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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Already? Really?


1. Jimmy Kimmil is NOT a police officer, nor is he a politician or law maker. He is NOT my conscience, I can do that all on my own. So why would anyone bother to listen to a late night host of a boring TV show? What is he to you lot, the second coming of the Savior? Not to mention, okay I will mention, that he has a hate America agenda led by his ignorance of both history and law and his sick adoration of the Clinton cow and her cronies.

2. It sure as hell didn’t take long for politicos who hate President Trump to start screaming about gun laws. Why? Because they will never let a good disaster go to waste so they can further their agenda. How about we take time to mourn and give the families a chance to mourn before you all make their loved one’s death a political football?

3. I will never give up my guns, tazer, or any other form of protection. I am highly trained with a great deal of ability when it comes to guns. I won’t miss anyone who tries to hurt me or mine, I won’t travel into a city, or on long trips without a form of protection and you won’t get that law changed no matter what you think. There are more of us who want that freedom of protection than those who want to enslave us within a wall of hate. Besides, there are other ways to commit murder. Anything can be a weapon, from your elbow to the nearest large, heavy object. Get real people.

4. WE DON’T KNOW why the successful, very wealthy, guy decided to kill people. He wasn’t crazy, crazy folks wouldn’t plan so carefully. So back off the bullshit and give the authorities time to figure out the truth. Until then, it is only gossip and speculation on why and what happened.

5. The LAWS of the states where he bought the guns cleared him to buy them. So forcing a change on the federal level won’t change a thing, except make it very profitable for gun runners and criminals to buy and sell weapons.

6. If he didn’t have guns, he had a plan B according to what was found in the houses, he was going to blow people up instead. So stop blaming guns, and start letting the cops do their job before becoming all holier than thou and political about something so painful and horrific.

Armchair politico PAOL people drive me nuts! Where the hell did you ability to be logical go, up in smoke? PAOL means perpetually aggrieved and offended liberals.

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.

It Is Over, Finally!


It is over. Finally, We have a new President, a new Congress, and a new agenda. Time to get to work, so just stop having tantrums and act like adults. You have four years to work the kinks out of your complaints and to fix your democratic party. By then, even the most infantile amongst you should be mature enough to understand politics is not personal and have to do with the country, not your feelings.

President Trump is neither a Republican, nor a Democrat, he is an Constitutionally aligned Independent, and as such, has no loyalty to either party in power. Bravo! America First, not the pundits of the Washington D.C. Beltway. As such, he will have an uphill fight against all the entrenched politicians who are stunned that he actually won. I was laughing like a loon once he was sworn in as our new President.

Yes, Our new president. I loathed everything Obama stood for, the very sound of his voice made me ill. Nothing he had to say interested me, I was worried about living day to day under his regime. But, he was still the president, and even if I couldn’t respect him as a man, I could respect to office he held. It was a struggle, but I managed. So suck it up cupcakes, and learn to deal with the present, not what you didn’t get.

Today is the first day of the new presidency. What do we see, what does the rest of the world see? People who should know better out tearing up businesses, burning things, screaming foul language, and exhibiting rude behavior all in the name of an almighty temper tantrum. You did this when your candidate lost, it didn’t change a thing; one would think you would learn from that. Have your tantrum, all it does is make people with an ounce of common sense laugh at you, find you immature, or a paid ally of the true enemies of the United States. Just stop. It will not change a thing, nothing, Nada, and the administration of President Donald J. Trump will go forward.

I am hoping when the histrionics, snowflake crying sessions, thumb sucking, and kicking of feet stops (probably when they get bored, hungry, stoned, or sober), that people will just learn to make a difference in their lives for good and for the good of their communities. Stop playing patty cake with childish behavior, and take another step toward being a grown up. Roll your sleeves up, and get to it.

People of my generation used to protest, but my heavens, we didn’t tear up our own neighborhoods to make a point. We didn’t tear up anyone’s neighborhood. We had to live and work there the next day. This mess will take days to clear up, and people will be out of work because of YOU. Feel good now?

Look, life doesn’t stop for anyone, and all of us have a finite amount of time here on earth, why not use it to build something, make something, grow something rather than destroy what others have worked hard to obtain?

Many people will never like President Trump, eh, so, don’t like him. His job isn’t to make everyone like him, his job is to keep American safe, financially stable, and strong. Your opinion isn’t going to change those things that need to be done. No one is taking any rights away, for heaven’s sake, and heaven knows women have the same if not more rights than any man. I don’t care if you are one of the rainbow alphabet people, or an 80 year old white man, we all need to be safe, financially stable, and have the strength of the military to protect us against terrorism.

We are all people, different, thank goodness, some good, some bad, some peaceful, some angry, but we are all people. Stop pretending to be offended at every little thing, stop pretending to be scared of progress, stop being a damned victim and simply work to be a descent human being. I don’t like some things I see, and I certainly didn’t like Obama at all, but I didn’t cry about it. We tried it the uber liberal way, it wasn’t working. Time to try something new. Crybabies and cupcakes can go to your safe place and sulk all you want, but Mr. Trump will still be president tomorrow. Keep acting out and your safe place might be the county jail, because like with all childish displays of temper tantrums, the adults in the room get tired of it, and discipline happens.

Now, lets see what is going to happen before making the decision to be a brat.

How Did I Get So Old So Darned Fast?


Today I turned 62 years old. I think that qualifies me as older than dirt. I know it qualifies me as a senior citizen. What I want to know is how it happened so darned fast. Just a few weeks ago, I swear I was trying to figure out the whole concept of being an adult.

When I turned nine, I remember it well, because my parents gave me a copy of Huckleberry Finn. The first real book I remember ever getting. I still have it. And I took time to re-read it not too long ago. When I turned 17, I was a married woman of a whole three months. I remember thinking I had it all, and knew it all, and wasn’t afraid to face everything life would throw at me. I was a grown woman, and by heaven I knew it all. Arrogance knows no bounds to a 17 year old.

When I turned 20, I had a three month old son, he was taking me down a peg or two in arrogance, and teaching me that being a grown woman was harder than it looked. Being a mother certainly was harder. Little did I know that by the time I turned 22, I would have a second baby boy and life was set on fast forward for the next twenty years or so.

I don’t remember many spectacular birthdays. They seem to blend together. However, I remember when I turned 30, my two best friends kidnapped me, drove me all over Harrison, Arkansas for a few hours, then took me out to eat at a steak place. When I walked in, almost the entire church ward, most of my Boy Scout Leader friends, and many others turned up for a surprise party. I was totally shocked. Not a clue slipped out from anyone. Back then, there were no cell phones, so no one was able to tip me about the kidnapping or anything. It was great! I was fully embarrassed, but it was the slickest thing anyone has ever pulled on me. Candy, and Edie Mae , I have not forgotten, and I will get even one day.

The best gifts my husband gave to me are: The Elton John Concert in Hong Kong, The Michael Buble concert in Memphis, and my beautiful blue Honda Del Sol sports car, I call Posh. Treasured memories, and one of the most fun toys I have EVER had.

Once our boys moved out and on with their lives, and we got custody of Crystal, we decided to move to Europe, and then around the world, using employment opportunities to set off on our next adventure. When it was time to move on to the next new home, it was always on my birthday. We were either moving into a place, or packing to move out of a place – or in accommodations between places. Since it was either a sad time, or an exciting time, there was never time to pay much attention to celebration. One exception, however, was when we were living in Hong Kong. The other moms with children Crystal’s age who attended the same international school as Crystal took me to lunch. It was a fabulous time, and each gift is still something I use today, or wear today. They are part of my treasure horde. Of course, tea in the plaza after school every day was special too. Sigh, I miss you all.

I guess I was busy having a life, and simply didn’t notice time sneaking past at such a rapid rate. Technology has overtaken the simple pleasures, and I miss that. I miss being the mom of growing boys (before teenage hell set in). I miss the summers at the swimming hole with Edie Mae and her girls, and Candy and her boys along with me and my kids. I miss the Plaza with the ladies there and their kids, I miss the women in London and Nottingham, and I miss the dear friends in New Zealand, especially Leah who was more than willing to give me a kick in the attitude when I needed one most. I miss being young and strong physically even if I am old and stronger emotionally and have more wisdom.

The older I get, the less it matters if we celebrate my birthday or not. It is a day I do a lot of reflection on my life. Since it is so close to Christmas, and the anniversary of my baptismal date this month, there always seems to be more important things to focus on. Especially, for me, spiritual matters.

But I still don’t understand how I got from 22 to 62 so darned fast! The upside, is now I have grandchildren, and great grandchildren to love and spoil. I have a husband of 45 years, who has grown up and old with me. And who can still carry on a conversation and debate over all sorts of interesting topics with me, Who still, after all this time, wants to have adventures with me. So, I guess the real trade off of getting old, is that I have had a great life, get to do so much more, and know that life is still full of adventures.

Enough Already


Okay snowflakes and crybullies, enough is enough. It is one thing to protest, you have that right, it is totally different to riot because that crosses the line to illegal activities.

Those windows you broke, the businesses you looted, the cars you destroyed, those belong to someone who works hard for a living. Many of them may have voted for your candidate. In fact, most of them probably did seeing as the areas being looted are in the most liberal cities in the country. How does that help your ’cause’?

All Americans who have been on the opposite side of the results of an election have been disappointed and upset by being on the losing side. But I have yet to see Conservatives tearing up the town to protest their loss. It seems that the majority of them are either too busy working or too busy taking care of family and helping in the community to go out and break things. If they do protest it is by voting or writing a letter to their congressional representatives. It is a futile thing to keep expecting a different outcome from behaving the same way over and over.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr must be turning in his grave to see how people “protest” these days. Dragging a man out of his car and beating him just because he is white and may have voted for Trump, beating a girl at high school because someone in her family voted for Trump (she wasn’t even old enough to vote), beating a 70 some odd man because he shouted All Lives matter and the black woman next to him didn’t like it, all of those are acts of violence. Dr. King was as anti violence as anyone could get. He helped change the world for Black and White people, and this is how you treat his legacy? Really?

To be clear, according to my DNA, I am a multi-race person. I have light skin, light eyes, and silver hair, but I am not just white. Likewise, if you are an American for more than one or two generations, you are probably as mixed race as I am. So that will make you just like me and me just like you. Get over the race thing, it is immature and self defeating. No one respects a bully, and that is what calling everyone racists is doing, bullying.

Get over yourselves all you millennial snowflakes who melt and swoon at the drop of the use a perfectly decent word. When you grow up and leave your protected safe place at university, you will have to go out into the big bad world and work. Guess what, your boss isn’t going to give a rap about how someone micro insulted you. Put on your big boy or girl britches and grow the hell up. The whole micro aggression thing used to be solved easily on the playground around the age of six. “Sticks and stones may break my bones… or it bounces off of me and sticks to you…” Holy cats people, have you really been so wrapped in cotton wool and protected by your helicopter parents that you can’t cope with someone saying something without taking it as an insult or becoming a sobbing mess?

I have noticed, however, that the most easily offended snowflake or crybully is often the first to start screaming invectives and socially unacceptable verbiage as soon as they have two or more bullies at their back. Having a conversation is not allowed due to their allergy to their self perceived micro aggression. Instead, they start throwing things and becoming unmanufactured in the most vicious way possible. Then they whine about racists, sexists, homophobic, people who don’t understand them. Well gee whiz, Wally, get a grip, no one is required to agree with or understand your snit fit.

I am old, to most of you snowflakes, ancient. I don’t agree one whit with the whole concept of safe places, binky, and blanket nonsense that you demand like a bunch of spoiled two year old brats. If you are considered an adult, act like one. Otherwise, go to your safe place and suck your thumb until you can act like one. Enough enough, it is time to get over yourselves.

It Isn’t Personal


I know that all my liberal friends are in deep mourning – and in one of several stages of grief – shock, denial, anger – at the moment. I am sorry you are taking this so personally, because it isn’t a personal attack on you, it simply is what it is.

I don’t get all the emotional reaction to any of this. It isn’t as if it is some sort of personal insult to all the people who voted for Clinton and lost out. Opposite sides voted, one had to win, ergo, one had to lose. I don’t understand the investment of deep emotions over something which we, individually, have no control.

This isn’t about emotion, it is about politics. Period. Had Trump lost I would have been disappointed, but my life would go on and I would keep fighting to keep America free. I wouldn’t start destroying other people’s property or break down into a sobbing mess.

Just because the candidate I voted for won, doesn’t mean he is going to get a free pass, he will be watched very carefully by his supporters, and, I hope, by all Americans.

So, do your grieving, take a deep breath, grab a drink of something soothing, have a good cry, and when you are ready, join the rest of us in making a difference in the world around us.

Three Generations


As I was holding my new great granddaughter and watching her milk drunk little face fight off sleep, I was struck by a sudden, overwhelming, love for her. It felt, in many ways, just like the love I felt for my new born sons many years ago. I guess those innate nurturing emotions never fade.

I was a young mother. By the time I was twenty-one, our two boys were born. It wasn’t easy to be so young, poor, and parents. But we were, so we just worked harder, made do with less, and loved our kids. We learned to accept the fact that one of us would be out driving around in the middle of the night to sooth a grumpy, over tired baby. We learned to live with sticky mystery goo on hands and faces. We could wrangle a two year old into the bath while talking on the phone and feeding a new born. We were fast diaper changers, quick to feed a baby, and very good at carrying on a conversation with each kid and each other at the same time. Our house was loud, active, and somewhat crazy.

I never got the laundry completely done, not even when they were teenagers. I was always facing a sink filled with dishes, and a house that was beyond messy. But, my boys and I had fun, and it was much more interesting to be with them than it was to clean house. We survived bumps, bruises, bike wrecks, fist fights, stitches, and broken bones. Not to mention childhood illnesses and germ filled school days. It didn’t matter to me that things went unfinished or undone when a Scouting project or school project took up our evenings. Dishes would still be there the next day. We managed the teenage years. Not as well as we could have, but we managed.

Then, suddenly, my boys were grown. And, before I was ready, our first grandchild was on the way. She was born between Christmas and New Years, and we were thrilled to have a girl to spoil. We never really thought we would raise her, but when we lost her father, we did. So instead of cars and building forts in the woods, we had a little girl who knew she was a princess. She spent six months of her third year determined to turn used computer parts into a time machine. And she refused to go to sleep unless her Papa told her about another Princess Crystal adventure. I honestly think that those stories were as real to her as her own life. We did all the things we did with our boys, only differently. She was, and is, high maintenance in many ways. And our greatest delight was to see her riding on her horse in a show. She is a natural. But, suddenly she was a grown woman, with a baby of her own on the way.

Our second son gave us two delightful grandchildren. A boy and a girl. Both are smart, funny, opinionated, and a joy to us. It is different from our first grandchild, it is more like being a real Nana and Papa rather than a parent. Our son is a single father, and he does a super job raising his children. The divorce was not amicable, but at least he gets to see his kids every day. When I see him telling them the exact same things I told him when he was in trouble as a kid, I smile inside knowing I did something right.

Now I have a great granddaughter. She is only three weeks old, and, like most babies, she has taken over our home and our hearts. I have raised, or helped to raise, two generations of children. And at the age of 58, I get to be involved with a third generation. And as I talk to my granddaughter, I hear the words I told her about raising her come straight from her heart as she talks about raising her daughter.

I am a mother, grandmother, and a great grandmother. My life has been raising kids, encouraging my husband, and constantly improving me. I do not regret one moment of being a parent to two rowdy boys and one little princess. It has been the greatest accomplishment of my life, better than my degrees, and all the world travel we experienced. Raising kids to be faithful, hard working, patriotic, and dedicated men and women is the best thing I have ever done, or will ever do.

If you take the jump to parenthood, you will see that all the work, lack of sleep, school projects, and laughing at the dinner table is well worth it. Because that crying baby in aisle two of the grocery store that annoys you now, is going to grow up one day, and he will take on his world from the lessons his parents taught him.

Three generations of children fill my heart. I am blessed and thankful for the opportunity to love them.

Comforting Traditions


I have come to the undeniable conclusion that I am turning into a pack rat. (shudder) I figured that out by taking a look at the exterior of my refrigerator this morning. It had become, one bit of stuff at a time, the standard hoarding place for magnets. Under those magnets were photos, old phone numbers, ancient appointment cards from all sorts of places, bits and pieces of tools, keys, reminders, sticky notes, and plain old STUFF that should have long since gone into the rubbish bin. There were some great things on there too, like the drawings made for me by my grandchildren – two years ago, and a few of the awards Crystal got when she was doing martial arts, when we lived in Virginia – six years ago or more. But most of it was just stuff we all got too lazy to throw away.

What wasn’t on the refrigerator, was our yearly calendar – something that was a mainstay in our home for the past 41 years. Our lives went on the calendar, and when it got too busy, everyone ended up with a different color pen to write in their events, just to keep straight who I was taking to the soccer practice, and who was going to be dropped off to hang out with a friend. School assignments from the class syllabus went on there too, so I could stay on top of what next important project had to be finished first, or when a big exam was coming up. That way I could do the Mom thing, that makes our kids hate us, and nag them to get it done.

Calendars used to be important. At least they were when I was first married and then raising my boys. Now everyone has a smart phone, or PDA, or laptop, or an i Pad. Who needs something hanging on the fridge or bulletin board that has cheesy pictures or boring sayings leaching down the pages, when they can download, upload, tweet, text, FB, or set up the phone to ring an alarm to remind them of the things going on in their lives? Yet another casualty to the advent of the every changing tech world.

When I was a little girl, getting a new calendar each new year was a big deal. At first we got one from the garage where my granddad worked, but when we got old enough to know when the picture of the girls on each month were, shall we say, a bit saucy, my Grannie would get one from the grocery store for free. It was boring, and didn’t have many things worth looking at other than the food we knew we couldn’t afford.

The first time I got a calendar for Christmas, I was thrilled! I was allowed to put everyone’s birthday, important dates, and appointments in the blocks under the pretty picture. It was so exciting to be able to cross off days for big days and events. My first calendar was all about Pioneers who settled in Oklahoma and the west. Old photographs, drawings, and on the page for September, a map that I studied until the page fell out. That was when I realized the world was massive, and to find my way around I would need to understand maps. I am still a map junky. Forget Map Quest of any of the maps on line, give me a paper map with a million details and I go anywhere my dreams take me.

I’ve had calendars with cats, dogs, horses, Harley Davidson Motorcycles, cute kids, bratty kids, dolls, Scouting, guns, cartoons, castles, great writers, great artists, and much more gracing the months and edifying those who take the time to read the words on them. One of my favorites was a calendar that Riley made for me in Cub Scouts. Each month had a finger print or hand print turned into an animal on it. It was stapled at the top, and not all of the boxes were straight, but I loved that calendar and used it for the whole year.

So, this year, I bought a calendar with silly cartoon cats doing all sorts of obnoxious things. I wrote in everyone’s birthdays, added a few anniversaries, big events, and goals. Now that my refrigerator is DE-junked, I have put it on the front with huge magnets that will hold it all year. Now I feel organized and a bit more in control. Like comfort food, comfortable traditions can make our world right in the midst of change and chaos. All I have to do now, is keep everyone else from using it for the family bulletin board and a place to stick stuff they don’t want to take the time to put away.