Yesterday Afternoon...

my phone rang.  It was Youngest Son.  He often calls me while he is sitting and waiting.  He waits for his daughters to finish dance lessons.  He waits for clients to show up for meetings.  Yesterday he was waiting in traffic.

He was fussing because he wanted to be sure to get home on the other side of the city in time for his oldest daughter's induction into the National Honor Society.  I told him to be sure to take a picture.

He made it in time.  Here is the picture of proud Daddy and daughter.

Congratulations, Boston.  Our family is so proud of you.

Especially your Grandma.

You Have Got to Be Kidding

Political correctness has crossed the line from ridiculous to "You have got to be kidding."

I'm pretty sure by now most of you have read about the Boy Scouts ban on squirt gun battles.  I really don't know why I was surprised.  This anti gun thing has totally run amok, from kids being sent home from school for wearing a t-shirt depicting any sort of weapon, to elementary age children being reprimanded for pointing a finger at a classmate and saying "pow, pow, pow," to the now famous nibbling of a Pop Tart into what was perceived as a "gun shape."  And now Boy Scouts are not allowed to have squirt gun fights.

And yes, I am going to go down that "When I was a kid" road.

Dad bought a series of squirt guns for my sister and me.  As the youngest of nine children, I'm pretty sure he remembered the fun of water connecting with a sister.  We were kept busy for hours, chasing one another, each trying to stay dry while soaking the other.  Or hiding around a corner or behind a tree, waiting for the opportunity of a sneak attack.  Or getting off a really good shot at a neighbor kid.  Who then proceeded to soak us.  And when the cheap plastic squirt guns would wear out or break, he would bring home more.  The only ban on squirt guns came from Mother who didn't allow us to use them in the house.  Oddly enough, neither of us grew up with homicidal tendencies.  Imagine that.

My kids played with squirt guns.  Pretty much the same way as my sister and me.  Kept them occupied and out of my hair for hours.  And guess what.  There isn't a mass murderer in the bunch.

I sometimes think that there is a plan to sissify our boys.  My boys learned to shoot at a young age.  For that matter, so did my girls.  They all took gun safety courses.  Both my boys hunt and both have provided their families with venison.  In my Dad's time, learning to hunt was a necessary skill.  It kept food on the table.  There were times when the only meat my family had was the result of hunting.  But now it seems that our children are supposed to run and hide when firearms are mentioned, seen pictured on a shirt or even pretended in little boy play.  There may very well come a time when shooting skills are the only means of obtaining meat.  These kids are going to grow up clueless.

Little boys are no longer allowed to be little boys.  Little boys are loud and obnoxious and like to do battle.  It is their training ground for their responsibilities as adults to take care of and defend the family.  But now if a boy acts like a boy, he is usually drugged.  He learns that any sort of weapon is bad.  He is taught to fear rather than respect firearms.

So let's say that the little boy grows up.  He has a wife, a couple of children.  And some mean and crazy person breaks into his home.  Won't happen?  Read the papers.  Watch the news.  Happens somewhere every single day.  So what's he going to do.  He has no weapon for defense.  It has been drummed into him that guns are bad.  Mean and crazy isn't about to wait while he calls 911, or wait until the police arrive.  Mean and crazy is going to, at best, hurt him and his family.  Mean and crazy doesn't care if his victims are women and children.  At worst, this husband and father won't live to regret his choices concerning the wisdom of owning a gun.

So lets just keep on banning anything that smacks of defense.  Lets keep on making our younger generation vulnerable to the mean and crazies of this world.  Lets just keep on telling them that they should be tolerant and that gun free zones really work and nobody should have guns and nothing bad will ever happen to them.  Because we all know that if guns are banned, surely the criminals  won't have them either.  Worked for England, didn't it?

And for God's sake, lets not allow little boys to be what they are - little boys.  Who grow up to be men.  Who believe in the responsibility of caring for home and family and country.  Who willingly defend them against all evil.

That just would never do, would it?

Wake Up Call

A couple of days ago I read this post on Frank and Fern's blog.

Then this morning Mary posted this.

Sometimes it takes being hit with a 2x4 on top of the head to get someone's attention.  Apparently I am one of those people.

My smug self has been working hard to build up my food storage.  I have been canning all the meat I could lay my hands on and dehydrating vegetables to fill in the gaps on my dried foods shelf.  And in the process, forgetting about other things that are really important.

I have never given much thought to a bug out bag.  My reasoning was that I'm not going anywhere.  Even if I could physically walk a distance from my home, which is doubtful at this stage of my life and state of my health, there is little chance I could do it carrying a bag full of supplies.

After reading those two posts this morning, I remembered the fire that occurred in my building.  I had found myself sitting on a bench across the street, watching the firemen working to put out the fire that gutted one of the ground floor apartments.  The biggest thing I remembered was the awful feeling I had when I realized that all I had with me were the clothes on my back and my keys in my hand.  I didn't even have on a proper pair of shoes, for I had slid my feet into a raggedy old pair of tennis shoes I used for excursions with the trash out to the dumpster.  That's about all they were good for.

Afterwards I had all sorts of good intentions.  I would put the important stuff in a bag and keep it where I could just grab it and go if anything like the fire ever happened again.  That was  Almost.  Two.  Years.  Ago.  And I have yet to do it.  Shame on me.

So I started on this project this morning.  Dug around in my closet and found a small duffel bag.  I will replace this with a backpack as soon as possible, for a backpack is easier for me to carry.  I also decided that, even though I rarely carry a purse, I have one with a shoulder strap.  I will use that for some things and keep it handy to grab as well, on my way out the door.  And I made a list.  With my memory that is fading, a list is necessary.

Everybody has different needs, so each person has their own list of what needs to be included.  My purse needs to include a months supply of medication plus a bottle of aspirin to help with arthritis symptoms.  Paperwork, including my Social Security card and information, my photo ID and a list of phone numbers for my children.  I don't have a cell phone.  Perhaps I need to rethink the need for one.  And cash.  Sitting on that bench two years ago and realizing that I didn't have two nickles to rub together was horrifying.  Also a book of blank checks and my banking information.  There are other items, but those are basic.

The bag needs to include at least one change of clothes, from the knickers on out.  And a decent pair of shoes.  For health reasons I need to wear compression socks all the time, so a pair of those need to be added.  A hooded sweatshirt for cool weather and lightweight shirts for warm days.  Wintertime necessitates the addition of a knit hat, scarf and mittens.  I remember how hungry I was after several hours of waiting to get back into my apartment after the fire was put out.  So emergency rations of things like hard candies should my blood sugar levels drop, a couple of bags of dried fruit and things like granola-type bars and snacky things that will keep for a time are needed.  Also the travel size shampoo, soap and lotion, along with a small towel and washcloth.  And some bottled water.  And something small that easily fits in a purse or backpack for my personal protection, which is on my "need to buy now" list.

I'm not packing for an extended stay in the woods.  Heading for the hills is not practical for me, so packing like I might for a couple of nights at a motel is more what I need.  I'm sure there are other additions to my list, but for now I am going with the basics, which is more than I had done.

My thanks to Frank, Fern and Mary for getting my attention.  Being prepared isn't just filling the shelves with food.  There is so much more to preparing than that, and I aim to make those corrections now.

Microaggression

While browsing through the WND website as I do most days, I ran across this headline:

" 'WALK-ONLY ZONES' CALLED MICROAGGRESSION AGAINST DISABLED"

The article can be accessed here.  It says in part:
"(Campus Reform) Arizona State University students are petitioning the university to change the name of its pedestrian walkways as its current name—Walk-Only Zones—might be a “microaggression” and “offensive” to people who cannot walk."

I've been seeing this word "microaggression" fairly often lately.  Unsure of it's exact meaning, I looked it up.  Wikipedia says, "Microaggression is a form of unintended discrimination. It is depicted by the use of known social norms of behavior and/or expression that, while without conscious choice of the user, has the same effect as conscious, intended discrimination. Psychiatrist and Harvard University professor Chester M. Pierce coined the word microaggression in 1970 to describe insults and dismissals he said he had regularly witnessed non-black Americans inflict on African Americans. In 1973, MIT economist Mary Rowe extended the term to include similar aggressions directed at women; eventually, the term came to encompass the casual degradation of any socially marginalized group, such as poor people, disabled people and sexual minorities."

It seems that I can't open my mouth to say anything these days without offending someone.  Do I care?  Not particularly.

I live with fun being made at my expense all the time.  How many Senior Citizen jokes have you heard lately?  How about Fat jokes?  I hear them or read them often.  And do I get my panties in a wad over them?  Not likely.  Some I actually find funny.  Like when I told one of my daughters that my goal in life was to live long enough to be a problem to my children.  Her reply was that my work here was done.  Now, that's funny!

As far as I can tell, there is not one single word in our Constitution about the right not to be offended.  We will be offended by something or someone, often on a daily basis.  I am offended when I hear the language used by the drunks in the street below my window.  But the same freedom of speech that allows me to write this blog gives them the right to talk as they wish.

There is a time and place for everything.  If, for example, I am in a family restaurant with small children and someone is loudly holding forth using the same profanity as the drunks outside the bar, I might have a chat with the manager of that restaurant, requesting that he/she speak to the offending party, asking that because of the children present, they tone it down just a bit.  If this doesn't happen, I will simply take my family and leave, making it crystal clear that not only will I cease to do business with this establishment, I will tell everyone I know about the circumstances.

Many years ago I was in the market for a pickup truck.  I  went to a local dealership to see what they had to offer.  The salesman asked me if I thought I could handle driving a pickup.  Did I get mad? Nope.  Did I scream at him for offending my female feelings.  Nope.  I merely told him that his commission would not come from me that day.  I added that he might do well to refrain from making assumptions, considering at that time my job was driving an 18-wheeler pulling a flatbed trailer, carrying steel and lumber to points in the lower 48 states and Canada.  And I wished him a good day on my way out the door.

I had two choices.  I could let his remarks offend me and hurt my feelings or I could let them roll off me like water off a duck and get on with my life.  The first would keep me angry and annoyed and eventually give me ulcers.  The second would make me a happier person.  The look on the salesman's face when he realized his mistake was absolutely priceless and still causes me to smile when I think about it.

When it comes to being offended over a "Walk Only" sign, I know whereof I speak.  My Mother was wheelchair bound for many years.  There was a time when I would take her shopping or to visit a friend or just for a drive in the country, if that's what she wanted to do.  Never - not even once - did I hear her complain that she was offended because others could walk and she couldn't.  Matter of fact, I can't ever remember her complaining at all, even though the pain in her joints must have been horrific due to the rheumatoid arthritis that ravaged her body.  But offended?  Never.

We can't control what others say or do.  We can only control how we let it affect us.

Finding things to be offended about is a choice.  So is being happy.  I choose to be as happy as possible.

Rain, Rain...

The weather radar screen shows solid rain for today, slowly moving north from Iowa.  No storms, but just a steady drip, drip, drip.  It is expected to last all day.  Most are glad to see it.  My sons are not.

Oldest son works mostly outside, driving a forklift, loading and unloading trucks.  Last evening he came home and told me that until further notice he would be working from 6 AM to 6 PM Monday through Friday and 7 AM to 3:30 PM on Saturday, starting today.  He was really happy about the chance to get in some serious overtime.  The rain...not so much.  But last week he bought some rain gear, so he is prepared.

Youngest son spent yesterday loading a large rental truck with boxes, bins and tubs full of his family's belongings.  Today the movers come to get the heavy furniture.  And tonight David's family will sleep in their new home.  Luckily the new house is only a few miles from their old house, so it isn't like they have to travel far.  But unloading the trucks in the rain will not be a joy.  The kids are excited.  I think by now Mom and Dad are too tired out and just want to get the moving part over with.

Me...even though I have been told several times before that because I am not made of sugar, I won't melt in the rain, I don't think I will test the theory.  It is a good day to sew or crochet or work on Granddaughter's photo album.  Last night I took a 12 lb. turkey breast out of the freezer to thaw and will roast it later for supper.  The best part is turkey sandwiches made with the leftovers.  And I think a nap is probably in my future as well.

Unless you are in a drought area, I hope your day is dry and sunny.

Weekend Totals

So after Son made another couple of grocery runs, here is what I have:

A total of 45 lbs. of chicken breast that yielded 54 pints.  I had one jar break in the canner and another that didn't seal, using all metal lids.  The one that didn't seal will be supper tonight, in gravy over biscuits.

12 lbs. of bacon ends and pieces, cut into pieces no larger than 1 inch, yielded 19 half pints of bacon bits.  The yield is less than other meats due to shrinkage when I fry it up before canning.  There might have been a little more, but it's bacon and the temptation to sample as I worked was just too great.

They jury is still out on the 28 lbs. of carrots.  They are all diced and waiting to be blanched before being dehydrated.  All I know for sure is that I will have 28 lbs. of carrots that, when dry, will likely fit into a one gallon freezer bag.

And now I'm going to take a nap.

Nineteen Years...

have passed since I last saw my Mother.

I still miss her.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.