There seems to be a new disease or plague sweeping across the country. Unfortunately, the CDC does not even list it as a disease and offers no protection or vaccine to help make us immune to it. The sickness does have a name and it is called Disrespect.
During the last week, I have read several articles addressing this issue of disrespect. They ranged from college graduates walking out of a speech being given by the VP of the USA, to doctors talking about how many times they see this epidemic in their practice, with young children and their parents.
The saddest part about this is that the problem starts at home. I am reminded of this daily while I am walking. There is a small transport vehicle that comes into the complex every day during the work week. It is there to pick up a child for some sort of schooling and I'm assuming it is probably a Pre-K type of program because the child does not look to be too old. Everyday, the driver pulls up in front of the building and honks the horn, then the waiting game begins. Sometimes the driver's wait isn't too long and other days they sit there for several minutes. I once knew a driver of student transportation who had a 3 minute egg timer hour glass that he would turn over at each stop.....and wait 3 full minutes for the child to come out, while periodically honking the horn. If the vehicle holds 18 small students and it has to wait three minutes on each one, that makes the ride time for the first child over an hour long and that does not count the travel time between stops. This always takes me back to a time when I drove a similar vehicle. It did not take long for the children on my route to understand, that if they were not coming out the door by the time I got there, they would have to find another way to school.
I hear the words privilege and rights used a lot lately too. My dictionary app defines these words as: privilege; a benefit enjoyed only by a person beyond the advantages of most...rights; that which is due to anyone by just claim, legal guarantees, moral principles, etc. It seems to me that the definitions today are one in the same, but I beg to differ.
It is a right for children to go to school. If the child lives a certain distance from the school, it is a privilege to have the transportation provided but, it is disrespectful to make the driver wait. It is a right to exercise your freedom of speech, but it is a privilege to have the Vice President of the United States speak directly to you, regardless of your political preference but, it is disrespectful to get up and walk out because of that preference. It is a privilege to have a child and it is their right to receive love, guidance and discipline and to learn to be respectful. It is not their right to have every whim fulfilled by their parents, nor should it be a privilege.
So, the last couple of generations of raising children with no boundaries does not seem to be paying off in the long run. While the thought of being their friend, instead of their guidance, seemed like a good idea, the results of that are rather terrifying. I shudder to think about them working in nursing homes, taking care of our beloved elderly. If they are lacking respect of their elders now, what happens to their parents when the parents are elderly?
Just one more thing. These days I hear a lot about "white privilege" and my reaction to that phrase and its meaning is always the same.....it makes me want to puke. If you live and breathe in this country, regardless of color, it might be a really good idea to take a look at how other people, in other lands, live. It will not take much of a search to discover just how privileged we are. That privilege is also a right, so it might be a good idea to understand the difference and respect that.
Tuesday, May 30, 2017
Tuesday, May 23, 2017
A Yellow Raincoat
The rain had been peppering down for most of the night. When I donned the yellow raincoat, the rain had subsided for the moment, but I decided not to take the chance of getting soaked. I left alone this time, without the dog.
Runtly, the ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier and I have been walking each morning. We strive for at least a mile and a half and there are many times he would rather bail at the 3/4 mark. With his recent dip and dive into a pile of goose poo, while I was chatting with a new acquaintance, a following bath, that was not on the list of things to do that day, I decided to leave him home. My husband had already had him out earlier and trying to clean him after a walk in the rain is like, well, it's like having to bathe him all over again.
Walking without Runtly meant I had no need to stop walking every forty steps or so. There were no piles of leaves or pine needles that needed sniffed or places that needed re-marked from the previous day. Once I started moving, I had no reason to stop.
As I walked, I encountered several geese. This is nothing new, it is gosling season and there are geese everywhere. Even when it is not gosling season, there are geese everywhere and most of the time they are ready to let a person know that we are invading their space.
As I approached one group of geese, I noticed they did not seem to mind my presence. Granted, they do not like Runtly and the feeling is mutual, but I was walking right into a group of them and they seemed to not even see me. Not one of them hissed or honked at my intrusion.
I began to wonder if it was the raincoat. Maybe geese are color blind and cannot see yellow. If that was the case, perhaps all they could see was my legs and since they are not any taller that a goose, I surely posed no threat.
It looked as if I had a cloaking device. I tried it again with the next group of feathered honkers and had the same result. Although it was only a two test experiment, I believed it was true.
As the walk ended, the rain began to pepper down once again. I did not hurry, my mind was filled with many thoughts. Lately, I have been giving too much credence to my own problems. Problems that I know, in 150 years will not matter but, never the less, I have let them bother me now.
This morning my thoughts turned away from myself and how bad I think I have it. I thought about my cloaking raincoat. I thought about how I wished all those people, who were leaving the concert in the United Kingdom, had been wearing a cloaking yellow raincoat.
Runtly, the ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier and I have been walking each morning. We strive for at least a mile and a half and there are many times he would rather bail at the 3/4 mark. With his recent dip and dive into a pile of goose poo, while I was chatting with a new acquaintance, a following bath, that was not on the list of things to do that day, I decided to leave him home. My husband had already had him out earlier and trying to clean him after a walk in the rain is like, well, it's like having to bathe him all over again.
Walking without Runtly meant I had no need to stop walking every forty steps or so. There were no piles of leaves or pine needles that needed sniffed or places that needed re-marked from the previous day. Once I started moving, I had no reason to stop.
As I walked, I encountered several geese. This is nothing new, it is gosling season and there are geese everywhere. Even when it is not gosling season, there are geese everywhere and most of the time they are ready to let a person know that we are invading their space.
As I approached one group of geese, I noticed they did not seem to mind my presence. Granted, they do not like Runtly and the feeling is mutual, but I was walking right into a group of them and they seemed to not even see me. Not one of them hissed or honked at my intrusion.
I began to wonder if it was the raincoat. Maybe geese are color blind and cannot see yellow. If that was the case, perhaps all they could see was my legs and since they are not any taller that a goose, I surely posed no threat.
It looked as if I had a cloaking device. I tried it again with the next group of feathered honkers and had the same result. Although it was only a two test experiment, I believed it was true.
As the walk ended, the rain began to pepper down once again. I did not hurry, my mind was filled with many thoughts. Lately, I have been giving too much credence to my own problems. Problems that I know, in 150 years will not matter but, never the less, I have let them bother me now.
This morning my thoughts turned away from myself and how bad I think I have it. I thought about my cloaking raincoat. I thought about how I wished all those people, who were leaving the concert in the United Kingdom, had been wearing a cloaking yellow raincoat.
Tuesday, May 16, 2017
Meanwhile, Back in the Kitchen
It had been with us for a long time. A really long time. Weeks, even months. It looked the same as when it first graced our living space, nothing about it had changed. It sat solemnly in the drawer at the bottom of the refrigerator, never complaining or doing much of anything in particular. It was just being itself, a butternut squash.
Arguing seems to be the best thing to do anymore and the birth of the butternut squash is no exception. It is a winter squash and was developed in Massachusetts somewhere back in the early half of the 1900's. There are two claims to fame for the squash, known as a pumpkin on the other half of the globe, hence the reason for the argument.
Since deciding to try new foods, I purchased the butternut squash after having a delectable experience with a spaghetti squash. One thing about winter squash, their hides are tougher than nails and I was hoping the butternut would not be as challenging as the spaghetti had been. As usual, when it comes to much of anything that goes on in the kitchen, my hopes were all but naught. Another thing about winter squash, they do not come stamped with an expiration date, so I figured it was still good.
This time, I let my husband use the recip-saw to cut through the squash....while I held it......something I shan't do again anytime soon. The halves fell apart and upon close inspection the squash looked to be as good as the day it was purchased. According to the directions, the next step was to peel it.
Peeling a butternut squash, or attempting to, sent me back to a time when I used to go fishing. I fished during the summers as much as possible. One of my favorite water holes was teaming with snapping turtles and the owner had told me they would be more than happy to have a few of them gone. I had watched one behemoth of a turtle trying to grab my fish, that were at the water's edge, on a stringer. I set out to catch it, and I did. I had never dressed a turtle before and had many suggestions as to how to do it. To make a really long story short, my turtle experience went something like this: I wrestled that turtle all over my back yard, had to call in the help of an experienced outdoors-man and even had to set up spot lights to get the job completed.
After that experience, I learned two things. One, the first person who ever decided to eat a snapping turtle had to be one of the hungriest people on the face of the planet and two, I vowed to never do it again.
By the time I got the butternut squash peeled, I ranked it right up there with the turtle.
Tuesday, May 9, 2017
One of These Days
While I was standing in the kitchen, out of the corner of my eye I saw the Voice saunter past. The Voice, that lives inside my head, was dressed from top to bottom in fireman's gear. I rolled my eyes and hollered "It's spaghetti sauce!" as the Voice walked around the corner, this time dragging a fire hose.
I was preparing a home made spaghetti sauce recipe that a friend had given me. It is quite delicious and it makes enough sauce for at least three meals. It calls for two cans of tomato paste and upon realizing I was out of said ingredient, I proceeded to make my own. Google informed me, all that was necessary to make tomato paste was to cook the water out of two cans of tomato sauce. I had already started this process and not only did I make some dandy tomato paste, I did not adhere it to the bottom of the pan.
Now it was time to brown the sausages. I put the oil in my dutch oven and turned on the burner. While it was heating up, I began to work on the garlic. This recipe calls for lots of garlic, the more, the better. I had six cloves of elephant garlic on the cutting board. Elephant garlic cloves are ma-honkin' big, hence the name. I was busy whacking them with a knife, to loosen the skins and peeling the cloves when I heard a very faint sound. It sounded like someone whispered "poof". I nonchalantly turned around to investigate where the whisper had come from and much to my surprise, the dutch oven had turned into a roaring inferno. My very first thought was, "Lois lives". Lois, my mother, was always catching something on fire and we always wondered if maybe she was just a little on the pyro side. The thought that followed that one was how to get the fire out before the mushroom shaped cloud of smoke that was now boiling across the ceiling like a summer thunder storm, reached the smoke alarm.
Runtly, the ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier, does not like the smoke alarm. It not only scares him, it hurts his ears. Jack Russell Terriers are known for their ability to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Well, maybe not quite that high, but they can jump. When the smoke alarm goes off, Runtly jumps five feet straight in the air and barks in the highest pitch bark he can muster. Then he begins to use me to bounce off of, in case I did not hear the alarm. Staring at the fire, I did have the good sense to turn the burner off. Now, about those flames. They were really big, nearly touching the exhaust hood. Armed with oven mitts and the pan lid, I reached into the flames and dropped the lid in place, just in time for the smoke to reach the alarm.
The closest thing to wave at the smoke alarm was Runtly's pillow. One true fact about Jack Russell Terriers, they shed, all. the. time. I'm waving the pillow, dog hair is flying everywhere and Runtly is having a fit. When the alarm finally quit screeching, I began opening doors and windows and discovered first hand why they tell you to get on the floor when there is thick smoke in the room. I would also like to tell that I did not walk over to the dutch oven and lift the lid.....but, I did and repeated the above scenario all over again.
I finally got the pan outside and left the Voice to stand guard over it. The cooking oil I used states on the front of the bottle that it has a 500 degree smoke point. I reckon it has a 501 degree ignition point as well.
Eventually, I did get the sauce made. One of these days I'm going to do one of those ancestry DNA tests......Just to see if there is a crazy, pyromaniac, garlic loving Italian in my lineage.
I was preparing a home made spaghetti sauce recipe that a friend had given me. It is quite delicious and it makes enough sauce for at least three meals. It calls for two cans of tomato paste and upon realizing I was out of said ingredient, I proceeded to make my own. Google informed me, all that was necessary to make tomato paste was to cook the water out of two cans of tomato sauce. I had already started this process and not only did I make some dandy tomato paste, I did not adhere it to the bottom of the pan.
Now it was time to brown the sausages. I put the oil in my dutch oven and turned on the burner. While it was heating up, I began to work on the garlic. This recipe calls for lots of garlic, the more, the better. I had six cloves of elephant garlic on the cutting board. Elephant garlic cloves are ma-honkin' big, hence the name. I was busy whacking them with a knife, to loosen the skins and peeling the cloves when I heard a very faint sound. It sounded like someone whispered "poof". I nonchalantly turned around to investigate where the whisper had come from and much to my surprise, the dutch oven had turned into a roaring inferno. My very first thought was, "Lois lives". Lois, my mother, was always catching something on fire and we always wondered if maybe she was just a little on the pyro side. The thought that followed that one was how to get the fire out before the mushroom shaped cloud of smoke that was now boiling across the ceiling like a summer thunder storm, reached the smoke alarm.
Runtly, the ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier, does not like the smoke alarm. It not only scares him, it hurts his ears. Jack Russell Terriers are known for their ability to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Well, maybe not quite that high, but they can jump. When the smoke alarm goes off, Runtly jumps five feet straight in the air and barks in the highest pitch bark he can muster. Then he begins to use me to bounce off of, in case I did not hear the alarm. Staring at the fire, I did have the good sense to turn the burner off. Now, about those flames. They were really big, nearly touching the exhaust hood. Armed with oven mitts and the pan lid, I reached into the flames and dropped the lid in place, just in time for the smoke to reach the alarm.
The closest thing to wave at the smoke alarm was Runtly's pillow. One true fact about Jack Russell Terriers, they shed, all. the. time. I'm waving the pillow, dog hair is flying everywhere and Runtly is having a fit. When the alarm finally quit screeching, I began opening doors and windows and discovered first hand why they tell you to get on the floor when there is thick smoke in the room. I would also like to tell that I did not walk over to the dutch oven and lift the lid.....but, I did and repeated the above scenario all over again.
I finally got the pan outside and left the Voice to stand guard over it. The cooking oil I used states on the front of the bottle that it has a 500 degree smoke point. I reckon it has a 501 degree ignition point as well.
Eventually, I did get the sauce made. One of these days I'm going to do one of those ancestry DNA tests......Just to see if there is a crazy, pyromaniac, garlic loving Italian in my lineage.
Tuesday, May 2, 2017
Collateral Damage
Unfortunately, during the last move, we suffered some casualties. There seems to be a limit on just how much bouncing and jiggling certain household items can take. I had even taken extra care this time and started packing a week before the move date, but it did not seem to matter.
The first casualty was found while unwrapping items labeled for the kitchen. Two dinner plates did not survive the trip. Since I started out with ten, for two people, I do not foresee a problem, unless the dishwasher quits.
Second in line was the microwave. It worked fine when we unpacked it, but a couple of days later it began to have some sort of laser death ray that shot down in the center of the revolving plate. This was discovered when it started making a weird noise. After opening the door and realizing the middle of whatever food had been placed inside was now nuked beyond repair, we knew it was time to lay the appliance to rest. We really were not using the microwave very much any more, so it should not be missed.....other than it was handy to put little suction cup hooks on its side for the key rings.
Next in line was the TV. We worked all day to get it mounted on the wall, way up high off the floor, only to discover when we turned it on, there was a black stripe right down the middle of the screen. After watching a few YouTube videos on how to possibly fix the ailment, we wallowed the TV down from its lofty perch, took the back off and discovered an unfortunate truth. The black line was there to stay. At least it is in the middle of the screen and we just pretend we are watching it through someone's window.
Last, but not least, was the printer. No matter how many forums I read on what the problem was, it was not to be fixed. This was one thing that had to be replaced because I use a printer for my work. I found one that not only had bluetooth (couldn't they have come up with a better word for wireless wifi capabilities?) it was on sale for about half the original cost.
I do not know why something that is supposed to make life so much easier has to be so hard for the un-technological mind. It took me all morning to get the printer set up so it would finally print. This episode of collateral damage did not star Arnold Scharzenegger, but it would have been nice to have had him here. I would have paid him to see how far he could chuck the printer right out the window.
The first casualty was found while unwrapping items labeled for the kitchen. Two dinner plates did not survive the trip. Since I started out with ten, for two people, I do not foresee a problem, unless the dishwasher quits.
Second in line was the microwave. It worked fine when we unpacked it, but a couple of days later it began to have some sort of laser death ray that shot down in the center of the revolving plate. This was discovered when it started making a weird noise. After opening the door and realizing the middle of whatever food had been placed inside was now nuked beyond repair, we knew it was time to lay the appliance to rest. We really were not using the microwave very much any more, so it should not be missed.....other than it was handy to put little suction cup hooks on its side for the key rings.
Next in line was the TV. We worked all day to get it mounted on the wall, way up high off the floor, only to discover when we turned it on, there was a black stripe right down the middle of the screen. After watching a few YouTube videos on how to possibly fix the ailment, we wallowed the TV down from its lofty perch, took the back off and discovered an unfortunate truth. The black line was there to stay. At least it is in the middle of the screen and we just pretend we are watching it through someone's window.
Last, but not least, was the printer. No matter how many forums I read on what the problem was, it was not to be fixed. This was one thing that had to be replaced because I use a printer for my work. I found one that not only had bluetooth (couldn't they have come up with a better word for wireless wifi capabilities?) it was on sale for about half the original cost.
I do not know why something that is supposed to make life so much easier has to be so hard for the un-technological mind. It took me all morning to get the printer set up so it would finally print. This episode of collateral damage did not star Arnold Scharzenegger, but it would have been nice to have had him here. I would have paid him to see how far he could chuck the printer right out the window.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)