|All snuggled up in bed, letting myself unwind and relax after a long day that included physical therapy, the sound of my doorbell pierced my peaceful quiet. By the time I found clothes to throw on and made it past my four legged kids barking, I opened the door to find no one there.As I stepped out to look and see if I could catch a glimpse of who I'd missed one of my little neighbors ran forward, her quiet dark eyes beckoning me to "come, come ..." Clearly she was distressed."I didn't know who else to come to," she explained, "with your love of animals, I thought surely you could help ... there in the middle of the road, it's a baby bird, it's not moving ... I've never held an animal in my life, I don't know what to do, but I know you will ..."I don't think I've ever heard this beautiful little neighbor say so much.Sure enough, the poor little thing wasn't moving and was definitely in the middle of the road, headed for road kill or cat kill, I'm not sure which ... nor was I sure how the poor little thing had gotten there. Gently, I picked him up to place him in a box, and he cried out in protest, but still didn't move his little legs or wings.I've tucked him into a box I've since lined with soft cotton, given a few eye droppers of water which seemed to help bring the baby out of a bit of dehydration. (and of course, one of the first things I read - afterward - is to not force water down a bird, you can drown it. I'm only relaxed because I didn't force, only offered and the baby drank for me)Now what to do? I'm not up on my ABC's of how to save a baby bird. I've covered the top of the box with a mesh basket so air flows easily and hidden it away in my pantry to give it dark quiet and time to revive while I figure out what to do with the little bugger. I see no injuries and after I gave him water it did seem to help him feel more like moving.Any suggestions? Birds are the hardest to save and best left alone, but one really can't leave a baby in the middle of the road, nor set him on the side of the road as open prey.|
A farmer had five female pigs and, as times were tough, he had determined to take them to the county fair and sell them. While at the fair, he met another farmer who owned five male pigs. After talking a bit, they decided to mate the pigs and split everything 50/50.
Now, the farmers lived sixty miles away from one another, so they agreed to drive thirty miles each and meet at a field in which to mate their pigs. The first morning, the farmer with the female pigs got up at 5 AM, loaded the pigs into the family station wagon, which was the only vehicle he had, and drove the thirty miles. While the pigs were mating, he asked the other farmer,
"How will I know if they are pregnant?"
The other farmer replied,
"If they're in the grass grazing in the morning, then they're pregnant..... if they're in the mud, then they're not." The next morning they were in the mud, so he hosed them off, called the other farmer, loaded them again into the family station wagon and proceeded to try again. The following morning, in the mud again!! And the next morning, MUD again! This continued all week until the farmer was so tired that he couldn't get out of bed. He called to his wife,
"Honey, please go outside and tell me if the pigs are in the mud or in the field grazing." The wife walked outside to see and then came back and said, "Neither, they're in the station wagon and one of them is honking the horn."
|I grew up in a town so small you would think it was a stage set made for a short lived TV series.. Three bars, a general store, two churches, a post office and a extra large school in the center of town that housed the meager K-12 students and a gymnasium with a balcony, a stage and 2 rows of wooden plank seats around the complete perimeter of the gym floor tucked cozily away under the balcony. When I graduated from high school there were 56 of us. In the entire high school, not in my class. I've no idea how many students there were when I was still one of the "little kids."As a "little kid" one of my jobs was to run down to the bar and tell my dad|
"It's dinner time" or "Mom said you should come home now" or "Youuuu're in Trouble!"
I was the family tape recorder. I repeated everything verbatim all through grade school.Dad, after long hours in the field would often stop by the bar either on his way home or after a shower to unwind before dinner when six kids and a wife pounced on him. He was a combination of shy and Irish charming. I remember standing outside of the bar one day, listening to the laughter inside. It was so very different from home where laughter seldom seemed to flow. I remember thinking, "I wanna be just like my dad ... "One bar burned down, and then there were two local meeting spots.
My dad loved them.
My mom hated them. (or pretty much strongly disliked them)Life rotated and shifted, dad became busier in the fields as he added more land, mom's hands full of six kids, their activities and what ever else was going on in her head.It was a busy life. It was a full life. Even if it had missing pieces.I wonder if all adult children who have just lost their dad have that moment where you realize, "I'll never see him again ... " and death becomes the silent reality that is filled up with years and years of memories. Some good. Some not so good ... but all ending with a solid frame of peace and love.Totally love.I'm grateful my dad's suffering is over and that he is was finally called to rest in peace on Thursday, December 14th. The last three years were not kind to him, worse because he knew the differences as dementia and Parkinson's disease ate away at his body, his memory and his ability to speak.I will forever be that little girl watching with wide appreciative eyes as her handsome father made his friends laugh.I miss him more than you can know ...*I love you, Dad.*
|My not being able to be in Montana for Thanksgiving has me a bit bummed out. (Unless I pull off a few miracles next week and can manage two trips at polar opposites.)I told my Dad I would be there to see him for Thanksgiving. Of course, everyone will have a mixed opinion as to whether he will actually know it's Thanksgiving or not. |
The point is, I TOLD HIM I WOULD BE THERE! I've had to re shuffle and rearrange my original plans a few times for reasons out of my control. Or mostly out of my control. If I could will the issues holding me back out of my way, I would do so. And ... I still might be able to do that yet!Tonight my third oldest sister emailed me this picture of my Dad.
You've no idea how much it makes me cry.HE LOOKS AWESOME!! The new nursing home is SO Much Better for him!I know speaking is a challenge, if not impossible because of the Parkinson's Disease and he gets lost in the hazy fog dementia, but I know he's still in there.He doesn't need to speak for me to just sit there and hold his hand.He will know.God, how I want to be there ... NOW.
|My Dearest Politicians,This election, I would like to see you vote on some new political reforms. I'm totally worn out with your wasting the rain forest, sending out hundreds of fliers to cry wolf or tell me what your opponent hypothetically did or didn't do wrong and blowing up budgets with smear tactics on TV. I all ready know how ugly you can be. Honestly, you needn't waste any more money on it.I'm sure you're not aware of this, but children are starving all over America and our school systems desperately need help while you are wasting money trying to make someone else look bad, thinking the natural outcome is, I will then Vote for you!So, in light of this being Election Season, I propose #BlondeRules upon you.You are now forbidden to say anything derogatory and dishonest about your opponent. You are only to inform me of what you stand for and what you've done right. If you exaggerate or are dishonest in communication about what you say you have accomplished, you will forever be banned from the world of politics and will hence forth be required to use only outdoor latrines, regardless of the season, from that day forward.See?! Isn't that easy. Problem solved!Making the World a Better Place, |
One Blonde Rule at a Time.Sprite
|I know it's election season. |
I can tell because people are being so nasty.It's nothing like opening baseball or football season.
Not nearly the excitement of a good basketball game or a horse race.
People don't tailgate they tea party.
They slander each other, they repeat things out of context, they make racial slurs and
say the other one did it. On a good day they out and out lie or are extremely judgmental and call it in the name of God. On most days they make me feel ashamed that they are American's. On the other days I'm embarrassed that they call themselves Christan's. It's certainly not the Christianity I was brought up with. I imagine God to be in the heavens, shuddering at what we've become, shaking his head in disgust while Bible thumpers tell everyone what *they* think they should do.Because budgets are still not balanced and the economy has strapped many,
this seasons campaign warfare bombs seem to be feeding the Postal Service and using
up what's left of the Rain Forrest.So, Dear Democrats and Republicans, I want you to know your wasting energy, money, and abusing the environment while I run your fliers through my shredder ...Without ever reading them.I don't care what you have to say.You've proven your point. You're too ignorant too focus on the issues so you slam your opponent and waste precious resources and funds trying to make the opposing party look bad because you don't look good.I get it. Really I do.Now, if you would please stop fighting each other and do something positive for America and California (or whatever state needs help) that would be totally cool.Thank You and Sincerely from my Heart,Sprite, One who's totally worn out with all the ugly fighting.
|So ... apparently Fox wants me to have a neighborhood premier party ... and I was thinking, "Well... Ok..."Lone Star Premier box of goodies arrived today ... Popcorn, Carmel Corn, an ice bucket, wine glasses & beer glasses ... (because you KNOW you need both!), Tshirt, LoneStar wine bottle openers & key chain. All in all, a Fun Eureka! Moment!Now I have to gather the neighbors.Stay Tuned ...(but I should in no way be held responsible or blamed if the popcorn doesn't make it to the neighborhood premier party ... really ... FOX should have known I couldn't save something like that ... that would require a responsible adult) *grins*|
|A couple of days ago a Tweet by my buddy @MikeNeumann caught my attention.A reminder of September 11, 2001 and the old question "Where were you on 911" flashed through my mind. I know exactly where I was. It was a difficult time. I had been evicted from the home I had lived in for twelve years weeks earlier, not because I had ever missed a day of rent, but because my landlord had decided on a whim to sell the place only two weeks after telling me he'd never put my place on the market. Following being served the eviction notice, I went through weeks of harassment, vandalism, and ended up taking the landlord to court. Granted, I won and had had no doubt I would win, but it was an exhausting time. Just hours before that eviction notice was served I was at an appointment with a neurologist. It was all ready not a good day as the nuerologist rattled off a list of things I would never do again because of nerve damage in my back. Leave that and come home to an eviction notice on your door. Yeah. You get what I mean. Not your average day at Disneyland.On September 11th I was temporarily homeless, staying in a friends guest room while the newly built apartment complex that had taken my deposit months earlier finished with it's inspections so tenants could move in. The delays seemed to take forever, but I was grateful for a quiet place to stay.And then the phone calls came. "Turn on the TV, turn on the TV ... New Yorks been bombed ...""Bombed? What .... no way ..."For the next three days we all sat, transfixed in front of our TV's watching 911 unfold, feeling like this can't be real.The loss. The pain. The suffering. The unknown.Years later a sea of accusations, conspiracy and confusion still exists. Whatever you believe, disbelieve or want to believe, don't you DARE disrespect the lives ... the hundreds and thousands of INNOCENT lives that were lost that horrific day.There are children who were babies or born that year and have never known more than a picture of their mother or their father. Remember that. Give them respect.There were firemen who fought to save lives and lost theirs. Remember that. Give them respect.There were men and women on their way to work or all ready at work. Men and women of every color, nationality, and religion who needlessly lost their life that day. Remember that. Give them respect.Whether you believe it was terrorist or conspiracy, have the decency to respect the loss of thousands of innocent lives. That is all I ask.Which takes me back to @MikeNeumanns Tweet. @Victims_of_9ll was telling us he was going to Tweet ALL of the names of ALL of those who lost their lives that dark day in September. I saw a few tweets aimed at @Victims_of_911 that made me embarrassed for the person aiming their suspicion and anger. Junior High behavior thrown at one person remembering the loss of thousands. A person who had gone through much grief, their own loss and a dramatic change to their community. Remember... and give them Respect.@Victims_of_911 has taken the time to write out each name he had of those who lost their lives on that day. Take a moment before you leave this day and pay your respects, please. You can believe whatever you want, but JUST as we respect our soldiers when we don't believe in the war, respect the loss of thousands on American soil. It wasn't just New York's loss, it was America's loss. Thank You, Damien. I'm so sorry for you loss and I thank you for your time. God Bless You for sticking to your task and writing out all of those names even as you came to the name that struck of your own personal loss.Where were you on September 11, 2001.Never Forget.|
|It's that time of year, when everything gets stuck in the Valley.|
Including ALL of California's bad air.
Breathing has suddenly become an option.