This Thursday’s Throwback

Say hello to two of my great-grandmothers.  Of the four I was blessed to have, the lady on the right is the only one I remember.  Great-Grandma Cummings was the mother of my WWI soldier grandpa, and she was as sweet and wonderful as they make them.  Great-Grandma Somerville on the left was a midwife and ran a boarding house and she too was amazing.  The grandbabies they’re holding may be my Uncle Bob and Aunt Bette — waiting for Baby-Aunt Barbara to weigh in on that.

Great-Grandma Somerville used to tell her new mothers, when she helped them bathe, “I’ll wash down as far as possible and up as far as possible, and you can wash Possible.”  She makes me think of Rose Kennedy without all the money.

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Wednesday Wisdom

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Sometimes you just go ahead and dance …

So I noticed a weird little goober on my lower eyelid, oh, months and months ago and when it started to resemble an expanding snot bubble I made an appointment with a specialist — I’m not one to rush into things unless it’s something I really want.  Anyway, today was as much fun as a poke in the eye with a sharp needle — biopsy done and now we have the inevitable wait.  But even if it’s basal cell, as Dr. Specialist surmises, it won’t be a biggie — Dr. Specialist #2 will biopsy the whole thing in layers and if I end up with a divot in my eyelid Dr. Specialist #1 will Bondo it for me and my eye will be good as new.  Also basal cell carcinoma doesn’t metastasize or send out runners.  Yay!

Hey, it’s Tuesday, the day we dahnce, dahlings, and I say we get on with it.  Choose your libation — I’m having NZ Starborough Sauv Blanc — and distract me while the anesthetic wears off and reality hits.  That’s what friends do.

 

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Time for the Monday rant …

Someone I used to respect told me several months ago that he’s an Ayn Rand devotee, which is entirely his business.  For years, though, and maybe still, he was an evangelical Christian minister, so, the two philosophies being mutually exclusive, I hardly knew what to do with that information other than dismiss it out of hand.  Dude, pick a hero — if it’s the biblical Jesus your life will look a certain way.  If it’s Ms. Rand, good luck, you’re already morphing into the polar opposite of a Christ-follower.  Please don’t think I necessarily care one way or the other — I don’t have a horse in the race, beyond knowing that truth still matters and it never disavows itself.  At the end of this post there’s a link to a Salon article, brief-ish and succinct, that illustrates the disconnect required to be both a Christian and a disciple of Randian Philosophy aka Objectivism.  Not enough Xanax in the world, lollipop.

Key quote from the article:

“Rand … stated on national television, ‘I am against God. I don’t approve of religion. It is a sign of a psychological weakness. I regard it as an evil.’  Actually … Rand did have a God. It was herself.  She said:  ‘I am done with the monster of *we,* the word of serfdom, of plunder, of misery, falsehood and shame. And now I see the face of god, and I raise this god over the earth, this god whom men have sought since men came into being, this god who will grant them joy and peace and pride. This god, this one word: *I.*‘”  So, yeah, that happened.

Having been stalked by tragedy and pain over the past three decades, both physical and existential, the road forward was in trying to make sense of the human experience in time to survive it, as a result of which I’m no longer an authority on the subject of a God like the one the evangelicals paint for us.   IF, however, just say, there WERE to be such a God who cared, loved, nurtured, was intimately engaged in the human sojourn on this planet and took a personal hand in events great and small … then it should be excruciatingly, ostentatiously, nakedly clear, despite Ms. Rand’s deistic stance, that *I* would not be that god, ergo neither would you, and — I know this like I know the universe is ginormous — nor would Ayn Rand.  What in hell would be more terrifying, overwhelming, and totally ludicrous than to think that I am/we are/she was in charge, amirite?

You get where I’m coming from, you can’t have it both ways!  Either there’s no god, as a true atheist asserts, or there’s an Infinite God who actually gives a flip about every molecule.  Or maybe somebody something somewhere between — a Force.  A Power.  A Powerful Life Force.  Or … as Ms. Rand apparently believed … god is/was her, therefore you and me.  But probably just her.  So that’s more than two ways, yeah — just … really not an expert anymore, but pretty sure the *I* thing can’t be right.

Here’s another quote from the Salon article:
“Ayn Rand removed Americans’ guilt for being selfish and uncaring about anyone except themselves. Not only did Rand make it ‘moral’ for the wealthy not to pay their fair share of taxes, she ‘liberated’ millions of other Americans from caring about the suffering of others, even the suffering of their own children.  The good news is that I’ve seen ex-Rand fans grasp the damage that Rand’s philosophy has done to their lives and to then exorcize it from their psyche. Can the United States as a nation do the same thing?”

I don’t know, see, because the generally-accepted rallying cry is that we’re a Christian nation, which clearly gives us a leg up on the rest of the world because we’re right.  We can torture choke shoot tase beat and otherwise dispatch fellow persons including animals and it doesn’t make us any less Christian or right because WE’RE CHRISTIAN AND WE’RE RIGHT, dammit!!  We’re Christian, man, serious, but you know, things have changed and we’re supposed to just care about ourselves now anyway.

And so she did — cared foremost, apparently, about herself and what she wanted, and anointed herself her own god.  A god that stood appropriately god-like against Social Security and Medicare and other government spoils until said god was in need of same.  A god that some of my Christian acquaintances seem to co-worship now in a strange brew of sudden jarring philosophical ninety-degree right turns.  Whatevs.  I don’t even know what the “C” word is currently supposed to mean, I just don’t want my name associated with whatever it is.  That’s me talking, not Salon.

Article in the link:

http://www.salon.com/2014/12/15/one_nation_under_galt_how_ayn_rands_toxic_philosophy_permanently_transformed_america_partner/?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=socialflow

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ScaryAR

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So many destinations …

If you were offered the chance to spend a week here,

would you go?

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Pumpkin Bread with Caramel Filled DelightFulls!

 

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https://www.verybestbaking.com/recipes/146152/pumpkin-bread-with-caramel-filled-delightfulls/?

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A sweet little throwback …

Remember the story about my grandfather last week, and the fact that he and my grandmother raised nine children?  (Link below.) Here’s a photo of their eldest and youngest, just two of their six sons.  This is my Uncle Bob, home on leave, holding his baby brother Roger, probably around 1944.

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https://playingfortimeblog.com/2014/12/04/a-fairytale-for-throwback-thursday/

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Just in time …

… for the annual “War on Christmas,” a handy flow chart from Christian blogger Rachel Held Evans, who writes “The whole story of Advent is the story of how God can’t be kept out. God is present. God is with us. God shows up—not with a parade but with the whimper of a baby, not among the powerful but among the marginalized, not to the demanding but to the humble. From Advent to Easter, the story of Jesus should teach us that God doesn’t need a mention in our pledge or on our money or over the loudspeaker at the mall to be present, and when we fight like spoiled children to ‘keep’ God in those things, we are fighting for idols. We’re chasing wind.”

Whatever your take on all of that, or mine, she also says, “For a long, long time Christianity was dominant in the United States and represented the civic religion of the country. But America is about the people who are here now, and that is a much more diverse group. And that’s good! It is time to stop insisting that everything revolves around us. Instead, let’s join the wider circle of the many traditions that make up our country. Besides, any Christian knows that Christmas is not about displays in shopping malls, or capitols, or schools, it is about a spiritual event that we honor most in our families and our homes.”

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What scares you?

Not BOOGA-BOOGA pants-crapping scared, where your skin crinkles up and makes little screeching noises with sparklers on the ends.  More like what are you AFRAID of … that fundamental sense of dread that a cog will drop into a random sprocket somewhere and life will change.  Fear of loss is a keen motivator — what else drives us with that same force?

But what if life changed and you lived through it?  And what if that happened over and over ’til you realized how brave you were and then you just started doing things and saying things you didn’t know you could do and say?  What if people didn’t get any of that at all and you didn’t care?  What if you just started kicking ass, including your own, and life really did change and you wouldn’t change it back if you had the chance?  WHAT IF?  Not the question I want to be asking myself when I’m gearing up for the choir eternal.  What if I’d done all those things I knew I could do?  What if I’d let myself be who I knew I was?  And to quote Captain Obvious, what if I’d just been nicer?  Regret, let’s not go there.

Holy balls, I’ve survived too long to let fear force me back into the box, and by now he’s like an old friend anyway, sort of.  You know, keep your friends close, your enemies closer, and your powder dry.

“I will not die an unlived life. I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, to make me less afraid, more accessible, to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise.”  ~Dawna Markova

 

William Stafford

 

 

i could have eaten that

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A Truckload of Christmas Spirit

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Cookie Bowls!

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Scoop of chocolate chip cookie dough.  Game over.

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Friday fun on a Saturday …

A young guy from North Dakota moves to Florida and goes to a big “everything under one roof” department store looking for a job.

The manager says, “Do you have any sales experience?”

The kid says, “Yeah. I was a vacuum salesman back in North Dakota.”

The manager’s unsure, but he likes the kid and figures he’ll give him a shot, so he gives him the job. “You start tomorrow. I’ll come down after we close and see how you did.”

His first day on the job is rough, but he gets through it. After the store is locked up, the manager comes down to the sales floor to check on how the kid did on his first day. “How many customers bought something from you today?”

The kid frowns and looks at the floor and mutters, “One.”

The manager replies, “Just one?!!? Our employees average 20 to 30 customer-sales a day. That will have to change and fast if you want to continue your employment here. We have very strict standards for our sales force here in Florida. One sale a day might have been acceptable in North Dakota, but you’re not on the farm anymore, son.”

The kid takes his beating, but continues to look at his shoes. The manager feels kind of bad for chewing him out on his first day, so he asks half sarcastically, “So, how much was your one sale for?”

The kid looks up at his manager and says “$101,237.65.”

The manager, astonished, says, “$101,237.65?!? WTF did you sell?”

The kid says, “Well, first, I sold him some new fish hooks. Then, I sold him a new fishing rod to go with his new hooks. Then, I asked him where he was going fishing and he said down the coast, so I told him he was going to need a boat. We went down to the boat department, and I sold him a twin-engine ChrisCraft. Then he said he didn’t think his Honda Civic would pull it, so I took him down to the automotive department and sold him that 4×4 Expedition.”

The manager says “A guy came in here to buy a fish hook, and you sold him a boat and a TRUCK!?”

The kid says, “No, the guy came in here to buy tampons for his wife, and I said, ‘Dude, your weekend’s shot, you should go fishing.'”

 

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A Fairytale for Throwback Thursday

Once upon a time, there lived a handsome young man of steel who told a little white lie about his age, joined the Army at seventeen, fought at the front during The War to End All Wars on many fields of battle, came home intact in mind and body, swept a lovely fifteen-year-old store clerk off her feet, married her straightaway, and started a dynasty.  Thus reads the CliffsNotes version, you may thank me after the test.

But before that, a lot of other things happened.

And while those things were happening, the young man was growing steely because clearly he had good genes plus a step-father who was certifiably unhinged.  When the lad in our tale was less than twelve years old, his step-dad took him to the barren plains of eastern Colorado to “prove up a claim” and homestead it, worked him like a dog, left him there and went home to Kansas.  But not before taking a pot-shot at him off the porch that put a hole through his hat and knocked him flat in the hard Colorado dirt.

The boy lived out there in that little shack by himself, with the heat and the wind and the wildlife, until somebody came for him.  Whatever steel he wasn’t born with must have crawled into his bones in those months, and it never left him.  I know this because he was my grandfather and I know he never lost his metal, his discipline, or his looks.  He and my grandmother raised six sons and three daughters, all worth knowing in their own right.  Grandpa knew how to do everything and Grandma knew the rest, so there was always food on the table and a good roof on a house full of voices laughing, crying, arguing, singing, talking, yelling, but mostly laughing.  Smart funny people, this dynasty.

It’s my favorite fairytale to slip into on cold gray days because it’s all true.  And a thing to love is that with everything Grandpa survived in his years, he never got smelly and mean-spirited and old on the inside. He and my grandmother both figured out how to stay alive and BE alive and how to pass that on.  Pretty cool.

 

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If I’m lyin’ I’m flyin’ …

My grandma, who had to tolerate me a lot since I lived within rock-throwing distance and never knew when to go home, used to tell me that I was as happy as if I had good sense.  That is, when she wasn’t accusing me of lacking the sense God gave a goose.  Clearly she noticed a certain deficit in the reasoning department.  Time and experience have predictably sharpened my perceptions, but if I have to base my mood on whatever life’s currently dishing out, I’m done.  Hey, I KNOW things suck, generally speaking.  I’m perfectly aware we’re all headed to hell in a disintegrating hand basket at warp speed.  You know the drill: our atmosphere is imploding, our ground water’s drying up, our oceans are gunked up with plastic and sewage and a sick radioactive glow, the whole planet’s at war in one way or another, and disease and pestilence stalk the land.  But I can’t shake the feeling that life is good, gosh darn it, all indications to the contrary.  What can I say, things just have a way of working out, and it’s always too early to give up.  To quote the great Lucimar Santos de Lima (it’s okay, even Wikipedia can’t find him), “It doesn’t hurt to be optimistic, you can always cry later.”

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Making a list …

So Tuesday around here is evolving into a day for thankfulness and dancing, but will one day a week be enough?  I think not!  And on that note, I hope you’re making only HAPPY LISTS this winter.

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