Friday, March 31, 2006
Monday, March 27, 2006
Why would a woman shoot her husband in the back and take off with their kids? Do the various scenarios change if you find the woman's husband was a minister in a small town church? It shouldn't, but the MSM makes it seem worse if the killer is a preacher's wife than your everyday housewife. People snap. It is just a human condition. Christian or not, life is a trial. I would be more surprised if the media reported that she didn't seem like a normal housewife. The BTK killer was a typical man next door, Jeffrey Dahmer was an average nice guy. There is evil in our midst. Be alert and do not be bewildered by what you see. All is as it is meant to be. You are more likely to be killed by someone who "loves" you than a stranger. Deal with it.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
My last post, three days ago, was about the man on trial in Afghanistan for converting from Islam to Christianity. Today it was all over the MSM (Main Stream Media). Blogger beats MSM to the hot topic again!
I took a little camping trip again. Forgot to bring a spoon and had to go beg off the campers nearby. They were from Colorado on their annual trek to the desert to enjoy the great weather. We've had plenty of that this winter and now, spring. I didn't mention my camping trips to Colorado in the summer to escape the AZ heat...
The horses are shedding like crazy. One should not wear black clothing near a horse at this time of year. I can't help but give hugs and pats to my appreciative equines whenever I am near them and I have the hair-covered black clothing to show for it.
It'll be a real shame and loss when the bird flu reaches the US. I love to eat grilled chicken. I'll assume that poultry will increase in price should there be the wholesale slaughters of possibly infected flocks that have occurred elsewhere. But my pet cat is relieved to learn that no infected cats have died from the bird flu. This seems to be an odd flu since it infects such disparate animals: birds, people and cats.
Someone suggested that Denmark send in a secret military squad to kidnap Mr. Rahman from the Afghan jail to bring him to a country where there is freedom of worship. Sort of a payback to Islamists who burned the Danish embassy. Clever idea. Also I wish to mention the problem for Moslems who want respect in Europe. Their religion is very different from the way of life of most modern Europeans. Many Moslems wear traditional clothing, veils for women for example. It is not the easiest culture to assimulate into a Western tradition. They have pretty high expectations from a Europe that has discriminated against another foreign culture that wears Western clothes, whose religion is practically invisible if practised at all, and who have contributed immensely to European intellectual advancement for centuries. I am talking of course about the Jews. Europe was relieved to get them out of Europe and sent back to their homeland. What will they do with the Moslems?
In the US we either kill off inconvenient populations with White Man diseases that they have no immunity to, marry them to dilute the blood, or turn our attention to the next population in the spotlight. Hispanics today.
Day by day, the clock ticks away. We are Danes, Afghans, Israeli, illegal immigrants who crossed the border one night into the US. We have thirst, we look to the sun, the stars and the moon. If we live long enough, we realize that our differences are not that important. It rains on rich and poor alike. The road is hard. Let us reflect.
Monday, March 20, 2006
Sunday, March 19, 2006
If I was standing in front of a fountain, preferably in Italy on a soft summer night, what would I wish before tossing the coin into the water? We all want world peace, so I won't go there. Would I wish for lifelong love? Gobs of money? Health? Which would be most valuable? Love without money and health is bittersweet. Money without love or health is hopeless. Health without love or money is frustrating. I think I'll just wish for a tasty banana split.
Time is flying faster than the Concorde. Oops! That plane was retired. I'm tired too. Tired of idiocy I see in every direction. I don't believe man evolved from apes because we have too many stupid genes to have survived. But a Creator may well have given us these handicaps to develop our empathy. I am running out of empathy. Were can I gas up with some more? My imagination is growing cold. Whinning looks childish to me. They need a good slap in the face. This is not politically correct. But I have to feeling that they will pull themselves off the floor and be better people after doing some humble time. I've had my turn at humbling experiences. I've grieved over my failures. The stars still circle overhead. Even during the day, they're still up there. Let them be a witness. We are a desperate genus. Without imagination.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
As far as I know, I do not have any Irish blood. But that doesn't mean I don't appreciate the Emerald Isle and wear green on St. Patrick's Day. Green is my favorite color. I've never been to Ireland, but I slept in a certain hotel last night! No, just kidding. Many great horses are bred in Ireland. Must be something in the soil. When horses eat shamrocks they run faster? Jump higher? I love corned beef and cabbage. And it loves me. James Joyce makes a great author to read in high school English class. Finally, as a youngster, I had a few freckles. So I will crown myself honorary Irish. Even on the day after St. Patrick's Day. Disclaimer: I am not writing this under the influence of Guinness.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
I think I've had a rite of passage. I just had the first removal of suspicious skin spots that could be cancerous. The curse of the light-skinned Caucasian living in Arizona. I say it was my first removal because it is unlikely to be my last. These things often take 25 years to develop and even though I am careful of sunburn today, I wasn't so careful many years ago. It reminds me of one of my father's favorite sayings: If I knew I was going to live this long, I would've taken better care of myself.
I am not frightened to learn the biopsy result. 85% of skin cancers are not serious. Besides, everyone has to die of something.
I spoke some uncomfortable words to my good doctor. I overheard his nurse refer to me in the hallway as "the lesion". Yes, I had a lesion. But I am a person with a lesion, or a patient with a lesion. Due to confidentiality laws she could not say my name aloud but that doesn't excuse her disrespect of me as a human being. My doctor had no defense. He would speak to her. He admitted that sometimes people become their diseases and it wasn't good medicine. Under his breath he was probably saying: son of a gun this lesion is a live one!
Monday, March 13, 2006
There is a debate on the etiology of Vincent Van Gogh's mental health. Evidently his case is unique due to his artistic genius and well-preserved letters wherein he minutely described his psychological anguish. He also consumed copious amounts of absinthe, an alcoholic beverage later banned for its' toxicity. (It can cause epileptic seizures.) So what is my excuse? Granola. It has to be the granola. I eat copious amounts of it and then am seized with an uncontollable urge to write letters, or blog, or fall asleep, I can't remember which. Van Gogh had amnesia too. So it has to be the milk in my cereal. Do you really know what pasteurization does to it? Pasteur was French like Van Gogh, and you know how those French are. All that champagne and goose liver paste. It must be toxic. Do I have to paint you a picture?
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Two days have gone by without any mail in my snail mailbox. I don't ever remember this happening before. No bills, no ads, no catalogs. What am I doing wrong? Is my mailman hiding mail in his garage so he can go drink during the day? Actually stuff like that used to happen in the old days, when so many mailmen were WWII vets that the government hired to give them employment. They were very lenient toward untoward behavior. After all, these guys fought for our country and if they had some faults, well, it could be overlooked. But no more. Every paper clip has to be in place for government jobs now. I ought to know, as a Supervisor I used to force employees out the door on a regular basis. Not for the post office. But in a tax-payer supported department. It wasn't fun, but that is the reality of the job market today. There is always someone ready to take your place.
Except in my blog, nobody wants this job. Friends and family can't understand the allure of regular writing, especially for an audience that averages one per day. I have to just write for me.
I do still pen-pal. Yes, sit down with pen and paper and write original letters to people in far-flung locations, stamp it, put it in a mail box, wait two weeks, a month or more for an answer. Then do it all over again. Some folks prefer not to use e-mail. And there is something material about holding the paper in your hand that came from afar. Foreign stamps on the envelope are fun too. But it all adds up to writing. Getting those words out of my head. And throwing them out there.
Let the letters speak about my life.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
My arm has one of those mustard-colored bruises on it, but no lasting damage. So far I haven't come down with any sci-fi diseases that lurk in places like cactus thorns.
I just realized that there is a warning on my keyboard. Danger! Risk of serious injury! With my luck, I am liable to go blogging one day and electrocute myself. I can just see the obituary: woman lives life of danger, dies from innocuous keyboard. Don't laugh. It has happened before. On second thought, go ahead and laugh.
Maybe this is a sign that I should write a holographic will. They are legal in Arizona. People need to know which of my heirs will get my stamp collection. Like really. They bother me all the time about things like that. A holographic will is just written in your own handwriting and signed. It doesn't even need to be witnessed. Seriously, being childless I doubt there will be any clamoring over my estate. Except for the poor executor who will have to sell everything. They will be moaning over the large accumulation of junk I have. They will clamor for mercy, or perhaps a freak fire.
Maybe it is not electrocution, but sci-fi diseases from the keyboard. It does harbor some sinister-looking fuzzy stuff between the keys. God knows what viruses or bacteria reside there. Where is my aerosol can of air to blow away these freakin things? Or is it worse to make them air-borne? Then I might breathe them in and get mustard-colored lungs too!
Monday, March 06, 2006
Today I will answer the burning question of which is safer: horseback riding a horse that has not been ridden for 10 years? or playing hopscotch?
A few days ago I saddled up my gray gelding that has had a life of leisure. He remembered right away what it meant to be ridden and we took a little tour of the neighborhood. I had a great ride. Do not try this at home! Most horses are pretty hairy to ride when they've been laid off for the winter. Much less a year or more. But this gelding, the product of a 60 year-old Arabian breeding program in Arizona, is special. So that is what happened when I rode the horse. Nothing exciting.
A couple days later I drew a hopscotch game on the sidewalk. Since the 6 year old and almost 4 year old were not too sure of the rules, I hopped the series of squares to demonstrate. Then I lost my balance. I landed in the cactus garden. Any other direction I would've been fine. But nooo! I had to go into the barrel cactus, the cholla cactus and the poke-a-dot prickly pear cactus. Today I had a doctor cut and prod and search and pull out thorns. The kids enjoyed the game. They aren't tall enough to fall into the cactus garden.
So now you know how safe it is to ride wild horses and how dangerous hopscotch can be! Go ahead and laugh. I did when I saw the absurdity of it.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
March has come in like a lamb here in Arizona.
That opinion is probably not shared by the local wildlife who are struggling everyday due to the drought. I have to surround my domestic green plants with chicken wire to guard against birds pecking off all their leaves. There's precious little green that is edible in the desert this March.
This kind of weather is great for tourism: short-sleeves, no bugs, everyday is grand for outdoor activities. But after the tourists have retreated to the northern states, the buzzards will circle overhead, cleaning up the weak. Time marches on.