As I sit on the top of the bookcase and watch the news while dropping manilla envelopes on mom's head, I become more and more alarmed by what I see. The struggle over the budget seems to become more and more surreal. The efforts to "balance the budget" are not only ludicrous, it's ignorant. I hear folks talking about the "entitlement" programs that must be cut: medicare, medicaid and social security. These same people also want to get people off welfare and back to work. Hey, don't get me started.
Oh, well, too late. There's just so much!
Some of these folks want to take money away from Planned Parenthood , who do excellent work with education, maternal health, and prenatal care and services. The United States has the highest infant mortality rate of any first world country. That means infants who were not aborted. We desperately need organization who educate and assist with prenatal development. Americans need to do a bettetr job of taking care of its pregnant women. However, Republicans are using the scary word Abortion (not paid for with federal funds) to ruin a very useful service. Why do they do it? Because they can.
W
Then, of course, there's tax revenues. The more people who are employed, the more taxes are being paid. This lowers income. But the government cannot be run like a business. Because it is a government of the people, we can't just go for the bottom line. That is a system which makes only the top 5%
Monday, April 20, 2026
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Our Day Off
So, mom and I are here in Northumberland County, in the land of blood sucking pencils. There are lots of interesting things here you can see without even getting out of the car. I like sitting in the back window and meowing at all the tail-gators (they're like alligators, except they're cars). It drives Al crazy, he's the retired police officer/realtor/cemetery keeper/fireman/FEMA guy who likes to drive the women around. Mom and Mary haven't had to drive at all hardly. I wish he'd let me drive, but he says cats can't reach the pedals so it's unsafe. I say just let me steer, but he says no, I'm too dangerous. I say of course I'm dangerous, I'm a cat.
We spent the weekend tooling around the hills, looking at stuff. Mom and Al kept stopping and getting out and reading things. They looked at all those hysterical markers and read every single one. Personally, I would have taken pictures of them and read them later in the privacy of my litter box, but no, they took pictures AND read them. But we did find some really cool stuff. There are lots of buildings including a big prison that was built in 1896 and looks like a huge fort with a dungeon. I don't think I'd like to explore there even though it was totally cool to look at. Probably had ghosts of cats killed by giant rats or something. Back then cats had to work for a living. Barbaric.
We found roads that were closed from the flooding and, of course, mom and Al had to drive up them. Everywhere we went we came dangerously close to water. It would be on the right side of the car, then go under the road and be on the left side of the car. And even though they were being totally cool about it, I knew that parts of those roads had washed out during the floods. I laid in the back window pretending to be bored but couldn't keep my tail from twitching occasionally. When they got to a highway I thought, okay, we're safe! but no. Mom saw a little bitty road and told Al they needed to explore it. He turned the car around and off we went- into the wilderness.
Did you know there are bears in Pennsylvania? Well, there are. So we drove (with the windows open: mom loves the smell of the woods) along this dirt path off into the trees. There were piles of rocks everywhere. Then there were piles of stones. Then there were piles of bricks. Starting to sound like the three little pigs? Well, there were also piles of asphalt and cement and wood and all kinds of stuff. Pretty hefty beavers, I thought because all of this debris was around a big bowl of water. Of course the humans got out of the car to get closer to the shore. Down in the pond there were two big, yellow Caterpillar vehicles. One of them was clearly stuck in the mud. The other one apparently tried to get the first one out, but had also gotten stuck because although its shovel was down in the water, its tracks were dangling in the air.
They followed the road even farther into the woods and suddenly there was this small lake (or big pond) and even I have to admit it was really pretty. I stayed in the car, of course, but mom and Al went over to the edge. They found a dead rattlesnake there (at least they think it was a rattlesnake. It was a skeleton with fangs). Mom wanted me to come look, but I declined. A family drove by on four-wheelers, pointing and laughing. That was when I saw the squirrel with the binoculars.
The squirrel population in Pennsylvania is revolting, and by that I don't mean they're ugly. They are getting organized. Everywhere there are lookouts tracking human activity. Every day we drive by the "Seminary for Suicidal Squirrels". We have to be on the lookout for the little buggers that escape from the home and dart out in front of us. We aren't going fast and Al always honks and slows down, but they make a concerted effort to dive under our tires. So far we've avoided each and every one.
We went to a lot of cemeteries that day. For some reason both mom and Al like to go see the graves of dead strangers. There was one that we looked at that was kind of cool up on a back road. It was fenced and had a lot of crosses. Then right next to it, also fenced, was a Catholic cemetery. Right next to that, and duly fenced, was a Greek Orthodox cemetery. And across the fence from that was a Jewish cemetery. I guess the fences were there to keep the dead from sneaking from one cemetery to another because then God would get mixed up and send the wrong people to hell. And Jewish people don't even have hell. There wasn't a pet cemetery there, but there is one on the road to work. Mom and Al talked about going to see that. If they do, I'm staying home. Too many dog ghosts there.
While we were out and about, we stopped at a place called Turkey Hill. It was a convenience store. Mom had to use the facilities and when she came out she said, "You do not want to go in there!" Apparently it was quite stinky and it was that way before she went in. Outside Mr. Al filled the car and aired up the tires. He's such a sweetheart. There were a bunch of bikers there, so of course mom struck up a conversation. One of them asked if she knew where someplace was and she said sorry, not from around here. The guy said that was too bad because their leader was lost and wouldn't admit it. Mom advised him to fill up his tank and head for Route 81. Then they could figure out where they were. Off they roared, in the wrong direction, tattoos glittering in the autumn sun.
And it was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the sky was blue all over and it was just the right temperature to lay in the window and snooze. I could watch leaves fluttering down like songbirds, all bright colors: red, purple, yellow, orange. We were tooling around with the windows open and even though I'm not a dog, I did enjoy having a bit of a breeze blowing through my fur.
The next place we went was to see the windmills. Now as you know, we have lots of windmills in Mouskin, but Al had never seen them up close, so we went looking. It was very difficult as we found out that windmills don't just sit on top of the hill, they move and hide. We saw them and drove up on the hill, then they had moved. Then we went down another road and saw them, but when we tried to get to them, they hid again. Finally, we found the road that led to the maintenance place for the windmills. Al climbed a little hill. Mom did too, but it took her twice as long and she sounded like a steam engine. Al thought he might have to carry her out through the locked gate (oh yeah, the gate was locked and no trespassing) which he couldn't even on his best firefighting day. But they finally made it out to the windmills. It was so quiet (despite the bears) that they could hear the windmills creaking in the breeze. Mom took pictures for Al of the windmills sticking out of his head. All he needed was a beanie.
We spent the weekend tooling around the hills, looking at stuff. Mom and Al kept stopping and getting out and reading things. They looked at all those hysterical markers and read every single one. Personally, I would have taken pictures of them and read them later in the privacy of my litter box, but no, they took pictures AND read them. But we did find some really cool stuff. There are lots of buildings including a big prison that was built in 1896 and looks like a huge fort with a dungeon. I don't think I'd like to explore there even though it was totally cool to look at. Probably had ghosts of cats killed by giant rats or something. Back then cats had to work for a living. Barbaric.
We found roads that were closed from the flooding and, of course, mom and Al had to drive up them. Everywhere we went we came dangerously close to water. It would be on the right side of the car, then go under the road and be on the left side of the car. And even though they were being totally cool about it, I knew that parts of those roads had washed out during the floods. I laid in the back window pretending to be bored but couldn't keep my tail from twitching occasionally. When they got to a highway I thought, okay, we're safe! but no. Mom saw a little bitty road and told Al they needed to explore it. He turned the car around and off we went- into the wilderness.
Did you know there are bears in Pennsylvania? Well, there are. So we drove (with the windows open: mom loves the smell of the woods) along this dirt path off into the trees. There were piles of rocks everywhere. Then there were piles of stones. Then there were piles of bricks. Starting to sound like the three little pigs? Well, there were also piles of asphalt and cement and wood and all kinds of stuff. Pretty hefty beavers, I thought because all of this debris was around a big bowl of water. Of course the humans got out of the car to get closer to the shore. Down in the pond there were two big, yellow Caterpillar vehicles. One of them was clearly stuck in the mud. The other one apparently tried to get the first one out, but had also gotten stuck because although its shovel was down in the water, its tracks were dangling in the air.
They followed the road even farther into the woods and suddenly there was this small lake (or big pond) and even I have to admit it was really pretty. I stayed in the car, of course, but mom and Al went over to the edge. They found a dead rattlesnake there (at least they think it was a rattlesnake. It was a skeleton with fangs). Mom wanted me to come look, but I declined. A family drove by on four-wheelers, pointing and laughing. That was when I saw the squirrel with the binoculars.
The squirrel population in Pennsylvania is revolting, and by that I don't mean they're ugly. They are getting organized. Everywhere there are lookouts tracking human activity. Every day we drive by the "Seminary for Suicidal Squirrels". We have to be on the lookout for the little buggers that escape from the home and dart out in front of us. We aren't going fast and Al always honks and slows down, but they make a concerted effort to dive under our tires. So far we've avoided each and every one.
We went to a lot of cemeteries that day. For some reason both mom and Al like to go see the graves of dead strangers. There was one that we looked at that was kind of cool up on a back road. It was fenced and had a lot of crosses. Then right next to it, also fenced, was a Catholic cemetery. Right next to that, and duly fenced, was a Greek Orthodox cemetery. And across the fence from that was a Jewish cemetery. I guess the fences were there to keep the dead from sneaking from one cemetery to another because then God would get mixed up and send the wrong people to hell. And Jewish people don't even have hell. There wasn't a pet cemetery there, but there is one on the road to work. Mom and Al talked about going to see that. If they do, I'm staying home. Too many dog ghosts there.
While we were out and about, we stopped at a place called Turkey Hill. It was a convenience store. Mom had to use the facilities and when she came out she said, "You do not want to go in there!" Apparently it was quite stinky and it was that way before she went in. Outside Mr. Al filled the car and aired up the tires. He's such a sweetheart. There were a bunch of bikers there, so of course mom struck up a conversation. One of them asked if she knew where someplace was and she said sorry, not from around here. The guy said that was too bad because their leader was lost and wouldn't admit it. Mom advised him to fill up his tank and head for Route 81. Then they could figure out where they were. Off they roared, in the wrong direction, tattoos glittering in the autumn sun.
And it was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the sky was blue all over and it was just the right temperature to lay in the window and snooze. I could watch leaves fluttering down like songbirds, all bright colors: red, purple, yellow, orange. We were tooling around with the windows open and even though I'm not a dog, I did enjoy having a bit of a breeze blowing through my fur.
The next place we went was to see the windmills. Now as you know, we have lots of windmills in Mouskin, but Al had never seen them up close, so we went looking. It was very difficult as we found out that windmills don't just sit on top of the hill, they move and hide. We saw them and drove up on the hill, then they had moved. Then we went down another road and saw them, but when we tried to get to them, they hid again. Finally, we found the road that led to the maintenance place for the windmills. Al climbed a little hill. Mom did too, but it took her twice as long and she sounded like a steam engine. Al thought he might have to carry her out through the locked gate (oh yeah, the gate was locked and no trespassing) which he couldn't even on his best firefighting day. But they finally made it out to the windmills. It was so quiet (despite the bears) that they could hear the windmills creaking in the breeze. Mom took pictures for Al of the windmills sticking out of his head. All he needed was a beanie.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Shamokin
Mom and I are in Shamokin, a little coal town nestled deep in the hills of Central Pennsylvania. At one time this was a booming place, bustling with coal miners, bankers, wealthy investors and other workers. You can tell that by the presence of majestic old buildings with fine masonry and carved stone decorations, beautifully detailed Victorian homes and artfully wrought metals and statuary. This town is a dream for anyone interested in architectural details and variety of structures.
But the sad part is that these buildings are empty, or crumbling, or being sub-divided. The native rock here has been used for centuries to make sturdy, long-lasting homes. Amish farms are built of these materials, by hand with tools wielded without the aid of electricity. This is Shamokin, a shadow if it’s former glory.
The people here are tired, I think. Tired of being broke. One by one the businesses pull out. More and more people are out of work, needing help. Things are a little dingy: the houses, the streets, the signs, as if coal dust had settled over everything and colored the mood of the place.
But these are good people. They work hard, they tend to one another. They’re proud, too, don’t want to take help, even when they need it. One of the things that’s hardest for mom is to convince folks that it’s ok to get help from the government. It seems that their pride is all they have left sometimes, after all the flooding, and they don’t want to give that up. Mom and the guys do their best to convince them that they paid their taxes and these taxes are coming back to them to help when they need it most. And that works mostly because it’s true. They deserve help and they need it.
Looking around it seems even the sky is tired. Gray skies raining on gray-green hills. The water is still running high and it too, is gray. It takes just a little storm to restart the flooding. Folks have been cleaning and fixing, then cleaning and fixing again. It’s wearing on everyone and it shows.
Help is here for the flooding, from the government and the voluntary agencies. But the help is not enough to fix the real problems. The town is ghostly. People seem haunted as they pass. Younger people have left this town, and the older ones will stay here until they die. There are no jobs here to speak of: every big business that built this town has moved on. There are few farms because the land is so steep and great piles of coal and slag mar the hillsides. The town, and in fact the entire area, has been used up and left for dead.
But these people aren’t dead. They are pulling themselves up, one by one; out of the the flooded mire, cleaning up, fixing up and living. And when the sun shines here again, they will turn their faces to the sun.
Is there a future for these people? They deserve one, a future with jobs and children and good health. The people of Shamokin are nothing if not resilient. And once they shake off the water, they’ll be ok.
But the sad part is that these buildings are empty, or crumbling, or being sub-divided. The native rock here has been used for centuries to make sturdy, long-lasting homes. Amish farms are built of these materials, by hand with tools wielded without the aid of electricity. This is Shamokin, a shadow if it’s former glory.
The people here are tired, I think. Tired of being broke. One by one the businesses pull out. More and more people are out of work, needing help. Things are a little dingy: the houses, the streets, the signs, as if coal dust had settled over everything and colored the mood of the place.
But these are good people. They work hard, they tend to one another. They’re proud, too, don’t want to take help, even when they need it. One of the things that’s hardest for mom is to convince folks that it’s ok to get help from the government. It seems that their pride is all they have left sometimes, after all the flooding, and they don’t want to give that up. Mom and the guys do their best to convince them that they paid their taxes and these taxes are coming back to them to help when they need it most. And that works mostly because it’s true. They deserve help and they need it.
Looking around it seems even the sky is tired. Gray skies raining on gray-green hills. The water is still running high and it too, is gray. It takes just a little storm to restart the flooding. Folks have been cleaning and fixing, then cleaning and fixing again. It’s wearing on everyone and it shows.
Help is here for the flooding, from the government and the voluntary agencies. But the help is not enough to fix the real problems. The town is ghostly. People seem haunted as they pass. Younger people have left this town, and the older ones will stay here until they die. There are no jobs here to speak of: every big business that built this town has moved on. There are few farms because the land is so steep and great piles of coal and slag mar the hillsides. The town, and in fact the entire area, has been used up and left for dead.
But these people aren’t dead. They are pulling themselves up, one by one; out of the the flooded mire, cleaning up, fixing up and living. And when the sun shines here again, they will turn their faces to the sun.
Is there a future for these people? They deserve one, a future with jobs and children and good health. The people of Shamokin are nothing if not resilient. And once they shake off the water, they’ll be ok.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Perry for President
Well, it's getting to be that time again, and I can see Rick Perry, that crazy Texan is getting ready to steal my slogan! I've spent six years making the phrase "Perry for President" respectable. Now all that seems to be going straight into the pooper.
Even though I'm short haired, my fur does move in the wind. I think that is more honest than lacquering up the old fuzz and gale-testing it. Besides, you can't see all my colors unless my fur moves. And Rick Perry is a Republican, of course, which means he has taken leave of his senses. And in the state where rednecks still beat the crap out of queers, Rick Perry is woefully short of female companionship... just sayin'...
He's being a religious man, holding massive prayers for rain and, no doubt, respectability. But his brothers and sisters in faith are, putting it gently, rather out on the fringe of Christianity. They tout sleeping with she-demons, natural catastrophes as gay punishment and other rather bizarre ideologies. Nothing about cats, though, so that's a relief. Plus, he wasn't including anyone but Christians in prayer day even though we have lots and lots of Judeo-Christian-Muslim believers (they believe in the same God) and others: Hindus, Buddhists, Wiccans, and all kinds of other pagans. I personally am a reformed Quaker, but I can't stay quiet enough to go to services. But, you know how cats are.
My main complaint about Rick Perry (besides the economic policy, the immigration policy, the education policy, the transportation policy, the energy policy and most of his other policies) is that he's using my name in vain. Do you know how embarrassing it is to have neighborhood dogs coming to the door and you-know-whatting because they think I'm the Perry who does the stuff our governor does?
It's positively mortifying.
So remember, there's Rick Perry and there's the Real Perry. Yup, a cat is better than a weasel.
P
Monday, August 1, 2011
Too Hot For Bugs
Ok, we know it's hot and we know it's dry. But here's some other things we've observed about the summer in Texas this year.
First: There's no bugs. Nada. Nicht. You can drive for three hours in any direction from Amarillo and not hit a single insect. We have yet to see mosquitos, grasshoppers, preying mantisses, crickets, or any other of the normal six legged fauna. I don't think it's the spraying. I'm not seeing them out in the country either, And at night we have a little toad (The Emily thinks he's a Killer Toad) who has come out on our porch for the water and the moths and other bugs which buzz around the light at night. Except, no bugs. No moths, butterflies, June bugs, nuttin. Yesterday we caught him eating ants. Of course, there's always ants. I think we're going to have to go to Petco and buy our little toad crickets just to keep him alive.
Second: Mom and I went to Lubbock last weekend to see the exhibit at the museum on the Nazi euthanasia program. It was very interesting. What was even more interesting, however, was that although there was a shallow pool outside, there were no birds in evidence. No birds in the water, no birds near the water, no birds on the lawn, no birds in the trees, no bird chirps or calls or other sounds. I guess it's too hot for the birds, too. Or maybe they already ate all the bugs and then starved to death. I don't know. Around home there's still those dang doves and a few other birds we see occasionally (mostly grackles), but for the most part, not very many. Perhaps they are roasting in the trees. Maybe when fall comes all we have to do for Thanksgiving is shake the trees and fully-cooked squab will fall out. We'll just need to make the gravy.
Third: Mammals. I hardly ever see other cats or dogs outside. During the day it's so hot that they must be hiding in the shade of cars and bushes. At dawn and in the late evening there are a couple of cats who come by because mom feeds them. One of them is called "Slinky", a beautifully marked Calico. She's sweet and affectionate and Kemper Kitty loves her. And because there's rabies in the area, mom took her to the vet for her shots. But she stays outside because we can't have another animal in the house. Mom wants to let her in during the day, but The Emily hasn't bought her a flea collar yet, so she can't come in. Mom would put her out at night. The other cat is a ratty old yellow male. His head fur is bigger than the rest of his body and it makes him look like a lion or a huge-headed mutant or something. He has a nasty disposition and fights with Slinky. He needs to be neutered, too, because his huevos are huge and he makes me jealous. See a vet, Dude! Spay and neuter makes you cuter!
Fourth: Lots of wild animals are coming into town to get water and food. Skunks, the primary reason for the rabies outbreak, are getting in to people's trash and gardens and fighting with cats and dogs. Who knows what else? But I know from Aunt Barbara that if you see a skunk in the daytime, he's probably rabid. You run in the house and lock the door. Skunks can't reach the keyholes so they can't get in. Thank God Aunt Barbara learned that. She probably saved a lot of lives with that information. However, she says, goats can open the doors, so beware of rabid goats! But there are animals abandoning their young because they're too slow to keep up or parents don't have enough energy to feed them with smaller animals dying of heat and thirst. We haven't seen any buzzards, either, so maybe the carcasses are too dry to eat. Roadkill jerky? You never know.
It's too hot for KK to go out and play. It's dang hot. But on the other hand, at times when KK could go out and play, no one wants to go out and watch him. His mom sleeps and makes him stay in their room all day. Mom takes him when she can but her back leg hurts and she may have to go to the vet to have a peg put on it. I hope she gets a hardwood one. I could use a good scratching post. Especially one that moves where I do. And mom will be a riot clopping around like a pirate! Just needs a patch on her eye. Hmmm... Maybe if I get up on the bookcase at night just before she goes to bed... WHIPSNAP CLAWS!
Avast matey! Get me some grog... catnip grog!
First: There's no bugs. Nada. Nicht. You can drive for three hours in any direction from Amarillo and not hit a single insect. We have yet to see mosquitos, grasshoppers, preying mantisses, crickets, or any other of the normal six legged fauna. I don't think it's the spraying. I'm not seeing them out in the country either, And at night we have a little toad (The Emily thinks he's a Killer Toad) who has come out on our porch for the water and the moths and other bugs which buzz around the light at night. Except, no bugs. No moths, butterflies, June bugs, nuttin. Yesterday we caught him eating ants. Of course, there's always ants. I think we're going to have to go to Petco and buy our little toad crickets just to keep him alive.
Second: Mom and I went to Lubbock last weekend to see the exhibit at the museum on the Nazi euthanasia program. It was very interesting. What was even more interesting, however, was that although there was a shallow pool outside, there were no birds in evidence. No birds in the water, no birds near the water, no birds on the lawn, no birds in the trees, no bird chirps or calls or other sounds. I guess it's too hot for the birds, too. Or maybe they already ate all the bugs and then starved to death. I don't know. Around home there's still those dang doves and a few other birds we see occasionally (mostly grackles), but for the most part, not very many. Perhaps they are roasting in the trees. Maybe when fall comes all we have to do for Thanksgiving is shake the trees and fully-cooked squab will fall out. We'll just need to make the gravy.
Third: Mammals. I hardly ever see other cats or dogs outside. During the day it's so hot that they must be hiding in the shade of cars and bushes. At dawn and in the late evening there are a couple of cats who come by because mom feeds them. One of them is called "Slinky", a beautifully marked Calico. She's sweet and affectionate and Kemper Kitty loves her. And because there's rabies in the area, mom took her to the vet for her shots. But she stays outside because we can't have another animal in the house. Mom wants to let her in during the day, but The Emily hasn't bought her a flea collar yet, so she can't come in. Mom would put her out at night. The other cat is a ratty old yellow male. His head fur is bigger than the rest of his body and it makes him look like a lion or a huge-headed mutant or something. He has a nasty disposition and fights with Slinky. He needs to be neutered, too, because his huevos are huge and he makes me jealous. See a vet, Dude! Spay and neuter makes you cuter!
Fourth: Lots of wild animals are coming into town to get water and food. Skunks, the primary reason for the rabies outbreak, are getting in to people's trash and gardens and fighting with cats and dogs. Who knows what else? But I know from Aunt Barbara that if you see a skunk in the daytime, he's probably rabid. You run in the house and lock the door. Skunks can't reach the keyholes so they can't get in. Thank God Aunt Barbara learned that. She probably saved a lot of lives with that information. However, she says, goats can open the doors, so beware of rabid goats! But there are animals abandoning their young because they're too slow to keep up or parents don't have enough energy to feed them with smaller animals dying of heat and thirst. We haven't seen any buzzards, either, so maybe the carcasses are too dry to eat. Roadkill jerky? You never know.
It's too hot for KK to go out and play. It's dang hot. But on the other hand, at times when KK could go out and play, no one wants to go out and watch him. His mom sleeps and makes him stay in their room all day. Mom takes him when she can but her back leg hurts and she may have to go to the vet to have a peg put on it. I hope she gets a hardwood one. I could use a good scratching post. Especially one that moves where I do. And mom will be a riot clopping around like a pirate! Just needs a patch on her eye. Hmmm... Maybe if I get up on the bookcase at night just before she goes to bed... WHIPSNAP CLAWS!
Avast matey! Get me some grog... catnip grog!
Monday, July 4, 2011
Americans Are...
I work for a government agency which responds to presidentially declared disasters. Many times I've seen devastating destruction, loss of life and the aftermath that accompanies these conditions. Here are some important qualities I see in Americans:
1) Americans are good people. Many times by the time I get to a disaster site there are very few people homeless. They go and stay with friends and relatives, neighbors and fellow church members. And those with less devastating damage want those worse off than themselves to be served first. If you lost something, chances are that it will be returned to you if it can be identified. Crime typically goes down after a disaster. And everyone is ready to help.
2) American are cooperative. Our religious groups work together. During the Hurricane Katrina response there were so many groups of religious volunteers: Christians, Jews, Muslims, Krishnas, Mormons, Mennonites, Scientologists and variations of all of these. Everyone pitched in, everyone worked hard. It didn't matter what your beliefs were, these people were there to help anyone and everyone who needed it. And on a smaller scale it happens at every disaster I see.
3) Americans are hospitable. They open their homes. During the catastrophic evacuation of Katrina and Rita, cities and towns from all of the fifty states offered to house those who were homeless. Cities and towns opened shelters, churches set up beds and cooked. And people in these places opened their homes to families who were displaced, taking them in and helping them get their lives back together. Many evacuees stayed and became members of their new communities.
4) Americans are proud. Although emergency disaster funds are nearly always approved, many people don't "want a handout". They may have lost their home to an F5 tornado or have it wiped away in a flood. It's difficult for Americans to ask for help when we've been brought up on self-reliance. But sometimes everyone needs a hand. "It's the taxes you pay," I explain, "Your disaster savings account."
5) Americans are adaptable. When one's life disappears in a heartbeat, Americans try to look at the bright side. After losing her home and everything in it to a terrifying tornado, one woman commented, "Well, my husband wouldn't let me throw away his junk. Now I don't have to worry about it any more. IT'S GONE!"
Our people are sturdy and strong and independent, just what you'd expect an American to be. Yes, we bicker and gripe, and we have some real crazies out there. But I can tell you that when the chips are down, Americans are right there with a shovel, ready to move them out and start over.
Who needs chips anyways?
Happy Independence Day!
1) Americans are good people. Many times by the time I get to a disaster site there are very few people homeless. They go and stay with friends and relatives, neighbors and fellow church members. And those with less devastating damage want those worse off than themselves to be served first. If you lost something, chances are that it will be returned to you if it can be identified. Crime typically goes down after a disaster. And everyone is ready to help.
2) American are cooperative. Our religious groups work together. During the Hurricane Katrina response there were so many groups of religious volunteers: Christians, Jews, Muslims, Krishnas, Mormons, Mennonites, Scientologists and variations of all of these. Everyone pitched in, everyone worked hard. It didn't matter what your beliefs were, these people were there to help anyone and everyone who needed it. And on a smaller scale it happens at every disaster I see.
3) Americans are hospitable. They open their homes. During the catastrophic evacuation of Katrina and Rita, cities and towns from all of the fifty states offered to house those who were homeless. Cities and towns opened shelters, churches set up beds and cooked. And people in these places opened their homes to families who were displaced, taking them in and helping them get their lives back together. Many evacuees stayed and became members of their new communities.
4) Americans are proud. Although emergency disaster funds are nearly always approved, many people don't "want a handout". They may have lost their home to an F5 tornado or have it wiped away in a flood. It's difficult for Americans to ask for help when we've been brought up on self-reliance. But sometimes everyone needs a hand. "It's the taxes you pay," I explain, "Your disaster savings account."
5) Americans are adaptable. When one's life disappears in a heartbeat, Americans try to look at the bright side. After losing her home and everything in it to a terrifying tornado, one woman commented, "Well, my husband wouldn't let me throw away his junk. Now I don't have to worry about it any more. IT'S GONE!"
Our people are sturdy and strong and independent, just what you'd expect an American to be. Yes, we bicker and gripe, and we have some real crazies out there. But I can tell you that when the chips are down, Americans are right there with a shovel, ready to move them out and start over.
Who needs chips anyways?
Happy Independence Day!
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Mary Forsythe
Her name was Mary but everyone called her Mimi. Mimi was a thoroughly wonderful person: kind, thoughtful, giving and hysterically funny. Her sense of humor was sharp and witty. She loved to laugh and loved it more when others were laughing with her.
Mimi was first a mom. She has three beautiful daughters: Jody, Jackie and Jill. She loved and worked hard to raise her children to be good people and she succeded. She also adored her grandchildren - all girls - and loved spending time with them. And now there is a great grandchild, the apple of her eye Beanie, and two more on the way. It is sad that they will never meet her.
Mimi loved greatly. She took in people in need and gave whenever she could. She was a sucker for romance. People would gravitate to her. You could hear her laughing across the room. As an adult she worked hard. She was at IBM for many years while her children were young, raising them on her own. In Boston Mimi and one of her daughters worked a printing company. She also worked in the Hamptons on Long Island in New York. Then she moved to Florida, a little trailer near Sanibel. She loved the coast and her friends there. Mimi always made friends.
But she moved back to New York State to be near her children, and her grandchildren. She was a touchstone to her daughters and was happy they were all close, and close by. She loved to play. Mimi was always up for the bowling team or the dart team or the softball team. She loved to pass time playing cards. It didn't matter which game it was as long as she was laughing with her friends.
Those two words always come up when you talk about Mimi: laughing and friends. It seemed she knew everyone, whereever she went people spoke to her, always someone who knew her. One time she and I were in the drive up lane of some fast food restaurant. The girl at the window hollared, "Hi, Mimi!" I made a comment to her about how she seemed to know everyone. The girl in the window said, "Oh, everybody loves Mimi!"
And it's true. Everyone loved Mimi. If you went into her apartment people would be in and out all day, saying hi, checking on her, taking care she was doing well. The phone rang quite often and she would talk and laugh, always laugh.
Unless, of course, the Yankees were playing a game on the television. Then it was time for Gloria Estafan to get a new hairstyle: code for "time to get off the phone".
I will miss my aunt. I talked to her frequently and got to visit her recently at her home in New York. She was tired, and not happy that her health was so poor. But that didn't change her, didn't turn her into a crabby old lady. The woman was vibrant and happy and ready for a good joke.
I will always remember Mimi laughing.
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