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C: Warrior for the Good 23 Sep 2020 3:45 AM (4 years ago)

At the risk of waxing sentimental and, to some extent tooting my own horn, I am moved today by the concept of mothering.  As I write this, California remains on fire.  Not only are houses destroyed, but people are losing their lives, some of them firefighters who have volunteered, knowing the great risk they face.

As I have prayed about this disaster, my heart has turned toward the animals of the burning forests.  We will never know how many have lost their lives in horrible ways.

On Facebook yesterday someone posted this photograph by a fireman who was moving through a burned-over area.  It is a picture of a bird’s nest with a clutch of eggs still there intact.  Next to them is the body of their mother. 

Instantly it hits one that the mother bird could simply have sailed off, over the fire, to find safety.

But she did not.  She would not abandon her babies—still in their shells—to the disaster.  She stood with them, helpless against the flames, but loyal to the very end.  She must have known that she was facing a losing battle, but she would not leave her babies to face it alone.

In my work I see so, so many mothers who battle seemingly insurmountable challenges.   I see single mothers who work their fingers to the bone at multiple jobs just so that their child can have something he/she needs.  I see mothers who sacrifice their own down time to sit on bleachers or haul kids to practice—mothers who desperately need their own emotional outlets, but waiting until the day their child does not need them so much, putting off their own emotional needs until that day when Mom can have some fun without expense to her children.

This lifeless mother bird, still hovering for comfort of her also-gone children, just magnified the qualities I see in so many mothers.  This bird is a heroine in danger of being unsung--like so many mothers out there.  I want her memory to stay.  I feel compelled to write about her.

I believe this mother never considered the option, so available to her, to abandon.  I just don't know what else to say about this.  I have named her "Warrior for the Good," and I deem her victorious.  

Rest in peace, Heroine Bird Mother. 

- C

 PS – And, yes, I know that there are good fathers out there, too.  But this is about mothering, and after 40 years as a family-law attorney, let me just tell you….Wait!  This is about mothers.  We’ll leave it at that.  Maybe I’ll write about fathers another time. Maybe.

C: Indulgent Day! 6 Sep 2020 5:47 AM (4 years ago)

Ummmm, fish eggs...not for me!

But the real indulgence came that evening when I nosed around for supper. 

First, let me ask you: What do you think of when you think of an "indulgence?"  Is it caviar with champagne?  Is it fine chocolates?  

Well, my friends, if that's the case with you, you may be missing out, for as I poked through my pantry, I found a true indulgence: a box of cheeseburger macaroni Hamburger Helper!  

 

Why this processed, full-of-artificials was in my pantry, I have no clue.  It is not something on my shopping list, so I assume that Son had brought it in as an impulse purchase some time. 

No matter how it got there--I was delighted to see it yesterday.  I had the ground beef in the fridge, so in no time I was sitting down to my TV tray for a relaxing comfort-food stroll down childhood memory lane...with my glass of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay to complement it.

Life just does not get any better! (and I have some left for lunch today!)

I'll get back to healthier eating after the holiday, I promise!

--C

C: PAIN ON THE LIVING ROOM FLOOR 22 Aug 2020 5:57 PM (4 years ago)

 You know what hurts just as much?  Stepping on the shard of a deer femur. In fact, it feels very much like stepping on a Lego. It happened to me just this morning. 

Handsome, Isn't He?

C: A Passing, A Gathering 15 Aug 2020 3:07 AM (4 years ago)

 her as frequently as I knew she wanted. 

C: AH, TO SEW! 9 Aug 2020 2:56 AM (4 years ago)

C: Return to Blogging--From the Quarantine! 19 Jul 2020 1:03 PM (4 years ago)

C and V, age 4

We've missed blogging and all our blogging friends.

C still works at her law office, too hard but loves it! 

As for V, well she is blessed with a whole cadre of grandchildren who have kept her busy, even though she is now a retiree.

C: And That's What It's All About! 3 Jul 2015 11:04 AM (9 years ago)

My, hasn't there been controversy lately?  V and I have lamented that we know we are getting old because the world seems so very strange--topsy turvey, even.

V is in a twit (Is that a word?  Is it a polite word?) about the Supreme Court decision on same-sex marriage. I am much calmer about it--as a lawyer I wholly expected the decision.



Then, there is the Rebel flag controversy.  I admit that I have one, myself, around here somewhere.  I never thought of it as a banner of racism, only as nostalgic Southern culture, but after the recent discussions, I have come to realize that many do, and that offense has taken on horrible magnitude in the wake of the Charleston AME massacre.

Again, as a lawyer, I have pondered the controversy of same-sex marriage as it collides with religious beliefs.and the flying of the Rebel Flag as it collides with free speech.

BILL OF RIGHTS

I gotta say, our Founding Fathers (FFs) have my deep respect.  They crafted a marvelous system.  I work within it every day, and I'm here to tell ya:  It is not perfect, but it is a wonderful piece of craftsmanship.

Frankly, as brilliant as they were, I don't believe the FFs had any idea how wonderful was their work.  There is just no way they could have foreseen the twists and turns our society would take--they, for example, would not have let me--a woman--vote. They would not have counted my right to a voice as an "inalienable right" as those who penned the Declaration of Independence declared such rights to be:

DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE

But the FFs instituted a system that seems to organically understand that we don't always get it right at first; we must live and learn and grow.  As a result, I get to vote.

Thank you, 14th Amendment!!

Thank You 19th Amendment - Ratified  August, 1920

As I drove to work the other morning, I was stopped at a red light.  The car in front of me bore a bumper sticker such as the one depicted below:

C: My Definition of "Early Christmas Shopping" 21 Dec 2014 6:58 AM (10 years ago)

Last year my son, my mother and my mother-in-law, and I had a quiet Christmas together, culminating with a wonderful, peaceful dinner by candlelight and flickering fireplace and soft carols playing in the background.  We were restful and happy.


Realizing I was in deep, deep trouble, I jumped out of bed, washed my face/brushed teeth, threw on the first pair of jeans and shirt I ran across and ran out the door, again smug in the knowledge that none of my acquaintances would be crazy enough to be out that early.


I managed to locate a beautiful rib roast, picked up a few incidentals and beat a hasty retreat to the seclusion of my car by 7:45 a.m.
Realizing that I needed a few grocery items (and knowing that I had already had my ego-shattering for the morning and, therefore, had immunity from any further such attack on my pride), I stopped in at Walmart next door to get milk, bread, yadayadayada.  As I pushed my way into the produce isle, I was tapped on the shoulder.  I turned to see yet another lawyer greeting me.  He, too, looked showered and refreshed.  He, too, was holiday-happy to see me, which meant an actual conversation while I died knowing that I looked like Hell...a feeling I had only just begun to get over.
I disengaged, virtually ran through WalMart and fled home.
I'm done.  The item or two I have yet to purchase will be picked up during my work days this week (only two), after which I will happily begin to plan and prepare our Christmas feasting, smaller though it may be.  No more risking getting caught looking like a homeless bag lady by those on whom I normally need to make a power impression...at least this holiday season.
Son, MIL and I will enjoy a wonderful Christmas Eve and Christmas Day together.  My brother and
Sister-in-law, now with grown chicks, will join us for our fire-lit dinner Christmas evening.  I look forward to it.

Cowgirl V: Storms of Life 18 Nov 2014 7:37 PM (10 years ago)

The holidays are fast approaching and I am not ready!  Mentally I am ready, but physically-- no way!  I don't even have a shopping list yet and there is so much cleaning to get done!  The decorating will be simple as we have some repairs going on, but that's okay.





"C" and I have taken a long break from posting.  We both lost our moms early this summer after they both had suffered declining health the past few years.  Still, as they say--it is true--you are never really ready to lose them.  This past year I have been retired from my job and in many ways that has helped.  "C" is busier than ever at her law practice and has just moved back into her home after a leak last January that flooded the entire downstairs of her house.  She has been somewhat of a refugee living nomadically with friends, in a hotel for almost 8 months while her home was being restored--a difficult time.  Oh, and I almost forgot--a terrible tornado that wiped out many homes in her community and left a neighbor family grieving the loss of the father and two teenage daughters near "C"'s home, and caused minor damage to her property. It has been an exhausting year for her.

So how have I occupied myself since retiring?  I have rested a lot, spent time with my dogs and kitties at home, taught myself to crochet--kind of!  I have found that busy hands, a tactile, comforting yarn, mindless repetition is good for the soul --it calms my restless mind. When my mother was briefly in hospice care, I had my yarn and hook and could sit through the night with the comforting repetition to soothe and distract me. So far all I have produced are some rather crude dish cloths, but that is good enough.  Now I understand how women throughout the ages have found solace in mending, knitting, patching their lives back together, figuratively and literally.  How I wish my own mother could have discovered this as she struggled with anxious moments and would unconsciously sit and wring her hands.  Lord knows there is enough trouble in this world to trouble us all!

I've also joined the community of Instagram and spent quite a bit of time on Pinterest.  I have several projects to accomplish this year--getting my kitchen cabinets painted, some repairs that need to be done, choosing new flooring, rooms repainted, etc.  Whew--it is a bit overwhelming especially since I can't physically do it myself anymore.  I always loved new projects in the house, painting, wallpapering, but I need help now.  Pinterest is a gold mine for finding ideas if you haven't joined, I highly recommend it!




So, hopefully, tentatively --we are coming back to posting.  Life is fragile, the world is changing so fast and there is so much evil out there, but I refuse to give up hope. I'm working on a rant--Yes, this is a rant alert, but I thought it best to stick my toe in here gently before running readers off!

 * One last note to our friends out there --has a hobby or handwork helped in a therapeutic way to get you through a rough patch?

Cowgirl V: Remembering and Still Missing Him 17 Feb 2014 8:10 PM (11 years ago)

 

Today, (February 17) would have been my dad’s 92nd birthday.  I can hardly believe he’s been gone over 20 years.  Seems like yesterday I last heard his voice, saw his face.  Time assuages grief, but rarely a day goes by that I don’t think of something I would like to talk to him about. 

 

He was reserved and shy to those he did not know well, but at home there was lots of conversation about so many things.  I suppose that is what I miss most.  Discussing books, politics, religion—so many things he was interested in. 

 

 

He was born in 1922 to young parents who did not belong together.  His mother was loving and faithful, but his young father (barely 20 years old) was not up to fatherhood and left to seek employment in Utah.  He did not see his son until he was almost three years old.  There little interest shown and the resulting pain of indifference and broken promises.  I’ll never forget my dad telling me of the time when he realized that the dad he had idealized in his childish mind, did not exist.  My grandfather had come to his hometown for a visit from NYC where he was working at the Times.  My dad who was ten years old, admired a boy riding on a fancy English bike.  “So you would like one of those?” his dad asked.  “Just wait until I get back to NYC—I will send you one right away.”  Of course he waited expectantly for the bike that never came. 

 

 

Some folks follow in the footsteps of a negligent or abusive parent, but to my dad’s credit, he determined that he would be a faithful husband and family man—everything his own father was not.  Of course, it’s so easy to gloss over imperfections and as “C” reminds me those who have passed on suddenly become saints.  My dad was beloved, but he had his faults.  There was a simmering rage at being rejected that I have seen in everyone I’ve known who has been rejected by a parent.  Sometimes it spilled over at home—usually directed at me! 

I wrote about my dad a few years ago in a post titled He Was Unwanted.  A reminder to me that every life has a purpose and should be celebrated.  So on February 17, each year my mother would bake  daddy’s favorite cake –Pineapple Refrigerator Cake—a vintage recipe from the fifties that she got from our neighbor, Betty, who was the perfect homemaker.  Her house was immaculate and she made dessert every night!  This cake would be perfect for Easter dessert and I am going to make it this year.  A tender yellow cake split into layers with a luscious lemon pineapple custard filling and frosted with fresh whipped cream!  Yummmmy!

 

 

Here’s the vintage recipe from a Spry shortening booklet  at www. food.com  recipe 41821  pineapple refrigerator cake

Hope you will try it!

C: In the Ear of the Beholder 14 Jan 2014 5:45 AM (11 years ago)

I heard a great sermon Sunday.  It was about the story of the rich, young ruler.  The point of the story, my pastor said, was not just about “rich” folks—it applies to us all.  We all have things we prioritize over God…even our “good works,” as the rich, young ruler had always meticulously obeyed the law.

Pastor ramped up, driving home the point that we cannot tell where we stand solely by our actions—that good actions can often mask impure motivations.  It is not the “outward,” he says, that is telling.  It is the “inward.”

And this, folks, is where I was jolted upright because what I heard is: “What is important is the “N” word!  Do you have an ‘N-word’ problem?”

And, through the rest of the sermon about our “inward struggles,” I heard repeatedly: “N word,” although I knew well what he meant.   It was my ears.

My consciences is clear:  I have no “N-word problem,” although it is probably evident that my “inward” regions could use some cleaning up.

Thank goodness there was no “giggle partner” sitting next to me, MIL not being the giggle-in-church type.  It could have been a disaster and it reminds me of another time.

I was sitting next to my BIL years ago, listening to a sermon from Zechariah 5:1, which says:

Then I lifted up my eyes again and looked, and behold, there was a flying scroll.  And he said to me, "What do you see?" And I answered, "I see a flying scroll; its length is twenty cubits and its width ten cubits…”

What I heard was “…behold, there was a flying squirrel…”  On top of that, it was a BIG flying squirrel (a cubit being estimated at 18 inches).  What a sight that must have been—even more impressive than the flying scroll, which I knew was what Pastor referenced.

I glanced at BIL who, having heard as I did, silently mouthed, “…flying squirrel???”

Oh, it was bad…he and I dissolved, simultaneously bending forward to stifle our laughter.  Again, I say, it was bad—almost uncontrollable; tear-jerking, nearly-pants-wetting laughter all while trying to be quiet and inconspicuous.  Our spouses were not pleased.

So funny how our ears can deceive, and what it does to our perception. 

Reminds me of another time.  In our household, there was a tendency for my son and me to sing Christmas carols at any time of the year.  You might hear us in a chorus of “Good King Wenceslas” in July. 

One day, Son made a sing-along request.  “Let’s sing the Christmas carol about the airplanes, Mom.”

For the life of me, I could not imagine what he was talking about.

“You know, we sing it all the time.”  No, I did not know.  I requested that he start us out, which he did:

“Angels we have heard on high, sweetly singing o’er the planes (er, plains).

Made me consider what my little child had been picturing in his head all those times we sang that song. 

On reflection, I decided that we do, indeed, want angels singing over airplanes…

--C

C: Truth in the AT&T Store 10 Jan 2014 11:35 PM (11 years ago)

What is it about me that makes random folks just want to tell me their troubles?  Probably I ask for it.  I am very interested in people.

You’d think, being a divorce lawyer for over thirty years, that I would become bored and jaded by human drama—not so!  I remain interested.  I hope it makes me good at my job.

Anyway, my paralegal/sister and I were in the ATT store today doing some phone switcharooing.  The man helping us was a nice, late fortyish man who noticed my business name on the account.  He asked, “what kind of law?”  I told him.

He had a story.

This guy has an 18-year-old and a 15-year-old from his former marriage and of whom he has custody. 

Then, there is the just-turned-six-year-old by his baby-mama.  He has a concern about the situation she is living in with her mother (he should be concerned,  from his description).  We talked about it just a few minutes.

As he walked us to the door, he quipped, “I really messed up.  I was 44, and she was 20.  I never planned on another baby. I just don’t know what happened.”

Before I knew it, out of my mouth came:  “You know you never had any say in that, don’t you?  She planned on a baby, and that’s all that counts.  Once she planned it, the die was cast.” 

He stood looking at me quietly.

I continued.  “Oh, sure, you COULD have practiced protected sex, so I’m not letting you off the hook completely, but she was driving that car.  Men are so stupid when it comes to this.”

He took it like a champ and said, “You speak the truth.  I never had a chance.  She played me.  Yes, we are stupid where sex is concerned.”

There you have it.  An admission.  It is the truth.

Robin Williams:

God gave man a brain and a p****s…and only enough blood supply to run one at a time.

It’s just that the kid reaps the consequences.

--C

C: Nomenclature ~ What’s a “Cabin?” 7 Jan 2014 8:52 AM (11 years ago)

I love words.  As a part of that interest, I love to consider regional differences in language.  In my next life, I think I’ll be a linguist.  This morning brought a discussion/disagreement on this very topic.  Although I doubt it is a “regional” question in this particular usage, I find it interesting.  (Yes, I am easily amused)

Son and I were riding in the car together.  We passed a lovely, two-story, square-log home that is on our regular route.  (V will know immediately the place I am talking about).   He commented on it, calling it a “log cabin.”  This is NOT an actual picture of the place, but is here for illustrative purposes (such as the size of the structure!)

This is reminiscent of his father, who also made this mistake of nomenclature.    The house in question must be over 3,000 square feet—a “cabin” it’ ain’t.   The second picture on the page ain’t a “cabin,” either.

I remarked on this, saying I did not think a “cabin” could actually be over two rooms.  He argued.

In fact, Merriam-Webster online defines “cabin” as “a small, simple house made of wood” (disregarding the part about airplanes and ships).  Therefore, I rest my case!

He’s not convinced, however, feeling that the logs are the defining element of a “cabin.” 

Wrong, wrong, wrong again.  You can have a lumber-sided cabin—but not a brick one (in my mind).

Okay, weigh in—what constitutes a “cabin” for you?  --C

C: True Love (Get a Hankie) 6 Jan 2014 3:04 AM (11 years ago)

I am a cynic about “true love,” doubting that it exists—at least in the sappy-movie sense.   The only “true love,” I sometimes say, is that of the Creator for His Creation. We humans are too fickle and self-serving to carry it off.

And, yet, something has happened in our neighborhood that makes me re-think whether true love can be found here on this earth.

There is a couple down the road from me (we’re in a rural area).   They are in the latter-half of their eighties and have lived out here all their lives.  We will call them “Mama” and “Daddy,” for that has been their main identity the vast majority of their lives.

These are kind, warm people.  When my mother lived out here, they reached out to her in a kindness that she will never forget.

Their Son was born with severe disabilities over sixty years ago and has never seen nor heard so far as can be told.  He has lived his life in a completely helpless state with no sign of recognition and few, infant-like, responses.  His food must be specially-prepared; baby food, if you like.  His care is total—he must be turned and washed and diapered.

Mama and Daddy were told those decades ago that their baby would never pull out of this state and that he should be institutionalized for the duration of his life.  That life would not be long, the doctors said. 

Mama and Daddy refused.  This was their child; God had sent him to their charge.  They would care for him.  And care for him they did—for sixty three years now.  His care at home has been impeccable.

Mama’s and Daddy’s “plight” as we outside of their circle see it, is unthinkable to most of us.  I have heard whispers that their chosen path was a “waste,” that their confinement with this man-child was to no avail.  I confess I have had some of these thoughts—hence, I refer you to my opening statements about the dearth of “true love.”

It appears that over the years Mama and Daddy have carved out a routine for themselves.  Daddy worked until retirement twenty years ago, so the daily care of Son fell to Mama.  Daddy was willing help while he was at home; and after his retirement he was able to help her more.  They managed their lives by rarely going anywhere together.  They rotated church attendance, for example.  One would be at church while the other was on duty at home; the next week the roles would reverse.

There are neighbors who would sometimes “sit” with Son while both parents took a brief respite; but this was not often, and Mama would not hear of a “stranger” coming in to watch over her child.

The other night I was invited to some friends’ house for a convivial evening.  During that time I learned some things about this family.  For one thing, I was told that Son was in the process of dying and that a hospice worker was in attendance in the home. 

I confess that across my mind flashed the thought that if Son passed, parents would at last have some time for themselves.  I especially thought of Mama homebound all those years without a real social life.

My friend continued with even more distressing news, however.  Daddy, it seems, had slid considerably into dementia.  He had become forgetful and anxious, adding to Mama’s workload.  They were coping fairly well within the confinement of their routine, but the hospice worker had warned that if Son passed away, the shock of this to their well-ordered world would most-probably cause Daddy to slip away mentally altogether.

There goes Mama’s chance for a “normal” life.  There is no way she will give his care over to another.  Care-giving is all she has ever known.

As we talked, my friend told me something else I did not know.  Another neighbor—someone in his 50’s who had seemed hale and hearty to me just this past summer—had been hospitalized several weeks, diagnosed with a fatal condition.  He would be leaving this earth within a  month or two.

Then she told me this:  For over ten years now (she is unsure how many years), each Christmas morning Mama and Daddy would find a HUGE, beautifully-wrapped basket left on their front porch.  It was filled with all kinds of gifts that Mama and Daddy could enjoy at home: some luxury food items, some gadgets they might like—all kinds of things, especially selected for them.

Each year the basket bore the same message, “Merry Christmas, Mama and Daddy.  Thank you for loving me and taking such good care of me all these years  Love, Son.”

No one knew who had been leaving the baskets…until now.

Hospitalized neighbor was helpless in his hospital bed before Christmas.  Because he had to enlist the assistance of others in the annual task, it became known that he was the basket-leaver all these years.  Even his family did not know.

God had sent this man to serve Son in expressing the gratitude that he could not speak for himself…amazing.

I am a stoic by nature and, yet, I cannot speak or write about this without tears.

Son died later on the night of my learning all of this. 

For me this story has spoken volumes.  It is about the unconditional love of parents for their child.  It is about true love that recognizes a need and fills it with a basket which is the message of love and gratitude—with never a thought for recognition. 

And now Son is gone, with no further need of his messenger of love…and the messenger is leaving earth as well, just as the last basket is delivered and there is no longer that need.

Again, I say: Amazing.  I am humbled.  --C

C: Rock ‘n’ Roll Wisdom 28 Dec 2013 11:16 AM (11 years ago)

I am a baby-boomer/sixties-to-eighties-rock-lovin’ old person.  I am sitting at the computer listening to my Pandora “Dire Straits” Station.  (I have an opera station, too, so don’t judge me too harshly).

Along came the old Journey hit, “Don’t Stop Believing.”  It made me think of a post—inspiration!  You just never know how the Muse will strike, right? Journey said:

She Took the Midnight Train Goin’ Anywhere

Wow.

These lyrics made me think about advice I wish young women everywhere would heed.  It is advice borne of my longish life, tinged with sorrow now softened, and of my very-long work as a divorce lawyer. 

Ahhhhh, if only they would listen to me.

As I age I am learning the importance of living life intentionally…making conscious decisions about what I like, what I want from life, how I want to live it. 

So many of us, women especially (hang with me, here), just drift through days, taking life’s midnight train to anywhere.

We especially need to  be intentional in important decisions—like who we marry or with whom we choose to have a child; and, yes, being wary of listening only to the heart in these matters.

 

I know I have beaten this drum before, but it pains me that almost weekly I see women in hard situations because they settled.  They did not strive for the best. They did not hold out for all that life has for them. They waited for what came along to claim them and then just climbed aboard.  Big, Big, Big mistake…the train to anywhere can take you to a hard life.

Look at this picture, hand water- colored by non-artist me just for you.

See those luscious fruits on the tree?  (squint and understand they are meant to represent luscious). 

See the stick figure scratching his/her head trying to decide which one he/she will pick? 

Who are you?  Are you the picker, finding just the right fruit to fill your purpose?  Or are you the fruit, just waiting on some random picker to come by and snag you away to whatever fate he/she chooses for you?

And, if you are the fruit, are you placed high, peeking barely through the trees, something worth climbing and searching for?  Or are you the one hanging low, within easy reach for any picker passer-by?

Do you know that you have the right to set your own standards?  That you can be “exclusive?”  It is your life…make pickers understand that you are not within the reach of just anyone.

Living intentionally is good advice for anyone, so why am I addressing women?  For reasons that include:

1. Pickers are mostly men.  It’s just the truth…change this! You don’t have to accept it.   You be the picker for your own life, and choose your fruit wisely.  Have some standards, some criteria.
2. Women impact children more.  In our age of divorce, kids stay with moms.  Dads, if they are decent, visit.  Moms are primary shapers.  Even if you are fortunate and never have your family split asunder, you need to consider what influence your partner will bring to your kids.  Women, you owe it to your children to choose wisely who will father them; and you must model for them that they can shape their lives to a great degree.

If you are in the USA reading this, you have won life’s lottery of opportunity.  You are blessed to be able to make choices that many on this globe don’t have—don’t squander this.  Be intentional with your life. 

If you don’t heed this advice, then you run the risk of being what rocker Tom Petty said in 1991:

“A rebel without a clue…”

Be intentional in the way you live.  Especially be intentional in the most important decisions of your life. 

Don’t be the picked—be the picker.

--C

PS – Preachy, I know…but it’s on my heart.

C: Legacy of Bitterness; Lessons from the Pages of Real Life. 15 Dec 2013 9:24 AM (11 years ago)

Jo and Jim did not have a perfect marriage, but it was a good one, Jo thought. They had been married 26 years and had two beautiful college-student daughters still at home. Each had worked with large companies for over twenty years. They did not make huge salaries and they were not wealthy, but they had no big monetary concerns and had decent retirement funds. They were conservative in their spending, and had enough to make the payments on the home they had lived in for the last 18 years. They lived a bit too much on credit cards. It was hard not to with two college-aged girls, and all four members of the family had cars. Thankfully, two of them were paid off, but they all had to be insured. Monthly payments took planning, but they were able to maintain a good credit score.

Jim's father lived alone about thirty minutes from Jo and Jim. He was a bit emotionally removed from his only child, but Jo did her best to include Ben in the family celebration times and she prodded Jim to visit his father at least monthly. Ben seemed to know this because he was a bit warmer to Jo than even his only child. Ben and Jim's mother had divorced long ago, and she had been deceased for over ten years. Ben just seemed to like his aloofness and, Jo and Jim knew little about Ben's business affairs. He had recently retired.

It was a shock to receive the call that Ben had suffered a heart attack in his front yard. A neighbor had seen him react to the pain and tried to render assistance, calling 911. Ben slipped away.

This was followed by yet another shock: Ben had amassed quite a hefty bank account. There was almost $600,000 in various assets and life insurance benefits awaiting Jim, his only heir. Their shock at losing a family member was softened a bit by this discovery. They had no idea that Ben was worth so much. They discussed the relief it would give them to be able to pay off their house at last and have no debt as they entered the years when they, too, began to think about retirement. Being cautious, Jo and Jim consulted a financial planner who gave them good advice.

The summer months approached soon after Ben’s funeral, and the family went on a cruise that Jim had purchased as a treat for "his girls" and in celebration of his youngest having graduated from high school. "No more high schoolers--only college girls!" Jim teased. The cruise had been purchased before Ben's death, so it had been a spurge for which Jo had to be persuaded over her caution at bending the budget. She knew that it would require a good long time of credit card payments to pay it off, but it seemed important to Jim, so she capitulated. Truthfully, it was the first thing she thought of with relief after their good fortune was revealed.

The cruise came and Jo was puzzled by Jim's lack of interest in her there. Not only was there no romantic move on his part, but it became clear as the week progressed that he was actually seeking time away from her. Jo felt near to tears several times when she particularly felt his coldness. Truthfully, the cruise turned into a nightmare for Jo. She could not wait to get home, thinking that the return to normal routine would return her husband to normal as well.

They got home late on Saturday night. After sleeping in on Sunday, the day was spent with Jim going to gather some groceries for the week and Jo rifling through the ton of laundry that needed washing and put away before both returned to work on Monday morning. There was little to no conversation. Monday dawned, and they parted for the work day.

That evening Jim strolled in after work and joined Jo in the living room where she was relaxing in front of the television after the hard first day back after vacation. "Jo," Jim said, "I have decided I no longer want to be married. I have rented an apartment and am moving out. Please don’t make a scene--it won't do any good."

Jo could not believe her ears. Jim was leaving? Apartment? When did he make this decision? When did he have the time to rent an apartment? She was stunned, and then she was terrified.

The girls came home together as Jim was still packing. Jo, mercifully, had been able to hold herself together emotionally, later realizing that the shock probably was the reason why. She called Jim in and said, "Girls, your father has an announcement to make…" The girls turn with expectant looks on their faces.

Jim was visibly upset that Jo had commandeered the moment, but he said, "I am sorry but your mother and I have decided to separate. We both love you very much and this has nothing to do with you--you won't even have any changes in your life. We know that this is the best."

He scowled when he heard Jo say, "Oh no you don't. I am not taking the blame for this, Jim. " Turning to the girls, she said, "This was not a joint decision, it was his decision. I never saw it coming. I don't want a divorce, but he has told me that there is nothing I can do to change his mind."

Unlike their mother, the girls became hysterical. They clutched at their father, railed at him and screamed that he was ruining their lives and breaking up their home.

It made no difference. "Someday you will understand. I will call you both in a day or two," he said as he went out the door.

The next day Jo was served with divorce papers at work--Jim had filed on his first day back from vacation without a word to her about it. Jo had the presence of mind to hire her own attorney immediately.

Jo learned that until such time as Jim put her name on his father's inheritance (which he had not done) it was not a part of the marital estate. This was strictly Jim's money. The negotiations began. Jo's lawyer asked for alimony and an unequal division of debt based on the huge difference in assets of the parties. The lawyer also advised that the chances for gaining these were "iffy" under Jo's circumstances. Jim instructed his attorney that, not only did he despise the idea of alimony, he wanted Jo to pay half of all credit card debts, notwithstanding the fact that he had so much more money.

As the negotiations went on, Jim nickled-and-dimed Jo to death. It was particularly rankling that Jim insisted she pay a full one-half of the cruise cost since she had cautioned against it to begin with. Jim haggled with her over furniture items, demanding pieces that she knew he both had no use for and did not particularly like. He refused to pick up the rest of his personal belongings, leaving them for Jo to pack and store in the garage. Jo began to make plans to try to replace the living room furniture he seemed hell-bent to take. She worried about the girls having no sofa to sit on in their home.

In the end, Jim did not want to go to Court--Jo's attorney was able to make him feel that he would look like a huge heel under the circumstances, and he did not want to fade that heat. Jo received a settlement that allowed her to live in their home, Jim waiving his interest in the equity, but she would have to refinance it. Out of her share of his retirement, she "paid Jim back" for her one-half of all the credit card debt.   He wanted to be absolutely sure that Jo paid every cent of “her share” of the “marital debt.”

He let go of the furniture items he had worried Jo about; the haggling was clearly harassment. He refused to agree on paper to continue to help the girls through school, and Jo was told that the law won't make him do so. He indicated to them that he will still help, so long as they meet all his criteria. He has shown little interest in spending time with them. Time will tell.

In short, Jo has exited this marriage with barely enough. She will make it, but it won't be fun.

Jim, on the other hand, has a swank new apartment full of brand-new furniture and a huge television in the living room.

Jo's attorney asked her at what point she realized that Jim was a man of such low character. Her answer: "The day he walked in and told me wanted a divorce. Before that, I never would have believed that Jim would do this to me."  This is a common lament…

Jo and her attorney both theorize that Jim was reasonably happy in his marriage. Until their cruise (after he became rich), Jo never had any other inkling. The money, however, and the freedom it brought made Jim begin to think about a life he could never have had before his inheritance. He simply chose the single life. The money became so very important to him as a symbol of this fantasy life, that he haggled and fought with Jo over any cent of it she might get in the settlement.

It was the inheritance.

It's the only explanation Jo can come up with.

In case you doubt it, the story is true.  Learn what you will from Jo’s story.  You just never know.

--C

C: Breakfasting Abroad 1 Dec 2013 4:39 AM (11 years ago)

Back in 1999 my Son was graduating from high school.  He had a long-standing desire to visit Israel, and we decided to spring for a two-week family visit to celebrate his achievement. 

We did our trip ourselves—eschewing tour groups—and we traveled the country by means of a rented car.  We had many adventures and, now that I am recalling the trip anew, I may share some with you later, but right now what is on my mind is breakfast.  Breakfast on that trip sort of symbolizes for me a little breaking free from the “box” of my own acculturalization…at least temporarily, as you will see and as only now occurs to me.

During our initial days there, we stayed in a very nice kibbutz-run hotel called Ramat Rachel. That is an aerial view at the top of this post.  It is situated on a hill between Jerusalem and Bethlehem.  Its grounds are gorgeous, as you can see better in this picture.

Our first day we arrived early evening exhausted from the overseas flight and the masses checking through customs at the airport.  We grabbed a snack for dinner and crashed.

The next morning, we were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready for adventure.  We went downstairs to breakfast before heading out to see the sights.

The dining hall was huge.  Here is a picture of a portion of it.  It served both the hotel guests and the workers of the kibbutz.  We found a table situated in the midst of visitors from the world over, interspersed with Israelis in uniform (mostly very young, both men and women).  The breakfast scene was surreal to me from the start, but then I viewed the foods.

There was one station that was full of American-style breakfast food:  Eggs, cereals, a toasting station with bagels, rolls, breads and butter.  There was no bacon or ham, of course, in deference to Jewish dietary laws.  An American could find a fine breakfast here.  But I noticed that this offering was the least- visited by the folks in the hall…

There were vast tables of salad greens, big bowls of sliced red onions, cucumbers, beets, tomatoes, peppers, all sorts of raw vegetables.  Some were in sauce or vinegar; some were just left unadorned.  There were jugs of olive oil, vinegar and other dressings.

There was a long table full of marvelous melons and fruits.  One table held a display of fish in various forms of room-temperature preparation: smoked or pickled.  There was rice and grains I did not know…

I stood there amazed.  The majority of the folks there were filling their breakfast plates from these tables, building gorgeous salads, some topping them with smoked or pickled fish.   They were walking way from the buffet tables with plates that look like this.  For breakfast?????  I could not help but gawk.

It was then that it occurred to me that not everyone the world over has separate, identifiable breakfast foods like we Americans do.  Many eat the same things, regardless of the time of day. 

Oh, I was (am) so very provincial.

And then it happened.  The sides of my cultural “box” flew apart when my  eyes lit on the olive table.  Olives are one of my very, very favorite foods.  I have yet to meet an olive I did not like except when something unnatural has been done to it, like stuffing it with something inappropriate.  And Israel is the place to go for olives, apparently.  There were varieties I had never seen—bowls and bowls of them.  I gravitated. 

When I met Son and Husband back at our table, I plopped down a plate full of an assortment of olives, a couple kinds of kibbutz-made soft cheeses, a hunk of fresh bread.  I chuckled at the popping of their eyes as I wandered off to grab my coffee and orange juice.  I was quite proud of my breakfast plate beside their mundane cereal, eggs and toast.

This is the breakfast I enjoyed each and every morning of my trip, to the thinly-disguised disgust of my fellow travelers.  They both like olives—just not for breakfast!

I smile as I think how seeing others partake of what were in my mind “unusual” breakfast foods gave me sort of a permission to explore and enjoy my olives each morning—and I did, indeed, enjoy these breakfasts.

I wonder sometimes how restricted my life is by my failure to think and move outside my cultural box, as I did in the matter of the olives.  It takes some exposure, I suppose, which most of us really can’t afford.

And, for the record, I haven’t had an olive for breakfast since I returned from Israel in 1999 and slipped back into the box. 

Kind of sad.  --C

C: Can One Have “New Traditions?” 28 Nov 2013 6:50 PM (11 years ago)

I mean, Merriam-Webster defines tradition as:

a way of thinking, behaving, or doing something that has been used by the people in a particular group, family, society, etc., for a long time

So, is the term “new tradition” an oxymoron? (Dn. “oxymoron” is: a combination of contradictory or   incongruous words such as cruel kindness…my own suggestions are honest lawyer--I can self-deprecate-- or internal revenue service….but I digress.

We just had our first Thanksgiving Dinner of the season.  Today, Thanksgiving proper, it was Son, MIL and me.  The three of us had our own not-so-little feast so that we would have all those luscious leftovers.  And I think I may have started a “new tradition.” 

Fine Cooking had this recipe for mashed carrots.  Being a carrot-lover, I tried, it and we all loved it.  I am taking it tomorrow to Sister’s house for all my family to enjoy.  I thought some of you might enjoy it, too:

Carrot Mash with

Orange and Mint

Serves 4-6 (generous)

2 lbs carrots, peeled and cut into 1-inch pieces.

Kosher salt

1 oz (2 Tbs) butter

2 Tbs. heavy cream (mmmmm)

2 Tbs olive oil

1 1/2 Tbs. finely-chopped fresh mint

1/2 tsp. finely grated orange zest or more to taste.

Splash of Tabasco

Boil the carrots until tender, with salt.  When easily-pierced with fork, drain into colander and let the steam rise for a few minutes.

Meanwhile, heat butter, cream, oil, mint, zest, 1/2 tsp salt and a dash of Tabasco in sauce pan over low heat until the butter is melted. Dump in the carrots.

For rustic texture (which is what I did), use potato masher until you get the consistency you like (I ended up added a tad more cream).

You can also put carrots through food processor before adding to the other ingredients to get the smoothest texture, as shown in the picture.

I’m tellin’ ya, this is scrumptious, and mine had a much richer orange color than this picture depicts.

I will be doing this one again.

I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving Day and counted all your blessings.

--C

PS.  You should go to the Fine Cooking link above and create an account.  I’m loving their recipes and the “recipe box” feature.

C: Pay It Forward at the Starbuck’s Window 25 Nov 2013 2:10 PM (11 years ago)

A couple days ago Son was in the car with me.  We had both had a tough day and decided that we “deserved” a Starbuck’s treat.  This something I do not do very often, and after I had placed the order at the drive-thru speaker, I remembered why.

“Your total is $9.98,” the voice announced. 

Wow!  Almost ten Dollars for the two of us!  Yes, the coffees were “specialty” coffees.  Yes, Son had a baked treat, too.  But, still, it was more than I had expected.

We were in line behind two cars.  The topic of conversation as we waited was the above…expensive!

When it was my turn, we rolled up to the window.  I had my ten-dollar bill ready for the clerk.   I could see our order awaiting us 

The sales girl smiled and said, “The lady ahead of you paid for your order!”

I looked up in time to see the white car pull slowly around the corner.  I could see the driver well enough to know that I had never met her.  I looked back at the sales clerk.

“Did she say she knew me?” I asked, puzzled.

“No, ma'am, she just asked how much your order was and then handed me the money.” 

She could see my bewilderment, so she added, “You know, this is not rare.  It doesn’t happen every day, but it happens often enough that none of us are shocked by it any more.  I think it’s nice.”

And, she’s right.  It is nice. 

Son and I talked about it a good bit as we drove down the road.  It did, indeed, lighten our spirits.  It was not the money—yes, ten bucks was a lot for a caffeine treat, but not that much.  It made us feel better than even the ten dollars justified.  It really was a lot of good will bang for that lady’s bucks—all ten of ‘em.

It inspired us, and we both resolved to do it for the person behind us next time we drive through.  In fact, both of us said we would do it soon—a special trip to Starbucks just to do this kindness.  We both crave the goodwill warmth we felt and know that it will be even warmer when it is us doing the giving.

So, I guess, it actually will be double the kindness if we follow through, because we won’t likely be together in line for a while.  So there will be two purchases borne of this one act of kindness.  Nice multiplication.

I think this kind of spontaneous joy spreading is especially appropriate this time of year!

--C

P.S. - It’s nice to know it’s okay etiquette  to check first on total amount—I’m afraid paying for someone making a run for the whole office would break me!

C: Dumbed-Down Nation? 24 Nov 2013 4:54 AM (11 years ago)

Yesterday I had occasion to be in a part of town I rarely visit.  I noticed that Wal-Mart had put in a “Neighborhood Market.”  Wanting to grab our Thanksgiving turkey and ham, I decided to give it a try.

I was so pleased.  The Market was about the size I remembered the new “supermarkets” of my childhood.  I confess that I resist going into Walmart Superstores because of the size—Want dog food?  It is waaaay over to the other side of the store. 

But this smaller version was great.  It had everything I needed and all within fairly easy reach. 

Our holidays are different this year.  I will be cooking for MIL, Son and me on Thanksgiving Day.  We have promised to indulge MIL with her football while I sit before the fire, listening to her urge Navy on to a goal and working on my rag rug.  The next day we will go to my sisters for my family’s feast.

As I passed one of those mid-aisle displays, I grabbed a couple of bottles of sparkling cider for our little Thanksgiving Day celebration.  At the checkout stand, the checker (a young girl in early 20’s) picked up the bottle and said, “Hmmm.  Is this alcoholic?”

Before I could answer, the sacker (a woman in her 30’s) answered, saying, “No, it’s not alcoholic—it’s diet.”

Before I could say anything, the checker said, “No, I don’t think it’s diet, I think it’s alcoholic.”

Sacker:  “No, read on it.  It says right on the label that there is no alcohol, so it’s diet.”

Checker:  “Oh, you’re right!  No alcohol, so it must be diet.”

Sacker:  “Right.  It’s diet because there is no alcohol.”

I can tell you that I was fairly speechless.  I simply do not follow the logic of this exchange.  I finally got my word in edgewise:  “It is neither.  It is non-alcoholic, but it certainly is not diet.”

To which Sacker, ever vigilant to be correct, answered:  “Are you sure.   I thought that diet ones were not alcoholic and non-alcoholic ones were diet.”

Huh? Still, I was lost.  “Nope.  It is neither.”

I left, wondering how these two were going to make it in life—not my problem right now, but I think it could be a societal problem in the next fifty years or so (maybe less).

Are we dumbing down our populace?

This reminds me of my sister’s drive-through window experience as she ordered the half-dozen chicken nuggets (a food she has given up completely after watching Jamie Oliver’s show about how they are made—ugh!)  The speaker reply was “We don’t sell them in half-dozens.  You can pick six piece or nine piece…”

My sister decided she’d go with the six-piece item.

Or how about my bank teller not long ago who was completely clueless what to do with a check made out to “cash.”  Don’t they have teller school???

And speaking of dumb, it runs to both ends of the financial spectrum.  This week I saw a quote about Wal-mart attributed to Paris Hilton.  “What’s Wal-mart?  Do they sell wall stuff there?”  (Do you think she was kidding?) 

This may be just lack of exposure on Paris’ part, after all, why would she ever have occasion to shop in Wal-mart? although you’d think she would have sometime.  And her vast wealth means that she stands to affect the nation’s policy far-and-away more that I will ever do.

Reminds me of reading a Jackie Kennedy bio wherein they discussed her total cluelessness about the cost of things. I remember an episode where she was being chastised over the food budget.  She was quoted as saying “Well, how much can a can of green beans be?  Three or four dollars at the most!”  And this was in the 60’s.  I have never thought of Jackie as dumb, but certainly she was out of touch with the rest of us ala Ms. Hilton.

But the result of a huge portion of our population being either ill-educated or of the “ruling” class (yes, their money has a lot of impact) being so out of touch with us middle-classers spells a huge problem to me.  It is why you will never see me in a voter-registration drive—if they can’t get off their duffs and register themselves, like I did, then I don’t want them voting and making policy…

I just fear that we middle-classers will be squeezed between the ill-educated voters at one end and the out-of-touchers on the other into policy that is not good .

Well, that went unintendedly political.  I’m done.

---C

PS – speaking of ill-educated, I have to point out that I don’t think “unintendedly” is actually a word, but it sounds so “right” that I’m leaving it. 

C: Prayers Against Distractions 18 Nov 2013 6:15 PM (11 years ago)

So, it had been a hard week; hard enough that my little car did not move all day Saturday.  I just stayed home, piddling around the house.  When we left for church Sunday morning, I found my purse—and my dead phone—right where I had dropped it Friday night.

I was looking forward to a restful time of worship Sunday morning.  MIL and I slid into our pew just as the music began.  It was good.

As the music subsided, Pastor moved to the front to begin his sermon.  As he did, I reached into my purse to find an ink pen, inveterate note-taker that I am. 

As I fished around, my thumb landed on something soft, and then I felt it pierce some unknown object, squishing.  I could feel something cover the end of the thumb, squeezing up under the nail, soft, wet, downright slimy.

I jerked the hand out to find my thumb and part of the hand covered with a gooey, gross mess.  I sat in the pew horror-struck as my mind tried to comprehend exactly what had happened.

Then the smell hit and my brain made identification—it was my uneaten Friday banana.  I had slipped it into my purse on Friday as I had left the office, and it incubated all day Saturday  until on Sunday morning—overripe for the popping-- it was burst open by my hand in the middle of the church service.

I peered into my purse to see the damage and to find a Kleenex (no such luck). It was a mess.  I wiped my hand on my pants leg—what else to do?

The preacher started us off with a prayer, and this is what he asked of the Lord:  “Please help us clear away the distractions of last week; the distractions of financial trouble; the distractions of work…”

So help me, I added my own prayer: “And the distraction of knowing there is a rotting banana oozing forth in the purse beside you…”

Amen.

--C

C: Autumn Smiles 16 Nov 2013 11:30 AM (11 years ago)

Does it seem trite to write about the season, autumn?  Today I am feeling very grateful for the season.  It is brisk and beautiful out, and it caused me to stop and think about what I love about autumn:

• Pots of soup on the stove
• Coyotes yapping more than usual
• Warm afghans on the couch
• Wood neatly stacked on the back porch
• An excuse to light a fire
• Hearthside chats
• Color of its own, not found in other seasons

These pleasures are enough to chase away the gloom of darkening days and slow-arising mornings. 

Each season has its own pleasure, but autumn seems to me to be the most peaceful.  Summer and Winter are extremes that my aging self is finding harder and harder to tolerate. 

Winter sometimes has hushed beauty, but it is interspersed with hardship.

Spring is gorgeous, of course, but it seems so busy with the bursting of new life and volatile weather.

For me, autumn marks the end of my relentless mowing tasks and summer heat.  It is a time to rest and await the winter.

Hope you are all feeling this, too. 

Peace, C.

C: Consanguinity, Your Word for the Day 12 Nov 2013 2:44 AM (11 years ago)

Okay, boys and girls, here is your vocab word for the day:

Consanguinity:

Kinship characterized by the sharing of common ancestors

I learned this fancy word in law school.  It is important in estate law to determine inheritances. You need to know how folks are related and who is “closest” to  a dearly-departed.  For example, it is critical when you have to ferret among the clamoring long-lost relatives who want to claim pots of gold left by childless, eccentric old aunts who died among dozens of cats and such.

Yes, yes, I learned all this esoterica in law school…haven’t used it since. 

I had occasion to reacquaint with a cousin yesterday.  K is the child of my father's cousin, which made her What??? to me?  Consanguineous, to be sure, but how else to describe our familial relationship?

Being the smarty-pants lawyer that I am, I knew about and, therefore, consulted the "Tables of Consanguinity."  There is one below for your viewing pleasure (feel free to whip it out at Thanksgiving for figuring out who’s who in your own family):

After furrowing my brow over this table for a while and, not being an estate lawyer, nimble in the ways of kinship, I gave up and googled the question:  "What is my father's cousin to me???" 

And there discovered that my father's cousin is my first cousin once removed. Therefore, my father's cousin's child (K!) would be my second cousin. (Oh, lawzy!  I won’t even get into the “removed cousin” thing…).

K is "long, lost"  in the sense that we have not seen each other in, literally, years.  This is unfortunate and amazing since I like K so very much.  Our fathers were close, important to each other; and it seems we could make a better effort at being the same.  We are, by google-map, only 16 miles apart.

Why do we lose contact?  I don't know.  Chalk it up to time, as in never enough.   But it felt good to reconnect for the hour or so we were together. K brought up a shared childhood memory that I had often thought about and questioned whether my young mind had fabricated…but, no, K was there, too, and had found the experience as significant as I did.  I had not remembered that she was there, but I am grateful for the independent witness this provided to my memory.

I discovered that there must be some strong strains in the old DNA.  K, like me, is “crafter,” although I suspect she probably actually finishes projects, unlike yours truly.  And, like me, she loves words.  She is a blogger, too.  Go visit her at thepolkadotskirt.net. 

So, there is, truly, a kinship.

Being with K felt like going home in some way.  Hopefully we can keep it up.  C.

PS – probably something K and I WON’T be sharing is some pot o’ gold from a long-lost relative…the luck factor has never been that strong in our family lines!

C: Disconnect to Connect 15 Sep 2013 10:39 AM (11 years ago)

This video has so much to say....

Technology.  It is supposed to ease our workload--it makes me accessible to clients 7 days a week unless I use restraint.  Call that "easier?"  Nope.

Technology.  It is supposed to "connect" us.  I think this video makes a strong case for the opposite.  Handwritten letters and mailed invitations have gone by the wayside to be replaced by emails and evites.  Timelines for Facebook have taken the place of check-in or report phone calls.  Facebook posts have all the transparency and sincerity of Christmas newsletters. 

We are robbing ourselves of community.

I think technology is great...if we have the smarts and the discipline to tame it and make it work FOR our good, not against it.

--C

C: RANT REDUX - The Dangers of Uncertain Trumpets 8 Sep 2013 6:13 AM (11 years ago)

Well, we're at about a week and a half since Secretary of State Kerry all but declared an operation of "limited" intervention against Syria, only to have the President publicly do a trajectory change...it's only gotten worse in my view.

I awake this morning to this "crawl" across the bottom of the screen: "Russian and Chinese warships being moved to the Syria coast."  No one's talking about it on the news shows, but the crawl got my attention and raised my hackles.  You can do an internet search on this, or go right to this CBS source or to this  page.  Yep, the Russian and Chinese are beefing up their presence in the long wait between the President's first signal and while he weakly vacillates in his resolve.

I also saw this morning his chief of staff saying that the reason the President went to Congress for approval (a bit late the day), was that he cannot honestly say that there is "imminent" danger to the US from the Syrian situation.  Well, knock his arguments for intervention down another notch, then.  Why is he talking about this PUBLICLY?  Why wasn't this discussion done before he made intentions to bomb Syria known?  Why announce the decision and THEN go back and ask Congressional permissions.  Weak, weak, weak; and, I'm afraid, internationally laughable.

This amid reports that our only "ally," France, has done an about-face, too, announcing that it will await a full UN report before joining any move against Syria.  Who can blame them?  If our President is unsure, why should they throw their hat into that wobbly ring?  Here is a report on the French.

Why is this happening?  I'm no foreign relations expert, but here's my feeling:  Our President has blown an uncertain trumpet.  When you blow the battle trumpet, you need to be ready to roll.


1 Corinthians 14:8 says: Again, if the trumpet does not sound a clear call, who will get ready for battle?  (NIV).

Who, indeed?

I have been flipping all around my cable television channels, watching both cable reports and the network shows.  Pundits and "experts" are debating the pros and cons of striking Syria (notably, not mentioning the Chinese and Russian ships).  For me the issue is much larger: Can we follow this leader into war? 

All this debating should have been behind them by the time Kerry went to the podium on this.  Our President has shown himself weak, and he has embarrassed us.  I can almost see the Chinese and Russians scheming to further humiliate him by moving their ships to Syria. 

Here's the thing:  Are we willing to go to WWIII over this?  I submit that the answer is "no."  China knows that; Russia knows that.  In the end I predict we will tuck our tail and sit back.  The President has put us in that
kind of position.

So, the issue for me is not whether we should intervene in this horrendous Syrian situation.  The issue is whether we have a leader who could lead us in that endeavor.

These are trying, fearful times for our country that do not bespeak our greatness.  C