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Archive for the ‘Abuse of Fellow Humans’ Category

I really hope Margaret will forgive me for submitting her blog here, but I know that if I put a link to it, half of you will not read it and the half that will not read it, really, really needs too.   And, since Margaret gets like 800 comments per post, I figure she will never get to mine to give me permission and when I click on her site for administrator, I literally get thrown back to WordPress. 

So here goes, Blog quoted from Margaret of Margaret and Helen

I remember an America where black men didn’t grow up to be President.

Margaret is it just me or did combing your hair become optional when going out in public?  I’ve been watching news clips of these town hall free-for-alls and we have definitely become a nation of tired,  poor, and huddled masses  clearly tempest-tossed, but without access to a good beauty salon.   Universal Hygiene – now that is something I could get behind.  And all of them are asking for their America back.  I wonder which America that would be?

Would that be the America where the Supreme Court picks your president instead of counting all the votes?  Would that be the America where rights to privacy are ignored?  Would that be the America where the Vice President shoots his best friend in the face?  Or would that be the America where an idiot from Alaska and a college drop-out with a radio show could become the torchbearers for the now illiterate Republican party?

I fear that would not be the America they want back.  I fear that the America they want back is the one where black men don’t become President.

I remember that America.  In that America people screaming at public gatherings were called out for what they were – an angry mob.   Of course, they wore sheets to cover up their bad hair.  Let’s be clear about something:  if you show up to a town hall meeting with a gun strapped to your leg, the point you are trying to make isn’t a good one.  Fear never produced anything worthwhile.

And what’s all this crap about killing your grandmother?  Are you people honestly that stupid?  This has become less an argument about healthcare reform and more a statement about our failed education system.  Margaret, I don’t know what plans you’ve made up there with Howard, but down here with Harold, we have living wills to determine how we will leave this world when the time comes.  Mine states that unless the feeding tube is large enough for a piece of pie, I don’t want to be hooked up to it.  Harold, of course, says his can only be connected to him if the other end is connected to a bottle of single malt scotch.

Now shame on me for making a joke about a serious subject, but if these morons are going to show up and scream at their elected officials, they need to educate themselves about the subject at hand.   No one is planning on killing you or your grandmother with rationed healthcare or death squads.  By the looks of the American citizenry turning out for these town hall meetings,  we’re doing a fine  job of killing ourselves with fast food, cigarettes and an overindulgence of ignorance.

The Founding Fathers couldn’t have seen this coming.  If they had, the right to free speech would have been conditional upon one’s ability to read.  But the  Founding Fathers didn’t plan on the likes of Palin, Cheney and Limbaugh.

I too long for the America I remember as a child, Margaret.  The one where men used guns to hunt quail and women visited a beauty salon at least once a week.  Oh, those were the days. I wish we had them back.  I mean it. Really.”

Thank you Margaret. 

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It is miracle Saturday.  I don’t usually get online on a Saturday; let alone one that is rainy.  So, I thought I would share a bit of my life with you.

When I do get online, one of my favorite blogs is Crazy Aunt Purl.  I have secretly been thinking about living in L.A. a lot lately.  I have no idea why; okay, there is the warmer weather, but I would HATE the traffic.  But, Crazy Aunt Purl wrote a most moving blog on August 17; when the gardeners her landlord hired totally destroyed her garden.  It was an act of vandalism, as far as I am concerned.  My heart  sunk when I saw it, I can only imagine how she felt when she came home and discovered it.  Her rows of beautiful corn, I have four stalks that have yet to reach knee height, and her pumpkin vines are now just like four sticks sticking up, with one tiny pumpkin sitting forelornly in the mud.  How mean can someone be, to do that to a person, after that person has worked for months to put food, they grew, on the table?

Anyway, that is how they grow, with tender loving care, in Sunny L.A.  This has been a cool year and this is how they have grown in rainy, cool, Indiana this year.

baby watermelon

Let’s just hope these striped babies are well hidden from the two orphan fawns that are eating my ripe tomatoes.

My pumpkin patch is creeping out into the grass, which is now impossible to mow without cutting the pumpkins.  It originates from the top o the picture (where the tomato cages are and is growing out to the bottom of the picture, and on the right side, even growing up the side of my studio.

pumpkin patch

And, here is one of my baby yellow pumpkins in this patch.

pumpkin yellow

To end up, I will show you what IS tornado damage.  The expert came out to one house and declared it to be straight wind but my yard was damaged with things falling in a circular pattern throughout.  I have very thick hostas in front of my studio.  I was going to thin them this fall, but this is what I have on one side now. 

damaged hostas

You can see the progressive damage as the wind whipped around.  The sticks at the corner of the studio were full grown hosta just as the one under the window is; even though it is also beaten a bit.  This is one side of the door, the plants on the other side of the door were barely damaged at all.  The tree to the right of this building, past my garden, had a large limb ripped off and it went to the right.  The limb on my roof was knocked to the right, and all around my yard, they were knocked down in that swirl pattern.

My next door neighbor was home during the storm and he heard the freight train sound, so I am presuming the eye went over their house.

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I think I presumed too much with yesterday’s post. Like, the fact that not everyone has had the experience of taking three poorly home schooled children into their home and trying to get them up-to-date with the real world.

Now, let me say this before I get home schooler’s hate mail. I have seen parents who did an EXCELLENT job home schooling. It can be the best thing in the world for some kids. I would have probably thrived with it, myself.

However, that is the best of home schooling and what my three guys had was, well, NOT the best of home schooling. It started out fine. I think it is much easier to home school a third grader than it is a thirteen year old. By the end, with ten (at the time they left) children in the home, schooling became a three month out of the year project.

It is not just the home schooling, it is the isolation of the life they lead and when they hit that age, where they should have had a friend nudge them and say, “You stink, go use deodorant.” or even when they should have had a friend to ride their bike round and round the block with, there was no one there.

What they had was work, and chores, and work. That is not to say work is wrong for a kid. Far from it. I think kids need chores and to learn responsibility and to do things for others. BUT, kids also need fun and they need friends. They need to talk to kids their own age without mom listening into every conversation or picking and choosing those friends.

These guys have had a real hard time telling the good guys from the bad guys in town and they have never ridden their bikes around and around the block with their twelve year old friends. But, the youngest guy is putting a lot of miles on driving his car up and down the drive.

I guess it is something he needs to get out of his system. So, we try not to say too much about it but do tell him when to stop.

All three of these boys have a Clinical Psychologist to talk through their problems and when you have been locked in a closet for a month, with a five gallon bucket for a toilet, there is a lot of talking going on there. Hopefully!

And, to further clarify, when you have grown up like that, isolated from a range of other kids your age, except for the occasional other home schoolers, you can be a bit behind in maturity and drive your car up and down the drive instead of driving your bike around the block.

Now, in fairness to him, he is really excited to have a job and now a car he has purchased with his own money. He will be getting his permit soon and he will be in heaven, because, in Brown County, “a man ain’t a man without a truck.”

Go figure!

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The boys love working at the County Park, thank you Governor Daniels. And, I love the boys working at the Park also. They take lunches, they carpool with a neighbor and they come home at 5:00, eat dinner and go to bed. I like knowing where my boys are in the evening. “Being in town”, “Going to a friends” and then me asking what friend, what number and are his parents home does not happen. My boys are home, exhausted and sleeping; safe from stalkers

I say this because EMT has his own personal stalker. It seems to be a family tradition.

Gaffer has had at least two personal stalkers. There was the girl at Natrona County High School in Wyoming, who would run down the hall and jump on his back unexpectedly. She was waiting at every corner he turned. By the third week of school he had other students shaking his hand and saying, “Glad it is you, this year. I had my turn last year.” She literally stalked him all year, but it was the one in Brown County who scared us. We were warned, by a person who shall remain anonymous, that she seriously needed help. To this day, four years later, he has to periodically change his email address, because she finds it.

Now, EMT has his own personal stalker and she is even MORE scary. One day, he says to me, when he first met her, that he was glad I liked her because she was “going to be around a lot.” What neither he nor I realized, is she had every intention of moving in. A week and a half later, which was about five days after I realized she had not left and the third time she told him she was leaving the next morning, I took things in my own hands and told her to be sure and not forget her children’s toys when she left that day and sort of, “It’s been nice knowing you.” She was shocked and things went downhill.

She did move out and I was shocked at the amount of stuff she had brought over, and how she got it all in without me knowing. I swear she must have left the house barefoot and come back with three pair of shoes on. She tried the, “my mother kicked me out” gambit to arose my sympathy. And, I only felt slightly cruel and heartless, when I printed out the list of homeless shelters. Her mother has this girl’s three children, by the way, so there were no children on the street.

Before we got rid of her, fingers crossed, for good, she had actually drugged EMT one night, we didn’t figure that out until too late to do a blood test to prove it. We were just preparing a protection order when we found out she had left the state as she is wanted by the police. They won’t tell us why, but we hope she stays out of state.

I do think that maybe they should put “Welcome to Brown County, home of the stalkers” on the Tourism Brochures. Maybe we can rename the high school girl’s teams, the “The Stalkers.”

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I began reading Helen, of Margaret and Helen, during the elections. This 80 something year old lady is just a hoot. Her logic is infallable and she is not afraid to speak her mind. Today’s post was a lot about American’s thinking about exactly who they are and who the other guy is. Margaret and Helen

My belief is that someone, at some point, drew this huge line in the sand.  They drew it under Texas and above Mexico and, there but for an accident of my birth, I could have been a person born on the south side of the line.  Being born on the north side does not make me better or brighter.  It does not give me the absolute right to have a job and feed my family (as millions of people are beginning to find out in this economy).  And, it sure as heck does not mean that a man should have to sneak a foot over the border to get a job to feed his family.  His family has as much right to eat as I do.

If we could just pull up all these imaginary lines and realize that we are all one big world, with my agriculture depending on your climage change and your rain forest depending on my pollution, we maybe, just maybe, could start working together to feed ALLLLLL the people on this earth.

And, I know, my potential editors and agents, that I may be alienating you with this blog.  I am sorry, if I am, but I presume we might not work well together anyway, if that is a problem. 

Now, I have a sister who is a self-avowed “Bigot and proud of it.” Since she proudly proclaims this, I do not think she will be upset by my post today. I “think” she will laugh.

But, Helen’s blog just reminded me of my sister. She grew up in Illinois and she hated African Americans. She moved to Wisconsin and she hated Native Americans. Now, she lives in Arizona and she hates Mexicans. Why is it that no one has says “Mexican Americans” ?

Her husband is a Hungarian American. And, that is another one no one says. This sister of mine, who so hates anyone not like her, married a 1st generation Hungarian. Okay, his skin is white, but his accent is not. I am not sure about his brain yet. I have a lot of thoughts on that. Most of them she knows already, and I can’t use that kind of language here.

But, my point is.  There is always going to be someone different than you and you need to look at all the things that makes us alike.  We breathe air, we bleed, we get sick, we die.  We all need clean air, health care, food, and shelter and we all better start working together to get it in a non-destructive way or none of us will have it.

Love you, Sis.

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I just love Crazy Aunt Purl, although I am a little miffed lately because she has had to cut off comments and sometimes there is  something I just want to tell her or comment to her and I can’t and that is why, like Crazy Aunt Purl, I would like to stab someone repeatedly with a fork.  In my case, and I would not doubt she would like to also, the idiot who was stalking/harassing her.

I mean, I do not think that was the reason Crazy Aunt Purl wanted to stab someone repeatedly with a fork, but it would be a reason for me.

Scroll down to April 15, 2009, on Crazy Aunt Purl and read “Just another day in the neighborhood.”  I have lived in semi-rural neighborhoods, small city neighborhoods and rural neighborhoods, but I have never lived in a big city neighborhood. 

I have always thought that city living would be fun to do for a year or two though.  You know, get rid of the car and the insurance and the repairs, grab a bus when you want to go anywhere, spend Saturdays at a museum, Sundays at the park, just walk to the neighborhood night spot and listen to some jazz or blues.

I have however, lived in apartments where I could hear the next door man beating up his wife (yes, I called the police.  I do that kind of thing.), or I had to go next door and  hold the new baby because the 17 year old nervous mother had no idea what to do to calm him.  

Now, our neighbors are dogs and that is not a commentary on their personality.  It is their non-human companions I am talking about.  We rarely hear from the neighbors themselves, it is their dogs that we have to deal with.  No one seems to keep their pets in their yards and dogs wander all over.  They all travel through our yard.  This includes the two Chihuahua’s across the street to the two St. Bernard’s two doors down the road from us, who own their very own pet, a 9 pound dog that hangs with them.  And, they leave piles for our Irritating little Chihuahua to smell. I mean, if you came across a pile of poop as big as you are, well—–. 

In her city neighborhood, Crazy Aunt Purl has a loud mother with children who suffer from a rare form of selective deafness (probably from all that loud talking), and neighbors who cannot seem to learn to shut their car alarm off when they open their door. 

In my semi-rural neighborhood, I have automobile owners who think it is cool to hang Confederate flags on their car, wear shirts riped out on the side so everyone can verify they have armpit hair and blast out “Watermelon Crawl’ from their mammoth woofers.  Then there is the family whose young child screamed for two years straight.  I do not believe that child learned to talk until she was five.

But, the worse are those who have dogs who bark all night.  I mean, literally all night long.  Some live like a mile away and I have no idea how they sleep through it, but once in  a while I have a neighbor who shoots dogs.  No, it is not me.  But, you can only be sleep deprived for so long.  Last night the barking was coming from three directions.  I felt like I was in a 101 Dalmatian movie with a dog telegraph going on for an emergency.

By the way:  Crazy Aunt Purl  has a book out and it is hilarious.

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We have taken on a roll that many adults now hold, and that is grandparents who become parents to their grandchildren, as well as taking care of their own parent.  It is one thing to raise a child from birth, or a young age, and it is another thing to take on a teenager.  I mean, come on guys, the world is WAY different now than it was when I was a teen. 

 

The deal with these guys is their previous upbringing, or lack thereof.  There was a big focus on being obedient and saying “Yes, Sir” and “No, Ma’am.”   While, we feel it is more important to have respect and give respect than it is to say meaningless words that you are beat for, if you do not say them. 

 

The boys did have varying degrees of influence from us.  They were with us, for their first: nine years, six years, and three years respectively.  The youngest does not remember living with us at all.  The oldest made a fluid transition to our home.  He did not make a fluid transition to school.  He once did a whole semester of homework, without ever turning it in to the teacher.  This is something only a homeschooled boy would do; or an idiot.  And, he is not an idiot.  We found out about it because we had four teachers tell us, at his first public school conference, that he was a genius.  I could only look down at the F’s across the page and ask “Why this, then?”  Not turning in homework will make even a genius fail. 

 

What worries me is the lack of “love of knowledge and education.”   It was more important in their stepfather’s home, to fear than to love.  Fear Stepfather’s belt and retribution, fear (for girls) of not wearing prairie dresses and head coverings.  Fear of the word “Foolishness.”  That last one is because it means the “rod of correction” is going to beat it out of you when your grandparent’s leave. 

 

These three are safe now and have varying degrees of success.  They do not know how to judge people, as their past experiences consisted only in friends like themselves.  Which consisted of other ultra conservative Christian home schooled children who are protected from the world out there by paranoid parents.  So, we are now locking our doors and covering our windows so the Bi-Polar ex-girlfriend of EMT will leave us alone, perhaps proving that it is not so bad to be paranoid.  But, it is not a good way to live.  He trusts everyone and is friends to everyone, even someone who is in need of commitment (even her mother says so at this point). 

 

I do not understand why these parents, who isolate their children from modern society, do not realize that their children must go out and live in the world we all live in and if you do not provide a child with the tools to recognize and understand that world, that they will have a hard time getting along in it.

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