Please! Return to the Undisclosed Location!

Seriously, I can't take it anymore!
For weeks now, our ex Vice President Dick has been running amok all over any media outlet that will give him five minutes.
I find this strange because frankly, we have seen more of this guy in two weeks than we did in eight years! I know he was safely tucked away in some bunker, AKA "undisclosed location" so he could step into Bush the sequel's booties in case something happened to him, but THIS IS RIDICULOUS!
In addition to spending a lot of time and energy defending the policies that were attached to the strings he apparently pulled for eight very long years with the moronic marionette Dubya, he's bashing the policies of Barack Obama, a man that has more common sense in one of his nose hairs than the entire Bush administration had combined.
It's time for the man to retire back to Wyoming or whatever unfortunate state he hails from, quit doing his "Penguin from Batman" imitation, and kill some fish or shoot some hunting buddy in the face or something. Isn't there a third world country that has a feeble minded idiot for a leader that he can go "consult" with? Certainly if he could control Dubya, who was an idiot wrapped in a moron, he can find something more productive to do with his time.
Enough already! GO AWAY DUDE!

Insult To Injury

I should have seen it coming. Here I am, staring down the double-barrel of a milestone birthday.
FIFTY. Five decades. Half a century. Not able to call myself "middle aged" because seriously, most folks don't live to 100.
Ok, I was dealing with it. Attempting to get excited about the prospect of reaching this "golden" phase of life. All sorts of famous, wonderful people claim that the best part of life begins at 50. Oprah. Cher. Goldie Hawn. All folks with sufficient funds to lift, tuck and otherwise repair the ravages of old age.
Of course, there are the positives and negatives that inevitably come with any milestone. On surveys I am now grouped with the "45-60" gang. Not so bad. Being told by the doctor that "we don't heal as well as we used to at your age" (little putz. Is he even old enough to have graduated from high school, let alone med school?!?!?) and further humiliation at eye doctor. "Bifocals may be the way to go this time...." and the realization that there are just some things I won't ever do.
I won't ever fly an F14, be a rock star, or climb Mount Everest. the closest to any of these activities I achieve at this point is flying around in my Dodge Caravan, playing my guitar for an audience of two (both canine) and scaling the mountain of laundry that seems to accumulate wherever my teenager drops her things. I've come to embrace and cherish all of these things as how I chose to live my life. However, I was utterly unprepared this afternoon to go out to my mailbox and pull out the mail, casually leafing through it on my little front porch. Then I saw it.

A welcome to old age letter from AARP

! ! ! ! !

I am certain that the blood curdling scream that found its way from my antiquated, wheezy old lungs must have frightened the entire neighborhood. Dogs as far away as Kentucky howled in commiseration with my wails of humiliation. I've faced adversity before about my age. My oldest nephew once said to me when he was just a small lad of seven or eight, "WOW Aunt Donna! You were born in the FIFTIES??? Did you know FONZIE?"

Now all I have to do is pick out my next car. I'm leaning toward a blue-green buick with curb feelers.

Donna's Winter Day Anthem
(sung to the tune of Jingle Bells)

Slogging through the snow
Meals on wheels in my hands
over drifts I go
gale force winds with blizzard snow bands!

the drifts up to my knees
ice and snow surround my toes
now I think I have to pee
oh, I really have to goooo!

oh, winter time, winter time, how I hate it so!
when I have to go to work and freeze
up to my knees in sno- ow!
winter time, winter time, how I hate to go
out when it is winter time to fall down in the snow.

TEENAGERS !

A very wise friend of mine has a quote on her blog that I just love.

"Raising teenagers is like nailing jello to a tree."

After this weekend I have a thought to add to hers.

Wonderful teenaged daughter spent the entire weekend at a church retreat, for which we prepared greatly, spent hugely (snacks and food for the entire troop) and were excited about.
Being the parents that we are, we very much missed our little darling.
However, it became apparent to us very shortly after she arrived home that we should have enjoyed the bliss just a little more than we did.

My new mantra, "Teenagers are like all of the seven dwarfs rolled up into one person."

Sneezy ~ She arrived home with the sniffles. Nothing drastic, but the sniffles. I think I have picked up enough tissues now to use to cover even the biggest float in next year's Macy's parade.

Sleepy ~ After complaining loudly that the dog had her sofa spot, child plopped, and became unconscious. I mean OUT. A nuclear explosion could have taken place on the coffee table and she'd have slept through it. Except, of course, when dinner was ready. Suddenly awake!

Dopey ~ Forgive me, but I have to say it was pretty Dopey to wait until 8:10 on the Sunday before school is back in session to suddenly remember a ton of homework. Of course, our reminders over the past two weeks were met with.... GRUMPY.

Doc ~ She is smart, very smart in fact. Smart enough to amaze us, unfortunately, blinded by her belief that when she turned fifteen, we lost every single brain cell we used to posess. Honestly, we're so dumb at this point that we shouldn't be able to function beyond a drool.

Happy ~ This rare incarnation of sweetness and light is rarely spotted anyplace in the vicinity of Cleveland, Ohio.

Bashful ~ Not really applicable to sweet daughter. She's actually quite outgoing, unlike her parental unit sitting typing this blog!

Grumpy ~ See Dopey.

Letter to Barack Obama

Today I received an email from the Inauguration Team for the President-Elect asking for a donation to help fund Inauguration Day.
Took me a few mintutes to find the email address to send a message, which is below:


Dear President Elect Obama:
I was so filled with hope. I donated money. I blogged, wrote letters. attended events. Talked up Mr. Obama to everyone and anyone.For the first time in my lifetime, I had hope. My family had hope. My 15 year-old daughter also worked tirelessly.We took time out from a schedule of church, school, volunteering with a local food bank and charity to do what we could. Took off of work to stand in line for hours before election day, at one polling place available to us in Cleveland, where we had to park blocks away and walk, and stand with thousands of others that wanted true change.Along with the change we hoped for, my little family also desired acceptance and equality.My partner and I have been together almost 30 years. We made the decision together to conceive our daughter, who we have raised to be a caring person, a true global citizen that wants to become a doctor and work with Doctors Without Borders.Unfortunately, equality is apparently out of reach for my family.Although I am in every respect my daughter's parent, I am not her biological mother. If I die, my social security cannot go to my partner to help care for my child and assist her in attaining her amazing goals.Why? I simply don't understand why my child's future is less important than my straight, married and even divorced neighbors.I had hope. Then Prop 8 passed. Aided and endorsed by the very man you've asked to deliver the invocation on inauguration day.When I received the email asking for a donation to help fund that day, I was crushed and put into my place all over again.Apparently my money is good enough, but my 30 year, faithful and loving relationship is not.The invitation to Rick Warren doesn't instill any hope in me whatsoever that I am going to be an equal citizen in the US any time soon.It's business as usual, and frankly sir, it's simply hurtful and a slap in the face to all of the individuals and families like mine that believed in you.

Thank Goodness for DVR !!!!!!!

I had an awesome day today. My day began with my usual tune-in to the morning news program on ABC.
Today was so very different and special, though!
Apparently George W. Bush paid his farewell visit to Iraq yesterday. His "swan song" so to speak, a happy time for those of us that have spent the past eight years in utter humiliation with almost 100% of what this man said and did. I have no doubt that history will recognize this man as the buffoon he truly is. For anyone that still believes he's anything but a blithering idiot, today's news should remove all doubt.
During his news conference, a reporter removed his shoes, and one at a time, hurled them at our fearless leader's noggin. I have to give the man credit, he came pretty darned close with the second shoe!
I watched in complete adoration and glee as the shoes whizzed past "the shrub's" head, and felt compelled to rewind the moment on my DVR and watch it a half dozen times. It was especially fun one frame at a time.
Once the incident was over and the shoe tossing man had been taken into custody, Bush quipped that the shoes were size 10's, and that the reason the man threw the shoes was because he wanted his two minutes of TV time.
IDIOT! Would one think that after eight years in the position of President of the U.S., dealing with people in the Muslim world that he'd have a clue that the man winging his shoes at his head and calling him a dog insulted him in the worst possible way in that culture? Seriously?
Herein lies the root of the problem with Bush and his gang from day one.
Complete lack of understanding of the complexities of any part of the planet that ends at their noses.
Utter disregard for other cultures and beliefs.
Arrogant, stubborn refusal to ATTEMPT to figure out what causes people to behave the way they do in that part of the world, and finally, apparently, never bothering to try to learn.
Ignorance, at least apparently in the corner of the world inhabited by this bunch of chicken hawks, truly is bliss.
I just wish the shoe tosser had nailed him right between the eyes. Who knows, it may have even knocked some sense into him.
1-20-09..end of an error.

This week our annual World Vision gift catalog arrived. For anyone unfamiliar with World Vision, it's an organization that globally works to improve the lives of impoverished people. Robin and I have been sponsors of children since the early 80's, when we saw a program on TV that told how a small amount of money per month from a sponsor can change people's lives.
The first child we sponsored was in the Phillipines. Her name was Nanette. Once she graduated from the program, we were assigned her younger sister. More kids through the years. Sadly, a boy we'd sponsored through his teenaged years was in the path of the horrible Tsunami, and was assumed lost by World Vision when I contacted them to see if he was OK. We take comfort in knowing that at least for part of his life we may have made things better for him. The child we were assigned thereafter is a small girl in frail health in Chile.
We are thrilled and excited each year when the gift catalog arrives. In it, one can purchase gifts like a dozen chickens for a family in the Sudan. Goats, milk cows, wells for clean water.
(Clean water? WOW!) Seeds. Fruit Trees. Clothing. Mosquito nets to prevent malaria. School supplies. It seems that in other countries the children actually WANT to go to school! The list of items that one can provide is endless. Some gifts cost as little as $15. Other gifts, like a barnyard of various animals, cost more.
I think the thing that our family likes most about this catalog and the time we spend leafing through it to select each year's gift of choice is the knowledge that we are blessed in our lives..not only blessed to be where we are on this beautiful spinning globe, but that we have enough. Enough to share. Enough to help. Enough to "spread around". It reminds me of the quote "There but for the grace of God go I" and it humbles me. That could be me. That could be my child.
The truth is, it IS me. It IS my child. We are all connected by this thing called life and responsibility. I am my brother's keeper. Some folks like to call this concept of spreading the wealth and sharing Socialism. So be it, call me what you will.
Recently, the financial "crisis" blew up into a disaster of epic proportions. I don't claim to be an economist, but one doesn't have to look too hard or have a fancy degree to see that a good bit of this problem was brought on by nothing more than good old fashioned GREED. Corporate CEO's that make millions after bankrupting a company.. private jets. Fifteen homes in fifteen different places. More money than one person could spend in their lifetime, the lifetimes of their children and grandchildren. Greed, pure and simple. In the world of these people, folks that need a mosquito net to avoid getting malaria while they sleep don't exist. It's sad and pathetic and so absurd that it's an abomination. The amount of money that just one of these people makes in a week would feed a small country of impoverished people for a year.
It's time that we acknowledge just how far off track we have gotten. It's past time that we begin doing what we were put on this Earth to do. Care for one another. Respect one another.
Understand that the faces of poor people we see on documentaries about far away places are really the faces of our brothers and sisters. It doesn't matter if they are Christian or Hindu or Muslim or Buddhist or if they have no affiliation. It seems to me that the Creator of us all would be all knowing enough to know that with the diversity of the human race that was placed here, different people would respond to different messengers. If one looks closely enough, it's easy to see that an awful lot of the messages that have been delivered through the ages are at their root the same message. That is, the messages as they were truly delivered, not as they have been manipulated by imperfect humans, but then that is certainly another blog...
As for me, I believe that the message I am in the mood to deliver tonight is in the form of the purchase a goat and a couple of dozen chickens.