Now that I'm unemployed I have realized that I have a million or more choices in how I can fill my days. Had I not chosen my current profession I wonder how my life would have been different. Being home the last few days made it clear to me there is no lack of options and the world is my oyster so to speak.
Perhaps I shall become a sea captain. I love the ocean, grew up around boats and am quite the fisher woman. D could be my co-captain and The Beast could navigate for us, up at the front, ears flapping in the salty breeze. Our boat would be called The Wee Three. We could live off the food we caught, then sell the rest for profits. Id do double duty as "Cookie" the galley chef and learn to make my own grog that Id also sell to the villagers. Our skin would become weathered and our hearts full as we made our home in some tiny, close-knit fishing community. We'd wear huge woolen sweaters over those one piece plastic wading pants and rubber boots. D would play sax in the port bars for tips at night while Bailey grew fat from eating kippers all day. At least I'd get a cool hat.
Today I saw an ad for a Truck Driving School where for only $2,000 one can learn to drive a big rig! That might be just what I need. We will hit the open road! D and I will take turns driving our beautiful red truck we'll call Beulah. He'll drive at night, me by day. We will exist on nothing but bad coffee and slim-jims and learn to speak on the CB. We will smoke bad cigars while getting matching tattoos of The Beast's face on our biceps. The tiny sleeping cabin will keep the three of us snug as bugs when the weather turns with the minor exception of the dreadful gas The Beast often has. Mile after mile of black highway, we will earn our keep, stopping occasionally for a special treat at a roadside diner where the meatloaf is good but the pies are even better. We will have friends named Tex and Big Daddy who will keep us informed of the road conditions and where the "smokeys" are. Days will turn into years and miles into dollars but at least we will all be together.
The happiest people Ive ever seen are the Greeters at the Super Walmart. Maybe this is my calling? Ill show off my (oddly hairy) forearms under my blue polyester vest covered completely with flair buttons reminding people that life could always be worse. Ill wear a tie every single day but it will be the kind that clips on so I'm not late for work in the morning fussing over it. Ill cheerily point out that our in-store photo studio has holiday pack photos for the entire family for the low, low price of $49 where they are also offering free popcorn, today only until 3pm. Ill direct them to the day-old meat sale at the far back left of the store with a bright smile as I offer them a shopping cart and carefully, neatly put those little day-glo stickers on the purchases they are returning. These are serious times and they call for serious people. Maybe, Ill even get to ring that little red bell during the Christmas holiday.
In the end, after pondering all of these choices, all I really want to do is go back to work. Back to what I know and what I'm good at. I don't know if that will happen and I'm trying to be open no matter what. I'm going to practice embracing the world as it comes at me. I'm going to consider.
Everything is part of a bigger plan, I just have to figure out what this piece is about.
As the first poem my Mom ever had me memorize keeps going through my brain, Ill share with you the line that says it best for me.
"Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should."
Knuckleheads is in an old part of town near the riverfront, next to the old train yard. There were rows of tiny little wooden houses with rusting fences and crumbling porches in the neighborhood that surrounds the place, then the huge train yard with its abandoned freight cars and now silent old trains. I imagined this was a booming little neighborhood once where this bar was where everyone came after work was done.
There were no streetlights there in that forgotten little aged neighborhood and for a while the only light we saw was from the moon and the highway overpass that eventually took the traffic and the people away.
When I thought we were lost, there finally appeared a flashing red and white light- a partially burned out neon arrow that constantly moved, showing the way to the door and welcoming all who sought enlightenment.
The building was old...used to be a bunk house for the railroad workers so they added on a few sections at a time to make the bar. Once we were closer I realized it was actually more a collection of ramshackle buildings tacked together with wood and sheet metal and I noticed it seemed to be leaning more than a little toward the west.
Inside it was crowded and damp with the night air. The ceilings were low, covered with black plastic that likely kept the rain from leaking in and the smoke from getting out. The music was loud but good and bluesy with the crowd dancing, cheering and drinking. They were an odd mix of bikers, blue collar workers in dirty flannel shirts and yuppies in $800 leather jackets, all who came to hear the music and more.
Im a people watcher and I haven't seen a better place than that to park myself and watch.
Something I have learned about watching people: They can bring you great joy or break your heart. At Knuckleheads last night, I experienced both.
A short, squat woman, maybe in her 50s, stuffed into a tight "pleather" mini skirt like a sausage about to burst its casings.... a Michael Jackson jacket over a bustier that looked like it might at any time give way and of course, a bandanna and glove.. fishnet stockings and high heeled booties completed her look. She was absolutely and utterly happy and I couldn't help but feel the same. She didn't care if anyone was looking at her. She danced all night long with dozens of men and women and drank pitcher after pitcher of beer. I watched her all night as she drank, laughed and occasionally clutched at her top while she bounced around the dance floor knowing the words to every song.
A man in a faded flannel shirt with a torn pocket, a dirty corduroy jacket and much too long shaggy hair stood near us, propping up a wooden pillar that likely held up part of the building. His size was what I noticed first, about 6'4" and stocky with massive shoulders. His jeans were old and tattered and he held no drink. I imagined he had spent his last few dollars on the cover charge at the door. When he turned to look at me I saw the most amazing thing about him- his eyes. Even in the dark they sparkled, even through the smoke I saw them, beautiful but wounded and distrustful. Our eyes met for a moment until he realized I was looking back so he quickly looked away. Under that tangle of hair he had the face of a dark angel and I wondered if he knew it. Watching him as women passed by, he reminded me of a shy stray who had been hurt once too often. He desperately wanted to be there, you could see it in his eyes but if you got too close, he'd pull away.
And so he did, again and again.
The ladies room walls were covered with graffiti, some old, some new- they contained the history of this place.
In a swipe of dark red lipstick I read the words:
"Just maybe this time it will be alright."
I spent the rest of the evening hoping it was, for her.
There is a kitchen of sorts at Knuckleheads where hot food is served up in plastic baskets and waxed paper from behind a half door to the kitchen. The menu is simple:
Tacos 4 for $5 (cheese extra) Chicken wings $5 a dozen Hot dogs $2 Sasages $3 (sic, though a "u" had been added in black Sharpey)
I asked the man behind the half door for the tacos and he wiped his hands on his dirty apron and smiled. "Cheese is extra... another buck...cash only..." I nodded and said, "Cheese would be good..." We washed the tacos down with ice cold beer and blues.
When I turned around the dark haired man was gone.
The evening was a success. I could spend hours writing about the people I saw but I hope you got a feel for the place. The tacos were simply ground beef in greasy taco shells, topped with cheese ( $1 extra, lol ) but D and I decided we were hungry after so we went seeking once again.
Driving down the base of the river we saw the holiest of all late night symbols- the yellow glowing Waffle House sign. It was almost 3am and there were no other cars on the road but there are always fascinating people at the Waffle House and last night was no exception.
I knew the night was special. I knew it from the time I saw the flashing neon arrow leading us in to the bar with its surreal people and I knew it walking up to the Waffle House in the dim yellow light.
Elvis was sitting in a booth having breakfast.
As we sat behind him, I simply couldn't stop watching him. He wore a cheap, tattered white pantsuit with a silver collar and as I stirred my coffee I took in the tiny details in his costume. There was a red scarf around his neck that was threadbare in places and you could see his bald head through his dyed black hair. He sat silently with his shoulders hunched down as he nibbled on his eggs and bacon, smoking cigarette after cigarette.
I imagined he had come from a show where he had been the headliner in an almost empty club. Maybe he plays there every Saturday until midnight for tips and the door money and knows the bouncer by name. He washes his costume nightly and carefully hangs it up to dry. He mends the tears and touches up the roots in his hair and sometimes allows himself to think that maybe tonight, it will be alright.
As we drove away I saw him walking through the parking lot and hoped that he met the girl from the Knuckleheads ladies room and together, tonight, it was alright.
Dinner at The Copa room- voted best Italian in KC for 2009. Tucked away in a little strip shopping center it appears to have once been two store fronts. Divided into two large sections, one with bar dining and the other a larger area with tables and booths. The decor was pleasant enough considering its in a shopping center but it was clear that people came for the food and the place was packed.
We started with "Nani's garlic cheese bread" that was crisp fresh house made bread rubbed with garlic and topped with the most wonderful gooey mozzarella. House salads with a fresh balsamic vinaigrette that was sweet but also spicy and left our tongues burning. Then we ordered a combo platter that consisted of penne pasta in the most amazing, rich alfredo sauce, chicken "spiedini" which was perfectly grilled and topped with bread crumbs and Parmesan cheese, then doused with a fresh garlic, basil and herb sauce, and lasagna which was stuffed with rich cheeses and topped with the house made red sauce. Red sauce may have been the best Ive ever eaten, smooth and rich with lots of garlic! D ordered the lasagna with meatballs and once we got past the monumental portion size, we dug in!
I highly recommend the place if you live in KC but recommend calling for a reservation! Wine was an Italian white, didnt write down the name but it was delicious!
Pride
Its good to know that Chairman Zero is still not proud of his country.
October, 2007- Barack Obama moved beyond rejecting flag pins. Here he is enduring our National Anthem:
2009- Apparently, the guy supposedly qualified by his skin color and the mere mass of his ego to be President of the United States still doesn't know what every seven-year-old at a ball game knows: you show respect for this country when the National Anthem is playing. Here's our contemptuous Ditherer in Chief on Memorial Day 2009:
War Crimes
Elections have consequences. One consequence of voters' appalling lapse of judgment last November is that Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, the mastermind behind the Muslim atrocities of 9/11, may soon be free to plot future terror attacks at his leisure.
Mohammed and the four others — Waleed bin Attash, Ramzi Binalshibh, Mustafa Ahmad al-Hawsawi and Ali Abd al-Aziz Ali — are accused of orchestrating the attacks that killed 2,973 people on Sept. 11, 2001, and will now be tried in a courtroom down the street from the World Trade Center.
We all know they're guilty. But in a civilian circus of a trial, information gathered through means of which our liberal rulers disapprove — e.g., waterboarding — will be inadmissible. If O.J. could walk, so could K.S.M. Maybe that's what it will take for people to understand just how insane and disgusting it was to put a leftist punk in charge of our country.
Lawmakers and victims' families expressed outrage Friday that President Obama has approved a recommendation to try self-proclaimed Sept. 11 architect Khalid Sheikh Mohammed and four other Guantanamo Bay to New York to face trial in a civilian federal court.
"These terrorists planned and executed the mass murder of thousands of innocent Americans. Treating them like common criminals is unconscionable," Sen. John Cornyn, R-Texas, said in a statement. "This, I think, will go down as one of the worst decisions any president has ever made," said Rep. Peter King, R-N.Y. "The only thing they are going to do is give them a stage to mock us … and this makes me sick to my stomach," said Tim Brown, a former New York City firefighter and founder of Thebravest.com, a group that is petitioning the administration not to bring terrorists to civilian courts. If Khalid Sheikh Mohammad's next masterpiece involves a mushroom cloud, there may come a day when people are torn apart by angry mobs on mere suspicion of having supported the traitors who are doing this to our country.
Even more interesting to me is this video where PBO himself says that Mohammed should have a full military trial, not a civil one. But wait.. that was back when he was running a campaign, not a country.
Do you ever let things stack up in your head until you know you will either forget it all or must write it down? Thats where I am tonight. All kinds of drama...
Dad fighting for his life (again)
Saw my brother for the first time in 30+ years
Lost my job
Almost entire team laid off
Swine flu killed a cat
Ive gotten old.. and I think it may have happened around the time we went to Daylight savings time, but Im not sure.
Unemployment at 10.2%
Empty wine fridge
Health care monstrosity passed in the House, on to the Senate
Dead marigolds
Terrorist shooting at Fort Hood, killed 13 soldiers and wounded dozens of others
Holiday season almost upon us... blahhh who cares.
Maybe Ive been storing it up since the drive back home from Louisiana or maybe I just didnt have the energy to write but my LORD I have a lot to say!
I suppose Im feeling a little bit sorry for myself for the last few days but I decided Id allow me a few days and then get my shit together so I have until Monday and then Im done. I need to make sure my team finds a job immediately so that will be my focus. Ive had a couple of interviews and am hopeful.
On to the "Better Stuff" as Jorge and I always say... And by the way, a nod to Jorge who was the only survivor of the carnage on Friday and is feeling some sort of survivors guilt. Jorge ROCKS, will be my trusted friend for life and thank God he survived!
BETTER STUFF.....
Foodstuffs...
Dinner one night last week before the trip to Louisiana was spice rubbed filet Mignon, grilled over cherry and hickory wood and cooked medium rare. Served with salt crusted baked potatoes, Caesar salad and Wild Horse Pinot Noir. Desert was chocolate souffle that D talked me in to making at the last minute and it turned out FABULOUS! (served with vanilla bean ice cream)
D's Birthday Dinner
His birthday was Tuesday and I decided to make a couple of his most favorite foods.
Grilled baby lamb chops that were rubbed in fresh herbs, garlic and olive oil and a grilled lobster tail, served over creamy polenta. Cocktails were Cosmopolitans and Ravenswood Teldeschi Vinyard Zinfandel- 2006 which was rated a 93 and under $30. Since I dont eat lamb, I had crab legs and a beautiful thick cut filet.
Desert was his favorite.. white wedding cake with sour cream in the batter, topped with hand made butter cream frosting and white chocolate shavings.
Best stuff
The Beast has a new pillow... sometimes its the little things that make us happy.
Not as good stuff....
A few weeks ago, Zachary Christie of Newark, in Joe Biden's Grand Duchy of Delaware, joined the Cub Scouts. In the course of so doing, he acquired one of those combination knife-fork-spoon utensils that come in so useful when you're in tucking in to a hearty meal round the camp fire. Six-year old Zachary is to blame for finding his knife-fork-spoon utensil so cool he decided one October morn to take it to school to eat lunch with it. Knives are banned. Because they're weapons. The First Grader was summoned to a disciplinary committee hearing and sentenced to at least 45 days in reform school.
This is the same Christina School District that in April attempted to expel Sixth Grader Kasia Haughton. Kasia took a cake to school for her fellow students, and, in helping her pack it, her grandmother helpfully put a knife in the bag. Her teacher placed the cake on the desk, used the knife to cut it, passed round the slices, and then reported Kasia for bringing a "deadly weapon" to school. The grandmother packed the knife. The teacher used the knife. Kasia never touched it. But like those hapless Thai tourists who foolishly agree to serve as couriers of prohibited substances, she's the one who has to swing for it.
Regulation strips law of the "reasonable man" standard. There is nothing "reasonable" because there is no longer reason: The School District officials are forbidden (even if they're still capable) from reasoning that a person in possession of a knife and cake might reasonably be intending the former to assist in the division of the latter. Instead, all must submit to the diktat of regulation.
Unless, of course, you're a Sikh. Sikhs like to carry their traditional kirpans –knives up to eight inches – and the New York City Board of Education and the Supreme Court of Canada, among many others, have ruled that boys are permitted to take them to school. Why? Because in the ideological hierarchy, multiculturalism trumps "safety". A cake knife is a "deadly weapon" but a deadly weapon is merely the Sikh symbol for "the power of truth to cut through untruth". If that isn't reason to ban it from public schools, I don't know what is. Nevertheless, if you're taking a cake to school, ask a Sikh classmate to cut it up for you. And be grateful that the FDA hasn't yet classified the cake as a deadly weapon.
Can such a society survive? I doubt it. After all, if you raise your young in such a world, what sort of adults do they grow into? A couple of years back, a neighbor's kid was given a plastic sword and shield as a birthday present. Mom refuses to let her boy play with "militaristic" toys, so she confiscated the sword but, in a moment of weakness, let him keep the shield. And for a while, on my drive down to town, I'd pass the li'l tyke in the yard playing with his beloved shield, mastering the art of cringing and cowering against unseen blows from all directions. In a hyper-regulated world, it's a useful skill to acquire. But I'm not sure it will be enough.
Article thanks to SteynOnline.com by way of The National Review
Some Good News
You've got to hand it to Wisconsin's muggers. They may be criminals, but darn it, they're patriotic criminals!
A Milwaukee Army reservist's military identification earned him some street cred Tuesday, when he says four men who mugged him at gunpoint returned his belongings and thanked him for his service after finding the ID.
The 21-year-old University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee student said he was walking home from work about 1:15 a.m. Tuesday when he was pulled into an alley and told to lay face down and with a gun to his neck. Four men took his wallet, $16, keys, his cell phone and even a PowerBar wrapper from his pants pockets, he said.
But the hostile tone quickly changed when one of the robbers, whom the reservist presumed was the leader, saw an Army ID in the wallet. The robber told the others to return the items and they put most of his belongings on the ground next to him, including the wrapper, the reservist said.
Scumbag shooter Hasan had abbreviation for "Soldier of Allah" on … his business card
Here is the card that major Muslim Nidal Hasan gave to the infidels along with a quran before meeting his 72 raisins.
Could this lowlife jihadi be any more devout? He mosqued every day. Hated America, hated the troops, proselytized his co-workers, planned his jihad and completed his mission. His head was shaved. What else was shaved? If his body was shaved like his head, then the military guys and law enforcement know and have known that this was jihad, and they are scamming us now.
Now look at the card. Notice the SoA on the card? Soldiers of Allah. Followed by SWT, an abbreviation that usually follows the word Allah.
When writing the name of God (Allah), Muslims often follow it with the abbreviation "SWT." These letters stand for the Arabic words "Subhanahu Wa Ta'ala," or "Glory to Him, the Exalted." Muslims use these or similar words to glorify God when mentioning His name.
Definition: When writing the name of God (Allah), Muslims often follow it with the abbreviation "SWT." These letters stand for the Arabic words "Subhanahu Wa Ta'ala," or "Glory to Him, the Exalted." Muslims use these or similar words to glorify God when mentioning His name. Pronunciation: sub-han'-a-hoo wa ta a la Also Known As: Subhanahu Wa Ta'ala Alternate Spellings: subhana wa ta'ala; subhanna wa ta'ala Examples: Muslims believe that Allah SWT created the universe.
Some would say Obama's cool detachment is narcissism. But narcissists are charmers; they know exactly what to say and do, even it's all hot air.
Others think that Obama is disengaged because he's elitist, arrogant. The day-to-day grunt-work is beneath him. His motto: I'd rather be golfing.
All of the above may be true, but it's something else: he seems off to me.
During a "60 Minutes" interview with Steve Kroft when the stock market was sinking, Obama giggled. He wasn't embarrassed afterward, or apologetic. More worrisome than his bizarre behavior was that he didn't regard it as strange.
Then, last week, we're faced with a national crisis: soldiers killed and gravely injured by an apparent Jihadist in the guise of a military doctor. When announcing the catastrophe, what does Obama do?
He drones on and on for three minutes about Native American health issues, even doing a shout-out. In a monotone voice, Obama then reports that soldiers have been shot. He's nonchalant, flat, as though he's reporting the weather.
Afterwards, the opinions roll in. Some say that Obama looks down on the military. He views our soldiers as the great unwashed, trashy and ignorant, like Sarah Palin.
(snip)
All grown up, Obama remains hermetically sealed. Although he's been a media star for a couple of years, we have no idea who he is inside.
I've often wondered why people haven't come forth to say, "I knew Barry when..." We live in a media-saturated, exhibitionist world where everyone wants his three minutes of fame.
So where are all of his school chums, best friends, and old flames? The groups he hung with? His teachers, neighbors?
Where are the anecdotes of what Obama was like, his interests and predilections? Was he friendly, funny, insightful? Did he win any prizes or trophies? Pen any papers?
Obama was president of the Harvard Law Review. Yet from his former colleagues we find no accounts of putting out the journal together under his leadership.
He was a lecturer on constitutional law. Why hasn't a single student come forth and offered evidence like a good attorney?
Why the silence? Could it be that Obama left no dent, not even a single footprint? Is there nothing there?
(snip)
Sure, Obama loves his wife, children, dog Bo, and himself -- especially himself. And he relishes his far left ideology.
But the working stiff, the heart and soul of this country? I don't see it. The United States? I don't think so.
And that's why Obama should never have been elected president.
A man or woman can be a decent president without getting As in school or graduating from the Ivy League. He or she does not need to have had a Brady Bunch childhood.
The person can even lack experience if he or she is committed to working 24/7, learning the important stuff, and seeking expert advice.
But there's one requirement that is nonnegotiable: Any viable candidate for president needs to be able to care about us.
And, frankly, I don't know if this president is capable of it.
Jones' Cheap Ass Prepaid Legal and Daycare Academy
He Took a Polaroid Every Day, Until the Day He Died
(story by Chris Higgins)
Yesterday I came across a slightly mysterious website — a collection of Polaroids, one per day, from March 31, 1979 through October 25, 1997. There's no author listed, no contact info, and no other indication as to where these came from. So, naturally, I started looking through the photos. I was stunned by what I found.In 1979 the photos start casually, with pictures of friends, picnics, dinners, and so on. Here's an example from April 23, 1979 (I believe the photographer of the series is the man in the left foreground in this picture):
The photographer is a big Mets fan. Here's a shot of him and a friend with Mets tickets on April 29, 1986:
In 1991, we see visual evidence of the photographs so far. The photographer has been collecting them in Polaroid boxes inside suitcases, as seen in this photo from March 30, 1991:
Throughout early 1997, we start to see the photographer himself more and more often. Sometimes his face is obscured behind objects. Other times he's passed out on the couch. When he's shown with people, he isn't smiling. On May 2 1997, something bad has happened. Its clear that he has Cancer.
His health continues to decline through July, August, and September 1997, with several trips to the hospital and apparent chemotherapy. On the bright side, on September 11, 1997, the photographer's hair starts to grow back:
On October 5, 1997, it's pretty clear what this picture means:
Two days later we see the wedding:
And just a few weeks later he's back in the hospital. On October 24, 1997, we see a friend playing music in the hospital room:
The next day the photographer dies. What started for me as an amusing collection of photos — who takes photos every day for eighteen years? — ended with a shock. Who was this man? How did his photos end up on the web? I went on a two-day hunt, examined the source code of the website, and tried various Google tricks.Finally my investigation turned up the photographer as Jamie Livingston, and he did indeed take a photo every day for eighteen years, until the day he died, using a Polaroid SX-70 camera. He called the project "Photo of the Day" and presumably planned to collect them at some point — had he lived. He died on October 25, 1997 — his 41st birthday.After Livingston's death, his friends Hugh Crawford and Betsy Reid put together a public exhibit and website using the photos and called it PHOTO OF THE DAY: 1979-1997, 6,697 Polaroids, dated in sequence. The physical exhibit opened in 2007 at the Bertelsmann Campus Center at Bard College (where Livingston started the series, as a student, way back when). The exhibit included rephotographs of every Polaroid and took up a 7 x 120 foot space.You can read more about the project at this blog(apparently written by Crawford?). Or just look at the website.
It's a stunning account of a man's life and death. All photos above are from the website.
Description : #8 from the meat tray series.... john wayne gacy the gay loving serial killer with harliquinn romance styled arms 3d arms. If you're so inclined to use a tray such as this, maybe stack the meat over the part that says 'Gacy'. Unless of course it's a theme party in dedication of John Wayne Gacy. In that case, have at'er you crazy kids. Source: Etsy
Ok... Im done. At least for tonight. I suspect I will be back. In fact, I know it.
We are in Louisiana with Dads wife and my sister and brother. We drove 16 hours to get here because its so far in the middle of no where- there were no flights to get us here. His lung collapsed on Thursday after he had yet another surgery to remove a ruptured gall bladder.
He has pneumonia in the "good" lung as well as a serious blood infection. When we left tonight, he was holding his own and the Dr is always amazed that he continues to fight. Dr said, "he has so many things wrong with him I cant tell you which Im more concerned about, but he just keeps going". He's a strong, tough old guy as he approaches his December 7th birthday when he will be 71.
I saw my brother for the first time in 34 years tonight and hugged him. How strange that was, seeing his face as a grown up when I thought (hoped) he would have remained the 15 year old mischievous boy-big-brother he was the last time I saw him. I wont get in to why hes been gone so long, it only matters that he was here. He looks looks so much like my Dad its scary...
There are no photographs of us as children together other than the ones in my head and it makes me think,
we would have taken some... had we known...
If nothing else, Im glad we came to have a reunion after so many years and while we softly talked, we listened to my fathers labored breathing and were acutely aware that we share the same blood.
D and I drove past the place where my friend Morlin killed himself near Fort Polk over a year ago and I said a quiet prayer as I watched the thick, deep woods fly past my dark window and once again imagined him sitting alone in his car listening to the sound of the frogs and wind right before he left this world of his own accord.
This place holds too many ghosts for me I think and when my father leaves, I wont return again.
Staying until Monday if Dad doesnt get worse. I thought I would re-post this, written a year ago when we were here last for the surgery they thought would surely kill him.
(note to self.. "We" dont go quietly into that good night, do we?)
And the world spins around and around....
My Father....
Was a stranger who Played the banjo Didn't like children Loved boats Had dreams he never shared and dreams that never happened Taught me how to fish Smoked a pipe and I loved the smell Smiled mostly when he was alone Built beautiful things out of wood Once asked me for the words to the song "Desperado" Knew how to shuck an oyster Never liked me but maybe loved me Is a stranger still now an old man in a bed with fevered memories and voices from our past and I wonder what those voices say to him I hope he finds the peace that I finally did and I hope he finds me there... somewhere.
Oh alright, Im being dramatic but had a bad case of Strep throat and a double ear infection. Blahh.... Knocked me on my ass for almost 5 days but am feeling better this weekend.
Im in a foul mood anyway even though the weather is gorgeous and I dont think we will have many more days like this- sunny and 60 degrees with lovely red and orange leaves blowing about.
Dad was taken to the hospital at 3am this morning with a serious respiratory infection, likely left over from the MRSA virus hes been battling. It seems like every time he takes a step forward, it kicks him two steps back.
Then there was crappy news at work that means me and/or about half my team will be laid off in the next two weeks with the last day employed being Nov 20th. Hows that for Happy Thanksgiving?
Thank GOD we elected Barack Obama!! His "stimulus" "SAVED OR CREATED" millions of new jobs. Wait.... what???
A bright spot-Blanc Burgers and Bottles... Went there on Friday night with my hubby and had a fantastic burger! Upscale loud little place not far from here with fresh ground burgers and a huge beer and wine list. D had the Kobe burger with truffle sauce and I had the "classic"... why mess with perfection? House made pickles that were great even though D thought they were a little too sweet and house made ketchup and mustard! They hand cut their fries (both regular and sweet potato) as well as their fabulous onion rings that are crisply covered in local Boulevard ale batter and served in these cute little mini shopping carts.
I had Guenoc Chardonnay and D had "Mexican Coke" which is Coke (the original recipe) bottle in Mexico using cane sugar instead of the refined stuff we get here. We finished the delightful evening with a great milkshake made with fresh local milk and vanilla bean. WOW!
Great News!
H1N1 Vaccines for Gitmo Terrorists, But Not For America's Children
These are the priorities one would expect from an administration headed by a neo-Marxist who was mentored by people who hate America. The Obama Administration has decided that it's more important for terrorists at Guantanamo Bay to get the H1N1 vaccine than the American children those terrorists would love to slaughter.
Even some in the Obamacrat party aren't happy about this. Like Congressman Bart Stupak. (O-MI) "As long as Americans must wait to receive the vaccine, the detainees in Guantanamo Bay should not be given preferential treatment to receive the H1N1 vaccination," Rep. Bart Stupak (D-Mich.) wrote in a letter to Secretary of the Army John McHugh on Friday. It's not the vaccine that's a big deal, so much. H1N1 is a pretty weak strain, for the most part. Gargling twice a day with salt water is enough to protect most people. But the Obama regime has hyped the H1N1 "Crisis," and it tells us so much about their priorities that they would rather protect terrorists than Americans.
Story thanks to Moonbattery.com
RIGHT ON RUSH
Rush Limbaugh spoke with Chris Wallace on FOX News Sunday this morning. Rush didn't hold back–
You know things are bad when...
Fawning, drooling Obama-run media outlet CBS news turns on him. Et Tu Katie????
I got a note the other day from the company who makes the little map on my blog that tells where visitors are from. They regretfully informed me that every once in a while they clean the slate and delete all my little red dots as if they were nothing more. The note was friendly enough, telling me that if this wholesale cleaning of "dot house" was an inconvenience, they do apologize.
Last night while waiting for the cold medicine to kick in I lay there in the dark imagining all my little red dots as tiny bonfires, each set by people who read my blog and no matter how far away they were, I could always see them there.
I imagined my private little globe being peeled back slowly like a cheap sheet of sticky paper and all the little red dots like so many thumbtacks going flying off into the universe, never to be seen again.
When I go traveling at night, flying high over the world I find my way by those fires and navigate home again and I wonder now how I will find my reader from Brunei and Turkey and other exotic places that I have only visited in my minds eye.
Tonight, when I travel- I ask you to light those fires and make them very big and bright so I can find you once again.
So the flu.. whether swine or otherwise has hit me. Fever of 101, sore throat, chills and pounding head. Yuck. Stayed home today but slept the entire day.
One bright spot... my new Kindle showed up so I can read in bed. If you are a big book reader like I am- you totally need one of these! You can buy books online and it magically appears in your inventory, ready to read! Wooohoo! Also has a wireless browser in it so you can check the latest news, weather etc. I normally like to buy hardback books which are usually any where from $15-$35. Kindle books are $9.99 and some of the "paper backs" are $5-$7.
I bought my first two books today and if the cold medicine werent making me so sleepy, Id be reading now!
Anyway, just took some more medicine.. back to bed. Tomorrow is another day.
Finished this book last night and would have read it in one night had I not been required to go to work on Friday. I adore books that take me away to some where else and this one did. As you know Im a fan of apocalyptic stories and this was one of the best in recent memory.
From Publishers Weekly:
In this entertaining apocalyptic thriller from Forstchen (We Look Like Men of War), a high-altitude nuclear bomb of uncertain origin explodes, unleashing a deadly electromagnetic pulse that instantly disables almost every electrical device in the U.S. and elsewhere in the world. Airplanes, most cars, cellphones, refrigerators-all are fried as the country plunges into literal and metaphoric darkness. History professor John Matherson, who lives with his two daughters in a small North Carolina town, soon figures out what has happened. Aided by local officials, Matherson begins to deal with such long-term effects of the disaster as starvation, disease and roving gangs of barbarians. While the material sometimes threatens to veer into jingoism, and heartstrings are tugged a little too vigorously, fans of such classics as Alas, Babylon and On the Beach will have a good time as Forstchen tackles the obvious and some not-so-obvious questions the apocalypse tends to raise. Newt Gingrich provides a foreword.
Quotes from famous people who read it:
"In a Norman Rockwell town in North Carolina ….ex-servicemen recall "Korea in '51" as military action by unlikely people becomes the norm in Forstchen's sad, riveting, cautionary tale." -Whitney Scott, Booklist
"The only thing more terrifying than this masterfully crafted story is the possibility of it actually happening—and not a damn thing being done to protect us." -W.E.B. Griffin & William E. Butterworth IV
"A blood-chilling wake-up call that chaos and death are but a power plug away...Stock up on food, water, medicine, and batteries now. This horror could happen tomorrow." -William B. Scott, coauthor of Space Wars
The Foreword was written by Newt Gingrich and is definitely worth a read.
If you like to read scary stories, but stories that could come true- I recommend this one. If you arent stocking up on canned goods and batteries at the end, you have NO SOUL. ;)
God Bless America
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