The Tale Tell Binky

EU Referendum has posted some news media photos of the Qana "tragedy" and question that maybe, just maybe, oh golly, could it be that this was a staged event or at the very least they are goulishly "milking" the loss of life?
Won't be the first time, nor the last they've pulled crap like that. They have no respect for women or children, in life or in death-even their own-if it will further the cause and they know full well the rest of the world will gasp in horror if so much as one mangled child is shown (even if it's the same one, over and over and over again.)We buy into it everytime and they know it.

It's said that even the most skilled criminals eventually screw-up, that's why they get caught. A minor detail that's overlooked in haste or a teensy bit of evidence that gets absent mindly left behind, at least that's what I've always heard.

When I first looked at those photos over at EU Referendum, the 1st thing that stood out to me was that blue chain thingy hanging from the child. What is that? Oh, my Gosh, it's a binky! (pacifier, to you non-child types) But a pristine brand new binky. If this tiny body had been pulled out of the rubble as claimed and judging by the dusty, dirty, chalky coating covering the body it had certainly been pulled out from somewhere, how is it that his binky got nary a speck of dust on it?
As a mom, this was the most noticible thing for me. Moms know a thing or two about binkys and how trashed they can get in normal everyday life. This thing was clipped on after the fact! Why?

A grief stricken mom clipped it on him as a final motherly act?
Nope, the pics show the child laying in a depression in the collasped building being "unearthed" by rescue workers- the amazing binky is there already, clean as a whistle.

Maybe the child had it in his mouth when the walls came tumbling down?
Again, nope. If that was the case, he would have a circle of undusted skin around his mouth-he doesn't. Even if he spit it out in terror at the last possible second, the binky would be crusted with concrete dust and spit. Again, clean & prisine.

I think it's notible that it's there to begin with, like the child, it's a prop. A device to emphasize the age and innocence of the victim. Blue, in western culture at least, is always is for boys-whether this is true in mideastern culture, I can't say. Maybe that was just a coinscidence, but I think that's telegraphing something, too. As in "Look! Look what your friends the Jooooooo Pigs have done to this poor manchild BABY!"

Anyhow, that's all I got to say about that. Strange how stupid little details like that can be so telling. Someone else in the comment section over at HotAir noted the binky, too:

"Notice the pacifier hanging from the child,it is brand new,no dust at all on it.
These are some scum for the bottom of the barrel. "

One Last Hog Roast for Summer

Lem, over at Hillbilly White Trash, is sending out invites to the latest Hog Roast to all us Ecosystem citizens, near and far.

Topic this time is what TV show should be our official preferred viewing?

Go and give your suggestion, now, ya hear?!

Go on...git!

Ya ain't doing nuthin' real important now anyway...I knowed it for true. Y'all are just googlin' jap porn and stumblin' blindly through wayward blogs at this hour of night anyway.
Ain't cha?

"Your Money, Squibbling Snotrag"

This summer I've noticed quite an uptick in the amount of spam my spam filter has been catching. I used to be one of the blessed ones who just would get maybe 2 or 3 unsolicited adverts a week. I even began to feel left out because I never got the seemingly universal and unrelenting exhortations for "herbal" Viagra or potions guaranteed to increase a certain body member that I lack due to just a 50/50 slip of a chromasome-something I don't think that stuff will fix. Jeez, was I the only person online who never got those? I felt like I was missing something, getting left behind in a cultural experience. I did and still do get the classic weasel-grams from Nigeria, but even those have taken a dip lately.

But what has happened lately is that I'm getting bombarded by curious emails that have an equally curious and bizarre subject lines. They all follow the same pattern, so I assume they are generated by some sort of software. They go immediately to the trash heap after I've had a chuckle over the subject line.
"Your money, fuzzy jellyroll"
"your order, pokey bumblebee"
"hello, oystershell bark louse"
"your $, mingle mangle"
"Hi, carbonated blue doughnut"
"as requested, sophoric moose flea"

...And on it goes. I have no idea what is going on here, but these titles are so surreal, I actually look forward to checking the spam filter now!
My personal favorite so far has been "oystershell bark louse" My God, that almost sounds like a Zappa tune!

I know this is probably a stupid question, but is anyone else getting these damn things? What was your oddest subject line with these?

Deep Fried CrapFrisch

Well, this has got to be some sort of first on the intertubes: a blog solely dedicated to the insane rantings of one crazed troll! One, as in singular. But, ask anyone who has witnessed these comments or has had their blog targeted by this obviously deranged human in dire need of some serious headshrinking herself, and they'll tell you-lil' "Dr." Debbie is in a class all to herself!

I've been lightly following this escapade since it started earlier this month-hey, everyone loves a good train wreck-but this gal is truly crossed the line; hell, she's jet-packed across the line, afterburners glowing whitehot! Unspeakably lurid and obscene and just RAGING with hate.
(Dear God, if I ever get this whacked, will someone PLEASE end my suffering!?)

Anyway, someone finally thought that it would be best just to compile it all into one tidy little blog since she had ranged far and wide and even has a blog of her own. So to save y'all from hitting links hither and thither, from one blog to the next (and to keep her from getting any hits, too, I might add) Sinner has done all the legwork for us. A Herculean undertaking. My hat's off to him...I know I wouldn't have the stomach for it.

HT: The Rott



PS- If badly spelled adolescent obscenities, lurid suggestions involving a barely toddler age child and prolific use of the F word in all it's unsavory variations and vulgar slang for various reproductive parts disturb you, then please...don't bother.
Her words will make your skin crawl.
Yet another glaring reason why I don't like to give up much info about my younguns or myself around here.

From the "Picture is Worth a Thousand Words" Dept.

Ok, so the official story is that the U.N. has been up there in Lebanon as unbiased and impartial "observers". Looks like they got some 'splainin' to do going by this photo of one of their outpost there. Was it the one that got hit? Dunno.
Hey, I'm just as dismayed that some innocent bluebuckets got blowed up as the next guy, but as the saying goes, "When you lie down with dogs, expect a few rocket blasts."





And here we have Cindy, with her Code Pink pals, on a day trip to the Iraqi embassy in Washington,D.C.
Boy Howdy, 3 weeks into her "fast" and she's looking Plumpy in Pink! Nice nod to the Psychedelic Furs, there, Cindy!
I do give her hutzpah points for wearing that gawdawful pink plaid skirt in the thick of a D.C. summer...not many gals could pull that off and look so, uh, fresh and hip.
(Lest y'all think I'm being catty, well, I am; but seeing how me and Shehag have about the same postpartum, post-40 mom-type bod-I can be allowed. But I prefer to disguise my belly rolls, not flaunt them!) Looks like her fast is working about as well as most diets I've tried!
That might be Medea Benjamin standing there with her-perhaps she's Cindy's 'proxy faster'. She looks like she could use a protein shake or 2.

HT: The lovely, as always, Michelle Malkin

Is That a Rhetorical Question?

"Amil Imani is an Iranian born American citizen and pro-democracy activist who resides in the United States of America. Imani is a poet, writer, literary translator, novelist and an essayist who has been writing and speaking out for the struggling people of his native land, Iran. He maintains a website at http://amilimani.com/index"

Recently an essay of his was posted at LauraMansfield.com, it begins:

Dear Muslims: What Is It That You Don’t Understand?

by Amil Imani

"We, the non-Muslims—the infidels, heathens, unbelievers, apostates, enemies of Allah, najis (soiled), as you prefer to call us—would like to know what is it that you don’t understand and what is it that makes you behave so badly toward us? You blame us for your problems and believe if we embrace Islam and help establish the Islamic Ummeh the earth would be cleansed of us, transformed to paradise, and all your problems disappear? ..."

This is an excellent must read! The rest is here.

And if you're not familiar with Laura Mansfield's site do yourself a favor and check out the rest of her site after reading Mr. Imani's essay. Her series "Jihad Comes to Small Town America" should be required reading!

Mr. Imani asks alot of questions in that article...questions that will remain unanswered, I'm afraid.

Sig94 'Splains It All!

Actually, he lets the documents found in Zarkman's (may he rest in pieces) blowed up-durn-good hiding house do the explaining.

If these are kosher, it goes a long way to understanding just what in the screaming blue hell is going on in the Middle East right now and confirms alot of suspicions.

Ok, So It May Not Contribute One Iota to a Freer Iraq...

But just as a purely nonsensical morale booster for some of our guys over there- hey, I'm all for it!

Iowahawk has been posting updates on the "Dumb-Vee" on and off for awhile and has the latest up.
Simple concept: Just send them a goofy 'fridge magnet and they'll add it to their Humvee. Sure, it's stupid, sure it's dumb but dangit, there's just something so absurd here that appeals to me.

As Iowahawks says:
Last week Team Dumb-Vee dispatched a number of trouble makers off to their 72 celestial prom dates. Imagine the expressions on these benighted jihadis as they beheld their final earthly sight: a gigantic pink 'Curves For Women' magnet. Now tell me what red-blooded American wouldn't want to be part of that? So get you weirdest fridge magnets tout suite to Doc's new address:

Dr. Darren Lee
Attn: PSYOP
TF-3-187
FOB Brassfield Mora
APO AE 09349

I'm grabbing a few off my 'fridge for 'em!

Sometimes You Just Got to Leave It to The Professionals

...and this is one of those times.

Dr. Rusty's outstanding reply to India about the banning of his blog, The Jawa Report and many other blogs.

I don't think any rational, learned human can add to what he wrote.
Excellent job, Doctor!

Bubba User Interface

My friend and neighbor, Kathy of Hicks, Hounds and Halachah had some computer trouble earlier this summer and soon up and went and got one of them there fancy pants laptops.
I think it was loaded up with the special edition of Windows XP- the version for us here south of the Mason-Dixon line. They call it 'Windders AxPee'. Anyway, she told me it gives her error messages like this:



(Kathy is taking a sabbatical from her blog for the summer, probably until she gets this here new fangled rig figgured out.)

Quick 'n' Swift Justice!

Gateway Pundit is reporting that the pure evil hairball that murdered and horribly disfigured our 2 Marines has gotten his payback!

Can I say I'm just a tad bit elated?
It's like that feeling of finding a twenty laying on the sidewalk. An unexpected bright spot in an otherwise dismal news cycle.
This has made my day!

(Of course, his source is CBS News, so I dunno about the veracity of it...are they even still in business?)

9 Hours, 320 miles...

What was I thinking?!!
I got volunteered by my eldest and her church pals to take them all to camp yesterday.
Since there was 6 in that age group going, I got handed the keys to the church van.
Yikes.
A vanload of geeked up 12 yr. olds and all their gear for a week at camp-yeah, I can do this! It'll be fun.
We loaded up and headed out at 9 am. It's about 156 miles more or less to the camp. I've never been there before, but I had been up in that general area before in the past via motorcycle rallies with Bill & co. and it was also part of the route that he & I had took for so many times to get to his medical appointments in Columbia, so I knew the roads, it would be just the last few miles of side roads I would need help with in order to find the church camp. Both the ones who had drove there before and Mapquests anal retentive directions made it sound more complicated than it really was. I found it with no trouble.

The whole trip went smooth, the kids were well behaved for the most part. I was invisible. They kept themselves entertained. My youngest got shotgun. We were a package deal-sure, I'll drive but my other daughter has to go along too, since I have noone to keep her for a day. No problem. She was jazzed at going, she had just been to camp 2 weeks ago so she was looking forward to hopefully seeing some conselors she knew and say Hey! Both my girls were anxious to show off the camp to me. They just love that place. It's the highlight of their summer. All the church kids feel that way. This camp always has a theme for the summer, with weekly subthemes geared for the age groups attending. This years theme was 'Alien Invasion'. The 12 year old groups subtheme was 'Aliens Are Among Us'-I guess the message being that Christians are indeed nowadays considered alien in the worldly world. This group is teetering on the verge of teendom and all the temptations and the bad choices that go with it, so judging by the material I read, the emphasis will be on how one can have Christian values and behavior and resist the sleazery that the world shoves in their face.

Sounds good to me. Be in the world, but not OF the world kinda things.
Of course, you could take the opposite tact and say that the modern pop culture is the alien force that needs to be reckoned with. Either way, it'll work.
So, that will be the focus of all their lessons and activities this week. There will be good clean fun rivalries between the cabins, or teams, as they call them. There will be innocent pranks pulled and they come home with a whole new repetoire of hokey camp songs and wild tales and new friends to email. And hopefully the main point will stick...at least until next summer. The camp must be doing something right when even typical jaded and bored teen agers actually want to go every year, too! Most times, it seems the excitement of summer camp wears off by the age of 13. We have groups of 15 and 16 yr. olds still going. And actually are looking forward to it!

Anyway, the pastor had gave me 40 bucks to cover lunch and any other minor expenses and when we stopped at the Burger King about an hour from camp for lunch we lucked out in that they were running a special on the Whopper meal. All 8 of us were fed for less than 24 bucks. And their behavior in there was perfect. I had been anxious going in there with such a large group, but everyone minded their manners and it was no more stressful than when me and my own go out to eat. That particular Burger King must be the unofficial demoninational lunch stop because 3 more church vans from our demonination pulled in while we were there...and yep, they were all on their way to the camp, too. So now it became a contest. The kids wanted to leave in mid-meal because they didn't want those others to get there first "and get all the good cabins"! Just for the record...we did beat them all by about 10 minutes.


It is a nice camp, right on the lake, actually more like a cove on the lake. Some of the structures are newer, but most appear to be built in the 50's or 60's. It's a mix of rusic and modern. As is everything around here it's built on a hillside, so it can become a tiresome walk to the cabins. I drove them to their cabins after we checked in and they got assigned. It was too beastly hot to be lugging all that gear by foot!
My eldest and her pals all got assigned to the same cabin, and it was the one they had all wanted and even better-they were the first ones to get there- so top bunks for everyone! They were so happy!
I got the boys in our group to their cabin and squared away and my youngest wanted to give me the nickle tour of the place. We wandered around for a while and she pointed out the cabin she had stayed in, we checked out the game room, the mess hall and she got to see some conselors she knew. Big hugs and howdys for her.
We had to get going, it was almost a 4 hour drive home, so we swung by the girls cabin to say Bye. And dang,I left my sunglasses there on my daughters bunk!
Realized it just as we got to the blacktop. Oh well, too late now. So it was a squinty drive back for me. Sis slept most of the way home.
We got the van dropped off and back to the shack here by about 6:30 pm.
You know, you'd think just sitting all day driving wouldn't wear you out. But I was completely whooped! Dozed on the couch for nearly an hour as soon as we got home.

And come Saturday I get to do it all over again when I go to get them.

Bye Bye, Ms. American Spy

Since I'm on a music tear, try this one on for size!
Compliments of the evil genius, Mr. Right at The Right Place.

Just a tasty sample, this stanza is near the end of this epic to Fitzmas:

"And in the streets Mother Sheehan screamed
Franken cried, and Al Gore schemed
No "truth to power" spoken
Air America was broken!
And the blogger I admired most
Armando from the Daily Kos
He hopped a Lear Jet for the coast
The day that Fitzmas died

And they were singing:
Don't cry, Ms. American Spy
We'll get Libby for his fibby
And then Cheney will fry
And that smirking chimp will finally wave us goodbye
Singin', this'll be the day donkeys fly
This'll be the day donkeys fly..."

HT: Misha at The Rottweiller...which now that I think of it, I haven't yet publically denounced him, as per instructions.
Ok. Misha, I denounce you. (Yeah, riiiii-ight!)
Keep up the good work!

There's Nothin' Wrong With Capitalism...

A few months back over at Lem's place, Hillbilly White Trash, he wrote about the top rock songs that convey or reflect conservative values. At the time my feeble suggestion was the Destroyers song "Get a Haircut (and Get a Real Job)" For some reason my mind just went into a complete state of 'Duh-ness'. It happens.
I cannot believe I totally forgot what was, and still is, one of my all time favorites.
"Capitalism", by the eclectic L.A. band Oingo Boingo, which was fronted by Danny Elfman, who later went on to score the music for tons of blockbuster movies. All of which you'd recognize if I was to list them. He has a distinctive sound and you can hear it in the Oingo albums from the early 80's. Oh and here's a fun fact- Elfman never learned to read music...he scored his first big movie, Batman, by humming into a tape recorder! He had a friend who could transcribe music translate it into notes! I'm sure he has since rectified this lack of knowledge.

As a fatigue wearing, T-shirted punk in the 80's, I adored these guys. Their songs were fun and just a wee bit naughty and most of the lyrics were very satiric and made social commentary on a level that went beyond the usual "down with authority" tone that most alternative bands from that day did. Besides, the cover art was always a hoot, too...I especially loved the "Only a Lad" cover.

Anyway, I was reading one of Born Again Rednecks recent posts about socialism and suddenly a line from that aforementioned song blasted into my head: "...you're just a middle class socialist brat, from a suburban family and you never really had to work..." So, just to get the thing outta my head, I'm gonna post the whole deal. Even after over 25 years...the song still holds up and is just as true now as then. Elfman sings it with cynical emotion, almost as if one who has been there, done that and is disillusionally vengeful.
I never was curious about the guy's politics then, I just let the music speak for itself. Besides, I did have a T-shirt back then that read: "Screw the Geopolitical Struggle-Let's Dance!"
So, Patrick-cuz I know you just love to see these sniveling little weenies get their just desserts-this one's for you:


Capitalism

There's nothing wrong with capitalism,
There's nothing wrong with free enterprise.
Don't try to make me feel guilty.
I'm so tired of hearing you cry.

There's nothing wrong with making some profit,
If you ask me I'll say it's just fine
There's nothing wrong with wanting to live nice
I'm so tired of hearing you whine
About the revolution-
Bringin' down the rich-
When was the last time you dug a ditch, baby?!

If it ain't one thing
Then it's the other
Any cause that crosses your path
Your heart bleeds for anyone's brother
I've got to tell you, you're a pain in the ass!

You criticize with plenty of vigor
You rationalize everything that you do
With catchy phrases and heavy quotations
And everybody is crazy but you

You're just a middle class, socialist brat
From a suburban family and you never really had to work
And you tell me that we've got to get back
To the struggling masses-(whoever they are!)

You talk, talk, talk about suffering and pain
Your mouth is bigger than your entire brain
What the hell do you know about suffering and pain?

(Repeat first verse)

(Repeat chorus)

There's nothing wrong with Capitalism,
There's nothing wrong with Capitalism,
There's nothing wrong with Capitalism,
There's nothing wrong with Capitalism!


Oh, and the title cut of this album (Only a Lad) is a great slam at "compassionate" liberal attitudes about law and order and the death penalty. It's a fun tune, too.
Hmmm, maybe that's why they never really caught on in the mainstream...they were hitting too many buttons of the record biz elites.
Naw...probably it was just because they were a rather strange bunch.

(I just noticed that the cover art that I gypped appears to be altered-as I recall, the Boy Scout had a lizard tail on his backside. It's not visible in this pic! That's what made the pic funny, to me anyway. Jeez, were there 2 versions?)

Email Idiots, part 2

Well, they've struck again! My hapless, witless, clueless associates have clogged up my inbox again with sending and then resending the same dang music vid! This time wasn't as bad as the last, where 5 or so "pals" kept forwarding the same media file to me resulting in a near continious download that lasted from about 1 pm to past suppertime!

This time only 3 were involved in the just gotta share loop. Still, it pretty much slowed things to a crawl here for a few hours.
Again, I repeat: STOP!!! THINK BEFORE YOU FORWARD!! I am on dial-up. If you feel that any particuliar media file, whether it be an amusing video clip or a rousing patriotic music montage is worthy of my notice, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND ALL THINGS SACRED, JUST LINK THE STUPID THING!!!
Do Not, I repeat, do not email me the whole stupid, bloated, time wasting, ram clogging file. Please! I'm begging you! Have mercy!...and alittle common sense, people!
(Whew, thanks...I feel better now...)

Ironically enough, once the last forward finally sputtered into the inbox, I got this beaut, from one of the biggest offenders! He wasn't involved in this latest file forwarding clusterfug, but his timing was impecable! And it helped take my ire down a few notches. Love this. More than likely you have gotten something similiar now and then, but it still is worthy of repeat. And I'm forwarding this to the latest offenders, along with a 1,240 x 2,480 px., uncompressed .jpeg of a pug dog peeing on a daisy attached. And of course, the subject line will read: THIS IS SO FUNNY!!!!!!!You gotta see this!!!! Open Now!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Oh, who am I kiddin'? That would take me hours to send!)
Anyway, on with the funny:


"To all of you: (and you know who you are!)

I must send my thanks to whoever sent me the one about rat poop in the glue on envelopes because I now have to use a wet towel with every envelope that needs sealing.

Also, now I have to scrub the top of every can I open for the same reason.

I no longer have any savings because I gave it to a sick girl (Penny
Brown) who is about to die in the hospital for the 1,387,258th time. I no longer have any money at all, but that will change once I receive the $15,000 that Bill Gates Microsoft and AOL are sending me for participating in their special e-mail program.

I no longer worry about my soul because I have 363,214 angels looking out for me, and St. Theresa's novena has granted my every wish.

I no longer eat KFC because their chickens are actually horrible mutant freaks with no eyes or feathers.

I no longer use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water buffalo on a hot day.

Thanks to you, I have learned that my prayers only get answered if I forward an email to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes.

Because of your concern I no longer drink Coca Cola because it can remove toilet stains. I no longer can buy gasoline without taking a man along to watch the car so a serial killer won't crawl in my back seat when I'm pumping gas.

I no longer drink Pepsi or Dr. Pepper since the people who make these products are atheists who refuse to put "Under God" on their cans.

I no longer use Saran wrap in the microwave because it causes cancer.

And thanks for letting me know I can't boil a cup water in the microwave anymore because it will blow up in my face...disfiguring me for life.

I no longer check the coin return on pay phones because I could be pricked with a needle infected with AIDS.

I no longer go to shopping malls because someone will drug me with a perfume sample and rob me.

I no longer receive packages from UPS or FedEx since they are actually Al Qaeda in disguise.

I no longer shop at Target since they are French and don't support our American troops or the Salvation Army.

I no longer answer the phone because someone will ask me to dial a number for which I will get a phone bill with calls to Jamaica, Uganda, Singapore,and Uzbekistan.

I no longer have any sneakers -- but that will change once I receive my free replacement pair from Nike.

I no longer buy expensive cookies from Neiman Marcus since I now have their recipe.

Thanks to you, I can't use anyone's toilet but mine because a big brown African spider is lurking under the seat to cause me instant death when it bites my butt.

Thank you too for all the endless advice Andy Rooney has given us as well as commentary attributed to Robin Williams and George Carlin. I can live a better life now because they've told us how to fix everything.

And thanks to your great advice, I can't ever pick up $5.00 I found in the parking lot because it probably was placed there by a sex molester waiting underneath my car to grab my leg.

Oh, and don't forget this one either-

I can no longer drive my car because I can't buy gas from certain gas companies!

If you don't send this e-mail to at least 144,000 people in the next 70 minutes, a large dove with diarrhea will land on your head at 5:00 PM this afternoon and the fleas from 12 camels will infest your back, causing you to grow a hairy hump. I know this will occur because it actually happened to a friend of my next door neighbor's ex-mother-in-law's second husband's cousin's beautician.

Have a wonderful day..."


Now, everyone, repeat after me: "Snopes.com- learn it, know it, USE IT!"

Hometown Boy Does Good

Stephan Bender, 17-year-old Ava native, received a superhero’s welcome in his hometown when he attended the Ava premiere of Superman Returns. Bender won the role of a young Clark Kent after being in L.A. only a few short weeks. Times photo/Regina Wynn


Ok, so it ain't as big or fauxnewsworthy as Angie and Brad's baby. But damn, I can't tell ya how proud I am that a local kid from my nearby, jerkwater burg has hit the big time and put us on the map!
Ava has a population of about 2,300 I think. I might be wrong on that, and No, I don't know his family.
I wish I could have been there at the theater that day, if just to see the mob scene.
That's the only movie theater for about 60 miles in any direction. The younguns and I go there frequently. This is the biggest thing that has happened around here...ever.

Our local weekly, the Ozark County Times has the story.


I'm still amazed! This is so cool!

Laying for Allah!

Well, I got to thinking here the other day that it's been awhile since we had a story about the word 'Allah' showing up as a form of cozmick tattooing on some poor innocent beast. We're overdue.
Ask, and ye shall receive:

ALMATY (Reuters) - A chicken in a Kazakh village has laid an egg with the word "Allah" inscribed on its shell, state media reported Thursday.

"Our mosque confirmed that it says 'Allah' in Arabic," Bites Amantayeva, a farmer from the village of Stepnoi in eastern Kazakhstan, told state news agency Kazinform.

"We'll keep this egg and we don't think it'll go bad."

The news agency said the egg was laid just after a powerful hail storm hit the village.

Kazakhstan is a large, thinly populated Central Asian state where Sunni Islam is a dominant religion.

Probably totally unrelated, but I did find this in the henhouse the other day...



HT: LGF

Cresent, Bowl, Scimitar...whatever

Ahhhh, don't they think they are the most clever things?! The 'new and improved' memorial plans for Flight 93 are out.

And guess what?

IT'S THE SAME FRIGGIN' DESIGN AS BEFORE!

You know people cannot be this unspeakably dense, I can't accept that. So, that means that is has to be intentional.

LGF has the info and a link to leave comments for the Parks Dept. Clearly it didn't do any good the last time around, but hey-one can only hope.

Iowahawk left an amusing comment at LGF:
"I was really hoping the Memorial Committee would select my design, "Don't F*ck With US."

It featured a 60 foot tall animatronic eagle ripping the head off a paper mache jihadi, which it then craps into a pig sty. Choreographed to "American Badass."

I'd pay good money to see that, Iowahawk!

And there was this eloquent comment from "cash":

"A memorial.

To whom?

Would you memorialize the victims of Nazi concentration camps with a swastika?

Why then would you memorialize the victims of men who acted out of a bizarre sense of islamic religious conviction with a symbol of the islamic faith? Are you too obtuse to see the implications of your choice for this memorial?

Many others have asked this question, and most likely many of them have asked it more eloquently than I, but the question remains unanswered. Do you believe that these United States citizens, these sons and daughters of America, who died on that flight deserve a true memorial to their bravery and sacrifice? Do you believe that you are right to demean the victims by making their memorial a symbol of islam? You must know that the terrorists who killed the passengers and crew aboard flight 93, not to mention thousands others on that same day, were led to this horrific act by some deranged religious conviction.

And now you seek to memorialize this religion, the terrorists who murdered the innocent passengers and crew, and along with them the deranged convictions that drove the terrorists.

Why?

Answer that question. Stand up before your critics and answer that question.

And when you fail to answer that question, ask yourself this question:

Is is right to use an islamic symbol in this memorial?

To your rational critics, the answer to that question is clear."



Can't say it any better than that!

No Surprize There

You Are 50% Redneck

You're just about as welcome up in town as a hair in a biscuit. Ain't no hidin' your redneck roots!

How Redneck Are You?

Found at Simply Bonnie (formerly of 'Bama Chicken Scratch)

Th' Rawkuts Rud Glayre, Y'all !

This guy needs to party with us on the 4th!! He'd be welcome with open arms.

8,500 bottle rockets???!!!!
At once???

What's even funnier are the comments on the Addicting Clips site. Everyone wants to try it. Ozark engineering at it's best!
Redneckism is not a regional affliction, it would appear.

( The clip's almost 5 minutes long, so you folks still tethered to dial-up, I'm sorry. Hell, I had to wait for it,too. Took about 2 1/2 hours, just so's you know.)

July 11th, 1958

William Scott was born on that date 2 months premature. He barely weighed 4 and a half pounds. Technology then for premature infants wasn't as advanced as it is now, so it was a miracle that he even survived a week, let alone made it to adulthood. He told me that his mom's doctor had said to the anxious couple, "Take him home, keep him warm and love him and he just might make it."

They did and he did.
Bill was a fighter from day one. To see him as an adult you would never know he had struggled so hard to stay alive. A strapping strong feller at 5 foot 10, 185 pounds. Arms tanned and muscled from years of construction work. He had swung a hammer for his daily bread since 16, when he left home after a rebellous row with his dad. He hitch hiked to Florida and worked there for many years, sometimes staying with his older brother but sometimes just living in the streets when they didn't see eye to eye. He had often said if you were going to make do without a home, Florida was the place to be- the weather mild enough most times to just sleep on the beaches and front yards and alleyways always had somesort of tropical fruit trees heavy with fruit for the taking year 'round. I always loved to hear his Florida stories. Not all of them were romanticized tales of the footloose wanderer. Some were dark and scary. It was the 70's. The happy carefree potsmoking hippie culture was moving on to bigger and harder things...heroin, speed, cocaine, barbituates and other concoctions that would leave many dead in its wake. And he was there in the thick of it, did alittle dealing himself here and there and nearly became his best customer.


I never held that against him. Shit happens. By the time I met him in the early 90's he had long since cleaned up. Now his poison of choice was cold Busch beer. Although, if the occasion warranted it, he wouldn't turn down a Valium or 2. Downers were his cheesecake...he couldn't say no. A source of consternation to me when we first began seeing one another. ( I'm reluctant to use the word 'dating', that's what you do when you're a silly moony-eyed teenager. By this time we were both into our 30's.) Going out for a few cold ones and some laughs at the local watering hole was nice, but the evening would quickly lose its charm when your escort was snoozing away the rest of the night in the passengerside of the truck! Fortunately for the both of us he finally realized that we actually made a purty fun couple and it would be better to stay awake for the whole evening.

He was literally my hero. That's how we met. His older brother was my neighbor (if you consider living 4 miles away being a 'neighbor'-it is the country, afterall.) and just happened to be the local VFD firechief at the time. I was one of the volunteer firefighters. We met regularly for training sessions. Sometime in the winter of 1991 Bill had come down from Michigan to try and start a new life and was staying at his brothers for the time being. He showed up for the training session that day. We were practicing drafting from the creek to fill the tanks of the firetruck. The day was bright and sunny, but cold and a layer of snow and ice covered the bank and rocks of the creekside. I had just lugged one of the heavy large black intake hoses to the creek and dropped it in. I was standing on a rock outcropping from the bank. I turned to come back and suddenly I was over my head in the freezing cold ice covered creek!
I had slipped on some ice and it was that quick. It literally took my breath away when I hit that water. I bobbed to the top, too shocked to even make a sound, the current taking me, my head and neck slamming into the ice floes. Damn that hurt!
It was a flurry of panicked activity on the shore as everyone tried to reach me, blankets from the truck were tossed out like ropes, but the current was sweeping me away too fast, I was heading towards the highway bridge nearby and that's when I saw this guy jack knife into the water from the bridge and the next thing I knew, I had been dragged to the shore. Stunned and just alittle freaked out I still couldn't respond to the questions as to my well being as coats and blankets were heaped on me.
I could only nod that Yes, I was alright; teeth chattering like never before.
Needless to say, the lesson for the day was cut short and we all learned something other than the class plan for that day! We all went back to the firehouse nearby, so that we both could thaw out. Once warmed and wrapped in those hideous Army surplus blankets I found my voice to thank this stranger who had saved me.

But how do you do that? A sincere "Thank You" doesn't seem enough. I learned that he was my neighbors brother. Well, there ya go! If he's anything like his brother, I know just how to thank him.
"The least I can do is buy ya a 12 pack, dude."
"Ahhh, you don't have to do that."
"No really, it's only right...and lookit ya, you're sopping wet. My place is closer than your brothers...what are you about a 32-34? I think I got some overalls that'll fit ya. Git in the truck, we'll get some beers and get ya in some dry clothes."
"Well, alrighty then!"
(Boy, am I good, or what?) I'll be honest, I thought he was cute in a rugged rode hard and put up wet way. I never went for those baby face pretty boy types. I liked my men to have character...and judging by his looks he had it in spades. The Paul Newman blue eyes didn't hurt, either.

So, we got two 12 packs and hightailed it back to my place. I dug out some overalls, a shirt and dry socks for him and once we were both in dry clothes I stoked up the woodstove, fired up the stereo and cracked open the brewskis. We talked and drank well into the night. He was impressed with my living here alone and raising cattle, goats and chickens and even doing my own canning from the huge garden I had. I was impressed with his tales of growing up in Detroit and his wanderings about the country. Every scar had a story and even if they weren't true...who cared? I had my mind made up that I really wanted to see more of this wild Irish boy. And I think when he flipped through my album collection and found all my Frank Zappa records, that sold him on me. He was stunned.
"I've never met a chick who actually like Zappa! Damn, girl-that's cool as hell!"

By 10 p.m. that night we were both drunkenly singing along to the Mudshark song from "Live at the Fillmore East"...and I was falling for this big dumb lug, bigtime.

By midnight his brother showed up, concerned that he hadn't showed up for dinner at his house...and he stayed to help us polish off the rest of the beer. And then broke into my "medicinal" stash of tequilla.

By 3 a.m. I shoved them both out the door, saying it was late and it was time to go. Besides, I was exhausted! It had been a hell of a day.
And one I will never, ever forget.

That day changed my life. I didn't know it at the time, but I had just met my one last big true love. The future dad to my kids. Kids I thought I would never have. Once in my life, he quickly overtook it. Not in a bad way. But in a good way. He gave me purpose and it was mutual. I finally learned the lesson of real love. Real, absolute unselfish, loyal love. Moments of true romance that I will never have again. Complete and total trust. I'm so blessed to have known that in my life. But the tragedy is that it didn't last long enough. I just knew that Bill and I would grow old together and he was so looking forward to scaring the hell out of those pimple face punks who would eventually be bird doggin' his beautiful little daughters. But God had other plans. He did allow me to care for Bill as if he was an old man...except he was only 42 at the time. God had compressed the time. The wild and reckless life Bill had enjoyed as a youth had come back to haunt him and hepatitis C began to slowly claim his life. And despite the claims from his specialists that his genotype "never" turns cancerous, it did.

I don't like to remember the last year of his life. This guy that was so full of vigor, strength, vitality, humor, resilency and just pure love of life itself. He had fought hard to live at the start, so everyday was a gift and he knew it, he lived a life of no tears. Just keep going and have a fun time while you're at. He taught me alot. What lessons he got from me, I don't know. But I'm convinced we were drawn together for a reason. I just wish he could have stayed around. His girls miss him terribly and even to this day still say Goodnight to him every night at bedtime. I'm adrift without him, too. My damn compass has never worked right since and I keep stumbling blindly down the wrong trails. One of these days I will find a path, but until then, to paraphase a Pink Floyd song : I'm just a lost soul swimming in a fish bowl...how I wish, how I wish you were here.

He would have been 48 today.

Happy Birthday, my love, the girls say "Hi!"

Cicadas, Nightjars and "Singing Moles"

In Patrick's usual Sunday post at Born Again Redneck he mentioned the peculiar buzz that a bird makes that lives about his Robin's Woods empire. He called it a nightjar.
I commented that maybe it was in fact an insect, saying that my Mom called cicadas 'nightjars'-and I have heard others call them that. Must be a regional thing.
Anyway, it got me to remembering Mom and her delusional innocence of the world and I got to wondering if Mom just might have been wrong about nightjars. This little story at her expense will explain that.

My Mom was a simple gal. By that I don't mean she was impaired mentally in any way, but rather her view of the world was simple. She took everything in with a child like trust that you weren't b.s.-ing her. She was, like alot of God creations, just as smart as she needed to be. I think if we honestly consider that, we can say the same for most of us. (although I know I'm not as smart as I want to be!)

So because of her simple trusting nature, alot of her understanding of how things were in the world were really quite wrong. But these were things that didn't impair her going about her day to day life. Just silly misconceptions, that's all. Notions that got imbedded in childhood and never questioned. Just accepted as fact. One evening many years ago one of her "facts" got shattered. At the time we all got a good laugh out of it, even Mom finally came around and realized the folly-after the inital shock wore off-and could laugh at her foolishness.

It was about 12 years ago, hubby and I had made the journey out there to San Diego to visit my folks with the new grandchild in tow. It was Christmastime. One evening the 3 of us-Mom, Dad and myself were enjoying the cool California dusk from their big yard swing. The neighborhood was washed in that orangey pink post sunset glow and somewhere, in a neighboring tree, doves were cooing. There was a lag in the conversation. The doves continued their woo-woo-wooooo woo-woo-wooooing.
Mom, never one to let conversation slip, had to make a comment.

"My! Just listen to those moles! Betcha it's gonna rain soon."

I looked at Dad, Dad looked at me- we both had puzzled looks on our faces. But Dad's was starting to show a grin. This was too good for the joker in him to let pass. Alrighty, he'll play along: "Whatta ya mean, Ma?"
"The moles, silly! Listen to them!" she then tried to replicate the doves call, but it came out as a stifled bellow. "My pa always said when the moles sing like that, it means rain is on the way. We had a bunch of singing moles around our place when I was growing up. You know, you'd never think something like that could make a sound so pretty...Oh, I just love to hear them!"

Dad couldn't keep up the straight man act any longer. "Lands sakes, Ma!! Them's DOVES ! Your dad was jokin' with you...Lord a'mighty!"

Mom had a look like she was about to cry. " Well, I'll be! Really?... Doves?" she looked at me. I nodded...it took everything I had not to just burst out with a major league guffaw at that point.

"Well, why did he say that?" Now she was getting upset, now she was probably wondering about everything else her dad may have told her. Her little world had just took a big hit and was now spiralling out of it's happy, complacent orbit. She looked like she was about to cry. I guess the closest one could compare this moment to was finding out there wasn't a Santa. Except Mom was in her 70's at this time. She had carried that joke as fact with her all those years. I reckon the right occasion to shatter the myth had never come up until now.

I began to feel alittle awkward, we really shouldn't be making fun of her ignorance and she seemed so devestated by it. But, darnit, Mom made it so easy.
Just then the trio of doves took wing and swooped to a powerline just within our line of sight.

"Now lissen, Ma...." Dad pointed to the group of doves and, as if on cue, they began their cooing again. It was unmistakable as to where and what was making that sound.
"Why...I had no idea!!" She stared slack jawed at the birds. "All these years....." her voice trailed off.
We decided we better just leave it at that. Let that shocking realization just sink in without comment.

None of us ever brought it up again in her presence, but now and then whenever Dad and I were alone and outside and there just happen to be the cooing of doves in the background noise, Dad would lean over to me and whisper: "Moles!" and I would always reply "Yep...s'gonna rain."
And we'd both just grin.

...Incoming!

Tonight will be our 4th of July celebration. The in-laws have been gearing up and getting their lush white trash manor ready for their annual blow-out. I'm sure the local ambulance service is on stand-by. Seems there's always a little, uh, mishap during the show. Last year we got lucky and the only real life drama was a mortar that went off prematurely-about 40 feet in the air, showered cinders on the assembled multitude and scared the crap out of alot of us. But out of the 12 years they have been doing this, there's only been one trip to the E.R., the rest of the time it's been minor burns and close calls, so you could say that's a good track record or it's way overdue for something bad to happen. My brother in law plays fast 'n' loose with these things whereas his 22 yr. old son tends to be more safety concious and by the book, so 'tween the two it's usually a good show. Both seem to prefer the loud factor over beauty, so we'll be treated to probably 2 rolls of Black Cats going off some time tonite. I'm not talking the 3 ft. stringer...I'm talking biga$$ ROLL...these things are about the same diameter as a car tire! I have no idea how long they are when completely unrolled or how many firecrackers are in them but once lit they go on forever, it seems and it's deafening. The guys just love 'em. Sick bastids!
There'll be rockets and mortars and fountains, just about anything from the inventory that big and spectacular. They put alot of effort into setting this up and have just about mastered the timing and sequencing, so it almost looks like they know what they're doing-not alot of deadtime between firings-something that is typical with most "backyard" shows.

Oh yeah, and there will be food. Late afternoon the grills get fired up, the turkey fryers get going and catfish chunks, burgers, brats and miscellaneous other animal proteins get cooked up. They provide some side dishes, but it's mostly potluck. Everybody brings something, even if only a big bag of chips. I'm going to bring somesort of green pea salad hybrid, cobbled from just what I have on hand here, I screwed up with my weekly shopping and forgot to factor in extra stuff not usually on the list for this occasion, so I have to make due with what I got.
Estimated turn out is around 50, maybe more.
And there will be a cake. A birthday cake. This is something they started doing a couple of years ago when they realized their postponed 4th celebration would often coinside with their departed brother and their Mom's birthdays. (July 10 & 11th)
So, the day turns into a multicelebratory deal, shadowed with alittle sadness brought on from too much adult beverages. Sooner or later me and the brothers will end up at the basement bar, saluting our deceased with a few cold ones, some memories and some tears. We always do. They are Irish, afterall. The weepy drunk thing is manditory at any family gathering.

I'm looking forward to this, though. This is the high holy day for this family. Christmas takes a close second to this event. All of our friends will be there and it'll be fun and just maybe no one will blow themselves up!

Hometown Champs!

Ok, cue up Queen's "We Are the Champions".

Last night was the mid-girls (11-13 yr. olds) softball league tournament in our little burg. It was a long night, but when it was all over, my eldest kid's team won it!!
I'm just so proud of them. They smoked one of the most feared teams in the county, after barely squeaking by against their local rivals in the league to get to the championship game slot. Purty dang cool, considering they didn't have the advantage of getting a rest 'tween games like the other team had. They had just enough time to get a sno-cone from the concession stand and then hit the field again.

This win is a major deal for the kids here. The team they won has a long, evil reputation and just the mere mention of the town strikes fear into any local ball player under the age of 13. These girls take the game way too seriously, they play to win...at any cost. That little town thrives on the game, every kid who lives there plays on a team. (quite frankly, there really isn't much else for them to do there!) They play dirty. And the parents and other family that go to the games encourage it too. They mock and catcall the opposing teams in a way we all never do.In short, they all are just an ugly bunch when it comes to softball. I think for our kids it didn't matter which local team won, they just wanted to somebody, anybody to clean these smartypants from the other town's clock.

My kids team did. Well, maybe it wasn't a thorough clock cleaning, but hey, 16 to 11 is a nice margin. It would have been nice if in the last inning they could have held them at 16 to 8, it would have made the victory that much more delicious, but they won fair and square and that's really all that matters.
I wish I could say my kid had the winning play or some other feat of skill, but she is but one of the team. She can't run fast, she hits just so-so but her fielding has improved immensely this season. She not one of the star players, but that doesn't matter to her (and in turn, to me) she just loves to play. Her eyes welled up with tears as she clutched her 1st place trophy and I admit, mine did too. They won as a team, because it really wasn't any one player who made it possible. Everyone did their part and played their best. These girls have wanted this for so long and last night was their night.


So, BOOOOOYAH Lady Pirates!!!!! You done Ozark County proud, girls!!

Tube Tied

I know alot of folks are out there giving Senator Stevens grief for showing his somewhat unbelieveable ig'nerce out loud and on the public record about how that new fangled innernets thingy works. And rightly so, because it is friggin' embaressing. But hey, he's an old guy. I read the following posts and the one on Wired that started it and I'm reminded of how I once spent an hour trying to explain to my Dad how the VCR worked. He did eventually master it...and could even keep the clock set on it. But computers? Fudgitaboutit! He never could get it.

BUT the major difference twixt my Dad & the senator is that Dad was a private citizen....Stevens is an elected personage and therefore should get some learning before opening his yap in public! Especially when arguing either for or against proposed legislation when he has not a clue how the whole system in question works!
But it is funny, if only in a tragic way. I think anybody who has tried to explain new tech to their parents or grandparents can relate to his babblings.

We could send Stevens some "Video Professor" discs!

Wuzzadem weighs in as does the Rottweiler on Stevens gaff.
(brain cross section pic blantantly swiped from Wuzzadem.)

Oh No!

This proves my theory that the Gematriculator is pro moonbat.

"What Me Patriotic?"

Tanned, rested and ready from the holiday, Misha knocks one out of the friggin' park! (again.)

"How Moonbats Celebrate the 4th"

I'm a Big Boy Now! (Lil' Kim shoots his wad)

We all woke up today, so that must mean that Kim So Kook-d was just pullin' the ultimate "Look-it-Me,LOOK-IT-ME,LOOK-IT-ME,Everybody!!!" by firing off a sixer (some say it was a 12 pack) of the "Sky Terror" bottle rocket assortment he got from up north. The fuses must have got wet or sumpin', cuz I hear it was less than impressive, but what do you expect when you buy from a guy whose first name is "Wil E." ?





Kim tries to hide his total disgust and disappointment over his recent fireworks tent purchases.


You know, I think it's so touching that they name missiles after their cute nickname for their exalted fearless leader:
"No-dong"


Next time, Lil' Kimmie Nodong oughta try these folks.

Reason for the Season

I know things have been weird lately and I truly cannot recall a time as rancorous and uncertain as nowadays,(although the late 60's/early 70's comes close.)
But in all honesty, in your heart of hearts, would you chose to live anywhere else for the remainder of your days?
I couldn't fathom it...ever.

Australia is about the only foreign country I'd ever care to visit-but only because it's America with a British accent.
Nope, I'm staying right here, thank you very much. The ol' gal is going through some mid-life crisis now and we must do our job as Americans to make sure she don't run off with some silver tongue devil, buy a red convertible and run it off a cliff.
It's almost become cliche' to say this but, dangit- we may have our problems, but really, there's no place like America. It's my Home, and we all know there's no place like home.

GOD BLESS THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
Happy birthday, y'all!

Timeless Advice

Since nobody is really doing anything important until the 5th, might as well get some learning!
I stumbled upon Iowahawk's valuable and informative article "How to Blog Good".
Yeah...I know it's over a year old. But good advice is always timeless!

The man's a friggin' genius, I tell you!

The Illegal Leftist Problem

Seaspook has an absolutely hysterical story of a whole new immigration situation plaguing our neighbor to the north.

Oh! If only it were true!!

Emotional Dust (just a rambling rant)

My youngest returns today from summer camp. A whole week of just the eldest and me has been remarkably calm and dare I say, boring. Well, maybe not boring. Placid, perhaps is a better word. They are 2 years apart in age and when we are all cooped up together it can get very trying around here. Both vieing for Mamasan's attention, whether it be bad or good. So this week has been a nice break for all of us. One, because eldest has had Mom all to herself; two, because I know youngest is having a blast at camp and is relishing not having to compete or squabble with her sister; three, Mom is just glad she has gone a whole week without hollaring herself hoarse trying to referee the constant battles that go on here over stupid stuff...and believe me, it's always stupid stuff! ( My eldest has the great potential to be a prosecuting attorney or at the least, a cop when she grows up.)

We've been trying to make good use of the time- mainly on the seemingly endless project of lil sis's new bedroom. Yesterday we skim coated the walls. It's ready for primer now and depending on the pick-up time for lil' sis, we just might get that done today. She wants to have a belated birthday/sleepover/paint party with some choice pals later next week. She and her friends will paint her new room in the colors she has chosen...if she can just make up her mind once and for all! I think it'll be fun-and I'll closely supervise, lest the temptation of open paint containers and a tarped floor gets to be too much. (and I can almost assure you it will!)

So sis's new room is all barren and pristine at long last, but the rest of the house looks like a warehouse, or a self-storage rental. I'm surrounded by boxes and plastic tubs full of the brica brac from what once was the office/guest room/(oh,hell, let's be honest!) JUNK room. 20 years worth of stuff that is in dire need of sorting through, weeding out. The toll of not having a working truck here for the past few years is evident. Normally, this stuff would have been gone through periodically and the 'real' junk hauled off, but since the ol' man's truck took a dump right in the driveway a few years ago that hasn't been possible. We don't have the luxury of being able to pile stuff out at the curbside for pick-up by the local DAV or Goodwill. We're in the country, big time, so that means you have to haul your stuff or take care of it in your own way-whether by yardsale or burn pile. I'm ashamed at the acculmulated mess, but that's what happens when you stay put for so long. Clearing that room completely out has been an emotional roller coaster. A lot of hubby's things were kept there. It almost seemed sacrilege to take down the plaques and box up the trophies (garnered from various motorcycle rallies and shows.) I came across little post-it notes he had scribbled on tucked away in cubby holes of the desk. Instead of tossing them into the trash bag, I lingered over them. Geez, what is it about men and handwritting? His was typical, near illegible. It was more of a print than script, sometimes both in the same word.

Anyway, those kind of things got tossed into a keep pile of "important" papers. To be sorted through and maybe finally thrown away another time. But not now. I still want fragments of him here. Even if it's misspelled and illegible. That sort of thing has been the toughest. Bits and pieces of his life here, still suspended,frozen in time-just, as the saying goes-like he left it. The hunting camos in the closet, his briefcase plastered with MRO stickers-I didn't dare open it, that would be good for a lost day of weeping. That was his last gig. Working as a rep for a motorcycle rights org. Something he was quite proud of...made him feel like "somebody". Nevermind that the job was given to him almost like a bone by a friend who thought that this would be a good low-impact type job for him in his weakened condition, since alot of it was just phone rangling. (and he sure did love to talk!) He did go to a few meetings and seminars on the organizations dime before he got too sick and that's what would be in that briefcase-all his notes and handouts and biz cards, etc. from those events. No...let's not go there. Just add it to the stack o' stuff piling up in the dining room.
It's all part of the process, I reckon, but my timeline is moving slow. Most women would have had all that stuff cleared out and boxed away by now. But I ain't like that. Plus, those women would have had sisters, moms, or other friends help them with this task. I'm on my own. Yeah, I got in-laws near by but they don't come over here because it's, and I quote, "Too painful." Yeah, whatever...I have to live here every stinkin' day surrounded by his presence! Sorry for that lapse of bitterness, but damn, people! I'm ok with it. I've just accepted it now. They're alright folks. They took the loss of a brother just as hard as I had the loss of a husband. Neither one of us are over it. Neither one of us will ever get over it. So we handle it in our own ways. Mine has been inertia. We still go to all the family functions hosted at their house, but I always feel alittle lost now. Like the red headed step-child.

Next week will be yet another one of those functions. Since they run the local fireworks tent, their observance of the 4th has to be a week late. But it's always a major event and they shoot off "the good stuff" once it gets dark. My sis-in-law jokes that the only reason they do the fireworks tent every year is so her husband can finance his pyro habit. All them boys are/were a bunch of pyros-always blowing stuff up. A trait my eldest seems to be following, a little unusual for a girl. Whether it's genetic or she's just wanting to emulate her beloved Dad, I can't say. Maybe a bit of both. My brother-in-law encourages it, though. Like me, he sees alot of his younger brother in my daughter-he misses him so much. Having her around and indulging in these things is his way of keeping Bill around. That's fine with me. Just don't let her get too into it...I'd like her to reach adulthood with most body parts and eyesight intact, thank you very much.

Holy Crap...I honestly didn't set out for this to be an indulgent, whiney, bitter post. Oh well. Shit happens. So much has been going on in the world out there and most of it not good, that I've had to pull back from even thinking about it. This week I've been focused on my little world and trying to get that in order. Maybe that's a response to the grim realities. I feel things are out of control...a world gone mad...so in order to cope, I just try to control my own situation and do something positive. Like get sis's room done. But even doing that stirs up alot of emotional dust. Maybe in the next 20 years it will all get done. Hopefully sooner than that! It's just I get so damn weary of trying to do EVERYTHING, be EVERYTHING to everybody. Everybody just being my own younguns in this case. I could give a flyin' frig what anyone else cares or wants.
It's tough being the only adult here. But this week has been a nice break. Even if it conjured demons and make progress slow. It's stuff that needs to get done. I just wish I didn't have to do it sometimes. Too often it turns into an emotional can of worms. I vascilate between just wanting to pile all that stuff outside and torching it, just to be rid of it, without a thought and wanting to keep everything "just as it was"...a strange Miss Haversham-like attitude. And sometimes I really do feel like her. Boxed in, a self imposed recluse surrounded by her tragic past. Cobwebs and dust piling up on the wedding party that never happened. Relishing the bitterness, feeding on it.

Nawwww. I ain't that bad...I don't think. I do dust occasionally and even get the cobwebs sometimes.