I went to my first gun show a couple of weeks ago, and it has taken me this long to digest it all.  Talk about strange creatures!  Zeus goes to them a couple times a year with Kronos, and Posiedon has gone to several both here and whereever he happens to be.  I'm not sure if Apollo has ever gone.  Basically, if you are a male in this family you have been.  It is just the family way - we like to go target shooting and the men have been hunting many, many times.  I like to go target shooting.  It relaxes me and nothing beats going through a couple of boxes of .38's with my little policeman's special.  Noting that, I must say I have never been to an actual Gun Show, but Zeus has come home with interesting gadgets for the home or yard and even bought a bark collar for Grommit (one of the Hell Hounds) a couple of years back that my children then proceded to try out to see if the shock it gave was really doing anything.  (I didn't say they were smart ALL the time, just that in general they are smart.)

Anyway, the Gun Show.  First off, there were only about 2 dozen women in the place, about half of which were behind the tables selling jewlery, coins, etc.  Almost all of us (about 90%) were red-heads.  A very odd statistic in itself.  This will bear out later.

As I went in with Zeus I watched as regular people came in with their guns and had them tagged and a zip-tie placed around the trigger so it couldn't be loaded and used (someone is smart).  O.K.  Kronos had talked in the past about taking certain hunting rifles with him to sell and I understood this part.  We started out going to the right and up and down all the aisles.  We were there to look specifically for a certain gun that Posiedon wanted and couldn't find.  I had no idea what it should look like, as I can only tell the difference between my little .38 special and Ares' 9-millimeter that he carries for work, otherwise all bets are off. (keep this in mind)  I was amazed at all the brass shells that were being sold for re-loading (something Kronos does and I am used to seeing) and the huge mountains of ammo of various kinds, different grips for guns, shooting vests, and all the paraphenalia that goes with it.  The tables with the t-shirts and bumper stickers was a kick ("If it isn't demolished in under 30 minutes, your next explosion is free." - the U.S. Marines).  I started feeling a little strange.

We found a table with the particular gun Posiedon was looking for and Zeus was looking it over.  Others noticed that same item and kept coming over and trying to pick it up, so I put my hand on it and glared at anyone that came to the table.  The kind of "back off or I'll bite your head off glare" that I have perfected in my years as a mother and sometimes-security agent.  You all know at least one person in your lives that can do this.  Zeus talked price and then decided to look around to see if anyone else had the same model at a better price.  While we were there a man walked right up next to me and was staring at me.  I gave him the glare and he apologized with, "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to stare.  I just really like redheads."  I was somehwhat annoyed, but have heard it before so I just noddeed once and looked back to Zeus.  He continued, "I've never made it with a redhead.  Only brunettes and blonds."  I replied, "Well, I guess this isn't your day either" and turned my back on him.  Zeus finally said "What did he say?" and looked up.  I told him it was nothing adn we kept on going.  Now, lets stop here for a minute.  I am a 43-year-old mother of 3 who has been married for 25 years.  I was wearing my usual crocs, tan slacks and a jean-shirt.  My hair was washed and brushed and hangining in its usual natural curls with a head band, and no make-up.  I was not dressed to attract wild animals or for a party.  Did this guy seriously think he was coming on to me?  Puh-leeze.

We kept walking and looking at stuff, some of it interesting (like the old coins), some of it weird (like the Nazi memorabilia), some of it unbelievable (like the table of swords that the under-18 crowd was thrilled about).  I started feeling very... I don't know.  Like I was on high alert or something.  I started walking a little taller and meaner.  I found myself looking everybody up and down like I might have to identify them later.  We stopped near a window and called Posidon to tell him about the gun and the price.  I was standing slightly in front of and to the side of Zeus, with my feet squared, my arms crossed and eyeballing everyone that walked by.  I was tense....

(At this point I also started noticing how many men were there were wearing Snugglies with babies on their chests or had little kids in strollers.  No women with them just the babies to toddlers.  LOTS of men with kids.  Is this what constitutes a doy out with Dad?  Also lots of tattoed, leather-wearing, hairy, fat bikers and their tattoed, fat, leather-wearing, hairy women.  There were more guys that looked like Zeus, i.e. average, everyday kind of guys that you would never think owned a gun or were interested in them, as opposed to guys like Ares - obvious law-enforcment, red-neck, hunting types.  Any women that were buyers, along with most of the women that were sellers, seemed to be there on their own and were 90% redheads, the other 10% were were either grey or brunetts.  No blondes.  A very odd social microcosm of society.)

...We went back to the first table and Zeus dickered with the dealer and agreed on a price.  While this was going on, I found myself once again in 'High Security' mode: feet squared to shoulders, arms folded, slight frown of concentration, eyeballing every person that walked by or walked up.  At one point Zeus and the dealer were trying to figuere out where the enrty point for the cleaning kit was supposed to be ( it is supposed to have an area that you keep the cleaning kit in the gun).  I had no idea what they meant, but reached back with out turning around, grabbed the gun, looked it over, flipped the butt up and said "right here" and handed it back with out turning around, kind of like I knew all about this strange gun.  I was suddenly, somehow, inhabited by the spirit of Gun Knowledge.  Very curious.  I noticed my posture and tension and tried to shake it off.  "What the hell are you doing, Hera?", I asked myself.  A few seconds later I was back into High Security Mode.  The price was agreed on and I left to go to the bank to get the cash. 

After driving about 3 miles I relaxed and asked my self "what the hell was THAT about", and thought it over.  It finally hit me. Testosterone!  The place was teaming with testosterone!  Generalized, grunting, "I man, you woman" testosterone!  (As Apollo  pointed out later in the week, "In a gym you have a lot of testosterone but it is all directed towards the activity that is being engaged in.  In this place it was just a general release of it and you got caught up in it.")  It was exhausting to me.

I got the cash and went back.  The paperwork, background check and other legalities were followed and we had a gun in our position.  We wondered around some more and I found my self wanting to be the one to carry the gun.  I wanted to be seen as the tough one with a rifle (in a carrier) slung across her shoulder.  I wanted to show these men (I latter realized) that I was just as mean and tough as they thought they were.  I didn't ask for the gun.

We were looked at some more stuff and I received more comments on my hair and the desire of thoe men to 'do it' with a red head.  I was pissed off and more that a little annoyed.  Seriously?  You're gonna make comments to me with the man I am with is standing right next to me?  Assholes.  I finally got fed up and said to the last one, "Yeah.  We redheads sure like a good gun show.  We just looooove our guns.  It keeps assholes like you away from us."  Zeus was a little pissed off, but I'm not sure if it was because of the guy or my comment.  I didn't ask and didn't care.  I was being overwhelmed by testosterone.

We finally left and I relaxed.  The only one that I have told this story to that understood the testosterone overload has been Apollo.  Even Artemis said it was no big deal and didn't understand my need to process this odd experience.  I think the problem is that I have no hormones.  I went off the estrogen a couple of years ago and am now in full-blown, no going back, menopause.  ANY hormone leakage from others affects me, whether it is a bunch of silly-ass girls giggling and being goofy, or a bunch of asshole men at a gun show.  (Yet another reason for me to stay away from the general public.  I really don't play well with others.)

So... now you know what it like to be a women at her first gun show.  There were none of the vendors with the cool gadgets, but I did buy some really great honey from a guy that has bee hives around Larkspur.  I will look him up again if I ever go back.  We bought a U.S. Mint proof set for 1989 for Hercules (and then later found out that we had done that a couple of years ago, so she now has 2), and of course The Gun.  Overall a very strange, yet strangley satisfying, day.  I think I might go to another one just to observe my self and those around me again.  I'll also wear a hat or scarf and tuck my hair up.

I stood in the shower this morning and cried.  Some of it was for the pain in my muscles, especially my leggs, but most of it was for the memories I have lost.
Zeus and I started cleaning out the laundry room yesterday so that we have someplace to put all the stuff when we clean out the rest of the basement - all in an effort to 'reclaim' the basement for ourselves after 15 years of it belonging to our children.  He would pull out boxes from under the stairs and I would go through them, making the desicion to keep, sell, or thow out the contents.  More of it went to the keep pile (Hercules' room) than went into the trash can or the sell pile.  We were laughing, talking, and explaining to Posiden on the phone why we were doing this.  It was kind of fun and felt a little like the beginings of freedom.  Then we got to "Our" boxes.  A box for Zeus and one for me, each containing things from our pre-marriage times (i.e. childhood), and stuff that we wanted to keep special since.
First off, Zeus' box was bigger.  A box that an old computer came in, so you know it was really huge.  It had papers that he wrote from school that his mother had saved, tickets to both the proms he had taken me to and the photos that went went them, papers or drawing that the kids had done.  It was funny and interesting.  He managed to whittle it down a little and get it into a plastic tub to protect it from dust, damp, and further ravages of time.
I went through mine.  Loads of pictures of the kind only a pre-teen or teenager could take with an old 110 Instamatic camera.  I started saying far too often, "What or who is this a picute of?  I don't remember it (or them)."   Then there were pictures of the kids as babies.  Especially Posiedon (somehow you always have more pictures of your 1st one).  I don't have many memories of him as a baby.  Or Apollo.  More of Hercules, but still less than I should.  And it hit me:  I can remember putting a doll in the oven to "warm her up because she is cold" when I was 4 or 5 and we lived on the Army Base in Frankfurt Germany, but I can't remember what my children liked to eat when they were toddlers.  I forgot about my first dog, and the first horse I rode, and how old I was when we got our second dog; what my Grandmother's face looked like before she suddenly looked old and was dying; the little bit of German I used to know and use when talking to my grandmother or Medusa.  I forgot so much.
Later it hit me why I was having such a hard time remembering stuff.  It hit me how much, exactly, I have lost:  The Strokes.  Those insidious, hateful, reacurring, damaging, damnable Strokes.  They didn't only steal some of my vitality and word association, they stole my life - my memories.  Memories of who I was and who I am.
I make a joke sometimes when I can't remember things.  It goes like this:  "I forgot what I am supposed to remember and can't remember why.  Oh, yeah!  I forgot!  I had a stroke!"  Sometimes people laugh a little and look at me strangely.  Mostly they just look at me like I'm a little crazy.  The problem is - I really do forget that I have had a total, now, of 4 strokes.  The Big One in August of 1995, and 3 little ones that occured within a few hours of each other in September 2007.  I forget, and therefore others forget, that my brain has been injured.  Damaged and damned beyond all repair.
Every so often it hits me, just how much I have lost due to those strokes.  I can deal with the fact of my body being weaker and I am no longer able to run, walk, or hike like I used to.  That happens to everyone eventually anyway - it's called getting old.  I just didn't count on it starting 2 weeks before my 30th birthday and I sure as hell didn't think it would continue.  What I can't deal with, and what overwhelms me at times, is the loss of memories.  I can't remember the first time Zeus kissed me or what he looked like.  I can't remember where or when he proposed to me.  I HATE asking, because it reminds me (and him) that my brain doesn't work right anymore.  I wanted to keep those memories. There are others I wish I could not remember - but they insist on sticking around.  Why couldn't the strokes take those?  Why do I have to remember, and occasionaly relive in nightmares, the sexual assaults by my father?  Why can't I relive and re-dream about the first time Zeus held my hand, or when we picked out furniture for our first apartment (because reason tells me we must have picked it out - it didn't just grow there.  I just can't remember how we got it).  Why can't I remember the first time I met Artemis?  We have been friends for over 21 years, yet I don't remember how we met only that she has been with me through thick and thin since sometime between when Apollo was born and Hercules was born and I know we met when we worked at Stapelton.
I have been overwhelmed today and am feeling very fragile.  Neither are new to me, as I have days like this more and more often.  I have learned to write down where I am going if I am driving someplace by myself, because I will suddenly panic and not remember.  I have learned to make lists of things I plan for the week so I don't forget to take the trash out on Fridays or that Zeus will be home late on certain days.  I joke that "if it isn't on the calendar it doesn't exist" and really mean it, because it really doesn't exist in my brain.  I have learned to look like I know or remember things and am not panicking inside because I have no idea what is going on while having conversations with others.  I have learned to say "my Son" or "your Daughter" because I suddenly can't remember a name.  And I am scared. 
I am scared that one day I really won't remember one of my children's names, or the name of my pastor, or how to get to Sam's Club.  I am afraid of having one more stroke and it will take away Ares, or my phone number, or any one of the little details that makes me Me.
Right now this is what I remember and hold on to: I am Marian, mother to David, Thomas and Jillian and wife of Eric; big sister to Matt; grandaughter to Marian and Ted; child of the One God; fated to be the friend of Ramona, and keeper of Peaches and Grommit.  Perhaps all other things are irrelevant.  Time will tell.

I have finally recovered enough to tell the tale of Zeus and my 25th Anniversary week.
We started with a steak dinner at the Texas Roadhouse.  Yummy and free - we had a gift card from Mrs. Recoy to use up and a certificate for a free appetizer.
Monday started out painful and frustrating for Zeus.  He went to the dentist and had several teeth ground down in preparation for a new bridge.  "Yippe Skippee", he mumbled as he left the house.  As I straightened the house and did laundry, he was in a dentist chair for 4 hours with his mouth proped open and listening to various dental tools.  That night consisted of soft and warm Taco Bell bean burritos, carefully chewed, and pain meds.  WooHoo! We are off to a great start!
Tuesday was fun.  Zeus was on pain meds all day and we went to the Celestial Seasonings Tea Factory in the lovely (grrr) Republic of Boulder.  It was fun to see the machines going and I bought about $30 worth of tea.  Have I ever mentioned how much I love tea?  We dined from a surprisingly meat-filled menu in the cafe (don't forget - we are in Boulder), and headed back to downtown Denver for our next stop in hurricane-force winds of 84 miles per hour.  We met our tour guide for our "Walk on the Wild Side of Denver" tour of Denver.  Did you know that Market Street in Denver is not named becaus of all the vegetable or grocery markets, but for the 'flesh markets' of its early years?  We actually looked at, instead of just passing by, a lot of the early archeticture of Denver and visisted the famous bordello of Mattie Silks, learned about the hard life of working girls in the 19th century, and all kinds of different fun facts.  I was exhausted by the walk and the wind by the time we were done and we picked up take-out on the way home.
Wednesday is The Day - our Silver Anniversary!  I wake up Zeus taking more pain meds and to the rose gold wedding band I had asked for (who else do you know that has a pink-gold wedding ring?  I am finally unique!), a bracelet that was Zeus' grandmother's that his mother gave her for his grandparent's 25th anniversarary (a nice memento to have something passed down like this), and the anticipation of what our day had in store for us.  We took a tour of Coors Field and Zeus was in heaven (of course, the pain meds helped).  We learned little things such as: when the stadium was first built many visiting teams would see the visitors locker room and then go back to their bus, thinking that they had been inadvertantly sent to the wrong locker room and causing them disorientation; the Rockies dugout has heaters under the benches for early- and late-season games, but the visitors dugout does not (brrr); the visitors dugout is in the shade, so when they take the field they don't see as well becasue their eyes have to adjust to the sunlight and we will hit more runs/homeruns or they will not hit as well as later in the inning after their eyes have adjusted; the Rockies have 2 phones, 1 of which goes directly to the bullpen, so we get our relief pitchers out faster, whereas the visitors have to dial a complicated set of numbers and it takes them longer and they end up keeping in a 'bad' pitcher longer.  Basebal really is a game, and it is played by grown men messing with each others minds.
We went to dinner at the Red Lobster and dined on lobster, shrimp and other yummy stuff thanks to the gift certificate from Paul and Dawn.  Super Yummy!  Home for champagne, courtesy of Jack and Judy.
Thursday, after more pain meds for Zeus, we went to Ft. Collins to look at apartments that Hercules wants to get for next year, discussing finances and hanging out with Hercules and Amos.  I make spaghetti for diner and we are in bed early due to exhaustion.  We are getting to old for all this running around.
Friday, after pain meds, Zeus goes over to help Jack with some flooring, I do laundry and we go to The Buckhorn Exchange for dinner, courtesy of Hercules and Posiedon.  It was fun to see the oldest continuous restaraunt in Denver (opened 1893 and liquor license #1), but somewhat creepy to eat with all these dead animals on the wall and the huge stuffed mountain lion glaring at me. Zeus got the best ribs he's ever had (according to him) and I had the quail.  We had Rocky Mountian Oysters for an appetizer and they were as good as the rumors say they are.  We went to the Tattered Cover on Colfax afterward to walk off some of the food and pick up a few good books.  I used to go to the theater there when Gram had season tickets 30 years ago, so it was fun to see what had been done with the place.  I wonder if Mrs. Beottcher still haunts the place?
Saturday we slept late, cleaned house and I made baklava for the church bake sale.  Sunday we slept, read and watched movies.
 
We are exhausted still from having so much fun.  It was a nice change of pace to just go off and do what we wanted and see stuff that was interesting to us.  I feel like I ate throughout the entire week and strongly suspect that I gained back the 11 pounds I had lost over Christmas.  Yes, we are wearing matching sweaters in the pictures.  Zeus got them on sale, they are really warm, and I know that we look like those goofy old couples who dress a like but I don't care.  ITwo weeks ago I got the ring with diamonds that Zeus insisted I deserve, even though I told him I had changed my mind and only wanted the pink-gold band.  I guess I just don't feel the need for giant diamonds at the moment, and the only diamonds I really and truly want are grammy's wedding rings but I know that will never happen so to hell with it.  I have something much better - a husband who still can show he loves me and life is looking pretty rosy right now, so why not have the rose-gold to prove it?
I know it all sounds boring in some ways, but we had fun.  I just wish someone had given us a party, but Posiedon pointed out that he is too far away to plan anything and Hercules doesn't have the money to do it right.  I know, I know - I just have to find something to be dissatisfied with.  Whatever.  It was a great week and about all the fun I could take.  I wonder what our 50th will be like....

Big things going on over the next week here on Mt. Olympus.  First on the list is the 25th Anniversary of Zeus and I on Feb. 18.  Yep, it's been that long and we have both lived to tell the tale.  We have had 3 children; moved in ice storms, 20 degrees below zero weather and 120-degree weather; hung wallpaper together 3 times! (the biggest test of any marriage); remodeled a kitchen, finished a basement, painted the outside of the house a couple of times; buried dogs, fish, birds, and grandparents; survived my 4 strokes, various internal organ removals and just plain crabbiness; sent 2 kids off to college and one to the Navy; lost ourselves, found ourselves; and finally, grown up together.
I was about 15 when I first met Zeus.  The oldest daughter of our Pastor brought him to Luther League and eventually got him to convert from catholisism to Lutheranism.  I, and the whole church, got to know him and become fond of him, and he got to know all of us.  They eventually broke up, because he was getting more serious than she wanted to be.  She called me and told me she was going to break it off with him and suggested we date.  I was thrilled - I had permission from the ex, who happened to be a good friend.  We flirted at Luther League, Grandpa said he was an "upstanding young man", and he went to work for my mother as a Santa the Christmas I was 16, with me as the accompanying Elf.  He asked me out and I agreed, even though I had a fever of 101, laryngitis and strep throat.  I would have moved tanks and and an entire Army to go on that date.  We dated in front of, and with the approval of, the entire church; the church where my mother and Uncle were confirmed, my mother was married, both Ares and I were baptised and confirmed; the church where, 2 years later, we were married. 
In some ways it was a fairy tale courtship and has been a fairy tale marriage.  We have had trolls and wicked witches bedevil us, we have had ugly moments (frogs) turn into later-acknowledged blessings (princes), at times we have felt to be under some kind of curse but they are always lifted and we see the light of day.
So, we move quietly and happily into next week: our Anniversary week.  We had thought to go somewhere, then remembered the blizzard that came 2 days before the wedding and realized that going someplace further than the Metro-Area may be a losing proposition.  We'll go see some of the sights that neither of us have ever enjoyed even though we have lived all or most of our lives here.  We are going to eat at the places we have put off for the last 25 years like The Buckhorn Exchange and maybe The Downtown Broker in the vault.  We are going to tour Coors Field and Hammond's Candy.  We are going to sleep in our own bed every night and for the first time in 23 years not need to listen for children that need us in the night (although the dogs may decide to get us up once or twice).  We are going to be young again (as long as we don't look in any mirrors).
Neither of our parents made it to 25 years with the same people they started out with (although Judy made with her 2nd marriage just last September), but both our Grandparents survived over 50 years together, as well as various Aunts and Uncles.  In our families it is really no big deal to have a 25th Anniversary, but it feels like a big milestone to me.  We did what our parents couldn't do and we are doing what so many other couples can't do:  we are sticking together no matter what.  Our children have admitted to feeling strange about explaining to others that they only have 2 parents and no step-parents (I tell them to say they are not wealthy enough to afford 4 parents and have to make do with only 2).  We have taken seriously the promise to stick to each other "through Good times and Bad": no jobs, bad jobs, low-paying jobs, nervous exaustion, interfering in-laws, and arguments; promotions, graduations, finding the perfect color to paint the walls, opening nights, complements about our children or spouse; the promise of "In Sickness and in Health": the hard pregnancies, the surgeries to remove organs, the diseases and depressions; learning to talk and walk, always being able to have health insurance and not have to worry about the sickness or the health; And most of all: "for Richer or for Poorer" because it has mostly been 'poorer', but the occasional 'richer' has made it worthwhile - like finding money in your coat pocket that you forgot about and ordering a pizza and watching a movie, pawning my class ring to buy groceries and not caring that I never got it back because I got something far more important with it, winning the jackpot only once at Bingo and throwing a great birthday party for Hercules with it.
In the last 25 years, Zeus and I have loved each other (most of the time), loved our children (most of the time), learned to love ourselves (the hardest one of all) and most of all, learned that loving someone else takes work but it is the kind of work we have mostly enjoyed and learned from.  We were made to be together in this lifetime and is had been pretty good.  We are comfortable with each other, we trust each other, and we can't imagine our lives without each other.  Isn't that, afterall, what true and long-lived love is really about?

Yesterday I watched the innaguration. (And the pre- and post- stuff, too.)  I texted Hercules after the new Prez took the oath and asked if she had watched.  She was on the bus on the way to school, but had listened to as much of it as possible.  I asked her if this means that true equality was on the way.  She never responded.  I don't know.  I wonder.  It only took 45-plus years after MLK started marching and pushing, and 150 years after the Emmancipation Proclamation was signed for this amount of trust to occur.
I praise the President's promise to get rid of the 'Don't ask, don't tell' policy and move to a more open military.  I fear for the men and women who will be most affected by this.  I fear that gay and lesbian military people will be held back from promotions, will be in danger in the barracks, and will be subject to death from "friendly fire".  I know that Black people went through the same thing after 1948 when President Truman desegregated the military. Are we ready for it to happen again?
I know so many military men who insisted that there was never a gay man in "his" unit. (I know of one that was in the exact same unit.)  I have heard men say that our military men would be within their rights to kill a gay man in their unit.  (Seriously? Kill them?  They would willing go to jail because they killed someone different from them?  Are they insane?!)
I hope President Obama DOES "desegregate" the straight/gay military.  It's about freakin' time, I just don't think I am emotionally ready for more martyrs.  The Gay Rights Movement has mostly been one of peace and conflict resolution, but let us not forget that there are many among this movement who were trained to defend themselves and their country by the same ones who claim to hate them.  I do not endorse violence of this kind, but sometimes a person can get pushed too far and I don't want this to escalate.  I also worry about those that would defend their gay brothers and sisters in the military.  How will they be treated and labeled?
Don't misunderstand me - I WANT the walls to come down.  I don't think anyone should be forced to live in a closet simply because they want the same educational opportunities, financial security, or opportunity to serve their country as any straight person.  I just don't want any more death, and I am not sure if we are evolved enough as a society to just shrug our shoulders and go on with life.
What is interesting is that I have only heard this discussed on conservative talk radio.  I have heard nothing about this momentous descision from liberal radio or talk shows.  Is this going a little too far for the liberals?  Will they have a hard time endorsing something that was just a theory before?  Are they ready to prosecute if a military person dies from a beating or 'friendly fire' because of who they are?
I don't know what to think of this anymore, but it has been on my mind a lot lately.  I know there has probably never been a politician in the history of the world that has come through on the promises made during a campaign, but I think I want this one followed-through on.  This is one of the few promises Obama made that I truly believed could happen.  I think it is time, no matter the cost.  I just wish the projected cost wasn't so high.

"What are you rebelling against?" 

"Whadya got?"

I have realized over the last week that almost my entire life has been spent in rebellion against someone or something.  It's very strange to think of your life in those terms.  Of course the rebelling of my teens was natural and normal - everyone does it to some extent or another.  Skipping most of my classes in 10th grade (usually to be found in the library reading), taking my mother's car for a few drives before I was 16 (and only getting caught once - when I was in a fender bender), throwing tantrums, the usual.

In my 20's it was still mostly against Medusa and finally stepping up and saying "No".

In my 30's it was against doctors and the stupid things they tried on me (morphine does equal Demerol in my body chemistry).

Most of my life, however, has been in rebellion against "The System".  I questioned teachers about why I had to take certain classes, write about certain subjects, or stage certain plays for the senior 1-acts and ended up changing systems of teaching for some teachers at Aurora Central.  I questioned every single employer I have ever had about policies, procedures, and hiring practices and those have changed (some more than others) for every single employer I have had for the last 28 years.  I seem to be a catalyst of sorts for those around me, challenging beliefs, traditions, and ideas set in concrete.  Except for myself. 

I was discussing the how and where of smoking cigarettes with my mother-in-law last week.  They have both made the commitment to smoke only outside, causing her to cut down to 4 a day and him to cut back 'somewhat' (anything on those Pall Mall unfilter's is a blessing).  I mentioned that Apollo has stopped cold turkey and it seemed to have worked fine for him.  I told her that at this time I didn't want to quit because I enjoy smoking and I enjoy the rise I get out of people when I do.  She laughed and we moved on to something else, but it made me think.

Years ago I had been the test subject in a class demonstration for hypnotherapists to help their clients stop smoking.  Actually, I was forced into it by the owner of the school (who has her own control issues), and I grudgingly agreed.  After going under and getting to the root of the when and why I started smoking, I gave myself permission to find a way to take a break in a different way and was given suggestions on how to keep others at bay when I am stressed out.  Great!  Until the hypnotherapist (who is one of the best in the state and has helped not only me but others in my family) somehow brought up my Rebel.  My inner-rebel simply said, "Make Me".

Make Me.  That is pretty much my attitude towards a lot of things in a nutshell.  I am very aware that it is a juvenile response to things in my life, but then again I don't see a whole lot of grown-up actions from other supposed grown-ups in this country.  I push back whenever I perceive any kind of pressuring, but my mother-in-law wasn't pressuring me to quit. I brought up the subject.  When I perceive that something is being over-advertised on t.v. or the radio, you couldn't pay me to buy it.  If everyone wants to go to the park I want to go to the pool, but if they agree to the pool then I vote for the park.  Up is down and down is across.  I have spent my entire life being contrary and in a constant state of rebellion.

I finally realized that I am out of personal things to rebel against.  Everyone has pretty much given up on telling me to stop smoking.  Even my doctor tells Zeus to stop lecturing me and that I'll give it up when I am ready.  Zeus no longer asks why I did or did not do something that day, he just takes for granted that it will eventually get done (if it wasn't) or that it may not get done tomorrow (if it was done today).  He accepts me and my reasoning (usually), and it makes me wonder why I can't accept myself and must always rebel against myself.

That is what it really is.  I am rebelling against Self.  I am fighting my own good sense and intentions.  I am telling myself  "make Me".   What the hell?!  If eat things that are bad for my diabetes, it is only hurting me not anyone else.  If I am smoking when no one is around to tell me how gross it is, I am only hurting myself.  Why must I punish myself?  What have I done that is so horrible that I must inflict harm on myself?  That is what it ultimately comes down to: self-inflicted harm and destruction of Self.

So.  The only way I can see to get this Rebel inside me to realize that rebellion against Self is harmful to the body is to start thinking more about what I rebel against and why and what good or harm is actually being done.  Self-examination is a bitch, but what else can be done?  Keep on doing the same hurtful things?  I don't think so.  I think I shall start rebelling against my Rebel.  Now that will be interesting, and possibly fruitful. I cannot continue to be a Rebel Without a Cause.  I have a feeling that I have better things to do with my life.  Wish me luck.

Yesterday I was sort of watching the History Channel and sort of working on the cookbook and what comes on?  "The Hidden History of The KKK."  You got to love the History Channel - they take to heart the saying, 'Those that forget history are doomed to repeat it' - they always have something on about Hitler, gangs, evil people in general so that we remember our collective past and learn not to do that again.  Anyway, it got me to thinking about family stories and things I half remember (I have had 2 strokes, afterall) and so I called Uncle Ted to verify my memories (he's only had 1 stroke).

Verified:  The Klan was very active in the Denver area during the teens and '20's of the 20th century.

Verified:  The Greeley area was full of non-English speaking immigrants, such as Germans, Germans-from-Russia (my people), Jews, Italians, and Japanese people.

Verified:  Great-Grandma Kaufman really did know very few English words or phrases, one of which really was "Run!  It's the Klan!" (the other was "Galvaston Texas" - where they entered the  country).

Back Story:  My Great-Grandparents came to America from Russia exactly 100 years ago, on October 19, 1908.  They were teenagers when they came here, got married here and gave birth to 5 (surviving) children, my maternal grandmother among them.  They were farmers who worked the sugarbeet fields, mostly for others (i.e., sharecroppers).  My Great-Grandfather, Conrad, spoke several languages.  Some were learned in Russia (Russian, German, Latin), and some he either learned on the boat over (Greek) or when he got here (some Spanish, some Italian, a lot of English).

Great-Gram, Katherine, would usually only shop in the stores run by German Jews, as they spoke her language (literally), and usually only came in to town with her husband or other family members.  (This part reminds me a lot of the Mexican immigrants I come across in my daily life.)  She was very afraid of strangers, although she was considered very strong within her family.

Apparently, according to Uncle Ted, the Klan liked to take day trips by train from Denver up to Greeley and the surrounding area and speechify against immigrants, Jews, and Germans in particular since this was right after World War I. ("Only be gone from home for 12 hours - you can be back in time for church on Sunday!  See the beautiful plains of Colorado while you harass immigrants and break their stuff!  Fun for the whole family!")  Greeley and Sugar City were full of all of them.  Great-Gram was scarred to death of them and would always try to hide herself and her children.  There were a few windows broken and occasionally a truck or wagon turned over, but no one was ever physically hurt as far as Uncle Ted was told.

Here is how these awful people influenced my family:  Great-Grandpa Kaufman was apparently known to be a resistor.  He would refuse to run and hide, he would argue with these men that they would have no vegetables if it weren't for these immigrants farming the land, he would point out how un-intelligent they were and how educated he was.  He would taunt them.  Most importantly, he showed no fear and put a little fear in them (he was tall for that time - probably around 6' 2" is Uncle Ted's guess) and would never-ever backdown.  He taught his children to stand up for themselves and refuse to be abused by ignorant people that knew nothing about them and their family values. 

How I, and my family, are still influenced by the actions of the Klan:  Because my grandmother and her sisters and brothers grew up being told that outsiders know nothing about who you really are and not to let them belittle you or tell you that you don't belong, I was taught the same thing and taught it to my children.  We do not know who these people are that we meet at school, on the street, or at work.  We do not know what their private miseries, hopes or lives are like.  The only logical conclusion is that you must then treat everyone the same.  Their dreams may be the same as yours.  Their troubles may be like yours.  Their love and their joy may be like yours.  You just don't know, and until you do you have no choice but to treat all people equally.

Now, I do have to admit this got me thinking about a lot of things.  How I think about illeagal immigrants and how I automatically assume everyone that speaks Spanish is illeagal is right at the top.  I have struggled with this for many years.  On one hand - although they came leagally, all of my family on my mother's side were immigrants.  I understand the fear and struggle that these people are going through and the reasons they left their country.  On the other hand - there are laws that we are required to obey, some of which pertain to how you come into this country.  I also believe that there are far more criminals coming into our country than there are people who just want to make a better life for their families.

I don't want to be like those awful people.  I don't want to assume all the immigrants are here illeagally and are here to hurt our economy or our families.  Yet ... I find myself slipping into that horrible frame of mind on occasion and it scares me.  How can I tell myself to 'Run! It's the Klan!' when I have become that sort of intolerant person?  As St. Paul wrote, "For I do not do what I want, but do the very thing I hate." (Romans 7:15)  How can I fight for the rights of others in this country, yet argue to deny rights to someone else? 

I feel like such an intolerant hypocrit at times.  I suppose all I can do is acknowledge my inner struggle and learn from it.  This does not mean that I will ever stop fighting for the rights of people (especially in the LGBT communities) or feeling pain for those who are abused, mistreated and wounded by intolerance and war. 

I have acknowledged my history and my Achille's heel.  I can only hope and pray that good genes and family history win out over the fear-mongering press and self-deception I occasionally experience.

If the Klan has taught me anything it is that ignorance and fear have no place in my life or the lives of those around me, and to hold fast to the teachings of family and the courage of my ancestors.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K14c4NGuhDI

Lets do this!

Well, I've done some dumb things in my life, but this just about takes the cake:  I ran into the sliding glass door from the patio to the kitchen, bruised my nose and ended up with two black eyes.  There is still the smudges where my forehead, nose, lips and chin hit on the glass to remind me to slow down.

Let's back up 2 weeks.  I went to see the Great Dr. J because I thought I had an ear infection.  She examined me and said I had ear, throat and sinus infections and gave me more antibiotics (these are infection numbers 7,8,& 9 since mid-August for those of you who are counting) and asked why I was acting soo weird (well, weirder than usual).  I told her the diabetes doc had me on a new drug to help the neuralgia in my legs and feet and showed it to her.  She said to stop immediately, as it was a Central Nervous System (CNS) drug similar to Imetrix (cause of 1st stroke) and my body was turning it into speed.  Yeah, you read right - amphetamines, speed, whatever.  I was flying!  Everything was going to fast - my thoughts, my actions, my speech.  I wanted to cry but didn't have time.  Very bad for this Mamma. 

So.  I stopped the drug-that-turns-to-speed and it took me about 5 days to come down.  Very hilarious - NOT.  Now I was tired.  Very, very tired.  But I have to start baking for the upcoming craft show that was going to happen at my house on 11/14 &15 (mainly so Artemis could sell some of her jewlery).  The only talent I seem to have is baking and feeding people, so I baked.  By the time last Thursday evening rolled around I had baked 16 dozen cookies, 28 mini-loaves of either banana, bacon & cheddar, or Italian herb and onion bread and had 6 more loaves rising and 3 in the oven.  I was running on adrenaline and carbs.

I went out to the garage to answer some questions for Artemis (and get a breath of cold air) while she was setting up our sales area, and left the sliding door open to air-out the kitchen. (Yeah - it smelled great but was hotter than hades in there).  Zeus went in and closed the door, muttering about electrical bills and his crazy wife that leaves doors and windows open in the winter.  I tried to go through the door (that should have been open) about a minute later and smacked into it.  It hurt so bad I couldn't even cry, just breath really deep and keep saying "crapcrapcrapcrap" like a mantra to soothe the pain while holding my nose. (Flashes of Marcia Brady:  "My nose!")

Zeus felt bad, but pointed out I shouldn't expect a door to be open when it is only 38 degrees outside.  Artemis laughed, then saw how bad it was and kept telling me I would be o.k.  Stu mildly commented that he hoped I wouldn't end up with a black eye.

The day of the Great Craft Show Experiment comes and I have two black eyes.  Artemis points out that they are barely noticable with my glasses on.  Susie from Down the Street tells of similar silly things she has done.  I try to get my Mother-In-Law to believe that her son hit me, and she laughs and asks, "No! Really!  What happened?"  Hercules comes home later and laughs at me.  Papa points out that I need to move slower.

He's right.  I need to move slower.  I need to take the time to enjoy the experiences that life offers instead of reaching for the next, and the next, and the next.  I have always done things fast and ahead of others. (Well, except for childbirth.  36-hour labors are apparently given by God to make you slow down and think about how much you really want this child.  OUT!)  Even at my most tired and run down, there is always something that 'needs' to be done, that only I can do.  I feel guilty when I just sit, admit that I am too tired or in too much pain, and let others do.  Even when I was in the wheelchair, I raced everywhere.  When I mastered the forearm crutches, I was off and running.  I talk as fast as my brain can produce the words.  I have to hurry.

Hurry to what?  The end of my life?!  I am 43 years old and I still haven't learned how to slow down, unless I get forced to by a stroke or two, crippling pain, or a door in my face.  I have never figured out why I am in such a hurry or what kind of reward I may received if I finish first.  There is no gold medal in clothes washing or dish washing.

I spent Sunday and Monday recuperating from Friday and Saturday.  Today I was back to washing linens and straightening up the kitchen.  I tried to take my time, but something kept telling me to "hurry up and get it done".   Those pills the diabetes doc gave me really threw me for a loop, but they didn't speed me up that much more than what I normally run at.  Still, it was scarry to feel that out of control.  I think I will spend the next week purposely trying to slow down and observe what I am doing, saying, and thinking.

"Slow down, you're movin' too fast.  Got to make the moment last, now.  Kickin' down the cobblestones.  Movin' through life and feelin' groovy."

Last year at this time I talked about the military vets in my life - Granpa, Bud, Ares, Posiedon, Uncle Ted, Uncle Kenny, Papa, Chris, and the families of military.  This year I want to talk about the human-ness of being in the military.

The other night I was listening to the nightly 10 p.m. musical selection from Buckley Air Force Base - Taps.  On a clear night it sounds like it is coming from the next street over and not about a mile a way.  Sometimes I sing or hum along.  I have forgotten most of the words, although I used to know them all (an unwritten requirement of a Boy Scout leader).  Mainly I remember the phrase "...all is well, safely rest, God is near".  It is a comfort.  Someone is "standing on the wall" and telling me that everything is going to be all right.  Not every little thing, just things in general.  We are going to be o.k.  Take a longer view of things.  We're here.  You're safe.  I know it seems simplistic in this day and age, but I do feel safer knowing that there are others out there ready to protect me and fight for me.

I know the current war and military intercesions are not very popular right now.  I, too, have been thinking for a while that this has all gone on far too long, to tell the truth.  There was even a time when I swore that I would never give one of my children to 'that war machine' and would take them to Canada myself if needs be.  I still fear for all the men and women in the military and have had nightmares of Posiedon's body being lost over the side of a ship. But...  someone has to go and do the things we don't like to make our country someplace we want to stay in. 

I don't have the answers to why we are still in certain places or are doing the things we are doing as a country.  I seriously doubt anyone that reads this does either, or if they did they could actually explain it to me in a way that makes sense.  All I can say is, thank God that we are now to the point in our society that we can separate the comands of the leaders from the actions of the soldiers.  Thank God we can welcome back our military veterans and thank them for doing the job set before them to the best of their abilities and see them as human and mirrors of ourselves, and not group them into the actions of those in command.  Thank God we can still, no matter what we privately believe about these wars, thank them for serving their country in a way that 90% of us cannot or will not.

Finally, here is a short and very abreviated list of some of the things that our military personnel are doing when they are not out protecting or prosecuting others, all during 'down time' between missions, floats or cruises:

Building schools and hospitals in 3rd world countries.

Gathering books to stock libraries.

Working for Habitat for Humanity on homes right here in America.

Cooking and serving food for people in refugee camps.

Using their medical knowledge to help treat people in disaster areas.

Fighting wildfires.

Tutoring children of local towns, cities and occasionally fellow unit members.

Digging wells.

Rebuilding homes after disasters.

Gathering food for those in need both here in America and those overseas.

Collecting toys for those same children.

Reading to their own children via computer while doing the same for children in other cities or countries.

And lastly - using their own good common sense to see that not every non-American is an enemy and not every citizen in a war-torn country is there to hurt or hinder them in their job.

 

Addendum:  I found the lyrics to Taps.

Day is done,

gone the sun,

from the lakes

from the hills

from the sky.

All is well,

safely rest,

God is near.

 

Fading light

dims the sun,

and a star gems the sky,

gleaming bright

from afar,

drawing near,

Falls the night.

 

Thanks and praise,

for our days

'neath the sun

'neath the stars

'neath the sky.

As we go,

this we know,

God is near.

 

...None Of The Above!  I am getting sooo tired of all the political lies and B.S. out there that you can't even believe it.  Anyone that truly believes that any of the candidates (from school board to president) will actually do the things they say, is really living in a fantasy.  I know I sound cynical, and I probably am, but this has just gone on way too long. 

I think we should be allowed to vote "None of the above" and the parties should be required to present someone else and we hold another election in 8 weeks.  None of this running for president for 2 years crap.  They all lie.  They all believe the other candidate is going to drive the country in the ground.  They all have their own plans to drive the country in the ground.

By the way - I already voted and mailed in my ballot.  I voted for a president (and every other position that needed a vote), and NO - I am not telling who I voted for.  Those of you who know me well enough already know who I voted for.

I Vote For....Life.  The one that I want to lead without being listened to when I am on the phone with Artemis.  I vote for the Life that Hercules and Pan the Fabulous live (without fear of being hurt or discriminated against).  I vote for the life we were all guaranteed to have by the constitution when we were born in this country.  I vote for others to get to live their life as they see fit without inter-fear-ance from our government, our churches, or other crazy-ass people who want to tell everyone else how to live their life without taking a look at their own sweet selves.  I vote for a life of quiet contemplation in my own garden without worrying what is in my water, the air, or on the food I eat. 

I vote for throwing them all out and starting over, and making damn sure that whoever goes in next understands that it is government FOR the people and not ON  THE BACKS of the people.  I vote for taking care of our own first so they have the education, health, and luxury of being concerned for and helping others in far-off lands instead of dying stupid, poor, and unable to afford a home with proper heating and water.

I vote for them staying out of my affairs and not telling me what is good for me and what isn't, and letting me learn to live my own life on my terms.  I vote for teaching all of history, not just the parts that are rewritten to make us look good.  I vote for true education of all our people, instead of indoctrination of what the current political party in power believes what is good for us to learn.

I vote for me and mine, not some political party or politician.  They just haven't gotten it yet:  We don't want a politician running our country anymore.  We want a person that is going to look at us, listen to us, and do what is best for us; not them.  Not a single one of the candidates for Senate, Congress or President could live on any of our salaries and still pay our bills.  Not a single one of them truly understands the anger and heartbreak of telling your kids (or even yourself if you want to be truly honest) that a new pair of jeans or shoes is out of the question this week or even this month because all these other bills are due.  Not a single one of them have shopped at Goodwill or Salvation Army and sucked their teeth wondering if they could afford $5 for a pair of used jeans in the last 10 years, let alone (for most of them) their whole life.  Yeah, yeah.  Some of them say they were poor growing up.  Define poor.  Did they have a hole in the living room window for 2 years because they couldn't afford to replace it and had to stuff blankets or towels in it in the winter?  I did.  Were they told to pick the mold of the bread to make a sandwich (and not tell Grandma) because there was no money for food for 2 more weeks?  I had to.  We all have stories.

My point is, it really and truly is time for a change, but the politicians (ALL of them) are not the one's that will bring it.  We, and only we, are the one's that will bring change to our country.  It was done once before and it can be done again.  Sometimes they forget who they are representing - you and me and not XYZ, Inc. or 123, Corp.  I have no idea how to go about it, but I know it needs to happen and soon lest we go the way of Rome, Greece, and all the other great civilizations that unwittingly gave birth to our country.  In those civilizations the people got lazy and used to the idea that their government would go on for ever.

One last thought from this political campaign-crazed woman:

"A government big enough to give you everything you want is big enough to take it all away."  ~President Gerald R. Ford

 

I don't really want a government that big.  And I don't think it was meant to be, either.

First off, for the record, let me just state that I have not made up my mind who I am voting for.  This is not a posting about politics, it is a posting about family life.

I just read the 'Faith Blog' by Sally Quinn of the Washington Post dated 8/29/08 entitled "Palin's Pregnancy Problem".  There is something in it that really bothers me.  She states as fact, "A mother's role is different from a father's."

Well, after 24-1/2 years of marriage and child rearing that started 23 years ago, my response to that statement is, "Bullshit."  A father's role is NOT different from the mother's, once you get the child home after giving birth. Yeah, yeah, yeah.  There is that whole breast-feeding thing, but that does not last until the child leaves for college. (or at least, it shouldn't.  I'll tell you about an ex-sister-in-law sometime.)  If the father is able to, he should be involved in all aspects of the child's life just as the mother is.  In our society we have always insisted it be the mother that "raises" the child, and the father goes out to make money, mow the lawn, fix the car or other household things, write the checks for whatever is needed, and shows up at major events.  Has anybody ever asked them if they want to be around more or do more of the 'raising' of the child?  What about the women who want to give birth and like the idea of having a child, but want a career and be the one who goes to work and pays the bills? 

Marriage is supposed to be a partnership.  So is child rearing.  I am appalled that the news media seems to think that Sara Palin's children will be abandoned if she makes it to the vice-precidentcy.  Who has been taking care of the children while she was govenor or mayor?  Probably her husband, folks.

Is a man somehow designed to be less able to wake up at 3 a.m. when a child is sick?  Are they somehow less able to understand the directions a teacher sends home for a homework assignment or where to go to buy the uniform needed for the sports team?  Are men incapable of understanding the emotional needs of a 3-,10- or 16-year-old?  Nope.  Nope to all of it.

I am tired of listening to the media and psuedo-psychologists male bashing.  It is the new and safe way to put down a segment of our society.  Men (white, black, or whatever) are on the new hit list.  It is their fault for everything.  They start wars, refuse to feed the hungry, have crashed our economy, and probably are the cause of their being no hot Martians on Mars.

So, men can be teachers, pediatricians, ministers, child care workers, but they have no ability to love, nurture and care for their own children?  What?  Has the world gone mad?!  I am just as tired of hearing that men cannot do the things that women can, as I am tired of hearing that women can't do the things men can.  It is the worst kind of  discrimination I can think of because people seem to automatically agree and take it for granted.  No one stops to think how it sounds when they say a man can't take as good of care of his children as a mother can.  Let's substitute a few words her and see how it plays:  A black person can't take as good of care of their children as a white person.  A Mexican person can't take as good of care of their children as an Asian person can.  A straight couple can't take as good of care of their children as a gay couple can.  It sounds stupid and ignorant, doesn't it?

Stop bashing men and making assumptions! (damn it)  Zeus has gotten up at 3 a.m. to take care of a sick child, he has been dialed in a lot better to the emotional needs of our kids than I ever was, he knew where to go to get camping equipment, sports uniforms, bra's and tampons, and anything else our kids needed.  The ONLY reason he occasionally didn't get up at 3 a.m. was because he had to get up at 5 a.m. to get ready for work.  He has always been the main bread winner and had the best insurance.  If I had had the government job with the good insurance, union protection, and regular pay raises, it would have been him doing all the stuff and taking the kids all the places and not me.

We, as Americans, tell the world that we are a free and equal society that is always striving for a greater equality among our people.  We actually brag about it at times, and pity the people from countries that do not have the same opportunity.  We are so full of shit.  When it is taken for granted that any woman has to worry more about her kids than getting a job done when she has a perfectly capable and willing husband or partner there to help, we are not only be hypocritical we are continuing to subjegate a huge sector of our society and refusing to allow them to reach their full potential.

I know this will be an ongoing debate in both the media and our homes.  It is probably something that will never be completely resolved.  If Sara Palin makes it into, or near, the White House it will be discussed and picked apart to no end, just as it would be if Hillary had made it (and I am convinced that Hillary wouldn't have made it as far as she did if Chelsea had still been livng at home and younger).  I am just full-up with society telling my husband,  my son's, and my brother that they have no business being interested in the lives of their current or future children and that they are required to be disengaged from them.  Why can't we instead require them to be engaged and fully part of their children's lives?

Ooooo.  This subject really pisses me off.  Do we really need a second women's movement to get this across?  'Feminism' isn't only about the rights of women, it is also about the rights of men to be involved.  Maybe we need a "Men's Movement".   Never forget: No one is free until everyone is free.  This includes the right of a father to be acknowledged as being just as capable of taking care of his children as a mother is. Men of American - it is time for a revolution!  Take back your children and let them know that you can make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich just as well as Mom can!

I realized this past Sunday that there are phrases that we intentionally or unintentionally, consciously or subconsciously, live by.  Call them creeds, mottos, good ideas, or just guiding principles - they are the things that guide our lives.  I chose (was shown?) mine when I was 12.  I didn't realize that this would be the overriding theme of the rest of my life.  If I had, I may have looked a little harder and chosen something a little happier or that would guide me out of poverty.  I am talking about Romans 12:12 and my Confirmation verse.  (You thought I was talking about Grammy's maxim of "It is better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it", didn't you?)

For the non-Lutheran's out there, here is a little "sum up" because it is too long to explain.  The month before you are Confirmed (confirming the vows made for you at your baptism); you are told to find a Bible verse that best represents your view of God, the church, or your relationship with God.  What does a 12 year old know from picking such a thing?  I had just finished 3 very long years of memorizing all the books of the Bible (in order), all of the short- and most of the long-Luther's Catechism (a verrry long-winded German by any standards), had been bored to death, tested incessantly, and was worried that I wasn't good enough (hadn't quite gotten down that whole Grace thing yet).  I opened the Bible I had received a few years prior for perfect attendance and pointed.  Worked for me.  Of course Pastor Kvern read it, looked at me, asked me if I was sure and if I understood it, I answered Yes to all and was ready to go shopping for my first long (white) dress.  Bring on the dress, shoes, and hair-do!  I was done with confirmation!  I was 12 and finally felt like someone would have to take me seriously after all that studying.  Who cared what Bible verse I had picked to represent me and my view of God?  I was free!

Romans 12:12 says, "Rejoice in your hope, be patient in your suffering, and pray at all times."

Let's look at this and its repercussions, shall we?

  "Rejoice in your hope".  Well, obviously my 'hope' is in God.  I do, mostly, find joy in Him.  Not the jumping around, raising my hands, yelling Amen and Hallelujah, Southern Baptist kind of joy.  Just, you know, kind of happy and comfortable.  Glad I have someone who watches over me and to talk to.  I guess you would call it more secure than joy. 

Then there is "be patient in your suffering."  First off - it seems to be guaranteeing that there will be suffering.  What is it the Buddhist say?  "Life is suffering"?  Well, hmmm.  I got that.  I have tried to be patient.  Sometimes I am, sometimes I am not.  I'm working on it and eventually get to it before the suffering ends.  Maybe if I get to the patience sooner, the suffering will end sooner?  I'll have to remember that.

Finally, we come to "and pray at all times."  I think God and I can agree that I pretty much got that one down, if you can call the insistent talking (in my head), questions, and observations I make to God "prayers".  There is also the thanks, requests for the safety of friends and family, guidance on various situations, patience, and demands for help of one kind or the other.  Even when I say I am mad at God and not going to talk to Him for a while (He considers it a rest for His ears), it does no good.  I am compelled to continue.

Anyway.  This is what has been an overarching theme in my life since I was 12 (a time that one should not be allowed to state for all the world - or at least all the congregation- on how you will live your life).  Maybe I should have gone with the rest of the kids and chosen John 3:16.  Or maybe... I should have gone with the Song of Solomon.  Now THAT would have been fun, since we were apparently picking self-fulfilling prophecies.  Song of Solomon 4:7 "You are altogether beautiful my love; there is no flaw in you." 

Is it too late to change my motto/creed/theme of my life?  Apparently it is, so I offer you this warning:  be careful what you state you believe in and how you pledge yourself; You will be required to live up to it.  So far I have been able to; I just pray I can continue.  What are your creeds or mottos?

August 4th.  Where is the summer going?  Today is Artemis and Hephastus' 19th wedding anniversary.  Happy Anni you two!

I didn't get the boob-squish as planned 2 weeks ago.  I went in, got undressed and waited.  The nurse finally came in and said Dr. Idiot said I needed an MRI with contrast and then an ultra-sound (the old pushing-a-stick-around-my boob-like-its-a-gear-shift thing) and that I had to have my Doc sign off on it.  Nope.  I went and saw Dr. J last week and presented my case.  Last time Dr. Idiot made me get 2 ultra sounds, an MRI with and then without contrast, refused the biopsy, made me miserable, and I just am not going through that again.  She presented her arguments - Bi-Rad 3 means things may not be as hunky-dory as I think and that I have as much as a 5% chance that I do have something wrong (like cancer) and this is the best way to determine it, and there is a new machine that can do the biopsy that triangulates the areas to biopsy so there is no hit and miss with a regular human doc.  Sounds resonable, except for I have to go through all the B.S. with Dr. Idiot first.  Nope.  A 5% chance of there being 'something' is not high enough for me to experience all the stress.  I know there is nothing there.  She relented with the promise that I will go for my regular mammo in October and submitt to everything that Dr. Idiot orders.  I agreed, she agreed, we are both agreed.  Crap.  Well - whatever.  There is nothing there.

Hercules' last day at the pool was officially Friday, but she still had to go in with another long-time guard and close the pool today (last day of the pool open was yesterday).  You see, the person that was selected to be the manager was put in that position is the hopes that it would "make her a more responsible guard" (as quoted from the supervising manager to Hercules).  She doesn't know how to open, close, clean, or oversee a pool, she doesn't know how to scheduale people or relate to them, and she doesn't know how to do anything other than freeze in an emergency - but she is the manager.  The manager turned her keys in and Hercules is stuck with closing down the pool.  She is so angry when she comes home from work sometimes that I get worried that she will have a heart attack.  This was a hard lesson for her to learn - that sometimes people don't get a job or a promotion because they deserve it and are the best, but sometimes its who you know and not what you know that is important.  Still, she continues to fight for justice for those weaker in body and mind than her.  She is still a loving and benevolent godlet.

Appol opened on Broadway on Friday, August 1st!  (Well, waaaay down on Broadway, but still a Broadway address.)  He said it went pretty well.  There were a few mis-cues that he didn't think the audience would notice, but the seats were a little more than 1/2 full and they were enthusiastic.  It is a charity thing, with 2 more weekends of performances.  He is in Titus Andronicus playing a General Somebody (I can't remember) who plots, is plotted against, and then has his head chopped off.  He gets to wear Roman-style clothes and show off his Greek-god body, so all is good.  And it looks good on his resume.  I am still awaiting pictures. (hint, hint)

Posiedon is still settling into his apartment in P'cola.  He bought a grill for the little balcony he has this last weekend.  He grilled some meat and was happy, happy.  He is still sounding a little lonely, but I am sure he will get over it soon.  Ehhh.  He's buying a t.v. later this week, so he will have more to talk about and stuff.

Well, that's all folks.  Peace.

Well, there are a lot of things that make me go 'hmm', or 'what!?', or just plain old ' you're shitting me!'.  Actually, there have been quite a lot of the last lately, and probably for good reason - have you listen to the news lately?  ha!  So anyway, here are a few:

The Lioness Patrol.  I heard about the Lioness (Lionesses?, Lioness'? not sure how to pluralize this one) Group on NBC Nightly News with Brian Williams last week.  They are a group of about 40 female soldiers, mostly Army but also a few Marines, who are stationed in Iraq in 'non-combat' positions (this is important) as clerks, and whatever they think is 'non-combat' in a war zone.  Now that there are military checkpoints all over the place, the Muslim women cannot be patted down by males (duh!), so the word was put out asking for female volunteers (also important) to man the checkpoints, so to speak, and take care of patting down the women and children.  About 40 women volunteered.  They wear full combat gear (about 40 to 50 pounds worth of belts, ammo, bullet-proof vests, helmet, goggles, etc.), wear desert cammies, carry an M-16, and are regularly shot at by snipers while patting down women and children to make sure they do not have guns or are wired to explode (do they get 70 virgins if they die, too?  Just wondering what Muslim women get out of all that).  They get all the heat, dust, stress, bullshit, meals, and crap from military brass as the men get, BUT - they do NOT get combat pay.  They do NOT get combat pay because they are women and not allowed in 'combat' per U.S. military regulations.  Um... excuse me?  What, exatly, in the hell are they doing?  In my opinion if you wear the gear, carry the weapon, get SHOT AT, are allowed to return fire is need be, then... YOU ARE IN A COMBAT ZONE and expected to engage in combat if the need arises.  Does anyone else out there find this to be as huge a load of B.S. that I do?  I know there are people out there that read my blogs and are former military.  Can you explain to me why the women are doing everything their male couterparts are, yet not getting that extra (tax free) bonus we give to our fighting men to try and make up for putting them in this situation?  The military said it is because the women volunteered.  Bullshit.  We currently have an all-volunteer military.  None of those men were drafted, nor were they asked if they wanted to volunteer to go to Irag.  They were sent there, just like the women were, because it is in their job description - you know, the one about protecting America and fighting its wars.  I have a feeling that the military will accept openly gay men into its ranks before they ever think of giving comparitive pay to the women who are already there and doing the job.  Never forget:  When we keep down one segement of any society, we keep all segments down.

Next on the 'What the Hell?' List:  All the planned demonstrations at the Democratic Convention in 3 weeks.  I don't get this.  It appears to me that the people that are demonstrating are wanting the things that the Democrats usually want to give them anyway.  Or - they are just using this as an excuse to get together with a 500 of their closest deranged friends and try to camp in our parks, go to the bathroom in our flower beds, use up as much of our precious water as possible, throw a few poop-filled ballons at people, and then leave, allowing the State of Colorado and the City of Denver to clean up after them as they move on to Minnepolis to do the same to them.  I just don't get these people.  There have been no news reports or stories on what, exactly, these people are demonstrating about or for, just warnings to stay away from them becasue they will beg for money, get you arrested, or throw excrement on you.  And what in the HELL is "recreate '68"?  Do these people really want to recreate a city that was torn apart by violence, mass arrests, gun shot wounds, and hysteria?  Why?  Crazy-ass people.

Ooooo.  Here's a good one:  Why are all the schools starting earlier and earlier?  Schools around here are starting on August 5th.  August 5th!  Most of the school in my fair city are not fully air conditioned and the average temp for August is around 90 degrees.  What, exactly, are they expecting the kids to learn while they are passing out from heat exhaustion, sleepy from the heat, or dehydrated?  How 'professional' can a teacher be who's only immediate concern is how much he or she is sweating and how badly they want to be at home in the air conditioning?  This is really out of hand.  The schools have been inching the start date further up and the end of school date farther out for the last ten years.  Why don't they just go to year-round schools and be done with it?  Because then they would have to dedicate money to air conditioning an entire school and they don't want to or can't afford to.  Aurora Public Schools suck, for just this reason.  Piss or get off the pot.  Be honest and say we are now year round, or make the decision to cut out some of the 30 days of school the kids miss due to various teacher work days, test make up days and un-need fall break days.  Jeez!  I am sooooo glad my kids are done and out of it all now.  If they weren't, the new changes would surely push us into home or private schooling.

On a side note - I decide this year that I really wanted to explore the issues of the political campaigns, search out things and really try to think all this stuff through.  (hey - my kids are gone.  I have nothing else to do.)  I even signed up to be a voting judge and work at a polling place.  It's driving me crazy.  The b.s., the lies, the voting no really means yes and a yes vote means that it won't be done.  I can't stand it.  It is enough to make a sane person crazy, and we all know that I am on the edge anyway.  I give up.  I don't care.  They will all do what they want, no matter what you and I want, anyway.  Black Guy President, White Guy President - it doesn't matter.  They will still pander to the lobbyists, kick us in our collective teeth, and write a memoir about it in about 15 years telling us how great they thought they were.  Whatever.  I just don't care anymore.  I want a Representative, Congressman, Senator, and President that will give me what I want or think is important:  Gay rights, leave alone my right to own a gun, lower energy prices (doesn't matter if it is oil or wind power - just lower), a better living wage for everyone, border control, immigration reform for all immigrants, leagal or not (even European immigration is out of hand), a way to get back all the jobs we've sent overseas, and water rights for farmers.  I don't ask for much, do I?

 

Update on an old blog:  I am schedualed for a mamogram re-do tomorrow.  I just can't wait to have my boobs squished, listen to another radiologist talk about 'debris' like I dump the ashtray in them everynight, and suggest another round of MRI, MRI with contrast, ultrasound, and then eventually tell me everything is o.k.  Doc says I gotta go.  Insurance says I gotta go.  Zeus, Hercules, Posiedon, Appollo, and Kathy say I gotta go.  So, I'm, going already.  Stupid lumpy boobs.  I don't have cancer!  Leave me, and what little bit of boob I have, alone.  Grrrrrr.  Worst of all, since this is a "follow-up", I don't even get to do this during the Margaritas & Mammograms Evening that is schedualed for later in the day.  I might go back and throw a few down anyway, just because.  Hey - if someone that is not my husband is going to get that intimate with my boobs, they should at least buy me a few drinks afterward!