Overcast

The horizon of today was incredible. The water was dark and foreboding and the sky directly above matched it with a subtle threat of storms. Gentle though, it was like a loving gesture, warning of what is to come and to take shelter. But the horizon, far, far off was lit with golden light and remarkably clear. The far was in focus, the near was out. It seemed like a technique of a photographer had been applied to our view. The air was slightly damp with a mild chill and by the water, where we were, there was more than a breeze and less than wind. We, my two friends and I, were standing downtown and instructing our helpers, the gentlemen from the city of Edenton and a few helpful inmates, in lining the town Christmas tree perfectly straight from every angle. The sky was giggling I'm sure. Didn't we pay attention?, it was wondering. The weather that is blowing in may direct that sweet tree anyway it chooses. And we will repeat.

It's short. The tree was evidently supposed to be 15 feet tall. It is not. But, it has a lovely shape. And there is one stalk sticking straight into the air that must have been the qualifying attribute for its 15 foot status. Aside from that glitch in its growing, it is a beautiful tree. It will stand there at the end of Main Street and display Christmas cheer as best it can and no doubt, be made fun of for being less than tall. Do you see why I love this tree? Growing in a forest on the side of a hill, a sweet tree strives for light, it grows up, up... and then in the distance a loud noise... it is nearing...

"This tree!", cut, slash, fall, thud... drag... toted to a living room or hole in the earth to be put on display and judged. To be made to look like anything but a real tree and endure the scrutiny of its size, that it was, by the way, working on when so rudely interrupted by the man with the chainsaw. And still, a bit of dignity remains. The tree stands and the children smile. The adults judge. The children's eyes glimmer with the reflection of light, which to many souls means hope. Maybe the adults will look at the children instead to find their hope.

I joked that the tree was a reflection of the times. "Downsizing is on everyone's mind. Bigger is out." Maybe it was sympathy I felt for the little one to be criticized. Maybe it was just that I cannot help but attach feelings to everything that lives at a time, grows, strives high. I may cure myself and plant a tree for Christmas.

I then had lunch with the same two girlfriends. They are always fun and luckily for me understanding, because my mouth and brain were not exactly in sync. I couldn't explain myself correctly no matter how hard I tried. And I eventually felt that I was giving a wrong impression of myself so I tried to refrain from talking too much. It happens. I, every now and then, annoy myself. Words, thoughts, sentences, intentions- they get jumbled.

I came home to find many questions forming in my head over the news and this wikileaks issue. I have a feeling they are of a different nature from many questions that are amplified through television waves and end up being 'owned' by those who casually state the same exact opinion over the dinner table or in line at the bank. I may save those thoughts from the page today, as I am not communicating very well at all.

Christmas is near and although helping my cheerfully busy, town planner, store owner, friend with the official Edenton tree, I miss my holiday decorations. They are in the back of a storage unit, packed so tightly that I couldn't get to them even when I crawled on top of the furniture and made it as far back as I could. It's a task that hangs over me- organizing the storage unit. I wish I had been there to supervise the movers as it was unloaded and given instruction. But, I tried, at that point in the move, to be a little less controlling and relax. Note to self: Don't. Control the hell out of the movers and the moving details. This is one instance in life when it really pays to be a control freak.

At least I have pictures from last year that I can look at that will make me very happy. Plus, my box of tricks might come in handy. I have the slow motion eyelash blink and tilted chin dip in there that I can use on the husband. He may let me use his muscles if I administer those two tricks simultaneously and at the perfect moment. I may find a playlist of Jack Johnson singing Christmas carols and have it playing when I do. This is good. I feel better already. Next time I write I may have ornaments scattered all around me thinking of which way is the absolute best way to string lights. I have a fake tree. I know, people hate that. But, I've had this tree since I was in fourth grade and it's on its way out. It is beautiful, but slowly going bald. I don't have the heart to retire it. And then, if I do, I will have to go cut one down and I can't do that either. Fake tree, fir tree candles... I'm fine with that.

I'm looking out of the window and the weather seems to still be teasing, the raindrops are holding tight. Which means, I am treating my dogs to a walk all the way across town to Katy's house. I have an errand or two and, in Edenton, one can walk to a friend's house and hit the post office on the way over. And, do basically any other chore on the list. Bank, post office, boutique, coffee shop, jewelry store, library... all of it, smack downtown. It's nice. I live in the Gilmore Girls series. Funny thing, I watched so many reruns of that show that if the law of attraction is true, which by all indications is, there is no mystery as to how I ended up here in Edenton.

I have no clever way of ending this entry. I keep trying to write more thinking that something will come out that rounds my words out, brings them together and ties a neat bow. Not happening today. Which suits this day perfectly actually.

2.

It is Thanksgiving Day. I am thankful for it all. No list, all of it, including the yucky along with the yummy moments. Like the painting of life, they smear together and their contrasting characteristics makes it lovely; makes it make sense. Like the spoonful of salt you splash in the bowl and stir into the sugar. One without the other is not nearly as good in the finished dish. Savoring both is the perspective to be thankful for and is what I am focusing on this year... or at least this day... as I sit and smile and let the moment saturate me. I picked that word saturate and didn't realize exactly how appropriate it actually is, as I look forward from this hour to the next when I will be looking down at my plate that is adorned with the most delicious foods. Here are the definitions of the word, so very accurate.

1. to satisfy fully

2. to load to capacity

3. to cause to combine until there is no further tendency to combine

I will be filling myself to capacity, for sure, and focusing on the combining of good and bad, and also being thoroughly satisfied as I do it!

Perfect choice of a word.

Wanda, because you wanted to know... (which I am very thankful for.)

II.

Do you wish to go to the brink and turn back and see?

What is there are the things why where you are can be.

Where is there but in between and nowhere to go?

The choice is now repeating or trusting what's below.

Do you go to the brink and have the urge to step?

What will be below except self's choice of depth or death?

Or, do you resist the urge to fall and choose not to know?

Can you trust your mind's corners that block your free thought's flow?

If crazy is as crazy does then what would you do?

Believe the walls or risk it all and wager life on you?

Before I fall asleep...

I grab a pen before I go to bed sometimes and tonight I got an urge to share the first and third thing I wrote. Good night. :)

I.

I am but a reflection of why I see what I see.

The one real truth in the world I find is what I see in me.

III.

Only one can know the difference. And two must be told. The third can cause a heartache and the fourth may grow old. The fifth can't see the reasons why the sixth and seventh fold. Eight explains the actions, nine explains the reasons and ten tells all but one that the difference has been sold.

First Annual, Award of A Word

And she’s down! The little blond wrecking ball; the puppy-slayer; the adorable, Nick-obsessed flirt; the candy monster… is down for the night. I do love her. She’s fearless and relentless and assertive. She’s a thinker. You can already tell that girl has an independent mind. She doesn’t get fooled. Which means, yes, she’s hard to handle. Not so convenient. (Reminds me of a larger issue going on. Bigger scale. Same problem.) I hope she remains that way. Madeline the lion hearted.

Last night, we cooked dinner and just hung out. Katherine and Landry sketched and colored in the lofted window seat, Nick and I cooked, and Paige and Shane tag teamed the tiny terror. Selma Lu hid under the chair out of harm’s way. China let Madeline poke her eyeballs and investigate her teeth and even served as a landing mat for Madeline’s free falls from the sofa pillows. And after all of this, Nick and I learned one very important thing. Our life is so not conducive for kids. Every single thing in our place is a potential weapon. Sharp and heavy objects are everywhere. Open stairs and a second story walkway with railings that a little one could easily slip through, and I don’t have any of the necessities children require. Let’s be honest, I have an antique hatchet on my wall, swords hanging around, and a pretty untamed vocabulary- my place is a time bomb for a toddler. And sure enough, the night ended for Madeline when she, after completely tiring herself out, stumbled backward and landed on her booty, that scraped the side of our chrome and glass table. It went from bonkers to boo-boo to bedtime in about ten minutes. When they all left and we said our good-nights Nick locked the door and turned around to me. I had worked really hard to prepare the perfect frazzled cross-eyed face, complete with a slack jaw. He turned around with pretty much the same face plus a smile and mimicked a bear having been hit with a tranquilizer gun… sort of like Will Ferrell in Old School when he trashed the kid’s birthday party and nearly drowns in the pool. A slow motion timber falling. We laughed so hard. And then when I ran down the hall to hand Paige something that had been left behind, she laughed and said, “I just told Shane, I bet they are giving each other this look right about now. “ He was walking ahead of her and responded, “I don’t even have to turn around. I know exactly which one it is!” Then she got my whole reenactment. It was a bit different than our usual evening of listening to music, reading books and watching movies or documentaries. We have so many nightly discussions and it is relatively quiet all the time here. Now I know that for sure. I have just had comparison.

We journeyed to Williamsburg, VA (again). I leave loving it even more than the time before. The trees were still full of red leaves and Christmas decorations were already displayed in parts of downtown. Katherine was the first to notice the men and women in period attire. Or at least she was the first to speak of her observations aloud. She’s quick on the draw. She sees details and asks questions. On the way to Williamsburg she pointed out each advertising slogan she thought was misleading. Wal-Mart’s Always Low Prices. “They aren’t always low. How can they say that? Not always.” Always is a pretty steep promise, I’ll hand it to her. When we walked along the streets and past the colonial homes, she wanted to go inside every building, whether it was a private residence or public, she asked, “Can we go in?” Her perseverance was amusing. I asked her, “You ask things over and over don’t you? Even if you suspect the answer will be the same.” She said, perfectly forthright, “Yes. When someone says they’ll think about it, I usually wait about ten minutes and ask again.” How absolutely reasonable is that? She is giving ample time to think and is following through. She may be a wonderful businesswoman one day. Ask for what you want. People are inclined to say yes. And the follow through is key.

Landry was a stud. His long hair and slightly shy, slightly knowing grin means one thing: he’s a heartbreaker in the making. He observed. Quietly, he took it all in. He’s a bit more mysterious than his sisters. He has some thoughts held close to the chest. They all have their valuable traits that will serve them well one day in the “real world”.

By the way, what is that about? Is there an unreal world? I understand the saying, but it is sort of ridiculous, no? The real world as opposed to the fake one? Everybody has a different reality. It is all relative, but it is all in the same world. No matter the age or situation everyone's world feels very real to them.

I suppose that could quickly take me off course. I am not intending to nitpick everyday sayings.

Driving home, Paige and I talked, amongst other things, about our favorite music genres and ironically when I got home the American Music Awards were on. I thought it might be nice to watch as I ate a late night dinner. Wrong. I can’t say a whole lot because I didn’t give the show a fair shot. Unfortunately I turned it on as Kesha (I suppose that is how you spell her name) was being introduced and as I watched her perform and tried to understand her lyrics, I noticed my upper lip snarling. I didn’t make out many of the words. I caught some kinda like this, “Ha-ar-ar-ar-ard”… what the hell is that? I didn’t get it at all. I didn’t like the song I heard. I didn’t enjoy the dance (I’m not sure she danced, she sort of stood) and the leotard… let’s just say that all three caused the snarled lip. It is awful to knock a performer. It must be so hard to get up in front of peers and cameras and put it all on the line. And what position am I coming from to criticize? The sofa. I get it.

But. And it is a big but. How many awards can the same industry give? There are so many awards that they give each other. Between the movie industry and music industry there is barely a moment that goes by without a red carpet rolled out. And I do enjoy them. Lots. But, tonight, after having had great discussion and vocalizing my adoration for musicians that I felt were truly poets that expressed such emotion and insight and sang about substance, this glimpse of the award show was enough to make me click off. Do many professions give awards and applaud one another often? Not really. When looking at it that way, it is strange. The whole crying and overly dramatic acceptance bit. My favorite acceptance speech was one that went something like this. “Thank you. This is the pinnacle achievement and moment for me in my career. I feel very honored.” And this man happily grabbed his award and smiled genuinely and it was honest and properly put in perspective I thought. I like seeing all kinds of acceptance speeches, but this was my favorite.

Here’s my award. It is for all of the brave, all the independent, and all the honorable people. To mothers that chase and comfort and teach- and wake up to do it again the next day, and the next, and the next. Their red carpets are having red crayons on the carpet. They get applause from tiny hands that miss as much as they smack together. They accessorize with spit up and splattered mashed carrots. They actually may never get a real thank you. They are left to assume they are appreciated. I give you an award of a word. Acknowledge. We, if not we, then at least I, acknowledge you. Many thanks.

It goes...

To the truth tellers, to real, valid journalists, who risk safety to spread awareness. To the mechanics of the airplanes and the pilots that fly them. To the doctors who treat patients no matter what the circumstance and try their hardest to give life to those that have the strength to fight for it. For the nurses that stay up all night and still smile for their patients. And to the families of the people that go in the hospital and never go out again. Firefighters that do not sit and watch a house with family pets inside burn to the ground, who fight a fire because it is a fire where a fire does not belong, we give a salute. To the farmer that grows wholesome, all natural food. To the stranger that lends a hand to a hungry creature. To all of those that fight for the honor of mankind and the human spirit and of those, that show their honor by extending it to Earth’s animals. To rescuers of any life. And, to artists that expose it all, the word often goes unspoken, enlightenment; it’s a beauty. To troops of true justice seekers.

This is the award show. This is life’s shining stars.

It is a blue moon tonight right? So it is more than appropriate that tonight be yours instead. It may feel like once in a blue moon that you get real recognition. And this isn’t really substantial, but I can speak for society at large and say we appreciate and acknowledge you too. Being a good person is a service, more so than many other positions that supposedly merit the attribution.

And that’s enough from me. I am making myself queasy. That is WAY too much emotional goo for me. I’m sort of light headed.

Maybe Thanksgiving spirit has taken hold. Which reminds me of a special group to include in my award of a word. Native Americans. The Thanksgiving tradition happily celebrated by the nation also signifies when the colonists snatched their space. And also, to the poor gobblers that go down every year in November. Sucks to be a turkey.

International Thrill

The usual morning… eyelids let me peek at the day, roll over and shut it away, listen for Nick downstairs doing his morning routine, snooze while cuddling with my two pups, I wake, they greet me happily, Nick comes upstairs and does the same, the day begins. Our every morning glory.

Not the usual day… I was invited along on a business trip and ended up getting to sit in the cockpit and tour a big, fat, impressive, jumbo Air Force jet. Very cool. I love it when you wake up and do something so unplanned and off the radar. I would not have guessed today’s happenings yesterday. Love it. No planning for me, I like the thrill.

My sister, Paige, and her family, Shane, Katherine, Landry, and Madeline are coming to hang with us tomorrow. I will have lots to chatter on about by Tuesday, when they expect to head back down south. And Williamsburg is on the list, yes. But, is it nailed down as a plan? Nope. Just a maybe we’ll do this Sunday, maybe we won’t. Like Polly. Along Came Polly. “So, I’ll see you there. Or not.” “Ok, well, come to the party if you can. Or don’t.” Day by day by day. If I had a plan for today, I would have missed posing as an Air Force pilot.

Do you know that I have found out a little more about my blog in the last few months? This is something I totally didn’t plan on. I have readers. So very exciting. I began writing again, which led me to eventually investigate the tabs on my blog’s main page. I had never done this for some reason. I would post and go, never dig. And I am so anti that exact kind of behavior. I am so ashamed. I checked these tabs initially, when I signed up to blog, never saw statistics because there weren’t any yet, and never thought to check back. Until… one day I started using my brain, you know, being a thinker, and started checking the tabs out again.

Please excuse my heavy use of sarcasm, it’s late, and I’m practically asleep here at my desk. Eyelids… are… heavy…

It sends me to sleep a very happy girl. I really appreciate that I have people who click on my site and read what I write. I lay in bed and think “Wow. People read me.” I hope it proves to be somewhat entertaining for you all. But, let me tell you now, I am flattered, humbled, happy, grateful, hopeful, all of those words and more that I have readers and that the number is growing right in front of my eyes. Do you know what gives me the nervous jitters? Like when you were in sixth grade and saw the cute boy you had been crushing on, that kind of fabulous, addictive jitters. I will tell you. Many countries are on my list as having read. Maybe this is normal; I am not a blogging expert. But, even if it is normal, I still feel special. I am not talking about products. This blog is just the world as I see it, my thoughts and reflections on life. It’s my interpretation of what I see. Life as art; one stroke, then another; the different shades collectively making beauty. Some dark, some light, some dull, some bright, but contrasting, all somehow complimenting one another when the viewer steps back and sees, “Ah, this is my life. I didn’t see it while up close. I didn’t know that moment would be so beautiful set next to this other.” In My Monet is my attempt at being metaphorical. That anyone would be amused by what spills out of my mind is so beyond words to me. Quite a concept, seeing as I love to try and tackle a word.

I write them all down. I look at the list of countries with page views and if I see a new one I shout “Switzerland!” or “Brazil!” Or “Latvia?” That one drove me to the search engines. I knew not a lick about Latvia at that point. It gives me a sense of accomplishment for some reason. It’s as if I am a world traveler while I sit in my desk chair. Or even better: partially accepted by people across the globe? Someone sitting on the other side of the earth is taking the time to read the words I put on a page? The measurement for my giddiness: off the charts. And I want to go throw a party in Denmark because they make me feel super popular. To whoever it is in Denmark, I like you and I don’t even know you! Ha. But, truly, they support me sweetly. It’s encouraging. And Russia and China along with the USA and Canada make the map light up visually and I feel like more space is represented than in actuality. Huge countries. I don’t have a goal or anything like that; I didn’t intend to even see steady numbers. But, letting my nations list grow is pleasure-filled. I guess I could just say “thanks everybody” and move on.

Not planned. A total surprise. A total thrill.

Those are my words for this day.

I am hitting the hay. :)

Burden of Bones

Lovely bones, don’t strap me down, don’t take with me the weight of years.

Let loose my ways that hold me back and unravel the load of past days' fears.

What I need is space.

A freedom to roam from place to place.

Who are you but bones and chains and pins that nail me to the ground?

To swing from the limbs of the trees of earth and travel the world around.

That is my wish.

A dream to accomplish.

Bones I shed and let fall away to nothing; I delight as I watch them crumble.

A load I released still causes anguish; I watch as the others I love trip and stumble.

Drop your bones I say.

The lovely is a lie; just disobey.

I watch and wonder if my words fell short or if they were tossed about without notice.

Ahead holds clarity and behind can never be; let’s see if our sight has vision to serve us.

Bones say we need them.

But flesh thrives on freedom.

Who is it that grants us choice and allows permission to fly through life?

Are bones a necessary burden or an easily dismissed illusion of strife?

Pit-iful is the-Bull

The stuff is up! Hooray. It takes me forever to pack. I drag it around with me wherever I go during my time away from home, then, when I make it back home, it takes me DAYS to get it all up and straightened again. The husband thinks I’m nutso.

One day I will learn to pack light. But as my dear friend said, “But what if I wake up in a different mood one day and need something?” I laughed so hard when she said this. The word “need” struck me as funny. She’s a funny gal regardless, but this line she used really hit home because that must be why I take a million and one accessories and enough for two to three outfits per day. Girls will be girls. And then we look to our honey and say, “Will you be a dear and grab those bags for me?” We bat our lashes and prance ahead and they’re left with a heap of fashion they need a forklift to haul. This is precisely why I don’t care what he does or when… he has patience with me. He’s a big boy, he can do whatever he wants and it’s fine with me… because the patience that runs so thin with the world at large he thickens up for me and my many ways of quirky, girly rationalization. He probably doesn’t understand it at all. But, why must men and women understand each other so perfectly anyway? We don’t even understand ourselves. All I need to understand is, I got a good man. What I have been a little confused about is how women who are demanding and restricting don’t understand why the men they wish to control want to burst through the binding and run like hell. And how the men that are so demeaning and rigid don’t understand why their lovely women walk out the door. This is the real mystery. Why don’t the controllers get that they can’t make other people do what they want them to do and then expect the people to genuinely be happy about constantly obliging someone else. Unsolved.

Earlier today, before lunch, I walked my two pooches down to the waterfront. We piled onto a bench beside the Albemarle Sound and I lay down to close my eyes and listen to the water lapping and my own breathing. Selma Lu jumped up and curled under my knees so that her head propped between my feet and China jumped onto my tummy, eventually finding that her head fit perfectly in the opening that a missing slat of wood provided. She looked as though she were spying out of a fort. Neither of them was interested in moving so we took the opportunity to rest under the blue sky and listen to the world turn. I wish that were possible, to actually hear the world’s rotation as it went spinning through space. Of course, it would need to be a switch one could turn off and on. It would get maddening, eventually driving us all insane and would also serve as a constant reminder that time keeps on ticking. I feel that aside from appointment making, time is one useless invention. It is the system that creates such panic. Universal fright of the inevitable. If it weren’t for time, would we be scared of death? I wonder…

As I lay there on the bench, under a winter-looking tree, set against a sky blue, adorned by two puffy white clouds, I realized that my intention to notice my body’s harmony (the breathing and all that complicated, over-my-head anatomical, cellular stuff of miracles) was ever intertwined with the two creatures that were touching me. Symbolically, they were twisted and curled on and around my body and I felt so much more at peace with their breath in unison with my own. Slowing down to this pace, I felt their bodies moving up and down with mine, their sighs coming right after mine, their thud of a beating heart mimicking my heart’s rhythm. They are my angels. They are my constant gardeners. If my soul is an ever-growing, flourishing creation, they are the nourishment it needs.

This is not a new feeling of appreciation for them. I feel this contentment every night, every morning, and with every cuddly or silly moment. But, I gave myself the time to be so aware and thankful of it and not rush myself toward something I should be doing instead. I ignored time. I said as I approached the bench, “I have nothing else more important than this to do.” Relaxation allows ease of body and mind. Sounds obvious. But, when is the last time you were still awake and let yourself melt into your breath? Minus sleep and yoga, can you remember the relief from a demanding moment peering at you from the future. A moment to merely be alive, breathing. Not a waste of ‘time’, which is what else aside from a measurement of life? And what else is there to even care about aside from life? And if our interpretation of time wraps us up so tightly that we forget about life, what good is it? Forget time. Embrace life. Breathe.

Listen to that, ha! It sounds like I know something. But, I hope it doesn’t come across that way, knowing and preachy. I’m just thinking aloud, that’s all. Telling what I hear in my head from the electrical sparks that light up my brain.

Now that I’m home, Selma Lu Mela and China Lingua, my prized fur balls, are snoozing on the window seat next to my desk. China’s eyes open periodically to make sure I’m still here. Somehow they always open to see mine staring back. I turned off the television that I can see below from my desk because The Good Son was on and Macaulay Culkin’s character was about to shoot a pit bull and I can’t watch it or I get overwhelmed with emotion. The fact that it is a movie or fiction matters not. I cannot watch. Yesterday, as I did laundry, I watched The Compass, a very good movie with Nicole Kidman and Daniel Craig and a very interesting looking young girl. It is partially animated. And there I was, in tears, when the mean and corrupt Polar Bear King was fighting the good-hearted, exiled, Ex-King Polar Bear. The thought of him fighting and maybe losing with his hurt front paw, but still summoning the courage… too much to bear. (no pun intended.)

I left the coffee shop downtown this morning and stopped to look at all the cute dogs that are stuck at the tri-county animal shelter. All of these Selmas and Chinas sitting behind bars waiting to be put to death because their owners couldn’t take responsibility for caring enough. Their eyes show pain, fright, shame. I stare at the poster thinking of who to call or how I could possibly take in more. I want a ranch so badly. I want land to give to all these abused and neglected creatures. Food is so easy to come by. Love is so stinkin’ easy to come by. I just need land to share with them. I dream about that a lot- hiring someone to help manage and care for the land and animals. Training some of the most tolerant dogs to visit hospitals and elderly centers (petting an animal is proven to lower blood pressure and aid in curing stress induced diseases) and even prisons. Even prisoners, yes. I’ve seen correctional facilities adopt programs where the prisoners are in charge of rehabilitating a shelter dog. It’s genius really. The prisoners are saving a life. They bond, they give, they nurture and are sensitive to the needs of a creature they are responsible for and that depends on them. The bond and attachment grows and they help to save the dog and get the dog ready to become adoptable. The rate of rehabilitation for both dog and prisoner, 100 percent. These hardened men sob like babies when they part from their dog and confess that they are sad, but ultimately so happy to have given a second chance to their friend. Kindly, all the new owners agree to keep in touch with these inmates and some even invite the men over to visit the dogs when they are released from their sentences. Now, absorb that story, and one feels they just swallowed blessed air. God is in that story. Give and you get. Release and receive. Just like breathing.

One of my girlfriends, the one that owns the boutique, met my dogs recently and I said to her, “I was working here the other evening and Nick walked the dogs to the window to see me and I looked at them puzzled as to how both could be considered the same species. Dog. Both are so utterly different.” She said, “Yeh, I know.” She paused and continued, “That’s your next blog!” Voila. This one goes out to all the canines.

For girly, dainty China (she stand like a ballerina in second position always), who has had a very sweet life and has never known an ugly moment, who can’t be petted without trying to lick you right back, and who is a nurse by nature. To the one who licks my tears when I cry and puts her head on my head. The purest little source of love I know. A little black Bichon/Yorkshire terrier mix with a white butterfly on her chest and a sliver of pink tongue peaking out from her furry lips. Nick and I got her in Athens, GA and when I saw her I was reminded of my first dog ever, Candy. It was also my first word ever. As a baby, I learned to talk early and it must have been because I wanted to call out to her so badly. “Candy!” China looked like Candy, Candy looked like my grandma’s Cherie. A line of Dunaway women with a small black beloved lap dog. And China had a teacher that was a master of the art of life, Shakti. Shakti will get another entry of her own, to come later. But, everyday, China is a little wiser and it shows.

For goofy Selma, who is more interesting that most any other creature I have ever met. The one who incurred risk, made a break for it from “monsters who tried to burn her tail off and also starved her before she could see” and beat death twice. To the dog that makes no mistakes and tries so hard to be good at everything. She runs as hard as a horse in the field and cries and shakes until her teeth chatter in my lap at the vet. Playful, hugging, scared-of-everything Lu Bear. She plays my heart like a fiddle and I can’t imagine if Nick had not greeted me at Blowing Rock ferry station with a cardboard box of mini Selma, possessor of giant heart and eager eyes. A dog’s vision is not complete until they are past four weeks old and we had Selma for almost two weeks, blind as a bat. “Come here little Selma.” And she, the size of a tiny rodent, would clumsily run and sit in the nearest large shadow that she thought was calling out to her. It would always be the rocking chair or a floor lamp. Until I called again and she followed the trail, eventually landing in my hands. She would battle a bottle cap and take giant leaps to the earth from a stepping stone, to run and pull her body up with all her might onto the next stepping stone. She never pee peed in her pen, even then. She woke us up every two to three hours with this quivery whimper and we would walk her outside, set her down, she would pee pee and then go back to bed spooning her stuffed reindeer that looked ten times her size and was still a small dog toy. Now, when she leaps into her harness (her favorite possession) and we go out for a walk I see people look at her. Some are doing so with an admiring glance, some are thinking about how they’d like to take her and make her an ugly, fighting reflection of themselves, and some decide to walk away and leave me alone. She is a guardian. There is nothing mean about her, but she doesn’t trust strangers and ya know what? I don’t mind that one bit. If she, leashed, barks at a strange man walking past me, I do not scold her. I don’t want her to blindly trust men against her better judgment. If her intuition says “alert” I say “Very good, Selma Lu. Thank you.” She does the same thing to tell me a snake is under the grill. Why would I question her logic and motivation for alarming me? I trust her entirely. And I have noticed people drive past me, turn and drive back by, and study us, deciding to move along eventually. I credit Selma for prompting their decision. Once, a nice man asked if he could take my trash bag to the dumpster since he was headed there anyway with a pile of trash in his truck. Selma stood quietly, until he reached to open his white truck door and lean as if he were going to get out toward us. She sharply barked at him and took a defensive stance. He smiled, I smiled, and he said “Why don’t you just throw it in the back of the truck.” That a girl, Selma Lu. He was nice and she knew that, as she silently let me talk to him. The second he moved toward me, “Arr ruff!” What a gem. A tan mystery that I say is a Rhodesian Ridgeback/American Pit Bull Terrier mix.

The Pit Bull, officially American Pit Bull Terrier is a victim of man’s meanest. And of course, when false knowledge spreads like wildfire, where is the source of the spur? The media, owners of the “truth” aka “the version of the truth that lands ratings for their broadcasting network.” Some people are going out of their way to publicize their love of pit bulls, to attempt to save a breed that is being destroyed. Let’s all applaud their noble efforts!

Let us keep in mind a couple of things. One, this breed depends on us to wisen up and treat it fairly and sweetly, with respect. Man domesticated dogs, using them for our benefit, but taking care of them in return; we can not abandon them now that we have created their dependency on us. And if we continue to abandon them, we can not stand bewildered when they turn wild and form packs of more aggressive dogs. One or the other. And two, when a man threatens another or tries to intrude, breaking into the other's home within a strange set of events, what does a man do? He attacks, he defends, he is physically aggressive. Do we really blame dogs for having this exact same basic and most often justified instinct? Pitbulls are not the enemy, they aren't full of hate and rage. They are victims, and full of hurt and fright. Pity-full is the pitbull. Let's save them before it is too late. Let's quit punishing the wrong creature for dog fighting.

Let's quit banning dogs and start banning nightmarish behaviors toward them with a more serious charge.

Here are some FACTS I find interesting concerning this best friend of mankind in general and specifically the APBT:

- Although now a controversial breed, the Pitbull dog was once America's favorite dog.

- World War I artwork depicted Pits representing the United States.

- Sergeant Stubby, a Pitbull, was a World War II hero that saved several soldiers and captured a German spy.

- Helen Keller, Theodore Roosevelt and Thomas Edison were proud Pitbull owners.

-The Little Rascals had Pete.

-Laura Ingalls, author of The Little House on The Prairie book series, had Jack.

-RCA and Buster Brown Shoes both chose Pits for their mascots.

-A Pitbull dog named Bud was the first dog to travel across America in a car. His goggles can be found in the Smithsonian Institute.

- The actual number of Pitbull bites make up a very small percentage of the nearly five million dog bites reported in America each year. The media is quick to credit any dog bite to this breed. In one case of this kind of misrepresentation, the true culprit was an Akita, a dog which in no way resembles a Pitbull.

- They always fall as one of the top five most stable dogs. They are extremely patient and tolerant of children.

- In tests conducted by The American Canine Temperament Testing Association, Pitbulls have the fourth highest ranking of all breeds for passing the tests, with 95% of Pitbulls passing compared to 77% for all breeds on average. ( They ranked better than beagles and golden retrievers… I’m sure many people fall out of their chairs over this tid bit!)

- Pits are highly intelligent, eager to please, physically strong and tenacious animals, they make great service dogs. Pitbull dogs are often used in search and rescue operations, and by law enforcement for bomb and drug detection.

- The first certified hearing dog in Alaska was also a Pitbull.

- Many people do not understand that pit bulls are not a true breed of dog. In fact, many pit bull breeds fall under the blanket "pit bull" category. These include: Alano Espanol, American Pit Bull Terrier, American Staffordshire Terrier, Cane Corso, Cordoba Fighting Dog, Dogue de Bordeaux, Japanese Tosa, Perro de Presa Canario, Staffordshire Bull Terrier. Most people can’t identify the true APBT in a line up.

- In tests done by the American Temperament Test Society, Pitbulls were generally LESS aggressive when faced with confrontational situations that produced negative reactions out of many other stereotypically “friendly” dog breeds, such as beagles and poodles.

- Early in the 20^th century, pit bulls were actually the No. 1 family dog.

- It is generally not a good idea to get a Pitbull as your first ever dog to bring home.

- Pitbulls are not responsible for the most dog bites, they are just reported more or mis-reported. A Labrador retriever has more reported bite incidents than a Pitbull. In fact, the first face transplant was due to a Labrador bite. (And we all still love Labs…)

- Though Pit Bulls are athletic and love to get out and play, if they had their way, they would be sleeping on the couch 24/7. They are short-coated dogs and do not do well outside in the cold weather or very hot weather. (So very Selma Lu!) They don't shed too much and are easily groomed, thus making them the ultimate indoor dog.

- Pitbulls are extremely easy to train.

- They are categorized as “cry babies.”

- Pitbulls love being around other dogs and cats. (Selma Lu’s first boyfriend was a cat… Gatsby, whom she remains loyal to…)

Here are some MYTHS:

(I was astonished by this first one! You aren’t going to believe it either! Who could be in their right mind and believe this?)

- Myth 1: These dogs do not feel pain. (Really!?!?)

This is untrue. (Duh! Sounds like some people want to have an excuse handy for how guilty they feel when they fight and kill these puppies!) A pit bull's nervous system is the same as that of any other dog. However, because pit bulls are stubborn animals, they often will continue whatever task is at hand despite pain or discomfort.

- Myth 2: The most popular pit bull myth is that these types of dogs have "locking jaws," meaning that their jaws cannot be pried apart once they bite down. In some cases, this myth even goes so far as to say that a pit bull's jaw cannot even be pulled apart if the dog is killed.

In truth, a pit bull's jaw structure is no different from the jaw structure of any other dog breed. No such locking mechanism exists. (They don’t even have the most forceful jaw in the canine kingdom!) In fact if you take the x-ray of a Chihuahua and compare it to that of a Pit Bull, you will see that they are both the same except for the size difference.

- Myth 3: Pitbulls snap and attack with no reason.

This is untrue. Like any other dog, they are not aggressive without provocation. If the dog acts aggressive it is usually the result of disease, improper handling, misreading the dog’s behavior, or lack of socialization. Most dogs of any breed exhibit warning signs like a quick movement, growl or will show their teeth; they don’t snap suddenly. (Use your people skills, such as reasoning, and take a hint and give them their space.)

GENERAL FUN FACTS about doggies:

- Anthropologist Brian Hare of the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology in Germany has reported that domesticated dogs are better at reading human communication signals, such as glances or pointing, than chimpanzees, which have long been thought to be closer to humans than any other primate.

- “Humans and dogs have the same gene set,” says Kerstin Lindblad-Toh of Harvard’s Broad Institute and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, who led the dog genome project. “In fact, every gene in the dog genome is the same as it is in the human genome, with similar function.”

- Dogs and humans are 82% genetically the same. (Genome-wide variation from one human being to another can be up to 0.5% (99.5% similarity)

(… and Chimpanzees are 96%- 98% similar to humans, which explains why they are resentful;

cats have 90% of homologous genes with humans, which is a compliment to man I think b/c they are extraordinarily beautiful, resourceful and independent;

80% with cows, which is why we should consider not eating all of them!;

and 67% with mice, which is why we feel so freaked out by them.)

- In Roman times and the Middle Ages, mastiffs wearing light armor, carrying spikes and pots of flaming sulphur and resin ran into battle against mounted knights. (Jerks!)

- In World War II the Russians trained dogs to run suicide missions between the tracks of German tanks with mines strapped on their backs. (Cowardly jerks!!)

- The oldest reliable age recorded for a dog is 29 years, 5 months for a Queensland 'heeler' called Bluey in Victoria, Australia. The average dog lives to around 15 years of age.

- One in every three US families owns one or more dogs. (YAY!! Americans love doggies and show it!)

- Dogs become loyal not because you feed them, but because of the companionship you give them.

- Staring directly into the eyes of a strange dog may be interpreted as a challenge and may actually encourage the dog to bite you.

(I’ve witnessed this believe it or not. A guy came up and stood still staring at my dogs as if he were in a mental showdown with them and then became angry because they barked wildly at him. I seriously had to tell him to “move along please!" Then he said, “I will not be inferior to a dog.” It was crazy, like he left his house with this as a mission, and didn’t realize that he was being inferior to a dog because he was acting dumber than a dog. I told him afterward that I believe “dogs are beneficial to their owners for people exactly like you.” He was so odd, dressed in all black, with a rat tail hair do, and blocking my path to have a stare down with my three year old dog? Creepy. And dogs get the negative attention… from people like this bozo!

- Dogs and cats turn in circles before lying down because in the wild this instinctive action turns long grass into a bed.

- Puppies should remain with their mother until they are at least eight weeks old. During this time, she will teach them not to bite, and how to get along with other dogs.

- Mixed-breed dogs usually have behavioral traits similar to the breed they most resemble in appearance.

- Family dogs who growl when family members are roughhousing aren't upset, they're just asking to become part of the game.

Resources

Midwest Rescue of Illinois (n.d.). Myths vs. Facts – The Truth About Pit Bulls. Retrieved January 22, 2008, from the Midwest Rescue Web site: http://www.midwestrescueabull.org/myths.html.

Real Pit Bull (2004). Myths. Retrieved January 22, 2008, from the Real Pit Bull Web site: http://www.realpitbull.com/myths.html.

http://dogs.lovetoknow.com/wiki/Pitbull_Dog

http://www.savehomelesspets.org/myth.html

http://www.eupedia.com/forum/showthread.php?t=25335

The Real Choice in an Imaginary Truth

Inhale, exhale. Let’s be real.

What more can one want besides the life they’re given to become the life they choose?

Somewhere along the way I have grown up and have relied on this thing called choice. To see what is and choose what will be? Do my choices extend this far? What is the distinction between destiny and choice of direction?

What is real and what is masked as reality, but is perception?

Can we know the difference? Can we learn the difference? Is there a difference at all?

In philosophy class the debate was about whether our reality exists completely and solely in our mind. ‘Do we imagine it all?’, in essence, was the question. Is there a physical world or is it purely thought that we live in?

Immediately one leans to the side of a physical world being truth. But, how can you prove it?

Well, we all exist in the same reality and we both see a chair and agree it is a chair we can touch. It physically resists our body, so it must be there as a physical reality.

How can you prove that? The question remains.

How do you know another person exists across from you now posing debate on this issue? Do you know it is a fact? Or do you think it? Or do you imagine it?

Ooh la la. The brain.

What a marvelous device. We can’t even figure it out. We, using our brain’s thoughts, cannot decipher the human brain.

I think it is because, and touching on the above mystery, it is not entirely physical. It must work in conjunction with something that surpasses the physical dimension. Say that yes, we have a physical body, with a physical environment. Is that all that is real?

Real.

What does that word or thought mean? Real, so we can touch it? Real, so we can see it? Real, because we taste it, smell it, hear it? Or does it require all of these to constitute real? How about real, because we sense it in that place inside that is yet to be named and defined? We all know it exists. We all know that it isn’t a mere 6^th sense, an intuition only. It is a myriad of sensations, probably all serving a specific purpose of receiving information and deducting knowledge, but we don’t know or label them in specific terms. Does that mean they are not there? There is so much that science cannot prove. Isn’t that exciting?

So, do we have both, physical and non-physical realities, working within our brains and bodies simultaneously? Where is the line drawn between biological and spiritual, or is it imperative that a line not be drawn? These are things my mind, body and soul know and do well; yet I do not know the answer. No proof of anything on this most basic level of knowing vs. perceiving, reality vs. imagination.

So, if we live in imagination only, then it can be assumed that we have choice over our path. Destiny and fate is different all together isn’t it! It relinquishes control. Does one have to believe in and accept destiny for it to affect their lives? If you allow destiny to navigate your course, it does; is that how it works? Or is it a plan you simply participate in, but can’t decide on? Perhaps we are creators. Perhaps we decided on some paths to be presented before we were born physically and now rely on ourselves to make the most of them.

So many questions. And we all have one of these spider webs. Are they at mercy to the winds? They make such an enormous net, colliding and tangling and releasing. Either way we approach it, imaginary world or solid physical world to live in, our brain’s capabilities are as incomprehensible as the word forever.

It’s like the question “Can you measure forever?” “Can you imagine forever?”

Or another question “Is there one pure truth in every situation? Or does each individual involved have their own individual truth?”

I guess what we believe is our choice. But that doesn’t mean it’s the truth.

Don't Drink the Water: A Protest

A protest.

I have reason to protest. Several reasons I have to protest, actually, but maybe I can somehow connect the dots between them and have many of them on this page looking smartly together, as one enormous, boat-rocking, mother of complaints. Complaining- sometimes a pain in the ass, sometimes what saves your ass.

Before you read this and call me a conspiracy theorist, please know two things. 1- That has a negative stigma on purpose. Powers That Be don’t like to be questioned and they make it inconvenient for public popularity intentionally. 2- If that is your label for me, I am okay with that. I question authority. So did our nation’s founders. I keep good company. We welcome new members…

The source of my extreme discontent happened when I was in the kitchen making dinner for both Nick and myself, and he had come home from work looking handsome bundled in his taupe J.Crew sweater, and the initial conversation turned abruptly to politics. I know what you think here- that my mood shifted because we said hello, we gave kisses, he let the dogs enthusiastically jump all over him showering him with good, old fashioned puppy love, and then we hurdled straight into the thick muck of politics. No. My anger came from topic number 1 on the list of many irritating topics.

Airport Security and TSA’s threatening new approach to avoid danger within a huge cloud of undefined boundaries called war on terror.

Complete harassment.

Hear me out. This is a screening device that uses radiation to capture an image of an individual. It makes clothing transparent and photographs a person essentially naked. Another individual (presumably professional, intelligent, incorruptible, and ethical) takes the shot, inspects your body, and once determining you are of no threat, lets you proceed on toward the gates and terminals of the airport.

Do I need to repeat?

Because I feel that I am in an extreme minority of red blooded Americans who shout “W.T.F.!?”

I have so many things to say about issues such as this that my head spins and since last night I’ve written at least eight essays in my head about these matters. Distraught! Last night, we were discussing this piece of equipment that was introduced to the public rather conveniently, just before more airport scares were reported through the news waves (Try it. Take a couple steps back for a few weeks and watch this dog and pony show. It’s so obvious and lame.) and how the officials are enforcing its use with tactics of intimidation and flat out bullying. I have not only watched several videos and news broadcasts concerning this issue, but have heard first hand accounts of what the new screening process is like. Let me clarify that, the only sensible and actual accounts are given via first hand relay and personal video. The media is just a mouthpiece. They pose no valid or aggressive argument for a reasonable debate to pursue. Here’s what I saw on the news.

“Yada, yada, yada, and that’s how the new screener works, and if you opt out, you are groped by workers, palms inward.” Says on-scene reporter.

“Oh, wow.” says anchorman as he turns toward a female standing stage side, “How do you feel about the machine? Are you comfortable with this?”

The woman replies with her repulsively nonchalant attitude, “Who cares? I’ll just walk through the machine. I mean, whatever.”

Cut to me, the viewer at home who has scared my parents, who I think are being way to calm about this report that applies to us all, by screaming “ME!!!! I care you, (insert many explicit terms here)! What is wrong with you people? Wake Up!”

So, now that I am back at home and my husband and I have let the conversation topic fall to the new screening machines, you can see why my mood shifted dramatically and I began yelling again, this time over my stove. I just don’t get it. I really, really, really don’t get it. How are people ok with this? How are people not screaming from the rooftops like me? Is it because they believe this is developed for our safety? This is needed to ensure we can travel safely?

Here is my side of the argument.

1. A most basic angle, the radiation this device uses is NOT SAFE. It is not healthy. The pilots refuse to use it, I’m sure no federal level employee will be subjected to it, pregnant women sure as hell should never go through it, it’s not good for your human body. And for God’s sake, I saw children lined up having to use it. Three little girls with their hands up in the air being photographed with a machine that digitally strips them. Last I checked this is defined as child pornography. Oh, that’s right, if the government does it, it’s not illegal. Just like Nixon said, if the President does it, it’s not illegal. I must have been temporarily sane to think something about this looked fishy. Let me snap out of it and get back in line with insane morons that line up and go through this machine and even worse let their seven year old daughters go through too. I don’t even care if I offend others. I will feel securely as I say, “If you go through one of these machines, You Are An Idiot!”

2. I’ve hinted toward the complete invasion of privacy that brings me to number two. Seriously, we are letting people see us naked? We let these people (remember these are other flawed human beings) inspect our bodies naked on a daily, casual occurrence? Do you think it will stop there? Pretty soon they will have these things at every event that gathers a massive crowd. Soon, “authorities” will be looking at us all in the buff anytime we want to go do something unique and fun. “No, sorry, ma’am. I really need to check right here, right between your legs, to see if you possibly have weapons or drugs there. What? No! I wasn’t fondling you, really; it’s my job. It’s for our nation’s security.” I can see it now. My point is NO ONE HAS THE AUTHORITY TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF YOUR PERSONAL AND SACRED BODY. You can and should say “No.”

And, if you do say no, what then? They yell loudly to call attention to you- “Opt Out!” and then the person next to them yells “Opt Out!” and so on, down a line of officials and they take you to the side where they use their hands and feel you up. Not kidding. I saw it. They go under your boobs, they put their hand so far up between your legs their hand disappears in between your booty cheeks, and they not-so-tenderly feel you up. Uncomfortable at the words? Imagine being the person they grope. They can tell you to lift your skirt. They can put their hand down your pants. I saw it. It’s not made up. And do you think that there aren’t individuals that take delight in their overnight power over the measly, ordinary traveling citizen? They have power of you now. The ultimate corrupter. Power. Control. You have to do this or else. And if you say no again, you get escorted to a back room where they force you to or you can’t travel.

God Bless America. Land that I Love. Home of the Free. Home of the Brave.

(By the way, I’ve already heard of stories where these ethical monitoring workers have posted images online of celebrities naked. On men, let’s just say, the secret is out. You see it all.)

3. Is this going to help with safely flying the friendly skies? Let’s see. That’s what they want you to think and say. Because if that is the reason they pose, then if you don’t agree, you are shameful and not patriotic, right? But, even if it is the real reason behind wanting to position complete domination over the public, it isn’t going to help. It isn’t valid. Corruption gets things done. Not monitoring the already cooperating general public of grannies and fourth graders. These sophisticated, threatening groups work at a more criminal level of thinking. They pay people off. They get it done because they find a weak link. Duh.

4. If the reason is not for safety, what is it for? As I said before, the thing that makes men turn is power aka control aka money. People like to say “Money is the root of all evil.” Wrong. Money is a tool. Money is an inanimate object. Money is a device that a human’s character is reflected through. Money is a great tool for good deeds. Money is in turn a tool for bad deeds. Money gives a person control over another, or a situation. Money can also give freedom to another. It’s all about how the holder uses it. If you are a citizen of the United States of America and you get used to being personally invaded, what does that mean? If you are passively allowing the government officials to humiliate, degrade, take advantage of, or bully you what does that mean? If you bite every bait they give you as a reason when deep down inside you know it doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t add up, what does that mean? Simple. That means they control you. That means you are not in fact free at all. That means you are doing something against your will at every turn because someone, no doubt with a gun, is telling you that you have to. Control. It’s already started. Long ago it started, but it is in sprint mode now. What are we all going to do? Allow? This is why I was yelling last night. Because for someone to say with a flippant attitude, “whatever, I don’t care” when it comes to issues like this makes me irate. We all should care. If a person is too lazy to care for their own rights, please care for mine, and everyone else’s that you are instead helping to destroy with your arrogant and too-cool approach to serious and escalating problems. I get mad because I see that we are not free. We stand on street corners and talk about how proud we are to be free. Some dummies even say, “We are the only free nation on earth.” No, actually we are ranked number 26, moron. We aren’t even in the top rankings. See, propaganda works. There is a reason why every power hungry nation has used the same tactics. “Tell them they’re free, don’t worry, they’ll believe it. Hey, just put fluoride in the water and they won’t even be able to debate the issue in their own mind.” (TRUE. Look it up. CDC employees state that they have known for a long, long time that fluoride is dangerous to consume and actually causes a decrease in intellect. Hmmm… must be accidental then, that they continue to distribute it in ever increasing quantities to the American public.)

But, you see, it is all coming down to this.

You can have it one of two ways. 1. Say you are free and mean it. Say you are free and know what freedom means. Say you are free and stand up for your self-evident, God ordained rights, remember those? Say you are free and say “No, I will not let you strip me of my rights, literally or figuratively.” Or 2. Admit you aren’t. Comply and allow this type of invasion to go on left and right, but don’t disrespect the word freedom and say you have it. Say instead that you settled for a dominated, controlled society. Don’t you dare let this type of ruling continue unopposed and then babble about your liberty. That is not American as it was intended. That is a disgrace. Americans should not be walked over by their own government, remember, it was set as a system to purely reflect its citizens and not dictate them. To give respect to mankind and not demean it. Its authority was intended to be limited. No kings. No dictator. No tyranny.

Americans are giving power to those who were never supposed to have it.

Now, with that initial rumbling going through my mind last night, I ate dinner, bitched the entire time about all the above statements, then checked an email sent to me entitled “Americans are NOT supid” conducted by an Australian media. Boy, oh boy, oh boy! It was devastating. Nick and I thought “They had to pay these people right? To pretend to be this stupid?” Then, I was thinking about all these facts and figures I saw about things just as the Fluoride treatments I spoke about earlier and reconsidered. Perhaps, it is just taking root. It is working. Because, my friends, you can’t be this dumb naturally. Granted they most likely edited the heck out of it and excluded all intelligent to semi-intelligent replies they gathered on the streets. But, quickly you realize that that fact doesn’t even matter. If anyone, much less multiple people, is this stupid, we are in deep dung. Oh, yeh, try not to think about the point that these are our voters. And our voters decide on our nation's leaders. And our nation's leaders impose and promote national and worldwide policies.

No, don’t Rock The Vote. Respect The Vote. LEARN.

The questions these people were stumped on are the following:

1. Name a country that starts with the letter U. None of them got it. I immediately said Uruguay for some reason, but that was random, not wrong. Of course the obvious answer is… United States of America! But, Uruguay is a country with a beginning letter of U. The other answers were Yugoslavia, Utah!! Yes, Utah… and then the others didn’t even know and stood there with a look of astonishment on their faces.

2. How many sides does a triangle have? Answers- “2!” And the best “None! Wait, 1?”

3. What is the religion of a Buddhist monk? Yeh, no clue. Some wise guy said "Catholic, I think." And I think technically Buddhism isn’t a religion, or both a religion and philosophy, but that’s a step past the question, right? Wouldn’t you say Buddhism right off the bat?

4. How many kidneys does a person have? Overwhelming reply of “1!” As Nick pointed out “Didn’t they hear the s on kidneys?” He’s right, they were prompted to say at least two by the way the question was formed. Plural.

5. And then, some thought that Barack Obama was the leader of Al Qaeda. They weren’t certain of our own sitting President. Not, I’m not certain about this guy… do I like him? More like, I’m not sure who Barack Obama even is. Yes, really. I know. Now go throw up. It’s okay. It’s a typical reflex.

Some interviews were conducted outside of voting polls. Horror!!

So, after hyperventilating over airport tyranny and then seeing that every citizen knew something about pop culture but couldn’t even recall the year in which 9/11 took place (sad to say, some didn’t know the month or day either!) or which two U.S. cities were affected or they thought millions died in the event- no concept of what happened really, and sadly, I couldn’t veer away from the train wreck. I did surf the news. I wanted to see coverage of the rocket that popped out of the ocean off the coast of California… nothing. I saw one blipit. It was a man sitting on the screen saying with a straight face that it could have been a small airplane and that it was an optical illusion that made it look like a missile or rocket. For real? I said, “He’s gotta be kidding! Do they think we are all idiots?” Then I looked at Nick and we both sat in silence because we had only just before witnessed that terrifying display of street side knowledge. No doubt, many of these people didn’t even realize that this event occurred, much less demand an explanation.

A series of questions.

If the government we’ve been told is so good is doing such bad things knowingly, secretively, continuously, regardless to its citizens welfare and concerns, does this make them a Government FOR the People still, as we’ve been led to believe it is?

If the government is made of people that are idealistic and enter office wanting to genuinely do good things for their country, yet they all become oddly persuaded to join the same team of causes, does this mean that it may not be the government, that is made of men (willing or unwilling, but still corrupted), leading the corruption, but joining it?

If the government is corruptible, then what group, association, or person is doing the corrupting?

Follow the money trail; find the control center.

Who makes the money and who calls the shots?

Where does the money lead us?

To The Federal Reserve. They are a private bank run by elitist individuals/families that make the money, or more correctly make monetary policy, not physically create a dollar bill, but instruct its making, for the United States of America to borrow. They then charge interest. The country pays interest back to the bank by using taxed money. All tax dollars that the government collects from us, We the People, goes straight toward interest, none toward infrastructure. It’s like a bad credit card deal.

Why can’t the U.S.A. make it’s own money?

It can.

Why do we let another institution do that for us then, to then charge us interest when we could do it for ourselves and avoid extra interest?

Bingo!

The trillion dollar question.

When I ask, “Why are we all letting the Federal Reserve run our country? Why do we let them direct the printing of our money at a discriminating rate, never backed by actual worth aka gold, and charge interest that we can never catch up on? Why is our country’s daddy, rather, sugar daddy a private banker? Why did we allow this knowing that our Founding Fathers warned against a central bank?”

Now, I know my answer. Because many people do not know that we have a Federal Reserve, or what it is, or what it does, and they don’t care. They don’t care that our country is bought. They don’t care that our freedoms depend on what suits the Bankers, people who want one thing- control. People are okay, complacent, fat and happy.

People don’t know that an Amero is already proposed, just as the Euro was and was adopted. People don’t know that these scanners aren’t for welfare but for manipulation. They terrorize me; the thought of them is scary. Who is on our side after all?

A saying. It goes like this…

How do you trap a pig/sheep?…can’t remember which one is used. Both are interchangeable for Americans though, so pick your preference.

You put food in a field.

Pig/Sheep comes to eat. Yummm.

Next Day. Build a fence, put food by the fence in a field.

Pig/Sheep comes to eat. No worries…

Next Day. Build adjacent to the first fence, another side to the fence and put food down.

Pig/Sheep comes to eat. Curious… but, oh well, whatever, what’s the harm?

Next Day. Build a third side to fence. Put food down in the middle of the three sides.

Pig/Sheep comes to eat. These fences? Yeh, I’m used to seeing them, no big deal. I have nothing to worry about. I am being fed and I trust.

Next Day. Do the same.

Pig/Sheep comes to eat. Pig/Sheep looks up after eating. Hey, wait… where did that fourth fence come from? I’m trapped, there must be a mistake.

No mistake… you walked into a trap because you were conditioned to fences and not noticing a threat. Now you are controlled.

Only now do you smell bacon.

What is serving as a fence around us? Why do they want us controlled, trapped, weakened?

The good news, the news that after all of this grim revealing of sleaze and slime is beneficial for all of us is this:

They can’t get rid of us so easy. They may try conditioning techniques. But, we have an advantage of spirit, which ranks ahead of intellect. Americans demand freedom. The problem is- knowing what freedom looks and feels like. They keep pacified the masses by cleverly persuading them into believing they are free. Do you buy it? Once Americans realize their freedoms are disappearing, not so mysteriously, like milk and cookies for Santa, they will be in uproar. (It’s a nice story and we don’t really want to open our eyes and learn the truth; but alas, there is no Santa. When are we going to see the unpleasant truth? It is unfortunate we have yet to see... What will it take?) But, as always, spirit is what wins. Only 5 percent of the colonies’ people fought the (then) most powerful military on the face of the planet, the British military, and won. Barefoot. Freezing. With no military experience. Young. Old. With no real pay. With no benefits and barely any weapons, but with spirit and want. And a friend called the French to help, but that is another story that we tend to conveniently forget.

People, get pumped up! Remember who you are! Don’t oblige! If you don’t want radiation and naked screening, use your own power. Don’t buy the tickets. Don’t travel. The airlines starve, they push back on the regulations causing it all, and eventually you win. They control the money, you see, because they take it from us and we let them. Use your own power, collect all of us together and they have to follow the money trail too, and then voila… control center has shifted… to WE. Where it is supposed to be. There are things we can do to stop this crazy stripping of everyday freedoms and rights. We can say “No.” We can say, “Fine, then see how well funded you are without our hard earned money.” Don’t just give in and let.

What about you? Do you think I am right? Do you think I am wrong? Do you think you’d like to look it all up and see for yourself? Think what you want, but think deeply about it, feel deeply about it.

And meanwhile, “Don’t drink the water.”