Let's get POLITICAL

I have had it. I have kept my tongue as long as an SB possibly can and enough is enough. What is going on with some people out there?

If we have the slightest chance of losing an election (an honestly - how could we if our eyes are open) to "one issue politics" again I am going postal. I am sad to see my Catholic paper plastering pictures of Sarah Palin all over it as if she is Mother Theresa. Holy cow! And I mean that. I am sure she is a fine woman in her own right but don't look at her as the sacred icon of anti-abortion. Abortion, although something I do not personally favor, is not the main issue plaguing our country.

So her 17 year old daughter is going to keep her baby. Great. Mom and dad make a good buck. She has health care and a stable home. Lots of support. Not a hard choice to make.

And while republican supporters say "Oh it makes Sarah Palin so human. It's just family matters and we should leave them alone." Human... uhuh. Why are republicans human when they err and democrats are called family values hating, flag burning, god-forsaken communists when they err. Can you imagine the grand old party field day if that has been Chelsea Clinton or Senator Obabma's daughter? I guess it only matters when it isn't a GOP family.

When did we become this country of people thinking you are only American IF you believe in my personal religion and all of the beliefs that go with it? I have a feeling that those folks who left England and decided to break away from their motherland did not do it because they wanted things to be exactly the same as the Queen felt they should be. (no offense Mum).

I also think that the Native Americans who inhabited this land long before the white settlers came had their own beliefs and own religions, which, according to our U.S. Constitution, they should be allowed to keep. Even our pledge says One Nation Under God but doesn't say Under the God of the right-wing Christians. Why then do people think everyone must believe only what they believe and not vote for what is best for all. ME the people not we the people. Geez!

This is only blog one on this topic. This country is in a mess. And YES - I LOVE MY COUNTRY. I AM PRIVILEGED TO BE HERE. MY FAMILY FOUGHT FOR IT AND IMMIGRATED HERE AND IT IS THE BEST PLACE TO BE. Got it? But it is not doing well right now. People are hungrier than ever. Having a home is an impossible dream for most of us. Health care is astronomical or unattainable. Seniors are struggling to survive. Children are going to be left with a humongous debt and a filthy environment. Now if none of those things bother you or effect you, by all means, vote to keep the status quo. You are fortunate to live in that bubble of yours. But if you are like the MAJORITY of us wondering how - with our full time jobs - we are going to pay for gas and school and food - then speak up! I want to hear from you. I believe we can do better.

Jesus loves the little children - Mom however...

Before I resume I have to thank my good friend and college roommate, Patti for the great gift she got me for my recent landmark birthday. I appreciate the replacement of my 'fake shit' since its untimely loss at my sons' elementary school. See My Son Was Framed blog for details.

Now to the topic of the evening - church. Now WAIT. Don't you dare leave early from this blog or sit way in the back of the computer. No matter what your religion.

I realize if you are not Catholic this won't have exactly the same meaning - but be it synagogue, temple or shrine, all places of worship are challenging to the small child in us. Especially when we were small children. When it came to sitting for long periods of time and listening to mass said entirely in Latin (as it was for a while when I was small) you could say I was like a kid with A.D.D. on amphetamines. In other words, I wasn't exactly focused.

I tried, Lord knows I tried, but when I began attending church we couldn't eat anything before hand. The low blood sugar mixed with the youthful adrenalin did nothing for my devout demeanor. On at least one occasion I recall two nuns setting me down after carrying out my limp, unconscious body from the pew into the fresh air to revive me. I guess today that would be called "March of the Penguins." No harm intended Sister Helene.

When I wasn't attending mass at school, I was there on Sunday with my folks and my brother. I am sure whatever Father was saying was very interesting, but to me, not as interesting as the open purse of the lady in the pew in front of me. This time it was my mother dragging my very conscious body outside to give me a spanking with her hair brush. Not very Christian of her now that I think of it.

I am bringing up church because tomorrow is Sunday and I will need to go through the whole long process of forcing my boys out of bed and getting them to the church on time. Not an easy morning at my home. Over the years I have found my solace and renewal at mass and the ritual is important to my family. Although I don't do the hair brush thing, I have had my share of reigning in my youngest as his attention spans turns to something under the pew or how loud he can make the kneeler sound when it hits the ground.

The mass may no longer be in Latin, but small kids understand it just the same.

The NRA - National Rummage Addicts

One outing that I enjoyed recently was five hours of garage sale stalking with my friends Lisa, Mike and Kevin. We circled the location of our prey in the paper. We entered our destinations in the GPS. We salivated at the thought of what might be in someones musty old garage or strewn about their back yard and we started the engine, sporting a a full tank of gas. The hunt was on!

Whether it was a garage sale, yard sale, rummage sale or estate sale - we were up for the challenge. First up to bag their game was Lisa who found a lovely, blue, floor-length satin dress that would only fit a SIZE 4 like her. She even slipped it on OVER her clothes! The only thing I would dare try on in public is a purse.

I was up next, cornering a sturdy, wood television table in a light wood that matched my living room. I had been seeking just such a table for months to replace the leaning tower that was currently holding up our TV set. I even managed to get the price reduced. SCORE!

Mike was slow out of the gate but rallied quickly by corralling a fine set of saw horses. He then regretted letting the vice slip by him that he spotted earlier in the day. It would have gone well with the horses.

Kevin, the youngest of our team did the best. Hiding in the "Free Boxes" he nabbed a Timberwolves jersey and a set of walkie-talkies.

All in all our safari into the neighborhoods and their mysterious alley-ways was fun and exhausting. We are putting together another expedition in the near future. Let me know of any special treasures you've found on your travel through the junkyard jungle.

In tribute to the passing of a good man

A week ago I found myself crying for a man I never met...but feel I know very well. Professor Randy Pausch succumb to pancreatic cancer and died on July 25th. It was a sad loss, but he left us a real gift. If you have not taken the time to watch "The Last Lecture" I urge you to do so now. I have left a link to this amazing man's graceful and very human talk about life. DO YOURSELF A FAVOR and learn from Randy's wisdom. He has changed many people with his words. My prayers are with his family.

http://www.thelastlecture.com/

How the other half LIVES

July is my birth month. I have always liked being a summer baby. This July I will be a summer baby for the 50th time...

OH MY GOD!

I have never really dreaded a birthday because I strongly feel growing older is much better than the alternative.

I have always been okay with whatever age came before this one. However, my upcoming birthday, I admit, bugs me a little. I think it is that half-CENTURY mark that is tripping me up. I still feel like I just got out of high school, and as long as I don't pass a mirror or go to a reunion my mind can almost pull it off.

Lately, I've spent a great deal of time taking a look at life and everyone in the ages above and below me. A few years back my college dance teacher, a famous and fabulous person was retiring and a big hoopla get-together was planned at my Alma mater. My college roommate, Patti and I were planning to rendezvous there and relive some good times. Before she left home her husband teasingly asked her if she was planning to have a fling with any of the guys at the reunion. She aptly replied, "If I didn't want them when they were young, handsome and virile, what makes you think I want them now that their old, fat and bald.

Makes you think, doesn't it?

The point I am getting to is one that has been repeated ever since people started hitting landmark birthdays - you are as young as you feel. Or as your spirit feels.

I was blessed to have my paternal grandmother in my life well into her eighties. She had many wrinkles on her round little face, and everyone of them old me a story of how she lived her life; came to America; married, raised her 5 children; watched the men in her family go off to 3 different wars; welcomed her daughters-in-law; adored her many grandchildren; buried her husband and her daughter before her and then went off to heaven to meet up with those she missed. Her face was absolutely beautiful. Her hands, though lined and spotted were softer than anything I have ever touched. And, best of all - her laugh was that of a giggly little girl. And she laughed a lot.

So, please do me a favor. As a birthday present to me, be good to yourself, whatever birthday you are at. Put down the Botox; cancel the plastic surgeon and please have a piece of birthday cake. Let people know that you are alive and show the wonderful years of joy and sadness that created who you are.

Strife in the "Fast Lane"

It was only a few items for a picnic. The rest of the check out lanes were backed up like I94 out of Chicago on rush hour. I spotted the FAST lanes. An innocent looking row of self-check out lanes where you do all the scanning and bagging yourself. Brilliant. I'd be out in no time. I even had my trusty 12 year old son there to assist me.

Alex and I began scanning items and it was only then that I realized I was checking out on HAL, the computer from 2001: A Space Odyssey.

My first item went through benignly. Then I made the mistake of trying to enter the PLU on the produce. You know, the little sticker that is supposed to be keyed to the price. Well, as soon as I entered it the whole machine lit up like a jackpot at a casino and a gnarly looking attendant came to fix it. He punched in a bunch of codes, gave us a nasty look and left without a word. We tried the peaches next. BIG mistake. Same response, same ugly attendant. I wondered why he didn't just stay there and check out my last few items - but that would mean it wasn't... the FAST lane.

We tried scanning and bagging faster to make the machine happy but it kept droning on at us in that non-human voice saying that there was "a foreign object in the bagging area". What foreign object? Was it peas? This was a grocery store for Pete's Sake how could peas be foreign. I began to look around for the zebra that passed in front of the scanner, or possibly a UFO - something I could accept as foreign.

Then the diabolical machine began a new type of torture. With each item I tried to scan it asked me to punch in "skip bagging" before I could move on. I'll bet you can guess what I really wanted to punch.

In a mere half an hour (!) we got through the last item and paid. As we turned with our one measley bag to walk away, a sadistic, mechanical voice behind us said,

"Thank you for using the Fast lane".

Spit please!

The boys and I finally made it to the dentist today. It's been long overdue. Our six-month appointments were scheduled for last December but, in our family, neurosurgery trumps gum scraping. (See Feb. '08 blog for explanation).

I am no rookie when it come to dentists. I spent some grueling Junior High and High School years with the dreaded orthodontic braces. Forget that I had to have eight teeth pulled so the rest would fit into my petite little mouth. (I can hear you laughing out there - stop it!). You have never felt mouth pain until you have had metal braces pounded up into your gums and then removed so the Ortho could look at them and then pounded up there again. It was a scene straight out of Marathon Man. That lovely part of the whole proceedure comes only after choking on the over-filled mouth tray of impression cement and just before wincing from the ever tightening rubber bands of horror forcing your canines into places they do not want to go. Ah yes, good times, good times...

Today wasn't quite so brutal. I was comforted by my 8-year old son while I lay there, upside down. He held my hand as the hygienist worked, saying comforting things like:

"Does that hurt? What is that silver thing? You're bleeding. I don't' like blood. That looks really painful."

I didn't even get anything out of the prize basket when I was done.