Divided We Fall

Everything is not black and white. I've always believed that the reality of almost any situation will have shades of gray mixed in among the darks and the lights.

I grew up in a small town where the blacks and the whites were kept separate, like laundry on wash day.

The world I grew up in was a safe little world. We left the keys in the car. We did not lock our doors at night.

The first time I became aware of race, I was four years small, and was in the doctor's waiting room with my mom. I liked the colorful children's chairs they had in there, and I was pulling one over to sit near Mama, when I saw an old black man in the room next to me. He smiled and beckoned me to come to him so he could give me a little piece of candy wrapped in paper. He had a sweet smile that old people do when they love children. So I politely rose from my seat, but was immediately stopped by my mother. I couldn't talk to him or take his candy, she told me firmly. He was colored, and little white girls didn't talk to colored men.

The old man's smile turned into sadness, and mine did as well. I'll never forget how that cold rejection from my normally kind mother had hurt that poor man's feelings.

Until that moment, I hadn't noticed that black people were so different from white people. After all, we always had them popping by to do various jobs around our house. My sister and I loved Robert, who worked on the yard with my dad. They had been friends for years. And we had a housekeeper who kind of looked like the mammy from Gone With the Wind. She came several times a week to help Mama. Her name was Ruby, and she cleaned, washed, and changed my baby sister's diaper and rocked her to sleep. Unlike the movie mammy, Ruby was genteel and rather sophisticated. Mom treated Ruby like she treated other friends. They laughed and chatted, sometimes even about politics.

Forward to 1960's.

The '60's were not the peaceful years that the '50's had been. While Martin Luther King attempted to do peaceful demonstrations, the KKK and the Black Panthers were shouting, rioting, burning crosses and churches, and threatening to kill each other and anyone else who got in their way. You couldn't turn on the television without hearing about it. I did not feel safe any more. We started locking the doors at night.

In the late '60's, our high school became fully integrated. The first year they enrolled a black brother and sister, the "cream of the crop", I suppose. But the following year, busing started, and we became an actual integrated school.

Being a completely non-political and self-absorbed teenage girl, I had other things to think about, like boys, friends, clubs, boys and passing Biology. I admit, I wasn't the least concerned about the integration thing. There was one nice black guy in my English class who told a friend that if I was black he would ask me out. I knew I'd have accepted. If I was black.

I do remember one particularly rainy day. I had on moccasins with leather soles which got soggy when wet. I was walking along one of the outdoor walkways, watching for puddles, when I came upon an obstruction in front of me. I looked up, and before me stood a large black girl. Menacingly, she glowered down at me, accusingly. Her rigid arms were held down at her sides, hands curled into tight fists.

I was a skinny little white girl with straight blond hair who didn't want to get her feet wet. I knew that this stranger had deliberately stepped in front of me, in defiance of...well...of my severe and undeniable whiteness, I believe. A condition I was born with and had no power to change, any more than she could change the color of her skin.

What did she want from me? Did she want me to protest? To insult her? To fight? To run in terror down the hall screaming?

I had no beef with that girl. In fact, I didn't even know her. I simply was there and I was white. I said nothing, but moved around her, and went on to class. That was the end of that. My one 1960's confrontational moment.

2012 - Shouldn't it feel different? Better?

Things have come a long way since those days. No longer are we a segregated society here in the US. We now have black congressmen and senators, black doctors, movie stars, talk show hosts, and everything else. We have a black president, for goodness sake! This is a radical change, which those of us who grew up in the '50's could never have imagined would happen so quickly.

So why do I feel unsafe, again? Why do I feel like we are once again becoming a nation of lights and darks, sitting in two separate laundry baskets, waiting to be hung out to dry? In spite of the progress, the '60's have returned to haunt us. Like the young white girl who didn't want to get her shoes wet, I don't understand why people who don't know me stand before me, accusingly, simply because of the color of my fair skin.

If you are a conservative, you're racist.

Politically correct speech has become so dominant that most of us have no idea what is allowed any more. We are afraid to communicate honestly with anyone. Especially if they lean to the left, because we fear inadvertently saying something that will offend. Because no doubt we will, and it will. And we don't want to offend. Mostly, we don't want to be called racist.

This week, everyone is in an uproar about the killing of a 17 year old, unarmed black man by a 28 year old Hispanic man. At first, I was appalled by this seemingly cowardly, unjustifiable act. But the more I learn, I realize that big pieces of this story are missing, and must wait until after the Grand Jury is held. I have a feeling it is far more complex than we have been led to believe.

Until then, I want tell you some things I've observed.

When I first saw this story on the Internet, I noticed that the headline read that a black kid had been killed by a "white Hispanic" man. I thought, what's a "white Hispanic?" I looked at the man's photo and couldn't help but notice that he looks Hispanic, or of mixed race, but not "white". As it turns out, he is of mixed race, but was adopted by his white step father and given his name. Because of his name, they assumed his blood father was white.

I must add that the photo they showed of the black man was from when he was 12 years old. His innocent little baby face peered back at me. I thought a child had been killed.

I don't want to go too deeply into the details, as I think it's been done better by many whose research far exceeds my own. This is what bothers me. The public is being manipulated by this story. Manipulated by a powerful, politically motivated news media, and some especially viral political talkies, Al Sharpton and Spike Lee, among them. The president and his wife have even put in their two cents on the issue.

And the public, like a bunch of fish in a net, are being pulled right into this chaos, threatening, screaming, and spewing their fury without even having access to the complete story.

In this neighborhood a few months ago, a white man was shot in his upper middle class neighborhood, in broad daylight, by a young black man who wanted to rob him. The white man was just walking home from a coffee shop. The black guy was visiting his sister near there, and wanted money for drugs. So he wandered into the neighborhood, armed and looking for someone with cash. He shot the man in cold blood and left him to bleed to death alone in the street.

Our police chief, who happens to be black, made excuses to the press for the young black killer. "He wasn't intending to shoot the guy. It was accidental. He just wanted to rob the man."

What?

We are living in a topsy-turvy world, where saying the "N" word (unless you're black) is worse than calling a conservative political candidate's 17 year old daughter a whore. The killing of a suspicious looking black teen (visiting his aunt in a neighborhood that had had a rash of burglaries), the middle of the night by an assumed "white" man is worse than the killing of a white man walking in his own neighborhood in broad daylight by a black drug addict. It's okay to put a bounty on the head of one shooter, and excuse the other.

We are becoming more divided than ever. Why? Because it is expedient for people in certain political circles to divide the people of America. If they can create riots and diversions along racial lines, then they can divert the public from debating the real issues at hand.  The issues that may actually save this nation and bring our beautiful blend of citizens together again.

This is what we must remember in this time of trumped up turmoil and fear:

Every life is valuable, whether black or white, red or yellow, young or old, rich or poor. 

Every person must be given respect, whether you deem them worthy or not. What you say about them and to them matters.

Implying things that don't exist matters, too. Misrepresenting things is no different than lying. By lying, you lose credibility.

Believing lies and reacting according to things you've heard before they have been substantiated makes you hysterical, hypocritical, fearful, aggressive and a fool. Instead of reacting to someone else's implications and half stories, learn the truth. If you have to wait for it, then hold off stating your opinion.

This is America. A person is innocent until proven guilty. Don't become part of a lynch mob.

Don't allow anyone to distract you from the real issues at hand. Huge matters are at stake here. Don't allow false charges and implications of race to replace the truth or to influence your priorities, clear thinking and logic.

Don't let anyone drag you down to their level, to where you become just another name-caller, cross-burner or rock-thrower.

Remember. We are not a black and white nation. We are a nation of many colors. We must be one nation, United, if we are to survive these times.

 

Saying Goodbye to Mamma

Have I ever told you about when my mamma died? I tweeted it last night, and I feel like I need to write it down to share with others.

I'm going to tweek it just a bit, because tweets are never edited. They're raw.
And short. :)

Mamma died on September 16th, 2001. On September 11, I was waiting on my sister Jeanie. We were going to ride together, home, to be at her side. I was packed and ready to go when I turned on TV and saw the first tower on fire.

Wasn't she gorgeous? This is Mamma when she was in Nurse's Training during WWII.

When Jeanie arrived, she had been listening to the radio, and we were both in tears. It was tragic and frightening. All those people! We decided Jeanie needed to go back to her house for the night to be with her husband. School had been dismissed, and my children were home and needed me, too.

So we delayed the trip for a day, but knew we didn't have long to be with Mamma, so we left the next day. When we arrived, my other two sisters had been there at least a week. They were exhausted from keeping a bedside vigil with Mamma. They talked about what a stinker Mamma was being. She was in pain and the bed was so uncomfortable. My sisters had not managed to sleep in office-style chairs, and had cricks in every bone of their bodies.

I have to tell you again, Mamma was such a stinker sometimes. She was the little girl in that children's poem, "...with a curl in the middle of her forehead". When she was good she was very very good, but when she was bad, she was horrid.  Anyway, Mamma had been a "pill" and so the first night after we arrived, Jeanie stayed with her. All of my dear sisters are a bit protective of me. I'm so frickin' fragile.

All the next day, sister Nancy stood guard beside a comfortable bed with a circulating air mattress that had finally become available. She was determined to aquire it for Mamma, and after practically wrestling it from an orderly, she did. Once settled into the new bed, Mamma was instantly more comfortable. That was the night I stayed with her. Thank God for that bed. Mamma was so much more pleasant to be with.

That night, she was...well, she was Mamma. She was so beautiful, and yet, full of herself at the same time. I had prayed that if God wanted me to talk to her about anything in particular, that it would happen naturally and I would know what to say. So as the night went on, we talked about a lot of things that people need to talk about when they are dying. We talked about the uncle she couldn't forgive. We talked about something so secret she had never told anyone. I'd rather not know, myself. But it doesn't matter. I told her that no matter what, God loves her. All she had to do is ask and he would forgive. I vaguely remember praying, but I'm not sure if we did. Probably.

God is so good.

That night, the nurses asked if I needed a bed-chair, and of course I said yes. So once all the talking was done we both slept soundly, some time after midnight.

The next day Daddy and we kids talked with Mamma's doctors and decided it was time to move her to hospice. Two young, cute orderlies moved her in and out of the ambulance, and she flirted with them shamelessly. She loved men. Especially cute ones.

It was Saturday. Mamma was in so much pain; at the hospital the nurses had been giving her something for pain. Now they couldn't get ahold of her doctor to get the prescription transferred to the hospice until afternoon. After that she relaxed and was able to enjoy all the attention she was getting from her four daughters, one son and especially, her beloved husband of 55 years.

She was so precious that day. I can't tell you.

She kept smiling at the ceiling at the foot of the bed. One of my sisters said, "I think she is confused. She's seeing those huge oxygen tanks and thinks they're angels." But she had such a sweet smile. Like a little child. She'd been asking about the beautiful people for two or three days now, and there were no oxygen tanks in her hospital room.

I was sitting close to her, when she said again, "Who are these beautiful people." Her face was bright and her smile innocent, like she must have looked when she was three years old, and her daddy came home after a hard day's work.

I said, "Mamma, there are oxygen tanks down there. Do you think you might be seeing them?"

Mamma turned her head in my direction and looked at me with a disapproving frown that was o-so-familiar.

"No!" she said firmly. "Those are beautiful people, Deborah. Not oxygen tanks!"

I straightened up immediately. I said, "Well, Mamma, do you think you are seeing angels?" She gave a single nod and her gaze returned to the angels who were patiently waiting for her at the foot of the bed.
I thought, there are angels in this room, and I can't feel their presence at all. It was an amazing realization to me.

Then it occurred to me that among those present at the foot of the bed could be one of my grandparents, or Uncle Carl who had died of an accident when he was just 28 years old. She loved Uncle Carl so.

So I had to ask, "Mamma, do you recognize anyone?" and she nodded once. Still smiling like a little child, she slowly lifted up her frail hand and pointed a finger at the host whom I could not see, but knew were there. "Well," she said. "There's God."

Well, that was quite a surprise to me. Not only a heavenly host, but God himself, was in the room, and we couldn't feel them at all. How do you act when you know God is in the room and Heaven has opened its doors for someone to enter?

For me, I thought this would be a good time to find out what God looks like. I knew I shouldn't ask, but I couldn't help myself. "What does God look like, Mamma?"

Once again, she looked at me with that frown I'd seen so many times growing up. "Well, I can't see his face!" Sort of like, "isn't that obvious to you?".

I had to laugh. I said, "Mamma, that makes sense. The Bible says you can't see the face of God until you die."

Mamma looked back at God, smiling. Satisfied with herself. And with God.

The next morning was Sunday. We got a call from hospice. Mamma was in the final stage, and didn't have long. All five of us were at her side, along with Daddy. We sang hymns and prayed.

Mamma was no longer conscious.  Looking at Daddy, I could see that he was so scared. They'd been married for so long. He didn't know what he should do.

After a little while, Mamma stopped breathing. Daddy panicked, and reached over and tried to wake her. She started breathing again. This happened twice more. Poor, sweet Daddy.

When she quit breathing again, I realized that Daddy just didn't know if it was okay to let her go. I said, "It's okay, Daddy. It's okay to let her go."

He looked at me and said, "It's okay?"

"Yes, Daddy. It's okay."

He sat down, bewildered and relieved, and Mamma went on to be with the angels. And with God.

Daddy lived for several more years, and joined Mamma in heaven with the angels. And with God.

You know, God is good. Life is hard, and it always ends in dying. But you know , with God, life doesn't really end at all. It is just another beginning.

Good Ol' Betty Friedan

I'm in deep and serious thought today. I've been web surfing, and it has brought me to the subject of Betty Friedan, the famous "feminist", and her influence on the world we now live in.

I realize that many women are happy to be in what our parents called " A Man's World", working full time and coming home to their families at night. Some are doctors and lawyers, business women, actresses, journalists, teachers, social workers and cops. I'm glad they're there, and appreciate the services they provide for us.

Being a homemaker: I thought it was
the Cherry on the Cake of Life

Of course, many of them get personal reward from working outside the home, and can pay others to do at home child care and housekeeping. But most women don't get paid enough to provide such luxuries. Yet, they still must pay for childcare, and they have to clean, cook and get up in the middle of the night with sick kids after a hard day working at a "real job". They don't all like their jobs. They may not even "choose to work". Yet they have to, because that is the lot they have inherited from Friedan and Friends.

Few families can afford for the woman to stay home, caring for her family and household. I think it is most unfortunate; even sad.

Below is a comment I wrote today in response to a post on WorldNetDaily about Betty Friedan. I'd like to share it with you.

As a woman who was witness to Friedan's writings and ravings while in my early adult years, I agree that Betty has done much to destroy the American family and womanhood. Having always looked forward to being a homemaker and mother as my career, I felt threatened by Friedan and her ilk. I didn't understand how "feminists" could call themselves by that name while striving to be like men. That was freedom? It seemed illogical that a woman would want to give up the true freedom of the homemaker and the privelege of raising her own children for just another 9-to-5 job.
Unfortunately, Betty's campaign was quite successful. Now, few women who wish to stay home and raise their own children either can afford to or are encouraged and supported to do so by their husbands. After working in my home for over 30 years and having only worked outside the home for 7 3/4 years previous to my marriage, I can no longer share ownership in my own home and can't receive social security. Funny, if it wasn't so sad. I could have paid someone to raise my kids and clean my house and cook my dinners, and decorate my home and see my children's first steps, but since I didn't demand a paycheck from my good husband for the hard work I did, I am not considered having ever worked. Thanks for nothing, Betty.

As you can see, I have always thought it odd that people nowadays don't consider stay-at-home moms to be workers. Homemakers do what those folks pay strangers to do for them, but we do so without a paycheck. So it isn't working...? We clean house, cook meals, and wipe little noses all day long. We take the dog to the vet, pick up the kids from school, referee sibling rivalry and sometimes do the gardening, architectural designs and decorating of our houses. (Which, again, we lowly housewives can only own our own homes if our husbands die first and leave them to us in a will.) People who are hired to do any or all of those things get paid. They "work".

But not us. We're merely housewives.

It hasn't always been easy. I haven't always done a good job. Sometimes being a homemaker has been lonely; even miserable. But it was right for me, and I am grateful for having been given the opportunity by a generous husband who worked hard to provide this lifestyle for me and for our children. Being able to be a stay-at-home mom has been a privelege and a blessing, indeed.

As for good ol' Betty Friedan: Once again, thanks for nothing.

But to my supportive husband, I say, "Thanks, honey. I owe you big time."

You might find the column by Ellis Washington on WorldNetDaily interesting, too. I think this will get you there: http://www.wnd.com/?pageId=366917&fb_comment_id=fbc_10150373686222992_21343705_10150467477637992#f1a6d3d9a7a9489

Blessing: A Gift of Love

I love this film. It's actually very cute, so I decided to share it with you.

Hallelujah! It is time to celebrate life, love and family by gathering together with great food, lots of laughter, and a few well thought out gifts. 

Last year I wrote a post on gift ideas that you can make for someone you love. But this year I have an idea that you can give to everyone you love. It can be very simple or as complicated as you want it to be. But no matter how you decide to do it, it will bless that person. And you know what? It can be a great last-minute gift, too! It is so simple, yet so perfect, that I think some fanfare is in order:

Tooot ta-ta-toot!

Presenting...the...Blessing!

A blessing can be long or short. It can be big or small. It can be something they can hang over their bed, wear around their neck , tuck into their Bible, or keep in their pocket or purse.

I am going to make a blessing for every person in my family. So if you know how large my family is and how last minute this is, you know I'm going to have to prepare some very speedy blessings. Here are some of the ways I may choose to bless my sweeties:

Jewelry: I make jewelry, and I have metal stamps that I can use to put a favorite blessing on. But if you don't make jewelry, you still may have time to go to a store that does engraving, and have a necklace, charm, glass or other object engraved with a blessing. You may want to just have verse (like the scripture Jeremiah 29:11) engraved on the object.

Paper:  Of course the quickest and least expensive thing you can do is write a blessing out on paper. You can make something to hang on the wall; you can frame it or make a poster. A bookmark is a good choice. Using a sturdy piece of card stock, write or collage the verse onto the paper, embellish it with ribbon, buttons, and pretty papers, and Voila.

Book:  Tiny books are easier to make than you might think. You just figure out how large you want the book to be and how many pages you'll need. Then cut the paper twice that size, so it can be folded in half. Next, with a heavy needle and some sturdy thread, make a row of stitches down the seam. Then, with a pen or pencil, write the blessing out in your own hand. Decorate any blank pages, or leave them blank so your friend can write thoughts or answered prayers on them.

Below is a demonstration on how to make an Origami book:

Clay: I know I was talking about quick and easy, but if you work in clay, you can make a tile and write or stamp letters in it, and put a slit on the back for it to be hung on a wall.

Sew: A pillow would be a great thing to write a blessing on. Just write it on using fabric paints.

Embroidery: I embroidered the Aaronic Blessing on a piece of cloth and framed it for my husband long ago. You don't need a fancy pattern. Just write it on the cloth and stitch over it with embroidery floss.

Wood: Any piece of board or wood can make a sign or a plaque. First, just paint your board with a base color.  You may be able to find an old painted piece of wood that already has a character of its own. If so, then leave it as is. Then write out the words lightly in pencil. Paint them on. Then add a couple of screw eyes or nails to the top edte of the board, add wire or a sturdy twine, and it's ready for hanging.

Now for a few of those Bible blessings:

Jeremiah 29:11 For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord. Plans to prosper and not to harm you. Plans for a future and a hope.

Aaronic Blessing: Numbers 6: 22-27
May the Lord bless you and keep you;
May He make His face to shine on you
and be gracious to you;
May he lift up his countenance upon you
and give you his peace..

Jude 24-25
Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, to the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and for ever, Amen.

Romans 16: 24
May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you. Amen

Psalm 91:
This whole Psalm is actually a blessing, but some of my favorite verses are below.
Because you have made the Lord your resting place,
No evil shall befall you, neither shall any plague come near your dwelling. For he shall give his angels charge over you, to keep you in all your ways. They shall bear you up in their hands, lest you dash your foot against a stone.
Because he has set his love upon me (says the Lord), therefore I will deliver him: I will set him on high, because he has known my name. He shall call upon me and I will answer him: I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him and honour him. With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation.

And for children, here is one I'm sure you've heard before:
I see the moon and the moon sees me.
The moon sees somebody I want to see.
God bless the moon and God bless me,
And God bless the somebody I want to see.

For a few more special blessings, check this out: http://www.wilsonmar.com/benedic.htm

Of course, you may make up your own. I always blessed my children as I tucked them into bed. I made a cross on their foreheads and said, "God bless you in the name of Jesus." Then I sealed it with a kiss. Then I let them bless me back. It was a sweet way to end the day.

I must go; I've got lots of blessings to make, and I better get started right away. I would like to write more on blessings next week. If not, then next year!

In the meantime, I think I'd like to leave you with this blessing:

May God make his angels to watch over you and your loved ones. May he bless the work of your hands and the words of your mouth. May he show favor to you and your loved ones, and give you peace, strength and joy. Amen.

Happy, Happy holidays, my friend.

Father and Mother Know Best

When I was 11, my mother sat me down for the talk. It was time to prepare her young daughter for the woman budding inside that awkward, undeveloped child body. She told me how I was growing up, and she explained about periods, what I should expect, and that they were one of the things that made me different from men. Some day, she said, thanks to that change in my body, I would be able to become a mother, myself. When I finally started my period, I was very excited. I ran to tell my mom, and she hugged me tight. It was sweet, as it should be.

Mama was good! I mean, how many people could take something many women refer to as “the curse” and make it into a blessing? It sounded romantic. It was part of life, and life was beautiful. I never saw it as anything less.

My mother was a beauty, wasn't she? And wise.

Nowadays, the job of educating our children about sexuality is being taken from parents and given to others. I am concerned. Sexuality is an intimate and beautiful thing. But for years, people have been making it into something else. No longer special, sex has become a casual act, often vulgar and crude.

It seems that more important than physical health, honesty and normalcy these days is Political Correctness: Not Offending Anyone, Ever. (Well, that doesn’t include everyone, like people with traditional lifestyles or values.) Homosexuality is at the top of the list of the Politically Protected. Homosexuality, along with other non-traditional ideas, is being introduced to children as young as kindergarten, through books and other materials.

And according to a recent report, this new sexual education format is confusing to many young children. Some kids are concluding that since their best friends are the same sex as them, it must mean that they are all gay.

Regardless of how you view homosexuality, you will surely agree that if your child is not homosexual at age 4 or 6, you will not want him or her to adopt homosexuality simply because of confusion from a poorly taught class on family and sexuality. I see several problems with this agenda:

1.       These concepts are being taught to increasingly younger children, who may not be mature enough or emotionally ready to understand diverse sexual concepts, such as homosexuality or promiscuity.

2.       They teach sex education  in the classroom setting, with both sexes of children. (This is to help children to “not be embarrassed” in front of the opposite sex, but my kids tell me that this just discouraged them from asking questions at all.)

3.       Classrooms are not like home. There are no private times when it would be appropriate to answer individual questions of a personal nature. Even if a private moment for questions were available, teachers are not always “safe”. They aren’t the  people responsible for the child’s welfare. That job belongs to the parents.

4.       Nope, teachers are not the family. They do not know their students as well as most parents know their children. They do not love the children as the parents do. (Unfortunately, not all parents are good parents, but schools and teachers aren’t able to replace inadequacies in the home.)

I’m not saying every school does a bad job or every parent does a good job. But it is and should be the parent’s job to teach his or her children about sexuality.

Now a couple of questions to parents who are relieved to have the schools take over this difficult task: Would you leave sexual education of your child up to the stranger down the street? Then why would you leave it up to a school teacher that you hardly know? Do you want your children to have your personal values about sex and family? Why do you think the schools know more about what’s good for your children than you do?

A few quick tips on talking to your children:

1.      Get a right attitude. Who is better able to talk to your own kid about sex? Admit it. You know something about sex...probably quite a bit. You want your child to understand from your personal point of view. You can talk to your kid about it.

2.      Let your children know that they can talk to you about anything. No matter what your kid's age, you need to let them know that if they ever have a question, any question, they can come to you. You will not judge them. You won't laugh at them (in a ridiculing way). You will not be afraid of any question, because life is complicated and full of crazy questions. Sometimes those questions may make you blush. That's okay. Blushing is permitted.

3.      Consider the individual personalities of each child. Some kids are open and communicative, like one of my sons who had a gift for intimate questions. Others are private and struggle with communication. Accept that, and realize that they may choose not to share their secrets with you. That's okay. But let them know that your door is always open.

4.      Earn their trust. If you are a critical, judgmental parent, your child will not feel safe talking to you about things that you may disapprove of. Correct, but don't criticize. (I'm not saying its easy!) Never call them lazy or bad. Teach them that mistakes are learning experiences. They are part of being human. Life still exists after mistakes.

5.      Be unashamed. Kings and Queens have sex. Movie stars get constipated. Doctors go to the doctor. Preachers have bad thoughts that they have to reign in. Kids are curious. If we don't know the answer, we know how to look it up.

6.      Believe in yourself. You are the parent. You are the one who is emotionally, financially and legally responsible for your child's care for 18 to 26 years of age, depending to the schooling arangement. You have the right to teach them your values. As a matter of fact, you not only have the right, but it’s your responsibility. Your honor.

7.      Start today. Sit down with your children as soon as possible, and tell them you love them enough to be able to answer their questions, whatever they are. You will love them forever, no matter what. They are good, even if they have thoughts that aren’t good. Then brace yourself...it's coming!

8.      Pray with them. Pray for them. Bless them.

Pirate Dance

My grandson and I were baking Scottish Shortbread Cookies (find the recipe here: http://recklesslydancingwhilesupperburns.blogspot.com/2011/06/scottish-shortbread-cookies-with.html).

He kept tasting the dough, because it is absolutely yummy. He'd say, "Mmm. This cookie dough is so delicious," as soon as I had whipped the sugar into the butter. But once the flour was mixed in, he couldn't keep his little hands out of the stuff. Being just three ingredients (and no eggs), he was able to safely eat all the dough his little fingers could sneak.

Finally, he said, "Nonnie, this cookie dough is so good, it makes me want to do the Pirate Dance." And with that, he leaped off the little step stool and began to dance. He took this very seriously, by the way. I had to make him freeze for a minute while I ran and got my camera, and then I was able to film this to share with the rest of the family and our friends. I'm glad I did, because he has refused to do the Pirate Dance ever since...although he did teach Sydney to do it just the other day. Now that was hilarious! Boy, where was my camera for that one?

The Pirate Dance:

Fourteen: A 21 Tweet Story

Famous people I've seen: I saw Hoss Cartwright at Six Gun Territory when I was a kid.
In high school, I partied with the red-headed kid from the Flipper television show. Again, at Six Gun Territory.

Ross Allen, the famous reptile guy, used to come to my school every year to do a personal show for our class.

Newt Perry, Johnny Weissmuller's trainer and a famous Tarzan director, was my science teacher and my friend's dad.

I saw Alec Baldwin and his x at a restaurant in Wilmington a few days before I learned they'd just gotten married.

He was cute then. That was before we all knew what a creep he is.

I was at the airport once when I heard a call "Your limo is ready" for the guy that sang "Don't Worry, Be Happy". Didn't see him. Dang.

I know it was Stevie Wonder I saw on the plane that day a couple of years ago. I love Stevie. Unfortunately, he didn't see me.


Okay. Now you know everyone famous I've ever met or seen or been in the airport with.

Wait. There's one more, who was Incognito at the time, in an ugly purple jogging suit. I think...who is that guy...dark hair...

He came into a coffee shop where my daughter was. We sat down and talked for a while. She was enamored. He was, too.

She looked much older than her 14 years. He was asking her a bunch of questions when her age came up.

I knew she'd have liked to say, "I'm 16", which still would have been way too young for him, but she said, "I'm 14."

He did a major double-take. He said, "F-f...did you say fourteen? You're f-f-fourteen?"

"Yes," she answered softly.

So the subject suddenly changed, and we started talking about other things. Safer things.

After a few minutes he forgot about the previous conversation, and started to ask me another question about my daughter...

He was like, "so...your daughter..." Then the light bulb came back on in his head. "Oh, yeah...are you...she's fourteen?"

Later he came by my gallery and met all my girls. After he left, they agreed it had to be that actor, whose name's on the tip of my tongue.

The youngest one said, "I saw him first. He's mine."

After that, she would sometimes just say his name, like it was honey on her tongue.

Then she would say, "I should have told him I was fifteen. Fourteen is just so young!"

Making your own Bonsai....in pictures...it's not so hard if you don't expect perfection...

I'll try anything once...if its not illegal, immoral or stupid.

One of the things that I keep trying and trying is the fascinating art of Bonsai. I have books on Bonsai; several of them. I am obsessed with the process of turning an ordinary potted plant (in this case, a Buxus Sempervirens - Dwarf English Boxwood) into a tree in miniature. Instead of writing a lot of words on the subject tonight, I'm going to illustrate it for you in photographs. I know you can get this stuff on other websites, by Bonsai pro's, and I'm not a pro. But it is sometimes encouraging to learn something from a friend, and not a professional. Professional perfectionism can be intimidating. You won't be intimidated by my Bonsai skills.




This is what I was shooting for when I bought an English Boxwood yesterday.
This comes from the book "The Living Art of Bonsai'
by Professor Amy Liang
An excellent book with lots of examples and information
about growing and maintaining Bonsai.

I told my husband today that I had a hankerin' for makin' a Bonsai,

 a miniature tree. Again.

I get on a Bonsai Binge about once every year or two.

Though I have made them before, but the real trick is as much in

maintaining them through a hot summer as it is making them.

So although I've done this again and again, I must keep trying.

We went to Home Depot and found this potted, untamed beauty for $4.45.

A bargain indeed! With a thick trunk, it should make a great Bonsai.

(And if you want to make it into a Bonsai,

 and you aren't a professional, it better be a bargain.)

I chose this English Boxwood for three reasons.
1. English Boxwoods make great Bonsai trees.
2. It was cheap, probably because it had been in the ground for a while before they sent it to Home Depot.
3. It had this great trunk, thick leaf growth, and exposed, developed roots.

After you've decided what you are shooting for,

(I wanted a tree with an interesting trunk...something...interesting.)

I hold down the branches and decide "does this look good? Does this look stupid")
If it doesn't break while I'm holding it down,
then I save it for wiring.

The first cut is the hardest. Do a little planning before you begin:
Look beneath the leaves, and figure out what you have under all that foliage.
 Then you can decide what to keep and what to discard. Be gentle as you do these things.
This boxwood was brittle, and in the process of making it into a Bonsai,
I did loose a couple of desirable limbs. But, hey. It's just for fun. Right?

It was really difficult to decide how low to trim the boxwood.
I decided to go easy on her, and trimmed less than I think may look best.
Take it slow. You can always cut off more, but you can't put it back.



Wiring a Bonsai is an art in itself. You may want to look up how to
wire a Bonsai before you start.
I'm not very good at it, but I stumble through it.
 I used copper wire in different sizes.
You wrap the branches around and around,
so you can arrange them to grow in an attractive way,
 and keep them in that position until the wood hardens up and stays that way.

When I was done with my creation, I cut the pot off the root ball.
I didn't want to damage the work I'd done.

This is a picture of my Bonsai, first night. I have potted it in a temporary pot, and I will keep it here until it has survived the winter. In March, I will take it out of here, and move it into a medium sized Bonsai pot (a little wider than the branching width.) I will trim only the roots necessary to keep the plant alive. *see note below.
I have to admit, even I have done better,
but working with such a mature plant was much
more difficult for me than working with smaller, fresher plants.

You know, my Bonsai is at the "awkward teenager" stage. Actually, it turned out to look a lot like some of my artwork, like "Old Queen Elizabeth", above. I am not finished with this bonsai, yet. I have potted it in a larger pot than I want, and I'm going to give it a rest and save trimming the roots for another time, after I've had time to think about the type of pot I want to use. For now, I'm ready to tackle the Azalea I just bought. This one should be interesting, too.

You might want to try your own hand at making a bonsai. You can do it. My advice is start with an inexpensive plant, go easy on it, and just have fun. Don't expect perfection...nature isn't perfect, either.

Update - One Year Later:

I thought you'd want to see the above Bonsai after one year. I have done more trimming as I saw fit, and have kept new growth to a minimum. It is slowly becoming more of the vision I had in mind when it was begun.

Just as I said I should, I did leave this tree for planting into a Bonsai pot until March. At that time, I removed it from the blue pot. I trimmed the roots as much as I could, *leaving enough large roots to anchor the plant and enough of the small, fine roots which are for water gathering. I like the look of a tree growing on a little hill, which also accommodated all the roots, so I allowed it to mound above the pot, as much for effect as for the health of the tree.
 

The front of this Bonsai is pictured at left, and the back is pictured at right. I chose the one on the left to be called the front because I like the roots showing. Unfortunately, I have once again lost a couple of branches when potting this year, due to brittleness. I am hoping some new branches will start next spring. If so, I will find one worth keeping, and train it to grow to replace the lost branch. Around the base, I added local moss which I found around my apartment, and some micro-thyme, as a ground cover. It's healthy and doing well. We keep it well watered, and fertilize occasionally with fish emulsion, at half strength.

Bonsai is not an art for the impatient soul...unless you buy one ready made by someone else who has the patience of Job. But Bonsai is well worth waiting for. I just like being able to say, I did this one, myself.

...So what if everyone else is thinking..."Yes...I believe you..." :)

 

 

 



Videoville - Just for Fun

You know, if you dress up a little ratty, people want to pet them. It's that simple. Just ask this lady who makes beautiful costumes for pretty little rats.

Easy Scottish Shortbread Cookies With Healthy Variations

Very easy to make: Scottish Shortbread Cookies

The other day, I wanted to bake cookies, but realized that at the apartment, I didn't have many ingredients I usually use when baking cookies. No baking soda or baking powder, and just a bit of sugar. I looked in an old cookbook, and to my surprise, did find one recipe with only three ingredients: flour, butter and white sugar. They were so easy, and were gone in a jiffy.

Because the ingredients are so natural and simple, this is a great recipe to make with small children.

Here's the basic recipe:

Scottish Shortbread Cookies

1 cup butter, room temperature - beat until fluffy
1 cup sugar - add to butter
2 1/2 cups flour - gradually add to butter/sugar mixture, 1/2 cup at a time, until just blended, and it forms into a single ball (much like a pie crust texture)

When it gets to this consistancy, you don't need to mix anymore.
It will make a ball, pulling away from the sides of the bowl.

Place on a floured board. Roll out into a 1/8" to 1/4" sheet. Place the whole thing on a cookie sheet. Pierce with a fork, and cut into squares.

Bake at 300 degrees until brown (depending on how thick you rolled it, it may cook from 20 to 30 minutes.

Take from the oven and separate while still warm.

Easy as pie...

Rolled out and ready for the oven

Here are some variations which you may add individually or in combinations:

For higher protein and lower carbs, replace 1 cup of flour with almond meal (which I found at Trader Joe's).

Replace some or all of the white sugar with brown sugar.

You can cut with cookie cutters, or roll out in a circle and cut into wedges like a pizza.

Crushed lavender flowers (no more than a half a teaspoon, unless you really like the floral taste of lavender). Mmmm...

Crushed rosemary (very finely crushed, and only 1/4 teaspoon).

Vanilla extract (I use homemade: to make it, slice several vanilla beans lengthwise, chop into 1/2" pieces, and drop into a bottle of bourbon, coniac or brandy, and allow to sit for at least six weeks before use. Then shake well.)

Or you can just scrape the seeds out of a vanilla bean and use them instead of extract.

Lemon or orange zest (finely grated peel)

1/3 cup currants

Crushed walnuts or pecans

1 Tablespoon Cinnamon

A dash of fresh ground Nutmeg

Sprinkle with sugar or sprinkles before baking



Recommendation: If you do a lot of baking, you might want to consider purchasing a sturdy mixer, like the Kitchen Aid stand mixer. They come in a variety of sizes, are heavy duty, and last a lifetime. They also come in lots of pretty colors. You can buy attachments for them, like a pasta maker or meat grinder. I bought a new 5 quart one at Dillards last week, and am getting a free glass bowl with the purchase.

http://www.shopkitchenaid.com/countertop-appliances-1/stand-mixers-3/102020011/?WT.srch=1

Enjoy!