If we shadows have offended . . .

Used to be a boy in my high school, in my grade, named Robert.  His dad was the coolest crossing guard ever, used to dress up as Santa each holiday season.  Solidly nice man.  And Robert seemed a nice enough kid, though there was an odd sort of edge to him, a . . . creepiness to his nice, if you know what I mean?  Ever see William Mapother play a creep?  You know, like "Ethan" from Lost or the pimp from Justified?  Like that.  Too nice, too patient, too . . . edgily weird with a smile.

Anyway, I didn't see Robert for a few years after graduation (or as close to graduation as I came).  Then, one night, my best friend and I were sitting in our usual restaurant, studying for midterms or finals (don't remember which) when suddenly Robert showed up.  My friend liked him (initially), and so his vaguely drunken cowboy self was invited to sit with us for a few.

A "few," which panned into a couple of hours.  We couldn't study, we couldn't quiz each other, we couldn't transcribe notes because Robert wouldn't let us.  In fact, Robert kept getting more and more creepy and "hey, let's party"-y until we finally made some excuse and beat a hasty retreat.

It was a few blocks away when we realized we were being followed, and pretty aggressively.  Whomever it was?  Wasn't looking to be sly.  This was big, obvious lane changes, swerving, flashing lights, etc.  As we were unaccustomed to being stalked by creeps, we actually didn't realize it was Robert until he RAN US OFF THE ROAD AND UP A CURB in his big red and white pick-up truck.  It was then we saw him behind the wheel and understood.  What did we do?

We raced for the cop-shop, which was only five blocks away.  This was, of course, in the days before cell phones, so getting to the police station was the only route we felt we had open to us.  He followed us right to the driveway, then peeled off and raced away.  In other words?

He knew exactly what he was doing.  If it had been anything less than creepy, he wouldn't have fled when he realized where we were headed.  Sadly, stupidly, we didn't report him.  We figured it was a bad move borne of booze (these days, I'd call the cops for the DUI as well as the stalking), and went on home.

The next time we saw Robert was, again, in our restaurant.  He was there specifically for us.  This time I told him to get the hell away from us.  He became belligerent and bullying, and I called the restaurant manager, who told him to leave or face the cops.  For weeks after, we had waiters and cooks walking us to our car each evening, just in case.  He followed us one more time, and then disappeared.

I was reading the paper this morning and spotted his mugshot.  He looks like a man who's done some major meth over the years--you know the look.  Those cute boy cheeks and bright eyes are gone, gone, gone.  And what's he in for?

Assault and protective order violations.

Gosh, didn't see that one coming.

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Reading about online yesterday, stumbled across THIS GEM.  Is it Kansas?  I've lived in Kansas, I don't remember it being quite this bad.  Of course, I was a kid, I lived on base, so maybe I was sheltered.  Or maybe times have changed.  Maybe people are stupider, or maybe they just feel safer and more comfortable openly splashing their idiocy about.  Or maybe it's not Kansas at all, maybe it's just this variety republican?  Whichever, whatever, you've got to ask yourself about the people who vote for creatures like this.  I mean, if you vote for a racist, doesn't that make YOU a racist, too?

I think it does.

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Well, since I'm on a roll, let's talk about gun control and the New York Daily News.  Their recent headline?

NY Daily News Cover

You know what?  I'm not usually a big fan of visual media histrionics, but I have to say, I agree.  It is all for nothing if we still have gun show loopholes, still allow private sales/transfers without background checks, and still allow high capacity clips and ARs.  It's ridiculous to even call that a real effort to change things.  How it is that Americans got to this state, I don't know.  It's like we're absolutely incapable of assessing risk, we fear the phantom home invader when, fact is, we're FAR more likely to be killed by an armed spouse or relative than by a stranger.  There are people who carry concealed, but don't put their kids in car seats and let them pilot ATVs at five years old.  We ban drop-sided cribs for killing 32 babies in TEN years, but ignore the fact that medically unnecessary routine infant circumcision kills 100+ baby boys a YEAR.  Do Americans just not know how to gauge risk?

And speaking of risk, I'm going to scream the next time someone says something stupid like, "Guns don't kill as many people as CARS, should we ban them, too?"  It's a dull-witted, disingenuous argument, almost as bad as "guns don't kill people, people kill people!"  A few things--one, we DO ban cars deemed unsafe (and regulate the living daylights out of the ones that are considered safe).  Two, cars, when used correctly and according to the manufacturer's directions and the attendant laws, aren't LETHAL.  Assault rifles are built to kill people.  When used as intended, they are lethal.  And three?

In an increasing number of states, guns DO kill more people than cars.  It won't be long, if we continue as we are, before guns kill more Americans every year than cars.  Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.

Gun Deaths Set to Outstrip Car Fatalities

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Wow, look at me go!

I keep getting these wowser woo things coming across my wall on Facebook (I know, who'da thunk?).  You know, this berry cures this and this powder cures that, and if you can just cut out sugar/increase your body's alkalinity/deep breathe/leave cut onions around/whatever, you'll be cured/healed/protected.

To quote the wonderful Tim Minchin,

A small crack appears
In my diplomacy-dike.
"By definition", I begin
"Alternative Medicine", I continue
"Has either not been proved to work,
Or been proved not to work.
You know what they call alternative medicine
That’s been proved to work?
Medicine."




Just recently, I got some greasy pile of dung going on and on about how our blood is "highly magnetic," powerfully so, because of all the IRON in it, and how magnets, therefore, manipulate this iron and effect magical woo cures . . .  oh, I can't.  I just can't.  Here's what I CAN say, though.

Ever spend 45 minutes in an MRI?  I have.  Three times now.  You know what happens to people with measurable magnetic metals in their body when they're in an MRI?

It ain't pretty.

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One last thing, in case I haven't pissed off enough people today?

No Body of Christ for the Gay-Lovers!

That's right!  If you support marriage equality, the Catholic Church doesn't want YOU partaking of the body or the blood of Jesus.  Because it's not enough to cough up tithe or continue to claim membership despite the church's deep misogyny and historic tolerance of rampant child molestation (and dogged defense of child molesters).  No, no, you must also be utterly intolerant and totally unwilling to support equality for people who aren't exactly like you.  And if you're not willing to go the hater route?

Well, it's gonna be a tough haul getting into heaven, huh?

So, in other words, if you're Catholic, you'd better not support the rights of non-Catholics to engage in behaviors your church abhors.  Any attempt to allow folks who are different the same rights and privileges you get?  BOOM, bye-bye body of Christ!

At least if the folks you're trying to help are gay.  Apparently, the handing out of said eucharist by altar-boy-groping priests is A-okay.  It must be, right?  After all, the church has spent decades--centuries, even--working to keep those priests on the job.

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And if none of THAT offended you, you must be my forever-friend and possibly platonic soul-mate.

So here, have some hideous home decor.  It's on the house . . . get it?  Get it?

Photophobic Child

I came across the most amazing blog-y/Tumblr thing today, and it SO struck a chord with us!

http://reasonsmysoniscrying.tumblr.com/ is, essentially, a running photographic record of . . . well, I was going to say "this guy's son," but I don't think there's any mention of whether it's mom or dad documenting.  It just feels like a "guy" thing.  Anyway, it's a running record of this child and the broad variety of reasons for his meltdowns.  

Now, this hit so close to home because our boy was a disaster for meltdowns.  And he started early--at just a few months old, he began "sundowning."  That's crying from around 5 pm to 10 pm, with NO break, no respite.  He wouldn't sleep, wouldn't nurse, and refused all efforts at calming or comforting.

There no medical issue, at least none we could find.  And believe me, we had him in the Ped's office.  Nothing helped, and it was HELLISH.  We were living with my Mom at the time, and she was working 5 am-5pm.  The screaming was biting solidly into her sleep time.

At one point, we almost wound up in an emergency room in rural Idaho--we were heading up to Ennis, Montana (a little place called the Riverside Outfitters on the banks of the Madison River) to celebrate my birthday and the anniversary of our boy's conception.  Yes, he was conceived on my birthday.  We had stopped the first night in the Challis National Forest near MacKay, Idaho.  Things went great until around--you guessed it--5 pm.  By 9 pm, I was panicked--we were miles from the nearest town, in the middle of a forest, isolated, with a child who just kept screaming and screaming.  He had screamed himself into a sweat, and felt so hot to the touch that I feared the thermometer was wrong.  Finally, four hours in, I told hubby we were going to have to break camp and drive into MacKay, try to figure out where there was an ER.

Yeah, this was before we had a cell phone, and WELL before we had a phone with web access.

About the time hubby had the tent torn down, I managed, finally, to get the boy to latch.  After HOURS of him steadfastly refusing.

And the moment he latched, it was all okay.  He nursed heartily, both sides, and then fell deeply asleep.  He cooled to the touch, and everything was fine.

I know, right?

We finally figured out the "Sundowning" thing--we started swaddling him.  That would calm him enough to latch, and then he'd be set.

But it didn't stop with that.  Oh, gosh no.

Our boy hated having his picture taken.  Any attempt at professional portraiture was met with sobs, struggles, and all-around devastation.  And so we'd be dancing around with stuffed animals and cavorting and hooting like fools, trying to distract him JUST enough so his face wasn't pulled back in that rictus-like scream we so adored.  And it worked, but only just, and only after 20-40 minutes of parental struggles.  And it wasn't just professional shots--any time he sensed that he was, in any way, being POSED, he lost cohesion.  Here are some examples of "caught him between screams/almost looks like he's happy" shots:

Yes, he's crying

Yeah, he was crying here, too

Yep, tears again

Now, I don't want to give you the idea that our boy did nothing but cry.  Gosh, no--we even have some cheery shots of him.  But you had to trick him.  You had to get the shot in on the sly, with no attempts at posing him or setting up the shot.  Like so:

Minneola love

Yam face

While he wasn't the happiest boy around, he was a lot happier most of the time than his pictures seemed to show. 

And these days?  These days, the challenge is getting him to NOT mug for the camera.  He sees the camera, the mouth twists grotesquely, the eyes bug, the nostrils flare.  It's maddening:

But if I yell/wheedle/cry enough, sometimes (only sometimes) I can get something like this:

And then my heart positively sings.

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Came across a review today on Epinions, one covering the new (I guess?) lemon-scented Raid.  And I found myself a bit taken aback.  Not because of the review itself--it's a very good review.  But rather at the idea of making Raid (and anything else that incredibly toxic) smell nice.  There's a reason that stuff smells awful--because it's awful for you.  Same with "happy" scented oven cleaners and the like.  When they smell as bad as they ARE for you, it's a good way to remember to keep those windows open and those fans on.  I don't WANT things that can kill you via inhalation to be pleasant to inhale.  Seems . . . dangerous.

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So, another pile of steaming woo BS came sliding across my wall today.  This time?  

The dippy "onions absorb illness" crap.  Holy cow!  This has come up over and over, and again and again it's debunked, only to have some woo nard drag it up again.  This time, it's a guy whose woo is so deep it's a miracle he hasn't drowned in it.

Here's the garbage:  

 Wow- very interesting....Everyone should read :)

ONIONS! I had never heard this!!!
PLEASE READ TO THE END: IMPORTANT

In 1919 when the flu killed 40 million people there was this Doctor that visited the many farmers to see if he could helpthem combat the flu...
Many of the farmers and their families had contracted it and many died.

The doctor came upon this one farmer and to his surprise, everyone was very healthy. When the doctor asked what the farmer was doing that was different the wife replied that she had placed an unpeeled onion in a dish in the rooms of the home, (probably only two rooms back then). The doctor couldn't believe it and asked if he could have one of the onions and place it under the microscope. She gave him one and when he did this, he did find the flu virus in the onion. It obviously absorbed the bacteria, therefore, keeping the family healthy.

Now, I heard this story from my hairdresser. She said that several years ago, many of her employees were coming down with the flu, and so were many of her customers. The next year she placed several bowls with onions around in her shop. To her surprise, none of her staff got sick. It must work. Try it and see what happens. We did it last year and we never got the flu.

Now there is a P. S. to this for I sent it to a friend in Oregon who regularly contributes material to me on health issues. She replied with this most interesting experience about onions:

Thanks for the reminder. I don't know about the farmer's story...but, I do know that I contacted pneumonia, and, needless to say, I was very ill... I came across an article that said to cut both ends off an onion put it into an empty jar, and place the jar next to the sick patient at night. It said the onion would be black in the morning from the germs...sure enough it happened just like that...the onion was a mess and I began to feel better.

Another thing I read in the article was that onions and garlic placed around the room saved many from the black plague years ago. They have powerful antibacterial, antiseptic properties.

This is the other note. Lots of times when we have stomach problems we don't know what to blame. Maybe it's the onions that are to blame. Onions absorb bacteria is the reason they are so good at preventing us from getting colds and flu and is the very reason we shouldn't eat an onion that has been sitting for a time after it has been cut open.

LEFT OVER ONIONS ARE POISONOUS

I had the wonderful privilege of touring Mullins Food Products, Makers of mayonnaise. Questions about food poisoning came up, and I wanted to share what I learned from a chemist.

Ed, who was our tour guide, is a food chemistry whiz. During the tour, someone asked if we really needed to worry about mayonnaise. People are always worried that mayonnaise will spoil. Ed's answer will surprise you. Ed said that all commercially-made mayo is completely safe.

"It doesn't even have to be refrigerated. No harm in refrigerating it, but it's not really necessary." He explained that the pH in mayonnaise is set at a point that bacteria could not survive in that environment. He then talked about the summer picnic, with the bowl of potato salad sitting on the table, and how everyone blames the mayonnaise when someone gets sick.

Ed says that, when food poisoning is reported, the first thing the officials look for is when the 'victim' last ate ONIONS and where those onions came from (in the potato salad?). Ed says it's not the mayonnaise (as long as it's not homemade mayo) that spoils in the outdoors. It's probably the ONIONS, and if not the onions, it's the POTATOES.

He explained onions are a huge magnet for bacteria, especially uncooked onions. You should never plan to keep a portion of a sliced onion.. He says it's not even safe if you put it in a zip-lock bag and put it in your refrigerator.

It's already contaminated enough just by being cut open and out for a bit, that it can be a danger to you (and doubly watch out for those onions you put in your hotdogs at the baseball park!). Ed says if you take the leftover onion and cook it like crazy you'll probably be okay, but if you slice that leftover onion and put on your sandwich, you're asking for trouble. Both the onions and the moist potato in a potato salad, will attract and grow bacteria faster than any commercial mayonnaise will even begin to break down.

Also, dogs should never eat onions. Their stomachs cannot metabolize onions.

Please remember it is dangerous to cut an onion and try to use it to cook the next day, it becomes highly poisonous for even a single night and creates toxic bacteria which may cause adverse stomach infections because of excess bile secretions and even food poisoning.

Please pass this on to all you love and care about.

And here's the reality:

http://www.snopes.com/medical/swineflu/onion.asp

http://www.hoax-slayer.com/onions-flu-remedy.shtml

http://urbanlegends.about.com/od/medical/a/swine_flu_facts_onions_and_flu.htm

And the real pisser here?  This guy isn't stupid.  He's not anywhere near as smart as he thinks he is (obviously), he's lazy and intellectually sloppy and taken with things fanciful and--well, and woo-ish.  But he's certainly smart enough to GOOGLE things.  And, really, that's all I ask.  Before you splatter this dull-witted garbage on my wall, take five minutes to research it.

Please?

Because, you see, if you don't, then you're the reason why people are getting stupider instead of smarter.  People see your name and assume that you wouldn't lie to them, you wouldn't misinform, that, gosh, you're a smart guy, this must be true!  

YOU.  That's YOU doing that, that's YOU misinforming people, dumbing them down.  So, hey, do us all a favor, would you?

STOP IT!

Oh, and since we're here, leftover onions do not, in any way, absorb toxins, biological or otherwise, thus becoming poisonous.  Grow up.

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And that's all.  Do me a favor--remember these pictures and the written stuff here is mine.  If you want to use something, you need to ask me.  Thanks.

Do not reprint without permission. © KAQ

Oklahoma Joe's BBQ in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma--would you like a side of bigotry with those ribs?

As you almost certainly know, I'm an atheist.  My husband is an atheist, and my teenage son is an atheist.  It has been our boy's dream for years to attend a Camp Quest, which is a secular camp that stresses science and adventure.  No indoctrination.  ALL are welcome, including kids who do believe but whose parents don't want to send them to a "church" camp.  This year marks the first year we've been able to swing it.

There are a number of Camp Quests serving different areas.  Last night, it came to my attention that one Camp Quest--Camp Quest Oklahoma--had planned a tuition fundraiser at a BBQ joint in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma.

Oklahoma Joe's BBQ, in fact.  Now, don't mistake it for Oklahoma Joe's BBQ in Kansas City--yes, there is a link there, but until we know WHAT the link is, we don't want to slam the Kansas City folks--they likely have nothing to do with it, they may not agree at all with the Broken Arrow location.

Agree with what?

There's where it gets ugly.

You see, OK Joe's was approached by the Camp Quest OK folks about setting up this fundraiser.  The folks at Joe's were given all the usual information, the business cards, the camp brochures, the regular business information.  Understand, all these things include the words "Secular" or "Humanist" or "Free-Thinker."  You know, ATHEISTS.  OK Joe's okayed the fundraiser, in which ten percent of proceeds from the night would be kicked back to Camp Quest to pay for kids whose families can't afford camp tuition. All folks had to do was present the flyer and there you go--10% goes to the kids who need tuition assistance.

Nice, huh?

Here's the final flyer, which was approved by Joe of OK Joe's BBQ:

Notice the words "Free Thought" and "Humanist Values."

Again, this flyer was approved by Oklahoma Joe's BBQ.  There is no attempt to HIDE the purpose of this camp or the "ideology" behind it.  It is absolutely clear what this camp is, what it does, and who it appeals to.

All seemed great until the night of the fundraiser.  The Camp Quest OK folks were there, their materials and such set up, when someone from OK Joe's approached and asked to speak to one of the Camp Quest folks outside.  At this point, an hour into the four hour fundraiser, there were already donors inside, eating.  A few, in fact, had already eaten and left.  You know, their "ten percent goes to the camp" BBQ meals?  Some had already posted happy pics to Facebook, showing their fundraising BBQ feast.

And what did this someone representing OK Joe's BBQ have to say?

To paraphrase, he appears to have said, "This is against our Christian values.  We won't give money to your cause.  You need to leave."

They then put a notice in the business' door, claiming that Camp Quest had not "fully disclosed" their religious whatever-the-hell.  Here it is:

Seeming translation?  "We'll let the dirty atheists eat here, but we won't honor our agreement and support kids needing help with camp tuition, even though we said we would."

Now, the spokesman from Oklahoma Joe's BBQ has done quite a bit of fancy dancing since things blew up, claiming he never asked folks to leave (according to those he spoke to, he did--he asked the folks representing Camp Quest to take down their materials and leave), claiming that he just told them that OK Joe's won't donate the 10% of fundraiser sales to their cause.

After Ok Joe's had agreed to do so.

I'm left wondering--are they just so stupid that they don't understand what "Secular," "Humanist," "Free Thinking," "Critical Thinking" and "Scientific Inquiry" mean?  I mean, I suppose that's possible, though that still makes them losers who don't honor their agreements, whose word isn't worth squat.  Or are they the kinds of creeps who were hoping to drum up the Christian customer base by abusing some atheists?

My money's on the former, but either way, I can't imagine eating there.  Place left a bunch of kids in the lurch and went back on their word because they find someone else's ideology repugnant.

Imagine, if you will, that this was a group of Jewish kids fundraising for the local Synagogue's summer program.  Or a bunch of Mormon kids for their mission funds.  Imagine the outcry if this man and this business waited until an event was underway, then told the organizers, "No, you didn't fully disclose your beliefs, and I don't like your beliefs, so you need to take down your materials and go--deal's off."

Would you stand for it?  Would you support it?  I sure as hell wouldn't.  If a business pulled a stunt like this with Jews, Mormons, Muslims, or Catholics, I'd be RIGHT there, shouting.  Because this is crap, regardless of who the victim is.

Here's a link to the camp's site:

Oh, and if you're thinking of visiting Oklahoma Joe's Facebook page?  Don't--after scrambling wildly to pull any posts on the subject, they pulled down the page.  There are still ways to contact them, I'm sure, but the Facebook route has gone the way of the coward.

And that's all for this entry.  Grass seeds watered, chicken in the oven, and I'm outta here.

******Update*******

Word is Oklahoma Joe's BBQ now claims that the dirty atheists were pushing their dirty atheist materials on the poor, innocent folks in the restaurant. No, not the terms they used, but certainly the tone.  This is new, they just added this BS to the already BS story.  Witnesses say that's not true (though time will tell if certain types will leap up and mouth the lie).  So we have breaking the contract/agreement, screwing little kids out of their camp tuition, lying about asking people to leave, lying about whether or not they were told this was a secular/humanist camp, and lying about "atheist prosthelytizing."  Oh, and mass deleting comments from OK Joe's Facebook page before giving up and just pulling the page.

It's probably a good thing for Ok Joe's that there's not really a heaven . . . or hell.

Do not reprint without permission. © KAQ

Robbie the Robot , Cicadas, and Various Cancer References

I was thinking today about one of my glaring parental failures.  One that sticks with me always, one that will likely stick with our boy forever, too.

It didn't start out as a failure.  In fact, it started out as a wowser victory.  You see, we saved a lot of old boxes of varying size (and some large wrapping paper tubes) and, with a LOT of aluminum foil, built our boy a robot.

Our boy,  many years ago, with "Robbie" the robot

Oh, our boy LOVED his robot.  "Robbie" hung around for a couple of YEARS, though it wasn't long before he started taking damage--cat scratches here, a crushing wound there, parts falling off over time.  Understand, too, that "Robbie" was LARGE.  He was large, and he took up a large portion of our boy's room.  And then, one day, "Robbie" got cat-pissed upon.

And that was it.  My boy was, at the time, very into Viking-type things.  I explained to him that "Robbie" had lived a long, productive robot life, but it was time for him to go.  Our boy agreed.  I asked if he'd like to send "Robbie" out in style, with a real, live funeral pyre ala the old Norse.  He agreed.

Eagerly.

And so we took "Robbie" (and all his loose, sad pieces) out to the fire pit and did the deed.  Our boy's excitement over the send-off was short-lived.  In fact, it was only a minute or so into the torching that the heartbroken tears began.  It was, of course, entirely too late to pull "Robbie" out of the flames.  

My poor boy.  He cried and cried for his robot, and I cried, too.  I cried for him, I cried because I'd obviously screwed up, and, yeah, I cried a little for "Robbie."  

I'm not the worst mom out there, but who'd aspire to that?  I totally blew it, and I still feel bad.

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Went in at the butt-crack of dawn this morning to have the stitches out of my cancer arm.  It looks awful, and, for all my talk of "What's another scar?" fact is, I feel sad about it.  I don't have a lot of pretty on me, I don't have much to recommend me.  Now I have a big, ugly, puckered, disfiguring scar on my arm.  Yay.

They called later to let me know that the margins were clear, they got it all.  That's something good.  They won't need to see me for a year.  I've taken a bunch of pictures, and once a little more healing has taken place, I'm going to post a big, long series of shots, from before the excision to a few months after.  Maybe someone will get a feel for what they can expect in their own experience.

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It's funny--they say that Red Winged Blackbirds are year-round, that they don't leave for the winter.  That may be true, but they sure do shut up for the winter--I haven't heard one since last fall.  Until today.  The weather has warmed up dramatically, and suddenly my yard is full of the sounds of blackbirds.  Maybe it's a breeding thing, they only come near in the spring because the feeders and breeding grounds attract them.

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Hubby has an ex-girlfriends who's gone deeply woo recently.  Very "natural health" and "conspiracy theory" and the like.  One of her recent ones?  Cancer rates are increasing, and it's because of Monsanto.  

Okay, straight up, I don't like Monsanto.  I don't like the way they actively disregard the health and well-being of folks unfortunate enough to live near their manufacturing facilities, I don't like their predatory farming practices, and I don't like unlabeled GMO crops.  Considering our unwillingness or inability to bring down carbon emissions in a meaningful way, I recognize that the GMO crops I despise may well prove to be our saviours down the line, but that doesn't mean I have to be happy about it.  All of that aside, there's an "Occam's Razor" kind of answer to the cancer rates that doesn't require conspiracy theories, government cover-ups, or corporate evil.  

An aging population.

When I was born, the average life expectancy was something like 66 for men and 73 for women.  For children born today?  76 for men and 82 for women.  

Most (not all, there are exceptions) cancers become more common with age.  That makes sense--things get old, they break down, DNA screws up, lifetime exposure to various things piles up.  Add to that the fact that we are curing or effectively treating SO many things that used to kill people BEFORE they could get cancer.  Diabetes, hypertension, heart disease, heart failure, etc.  People are living long enough to get cancer.

And let's not forget the BABY BOOMERS, who are all now hanging about in prime cancer territory, age-wise.

No, that doesn't mean that I don't think there are things in our food supply and in our environment that are carcinogenic.  Of COURSE there are, hence CANCER.  But I think people overlook some of the more mundane reasons for more cancer.  We're living long enough to GET more cancer.  

Or at least that's my interpretation of the data.  You know me, that whole "Principle of Parsimony" thing gets me every time.

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So, we put down more grass seed last night.  Temps are supposed to get up to the high 80s this week, and that means . .  .

BROOD II CICADA-SASTER!

That's right.  It's that time, folks!  We had a few cicadas here and there last year, but this is supposed to be a little more . . . horrifying.  Like floods and waves and drifts of cicadas.  While not supposed to be as bad as BROOD X (that's Brood Ten) in a few years, it should be enough to be getting on with.  It'll do 'til the REAL trouble comes, right?

For folks who haven't had to deal with cicada broods, here's a little taste or two:

And from the local news:

Plus a good story right here, from the Baltimore Sun.

Oh, and when is this supposed to happen?  I believe I read that it's "scheduled" to hit when the soil temp hits 64 degrees Fahrenheit.  Considering we're supposed to be up in the 80s this week?  I'm thinking that's VERY soon.

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And now?   It's time for something ugly, house-wise.  Maybe paneling, maybe wallpaper, maybe flooring.  It's a surprise!

Do not reprint without permission. © KAQ

Social Services and Giving Children Back to Addict Parents

So, remember how I was talking about Demarquise Elkins and the problems with poverty and drugs, how I'm starting to think that the only solution is removing kids from these homes and placing them in normal, healthy homes where they can go to decent schools and thrive in a drug and violence-free environment?  Remember how that female relative of mine called me a racist because she assumed I meant black kids being taken from their families and placed in white homes?

My junkie sister-in-law was just given back her kids.

That would be my white junkie sister-in-law was just given back two of her three blond-haired, blue-eyed kids.  The oldest child, her only daughter, refused to return to her.  Smart girl.

This is so frustrating and so painful for us.  You see, in October of 2010, the junkie sister-in-law (heretofore known as JSIL) called us and asked if we would take the boys "just for a couple of hours."  Past experience had taught us that she would hold our entire day hostage, so we said, "Tell you what--we'll keep them for a sleepover, we'll bring them back to you tomorrow."  Now, we went to get the kids because JSIL wasn't allowed in our home.  In fact, she didn't even know our address.  

Hubby came home with the kids.  JSIL had packed them an overnight bag that included underwear too small for them, ONE sock, a pajama top, and a swimsuit.  All stinking like meth.  

We threw the clothes away, then took the boys to the store, bought them each a new outfit, some new socks, new underwear, and new pajamas. No, we couldn't afford it.

Next day rolled around, and no JSIL.  In fact, she wasn't answering her phone or returning calls/responding to messages at all.

Same thing the next day.  And the next.

We wound up working out a deal with hubby's GOOD sister, where she would take the boys from Monday morning through Friday afternoon (because their school was near her house, whereas we were in a different town), we would take them over the weekends and on holidays.  We bought the boys new clothes, new toys, etc.  Hubby's sister fed them, helped them with school work, took care of their doctor's appointments, etc.  We took them places (Living Planet Aquarium, the zoo, Air Force Museum, movies, holiday lights, etc.).  We had their sister over some weekends (the sister who now refuses to live with JSIL).  And, of course, we fed them, bathed them, entertained them, and helped them with their weekend homework.  

That last was hard, because, in addition to being seriously stunted, growth-wise, they're solidly behind academically and all three have pretty serious speech impediments.  Their junkie mother thinks that last is "adorable."  She thinks the whole Elmer Fudd/wild mispronunciations thing is so CUTE!

So here's the deal.  She ditched those kids for almost seven months.  No attempt to get them back, no asking to see them or talk to them, and never once, not even now, a "thank you."  After seven months, she took them back.  Social Services told us we couldn't refuse to hand them over because we couldn't establish abuse or neglect.  We couldn't do that, they said, because she HADN'T HAD THEM.  In other words, regardless of her drug addiction, their emaciated state when they came our way, their speech and academic issues, etc., we couldn't do anything UNTIL WE HANDED THEM OVER AND GAVE HER THE OPPORTUNITY TO NEGLECT AND ABUSE THEM AGAIN.  So it could be DOCUMENTED, of course.

It didn't take long.  JSIL began skipping from place to place, moving the kids from one school to another, exposing them to scary, scary people.  The boys started saying things like, "I don't like DJ, he hurts me."  JSIL was busted for selling food stamps for drugs and other things.  And, finally, Social Services stepped in and pulled the boys.

HAZMAT had to come in to clean the place out, the meth cooking was out of control.  And the boys?  All the toys, clothes, winter jackets, fancy Lands End snow boots--everything we'd gotten them had to be destroyed.  The boys tested positive for exposure to multiple drugs. They were, at the time, seven and five.

Since then, the boys, along with their older sister, have lived with hubby's GOOD sister.  But the JSIL?  After a few false starts, she has managed to pass her drug tests for the past year.  And so they gave the kids BACK.  Except, as I said, the daughter, who refused.

I should be jumping for joy, right?  Oh, success!  Isn't it just so wonderful?

No, not really.  One, this woman has "gone clean" a half-dozen times, and it never holds.  Two, those kids' speech and academic performance NOSEDIVES after just a weekend with this creature.      And three?  She still talks to the same people, engages in the same behaviors (can't get or hold a decent job, counts on the parents to bail her out of troubles every time, etc.).  So none of this is anything but an invitation to more sadness for and danger to those boys.

I'm beside myself.  And all I can do is hope she screws it up early, but not so severely as to seriously endanger those boys.

If you're wondering where the father of these kids is, he's awaiting trial on charges of trying to sell meth to a cop at the local Home Depot.  Yes, he is that stupid.  But, unlike the JSIL, he KNOWS he's that stupid.  He offered to relinquish custody of the boys years ago.  It was the JSIL who refused.  And I can't help but think it's nothing more than her knowing that if she gives them up, she loses any chance at housing assistance, food stamps (yes, they're giving her those things again!), etc.  Maybe that's not fair, but that's what I perceive.

So, to my family member who accused me of being a racist because I think that children whose parents are junkies or gang members should be placed in better homes?  It's not about race, babe.  It's about child abuse and neglect.

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Today is "try to pull the yard together" day.  Hoping to get the re-encroaching dead nettle under control and mow/weed eat so we can get some grass seed down.  Plus, Annie gave Lara and Me some daylily bulbs, and I'd like to get those down.  I wish we had the cash for potting soil this time out.  I don't think my wood sorrel/Iron Crosses are coming back.  Afraid my crocosmia isn't, either.    Maybe they'll surprise me, right?  Was thrilled to find a healthy patch of cilantro/coriander!  Every time my hand brushed across it the smell was heavenly.  The dead nettle is back with a vengeance, but the onions, parsley, and spinach-y stuff all lived over, and the lilac and azalea did well.  Pulled up some onions for salads, will put down some grass seed tomorrow.  Looking to fill the bird feeders in hopes of distracting them from the new grass seed.

Last summer--hoping for something like this, but with better grass coverage

It's also just about time for the hummingbird feeder to go up!  Last year, we put it up too late--got a lot of females, but no males (they come through earlier).  This year, I want to see some males, too!

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Really quick, I want to talk about "sustainable farming" and "organic" and "supporting small businesses and farms" and "saving the planet/reducing carbon emissions."  Because sometimes?

Sometimes those things are utterly incompatible with each other.  Sometimes, you can reduce emissions OR you can support your small, local, sustainable vendor.  Why do I say this?

Because, per pound of produce (or per pound of whatever, really), mass production and mass shipping is markedly less carbon-intensive than small-time operation.  Why?

Because it takes a lot less, per pound, to ship a million pounds than it does to ship a hundred.  Less fuel, less emissions, less everything.  And if customers are then driving 40 or 50 miles to visit that small vendor rather than hitting up the local mega-mart with its .4 mile drive?  That's more emissions, more pollution.

I'm not dissing small vendors or local businesses, but I do recognize that often there is a trade-off--by shopping small and local, I'm polluting bigger.  No, this isn't always the case--if this small vendor grows all his or her own stuff right there on the spot (or buys the supplies for their wares at a big box store) and sells to a customer base that is very close in, that's the best of both worlds.  But if they're buying small bits of stuff from here and there, shipping it piecemeal in small quantities, with customers driving fifty or a hundred miles to shop, that's an emissions/carbon nightmare, and it's not, in any way, saving us from Monsanto, Walmart, or anything else.

Again, I'm not arguing against supporting small farms or businesses, but rather saying that, if you're driving 75 miles to get your organic meat or cage-free eggs because you think doing so somehow "saves the planet," think again.  What you're saving in pesticides and herbicides, you're making up for in petroleum and shipping-related damage to the world.

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And that's all.  Spent my morning figuring out who in my graduating high school class is already in a Facebook group and who needs to be added.  I've unblocked all but one of the oogie people because I want the group to be able to communicate.  There are a couple I'm sure won't unblock me--never-was drama queens and no-talent wanna-be straight-to-video "stars," and I guess I'll just have to soldier through, huh?


Do not reprint without permission. © KAQ

Oh, What a Night!

So, I've been part of a sort of "email loop" for a long while now--over 14 years?  There are eight of us now (there were more over the years), and we keep in touch on a Facebook form of our loop.  Some of these women I've known for even longer, from an old breastfeeding board (and an old circumcision debate board).  Well, last night four of the women from our loop converged upon my home, with two spouses and NINE teenagers in tow.

I admit, I was incredibly nervous.  I mean, how were we going to cram 18 people into this place, and be comfortable and able to talk and keep the kids (nine of them!) entertained?

Turns out it just happened.  No fuss, no problems, it just worked.  It worked, and it was fun, and I loved hearing their voices and seeing their faces and it was terrific.

Great kids, too.  Our boy was in heaven--with the ratty kids in this neighborhood, he's been alone other than at Hapkido three times a week.  So to have a house full of kids?  Playing video games, then Guitar Hero, then a little Nerf shoot-em-up?  He had a great time.  And it was a good lesson, too--I think he's always feared that somehow the disaster with the kids on this street had something to do with him?  I think last night helped him see what I've been saying all along--smart, cool people like him.  We just have a dearth of those in this neighborhood.  We had a houseful last night, and he keeps thanking me for it.

And I have to say, I was really impressed with the spouses here--incredibly smart, fun guys.  I really enjoyed their company, and it made me happy to think of my friends married to cool guys.

Now, these ladies came in from a heck of a distance.  One drove six hours from Ohio (Jenni), another six-and-a-half hours from North Carolina (Lara, Scott, and their kids), one for three hours from Maryland (Mary and her boys), and one flew from coast to coast--all the way from SoCal (that would be Annie, Eric, and their boys).  And if that doesn't make you feel special (and nervous!).  And they really did make me feel special.  And they really are special.  And it was an even cooler night than I'd dared hope for!

I hope we can do it again.  Next time with the other ladies from the loop here, too.  My sister, Debbie, and Debra.

Oh, oh!  I have to brag on my friend Lara!  Everyone pooled for pizza (except US, which was hell on me, I don't handle not treating my guests very well, that was hard, but, financially, it was incredibly helpful).  Anyway, folks pooled, and then we sat down and figured how much the pizza would be.  Came to 136 bucks.  But Lara calls the pizza place and she just sweet talks and haggles and lets them know, "Hey, this is how much we have, and we don't want Dominoes of some other crappy chain if we can have you guys instead--here's what we need, can you do that for us?"  And they DID!  They knocked 34 bucks off!

She is amazing!

Anyway, so that's how I spent my night last night--it was happy, it was good, it was fun, and I feel really lucky to know these wonderful folks.

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Now, do you remember a few weeks ago when I was talking about Demarquise Elkins, the kid who allegedly shot the baby in the face down in Georgia?  Remember how his family leapt to his defense, were so eager to provide him with an alibi?  So eager, in fact, that they provided him CONFLICTING alibis?  Remember how his little banger buddies leapt in and claimed that it was "RACIST CRACKERS" who were falsely accusing him?

His mother, aunt, and sister have all been arrested for lying to the cops.  The sister appears to have tampered with evidence.  The mother?  A felon.  If you were wondering where ol' Demarquise got it from, look no further.  They appear to have crawled out of a pit of feces to plague humanity.

http://www.cnn.com/2013/03/27/justice/georgia-baby-killed

http://www.wptv.com/dpp/news/national/sabrina-elkins-demarquise-elkins-sister-arrested-in-brunswick-georgia-baby-shooting-case

http://newsone.com/2308574/demarquise-elkins-karimah-elkins-brunswick-georgia/

Oh, and on further questioning?  The mom and aunt's answers led to the cops finding the gun submerged in a pond, allegedly thrown there by the sister.  So for all you folks out there who claimed that it was the mother of the baby who did it?  If so, she did it with a bullet in her leg, she did it in the space of seconds, running 2.3 miles with a bullet in her leg, there and back before the neighbors who heard the shots could  make it to where her baby had been shot.  Oh, and then she told Elkins' family about it so they'd know where the gun was.

And one more thing?  Demarquise is up on additional charges for another armed robbery earlier last month.

Principle of Parsimony, folks. The simplest, most reasonable answer tends to be the correct one.  I'm thinking Demarquise is a scumbag gang member from a scumbag family who murdered a baby.

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Well, it's now April fifth, and our Callery Pear (aka Bradford Pear or Chanticleer Pear) out front is just now starting to blossom.  That's almost a full month later than last year.  If you're not familiar with Callery Pears, here's a picture:  

Now, this tree, while gorgeous (not just the blossoms--it turns amazing shades of red and orange in the fall), was quite a let-down for us.  You see, we thought it was a dogwood when we moved in.  It was fall, and all we saw where the dogwood-shaped leaves.  Come spring, that beautiful white bloomfest?  

Stank.  To high heaven, it REEKED!

Turns out Callery Pears stink.  A lot.  I smell . . . old, bloody bandages and dog feet.  A friend last night let me know she smells, to be completely indelicate, semen.  Every spring, the health department in DC is inundated with phone calls from folks complaining about the smell.  These Callery pears are EVERYWHERE out here, and they're very common to the entire east coast and parts of the midwest and south.  They are, apparently, viciously invasive:

http://triblocal.com/glencoe/community/stories
/2012/06/invasive-ornamental-plants-pose-threat
-for-native-wildlife/

So they stink and they're invasive.  Oh, and because the crotch angles are so extreme, they're also particularly prone to wind and snow damage.  But gosh, they sure are pretty.  From a distance.  With your nose plugged!

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Leftover pizza and garlic toast for dinner.  We sent half the leftover pizza off with one of my ladies last night to put in the hotel fridge for munching and/or breakfast.  

And that's about it.  I was going to post about an Arabian horse named Perkal I almost knew back in the early 1980s, but I think that's for another night.  It's time to start dinner and get ready to watch Grimm.  Not a particularly deep show, but it's fun.

Do not reprint without permission. © KAQ

Tucker Utah and the Infamous Thistle Landslide of 1983

Back in the spring of 1983 I was engaged to be married to . . . an utter git.  What can I say?  I was only 17, he was older, handsome and charming.  That he was also manipulative, mean, abusive, and not particularly bright?  That knowledge came AFTER I said "I do."

One night, a couple of months before the wedding, the now-ex and I drove up Spanish Fork Canyon to visit his Dad and Step-mom.  This would be the evil Step-mom my ex hated beyond measure.  Her sin?

Marrying his father.

Well, marrying his father and not being willing to put up with the ex's stealing, manipulation, and all-around BS.  See, his Mom--his SAINTED MOTHER--was actually not such a saint.  She . . . engaged in behaviors that led to divorce, and she went on to marry the guy she was "behaving" with (or so the story came to me).  The ex hated him, too.  And then his Mom committed suicide when he was a teen.  Which made him hate both step-parents all the more.

Of course.

Anyway, so we drove up Spanish Fork Canyon to the tiny (non-existent?) "town" of Tucker, Utah.  This drive took us past the tiny railroad town of Thistle, Utah.  This becomes important later.  The date?

April 14th, 1983.

The ex's paternal family owned the only digs there in Tucker.  The Skyview Cafe.  Actually a cafe, a motel, and a gas station/service station.  A run-down kind of mess, but, as I said, the only game in "town," and, in fact, the only place for miles to grab a cup of coffee or a place to crash (or fill up the tank).  Sadly (and yes, it does make me sad), the Skyview Cafe is gone.  My last Amtrak trip up Spanish Fork Canyon found an empty expanse where the old buildings once stood.

An OLD postcard, no idea who took the pic but it was likely in
the fifties, judging by the cars.

This was my first time meeting his family.  And oh, my hell.  First, the "gourmet restaurant" where his "chef and professional caterer" Mom had worked her magic?  Was an utter dive.  I mean, it wasn't roach-y (I don't think), but it was your average western desert/country greasy spoon.  A lot of scalded coffee stink and cigarette burns in the linoleum.

Second?

His family.  Wow.  WOW!

His Grandma was a wonder, truly.  She went by "So-So," and her biggest brag was that she was older than God and had her cigarettes shipped in special because they didn't sell them in Utah.  Precious few teeth, and an astounding capacity for booze.  In fact, the whole lot of them were drunk when we showed up, and got drunker as time passed.  The Step-mom was SO nice to me it became obvious she was either being nice because she knew it drove the ex crazy OR she was trying to drown out any awfulness he might have filled me with concerning her.  Quite possibly a little of both.  I liked her, but who knows if she liked me?  And his Dad?  Kept smiling at me with his shot teeth and bleary eyes and telling them to "be nice."

And let's not forget the older brother.

Holy cow.  Apparently, the ex had once shown up with a drag queen/hermaphrodite, and the older brother had never forgotten the drunken encounter.  He kept poking at me, asking if I was "real."

It was, overall, a hellish night.  It was also almost my last.

Oooh, I know, isn't that all ominous sounding and stuff?

See, 1983 was a VERY wet year in Utah.  Like flash floods and Salt Lake's State Street sand-bagged and turned into a river WET.





One of the things leveled by the heavy rains and astounding snow pack?

The very highway we'd traversed to reach Tucker.  That's right, US Route 6, our happy highway to Tucker, slid away in a giant slump, eventually damming up the Spanish Fork River, taking out the rail road tracks (bye-bye, Amtrak--the then-Rio Grande Zephyr [now California Zephyr] was last train to come through for months), and demolishing/submerging the little town of Thistle.  And it's funny (funny interesting, not funny "haha"), we saw the work crews, the cop cars, the railroad vehicles on our way up, but had no idea why they were there.

We sure knew the next day, after our seemingly eternal detour and backroad path back home.

Poor little Thistle, huh?

Check out this site, it's the Utah Geological Survey's Thistle page.  And then here, from a more Rail Road-y perspective.  Good stuff.

And this whole story?  Utterly pointless, I guess, but if you've read it, thank you.  You've made me happy.  It was the most expensive landslide in United States history, so hey, you've been enriched by my "I was there" account!

Oh, and the "it was almost my last" bit of drama up there?  I was referring to the ex's drunk driving that night/morning, not the slide.  I do find the slide oddly apropos, though.  Much like our marriage, you know?   An ugly, slow, lumbering thing that inexorably plowed through home and hearth, leaving in its wake devastation and heartache.

Yeah.  Look at me wax all poetic and stuff.

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Now, while I have you here, I want to talk about a ghost town in Utah.  I may have discussed it before.  It's called "Old Frisco," and there's a particular headstone there that captured me years ago, and I'm hoping someone can help me out.  

See, I first saw the stone in 1994.  Hubby and I were just dating then, and we'd decided to take a rockhounding roadtrip through Utah and Arizona.  A few weeks, no real set destination.  One of the places we wound up was Old Frisco.  It wasn't, at the time, a going concern, and so we explored pretty thoroughly (always on trails and out of adits, of course).  The town has some amazing old charcoal kilns outside of the main area, plus a gallows frame and some still intact old buildings.

There was no fence around these guys when we were there, but folks kept climbing on them
and taking bits, so up went the fences.  Which people often tear back down.

Old Frisco was an amazing place in its heyday.  It had more bars/saloons per capita than any other town in the United States.  It was a scary place, rivaled Bodie, California for sheer "lawless old west" stuff.  Bodie, of course, is in better shape, being cossetted by the Rangers and kept in a state of arrested decline.  

What really grabbed me at Old Frisco?  The graveyard.  From what I've heard, efforts have been made to restore this small cemetery, in which children were greatly overrepresented, but when we were there, the place was torn hell to breakfast.  I found myself standing over a broken, knocked over, shot at, half-obscured with sand and silt gravestone.  I bent down, read the inscription (what I could read--the part of the stone with the first name was mostly gone--might have been Timmy, Tommy, Jimmy, Sammy, or some other "ends with y" name), and found myself on my knees, crying.  Understand, I wasn't the crybaby then that I am now.  But it was wrenching, it was so awful to me. 

"Tis a little grave, but oh, have care, for world wide hopes are buried here.  How much of light, how much of joy, is buried with my darling boy."  

Trite?  Maybe, but life in those days was HARD, and this town, judging by the ages on the headstones, ate children.  Like a Stephen King story, it devoured kids.  

The rest of the headstone?  What was left told us that this boy's last name had been Staples, and he died December 27th, 1881 at the age of one year, four months, and 27 days.


There's a photo I'm hoping to include here, but it's on Flickr and I'm looking to get the owner's permission first.  It's a photo of the headstone much as it appeared when I saw it in the 1990s.  Below is a much older picture:

See, here's the thing--in this picture, you can see that the headstone was still mostly intact.  You can see that the name is still there.  It was clearly in better shape in the early 1970s than in the early 1990s, though you can absolutely see the evidence of grave robbing (the casket dug up, the bones scattered about and bleached in the sun).  NO, the folks who took this picture weren't the grave robbers--they came along after, were horrified.  I found this picture on a mostly defunct website dedicated to ghost towns.  I edited the shot because there was a young girl in the picture named "Trini."  I didn't think it would be appropriate to put her face on my blog without her permission.  I emailed the folks who own that site, but they have no memory of the name on the stone, and say they have no way of reaching Trini, who might know.  I DO know Trini's last name (maiden and married) and the area where she lives, but my attempt to email her was not fruitful--I got no response.  

What I'm hoping is this--that someone, somewhere was in Frisco in the 70s (or earlier) and remembers this headstone.  I just want the boy's name.  Why does it matter to me?  Because my heart broke at his death, 113 years after the fact, and it never stopped hurting.  These people lost their boy, and they lost him in a gawdawful place.  They likely gave up everything for a shot at making a life based on crap promises and unrealistic dreams of gold and silver.  Their baby boy died here.  And I'd like to know his name.  I'd like to know their names, too.  I mean, wouldn't you want someone to care that you had existed, to roll your name off their tongue 132 years after you'd died?

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And that's about it.  My Dad and Step-Mom sent our boy an electric/acoustic guitar with a small practice amp.  I think I wrote about it earlier?  Well, it came today.  He still doesn't know what it is, and hubby wouldn't let him open it until he gets home from work.  So it's here on the floor, still boxed, waiting to be opened.  I've taken to referring to it as the "guiltar," because I so creepily just leapt in and demanded my Dad send it to my boy instead of taking it to Goodwill.  Cost him a hundred bucks to ship it, and I feel like a total bucket of scuzz.  The words were out of my mouth before I could get a hook in and draw them back.  On the bright side, our boy gets an acoustic/electric.  On the not so bright side, I suck.

Do not reprint without permission. © KAQ