February 25, 2017
12:03 p.m.
Do babies have souls before they're born, or does the soul dart in at the moment of birth?
Are souls reincarnated? Does a soul leave the body of a dying person and then hover around waiting for the next available body? Or does it pick and choose?
Do you suppose there have been souls created for the express purpose of entering the bodies of babies who will only live briefly? Souls that are forever infant souls, entering the babes as they are born, viewing the mothers and fathers who hold and love the newborn until it passes? Souls who are there for no other reason except to gaze into the faces of parents so those parents will know that however short a time that baby stays with them, it was aware of them and knew somehow that it was loved? A soul sent only to comfort the souls who would remain?
Some people sleep at night, and have dreams they forget as soon as they wake up.
Then there's me. I lay there staring into the darkness, my brain whirling with what usually amounts to a lot of nonsense. If I'm lucky, I get story ideas or continue the one I'm actively working on.
Sometimes I'm not so lucky. Sometimes I get questions like the ones you just read.
And they drive me crazy.
I mean, think about it: little souls who are sent by God to spend a short time with parents who will very soon be grieving the loss of their baby. This little soul who enlivens the child, who fills it with personality and awareness for a brief time, and then returns to God, having completed a task to give a grieving mother some comfort that her child was really, truly with her and understood that there was love.
Could that be true? And in that case, could it be the same soul, over and over again tasked with that same mission, never to exist in a larger time frame, never to grow up and grow old?
Wow. What a terrible job! What a profound responsibility!
I hope it's not true. I hope souls take turns with that. Because that would be too much to ask, wouldn't it? Every soul deserves a chance at a lifetime, right?
Yeah...I don't know where these questions come from. Insomnia really sucks. No one should get so tired that things like this pop into their minds and make them question the universal plan. How can I question a plan I have no real knowledge of?
What do you think--is there an infinite number of souls and they all exist only once, ever? Or do they get recycled?
I'm asking because--wow--it seems really unfair that a one-use-only soul might only get to make a twelve minute appearance, and then "poof!" This while another soul drops in and hangs around for a hundred plus years.
I'm thinking, nah. There's got to be some kind of plan so every soul gets a chance to climb a tree or pick a rose, or take Mom a dandelion with a proud smile.
Maybe God knows which babies are not going to get to stay more than a couple of hours, and so no soul drops in at all.
No, I can't believe that, either. There's a life there, even if it is a brief one. If there's a life, there's a soul. There has to be.
Which again begs the question--is there a soul before birth?
You can see why I'm feeling a little crazy, can't you? Who can answer these questions? Besides God, I mean, because He's not talking to me about this one.
I know there are a lot of people who would tell me one way or another, and use their own convictions to prove to me that right to life is or is not valid.
The truth is, we don't know the answer. We don't know when the soul does or does not exisit in a baby. We don't know if a child who dies in utero under any circumstance had a soul yet. The two-and-a-half month miscarriage or the eight-month sudden death before birth--alive? Yes, both were alive, and then they were not alive. Endowed with a soul prior to first breath? We don't know. No one knows.
Or do we? The bible says that when Mary, barely pregnant with the infant Jesus, went to visit with the much-more pregnant mother of John the Baptist, Elizabeth, the older infant leapt with joy in his mother's womb because he recognized the Savior Mary was to give birth to.
(It's in there, but I'm too tired to go look it up and give you the details. You go look it up.)
(Yeah, yeah, you knew I'd do it for you, didn't you? Luke 1:39-56 )
Anyway, that sounds to me like there is a soul before birth. At least in the case of the six-month- gestational-aged John the Baptist. And the less-than-a-month-gestational-aged Savior.
Hmm. Something to think about.
Something else to think about. Since I was already thinking all this other stuff.
Whatever it all means, I still have no idea if that same little soul makes repeated trips into the bodies of short-lived infants to bring comfort to the parents, or if all souls take turns doing it, or if souls have a one-term-only residency program.
No wonder I can't sleep.
Puppies. I need to think about puppies. Puppies are cute. Puppies are simple. Puppies are cuddly. Puppies would sleep with me and keep me from thinking profound thoughts that lead me nowhere except to more questions.
Yeah. Puppies. Worst case, I have to pick up poop.
I can deal with that.
___________________________________________________________________________________
11:54 p.m.
Do you suppose that people who read my blog consider calling the nice young men in the clean white coats and the butterfly nets?
I got busy and forgot to finish this post earlier. So now I read it over, and I'm wondering if I can somehow talk my dad into letting me get a puppy.
Not gonna happen. Ha ha! There are too many upcoming travel plans in this household. And when I go back to Colorado, there are already a couple of dogs who can try to hog my bed.
Anyway, I guess I will post this and let the chips fall where they may. Hopefully no dudes with straight jackets show up at the door in the next few days.
Hopefully, I will go to sleep tonight!!
Thinking about PUPPIES!
Good night!
Sunday, February 26, 2017
Friday, February 24, 2017
February 23, 2017
10:51 p.m.
Oh boy, oh boy! To the next person who tells me that global warming cannot be a thing because it's snowing out there--Science! You've got a brain, put it to work. Global warming could conceivably be the cause of the next ice age. I am not kidding.
I don't know why, but people who don't know anything about anything seem to love to try to start arguments with me. It's not that I think I know everything, but at least I make an effort to know something before I start talking about it.
I even make an effort to learn things I'm not particularly interested in--just in case someone decides to try to make me look stupid. Because, for reasons I cannot begin to understand, there are people out there who actually spend a great deal of time trying to do that!
(Look, I can make me look stupid all by myself, thanks. I have fallen up stairs and choked on air. I don't need help.)
As an example, I get a lot of people who try to say that things are "God's will". Things like excluding groups of people because they are not the same as the group excluding them. Things like allowing children to be bullied and ostracized because they don't "fit the mold". Things like exhorting others to hate, lie, cheat.
These are people who happily deport all immigrants, steal land from the Native Americans, deny basic human rights to transgender children, throw garbage in our waterways and lie repeatedly to everyone--probably to themselves most of all.
Calling something like that "God's will" sends me straight to my Bible. Wow, guess what? The bible says we should welcome the foreigner as one born in our lands. The bible says we should love one another as we love ourselves. It says God created the world--and nowhere does it say He created man to destroy His beautiful work. It tells us that Jesus taught that whatever we do to the least of His brethren, that we do also to Him.
So, from that you've learned...what? Bully the teen who finally built up the courage to come out? Steal from your neighbors? Pollute the earth to gain money? Judge others for the color of their skin or for the way they choose to worship--or not?
Find that in the bible and tell me it's God's will.
Insanity.
And let me tell you something: I am a lazy Christian. I really am. I don't spend hours studying my bible, I go to church whenever and skip church more often than not. I am a believer, but I'm lax on the practicing part of church-going.
I'm honest enough to admit it, however.
So for challenging me to research--good job! For trying to make me feel foolish--nice try! For being judgmental, racial, homophobic, etc.--for shame! It's time for you to do your own research and realize that God has not put you in charge of judging mankind.
Matthew 25:40 "And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."
Watch your step.
There's a reason I try very hard to treat others the way I'd like to be treated myself--if I don't, the day will come I will have to answer for it.
I'm not for a second claiming that I always succeed. I am so far from perfect that I can barely see it ahead of me in the distance. I strive, and I fail. Daily. But I do keep trying. I do. Because it's the right thing to do.
My biggest failing, I feel at this time, is letting myself be upset by the people who have been using the word of God to promote their un-God-like agendas. I have let them bait me into wanting to turn the tables on them and prove them wrong--which, if I am honest, makes me look petty and is probably just what they want.
So I am going to try very hard to ignore the baiting. I will try very hard to stay out of debates with people who, frankly, will not really pay attention to me in the first place. I have to understand that their agenda is to say what they have to say, and when others respond, however logically, repeat themselves rather than responding to what others have told them; rather than trying to learn new things by having an honest give and take conversation.
Personally, I welcome the chance to research, and to have conversations where I can learn new things. I can be reasonable, and if given a logical explanation I can sometimes be persuaded to look at things from another perspective.
But--and this is a big but--I will not be bullied into believing things simply because some obscure someone somewhere said so, and I will not be persuaded that God would ever encourage His children to mistreat one another or the beautiful world he created for us.
___________________________________________________________________________________
February 24, 2017
1:10 a.m.
Oops, kind of went off there, didn't I? But--come on! Dumping coal waste into streams is not God's will, so please don't bring Him into the conversation when I mention that polluting our water will doom the planet. (Seriously, I said this, and the reply was "It's God's will for the government to save coal miners' jobs". Uh...I didn't say eliminate jobs, I just said don't pollute the water while you're at it! Duh! There's got to be a way to do both. Be smart. Find a way!)
Okay, I'm done.
___________________________________________________________________________________
On a whole new and exciting track--who's watching "Jane the Virgin"? I recently caught up, and I really want to go crazy talking about it but I don't want to spoil it for anyone who's recording it to catch up later. I will just say--wow. Love the show.
Also, has anyone watched the new Netflix series "Santa Clarita Diet" with Drew Barrymore? I am a fan!!
___________________________________________________________________________________
In case you didn't notice, I have started a whole new day, and I'm thinking it's bedtime. So have a great rest of the darkness before the dawn and I'll think at you later.
Good night!
10:51 p.m.
Oh boy, oh boy! To the next person who tells me that global warming cannot be a thing because it's snowing out there--Science! You've got a brain, put it to work. Global warming could conceivably be the cause of the next ice age. I am not kidding.
I don't know why, but people who don't know anything about anything seem to love to try to start arguments with me. It's not that I think I know everything, but at least I make an effort to know something before I start talking about it.
I even make an effort to learn things I'm not particularly interested in--just in case someone decides to try to make me look stupid. Because, for reasons I cannot begin to understand, there are people out there who actually spend a great deal of time trying to do that!
(Look, I can make me look stupid all by myself, thanks. I have fallen up stairs and choked on air. I don't need help.)
As an example, I get a lot of people who try to say that things are "God's will". Things like excluding groups of people because they are not the same as the group excluding them. Things like allowing children to be bullied and ostracized because they don't "fit the mold". Things like exhorting others to hate, lie, cheat.
These are people who happily deport all immigrants, steal land from the Native Americans, deny basic human rights to transgender children, throw garbage in our waterways and lie repeatedly to everyone--probably to themselves most of all.
Calling something like that "God's will" sends me straight to my Bible. Wow, guess what? The bible says we should welcome the foreigner as one born in our lands. The bible says we should love one another as we love ourselves. It says God created the world--and nowhere does it say He created man to destroy His beautiful work. It tells us that Jesus taught that whatever we do to the least of His brethren, that we do also to Him.
So, from that you've learned...what? Bully the teen who finally built up the courage to come out? Steal from your neighbors? Pollute the earth to gain money? Judge others for the color of their skin or for the way they choose to worship--or not?
Find that in the bible and tell me it's God's will.
Insanity.
And let me tell you something: I am a lazy Christian. I really am. I don't spend hours studying my bible, I go to church whenever and skip church more often than not. I am a believer, but I'm lax on the practicing part of church-going.
I'm honest enough to admit it, however.
So for challenging me to research--good job! For trying to make me feel foolish--nice try! For being judgmental, racial, homophobic, etc.--for shame! It's time for you to do your own research and realize that God has not put you in charge of judging mankind.
Matthew 25:40 "And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."
Watch your step.
There's a reason I try very hard to treat others the way I'd like to be treated myself--if I don't, the day will come I will have to answer for it.
I'm not for a second claiming that I always succeed. I am so far from perfect that I can barely see it ahead of me in the distance. I strive, and I fail. Daily. But I do keep trying. I do. Because it's the right thing to do.
My biggest failing, I feel at this time, is letting myself be upset by the people who have been using the word of God to promote their un-God-like agendas. I have let them bait me into wanting to turn the tables on them and prove them wrong--which, if I am honest, makes me look petty and is probably just what they want.
So I am going to try very hard to ignore the baiting. I will try very hard to stay out of debates with people who, frankly, will not really pay attention to me in the first place. I have to understand that their agenda is to say what they have to say, and when others respond, however logically, repeat themselves rather than responding to what others have told them; rather than trying to learn new things by having an honest give and take conversation.
Personally, I welcome the chance to research, and to have conversations where I can learn new things. I can be reasonable, and if given a logical explanation I can sometimes be persuaded to look at things from another perspective.
But--and this is a big but--I will not be bullied into believing things simply because some obscure someone somewhere said so, and I will not be persuaded that God would ever encourage His children to mistreat one another or the beautiful world he created for us.
___________________________________________________________________________________
February 24, 2017
1:10 a.m.
Oops, kind of went off there, didn't I? But--come on! Dumping coal waste into streams is not God's will, so please don't bring Him into the conversation when I mention that polluting our water will doom the planet. (Seriously, I said this, and the reply was "It's God's will for the government to save coal miners' jobs". Uh...I didn't say eliminate jobs, I just said don't pollute the water while you're at it! Duh! There's got to be a way to do both. Be smart. Find a way!)
Okay, I'm done.
___________________________________________________________________________________
On a whole new and exciting track--who's watching "Jane the Virgin"? I recently caught up, and I really want to go crazy talking about it but I don't want to spoil it for anyone who's recording it to catch up later. I will just say--wow. Love the show.
Also, has anyone watched the new Netflix series "Santa Clarita Diet" with Drew Barrymore? I am a fan!!
___________________________________________________________________________________
In case you didn't notice, I have started a whole new day, and I'm thinking it's bedtime. So have a great rest of the darkness before the dawn and I'll think at you later.
Good night!
Thursday, February 23, 2017
February 22, 2017
10:26 p.m.
When I was growing up, my world was divided into the "us" and the "them" all children experience. "Us" was children. "Them" was all the grownups: parents, teachers, mailmen, etc.
The world we lived in was a world of school and play. The grownups existed in the periphery. They were the caretakers, the audience, the maker of rules and the providers of meals and treats. They were our own parents, and our friends' parents.
To me, Rose Gardea belonged in that world of "them". Mainly because I didn't see much of her as I entered adulthood myself, she was locked into a time vault of sorts, forever the woman I saw as a child. I grew up and moved away, and I have lived away from town for too long for her to have moved on from that world in my memory. She will forever be the grownup, the mother of my friends and classmates. She will always be the smiling face in the sea of faces at school performances, the cheering encourager at sporting events.
Of course, I know that time passed, and her children, like me, grew up. She progressed from motherhood to grand-motherhood. I wasn't here to see all that. For me she was frozen in time; Mrs. Gardea, the mother of young adults, most likely no older than forty. It came as a bit of a shock to me to see her children tonight, grown older. It is always a shock to know that I am not the only one who became a person well over the age of twenty-one. That time-freeze thing that happens in my mind does not hold true in real life.
Rose Gardea was a lady I saw in church as I was growing up, one who always seemed to be there. As I grew older, when I bothered to show up to Mass myself, she was one of the people I could almost always count on to be present. That sort of devotion is rare in this world, especially in these trying times; it is honorable and commendable. I'm told that her faith never wavered all these many years, that she remained someone you could count on to be there.
With her faith and love as a shining example, Mrs. Gardea guided her children to productive and compassionate adulthood. How do I know this? Because I grew up with them, and I know the kind of children and teenagers they once were. They were always kind. They worked hard. They were good kids who grew into good adults.
Now those adult children have been left without that lovely woman in their lives, and as a daughter myself, one who has been so blessed with the good fortune of having both parents still with me, I cannot begin to imagine the pain of their loss right now.
But I also know what they know: this is not an end, but a beginning for their beloved mother. She no longer suffers any pain. She knows now the love and peace of a better place. And she will be waiting for them when their time to move on comes.
To the Gardea family, I offer my condolences and good wishes. To Rose Gardea, I wish you peace forever. May you fly high.
___________________________________________________________________________________
My thoughts tonight are with the families and friends who will miss a lovely woman.
Goodnight.
10:26 p.m.
In Memory
Rose E. Gardea
11-22-1939 to 02-18-2017
Tomorrow we will join together to say our goodbyes to a lovely woman who has passed from this plane into the greater world beyond.
When I was growing up, my world was divided into the "us" and the "them" all children experience. "Us" was children. "Them" was all the grownups: parents, teachers, mailmen, etc.
The world we lived in was a world of school and play. The grownups existed in the periphery. They were the caretakers, the audience, the maker of rules and the providers of meals and treats. They were our own parents, and our friends' parents.
To me, Rose Gardea belonged in that world of "them". Mainly because I didn't see much of her as I entered adulthood myself, she was locked into a time vault of sorts, forever the woman I saw as a child. I grew up and moved away, and I have lived away from town for too long for her to have moved on from that world in my memory. She will forever be the grownup, the mother of my friends and classmates. She will always be the smiling face in the sea of faces at school performances, the cheering encourager at sporting events.
Of course, I know that time passed, and her children, like me, grew up. She progressed from motherhood to grand-motherhood. I wasn't here to see all that. For me she was frozen in time; Mrs. Gardea, the mother of young adults, most likely no older than forty. It came as a bit of a shock to me to see her children tonight, grown older. It is always a shock to know that I am not the only one who became a person well over the age of twenty-one. That time-freeze thing that happens in my mind does not hold true in real life.
Rose Gardea was a lady I saw in church as I was growing up, one who always seemed to be there. As I grew older, when I bothered to show up to Mass myself, she was one of the people I could almost always count on to be present. That sort of devotion is rare in this world, especially in these trying times; it is honorable and commendable. I'm told that her faith never wavered all these many years, that she remained someone you could count on to be there.
With her faith and love as a shining example, Mrs. Gardea guided her children to productive and compassionate adulthood. How do I know this? Because I grew up with them, and I know the kind of children and teenagers they once were. They were always kind. They worked hard. They were good kids who grew into good adults.
Now those adult children have been left without that lovely woman in their lives, and as a daughter myself, one who has been so blessed with the good fortune of having both parents still with me, I cannot begin to imagine the pain of their loss right now.
But I also know what they know: this is not an end, but a beginning for their beloved mother. She no longer suffers any pain. She knows now the love and peace of a better place. And she will be waiting for them when their time to move on comes.
To the Gardea family, I offer my condolences and good wishes. To Rose Gardea, I wish you peace forever. May you fly high.
___________________________________________________________________________________
My thoughts tonight are with the families and friends who will miss a lovely woman.
Goodnight.
Sunday, February 19, 2017
February 18, 2017
9:05 p.m.
There's just no denying the fact that I have no business camping.
Don't get me wrong; I love to go out into the great outdoors, sit around a campfire, roast potatoes in a dutch oven. I love to dip a line in the water and hopefully catch a fish.
But I am ill suited to it these days--now I am apparently allergic to all things wilderness.
And I guess I should have foreseen this happening even when I was a kid.
I am going to tell you a story of my worst camping day ever.
It was some time in the 1970s. I'm old; there's no way I can be more specific than that. My memory is simply not that good.
We had driven up into the mountains with friends to a campsite that we'd visited before. There was a creek running through the camp; fast moving water teaming with brook trout.
I loved to fish, but I didn't like doing it around a lot of people, so I took my little tackle box and my fishing pole and made my way upstream, following the brook first on land and then in the water.
I was probably over a mile from camp when I turned around to go back downstream. I had a few brookies on a line, and I was tired of walking through waist high water against the current.
Like all mountain streams, this one twisted and turned, meandering down the mountain. The banks were overgrown with lush vegetation, so I could generally only see what was right in front of me.
Sloshing through the water, I rounded a bend and came face to face--literally--with a moose! I jumped backwards. So did the moose, luckily for me. It went one way and I went the other, until I was on the bank, breathing hard and more than a little aware of the rapid pounding of my heart.
Nothing had prepared me for a moose encounter; I had no idea how big they are--how big their heads are! And, might I add: a face only a mother could love. They are not as pretty as deer or elk, they're a little...er...lumpy.
As I stood there, dripping, it slowly dawned on me how lucky I was. Moose are more at home in the water than on dry ground. It could have stomped me flat! I'd be drowned and squashed into the mud and no one would ever find me.
Thank God I scared the moose as much as it scared me.
As my heartbeat returned to normal, I realized that I had lost my fish. Dang it!
I shouldered my fishing pole and started walking downstream, now on the bank. I swung my tackle box, held in my left hand, forward and back against my thigh. I figured I'd be fine if I stayed out of the water, and it was high time I got back to camp.
I'm not sure how far I'd gotten before I stepped into a hole. Whoosh, down I went. What saved me was that I was holding my pole over my right shoulder with my elbow up. I was wedged in up to my shoulders with my left arm inside the hole, still clutching my tackle box, and my right arm awkwardly holding me there instead of allowing me to fall in deeper.
I wiggled my feet. Nope. I couldn't touch bottom. Not cool.
I dropped my fishing rod, and tried to pull myself out.
Nope. I needed to get a little higher before I could put my free arm to work.
I started wiggling my left arm and hand, using the tackle box to sort of push my way up, digging into the ground with my toes and pushing down on the surface ground with my right elbow. Leverage, you know. Wiggle, dig and push, wiggle, dig and push.
Okay, obviously, I got out of the hole. God knows how long it took me to get up high enough to really use my free arm to maneuver my way free, but I made it.
Clearly something was out to get me, I thought and I scooted my way backwards, away from the hole.
I was covered in mud. My tackle box was covered in mud.
I didn't care; I was out of the hole, and that's what mattered.
Giving the hole of death a wide berth, I started back downstream, keeping careful watch on the ground ahead of me and the bushes around me.
I was no longer comfortable with my surroundings. Who would be?
I got close enough to see the campers and trucks, got back into the water and sloshed my way back to camp. I submerged in the water and scrubbed off mud. Then I went to the bank, opened my tackle box, and cleaned it out--it was full of mud!
I put my things under the truck, climbed into the camper my parents had built for we kids on the back of the truck and changed into dry clothes.
Then I went and joined everyone else in camp. It was dinner time. I loaded a plate for myself. I sat down, and then, I decided I wanted a soft drink to go with my dinner. So I set my plate down on an empty lawn chair, stood and took about three steps forward to the cooler, stepped back without looking and sat down in my chair--and my dinner!
Someone had decided to sit in the chair I'd set my plate on and moved it to my own chair, just that quickly.
I stood up. The plate went with me, then plopped off my butt and onto the ground.
Sheesh!
That was it for me. The clothes on my back were the clean clothes--the ones I'd changed out of were drying on some bushes. Without saying a word, I picked up my plate and put it in the garbage, went back to the camper and closed the door.
I dropped my jeans, pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms and grabbed a book.
Reading is safer. Yes. I could have all the adventure I craved and never meet a moose, fall in a hole or sit in my dinner.
That was not a great day of camping, my friends.
I've spent a good deal of time since then out in the great outdoors, but I suppose it should come as no surprise that over time I came to go out less and less. I was not one of those people who outgrew allergies, but instead developed more and more over time.
And, besides--mosquitoes.
Also, since my house burned down, I no longer enjoy the smell of a campfire.
But books? Yeah, books are safe, man. So far I haven't had a bad reading day!
Anyway, I recently remembered this day while chatting with my parents about the good old days, and thought you might enjoy hearing about my particular no good very bad day.
And now, I'm going to go to bed and read something.
Good night!
9:05 p.m.
There's just no denying the fact that I have no business camping.
Don't get me wrong; I love to go out into the great outdoors, sit around a campfire, roast potatoes in a dutch oven. I love to dip a line in the water and hopefully catch a fish.
But I am ill suited to it these days--now I am apparently allergic to all things wilderness.
And I guess I should have foreseen this happening even when I was a kid.
I am going to tell you a story of my worst camping day ever.
It was some time in the 1970s. I'm old; there's no way I can be more specific than that. My memory is simply not that good.
We had driven up into the mountains with friends to a campsite that we'd visited before. There was a creek running through the camp; fast moving water teaming with brook trout.
I loved to fish, but I didn't like doing it around a lot of people, so I took my little tackle box and my fishing pole and made my way upstream, following the brook first on land and then in the water.
I was probably over a mile from camp when I turned around to go back downstream. I had a few brookies on a line, and I was tired of walking through waist high water against the current.
Like all mountain streams, this one twisted and turned, meandering down the mountain. The banks were overgrown with lush vegetation, so I could generally only see what was right in front of me.
Sloshing through the water, I rounded a bend and came face to face--literally--with a moose! I jumped backwards. So did the moose, luckily for me. It went one way and I went the other, until I was on the bank, breathing hard and more than a little aware of the rapid pounding of my heart.
Nothing had prepared me for a moose encounter; I had no idea how big they are--how big their heads are! And, might I add: a face only a mother could love. They are not as pretty as deer or elk, they're a little...er...lumpy.
As I stood there, dripping, it slowly dawned on me how lucky I was. Moose are more at home in the water than on dry ground. It could have stomped me flat! I'd be drowned and squashed into the mud and no one would ever find me.
Thank God I scared the moose as much as it scared me.
As my heartbeat returned to normal, I realized that I had lost my fish. Dang it!
I shouldered my fishing pole and started walking downstream, now on the bank. I swung my tackle box, held in my left hand, forward and back against my thigh. I figured I'd be fine if I stayed out of the water, and it was high time I got back to camp.
I'm not sure how far I'd gotten before I stepped into a hole. Whoosh, down I went. What saved me was that I was holding my pole over my right shoulder with my elbow up. I was wedged in up to my shoulders with my left arm inside the hole, still clutching my tackle box, and my right arm awkwardly holding me there instead of allowing me to fall in deeper.
I wiggled my feet. Nope. I couldn't touch bottom. Not cool.
I dropped my fishing rod, and tried to pull myself out.
Nope. I needed to get a little higher before I could put my free arm to work.
I started wiggling my left arm and hand, using the tackle box to sort of push my way up, digging into the ground with my toes and pushing down on the surface ground with my right elbow. Leverage, you know. Wiggle, dig and push, wiggle, dig and push.
Okay, obviously, I got out of the hole. God knows how long it took me to get up high enough to really use my free arm to maneuver my way free, but I made it.
Clearly something was out to get me, I thought and I scooted my way backwards, away from the hole.
I was covered in mud. My tackle box was covered in mud.
I didn't care; I was out of the hole, and that's what mattered.
Giving the hole of death a wide berth, I started back downstream, keeping careful watch on the ground ahead of me and the bushes around me.
I was no longer comfortable with my surroundings. Who would be?
I got close enough to see the campers and trucks, got back into the water and sloshed my way back to camp. I submerged in the water and scrubbed off mud. Then I went to the bank, opened my tackle box, and cleaned it out--it was full of mud!
I put my things under the truck, climbed into the camper my parents had built for we kids on the back of the truck and changed into dry clothes.
Then I went and joined everyone else in camp. It was dinner time. I loaded a plate for myself. I sat down, and then, I decided I wanted a soft drink to go with my dinner. So I set my plate down on an empty lawn chair, stood and took about three steps forward to the cooler, stepped back without looking and sat down in my chair--and my dinner!
Someone had decided to sit in the chair I'd set my plate on and moved it to my own chair, just that quickly.
I stood up. The plate went with me, then plopped off my butt and onto the ground.
Sheesh!
That was it for me. The clothes on my back were the clean clothes--the ones I'd changed out of were drying on some bushes. Without saying a word, I picked up my plate and put it in the garbage, went back to the camper and closed the door.
I dropped my jeans, pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms and grabbed a book.
Reading is safer. Yes. I could have all the adventure I craved and never meet a moose, fall in a hole or sit in my dinner.
That was not a great day of camping, my friends.
I've spent a good deal of time since then out in the great outdoors, but I suppose it should come as no surprise that over time I came to go out less and less. I was not one of those people who outgrew allergies, but instead developed more and more over time.
And, besides--mosquitoes.
Also, since my house burned down, I no longer enjoy the smell of a campfire.
But books? Yeah, books are safe, man. So far I haven't had a bad reading day!
Anyway, I recently remembered this day while chatting with my parents about the good old days, and thought you might enjoy hearing about my particular no good very bad day.
And now, I'm going to go to bed and read something.
Good night!
Saturday, February 18, 2017
February 17, 2017
10:08 p.m.
Well, Valentine's Day has come and gone, and I hope you still have plenty of chocolate left.
I haven't spoken about it much, but I had an interesting few days.
Last week I started to feel really ill again. Ill as in the really uncomfortable stomach pain and nausea that I experienced a while back that resulted in an Emergency room visit followed by months of tests that have so far told me nothing much. And I really, really didn't want to deal with it, because I'm not home and my insurance won't cover regular doctors visits in Wyoming.
Go figure.
I spent some time--a good deal of it, actually--ascertaining that there was no way to change my coverage with my present plan because--surprise, surprise--my plan is not available in Wyoming. Wyoming is one of those states that has practically zero choices when it comes to insurance.
So I set out to self-diagnose and hopefully get myself better, because I had a couple of important things I absolutely had to do.
A childhood friend had moved on to the next plane, and I wanted to honor her memory by attending her rosary service and the funeral service the following day.
So I started to eat really carefully, the less the better. I drank lots of water, ginger tea, and ginger ale.
When the pain got worse and started to radiate through to my back, I started to worry that I might be dealing with an inflammatory process that would need treatment.
I worried about pancreatitis.
Yeah, it's a risk for my still not definitively diagnosed condition. Crap.
I messaged a friend who has dealt with pancreatitis and scared him. He told me to get myself to a doctor, but I delayed.
Things to do. Important things.
So Thursday night my parents, my sister and I attended the rosary.
I have to say, it was well attended by many people who knew and loved her. I was happy to see that turn-out; she deserved nothing less. But oh, how I wish none of us had need to be there. No one there was ready to say good-bye to such a lovely woman.
There were beautiful tributes by her sister and grandchildren, family and friends. She was clearly much loved.
Stupid cancer.
The next morning we went to the funeral service. Again, very well attended. Wonderful tribute by the parish priest. Beautiful eulogy by her oldest daughter.
I wanted to stick around and see everyone, but the time had come, and instead we went back to the house and changed clothes and went to the danged emergency room.
Vital signs and pain checks and the nurse tells me I have a pretty high pain threshold based on I-don't-know-what results. I guess there are ways to know if someone goes in pretending to be in pain.
They put me in a room and put me in a gown. My parents got to sit around and wait and watch while a nurse TRIED to start an IV line and instead blew out a vein. Fun.
Finally got an IV in place, ran blood tests and then dosed me up with anti-inflammatory drugs and good old morphine.
A while later a somewhat alarmed nurse rushed in to get me started on oxygen, because my saturations had dropped a lot.
Well, the C-Pap user--aka Paula--was not all that surprised. It happens to me all the time.
Can I just say that I really like oxygen? Perks me right up.
Well, after a few hours test results showed gastroenteritis--an inflamed stomach--and thankfully no pancreatic involvement. I got a prescription for some anti-nausea and anti-vomiting drugs and was told to stay on clear liquids for awhile and follow up with my doctor. Because it was all probably due to gastroparesis.
Yeah, we know how well that's worked out so far. We've heard this all before, right?
I wish someone would just come right out and say: "Yep, that's what you've got. There's a name for the condition, and this is it." But no. They just give me this drug and that, and a list of things NOT to eat, and say more testing will be required.
I'm not rich enough for all those tests, so I'll be more careful of my eating.
Anyway, I am eating again, and sometimes it works out okay, and sometimes it doesn't. It's been a week, and my favorites to date are baked potato, jello and Popsicles. I can sort of get away with cottage cheese. I've had a little meat, but that's iffy.
I really want a big, sloppy hamburger with tomatoes and onions, but I guess I'll take what I can get!
I have so far not taken any of the medication; I filled the prescription and read the warnings and possible side effects. I do not feel the need to take something that can possibly cause heart palpitations, difficulty breathing and hallucinations. I'd rather vomit, if it comes to that.
So that was my week: drinking lots of clear liquids and eating jello and Popsicles and wishing for a salad.
Oh, I also got ragged on for not loving an ugly dress, and I stressed out about politics because we're all screwed.
I've had better weeks, I'll tell you that.
Okay, now here comes the plus side.
Nurses and doctor at Memorial Hospital of Sweetwater County were kind, courteous and I received excellent care. (Vein blow-puts are just a poopy part of my life.) I just want to say that I really thank them all for taking care of me.
___________________________________________________________________________________
February 18, 2017
12:21 a.m.
Yeah, yeah, I'm still up.
I've been busy writing my new book, and it's in the final stretch, which means I'm slowing down because I get antsy at this point. Dialogue is constantly zooming through my addled brain.
And big time editing is coming...
No wonder I diss ugly dresses online!
___________________________________________________________________________________
Okay, it is time to say goodnight for now and go catch up on "Jane the Virgin". I would really, really love to dish on the show, but if I fave anything away to those who are not caught up, I would never forgive myself.
So...have a great night!
10:08 p.m.
Well, Valentine's Day has come and gone, and I hope you still have plenty of chocolate left.
I haven't spoken about it much, but I had an interesting few days.
Last week I started to feel really ill again. Ill as in the really uncomfortable stomach pain and nausea that I experienced a while back that resulted in an Emergency room visit followed by months of tests that have so far told me nothing much. And I really, really didn't want to deal with it, because I'm not home and my insurance won't cover regular doctors visits in Wyoming.
Go figure.
I spent some time--a good deal of it, actually--ascertaining that there was no way to change my coverage with my present plan because--surprise, surprise--my plan is not available in Wyoming. Wyoming is one of those states that has practically zero choices when it comes to insurance.
So I set out to self-diagnose and hopefully get myself better, because I had a couple of important things I absolutely had to do.
A childhood friend had moved on to the next plane, and I wanted to honor her memory by attending her rosary service and the funeral service the following day.
So I started to eat really carefully, the less the better. I drank lots of water, ginger tea, and ginger ale.
When the pain got worse and started to radiate through to my back, I started to worry that I might be dealing with an inflammatory process that would need treatment.
I worried about pancreatitis.
Yeah, it's a risk for my still not definitively diagnosed condition. Crap.
I messaged a friend who has dealt with pancreatitis and scared him. He told me to get myself to a doctor, but I delayed.
Things to do. Important things.
So Thursday night my parents, my sister and I attended the rosary.
I have to say, it was well attended by many people who knew and loved her. I was happy to see that turn-out; she deserved nothing less. But oh, how I wish none of us had need to be there. No one there was ready to say good-bye to such a lovely woman.
There were beautiful tributes by her sister and grandchildren, family and friends. She was clearly much loved.
Stupid cancer.
The next morning we went to the funeral service. Again, very well attended. Wonderful tribute by the parish priest. Beautiful eulogy by her oldest daughter.
I wanted to stick around and see everyone, but the time had come, and instead we went back to the house and changed clothes and went to the danged emergency room.
Vital signs and pain checks and the nurse tells me I have a pretty high pain threshold based on I-don't-know-what results. I guess there are ways to know if someone goes in pretending to be in pain.
They put me in a room and put me in a gown. My parents got to sit around and wait and watch while a nurse TRIED to start an IV line and instead blew out a vein. Fun.
Finally got an IV in place, ran blood tests and then dosed me up with anti-inflammatory drugs and good old morphine.
A while later a somewhat alarmed nurse rushed in to get me started on oxygen, because my saturations had dropped a lot.
Well, the C-Pap user--aka Paula--was not all that surprised. It happens to me all the time.
Can I just say that I really like oxygen? Perks me right up.
Well, after a few hours test results showed gastroenteritis--an inflamed stomach--and thankfully no pancreatic involvement. I got a prescription for some anti-nausea and anti-vomiting drugs and was told to stay on clear liquids for awhile and follow up with my doctor. Because it was all probably due to gastroparesis.
Yeah, we know how well that's worked out so far. We've heard this all before, right?
I wish someone would just come right out and say: "Yep, that's what you've got. There's a name for the condition, and this is it." But no. They just give me this drug and that, and a list of things NOT to eat, and say more testing will be required.
I'm not rich enough for all those tests, so I'll be more careful of my eating.
Anyway, I am eating again, and sometimes it works out okay, and sometimes it doesn't. It's been a week, and my favorites to date are baked potato, jello and Popsicles. I can sort of get away with cottage cheese. I've had a little meat, but that's iffy.
I really want a big, sloppy hamburger with tomatoes and onions, but I guess I'll take what I can get!
I have so far not taken any of the medication; I filled the prescription and read the warnings and possible side effects. I do not feel the need to take something that can possibly cause heart palpitations, difficulty breathing and hallucinations. I'd rather vomit, if it comes to that.
So that was my week: drinking lots of clear liquids and eating jello and Popsicles and wishing for a salad.
Oh, I also got ragged on for not loving an ugly dress, and I stressed out about politics because we're all screwed.
I've had better weeks, I'll tell you that.
Okay, now here comes the plus side.
Nurses and doctor at Memorial Hospital of Sweetwater County were kind, courteous and I received excellent care. (Vein blow-puts are just a poopy part of my life.) I just want to say that I really thank them all for taking care of me.
___________________________________________________________________________________
February 18, 2017
12:21 a.m.
Yeah, yeah, I'm still up.
I've been busy writing my new book, and it's in the final stretch, which means I'm slowing down because I get antsy at this point. Dialogue is constantly zooming through my addled brain.
And big time editing is coming...
No wonder I diss ugly dresses online!
___________________________________________________________________________________
Okay, it is time to say goodnight for now and go catch up on "Jane the Virgin". I would really, really love to dish on the show, but if I fave anything away to those who are not caught up, I would never forgive myself.
So...have a great night!
Tuesday, February 14, 2017
February 14, 2017
1:42 a.m.
I just realized it is Valentine's Day. Whoop-dee-doo.
Not that I have anything against love. I have a lot of loves. Chocolate, for instance. Love it. But will anyone be sending me some today? Seriously doubtful.
Okay, I'm a Valentine Scrooge. Sue me.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Anyway, I wasn't even thinking about that Cupid-filled, overpriced and certainly over-rated holiday until I typed the date. I had other things on my mind.
Fist of all, I'm wondering if I am the only one who has been seriously disappointed in the awards shows this year.
I'm thinking there should be a new law: Separation of Church and State and Awards Shows.
Am I wrong?
I don't want to go to church and get handed a political flyer or be told from the pulpit who God wants me to vote for. I don't think God has chosen one political party over another. Honestly, I think God may presently feel like striking them all with a serious case of boils.
Similarly, I don't want a politician telling me what church to attend or how I am "supposed" to interpret the messages of the Bible. I don't need a Democrat or Republican to tell me what to believe when it comes to my relationship with the God of my understanding.
And last of all, I don't want to hear a political plug, or a religious sermon, during an acceptance speech.
I bought your record. I stood in a packed crowd at your concert. I paid for a ticket to your movie. I watched your television show faithfully. For this, you have received an award. Thank your audience, and the many who have helped you reach where you are today. I realize that you may want to give God credit, and that is all well and good, but don't try to convert me while you're at it. Don't theorize that your support of a political ideal got you to the podium tonight and don't try to sell me on your agenda when all I want to do is recognize and appreciate that you did your job well.
Also, don't wear an American flag-like butcher's apron with a political slogan printed on it, tell me it's an evening gown and expect me to even remember your name.
Seriously, I have already forgotten your name. Sorry.
Here's me thinks:
If you want to push your political agenda in church, it is time to give up your tax-exempt status, because you are breaking the law.
If you want to declare from the White House that Christianity is better than Judaism or Buddhism or any other ism, you are breaking the law.
Separation of Church and State is the law of the land, so until you write up bills and push them through legislation and vote and change those laws, stop breaking the law.
As for Hollywood and Broadway and Nashville and all the other show business places, I know there's no law keeping you from expressing your opinions; but lets consider the fact that mixing your business with religion and politics is just a bad decision. Whatever you say, you alienate a segment of your audience and lose support for your work. It's unseemly.
I'm not saying anyone should stop expressing their opinions and fighting the good fight against corruption and evil, I'm just suggesting that you all consider your arenas. Some things just do not go together palatably.
If you want a moral government, stop letting those in authority get away with their deceits. Stand up to the evil in your midst and fight them into submission with the authority that the people have entrusted you with.
Don't sermonize politics. Emphasize truth and justice. Dividing into parties doesn't solve the problems we're having right now. Preach unity and cooperation.
Everyone else, do your thing and do it well. Celebrate your accomplishments appropriately and pursue your political and religious agendas separately. You can still make your voice heard; just don't do it while you're supposed to be entertaining your audience. Half of your fan base may drop you like a hot potato, and then where will you be in a year? Not accepting another award, that's for sure.
None of this divisiveness makes any sense at all. We are supposed to be UNITED.
You're making a mess of my country. Knock it off.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Also, I invite you to remember that this blog is called MeThinks, because I get to say what I'm thinking in the moments while I'm writing. I am a very fortunate person in that no one can tell me what to think.
No one can tell you what to think, either.
So we're all lucky. Isn't that nice?
I think acute pain and sleeplessness has made me a little goofy, so I'm going to shut up now. Not because anyone told me to, but because I really do think I'm slipping away...
Perhaps to sleep?
I should be so lucky.
Good-night.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Oh, yeah. Happy Valentine's Day. I hope you get chocolate.
1:42 a.m.
I just realized it is Valentine's Day. Whoop-dee-doo.
Not that I have anything against love. I have a lot of loves. Chocolate, for instance. Love it. But will anyone be sending me some today? Seriously doubtful.
Okay, I'm a Valentine Scrooge. Sue me.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Anyway, I wasn't even thinking about that Cupid-filled, overpriced and certainly over-rated holiday until I typed the date. I had other things on my mind.
Fist of all, I'm wondering if I am the only one who has been seriously disappointed in the awards shows this year.
I'm thinking there should be a new law: Separation of Church and State and Awards Shows.
Am I wrong?
I don't want to go to church and get handed a political flyer or be told from the pulpit who God wants me to vote for. I don't think God has chosen one political party over another. Honestly, I think God may presently feel like striking them all with a serious case of boils.
Similarly, I don't want a politician telling me what church to attend or how I am "supposed" to interpret the messages of the Bible. I don't need a Democrat or Republican to tell me what to believe when it comes to my relationship with the God of my understanding.
And last of all, I don't want to hear a political plug, or a religious sermon, during an acceptance speech.
I bought your record. I stood in a packed crowd at your concert. I paid for a ticket to your movie. I watched your television show faithfully. For this, you have received an award. Thank your audience, and the many who have helped you reach where you are today. I realize that you may want to give God credit, and that is all well and good, but don't try to convert me while you're at it. Don't theorize that your support of a political ideal got you to the podium tonight and don't try to sell me on your agenda when all I want to do is recognize and appreciate that you did your job well.
Also, don't wear an American flag-like butcher's apron with a political slogan printed on it, tell me it's an evening gown and expect me to even remember your name.
Seriously, I have already forgotten your name. Sorry.
Here's me thinks:
If you want to push your political agenda in church, it is time to give up your tax-exempt status, because you are breaking the law.
If you want to declare from the White House that Christianity is better than Judaism or Buddhism or any other ism, you are breaking the law.
Separation of Church and State is the law of the land, so until you write up bills and push them through legislation and vote and change those laws, stop breaking the law.
As for Hollywood and Broadway and Nashville and all the other show business places, I know there's no law keeping you from expressing your opinions; but lets consider the fact that mixing your business with religion and politics is just a bad decision. Whatever you say, you alienate a segment of your audience and lose support for your work. It's unseemly.
I'm not saying anyone should stop expressing their opinions and fighting the good fight against corruption and evil, I'm just suggesting that you all consider your arenas. Some things just do not go together palatably.
If you want a moral government, stop letting those in authority get away with their deceits. Stand up to the evil in your midst and fight them into submission with the authority that the people have entrusted you with.
Don't sermonize politics. Emphasize truth and justice. Dividing into parties doesn't solve the problems we're having right now. Preach unity and cooperation.
Everyone else, do your thing and do it well. Celebrate your accomplishments appropriately and pursue your political and religious agendas separately. You can still make your voice heard; just don't do it while you're supposed to be entertaining your audience. Half of your fan base may drop you like a hot potato, and then where will you be in a year? Not accepting another award, that's for sure.
None of this divisiveness makes any sense at all. We are supposed to be UNITED.
You're making a mess of my country. Knock it off.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Also, I invite you to remember that this blog is called MeThinks, because I get to say what I'm thinking in the moments while I'm writing. I am a very fortunate person in that no one can tell me what to think.
No one can tell you what to think, either.
So we're all lucky. Isn't that nice?
I think acute pain and sleeplessness has made me a little goofy, so I'm going to shut up now. Not because anyone told me to, but because I really do think I'm slipping away...
Perhaps to sleep?
I should be so lucky.
Good-night.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Oh, yeah. Happy Valentine's Day. I hope you get chocolate.
Sunday, February 12, 2017
February 12, 2017
10:24 p.m.
I am a writer.
You may not agree with that statement, but since I have often been paid for my efforts, I have earned the right to make this declaration: I am a writer. I can put it on a resume. I can put it on my tax forms.
I am many other things, as well. But tonight, I am writing as a person whose occupation and vocation is WRITER.
As a writer, I know a few things. I know how to spell. I know how to write a complete sentence. I know how to use punctuation correctly. I know the difference between to, too and two.
I also know that writers begin their projects with an audience of one. We write, first and foremost, for ourselves. We are compelled to do it; it is not a choice. Whether it is a fictional story that demands to be told, or an opinion we absolutely must share, those ideas pop into out heads and we must get them down on paper as quickly as possible before they slip away, never to be retrieved. And we do it, first of all, for ourselves.
But in the end, once a thing is written, we begin to feel a need to share. Why write it, if no one is ever going to read it? We edit, we organize, and we consider our audience.
Who is this for? And how do we make sure it gets the attention it should?
If it is a book or a short story, we begin to consider titles. If it is an article for a magazine or a newspaper, we attempt to create a sufficiently compelling headline.
I have a point. It has to do with headlines or titles, and how leading--or misleading--they can be.
Writers want to grab your attention, and the whole point of a title or a headline is to make you want to read the story.
But titles and headlines are NOT the STORY. They are simply the lure, the hook to pull you in and make you open the cover and read. They invite you to click on the article and read. They ask you to be a part of something the writer has spent a good deal of time thinking about, researching and writing.
As a reader--which is also something that I am, and that all writers certainly should be--I am obligated to read the story behind the title, to read the article behind the headline, in order to understand what the writer wants me to know.
Take for example the headline: "Nut Bolts and Screws". It is simple and to the point. More importantly, if you read the story it heads, you will find that the headline is perfectly relevant. But what do you suppose that article is really about?
Carpentry? Perhaps.
Tools? Maybe.
Actually, it was the headline of an article that told of the escape of an inmate from an insane asylum who later raped several women before being apprehended.
Nut Bolts and Screws.
I heard about this story and headline from my High School journalism teacher, and I never forgot it. It started quite a funny conversation between students and teacher, and was a learning tool that I'm sure many of my former classmates have gone on to use in their work.
A compelling headline draws the reader in and makes him want to read the story.
It can be perfectly apt, as in the case above; it can also be misleading. Therein lies the hook--you want to read it and understand the headline. And you must read it to understand the headline.
But somewhere along the way, things have gone wrong. I could point a finger at the writers whose headlines mislead, but I honestly believe that the fault lies with the reader who goes no further into the story than that headline.
I'm seeing it several times a day: hundreds of shares of a story online, with comments that have absolutely nothing to do with the story behind the headline.
I have literally asked people, "Did you read the story? Did you read it before you indiscriminately pounded on the share button? Did you read it before you made your wildly inappropriate comment? Did you bother to read anything beyond the headline?"
The replies? "No, I didn't read it. I know what it says."
And "I already know what they're going to say."
And "I don't have to read it to know what it is about."
WHAT?!
Attention, indiscriminate share-button pounders: You DO have to read it to know what it is about! You DON'T already know what the writer is going to say. You do NOT know what it says--not without READING.
For crying out loud. I shouldn't have to explain this simple fact to you. Unless you are a bona fide mind reader, you do not have any idea what I am going to say beyond my headline of, for instance, "Dealing with drugs in a practical way".
I just made that up. Just now. You're welcome to try to read my mind now and tell me what I have to say on this subject.
Good luck. Because:
1. You can't know if I mean street drugs or prescribed drugs
2. You can't know if I mean addiction or side effects
3. You can't know what practical means to me personally
4. You can't know if I might actually mean dealing drugs
The headline is ambiguous. It is there to draw you in so you will read the story and find out what I mean.
You don't have to agree with the story, and if that's the case, you are certainly free to rant on about it as much as you like.
But only if you READ it.
If you simply share it with a comment like: "There's nothing practical about drug abuse." you have immediately shown me that you have indiscriminately shared and commented on an article you didn't read at all, because guess what?
Nothing about drug abuse in the article. Nothing.
Disclaimer: This is not a real article. Did you read the part a few paragraphs earlier where I distinctly said that I just made it up, just now? You didn't?
Then don't share it. Don't comment on it.
For the love of chicken noodle soup, don't do it!
I am always happy to see the opinions of others, because sharing ideas and values is a learning experience. It is important to me to be well informed.
What I don't want or need is to be inundated with mis-information. I don't need to see pictures of "Vietnam veterans" which are actually stills from a Ben Stiller movie. I don't need to see videos of slave marketers who are really actors playing roles. And I don't need to see stories that have been shared with incorrect assumptions and unrelated comments by the sharers who didn't bother to read them first.
(Although I must admit that I have been wildly amused by some shares by Republicans who think they are dissing the Democrats, but when you read the article it is totally Pro-Democratic. And vise versa; because indiscriminate share-button pounders come from all parties, races, creeds, etc.)
Before you share it, read it. Before you comment on it, read it. If you don't understand it, ask questions. If you want to know more, research it.
If you have a cause or an agenda that you want to promote, you are doing it a disservice when you indiscriminately share and comment without reading first. You want to appear educated and informed, but by not reading first, you are simply putting a spotlight on the fact that you are not.
Share smart. Comment smart.
That is all.
Good night!
10:24 p.m.
I am a writer.
You may not agree with that statement, but since I have often been paid for my efforts, I have earned the right to make this declaration: I am a writer. I can put it on a resume. I can put it on my tax forms.
I am many other things, as well. But tonight, I am writing as a person whose occupation and vocation is WRITER.
As a writer, I know a few things. I know how to spell. I know how to write a complete sentence. I know how to use punctuation correctly. I know the difference between to, too and two.
I also know that writers begin their projects with an audience of one. We write, first and foremost, for ourselves. We are compelled to do it; it is not a choice. Whether it is a fictional story that demands to be told, or an opinion we absolutely must share, those ideas pop into out heads and we must get them down on paper as quickly as possible before they slip away, never to be retrieved. And we do it, first of all, for ourselves.
But in the end, once a thing is written, we begin to feel a need to share. Why write it, if no one is ever going to read it? We edit, we organize, and we consider our audience.
Who is this for? And how do we make sure it gets the attention it should?
If it is a book or a short story, we begin to consider titles. If it is an article for a magazine or a newspaper, we attempt to create a sufficiently compelling headline.
I have a point. It has to do with headlines or titles, and how leading--or misleading--they can be.
Writers want to grab your attention, and the whole point of a title or a headline is to make you want to read the story.
But titles and headlines are NOT the STORY. They are simply the lure, the hook to pull you in and make you open the cover and read. They invite you to click on the article and read. They ask you to be a part of something the writer has spent a good deal of time thinking about, researching and writing.
As a reader--which is also something that I am, and that all writers certainly should be--I am obligated to read the story behind the title, to read the article behind the headline, in order to understand what the writer wants me to know.
Take for example the headline: "Nut Bolts and Screws". It is simple and to the point. More importantly, if you read the story it heads, you will find that the headline is perfectly relevant. But what do you suppose that article is really about?
Carpentry? Perhaps.
Tools? Maybe.
Actually, it was the headline of an article that told of the escape of an inmate from an insane asylum who later raped several women before being apprehended.
Nut Bolts and Screws.
I heard about this story and headline from my High School journalism teacher, and I never forgot it. It started quite a funny conversation between students and teacher, and was a learning tool that I'm sure many of my former classmates have gone on to use in their work.
A compelling headline draws the reader in and makes him want to read the story.
It can be perfectly apt, as in the case above; it can also be misleading. Therein lies the hook--you want to read it and understand the headline. And you must read it to understand the headline.
But somewhere along the way, things have gone wrong. I could point a finger at the writers whose headlines mislead, but I honestly believe that the fault lies with the reader who goes no further into the story than that headline.
I'm seeing it several times a day: hundreds of shares of a story online, with comments that have absolutely nothing to do with the story behind the headline.
I have literally asked people, "Did you read the story? Did you read it before you indiscriminately pounded on the share button? Did you read it before you made your wildly inappropriate comment? Did you bother to read anything beyond the headline?"
The replies? "No, I didn't read it. I know what it says."
And "I already know what they're going to say."
And "I don't have to read it to know what it is about."
WHAT?!
Attention, indiscriminate share-button pounders: You DO have to read it to know what it is about! You DON'T already know what the writer is going to say. You do NOT know what it says--not without READING.
For crying out loud. I shouldn't have to explain this simple fact to you. Unless you are a bona fide mind reader, you do not have any idea what I am going to say beyond my headline of, for instance, "Dealing with drugs in a practical way".
I just made that up. Just now. You're welcome to try to read my mind now and tell me what I have to say on this subject.
Good luck. Because:
1. You can't know if I mean street drugs or prescribed drugs
2. You can't know if I mean addiction or side effects
3. You can't know what practical means to me personally
4. You can't know if I might actually mean dealing drugs
The headline is ambiguous. It is there to draw you in so you will read the story and find out what I mean.
You don't have to agree with the story, and if that's the case, you are certainly free to rant on about it as much as you like.
But only if you READ it.
If you simply share it with a comment like: "There's nothing practical about drug abuse." you have immediately shown me that you have indiscriminately shared and commented on an article you didn't read at all, because guess what?
Nothing about drug abuse in the article. Nothing.
Disclaimer: This is not a real article. Did you read the part a few paragraphs earlier where I distinctly said that I just made it up, just now? You didn't?
Then don't share it. Don't comment on it.
For the love of chicken noodle soup, don't do it!
I am always happy to see the opinions of others, because sharing ideas and values is a learning experience. It is important to me to be well informed.
What I don't want or need is to be inundated with mis-information. I don't need to see pictures of "Vietnam veterans" which are actually stills from a Ben Stiller movie. I don't need to see videos of slave marketers who are really actors playing roles. And I don't need to see stories that have been shared with incorrect assumptions and unrelated comments by the sharers who didn't bother to read them first.
(Although I must admit that I have been wildly amused by some shares by Republicans who think they are dissing the Democrats, but when you read the article it is totally Pro-Democratic. And vise versa; because indiscriminate share-button pounders come from all parties, races, creeds, etc.)
Before you share it, read it. Before you comment on it, read it. If you don't understand it, ask questions. If you want to know more, research it.
If you have a cause or an agenda that you want to promote, you are doing it a disservice when you indiscriminately share and comment without reading first. You want to appear educated and informed, but by not reading first, you are simply putting a spotlight on the fact that you are not.
Share smart. Comment smart.
That is all.
Good night!
Tuesday, February 7, 2017
February 7, 2017
12:07 p.m.
The world has been rocked in my little corner of my hometown.
When you grow up in a small town, there are people you meet at a young age who continue to be an intergral part of your life over decades.
When I was a little girl of six we moved to this little town in Wyoming and were immediately made welcome by the Maldonado family. They had two daughters, Julie and Esther, and I literally cannot remember not knowing them.
They were a little older, which for me made them all the more appealing. Plus, they were lovely--they looked lovely, and more importantly, they were lovely human beings. To an often lonely little girl, there was nothing better than being accepted in the way they accepted my siblings and me.
There were visits to their house, visits at our house. There were camping trips. Lots of camping trips.
We'd all head up to the cabins--don't ask me where, I was a little girl with no sense of direction, and literally no interest in watching the road. No one ever stayed in a cabin, of course. They were just there, falling apart and a little spooky.
There was a pond up there, and this crazy boat, and we'd ride around in that thing for hours, going in circles and giggling. Julie and Esther got really good at manuvering that contraption, but Melanie and I never seemed to get it right.
12:07 p.m.
Julia Maldonado Terry
01-19-1955 to 02-03-2017
The world has been rocked in my little corner of my hometown.
When you grow up in a small town, there are people you meet at a young age who continue to be an intergral part of your life over decades.
When I was a little girl of six we moved to this little town in Wyoming and were immediately made welcome by the Maldonado family. They had two daughters, Julie and Esther, and I literally cannot remember not knowing them.
They were a little older, which for me made them all the more appealing. Plus, they were lovely--they looked lovely, and more importantly, they were lovely human beings. To an often lonely little girl, there was nothing better than being accepted in the way they accepted my siblings and me.
There were visits to their house, visits at our house. There were camping trips. Lots of camping trips.
We'd all head up to the cabins--don't ask me where, I was a little girl with no sense of direction, and literally no interest in watching the road. No one ever stayed in a cabin, of course. They were just there, falling apart and a little spooky.
There was a pond up there, and this crazy boat, and we'd ride around in that thing for hours, going in circles and giggling. Julie and Esther got really good at manuvering that contraption, but Melanie and I never seemed to get it right.
Esther and Julie, back
Paula and Melanie, front
As we got older, Julie became the "big" kid; she was allowed to babysit us. I soon learned that telling a good scary story at bedtime assured that I would be allowed to stay up with her while the younger kids went to bed. We'd watch TV and talk until she fell asleep.
(You didn't think it was me who would fall asleep, did you?)
We grew up, we did school, we built lives. Julie got married and started her beautiful family.
We didn't get to see each other much. Life can be crazy busy. But when we did, it was like we hadn't been apart. We could still chat and laugh, compare family stories, share our children's achievements and later, those of our grandchildren.
I always loved her. I love her family. It is one of the constants in my life.
I've lived away from here for over two decades. I don't get to see the people I love as often as I would care to, and when one is lost, all I can do is regret that. I can't make excuses; life is just that way. We get busy; we move away; time passes quickly and we grow older, and then suddenly, a decade has gone by.
It takes you by surprise, doesn't it?
I visited with Julie last summer at a fund-raiser that was being held to help her defray the financial cost of her illness. She was gracious and smiling, often laughing. It was good knowing that being ill did not cause her to lose the essential Julie, who was warm and caring, and more interested in hearing all about everyone else than in talking about herself.
I fully expected to see her again, look at pictures of grandchildren and share a laugh or two. But it turns out that last summer is going to be my last memory of spending time with her.
And now, I'm just...floored. I don't know what to say. I never know what to say to anyone when someone who is so loved and so precious and so sweet just has to take that final journey. It always seems unfair, it is always too soon, and it always hurts.
I just want to extend my warmest sympathies to her husband, Rick, and to her children and grandchilren. You were so blessed to have her in your lives, and her legacy lives on in you.
My heart goes out to her sister, Esther. I love you, lady. God bless you.
To Lucille, God bless you, sweetheart. I miss you and love you, and I am sending hugs and prayers.
It's so hard to say goodbye, Julie. You have reached the clearing at the end of your path, and there is open sky ahead. Take flight. May you fly high.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Next time we'll go back to our reguarly scheduled blog. Today my thought are with Julie's family and friends.
Good afternoon.
Thursday, February 2, 2017
February 2, 2017
5:12 p.m.
Darn rodent! Six more weeks until spring!
According to the Protecting Americans from Tax Hikes (PATH) Act of 2015, the IRS is required to hold all refunds for taxpayers claiming these credits. This means the IRS won’t issue your refund before February 15. This delay applies to all tax preparation companies and filing methods and impacts your entire refund, not just the portion associated with these credits. While the IRS will begin issuing refunds with these forms starting February 15, your federal refund will not appear in your bank account until the week of February 27. (If you’ve chosen direct deposit and your return doesn’t have any IRS processing issues, this allows time for your financial institution to post your refund to your account.)
Amending your return to remove these credits will not increase the speed of your refund and could cause further delay.
5:12 p.m.
Darn rodent! Six more weeks until spring!
Hahaha! Shadow or not, we've got at least six more weeks. It was snowing here earlier, just to drive the point home. Ugh! So over winter already.
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Once again, tax season is upon us. Those of you who are regular everyday Joes who make just enough money to eke out a living and therefore qualify for an Earned Income Credit or an Additional child tax credit, you should probably be aware of this:
- Earned Income Credit
- Additional Child Tax Credit
Amending your return to remove these credits will not increase the speed of your refund and could cause further delay.
If you were not aware of it, I'm letting you know.
Now, I am not a tax expert, nor am I a lawmaker, but something about singling out the very people who likely need their refunds quickly and making them wait seems downright mean to me.
What do you think?
Anyway, plan accordingly. It's not that you won't get your refund, it's just that you won't get it as quickly as you used to.
Bummer.
___________________________________________________________________________________
I can't believe it's time to pay bills again already. Didn't I just do that?
Grr!
___________________________________________________________________________________
Oh, man, something special and wonderful just happened, and all I'm going to say is I am happy with an outcome. Yay and hurray. Sometimes it pays to speak out.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Why would the ending scene in my book come to me in the shower? Weird, aren't I?
I love writing, although I do have days when all I do is stare at the screen and watch the cursor blink at me. Blink. Blink. Mocking me, you know? Daring me to tackle a scene I can't quite wrap my head around.
That's when I sigh this one was sci-fi, and then I could just make stuff up. But I need to be in a real location that I haven't really been to, and I don't want to mess it up. It's messing with my head. But I'm almost there.
In the meantime, most of the already-written stuff has gone through the first edit. Yay, me!
And now I know the ending...
So, that's a plus.
Writer challenges. Hahaha!
___________________________________________________________________________________
Okay, so speaking of bills--ugh!--I'm off to balance my budget. Or the budget is off to un-balance me, as the case may be.
Be cool.
Bye!
Wednesday, February 1, 2017
February 1, 2017
9:14 p.m.
All I'm thinking about tonight is a desperate need for lots of sleep.
I am on day five with about a total of a dozen actual sleeping hours. I have a headache. I'm cranky. But I love you guys and just wanted to check in.
Today was sunny and warm enough to melt some snow. Hurray!
I was happy to hear a good sermon in church this morning, and happily surprised to later see this online:
https://www.facebook.com/EducateInspireChange.org/videos/1230253233728618/
The Padre said we must not put others in boxes, and that outside of our boxes we have much more room to grow. Coincidence? Maybe. I'm not opposed to receiving the same message from different sources, and this is a good one. Take a moment and watch the video.
I am going to TRY to sleep.
Goodnight!
9:14 p.m.
All I'm thinking about tonight is a desperate need for lots of sleep.
I am on day five with about a total of a dozen actual sleeping hours. I have a headache. I'm cranky. But I love you guys and just wanted to check in.
Today was sunny and warm enough to melt some snow. Hurray!
I was happy to hear a good sermon in church this morning, and happily surprised to later see this online:
https://www.facebook.com/EducateInspireChange.org/videos/1230253233728618/
The Padre said we must not put others in boxes, and that outside of our boxes we have much more room to grow. Coincidence? Maybe. I'm not opposed to receiving the same message from different sources, and this is a good one. Take a moment and watch the video.
I am going to TRY to sleep.
Goodnight!
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