tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11990339662185664062024-02-21T06:53:24.900-08:00Weather ReportMelanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-8585370693717451852012-07-28T15:45:00.001-07:002012-07-28T15:45:09.939-07:00Midnight Flight from Khartoum<br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today is a big day! A reunion, after twenty-six years,
with several families my first husband and I met in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Khartoum</st1:city>, <st1:country-region w:st="on">Sudan</st1:country-region></st1:place>. Our reunion brings forth acute
memories of nervousness, fear, and an amazing feminine determination to see rough
times through by banding together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Larry and I came, as all oil people do, to get
rich. Sometimes you have to endure a little hardship, like power
losses, and food or water shortages. <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Khartoum</st1:place></st1:city> was classified as a hardship
post. We felt prepared to handle those hardships, we would be well
rewarded by The Company generous holiday times and salaries.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Our family set up a variety of plans of what to do "if
something happened". Depending on circumstances, the plan might be
to meet up out in Ga'al'a, the Eritrean refugee camp a few miles away; another
might be to go directly to the Nile and just head North, away from <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Khartoum</st1:place></st1:city>. The third and
more drastic plan, was at the recommendation of a "spook": if
political unrest indicated hostage taking, was to turn ourselves into the
Russian Embassy rather than to a western one. We might become political
pawns, but we would have a lot of people aware of our circumstances. The
fourth plan was for tonight's occasion. I continually
drilled the children about being asleep, and if I came to their rooms while
they were asleep, woke them and said “It’s time now,” it meant we would be
leaving. They were to quickly and quietly get up, get dressed, get
their school back packs and pick their favorite Care Bear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">On that night in April, 1986 Larry and I were
hosting a Canasta game with John Carter and Gary Hagstrom. The Chevron
walkie talkie was babbling away on a nearby table as it always was. We
were on "yellow alert" meaning don't go downtown, stay away from
crowds. Yellow alert was no big deal, red alerts were. The <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">American</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">School</st1:placetype></st1:place> closed, and </span><span style="background-color: white;">dependents</span><span style="background-color: white;"> were advised to
stay at indoors at home. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Attention Chevron and Contractor employees, please switch to
Channel Three"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Oh oh. There goes Canasta. i bet John or Gary have to report
in for some emergency thing. <span style="background-color: white;">My first thought was disappointment: here I
was all ready to lay my concealed hand down and win the card game catching
these three with big fat penalty hands. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We laid our hands down as Larry got up and changed the radio
channels. He pushed our cards aside and put the radio on the table.
Our children were sleeping upstairs, in dreamland beneath their Mickey
Mouse sheets. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"An incident in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Khartoum</st1:place></st1:city>
has changed status from yellow alert to red.
Dependents please remain in your homes until a Company van comes by to
take you to the airport. An emergency Lufthansa flight is on it's way. All dependents will be
taken to <st1:place w:st="on">Frankfurt</st1:place> and will make their own
connecting flights home. Please take one suitcase per family. E<span style="background-color: white;">mployees are to remain in country
until further notice."</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">I tore my eyes away from the radio and looked at
Larry, to make sure I understood the communique. His face was ashen. Gary
and John were already out the door and off to their respective homes to advise
their house help.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Our emergency suitcase was packed and waiting by
the bedroom door. Twice yearly it was updated with current size clothing
and shoes for the children. Steven would turn six in June, and Rebecca
would be ten in July. The freezer held an emergency amount of American dollars
and our passports in a plastic bag tucked between two blocks of minced beef and
wrapped in foil. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">We had no housing in the States to return to, no
family, but we did have an old boyfriend of mine who lived with his Dutch wife
in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Holland</st1:place></st1:city>.
That was only about 8 hours away from <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Khartoum</st1:place></st1:city>, so we determined this would be the
best place to sit out in. Whatever the emergency was, it would probably
be over in about three or four days. We had no way to call and let Pat
and Corrie know we were on the way because international lines were extremely
difficult when times were good. I would call them from a hotel in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">The Hague</st1:place></st1:city>, less than ten
minutes by train from their house. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And so I went upstairs, moved The Suitcase to the
landing then went to the room the children shared to waken them. </span></span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-71862053813073806442012-06-22T14:41:00.001-07:002012-06-22T14:41:46.614-07:00Cavemen, Manners and Court Etiquette<br />
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Recently, an interaction between of a group of middle-school boys and their
school bus monitor, a 68 year old widow made the news. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> <span style="background: white;">She may have been a working elder, perhaps trying to
make her way through the now elusive golden years in arguably the worst-ever
decade of America History. </span> <span style="background: white;">Sadder,
she may have volunteered for the job to just keep other people’s children safe.</span> <span style="background: white;"> Instead she was subjected to a vicious verbal
assault by a group of</span> pre<span style="background: white;">-teen boys.</span> <span style="background: white;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It is heartwarming that the public came to her
aid and admirable that the thoughtless youngsters actually made their sincere apologies. I
give kudos to the boys for manning up and rectifying such a heartbreaking
moment in their young lives.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I will call the boys’ behavior “Mob
Mind”. It is something I experienced twice in my young years of the
early 1960s. I’m first to admit that the good old days theory is a
nice idea, however, they aren’t all that they were cracked up to be. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Mob Mind is a crazed condition, and happens
most often at sporting events. It might be related to delayed development
of the frontal lobe in young people. Current research indicates
people may be lucky to make it to their 26th year when actual judiciousness
finally sets in. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I believe has a lot to do with not having "manners", a word used for
respecting and caring for fellow beings, and it needs done long before a child
enters school.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">1) All children need tools in order
to successfully navigate their lives.</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> A household agenda of civility and
manners; respect and caring needs to be instilled by the time they are walking. This
would be those “yes please, thank you, pardon me, may I” phrases with which
children are received with approval from the rest of the world. Pre-school
children are known for being amiable and cooperative, and professional mimics! They
are fixated on mirroring what they see and hear. Parents, please do
walk the walk; and talk the
talk. What your child sees, our world gets.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">2) Encourage the older child to develop
and respect an inner sense of responsibility. </span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Teach them as
they move into elementary school that they need to rely on their sense of
respect, of honor, "<i>as</i> <b>O<i>ur</i></b><i> Family always
does."</i> Let them take pride in moving positively through
their world. Teach them it is their responsibility to sound the
alarm, their duty to alert the school, church, or call 911 when they see
certain acts, like bullying, and physical or sexual violence. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I find it amusing that although I was reared
in a welfare family, my brother and I learned all the above as toddlers. And
by the time we were ready for kindergarten we knew to stand up when a lady
enters the room; if you are a gentlemen you remove hat on entering a room; you
give up your chair as a seat for a lady or an elder; the gentleman opens the
car door for the lady, and seats her in the restaurant, etcetera, etcetera,
etcetera. <span style="background: white;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt;">Mother took things a little
further, though, and taught us how to curtsy and bow. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> <span style="background: white;">I assume she fancied us being presented to royalty one
day.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She may not have been able to provide a lot of
real necessities as we grew up, but she was able to give us the most priceless
tools for navigating society and the workforce: how to comfortably
give respect, and employ some very Victorian manners! Well, it
worked for us both, and I have passed along most of what she taught to my own
children (sans bow and curtsy) and to my grandchildren.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">All my life I wondered about the ways man
civilized himself. I once hoped to get a degree in archaeology after
taking Physical and Cultural Anthropology. I envisioned myself
landing a job in the <st1:place w:st="on">Olduvai Gorge</st1:place> with
Doctors Louis and Mary Leaky, sifting sand in my khaki shorts and pith helmet; finding
shards of bones, brushing dirt from ancient footprints. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Cultural Anthropology particularly fascinated
me. How did they civilize
themselves? There must have been lots of death.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I envision the cave man coming out of his cave
early in the morning to go hunting with his club or his rocks. He
has a mate, and maybe a couple of children still sleeping in their cave,
trusting Papa will not be an idiot and get himself killed by annoying other
hunters. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I am certain that on meeting another human, Papa
adopted a submissive, or at minimum a <i>respectful</i> posture,
hoping to establish some mutually beneficial relationship based on marrying off
his female offspring, trading, or just staying alive. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Inspired by that thought, I searched online
for the "origins of etiquette" and found Emily Post’s Book of
Etiquette. I learned that Miss Emily’s Great-Grandson, Peter Post
has written 5 books on etiquette, so obviously much of the world still
acknowledges this social requirement. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I searched further and found some support for
my caveman theory:</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">1) 2,600 years ago the first “book of
etiquette” was written by Ptahhotep, who was a city administrator under
Pharaoh Djedkare Isesi.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">2) 3,300 years ago mankind’s first written
form of communication, Cuneiform, was developed, probably in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Persia</st1:place></st1:country-region> and
it represents the origin of all written languages.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">3) 5,000 years ago, in <st1:place w:st="on">Mesopotamia</st1:place>,
records of stores of grain and other agricultural products were kept by using
forms of clay tokens or coins.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It took my imaginary caveman a very long time
to get from just trying to feed his family without getting killed, to honing
the social posturing that would keep him alive, and eons later keep him out of
prisons.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I think it is time to go back to respectful
interactions between people, not the short hand, short changing quick hits of “social”
interactions. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And, it is especially important to our
youngest ones, who hold our future in their hands. We adults are either somewhere on track, or
nearing the end of the track of our own lives. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Our youngest ones desperately need the tools
to do as we have done and are doing. Or,
in far too many cases, to undo the worst of what we have done.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br />Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-23902885979800719592012-06-15T10:34:00.000-07:002012-06-15T10:34:36.142-07:00My Little Ratty Cat<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Good-bye, Bootie<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Boutros Boutros Kitty came to
me one day at the tennis courts, a tiny handful of long black fur with a white
blaze on her chest and four matching boots.
I felt her watching me from the shrubs near my car, peeking between the
branches as I unloaded my tennis bag.
She was so tiny, so beautiful, and so friendly that I just knew she was
somebody’s much loved pet. I filled a
little pet with water and put it near her shrub in case she was thirsty. I felt certain she would go home before my
match was over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The little cat was still in
the shrubs though, water was gone, so I refilled it then drove home and swiped
some cat food from my other three cat’s supply, drove back to the courts, and put
it in the bushes with her water. This
went on twice daily for over a week when finally my son Steven brought me to my
senses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Mom, let’s just bring the Court
Cat home. We have two cats; one more
won’t make much difference.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We named her after the
Secretary-General of the United Nations, Boutros Boutros-Ghali and brought her
home, where we lived with a Rottweiler named Andy and a little Australian
Cattle Dog, Mary. Andi had reared Mary since puppyhood and they ruled our
house. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Jack, our elder cat, was a
feisty, opinionated calico. She and her silver-haired
offspring Smokey were there to greet this tiny kitten. Jack, the matriarch, demanded the same
respect from this youngster as she got from her offspring and from our two
dogs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Smokey, with his long silver
hair and his laid-back-hippie ways, eyeballed the kitten from a distance, and
went back to sleep. He was nobody’s
boss.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In the end, Jack got little
respect from Boutros. Each time she chastised
Boutros and turned her back to make a regal exit, the kitten swatted Jack on
the rear end. Her Regal Self would stop,
turn and hiss at the kid and that was the end of the confrontation. This ritual was repeated until Jack made her
transition.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Jack and Smokey were content
with sheltering in the garage or sunning themselves on the cement of the rather
large and fenced side yard. At night though,
all cats slept in the garage safe from raccoons or skunks. They never dreamed of coming into the house
where dogs resided with people. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Boutros immediately established
her Superior Catness over our canines by leaping onto their haunches as they
squatted to take a wee. The dogs lived
their lives on the look out for the little black and white that terrorized them
from behind the flower pots, and the little cat shared the backyard with them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In time, young Boutros
decided the front yard was her personal territory, taking on any dog who dared
to walk down our street. She was as beautiful
as she was a tough: this tiny cat challenged all dogs, stalking them if they
came too close to our property. She once
shredded an unsuspecting pit-bull’s nose.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She remained a dainty eight
pounds, and knowing she was gorgeous, seemed to pose in front of the vibrant
flowers we had in our front gardens. A visiting
artist painted a picture she took of Bootie and our flowers. The painting was hung in a gallery in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">San Francisco</st1:place></st1:city>. I wish I knew where, it means so much to me
now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1996 was the year when my son
moved out to live with his father, leaving me a note in the mail box and a
decade and half of grief. It was also
the year my daughter presented me with an unexpected grandson, a sweet and
loving little boy who never knew a day without Boutros.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It was also the year that I
finally agreed to step out onto the tennis courts “to just hit a little” with
my future husband, and the world of competitive sports revealed itself to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In retrospect 1996 was a year
that brought on some of the very best and worst times of my life. Perhaps we
just have to reach a certain age before the real and unpredictable heartbreakers
happen; have to reach a certain age to realize you are never too old to give
new challenges (like tennis) a go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Time rolled on. I remarried; and
Andy, Jack and Smokey all lived nearly sixteen years before making their
transitions. My daughter and grandson moved out and began
to make their ways in the world; my son remained trapped somewhere where I
couldn’t seem reach him. I continued
nudging him with cards, notes and phone messages. Let him know that he remained in my heart and
that I would always love him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When Rottweiler Andy passed,
my long time neighbor demanded get a new partner dog for little Mary. You see, my neighbor had been coming into our
backyard to sit with our little cattle dog while we worked. “Mel! Mary’s wasting away in grief! It’s not good for her, she gonna die if you
don’t get her a partner!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, my husband and I loaded
Mary into the car and took her with us to various shelters and “tried on”
possible partners. At a shelter in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Berkeley</st1:place></st1:city> we found a tall
black and white goofball with the impossible name of Mysticka. We brought her out to see how Mary reacted,
and to the shock of the shelter workers and us, the two dogs immediately sat down
butt to butt and leaned into each other.
They looked at us as if to say “Well, let’s go already!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Mystica, now dubbed Bisbee
came home with us, and the two dogs doted on each other. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Bisbee gave all the garage
cats respect, and life settled in with everyone understanding boundaries. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Boutros claimed the entire front
yard as her realm, and policed it as any good black and white should. She chased away offending dogs, including the
before mentioned pit bull with the shredded nose. Our home was well guarded by our pets. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Little Boutros “Bootie”
outlived Jack, Smokey, Andy, Mary and Bisbee.
They all made their transitions in their sixteenth year. So it seems fitting that she too went at the
end of her sixteenth year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But in her last six years she
found her own personal dog, a shelter dog named Lulu. Lulu is a Border Collie, a black and white
longhair just like Boutros, with the same blaze and feet. No doubt Bootie took
to Lulu because they were kin, wore the same tartan. Or, was it because Lulu had been raised with
cats and respected them? They became partners,
running shoulder to shoulder and chasing neighborhood cats from our back garden.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Bootie began using Lulu’s doggie
door, with great effort for a cat who never weighed more than eight pounds. I sometimes
found the two snoozing on my bed. They
sunned themselves in the back yard every day, but at night, Bootie always
wanted to go back to the garage, to the cave where cats slept.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She passed yesterday. We just weren't prepared, were not expecting a
trauma. It was a sorrowful accident
involving my grandson’s loveable dog Roscoe.
Nobody knows how or why he picked Bootie up, we only saw him walking
with her held gently in his mouth. She
was still alive, but had three punctures in her chest. We made the decision to let her pass on, be
euthanized. So, a few hours later she
was let go. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In 1970 I lived and worked in
<st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">San Francisco</st1:place></st1:city>. Our flat was in the Outer Mission and my
husband, Larry, was in the Navy, based out of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Alameda</st1:place></st1:city> across the bay. We had a couple of cats, Angie and Barfie, and
when Larry was stationed on the east coast I stayed behind, kept my job so he
would process out and return to San Francisco, college and our future. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But someone knew I was alone
in that flat. And they knew we had an
expensive collection of records, recording system, turntable, speakers and
such. Thre times they broke our doors
down, cleaned our flat out. When I moved
out I could not bring our two kitties. I
took them to a pet store and the owner promised would try to keep them together
and find a home for them. I made the
mistake of turning around as I walked out the door. I saw their big eyes
pleading with me not to abandon them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I left, hoping for the best
because I didn’t know what else to do. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Their eyes have haunted me
ever since, still bring grief to me. I am crying now recalling something that occurred
nearly a half century ago. I see and feel their terror, my grief, my
pain. They taught me a huge lesson. Animals are creatures of emotion as much as
any human. When they are disregarded
like a pair of dirty old socks they are wounded as deeply as any human child would
be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Since then, my much loved pets
never leave their lives in the company of strangers, alone, in fear and harsh surroundings. I will be the last thing they see. They will feel my familiar arms and my lap;
hear my voice saying I love them. And their
last breath will catch the scent of me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This is the least I can do
for all creatures that bring such joy. In
the end, grief is all about love. We are
fortunate to grieve. It is clear
evidence that we have known, created, and experienced Love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Bootie, my little baby ratty
cat, you <i>are</i> the cat of my heart.
Thank you for all your devotion, your affection, and your trust. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And, little cat, show some
respect to Jack, okay?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-73017763867491479782012-06-02T11:08:00.002-07:002012-06-02T11:09:35.671-07:00Three Year Old You and Three Year Old Me<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 15px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">June 2, 2012, by golly: twenty days from my son’s 33<sup>rd</sup> birthday;
forty-five days from my daughter’s 36<sup>th</sup> birthday. Aw, it seems like just yesterday that they
were scrubbing around annoying each other.
We have been through a trial, me and my kids, but in the end everyone is
doing good things. Miracles will happen if one
lets them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Divorce is a nasty deal to
drag children through, but dishonesty is simply cruel. Children always detect parental dishonesty: because it gnaws at <i>their</i> self-esteem. A parent’s dishonesty, particularly against
the “other” parent mostly handicaps the child: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“How can I love that parent
when this parent says he/she is bad? Does this make
me bad, too?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">They can absorb
it, and if it is negative they can retain a sense of unease
regarding the person judged as well as The Judge. </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Sometimes adulthood gives them perspective; other times the adult child never comes to terms with the
misguidance.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u style="font-size: 11pt;">Children haven’t the acumen to make sense of untruthfulness</u><span style="font-size: 11pt;">. I might add that untruthfulness eventually </span><span style="font-size: 15px;">vet's</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> itself to the detriment of the originater.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">A good friend of mine, upon
reaching the ripe old age of 70 was saddened when she realized that for the better part of a century she
harbored ill feelings about both father and mother. Dad was demanding, critical and controlling;
Mom was a spineless, yet opinionated, wuss. She and her sibllings never knew who was "right".<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Mom simply refused to stand
up for herself, or for us!” was the way Ingrid put it. She decided a good way
out would be to marry at fourteen and produce a number of her own children. Through her marriages, I think she did very well: all her offspring made it through
the ups and downs of living in good spirits, and their extended family remains strongly intact. More importantly, her youngest generations are making solid choices, not reactive choices. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">According to Ingrid, she spent decades in what I now call “judgmental bitterness”. Then
one day the bitterness evaporated as a new thought occurred
to Ingrid: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Hey! I have allowed Three-Year-Old Me to make opinions that guided me through my entire life!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">With that thought she changed her attitude
toward her deceased parents, herself, family and the world at large. Old dogs learning new tricks, indeed! And when she shared this insight with me, I began to examine my own life, which brought me to a very happy place: the balance of the difficulties and gratitude for same.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 15px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><b>Is Your Three Year Old You still ruling
your roost?</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 15px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 15px;"><br /></span></div>Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-70759032592675042012-05-24T08:28:00.000-07:002012-05-24T08:28:32.117-07:00<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b>What a Way to Wake Up!</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Imagine! Adam Levine! … and it goes like this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">“I’ve got the moves like
Jaggar! I’ve got the moves like Jaggar! I’ve got the moo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ooves
like Jaggar!” and I think I might have
even been dancing in my bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">So, I hopped out of bed and
fed the dog, the cat and the fish; made me a pot of kaghwa. It is Arabic: the
original word for coffee – we have quite a number of “English” words that
originated in <st1:place w:st="on">Arabia</st1:place>, but the Arabic Numerals that
we were taught in school are all <i>wrong</i>! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Years ago in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Khartoum</st1:place></st1:city> I couldn’t understand why our 3 in
Arabic looked more like a backward 7 if we used Arabic Numerals in the west. None of the numerals matched our numbers: our
the zero was a dot; their 0 meant 5.The answer is, I found out a quarter
century later is that our numerical system is descended from the Hindu “Arabic”
System! Who knew? Apparently not our teachers. It
gets worse from there: Hindu Arabic uses
V both right side up and upside down which in my book makes a big fat plate of
spaghetti out of the Roman Numeral
System, I tell you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Those were the days, though,
in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Khartoum</st1:place></st1:city>. Who would have guessed I would end up there. It is a far cry from my wine country with
carpets of green vineyards which turned impossibly impudent reds in fall. There, in my valley, yellow
mustard grass grows taller than an eight-year-old child beneath what must be the bluest skies in the
world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Khartoum</st1:place></st1:city> shocked me. My
first immediate impression was of a world lacking in color. I saw variations on shades of yellows and tans: thick, dirty and glowing yellow above me,
air I could taste on my tongue. I saw
never saw sun against a blue sky there.
We had no shadows. The sun tried
hard to send light through pulverized sand in the air, and failed. Buildings
loomed in shadowy shades of mottled tans, and in the tradition of poor
countries like the <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Sudan</st1:place></st1:country-region>
of the 20<sup>th</sup> Century, awkwardly constructed, beat by the desert
winds, and without décor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The only brilliance I saw
during those first days were the occasional red and white Marlboro cigarette
shacks. I was new to international
travel, and was dismayed that my country’s representative in the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">Sudan</st1:country-region></st1:place>
was cigarettes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Against all that desert yellow,
I learned a hunger for my home. The valley that stayed alive with color throughout all
seasons, even the stark patterns of winter were inspirational. I learned that indigenous art is relative to nature’s
bounty: when one sees color and pattern,
one repeats it in creative design. We
create what we see, and the art I found in the Sudanese souks was testament to
those who by sheer creative determination produced pieces of cloth and carvings
of wood or ivory no visual inspiration. Did
they create from memories past? Did they
hear stories handed down from ancestors?
Artists will always produce, and so in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Khartoum</st1:place></st1:city> it was in monotones of their personal
surroundings. I learned to throw away my criteria, judge
less, and appreciate the artful effort on its own terms. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">That dingy sand and rock was
the world I learned to walk in, learned to respect, and grew to love.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Learning, walking,
respecting, growing and loving are desert gifts. Thoughts came easily of spiritual men who went to the desert for 40 days. Clarity comes when there are no distractions, and
it is easy to meditate in the desert. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Adam Levine, you certainly
took me for a ride this morning, with those moves like Jaggar. Thanks!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-82729178706338326672012-05-22T11:41:00.001-07:002012-05-22T11:41:33.092-07:00Jamie & the Dimond Merchants<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 15px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">My Dear
Sarah,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">Remember, I’m
using your collective name again, when you inspire me to go off on a flippin’
tangent. I do try to keep my feathers as
unruffled as possible, but Sarah, Glass Steagall and Brooksley Born are
painfully near and dear to my heart. We need to keep important information near our frontal lobes so we can make better decisions!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">When it all
went over the Pali, in September, 2008, I was sitting in the wee hours of <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">England</st1:place></st1:country-region> watching
BBC and thinking “Oh my God. The <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">US</st1:place></st1:country-region> market is asleep! They have no idea! And the hoard of clappers “open up the
market” by clapping mindlessly… gosh, they would be better off by pushing
prayer wheels & praying!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Jamie Dimond and his team of Gems have had a real rip, haven’t they!</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> Like many, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I’ve
reviewed “how could this possibly have happened???” and believe me, Sarah: it
started decades ago. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">President Eisenhower
saw the dangers and warned us about the military/corporate complex in 1961:
don’t use war to support our economy ever again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">But, shoot,
we already had “advisors” in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Nam</st1:place></st1:country-region>,
with plans for more. I was in it too, at
the age of seventeen: my boss printed
arms catalogues for the Army: made millions on the war in exchange for having
his son shot down <i>three times and developing a heroin habit</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">I’d gone to
school since kindergarten with his son, and used to write him while he was
in Viet Nam. When he came home for the final
time, heroin won his personal war, so he went to prison for a while. I used to write him in prison, Sarah, then
our lives took other directions and all of a sudden more than twenty years passed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">Then one
day when my own children were teenagers I ran into him in our home town, with his
adorable little “Curley Head” toddler. Here
he was, clean, self-employed, a wonderful wife and was simply gaga over his
little girl. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">He said he
had to thank me for writing him while he was in prison, and for turning his life around. I was clueless and wondered how could I have helped him. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and showed me a tattered and
worn Monopoly card, reading “Get Out of Jail Free”. I was aghast – I didn’t even remember sending
that to him! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">But my friend
hugged me and said when he opened my letter and saw the card he laughed for the
first time since he went to prison. He
laughed until he cried. When he stopped laughing and crying, he made the decision that if he could laugh like
this while in prison, he was certainly going to make it outside prison.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">His father
wasn’t the only one who profited hugely from the war: I was earning enough money to support myself and my mother off my job. I was part of it too. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">I suspect the company continued on doing
armaments catalogues through the next series of wars, making more money off
killing. Defense contracters to take care of food,
clothing, medicines and guns become billionaires. War, if it's won or lost by the taxpayer's money always makes billionaires out of contractors. It's a business proposal, a mission statement they provide our military decision makers, our MDS as they no doubt refer to themselves in the Alphabet Society of American Government (A-SAG).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">Back to the story now, Sarah: a Hollywood Cowboy came into office and things started to change with
his dream about trickle-down theory of taxation. Some people say today they think it really was a "tinkle on"theory, not real good...Everything was about unsound economics and selling the myth of The
American Dream: which was simply cheap credit and fast living. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">The dream
worked until it was killed. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">And so here
we sit, all of us, whether we lived fast or not.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">I developed
a private “dossier” on the regulations that “disappeared” over the decades to
make this economy what it became. Sorry
to say, it was <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Clinton</st1:place></st1:city>’s
last minute deregulation of the Glass Steagall Act of 1933 that threw us into
the fire. But, you remember, don’t you
Sarah: we were so distracted by news
updates about that young girl and her stained dress we were not paying
attention. If we Americans would have been adults, we would have realized the repealing
that act, would allow big banks, investment companies and insurance companies
(Jamie and the Boys) </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">would be enabled
to build their false economy based on basically as they call it:</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Betting.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">They deliberately and skillfully manipulated the markets in order to max
their profits.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">While we Americans diddled
ourselves with granite, en suites, exotic vacations, gas-hog cars, Miki Dees & stainless
steel they gambled on our economy for personal profit. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Why not: nobody cared,</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> for the first few decades, anyway.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">Brooksley
Born warned us in the ‘90s and no body believed her. She could have saved our country, but I guess we weren’t ready yet. All is not lost Sarah! You can sign the petition for the “new” Glass Steagall
Act if you like and hopefully prevent this from ever happening again! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><a href="http://elizabethwarren.com/wall-street-reform?sc=ad_g_nat_s_wsreform_c&gclid=CIna8Z2slLACFQF6hwodcWALqw">http://elizabethwarren.com/wall-street-reform?sc=ad_g_nat_s_wsreform_c&gclid=CIna8Z2slLACFQF6hwodcWALqw</a>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">And by the way, Sarah, please know who your Representatives are and please keep their phone numbers handy. They need to hear from you if you want them to behave! You probably have kids, Sarah, think of our congress as our children: supervise them at all times!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I have to
say, I was tweaked when I found that much of Jamie’s “gambling” was done by
computer <b><i>algorithms</i></b>!</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">In other words, when
a stock or bond hit a certain number, computers were set to automatically buy/sell
immediately. Jamie and the Boys weren’t watching of the market at all!</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">They just set up some computer guidelines
then went down to the bar and let the computers do their work.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> Kind of like me and my crock pot!</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">Some people
are concerned that what Big Business did to our economy, (which The Suits <i>still
</i>believe is pretty hot-dam wonderful) is also being applied globally to drinking water,
agriculture and other commodities. (Have you heard about Pink Slime? Beef Glue? ) You
may have guessed, I’m one of the concerned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">So: here we
are, and the tear-down is starting. I’m
seeing way too much fear out there over something we really never did have: WE JUST CHARGED IT, SARAH! That’s all we did… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">It won’t be
scary once we get a grip that the last half of the 20<sup>th</sup> C and the
first two decades of 21<sup>st</sup> C were just smoke in the first place. The dream really was a dream: one with quite a
price tag hidden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">I just had a
flash of the first half of the 19<sup>th</sup> C in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region>: the endless bounty of this country:
resources, agricultural land and abundances all for the taking; followed by a
hideous Civil War over economics. Then in
the first half of the 20<sup>th</sup> C, we repeated the blood spilling in 3 more
wars. Some people became mercenaries and
found wars being fought by others to join in. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">We busied
ourselves with the plundering of natural resources for profit and continuing
our warring in the last half of the 20<sup>th</sup> C, then took ourselves into
a whole ‘notha level of war: war on our
environment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">Is it
possible, Sarah, that Jamie and The Boys showed up for a real purpose?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-1789101483815702352012-05-17T16:19:00.000-07:002012-05-17T16:19:42.418-07:00Roar Firemouth, Write That Book<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I decided I needed a break from the book the last couple of days, and this morning it woke me up in the middle of a dream. I mean I saw my book in my dream. It was laying down, not filed, on a wooden bookcase, wearing a nice dust-cover, glossy bright yellow. Instead of a proper title, there was an image of a piece of 3-hole binder paper with book titles scrawled in heavy black ink then lined out. They were scribbly notes, some on lines, others almost vertical, a visual mess: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u>Now That They Are All Dead</u> (I have carried with me for decades while I waited for my elders to pass on)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u>Hand Me Down Rage</u> I became aware of the anger both my parents (must have) lived, and how it affected we kids. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u><br /></u></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u>Circles of a Life</u> I became aware of completions: people appearing, unexpected connections, and resulting in unusual, sometimes spontaneous, always benevolent situations. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u><br /></u></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u>A Nightmare in Bali, 1983</u>: I suffered my first adult episode of PTSD. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <u>Bob Geldof got me Arrested!</u>: for taking photos in a refugee camp with a news journalist. A description of our rollicking escape from gunfire in the Sahara Desert. (The Geldof connection made it happen!) Oh oh - maybe it should be called <u>Bob Made Me Do It!</u></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on"><br /></st1:placename></st1:place></u></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Abu Dhabi</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Airport:</st1:placetype></st1:place> 1985</u>: an unforgettable child lives in my heart today. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u><br /></u></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u>Last day in Riyadh:</u> an emotional final day in our home in Riyadh.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u>A Hole in Her Heart</u>: Where I came from: my mother's history makes a good beginning.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Roar, Firemouth!</b> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It too woke me up from sleep last summer. At first I thought it was another book title knocking at my dormer door. I sat up in bed then knew I had to get to the computer immediately. I now have a lovely sign posted on the wall that I first see when I wake up. Roar Firemouth!. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is my personal get-to-work call</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> and it</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> gets me out of bed and doing the necessaries before sitting down to create what I always hope will be an eloquent passage.</span><br />
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><u style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A Hole in Her Heart</u><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> may be the title I will choose. I came into an understanding of my poor deceased mother thanks to my genealogical investigations of her family, which revealed a sad and lonely story. She was a toddler when things went awry and never was able to make sense out of it. What does a baby know about what's going on? They can only <i>feel</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Through my search sites I found her sister's son, who kindly sent me his original family photos so I could scan them and share with my family. He told me about my mother's life from a different perspective, a very different perspective, proving that little was known about her and how she was (not) cared for as a child. I found more about this from newspaper articles around the turn of last century. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fortunately the discord between Mom and me was sorted out . That's really a candy-coated way to describe our violent history and the final moment of violence. I was sixteen and she broke a heavy wooden coat hanger over my head. I grabbed her by her elbows and I threw her across the room. Shortly after we began a brief but remarkable relationship. This part seems to be what I most want to write about: how bad things happen and how they can be righted but it is not always done in your time frame, your lifetime.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"> ;</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span>Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-35671032212134703642012-05-14T12:48:00.002-07:002012-05-14T12:48:29.656-07:00La Triviata: a Melange of Thoughts<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #4c1130;"><br />I have been up and writing for several hours this morning, then I finally took a break and read my on-line newspapers. During the Bush Murdock Years I developed the habit of not relying on our local no-news, I checked out first the Sydney Morning Herald (they are almost one full day ahead of us) then of course BBC and The Guardian; lastly American news. In recent years I check RT.com for balanced reporting. Besides, they have views of the globe and the various temperatures spinning around between shows and I'm getting very good at my geography AND, I can now tell temperatures in Celsius! See: RT saves money by not having a staff of show-boats and very infrequently runs commercials. Now that I think about it, years ago when we lived in Africa, we were advised by the "spooks" in town to not rely on VOA, but to tune our shortwave into BBC for more accurate reporting.<br /><br />France has an interesting approach to TV. All commercials run for a half hour after the program ends. <br />It is so pleasant to watch a full show and just leave the room when the commercials are running. <br />They also have some pretty strange commercials, too. I can't forget this one and didn't understand the language, so it was truly perplexing! A lovely woman is waits for an elevator. It opens, and a man in a suit is standing and nods to her. She walks in, tears off all her clothes, throws them at him and gets off on the next floor. Well. I sure wasn't going to buy any of what ever they were selling.<br /><br />Generally speaking, the US no longer has honest news. Not that it's really dis-honest! It just is no longer straightforward. Instead it's five minutes each of weather-traffic-sports or blab interspersed with fifteen minutes of sales pitches, then a tease about some horrific wreck/abduction/murder to be seen later that day. As if! The screen is full of women, thank you Women's Rights movement, but now they act like giggly comediennes, and mug the camera like wannabe models at a casting call. So to save my blood pressure I do mostly my news-ing online. <br /><br />The Huffington Post they covered Jamie Dimond and his JP Morgan Hustle today. It 's a worthwhile read, and touches on some subjects near and dear to me as well as some truly tender spots that make me want to cry, no - bellow "what?????" I'm confident we'll work it all out. I'm also quite confident we are in for a very interesting ride.<br /><br />Long ago I made a conscious decision to the effect that if I can't "do something" about "something" then I will find something I can about.... like rehashing my Sunday so here goes:<br /><br />I went to services at the Center for Spiritual Living and came out refreshed, renewed, even singing. Then I headed north to meet my college roommate from the 1960s for a few hours. <br /><br />We reunited two years ago after me "nudging" her for over 40 years. She was going through a bad time, like many of us do and it took her a while to be in the mood - over 40 years, actually. Sometimes relationships just go that way with friends, and with family. And, it usually isn't about you, or about me or anyone else. We all need space to sort things out in our own time framework. No one can give the signal until they are ready. Well, neither can I for that matter. I just keep nudging, cards, letters, phone calls every 3 or four months to let them know I'm thinking good stuff for them. I'm here to tell ya IT WORKS! Yes, I've had more than one beloved in my life who needed to "go it alone" for a while. A long, long while. <br /><br />After several hours, my roomie headed North and we promised we'd get together soon. When I came home, my husband and our dog Lulu went over to my daughter's home and picked up Roscoe. Roscoe is also an adopted pooch. He doesn't get "out" to play much, so I like to take him to the dog park We keep this a secret from his family!<br /><br />And, now, I'm off to work a little on Ancestry! Through this endeavor I am re-learning history, gaining insights regarding human behavior, and, of course genealogy! I found a bucket full of cousins and shirt-tail relatives, even people I meet in stores and restaurants who are closet genealogists too! It could be the red eyes that tip strangers off: "Oh, hi, I say, are you by chance a genealogist?" <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-12817136744356767362012-05-12T16:01:00.001-07:002012-05-12T16:01:45.803-07:00UGH. I had a whole blog started about my adventures in Ancestry Searching and how I became fascinated by the plagues that struck Europe and why my eldest of all elder ancestors, a Swiss/German man by the name of Clewi became my end man in 1350 . I went back to check a fact and Windows snuck in and started "fahting about" as my Best-Brit friend used to say, and shut me down! Never had a chance to save the blog. Darn. it really was fabulous, too.<br />
<br />
Anyway, so my searching for 15xGG FatherClewi kind of got me interested in the Middle Ages, maybe because I'm reading Thomas Cahill's book:<br />
<u>Mysteries of the Middle Ages, the Rise of Feminism, Science and Art from the cults of Catholic Europe.</u> <br />
<br />
My husband made a comment that he believed that the Dark Ages were the religion related ones. Well. What can one say about that? He is solidly planted in the 1950s and the Beat Generations brand of Atheism. He did give up smoking in the 1970s, which proves that he can have an open mind now and again.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I decided to see if he was right and looked it up in my 30-year-old Time Life Series book on Ancient Civilizations and found the Barbarian's story which absolutely floored me. <br />
<br />
Let me tell you about this raggedy band of ten or fifteen thousand Scandinavian villagers who on December 31, 406 were fed up with freezing-ass-cold dark and nasty weather, packed up the wives, kids and farm animals and were on the move in a Southward direction. That New Years Eve permanently rocked our world!<br />
<br />
It was so cold that the Rhine River was rock solid that night and they crossed it on foot! They carried on, for the better part of a century plundering and pillaging the villages along the way until they stumbled upon a bankrupt and crumbling Roman Empire. They saw an opportunity and over a few hundred years pretty much sacked it These were the Dark ages, and the people who brought it on are dubbed the Barbarians. Brutal outlaws: whole families of them. And their outlaw cows, too!<br />
<br />
But it was about toppling the rather corrupt Western Roman State, and it did interfere with the classical culture they had built. The Western Roman State made themselves vulnerable to persons looking for an opportunity in my opinion!<br />
<br />
It happens that these crude and brutal Barbarians were filled with uncommon ideas such as sexual fidelity, individual rights, law, and traditional democracy. And their gift for organization was spread throughout Europe. It does appear to me that we might see some rough weather regarding the Barbaric Organization in Europe at the moment..<br />
<br />
My brain is popping with thoughts about this idea of sexual fidelity which today seems to be little more than a lapel button some people wear to pretend who they really are. I figure it was much easier and more fun to stay home with the mate and have a jolly good time than to quietly dig your way out of ten feet of snow to go have a date with that hot momma ten miles away! <br />
<br />
Twenty-First Century taste for a Smorgasbord 'O' Love Partners seems very crass when compared to Barbarians. I wonder what they would think of modern humans. The only real difference is that.. hmmm, Religion happened on the way to Western Civilization! <br />
<br />
So. Could my husband have a point? And........will I tell him??<br />
<br />
NOTE: regarding Mr. Cahill, I've read several of his books. They are fast reads considering the abundance of factual information they contain. He is foremost a lively, entertaining writer and I solidly recommend him. Understand: if Cahill can get Melanie so turned on to history, he's doing something right.Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-52444952688728429062012-04-26T13:55:00.001-07:002012-04-26T13:55:13.095-07:00<br />
<div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
I just saw the end of a segment of Charlie Rose on Public Television. He interviewed Stanford Professor Sebastian Thrun who is very concerned that only 1% of the world is eligible to get a quality Stanford level of education. He is concerned about the uneducated masses who cannot afford a $40k per year education, which seems to get discounted by much of our countrymen, well at least the privatized Student Loan companies these days.</div>
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<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">His point is that the system in US as well as Europe is geared toward restraining people from if they don't jump through hoops: If you get a C you won't get accepted to a good college (unless you have a Presidential father who can grease your way in.) </span>Hmmm<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">, remember Einstein?? </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
Thrun proved his point by teaching free courses via pod casts to tens of thousands of people. Free. No Dollah. He has started something and it may well be the catalyst we need to re-direct our future and give some real tools to the next generations. A podcast is currently available for free that will teach us to build our own search engines in seven weeks.</div>
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Thrun calls sit Udacidy and he's very excited about it. And I frankly am astonished on one hand that it is not thoroughly incorporated into our educational system! </div>
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http://diyscholar.wordpress.com/2012/01/24/the-audacity-of-udacity/</div>
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IMAGINE! I could finish up my 40+ year old dream of getting a degree in physical and cultural anthropology! For Free.</div>
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Just when I was getting frightened about the lack of education available to young people (college tuition has gone up 600% since the 1950s) the miracle of the darned Internet that I often gripe about shines a light.!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
BTW: Stanford has a class that will take a not too computer savvy novice like me, and in seven weeks I will be able to build my own search engine. </div>Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-21066302644765910092012-04-20T17:31:00.002-07:002012-04-20T17:31:26.580-07:00A Second Beautiful Day<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am doing our genealogy and have had good success, but there are
several mysteries still unsolved regarding who and how and why of my ancestral
lineage. I have traced them back to the middle ages. Imagine me:
I was told by my mother that we were on her side, English, French,
German, Portuguese, and that she recalled an event when she was
young concerning a chateau in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">France</st1:country-region></st1:place>. The government
contacted the family to see if they would like to pay the back taxes on it and
regain title to it. We didn't. I personally thought this tale was a
lotta hoo-daaa. Everybody wants to be a princess or a peer with a
reference to real estate: Sir Wanton Necksqueeze, 4th Baron of
Sillysocks, and his wife, The Lady Debutante. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, I found the
chateau story was possible, but the chateau would have been near <st1:city w:st="on">Basel</st1:city>, <st1:country-region w:st="on">Switzerland</st1:country-region>
which borders <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">France</st1:place></st1:country-region>.
Later some took residence and employment in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zurich</st1:place></st1:city>, no doubt a more powerful city to rule
from. My maternal ancestors were deep into religion
and government. Government and religion
are very good ways to earn a comfortable living, just like today: get everyone else
to pitch in to support you. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But their issue of mixing up church and state ultimately became
the reason for establishing MY County. When
Peter the Goat Herd is passing the coin chest around, one wants to see no
special perks for some special members of the congregation. My people, Puritans, sailed first to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">England</st1:country-region></st1:place>
and then on to the colonies. It was a treacherous,
crowded three month trip with an uncertain destination. Brave people, committed people our ancestors
were. <i><o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My mother's side
is very difficult. I'm not finding anything for her grandmother. Even the
name was apparently "wrong". She was referred to only as Little
Grandma Ellen .She was about my height 5’5” when everyone else in her family
was nearly six feet, and so it continues today: my kids and grand kids passed
me up long ago, girls growing nearly 6’ and boys between 6’2” to 6’4”. Grandma Ellen had a lovely first name: Claircy
Ellen! I found a reference in the Mormon records that her mother also was
named Claircy. What a crisp, clean and enchanting
first name. But....where did she come from? I cannot seem to break
through here: the family name is <st1:personname w:st="on">Lee</st1:personname>
and there are umpty-dozen <st1:personname w:st="on">Lee</st1:personname>s who
arrived in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">California</st1:state></st1:place>
prior to the Gold Rush.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-16795427634552419012012-03-27T10:27:00.001-07:002012-03-27T10:27:28.588-07:00Haha on Me<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I did a whole blog this morning regarding Rachael Maddox' appearance on Dave Letterman show last night and instead of saving it deleted it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I must get a copy of her new book called Drift which she was promoting. Loved one of her comments: we should never let people who have a vested interest in a passing a particular piece of legislation vote on anything. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We really have got ourselves in a fix with the real entitlements including "Unions" for civil servants jobs. What a dirty joke for the next generations.</span>Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-59603053568951394612012-03-25T06:52:00.000-07:002012-03-25T06:52:26.867-07:00Gentleman Jack? NOT!<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">It’s 3:45 am and I’m
blogging. I woke up to a fierce level of
pain (sciatica) in my left hip and leg about two hours ago, so I stayed in bed for
a long time trying to work it out. I’ve
been working on reviving my hip flexors with one of those Styrofoam rolls for
the last couple of weeks and have had some success. This morning, though, I don’t know what the
heck happened. I am usually a very good
sleeper. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">I lay in my warm bed for a
long while, recalling my brief but stellar tennis career. Boy did I ever have fun for about 4
years! I guess I was thinking about it
because yesterday my 16-year old grandson asked if I would hit some balls with
him when the weather clear. I kind of
think it’s cute: the baby boy wants to
play tennis with his Gran!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">A not so gentle man, by the
name of Jack introduced me to the worst kind of tennis match I ever had. It was my first “real” match, playing in real
mixed doubles tournament, with my friend’s husband for my partner. Bill and I were total greenies, and had played
social mixed doubles where people understood that we 50-something newbie’s
weren’t going to be much of a challenge. Anyway we wanted to compete and what an
introduction we got to Dirt Bag Tennis!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">We came onto court,
introduced ourselves and shook hands – tennis is such a gracious, polite game I’m
getting the warmish just thinking about it. We flipped a coin for who serves first then
assumed our positions. I played ad court
(the one on the left) because I have a natural back hand; Bill played deuce
court (the other one), and we won the toss for first serve. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">Bill served to Jack, who then
drilled the ball hard into my chest. It
shocked me. It was painful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">And I became Gentleman Jack’s
game plan for the match. Every time he got
the ball he slammed it at me, hitting face, legs and chest way too often. I was scared and furious and trembling tearful
and shaky. I held the racquet in front
of my face for protection. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">Our spouses were furious, and
other spectators were jeering and Partner Bill asked if I wanted to withdraw.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">“No Billy. I’m going to try to teach him not to do this
to me. But I’ll be playing mostly
off-court.” I felt my voice tremble. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">“What do you mean by that?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">“Just cover your side, Bill
and let’s go get meat,” and Bill grinned.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">Dead Meat was a game a group of
us Seniors collectively invented for our Friday night Newbie Social-Slam Club. It meant trying our inexperienced best to steal
points while drinking a measurable amount of homemade wine from Gordon’s Jug. Over a dozen folks showed up to celebrate the
coming weekend with this mixed doubles debacle.
We played non-ad sets of 4 points each. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">Players rotated in when a
person on court screws up a point in any way. That person is then booed off the court to the
wind jug with the other three yelling “You’re Dead Meat!” and a new person rotates in. We always had a steady group of 50-somethings
Seniors willing and ready for our fast-moving, barbarian tennis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">So on this wine-less day
Tournament Day when Bill served, I stood about a yard off-court. I could hear the crowd of twenty or so mumbling
about my strategy. Bill served, but now Jack
could not return to me…because he was forced to hit it out and would lose the point. So he
returned to Bill who then lobbed the ball back to Jack’s partner, and she returned
the ball nicely to my side of the court…. at which time I zipped in and
returned it to her and left court. She
sent the ball to Bill; he “inadvertently” slammed it at Jack’ shorts. Jack blocked it clumsily and sent me what I
learned later was called a “perfect sitter” at the net. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">I saw it in freeze time, the
yellow orb dangling over the net. I ran
on court backed by fury and without aiming hit it as hard as I could. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">I heard a yelp as Gentleman
Jack’s racket hit the court. And I realized
the fans were roaring; cheering me on! This
was terrible form in a tennis tournament! Egged on by the crowd and Jack’s brutality I
continued playing Dirt Tennis: remaining off court until I thought I could get
the ball, and then aimed as best I could at Jack’s crotch. I got a couple of shots
at his pants before we lost dismally.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">I was fifty years old, and
extremely new to tennis and thanks to Gentleman Jack, I never again experienced
fear on the court. Being able to persevere under attack gave me great
confidence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 10pt;">My tennis career was stellar,
and like a comet: fast and very, very short.</span></b><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">In the very beginning, I took
a series of lessons by a pro that worked for our city recreation department. Paul Sheppard taught me one serve that he
promised would win me lots of “free points”. It’s called a pronated serve, and he knew what
he was doing. Few people could return
it, and to this day I don’t know why. I
don’t know what it looks like to receive: nobody else has my serve. Opponents have told me the ball just doesn’t
come up from the bounce. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">I went to the cub with my
then fiancé who played USTA competition tennis.
I was impressed with his teams going to District and Sectional
championships. I joined USTA as a 3.0
player and learned all the basics of court etiquette and scoring, etc. And no matter whom I played with, my partner
and I rarely lost. I really wasn’t playing seriously; in my mind
I was just having fun. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">I found I had lots of time to
myself being a newcomer to tennis. I got
bored with hanging out, waiting for <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Gary</st1:place></st1:city>
to hit with me so I took a bucket of balls, a couple of hundred and went down
to the lower courts to practice serves. At the time it was Paul’s pronated serve, the
only way I knew how to serve. I practiced
serves for literally hours. I worked on
getting my ball toss really high, using a tree branch above one court as a target
for the right ball height. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">My work attracted the
attention of some of the club’s highest ranking National Champs who spent time
with me teaching subtle varieties of grips and stances. Their tips and my work paid off handsomely
when I started to compete in doubles. In
retrospect, I had about 15 different serves using the same toss.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">It was so fun during the
first year or two, playing competitively.
And then during the Indian Wells Tennis Tournament which we attended for
about ten years, I had the opportunity to hit some volleys against the
Australian pro Mark Philippoussis! I
actually put one or two away on him. And I got to take a number of tennis
clinics at Shadow Mountain Resort in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Palm</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Desert</st1:placetype></st1:place>, we stayed there
for several seasons. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">I had no understanding how
consistent my serve was until I had taken a few clinics at <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Shadow</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Mountain</st1:placetype></st1:place>. One day during serve practice the resort pros
pulled me out and asked if they could test my “consistent serve” in front of the
class by blind-folding me to see if I could get the ball over the net and into
the service court. I did several times
in a row, and they put me in their teaching video. They asked me in front of the camera how I
developed such consistency and I answered it was those many hours and hundreds
of balls all by myself on an obscure court, waiting for someone to play with. Not what most people wanted to hear, I’m
sure!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">I ended up being in other
training films demonstrating net volleys, overheads as well as “consistent” serving.
I thought the pros were just being kind
and truly had no understanding that my skill level was notched up in a number
of ways. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">Back home, when higher
ranking teams asked me to fill in I thought they were just being kind. I had no concept of anything other than just
having fun with tennis and I guess I was innocently quite bold about inviting
the better players to hit for a while with me.
They always did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">I paid no attention to my
ranking on USTA’s website, because I didn’t consider myself a serious player. </span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 10pt;">My husband was always checking it to see the
record of the next team he was playing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">I suppose he checked mine,
but he never mentioned it, never told me that I had an excellent record of 24
wins, 2 losses. I found it out by
myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">When opposing teams invited
me come on board and play for them, I thought that was sweet. Eventually I was recruited by a team in a
nearby town that had been to District and Sectionals Championships and really wanted
to make it to National Championships. Two years later there we were, in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Tucson</st1:city>, <st1:state w:st="on">Arizona</st1:state></st1:place>,
ranked fifth in the Nation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">I even have a small
collection of trophies of my own now! I
do get a kick out of how funny how life is.
How quickly it can take one down from a huge high into crash and in just
a matter of weeks. Stay tuned!<o:p></o:p></span></div>Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-27409116890648350102012-03-18T12:44:00.000-07:002012-03-18T12:44:59.762-07:00One Thousand Days<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I feel as if I've come out of
a drugged sleep. I’ve spent three whole years of digging myself out of a hole, barely
doing life-maintenance duties? Well, yes. I chose which need is to be done this day in
order to get by the next day. I discovered how and why "pain-brain" works:
when I'm in great pain, my attention will be totally focused on ME getting
relief, not listening to someone else’s instruction/commentary or to watching
television – even less who is singing on television! If I'm focused elsewhere I’m
branded forgetful, something we baby-boomers are very edgy about. I learned it is my responsibility to say "Working
on pain -hold that thought -be back later!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I assumed I was fighting
depression, but now I believe it was compression: because now, in 2012 I feel
younger, lighter and am able to move so much easier. I'm not younger, but dang
it I am much lighter in weight and spirit and am moving faster and easier than
in the past decade. I caught myself
thinking of hitting a few balls on the courts yesterday.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">So what did I learn in my
thousand days? You might profit from my experiences: 1) avoid those who make me feel depressed; 2)
So, you invited him/her/them into your space?
Ew - don't take it to heart, just breeeeeatttthhhe. It will bore him/her and he/she will go away! 3) I
faithfully watch <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region>'s
Funniest Videos daily: it makes me laugh
and is a Wonderful Total Release; 4) hugging my pets, dancing with my Border
Collie; and 5) doing my best to get out in the sunshine & garden. I require sunlight and in <st1:place w:st="on">Northern
California</st1:place> for the past three years guess what we have had a
serious lack of? 5) That second little glass of wine at the end
of a tough day is guaranteed to set me up for even creakier joints the next day.
One is Fun; two is Boo! Often I stop
with none, now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">My Great Compression gave me
a chance to worry no longer about being one of the hundreds of thousands of
Americans who'd expected to work 'til we are seventy-ish and are now no longer
required in the work force and all of the I don’t know what to do’s around this
sad situation. I found alternative works
that have boosted my morale and my outlook on life in the field of writing. So I'm now going back to blogging and will
make certain not to pick subjects which serve to irritate me like Politi-caca, Econo-caca,
and Eco-caca.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I will do only what I can do
something about! Redirecting my planet's
Political/Economical/Ecological mess is NOT in that arena other than spreading
awareness in general conversations (different from general conversions.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I believe existing PEE
frameworks must continue to buckle and fold.
I plan on being alive and useful for our rebuild. Rebuilding is one of the things I do best.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-51901434925821513462012-03-16T13:59:00.000-07:002012-03-16T13:59:48.328-07:00Happily Surfacing from My Hiatus<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">New Start Blog <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">16 March 2012 <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">1016 words<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Well it’s not quite a <i>whole</i>
year since I have blogged! Just two-thirds of one! My last was in July. I was planning on blogging a little more
consistently really did think about blogging, but I guess I was working hard to
pull myself out of the doldrums I’ve been in since I lost my job, my dogs, my
sister and my health way back in the last quarter of 2007. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Today, seeing it said on
screen in black and white makes me have a much better appreciation of that 90
day “war” that more or less paralyzed me.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The war was the beginning of
a lot of firsts for me: first time I’d been on unemployment being the real
revelation. I was much vested in being a
productive working woman, one with a talent:
Fraud Investigator and it became my identity. I worked over 30 years in an industry that
valued my abilities, hired me specifically for them and then one day no longer
wanted my services. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">A few years later I saw
clearly why. My employer had gone to the
dark side, dealing in fraud, not trying to avoid it. When I first sensed the turn, my weight
started to layer: hired for one thing then beat up over it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Then the other grieving
didn’t help much. Treatment for my back
injuries caused me to gain more weight and created a moon face, someone I
didn’t recognize represented me for several years. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">My 401k lost about 30% during
the Bush Years, which I call the Zips due to the many Zeros involved; and,
undiagnosed physical disabilities surfaced big time. I dissolved my small business I created
because I never was sure when I could meet a commitment or not. I really took a dive, figuratively as well as
physically. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Looking back it appears my
brain and body provided some real down time for me. One always gets what one needs whether it is
wanted or not.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Last year when I dropped the
business, the remaining “wraparound” months of depression, accidents and
lethargy served in re-energizing me by preventing me from much activity! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It didn’t seem like I was doing
anything at all, but I’m sure seeing results -the best of which is a rather
dramatic weight loss. I’m thinking the
weight is sliding off because my emotional/physical balance which had been so
out of whack became balanced. It took
about ten years to pack my weight on and so far just months to slip down a
couple of sizes. You are what you eat
they used to say. For me I am
"when" I eat – which requires grazing, not hard to do if one keeps
handfuls of nuts and fruits (yep I’m 5<sup>th</sup> generation Californian) and
tread lightly at the Wine Bar. I’m sure
it will be enhanced now with some regular home exercises. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I’m expecting I can go back
to walks long enough to tire my Border collie.
After all, I’m approaching my Third Act, as Jane Fonda calls it. Like Jane, I’m working on my own
memoirs. I come from a shattered
background, but I never knew much about my parent’s lives as neither liked to
discuss the subject; maybe I was too young to inquire. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">So I was born in a dark room
that got darker with each passing of my immediate birth family. Nobody lived as long as I have so far, not
even my brother Bill, who was eighteen months older then me. I used to think I would write The Great
American Memoir about my life after everyone died. The title I selected was to have been Now <u>That
They’re All Dead</u>. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Well, they are all dead, having
been for 15 years now. And happily I am
finding that all are not dead! Not
everybody!! No, I am surrounded by cousins I never new I had; and one, Mom’s
sister’s son, who I recall vaguely from my toddler days. He laughed when I said all I remember was his
trousers, his looong trousers with his pin-head on top. I couldn’t have been older than two or three,
and he was a teenager.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I remember a number of people
this way from the toddler days, especially my mother’s mother “Nana”. She was so mean that I made it my business to
avoid her at all times. She was a grey
haired troll with a tiny head perched above enormous bosoms. She might twist my cheek if I got close
enough. Later on I hated Nana because
she always made my mother cry. A half
century later I learned why she made her cry:
it is the adage of the scorpion.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I decided to try an online
genealogical site offering free trial for two weeks. I have now been on it for nearly two years
and am amazed at the story unfolding about grandparents I never knew I had and
their parents – all emigrated as colonists! I doubt that either of my parents knew
anything about that. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And research indicates that a
big “Booga-Booga” that affected my parents and their families at the turn of
the 19<sup>th</sup> Century: two
scandalous divorces, several abandoned children, a riffraff of step parents and
half-brothers, an unknown adoption, and finally, my mother’s kidnapping by her
natural father. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I now have a great respect for
the difficult upbringing my mother gave me:
she created a survivor, because she didn’t know what the hell to do with
children. I only wish she could know
that I not only was going to be okay, I would be successful, well travelled,
and resilient, even into my own Third Act!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Every day I am writing about
3,000 words and am seriously pursuing my dream of writing. A memoir for sure, but I think instead it
will be called Living an Unremembered Life.
That will cover their past histories coupled with my own experiences in
dealing with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It may not sound like much of
a happy note I’m ending this on, but believe me, it feels like one.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-49934344225567013472011-09-01T15:39:00.000-07:002011-09-01T15:39:18.996-07:00I'm Always Complaining About FaceBookI only used it as a way to find old friends and check up on others, anyway. I don't use it every day, but I check and get a reading to see if anyone needs my two cents worth of ignorance and then I'm gone. I am not at all interested in FB games, tags and wot not. I will not be responsible for my friends personal info going out to the stars and shysters all. And it infuriates me that each time I try to log in I get blocked by brand-new offers of ways I can become more self-important and let everyone know where I am, just in case they feel a need to plot my travels on a map. <br />
<br />
It scares me that people actually have their day interrupted with a post on their Ipad about how some inconsequential individual is signing off because they have to go nurse the baby. That might cause quite a lot of trouble on our over-crowded freeways. And besides, I'm sure real FB females nurse the baby while they are on Facebook anyway. LOL and ATC.<br />
<br />
There. I feel better, using a Google blog to complain about their rival FB. Unfortunately, I had to do a dance to get into the blog today, saying no to a slew of new opportunities to waste my time. They have caught the fever too. <br />
<br />
Does anyone else think the computers have already taken over......after all, they apparently doing their own trades and crashed our;stock/bond-markets. They have these little algorithms watching & waiting to pounce when a number shows up. Then they do a quick buy-sale ; move-on, churning billions of dollars in seconds.<br />
<br />
They've do a hella job, too, but it doesn't seem legal to me. <br />
<br />
<br />
Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-14847855813438071842011-08-30T14:33:00.000-07:002011-08-30T14:33:48.158-07:00My Brother John, WWII Vet, POW, Surrenders to the UCAHe's turning 86 next month and with every day he is getting crankier. He hurts, he's alone in a huge house he never wanted, he has to take pills every day just to stay alive and cranky. And he's absolutely furious with what has been done to his USA. I call it UCA: United Corporations of America. <br />
<br />
WARNING: <br />
When I'm angry, it is such fun to speak to a (possible) audience of sleepy-time Americans and blanket (no pun intended) <em><strong>everybody</strong></em> with the name "Sarah". Funny, I envision My Sarah's avatar wears spike heels, short skirts and a blazer. She's a real gotcha girl who shops at Gotschalks and Wal-Mart and drinks near-beer while she nurses her latest baby, shoots wolves in Russia, and whips up an Apple Pie for the family. This Sarah can do anything! She can do it even if she can't! Well, that's sleepy-time America for you: as long as you stay asleep you can't wake up. Sarah.<br />
<br />
This morning I posted a spot on FaceBook, a video regarding the Senate report of over $30 billion which has been stolen and wasted by contractors. Randi Rhodes was all over this in this in the beginning of the Zips. Oh, BTW, Sarah, I call the first decade of the 21st century the Zips - meaning zeros, which pretty much explains my opinion on much of what took place then. <br />
<br />
Speaking of Randi, are you aware that she was in the US Air Force, achieved the rank of Airman 1st Class! Yay Randi! She was an airplane mechanic and had some training as a flight engineer before she left the service. Yes: it was an honorable discharge.<br />
<br />
Anyway, it is looking like this awful little thievery by contractors is becoming quite an issue ..... because now the Pentagon faces cuts, too. Remember, Randi raised the alarm years ago when she broadcast contractors lined up for their cool cash handed to them at midnight from the back of flat bed trucks in Iraq. She talked about shady doin's and Blackwater and The Magna Carta and she certainly got my brain woke up. You betcha, Randi may be one foul mouth woman, but she earned my respect and the respect of a lot of other people I respect. <br />
<br />
Oh, well, it's come full circle and you can't get away from it.. or can you,Sarah? Department of Defense is angwy at their widdle fwiends? Will they lie, will they scare our sleeping siblings, will they say the House Cleaner hasn't cleaned up their House fast enough and he shouldn't get another term? We have a fine kettle of fish to fry me a river, Sarah.<br />
<br />
It's been a loooong time since Ron suggested the spin of his Trickle Down Theory! Tell it to the Judge, I say, haul all their thieving rumps to trial, from BoyGeorge, and GunSlinger Cheney to Drug King Rumsfeld and Karl the Rove. Remember them? Ron no doubt is spinning in his grave, not just turning over.<br />
<br />
Anyway, all our arses are at risk, and it's just a crying shame that even the Hallowed Dept. of Defense is going to have to give up some toys. Pass me a violin, please.<br />
<br />
I have an acquaintance, once dear to me, who's political position is "I don't give a damn as long my shares go up." This former friend sacrificed his entire family for want of prestige, money and happiness. He kept his money and laughs loudly these days. Another beloved friend died with those words on her mouth, and she wasn't American. But her husband was Oil, just like my ex. Oops. They worship at the alter of their shares still.<br />
<br />
Wanna know a secret? On Russia Today television I heard that Mobile Exxon is joining with a Russian OIL company to explore OIL fields on the Russian Arctic Shelf. It hasn't broke news yet on our giggle channels. Tee Hee! (One day I will offer my opinion on Giggle News). Meanwhile, our future may be in saying goodbye to another ocean.<br />
<br />
My final word to you, Sarah, in honor of our poor Gulf Coast is: Oil and Oceans Don't Mix!<br />
<br />
Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-22818198828367341962011-08-29T09:33:00.000-07:002011-08-29T09:33:48.057-07:00<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrjWtpnPmEvJt-JS20LHmRF-0HrGXJPTSX5UeLnBiuB65hiGwH8xi6EEOditMke7BeDytzYSTrlXPDZl2o_odaGcE0PjhLES2B6lkKc75D0uAD1z_5FVNzmRmu6ql8JNcxiCB5S1yuoTQ7/s1600/DSCF1026.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrjWtpnPmEvJt-JS20LHmRF-0HrGXJPTSX5UeLnBiuB65hiGwH8xi6EEOditMke7BeDytzYSTrlXPDZl2o_odaGcE0PjhLES2B6lkKc75D0uAD1z_5FVNzmRmu6ql8JNcxiCB5S1yuoTQ7/s320/DSCF1026.JPG" /></a> </div>
<br /><div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-28796529461324518792011-08-02T12:50:00.000-07:002011-08-02T12:50:39.091-07:00News Today as Predicted in 1960sI was a high school student during the Civil Rights Movement, reared by a mother who never passed an opportunity to espouse ethnic prejudices, and yes, Catholics were included in "ethnicities" in the 1960s! Although Muddle America feared that the Pope was going to rule America, John Fitzgerald Kennedy was elected. He also got us involved in the Viet Nam War, and then he was killed. I, like my cohort, matured somewhat with his death, and the subsequent assassinations of younger brother Bobby Kennedy, and of Dr. Martin Luther King, not to mention the murders of our classmates who were drafted and sent to fight in that Viet Nam War as fodder for business as mentioned in my previous blagh. Those good old days should have, could have been a huge wake up call. <br />
<br />
Our little school system was in a less than wealthy district, so we had the benefit of only getting teachers from those newly-credentialed, twenty-somethings some of which just happened to be men who served in the Korean War. These teachers were not shy about passing on their observations regarding War, McCarthyism, prejudice and resource preservation. <br />
<br />
They hammered in our heads that the only real threat to our future was apathy: "Apathetic people will sit in their swill and not move a muscle....until they have an excellent reason to do so," <br />
<br />
They thought "All is not black and white, it's all shades of gray." They quoted Hitler: <br />
<br />
<span class="body"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">"All propaganda has to be popular and has to accommodate itself to the comprehension of the least intelligent of those whom it seeks to reach."</span></span><br />
<br />
Another life-lesson was framed "When people are starving it does not matter whether the hand that feeds their children comes from one political source or another." <br />
<br />
And one teacher in particular shocked us by predicting that one day water and air would become nothing but commodities: sold to the highest bidder! How could this be we asked. And he turned our question around and asked us to consider the indigenous peoples who occupied the Americas. These peoples believed one could no more own air and water than one could own land! <br />
<br />
After high school I attended Napa Junior College and had the great opportunity to speak with Dr. Maya Angelor after her lecture on Civil Rights. She asked me how many colored people I knew. I told her I knew none, but heard that a fellow named Woody had lived a long time near St. Helena and they said he was Negro. She chuckled, shook her head, looked deep into my eyes as only she can, and said,<br />
<br />
"Young Miss, do you know that within the Civil Rights Movement, Napa County is referred to as The Selma, Alabama of the West?"<br />
<br />
I was shocked, horrified and shamed. Less than a year later I was forced to stop my education and went to work in a title insurance company in Napa. I learned that there indeed was a coalition, a force within the local real estate companies, to keep our little valley "white". <br />
<br />
I marvel today at the teachings of our young teachers and Dr. Maya Angelou. And I'm grateful that they gave me some insight on that big outside world beyond our tiny valley and left many of us with eyes opened and prepared for a bigger and broader world and some skills in coping with it.<br />
<br />
This morning I watched a television program (not a commercial network) predicting that the US will soon be creating "derivitives" for fresh water. As if mortgage derivitives weren't enough! <br />
<br />
The discussion was about the world running out of capital and the need to create new capital...in order to keep ... capitalism alive. <br />
<br />
For a good desscription of <strong>derivitives</strong> I recommend the article explaining them on Billsandiego.blogspot.com.Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-72665643863766761182011-07-30T15:51:00.000-07:002011-07-30T15:51:43.085-07:00Time Out! Doing Time! Time to Move On! Time to LaughI'm taking today to recuperate from the reunions that followed our All Class Reunion. Since everyone is in town there were a ton of get-togethers with old friends. Some involved drives out of the area (Willits!) (Sonoma!) and all involved food, of course.<br />
Memo to self: I want to get that caterer's name. I thought they did an outstanding job!<br />
<br />
So. We are having another drippy grey summer and that makes me rather drippy and grey also. All American news is about the Budget, or lack thereof. The National Charge Card which reached astronomical proportions prior to the current administration, and is even higher now. I imagine we'll just rack up another charge and carry on: it's become the American Dream to "buy" on a charge card. <br />
<br />
Isn't it hard to believe that Bill Clinton left a surplus, not a debt? That rascal Ken Starr certainly took a nice piece of that surplus home with all his dogged attention to detail. I wonder if he paid taxes on that - or if he earned "too much" to pay taxes. I wonder if he will when whatever happens. It's a sorry story, and our country has been used and abused by Red White and Blue Collar Crime. Ya know, though, Doctor Phil says, we are in charge of teaching people how to treat us. <br />
<br />
I'm waiting patiently for the loooooong slumber to come to an end. Perhaps when America awakens they will remember (Republican) President Dwight David Eisehnower's warning when he left office in 1961: BEWARE THE MILITARY INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX!! Well, ever since the '60s we be right in the middle of The Military as an Industrial Machine. <br />
<br />
I remember working for my friend's father as a teenager in the 1960s. He owned the biggest company in our little town, a print shop. His son, whom I grew up with was in Viet Nam fighting for...something. I was never too clear on what The Domino Effect was all about. It sounds plain demeaning to think we were at war over a board game. Today I'd say a Board of Directors & Investors Game, but I don't think I should get politically incorrect so early in this blog. Anyway, my boss got a HUGE gov'ment contract: he printed up catalogues for the military, and I got a chance to work overtime and collect some cash. I was a wartime pofiteer also, I suppose.<br />
<br />
Oh yes - I was horrified to see the catalogues were of arms and ammunition. My friend, my boss's son, was shot down three times. He was a gunner on a helicoptor.<br />
I cringed then to think his life was all about these weapons, and the fact that both his dad and I were profiting from the war that endangered him and his friends. In truth today I wish I had kept a copy of the catalog as a reminder of the workings of wars.<br />
<br />
my boss's son survived the war, and like so many youngsters who sacrificed their time, relationships and bodies, he came back with a habit to support and ended up in jail. His dad gave me his prison address, and I remember writing him with town news, my news, and sending him funny clippings and such. He never came home after he'd served his time, and I lost track of him.<br />
<br />
Twenty-five years later he came back to Calistoga and we bumped into each other at the County Fair. Here was my old childhood friend and we hugged, maybe cried a little as he proudly showed me his darling little toddler. And then he laughed as he pulled out his wallet, "Here, you sent this to me when I was in the slammer and I have kept it with me ever since!" I had no idea what he referred to and was apalled when he handed me a tattered Monopoly card, the "Get Out of Jail Free" card.<br />
<br />
"I sent you that?" I gasped.<br />
<br />
"Yes! You did and I could not believe you sent that to me!" he said.<br />
<br />
I was embarassed, could feel the hot flush on my cheeks.<br />
<br />
And he told me how that card, at that moment shifted his perspective on life, he laughed for the first time in prison. He laughed out loud until he cried; and he knew that if he could laugh like that in prison, he could certainly finish his time and and live to laugh again.<br />
<br />
I learned a lot from him that day: he taught me the real meaning of that Monopoly card. Who knew? We can get out of jail free.Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-82172815461808735112011-07-25T17:43:00.000-07:002011-07-25T17:43:15.130-07:00Interesting Blog I just posted:It does not look anything like what I produced in Documents, which was several attached paragraphs of winging remembrances..<br />
<br />
Apologies for the abrupt stops and starts and plain goofiness. Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-31428824244871527222011-07-25T17:37:00.000-07:002011-07-25T17:37:07.284-07:00All Class Reunion 2011My home town of <place w:st="on"><city w:st="on">Calistoga</city></place> only had about 1,100 residents total when I was a child. And that included those who lived in trailer homes and sometimes moved. Because of the timing of our births this tiny town quickly ran out of parents: a whole load of us were the initial wave of Baby Boomers; and we grew up playing with the entire generation of siblings, not just the one in our class. <br />
<br />
It makes sense that we have periodic All Class Reunions from anyone who had ever graduated from <place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Calistoga</placename> <placetype w:st="on">High School</placetype></place>, or attended our schools. Now it's anyone who was a childhood friend from The City. That's what we called <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">San Francisco</place></city> in the '50s.<br />
<br />
This year's reunion was special as invites also were extended to all those "City Kids" who used to spend summers in our town. They came in droves that first Saturday after school got out, and we Calistoga kids were waiting in the gutters at the intersection of Highway 128 and <street w:st="on"><address w:st="on">Main Street</address></street>. <br />
<br />
station wagons arriving from <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">San Francisco</place></city> slammed on the brakes and dumped their children out, and went on. We formed a gang and took off for the swimming pools, the park, or places unknown and showed up at somebody's house when it was time to eat. We were always fed. <br />
In recent years, certain of the City Kids had been invited to gate crash but now they got invites, and some brought their parents with them. Imagine a reunion ranging from near centurions through the most recent graduates of 2011. <br />
<br />
(Tsk. I hope I didn't spell that like those half goat people of Greek myths..Or were gladiators called centurions? confusing.) <br />
It was really the ten year reunion that made our class realize we really <em>missed</em> each other. I like to think that our young grads will come in the future: first with boy/ girl friends, then with spouses, then little ones, and then with their dogs and/or new spouses. Suddenly the little ones are big kids, and suddenly there are no kids or maybe grandkids; and perhaps like us they will bring their parents too. I stop now. <br />
<br />
The 2011 All Class Reunion formally started at 2 pm Saturday with drinks and milling around, visiting, telling stories, telling lies, laughing, back slaps - all our crazy hominoid behaviors. They say just over 300 former students of <place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Calistoga</placename> <placetype w:st="on">High School</placetype></place> showed up and there was just barely enough time to chat with my personal A list and some of my B list. I lied. I don't have a B list - there's not enough people to make one. LOL and smiley-face.<br />
<br />
A wonderful meal was dished up; we did some more milling around and not so much drinking then a few yawns, some sore feet and backs....So it broke up around eleven thirty or midnight. <br />
<br />
My friends and I took an evening stroll through our little home town, even though we'd done it the night before. I just wish I could do it again tonight. Tonight and every night! A stroll every summer evening, remembering and laughing and sharing and wanting to shout out ”I am so lucky!"<br />
Night time strolls of long ago, sometimes called promanades in other countries, as the night brings a soft cool breeze and heat exhaustion suddenly evaporates, and the sounds of crickets and frogs makes you say yes! I am a part of Nature, not simply subject to Nature! <br />
<br />
Calistoga's summer-night air is sweet with jasmine and roses and maybe plumaria here and there...unless you are walking on <street w:st="on"><address w:st="on">Main Street</address></street> (they call it <street w:st="on"><address w:st="on">Lincoln Avenue</address></street> on maps.) <street w:st="on"><address w:st="on">Main Street</address></street> at that hour smells more like booze. I remember when it smelled like booze and cigarettes. Some things have changed for the better.<br />
<br />
Our Mid-Century parents strolled neighborhood streets, stopping and visiting on porches, relishing the night coolness with a glass of lemonade or a beer. And we kids played Kick the Can, Tag, and Hide 'n' Seek right in the middle of streets; as well as in the backyards of many tolerant neighbors. Not a lot of homes had a fence around their property, so exhausted kids crashed on any old body's lawn to rest up, telling jokes and sharing dreams, or just looking at the sky. No one ran us off their lawns because we were bending their precious blades of grass, and our sweaty little bodies itched with rashes from prickly grass. If we did get rowdy the neighbors might help us leave their property with a full-blast hose. Or if we were on some old people's land they would start hollering at us. "YouDarnKidsGoOnHomeFerGodsSake!" <br />
<br />
It is said this year that one of the bars had an Elvis Impersonator. I'm not too sure if this means Calistoga is still stuck in time; if we've "gone Vegas" or if Vegas is stuck in time.<br />
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Anyway our personal midnight blue velvet sky still rested above our valley, settling ever so gently on the mountain peaks, and those stars still dangled just out of my reach. Crickets and bullfrogs chirped and burped in the distance, and the sound of far off conversations and soft laughter floated by. These are the parts that can never change: mountains, sky, stars, creatures, laughter. Calistoga remains.<br />
This is Life being lived and loved, at it's sweetest and fullest: with people, with memories, with comfort and kindness and love. <br />
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You know, someone once said you can never go home. <br />
Poor him: maybe he should come to one of our All Class Reunions?<br />
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</div>Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199033966218566406.post-90395520109794890332011-07-19T11:42:00.000-07:002011-07-19T11:42:26.856-07:00Welcome to my New Blog!<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A number of years ago<strong> </strong>I started a blog in order to increase "hits" on the computer for my services as a Notary Public. I have since retired from that profession and decided to pursue a career in writing. Let's see if I can: I'm going to use this blog to practise. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm almost 65 now and have made a whole lot of observations, mostly valid I think, but certainly subject to further consideration. If anyone cares to comment on my angle, please let me know. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hope to inspire people by re-viewing, re-seeing, re-telling some of our mutual American History as seen through my own eyes, my own eye-glasses. I hope to put some interesting questions and comments out there and receive some "new angles" from prospective readers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Those of us called Baby Boomers have left a huge Baby Foot Print on this old earth; a subject I like to ponder upon frequently. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think I will kick off with the piece I like most to pontificate upon, which has to do with that big fat bullseye on the bottom of our little Baby-Boomer diapers. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Madison Avenue drooled even more than we as we cut our teeth on Good Ole American Capitalism! Agghaah, a generation of consummate consumers!</span>Melanie Woodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11315454423999338712noreply@blogger.com0