Huh: How'd THAT Happen?

One confirmed case of swine flu at the local marine base and a local high school shut down (one confirmed case) to prevent a potential problem from developing with the transient population that travels to and from Mexico weekly.

Huh; I wonder why no direct flights to/from Mexico didn't keep us safer.

Connect the Dots

Over the weekend it was announced that there is no reason to take precautions at the local airport regarding the swine flu epidemic in Mexico because no direct flights either come into or depart from the local airport and Mexico.

Let's add a couple of other facts, however, and see where we're headed.

~approximately 600,000 people cross the San Diego border between the US and Mexico legally on any given day, and San Diego is at most a 2-hour drive from here.
~many Mexicans do not cross the border legally.
~approximately 3 million illegal residents are currently living somewhere in the greater SoCal region
~the Coachella Valley has a disproportionate number of illegal residents from Mexico, based on its proximity to Mexico, family members residing in the area, and a liquid border
~many people cross the border into CA, AZ, NM, and TX -- and then fly into the local airport, perhaps including some who attended either Coachella Fest or Stagecoach within the past two weekends.

Therefore, the latest headline should come as no surprise: 2 people arrived at a local hospital over the weekend with flu symptoms and have been tested for swine flu. As the media reported, stay tuned for updates on this breaking story.

You Can't Have It Both Ways!

During the big rock-out last weekend, Coachella Fest, the cops were skewered by the press with photos and coverage of them tasering a nude, drunk male. Charges flew (again) of excessive force by the cops when the nude, drunk male became combative and refused to accept the authority of the police to remove him from the event.

This week, two-stepping through its 4th year, Stagecoach brought huge names to the Coachella Valley and thousands of concert attendees, many of whom apparently used the backside of the press tent to urinate, rather than stand in line to pee at the public portapotties. One member of the local press complained to police officers standing nearby -- who did nothing, and then took a picture of the cops "doing nothing." The press is now skewering the cops for "doing nothing" about the people who pee behind the tent.

You know, people, you can't have it both ways. If you want law enforcement to do its job, then let them work. If you want them to back way off and watch illegal behavior that is applauded by the public, then attack their actions in the media. Take care of the guy peeing behind the press tent yourself: photograph him and mock his conduct on the front page.

Cops are paid to enforce the laws, which include laws that prohibit public drunkenness and indecent exposure, so when they are just doing their jobs, find some other issue about which to vent your frustrations on the early evening news.

One More Item Off the Git 'er Done List

Mia and I went out early this morning to collect bigger rocks to line the walkway between the border garden and the fence in the backyard. I figured I needed 30 rocks, each of which would be about the size of a basketball, as well as three flat rocks to finish off the stepping stone pathway from the cement patio to the paver patio. The first 15 rocks were eezee peezee, but those last 15 were much harder to lift! Even remembering to bend at the knees and lift with my back, my entire body is sore from the gathering, but most especially my neck and shoulders.

I unloaded the rocks and put them in place, after first removing the much too small rocks I used in the meanwhile. Mia snoozed in the shade while I worked, staying clear of the hazardous work environment I seem to create with my projects. Once I finished replacing the rocks, she came by for a look-see and is not impressed, especially since I filled one of her excavations with the smaller cast-off rocks to save dirt when I finish the project by filling in the missing dirt, which I can do one wheelbarrowful a day for a few days.

I also bought a new set of solar lights and will replace those when it starts getting dark later today. I love having the soft glow of the lights throughout the garden when I sit outside and watch the stars dance with the rising moon.

Finally, I must lift up some pavers and put more sand under them as many of the first patio area pavers sunk after a year of being rained on and settling. That's tedious, but not difficult, so I'll probably do that a little bit at a time for a couple of mornings this week -- before I take my shower. One of my best reasons NOT to do the work that needs doing is that I take my shower before I remember that I wuz gunna...

Obits: Fill in the Blanks

I have become my mother: I'm reading the obits and remarking how many people my age have died, which brings me to the point of this posting. When I die, I don't want to do so euphemistically. A person who dies is dead: not dearly departed, deceased, gone to be with God, called home, raised up, crossed over, gone to the light, in heaven, left us, or enjoying their eternal reward. They are dead, so it's okay to tell anyone who wants to know that I have ... died.

Secondly, what is with the listing of everyone who is remotely related to the dead one? I'm reading the list of all the people the dead person shared a life with, including long-dead parents, siblings and sibling's spouses, previous spouses, all of the offspring of those sometimes many couplings and their spouses, grandchildren, cousins, nieces, nephews: the list is endless. Suffice it to say that I have two children and a grandchild. If Mia is still around, she'd appreciate being included in the obit as my loyal companion, but that might make readers believe that I'm living a lesbian lifestyle, so just give Mia a pat on the head, a belly rub, and a treat. She'll be okay with that.

As far as listing all of the places I've lived, it's a short list and literally not worth mentioning. I have not traveled the world, met rich/famous people, or made any significant impact on Mother Earth, other than digging up all my grass and replacing it with rocks to save water, so you can skip that entire section of the form.

I didn't play golf, tennis or any other sport, so skip the sports readout. I do like to knit, crochet, and read, but these are not hobbies that make an impact statement in an obit. Although I've spent a lot of my life in a church, I currently do not, so skip that part of the form, too. Religious preference: the shoreline at sunset.

As far as my creds, my lifetime accomplishments, basically I was a mediocre wife (at best), an okay mother, and a wishful g'ma. My profession, teaching, occupied me and paid the bills for 30+ years of my life. I joined many organizations that came into my life at various times/places, but no one really cares about all of that, including me, especially when the list does nothing except fill more column inches for which someone has to pay extra. I used to go more places, meet more people, and do more things than is my current practice. I stopped volunteering when I found that I could write a check once a year and skip the drain on my physical and emotional resources that used to add an extra 8-10 hours each week to my I'm not at home schedule.

I'm sure that there are some people who will feel badly when I die, but life moves on, and I'll be one of those "oh? she died? huh" comments shortly thereafter. And regardless of anything else anyone thinks they need to feel better about my death, the idea of a Celebration of Life is so far from who I am, don't even go there! I'm dead, but I'll still be pissed. In lieu of flowers, donations, or a formal funeral service, how about if everyone who appreciated who I was and what I did with my life sends a thank you note to someone else they encountered in the course of their journey?

You know: pay it forward while the person is still alive to read the words and appreciate the sentiment.

And if anyone can find a download of Peggy Lee singing Is that all there is?, play it.

Sob Story

Great. For the two hours I watched the Lifetime movie, I sobbed. Mia doesn't understand tears (hell, I don't understand tears), so she stayed close. By the time the credits ran, I was totally drained from the experience.

The movie is Charlie and Me, the story of a young girl, her grandfather (Charlie), and her father. Basically, the girl's mother is killed in a traffic accident and the father cannot move on. Rather than comforting his daughter, who is too young to understand her father's devastation at the loss of his wife, he withdraws from his daughter and Charlie, who then form a deep, loving bond. When Charlie's heart condition becomes imminently life-threatening, he realizes that the father is going to have to be the father and parent his daughter, which means he has to accept his grief and move on with his life.

He can't love others if he cannot accept and forgive himself for the way life turned out for his young wife.

Okay, so it's a sappy story, but it is really well-written and well-acted. The young girl is much too young to be so old in spirit, so wise in the ways of the world. Her g'pa is grounded in reality and he knows that he has to pave the path for acceptance of his death, so he confronts the father and tries to make him understand what's coming. However, the father has buried himself in his career, distanced himself from his daughter, and brushes off the prospect of another death in his family.

The best scene is when the g'pa and the g'dotter take a trip to a special place Charlie shared with his wife and talk about what's coming. The flood gates wrench wide open when the young girl presents a speech about our two hearts to an audience that includes her g'pa and her father.

Yeah, yeah, yeah: we all know how it ends, but sometimes the truth is found in the journey. And, every once in a while, we all need to re-establish our own emotional bond with life and death: crying over a movie isn't such a bad way to accomplish that goal.

2 Qwikees

1. Ellen's new hair-do is ... awful. It's a terrible cut that is ugly and unflattering for Ellen's features. It looks hacked at with a manicure scissors. Whoever cut it must have realized partway through the cut how really bad it looked and stopped before Ellen was totally bald, but I'm thinking that maybe a buzz cut would be an improvement. People always excuse a bad haircut by saying, "It'll grow back," but in the meanwhile -- I'd be calling in sick or trying hair extensions or buying a wig or ... .

2. At b'fast this morning, I commented that I heard a report on the news that the new singing sensation on the British verson of AI has had a complete make-over. Responds one of gals, drolly, "It's just a dress! She just changed her dress!" I about fell off my chair laughing.

Have a great weekend!

Duroville No Duh

Harvey Duro, the infamous developer/owner/operator of the mobile home park known throughout the valley as Duroville, is standing on ignorance as his defense for the acknowledged "Third World" conditions that exist at the park. Although he acknowledges that there are problems, he still believes that he can (cosmetically) gloss over them and allow the approximately 5000 people living in the 300 trailers to continue to do so.

No one ever provided him with a task list, he lamented, so he had no idea how extensive the issues were and/or what to do to address them.

Really? A quick walk through the park, around the open cesspools created by the residents to deal with human waste, probably would have been a first clue. The one power pole from which over 100 illegal connections blossomed like leaves on the tree might have been another. The lack of paved roads; the lack of adequate water sources; the packs of roaming feral animals: any of these obvious indications of the living conditions could have been picked up on by even a casual observer of the conditions. Simply noting these conditions exist would have been the beginning of a task list.

Or, we could again refer to the past three years spent in a courtroom dealing with allegation after allegation after allegation. Or the on-site visit from the Grand Jury: that could have spawned a to-do list. Or the repeated actions taken by the BIA to shut the place down. Or the day that the wrecking crews arrived and tore down all of the tacked-on temporary shelters. Any of these concrete actions during the past 3 years should have been enough of a task list for this man to DO SOMETHING!

If it were my decision to make, I'd arrest the owner for reckless endangerment, bulldoze the park, and begin the work of dealing with the huge field of human waste that covers the desert floor, creating both an environmental hazard, as well as a health hazard. And I'd take my own sweet time going through the legal system with his case so he got to sit in jail for at least the 3 years that he has fought the system and accepted rent payments from all these residents of his fine resort.

Standing in My Shoes

There is something within me that simply will not tolerate all the bullshit about whether the US should "torture" those who wage war against us, a question that can be answered simply: "Yes." Before a country is attacked, it must use all of the weapons in its arsenal to defend itself -- or lay down its arms and accept that it's "better to be Red than dead," a chant from days past. When an individual is attacked, the response is to fight like hell: if you lose you die, but if you don't fight back, you're going to die, so why not give it your best shot? What you don't do is play nice, be fair, try to understand where the attacker is coming from, ask about family dysfunction, past drug use, economic resources, religious beliefs or racial identity. When you are attacked, you fight to win, to survive, and you do whatever it takes.

The last time this nation stood up for itself was World War II because the President of the United States made a decision to end the war and dropped the bomb on the enemy. Sure, there were civilian casualties -- but that is what happens when nations wage war against one another. Had World War II been fought during the recent decade, we would have continued to send waves and waves of military personnel to fight in combat, while sending our diplomatic representatives to Japan to speak to the Emperor and his advisors. Our Secretary of State would warn the Japanese government that we have developed a new, devastating weapon, then, in the interest of full disclosure, show them the plans and the satellite pictures of prime locations for releasing the weapon. That done, our emissary would bow to the Emperor, then return home to await Japan's decision whether to surrender or continue to fight, all the while knowing that the Japanese, an honorable people, would do the right thing as we define it.

Hah: any country would steal the plans for the weapon, micronize it, and send it back to us in record time! We'd be left to wonder how that could happen and how to actualize an appropriate proportional response to such an aggressive action!

We pulled out of Korea; we pulled out of VietNam; we stood by when our embassy in Beirut bombed; we complained loudly and long when the USS Cole was attacked; we bemoaned the horrendous attack on the US that occurred on 9-11, but we're still wondering if we should interrogate enemy combatants, using whatever it takes to extract information. If a person who attacks this country -- or has plans to attack it -- is tortured and even dies in the process, oh, well. I cannot defend my country if I am more concerned about protecting the rights of my enemy than I am protecting the lives of my citizens.

When we accept that it is more important to be politically correct than it is to protect ourselves, we must also accept that other nations will exploit that laissez-faire attitude and use it to their advantage. While we play by some set of esoteric rules that someone has decided makes us a more humane nation, our enemies are preparing to kick the shit out of us, once and for all. There are bragging rights associated with destroying the "most powerful nation on earth;" step two, apparently, is bringing us to our financial knees by destroying our economy. All that required was an understanding of basic American greed and then using it ruthlessly to destroy the foundations of the economic system. He who has the most money rules the world; we sold ourselves much too cheaply on the open market trying to buy friends and political favors.

What amazes me is that people point the fingers of blame here, there, and everywhere, but do not understand that WE have created this situation, and if WE don't fix it, the loans are being called in and we will collapse. You don't fix a money problem by throwing more money at it: you fix it by not spending money you don't have. You live within your budget; if you have to take a loan for a necessity, such as transportation to/from work, you pay it back. You KNOW how much it costs over the term of the loan before you sign the papers. You don't borrow money you don't have and you don't live on an income you don't earn. It works within the family unit, and it also works within the government, but the current solution seems to be stripping the leaves off the money tree everyone has growing in the backyard. If it feels good, do it; if it hurts, why put yourself through it?

Every day is a wake-up call that we are ignoring. Does it really take another 9-11, another Depression, another front in a global war to make us realize that WE MUST DO WHATEVER IT TAKES to stop this runaway train? We cannot afford to continue to worry more about political correctness than we worry about political actions: our political system has become an inbred exclusive club whose members have far too much overt power and zero checks and balances. Actions are taken that are NOT in the best interests of the country and justified by politicians who claim that they have to "vote my conscience and do what I think is right for the American people." That is NOT the premise upon which this country was founded: our elected representatives are to represent we, the people, not themselves and/or their self-interests.

Amazingly, we no longer seem to be able to vote them out of office, but the media can remove a politician with one well-placed rumor.

We have already been here and done this in our past, but we fail to heed the warning that if we do not learn from our history, we are condemned to repeat it.

A Win is a Win is a Win

According to one of the prominent sports analysts, the Laker's win was not reflective of a championship team; therefore, it doesn't count.

When the final buzzer sounded, the Lakers were ahead. It doesn't matter how they scored more points than the opposing team, just that they did. Pretty or not, they win. You lose. Let's move on to the next round in the play-offs, dude.

Coincidence

Based on information from all the law enforcement shows I watch and the mystery novels I read, there is no coincidence, just cause and effect. According to an article in today's newspaper, while an over-the-side vehicle with a suspicious traffic fatality was being hauled up a steep hillside, a hiker arrived on the scene and reported that he had been bitten by a large rattlesnake. The EMS on-scene for the traffic accident arranged heliocopter transport to Loma Linda University Hospital, renowned for its aggressive -- and often successful -- treatment of rattlesnake bites. The article ended with a reminder that this is snake season, so be careful while walking in the desert.

Therefore, if there is no coincidence, the suspicious death of a victim in a car that went over the side of the steep hill caused the rattlesnake bite on a nearby hiker that resulted in the warning to all hikers to beware of rattlesnakes.

Got it.

Youthening

That's better: my brain age is down to 55 because I've learned how to do all the required tasks. If I say "boo," instead of "blue," the device hears it correctly; if I print in all lower case letters, the device reads my responses correctly; and if I am more careful when I move the little circle from A-1 to B-2, I don't hear the dreaded buzzer sounding an incorrect response.

I score very well on the piano playing, but I played piano for most of my life and read music, which is a definite advantage. I can't seem to memorize more than 9 4-letter words out of 30, no matter which memorization trick I try, so that'll take more work. But, I can earn 100/100 of the math problems, which tickles the heck out of me because math is so NOT my thing.

I read in today's paper that Paul McCartney rocked the house last night at Coachella, with even his most lukewarm fans giving him many thumbs up. The weather is better than predicted, so the place is packed, which is surprising in this downward economy.

Also in the on-line paper is an article about a car accident involving 2 military personnel, one of whom was injured while the other died at the scene. The headline, however, reads "Active Duty Marine Injured in Accident," which seems less important than the one who died at the scene.

On the "dear God, I have to get this done" list are several fewer items as I've been chipping away at them this past week. There are still 3 bigger jobs with which I need help, but they'll get done, too. I'm trying to talk myself out of the water feature, but that is the reason I designed the backyard the way I did: to showcase a water feature.

The huge vat of "drink this, not soda" water-based beverage is in the 'fridge, reminding me that summer is fast upon us. My beverage of choice is 2/3 iced tea cut with 1/3 lemonade, so that's what I make, in case you're stopping by one of these days. I have plain water, too. Sometimes, I even have ice, if you stop by on a good day.

Finally, I was out and about yesterday doing errands and some light shopping, but was astounded when PetSmart was no longer. Mia's long green weenie dog play toy, her absolute favorite, is held together with duct tape, so we need a replacement. I've looked everywhere I've been and cannot find that toy, which we originally bought at PetSmart. I'm not sure what I'll do when this one wears through the duct tape, but Mia is going to be one unhappy dog.

Time to curl up with a book, and I have some new ones, while the sun does its thing; I'll be going out to gather rocks in the early evening for the next project, which is to replace the much too small rocks edging the walkway in the backyard for ones that are a more appropriate size. Then, it's filling the wheelbarrow with dirt from across the street to replace that which Mia flings about while digging her nests for naptime. I don't know where the dirt goes, but I could probably put the water feature along that fence and not have to do any digging!

Brain Age : 92

Let me clarify from the git-go that I'm not necessarily handy with electronic devices; however, my daughter, son, and g'son enjoy playing with various gaming devices, so I thought I'd get my own, practice, and then join in during our summer trip. The salesman at Wal-Mart talked me into purchasing the newest iteration of Nintendo DS, the i, as it has both a camera and a wi-fi option. Now, we all know about my endless issues with wi-fi, but this newest game device was "only" $20 more than the older version, so ... . I also bought the extended warranty protection, the zippered case, and both Brain Age and Brain Age 2 for practice. I was so ready to figure this out and let the summer sharing begin.

What a great idea; what utterly devastating execution.

I am good at reading and following directions -- when I know what I'm doing. The first few times I tried to say the words aloud to establish my base brain age, even though I SAID the word correctly, the microphone didn't hear me until I had repeated my response several times. Hence, the basic brain age of 92. I practiced doing this feature several times, making sure I was sitting far enough away and at the correct angle for the device to pick up my voice and record my response, but, alas, according to my baseline brain age, I'm bordering on brain dead.

Now, I don't do numbers. Period. The gamer's favorite, Battleship, that allegedly can be logically figured out and won, eludes me. I randomly select squares and sink the fleet in fewer than 5 choices almost every time. Thus, I don't play chess as I lack the vision necessary to see the plays, plan the strategy, and even understand the basic premise of the game. Soduko is out of the question: my new Nintendo could give me months to figure out a single square and I would NOT get it: ever. I don't understand that game; it has numbers; so let's move on. If my brain age depends on my completing a Soduko game, I'll take the damned thing into class and have my student from China do that part! Come to think of it, he could shoot my score to the stratosphere because he's one of the most intelligent students I've ever had in a classroom.

Not bad thinking, huh? Who says my brain isn't working to capacity?

When I came to the lists of words to memorize and then write, I was ready: I'm a wordsmith, so I was going to get back some brain years on this one. Which I probably could have if my new game toy would have read my writing!!!!! My capital L was seen as a C; my T became an F; my W registered as a U; and on and on it went. When the little circle appeared for the A-1, B-2 maze challenge, I accidentally hit the D and then several other closely-packed letters and numbers on my way to the A and the 1, which started the game with a negative score. By the time I had finished matching the alpha letters with corresponding numbers, I was ready to return the damned game and both levels of Brain Age to the store and be done with this!

My Norwegian has kicked in, however, and I'm going to continue with the quest to at least return my brain age to my chronological age, which is, in itself, quite a high number, as I don't like the feeling that my brain is doddering on done.

15 thoughts for today

This was sent to me, tickled my funny bone, so is being shared:

1. Aspire to be Barbie - the bitch has everything.

2. If the shoe fits - buy them in every color.

3. Take life with a pinch of salt... A wedge of lime, and a shot of tequila.

4. In need of a support group? - Cocktail hour with the girls!

5. Go on the 30 day diet. (I'm on it and so far I've lost 15 days).

6. When life gets you down - just put on your big girl panties and deal with it.

7. Let your greatest fear be that there is no PMS and this is just your personality.

8. I know I'm in my own little world, but it's ok. They know me here.

9. Lead me not into temptation, I can find it myself.

10. Don't get your knickers in a knot; it solves nothing and makes you walk funny.

11. When life gives you lemons in 2009 - turn it into lemonade then mix it with vodka.

12. Remember wherever there is a good looking, sweet, single or married man there is some woman tired of his bullshit!

13. Keep your chin up, only the first 40 years of parenthood are the hardest.

14. If it has tires or testicles it's gonna give you trouble.

15. By the time a woman realizes her mother was right, she has a daughter who thinks she's wrong.

Deflection

The trailer park controversy continues, this time with the intent of the US court to shut it down as uninhabitable, unsanitary, unsafe, and illegal -- reasonable concerns by reasonable people. The legal war has been ongoing for at least a decade, with little progress made other than the recent tear-down of the shanties attached to the travel trailers that constitute the official park, an action that created more problems than it solved.

Basically, the math of 300 travel trailers accommodating the needs of 3500-6000 residents does not compute. The additional lack of sewers, running water, electricity and other basic utilities exacerbates the unacceptable, dangerous living conditions, especially for the perhaps thousands of children living in the community. However, the legal proceedings have taken yet another turn: what about the other three illegal, uninhabitable, unsanitary, and unsafe trailer parks in proximity to Duroville? The question is being asked: why is the government targeting one trailer park when there are others just as bad about which they do nothing?

If the United States' court system finally deals with one of these itinerant trailer camps, it will deal with all of them, and that's not a situation the landowners want to happen because all of this takes place on an Indian reservation land, which ups the ante of what can versus what will not be done to solve the problem.

The Indian Nations are sovereign, a fact that I experienced first-hand when I fell at a bowling alley on Indian reservation land and was refused medical transport to an emergency room when the ambulance occupant sent to evaluate my condition determined that I was not injured. If the Indians refuse to acknowledge the injury, it does not exist, and if it does not exist, they have no medical responsibility and, more importantly, no legal obligation. Forget doing the right thing: the Indians have deep pockets, thanks to the numerous casinos in the valley, but I had no right to force the casino to pay for my medical expenses because their ambulance occupant determined that there was no injury. Of course, that finding was disputed once I arrived at the ER, but once you voluntarily remove yourself from Indian land, you are on your own. That it was the only way I was going to receive medical treatment is irrelevant -- and that's the beauty of the stonewalling.

Ditto Duroville.

The trailer parks are on Indian land; therefore, if the sovereign nation landowners do not acknowledge that conditions are uninhabitable, unsanitary, unsafe, and illegal, it's okay not to deal with the (alleged) problem or the people who inhabit the trailers. Why solve something that is not a problem? If the United States court system is allowed to establish legal precedence by ruling on the issue, the Indians lose their sovereign status right to make their own decisions about this situation on their reservation land.

If they are forced to deal with one of these itinerant worker camps, they have to deal with all of them, and that's not going to happen.

There is doing the right thing simply because it's the right thing to do, and then there is using the legal system to allow these kinds of situations to continue year after year. Meanwhile, it is the people who live in the camps who have developed health issues that are common in Third World nations, but no longer active medical problems in the US -- until now. The drain on the social services in the valley is astounding, providing in this one area of the valley services to populations that swell to 20,000-25,000 itinerant workers at these four travel trailer camps. And there are more camps throughout the valley.

If the Indians continue to stonewall solutions for these itinerant travel trailer camps, the least they can do is provide and pay for the social services required for these residents whose health is compromised by the Indian Nation's refusal to deal with the living conditions that cause them.

The Sex Talk Redeaux

Last Friday, I caught Oprah Live, including a panel discussion based on a guest's presentation about teen girls' sexuality. The guest decries the fact that her parents did not do a good job of telling her about sex, and now that she's in her 40-something stage of life, she's just figuring out her sexual identity and needs. Thus, based solely on her personal experience, she's touting developing sexual awareness in girls that includes teaching them how to become self-aware of what turns them on and how to bring themselves to orgasim so they don't fall victim to selfish partners whose goal is to pleasure themselves by using the girl as their sex toy.

Okay, lots of us have a lot less actual sexual experience than others, but we can't return to our teens and relive that decade through our children. If we got a lot, we help them to what? get a lot less or get a lot more? If we were not sexually active until our 20s, we push our kids to start sooner or wait until later? If we were promiscuous, depending how how well that turned out for us, we pimp out our kids or send them to a nunnery? It's NOT all about me; it's about my children finding their pathway through life -- in their own time and in their own way.

When she took the last step, my stomach roiled: mothers should actively talk to their young teenage daughters (ages 12-15) about masturbating themselves so they don't fall victim to horny teenage boys to do it for them! It's far better for young teen girls to masturbate than it is for them to become involved in sexual discovery with male partners who don't have their interests in mind when they pull down the zipper on their pants. If I, the mother, help my teen daughter to explore her own sexuality, I won't need to worry that she's out exploring it with teen boys, who, by the way, are already pleasuring themselves, so what's the big deal.

At this point, I was trying to figure out if this was one of the more avant garde comedians doing a hip new routine or a person committed to her cause: she's committed all right -- really committed. She believes that when we pleasure ourselves, we don't have to go looking for someone to do it for us, and that is better than putting our sexual identity into the hands of a complete stranger who may do it his way (the wrong way), rather than our way (the right way). Young teen girls use teen boys to masturbate them because they want to know the pleasure the body can experience, but if the male fails to be the right person to do this the right way, the female will suffer into her adulthood, such as the presenter herself suffers to this very day. If she had learned how to give herself an orgasim, she would not have to turn to men to do it for her. Oh, puhleeze, get over it!

Going a step further, the presenter believes that the best gift under the Christmas tree is a vibrator, along with an intimate mother-to-daughter discussion about using it. We should not fear a dildo: we should anticipate our daughters building a relationship with it. Our very young teen daughters, the ones who are probably still watching Hannah Montana!

Okay, so let me clarify my position on this right here and right now: what the hell is she thinking? As an adult, it's okay to rue either your experience or your lack of it, to think back on the highlights and the lowlights of your sexual development, but I don't know many young teenage girls who either are ready for this kind of parental bonding or need it. I also do not agree with parents who encourage their kids to become sexually active by allowing them to wear clothing/styles that are not age appropriate, to date at a young age, to obtain and use birth control products, to believe that a sexual relationship defines who they are.

And I sure as hell do NOT think that this is a subject for national exposure on Oprah! Oprah was supporting the premise of self-stimulation to develop personal sexual awareness, but her best friend, Gayle, was adamantly opposed on the same grounds that kicked in for me: too much information for children who are too young to understand it in a context that is appropriate for their stage of development. Would Oprah provide each of the girls at her exclusive girls' school in Africa with personal pleasure equipment and instruction? Lights out at 9 pm girls, so you have time to practice bringing yourself to orgasim before falling asleep? Hopefully, that would be a hell no!

Maturation is a process that occurs over many years, not an event that begins when a male gets his first erection and/or a female starts her periods. The parental responsibility is to discuss the stages of development, to help their children through the maturation process naturally, not to hasten it so the child only knows that his/her changing body is ready for sex, so go forth and masturbate so you will enjoy it when you fornicate. Teens are already conflicted about what's happening to their bodies and how to handle the changes, so I cannot see that teaching girls to masturbate is going to make it all better either at the time or for the long haul.

Twenty years from now, is there going to be another Oprah show featuring 40-something women whose mothers forced them to become masters of personal pleasure, rather than teaching them how to become fully-functioning sexual partners in committed relationships, and that has ruined their adult sexual relationships?

Surely there are other issues that need national exposure, like how parents can teach their children ethical conduct and responsibility for their actions in a society that believes it's only wrong if you are caught.

Bigger is Not Better; More is Not Necessary

It's Easter weekend and the media is flooded with bigger, better, and much more expensive ways to celebrate eating candy. As I made my way through the grocery aisles, a thought came to me about how to curb an out-of-control society that demands both bigger and more, more, more: stop feeding the demand and go back to simply meeting the needs.

Shop the cereal aisle and extrapolate that excess to the rest of our lives: there is no need to have literally hundreds of kinds of cereal in dozens of different sizes and brands. The major cereal companies could eliminate half of the product occupying shelf space and still meet the needs of the customer to have a box of cereal. I am one who would gladly buy either the small, the medium, or the large box of cereal, rather than all of the size variations, if it meant that production cost would decrease, along with the price of the product. And I can add my own sugar when I want to have a sweet cereal, an option that is not only cost- and space-effective, but may be an much healthier option that we could train children to accept by refusing to buy the sugared flakes.

One of the few cereals I enjoy is Cream of Wheat, better known simply as "farina," a grain product that few, if any, consumers purchase. I don't buy the famous brand at $4.29 a box; instead, I can buy the same size box of generic farina at Big Lots for $1.00. Last time, I bought 6 boxes and stored the contents in sealed canisters. I'm from the store it and save mindset: I buy what I use, store it in containers, and save money. I figure the extra $3.29 per box is money better off in my pocket than on the corporation's balance sheet.

Many seniors are eating oatmeal, which is being marketed as the drug of choice for dealing with high chloresterol. That's great, but have you checked out the price of plain old oatmeal lately? If you purchase the "slow cooking" kind, you pay a lot less than the "fast cooking" product, but if you buy it in individual packets, you pay even more for so much less. If I ate oatmeal, I'd buy the bag of generic oatmeal and package my own "individual serving size" portions. Result: far fewer products on the shelves, much lower production costs, environmentally friendly concept, and the customer puts the savings into other financial need envelopes.

So, back to the candy aisle and Easter: can you say boiled eggs? Am I the only person on the planet who loves egg salad sandwiches, the best by-product of Easter weekend? Sure, we used to get some candy for Easter, usually jelly beans, peeps, and those solid chocolate eggs wrapped in silver paper, along with one chocolate Easter bunny, but the bulk of the bounty was handed over to Mom and repurposed into meals. You don't miss what you don't have, but if you become conditioned to expect massive baskets filled with candy and incredibly expensive non-edible goodies, that becomes your expectation. If you expect hard-boiled eggs and you find hidden hard-boiled eggs, that's what it's all about!

Parents have a tendency to play the "can I top last year" game, believing that the kid actually remembers last year's Easter basket and wants it bigger and to contain more. We forget the lesson of the first Christmas: the child wants the empty box and the paper! We're the ones who fail to understand that it isn't about what's in the box, it's about how much fun the box becomes once it's empty. Horror of horrors, we also used the same basket year after year: after all, it's a basket, and once the goodies are collected in the basket, it is emptied and ... what? Thrown away? Why? It hasn't been really used, so save it and store it for next Easter.

This need for both bigger and more bugs the hell out of me because people tie their own self-worth to the things they use to define themselves: houses, cars, clothes, and media centers, to name a few. Parents want to be the best parents, especially when compared with their peer parents, and the way to be the best is to give, escalate the giving, and then preen at how well you rate on the parent giving survey.

We all need to get over ourselves and streamline not just the cereal shelves and Easter baskets, but our lives. The old concept of "he who dies with the most toys wins" is no longer applicable because his house is in foreclosure, the family has to file for bankruptcy protection, and collection jars are used to pay the funeral expenses. The quality of life improves when we learn that bigger is not better and more is not necessary.

Melodrama

It is a tragedy that a young (local) man was killed in a knife fight last weekend. He, at age 18, was defending his 17-year-old girlfriend's honor with an alleged friend who had a grudge against the girlfriend's family, with whom he had previously resided. There had already been an altercation earlier in the evening, but the participants had returned to their respective residences. At 3:40 am, when most of us are sleeping, the victim and his girlfriend "took out the trash" and saw the alleged murderer just watching them. The tension escalated into a second fight between the two, with the victim handing over his knife to the girlfriend because he "didn't want to do anything stupid." The assailant, however, kept his knife and although the girlfriend asserts that her boyfriend flattened the guy in the fight, the knife found its way into the fight.

[The girlfriend] sat behind her boyfriend, trying to use her own body to stanch (sic) the bleeding on his back and holding his shirt against gaping wounds on his chest and abdomen.

“It was bleeding so much,” she said.

She called for an ambulance and tried to keep [the victim] still.

She remembers he told her, “If I die, I love you.”

“I said, ‘Don’t say that, you’re not going to die.'”

But [the victim's] eyes rolled back into his head.

“I cried, ‘David, David.’ I grabbed his face. He looked at me for a second and then his eyes rolled back in his head.”

The ambulance rushed the victim to the hospital, lights flashing and sirens blaring, in a valiant attempt to save his life; alas, he died in transit.

This is a scene from a TV soap opera, right? Actually, it's excerpts from the newspaper article published about the event in a local newspaper. That's right: this is what passes for journalism. It's not about reporting the 5 W's, but it is all about publishing the details of the he said/she said of every story, from the most trivial to the most important, sensationalizing a senseless murder to boost circulation.

Turning a tragedy into a soap opera benefits no one, but certainly reveals how callous we have become about broadcasting other people's business to further our own.

The newspaper took advantage of the 17-year-old girlfriend, a child who probably just wants the victim's life to be important and remembered. She doesn't realize that providing that kind of intimacy to the media may very well adversely affect the trial of the man accused of committing the crime, an assailant who swears he didn't stab his "friend." At the scene, while detectives interviewed witnesses, she said, [the assailant] continued to proclaim his innocence. “He said, ‘Tasha, you know me better than that.’”

She doesn't realize the implications of the event, much less her account of it, because she's a child who should have been home with her family, not in another state with her boyfriend, who carries a knife and believes that violence teaches respect. This is a tragedy, one of the many that occur daily in our neighborhoods, an event that deserves dignity, not melodramatic publicity in the local press.

The end of the article, however, is the saddest to me: During a telephone interview Monday afternoon, [the girlfriend] said she is still trying to understand the loss of “such a perfect boyfriend and a good guy.”

“Why do all the good people have to go?” she asked. “My mom said the good people have to die to go to heaven and watch over the rest of us.”

What a Soc!

At the mini-reunion, the comment was made that we were absent the high school soc's, the ones who had the social standing that made them stand out on campus. Today, I feel that I'm one of the soc's, whirling from hither to yon and enjoying every moment. Places to go, things to do, people to entertain.

This morning, a friend called to see if I was free for b'fast up the hill. She had a medical appointment in YV, so I drove that far to join her. We sat and talked, laughed, and got serious for about an hour and a half, long enough that I felt I needed to pay rent, rather than leave a measely tip.

Then a call came in from another friend who was coming down the hill with her friend and going to stop by on their way home, so I baked fresh cookies and ran the vacuum. Two dogs make a lot more hair mess than just one, but I usually wait until after Grady has been here Friday before running the vac. No can do when company's coming, and I threw in a quick wet mop of the tile floors, too (just in case there was dog drool or some other disgusting thing).

As they were getting ready to leave, my friend drove up because we were going out for Mexican food in PS at a really popular restaurant and wanted to beat the crowd already downtown for the weekly Street Fair. We met a third friend there and spent a good two hours socializing and talking about guys and future trips we want to take. All of a sudden it was after 7 pm and the line waiting to get in wound down the block, so we packed our left-overs and headed home.

Tomorrow, it's the weekly b'fast with the girls and then off to an early movie and a late lunch with my sister of my heart from up the hill.

Spring has sprung and it's time to be out and about, enjoying the weather, as well as the friendships that enrich my life. Nothing on tap for tomorrow evening, but it's early yet!

Pacific Sunset

It began as a spontaneous moment in time, when B made me an offer to which I said, "Yes, I'll do that," instead of "Let me talk myself out of it." Good decision!

Friday, after a short flight to Sacramento, B picked me up and we headed toward his little piece of a 6800 property Del Webb community that is designed to work within the natural environment that existed before the homes. I now understand why senior citizens like to live in these developments: it is cool. We also caught up on far too many years of "do you remember" before calling it a day as we had been buddies in high school and had lots of shared memories.

Saturday, we drove to Grass Valley and Nevada City, which I had not visited in probably 35 years (and didn't remember) and enjoyed seeing again. We had a Cornish pastie for lunch that was the most delicious pastie I've ever eaten. Returning to Lincoln, we sort of freshened up before driving to the mini-reunion, being held at another alum's home not 5 miles from B's home. B is the one who actually read the spreadsheet of grads put together by one of our more well-organized classmates, and he came up with a little group of alums all living in proximity. He contacted the one at whose home the reunion was held, and one of the girls in the class took it from there, contacting people in her area code and inviting them to a mini-reunion timed to coincide with my visit.

What fun! We knew each other better as the way we were, but went past that to learn about each other now. It was fun to see everyone grab for their glasses when they wanted to see the picture name tags we were given upon arrival. Looking at the yearbook was a whole lot more fun all these years later than it was when they were newly-issued. It was sad to see how many of our classmates are deceased, including one who passed away after the August reunion, where he reconnected with a gal he had known in high school and was beginning to date. For me, what made this time special was seeing two sisters who lived right up the street from me for many years, one of whom married a guy in my graduating class. The sisters looked so good -- and so much younger than any of the rest of us! The food was outstanding, the home of our classmate quite impressive, but the camaraderie was what kept us there.

Sunday morning, we drove to Petaluma to pick up B's female friend, and then headed toward Bodega Bay: mission Bodega Bay Sunset was offically underway. We checked in at the Bodega Bay Inn, an outstanding B&B that I will look forward to visiting again. We caught the blessing of the fishing fleet out in the Bay, and then went sightseeing up the coast. We drove all the way to the Timber Cove Inn, where we had a drink, and also stopped at Fort Ross for some photos. We found the perfect spot for watching the sunset, Goat Rock Bay, and spent over an hour waiting for the scheduled sunset at 6:26 pm, a target the sun missed by over an hour. I took many pictures, one of which is at the top of this blog. After a full day of fun, laughter, and sightseeing, we enjoyed a seafood dinner at Lucas Wharf before turning in for the night.

Monday, we headed back to Lincoln, depositing M at her home so she could get to work. After winding down a bit, we joined B's next-door neighbors for wine and laughter on their patio (where I took several pictures of their water feature, which I want in my backyard) before going to the nearby restaurant for a fish-fry dinner that was excellent.

Tuesday morning, I had to fly back home. As B drove toward the airport in the HOV lane, he suddenly had to apply the brakes and swerve to avoid a car stuck in the traffic jam that decided to take the HOV lane -- with an entry speed of about 10 mph. B used to be a pilot, and he narrowly avoided what could have been a really ugly high-speed wipe-out.

A short flight back home, a little afternoon nap, lots of dog-petting time, and then a good night's sleep have me back on my feet and raring to start grading those college essays that are due by Friday. God, I wish I were back in Bodega Bay ... .

Just Because You Can Does NOT Mean You Should

I read the local newspapers on-line, which is my way of saving trees. However, someone has created clever little live ads for the paper that annoy the hell out of me. This week, it's a colorful hummingbird that swoops and flutters its way all over the front page. If it did a short, simple little flight, I probably would ignore it, but this hummingbird does not stop until I physically click on the X for the ad box.

My students write blogs to help them develop ease of written communication in a non-graded setting. One student really went all out, adding her play list of favorite current music that blasts on when I open her page. Not only is the volume set way too high, but there is no X option for turning it off. Believe me, I read her blogs quickly and write a very short response.

Gmail reads my email and offers suggestions for products, other sites, and recipes that I might enjoy based on my content. This week, I received an offer that is hard to resist: gmail will now read my email and send a response to it so I don't have to do so myself! Wow. The computer program analyzes the way I usually respond myself and applies that style to their computer-generated response. They assure me that no one will be able to tell that I am not responding myself, but I'd like to hope that my people would know the difference.

I'll betcha that rather than worrying about all the students who buy the teacher editions of their textbooks on line so they can "earn" a better grade in my classes, I'm going to have to worry about computer-generated essays! After all, why should any student risk a bad grade on an essay if a computer can do it faster and better? Find some really great essays on-line, use them to set up the computer program to recognize that style as your own style, and type in the topic: voila! An instant A.

Yeah, just because you can does NOT mean you should, but I'll be willing to bet that the same people who use the teacher editions to enhance their course grades won't understand that ethical concept.

Workin' on My Laundry Hut

As I was driving up the hill today, I tuned in the C&W station because it comes in more clearly than other stations. Often, I sing along as I like most C&W and learn the lyrics by repetition. Today, however, I was stumped with a song because I couldn't figure out the reason behind the lyrics. A male vocalist crooned about how hard he's been working on his laundry hut, especially since his woman left him, and even though it's taken him more time than he thought it would, he knows that he'll mend it in the end.

Great, huh?

Suddenly, a bolt of lightening struck the Camry and I was back in Texas, recalling my confusion over what the heck a "nanothree" was and my abject embarrassment to realize it was my new area code! I finally caught on to "kin I hepya," but I'll be the first one to admit that took me many trips through the drive-in to translate that long-drawled-out Texas greeting.

I'm not sure what finally fired my synapses to the real point of today's haunting ballad, but I felt like an idiot when I realized he was "workin' on my lonely heart."

I laughed until I had to pee! I may be losing my sense of hearing, but thank God I still have my sense of humor.