Where is Walter when we need him?


When I was a kid, back in the dark ages, we had one main news source, and his name was Walter Cronkite. He was solid, and everyone knew he was trustworthy. The nightly news was a cornerstone of American culture. Times, as they say, have changed.

I pretty much loathe the people who “read” the news today. With twenty four hour news station, the broadcasters are desperate to fill hours without being boring. So they opine, gossip, argue, posture – anything for an audience. The talking heads no longer report, they tell us how we should think and what we should do. And the crazy thing is, weak minded, lazy people follow right along nodding their heads and moving their mouths in sync with the talking heads. No one thinks for themselves any longer.

Today, I was driving in my car, and a song came on the radio that tells the true story of the “news reporters” and how they see the world. It’s by the Eagles. Dirty Laundry. You can listen on YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8KOzJ7gNb7Y Holy Cats! Did they ever get it right!

“Bubble headed bleach blond…” “Kick them when they’re up, kick them when they’re down…. crap is king, we need dirty laundry…..” Go on people, have a listen. The Eagles were ahead of their times, prophetic, even.

There are no longer news stations, there are only talking heads and vicious agendas designed to destroy, divide, and decimate people. Can’t trust any of them to tell you the whole truth, and they feast on the sorrow, hurt, and misfortune of everyone. Then make it even worse by twisting the knife in the back of the suffering.

If you want to know the truth, think for yourself, research, and turn off the talking head who are the “wanna be” famous. Trust me, they aren’t even in the same category as Walter was.  Where are the Walters of today when we need them most?

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Please Stop.


Last week, a man fulfilled horrific plans he had made over more than a few months. He stockpiled weapons, ammunition, and bomb making materials, holed up in a hotel room, and opened fire on a crowd below him who were doing nothing more than enjoying a concert. He killed 59 people, injured hundreds of others, and like the coward he was, he killed himself rather than face his crimes against humanity. Most mass killers are like that, cowards at heart who die rather than face their charges.

Seeing all of the sadness, the horror, the pain, the deep unending need to know why will overwhelm everyone who is touched by this madman and his desire to kill. How do I know this is what they are feeling? Let me tell you.

On a cold winter’s day in January 1996, my son was murdered along with his friend Ralph. It was and is a very painful event in our lives. After 20 years it is as much a part of who we are as our names. One learns to live with and through the pain, but it is ever present. A man shot my son and Ralph. I don’t blame the gun, it is just a tool, I blame the man who pulled the trigger.

For all of you who are on your high horse about how bad guns are, just stop. Stop making this about YOU and your political agenda. Stop talking, just stop. Take a minute out of your IMPERSONAL outrage, and allow those who are directly involved to talk. Listen to them. Just stop and listen! They will want to tell you about how wonderful their loved one was. How they lived, what they thought, how much they are loved. They don’t give a flying damn about your politics right now. It isn’t about YOU, or gun control, or where you were, or how oppressed you feel, or any of that.

This is about human beings who were living and laughing and having a great time up until a bullet took their lives.

So just shut up, stop talking, stop arguing, stop all of this crap that has nothing to do with the LOSS OF A LIFE of someone’s son, wife, husband, mom, dad, daughter, child, friend. Stop making about you. By all that is holy and loved in your life, have some compassion, gentleness, and love. At least let them bury their dead, mourn them, and get used to the new emptiness in their lives.

Tomorrow, you will get out of bed and go on with your daily routine. Your lives aren’t changed forever, your normal is still the same. You can go on your merry way, doing your own thing, whatever it may be. But some of those families will be burying their loved one. Some will wait minute by minute to see if they need to make funeral arraignments, or plans for a long recovery for a wounded family member, some of them will weep in sorrow and deepest despair. And the weeping will go on for the rest of their lives.

In unexpected moments, a memory will come to them that will bring them to their knees in pain. Or someone will laugh, and they are sure it was the one the lost, or they will see someone in a crowd that looks like him or her, and the pain will wash over them in waves of agony. And it will go on.

While you, in your self contained world, will natter on about political this, and demanding that because a mad man killed a bunch of people in Las Vegas, Nevada in October of 2017. Meanwhile, the urgency of the event will fade for you, become part of the history of your life, and lose its meaningfulness in furthering your agenda. Other people will die in other events, and for a few days that will grab your attention, but it will fade. And life goes on.

For those who lost someone in that horrific blood bath, it will never fade. Never. They will remember each and every second of the moment they knew they had lost someone. It will take conscious effort to remember to breathe, move, even speak at times. It will never end.

With time, they will learn to live through and with the pain and loss, if they are fortunate to have others to uphold and help them. Some will give in and stop living, some will end it all. Some will find a reason to live and some will simply survive until they can take a breath or a step without feeling like they are going to break into a million pieces like shattered glass.

I know this, because I have been in their shoes and walked that mile. If you haven’t, then shut up, sit down and listen to those who have been there. You are not qualified to know how we feel, what we think, and where our hearts and minds dwell.

Just stop, stop, stop….please.

Soap Box Rant


WARNING: SOAP BOX RANT

I saw a commercial today for Little Cesar’s Pizza Company. I found it absolutely disgusting.

A little prince of a brat was sitting in a chair while his Dad brought him a pizza. He told his dad about a sale at Little Cesar’s Pizza and when his dad shamefully admitted he didn’t get that deal, bratty prince told is father to bend down and the bratty prince removed the #1 logo from the Dad’s hat and threw it over his shoulder in compete contempt for his father.

Was that supposed to be funny? Was it meant to diminish the father in importance? Was it supposed to make parents want to buy pizza for the little brat prince from a store like Little Cesar’s Pizza? Was it supposed to make the bratty prince look smarter than the dad? Was it supposed to make a statement on family dynamics? What the hell was that about?

Why would anyone who is a parent, who acts and behaves like a parent, not a peer of the bratty kid, ever buy anything from a company who has so little respect for fathers? Would they have that same role filled by a woman who was supposed to be a mother? Nope. Would the dad role be filled by a gay guy, black guy, Hispanic guy? Nope. Only a white guy can be such a schmuck. A middle aged, somewhat paunchy, white guy to boot. Why? Because we all know a middle aged white male is nothing more than a schmuck who is worthless, and the only good he does is bring home the bacon, or pizza in this case.

Subliminal messages abound in advertising, movies, television and even in books. We are all rotten parents because we don’t give our little princes and princesses exactly what they want, when they want it, and how they want on a daily basis. We are no longer #1 Dad or #1 Mom or grandparent, we are failures in the eyes of the men and women who run big business. We are failures to be mocked and insulted on a daily basis, yet it is folks like the dad in that advert who actually pay the bills and buy most things for the household and the bratty kids.

Every time I see that ad, I get ticked off. If my child had ever behaved in such a way, they would be doing chores for a month straight, and that is after being told off in no uncertain terms about how much of an ungrateful, wretched little monster they were! Makes me want to reach through the screen and smack that kid right out of the chair he is lounging in along with his hateful attitude.

It isn’t right to portray parents who are trying to feed their kids as inept imbeciles. It creates the idea in kid’s heads that their parents aren’t Number One in any way. Sure teenagers feel that way, but that is part of the whole distancing themselves from their embarrassing parents that happens to every family. By making this kid in the ad ten years old or under, the subliminal message to all kids that age who see the ad, is that Dad is just one stupid mistake from being a total failure who doesn’t deserve the kid’s respect.

Next time a commercial comes on that your child is likely to see, pay attention to the subliminal messages, as well as the context and content of the message. Kids remember what they see and hear, and many copy it as well. And folks, never, ever, buy the products that are using ads that promote division, insults, or politically correct attitudes toward parents who are adults that actually parent, or their children. They don’t deserve your money, time, or loyalty.

I am getting off the soap box now. Going to go educate my cussing corner for a minute. Have a good evening.

Family Reunion


Last weekend, I took my mother to a family reunion down in Texas. I hadn’t been to an event like that as an adult. I knew three people in the entire room, one was my mother. I felt odd, awkward, out of place, and strange. As a mature female of over 60, it was like being back in junior high where everyone else had gone to school together forever and I was the new kid. Awkward.

So, I sucked up my shyness and talked about genealogy, family history, and said hello a lot. I also smiled a lot and I ate far too much good food. It is no wonder all of my family tends toward the round shape, the good cooking gene runs in the family line.

As a child, I grew up away from my parent’s home town. We lived all over the place with the military, and as an adult my husband and I both wanted to be on the move. So I don’t really understand knowing all about one’s cousins, aunts, uncles, and extended family. I know my dead relatives better than the living because I am a family history addict. I am a bit like the odd duck in the family.

They grew up together, or at least with knowledge of one another. And that was a great thing to see. My memories of my grandparents are strong, and real, but these cousins are from different places than my branch of the tree. Still, you could see the solidarity, love, and strength in knowing their family was there in any time of need.

My mother loved every minute, she had looked forward to the event for months and could hardly wait to get there and meet everyone. She kept telling me that she couldn’t belove we were blood relatives to so many people. Of all of her generation, in her family line, she is the only one left. Her parents had two daughters, and my aunt passed away long ago.

Another interesting thing was how the faces looked like faces I knew as a child. The same nose, eyes, mouth, laugh, hairline, walk, and even the way they stood reminded me of other long gone family. Funny how DNA directs how one looks and moves. Strong blood lines tend to breed true. This one certainly does.

I am thankful I went. It was good to see my cousins, two of the few, from my youth that I actually remember. I am thankful that family is so important to our extended family of cousins that they have this reunion every year. I am thankful that I was able to visit the graves of my great great grandfather and grandmother who started our family lines in Texas and Oklahoma.

Maybe next time, I won’t feel so disconnected and awkward. And, perhaps, I will know more than three people in the room.

I Miss My Friends


I miss my friends. Some have gone on past the veil into the hereafter, some have drifted away and are lost in the history of our world. Some I have left behind as our paths diverged and our interests changed. Along the way new friends have merged into my life, and then, as time goes on, drift away leaving memories, good and bad, that live in the recesses of my heart and mind. All of this is normal in the way we live our lives today. Most of us live in one place growing up and never leave, some leave, and return. Some leave and never come back, and even more of us grew up living the vagabond life of moving often due to our parent’s assignments or jobs. It is what it is. And it made each of us who we are.

Still, I miss my friends.

Lately, the friends I think of most are those who came into my life when I was a newly married girl of 16 who moved to a place called California with my 19 year old husband. All of those friends were young, in high school, crazy fun, and as different from me as any people could get and still be American kids. I envied their carefree, happiness. I also didn’t understand their laid back attitude about nearly everything. Oh, I know, teenagers are filled with angst and stress, hormone imbalances, and worries about everything from test scores to love. But, these kids, always laughing, always avoiding the serious issues and discussions, at least with me, seemed to be so gifted, beautiful, happy. I didn’t understand how they could plan for the future without thinking ahead.

I was raised to understand that working hard, was the priority we faced if we wanted to make something of ourselves. Focus on scholastics, focus on reputation, focus on learning skills, and not to worry about dating, silliness. Life was too serious not to worry. Oh, I rebelled against that. I ran away and married the love of my life at the tender age of 16. Not so much to escape as to hold on to the one man I would ever love.

And I equally rebelled, albeit quietly, against the friends who had it so easy and took everything for granted. I knew they would be in for a very difficult transition from carefree teenager to adult. Whereas I had been training for adulthood my whole life, and knew how hard it was to be responsible, to plan for the future, to prepare for life, they were kids. The gap between us was large, but something I could bridge. Envy or not, I knew deep inside they would never really understand me. Not really.

Now here we are, most of us into our sixth decade, or close enough to shake hands with it, and the gap between us is vast, so vast that I often wonder if they live on a different planet rather than still in the same places in California.

During the ensuing years, we gave life to two boys, and laid one of them to eternal rest, raised one granddaughter, welcomed and love five more plus two great grandchildren. We literally lived all over the world, and the United States. The 16 year old from Oklahoma learned a lot about how truly strange the people of the world are compared to even those in California. I embraced it, taking all I could learn and bringing it into my world. As I went from place to place, culture to culture, I learned to love people of all kinds. I may not always agree with them, especially when it comes to governments, but I loved the people and more than one became more like family than friends.

Meanwhile, my friends stayed in California for the most part. And after all these years, most of them are still like they were as teenagers, only more responsible adults and less carefree. They do many of the same things, and most of all, they think just like they always did. As brilliant as they are, -and they are all talented, intelligent, amazing people – they still think just like they always did about things that are important. And, other than two I can think of, they have all become hard core leftists. Not as far as ANTIFA and their idiocy, but liberal in the most liberal meaning. They all say the same things, think the same things, and believe the same things. It is maddening, because I can’t have a conversation of any sort of importance with them without being blasted with anger, frustration, and downright hatred. So, I miss my friends.

Once, the Mr. and I had a party at our house. It was filled to the brim with all of our friends and their friends, laughing, dancing, talking, and, yes drinking. (Although no one went home drunk, house rules. Drink too much, stay the night.) I have a photo of a crowd of us piled on our bed, everyone smiling into the camera. I love that photograph. Arms looped over shoulders, leaning close to one another, it is easy to see the caring, the love between them. As I look at it today, I only feel sad, and distant from that group of kids. I miss them. But they simply aren’t interested in accepting someone as different as I am into that circle. I guess some of them never really did.

Today, of all of those friends in that photo, only one has minimal contact with me. And it is minimal because, as I have grown, changed, and become confident in myself and abilities, I have also become fearless in stating my thoughts and ideas, and beliefs. And my perception of the world is the polar opposite of my friends. Where I used to allow them to run over me and intimidate me with their ideals, I now stand my ground and challenge them. And it infuriates them. In some way they feel I am a threat or a challenge to their way of life or purpose. I honestly do not understand.

I do not understand why a difference of opinions or ideas means people can’t still love each other. I do not see how using facts, logic, history, makes someone a horrid person. I equally do not see how emotion and anger can make a point that is identifiable beyond that one person. When I argue an issue, I don’t get angry, I am truly trying to understand and to learn while still standing up for myself and my point of view. I guess self control is seen as lack of passion.

But, I still miss those friends who were so much a part of my life when I was in the midst of a life changing time. I look at that photograph and have memories, good and bad, that live in the recesses of my mind and heart. So here is to all of you, where ever you may be, what ever you are doing. Thanks for the memories, Blessings Be to one and all, and may you find peace within, and joy in life. With love, as always.

A Day at the Salon.


Other than a handbag addiction, I am a pretty low maintenance kind of female. Not into clothes, shoes, makeup and all that tripe. But I like to have my nails done. Once a month, costs 31 dollars with tip. I try to go when the shop isn’t busy. That way I avoid the one thing that I loathe dealing with when I get my nails done. Other people’s loud, whiny, grumpy, fighting, crying kids drive me crazy!

If you can’t leave them with a sitter, or bring someone with you to corral your little darlings, don’t come. If you must bring them, at least teach them to behave in pubic. Allowing running screaming through the salon, fighting over who is going to play in the water at the pedicure stations, beating the crap out of each other over whose turn it is to have the phone to play with, or just crying because, darn it, they are tired and just need a nap is NOT good parenting. You also might get the hell off the phone and pay attention to you kids first!

There was a great contrasting example today. Two women, both with three kids come in. One sits her kids down on a sofa, firmly tells them to sit still unless they need to use the bathroom. She handed them coloring books, reading books, and toys, reminded them not to be a bother to others when she was called to the salon area. The other woman came in, ignoring her already fighting kids, loudly demanded to know how long it was going to take to have her nails done and how much it would cost. She then argued about the amount of cost, got on her phone and called another salon and comparison shopped, all the while ignoring her kids running up and down the salon, sliding on the newly polished floor. Unfortunately, she stayed instead of going to the other salon. The workers and owner were visibly dismayed.

The first woman just looked at her kids with the mom look, and they moved closer together and tried to ignore the bratty kids.

Mom number two plopped herself down to wait to have her nails done, kids still fighting and screaming for her attention. Every now and then she would yell at one of the kids, but pretty much ignored them.

Mom number one had her kids well in hand, and they were very well behaved. Then the three brats decided that they wanted the other kid’s books, toys, etc. So they just walked up and took them. The littlest good kid, went over to his mom in tears, but still quietly, and told her what was going on. The brats were breaking crayons, fighting over the book, and one even tore a page from one of the storybooks. (I am gritting my teeth at this point.)

Mom One took one look, walked over and took the books and toys back, and told the brats to leave her kids and their things alone. Not in a mean way, but firmly. Mom Two got in Mom One’s face and called her every name in the book and said she didn’t have the right to correct her kids. Mom One told her to make her kids mind then and to teach them some descent manners and that taking things that didn’t belong to them was stealing. That’s when Mom Two said Mom One needed to teach her kids to share because that stuff belonged to the salon. (God save us from stupid people from the shallow end of the gene pool.)

At that point the salon owner told Mom Two she had to leave because she was causing a problem and her children were out of control. She was told not to return. So Mom Two called the cops. Idiot.

The cops turned up, we all had to make a statement. Mom One was told she was right. Mom Two was told to leave and take her kids with her. She mouthed off about a law suit for discrimination. Everyone laughed. Besides me, one other patron, and the workers, everyone else was black, including the owner.

So, what did the kids learn? Group one, do the right thing, support each other, and they have a strong loving mother. Group two, not a damned thing. Sad.

Anyway, I tipped the salon worker extra for doing a great job in the middle of chaos. Complimented the Mom One on her kids. And cheered with everyone else when Mom Two had to take her brats and leave – without getting her nails done.

Brain Drain


I found the Mr. standing in the middle of the kitchen staring into space. Like many of us, he forgot why he came into the room once he got there. This made me start thinking about how long I had been doing the same thing as I had a niggling worry deep inside about going senile. And I think I nailed down the problem that leads us to forgetting things.

Children.

Think about it. Before kids, we generally cruise along in life fighting the battled of becoming an adult. Sure, we forget to do things now and then, but the majority of the time we are sailing along just fine. Then it hits women first when they get pregnant. Baby brain slowly creeps in but we cope with it, after all baby will come along soon and it will all change. Our husbands, partners, whatever, get upset with our baby brain moments, but generally just laugh at us.

Then baby comes along. And so does a complete lack of sleep, organization, and ability to think. New parents are so tired that sleep is more important than showers, food, or even sex. That is when true forgetfulness strikes both parents hard. The slow unraveling begins. Even after the baby sleeps through the night, starts walking, potty trains, and talks, the brain begins to drop bit and pieces everywhere.

OK, kids get old enough to go to school, most folks have several by then, and are pretty oblivious to the brain drain taking place. Mom and dad start making notes and keeping calendars to stay on track, Kids have school, sports, play dates (as silly as that sounds), and there are a multitude of other activities from school plays to family dinners. And the brain just keeps dripping cells everywhere.

By now the parents are in their forties. Kids are driving themselves and creating a life of their own, soon they will be off to college or working (hopefully), and the house gets less hectic. The only calendar kept is one for doctor appointments and such. Until, one day, the house is empty and a couple is alone again. And that is when the final event hits, the memory wall.

We forget what we were saying mid conversation. We forget where we put our glasses Every. Single. Day. We forget our car keys, our wallets, and where we took off our shoes. We double check to see if we fed the dog and if we left water out for the cat. We have to go see if we locked the car door, and we always have to make sure where we put the credit card after using it. But mostly, we can’t go from one room to the next without forgetting what we were going to do when we got there.

Sometimes, we stare in the refrigerator thinking that’s why we are in the kitchen. Or, we go into a room four times before we get what we came for, because we get distracted by something else, and walk out of the room without the one thing we needed.

By the time we get to retirement age, we start reminding each other about things before going out the door. We do a check list, wallet, keys, glasses, hat, sunglasses, cell phone, and most importantly the list of things to get done or for shopping. Oh, and don’t forget each other while you are out.

So, yep, it is all because we have kids. Those that don’t have kids, have extended family, friends, and pets to help drain our brains as we age. Therefore, it doesn’t help not to have kids.

Next time you are standing in the middle of a room and forget why you are standing there, remember to blame it on the kids. And watch your own kids start down the same road with their kids and laugh. Then spoil your grandchildren and sent them home, just to get even.

Feminist or Victimist?


Back in the dark ages of the 1970’s women declared themselves to be feminists by burning their bras, and protesting Viet Nam. They cried, “I am WOMAN, hear me ROAR” while prancing around bare breasted to declare their freedom from oppressive males. Yee Haw, no longer ladies but WOMEN! And a lot of the regular women went along with the hard core man haters as they were bullied and shamed into standing “with the sisterhood.” Personally, I thought the whole thing was silly and embarrassing.

I didn’t need a bunch of females telling me how to be a woman, nor did I need to join a group of man haters and burn my bras to feel free. I didn’t need to have sex with everyone to feel empowered, and I sure as hell was not going to let anyone bully me into being a pathetic follower. I was, and always have been, always will be, a strong, independent minded, fully functional, intelligent, lady. Meaning, I have manners, morals, and a mental altitude geared toward compassion, motherhood, and being a wife and partner to my husband.

However, the hater feminists screamed louder, and the younger set fell for their lies and consummate bullying tactics, and we are now in our third generation of feminist females. I don’t have a clue what women find attractive about that title. More than a few have followed the Gloria group, declaring they deserved to have it all. A partner, kids, and a career that made them feel powerful. That the glass ceiling had to fall, and they would be the generation of women to do it. Yawn… whatever.

What happened is there are generations of kids who were raised in day care instead of their mothers. The women spent their lives torn between career and kids. And if there was time, a moment or two a week with their partner, who still had to work to fulfill the American dream of a home, a car, and two vacations a year. One with and one without the kids. Many longed to stay home, but were pressured by the mantra of the haters to do all and be all – and to be treated just like a man in all ways. Except in a special way. – Politically correct, you know, like they were delicate flowers deep inside.

So, look what we have forty years later. Feminism has turned into Victimism. Women no longer ROAR, they whimper. They no longer burn bras, they think they need to either prance about in a vagina costume, or cover up to support Sharia law. The haters are angry because their plan didn’t work, so they hate men even more, although it is more likely they drove more women away every generation with their vitriol spewing violence. They demand equality, and once they got it, they hated it. Because they weren’t special any longer, but just another cog in the wheel of the working wonks of the world, and that isn’t faaaair…. Be careful what you ask for, it just might bite your right on your ego.

Now, victimism has managed to emasculate every traditional male role, and it has made something as normal as appreciating the beauty of a female body illegal. Feminist flaunted their bodies and told women that it was something they should take pride in showing off. So, women dressed like they were walking sex on display, and now they are whimpering victimists because some guy, or another female, looked at them. Just looked. Well, if you look like a street walker, expect people to see a street walker.

Once, women were treated with respect by benefit of being a female. No longer. We are no longer valued by men as a loving companion, mother, or lover. We are treated just like any other guy, and with less respect than ever. Feminist saw the light in the 1990’s, and decided the way to force their issues was to become victims of Every. Single. Thing. Victimism is the new feminism of the twenty first century. They want fair, but not equal. Fair is not an option in most real life situations. Equal makes them feel demeaned – go figure – and that makes them victimized via being a feminist. Yes, I know, vastly vexing and illogical.

The roaring women of the 1970’s have fallen on hard times. There is no pride in sisterhood, it is every woman out for herself, and the wimpy males that hover in the background are the whipping boys of the future generation of women. Every feminist screamed defiance. Every victimist screams they are demeaned. Listen carefully the next time the likes of Ashley Judd gets in front of a bunch of other females. Hatred, anti male, anti family, anti women who disagree with the agenda, angry, bitter, vitriol spewing victimism all over those who just want to be normal, every day, honest to heaven, women, moms, wives, partners, and most of all happy.

I am not a victim, and I am sure as hell not a feminist. I am a woman, I don’t need to roar, a smile and a chat works wonders to solve issues. Oh, and I quite like men as friends, much more than shrewish victimist females.

Twenty Senior Moment Thoughts


  1. The moments after you wake up and nothing hurts, and suddenly you think you might be dead.
  2. You can’t argue with someone who doesn’t have on his hear aids.
  3. Telling your grandchildren how things used to work in your world compared to their world leaves them thinking you are either a liar, or crazy.
  4. Food isn’t nearly as interesting as it used to be, especially if you have to do the cooking.
  5. Getting to the the bathroom and back in the middle of the night without hurting yourself, tripping on a pet or shoes, or stubbing your toe on the bed frame is considered a victory.
  6. Taking a shower without someone else in the house to help if you fall is a daring thing.
  7. Running is not an option. Don’t care how big and scary it is. Not happening.
  8. No one cares if you suck in your stomach, because people actually look at your face to see if you can their read lips.
  9. You can say anything you want, no one dares take on the ticked off old lady.
  10. If you have your walker with you, people let you go to the front of the line. Really. They do.
  11. You can tell other people’s bratty kids to stop behaving like a brat. It scares the crap out of the kids, and embarrasses the parents.
  12. When someone young complains about how hard life is, you can mock them by telling them, “Child, you have NO idea how hard life can really be.”
  13. Going out means going to the grocery or out to eat so you don’t starve. Otherwise, why bother.
  14. Music from your era is now elevator music. Scary to hear “Taking Care of Business” played with violins and muted horns. Very scary.
  15. It is easier to relate to old people. I mean really old people, like your parents old.
  16. It is harder to relate to your grandchildren or great grandchildren because, well, they just don’t get interpersonal relationships. They have techno friends instead.
  17. Language doesn’t mean what it used to mean. Slang has evolved into everyday speech, and proper English has disappeared in conversations.
  18. Try explaining how short cut words and TEXT speech are impossible to say out loud, do it often enough that it drives kids nuts. R U does not spell ARE YOU. Really, it doesn’t.
  19. It no longer matters if you wear pajamas all day long. It is just practice for the day you are in a nursing home or left at the funny farm.
  20. Being grumpy and ticked off is the best way to get your daily aerobic exercise for your heart. Less sweaty too.

I Will NOT Feel Guilty About Christmas Gifts.


I saw a meme on Facebook today that left me speechless, for all of four seconds, then I was totally ticked off. I do NOT like it when people try to manipulate me in any way, and this was exactly what the meme was trying to do.

Basically, it calls people on the carpet for buying nice gifts for their children and labeling them from Santa Claus. Because, after all, some other child might not get anything as nice as a laptop or phone, they may only get gloves and a scarf or something less expensive from the man in red. Therefore, those of us who give our kids something from ‘Santa’ that is more expensive will cause hurt feelings if they share what they got with those less fortunate. In other words, we have to limit what we spend on our kids, or we are guilty of flaunting our wealth, and that makes us evil people.

Quite frankly, that is a load of bull$*(*#!!! If you have kids young enough to believe in Santa, they won’t give a flip how expensive the gift is, because it will be from Santa! That is all that matters. If they are old enough to know the cruel truth of who bought them the gift, then they won’t be upset because it will be from you no matter what name is on the package. Sometimes the logic of the knee jerk emotional response people baffles me. No, the logic of such people always baffles me.

Why would it be my responsibility how your child reacts to what my child receives for Christmas or any other time a gift is offered? I don’t expect you to buy your children’s gifts based on my income or what my child might want. It is utterly ludicrous to suppose that anyone should be involved in gift giving between myself, my children or grandchildren but us.

Everyone knows Christmas comes around every December 25th. Everyone knows that we give gifts to one another in remembrance of the gift we received from God in the Savior, and in the gifts the Magi gave to the Christ child. We know it is coming all year long. I do not understand why everyone waits until the last possible minute to recognize the expense, whether in dollars or time and effort, that will be added to the budget. So let me explain how we do things.

In January, I take my empty Christmas money jar, and start putting back as much as I can from my budget. Some months it is more, some less. I have a goal of one hundred dollars per child or grandchild, a bit less for the babies as they are happy with wrapping paper and boxes until about the age if two. I also factor in things like baking goods, baskets, and wrapping paper to the fund. As I save each month, I start a file from each kid or grandchild about the things that they are interested or would like to have. It gives me a bare bones budget from which to work.

Around the end of October, I start shopping in earnest. I look for sales, coupons, two for one sales, any way to save money and still buy them what they want. It doesn’t matter if it comes from Santa or me, each gift is carefully chosen and paid for with CASH. No debt here, thank you very much. By Christmas, I have spent my savings, prepared goodie baskets for my friends and neighbors, wrapped all the gifts, and have everything set for a family dinner.

Even on a limited income, this can work as long as you are diligent about saving and keeping the funds for Christmas. The trick is to be determined not to waste the funds on other things. If it is in the Christmas jar, nothing short of a life and death situation will get it out of the jar before Christmas. My point is, that anyone can give their children nice things, if they want to work hard enough for it.

Sure I will go without other things, and maybe I won’t have that extra whatever I wanted, but at the end of the day, did I really need it? How many pairs of shoes, or handbags, or goodies does one need to be healthy? Not too many. I would rather see my granddaughter’s face light up with joy at her “Santa” present, or have a heart felt hug from my son for the item he has wanted for a long time, but didn’t want to spend money on with a family to feed.

So, back to the meme, get over it people. No one is responsible for your family but you. My family comes first, and what I have left over, I share willingly and for as far as I can stretch it. Maybe it will only be a basket of Christmas cookies and muffins, but it is given with love and appreciation to my friends and family.

Don’t try to manipulate or guilt people into shame for doing well, working hard, and giving generously, be it from “Santa” or from Nana and Papa. It makes you look inept, immature, and impractical. It used to be people stood up for themselves, they didn’t expect everyone else to feel sorry for them and make life easy. Be honest with your children. They aren’t stupid, they know if you are wealthy or if you are barely making it. So, work hard, save hard, give with love, and teach your children to do the same.