Jessica's Blog

Three of the five of my immediate family have had pink eye since we returned from Disneyland last weekend. That, and I am a mom of younger kids.. so I wash my hands a lot.

A. LOT.

I wash before I leave the house, I wash when I drop a kid at nursery school or preschool.  I wash before I eat.  I wash when I go to the bathroom.  I wash If I handle a diaper situation.  I wash if I sneeze or blow my nose.

But since pink eye invaded our house.  I'm washing just when it crosses my mind to.  I'm ordering the kids to wash when I see them picking their noses, wiping their eyes, sneezing, coughing, eating....computer time.... I'm using actualy not-earth friendly disinfectant wipes because we had them and wiping eating areas, surfaces, and keyboards.  I've done the laundry.

Hubby came down with Pink Eye on Friday.

Honey Girl has a gross way of letting me knowing she isn't feeling well.  You'll love it.  When Honey Girls' throat hurts, I know this because... she sticks her fingers (as many as she can manage) into her mouth and slobbers all over them, then touches stuff..... or, she'll lick stuff.  Stuff.... like.... edges of counters, doorknobs.  It's like she's tring to touch the back of her throat where th hurt is, causes a mini-gag..slobbers like a teething babe and smears.  I know!  It is as if nature has her pegged to be the one to infect the tribe.  She seems to understand that this is a thoroughly undesirable behavior.... to say it politely... but it's her compulsion when she's feeling bad.  Weird, huh?  Not to mention somewhat aggravating.

Honey Girl came down with pink eye today.  The ped knew this would happen and told me to just get the refill of Little Lady's (our ground zero) meds.

Yeah, my hands are starting to look like a washer-woman's back before washers.

Let's hope at least such fastidiousness will payoff.  I don't like pink eye.  To put it lightly.  I had it a lot when I first started high school.  A couple times since I've ben married and my eyes always freak out so badly with the medication(I'm one of those "sensitive eye" folks who can't wear most make up), I end up going on another treatment prescribed by the doc after the anti-biotic to sooth my eyes back to normal.  soo......

C'mon Big Boy... it's you and me against the germs.... let's stand strong... let's keep clear of eye boogies and ick.

A CLOSED MIND IS A WONDERFUL THING TO LOSE.

These have caught my eye:

"If your gonna ride my ass, you may as well be pulling my hair"

"EMT: 911 makes me come"  ummmmm....ew

"Turn signals!  Not just for out of staters anymore."

"One nation, Under Bush, divided"

"Somewhere in Texas, a village is missing its idiot"

my fave I want as a t-shirt:

COEXIST

what is too long for a bumper sticker?  A generation to solve poverty but only 8 years to dissolve government and the middle class.

This is what comes from spending hours a day driving in concentric circles with complete morons. 

San Joseans.... learn to merge!!!!  Los Angeleans can do it... so.can.you.

Hang up and drive.  Please dont' text and drive.. thought I'm guilty of long signal texting.  I mean, c'mon I can feel myself getting older at these lights.

Ladies.. when someone puts on their turn signal, it is NOT a sign to gun your engine and pull into their blind spot just so they won't get in front of you.

Camrys, corrollas, priuses, Siennas... basically if you drive a toyota... please enter a freeway at the rate of traffic.  I swear to my grandpa the next time I am behind you getting onto 280 or 17 at rush hour and you are puttering along at 40... I just may honk at you, er, no.. that might WAKE YOU UP.  I will definitely salute you with my best out of sight of the kids.  Oh, and also... blind spots are not where you want to hang.

Any american made "muscle car" that is truly a serious piece  of crap (pontiacs, MUSTANGS, camaros, Neons, Magnums).  I get that the vibration your car may put off as you speed along may well give you some jollies you may not otherwise get... but... riding up my ass, then swerving around me and cutting me off is just... well.. juvenile and impudent.  Much as I imagine you must be.

American made minivans.  You make "us" minivan drivers look bad.  You are the reason why people assume I am a road boulder even if I'm booking at 70 in lane 2.

Blah blah blah SUVs.... blah blah blah... need I say more?

Contractor trucks.  Before 9am you gun it, run it, swerve it... but during the day you loiter, you lollygag... you. are. slowwwwww... but the second five o'clock rolls around, you're back to gunning it, running it, riding it.  hmmm.  What's that about?

SO to get through the *ugh* that is driving a lot... I look at bumper stickers and plate covers.

I really don't care whose purebread whatever is smarter than so and sos honor student.

I don't care that your W.T. or ghetto kid could beat up my honor student.

Bless you for supporting our troops, but blech!

I could give less than a crap if your kid is an honor student.

Who doesn't have a baby in their car these days?!?!

Yeah, who doesn't spoil their grandkids....or rather... who doesn't *think* they spoil their grandkids.

well... the stickers and plates do pass the time.

I got on facebook and my days are now riddled with gasps of who is getting in touch with me from my checkered past and where they are now.

I love it.

My, how we've all grown up.  Most who want to be friends have no idea I'm married or have kids.  It makes me laugh to think of what my life looks like on paper.  I'm no longer the opera girl, the stoner, the one that got away, the dorm-mate, the party hook-up.  Life is so great, isn't it?

give it a try.

I can't get enough of it.  Late last night I caught last week's episode of the most uncomfortable dinner party ever.  I was applauding the writing, howling at the awkward moments.

Very funny.  SO very funny.

Yes, it has been way too long since I wrote about my beloved hobby.

Why, night you say?

I just had to wait for the bruises to heal.

The "pole kisses".  These would be the nice words used to describe the bruising that occurs while in the learning process of new tricks, twists, twirls and flips.  Before you learn to do them with finesse, panache, or sultry sexiness... you go a little hard and fast or slow with your tongue hanging out and some grunting, ooofing, or full on laughing.

There were the bumps along the outsides of my ankles... from twirling down the pole and having a bit of drag on the wood floor before stopping, to ensure I was "facing" ( I use quotes, because it wasn't my face that was meant to be facing) the correct direction to move to the next "step".

At one point in the final class I got the tip of the heel of my stiletto caught in my undies before a crawl.  Classmates thought it was really cute and hot, I just dubbed it my own personal take on a modern coppertone add.

I am finding my great challenge in working the pole is the making-it-look-like-it-feels-oh-so-good part.  There were points when I'd be sliding down that thing thinking "what the hell, I swear I am stuck on here" as the skin of my thighs seemed to adhere to the steel.  In talking to friends and teachers about it after the fact... um, nope.. that's just how it goes.  Inner thighs nearly rolling in on themselves.  Thank goodness the music is thumping Prince's "Darling Nikki" so the sound of screeeeeeeeee! can't be heard.  Maybe the leg tricks while up there are simply a way of distracting from the pulling sensation.

For a bit there I had bruises on the insides of my ankles from the quick hooking of the pole when flipping upside down.  Yeah, as I learned that, it was feeling like I had to throw my head back, kick like hell and then grab hold for dear life.  But then I got it down and lost the *clang* of my shoes hitting the pole as I hoisted up and around and slid slooowwwwlllly down again.

I am merely such a beginner in all of this.  So I joke with myself "patience, grasshopper".  Rome wasn't built in a day, and when all is said and done... so little of the dancing has anything to do with the tricks and twirls.  I mean, c'mon.. when in use... all a lady really needs to do is stand there in stilettos and an "outfit" to get some seriously undivided attention from her partner.  But I soooo want to learn them alllllll.  I don't know why.  It's just fun as can be an hot as hell.

I really love the workout that is pole work.  Bruises and all.  Much like pilates with a trainer.. I leave feeling taller, longer and stronger... and it's not just the stilettos.  Also, the other students in the class make me laugh in all the right ways and with such support and fun.  My competitive nature stills resides in me as I notice I'm the only student who goes for the flip every time of the run through.

So now that the bruises have healed, and I get the urge to buy new shoes... it's time to sign in to the next class.  That, and the owner of the studio has been super sweet and has happily okayed Liz the use of the pilates studio much later than usual to accommodate my work schedule to keep me in tip top climbing condition.

huzzah!

Today at work I decided to change things up a bit.  Usually on my break I go and pump in the library.  I read an essay or two from my Brain, Child mag and snack as the pump does its job and then I go outside to warm my bones in the sunshine for a brisk walk before settling back behind the desk.

But today I felt like seeing my baby, so I tossed the pump into the Odyssey and drove to Katy's house. 

Little Lady, Teacher Katy and the other babes were in the back garden when I arrived.  They were goofing about on a big quilt in the partial shade of an oak tree playing with musical toys.  All in sun hats looking too cute. 

Little Lady looked up as I called to her and gasped, squealed, gafawed, and made her way onto the grass in a hell bend crawl.

Big hugs.
Lots of cuddles and kisses.
She likes to pat me on my back when she hugs me.
She likes to smoosh her face into my cheek really hard and hummmmmmmm to say hello.
Mom-babe conversation:  "Oh, I missed you!  Oh, it's so good to see you.Yes! That is Momma's necklace.  Are you having a good day?"

To all of that chatter, Little Lady hoots and hugs and ahhhhHHhhhhhs.  She also  points  around the yard at the flowers, trees, babes, and plants telling me, "Ah-da da da da eeeee ah daawa da da.... bir!" "awbu dawbu da da da, Momma!"

Then I ask her if she would want the "momma's milk" and I do the sign language for "milk".  She does a full body flop in my arms to assume the nursing position near yelling, "Muh-muh!" Her version of "more".  I laugh and kiss her head as I settle onto the quilt in the warm sun to nurse.

Katy and I have a nice chat about the day and what it is to care for three babies.. and how it's a whole other world than four babies.  I am amazed by this woman every day.  Her daughter was asleep in the wagon, she was playing with another baby while singing to my baby.  All babies happy and contented, trusting that if they need something, she'll take care of it. 

Little Lady finishes her repass and we talk some more.  She climbs on me, slobbers all over my jacket, gives me kisses and cuddles.  Burps a bit, but thankfully keeps it in.  I help her back to the house as it's time to go inside.  I get her settled into a new activity and let her know I need to go bye-bye again, but I'll be back in a little over an hour with Big Sister.  She looks at me in a very understanding way.. as only near 11 month olds will.  I give her kisses and wave bye bye.  She smiles and waves "buh-buh" back at me.

It was an awesome lunch date.

I just forgot to eat anything... ech well... I'm learning.

Okay,

Forget it.

I am now putting myself out there to say that finances willing, I will likely get work done as I age.

I can see (in the future)my eyes looking tired all the time, and spending a coupld hours with our dermatologist in his office getting that "taken care of".

I can see(again... in the future)  my chin getting tucked a bit as it goes turkey on me.  Much in the same way of getting the eyes cared for.

I have no idea what will be left of the boobs when Little lady is done with them.  Would I go there?  Who knows.

But here is what I do know:  why would I look in the mirror feeling like my outsides don't match my insides?  If they match, great!  But if I keep feeling like something is there that ought not be and can't be remedied with diet, excercise and healthy lifestyle...why not get rid of it?  Or conversely... if something is missing that really makes me feel less womanly or dare I say "hot"... why wouldn't I go there?

Okay, there I said it.  Any comments?  I mean any other than that I should stop hanging out with the pole dancing crew?!?!

Yeah, the other night as I was crawling around on the floor I came  near face to face (inadvertently.. we got criss-crossed)with another student in the class.  In spite of myself, I gasped and thought, "Holy Crap!  Her breasts are perfect!!!" and then glanced down....  ech, well.  I joked about this fact with my pilates instructor and Amanda.  Both who laughed and admitted that it's totally fine to think that when you see a "perfect pair".  Both had totally opposing views about the kind of work that comes with getting "the perfect pair".  The difference between them?  Well.... to be honest... the only real difference between my friend and my instructor are a) a few years of age and b) a few breast-fed babes.  The response of one was "we need to work on acceptance"  and the response of the other is "Hell yeah, I'm so there!"

While working in the school office the other day I got into a chiding chat with my son's kindergarden teacher.  It was a double whammy.  I had him pegged for being in his twenties.  He had me pegged as, "I dunno... 36?" and I wanted to cry... well, not REALLY.. granted most moms of my son's school are in their forties by the time their kids enter pre-k.... for me to not be is different.. but it turned out..we were basically the same age.  The real difference?  HE hasn't spent the last five plus years popping out kids and not getting any sleep at all.  It. has. its. toll.

When I was younger my choral director would scream and yell at us to smile all the time.  She would say "You get the face you deserve by the time you're fifty."  I admit that may well be true.. and I don't begrudge my laugh lines and crows feet one bit... because they come from all my smiling and laughing until my face hurts... I do begrudge the puff of no-sleep, and I wonder a bit (now) about when the stretch marks might fade.  Now that I'm a size six, wouldn't it be nice to wear a bikini without looking like a burn victim around my middle?

I'm not going under the knife anytime time soon, but I am now officially removing my judgement of anyone who might chose to do so!

On Saturday we decided to go to the San Francisco Zoo.  We had not been in AGES.  I honestly can't quite remember when we last went.  I think it may have been with Dave... may have been with my dad, but this was the first time since Little Lady was born that we decided to take the venture on.

Of course, the whole Tatiana story was ringing through my mind as we strolled along the pathways I've known my whole life.    Like most folks, I have loved the big cats at the SF zoo. I remember well when the now-famed grottos were built and how exciting it was to watch Prince Charles frolic in such a nice big space. I would flock with everyone else to the tiger house when the mighty roars would resinate through the zoo at their feeding time.  I would laugh and watch in awe as they romped and played, thinking "They are sooo huge and sooo playful."  At my last visit I remember Tatiana licking the face of a keeper who had fed her, through the bars of her inside enclosure; her tongue bigger than the keepers' face.  I'm pretty sure it was her, anyway.  I remember the keeper explaining that she and her brother had come from Denver and were 3yrs old.

We all made our way around penguin island to the * new improved* tiger grotto.  The new set up is good, in light of the reason it was rapidly designed and put in.  The viewing of the cats is easier than it was before.  There are placards posted reminding visitors that we are visiting the homes of the animals, to be respectful and *ARGH* don't  taunt the cats.....

gggrrrrrr ARGH!  I am so flippin sorry, but those kids really REALLY REALLY pissed me off about Tatiana getting out of her grotto.  So what are they up to now?  The brothers whose friend (R.I.P Carols Sousa Jr.) was murdered by the tiger?  Were they scared straight after that horrifying experience?  Did they swear off the vodka and pot they were high on when they decided to visit the zoo on Christmas day after clubbing all night and lying to their parents about where they were and who they were with?  Or, maybe upon suing the zoo for the tiger getting out/ swearing they didn't taunt her... but *DID*/ burying their best friend/ then suing someone over defamation of their "character"....did they change their ways?  What are they up to?  What are they up to as they await their checks for millions that could instead go to caring for the zoo and the city?

Ummmm... shoplifting nintendo Wii stuff.

As we walked under the very Jurassic Park looking structures, a docent was walking near us and my mom engaged her in conversation.  The big cats were napping.  Amazing, glorious, and napping.  There is something magnificent about seeing a lion or tiger yawn, stretch, and re-settle and twitch its tail. The docent pointed to a big siberian tiger snoozing and told us that it was Tony, Tatiana's mate.  My heart sank.

It's hard for me to see "the good" that can come from such an incident.  Tatiana's gone, Carlos Sousa Jr. is gone.  The Daliwhal brothers keep on keeping on, could soon be rolling in money for more toys.

But then.... I am reminded that a tigress has had her babies.  Three of them! For the first time since the 1950s and she is a good tiger momma, something rare and thrilling for all of us watching with bated breath.  I can't wait to see them when they are big enough and strong enough.  SOOO CUTE!

We renewed our membership.  Big Boy and Honey Girl enjoyed the little puffer, feeding the farm animals, and their monkey-head lunch boxes.  Little Lady decided she did NOT like the train... as it tooted and whooshed by as she was trying to nurse.  I sat on the benches by the polar bears and waved at Hubby and the kids, winced as she chomped down on me.

I realized the bear I came face to face with while backpacking summer of '91 was a grizzly.  The new bear exhibit had the bears curled up right at the glass and their fur was a good reminder.  I laughed and told Honey Girl the story of emerging from a visit to the "bathroom" and almost bumping into that.  Shaggy golden fur and dark brown too.  Her eyes got huge and she announced she was ready to go to the next thing.

Going to the zoo is always awesome.  Especially when you ask Big Boy "What was your favorite animal?" and he says, "The train."

Big Boy raced to the toilet while I was bathing Little Lady in their shared bathroom, announcing while dancing on the spot that he had to go potty.  I moved out of his way so he could easily take care of business.  As I glanced back at him, I noticed he had lifted the toilet seats out of the way....thankfully heeding to our desperate pleas after wiping pee of the seat, but then he was sitting on the toilet.  As in, the toilet in order to ... as my Gramma Toni would say.... go busy busy [Dave, I can hear you laughing!]. 

Me:  Ummmm.... [Big Boy]?  I notice that you are sitting on the toilet and that the seat is folded up behind you.  Is that a little cold or uncomfortable?

Big Boy sheepishly makes the same observation with his soulful black eyes and looks at me with mild embarrassment and says,"Well, you see... I've decided to really challenge myself in doing this."

Big Boy and I have a new game for in the car.  He spots road signs, advertisements and such and reads them to me.  On the way to school today I asked him to read a sign for me and he mumbled in his morning grumpy-tiredness, "I think I would like to conserve my reading skills for school, Mom."

And lastly, we had an impromptu visit this afternoon with our property manager.  She was asking about noise from a neighbor and I explained that we were out this last weekend, and didn't see any hullabaloo.  Big Boy had been playing shy and hiding behind the couch, but decided to them jump up and announce, "Hullabaloo!  That means a loud ruckus and a lot of activity!"

And then there's my beautiful gorgeous and funny little Honey Girl.  She says a lot of funny stuff, but this one I actually texted to Hubby when it happened.

We had just returned home form doing all of our pick ups.  I was switching out laundry in the garage. I was transferring our bedspread from the washer to the dryer.  OUr Cal King bedspread doesn't get washed too often.  But I was in a spring cleaning kind of mode. 

Honey Girl climbs out of the Odyssey as I'm grunting and stuffing the quilt into the dryer and coos / 3 yr old sotto vocces to me, "OOooooooh, Mommy..... did you pee pee out  last night?!?"

As a non-speaker, but incredibly concise communicator, Little Lady had wowed me today by exhibiting that she likes to pull Hubby's shoe storage box out of his cubby.  She empties his size 13s onto the floor one by one.  Then she  pushes the basket-box around on the floor to the dinning room table, where she walks around the chairs, then pushes the box back to the stairs.  Then she begins to climb the stairs;  all the while checking in with me with her big goofy smile and deep belly laughter the fantastic joy that is the 10 month old's non-verbal "Momma look!  I'm doing it!!!"

Yes, I do realize that I have allowed my blog to go from personal insights and observations to mere clips of this, that, and the other.  I am adjusting to working life (and loving it!) and have not had energy to do more bloggity blogging about the mommy stuff.  Worry not, my readers.... hello?  Readers?  Yeah, I thought not... so in light of my fallen readership, I am happy to make this more my digital scrapbook and put this one up here.

I want to remember this one.  It's beautiful, and here I am putting myself out there to say so.

My sister in law is a member of the congregation of Trinity Church in Chicago.  If you don't know what church that is by now.. well... don't bother reading on.  I have had her in my thoughts recently.  How hard it must be to have one's place of worship being put on the chopping block of the US media/presidential race, being called names.  It's shameful.  So I was *thrilled* to hear from her today on this recent hot topic.

For the first time in our relationship, she has sent me a youtube clip.  It is a clip of the full sermon thank you very freakin much of the Rev. Wright.  We all know how the media loves to snip and clip to start sh*%.

so here it is, and Thank you, Janice!

Okay, so my zinfandel (since it's in the evening, I move from a latte sipping well-educated half black liberal to a zinfandel sipping half black well-educated liberal) went up my nose as I snarf-gafawed at this.... "Bitch may be the new black... but Black is the new president, bitch."

In December I felt a lump in my breast, but figured it was likely due to being engorged with breast milk.  Pumping and nursing seemed to help a bit until I realized that the only reason that seemed to help was the due to the milk filled tissue around the lump being softer.

I did the bad thing and let it go because, well,... it felt like a swollen duct, and I had my fair share of breast infections.

My annual exam came up and I mentioned the lump to my midwife thinking she'd give me the usual, "Yup, nothing to worrya bout.  It's just a blah blah and you can blah blah if you like, but it will go away on it's own."  But she didn't say that.  She hummed and Ooohed and gave me a referral.

errr.....ok.  I have a lump in my breast.  Very different than a lumpy breast.

I told my near and dear girlfriends, my sis.  I told my dad and step mom.  I had the ultrasound and was given reassurance that there were no red flags, but to do the biopsy just to be sure.  What a relief.  I never had the feeling that the lump was anything to worry about, but still... you hear breast, lump, and ultrasound in the same conversation, and it doesn't feel so super.

The needle biopsy was a cake walk on the breast... but since the doc felt a node on my thyroid, we decided to biopsy that as well and that biopsy was not very fun.  It took five separate needles to get the good sample.  It took me with my head tilted at an odd angle and the warning of "now, don't swallow or cough or try to make a sound."  I mean, gee... with the placement of the node she was sampling, one funky move and she could have nicked my carotid artery.

As I lay there numbed and going to my happy place in my own mind... I realized I really wished I had asked someone to be there with me.  I had sent Hubby off to do the kid pick up duty... but deep in my heart, I was not enjoying.. dare I say I was a bit scared of the fact that there was a needle wiggling and scooting about in my neck with all those nerves and teeny tiny muscles and veins and arteries.  I never told the doc that I had taken my fair share of anatomy and physiology.  If I had, she may have offered general anesthesia.

So I lay there and did my quiet meditative breathing.. needle after needle... complacently, cooperatively, quietly and patiently losing my shit entirely.  Breathing deeply.  I was *quite* sore afterward.  Whiplash sore.

That night I let it slip in a phone call with my mother that I had a biopsy or two that day and was whooped.  Zoiks.  She was  a tad bit concerned.  She connected the fact that she had had a dream the night before about my long departed great grandmother (who died of colon cancer in the 1940s) with my phone call.  She ran through all the worste case scenarios, and was concerned at my lack of concern and how no one wants to admit that they might be SICK.

*deep breath*

Deep in my intuition, I knew I was fine.

Needless to say.... I'm all benign.  Yippee!  My mom called me to check on my results.  When I told her I had left a message for her at her home, she said she was calling because she didn't want to get the message at home and have to listen to it when she was all by herself!

*deep breath*

My best response was my dad's.  The king of dry humor.

me:  Hey Pops, I'm calling to let you know I am a totally benign person.  Nothing malignant about me at all.

my dad:  Well, I certainly couldn't disagree with you more.... But, I'm glad you're healthy!

har har har!

So am I, Dad.  So am I.

The inflamed lymph node is consistent with chronic mastitis.  We'll re-eval in six months... maybe by then I will be done with the breast feeding and things will heal up.  The node on the thyroid was fine.

Kudos Melanie for this  blog post.

I am getting the distinct notion now that the democrats are going to pony up to being the asses as usual.  Puny and true.

Thank you Clinton for not following the rules, breaking the rules again, and then begging to break them again in the "sense of fairness to the voters [ provided they vote for me]".  It's such an embarrassment.  I mean, if this whole re-vote thing happens the DNC is basically admitting it is Clinton's lap-dog and that  it has no integrity to speak of.

In the republican race, it seemed Mike Huckabee was the stereotypical "nightmare republican" archetype that gave many  the heebeejeebies due to his conservative bent and religious beliefs. 

It's becoming clear that Clinton is the stereotypical "nightmare democrat" archetype.  Taxes and government programs and then.. behind closed doors... who really knows what she would do?  She is showing us in no uncertain terms that it would pretty much be whatever the hell she sees fit in order to better her own interests.  It has not been shown to me that her interests are in the interest of Americans.  I don't see her talk matching her walk.  She seems to spend a good deal of time with country club racists.

I honestly feel that should the ultimate race be Clinton versus McCain, McCain would win because at least with him, you know what you get.  Yes, that would be a never-ending conflict in the middleeast.  Yes that would be slashing and cutting of funding for roads, education, working class and middle class lifestyle.  Yes that would be more fear mongering us-versus-them rhetoric and hate breeding alienation, but no immigration reform to speak of.  Yes, that would be more jobs thrown oversees and more corporation's uppity ups getting richer and richer while their workers get poorer and poorer.  Yes, that would be no change at all for the  improvement of the lives of our children.... but at least you would know that going in. 

Long story short, it would appear that if the DNC allows itself to be smacked around, we may well be facing another campaign that would be a voting for the lesser of two evils.  At this point, I don't see Clinton or McCain being much of a happy option.

Grow a pair, DNC.  To my readers, you can decide a pair of what part of the anatomy... but let it be agreed that a definitive decision based in integrity would be appreciated.  Try some tough love.  Try sticking to your agreements.

Otherwise I think we may as well go with Lewis Black's idea of how to elect the next president..... to paraphrase:  You get the next winner of American Idol to don a blindfold.  Have them take a pin the tail on the donkey approach to the US map.... have them put a pin somewhere on the map.  Put a little monkey on a plane.  Put a parachute on the monkey.  Fly over the designated spot the Idol picked while blindfolded.  Push the little fucker out of the plane.  He falls to the ground, and in a confused monkey stumbling daze finds someone.  The first person he grabs the hand of is the next president.  Granted, for Black it was more a statement as to the absurdity of the electoral process... but I still feel it applies.

It is a scientific fact that when put under stress, the human brain downgrades to the emotional, animalistic, survivalist thinking.  I have friends who talk about "reptile brain".  Others call this flight or fight.  It's the thinking and body response that is reactive as opposed to responsive.  It's the way of looking at the world as a dichotomy.  It gets us nowhere.  There's so much more than black and white, there are many more that two kinds of people in this world.

The last eight years have shown us this.  Our nation has been ruled by fear of terror.  Our resources have been pushed to the brink.  Our soldiers abroad don't have the resources they need because they have been hastily sent off to fight a war against an ideology.  There harder they fight, the greater the ideology grows.  The more soldeirs we send, the greater the "enemy" grows out of a simple case of retaliation not unlike what we see growing in gan warfare on the much neglected homefront.  And yet, our government is so taken with "protecting" us... we've lost our borders, we lost the value of our currency, we've lost our economy.  To the international community it appears we have lost our identity.

When we live in a state of fear and reaction (which are completely ego-driven emotions!), no one is a true friend.  Every person becomes a means to an end.  We lead a shallow, self-centered existence.  Greed, hate, and delusion.

Please consider this the next time you hear a pundit or politician pontificating about "them" and how "they" want to kill you in your sleep, want to destroy the way you live and our way of life.  Who will answer that call at 3am???  Breathe into your heart and feel your chest open and allow your mind to open up and consider it more deeply.  Don't buy in to the fear.  If you truly have anything to be fearful of... it may be how these people seem to want to profit from you being fearful.  What is with that?  What would you say yes to when fearful that under a better mindset you'd see as an overreaction, a ruse?

I am not saying that there aren't bad people in the world.  It is clear that there are just as many "bad" people within our own borders and towns as there are halfway across the world.  Wouldn't it be more beneficial to take on the issues closer to home for once?  It does take a calmer mind to look closer to home.  It also takes a calmer mind to not fall for the overseas threat, but to see a greater threat in how some seem to profit so well in sending everything away.