Monday, February 13, 2012
Friday, February 10, 2012
Some Friday Afternoon Thoughts
It's been a busy week. Things have been moving along fairly quickly, and, seemingly, pretty well. We've taken some steps to lower our mortgage payments a little, a re-fi for a half-percent drop in interest. It doesn't change things all that much, but it helps. Only 18 months more of having to deal with tight finances, then Social Security kicks in, and I start making more money. That's a good thought for a Friday, there is, unmistakably a light at the end of this tunnel. Now if the Nostrodamus/Mayan/Whoever-is-the-current-Doomsayers have gotten it wrong, I could actually live long enough to see the "good life". To be honest, I'm kind of living the "good life;" it just doesn't have a whole lot of "style".
I want to talk about life for a while. Thoughts about life, living, my life, etc. have been on my mind all week. Like the concept of "the good life," for example. I have come to believe that all life is good, despite the fact that bad things happen. It is, in some estimations, a pretty naieve way of looking at life, or perhaps overly optimistic, but I'm postive I wouldn't like the alternative. I've grown to dislike the people who whine about their "hard" lives, and never see a positive thing in their pasts. No one, No One, NO ONE, ever lives a totally negative life. Even Hitler had a "good day," considering what a monster he was, it was probably over something sick, but still...
When I was a kid, we watched Leave it to Beaver, Father Knows Best, and Ozzie and Harriett, I don't know about anyone else, but none of those ever represented my family life. My dad was not one to sit down and calmly explain what I had done wrong; he was the profanities at maximum volume, who you hoped you could stay away from long enough for him to tire out kind. I never felt fear around my father, it was more like terror. He was strong, faintly literate, and had a short temper, particularly when something was not going his way, and quick to make it physical. I was never beaten by my father; I landed a rather effective defensive punch before it could escalate to that, and he never tried physical discipline again. I was thirteen.
He caught my seventeen year-old sister and me smoking. He didn't see the cigarette in my hand, so I could have dodged it, technically, but he'd been telling me that "things always go better when you tell the truth," so when he asked, I told him I had been smoking too. He took a swipe at Pat, and commenced to slapping the shit out of me, until I stepped back, and threw a punch, a hard overhand right, that broke his nose. He stood up, wiped some blood from his nose, took one last swipe at Pat, and stormed out of the house. He got in our car, and drove off for over an hour. The whole time, Pat is telling me I should get out of the house, because he's going to kill me when he gets home. I knew that, but I also knew it would be even worse if I made him look for me, so I was screwed. When he got home, he was calm, and we had our first real father-son talk. I'd say, despite the dread of waiting to die, that was good living.
We lose a child, our relationship is streached to the brink, we separate, that was a lousy 20 months, but so much good came out of it, at the end and beyond, it's difficult to think of it as a "bad" time. We learned how to communicate again, as people who love each other. We re-discovered something that had been missing for a while, our friendship, which was our whole reason for getting married, anyway. What came out of that is more than 30 years of being able to hang out with my best friend every night, and a deep appreciation for each other's feelings. I just don't see the bad anymore.
I spent thousands of dollars, and more than five years of my family's life getting an education, so I can teach English. I work, across an eight year period, for six years, have a stroke, and get the short shrift three times. I was lied to, had my tenure revoked, through no fault of my own, and my union didn't care. In that six years, I helped my students get on the road to being adults. I see some of them now and again, and they are all doing well. A couple have become teachers, and I feel for them. What was bad about that?
Life is good. Tomorrow will be...
different. If you thought I was going to say "better," you're a bigger optimist than I.
I want to talk about life for a while. Thoughts about life, living, my life, etc. have been on my mind all week. Like the concept of "the good life," for example. I have come to believe that all life is good, despite the fact that bad things happen. It is, in some estimations, a pretty naieve way of looking at life, or perhaps overly optimistic, but I'm postive I wouldn't like the alternative. I've grown to dislike the people who whine about their "hard" lives, and never see a positive thing in their pasts. No one, No One, NO ONE, ever lives a totally negative life. Even Hitler had a "good day," considering what a monster he was, it was probably over something sick, but still...
When I was a kid, we watched Leave it to Beaver, Father Knows Best, and Ozzie and Harriett, I don't know about anyone else, but none of those ever represented my family life. My dad was not one to sit down and calmly explain what I had done wrong; he was the profanities at maximum volume, who you hoped you could stay away from long enough for him to tire out kind. I never felt fear around my father, it was more like terror. He was strong, faintly literate, and had a short temper, particularly when something was not going his way, and quick to make it physical. I was never beaten by my father; I landed a rather effective defensive punch before it could escalate to that, and he never tried physical discipline again. I was thirteen.
He caught my seventeen year-old sister and me smoking. He didn't see the cigarette in my hand, so I could have dodged it, technically, but he'd been telling me that "things always go better when you tell the truth," so when he asked, I told him I had been smoking too. He took a swipe at Pat, and commenced to slapping the shit out of me, until I stepped back, and threw a punch, a hard overhand right, that broke his nose. He stood up, wiped some blood from his nose, took one last swipe at Pat, and stormed out of the house. He got in our car, and drove off for over an hour. The whole time, Pat is telling me I should get out of the house, because he's going to kill me when he gets home. I knew that, but I also knew it would be even worse if I made him look for me, so I was screwed. When he got home, he was calm, and we had our first real father-son talk. I'd say, despite the dread of waiting to die, that was good living.
We lose a child, our relationship is streached to the brink, we separate, that was a lousy 20 months, but so much good came out of it, at the end and beyond, it's difficult to think of it as a "bad" time. We learned how to communicate again, as people who love each other. We re-discovered something that had been missing for a while, our friendship, which was our whole reason for getting married, anyway. What came out of that is more than 30 years of being able to hang out with my best friend every night, and a deep appreciation for each other's feelings. I just don't see the bad anymore.
I spent thousands of dollars, and more than five years of my family's life getting an education, so I can teach English. I work, across an eight year period, for six years, have a stroke, and get the short shrift three times. I was lied to, had my tenure revoked, through no fault of my own, and my union didn't care. In that six years, I helped my students get on the road to being adults. I see some of them now and again, and they are all doing well. A couple have become teachers, and I feel for them. What was bad about that?
Life is good. Tomorrow will be...
different. If you thought I was going to say "better," you're a bigger optimist than I.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
There Are Some Stupid People...
I am engaged in an exercise in futility, a one-man war against granting the freedom of speech to people who are too fracking stupid to use it appropriately. Today it was a letter to the Editor, the other day it was the news about how Obama wants to reward people who were stupid-enough to be talked into buying houses they couldn't afford. Surprize! The housing bubble burst, and your ARM matured, and you lost your house. Now, Uncle Obama wants to give you $20K, so you won't feel so bad about being a FUCKING IDIOT!!!! That's one word, no hyphen.
At this point, I wish to appologize for the prfanity, there just wasn't away around it.
I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings.
It's been called The Dumbing of America, students are not doing well in an education system that hit it's peak 40 years ago. I have but one thing to day... DUH! I've been both student and teacher in California public schools, decades between, but nothing changed in more than 30 years. OK, textbooks, maybe, but some of the maps were, I checked, the same ones used in the late 1960's, listing the USSR, and Yugoslavia. Methods have progressed glacially, Hell, there were some of the same teachers, 35 years later. Kids are graduating from high school, dumb as a post. Teachers, due to union entanglements, are forbidden to teach kids, either what they want to be taught, or what the need to learn before they graduate, basic skills that have been determined to be racially biased. You know, things like: how to make change for a ten, how to give directions, how to take directions, how to fill out job applications, all of that Klan-backed stuff.
I tried. God knows I tried to give my students the basic skills needed to succeed beyond high school. Most of my colleagues could care less. Another year, another 150 or so kids, teach the test, and let them discover, for themselves, that they've wasted four years of their lives. I couldn't do it that way. For my efforts, I got the short-end three times, and it was enough for me. Over six years, more than 1,000 kids learned how English was important, and how they were limited only by their own competance with language. Sure, there were a few I always wondered about, but most often they turn out to be people who needed what I taught, and how I taught it the most. People who knew me from my crazy Navy days would be surprised at how different I'd become because of my committment to my students.
I'm not bitter (well, anymore) about the way things happened in my teaching career. It was an unfortunate set of circumstances, for which I must assume as much blame as my employers for letting things happen the way they did. I did six years; I made a difference in dozens of lives; I've helped a few find "a voice," by which to express themselves; best of all, I've helped them become contributing factors in their communities. Seeing some of them now, a few years later, I realize that to me, it was all worth the effort, and I have no regrets.
At this point, I wish to appologize for the prfanity, there just wasn't away around it.
I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings.
It's been called The Dumbing of America, students are not doing well in an education system that hit it's peak 40 years ago. I have but one thing to day... DUH! I've been both student and teacher in California public schools, decades between, but nothing changed in more than 30 years. OK, textbooks, maybe, but some of the maps were, I checked, the same ones used in the late 1960's, listing the USSR, and Yugoslavia. Methods have progressed glacially, Hell, there were some of the same teachers, 35 years later. Kids are graduating from high school, dumb as a post. Teachers, due to union entanglements, are forbidden to teach kids, either what they want to be taught, or what the need to learn before they graduate, basic skills that have been determined to be racially biased. You know, things like: how to make change for a ten, how to give directions, how to take directions, how to fill out job applications, all of that Klan-backed stuff.
I tried. God knows I tried to give my students the basic skills needed to succeed beyond high school. Most of my colleagues could care less. Another year, another 150 or so kids, teach the test, and let them discover, for themselves, that they've wasted four years of their lives. I couldn't do it that way. For my efforts, I got the short-end three times, and it was enough for me. Over six years, more than 1,000 kids learned how English was important, and how they were limited only by their own competance with language. Sure, there were a few I always wondered about, but most often they turn out to be people who needed what I taught, and how I taught it the most. People who knew me from my crazy Navy days would be surprised at how different I'd become because of my committment to my students.
I'm not bitter (well, anymore) about the way things happened in my teaching career. It was an unfortunate set of circumstances, for which I must assume as much blame as my employers for letting things happen the way they did. I did six years; I made a difference in dozens of lives; I've helped a few find "a voice," by which to express themselves; best of all, I've helped them become contributing factors in their communities. Seeing some of them now, a few years later, I realize that to me, it was all worth the effort, and I have no regrets.
Monday, February 6, 2012
A Super Super Bowl
Back at the start of the playoffs, I called it. "Watch out for New York." I told people, particularly when they ousted the Champs. Nooooo. Every one around here was, "Go Niners. We're going to the Super Bowl." The overlooked the Giants, as did Green Bay, and New England. The Giants, because of my personal boycott of both the 49ers, and the Raiders, over the fighting, and shooting at the preseason "rivalry" game. My guess is that those games are gone, now...
To be honest, and I am always honest in my blogs, I was rooting for the Giants, at the beginning of the season, and after their mediocre start, I stopped keeping track. Since I was a Fan-at-large, so to speak, I was pulling for Green Bay to go undefeated, but when that streak was ended, lo and behold, the Giants are 7 and 7, and getting healthy. We don't get many Giant games out here on the Left Coast, I did see one of the two final games, and of course, all of the playoffs, but the Bay Area Faithful never saw it coming. It was a thing of beauty, the game at Candlestick. Any gunfire that erupted after that game was the Niner fans committing suicide... the Monday after, people acted like someone had died. I had a blast, watching the suffering.
OK, before anyone gets out a rope, although I did not support the Bay Area teams this year, the Conference Championship game was the only one I actually rooted against one of them. Look at it as going on a fan's injured reserve. Prior to that fateful game, I supported both teams, equally, as I could because of the Conference-difference. The idea of a SF - Oakland Super Bowl, to me, would be the best game ever. No matter who won, it would be the best. I was proud to be a fan of both teams, and to call myself a Niner-fan, or Raider-fan. That all ended this past pre-season.
I was injured by the eruption of violence at a sporting event in the US. It's bad enough to see it abroad, but in America? In the peace-loving Bay Area? It was a bit more than I could stand. I decided, that day, that I would not support either team, this year, and to keep an eye on their fans. At the end of this year, like now, I am supposed to make a decision whether to go back, or not. Yeah, I know, "Nobody cares." Well, I care, damn it.
I have been a loyal fan of the Oakland/LA Raiders since their first year in the AFL. Fifty-one years, up to the time of the "incident". The first professional football game I ever went to was a 49er - Green Bay game, back when YA Tittle QB'd the Niners, and Bart Starr the Packers. It's a long time invested; many more heartbreaks than rejoicings; but at the end of the day, they're my teams.
It's like rooting for both the Giants and A's in baseball. I did that for years, until my wife and daughters had to witness a violent act at the Oakland Coliseum after a preseason match-up between the Bay Area Teams. This poor guy, wearing a half-Giant/half-A's cap, never saw the punch that dropped him, delivered by a guy in a Oakland A's cap. Nope, sorry, I am no longer supporting the A's. EVER. Again, who cares? And again, I do.
It's a matter of principle to me. I am not a violent person. Sure, I have people I'd like to mutilate, but there's a big difference between hoping it happens, and causing it to happen. When it comes right to it, I haven't got the stomach for it. I no more want to be the cause of someone elses pain than I would want someone to inflict pain on me. My belief is that there is too much pain in just living. I don't wish to have more, neither does anyone else. There is always a way to resolve conflict without violence. If you must resort to violence to prove your point, you've lost the argument anyway.
"Football is a violent sport." People have told me this, in a futile attempt to rationalize what happened at that game, and it is true. However, the owners, and stadium people go out of their ways to make sure that injuries are kept to a minimum. As difficult as that may be, considering plays usually end with a crashing of two large, fast-moving bodies, it doesn't justify brawling in the stands, and gun-play in the parking lot. It cannot, not ever.
Most sports have a violence aspect to it, and I can think of few that do not. Wrestling. As odd as it sounds, wrestling is one of those few non-violent sport. I can hear the sputtering now, and anyone reading this is going to have a "Yeah, but...," and I will get to as many of them as I can think of. Since this started on football, let's compare wrestling to football.
Both have "offensive," and "defensive" aspects, but that does not make them violent. Agressive, perhaps, but not violent. Football has "attacks," air-attacks, ground-attacks, it uses blocks and tackles to fight for yardage. The object isn't just to win the game. It's to crush your opponent. To "beat the opponent to a pulp," massacre them, drive them into the mud. Wrestling, on the other hand has "holds," and "levers," and "falls." The object is to capture and restrain; not catch and kill. In wrestling, one is forbidden to cause undue pain, or do anything that might actually result in any injury. Points may be taken, warnings issued, or the match may be forfieted by anyone who does. That's why wrestling is a non-violent sport. Collegiate wrestling, that is. Not the WWE, or RAW, or any of that. Hell, that isn't even a sport.
To be honest, and I am always honest in my blogs, I was rooting for the Giants, at the beginning of the season, and after their mediocre start, I stopped keeping track. Since I was a Fan-at-large, so to speak, I was pulling for Green Bay to go undefeated, but when that streak was ended, lo and behold, the Giants are 7 and 7, and getting healthy. We don't get many Giant games out here on the Left Coast, I did see one of the two final games, and of course, all of the playoffs, but the Bay Area Faithful never saw it coming. It was a thing of beauty, the game at Candlestick. Any gunfire that erupted after that game was the Niner fans committing suicide... the Monday after, people acted like someone had died. I had a blast, watching the suffering.
OK, before anyone gets out a rope, although I did not support the Bay Area teams this year, the Conference Championship game was the only one I actually rooted against one of them. Look at it as going on a fan's injured reserve. Prior to that fateful game, I supported both teams, equally, as I could because of the Conference-difference. The idea of a SF - Oakland Super Bowl, to me, would be the best game ever. No matter who won, it would be the best. I was proud to be a fan of both teams, and to call myself a Niner-fan, or Raider-fan. That all ended this past pre-season.
I was injured by the eruption of violence at a sporting event in the US. It's bad enough to see it abroad, but in America? In the peace-loving Bay Area? It was a bit more than I could stand. I decided, that day, that I would not support either team, this year, and to keep an eye on their fans. At the end of this year, like now, I am supposed to make a decision whether to go back, or not. Yeah, I know, "Nobody cares." Well, I care, damn it.
I have been a loyal fan of the Oakland/LA Raiders since their first year in the AFL. Fifty-one years, up to the time of the "incident". The first professional football game I ever went to was a 49er - Green Bay game, back when YA Tittle QB'd the Niners, and Bart Starr the Packers. It's a long time invested; many more heartbreaks than rejoicings; but at the end of the day, they're my teams.
It's like rooting for both the Giants and A's in baseball. I did that for years, until my wife and daughters had to witness a violent act at the Oakland Coliseum after a preseason match-up between the Bay Area Teams. This poor guy, wearing a half-Giant/half-A's cap, never saw the punch that dropped him, delivered by a guy in a Oakland A's cap. Nope, sorry, I am no longer supporting the A's. EVER. Again, who cares? And again, I do.
It's a matter of principle to me. I am not a violent person. Sure, I have people I'd like to mutilate, but there's a big difference between hoping it happens, and causing it to happen. When it comes right to it, I haven't got the stomach for it. I no more want to be the cause of someone elses pain than I would want someone to inflict pain on me. My belief is that there is too much pain in just living. I don't wish to have more, neither does anyone else. There is always a way to resolve conflict without violence. If you must resort to violence to prove your point, you've lost the argument anyway.
"Football is a violent sport." People have told me this, in a futile attempt to rationalize what happened at that game, and it is true. However, the owners, and stadium people go out of their ways to make sure that injuries are kept to a minimum. As difficult as that may be, considering plays usually end with a crashing of two large, fast-moving bodies, it doesn't justify brawling in the stands, and gun-play in the parking lot. It cannot, not ever.
Most sports have a violence aspect to it, and I can think of few that do not. Wrestling. As odd as it sounds, wrestling is one of those few non-violent sport. I can hear the sputtering now, and anyone reading this is going to have a "Yeah, but...," and I will get to as many of them as I can think of. Since this started on football, let's compare wrestling to football.
Both have "offensive," and "defensive" aspects, but that does not make them violent. Agressive, perhaps, but not violent. Football has "attacks," air-attacks, ground-attacks, it uses blocks and tackles to fight for yardage. The object isn't just to win the game. It's to crush your opponent. To "beat the opponent to a pulp," massacre them, drive them into the mud. Wrestling, on the other hand has "holds," and "levers," and "falls." The object is to capture and restrain; not catch and kill. In wrestling, one is forbidden to cause undue pain, or do anything that might actually result in any injury. Points may be taken, warnings issued, or the match may be forfieted by anyone who does. That's why wrestling is a non-violent sport. Collegiate wrestling, that is. Not the WWE, or RAW, or any of that. Hell, that isn't even a sport.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Gaining A Granddaughter
I have a two-and-a-half year old granddaughter. Isabella (Bella) Nicole Martin, born September 1,2009, at Balboa Naval Hospital, San Diego. She is my second grandchild, my first by blood. I've seen her a few times before Angel and Cory moved into Vacaville, while Cory goes to Bahrain for a year. I've seen her a few more times since then, but we are still on very tentative terms. In her entire life, I have held her once, received two reluctant hugs, and three or four "high-fives". She acknowledges me as her grandpa, and has called out for me twice, so it's just a matter of time before we get close.
In contrast Victor, my adopted grandson is an extremely affectionate little guy, who likes curling up with "Gmpa," but he's known me for most of his three years. I'm hoping to build that kind of relationship with Bella, and who knows, that may not ever develop, but I'm a patient man, I can wait. I told her last night, "One of these days, you and I are going to be great friend, and you'll wonder why it took so long." I got a hint of a smile, and a look that said, "Yeah, we'll see," but it's progress, and I fully believe what I told her. Someday...
I've said before, I never really knew a grandfather. The only grandparent I can remember was my paternal grandmother. Other kids, as I was growing up, had grandpas, and loved them a lot. I envied that my entire childhood. I watched my dad be a grandpa, and he was pretty good, as far as it went, but Dad wasn't a "hugger," or much of a "cuddler". I found the "magic" of hugs years ago, and Mr. Victor has taught me to be the latter. OK, maybe that isn't exactly true, but he re-awoke the desire to cuddle, at least.
We progress at glacial speed, but we progress.
In contrast Victor, my adopted grandson is an extremely affectionate little guy, who likes curling up with "Gmpa," but he's known me for most of his three years. I'm hoping to build that kind of relationship with Bella, and who knows, that may not ever develop, but I'm a patient man, I can wait. I told her last night, "One of these days, you and I are going to be great friend, and you'll wonder why it took so long." I got a hint of a smile, and a look that said, "Yeah, we'll see," but it's progress, and I fully believe what I told her. Someday...
I've said before, I never really knew a grandfather. The only grandparent I can remember was my paternal grandmother. Other kids, as I was growing up, had grandpas, and loved them a lot. I envied that my entire childhood. I watched my dad be a grandpa, and he was pretty good, as far as it went, but Dad wasn't a "hugger," or much of a "cuddler". I found the "magic" of hugs years ago, and Mr. Victor has taught me to be the latter. OK, maybe that isn't exactly true, but he re-awoke the desire to cuddle, at least.
We progress at glacial speed, but we progress.
Friday, February 3, 2012
I'm On A Roll, So Call Me A Sandwich
OK, that one is bad. Even for me, but it came on all of a sudden, I couldn't help it. I could go back and change it, but don't feel like it. Yes, it's going to be one of those rambles. I've been slovenly, lately, and I blame it on my back. That problem, for the next eight to ten weeks, has been taken care of, so I've got to stop being lazy all the freaking time. The pain, for all intents, is gone, I have to get up and start thinking about stuff again. I have to keep writing, maybe a number of pages/words or something every day. Work on the craft. Tell some stories. Maybe, while I'm at it, I can solve all the world's problems... Don't hold your breath quite yet...
Twenty-twelve. A leap year, 366 days, more campaign stuff, oh boy! I mean, it's bad enough that you have to adjust your watch calendar (some aren't programmed), but children born on that day really only have a birthday every four years, and then, it has to be an election year. One more stinking day of "I will do this/that/the other in the first 100 days of my new administration." Both of 'em will do it; whomever wins won't be able to do anything because of a divided Congress, so we begin The Season of Lies.
I'll throw down, right now, and say I support Mitt Romney for President. I've been a Mitt-fan for a number of years. When a Republican became Governor of Massachutsets, it really got my attention. Watching him, at the begining of his term, I saw a man who was a Moderate, something you rarely hear about during an election, a man who could represent me. When his campaign fizzled in '08, I've prayed that 2012 would be his year.
We will stop, at this point, to state that my support has nothing to do with the fact that he is a Mormon, like me, contrary to popular belief, Mitt Romney will not outlaw coffee, tobbacco, or liquor, nor will he require everyone to convert. Yeah, I know, that one sounds stupid, but it's something I've heard from a young person. There are no intentions to move the White House to Salt Lake City, and the Church Presidency will not serve in his Cabinet (I've heard those, too). That's just stupid.
For me, it's all about what the man has accomplished in his life. He's taken companies that were failing, and made them profitable. He's also made himself a ton of money, and that's OK by me. He got rid of the things (and, unfortunately people, too) who weren't contributing cost-effectively, and streamlined organizations to do more, better, faster, and more efficiently.
I'm sorry, Progressivism, along with it's socialistic agenda, and secular humanist values does not represent me. It's not the direction this nation needs to go in now. Europe hasn't lead the world since the Renissance, really, I mean look at the Edenic conditions over there right not. WE CAN'T AFFORD IT. Spending at all levels of government need to be stripped to the barest essentials. Mr. Romney's philosophy of, "Is it worth borrowing from China?" is right on the money. Elected officials in all levels of government need to stop spending money they do not have. There just isn't a way to justify that.
First off, we need to get Barack Obama's name off of the checks. Next we need to do away with Obamacare. Third, we have to trim the fat out of government. To do that, we'll need a business man who has made a considerable fortune doing just that. We need Mitt Romney for President.
Twenty-twelve. A leap year, 366 days, more campaign stuff, oh boy! I mean, it's bad enough that you have to adjust your watch calendar (some aren't programmed), but children born on that day really only have a birthday every four years, and then, it has to be an election year. One more stinking day of "I will do this/that/the other in the first 100 days of my new administration." Both of 'em will do it; whomever wins won't be able to do anything because of a divided Congress, so we begin The Season of Lies.
I'll throw down, right now, and say I support Mitt Romney for President. I've been a Mitt-fan for a number of years. When a Republican became Governor of Massachutsets, it really got my attention. Watching him, at the begining of his term, I saw a man who was a Moderate, something you rarely hear about during an election, a man who could represent me. When his campaign fizzled in '08, I've prayed that 2012 would be his year.
We will stop, at this point, to state that my support has nothing to do with the fact that he is a Mormon, like me, contrary to popular belief, Mitt Romney will not outlaw coffee, tobbacco, or liquor, nor will he require everyone to convert. Yeah, I know, that one sounds stupid, but it's something I've heard from a young person. There are no intentions to move the White House to Salt Lake City, and the Church Presidency will not serve in his Cabinet (I've heard those, too). That's just stupid.
For me, it's all about what the man has accomplished in his life. He's taken companies that were failing, and made them profitable. He's also made himself a ton of money, and that's OK by me. He got rid of the things (and, unfortunately people, too) who weren't contributing cost-effectively, and streamlined organizations to do more, better, faster, and more efficiently.
I'm sorry, Progressivism, along with it's socialistic agenda, and secular humanist values does not represent me. It's not the direction this nation needs to go in now. Europe hasn't lead the world since the Renissance, really, I mean look at the Edenic conditions over there right not. WE CAN'T AFFORD IT. Spending at all levels of government need to be stripped to the barest essentials. Mr. Romney's philosophy of, "Is it worth borrowing from China?" is right on the money. Elected officials in all levels of government need to stop spending money they do not have. There just isn't a way to justify that.
First off, we need to get Barack Obama's name off of the checks. Next we need to do away with Obamacare. Third, we have to trim the fat out of government. To do that, we'll need a business man who has made a considerable fortune doing just that. We need Mitt Romney for President.
New Picture; New Look
I felt like a change was due. The Disneyland pic with my girls was a lot of fun, but they have their own lives now. I went into My Pictures, on my computer, and couldn't find a single picture of myself that was anywhere near descent. Back to an earlier day, less than 10 years, and we both, mostly, still look like that. I'll have to get Jacki to do something for me.
Please, allow me to introduce, for those who do not know her, the most wonderful woman in the entire world, my wife Mary. Say "Hello." Mary.
"Hello."
OK, enough silly. I do, however, want to nominate her for sainthood, for putting up with my crap for almost 40 years. Other than that, we have absolutely nothing in common. We are polar opposites on so many things, we've stopped trying to count them. Separately, we're two people. Together we can damn-near do anything. Together we have raised three great kids, all contributors to their communities, all assets to their employers. We've weathered births, deaths, weddings, addiction, and even the loss of a child. Separately, it would have killed us. Together, we managed to live through it all, and grow even closer together in the process.
It's only right that she be with me here, she's with me everywhere else. Well, at least until I can get Jacki to take some good pics.
Please, allow me to introduce, for those who do not know her, the most wonderful woman in the entire world, my wife Mary. Say "Hello." Mary.
"Hello."
OK, enough silly. I do, however, want to nominate her for sainthood, for putting up with my crap for almost 40 years. Other than that, we have absolutely nothing in common. We are polar opposites on so many things, we've stopped trying to count them. Separately, we're two people. Together we can damn-near do anything. Together we have raised three great kids, all contributors to their communities, all assets to their employers. We've weathered births, deaths, weddings, addiction, and even the loss of a child. Separately, it would have killed us. Together, we managed to live through it all, and grow even closer together in the process.
It's only right that she be with me here, she's with me everywhere else. Well, at least until I can get Jacki to take some good pics.
Who Knows?
I've been writing again. I've had trouble concentrating on writing, lately, due to sciatica, brought on by a herniated/bulging disk at L-5/S-1, I've written about it before. Got an epidural steroid injection on Tuesday, 1/31/2012, so it's a lot better. My appetite is back, all of that, so I feel an urge to splurge, as it were, and start wracking the blog.
I've been maintaining a conversation with the Opinions page Editor (Hi Karen!) about column writting, and possibly a little freelance work. The local paper has nothing open, at present, but that could change, although it wouldn't, most likely, be a paying gig. She advised me to start a blog, so I told her about my "rambles," and she has been here reading some of my stuff. I hope she keeps reading, even that would be pretty cool.
I mean, face it, who knows? Who the frack knows? I enjoy writing; I've been told I'm pretty good at it; I guess I'll just have to "pay my dues," as it were. I like telling stories, some of them actually true, others are influenced my desire to create a moral point, or something like that. Physical labor is no longer an option; I can't afford to get my teaching credential renewed, and couldn't deal with the stress, anyway; I'm 60 years old, and have the time to write every day. I just don't do it, for some long periods, because of my health problems. I have many, and although none, on their own, qualify for any disability assistance, together they mean I am no longer part of the "working force, " per se. I'm not really "hurting," financially, we pay our bills, and all, so life is actually pretty good. Social Security is on the horizon, and things will get a whole lot better.
I've been maintaining a conversation with the Opinions page Editor (Hi Karen!) about column writting, and possibly a little freelance work. The local paper has nothing open, at present, but that could change, although it wouldn't, most likely, be a paying gig. She advised me to start a blog, so I told her about my "rambles," and she has been here reading some of my stuff. I hope she keeps reading, even that would be pretty cool.
I mean, face it, who knows? Who the frack knows? I enjoy writing; I've been told I'm pretty good at it; I guess I'll just have to "pay my dues," as it were. I like telling stories, some of them actually true, others are influenced my desire to create a moral point, or something like that. Physical labor is no longer an option; I can't afford to get my teaching credential renewed, and couldn't deal with the stress, anyway; I'm 60 years old, and have the time to write every day. I just don't do it, for some long periods, because of my health problems. I have many, and although none, on their own, qualify for any disability assistance, together they mean I am no longer part of the "working force, " per se. I'm not really "hurting," financially, we pay our bills, and all, so life is actually pretty good. Social Security is on the horizon, and things will get a whole lot better.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Hypocrisy
I knew what this word meant, but I looked it up anyway. I did it mostly to use my Kindle, but also as much as to refresh my memory about its meaning. It's been a word that has gets used when talking about the subject of religion. OK, as a former English teacher, it was good to confirm that the term, and it's various iterrations, are being used correctly. I just don't get the philosophy behind it's use with regards to a group of people.
My wife tells me that someone told her that they did'nt believe in Organized Religion because it is full of hypocrites, and they don't want to be associated with hypocrites, lest they be deemed by others to be hypocrites. At least that's what I got from my wife, talking about a conversation she had recently. I couldn't believe my ears! I looked at her and said, "What?" To say that this excuse is la caca de vaca on a number of levels, is being kind. How stupid, how ignorant, how self-idulged is that outlook?
First of all, we are only allowed to call ourselves "hypocrite," no one else. Very few people are given the authority to judge others, so the whole excuse is hypocrisy. If you're going to sit in my congregation, and put your judgements on me, I'd just as well that you stay at home, thank you. I fought that battle years ago, and it wasn't a whole lot of fun. I have no wish to go through it with anyone ever again.
Unfortunately, people pass judgement on others every day, it's almost become automatic. It's wrong, way wrong, but it's become a form of self defence. Yes, we make thousands of "snap judgements" every day, but when we start making them about other people, we need to consider by what authority we are acting as judge. "Judge not, that you be not judged." Matt 7:1. Personally, it tells me that I need to be more accepting of others; I've got my own stuff to account for. In other words, I'm only responsible for my self. Others may appear to be hypocrites, but who am I to make that call?
Yes, I'm probably as guilty as anyone; it seems to be a human social thing. Usually, however, the only one who gets hurt by my judgements is me. Its a sado-masochistic thing. I deprive myself of a possible friendship because of something said, or done, or beleved about the other person. When I think of how great life really is, how much better would it have been expanded by one more ally? So, yeah, I take the brunt of it.
I go to church because I want to. I go because my Heavenly Father says I'm supposed to. I go because I feel better, more uplifted, when I do. The last thing I care about, in church, is what someone else thinks of me. I am what I am, and I make no excuses for it. I have reached a peace with what I've done, relying on the Attonement to know that that part of my life is over, and that I have been forgiven for my past. The fact that I know this of a surity is testemony of how much better my relationship is with Heavenly Father. I am only responsible for me, I go to church for me. Screw everyone else.
My wife tells me that someone told her that they did'nt believe in Organized Religion because it is full of hypocrites, and they don't want to be associated with hypocrites, lest they be deemed by others to be hypocrites. At least that's what I got from my wife, talking about a conversation she had recently. I couldn't believe my ears! I looked at her and said, "What?" To say that this excuse is la caca de vaca on a number of levels, is being kind. How stupid, how ignorant, how self-idulged is that outlook?
First of all, we are only allowed to call ourselves "hypocrite," no one else. Very few people are given the authority to judge others, so the whole excuse is hypocrisy. If you're going to sit in my congregation, and put your judgements on me, I'd just as well that you stay at home, thank you. I fought that battle years ago, and it wasn't a whole lot of fun. I have no wish to go through it with anyone ever again.
Unfortunately, people pass judgement on others every day, it's almost become automatic. It's wrong, way wrong, but it's become a form of self defence. Yes, we make thousands of "snap judgements" every day, but when we start making them about other people, we need to consider by what authority we are acting as judge. "Judge not, that you be not judged." Matt 7:1. Personally, it tells me that I need to be more accepting of others; I've got my own stuff to account for. In other words, I'm only responsible for my self. Others may appear to be hypocrites, but who am I to make that call?
Yes, I'm probably as guilty as anyone; it seems to be a human social thing. Usually, however, the only one who gets hurt by my judgements is me. Its a sado-masochistic thing. I deprive myself of a possible friendship because of something said, or done, or beleved about the other person. When I think of how great life really is, how much better would it have been expanded by one more ally? So, yeah, I take the brunt of it.
I go to church because I want to. I go because my Heavenly Father says I'm supposed to. I go because I feel better, more uplifted, when I do. The last thing I care about, in church, is what someone else thinks of me. I am what I am, and I make no excuses for it. I have reached a peace with what I've done, relying on the Attonement to know that that part of my life is over, and that I have been forgiven for my past. The fact that I know this of a surity is testemony of how much better my relationship is with Heavenly Father. I am only responsible for me, I go to church for me. Screw everyone else.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)