Stuff

Blogger Dan recently posted this: http://honkifyoureaknob.blogspot.com/2008/08/lake-of-fire.html and so I'm responding knowing that my unenlightened meanderings will probably tick some people off.

His blog brought to the surface some irritated thoughts regarding a church class I attended several years ago... 'unbaptized babies float around in limbo never reaching heaven or hell....' was one of the topics and another gal had many “if” scenarios: “IF a young couple were bringing their baby home from the hospital and wrecked their car, and everyone was hurt, would you baptize that baby before it died?” “No” was the snobby answer. (All of us gals were shocked.)

“What if the dying parents begged you to?” “And what if the baby was almost dead?”

“No” again. It all boiled down to only if he knew for SURE that the parents were Catholic and attended his church on a regular basis...

Think of the most arrogant and narcissistic man you have ever met and imagine him in a room with 6 gals between the ages of 24 and 28...one of those types that look down their nose upon women like females haven't a credible braincell or ounce of intelligence whatsoever....I guess I deserve a medal for attending a week of this and managing to keep quiet...Hoorah. (I'm envisioning Al Pacino's voice here.)

So, nevermind that the innocent little baby is a newborn hours old with no preconceived notions formed in it's tiny skull-- if that baby's parents weren't Consistent Church-Attending (I'd type Abiding, but they don't all Abide!) Catholics, then there was no way in hell he'd baptize it. (He didn't say 'hell'.)

I also noticed his ability to UN-answer some questions, roundabouting them worse than a politician. (He knows darn well some of this is a load of crap and he can't come up with a truth to save his soul. Ooops. I'm sure his was already saved, you know, guiding us all in the proper direction. Doing God's work... rolling my eyes here.)

There were so many other scenarios and situations, each answered with some type of snide comment, which makes me wonder—so, If you were conducting meetings to entice strays to join/rejoin the flock—you know, the correct church, the one true church and all, wouldn't you at least try to present your theories in a positive light? Wouldn't you try to be welcoming and friendly and graciously explanatory? Well, I guess Heaven was full that week... and when these nightly meetings were over I flat out refused to sign his paper stating that I was wanting to become a member and I was brave enough to say “NO” in front of him and all the other ladies, thank God. (I heard later he read my name outloud in church the next day anyway, with the other gals' that WERE in attendance—I seethed a little bit then! Outrage!)

And if you ever imagine air writhing and seething, joining us in a little side chamber of the funeral home after my dad's death would have been the very place to do so! Me and sister and my two brothers were asked to sit in there to listen to a very old priest lay the guilt on super thick. He said all those irritating things that priests say about going back to church and rubbing in how much dad wanted that....How dare he? Whoa...body language. Everyone was getting stiffer and angrier by the second and the tension felt like peanut butter. I'm surprised my brother didn't punch him.

But back to the Blog! So many situations, so many moods, tragedy/violence/injustice/caring, so many different types of people, so many different choices... when the abortion questions comes up I always think of Mrs Eames, rhymes with screams, a character in one of John Irving's books, along with several others (dead or alive)-- like Melody and her penis knife and the fetuses and the nurses and Fuzzy Stone and the cadaver, and then there's the ether, affairs, apples, STD's and rape—it all pretty much makes one consider the pro-choice pro-life question—an orphan or an abortion? Cider House Rules is funny/sad/informative/a good read, and I marvel that not once does Irving try to sway the reader either way....an orphan or an abortion? He develops these tiny scenarios, and sometimes elaborately detailed characters, hitting you with waves of sentimentality (if that's a word), but never forcing the reader in either direction. He serves as a guide...open up your eyes...see both sides of the issue from a very human point of view. Make your own CHOICE.

To the Batcave! (or Perils of Friendly? Wildlife)

I read a couple books lately (thus ignoring my blogging duties—sigh) that brought about waves of nostalgia—my brother gifted them to me from Amazon, so I did the same for Bailey and Nate: Narrow Escapes & Survival: 23 True Sportsmen's Adventures by Ben East. We adored these growing up.

So, when raucously loud snorting, snarls, and banging noises occurred right outside the darkened window where I lounged on the couch, I nearly jumped out of my skin!

BEARS!!!

Of course I knew this wasn’t so, but when you’re thinking of your daughter and husband traveling to Alaska soon and a guy has just had his face ripped off by one powerful swipe of a bear’s paw...and campers’ cabins and tents were ravaged and destroyed night after night and another guy’s ribs were torn out of his body and his thigh meat bitten off in chunks while trying to play dead…well, this ruckus was downright mean and LOUD.

The Fugitive and her FIVE babies eat supper here every night. Leftovers and catfood become their nightly meal—even peanut butter sandwiches from old bread (1 a-piece) or stale rice krispy treats! Their little faces are darling as they peer up through the screen, but they are very skittish and scamper away until the treats arrive—usually. (I almost crunched one’s head as I was stepping outside—it decided to have a look-see in the kitchen—yikes!) Here's Mama: her eyes don't normally glow!

But if the One-armed Bandit arrives, all hell breaks loose; horrible fighting that kept Brigs awake for hours--sounds just like the description of Bears...

Unfortunately, I woke Brigg up last night too…another bat entered the kitchen, flew a few livingroom laps and hightailed it upstairs. It disappeared; I eventually entered Brig’s room—it had crawled under his door and was rapidly circling, but was beaten down by a pair of dirty boxer shorts and shuffled into a new leather boot where it was ‘booted’ out the door. Brig’s room is pitch black, now renamed “The Bat Cave”, since the darkness must appeal to them—if any more take up residence I will name them Keaton and Kilmer, ha!

(Old partial painting found behind a door. I must of been bored out of my mind.)
Back to the books…so much for Global Warming…its unbelievable the temperature is down to the 50’s/60’s here in August. Where are the suffocating, sweaty nights and miserably hot days? Reading about frozen corpes in James Michener’s Journey, and the lost, starving travelers in Chilcot Pass or other areas of Canada/Alaska/Michigan makes me shiver and don a hoody, though I won’t be losing any limbs to frostbite or gangrene. I hope Bail and Nate take this trip seriously; where one can walk a few feet off a trail and grow hopelessly lost and never found, or where a bear will kill you for looking at its salmon! Don’t mean to be funny—read those books!

We've been having several meetings lately about 'children of poverty', 'the defiant child', and those that are 'chronic', or victims of situations that are constant and beyond their control, thus outside influences and ways of life are the driving motivators of some of their behaviors... and some of them just lack love or a kind word...
I was thinking of this when I saw a fellow blogger had posted a pic of Yolanda from Ecuador:

It occured to me to post a pic of our families' other children, so here is our son "Isaias" (Brigham's age) and the girls "Marcella" and "Julia":

Isaias lives in El Estor, while Julia and Marcella live Quezaltenango and San Lucas Toliman, the village we stayed in when we visited them in Guatemala. That's grandma in the middle.
When my parents first started receiving pics of the girls as toddlers, I criticized them many times for wasting their monthly monetary donation and was a huge disbeliever that their packages ever made it out of the US. What a load of CRAP!
Finally, they decided to go see for themselves, but dad passed away, and Brigham and I went in his place. Naturally, google told me that we would be robbed, knifed, and all manners of unsavory things that had my nerves on end...and when we got there, it was a terrifying thing to see guns all over--in fact, I thought one man was trying to rob my son of his backpack at the Guat City Airport, but it turned out to be one of 5 of our armed guards protecting him. In the corner of the next pic, you can see a couple of them--right after this picture was taken, they drew their weapons and scared us--but they were pointing them at a scrawny little dog-- and they would have shot it had it growled at us! We were visiting a church up this steep hill--absolutely gorgeous country.
We had only been in San Lucas Toliman for a few minutes when we were ushered down into some local houses (pitiful shacks) and I immediately received a nice wave of shame when these kind and gracious tiny people drew us into their homes to display years of American photos, gifts, cards and letters that were pinned to the walls of their homes:
Here, we'd consider them merely sheds or worse--wouldn't even keep your lawnmower dry, constructed of a variety of materials: pieces of wood, cement block, tin, trash bags, and corn stalks wired together. Almost any room in my house was way bigger than their entire homes; a very humbling experience, and the lucky ones had most of their walls constructed of blocks, or a single mattress, or maybe a stove. This kitchen was constructed of boards and a garbage can to cook on:Many organizations rip you off/take your money and run. I can verify with my own 2 eyes that CFCA does NOT. We ended up having 32 people in our overall group, and there were many tears shed as these Mayan people cried with thanks that their children were able to go to school and receive dental/doctor care and extra food. You are never asked to donate more... unless you want to, for a birthday or confirmation, etc. We saw many programs being implemented by CFCA, such as well-digging, forestry, irrigation, laundry house, and the ancient but clean hospital. Here is Brig with the hospital director (remember that Brigham is very short!):

We were told that their limited stature was due to hundreds of years of bad nutrition (basically based on oppression by the invading Spanish). I am 5'1" and I could put my chin on the tops of the ladies' heads!
But here's the thing: despite the horrors of their existence and their lack of almost every possible 'convenience', the kids were just smiles and grins and the families were truly grateful and sweet. The majority of these kids receive LOVE.
CFCA boys watching us visit Lake Atitlan.

Peachy Keen

Hmmm. We were talking about the latest area crime...a 54 year old lady was the victim of a deadly hit and run and authorities are looking for...one of the 'Chas Manson look-a-like's' relatives. The vehicle was found, but not the driver... heard they'd had another party.... and as we are discussing this topic (maybe I better jog on the sidewalk/in the morning, not evenings!) Skinny Farmer Guy said he had some more peaches....I "stoned" 2 gallons for him (stoned--ha ha!) and he told me they were from the infamous LSD site. (Did I ever mention that 'Nuther Cop Buddy jmped on that criminal's back to bring him down...and that Cop Buddy had to work in that missile silo?)
Skinny Farmer Guy also showed me 2 more fruits--one looked like a small nectarine and who knows what the other was!?! Perhaps it had been chemically induced....
Maybe that's why he likes that Peach Wine...!

Pharmacuticals, Curls, African Babes

One morning when I went up by work, I remembered to grab my little plastic baggie of crystals that remained hidden under the sink. It'd been there forever, so it probably lost it's potency-- maybe I should mix up a new batch later today...

Mom can get Miracle Gro to induce numerous shoots/fronds/leaflets, all at freakizoid pace. Plants gone wild! Everything thrives for her; my stuff seemed to move at mediocre speed. Or stagnant speed—turtle pace.

I had my baggie of Miracle Gro to fertilize some of the many plants that greenhouse my room but it never seemed to do anything. I used it on lots of pineapple, plumeria, monkey paws, tamarind, elephant ears and other things pilfered during vacation. (If only I'd sent myself the coconut that was rooting...) but-- I'd rather use banana peels and organic stuff like fish guts than Miracle Gro, despite the smell...The problem? I haven't had any fish this summer, despite the fact that Brigg, Brett, and Shane caught over 20 5 pound catfish the other night on PEACHES, and threw them all back (whaaa).

I contemplated the Miracle Gro crystals, wishing humans could take it for hair growth-- wouldn't I love that?....SPROING! I would take it every day, just like a vitamin...SPROING!

I love wild freaky hair, the weirder the better (Many years ago during Christmas break, I tried the dredlock thing and went to a late night movie...a little girl coming out of the bathroom stall looked up at me and jumped. Sigh. I guess some people around here aren't used to it...I'll blog
about Nate and Bailey's 'getting beat up & bloody' incident later...)

This summer I'd cut off over 4 inches of hair allover right before Bailey's wedding and called mom bawling my head off... “I wanted C-C-C-CURLY hair, not WA- WA- WAVY! Curly LIKE A SPRING!!!” (Whaaa again. Sniffle.) I kept thinking it had too much weight and if I lessened the load via scissors, it would spring up like Shirley Temple, but it was just a wrong perm and I still can't get used to it... whaaa....so I added some blond stripes instead.

But I will never forget the time I was a little girl and all of us kids were with mom grocery shopping in Topeka. (This was back in the day when you didn't 'eat out' every time you drove somewhere-- you just bought a loaf of bread and a package of bologna...viola! Lunch was served, despite the disdainful curled lip!)

Here we are, ready to check out, all tired, whining, dragging our feet, probably begging for candy, when we became enamored by a little African-American baby seated in the cart ahead of us. It was a living dolly, with delightful boings of hair, curlylocks, very tempting to pull on them and streettcchh them out. We loved its hair and immediately began 'flirting' with and entertaining the baby, since it was quite unusual for us—no blacks in our tiny town-- and we grinned and smiled and made faces and played hide and seek with our fingers....causing it to laugh and flail its little arms...

My little brother was around 2; maybe I was in 2^nd grade? I began the whispered plea—whispered, but deliberately loud enough for my siblings to hear: “Mom, please can we have baby—like that? Mom, puuullleeeaaaassee.....look at its hair... will you have a black baby?” Immediately my 3 younger siblings took up the chant, pretty quietly, but GOD, did her face turn red! She tried her best to shush us and was probably wilting with humiliation as they clamored around her, pulling at her legs....“Yeah, mom—have a black baby, c'mom, please!” “Please have a black baby—why not?”

I can only imagine the faces of the other adults in line....trying not to snicker-- “Yeah lady, explain that to your little kids...why not?” Oh what a little rat I was...!

Tongue Pickles and Gravy Blue

I was slicing zucchini into lengthy slabs, thinking 'this is not julienne; what's it called?' We'd had the best cucumbers sliced similarly at a pulled-pork restaurant in Haleiwa—scrumptiously delicious.
The kids always wanted dill pickles on their hamburgers—not round, but the long ones--'you know, shaped like a a a tongue!”, thus “tongue pickles” became one of our household words which we still use today (not around regular people of course!). Another invented word was coined when we were admiring different paint jobs on automobiles and dreaming of what we'd buy if we'd win the lottery (fat chance—we never play), but we saw an SUV in an odd shade of blue—somewhat grayed down, thus “gravy blue” was born. And Tarzan, an old cat that wandered around the living room gently wafting his poker tail aimed toward heaven...the name Oreehole arrived... 'Oh Gross...!' He had a few dark butt crumbs under it's tail-- yes, disgusting but funny—perhaps this came from a movie and I just assumed the kids were clever....but I can't look at an Oreo cookie the same way!

To go on: I have always liked odd names; Brigham's new pet 'Fritz' didn't meet my creative standard—since it lives in an aquarial setting complete with river sand, rocks, my rat skull, and 2 succulents I bought, I thought it should be named something arid—like 'Mohave', or (since it's a Chilean Rose Tarantula,) a Chilean name—based on some of those ancient tribes that forced baby skulls into obloid alien shapes! But I guess a German 'Fritz' fits with South America, having hidden all those Nazis that hightailed it out of Europe, and Fritz does sit on top of his rock with one paw raised in a HEIL HITLER salute... and today I observed his ferocious attack of a cricket... he's a killin' machine!

And speaking of Nazi's...I went out to Flat Tire Farmer's house in the drizzle to pick a few climbing beans that he'd offered (+ sent on a grasshopper-hunting errand since Fritz ate his cricket and still might be hungry-- why am I collecting his meals??) and got to pick some of the coolest beans--some ranged from 8” to 18” and were a spectacular shade of burgundy!

Regular green beans grew adjacent, so I grabbed a handful of those (in the meantime, stashing wet grasshoppers in my pocket), but the green beans were bizarre. Some were plain, some were green on one side and splashed with burgundy spots on the other, and some had burgundy flecks on both sides! How peculiar.. I thought I thought of Mengele?, the pea scientist, performing countless experiments on peas...these green beans probably cross-pollinated with the red ones...but I knew my brain was malfunctioning...Mengele, Mengel, Mendelsohn, Mendel...ahhh...For heaven's sake I'd nearly confused the atrocious Josef Mengele: Nazi Angel of Death, with Gregor Mendel: Scientific Monk of Colorful Pea Flowers!

Words, names, nicknames...I thought it amusing this morning that the gas station gal called my Skinny Farmer Guy exactly that. 'Hey, Skinny Farmer Guy...what pump you on...?' He'd brought over bags of peaches from a hay meadow—I told him that I'd pit them for his winter wine making, if I could freeze some...so I did 11 gallons. I gave him 17 shirts that I'd picked up for him too.

Padraic/Patrick-- I think the first spelling is cool...I was reminded of this when reading Angela's Ashes last weekend—and if anyone ever thinks their childhood was bad... read it.

and the names Oryx and Crake really caught my eye at Bailey's last summer...so I read that book on the beach during vacation (a Margaret Atwood tale—hey, she's Canadian!) I'd also read The Handmaid's Tale years ago/The Wanting Seed/Brave New World/etc. So what are these books classified as? I guess they are science fiction, but not like---say, Star Trek or something! Futuristic?

And talking about 'futuristic' and 'names', Bailey and I had poked fun about 'spidergoats' on an older blog from the website cracked.com and then I found this:

Only 20 weeks old, 2 sister goats warrant tight security because their milk is highly prized by the U.S. military. Their 70,000-gene chromosomes have been manipulated to include a gene from the orb weaver, a palm-size spider that spins the world's toughest natural material. Researchers are "growing" the spider's silk inside Mille and Muscade's mammary glands. These strands of silk, just 3 microns thick, are three times as tough as DuPont's bulletproof Kevlar. A woven cable as thick as your thumb can bear the weight of a jumbo jet. Once perfected, the silk will be used for featherweight ballistic vests, medical sutures and artificial ligaments. The goats represent a promising new avenue in the controversial field of transgenics, the science of splicing one species' genes onto the genome of another. Most efforts, including the recent news of a disease-detecting rhesus monkey (bred with a glowing jellyfish gene), focus on improving the characteristics of existing organisms...

While I am not going to blog on whether transgenics is ethical or not, it sure is fascinating and I always look forward to what goes on in the field of science. In fact, a TV show concerning the pale blue blood of hideous horseshoe crabs caught my fancy and stole quite a bit of my afternoon one day...

Its scary to read these books seeing that the described future is not so far off...in 8^th grade I took an old sci-fi short story book because I loved it and one of the stories talked about a light that would cut through skin...mwaaa hhaaa haaaa haaa haaa!

Lasers.

Sorry. I got way off topic...but don't the names Oryx and Crake catch your eye?....Onyx and Cake...

Ummm. Chocolate.