normally just ignore things that can get heated in a Facebook discussion. 

But tonight I wasn't in that kind of mood.  Maybe because I have respected this man up until this point. So I was honest. And I worded my response as I would any other good friend. If you're my friend and the time has come for real words, then expect them from me. 

So I wrote the following. 

"Ok. I am going to vehemently disagree with you here. 

I don't know of any Nam Vets who take this attitude. None. All of them that I know have quietly lived their lives and never used Vietnam as an excuse. 

What is happening now is that many are getting into their retirement years. And that leaves more time on their hands. Which means that they are just now experiencing a lot of the PTSD symptoms that they had suppressed up until now. 

It may have been 40 years for you and I, but it's every night for some of these guys. 

No one living today lived through slavery, so your comparison fails miserably. 

Just getting over isn't so easy when you have spent your life trying to forget the bad memories and just when they should be able to relax and enjoy themselves, they are haunted by horrible nightmares. 

And just so you know, none of those guys CHOSE WAR!

They were drafted. They didn't get a choice like today's vets got. 

They were forced to fight by their own government. 

And instead of hating America, they love it even more. 

Much more that those of us able to bitch about a bumper sticker. 

Because they watched their buddies die beside them on a horrible Christmas Eve in 1969. And they listened to the screams all night long and were unable to help them because of the incoming fire. 

Most likely you saw a bumper sticker placed there by a spouse. Who knows full well the horror of that war. Because she's seen her husband suffer through the late onslaught of PTSD. 

Enjoy your freedom."

Of course that set off a £!%#storm. Especially from the chick who thinks the Vietnam Vets chose the war they "faught" in. 

A couple of women had lost brothers in Vietnam and they agreed with me. 

The last straw was when my friend who posted the original rant came back on and said he had the utmost respect but I had missed the point. 

Here's the great thing about Facebook.  If someone is really starting to get on your nerves, there is about three keystrokes to delete them from your life. 

And with that I was done. 

However he must have noticed because within about 2 minutes he deleted the entire post. 

Yeah, I certainly missed his point. And glad I did. 

The Greatest Play in Baseball Had Nothing to do With the Game

 

The Rockets Red Glare

Yeah, it's my annual July 4th post. I really tried not to get so irritated about all the stories going around this year about being courteous of veterans during the 4th celebration of fireworks.
I couldn't help it. Of course I appreciate what our veterans have gone through, however I guarantee today's young veterans never saw the kind of action my uncles did. Pretty sure most didn't see what my husband saw. But it was a fad this year to be aware of the terror the sound of fireworks causes veterans. I AM aware of it. Because of the following story. And you will note that my uncle never, not once told us kids not to participate in the festivities. Maybe I'm being heartless, but I remember that this hero didn't whine to the local news about jumping out of his skin when he heard firecrackers.

Uncle Bob would always come outdoors and sit in a lounge chair on those long ago July 4th celebrations when we would visit our cousins during the dog days of summer. We had spent our days walking along the uneven sidewalks of Loogootee to get Mister Mistys and toward dusk we'd gather in their small backyard that still had our cardboard box houses we had built from refrigerator and other appliance boxes we found in the back alley of a local store.

Invariably someone would end up stepping on a still hot sparkler some rugrat had dropped in the yard. Then the firecrackers would come out. They were set off in bunches, still tangled together or individually, a single loud pop here or there. As we kids would be running around the yard, Uncle Bob would remain sitting in his chair. Occasionally when I would turn my head from all the celebrating I would notice that his hands would be clutching the plastic arms of the chair and his eyes would close when the bang of the firecrackers and bottle rockets would explode.

I can still picture him sitting there, visably wincing as each bang seemed to get louder.  Even as a kid I knew why he winced, but I sure didn't appreciate what it took for him to sit there and be reminded of his days in Sicily. 

I wish now I had taken the time to sit down with him and hear what it was like fighting in WWII.  To hear of the battles and the reason he had a Purple Heart that I never saw until the day of his funeral.

I wish I knew.  I wish I had understood.  I wish I could thank him now for his service to our country.  But wasn't the innocence of not understanding, of living free and carefree exactly what he fought for?  That I COULD take my freedom for granted as a child.  Didn't he fight so I would never know the horrors of living under tyranny?

Happy Independence Day everyone.  I hope we never forget the sacrifices the thousands of "Uncle Bob's" that have provided us the opportunity to live in the greatest nation on earth. 



Attitude Adjustment

She was easily the worst player on the team. She was a bit heavier than most of the other teenagers and quiet certainly much more awkward. 

Most of the other players would have probably overlooked her lack of ability, however she made it even worse by having a horrible attitude when she messed up. It was the pticher's fault, it was the coach's fault. If was everyone's fault except Jenny's. 

The league was sponsored by the Optimist Club and coached by some of the players' fathers. All the parents would hold their breath whenever Jenny was up to bat. We all knew she would not hit the ball and start complaining. I felt for her some, because I had zero talent, but I only played when I forced to and knew it was my lack of talent that made me lousy in any sports when I was young. 

Right before school started that year, Jenny went for a routine school physical so she could play in some other sport during the school year.  

A simple routine physical. 

The doc didn't like what he was sensing. Tests ordered. And they found a brain tumor that had not yet developed any symptoms. 

They performed surgery to remove the tumor. And Jenny was left with a severe inability to move most of her right side. 

After she recovered, she walked as if she was falling with every step of her right foot. She could move her right hand, but in doing so, left no doubt she would be struggling for the rest of her life. But the surgery had saved her life. 

The next summer she again showed up to the Girl's Optimist Softball League. 

But she was no longer the old Jenny. 

All the parents sat back and held their breath when she got up to bat.  Everyone had remembered her from the prior years and now with some fairly severe disabilities, no one knew what to expect. 

Of course she missed a couple. And everyone was surprised when she would start laughing if she missed. We all wondered what happened to Jenny?  She stood there now after going through an incredible year and just when you expected her attitude to be bad, she was laughing. And enjoying herself. 

When she got a hit, she would attempt to run as fast as she could. Of course most times, she didn't make it, but she would just smile and walk off the field. 

Surviving a brain tumor changed her. Being saddled with a disability seemed to have allowed Jenny to enjoy life. 

I still remember one attempt to run to the base left her falling and rolling along the baseline. There was a collective gasp when she didn't appear to be able to get up. But then we realized why. She was laughing so hard, she couldn't. When she finally got done being tickled about wiping out in the game, she got up, brushed the dirt off and laughed all the way back to the dugout. 

I had almost forgotten about Jenny until I was driving past her dad's business yesterday. He has a yard sign that he uses for his business. 

Yesterday the sign read, "Congratulations Jenny on becoming an RN. ". 

The sign made me smile thinking about her. 

You just never know what kind of tragedy in your life might just change it forever. And sometimes it actually might be for the better in a lot of ways. 

Just Two Wild and Crazy Guys

Looking like they stepped out of a tuxedo ad. 

Am I right?

I'm in There Somewhere

One More Day

Sick of it

Another life lost too soon from cancer. Life is short people. Live it now! Hate that all I can seem to write about are people dying. And I realize my life has been touched less than some others. But it still sucks.

It's not about a three day weekend

 

 

Yes I KNOW

It's been almost a month since I posted anything. I don't know why I can't seem to make myself post something. I have no excuse.

Early this morning we were awakened by horrible yelping, barking and animals screaming. Pretty certain a whole pack of coyotes were attacking and killing one of our neighbor's dogs. It only lasted about 20 seconds. At the end, it sounded almost like hyenas and then one lone long wolf sounding howl.

Poor doggy.

When B&W does miracles

I want to think I really do look like this, but the mirror and other pictures tell me this is just a mirage. 

And Bob really does look this good most of the time. Particularly on those rare occasions when he wears a suit. 

One pic was our favorite, the other was the photographer's favorite. 

Which one looks better?

Easter Sunday

Yeah. I know.

I've been missing. I have to finish my story. 

In the meantime, we are leaving to go north tomorrow and this winter has been amazing. Remind me it write about that too. 

Just read that the  BLM  has backed off of the Bundy case (for now). 

Now don't get me wrong, he can't ignore paying his grazing fees. Or whatever they are called.  I haven't researched a lot of this story, but that gave them a reason to do what they were doing. 

But I wonder. 

Several years back I heard this horrible preacher (you know the kind) on the radio. He was pastor over a large congregation in Indy. Let's just put it this way, he was only a shade better than Westboro. An extreme type who said over and over that people who played music in their church were going to hell. 

I'm serious. 

That's what he claimed over the radio. He said Jesus didn't give us permission to play music. Yeah, he was that screwed up. 

So his church was making him very rich. And as the church grew and hired staff and teachers, he claimed they weren't employees. Directed their performance. Check. Directed their hours. Check. Paid them as regular employees. Check. 

Why did he do that?  Because that way he didn't have to pay the employer portion of the social security tax. When his employees went to file their taxes, he also had not supplied them with a 1099. Until H & R Block told the employees that they needed at least a 1099.  He kept reciting the H & R Block "authority" as proof they were not employees. 

Give me a break. H & R Block?   They are flunkies.  They get a couple weeks of training.  They are NOT CPAs, they are not the Internal Revenue Service, they are not tax attorneys. 

So the church started issuing 1099's to employees. After several years, the IRS started knocking on the church's door. Hey, youhave about a 100 employees. They are not independent contractors. They are employees. That means a W-2. You need to start collecting 1/2 of the social security tax and PAY 1/2 of the social security tax. 

That is NOT the church income tax exemption, which he first tried to claim. It's the normal employer social security tax (or equivalent for churches) portion. 

Well Psycho Minister refused. 

And after years and years of arguing, the Feds finally came calling. 

It broke into the local stations saying the IRS had directed the church to shut down. And the vigilance started. Dozens of people showed up at the church and would not leave. It looked as though there would be a big showdown. 

What happened instead?  The Federal Marshall didn't show up. 

Took about two weeks of nothing but a few committed followers of this idiot to decide they didn't need to stand watch in the church. 

One sunny morning, without so much as a whisper, the Federal Marshall walked into the church door and shut it down. 

So I wonder if that's what might be happening on the Bundy case. 

I just read about a thousand people showed up at this ranch. Of course they would back off. 

I'm sure this guy has his reasons, but the stupid grazing fees gave the federal government a reason to shut him down. I could have stood firmly behind him if they were claiming it was only about the turtle. But he has allowed them an opportunity for an excuse. 

Anyway. What got me going was something in the story about people abiding by the free speech zones the government has set up on the ranch. 

We hear this claim about free speech zones on college campuses all the time now days. 

Last time I checked AMERICA was a free speech zone. 

Thank You Vietnam Vets

Part 3 of ...... Will this story ever end?

Part two here.

What I am about to say will not make sense to a lot of people.  

I had planned to be there with my brothers as Bill was nearing the end. I wanted to be there. I know first hand how incredibly hard it is to care for someone during their last days. Yet, it is also incredibly awesome, in the true meaning of awe. 

When my dad passed away from liver cancer in 1992, all four of us kids and my mother stood next to the hospital bed that sat in the middle of the their living room and held him as he slipped the surly bonds of this earth. It was horrible and yet, it was amazing. 

I realize that this will be a hard concept for anyone who has not held the hand of a loved one while they were dying. 

Is there any greater gift you can give someone than giving them comfort while they are dying?  I'll admit I have been blessed with an amazing family, however that connection of providing each other comfort in the worst of times has forged a bond that will never be broken. 

So, I wanted to be there. I knew that although my brothers knew what they were about to face, two people would not be enough assistance to get through the last stretch. When I had Bill sign the living will we had a very frank discussion regarding the end of his life. He worried that someone would call 911 and/or attempt to keep him alive. He also talked about getting someone to assist him in hurrying it along. I explained that if he expected one of us to assist in his suicide, that would likely be a line we could not cross.  However if he was in the thralls of dying, it was different. "You forget, we've been through this before".  We would let him die in peace. And in love. 

So I had planned on being there. 

As March was moving into its third week last year, I however was dealing with things at home. Some of you might remember that exactly on this day last year, Bob was facing a major surgery to extract a tumor on his spine. The man who never is sick or injured was dealing with spending his first days in a hospital since he was born. He was nervous. And there were people in his family making it worse by causing unnecessary drama.  

And it was during that time that Bill's body was surrendering to that damned disease we call cancer. 

I, like Bill's oldest brother, had important health isssues to deal with at home.  

_________________________________________________________________________________

Early morning on March 22, 2013, we arrived at the hospital to await Bob's surgery. The docs had indicated it would take 3 to 4 hours and he would be hospitized 4 to 5 days.   My brother Mark had intended to come to the hospital. But he had other priorities.  He had become Bill's main caregiver as Bill's final hours were coming to pass. 

Both of us felt tugged in two directions. Yet we both knew where we needed to be. 

Thankfully two of my nieces (my other brother's girls) stepped in. That afternoon Bill was in incredible pain and ended up doubled over laying on the floor of his bedroom. Mark and one of my nieces laid down beside him for hours.   He wouldn't get in bed and he did not want to be moved. So the three of them laid in the floor.  

When hospice arrived, they were able to get him back in bed and tell them the end was coming very soon. 

I talked with Mark late that night as Bob was resting in his hospital bed and I was sitting up on my makeshift chairbed where we would stay for the next five days. I hated that I was unable to be there for them, but of course everyone understood I was where I needed to be and the timing was what it was. 

As I cried and told my brother I loved him, I told him to call me when it was "time".  My brother's youngest daughter had gone home and her older sister had taken over the watch in the house. They had arranged a schedule to switch in a few hours. 

Around 1, I was awakened by my phone ringing. I scrambled out of the hospital room to not awaken Bob. 

Bill had passed. His struggle was finally over.  My niece had just turned over her shift to Mark. 

I told Mark I would call Bill's brother. The one sleeping at home because his sweet bride was undergoing chemo battling her own cancer.   Although his voice was slightly groggy, I could tell that he knew when he saw my name on the caller ID what the news would be. While I hated delivering the news, I felt it was the least I could do for my brothers since I had not been there to help. 

Unfortunately, the story doesn't stop there.   And now that it is now one year later makes it even harder to tell. 

Part Two of ?

See Part One here.

Of course everything was difficult. Finding a doc that will not only accept a new patient, but one that is dying is nearly impossible in our area. And oddly enough, you have to be referred to Hospice. You can't just pick up the phone, have your records transferred and get access to the service. 

Bill's family asked me to assist him with arranging his finances. In my view, that also required making sure COBRA was continued. The problem, as my brothers were also finding out, was that either the cancer was attacking Bill's mind or he was so overwhelmed with his past and current situation that it was difficult to determine exactly what he had done or not done. 

As the weeks moved on, he grew worse and worse. I had him make out a living will, a "dying" will and a POA for accessing his health care. I didn't want to get a POA for his finances. Although he had nothing and was deep in debt, he had a pension from his previous employer. He had insisted that he had sent the paperwork to his employer for both the COBRA and the pension, but I could not get him to produce copies. 

One frustrating evening I had gone to my brothers' to get some paperwork. Thankfully I was finally able to contact his employer. Also thankfully the HR director knew of Bill's situation and gave me information that helped in accessing the COBRA and the paperwork to get access to his pension.  When I asked my brothers where Bill's mail was, they said they had given it to him. I told them to stop giving him mail. He never knew where it was and was rather secretive about the paperwork even though he readily accepted my help.  When I asked for the pension paperwork, he gave me papers regarding his original diagnosis, some three years ago. 

As my brothers were dealing with trying to take care of this dying man physically, I was in contact quite a bit with his older brother, attempting to give them what financial advice I could.  

Sometime in early February last year, it was apparent Bill would not last much longer. His brother told me he and his sweet Tennessee bride and their sons were planning on visiting in late March. 

In my role, I felt I needed to be extremely direct. Not only with Bill, but with his family. I explained that I thought that would be too late. I wasn't sure he would still be alive in those six weeks. His brother took my assessment to heart and arranged to come visit, alone just a couple of weeks later. 

As I sat at my brothers' table that day, Bill had rallied back and was able to produce all of the paperwork we needed to get things rolling. I wondered if my cousin thought I had been exaggerating. However the rallying only lasted one day and before his brother headed back home, he was again in really bad shape. 

His brother planned to return again as they had originally planned in late March. 

And from there the story takes an even more tragic turn. 

In late February, the brother and his sweet bride were going for their normal morning run. She had been out of breath for some time, enough to go to the doctor who sent her to the hospital. Where they found a tremendous amount of fluid on those perfectly healthy lungs. A liter and a half. 

And it was cancerous. 

How can that be?  

This woman was in incredible shape. She ate right, never smoked, ran several miles every day.  Not to mention that it just didn't seem fair.  The world is bereft of such sweet people. She was kind, gentle, sweet and loving. She was only 49. How did she get lung cancer?

After the diagnosis, the doctor explained that her cancer was not curable but was certainly treatable. He indicated he had patients that had been diagnosed ten years ago. The treatment was occasional rounds of chemo. There was some hope. Not great news, but not devastating either. 

Obviously the family trip in March would be out for my cousin. His wife needed to start chemo right away and although his brother was dying, he had to be there for his "child bride" as he lovingly called her. 

The next few weeks Bill grew steadily worse. Hospice was finally engaged and began regular visits. By then, my brother Mark was a full time nurse to a very belligerent patient. Since Bill had been a nurse, he was insistent he knew what he should be taking and when. But his mind was going quickly. 

The great thing about Hospice is not only the care they give the patient,but the counseling they give the family. Mark has described it as more like an intervention. They counseled him on how to deal with a stubborn dying man. They also adjusted Bill's medication to keep him more sedated since the end was nearing.