I have an old book whose copyright was recorded in 1867. I checked the copyright registers and copyright laws no longer apply to this book. The book is by Dr. A. W. Chase.M.D.. It covers everything from recipes to common advice on just about everything. I thought you might find some of the contents of this book interesting just as I did. The title of the book is " Dr. Chase's Recipes or Information For Everybody".
The eighteen items of "Advice To Young Ladies" is a good place to start.
If you have blue eyes, you need not languish.
If black eyes, you need not stare.
If you have pretty feet, there is no occasion to wear short petticoats.
If you are doubtful as to that point, there can be no harm in letting the petticoats be long.
If you have good teeth, do not laugh for the purpose of showing them.
If you have bad ones, do not laugh less than the occasion may justify.
If you have pretty hands and arms, there can be no objection to your playing on the harp if you play well.
If they are disposed to be clumsy, work tapestry.
If you have a bad voice, rather speak in a low tone.
If you have the finest voice in the world, never speak in a high tone.
If you dance well, dance but seldom.
If you dance ill, never dance at all.
If you sing well, make no previous excuses.
If you sing indifferently, hesitate not a moment when you are asked, for few people are judges of singing, but every one is sensible of a desire to please.
If you would preserve beauty, rise early.
If you would preserve esteem, be gentle.
If you would obtain power, be condescending.
If you would live happily, endeavor to promote the happiness of others.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
My Dad And His Stupid Checkers.
If you have sibblings, you knew that they knew you had hot buttons. They would push one or more of those hot buttons every chance they got. I had, and still have, a younger brother, and older sister. When we all still lived at home we did plenty of button pushing which usually ended up in a fight of some sort.
But no one could get my goat like my very own father, who claimed he loved me. Here's the deal. Burr Oak had a group of guys that got together often and played checkers. I wished I knew who all played, but that's beside the point. My uncle Ivan Patnode and my dad were the only two I remember. Daddy would come home from town and talk about the checker games like as if it were a major sport. Undeniably, my father was a good checker player.
I too liked to play games, and my dad was always trying to get me to play checkers with him. I wouldn't play with him because I didn't know how to play. "Oh I'll teach you" said my father. One evening I gave in and sat down at the checkerboard and chose the red checkers. We began to play. I didn't know what to do. Daddy said to just move one of your checkers, except you can't go backwards unless you're a king. So I moved my checker. Daddy would say to me "MY! That was a poor move." I didn't like his tone of voice at all. And worse, he wouldn't tell me why it was a poor move. I don't know if it's possible, but it seemed like to me, he swept me off the board in just a few moves. And every, single time I moved, he'd say "MY! that was a poor move." I swore I'd never play with him again. But I did. The last game I every played him and he told me what a poor move I had made I was enraged. By the end of the game I was fit to be tied. I told him I was never, ever, ever, going to play checkers with him again. And I didn't,
My mother refused to play checkers with him too. I think I understand why. It was not in the best interest of family harmony.
But no one could get my goat like my very own father, who claimed he loved me. Here's the deal. Burr Oak had a group of guys that got together often and played checkers. I wished I knew who all played, but that's beside the point. My uncle Ivan Patnode and my dad were the only two I remember. Daddy would come home from town and talk about the checker games like as if it were a major sport. Undeniably, my father was a good checker player.
I too liked to play games, and my dad was always trying to get me to play checkers with him. I wouldn't play with him because I didn't know how to play. "Oh I'll teach you" said my father. One evening I gave in and sat down at the checkerboard and chose the red checkers. We began to play. I didn't know what to do. Daddy said to just move one of your checkers, except you can't go backwards unless you're a king. So I moved my checker. Daddy would say to me "MY! That was a poor move." I didn't like his tone of voice at all. And worse, he wouldn't tell me why it was a poor move. I don't know if it's possible, but it seemed like to me, he swept me off the board in just a few moves. And every, single time I moved, he'd say "MY! that was a poor move." I swore I'd never play with him again. But I did. The last game I every played him and he told me what a poor move I had made I was enraged. By the end of the game I was fit to be tied. I told him I was never, ever, ever, going to play checkers with him again. And I didn't,
My mother refused to play checkers with him too. I think I understand why. It was not in the best interest of family harmony.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
The Mutation of Capitalism
Blogs are great aren't they? No one reads mine however, unless I shove it under their nose and insist they read it. Now I can export them to Facebook. That way it is more likely to catch some one's eye. Free expression is so liberating. I think it's fun to rouse some rabbles. I even tell my reader where they can send their hate mail sometimes.
Ahem (clearing throat). Today we shall discuss the mutation of capitalism and whatever else occurs to us (me) while writing this homily. It's not really a homily. I'm leaving religion out of it for the most part.
Politics has become really nasty. Maybe it is just because I am older and am actually interested in politics. Reviewing American history is very enlightening on nastiness in politics. Come to find out, nastiness is nothing new at all, we haven't changed one iota at the most basic level since our country first became a country. With that in mind I will return to my original topic, capitalism.
Capitalism is a good thing in theory. Our forefathers did the right thing to establish a free capitalistic government. I would have wanted it no other way. NOTE: I am not a tea bag or tea bagger by any sense of the word. I believe in freedom and equal treatment for all citizens, regardless of their color, national origin, religious belief, and any other trait that makes us different from another. I value my country as must as every soul who has given their very life to protect it. I love my family. I love my opportunity to choose my religious beliefs. I love the diversity of its people. If given the opportunity this diverse population has much to contribute to the greatness of this country.
But....I have a problem. Somewhere along the line, capitalism has become different things to different people. And those who trouble me the most are those who think capitalism has no boundaries. They believe anything goes in order to make a buck regardless of its affect on others. When, within any system, one percent of the population owns more than half the country's assets; when some are so rich they don't know what to do with their money and at the same time, there are hungry, homeless, jobless people suffering; something has gone awry, something is very wrong. Warren Buffet commented that his secretaries pay more taxes than he does. That doesn't even compute in my brain it is so horrible. My dear bags and baggers, it is truly shameful when government must intervene to keep the rich in check.
Most business people I know are hard working, honest, struggling to keep their heads above water. But it is the greedy that have ruined capitalism. I do not understand why bags and baggers want to protect these thieves, unless they want a chance to be like them. Big government is just as bad. The fact is there is no answer to this problem because too many people are greedy, be it in the private sector or government sector.
I have lived under a form of socialism all my life. My family was a small farm family. Without Government programs, we would have not survived. Only once in my life have I seen a person turn down a Government check. She was a precious old Catholic soul who took great pride in relying on herself. She was not wealthy. But she certainly was not greedy.
Everytime I turn on the news, someone is demanding that the Government do something about something. Yet they complain about paying high taxes. The bags and baggers want their Government back. I'm scared to death what they'd do with it. Adam Nadelson, you da man. You are a pure capitalist that I suspect would be very generous in sharing your wealth with the less fortunate.
That's it. Hate mail may be sent to cherub1946@gmail.com. Have a lovely day.
Ahem (clearing throat). Today we shall discuss the mutation of capitalism and whatever else occurs to us (me) while writing this homily. It's not really a homily. I'm leaving religion out of it for the most part.
Politics has become really nasty. Maybe it is just because I am older and am actually interested in politics. Reviewing American history is very enlightening on nastiness in politics. Come to find out, nastiness is nothing new at all, we haven't changed one iota at the most basic level since our country first became a country. With that in mind I will return to my original topic, capitalism.
Capitalism is a good thing in theory. Our forefathers did the right thing to establish a free capitalistic government. I would have wanted it no other way. NOTE: I am not a tea bag or tea bagger by any sense of the word. I believe in freedom and equal treatment for all citizens, regardless of their color, national origin, religious belief, and any other trait that makes us different from another. I value my country as must as every soul who has given their very life to protect it. I love my family. I love my opportunity to choose my religious beliefs. I love the diversity of its people. If given the opportunity this diverse population has much to contribute to the greatness of this country.
But....I have a problem. Somewhere along the line, capitalism has become different things to different people. And those who trouble me the most are those who think capitalism has no boundaries. They believe anything goes in order to make a buck regardless of its affect on others. When, within any system, one percent of the population owns more than half the country's assets; when some are so rich they don't know what to do with their money and at the same time, there are hungry, homeless, jobless people suffering; something has gone awry, something is very wrong. Warren Buffet commented that his secretaries pay more taxes than he does. That doesn't even compute in my brain it is so horrible. My dear bags and baggers, it is truly shameful when government must intervene to keep the rich in check.
Most business people I know are hard working, honest, struggling to keep their heads above water. But it is the greedy that have ruined capitalism. I do not understand why bags and baggers want to protect these thieves, unless they want a chance to be like them. Big government is just as bad. The fact is there is no answer to this problem because too many people are greedy, be it in the private sector or government sector.
I have lived under a form of socialism all my life. My family was a small farm family. Without Government programs, we would have not survived. Only once in my life have I seen a person turn down a Government check. She was a precious old Catholic soul who took great pride in relying on herself. She was not wealthy. But she certainly was not greedy.
Everytime I turn on the news, someone is demanding that the Government do something about something. Yet they complain about paying high taxes. The bags and baggers want their Government back. I'm scared to death what they'd do with it. Adam Nadelson, you da man. You are a pure capitalist that I suspect would be very generous in sharing your wealth with the less fortunate.
That's it. Hate mail may be sent to cherub1946@gmail.com. Have a lovely day.
Monday, May 24, 2010
House cleaning 101
Anyone that lives in a dwelling, especially those of the feminine gender, know that house keeping is probably THEIR responsibility. I have been a domestic engineer for almost 39 years AM(after marriage). That qualifies me to give you a few pointers from the view of one whose housekeeping philosophy has deteriorated just a teensy bit over 39 years.
1. Rule number one: don't worry about it. If you can stand to live in it, don't worry about what other people think. And for heavens sake, don't make any excuses for it. That reminds me of the first time we visited the lady who bought a farmstead that once belonged to relatives on B's side of the family. The place was totally a mess. God bless her, she started making excuses for the mess. She was getting ready for a sale she said. Stuff was stacked everywhere. Neither of us cared why things were so stacked up and messy. Roll forward 10 years. We stopped in to visit this lady again. You guessed it. Those same stacks were right where they were 10 years ago the best I could tell. And yes, she was getting ready for a sale.
2. Don't deliberately make things hard for yourself. Example. I thought the bed had to be just so. It had to have the ruffle at the bottom. It had to have nice matching sheets and pillow cases, and it had to have a comforter with five decorative pillows, plus the pillows we actually used. But there came a day when I said to self, "Self, these pillows are a pain in the gluteus maximus. So I just dumped them all on the floor and that is where they are to this very day. Today I changed my flannel sheets to summer sheets. That stupid bottom ruffle has been a thorn in my flesh ever since I put it on. It would get lopsided. It would hang down in the front. I'd have to wrestle the mattress to get it even. Well today, I said, "NO MORE". I pulled that thing off so fast it was like I had just done a magic trick. Liberated! In fact I saw on TV where you are less likely to get bed vermin if you leave the bed unmade. I took their advice.
3. At any time during the last 39 years if you had asked me what household chore do you hate the most I would say, dusting. Well I want to make a testimonial here and now, my life has been turned around. I discovered the Swiffer Duster. I just love to carry it around with me and dust places that haven't been dusted since we've lived here. I actually am having fun dusting. It took me a while to figure out how to assemble it properly, but once I got going there's no stopping me now. Trouble is, in some of those high places, this fine, fine dirt comes down on me and onto the floor and I'm going to have to get out the vacuum cleaner to pick it up. My little swiffer just cannot hold all my dirt. I must buy some more duster refills. I refuse to go back to rags.
4. Go do what you want to do and don't give the house a second thought. If anyone gripes about it, there certainly is nothing stopping them from helping out a little.
1. Rule number one: don't worry about it. If you can stand to live in it, don't worry about what other people think. And for heavens sake, don't make any excuses for it. That reminds me of the first time we visited the lady who bought a farmstead that once belonged to relatives on B's side of the family. The place was totally a mess. God bless her, she started making excuses for the mess. She was getting ready for a sale she said. Stuff was stacked everywhere. Neither of us cared why things were so stacked up and messy. Roll forward 10 years. We stopped in to visit this lady again. You guessed it. Those same stacks were right where they were 10 years ago the best I could tell. And yes, she was getting ready for a sale.
2. Don't deliberately make things hard for yourself. Example. I thought the bed had to be just so. It had to have the ruffle at the bottom. It had to have nice matching sheets and pillow cases, and it had to have a comforter with five decorative pillows, plus the pillows we actually used. But there came a day when I said to self, "Self, these pillows are a pain in the gluteus maximus. So I just dumped them all on the floor and that is where they are to this very day. Today I changed my flannel sheets to summer sheets. That stupid bottom ruffle has been a thorn in my flesh ever since I put it on. It would get lopsided. It would hang down in the front. I'd have to wrestle the mattress to get it even. Well today, I said, "NO MORE". I pulled that thing off so fast it was like I had just done a magic trick. Liberated! In fact I saw on TV where you are less likely to get bed vermin if you leave the bed unmade. I took their advice.
3. At any time during the last 39 years if you had asked me what household chore do you hate the most I would say, dusting. Well I want to make a testimonial here and now, my life has been turned around. I discovered the Swiffer Duster. I just love to carry it around with me and dust places that haven't been dusted since we've lived here. I actually am having fun dusting. It took me a while to figure out how to assemble it properly, but once I got going there's no stopping me now. Trouble is, in some of those high places, this fine, fine dirt comes down on me and onto the floor and I'm going to have to get out the vacuum cleaner to pick it up. My little swiffer just cannot hold all my dirt. I must buy some more duster refills. I refuse to go back to rags.
4. Go do what you want to do and don't give the house a second thought. If anyone gripes about it, there certainly is nothing stopping them from helping out a little.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
How To Keep Illegals Out Of Our Country (click to see all)
The peoples of the world have been on the move since mankind came into being. Countries, cities, and people have come and gone for millennia. As long as we humans survive, this trend to migrate is going to keep right on happening.
Nearly every day I read of illegals pouring over our southern border. Violence, drugs, murder, mob wars, you name it, it's happening at and near the border. Today I read of another border story. But instead of keeping the illegal Latinos of Mexico, Central, and South America from crossing the USA border, the problem was "Sandramblers" and "Wilderness Wanderers". These are nicknames the Egyptians gave to the nomads who wandered throughout the eastern and north eastern regions including tribes in Canaan and Syria. As far back as 2650 BC (BCE) there is solid evidence of walls being built by Pharaohs to keep the Asiatics from forcing their way into Egypt.
Remains of an Egyptian wall dating back to the 19th century BCE were found. The wall was built of boulders as large as 6 feet thick and fortified with small turret type structures, and further strengthened by a dirt wall. And high enough that a ladder would do no good. Did it work? I don't know. It may have for a while.
I will always feel badly about what our ancestors did to the American Indians. The Indians tried to defend their land and way of life. Unfortunately for them, they were no match for the tidal wave of immigrants from many countries. Foreigners started showing up on the shores of America and moved across the country, rounding up the Indians like cattle and driving them onto reservations. The black people migrated, against their will, to the U.S. to be sold into slavery.
Some things cannot be stopped. The demographics of our country is rapidly changing and will continue to change. The middle east turbulence will not change, even with our intervention. So with that in mind, let's bring our boys home from war. Place them on our southern border until which time we can get a wall built. That's the way to keep the illegals out.
Nearly every day I read of illegals pouring over our southern border. Violence, drugs, murder, mob wars, you name it, it's happening at and near the border. Today I read of another border story. But instead of keeping the illegal Latinos of Mexico, Central, and South America from crossing the USA border, the problem was "Sandramblers" and "Wilderness Wanderers". These are nicknames the Egyptians gave to the nomads who wandered throughout the eastern and north eastern regions including tribes in Canaan and Syria. As far back as 2650 BC (BCE) there is solid evidence of walls being built by Pharaohs to keep the Asiatics from forcing their way into Egypt.
Remains of an Egyptian wall dating back to the 19th century BCE were found. The wall was built of boulders as large as 6 feet thick and fortified with small turret type structures, and further strengthened by a dirt wall. And high enough that a ladder would do no good. Did it work? I don't know. It may have for a while.
I will always feel badly about what our ancestors did to the American Indians. The Indians tried to defend their land and way of life. Unfortunately for them, they were no match for the tidal wave of immigrants from many countries. Foreigners started showing up on the shores of America and moved across the country, rounding up the Indians like cattle and driving them onto reservations. The black people migrated, against their will, to the U.S. to be sold into slavery.
Some things cannot be stopped. The demographics of our country is rapidly changing and will continue to change. The middle east turbulence will not change, even with our intervention. So with that in mind, let's bring our boys home from war. Place them on our southern border until which time we can get a wall built. That's the way to keep the illegals out.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Glasses vs Skirt vs Survival
I just now tossed a top of mine in the washer. It's about as old as my marriage. That will be 39 years in July. I still wear the top and I look like a hippy with bad taste when I wear it. But it's still good and I can not bear to throw it away. It is something a free spirit would wear. It flies freely in the breeze and makes me feel like a wind nymph. But that's not the story. The top just reminded me of something totally unrelated.
I was an early teen. I know because I was wearing my first pair of "cat eye" glasses. When we went places, I didn't wear jeans. I wore skirts and blouses mostly. I remember I was wearing this beautiful, super full skirt. It was flowered with beautiful purple and blue shades of color. It must have been the bluish color of my hippy top that reminded me of that beautiful, beautiful, homemade skirt.
We went to an amusement park. It must have been "Joy Land" in Wichita, because "Worlds of Fun" didn't open until 1973. The ride I chose to ride was the "Big Dipper". If it wasn't named that, it should have been. It used the same principle as a skateboard bowl, only the ride had a track with a cart on it wherein you sat. There were no seat belts. The dipper was fastened to a mechanism that tipped back and forth causing the cart to dip down and fly up the other side just in time for the thing to tip again, and down and up we went to the other side. Back and forth we went. I was screaming and laughing and spit went flying out my mouth. I don't know what law of physics I was battling, but every time we dipped down going forward, my glasses would fly off if I didn't hang on to them, plus my skirt would fly over my head. So there I was trying to hold on to my glasses, hang on for dear life, and hold my skirt down. I had to have my glasses to see, and I couldn't let go of whatever I was holding on to because I might go flying out of my seat. The skirt, she would just have to fly. Well at least it was over my head and no one could see who I was. Ride over, I was exhausted. All that laughing, and holding on, and trying to maintain some degree of modesty by holding my skirt down nearly did me in. We rode lots of things, but that's the only one that sticks in my mind. I hadn't thought of this in years. Well, back to the laundry.
I was an early teen. I know because I was wearing my first pair of "cat eye" glasses. When we went places, I didn't wear jeans. I wore skirts and blouses mostly. I remember I was wearing this beautiful, super full skirt. It was flowered with beautiful purple and blue shades of color. It must have been the bluish color of my hippy top that reminded me of that beautiful, beautiful, homemade skirt.
We went to an amusement park. It must have been "Joy Land" in Wichita, because "Worlds of Fun" didn't open until 1973. The ride I chose to ride was the "Big Dipper". If it wasn't named that, it should have been. It used the same principle as a skateboard bowl, only the ride had a track with a cart on it wherein you sat. There were no seat belts. The dipper was fastened to a mechanism that tipped back and forth causing the cart to dip down and fly up the other side just in time for the thing to tip again, and down and up we went to the other side. Back and forth we went. I was screaming and laughing and spit went flying out my mouth. I don't know what law of physics I was battling, but every time we dipped down going forward, my glasses would fly off if I didn't hang on to them, plus my skirt would fly over my head. So there I was trying to hold on to my glasses, hang on for dear life, and hold my skirt down. I had to have my glasses to see, and I couldn't let go of whatever I was holding on to because I might go flying out of my seat. The skirt, she would just have to fly. Well at least it was over my head and no one could see who I was. Ride over, I was exhausted. All that laughing, and holding on, and trying to maintain some degree of modesty by holding my skirt down nearly did me in. We rode lots of things, but that's the only one that sticks in my mind. I hadn't thought of this in years. Well, back to the laundry.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
The Pumpkin Pie Story
Grandma (Bessie) Burton was a wonderful cook. I loved going to Burr Oak to see Grandpa and Grandma, and enjoy one of Grandma's gourmet meals. Grandma's house was the only place I ever was served duck. She grew and preserved most of the vegetables they ate. She made jellies and jams and pickled anything that could be pickled. She made good pies, especially pumpkin pies. Sometimes they were sweet potato pies, but I couldn't tell the difference.
When a good cook made something I really liked, I hated it when they messed with it by trying a different version of the recipe. Being the adventurous cook she was, Grandma was not immune to these need to find something different to eat.
Grandma hosted this one particular Thanksgiving dinner. I was looking forward to her usual fare, especially the dessert, pumpkin pie. After the main meal was finished, she proudly carried from the kitchen her specialty pie. Then to my horror, she announced she had make a chiffon pumpkin pie. I'd never heard of chiffon pumpkin pie. I was desperately hoping it would be as good as her old standard pumpkin pie. I anxiously awaited for my piece of pie to be set before me. When all were served, I picked up my fork and took a bite of the pie. I hated it. It was fluffy and it just didn't taste right. Grandma was looking around the table making sure everyone loved the pie. No one said much, so I, being the polite little girl that I was, told her it was delicious. I told her I really liked it, overdoing it a bit in order to hide my real opinion. Oh boy! Was that ever a mistake. From that day forth Grandma made especially for me, a chiffon pumpkin pie every Thanksgiving.
Well, there just is no way to correct a situation like this, especially after me not saying anything for years and years. She made regular pies for everyone else, but I was obligated to eat chiffon pumpkin pie. They were made especially for me. That is the only good thing that made them bearable. She thought I was worth making a pie especially for me.
I have remembered the pumpkin pie story endearingly. But you can be assured, I have never made a chiffon pumpkin pie and I never will.
When a good cook made something I really liked, I hated it when they messed with it by trying a different version of the recipe. Being the adventurous cook she was, Grandma was not immune to these need to find something different to eat.
Grandma hosted this one particular Thanksgiving dinner. I was looking forward to her usual fare, especially the dessert, pumpkin pie. After the main meal was finished, she proudly carried from the kitchen her specialty pie. Then to my horror, she announced she had make a chiffon pumpkin pie. I'd never heard of chiffon pumpkin pie. I was desperately hoping it would be as good as her old standard pumpkin pie. I anxiously awaited for my piece of pie to be set before me. When all were served, I picked up my fork and took a bite of the pie. I hated it. It was fluffy and it just didn't taste right. Grandma was looking around the table making sure everyone loved the pie. No one said much, so I, being the polite little girl that I was, told her it was delicious. I told her I really liked it, overdoing it a bit in order to hide my real opinion. Oh boy! Was that ever a mistake. From that day forth Grandma made especially for me, a chiffon pumpkin pie every Thanksgiving.
Well, there just is no way to correct a situation like this, especially after me not saying anything for years and years. She made regular pies for everyone else, but I was obligated to eat chiffon pumpkin pie. They were made especially for me. That is the only good thing that made them bearable. She thought I was worth making a pie especially for me.
I have remembered the pumpkin pie story endearingly. But you can be assured, I have never made a chiffon pumpkin pie and I never will.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Need something else to worry about?
I have learned a couple of interesting tidbits that caught my attention. If you are a natural born worrier you'll love this. If you are not the worrying kind you may find this just interesting, or not.
I learned our sun is dying. It's been around for some four billion years and has a life span of somewhere around ten billion years. That means the sun only has about six billion years of life left. When it starts to run out of fuel, it will expand into a giant red star. It will grow to 250 times the size it is now. Yep, you guessed it. We are in for real heat wave. If you think global warming is bad now, just wait until our precious earth is engulfed by our expanding, dying, sun.
If that isn't bad enough, there's another doozie of a calamity headed our way. The Milky Way Galaxy and the Andromeda Galaxy are right on target to collide in about five billion years. Talk about fireworks. However, space is so massive it is possible that our Earth might not get hit. But there will be enough chaos amongst the planets and suns of both galaxies, nothing will be the same ever again.
To the worriers I say, don't worry about it. We will have blown ourselves up with atomic weapons long before either of the above calamities happen.
I learned our sun is dying. It's been around for some four billion years and has a life span of somewhere around ten billion years. That means the sun only has about six billion years of life left. When it starts to run out of fuel, it will expand into a giant red star. It will grow to 250 times the size it is now. Yep, you guessed it. We are in for real heat wave. If you think global warming is bad now, just wait until our precious earth is engulfed by our expanding, dying, sun.
If that isn't bad enough, there's another doozie of a calamity headed our way. The Milky Way Galaxy and the Andromeda Galaxy are right on target to collide in about five billion years. Talk about fireworks. However, space is so massive it is possible that our Earth might not get hit. But there will be enough chaos amongst the planets and suns of both galaxies, nothing will be the same ever again.
To the worriers I say, don't worry about it. We will have blown ourselves up with atomic weapons long before either of the above calamities happen.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Could I have a little help here please!
We went to Hastings, Nebraska, to shop. That was always one of our favorite things to do. When we got to 2nd Street, which is their main street, the street was closed and some kind of expo was going on. The police were there with some of their equipment on display. The fire department had personnel and equipment on display. There were booths of all kinds of exhibits. Parking was only available on the side streets. We had to park quite a ways from downtown.
I had recently gotten lineless trifocal glasses and was still having a little problem mastering steps. I was told to watch my step so I would not fall down. So there I was, strolling across the street just a few feet from the police display. I miscalculated the curbing, tripped and fell to the ground, giving my ankle a nasty turn. I sat there groaning in pain, nearly in tears, rubbing my ankle and muttering naughty words. People strolled by and just looked at me and went on. And the police didn't come over to help me up, or ask if I was okay. Nobody did anything. I got up and started hobbling the long trip back to the car. I couldn't put weight on the injured ankle, so I hopped the whole way.
My ankle soon swelled and had turned all different colors. There was purple, red, yellow, and as time went on, there was some green mixed in. I didn't have it x-rayed or anything. I was pretty sure nothing was broken. But I did feel badly that not one person gave a hoot about me. I'll say one thing, I'm glad I was not having a heart attack. I'll carry this grudge to my grave. But it least I will stop and offer help to someone if it looks like they need it.
I had recently gotten lineless trifocal glasses and was still having a little problem mastering steps. I was told to watch my step so I would not fall down. So there I was, strolling across the street just a few feet from the police display. I miscalculated the curbing, tripped and fell to the ground, giving my ankle a nasty turn. I sat there groaning in pain, nearly in tears, rubbing my ankle and muttering naughty words. People strolled by and just looked at me and went on. And the police didn't come over to help me up, or ask if I was okay. Nobody did anything. I got up and started hobbling the long trip back to the car. I couldn't put weight on the injured ankle, so I hopped the whole way.
My ankle soon swelled and had turned all different colors. There was purple, red, yellow, and as time went on, there was some green mixed in. I didn't have it x-rayed or anything. I was pretty sure nothing was broken. But I did feel badly that not one person gave a hoot about me. I'll say one thing, I'm glad I was not having a heart attack. I'll carry this grudge to my grave. But it least I will stop and offer help to someone if it looks like they need it.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
I Love Animals
Since in my profile I indicated I was a rabid animal lover, I thought I would write about some of my animal friends. Never did I have a pet that let me down, or lied to me, or betrayed me. Always, it was unconditional love.
I'll start back as far as I can remember. The first dog I remember being fond of was Grandma Maud's old unkempt, shepherd dog, named Gooch. He was old, but we were great friends. I didn't get to know him long. I don't know if he died of old age, or if they just put him "to sleep". Snookie was the best dog. If I could pick a pet to take to heaven with me, it would be Snookie. She was an adult dog when she was given to us. We had her nearly twenty years, so I literally grew up with her. She was a rat terrier. She loved it when she and I would go check out wood piles and holes in the ground looking for something to catch. She'd dig with her front feet with all her might and stick her head in the hole and sneeze and snort. She was a good dog for kids. She spent time in the house on the couch. She loved to be loved. Though you didn't want to mess with her when she was eating. She didn't exactly say anything, but she'd curl her upper lip. I knew this meant, "leave me alone". She grew old and arthritis kept her from getting up on the couch (Grandma called them divans). Then she became incontinent. This was her checkered flag. She had reached the end of the rat race. One day I went to school and when I came home, Snookie was gone. One of the folks shot her and took her body out in one of the fields, and hopefully buried her. I had lost my best friend and the tears just kept coming. We had other dogs, and I loved them all, except one. His name was Shep, and he was kind of a reddish mixed breed dog that had a mental problem. He like to skin cats alive. We got rid of him in the normal way, lead poisoning.
Grandma and Grandpa Burton had a green parakeet named Chris. When the grandparents were no longer able to care for their pets, they gave them away. We got Chris. Birds are so smart. I had no idea they had personality and were very observant. We let Chris out of her cage and she had run of the house. She preferred my mom to the rest of us. That's probably because Mama was home all day, in the kitchen where Chris's cage was. Chris spent a lot of her time with Mama. Chris's favorite thing was to get inside my mom's dress at the front and get down and roost on Mama's bra. Mama had to be careful so as not to squash her, or do something Chris didn't like, because Chris could and did bite hard. Every once in a while my mom would screech "OW". I knew Chris had sunk her sharp beak into something. I laugh when I think back of watching my mother iron, and there would always be this moving bump in her dress. Chris layed at least one egg that I remember. She died of old age.
Then there was Chester, the house chicken. I forget who found the egg and how we knew there was a chick inside it. But we incubated the egg and one day something inside started pecking away the shell to get out. What emerged was Chester. I don't know when we figured out Chester was a rooster. I think we just took a chance on the gender of the chick. You've heard of imprinting no doubt. We were the first things Chester saw and from that day forward he thought either we were chickens, or else he was human. He never had much to do with the barnyard chickens. He used tin cans to satisfy his natural urges. I put him on an old table we had on the front porch. He HATED that. Heights scared him to death. We tried to teach him to crow. He finally did crow some, but not much. What he did like was to sit on my lap and have his back massaged. He'd sit there with one eye open and one closed and would stay there as long as I kept massaging his back. Chester eventually acquired a small harem of hens. He didn't know what to do with them, but that didn't seem to bother the hens. One day I came home from school to the horrible news that Chester and his hens were out in the road and Chester got hit and was killed. My heart was broken. And no. We did not eat him.
We always had a few head of cattle and occasionally we had pigs. In every herd, I had at least one or two pets. I don't know why some of the farm animals enjoyed interaction with me and others wanted nothing to do with me. My all time favorite cows were Little Britches, a small guernsey cow, and Queen Mary, a large holstein cow. They relished any attention they could get. They loved to have their backs and behind the ears scratched, as well as down by their tail. I was never kicked by either of these two cows. I probably could have ridden them, but I didn't want to stretch my luck. One day my dad was out in the corral with the cows. Queen Mary came over to him as if seeking help. Something was terribly terribly wrong. Daddy said he could see fear in her eyes. Before a vet could be called, Queen Mary keeled over dead. There was nothing to do but call the "dead wagon". It was determined that she had hard ware in her digestive system. When you raise animals to make a little money, the day comes when you have to sell them. Little Britches must have been sold, as she was getting some age on her. I know she probably went to the rendering plant. I hated sale day.
I only remember raising pigs once after we moved to Grandma's house. I had the privilege of feeding them a few times. Believe me, my life was in God's hands. These were not baby piggies, they were huge and a person, especially someone much smaller than them, could easily get trampled. But in spite of their bad manners, there were two pigs that decided they liked me. They were very jealous of each other. I sat down on the ground and one of the pigs came over and sat beside me and leaned on me. So I scratched it's back, and played with it and tickled it's ears and rubbed it's face. This did not play well with pig number 2. I didn't have names for these guys. Usually every pet gets a name, but these guys didn't get names. Number 2 came over and sat by me on my other side and leaned on me and grunted. The two pigs exchanged insults, and I was getting squeezed between them. Surely they weighed a couple hundred pounds, or more, and I probably weighed 90 pounds. So I scratched both pigs' back and sweet talked them until they were satisfied that each was the number 1 pig.
We didn't have a lot of horses after the folks quit farming with horses. My dad even disliked horses. Sometimes they'd spend half the day just trying to catch them so they could hitch them up and get to work. I'm positive Daddy got us a black horse when I was quite young. But I can't remember much of anything about him other than he was a very nice horse most of the time. Aunt Mildred Cummings, who lived a few miles away from the farm in Otego, had "Red". She kept him at our farm. He was not a nice horse. He would try to sneak up and bite me and he would kick at me if I got too close. I was glad when he was gone. When I was a little older, Daddy bought a beautiful bay horse for us kids to ride. He was huge. Horses are the sneakiest animal I've ever been around. They can learn to open barn doors and get out for one thing. But Tony was a wonderful horse. However, when I rode him, he was in control. I often rode bareback since I couldn't saddle a horse. Evidently I could bridle one. One day I was riding Tony and we went over to our place one quarter of a mile east of Grandma Maud's place. Everything went just fine until Tony decided to take off for home. He turned around to the west at what seemed like a dead run to me. My legs gripped his fat tummy and I hung on to his mane for dear life. I didn't fall off amazingly. Tony went straight to the barn and stopped. I think he was telling me I could get off now. Then one of the horses, and it seems like it was that mysterious black horse would scrape my off by walking under a low branch every chance he got. Then I would be riding in the pasture and the horse would stop all of a sudden, dip his head, and over the top of him I'd go. I love horses, and I think they are among God's most beautiful creatures, but they are ornery.
We had all kinds of wild animals in our ICU (cardboard box- like that little lady from Arkansas had) at one time or another. My mom even had a big old bull snake that inhabited her garden. She knew he was there, and he knew she was there, but they left each other alone and got along fine.
One of the little animals that amazed me the most was avian. One day when we lived in Smith Center, KS, the doorbell rang. It was Scotty Clark from across the street. He was carefully holding in his cupped hands a little fuzz ball that had a few pin feathers too. "Would you take care of this bird for me? My mom said I couldn't keep it, and wondered if you would take it." Thinking the little piece of flesh stretched over fragile little bones and a few pin feathers sticking out around it, I though there was no way this little bird was going to live very long. So I said "Sure Scotty, I'll take care of it for you". And to the ICU we went. I vigilantly watched over the baby bird and fed it the best I knew how. But instead of dying, it thrived. It turned out to be a sparrow. My spouse named her (we just guessed her gender) Birdice (pronouned like Berniece). However I just called her Birdie for short. How original. Birdie had quite the personality and many personal preferences. At meal time we could expect Birdie to come sit on the edge of our plate and look over the food to see what we were eating. If she saw something that appealed to her, she helped herself. She loved peas and desserts, especially cake. If we were drinking a soda pop in a glass, she loved to sit on the edge of the glass and let the fizz touch her face. She loved to drink out of the faucet. She would sit on the faucet and wait for someone to turn the cold water on and she would dip her head down and drink the running water. She absolutely loved pancakes. She could be in another room and hear me get out my pancake and waffle grill and she knew exactly what I was doing. Her she'd come. She'd land on my shoulder and run up and down my arm while I whipped up the pancakes. Bath time was interesting. She wouldn't bathe with me, but she always bathed with Bill. She'd land on his chest or tummy and edge into the water and water would fly everywhere as she flapped her wings. She'd be so wet she nearly could not fly out of the tub. She would wait for Bill to put on his white tee shirt and she would dry herself on his shirt just by rubbing herself on it. She had these natural instincts to nest. So, anytime we tried to read a paper she would be right there and start ripping strips of paper and she'd take them and deposit them in our living room ceiling light fixture. She was making a nest. I hated to destroy her efforts, but I also hated to see my house burn down. She would sit up on the edge of the light fixture. When people came she would look them over. Some people she did not like. Other people she liked and would pester them. One day I came out of my bedroom wearing a horizontally striped dress. Birdy was horrified and scared to death of me. So maybe she judged people by their clothes. Birdie died at 18 months of age. I don't know what caused her death. But we both mourned her passing.
Then there was Spidey and Charlotte, two rather large spiders that built the most beautiful webs in the corner of our front porch. They weren't there the same year. Neither one was allowed in the house. The morning dew and the shining sun outlined the delicately designed webs. I would stand and admire the web's beauty and the ingenuity it took for the spiders to build such magnificent structures. No one was allowed to tear down the webs. The webs didn't last that long anyway.
I can barely watch those ads on TV that feature abused animals. The saddness in their eyes bring big old tears to my eyes. How people can be so cruel and merciless, I will never understand. I am grateful to those animals who sacrifice their lives so we can have food to eat. I shall never get any enjoyment from hunting down and killing animals just for the pleasure of it.
In November 2006, we adopted from the Hastings animal shelter a beautiful white, neutered and declawed cat named Jasper. He's our fourth cat, and each one of our cats has been so different. The shelter people thought Jasper was of the Ragdoll breed. They guessed him to be 5 or 6 when we got him, so he is going on 9 or 10 years old.
I'll never change. Someday I'll be the old lady that lives with a house full of animals.
I'll start back as far as I can remember. The first dog I remember being fond of was Grandma Maud's old unkempt, shepherd dog, named Gooch. He was old, but we were great friends. I didn't get to know him long. I don't know if he died of old age, or if they just put him "to sleep". Snookie was the best dog. If I could pick a pet to take to heaven with me, it would be Snookie. She was an adult dog when she was given to us. We had her nearly twenty years, so I literally grew up with her. She was a rat terrier. She loved it when she and I would go check out wood piles and holes in the ground looking for something to catch. She'd dig with her front feet with all her might and stick her head in the hole and sneeze and snort. She was a good dog for kids. She spent time in the house on the couch. She loved to be loved. Though you didn't want to mess with her when she was eating. She didn't exactly say anything, but she'd curl her upper lip. I knew this meant, "leave me alone". She grew old and arthritis kept her from getting up on the couch (Grandma called them divans). Then she became incontinent. This was her checkered flag. She had reached the end of the rat race. One day I went to school and when I came home, Snookie was gone. One of the folks shot her and took her body out in one of the fields, and hopefully buried her. I had lost my best friend and the tears just kept coming. We had other dogs, and I loved them all, except one. His name was Shep, and he was kind of a reddish mixed breed dog that had a mental problem. He like to skin cats alive. We got rid of him in the normal way, lead poisoning.
Grandma and Grandpa Burton had a green parakeet named Chris. When the grandparents were no longer able to care for their pets, they gave them away. We got Chris. Birds are so smart. I had no idea they had personality and were very observant. We let Chris out of her cage and she had run of the house. She preferred my mom to the rest of us. That's probably because Mama was home all day, in the kitchen where Chris's cage was. Chris spent a lot of her time with Mama. Chris's favorite thing was to get inside my mom's dress at the front and get down and roost on Mama's bra. Mama had to be careful so as not to squash her, or do something Chris didn't like, because Chris could and did bite hard. Every once in a while my mom would screech "OW". I knew Chris had sunk her sharp beak into something. I laugh when I think back of watching my mother iron, and there would always be this moving bump in her dress. Chris layed at least one egg that I remember. She died of old age.
Then there was Chester, the house chicken. I forget who found the egg and how we knew there was a chick inside it. But we incubated the egg and one day something inside started pecking away the shell to get out. What emerged was Chester. I don't know when we figured out Chester was a rooster. I think we just took a chance on the gender of the chick. You've heard of imprinting no doubt. We were the first things Chester saw and from that day forward he thought either we were chickens, or else he was human. He never had much to do with the barnyard chickens. He used tin cans to satisfy his natural urges. I put him on an old table we had on the front porch. He HATED that. Heights scared him to death. We tried to teach him to crow. He finally did crow some, but not much. What he did like was to sit on my lap and have his back massaged. He'd sit there with one eye open and one closed and would stay there as long as I kept massaging his back. Chester eventually acquired a small harem of hens. He didn't know what to do with them, but that didn't seem to bother the hens. One day I came home from school to the horrible news that Chester and his hens were out in the road and Chester got hit and was killed. My heart was broken. And no. We did not eat him.
We always had a few head of cattle and occasionally we had pigs. In every herd, I had at least one or two pets. I don't know why some of the farm animals enjoyed interaction with me and others wanted nothing to do with me. My all time favorite cows were Little Britches, a small guernsey cow, and Queen Mary, a large holstein cow. They relished any attention they could get. They loved to have their backs and behind the ears scratched, as well as down by their tail. I was never kicked by either of these two cows. I probably could have ridden them, but I didn't want to stretch my luck. One day my dad was out in the corral with the cows. Queen Mary came over to him as if seeking help. Something was terribly terribly wrong. Daddy said he could see fear in her eyes. Before a vet could be called, Queen Mary keeled over dead. There was nothing to do but call the "dead wagon". It was determined that she had hard ware in her digestive system. When you raise animals to make a little money, the day comes when you have to sell them. Little Britches must have been sold, as she was getting some age on her. I know she probably went to the rendering plant. I hated sale day.
I only remember raising pigs once after we moved to Grandma's house. I had the privilege of feeding them a few times. Believe me, my life was in God's hands. These were not baby piggies, they were huge and a person, especially someone much smaller than them, could easily get trampled. But in spite of their bad manners, there were two pigs that decided they liked me. They were very jealous of each other. I sat down on the ground and one of the pigs came over and sat beside me and leaned on me. So I scratched it's back, and played with it and tickled it's ears and rubbed it's face. This did not play well with pig number 2. I didn't have names for these guys. Usually every pet gets a name, but these guys didn't get names. Number 2 came over and sat by me on my other side and leaned on me and grunted. The two pigs exchanged insults, and I was getting squeezed between them. Surely they weighed a couple hundred pounds, or more, and I probably weighed 90 pounds. So I scratched both pigs' back and sweet talked them until they were satisfied that each was the number 1 pig.
We didn't have a lot of horses after the folks quit farming with horses. My dad even disliked horses. Sometimes they'd spend half the day just trying to catch them so they could hitch them up and get to work. I'm positive Daddy got us a black horse when I was quite young. But I can't remember much of anything about him other than he was a very nice horse most of the time. Aunt Mildred Cummings, who lived a few miles away from the farm in Otego, had "Red". She kept him at our farm. He was not a nice horse. He would try to sneak up and bite me and he would kick at me if I got too close. I was glad when he was gone. When I was a little older, Daddy bought a beautiful bay horse for us kids to ride. He was huge. Horses are the sneakiest animal I've ever been around. They can learn to open barn doors and get out for one thing. But Tony was a wonderful horse. However, when I rode him, he was in control. I often rode bareback since I couldn't saddle a horse. Evidently I could bridle one. One day I was riding Tony and we went over to our place one quarter of a mile east of Grandma Maud's place. Everything went just fine until Tony decided to take off for home. He turned around to the west at what seemed like a dead run to me. My legs gripped his fat tummy and I hung on to his mane for dear life. I didn't fall off amazingly. Tony went straight to the barn and stopped. I think he was telling me I could get off now. Then one of the horses, and it seems like it was that mysterious black horse would scrape my off by walking under a low branch every chance he got. Then I would be riding in the pasture and the horse would stop all of a sudden, dip his head, and over the top of him I'd go. I love horses, and I think they are among God's most beautiful creatures, but they are ornery.
We had all kinds of wild animals in our ICU (cardboard box- like that little lady from Arkansas had) at one time or another. My mom even had a big old bull snake that inhabited her garden. She knew he was there, and he knew she was there, but they left each other alone and got along fine.
One of the little animals that amazed me the most was avian. One day when we lived in Smith Center, KS, the doorbell rang. It was Scotty Clark from across the street. He was carefully holding in his cupped hands a little fuzz ball that had a few pin feathers too. "Would you take care of this bird for me? My mom said I couldn't keep it, and wondered if you would take it." Thinking the little piece of flesh stretched over fragile little bones and a few pin feathers sticking out around it, I though there was no way this little bird was going to live very long. So I said "Sure Scotty, I'll take care of it for you". And to the ICU we went. I vigilantly watched over the baby bird and fed it the best I knew how. But instead of dying, it thrived. It turned out to be a sparrow. My spouse named her (we just guessed her gender) Birdice (pronouned like Berniece). However I just called her Birdie for short. How original. Birdie had quite the personality and many personal preferences. At meal time we could expect Birdie to come sit on the edge of our plate and look over the food to see what we were eating. If she saw something that appealed to her, she helped herself. She loved peas and desserts, especially cake. If we were drinking a soda pop in a glass, she loved to sit on the edge of the glass and let the fizz touch her face. She loved to drink out of the faucet. She would sit on the faucet and wait for someone to turn the cold water on and she would dip her head down and drink the running water. She absolutely loved pancakes. She could be in another room and hear me get out my pancake and waffle grill and she knew exactly what I was doing. Her she'd come. She'd land on my shoulder and run up and down my arm while I whipped up the pancakes. Bath time was interesting. She wouldn't bathe with me, but she always bathed with Bill. She'd land on his chest or tummy and edge into the water and water would fly everywhere as she flapped her wings. She'd be so wet she nearly could not fly out of the tub. She would wait for Bill to put on his white tee shirt and she would dry herself on his shirt just by rubbing herself on it. She had these natural instincts to nest. So, anytime we tried to read a paper she would be right there and start ripping strips of paper and she'd take them and deposit them in our living room ceiling light fixture. She was making a nest. I hated to destroy her efforts, but I also hated to see my house burn down. She would sit up on the edge of the light fixture. When people came she would look them over. Some people she did not like. Other people she liked and would pester them. One day I came out of my bedroom wearing a horizontally striped dress. Birdy was horrified and scared to death of me. So maybe she judged people by their clothes. Birdie died at 18 months of age. I don't know what caused her death. But we both mourned her passing.
Then there was Spidey and Charlotte, two rather large spiders that built the most beautiful webs in the corner of our front porch. They weren't there the same year. Neither one was allowed in the house. The morning dew and the shining sun outlined the delicately designed webs. I would stand and admire the web's beauty and the ingenuity it took for the spiders to build such magnificent structures. No one was allowed to tear down the webs. The webs didn't last that long anyway.
I can barely watch those ads on TV that feature abused animals. The saddness in their eyes bring big old tears to my eyes. How people can be so cruel and merciless, I will never understand. I am grateful to those animals who sacrifice their lives so we can have food to eat. I shall never get any enjoyment from hunting down and killing animals just for the pleasure of it.
In November 2006, we adopted from the Hastings animal shelter a beautiful white, neutered and declawed cat named Jasper. He's our fourth cat, and each one of our cats has been so different. The shelter people thought Jasper was of the Ragdoll breed. They guessed him to be 5 or 6 when we got him, so he is going on 9 or 10 years old.
I'll never change. Someday I'll be the old lady that lives with a house full of animals.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Geomagnetic reversal
I didn't know, until I heard it from Alexi Filippenko, and read it in Wikipedia that :
"A geomagnetic reversal is a change in the orientation of Earth's magnetic field such that the positions of magnetic north and magnetic south become interchanged." It really does happen.
Why didn't someone tell me this before? Why did I have to wait 63 years to find it out? I suppose there's a bunch of other stuff out there I don't know.
"A geomagnetic reversal is a change in the orientation of Earth's magnetic field such that the positions of magnetic north and magnetic south become interchanged." It really does happen.
Why didn't someone tell me this before? Why did I have to wait 63 years to find it out? I suppose there's a bunch of other stuff out there I don't know.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Heavenly Daze
I don't know what happens to us when we die. I've never been to a funeral where the preacher said of the deceased, "This was not a nice person and he, without doubt, is sitting in Hell right now". Every funeral it's the same. "The deceased is now in a better place." So I guess every one goes from their last gasp for air, directly to heaven. So I want to discuss MY concept of heaven.
I'll buy the fact that we'll all get new bodies. If we are not going to live in a physical world, we must have a new body that can live in a nonphysical environment; another dimension And if this is a spiritual body, we won't have the familiar biological functions that we have on earth. For one thing, we won't need a vascular system with blood flowing through it. That means we will not have any blood relatives; no blood, no DNA. There won't be any sex. Sex was just the trap God created to propagate the species here on Earth. I don't know about food. It seems to me there wouldn't be any need for food. We'll have some other type of energy. It seems we'll be intelligent, but our old brains simply would not work in this spiritual body. So I don't know where we'll store information. Perhaps information will be all around us and we can somehow tap into it whenever we want to know something.
Many many times I have heard people say they can't wait to get to heaven so they can be reunited with a dearly departed spouse. Well, what if a person couldn't stand their spouse on Earth? Are couples stuck with each other for all of eternity? No. My marriage contract said "until death do us part". Others have the idea that their families will all be together again. I see a problem here. Most everybody's kids grew up and had kids, grandkids, and so on. Do you really want to go live with Mommy and Daddy again.........forever? And how many generations do you plan on cramming into one palace? Remember now, you aren't related anymore. And you don't have any marital obligations anymore.
Are we all going to be the same age? I would say time and age will not be a factor. After all, what is time. For us on earth it is the measurement of hours and minutes and seconds, years, days, weeks. All are based on the rotation of the earth around the sun. If the old earth passes away there will be no reference point for keeping track of time. If we are still going to be in God's image, we will be made up of light. You can't tell the age of light by looking at it. I think that's how it will be. We will be creatures of light. But somehow we will be able to recognize each other, but I can't figure out how that will be done. Maybe there will be some sophisticated name tag system. I just want to be better looking if I'm going to be stuck with this new body forever.
What about language? I'm reasonably sure there will be many many non English speaking people in heaven. Heaven must have its own language and we all must learn it. So do we have to go to school in heaven? Or will we be reprogrammed to know everything we need to know.
It's almost more than I can do to sit through a one hour church service. I really really hope there will be something else to do besides praising God. If we don't have vocal chords, what kind of noise will we make? Will all communication be telepathic communication? Supposedly, the angels are always singing about something. I wonder if it will be a new sound we on Earth have never heard. I know, I know, supposedly a choir of angels sang for Jesus' birth.
Will it be necessary to have some sort of government, or ruling class in heaven. I think the top spots have already been taken by God, Jesus and Abraham.
I hope they have animals in heaven. Somewhere it talks about the lion and lamb living side by side, or something to that effect. I would like a pet lion. I've always wanted a pet lion. But if there are other people who want a pet lion, there's going to have to be more lions made. Maybe we'll just zap into being a new lion, or cat, or whatever we want.
I desperately hope there's more to heaven than just lolling around waiting for the next praise and worship session. I don't know if I can stand to be happy all the time. I hope we are allotted a little grumpy time. There's just something not normal about everything being perfect all the time. Boring is more like it.
It has always struck me rather odd that the Father has tried to make heaven as attractive to us as much as he can. Knowing our basic nature, he has appealed to our greedy side. We are promised ivory palaces, streets of gold, rubies and diamonds et cetera. I hope there are servants who will dust my palace. All that gold dust from the streets is going to be a nuisance. And somebody is going to have to rake up all those precious gems that pop up from who knows where.
Seems like there is reference to milk and honey. Maybe that was the promised land. Let's say there is going to be milk and honey. That means there must be goats, or cows, or some other milk producing animal. Well someone is going to have to do the milking. And there must be bees to make honey. And they are going to need flowers for nectar.
I just don't know. The more I think about it, the crazier I get. If anyone tells me they know all these answers, I shall tell them they can go jump in a lake.
I'll buy the fact that we'll all get new bodies. If we are not going to live in a physical world, we must have a new body that can live in a nonphysical environment; another dimension And if this is a spiritual body, we won't have the familiar biological functions that we have on earth. For one thing, we won't need a vascular system with blood flowing through it. That means we will not have any blood relatives; no blood, no DNA. There won't be any sex. Sex was just the trap God created to propagate the species here on Earth. I don't know about food. It seems to me there wouldn't be any need for food. We'll have some other type of energy. It seems we'll be intelligent, but our old brains simply would not work in this spiritual body. So I don't know where we'll store information. Perhaps information will be all around us and we can somehow tap into it whenever we want to know something.
Many many times I have heard people say they can't wait to get to heaven so they can be reunited with a dearly departed spouse. Well, what if a person couldn't stand their spouse on Earth? Are couples stuck with each other for all of eternity? No. My marriage contract said "until death do us part". Others have the idea that their families will all be together again. I see a problem here. Most everybody's kids grew up and had kids, grandkids, and so on. Do you really want to go live with Mommy and Daddy again.........forever? And how many generations do you plan on cramming into one palace? Remember now, you aren't related anymore. And you don't have any marital obligations anymore.
Are we all going to be the same age? I would say time and age will not be a factor. After all, what is time. For us on earth it is the measurement of hours and minutes and seconds, years, days, weeks. All are based on the rotation of the earth around the sun. If the old earth passes away there will be no reference point for keeping track of time. If we are still going to be in God's image, we will be made up of light. You can't tell the age of light by looking at it. I think that's how it will be. We will be creatures of light. But somehow we will be able to recognize each other, but I can't figure out how that will be done. Maybe there will be some sophisticated name tag system. I just want to be better looking if I'm going to be stuck with this new body forever.
What about language? I'm reasonably sure there will be many many non English speaking people in heaven. Heaven must have its own language and we all must learn it. So do we have to go to school in heaven? Or will we be reprogrammed to know everything we need to know.
It's almost more than I can do to sit through a one hour church service. I really really hope there will be something else to do besides praising God. If we don't have vocal chords, what kind of noise will we make? Will all communication be telepathic communication? Supposedly, the angels are always singing about something. I wonder if it will be a new sound we on Earth have never heard. I know, I know, supposedly a choir of angels sang for Jesus' birth.
Will it be necessary to have some sort of government, or ruling class in heaven. I think the top spots have already been taken by God, Jesus and Abraham.
I hope they have animals in heaven. Somewhere it talks about the lion and lamb living side by side, or something to that effect. I would like a pet lion. I've always wanted a pet lion. But if there are other people who want a pet lion, there's going to have to be more lions made. Maybe we'll just zap into being a new lion, or cat, or whatever we want.
I desperately hope there's more to heaven than just lolling around waiting for the next praise and worship session. I don't know if I can stand to be happy all the time. I hope we are allotted a little grumpy time. There's just something not normal about everything being perfect all the time. Boring is more like it.
It has always struck me rather odd that the Father has tried to make heaven as attractive to us as much as he can. Knowing our basic nature, he has appealed to our greedy side. We are promised ivory palaces, streets of gold, rubies and diamonds et cetera. I hope there are servants who will dust my palace. All that gold dust from the streets is going to be a nuisance. And somebody is going to have to rake up all those precious gems that pop up from who knows where.
Seems like there is reference to milk and honey. Maybe that was the promised land. Let's say there is going to be milk and honey. That means there must be goats, or cows, or some other milk producing animal. Well someone is going to have to do the milking. And there must be bees to make honey. And they are going to need flowers for nectar.
I just don't know. The more I think about it, the crazier I get. If anyone tells me they know all these answers, I shall tell them they can go jump in a lake.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
A Great Big Mess
I know, I know, you can't believe everything you read, but I just read this guy's explanation of credit default swaps. If I had a weak heart, heaven forbid, I would have keeled over on the spot after reading his blog. I have a serious case of the stupids when it comes to this Wall Street stuff. I have no idea who to believe, or what to believe, but somehow what this guy said had a ring of truth to it.
If you would like to read it, copy the following URL into your window and go to his site. http://www.rooshv.com/credit-default-swaps-for-dummies.
EVERYONE, politicians and citizens alike, look like deer standing in the headlights of this oncoming undescribable leviathan bone crusher. No one knows what to do. I don't care what party or politician we're talking about here. I can plainly see for myself that we have so many problems because of decades and decades of politicians playing "kick the can forward". And people living way beyond their means. And greed everywhere, with corporate execs stuffing their Swiss bank accounts and shipping jobs out of the country and a whole plethora of other things. Pray you say. Well let me give you another reality I've noticed. God doesn't care about politics. If he did, why are there so many despotic governments around the world? And if he doesn't care, why should we, other than the fact oil may be involved.
China nearly owns us. They outnumber us three to one at least, and have the fastest growing economy in the world. I saw a "man on the street interview" with a Chinese gentleman. You could hear the defiance in his voice. In my words he said, "We nearly own the U.S.. We no longer have to bow to their every wish". We're forced to stay on China's good side, because we just keep getting in deeper and deeper with them. Why? Because everyone in our country is screaming for the Government to give us all these benefits, but no one wants to pay for anything. And don't even get me started on these wars we're in. If you know even a smidgeon of world history, you know that the middle east has been at war since the days of Abraham. And we think we're going to solve their problems! That is preposterous.
I haven't the slightest idea how to resolve any of this mess. And some people think Sarah Palin is the answer? (Shudder). She thought Africa was a country !! If she runs and is elected president, Canada, here I come.
If you would like to read it, copy the following URL into your window and go to his site. http://www.rooshv.com/credit-default-swaps-for-dummies.
EVERYONE, politicians and citizens alike, look like deer standing in the headlights of this oncoming undescribable leviathan bone crusher. No one knows what to do. I don't care what party or politician we're talking about here. I can plainly see for myself that we have so many problems because of decades and decades of politicians playing "kick the can forward". And people living way beyond their means. And greed everywhere, with corporate execs stuffing their Swiss bank accounts and shipping jobs out of the country and a whole plethora of other things. Pray you say. Well let me give you another reality I've noticed. God doesn't care about politics. If he did, why are there so many despotic governments around the world? And if he doesn't care, why should we, other than the fact oil may be involved.
China nearly owns us. They outnumber us three to one at least, and have the fastest growing economy in the world. I saw a "man on the street interview" with a Chinese gentleman. You could hear the defiance in his voice. In my words he said, "We nearly own the U.S.. We no longer have to bow to their every wish". We're forced to stay on China's good side, because we just keep getting in deeper and deeper with them. Why? Because everyone in our country is screaming for the Government to give us all these benefits, but no one wants to pay for anything. And don't even get me started on these wars we're in. If you know even a smidgeon of world history, you know that the middle east has been at war since the days of Abraham. And we think we're going to solve their problems! That is preposterous.
I haven't the slightest idea how to resolve any of this mess. And some people think Sarah Palin is the answer? (Shudder). She thought Africa was a country !! If she runs and is elected president, Canada, here I come.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Looking For My Twin
"They" said, you must have a hobby when you retire, or you'll go nuts! That may be true for some folks, but not for me. I loooove retirement. I figure if you can't be comfortable with just your thoughts, that you have to be busy busy busy to distract yourself from whatever, then your brain and my brain are wired differently. I say that with all due respect. I can't believe there isn't at least one other person out there that is wired just like me. My "twin" of sorts.
How I would love to meet up with my twin. Retirement would be twice as fun. I can't imagine what it would be like to be totally in sync with another human being. You would never have to worry about saying something wrong. We'd have our own little codes, be it just a certain look or expression, and we'd know exactly what was going on in the other's head. We could carry on whole conversations in public and no one would have a clue. Me and my twin would lay out in the yard at night and watch the night sky and listen to the night sounds. We would try to identify constellations and stars and planets. We would watch for meteor showers, comets, eclipses, northern lights; all things celestial. Then we could discuss space and what might be out there in all those other galaxies. Then we would discuss quantum physics (λ,ξ,π,ψ) you know, all that stuff. At night, the coyotes howl. I've heard what sounded like a whole pack of coyotes howling, and I wondered what was making them howl. My twin would be just as curious as I. My twin and I would not be gourmet cooks, or meticulous housekeepers. Eating straight out of the can would do just as well for us, as dining on fine china. We would play on the computer, or watch TV, or read books. Each day it becomes clearer that our days are numbered, and we would want to learn everything there is to learn before we have to go. We would go dancing, go to symphonic concerts, laugh at stupid things. We would wonder why we didn't take advantage of our youth and learn to speak other languages, learn to play an instrument really well. We would try over and over again to comprehend that space has no boundary, no beginning, no end.
Like looking for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, I will keep looking for my twin. I hope she is looking for me.
How I would love to meet up with my twin. Retirement would be twice as fun. I can't imagine what it would be like to be totally in sync with another human being. You would never have to worry about saying something wrong. We'd have our own little codes, be it just a certain look or expression, and we'd know exactly what was going on in the other's head. We could carry on whole conversations in public and no one would have a clue. Me and my twin would lay out in the yard at night and watch the night sky and listen to the night sounds. We would try to identify constellations and stars and planets. We would watch for meteor showers, comets, eclipses, northern lights; all things celestial. Then we could discuss space and what might be out there in all those other galaxies. Then we would discuss quantum physics (λ,ξ,π,ψ) you know, all that stuff. At night, the coyotes howl. I've heard what sounded like a whole pack of coyotes howling, and I wondered what was making them howl. My twin would be just as curious as I. My twin and I would not be gourmet cooks, or meticulous housekeepers. Eating straight out of the can would do just as well for us, as dining on fine china. We would play on the computer, or watch TV, or read books. Each day it becomes clearer that our days are numbered, and we would want to learn everything there is to learn before we have to go. We would go dancing, go to symphonic concerts, laugh at stupid things. We would wonder why we didn't take advantage of our youth and learn to speak other languages, learn to play an instrument really well. We would try over and over again to comprehend that space has no boundary, no beginning, no end.
Like looking for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, I will keep looking for my twin. I hope she is looking for me.
As The Bladder Fills Club
I was just wondering if the "As The Bladder Fills" coffee klatchers in Smith Center, Kansas, are still klatching? Or have they all died by now? They are just a bunch of old gas propelled geezers that have their regular get-together downtown every morning.
If you need any advice, on any subject under the sun, I direct you to the "As The Bladder Fills Club". All told, they must have about four or five centuries of knowledge. If they don't know about it, it never happened.
Posted by otieann at 1:41 AM 0 comments
If you need any advice, on any subject under the sun, I direct you to the "As The Bladder Fills Club". All told, they must have about four or five centuries of knowledge. If they don't know about it, it never happened.
Posted by otieann at 1:41 AM 0 comments
Once Upon A Time
I was born December 19, 1946, on a farm new Burr Oak, Kansas. Burr Oak was just a little bitty town a few miles from the Nebraska border, right smack dab in the center of the state. It could be said I was just as much Nebraskan as I was Kansan because we went to Hastings, Nebraska often. We also attended the Noble/Huntsicker family reunion at Red Cloud many, many times. I didn't know the people, and we Fogos were way out on the family tree, so I did not know anyone too well. But I always had fun and always enjoyed feeling a part of a clan. We also belonged to a Peterson clan over around Marysville, Kansas, and a Fogo clan in Jewell County, Kansas. But time has passed, and the nuclei of these clans have passed on and I don't know if any of them get together anymore or not. We also belonged to a clan that held a reunion in Iowa once. My dad and I went to that one back in the 1970's. I'm not sure what clan that was. Maybe it was the Lamb clan. I have grown apart from my clans, and I miss them.
I have so many wonderful random and fading memories of Burr Oak and the White Rock Creek vicinity. Occasionally a name will pop into my head from out of nowhere and I will remember some little bit of Burr Oak. Today it was Lane Collins. I think this was an old gentlemen that lived across the street north of our Nazarene Church. I never saw him come out of his house and older kids made up these scary stories about him. They scared us younger kids out of our wits. But we couldn't leave it alone, all that spookiness. We'd challenge each other to run across the street and go into Mr. Collins's yard. It was terrifying to me. Some kids made it over, but I don't know if I ever got the nerve to step foot on his place. I don't recall ever seeing him. I thought sure he would eat us alive if he ever caught us. And in my mind he looked like an ogre.
Then the name Chat Pierson popped into my head. Chat was short for Charity Pierson. She lived where the Orville Hafner's later lived. Chat's husband's name was Melvin. He died in 1952 and I don't remember him. The reason I remember Chat is when I was pre-school, she made for me a beautiful white rabbit fur coat, with a matching muff, and a hat. I don't know if it was a gift or if my mom bought it. But it was made out of fur from rabbits the Pierson's raised. One Sunday, after the church service was over, I remember crawling under the pews in the main sanctuary from the back to the front with my pretty white coat on. I reckon it got a little dirty.
Growing up a Nazarene was a unique experience. When I was little there was an older lady by the name of Myra Schneider who lived across the street south from my Grandpa and Grandma Burton. I don't remember her husband but I think his name was Henry. Myra was a true saint. She faithfully attended church and she really would get super blessed. When I was little, it scared me when she'd get blessed. She'd pop up out of her pew and start strolling up and down the aisle yelling, and waving her arms and talking to the Lord I guess. All I knew, I could feel her blessings coming on and would think "Oh no!" I'm positive she once had a song book when she got one of her blessings. Her arms began to wave and the songbook went sailing through the air. That's all I remember. Our services were noisy. The preacher probably thought he wasn't doing his job unless people were shouting out "amen!!". As years went by and the old folks died off, the services got pretty quiet. One of the last of the whoop and holler stories was on Rev. Isham. He got really excited and was doing the Sam Kinison thing and suddenly, his false teeth went flying across the stage. Well, that pretty much killed the movement of the Holy Spirit, so the service was soon dismissed. The preacher took it all in fun. I don't see how God could keep a straight face either.
I will continue to add to this as unusual things come to the surface of my brain. I was told once that every seven years your memory cleans house and gets rid of a lot of irrelevant stuff. I just turned 63 and that is divisible by 7. I guess that means my memory is sorting and dumping. I know I have forgotten things I thought I never would forget. Someone will say something about the past, and I will have forgotten all about it. Your Burr Oak memories are appreciated here.
I have so many wonderful random and fading memories of Burr Oak and the White Rock Creek vicinity. Occasionally a name will pop into my head from out of nowhere and I will remember some little bit of Burr Oak. Today it was Lane Collins. I think this was an old gentlemen that lived across the street north of our Nazarene Church. I never saw him come out of his house and older kids made up these scary stories about him. They scared us younger kids out of our wits. But we couldn't leave it alone, all that spookiness. We'd challenge each other to run across the street and go into Mr. Collins's yard. It was terrifying to me. Some kids made it over, but I don't know if I ever got the nerve to step foot on his place. I don't recall ever seeing him. I thought sure he would eat us alive if he ever caught us. And in my mind he looked like an ogre.
Then the name Chat Pierson popped into my head. Chat was short for Charity Pierson. She lived where the Orville Hafner's later lived. Chat's husband's name was Melvin. He died in 1952 and I don't remember him. The reason I remember Chat is when I was pre-school, she made for me a beautiful white rabbit fur coat, with a matching muff, and a hat. I don't know if it was a gift or if my mom bought it. But it was made out of fur from rabbits the Pierson's raised. One Sunday, after the church service was over, I remember crawling under the pews in the main sanctuary from the back to the front with my pretty white coat on. I reckon it got a little dirty.
Growing up a Nazarene was a unique experience. When I was little there was an older lady by the name of Myra Schneider who lived across the street south from my Grandpa and Grandma Burton. I don't remember her husband but I think his name was Henry. Myra was a true saint. She faithfully attended church and she really would get super blessed. When I was little, it scared me when she'd get blessed. She'd pop up out of her pew and start strolling up and down the aisle yelling, and waving her arms and talking to the Lord I guess. All I knew, I could feel her blessings coming on and would think "Oh no!" I'm positive she once had a song book when she got one of her blessings. Her arms began to wave and the songbook went sailing through the air. That's all I remember. Our services were noisy. The preacher probably thought he wasn't doing his job unless people were shouting out "amen!!". As years went by and the old folks died off, the services got pretty quiet. One of the last of the whoop and holler stories was on Rev. Isham. He got really excited and was doing the Sam Kinison thing and suddenly, his false teeth went flying across the stage. Well, that pretty much killed the movement of the Holy Spirit, so the service was soon dismissed. The preacher took it all in fun. I don't see how God could keep a straight face either.
I will continue to add to this as unusual things come to the surface of my brain. I was told once that every seven years your memory cleans house and gets rid of a lot of irrelevant stuff. I just turned 63 and that is divisible by 7. I guess that means my memory is sorting and dumping. I know I have forgotten things I thought I never would forget. Someone will say something about the past, and I will have forgotten all about it. Your Burr Oak memories are appreciated here.
Monday, January 18, 2010
You sounded crabby last time I saw you!
That's what doc said to me last time I saw him? "I did?" I replied. "I'm sorry" said I. "Well, maybe not crabby (pause) yes, you were crabby" he said.
Maybe I was a little out of sorts that day, but doc was not the cause of it. Obviously he took it personally. I had communicated something to him that was not intended.
There are so many ways to communicate and those on the receiving end are sensitive to anything that is seemingly negative. Other forms of communication intermingled with our words are, facial expression and body language, intonation and attitude, all of which can give incorrect signals to the other person.
If you are having a conflagration with someone, then I guess it doesn't matter what signals you give them. In normal conversation one must be cognizant of all aspects of communication, not just the words. It's possible a potential employer will notice your keen ability to self express.
Maybe I was a little out of sorts that day, but doc was not the cause of it. Obviously he took it personally. I had communicated something to him that was not intended.
There are so many ways to communicate and those on the receiving end are sensitive to anything that is seemingly negative. Other forms of communication intermingled with our words are, facial expression and body language, intonation and attitude, all of which can give incorrect signals to the other person.
If you are having a conflagration with someone, then I guess it doesn't matter what signals you give them. In normal conversation one must be cognizant of all aspects of communication, not just the words. It's possible a potential employer will notice your keen ability to self express.
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