I wonder if the liberal news media realizes how its overbearing and obvious support of one political party over the other has changed and continues to change, the landscape of our country. Democrats go largely unchecked, whether they are forcing banks to make subprime loans or cheating on their wives, for example. Meanwhile, Republicans can’t make a misstep of any kind without being called on the carpet. The media continues to aid and abet a party that increasingly legislates from the bench, condones partial birth abortion with no restrictions, and hopes to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory in Iraq. None of which most Americans support. The good side of this is that Repubicans are finally starting to stand up, talk back, and insist the truth be told. The media should be more careful with what it wishes for.
Enabling the do nothings
I take issue with one of your readers who thinks It’s perfectly fine to tax the greedy, rich people in our country even more. Keep in mind that the 1 percent of wageearners in our population already pays more than 40% of our total taxes. Not everyone is wealthy due to a golden parachute or because they took advantage of others, and $250,000 a year does not make someone “rich.”
My friends Mark and Julie live in Michigan. He has worked as an engineer at the same job for 25 years and she has been a nurse. They have raised three scholar-athlete sons and are paying for three college educations at present (one’s in grad school). They live in a modest four-bedroom house purchased in 1985, added a small pool a few years ago, and make good salaries, take nice trips, etc. She buys her clothes from Penney’s. They, like many other Americans, make $250,000 or more a year, but not “rich” despite what Obama thinks.
Years ago, my husband worked for the City of Chicago winterizing homes in poor neighborhoods. While he worked, the homeowners were often sitting on the couch, smoking and watching television. All day. They were not disabled or old, they just didn’t work for whatever reason. The homes were a mess inside and out…these were people who just didn’t care.
Obama’s tax plan would penalize people like my friends for their hard work to pass money on to people who don’t want to work and therefore, continue to enable their do- nothing lives.
The light of God shines on Sandy
My cousin Sandy has severe cerebral palsy. She has lived for an amazing 44 years, much of that at home with her parents, my mother’s brother Bob and his wife, Faye. I remember being at family reunions at my grandparents’ home in Gadsden, Alabama in the mid 1960s, surrounded by my mother’s large family: five sisters, two brothers and their children. My grandparent’s lived in a three-room home off of a dirt road with a red clay yard and a lake somewhere through the trees out back where my brother and cousin John used to fish with grandpa. Grandma and the sisters would spend the day cooking fried okra, slicing tomatoes, and frying chicken while my cousins and I, some 17 of us, played in the yard and sat on the porch swing. For some reason, that little white house with its porch and porch swing, are my mind’s picture of “home.”
The year was 1967 and Sany was about three years old. My aunts were taking turns “walking” her. Holding her chubby little arms so that she was upright and pushing her legs along with their legs to simulate the act of walking. She had on a blue and gold dress in a sort of diamond pattern, and she still had the baby fat and baby look that makes children that age so endearing. Sandy could not talk, has never been able to, in fact, but she had then and still has a smile as wide as the ocean and a screechy sort of sound that those who love her know is a laugh.
My aunts: Louise, Hazel, Catherine (who I am named after), Jo and my mother Dorothy spent the better part of that day with Sandy. Perhaps some of my older cousins did, too, and some of the uncles, my father John, and my mother’s other brother Jay. Little was known then about cerebral palsy except that it was caused by a mistake during birth that damaged the brain.
The overall feeling I recall as a child watching the scene was that if they walked with her enough, worked with her enough, they could somehow patch up that damage and Sandy would walk and talk just like their children. Perhaps, in watching their own children run and laugh, they felt tremendous guilt that their youngest brother’s first child had suffered this terrible injustice. This irreparable damage. And that he would never be free of the burden (as if any parent is ever free of their children) of this child who would need daily, even hourly care for as long as she lived.
I recall that day with so much love for my mother and my aunts. They were trying in the only way they knew how to help my cousin, talking to her as they walked, loving her and hugging her with a fervor that can only come from family.
Sandy has lived far longer than anyone expected and now inhabits a group home in Birmingham. She is about 5’6″ and 80 pounds, with no control of any muscle in her body save some on her face. She can communicate in a sort of way with a head apparatus and a computer, and always her eyes, has to be fed with a tube, and suffers from terrible cramping at times. This is what I know, but I’m sure there’s much more that’s far worse.
Sandy has never been out of Alabama. She’s never felt the sand and heard the ocean’s roar or climbed a tree or hugged her parents or siblings or shopped with a girlfriend or scratched an itch or cried over some silly boy who hurt her feelings. She leads a life I can’t even imagine, and try not to imagine. I think because we are so close in age and because of that day so long ago that I remember so vividly, she is my inspiration to try to do better. She is among my reasons for never giving in to despair. My cousin Sandy cannot control a single muscle in her body, but she can control how she approaches life and she does so with strength, dignity and a smile. Did I tell you her smile is as wide as the ocean?
Pre-election blues–a true rant
This needs lots of work but I’m putting it out here.
I don’t think there has ever been a time in America when the media has been so overtly and outrageously slanted to the left. Every newspaper article contains more than it’s “fair” share of spin and even more shameful is the way newspapers are positioning articles within their pages. The good news about Iraq or Palin, for example, is buried on the back page. If the polls show McCain up, they don’t print the polls that day, or they print an obscure poll that shows their candidate, Obama, ahead, OR they use an outdated poll which you don’t know unless you read the fine print (and in today’s world, you need to read the fine print or you are missing the real story).
And I don’t know what the media gets or think it gets from putting their liberals in office. The only people who benefit from a liberally run government are the people in positions power, their friends, and anyone who works for the government and depends on those big budget raises.
Liberalism doesn’t help us with national security (as evidenced by Jimmy Carter and the Iran hostage situation).
It doesn’t help us economically in any way, because higher taxes destroy small business and thousands of jobs along with it.
It doesn’t help us socially, because with all due respect, most people do not benefit from the fat social programs liberals like to conjure up, and then later, when the ponzi schemes start to collapse, they point their fingers at Republicans.
It doesn’t help our education system, because you can’t teach reading, writing and arithmetic when you are spending half your day pushing your liberal agenda and trying to manage all of the special needs children you’ve allowed to be mainstreamed into your classrooms.
It doesn’t promote morality with its “anything goes” philosophies with regards to teenage pregnancy, abortion, premarital sex or even, and unspeakably, pedophilia.
It doesn’t help us adhere to our Constitution, because it cheers for legislation from the bench, a redefinition of marriage, and a stripping of states’ rights.
We are America, the greatest country on this planet. If you don’t believe it, take a look around. Haiti is a hell hole and has been for 50 years now. Many Africans are still killing each other because they are from different tribes (what a mess that is!), and much of that dark continent is controlled by ruthless dictators, Europe is being overrun by Muslims, and many of its socialist-based economies are crumbling, India is an overpopulated cesspool, and South America (we’ll include Mexico here), has more than its share of corrupt dictators and poverty. China? There’s not enough room to even begin.
America is like the popular girl in high school who is not only attractive, but is a scholar, an athlete, and an all around good kid. Unfortunately, some of the less attractive, smart kids are consumed by jealously and want to trip her and rip up her prom dress. (Some kids, like Australia and England, remain loyal). Some kids want to see how far they can push their own misguided agenda, by attacking others and waiting for her reaction. Will she come to the rescue? Other kids, even less successful and a bit deranged, want to douse her in gasoline and set her on fire.
We’ve come a long way in this world in terms of technology and manufacturing, but most of the planet is filled with rulers, peasants and barbarians. America, the girl who may not always get As but certainly strives for them, had best be careful as she walks through the hallway of her multicultural school and not cry too hard when the other kids sneer at her.
An American Carol–response to a film critic
These are a few of my favorite things
I love to read and to watch movies, and I adore classic rock, so this blog is dedicated to my all time favorites, about which I may blog about separately in the future. Nothing in these lists has changed for years…I’m going to try to limit myself to the top five in each category or we’ll be here all day.
Favorite movies, in order:
The Last Picture Show–life in a small Texas oil town
Gone With the Wind–romance and drama amid the Civil War
Terms of Endearment (I must note that this, and the last picture show, were written by one of the greatest writers of the 20 and 21st centuries, Larry McMurtry.)
Ordinary People (Robert Redford’s directorial debut–every word is perfect)
Plenty–Meryl Streep portrays a former Resistance fighter now living with her boring diplomat husband and going a bit crazy.
Books:
Beloved–Tony Morrison. Read it in 24 hours and read it again
Man’s Search for Meaning–Victor Frankel’s story of how he survived life in a concentration camp.
When Elephants Weep–A definitive book for any true lover of animals.
Anthem–Ayn Rand. Humans in a futurist society become individuals again.
A Tale of Two Cities–Charles Dickens. Sidney Cartons is my all time favorite hero.
Plays:
To Kill a Mockingbird–Harper Lee, though I think Truman Capote helped her out.
True West–Sam Shepard. Simply. Great.
Our Town–Thorton Wilder. I think this play says it all.
Nothing else is good enough for my list at this time.
Music:
Layla–Eric Clapton
Riders On the Storm–The Doors ”…into this house we’re born, into this world we’re thrown.”
Moonlight–Starbuck–a happy song. “Moonlight….feels right….”
Like A Hurricane–Neil Young (and most anything by Neil Young) “….there’s calm in your eyes…”
Southern Cross–Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. “And we never failed to fail, it was the easiest thing to do.”
Baba O’Riley–The Who (OK, this is six but I could list a hundred). “I don’t need to fight, to prove I’m right…oh I don’t need to be forgiven.”
Jessica–The Allman Brothers, along with Midnight Rider, Melissa, Ramblin Man. Probably my favorite group, Neil Young favorite songwriter.
Oddly enough, as much as I disliked living in the state of Georgia, many of the movies I love, some not listed, like Forrest Gump or Fried Green Tomatoes, are set in the deep South. In small towns. As for songs, I seem to like outdoor themes (the road, the ocean) and weather themes (hurricanes, storms). There’s also an entire genre of “lady-woman” based songs I love, like green eyed lady, witchy woman, black magic woman, cinnamon girl, evil woman, so many kinds of woman being sung about.
Well, I have a terrible migraine that has been bothering me for two days now, ever since I had a potent rum runner at New Smyrna beach, so I’ll give this a rest and come back to it later.
Must get back to my campaign. Go McCain.
Fay, Gustav, Hanna, Ike…and Tina!
I know the National Weather Service likes to keep everything organized in the midst of chaos, hence their clever alphabet system for naming hurricanes. Just this once, though, with five and now six (I think Joyce just rose up in the Atlantic) hurricanes making us dizzy with too much television viewing and late nights spent checking the latest projected path, couldn’t they break the rules and add a little levity to the game? I propose that instead of Joyce, we have Tina.
“Ike is moving over the Bahamas, meanwhile, Tina has evolved to tropical depression status…”
“Ike has fizzled out somewhere near coastal Mississippi. Near Miami, Tina is kicking ass as a Cat 5 hurricane….”
Maybe I’m just hurricaned out or a little punch drunk from all of the rain. A little humor would be nice, though.
Veterinary Valium is good for what ails ya
I’ve enjoyed a long medical history, starting at the age of 13 when I developed severe ulcerative colitis that I had until the age of 28, when my colon was removed and my digestive system reconstructed during three long operations. As part of this exciting medical drama, which includes running into bathrooms at a speed which would startle Olympian Usian Bolt, I’ve experienced a tremendous amount of pain. In my younger days, I didn’t realize that there were ways my doctors could have alleviated it. For example, they could have helped me out when they drilled a needle into my hip bone to obtain a bone marrow sample. They could have given me a little something when I was in the hospital so sick I couldn’t be fed with the feeling that hot iron was in my gut. But for reasons I will never understand and cannot forgive them for, they chose not to.
Now that I’m older and I hope, a bit wiser for my years, I don’t “do” pain. When a doctor wants to do anything more than give me a shot (and my monthly Procrit shot is very, very painful anyway), I demand to be sedated. And when they won’t sedate me, I do it myself. What do I use? Our late dog Honey’s Valium.
Before our beloved dog died, he was having seizures, for which his vet prescribed Valium. Valium is cheap…really cheap. Like $5 for 20 of them. After he died, I noticed that he had nine refills on his prescription. Nine. I tell you, it was like hitting the jackpot.
I don’t respond well to the standard painkillers. Vicodan barely makes me drowsy. The same with Percoset. Oxycontin is OK, but doesn’t last. Morphine gives me a headache. But Valium, and the IV drug Versed may not kill the pain but make it so I just really don’t care about it.
Honey’s Valium means I don’t have to worry about painful procedures at the gynecologist’s office, or my upcoming liver biopsy, which involves a large needle shot through the ribcage into the liver. I will take two Valium, relax, and tell them I’m practicing meditation.
Years ago, I had to have some stitches pulled from my abdominal area. Only centimeters under the skin, they were like blue telephone wire, and they rubbed against the zipper of my pants. It was painful. My doctor said he would “numb me up” (translation–stick you several times with a large needle to numb the area, which hurts so much you wish he would just knock you out with his Blackberry). I chose not to suffer from the numbing up or the subsequent pulling off wire from my body by drinking a really strong Mai Tai in my car and in his waiting room before going in.
Sure, they knew I was drunk, but it was better than hearing me scream, No! Stop! I don’t like this! Damn it! F—————! Evil, nasty words I have been known to say when getting simple shots.
And still, even with my signature Mai Tai mix of orange juice, vodka, rum and whatever else I could find in the fridge that day, it hurt. Really hurt. My stomach area was bruised for weeks where they pulled those wires out.
We loved our dog Honey and were heartbroken when he died. I like to think that he’s watching me from Heaven, comforted by the fact that his Valium, which I take only when necessary, is helping to make my life a little less painful.
Jen Lancaster
I’ve recently discovered a new writer named Jen Lancaster, who wrote Bitter is the New Black and two other hilarious books. Like me, Jen is from the Chicago area and was layed off (laid off? since my layoff I have struggled with the correct way to write the word) from a high paying job abruptly and was unable to find a new job. She has since started a successful blog site, written the three books, adopted shelter dogs, temped at inane jobs, and learned to shop at Target and IKEA instead of Neiman Marcus and Bloomingdales.
My friend in Illinois thinks I’m Jen, writing undercover.
I wish. I wish I could take my immense anger at my former employer and turn it into a creatively biting bestseller so I could:
Hire someone to mow the lawn
Hire someone to wash my floors
Have a massage once a week
Quit looking for jobs that pay less than half of what I was making
Replace my cat sprayed couch with something non absorbent and NEW
I think writing takes an immense amount of courage. You have to be willing, especially in a memoir, to reveal yourself completely, warts and all (I hate words like warts and pimples and I can’t even write that f word and find the act not funny in any way), and to possibly reveal and even insult friends and family.
Not sure I’m ready for that, but this blog is supposed to help me loosen up, shake out my inhibitions, and let it all hang out (or land on a page somewhere).
I can tell just by this Post that I have a long, long way to go. I was much more out there and on the edge when I was writing in college. My lameness here is depressing me. Off to get a pedicure.