Posts

Movement

I have come across several items of interest that I thought it would be good to share. While driving to my son's apartment for a day of day-drinking, playing with other people's dogs and deep discussions, I happened upon a podcast. #wecandohardthings. I chose an episode and settled in to inevitable cluster of Houston traffic. Much of what was said impacted me but there were two specific parts that performed the monumental feat of structural shift. First, there was a factoid regarding the number of women that have choked in a restaurant and died. It was some ridiculously high number. But one that I absolutely could believe. Because, as stated by Glennon, women have been trained to soothe not disrupt, to strive for the coveted matrydom that is womanhood and motherhood. The selfless giver. The supporter and bringer of oranges and cupcakes and tissues from her handbag because she's always so damned prepared to care for others. I believe that number because I can vividly see ev

Not That Into Parties

My brother, Paul, died from ALS. I remember one year, early 2000s, when we all met at his house in the Woodlands for Christmas. The stunning number of "Fox and Friends" swag in the gift exchange was a statement as to the majority of my family's political leanings. Nothing I didn't already know. But it was weird. I don't know if it was a coordinated effort which actually would make me feel a bit better or if they all just decided that this was the year they would make their statements. I looked at these people I loved so dearly and just thought they must ignore the parts that seem so counter intuitive to who they are as human beings. Regardless, I didn't care. I loved both my brothers and my mom. I wonder now how Paul and my mom would feel about the GOP now. Would it still be so easy to ignore the parts that didn't line up with the values and beliefs they held so dear? I look at the Democratic Party and I see a vast array of opinions, beliefs, core value

The Insurrection Mold

I am extremely allergic to mold. I have all of my boys papers, projects, report cards, newsletters and more that have traveled in boxes with me from the time they were tiny. They are now 28 and 29. The boxes have not always been in the appropriately climate controlled spaces (ahem old run down damp garage for instance) and have acquired their fair share of silverfish and meals for a variety of little beings. Who came up with the idea of macaroni art? Seriously. Whose idea was it to stick food on construction paper with white glue that ended up more as a way to peel off one's skin in a white hazy layer? Ridiculous. But I digress. I have moved these boxes from the garage to the office which I have renamed the scrapbook room. Because that's my intention. I visualize the long table with neat piles of historical data chronologically compiled with a variety of themes - Josh, Cody, Josh and Cody, vacations, etc. I have the books. I have scissors that provide different edging, just to

Change in the time of COVID-19

Well now. Where to start? I can't possibly recount all that has transpired since my last post seven years ago. the death of my mother. The death of my stepdad. The overwhelming relief I feel that they are not here during this time of a rampant virus, growing civil unrest, and a psychopath in the white house now floating the idea of delaying the November elections...due to the out of control virus. Delay the elections for the safety of the public but funding will be denied to those public schools that don't resume in person classes for Fall 2020. A Corononavirus Bill that includes billions of dollars for the exclusive purpose of saving Trump's hotel, yet reduced food aid to those in desperate need. The funding the remodel of the FBI headquarters is to keep it in place instead of the planned relocation of to a new site. Why would this be an issue for a Trump hotel? If that building gets demolished and the land is sold, a developer could come along and provide competition by b
It's been a long time. So much change. Boys are in college, creating their paths, making their way. I still see their tiny faces in flashes of the past from infant to toddler to tween to teen. Snapshots of smiles, faces warm with love. Films of generosity, kindness and beauty. Josh is in radio television and film, following his passion into the arts with no arrogance, embracing the opportunity to start at the bottom. He is a TA and manages a specialty pizza joint. He is beginning to network with those in the trade which is possibly the most difficult part of what one must do when entering the world of the industry in which one wants to make one's mark. Cody is working toward a degree in Petroleum Engineering. Knowing who he is, his intense empathy, his deep kindness and compassion, he will not be able to embrace the culture of the oil and gas industry. I know for a fact that he will do something that will help the world and not threaten the environment. He is living in an apart
This is what keeping campaign promises looks like: Healthcare reform Education reform US/Russia arms treaty Wall St reform Tobacco regulation. Credit card reform. Public lands bill Restores U.S./Russia relations SCHIP expansion (children's health insurance) Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act. 2 Justices to the Supreme Court Stem cell research expansion $20 Billion from BP for businesses harmed by oil spill Restored critical protections under the Endangered Species Act The largest tax cut in the history of the United States (for the middle class) Billions in restoration of U.S. infrastructure 600,000 (private sector) jobs created since January Positive GDP growth for four straight quarters... 119 promises kept, with 245 in the works
So why do I care? Why do I care about that calf ripped from its dairy producing mother a couple of hours after its birth? Why do tears spring to my eyes as I watch a dolphin desperately leap from its tiny pool onto the concrete as the audience gasps and the other dolphins race to the glass to see the fate of their compatriot? Why does a grip sweep my heart as I cycle past the dog chained 24/7/365 as it wags its tail hoping I will stop and release him or at least offer comfort? Why does my throat contract and dry out as I see tiny chicks thrown into a dumpster, atop thousands of others struggling to survive an inevitable doom? Why do I toss and turn as images of tiny piglets being slammed against the pavement over and over and over again, thwarting peaceful slumber? How does it affect me personally? It has no bearing on my life… Except that it does. For every animal, for every child, for every senior, for every mentally or physically handicapped abused, neglected, tossed, struck, brutal