When I Finally Could Even

Okay, so fuck those motherfuckers, today I rant. This rant could take all day. I have hours.

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I’M WITH HER. She’s a choice I’m proud to make, because she is competent and qualified and I feel she represents my interests. She’s going my direction, (forward) so I’m with her.

 

There are Republicans I like, and even some I love. I don’t understand them, but then, they probably don’t understand me.
However, in recent months, I have come to understand some people in ways I did not want.
I had no idea I was friends with so many hateful people. Being a Compassionate Conservative must be so passé. From what I’ve gathered, I am a ‘Libtard’ and I am not to take any of it personally, so in turn, what’s good for the donkey is good for the elephant, and they shouldn’t take any of my thoughts and opinions personally. I’m sure none of this pertains to them, or anyone you know.

First of all…
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First of all, the level of cognitive dissonance is baffling.

Where I’m from, this is established. Hoosiers like their gay neighbors, because they’re polite. They don’t like other gay people, but these gay people, they seem nice enough. They don’t want them to get married or buy their pizza or adopt children, and they certainly do not want to see them engaged in any public displays of affection — the mere thought of that makes them sick! But these gay people, they’re okay.
Also okay are the Mexicans who run local, delicious businesses, black athletes, the Pakistani co-worker, their adopted biracial child, the Muslim man who married their cousin, and the dirty fuckin hippie who sells them weed. Other than that, the rest of them are unworthy of rights, let alone care.
Don’t dare mention hypocrisy.

(It’s really best to use small words whenever possible. Huge is not a bad word. Huge is a great small word. Huge might be the best of the small words to use.)

From what I can tell, there’s a section of America that feels like the nation has gone to pot.
I blame the internet.
Before the internet, all these people got to live in special little worlds where everyone’s just like them. Or so they thought.
In an effort to comfort themselves from the onslaught of progressive ideas, they consume only stuff that provides daily righteousness. They do not seek further knowledge, they do not question the source — they like it, and gosh darn it, it just makes them feel good!

Initially, I tired to argue with these people, to expose them to truth. Then I tried to explain satire. Then I tried writing a simple, “That’s not true,” to see if they would explore it further. They don’t. They surely think The Onion is a news outlet.

Daily, I am subjected to the poorly-spelled, salty outcry of people who think they’re better than other people.

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I prefer to live in a world of diversity. I believe in bizarre things like beneficence. I like the salad bowl theory more than the melting pot theory.
I found this out early in life. When the Packards were explaining we don’t vote for Democrats, I was asking them why we didn’t have better Republicans to choose from, then?
My condition worsened at university, where I studied humanities in the teacher’s college. Where my boyfriend, in the school of business, read a book about some Narcissistic icon of greenliness being next to godliness, and I read it, too, and it solidified my opinion that greedy people are trolls and was he a FUCKIN TROLL?!? He then accused me of attending Marxist meetings behind his back and it only got uglier from there.

Still, all my emergent liberal years failed to prepare me for the insanity that is today’s political realm. Unprecedented comes to mind.
Y’all, most days I cannot even.
Lordamercy, prior to this, I’d never felt true fear from a political movement or its people.

My face. All the time.

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I know you want me to tell you that the people spewing hate and ignorance are some people I don’t know well, some fringe people, but they’re not. They’re largely uneducated —  I’m no elitist, I’m just as much of a pleb, educated or not. They’re white, the lot of them — I’m white, I’m like lightest shade of foundation white. The difference seems to be in whether one feels one’s suffering is superior to all others’ suffering and whether one feels entitled to hoard privilege.

When my children ask me, “How can anyone think like that?” I have to pull out the notes from my secret Marxist meetings and tell them that life is very hard and some people believe the measure of their worth is determined by how much they have. Having more than other people makes them feel better. More stuff, more money, more power, more control.

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The hateful don’t want anything handed to anyone because goddammit, they’ve worked hard to get what they have and everyone should have to work hard, too. If you try to tell them most of the people receiving aid are working, they pull out the story of the person they know who’s playin the system. I have a theory that no one actually knows these people, that they’re a kinda urban legend, but still, there are stories.
I suppose these stories must be true, and people must be playin the system, but it’s then that you must ask yourself why you are angry. Are you hungry? Is feeding someone else taking food away from you? How much food can you eat? The average taxpayer pays roughly $36 annually to feed their fellow Americans. Are you certain you want to be angry about that? I can afford to pay more.

I don’t understand it. If I hafta pay $36 a year so some woman can sofa surf and stay drunk, but I know her kid’s eating every day, I’m okay with that. That woman isn’t my business, I don’t know her life. Why would I be angry? Should I be angry I’m not drunk sofa surfin? Cause that’s how it sounds. It sounds like people are mad they aren’t livin in poverty, gettin handouts. It sounds like some sorta sick twisted jealousy.

“Boo-hoo, I had to buy my own sofa! Boo-hoo, I had to work for this gin!”

Whenever people go on a tirade about entitlements, I launch into a tirade of my own. I’ve been on food stamps — me, my husband, two kids, and one on the way. I’ve been the expectant mother in the free clinic, and I’ve been thrilled to find fresh bread and bags of apples in the WIC office. Those angry, greedy people then tell me that’s different. Why? Why is it different? Why was my need different? Cause I’m white? Cause I’m married? Cause he’s a veteran? Cause you like us personally? No, they say, “Cause you didn’t make it your way of life.” I fucking did. I didn’t choose it, but I certainly embraced it and made it a way of life for the better part of a year. People gave us virtually everything we had at the time, and we took it. Eventually, my husband found another good job. But let me tell you, he was workin mighty fuckin hard on a night shift at the goddamned box factory and it still wasn’t enough to feed a family and keep the lights on.

The hateful people tell you I should have worked, too. And I ask them if they wanted to buy me a car, pay my daycare costs, or take care of two kids and an infant while I did that. No, they did not want to help out with any of that. You know who helped me work? Family, ie, other poor people.

The hateful people say I shouldn’t have had kids I couldn’t afford, which is where the argument gets deeper and stranger and we quickly descend into a rabbit hole of epic proportions, where the sky may as well be purple and under our feet. Don’t have children you can’t afford and don’t use birth control and don’t abort, so don’t have sex, I suppose, because sex is a pleasure and we all know that poor people don’t deserve pleasures, be it a tin of smoked oysters, the taste of beer, a state-provided iPhone, or the love of a child.

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Do you think the people who need help want to need help? Do you think they enjoy havin such little control over their own lives? Remember that time you wanted to buy your kid something, but it wasn’t in the budget? Imagine that’s an everyday, everything occurrence.
When you drive by signs that advertise fast food managers are bein hired for $14 an hour, do you think that sounds good? Do you think the people who manage fast food restaurants are entitled to have families? pets? parties?

Then those people should have better jobs, the hateful shout. What? Food service isn’t valuable? That’s not a good job? You don’t eat fast food? Managing a business should be a good job. This is America. You should be able to work your way from sweepin floors to ownin a franchise, if you work hard enough. The responsibilities don’t match the pay. The manager of a fast food restaurant should never qualify for aid. The manager should live in a modest, but nice, home with 2.5 kids and a dog, obviously.

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I’m still not certain I can afford children. They’re rather expensive, even when I feel I can afford them, which is never in August, and very few Decembers. Two are cheaper than four…

Certain groups of people are allowed to have children, and they’re ‘allowed’ to take government money. Veterans for example.
There are veterans on food stamps too — and I don’t mean only the retired or homeless vets. (Why is that even a thing? Look that shit up.) Most enlisted military qualify for aid of some sort. Almost all qualify for WIC. Did you know at commissaries there are bags of groceries for purchase to help a needy military family? What does that tell you about how much we truly respect, value, and admire our armed forces members?

I’ll tell you what, ain’t no rich people shoppin at the commissary, buyin bags of groceries for needy military families. Same as everywhere else, the poor help the poor. For takers, we sure are a generous lot.

There are some people who, when you are cold, will give you their coat because they can’t bear to see you shiver. There are other people who will tell you, “You shoulda brought your own goddamned coat!”
Every year when we have a drive, Coats for Kids, I shake my head at the people who say, “These people knew that cold weather was coming, why didn’t they save up? So irresponsible! Now they expect me to buy their kids a coat!”

Nobody EXPECTS you to donate a fucking coat, Asshole, but thanks for that wondrous display of generosity of spirit. *thumbs up*

The same people who bitch about welfare moms who go to school for free, and get daycare for free, and get housing and food for free (You know, to get those better jobs!) — the same people bitchin about all that are quick to brag to you about how the VA put a new knee in them, and with Medicare chipping in, they didn’t pay a dime!

That’s entitlement for ya, puttin new knees in when people shoulda saved up for their own new knees, or taken better care of the ones they already had!
They earned it by serving the country and then gettin old and lazy. Some old people never get lazy and stop workin ya know. SOME people work til the day they die and they don’t complain about their bad knees or have the gall to expect me to buy them new ones!
GAH!

Do you know what Medicare is? Government healthcare. Do you know what the VA is? Government healthcare. Do you know what Armed Services receive? Government healthcare. I have a bad Army hospital story, but they let me live for free. Our family of six paid less than $100 a paycheck for insurance, so listen to your Joey, there’s power in numbers.

But Oh, how the hateful people love their veterans. MORE FLAGS! And then they let some orange-faced fucktard insult a pile of veterans?!?
Cognitive dissonance!

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We gotta take care of our old people, y’all. My heart breaks watchin some lil ol woman puttin her pills on two different credit cards and then writin a check for the balance. That’s some fucked-up shit. You think that orange-faced fucktard gives a crap about your grandma?

 

Not all, but most of these hateful people claim to be followers of Christ, which is an altogether nother matter I cannot line up. Remove the planks from yer eyes and do a little introspection: You know how Christ was, you know how you are — how parallel are ya there?!?

 

 

I went to a lady’s blog the other day…Y’all I liked this lady’s posts for about a year, cause recipes and fleurs and nature photos — you know, the kinda Nice Lady Blog I remind you I ain’t runnin here? I hadda unfollow her. Cause hate speech. I’ll take my hummingbird photos without hate speech, thanks.

People on Facebook be like, “Here’s a picture of a beautiful red flower” and Facebook responds with hate speech. Nobody can have proper discourse because some asshat has to interject some apropos to nothing politics at every fuckin turn.

A longtime friend of mine tried to tell me the orange-faced fucktard had a great plan to help working parents with daycare costs. She hadn’t read the whole thing, she said, but she’d seen it and he was right. I had to tell her, “We can’t talk about this.”

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Now, that’s more than 2000 words on just social issues. Being a true blue bleeding heart liberal, I am most concerned with the social issues. I am concerned about the 1 in 7 children who are food insecure right here in my own community, but I believe in the land of plenty, there’s more than enough to share with an influx of immigrants, IF PEOPLE WOULD JUST STOP SKIMMIN FROM THE TOP!

Hand to Horus, I only have time to address praise for this rant. No objections will be acknowledged, and it is entirely possible anyone leaving hate speech will have their Gravatar cut out and affixed to the side of a Miraculous candle, lit for mercy, upon my pagan heathen Unitarian Universalist altar.

Is your blood pressure up? Here, look at the pretty trees.

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I fucking love trees. I hug them all the time.

Posted in Personally, Random Musings, Uncategorized | Tagged | 81 Comments

Share Your World #43

What are you really glad you did yesterday?
I’m glad I spent the day outdoors!

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I’m also glad I came home and fried chicken and made mash and gravy and all that, because I really love me and I wanted big Sunday dinner, even if it meant eating at 10pm!

 

Would you prefer a one floor house or multiple levels?
I like our little bungalow. I think at this point in my life, smaller spaces are where it’s at. I don’t care how many levels, really. The Mister has the bad knees, so I think the bungalow suits us, especially long-term. This is our first one-story since our lil apartment the year we married, and we do so enjoy it. I always think two-stories have more curb appeal, but I’m too practical to care, and who among us enjoys sweeping or vacuuming steps?

Have you done something you truly want to do today?
Well no, but I did sleep late, so I hope that counts as doing!

What plans did you have as a teenager that didn’t happen? Are you happy it didn’t work out that way?
Uh, not too many actually. I was awfully self-aware as a kid, never really felt like a kid, I think that was helpful. I obviously didn’t live happily ever after with any high school boyfriends, and that’s nice. My BFF is still my BFF, even if I made more BFFs along the way. I always wanted a little yellow car, but I don’t now. I accomplished a lot of my ‘must do’ list when I was in my twenties. Went to the college I always thought I would. I didn’t have any grandiose ideas about what I wanted to do or be or have, so you know, still thrivin in my mediocrity.

 

Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
So pleased with the weather and the landscape. Grateful for central Indiana’s state parks. So grateful to have been out and about all weekend. It’s absolutely the best time of the year!
I found spring bulbs on sale, 8 for $1.99!
The Mister brought me flowers!
I didn’t need NyQuil all week!
The week coming up should feature more exploits into autumnal glory.

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Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to join in and play along.

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What’s going on in your world?

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Kittens?

Mentor speaks at least three languages fluently, and English is not her mother tongue. She has no accent, which means her accent is close enough to my own that I don’t hear one.

Y’all know I’m language friendly, and I like fun with language. Mentor and I communicate very well with one another, but now and again when she twists a turn of phrase, I cannot find her meaning.

For instance, yesterday.

She sent me a message, basically, Please call to determine the status of Jane Doe’s paperwork. See if we can pick it up. She is having kittens.

I replied, Sure.

I must have read that sentence three times. “She is having kittens.”

awww. why is she telling me this?!?

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Mentor and I share relevant information. By this I mean we don’t talk about extraneous stuff. Whatever we tell one another includes specific directives, inquiries — you know, like Cut The Crap and Just The Facts Ma’am.
Now, I knew Mentor didn’t mean it literally, but I knew it had to be important, or relevant, otherwise, she wouldn’t mention it. Our business decidedly does not deal with kittens. There are no kitten conundrums to solve, no kittens to consult with, no kittens to ship. I love kittens, but that’s not what we do there.

This bit of information was a bit like your pharmacist saying, “Take these three times a day and with plenty of water,” and then adding, “The new moon is April 7th.”

 

The relevance of the kittens did not fit the directive and I am too curious to let kittens lie.

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I called to determine the status of Jane Doe’s paperwork. I called Mentor with the results of my call. After that, I asked her, “What did you mean, she’s having kittens? Like, is her cat birthing today?”
“Nooo. Did I not use it right?”
“I guess not. What does that mean to you?”
“She’s upset.”

 

think, think, think…

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“She’s having a cow?”
“Yes!”

Then there was howling laughter on both ends of the phone. I laughed so hard I cried.

I’m so glad she gave the update to Jane Doe, because me being me, I would’ve thoughtfully added, “By the by, Congratulations on your kittens! How sweet!”

Happy Friday Everyone! I hope nothing makes you have kittens this weekend!

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#ThursdayDoors — Scottish Rite Tour

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Per my invitation, Benson agreed to meet us at the Scottish Rite Cathedral last Thursday morning. It was incredible, and given the opportunity, you should take a tour.

Hello doors.

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Hello, floor.

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Let’s start with the basics. The guide said the cathedral is not a church, and never was. It has always been a Masonic building. You may recall I wrote it was built in 1927-1929 for $2.5 million? The guide added that if such a building were constructed now, it would cost about $100 million.
Its exterior is Indiana Limestone, of course. The floors, Tennessee Marble. The walls, travertine. The wood is from the Carpathian forest. I made the guide repeat that, “Did you say Carpathian?”
“Yes. I did. Carpathian. Does that mean something to you?”
I waved around at my company and said, “Yes, we are literature people.”
Benson said, “Sure. Dracula!” and I don’t think the tour guide ‘got’ us.

I tried to get the guide to join us all in a mirror selfie, but he didn’t get that either, so I got this instead.
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Great guy, very polite and personable.

Anyway, that Carpathian Mountain wood, when they were done cutting and carving it, they used the sawdust to create pressed wood features, like the frequent grapevine and the rosettes. The woodwork is amazing. The details are amazing.
I had to resist touching everything. It was hard.

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I could have written an entire post about the magnificent furniture. I say WOW.

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While the cathedral is said to be an excellent example of Neo-Gothic architecture, the guide said it’s actually Tudor. He mentioned that because it’s not Gothic, there are no gargoyles, but there are grotesques — which I had not noticed, even though they’re ubiquitous and I had photographed the exterior of the building TWICE. Once we were outside, I looked for them, and I found them, but I failed to photograph them, because I am deeply flawed.

The glass is not stained glass, it’s art glass. It’s everywhere, too, and it’s absolutely beautiful.

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The window panels open, and are handled, so they’re also kinda doors. I love the hardware on the windows.

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I had to turn the lighting up in all of my pictures, because the light in the cathedral is low. Even still, my eyes caught details at every turn.

Behold, the elevator doors. There are four sets of these beauties.

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The guide did remember we were literature people when he took us to the library and we all gasped. Again, the details.

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The library is large, and within it, my iPhone camera barely knew where to look. Benson said he’s going to go back again with his Canon.

Have you noticed all the lighting is gorgeous? Looking up, the ceilings are magnificent as well.

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I really loved the ceilings.

Here’s the ballroom, in all its splendor.

Y’all, my vertigo had me spinnin in there. I preferred the lower level. With its floating floor, you could dance all night…

After that, our guide showed us to the auditorium.
Door to the auditorium, with flash, because otherwise, you no see door no good at all.

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Yeah, I didn’t get a great photo of it, cause dark, but I did try.

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In case of fire door:

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Pretty fancy hardware compared to modern day versions.

Then we saw some less fancy, backstage sorta things — mailbox doors —

And a peek into the commissary, which we all noticed smelled like French fries. How did we know? our guide inquired. Easy enough — we are literature people, and food people.

And so, we went to lunch.

But before that, one last door.

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I hope you enjoyed our tour, and I’m very glad to share it.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

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One-Liner Wednesday — I Could Live in a Snow Globe…

During one of the frequent family protests about the temperature of the house, Moo shouted at me, “You live like a polar bear!”

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One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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GPS Does Not Know The Way To Grandmother’s House

I like to make an annual pilgrimage to my grandparents’ house on the lake this time of year. It’s a thing I do, like a craving I can’t let lie. It comforts me. It does my heart good, even though my grandparents are long gone and the house belongs to strangers now.

Customarily, The Mister drives until we see Smokey the Bear and then I take over. The roads at the lake wind up and down and all around. I know the roads. I know the roads and I do not know their names.

This last Friday, I put the address into Google maps on my phone and off we went.

That was stupid. Do not do that. GPS does not know the way to grandmother’s house. I mean, it kinda does, because we got there, but how we got there, I don’t even know. I had a bad feeling when we were on 135 instead of 31 and later, when the GPS said we were 12 minutes from the house and I still hadn’t seen a single thing that looked familiar, I realized that I should have listened to that feeling and headed to 31. Then I realized we were at the lake, although where, I had no idea.

“We must be on the other side of the dam,” I reasoned. (We weren’t.)

The windy-dindy part was THE WHOLE WAY. We did not know the roads. We all cried out in blasphemy as we made hairpin turns and almost died halfa dozen times.

When we finally reached the house, only then did I know, the drive is half my joy. I must see the corn, the old Edwardian house, the leaning tree, Ed’s Trading Post, the bait n’ tackle shop, Smokey the Bear, The Church of the Lakes. It’s all part of the experience.
GPS has no sense of propriety.

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Doesn’t look like much to other people, I know, but I still want it. Only about five-years-and-three-hundred-fifty-thousand-dollars-to-go…

Oh! And it needs to be for sale.
A girl can dream.

We’re a bit shy of Brown County’s fall foliage peak. Still gorgeous. Sun filtering through the trees, the warm, golden color of it all.

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Crisp leaves underfoot, hell, even soggy leaves underfoot.

I LOVE the smell of leaf mold and burning leaves and there was plenty of that.

Pardon my repeats.

We went to Nashville, Indiana to walk around and gawk at things.

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Open air dining a la barbecue. Lil slaw, lil chips, lil pickle. The experience was better than the pork. The pork was sorely lacking flavor. Do not recommend.

But there at the counter on the street, my husband wrapped his arms around me and proclaimed it was good to be out, which was akin to me enjoyin the sunshine on my face.
We were so happy, if a bit overexposed.

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So we happily walked around and shopped the shops and saw all the people and Marian, we even saw one of them there Bicentennial bison (Bison-tennial? Oh never mind.)

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…and communed with the squirrels and we were happily happy. Until we found the candy shop. Then we knew we could be happier.

Fudge has a way of transcending GPS woes and enhancing the euphoria of being in love.

The sunset was glorious, the perfect ending to a beautiful day.
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On the way home, we saw most of the things we were supposed to see on the way there. I feel like the leaning tree and I understand one another. I believe it missed me. One day, I’ll do all the driving and stop and take pictures of all the things. The Mister hates that, but if I tell him it’s for you, maybe he’ll endure it. Such precious things should be documented for posterity.

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Share Your World #42

If you wanted to de-clutter where you live, what room / space would you start with?  (And why, if you’re feel like admitting to it.)
Haha, the kids’ rooms! I did de-clutter their rooms when they were younger, but I wouldn’t now. They’re at an age where I merely say things like, “Clean your room,” or “Perhaps it’s a good time to get rid of some things.” They won’t live here forever, so I just insist they keep the common spaces tidy.

 

If you want to remember something important, how do you do it (sticky note on the fridge, string around your finger, etc.), and does it work?
At home, I’m my own boss, so I just obsess about things until they’re done. Lists are helpful if I need to purge my memory. I insist my kids take responsibility for their own activities. I’ll have them pin scheduled events on the bulletin board, and issue reminders to me. For my own appointments, I sometimes put a reminder in my phone, but usually I just keep the appointment cards in my purse and the date in my brain.
At work, we have software to input our tasks, but I also use sticky notes for pressing matters, absolutely.

 

If you could create a one room retreat just for yourself, what would be the most important sense to emphasize:  sight (bright natural light, dim light, etc.), hearing (silence, music, fountain, etc.), smell (candles, incense, etc), touch (wood, stone, soft fabrics, etc.), or taste (herbal tea, fresh fruit, etc.)?
This sounds like such a treat, I don’t know where to begin. A silent room, lots of long, narrow windows, but with heavy curtains, cotton, cotton, cotton — overstuffed chaise, no electronics, smell of old books and lavender, plates of fresh fruit and cheese, orange tea, please.

 

If you could interview one of your great-great-great grandparents, who would it be (if you know their name) and what would you ask?
I think I’d go for the Seminole, Concha, and seek her lost wisdom, but only if she’d come here. I am not going to Florida in the fall.

 

Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
This last week was a good one. I’m most grateful for Friday, because it was especially cool and lovely and I got to drive through the forest and play outside with my family. It was just a fantastic day. This week coming up has temps in the 80s again and I’m not pleased, but good things may still happen.

 

 

Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to play along.

What’s going on in your world?

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SoCS — Screening

Yes, of course I screen my calls, and my texts, and any messages, really. I do it for the benefit of others, I promise. I’m not a phone person.

I love my friends, even the morning people, but I am incapable of polite response until a certain amount of wakefulness has developed and it would be bad to start the day with, “Why the fuck are you callin me at 8am? What the fuck is wrong with you? It’s like you don’t even know me!”

My mother does not call me anymore.
My mother has been on the wrong end of too many sleepy conversations.

Sometimes I get text messages that I don’t know what to do with. They seem intense and complicated and I need more coffee and time or I’m liable to reply, with stuff like, “Sucks to be you,” or “Told you so” or “I really don’t know what the fuck you’re goin on about but I’ll talk to you later.”

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(I actually have lovely phone presence, but I reserve that Fake Bitch for less personal circumstances. For instance, The Mister asks me call teachers and parents, or to renegotiate charges. At work, Mentor often asks me to make the unpleasant phone calls because it’s pretty hard to get mad at the soft-spoken girl on the phone, and if you do, she’ll get haughty and snippy and you’ll realize how rude you’ve been.)

It’s not always a morning thing, or a grumpy thing, sometimes it’s a busy thing.

I am, in fact, sometimes too busy to deal with my phone.

I am one of those people who ignore my phone when I’m out and about. I need to save my battery for photos, of course.

On the weekends, I’m terrible about looking at my phone, because generally, my family is here.

If I’m busy and my phone is blowing up, I actually reply with, “I have company right now” or “I’ll call you when I leave here,” and if it continues, I’ll turn my phone off. I feel like the people in front of me deserve my attention.

I have friends that think it’s rude not to answer or reply immediately. I can tell, because when they’re with me, they do immediately respond to the sounds on their phones. I could write a much longer post on how rude I think that is. Rather at an impasse there.

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Overall, I’m conserving energy, waiting for a better frame of mind. Are you a solid screener, or are you more easily accessible?

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SoCS ‘screen’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

Posted in Personally | Tagged | 47 Comments

Friday, Fall Break

While you’re reading this, I’m out exploring our natural world.

I’m probably wearing sneakers and being glad it’s not hot.

I’m probably eating food at some picnic table type place.

I’m probably watching the sun shine on my babies.

I’m probably holding my husband’s hand and laughing.

The point is, right now, I’m probably happy.

Happy Friday TO YOU!

Posted in Personally, Random Musings | 20 Comments

#ThursdayDoors — Woodruff Place Town Hall

Last winter three of my #ThursdayDoors posts were from Woodruff Place (Link 1, Link 2, Link 3). Historic Woodruff Place is one of Indianapolis’s lil neighborhoods. This summer, I captured its town hall.

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I love the doors, but as ever, I find Woodruff Place charming.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

I may be late getting to your #ThursdayDoors posts today. The girls and I will be touring the cathedral (doorscursion perhaps) and lunching with fellow blogger Benson. And the high is sixty-freakin-two, Woooooot!

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged | 31 Comments