Most of us try to relate kindly to various types of people every day. It is sometimes difficult, but I think people have just quit trying to understand each other. It’s not the different races or ethnicities - it’s men and women. Males and females have different points of view, no matter what their religion or status is. In the past, I have snitched on my fellow species, and I guess I’m doing it again. The thoughts here are not for degradation, as this reason is the acronym in my title. Women, naively, still try to change things so natural as a man and his behavior.
Poets and sages and authors have tried to figure out what’s on a woman’s mind. They are all wrong, because a woman’s mind changes constantly. There are too many details in our brains, too many thoughts and emotions, and at times, it is difficult for us to figure them out and get them straight. That’s why we cry. Then we get over it and get on with our lives, lists, and limitations.
There are certain things men should know about how women think. We don’t care what you need to do to fix it, we just want it magically fixed. Even though it isn’t a question, we would like an answer. Never, ever tell us that it looks like shit on us, even if it does. The television is ALWAYS too loud. We like the smiles and looks from you and everyone else in the world, but you can’t look at other women. If you do choose to wear things that don’t match (i.e., stripes and stripes or greens and greens), don’t get mad when we act like we don’t know you. Childbirth is absolutely NOTHING like your kidney stone. If we say someone is creepy, you really need to take us seriously. All women are not catty, as you are catty for saying so. Men who wear pastels are not automatically gay. Boobs are boobs, no matter how small or large. We’re not gossiping, we’re talking. We don’t care if it itches - scratch it in private. Before you make the comparison of us to our mother, don’t. You will never get a straight answer on the size thing. The seat was truly meant to be down. Your voices are higher when you talk to us than when you talk to your friends. Asking for or reading directions does not make you look dumb - quite the contrary. Expelling gas of any kind is just not funny. There is a huge difference between romance and sex.
Things women should know about men. I’ve talked of this before, and it still hasn’t changed. The three major categories of sex, food and money are the only things on a man’s mind. The three switch between being Number 1, Number 2 and Number 3 throughout their lives, but all three are always the main three topics on their minds. For women, find out what is Number 1 on his mind that day, and you are golden. Acting on it is even better.
If men want to be more receptive to women, watch the way a woman speaks to you. It could be your mate, daughter, friend or stranger. They all use their eyes, facial expressions, body language and motions, and sometimes, they touch. Be in tune and listen intently, instead of just hearing. All women are looking into your eyes for your response, whether it be a wink, a smile or a yawn.
We realize that you are easier going and we are more difficult to understand. Knowing this simple fact, you would think that men would be more patient with us women. We take an extra two minutes to explain something, ask for directions, or get information from the men we have to communicate with throughout the day. It could be at the grocery store, dry cleaners, the boss or colleague at the office, the school principal or our mate at home.
Men would be kinder to us if we would just show up naked with a winning lottery ticket and a six pack, but that is not going to happen everyday.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
EASTER: Restoring and Renewing
Today, the Easter Triduum begins. This will be it for me, on line, for the next three days. There will be Mass this evening, and tomorrow there are several Prayers beginning at noon that I plan to attend, including the Passion tomorrow evening. RT will be playing bass at three of the next three Masses. The Boy and The Baby will be joining RT and I tomorrow evening. They know the importance of this season, as it helps us to be humbled and straight, and come together as a strong family unit. I am three days early on my song selection on my myspace site, as we are not supposed to used this word quite yet, but I won’t be back on until Sunday anyway.
On my faith, some people laugh and some people need explanations. Some are in need of proof, and some just think that it’s a crock of krap. blah, blah, blah. I get tired, at times, of defending Her, but will keep doing it. I don’t really care what other people think of Catholicism - I only know She has worked very hard in my life for me, RT, The Boy and The Baby, and I have seen the miracles with us and others. Of course, it gives us structure and foundation for the basic morales in our lives. Yet, it goes beyond that. To have the enormity of this undying love is amazing, comforting and peaceful. The best writers, poets and lyricists that have ever lived, past, present and future, believe in love. Some write of peace and love and there is good in all people. They share their thoughts that love is the absolute answer to have serenity and completeness in our lives.
So let’s not complicate things too much, for all the Doubting Thomases out there. It’s just that pure and just that simple. LOVE! You can’t see it, you can’t taste it, and there is no way we can prove it. All of the artists of the world have tried to capture it, and they all have accomplished it a little, but not in its entirety. If we all begin and end with love, and every conscious action we do reflects love, we would have no problems, crime or war.
Here we go, on our knees, grateful that Someone, who we are anxious to meet one day, gave His life for us. We respectfully tell Him over the next few days how sorry we are, and how grateful we are to Him. We mourn Him, then celebrate Him. It’s a time of forgiveness and renewal with us and we take it as seriously as it was given to us the first time over 2000 years ago. We repay His sacrifice, in daily life, by forgetting His one simple rule He gave us - we forget to love. I’m glad I know Him and He understands that I’m a screw up.
Even "non believers" like this song. I wonder if it fills some cavity within them. Some shout "Peace" to everyone. Some listen to other music that, for many many years, have been shouting out "All You Need Is Love", or similar messages. They are awestruck when they see the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Many non believers, were devastated when Pope John Paul and Mother Teresa died. Something is touching them. Something or Someone is nudging them.
I will pray everything is peaceful for you and the world comes together soon. I extend the Hope and Love of this season with you - no matter where your faith lies.
Hallelujah!
On my faith, some people laugh and some people need explanations. Some are in need of proof, and some just think that it’s a crock of krap. blah, blah, blah. I get tired, at times, of defending Her, but will keep doing it. I don’t really care what other people think of Catholicism - I only know She has worked very hard in my life for me, RT, The Boy and The Baby, and I have seen the miracles with us and others. Of course, it gives us structure and foundation for the basic morales in our lives. Yet, it goes beyond that. To have the enormity of this undying love is amazing, comforting and peaceful. The best writers, poets and lyricists that have ever lived, past, present and future, believe in love. Some write of peace and love and there is good in all people. They share their thoughts that love is the absolute answer to have serenity and completeness in our lives.
So let’s not complicate things too much, for all the Doubting Thomases out there. It’s just that pure and just that simple. LOVE! You can’t see it, you can’t taste it, and there is no way we can prove it. All of the artists of the world have tried to capture it, and they all have accomplished it a little, but not in its entirety. If we all begin and end with love, and every conscious action we do reflects love, we would have no problems, crime or war.
Here we go, on our knees, grateful that Someone, who we are anxious to meet one day, gave His life for us. We respectfully tell Him over the next few days how sorry we are, and how grateful we are to Him. We mourn Him, then celebrate Him. It’s a time of forgiveness and renewal with us and we take it as seriously as it was given to us the first time over 2000 years ago. We repay His sacrifice, in daily life, by forgetting His one simple rule He gave us - we forget to love. I’m glad I know Him and He understands that I’m a screw up.
Even "non believers" like this song. I wonder if it fills some cavity within them. Some shout "Peace" to everyone. Some listen to other music that, for many many years, have been shouting out "All You Need Is Love", or similar messages. They are awestruck when they see the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Many non believers, were devastated when Pope John Paul and Mother Teresa died. Something is touching them. Something or Someone is nudging them.
I will pray everything is peaceful for you and the world comes together soon. I extend the Hope and Love of this season with you - no matter where your faith lies.
Hallelujah!
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
MUSIC THERAPY: Who’s In Charge Here???
We have all read about music therapy, beginning with the old cliche "Music soothes the savage beast". There are clinical reports and it has been proven that music can be therapeutic in physical therapy, in helping develop motor, cognitive and social skills, positive aid in some mental health issues, and even help children with autism. This instantly raises the question as to the type of music is involved in this therapy, as my choices are probably different than yours. There are as many various types of people as there are music or songs.
This is very important to me! Who has determined what music is played during these sessions? Who are the statisticians, clinical workers, doctors or PhDs that came up with this official list of music? What happens when they die? Is there someone else that has this list of music? Can we see this list anywhere? Does it change with the times, as music constantly changes? Will we have a choice when it is played, even if we are unconscious? Should we include this bit of information in our Last Will and Testament?
Everyone has their own opinion about what music is good or bad. We all have different taste, but I’m sure mental health patients’ music therapy would not consist of any NWA or 50 Cent. Don’t get me wrong - I love a lot of different types of music. However, if I was in a position to need music therapy, and they played hip hop or rap music, I think I’d have to bitch slap the therapist. I don’t think NWA or 50 Cent are on the "list".
In the movie "Mars Attacks" (by genius Tim Burton), Slim Whitman’s music is played loudly, and explodes the heads of the mean ass aliens invading Earth. I think we can all relate to this, and that’s why it was so funny. Though I’m sure he has a fan base, Slim is probably not on the "list".
Then there was the violent and punk, real life version of Romeo and Juliet, Sid Vicious and his girlfriend, Nancy. Because of his name, addiction, being a murderer and lyrics in most Sex Pistols songs, I don’t think Sid made the "list" either.
Weird Al Yankovic, The Cowsills, William Shatner (singing voice), Tiny Tim on his ukulele, and probably Bobby Goldsboro - none of these made the list, but this is just my opinion.
Then there’s just the random songs that come up that are not on the list either, no matter who wrote them or sang them. Chuck Berry’s "My Ding-A-Ling" would probably not be good for a child developing his motor skills. Harry Chapin’s "20,000 Pounds of Bananas" makes me a little nervous, and would not soothe anyone. Jim Croce’s "You Don’t Mess Around With Jim" includes a stabbing at the end of the song - not a good choice of therapy for a brutal, gang banging thug, trying to rehab his ways.
Then there’s the list of childhood songs that creep back into your brain, and you can’t shake them for days, sometimes weeks. Listening to these little tunes over and over would make anyone crazy. "Shoo Fly, Don’t Bother Me", "I’ve Been Working On The Railroad", "100 Bottles of Beer On The Wall", "Oh Suzanna". Now that your mind has subconsciously chosen one of these ditties, don’t blame me when you go mad because you can’t shake it. That is my point!
It’s bad enough that a gazillion mothers in this country are either tone deaf or have lovingly told their children over and over, they have a wonderful singing voice. All of these misguided youths converge to the American Idol tryouts. We laugh hysterically at them, as they just don’t see that they are that horribly bad. "Mamma wouldn’t have lied to me. I’m good and I’ll be back!"
Of course, there are musical instruments that could make you slightly psychopathic. A kazoo or constant clicking of zills would derange even a normal mind. Not just for a few minutes, but a three hour therapy session would be merciless.
This is really frightening for me! Life’s too short for bad music, especially if we are repairing, rehabilitating or recuperating. Just in case something happens to me, I’m leaving my iPod on, with my selections, and ear buds in. If I’m in a coma, please tell them not to remove it, and get RT to charge it up for me every few days. No one should take it away until there is no pulse.
This is very important to me! Who has determined what music is played during these sessions? Who are the statisticians, clinical workers, doctors or PhDs that came up with this official list of music? What happens when they die? Is there someone else that has this list of music? Can we see this list anywhere? Does it change with the times, as music constantly changes? Will we have a choice when it is played, even if we are unconscious? Should we include this bit of information in our Last Will and Testament?
Everyone has their own opinion about what music is good or bad. We all have different taste, but I’m sure mental health patients’ music therapy would not consist of any NWA or 50 Cent. Don’t get me wrong - I love a lot of different types of music. However, if I was in a position to need music therapy, and they played hip hop or rap music, I think I’d have to bitch slap the therapist. I don’t think NWA or 50 Cent are on the "list".
In the movie "Mars Attacks" (by genius Tim Burton), Slim Whitman’s music is played loudly, and explodes the heads of the mean ass aliens invading Earth. I think we can all relate to this, and that’s why it was so funny. Though I’m sure he has a fan base, Slim is probably not on the "list".
Then there was the violent and punk, real life version of Romeo and Juliet, Sid Vicious and his girlfriend, Nancy. Because of his name, addiction, being a murderer and lyrics in most Sex Pistols songs, I don’t think Sid made the "list" either.
Weird Al Yankovic, The Cowsills, William Shatner (singing voice), Tiny Tim on his ukulele, and probably Bobby Goldsboro - none of these made the list, but this is just my opinion.
Then there’s just the random songs that come up that are not on the list either, no matter who wrote them or sang them. Chuck Berry’s "My Ding-A-Ling" would probably not be good for a child developing his motor skills. Harry Chapin’s "20,000 Pounds of Bananas" makes me a little nervous, and would not soothe anyone. Jim Croce’s "You Don’t Mess Around With Jim" includes a stabbing at the end of the song - not a good choice of therapy for a brutal, gang banging thug, trying to rehab his ways.
Then there’s the list of childhood songs that creep back into your brain, and you can’t shake them for days, sometimes weeks. Listening to these little tunes over and over would make anyone crazy. "Shoo Fly, Don’t Bother Me", "I’ve Been Working On The Railroad", "100 Bottles of Beer On The Wall", "Oh Suzanna". Now that your mind has subconsciously chosen one of these ditties, don’t blame me when you go mad because you can’t shake it. That is my point!
It’s bad enough that a gazillion mothers in this country are either tone deaf or have lovingly told their children over and over, they have a wonderful singing voice. All of these misguided youths converge to the American Idol tryouts. We laugh hysterically at them, as they just don’t see that they are that horribly bad. "Mamma wouldn’t have lied to me. I’m good and I’ll be back!"
Of course, there are musical instruments that could make you slightly psychopathic. A kazoo or constant clicking of zills would derange even a normal mind. Not just for a few minutes, but a three hour therapy session would be merciless.
This is really frightening for me! Life’s too short for bad music, especially if we are repairing, rehabilitating or recuperating. Just in case something happens to me, I’m leaving my iPod on, with my selections, and ear buds in. If I’m in a coma, please tell them not to remove it, and get RT to charge it up for me every few days. No one should take it away until there is no pulse.
Monday, March 17, 2008
ARTIFICIAL RESUSCITATION
NOTE: Don’t ever say out loud, "It can’t get any worse". As soon as you do, a brick wall falls and knocks you straight on your ass.
There have been so many serious issues and events in RT and my life in recent months. Without adrenalin, I don’t know what we would have done. We’ve discussed the various topics - mostly I talk and RT listens. When prodded, and he finally speaks, his input can be near genius. Without his backboard to bounce off of, I’d be lost at times.
I was downtown visiting The Boy and The Baby all day Friday. We asked The Boy’s roommate to join us, instead of writing her paper, and we all had so much fun. We had lunch, shopped, talked and laughed. I dropped the two of them off at their house, and The Baby and I did a little more shopping. We met one of her friends for an early dinner later, and The Baby and I had him laughing nonstop through dinner. Going back to The Baby’s apartment, the sky grew dark. Yes, we were in downtown Atlanta when the tornadoes hit. She came back home with me and we managed to escape between Tornado 2 and 3. The next day, a new set of tornadoes came and hit near our home! The Baby said they were following me, and reminded me that I am a freakin magnet for certain bad things that happen.
Things have settled down a bit in the past few days. RT and I watched some things take care of themselves; some things were planned or demanded. Now, a new week begins again tomorrow with similar, but possibly, smaller anxieties and worries. I’m strong and independent and have no problem making a decision. I am usually not afraid to do just about anything, and always willing to dive in to help someone out. Lately, though, I’m glad I’m married to Gibraltar. I know all I have to do is hang on.
To sidetrack RT and I and our recent events, we’re having an April Fools Party in a couple of weeks - complete with every gag possible. Fun invitations have been sent, no dress code (lol!) and funny stories and jokes to share. Mix that with some food and free flowing alcohol, and we’re getting ready to roll. Some of our friends have had krappy lives in recent months too. This will be perfect to get us back into our old smiles and sharing hugs and laughter again, with some of the finest people around.
We’re also making plans for the spring and summer already. The yearning for gardening, getting on the boat and finding that perfect spot for fishing or swimming, the travel plans, and even getting the hammock out, are recent plans. I’ve even began the tall stack of books that have been collecting or given over the past few months.
The sun is finally breaking through. Energies are renewing and new hope is beginning to take shape. The blessings are being recounted now, slowly through the shadows that have followed us. Sometimes the balance of good and bad in life has to be forced and we have to shove that damned happiness back into our lives and keep cramming it down until the smiles begin to break.
There have been so many serious issues and events in RT and my life in recent months. Without adrenalin, I don’t know what we would have done. We’ve discussed the various topics - mostly I talk and RT listens. When prodded, and he finally speaks, his input can be near genius. Without his backboard to bounce off of, I’d be lost at times.
I was downtown visiting The Boy and The Baby all day Friday. We asked The Boy’s roommate to join us, instead of writing her paper, and we all had so much fun. We had lunch, shopped, talked and laughed. I dropped the two of them off at their house, and The Baby and I did a little more shopping. We met one of her friends for an early dinner later, and The Baby and I had him laughing nonstop through dinner. Going back to The Baby’s apartment, the sky grew dark. Yes, we were in downtown Atlanta when the tornadoes hit. She came back home with me and we managed to escape between Tornado 2 and 3. The next day, a new set of tornadoes came and hit near our home! The Baby said they were following me, and reminded me that I am a freakin magnet for certain bad things that happen.
Things have settled down a bit in the past few days. RT and I watched some things take care of themselves; some things were planned or demanded. Now, a new week begins again tomorrow with similar, but possibly, smaller anxieties and worries. I’m strong and independent and have no problem making a decision. I am usually not afraid to do just about anything, and always willing to dive in to help someone out. Lately, though, I’m glad I’m married to Gibraltar. I know all I have to do is hang on.
To sidetrack RT and I and our recent events, we’re having an April Fools Party in a couple of weeks - complete with every gag possible. Fun invitations have been sent, no dress code (lol!) and funny stories and jokes to share. Mix that with some food and free flowing alcohol, and we’re getting ready to roll. Some of our friends have had krappy lives in recent months too. This will be perfect to get us back into our old smiles and sharing hugs and laughter again, with some of the finest people around.
We’re also making plans for the spring and summer already. The yearning for gardening, getting on the boat and finding that perfect spot for fishing or swimming, the travel plans, and even getting the hammock out, are recent plans. I’ve even began the tall stack of books that have been collecting or given over the past few months.
The sun is finally breaking through. Energies are renewing and new hope is beginning to take shape. The blessings are being recounted now, slowly through the shadows that have followed us. Sometimes the balance of good and bad in life has to be forced and we have to shove that damned happiness back into our lives and keep cramming it down until the smiles begin to break.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
SOMEONE GET THE DEFIBRILLATOR & JUMP START ME AGAIN!
I'm coming back into the real world again. The numbness from the past week is subsiding. I never thought the past seven days would ever end. Since last Tuesday evening, it's been total chaos and hell, with four unpleasant telephone calls from family and friends, almost simultaneously. So many things have happened and I can't really talk about it all, as I am still trying to disseminate all the information myself. In certain life situations, events are sometimes totally out of our hands and our control. To sit and watch and wait, until something is said or done by someone else is absolutely horrifying - especially to a hyperactive one as myself - and I feel totally hog-tied.
What do I do to ease myself to relinquish these feelings? Nothing and everything. I pray quietly and loudly. I stay busy and I sit quietly. I ask questions and I patiently await answers. I sleep, but I am so tired. I research and I still wonder. I worry and I am hopeful. I love and I hate.
So, onward and upward, as they say. I look forward to dealing with the mundane again. I look forward to wiping the kitchen counter after a leisurely dinner at home or to lay on the sofa with the old dog or to pick up on my daydreaming or reading again. RT and I have been very busy at the office. I've begun to help plan Jess' wedding and our first visit to the site. I'm trying to get on with things, and we are both looking for the old routine again.
It seems no matter what kind of turns life takes, the whole blasted world just keeps turning. No one stopped to ask anything because everyone has their own busy lives, jobs, families and problems of their own. When you think about it, I guess it's kind of comforting to know that we all don't stop for everyone's problems. It would totally paralyze our society. It's bad enough I've been mesmerized by the news with dumb ass Spitzer and the prostitution ring. That's enough waste of time for me with someone else's problems.
I'll go visit the kids downtown this week. The Baby needs some clothes and The Boy is looking to repaint the inside of our other home he'll move into this summer. I'll get him to look at paint chip samples, though he's as color blind as a fruit bat with Raybans ! The Baby will help him choose.
Right now, I would love to have my sharp wit to get a few political bashes in, but I just don't have the mental energy right now.
xoxoxo
divertente
P.S. TO R & J: I'll call you Tuesday or Wednesday. I got your message and it sounds like you've had a hell of a month as well! Got your RSVP too - sounds like we're all gonna need the big ass April Fools Party and we need to get as goofy as sin! : )
What do I do to ease myself to relinquish these feelings? Nothing and everything. I pray quietly and loudly. I stay busy and I sit quietly. I ask questions and I patiently await answers. I sleep, but I am so tired. I research and I still wonder. I worry and I am hopeful. I love and I hate.
So, onward and upward, as they say. I look forward to dealing with the mundane again. I look forward to wiping the kitchen counter after a leisurely dinner at home or to lay on the sofa with the old dog or to pick up on my daydreaming or reading again. RT and I have been very busy at the office. I've begun to help plan Jess' wedding and our first visit to the site. I'm trying to get on with things, and we are both looking for the old routine again.
It seems no matter what kind of turns life takes, the whole blasted world just keeps turning. No one stopped to ask anything because everyone has their own busy lives, jobs, families and problems of their own. When you think about it, I guess it's kind of comforting to know that we all don't stop for everyone's problems. It would totally paralyze our society. It's bad enough I've been mesmerized by the news with dumb ass Spitzer and the prostitution ring. That's enough waste of time for me with someone else's problems.
I'll go visit the kids downtown this week. The Baby needs some clothes and The Boy is looking to repaint the inside of our other home he'll move into this summer. I'll get him to look at paint chip samples, though he's as color blind as a fruit bat with Raybans ! The Baby will help him choose.
Right now, I would love to have my sharp wit to get a few political bashes in, but I just don't have the mental energy right now.
xoxoxo
divertente
P.S. TO R & J: I'll call you Tuesday or Wednesday. I got your message and it sounds like you've had a hell of a month as well! Got your RSVP too - sounds like we're all gonna need the big ass April Fools Party and we need to get as goofy as sin! : )
THE CATHOLIC DEFENSE: Please Quit That Thumping!
Uggghh! Bible thumpers! Pounding on the Good Book, looking at my life instead of their own life. It’s difficult not to be judgmental with a group of folks who are in your face about the Bible. I believe in the Bible, but that does not seem to be good enough for these people. I, apparently, haven’t been "saved". My faith believes in doing it right the first time, and it lasts your entire lifetime. I was "saved" at 3 weeks old, and, I assure you, it is still with me.
I am a practicing Catholic, which means that I still don’t have it right, so I have to PRACTICE. I live in the Southern US, which means that I am a minority here. I grew up in the Midwest where I was one of the majority. [Hmmmpphh.] No one told me how to handle different faiths when I was growing up, so I thought all faithful people were all the same. That’s probably why The Boy and The Baby are half Jewish.
Again, here I sit, defending who I am with a variety of Thumpers, during the most awesome season of Lent. Why do you do that, and where does it say that? Do I think that God would have wanted the world in the shape it’s in now?
First and most importantly, I like "organized" religions. I don’t want to belong to an unorganized religion. We laugh, but it’s quite true. I want, no, I need, a set of rules to live by, and those rules can not change everyday. Most are the same rules we have had for over 2000 years. When I sway from the rules, I need to apologize for some of my thoughts or actions and need someone to tell me it’s all going to be alright. Sure, the rules have changed a bit or have gotten stronger, especially since abortion was legalized in this country. For the most part, human beings have not changed and we still have the same thoughts, family matters, actions, emotions and ego of the people of Earth thousands of years ago.
I believe in God, Creator of Heaven and Earth. This means that I believe in Heaven, as much as I believe in Earth. Yin and Yang, Karma and Eternal Life was thought of long before Christianity.
Interpretation of Bible passages are often misquoted and misused, for the benefit of the person speaking. The saying that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the gates of Heaven is often misused. I know of someone that constantly uses this as an excuse for why they didn’t have any money or successes in life. It’s pure krap!
The "eye of the needle" refers to the literal structural gate of Jerusalem. In order for your camel to pass through, you would have to first stop, unload your camel and get him to stoop to get the camel’s head under the header of the gate. Once you got him in, all your baggage is outside the gate! A rich man needs to share his riches with the community of God to get into Heaven. A rich man can also be a person without money, but loads of talent and he still needs to share with others. It does not mean that people with money or hardworking people with successes will never see Eternal peace. (I can thump with the best of them, if challenged.)
Revelations can actually be referring to the end of the world as we know it personally - our own death. Don’t preach to me the end of time, Chicken Little.
Rosaries are not necklaces. Counting rhythmic prayers have been around for many years before Catholics. Hindus, Russian and Greek Orthodox, Buddhists, Islamics, Bahai Faith - all use some type of prayer beads. Counting prayers has also helped many prisoners as a way of praying and chanting. Rosaries are personally our own and have special meaning because we have done the knee time with them. The same one has been in our life for years, and although we will lose our keys or pens, we never lose our Rosary. (I actually have ten Ave Marias and one Our Father, sung by a local parish, on my iPod.)
To the Thumpers who do not understand, we believe in Saints. We believe that there are extraordinary, Godly mortal human examples that have been set for us, and possibly, walk with us recently (i.e. Mother Teresa). We believe that they have special favor with God because they closed their mouths, opened their hearts and listened to Him. Some died for their beliefs, and all of them talked the talk and walked the walk. Of course, we honor and pray to, and with, these people, because, again, they are Godly people. It beats the celebrities that seem to be worshiped today.
We believe in The Body of Christ is truly in the bread at Mass. There are too many reasons to list, but to learn the word "transubstantiation" would be a great beginning. That word usually sends the Thumpers running, too. We believe that He is with us, everywhere, at all times, in us, with us, around us. We, collectively, as a Church and people, are also called The Body of Christ. The connection of the two is actually quite easy to see. You just have to think.
For the Thumpers or nonbelievers that want to challenge why Scripture says "for" instead of "with". These are God’s words. Please quit telling Him that He is wrong. He is the Creator of all languages and maybe, just maybe, you are wrong.
The word faith, to me, means that I have committed myself to a belief without having absolute or scientific proof. When I stand at the window inside the house, and I see the trees bending and leaves rustling, I know it’s windy outside, without opening the door. I don’t see the wind, nor feel it. I am not a meteorologist and do not have a scientific mind to analyze a simple scene like this. I have faith that the freakin wind is blowing!
I truly appreciate devout and spiritual people, but it really doesn’t matter what faith, sect or religion they have chosen. If their actions and words match, then I will listen. If they are questioning or accusing, that only tells me that they are unsure of their own faith and are looking for more answers. Please don’t tell me I’m wrong though. The foundation of my Church was founded on the Rock - St. Peter. The one who was witness to most of the major events and miracles of Jesus. The one that denied Him. The one that was not worthy enough to be equal to Jesus, especially at the end of his life. I relate well to the human side of St. Peter, and talk to him when my faith runs low.
The world has always had wars, thieves, lepers and grief. They are not God’s way, they are humans’ ways. We made this world the way it is, not Him. We are responsible for the free will that God has given us. Our choices have made our lives the way they are, not Him. Good fathers only want what is best for us, and He knows when to let go, so we can make the choices in our lives.
MY life is MY walk and MY journey, and I choose to be Catholic. Please stop the incessant thumping. It’s very distracting.
I am a practicing Catholic, which means that I still don’t have it right, so I have to PRACTICE. I live in the Southern US, which means that I am a minority here. I grew up in the Midwest where I was one of the majority. [Hmmmpphh.] No one told me how to handle different faiths when I was growing up, so I thought all faithful people were all the same. That’s probably why The Boy and The Baby are half Jewish.
Again, here I sit, defending who I am with a variety of Thumpers, during the most awesome season of Lent. Why do you do that, and where does it say that? Do I think that God would have wanted the world in the shape it’s in now?
First and most importantly, I like "organized" religions. I don’t want to belong to an unorganized religion. We laugh, but it’s quite true. I want, no, I need, a set of rules to live by, and those rules can not change everyday. Most are the same rules we have had for over 2000 years. When I sway from the rules, I need to apologize for some of my thoughts or actions and need someone to tell me it’s all going to be alright. Sure, the rules have changed a bit or have gotten stronger, especially since abortion was legalized in this country. For the most part, human beings have not changed and we still have the same thoughts, family matters, actions, emotions and ego of the people of Earth thousands of years ago.
I believe in God, Creator of Heaven and Earth. This means that I believe in Heaven, as much as I believe in Earth. Yin and Yang, Karma and Eternal Life was thought of long before Christianity.
Interpretation of Bible passages are often misquoted and misused, for the benefit of the person speaking. The saying that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the gates of Heaven is often misused. I know of someone that constantly uses this as an excuse for why they didn’t have any money or successes in life. It’s pure krap!
The "eye of the needle" refers to the literal structural gate of Jerusalem. In order for your camel to pass through, you would have to first stop, unload your camel and get him to stoop to get the camel’s head under the header of the gate. Once you got him in, all your baggage is outside the gate! A rich man needs to share his riches with the community of God to get into Heaven. A rich man can also be a person without money, but loads of talent and he still needs to share with others. It does not mean that people with money or hardworking people with successes will never see Eternal peace. (I can thump with the best of them, if challenged.)
Revelations can actually be referring to the end of the world as we know it personally - our own death. Don’t preach to me the end of time, Chicken Little.
Rosaries are not necklaces. Counting rhythmic prayers have been around for many years before Catholics. Hindus, Russian and Greek Orthodox, Buddhists, Islamics, Bahai Faith - all use some type of prayer beads. Counting prayers has also helped many prisoners as a way of praying and chanting. Rosaries are personally our own and have special meaning because we have done the knee time with them. The same one has been in our life for years, and although we will lose our keys or pens, we never lose our Rosary. (I actually have ten Ave Marias and one Our Father, sung by a local parish, on my iPod.)
To the Thumpers who do not understand, we believe in Saints. We believe that there are extraordinary, Godly mortal human examples that have been set for us, and possibly, walk with us recently (i.e. Mother Teresa). We believe that they have special favor with God because they closed their mouths, opened their hearts and listened to Him. Some died for their beliefs, and all of them talked the talk and walked the walk. Of course, we honor and pray to, and with, these people, because, again, they are Godly people. It beats the celebrities that seem to be worshiped today.
We believe in The Body of Christ is truly in the bread at Mass. There are too many reasons to list, but to learn the word "transubstantiation" would be a great beginning. That word usually sends the Thumpers running, too. We believe that He is with us, everywhere, at all times, in us, with us, around us. We, collectively, as a Church and people, are also called The Body of Christ. The connection of the two is actually quite easy to see. You just have to think.
For the Thumpers or nonbelievers that want to challenge why Scripture says "for" instead of "with". These are God’s words. Please quit telling Him that He is wrong. He is the Creator of all languages and maybe, just maybe, you are wrong.
The word faith, to me, means that I have committed myself to a belief without having absolute or scientific proof. When I stand at the window inside the house, and I see the trees bending and leaves rustling, I know it’s windy outside, without opening the door. I don’t see the wind, nor feel it. I am not a meteorologist and do not have a scientific mind to analyze a simple scene like this. I have faith that the freakin wind is blowing!
I truly appreciate devout and spiritual people, but it really doesn’t matter what faith, sect or religion they have chosen. If their actions and words match, then I will listen. If they are questioning or accusing, that only tells me that they are unsure of their own faith and are looking for more answers. Please don’t tell me I’m wrong though. The foundation of my Church was founded on the Rock - St. Peter. The one who was witness to most of the major events and miracles of Jesus. The one that denied Him. The one that was not worthy enough to be equal to Jesus, especially at the end of his life. I relate well to the human side of St. Peter, and talk to him when my faith runs low.
The world has always had wars, thieves, lepers and grief. They are not God’s way, they are humans’ ways. We made this world the way it is, not Him. We are responsible for the free will that God has given us. Our choices have made our lives the way they are, not Him. Good fathers only want what is best for us, and He knows when to let go, so we can make the choices in our lives.
MY life is MY walk and MY journey, and I choose to be Catholic. Please stop the incessant thumping. It’s very distracting.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
The magic of the music seems to light the way. - John Lennon
The Baby and The Boy have been raised on me blaring rock and roll through the house. Last week, The Boy told me about a concert that is coming up around my birthday this summer. He wanted to know if he bought two tickets, would I go with him. What a nice kid! I guess he is grown up, as what kid would want to hang out at a rock concert with his Mummie! LOL!
We took the two of them out for dinner last week to celebrate his 22nd birthday with him. I brought other gifts from home for the two of them. A huge bagful of cold medicine and a couple of wine keys for work were The Baby's gifts and a little extra money for Spring Break. The Boy got cash for his birthday and a couple of gift cards a friend of ours had gotten for him. He was kind enough to remind me that it was George Harrison's birthday too. Yup, my kid was born on the same day as one of my all time favorite musicians! Go figure!
About the concert, I told him that maybe we could all go. I would buy the tickets, which would end up being better seats, and maybe get a couple of friends and just have a little party at the rock concert. Both their eyes lit up like I had told them we were going to the moon! LOL! They thought RT and I were so cool to do this and it will be so much fun!!!
On the music end, The Boy knows every word of both Wilbury's CDs, and loves Clapton, Queen, Moody Blues. The Baby is more indie and loves Dylan, Clapton, John Lennon & Ringo. They know the lyrics for Aretha Franklin, Barry White and old 1950s songs, as we have sung them together on long car rides. They both know the lyrics to the Oscar Mayer Bologna song, from the commercial in the 1970s. They also know that when they are worried, they need to play Pachabel's Canon in D Major to calm down. They are reminded of their faith with songs like On Eagle's Wings, In Remembrance of Me and Hosanna. However, they've turned me onto some great music too like Ben Folds, Dave Matthews, Rilo Kiley, Regina Spektor, Ben Harper, Jack Johnson, to name only a few. So the song on my front page is for The Baby and The Boy. I can't begin to count the times The Baby played this song.
I feel like I am finally in a place where I have more time to give them. I am now volunteering my time to them, as they are very interesting people, and no longer argue with me. They will soon settle down with spouses, careers, kids of their own, so I thought I'd better move on this, as I learn something with every visit into downtown Atlanta.
They get me to try freakish looking cigarettes from the East. They show me the weird ass places they shop, and cheap places they dine with their friends. Both have given their own made up names to the indigent drunkards walking the streets of downtown Atlanta. They tell me of their professors, the campus and introduce me to their friends. They share info of the local bands that play, some of them are their friends, and the wish for the time to see them all play. To keep an open mind with them has been priceless. The Boy and The Baby have slowly turned the tables on me. I am no longer the teacher. I just don't want to tell them yet.
We took the two of them out for dinner last week to celebrate his 22nd birthday with him. I brought other gifts from home for the two of them. A huge bagful of cold medicine and a couple of wine keys for work were The Baby's gifts and a little extra money for Spring Break. The Boy got cash for his birthday and a couple of gift cards a friend of ours had gotten for him. He was kind enough to remind me that it was George Harrison's birthday too. Yup, my kid was born on the same day as one of my all time favorite musicians! Go figure!
About the concert, I told him that maybe we could all go. I would buy the tickets, which would end up being better seats, and maybe get a couple of friends and just have a little party at the rock concert. Both their eyes lit up like I had told them we were going to the moon! LOL! They thought RT and I were so cool to do this and it will be so much fun!!!
On the music end, The Boy knows every word of both Wilbury's CDs, and loves Clapton, Queen, Moody Blues. The Baby is more indie and loves Dylan, Clapton, John Lennon & Ringo. They know the lyrics for Aretha Franklin, Barry White and old 1950s songs, as we have sung them together on long car rides. They both know the lyrics to the Oscar Mayer Bologna song, from the commercial in the 1970s. They also know that when they are worried, they need to play Pachabel's Canon in D Major to calm down. They are reminded of their faith with songs like On Eagle's Wings, In Remembrance of Me and Hosanna. However, they've turned me onto some great music too like Ben Folds, Dave Matthews, Rilo Kiley, Regina Spektor, Ben Harper, Jack Johnson, to name only a few. So the song on my front page is for The Baby and The Boy. I can't begin to count the times The Baby played this song.
I feel like I am finally in a place where I have more time to give them. I am now volunteering my time to them, as they are very interesting people, and no longer argue with me. They will soon settle down with spouses, careers, kids of their own, so I thought I'd better move on this, as I learn something with every visit into downtown Atlanta.
They get me to try freakish looking cigarettes from the East. They show me the weird ass places they shop, and cheap places they dine with their friends. Both have given their own made up names to the indigent drunkards walking the streets of downtown Atlanta. They tell me of their professors, the campus and introduce me to their friends. They share info of the local bands that play, some of them are their friends, and the wish for the time to see them all play. To keep an open mind with them has been priceless. The Boy and The Baby have slowly turned the tables on me. I am no longer the teacher. I just don't want to tell them yet.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
SPRING: New Beginnings
I get anxious when the spring season begins to appear. The birds are everywhere here. It may be because I have a dozen bird feeders scattered around the property. Bluejays are taking their normal nosedives, and scaring off the little finches. Male cardinals are flaunting their beautiful red tails, while their submissive wives wait patiently to eat after them. Brazen bastard squirrels are getting into one of the birdfeeders, right in front of me too. To scare them off, I have to make a loud noise, when I witness their pillaging. The sixty foot hickory tree apparently isn't enough for these little gluttons.
That's usually the only time I get upset out there. The land here is peaceful and private. It's quite a gift, with the lake edging in the back, the long winding lane up from the dock. It turns into the smooth cement of the long drive, and heads up another hill to the street. We're so far in the back of the neighborhood that even the door to door evangelists don't know we're here. (Sssshhhh. Don't tell 'em.)
The tourists haven't yet invaded the lake, and probably won't be here for a couple of months. The dawn begins the activity on the lake with a slight fog, bouncing on the top of the water. The sun rises over the trees, burns the fog, and shimmers on the small ripples from the early spring wind. Small splashes can be seen in the distance, as the fish emerge from the deeper winter water. They are finally coming up, no longer in limbo, to chase the little fish. By afternoon, the still water looks like glass with the sun's twinkling reflections. RT and I need to begin our traditional sunset boat rides when the the nicer weather settles in. We also have an ongoing dominoes game on the back porch.
Bucks and does come out from the woods, looking for green to eat. For the next few months, we have to be very cautious of the little guys on the top road. We've learned that deer are usually born twins, and, once you see the first one, you have to wait for the slower one to come along. Rabbits get into the garden, but they don't bother me. They don't care to eat what I plant.
We had an old large antique wrought iron gate, and RT and his boys at the steel shop built a large archway frame for it. One of the men was thoughtful enough to take the old lock apart and made a large skeleton key for the gate. I really don't know what or whom we would lock out of the garden, as you can step over the small hedge next to it. : ) He and I also designed a bird bath out of several old iron fleur de lis emblems, and a few spare parts from the shop, and welded it together.
So in anticipation, it's time to oil the shears and get the wheelbarrow out. I'll make a trip to the local nursery and add more to the garden. I will trim my nails, as there is no sense in any type of manicure for the next few months, especially with the stains from Georgia's orange clay. Though the bermuda is low maintenance in the cold weather, it looks like a Civil War Cemetery out there, but small patches of green are beginning to come up. Overgrown evergreens need to be trimmed, as the drought did not affect their growth. The jasmine needs to be taught to climb the trellis and archway, as their tentacles are loose and dangling, wondering what to latch onto. The cherry blossom and dogwood trees have promising buds. The early paperwhite bulbs are grown out and will bloom soon, then the daffodils and tulips will rise. I hear them calling me and I am getting eager to get dirty.
There's nothing like being alone out there with my thoughts. There is no telephone, television or computer. People scatter, as there is work to be done. If The Boy or The Baby call and learn I'm in the garden, they call me back, knowing that my garden time transforms me. It's my time to spend alone with God and nature. It centers me. It quiets me. It humbles me. I sort out many thoughts in the silence. I can relate to Jesus praying in the garden, as I feel I have His undivided attention too. I lot of troubles and worries of mine have been buried out there, only to have beautiful sweet blossoms to grow in their place.
That's usually the only time I get upset out there. The land here is peaceful and private. It's quite a gift, with the lake edging in the back, the long winding lane up from the dock. It turns into the smooth cement of the long drive, and heads up another hill to the street. We're so far in the back of the neighborhood that even the door to door evangelists don't know we're here. (Sssshhhh. Don't tell 'em.)
The tourists haven't yet invaded the lake, and probably won't be here for a couple of months. The dawn begins the activity on the lake with a slight fog, bouncing on the top of the water. The sun rises over the trees, burns the fog, and shimmers on the small ripples from the early spring wind. Small splashes can be seen in the distance, as the fish emerge from the deeper winter water. They are finally coming up, no longer in limbo, to chase the little fish. By afternoon, the still water looks like glass with the sun's twinkling reflections. RT and I need to begin our traditional sunset boat rides when the the nicer weather settles in. We also have an ongoing dominoes game on the back porch.
Bucks and does come out from the woods, looking for green to eat. For the next few months, we have to be very cautious of the little guys on the top road. We've learned that deer are usually born twins, and, once you see the first one, you have to wait for the slower one to come along. Rabbits get into the garden, but they don't bother me. They don't care to eat what I plant.
We had an old large antique wrought iron gate, and RT and his boys at the steel shop built a large archway frame for it. One of the men was thoughtful enough to take the old lock apart and made a large skeleton key for the gate. I really don't know what or whom we would lock out of the garden, as you can step over the small hedge next to it. : ) He and I also designed a bird bath out of several old iron fleur de lis emblems, and a few spare parts from the shop, and welded it together.
So in anticipation, it's time to oil the shears and get the wheelbarrow out. I'll make a trip to the local nursery and add more to the garden. I will trim my nails, as there is no sense in any type of manicure for the next few months, especially with the stains from Georgia's orange clay. Though the bermuda is low maintenance in the cold weather, it looks like a Civil War Cemetery out there, but small patches of green are beginning to come up. Overgrown evergreens need to be trimmed, as the drought did not affect their growth. The jasmine needs to be taught to climb the trellis and archway, as their tentacles are loose and dangling, wondering what to latch onto. The cherry blossom and dogwood trees have promising buds. The early paperwhite bulbs are grown out and will bloom soon, then the daffodils and tulips will rise. I hear them calling me and I am getting eager to get dirty.
There's nothing like being alone out there with my thoughts. There is no telephone, television or computer. People scatter, as there is work to be done. If The Boy or The Baby call and learn I'm in the garden, they call me back, knowing that my garden time transforms me. It's my time to spend alone with God and nature. It centers me. It quiets me. It humbles me. I sort out many thoughts in the silence. I can relate to Jesus praying in the garden, as I feel I have His undivided attention too. I lot of troubles and worries of mine have been buried out there, only to have beautiful sweet blossoms to grow in their place.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
THE UPS AND DOWNS OF HORMONAL EDITING/WRITING
Ladies need lady friends. It's a fact of life. If a woman you know has no lady friends, beware. If a woman can not relate to her own species, there is something wrong with them or their lives. Lady friends are the only people you can piss and moan to when things aren't right in life. A good lady friend will understand and listen. They will also come to you to piss and moan about things that aren't right in her life, and of course, you listen. It is either this, or we all talk our boys' ears off. Let us disclose anything we want to our girl buddies, and you won't have to listen to us. Fair trade, right?
So, to save RT from the reading, and imminent arguments, I found an "editor" for the book. It's someone who has known me since 1981. Do the math and you will find that she has watched me grow up from 22 years old to my old lady self of now. She has been there for every rite of passage in my life, and I for her. We worked together for many years too.
Her husband is also a good friend of mine. RT and this girlfriend of mine are amazed that the husband and I relate on a whole different level than them, and they make fun of the two of us sometimes, when we are in conversation. LOL! It's actually fun talking and hanging out with him. When I learned how to ride the motorcycle, it was him that took me out for that first ride - not RT. We went to lunch at a nice old German restaurant and he ordered for us in German. I didn't know what kind of food was going to come out. I trusted him enough to know it wouldn't be sauteed monkey butt, but really wouldn't put that past him either. We rode over the dam road near to us, and it was a beautiful day. He warned me to keep my eyes on the road and not look at the scenery 250 to 300 feet down the cliffs. LOL! That was hard to do.
She knows me and my extended family very well. She was there when The Boy and The Baby were born and I was there when her yard apes were born. She's was a social worker for juvenile delinquents in the Florida system, so she is very patient. She and I share the fact that we both went back to "The Path Of Light" at about the same time, and now also share our faith together. She knows of the ideas and events that take place in the book, as she was a witness to some of them.
I am confident she will be honest with me, even if it hurts. Years ago, I was on the "Divorce Diet". Some of you know that diet - you don't feel like eating anything but your fingernails, because you just want it to be all over. I got down to 117 pounds and was really too thin. I was swimming at their house and she pulled me aside and gave me her honest opinion about a yellow bikini I had on. It wasn't a flattering comment at all. She is the one person in this world that will blatantly tell me like it is, but is also the most compassionate person in my life. In the past, I have been commanded that the best thing for me to do, would be to come over and get drunk. We've held each other's hair many times since 1981. The best feature about her is she has the most infectious laugh of anyone, anywhere. I intently listen to her. She and I really have only true intentions and want the very best for each other.
She's helping me with that pseudonym, too. She turned down the name "Iona Gunne", but suggested "Ima Douche". What a bitch, eh!
So, to save RT from the reading, and imminent arguments, I found an "editor" for the book. It's someone who has known me since 1981. Do the math and you will find that she has watched me grow up from 22 years old to my old lady self of now. She has been there for every rite of passage in my life, and I for her. We worked together for many years too.
Her husband is also a good friend of mine. RT and this girlfriend of mine are amazed that the husband and I relate on a whole different level than them, and they make fun of the two of us sometimes, when we are in conversation. LOL! It's actually fun talking and hanging out with him. When I learned how to ride the motorcycle, it was him that took me out for that first ride - not RT. We went to lunch at a nice old German restaurant and he ordered for us in German. I didn't know what kind of food was going to come out. I trusted him enough to know it wouldn't be sauteed monkey butt, but really wouldn't put that past him either. We rode over the dam road near to us, and it was a beautiful day. He warned me to keep my eyes on the road and not look at the scenery 250 to 300 feet down the cliffs. LOL! That was hard to do.
She knows me and my extended family very well. She was there when The Boy and The Baby were born and I was there when her yard apes were born. She's was a social worker for juvenile delinquents in the Florida system, so she is very patient. She and I share the fact that we both went back to "The Path Of Light" at about the same time, and now also share our faith together. She knows of the ideas and events that take place in the book, as she was a witness to some of them.
I am confident she will be honest with me, even if it hurts. Years ago, I was on the "Divorce Diet". Some of you know that diet - you don't feel like eating anything but your fingernails, because you just want it to be all over. I got down to 117 pounds and was really too thin. I was swimming at their house and she pulled me aside and gave me her honest opinion about a yellow bikini I had on. It wasn't a flattering comment at all. She is the one person in this world that will blatantly tell me like it is, but is also the most compassionate person in my life. In the past, I have been commanded that the best thing for me to do, would be to come over and get drunk. We've held each other's hair many times since 1981. The best feature about her is she has the most infectious laugh of anyone, anywhere. I intently listen to her. She and I really have only true intentions and want the very best for each other.
She's helping me with that pseudonym, too. She turned down the name "Iona Gunne", but suggested "Ima Douche". What a bitch, eh!
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