None of us can doubt the economic mess the United States is currently experiencing. The banking industry, the housing industry, and the monumental national debt of some $9 trillion are major contributors that will likely lead to a recession. If our economy continues its tailspin, we will spread our misfortune throughout the world. Call it the Great American Export, a global recess from economic prosperity.
Another alarming drain on America’s well being is the affect of immigration, the illegal part of it in particular. Up to 12-million un-American workers and their offspring are stressing our social services, creating challenges for local and state budgets. One concern is the loss of tax revenues as these undocumented wage earners may work “under the table”. With approximately15% of the Mexican workforce employed in the U.S. an estimated $40 billion was sent home to Mexico in 2006 alone.
Taking note that the number of outsourced job by American companies jobs to countries such as India, China, Southeast Asia, Ireland, Poland, Russia and South Africa, Mexico is currently a prime source for jeans and shoes. Consider also that nearly 60% of all Mexican immigrants in America have not finished high school, many of which lack the skills necessary to effectively communicate in English.
In spite of this, it is shocking that that India has outsourced approximately 5,000 jobs to Argentina, Brazil, Chile and Uruguay. In the next few years they will add another 5,000 software jobs to none other than Mexico, primarily in Guadalajara! Even more incredulous is that, as India continues to outsource jobs that have been outsourced to them, some of those will be in less developed locations here, in the United States!
Since we already have trade agreements with many Central and South American countries, it brings to question why we haven’t taken advantage of the opportunities to improve our relations by exporting jobs to nations south of our border. Even though American corporations consider the education, political and security issues before sending our jobs overseas, our stance with Latin American countries would enhance our perceived interest for their economic development.
An immediate benefit to expanding labor partnership would be reducing the number of Mexicans crossing the border to seek better wages than what can be earned in their own country. There would be fewer people risking their lives and being separated from their families. Leaving their hometowns for our land of golden opportunities may be a positive means to better their lives, but the regrets of abandoning their heritage and the security of family relations must be enormous. Sweat and tears surely accompany the hardships along their journeys.
There is more to illegal immigration than a disregard for our laws; it is a means for their survival. My attitude against amnesty borders on racism, which I claim with embarrassment since I also view myself as a humanitarian and try to imagine the fear, heartbreak, and challenges they encounter daily. I can’t rule out the possibility that I would resort to the same actions under similar circumstances. I certainly wish them no ill will but the drain on American resources is tremendous.
It is unlikely Washington will take any steps to address the immigration issue anytime soon although every politician will offer one of two similar directions – amnesty or not – but they will be less creative than what the situation calls upon.
After over 600 years of European influence, we must accept that Latin America and Hispanic cultures are integral to the cultures in the Western Hemisphere. Many of us resent the choices of English and Espanol for language options everywhere we look and listen, but as globalization continues to develop, America has to absorb and embrace other counties’ interests to regain the respect of the world community.
The billions of dollars that undocumented illegal immigrants burden our economy would be better directed as foreign aid, working with the Mexican government to resolve the troubling issues of our two nations. The rewards would be immeasurable.
If our government figures would get off their political soap boxes, perhaps our great nation can rise above the current controversies of illegal workers and embrace the inherent value of immigration that built the very foundation of our diverse society and we can act upon the Statue of Liberty’s welcoming words, “Give me your tired your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free… the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
PARCEL POST 2008 @ www.parcelpost08.blogspot.com A New Year. A New Blog.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Warming Up to Global Distemper
Global warming is of valid concern to the future of mankind, but man is not kind to each other when discussing the paths to salvation. Although many believe the answers lie with curbing the use of fossil fuels, others are in disagreement on the causes and how to acclimate ourselves to the changing environment.
Statistician, Bjorn Lomborg, a skeptic of climate change from Denmark, claims global warming is less a concern than what most scientists and governments profess. He proposes that actions to reduce emissions that cause green house gases overshadows the logical need of addressing AIDS, and other diseases, and malnutrition throughout the world. To a large degree he makes a valid point. Yet, this very belief also brings to light an aspect as a result of global warming that draws attention to an affect that has already demonstrated other global developments of health concerns.
During the summer of 2007, one hundred people (about 5% of the population) in a small village in Italy became ill with high fever, exhaustion and extreme bone and joint pain, at times to such a severity the patient reverted to the fetal position. Although the worst of the symptoms dissipated within weeks, it was another few weeks before health officials were able to determine they had suffered from a tropical disease, chikungunya, carried by the tiger mosquito. With black and white stripes on the head and legs, it is extremely aggressive and is active both day and night.
First isolated in Tanzania in 1953, normally the disease is found in regions of Africa, and Central and South America, but primarily in countries surrounding the Indian Ocean, including Southeast Asia and the Philippines. Epidemics have also occurred in Northeast Australia. After eradication efforts in Central America were abandoned in the ‘70s, there were isolated pandemics in south Texas in the early 1980’s. There have also been outbreaks in Hawaii and Southwest China.
Dengue Fever, Yellow Fever and the West Nile Virus are all similar in scope of illness, all of which are transmitted by mosquitoes. They breed in any standing water, making it important to keep all open outdoor vessels empty. The disease has turned out to be fatal in diverse age groups.
On the island of Reunion, off the coast of Madagascar, in recent years the occurrence rate of the disease has reached upward toward 30% of the population. Statistics are subject to discussion because illnesses in the past may not have been properly diagnosed; doctors were not aware of the symptoms of the disease because they are similar to those of other illnesses. Although an exact figure has been difficult to determine, in some areas it is believed to have increased the death rate as much as 10%.
The occurrence of chikungunya much further north than previously observed in Europe has brought attention to the effects of global warming as a precursor to other similar incidents in the not too distant future. As temperatures increase, the potential spread of the disease is alarming. There is little doubt that pandemics will become epidemics. Mr. Lomborg may refer to studies that show a warmer planet would have fewer temperature-related deaths, but other effects are sure to offset whatever “savings” he foresees.
He has stated acid rain never became the scourge of the planet as some had envisioned some thirty years ago, yet those drops of water laced with nitrogen and sulfur have become a prevailing topic of concern for agricultural crops in Pakistan, India, the African rain forests, Mexico and China. It is also of immediate concern to Japan because much of its vegetation will be threatened in the next decade. It is the cause and affect of increasing development in China, not likely to subside any time soon.
It is seldom mentioned, but another health concern is, and will continue to be, the added risk of skin cancer. Sunscreen, hats and long-sleeved shirts are already strongly recommended in many parts of the world. The need for qualified medical professionals will be evident as temperatures continue to rise.
Although Mr. Lomborg is at odds with research groups supporting the affects of increased levels of green house gases due to man’s use of fossil fuels, he is not a scientist by profession. He has written two books to supports his beliefs. He is all about numbers, which has nothing to do with common sense. He is all about numbers, primarily in the form of dollars and cents.
It is his belief that rather than waste money toward going the “green” route, it would be wise to redistribute world wealth to underdeveloped countries so they can have the comforts of air-conditioning. Toward the affects of rising tides, he proposes shoring-up shorelines with landfills, as has been done in Lower Manhattan.
Lomborg suggested that if cities, such as New York, where asphalt streets and concrete buildings create an “urban heat island”, were to plant more greenery and paint roofs and streets white it could offset the affects of global warming. This is a simpleton’s solution worthy of ridicule.
Another skeptic of manmade climate change is Lord Christopher Monckton, a Briton associated with Chicago-based The Heartland Institute, a libertarian advocacy group. He is a self-proclaimed scientist, yet lacking an academics degree. As does Mr. Lomborg, Lord Monckton makes the point that rather than waste efforts on addressing what they claim is a natural Earth cycle of warming and cooling periods, time, money and resources would be better spent on addressing illnesses of the world. They both believe increased sunspot activity has played a prominent role in global warming.
They each have their points to be considered but, above all, they are very opinionated and harshly chastise Al Gore for not incorporating dialogue/debate on the issue of global warming, which the former Vice President repeatedly declines.
My interpretation of each of their websites suggests the viewer purchase their books to unveil their perceptions on global warming and the steps they deem appropriate for the future of man during this brief period of rising temperatures. Their convenient truths are available for a price.
Mr. Lomborg and Lord Monckton are not entirely in alignment. Lomborg suggests an appropriate course of action would be a 3% investment of global GDP to supplement research and development toward alternative technologies to meet the demands of energy. Monckton believes this would be an ineffective strategy to curb carbon emissions and that the best solution would be to promote nuclear power as a means to put a halt to deforestation of Earth.
I find it odd that anti-alarmists tend not to acknowledge that, regardless the cause of global warming, harmful gases emitted into our atmosphere aggravate the survival of all living things, and that as the list of endangered species increases more will be found on the extinction list. They are more economists than ecologists.
Those who claim global warming is not primarily caused by man’s use of fossil fuels, and profess that temperature increases would occur regardless of our presence, seem to take pride in confronting governments and political influences rather than provide thoughtful discourse to address their targeted resolutions. They spend so much time and effort brow-beating a cause that will, in the long run, realign man’s harmony with nature rather than continue to abuse and misuse the limited resources it offers.
Alarmists and skeptics each claim that the others “cherry-pick” historical and scientific facts and figures to support their views. Some critique Big Oil for funding research groups that put into question the validity of global warming due to use of fossil fuels.
Doomsayers are said to manipulate facts and figures but to what end? What ultimate goals would bring negative results? What’s wrong with being conscious of the quality of the air we breathe, the water we drink, the food we eat or the animals and vegetation that sustain our existence?
Nay Sayers of Doom Sayers. It is a double negative; nothing gained, nothing positive accomplished. They claim to have the backing of scientists, governments and like-minded organizations to denounce the idea of manmade climate change, but rather than initiating actions toward what they deem important for the survival of mankind, they profess rather than make progress. Do they not have the ingenuity and leadership to formulate a path to bring an end to world hunger and life-threatening diseases?
Skeptics of the generally accepted causes of global warming would better serve themselves, and mankind, if they were to put dedication behind their own beliefs rather than confront those who have established widespread acceptance and are taking steps to correct decades of ill-begotten means of achieving human comforts.
Many feel we are at a crossroads for survival, however far in the future these threats may actually materialize. As with any uncharted territory, time and patience can bring resolution. In the mean time, believers and non-believer each have their own perceived plans of action and, hopefully, somewhere along the way they may join forces to find resolution by implementing courses of action that will better serve the survival of us, future generations and planet Earth.
Working together we can make a change.
PARCEL POST 2008 @ www.parcelpost08.blogspot.com
A New Year. A New Blog.
Statistician, Bjorn Lomborg, a skeptic of climate change from Denmark, claims global warming is less a concern than what most scientists and governments profess. He proposes that actions to reduce emissions that cause green house gases overshadows the logical need of addressing AIDS, and other diseases, and malnutrition throughout the world. To a large degree he makes a valid point. Yet, this very belief also brings to light an aspect as a result of global warming that draws attention to an affect that has already demonstrated other global developments of health concerns.
During the summer of 2007, one hundred people (about 5% of the population) in a small village in Italy became ill with high fever, exhaustion and extreme bone and joint pain, at times to such a severity the patient reverted to the fetal position. Although the worst of the symptoms dissipated within weeks, it was another few weeks before health officials were able to determine they had suffered from a tropical disease, chikungunya, carried by the tiger mosquito. With black and white stripes on the head and legs, it is extremely aggressive and is active both day and night.
First isolated in Tanzania in 1953, normally the disease is found in regions of Africa, and Central and South America, but primarily in countries surrounding the Indian Ocean, including Southeast Asia and the Philippines. Epidemics have also occurred in Northeast Australia. After eradication efforts in Central America were abandoned in the ‘70s, there were isolated pandemics in south Texas in the early 1980’s. There have also been outbreaks in Hawaii and Southwest China.
Dengue Fever, Yellow Fever and the West Nile Virus are all similar in scope of illness, all of which are transmitted by mosquitoes. They breed in any standing water, making it important to keep all open outdoor vessels empty. The disease has turned out to be fatal in diverse age groups.
On the island of Reunion, off the coast of Madagascar, in recent years the occurrence rate of the disease has reached upward toward 30% of the population. Statistics are subject to discussion because illnesses in the past may not have been properly diagnosed; doctors were not aware of the symptoms of the disease because they are similar to those of other illnesses. Although an exact figure has been difficult to determine, in some areas it is believed to have increased the death rate as much as 10%.
The occurrence of chikungunya much further north than previously observed in Europe has brought attention to the effects of global warming as a precursor to other similar incidents in the not too distant future. As temperatures increase, the potential spread of the disease is alarming. There is little doubt that pandemics will become epidemics. Mr. Lomborg may refer to studies that show a warmer planet would have fewer temperature-related deaths, but other effects are sure to offset whatever “savings” he foresees.
He has stated acid rain never became the scourge of the planet as some had envisioned some thirty years ago, yet those drops of water laced with nitrogen and sulfur have become a prevailing topic of concern for agricultural crops in Pakistan, India, the African rain forests, Mexico and China. It is also of immediate concern to Japan because much of its vegetation will be threatened in the next decade. It is the cause and affect of increasing development in China, not likely to subside any time soon.
It is seldom mentioned, but another health concern is, and will continue to be, the added risk of skin cancer. Sunscreen, hats and long-sleeved shirts are already strongly recommended in many parts of the world. The need for qualified medical professionals will be evident as temperatures continue to rise.
Although Mr. Lomborg is at odds with research groups supporting the affects of increased levels of green house gases due to man’s use of fossil fuels, he is not a scientist by profession. He has written two books to supports his beliefs. He is all about numbers, which has nothing to do with common sense. He is all about numbers, primarily in the form of dollars and cents.
It is his belief that rather than waste money toward going the “green” route, it would be wise to redistribute world wealth to underdeveloped countries so they can have the comforts of air-conditioning. Toward the affects of rising tides, he proposes shoring-up shorelines with landfills, as has been done in Lower Manhattan.
Lomborg suggested that if cities, such as New York, where asphalt streets and concrete buildings create an “urban heat island”, were to plant more greenery and paint roofs and streets white it could offset the affects of global warming. This is a simpleton’s solution worthy of ridicule.
Another skeptic of manmade climate change is Lord Christopher Monckton, a Briton associated with Chicago-based The Heartland Institute, a libertarian advocacy group. He is a self-proclaimed scientist, yet lacking an academics degree. As does Mr. Lomborg, Lord Monckton makes the point that rather than waste efforts on addressing what they claim is a natural Earth cycle of warming and cooling periods, time, money and resources would be better spent on addressing illnesses of the world. They both believe increased sunspot activity has played a prominent role in global warming.
They each have their points to be considered but, above all, they are very opinionated and harshly chastise Al Gore for not incorporating dialogue/debate on the issue of global warming, which the former Vice President repeatedly declines.
My interpretation of each of their websites suggests the viewer purchase their books to unveil their perceptions on global warming and the steps they deem appropriate for the future of man during this brief period of rising temperatures. Their convenient truths are available for a price.
Mr. Lomborg and Lord Monckton are not entirely in alignment. Lomborg suggests an appropriate course of action would be a 3% investment of global GDP to supplement research and development toward alternative technologies to meet the demands of energy. Monckton believes this would be an ineffective strategy to curb carbon emissions and that the best solution would be to promote nuclear power as a means to put a halt to deforestation of Earth.
I find it odd that anti-alarmists tend not to acknowledge that, regardless the cause of global warming, harmful gases emitted into our atmosphere aggravate the survival of all living things, and that as the list of endangered species increases more will be found on the extinction list. They are more economists than ecologists.
Those who claim global warming is not primarily caused by man’s use of fossil fuels, and profess that temperature increases would occur regardless of our presence, seem to take pride in confronting governments and political influences rather than provide thoughtful discourse to address their targeted resolutions. They spend so much time and effort brow-beating a cause that will, in the long run, realign man’s harmony with nature rather than continue to abuse and misuse the limited resources it offers.
Alarmists and skeptics each claim that the others “cherry-pick” historical and scientific facts and figures to support their views. Some critique Big Oil for funding research groups that put into question the validity of global warming due to use of fossil fuels.
Doomsayers are said to manipulate facts and figures but to what end? What ultimate goals would bring negative results? What’s wrong with being conscious of the quality of the air we breathe, the water we drink, the food we eat or the animals and vegetation that sustain our existence?
Nay Sayers of Doom Sayers. It is a double negative; nothing gained, nothing positive accomplished. They claim to have the backing of scientists, governments and like-minded organizations to denounce the idea of manmade climate change, but rather than initiating actions toward what they deem important for the survival of mankind, they profess rather than make progress. Do they not have the ingenuity and leadership to formulate a path to bring an end to world hunger and life-threatening diseases?
Skeptics of the generally accepted causes of global warming would better serve themselves, and mankind, if they were to put dedication behind their own beliefs rather than confront those who have established widespread acceptance and are taking steps to correct decades of ill-begotten means of achieving human comforts.
Many feel we are at a crossroads for survival, however far in the future these threats may actually materialize. As with any uncharted territory, time and patience can bring resolution. In the mean time, believers and non-believer each have their own perceived plans of action and, hopefully, somewhere along the way they may join forces to find resolution by implementing courses of action that will better serve the survival of us, future generations and planet Earth.
Working together we can make a change.
PARCEL POST 2008 @ www.parcelpost08.blogspot.com
A New Year. A New Blog.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Hello, my friend
Those are special words. They’re personal, to the point and, accompanied with a handshake and a smile, the sincerity is evident. The greeting brings a smile to my face yet I can’t seem to reply in the same manner. My reaction consists of a firm handshake and something like, It’s good to see you, or How are you doin’?, followed by addressing the friend by name.
You see, it’s just not the typical way us native-born Americans present ourselves. Sure, a handshake or a hug might be in order, although a simple nod of acknowledgement is often enough to satisfy a somewhat distant relationship and doesn’t necessarily suggest a liking of the person.
That out-of-the-ordinary greeting comes from those of Hispanic or Latino descent.
[I don't understand the difference of Hispanic and Latino, not that it’s important to me. I know there are different dialects to consider and each of them may resent being referred as the other. I mean no disrespect.]
Adult males tend to accept a person as a friend in the making. The initial introduction sets the tone of acceptance and camaraderie. The tone is usually dependent on us English speaking people being patient of the accent of the other person. Unless it’s forced on us, many of us lack the patience to deal with anyone outside our segment of culture. Within our own country, there can be an impatient, disrespectful attitude toward certain other regional accents or classes of people.
It’s usually by chance I might be introduced to a Hispanic person and approach them in the same way I make a judgment of character of anyone. Otherwise, I would be biased and a bigot. I place judgment on my own demeanor as I do of others, although there are times when I become aware of my actions after the fact. I’m human and, at times, reflect poorly on myself; there are always I can improve my social conduct.
With the bits and pieces I actually learned from Spanish classes, I make an honest attempt to slip a word in there and there. I call it “Gringo Español”. Quite often it’s embarrassing when a response brings a flow of words and sentences that I can’t possibly piece together. That’s when I give a chuckle and slowly explain “Hable un poco Español”, which may not be quite grammatically correct but a good-humored acknowledgment makes the attempt worthwhile. At the least, the other person appreciates the effort. That alone can setup an understanding of character, which in turn can lead to those words I cherish, “Hello, my friend.”
If only I felt comfortable responding with “Hola, mi amigo.” Now that I have proposed a personal challenge, it is my goal to do it.
PARCEL POST 2008 @ www.parcelpost08.blogspot.com A New Year. A New Blog.
You see, it’s just not the typical way us native-born Americans present ourselves. Sure, a handshake or a hug might be in order, although a simple nod of acknowledgement is often enough to satisfy a somewhat distant relationship and doesn’t necessarily suggest a liking of the person.
That out-of-the-ordinary greeting comes from those of Hispanic or Latino descent.
[I don't understand the difference of Hispanic and Latino, not that it’s important to me. I know there are different dialects to consider and each of them may resent being referred as the other. I mean no disrespect.]
Adult males tend to accept a person as a friend in the making. The initial introduction sets the tone of acceptance and camaraderie. The tone is usually dependent on us English speaking people being patient of the accent of the other person. Unless it’s forced on us, many of us lack the patience to deal with anyone outside our segment of culture. Within our own country, there can be an impatient, disrespectful attitude toward certain other regional accents or classes of people.
It’s usually by chance I might be introduced to a Hispanic person and approach them in the same way I make a judgment of character of anyone. Otherwise, I would be biased and a bigot. I place judgment on my own demeanor as I do of others, although there are times when I become aware of my actions after the fact. I’m human and, at times, reflect poorly on myself; there are always I can improve my social conduct.
With the bits and pieces I actually learned from Spanish classes, I make an honest attempt to slip a word in there and there. I call it “Gringo Español”. Quite often it’s embarrassing when a response brings a flow of words and sentences that I can’t possibly piece together. That’s when I give a chuckle and slowly explain “Hable un poco Español”, which may not be quite grammatically correct but a good-humored acknowledgment makes the attempt worthwhile. At the least, the other person appreciates the effort. That alone can setup an understanding of character, which in turn can lead to those words I cherish, “Hello, my friend.”
If only I felt comfortable responding with “Hola, mi amigo.” Now that I have proposed a personal challenge, it is my goal to do it.
PARCEL POST 2008 @ www.parcelpost08.blogspot.com A New Year. A New Blog.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
The Hypothetical Voter
Florida started it, but now Michigan is joining the pack of states to hold presidential primaries earlier and earlier. Arizona and South Carolina are already trying to be first in line. Iowa is poised to up the ante by moving its primary to December and New Hampshire is hard-pressed to do the same because state law requires its primary be held at least seven days prior to any other presidential primary.
It all reeks of nothing more than political grandstanding.
Voters would be best served with a national primary date on the 3rd Monday in February, Presidents' Day. Not only would this add conformity to avoid the candidates from hedge-hogging their positions on the issues, but also keep voters from jumping on an ill-conceived bandwagon.
PARCEL POST 2008 @ www.parcelpost08.blogspot.com A New Year. A New Blog.
It all reeks of nothing more than political grandstanding.
Voters would be best served with a national primary date on the 3rd Monday in February, Presidents' Day. Not only would this add conformity to avoid the candidates from hedge-hogging their positions on the issues, but also keep voters from jumping on an ill-conceived bandwagon.
PARCEL POST 2008 @ www.parcelpost08.blogspot.com A New Year. A New Blog.
A Justified Hillary
Whenever anyone brings up the Hillary-why’d-you-vote-for-it question for supporting the Bush administration taking the nation to war in Iraq, it must befuddle the Senator as much as it does me. At that time, she couldn’t ignore the emotional outcries from the majority of citizens, who demanded patriotism from every corner in their lives. Whether they were sincere or grandstanding a situation, they evoked a manic demonstration of American eagles, flags and ribbons. 9-11 made an indelible mark on hearts and minds. Hillary went with the flow. It was the right thing to do: get those weapons of mast destruction out of Iraq. I doubt many foresaw how the eventual military mess that Bush & Company would endanger so many of our troops, with no foreseeable success.
If the current sad state of affairs has been an orchestrated effort, it was composed with the help of all the Vice-President’s men. The President continues to put our democratic freedom at odds with the perception from the rest of the world. , making us less civilized in the eyes of other countries. Public opinion of our involvement in Iraq has turned against continuing the war, yet many cringe at the cut-and-run option. We are not cowards.
So, Hillary is going with the flow, again. It’s the right thing to do: admit the President’s failure to win his war, and take a responsible stance for future involvement in international matters, which does not include surrendering to our basis of being in the Middle East.
The Lady In Waiting was duped by the President, as were the rest of us. His strategy was political. Hillary’s response was political. If anyone should question someone’s action and he/she doesn’t respond, politics is the honest answer. Apology not accepted.
PARCEL POST 2008 @ www.parcelpost08.blogspot.com A New Year. A New Blog.
If the current sad state of affairs has been an orchestrated effort, it was composed with the help of all the Vice-President’s men. The President continues to put our democratic freedom at odds with the perception from the rest of the world. , making us less civilized in the eyes of other countries. Public opinion of our involvement in Iraq has turned against continuing the war, yet many cringe at the cut-and-run option. We are not cowards.
So, Hillary is going with the flow, again. It’s the right thing to do: admit the President’s failure to win his war, and take a responsible stance for future involvement in international matters, which does not include surrendering to our basis of being in the Middle East.
The Lady In Waiting was duped by the President, as were the rest of us. His strategy was political. Hillary’s response was political. If anyone should question someone’s action and he/she doesn’t respond, politics is the honest answer. Apology not accepted.
PARCEL POST 2008 @ www.parcelpost08.blogspot.com A New Year. A New Blog.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Mom
As time has inevitably brought me to middle age, I’ve had an increasing appreciation for the life I was given in my youth. Dad was the bread-earner and taught me the responsibility of an honest day’s work. It was a given understanding that neither my brother or myself would carry on a fourth generation of farming the land and herding the cattle. Owning a farm took an early toll on my Dad’s life. He was great; I love him dearly for his valuable contributions to my life but Mom was the one who has had the most profound affect on my journeys through life. Still today, she is constantly a part of my thoughts with her wisdom and common sense guiding me through difficult times.
It’s a vague memory but there were a few years when I called her “mommy”. For another short period of time “momma” was used to get her attention. Of course, she was called “mom” for most of my life. I’ve never used the word “mother” as it was too formal, and the thought of calling her by her Christian name, Maryon, was never a thought. Saying the word “Mom” has always been a special honor of thanks to the woman who nurtured me from birth.
Mom talked very little about her years of growing up on her Dad’s farm but when a friend lost his own Mom, she was right there with compassion, understanding and emotional concern. She told Dave about the devastation she felt when her dad passed away during her senior year of high school. She was his “favorite” of eleven children. Her dad passed away from a massive heart attack just outside one of the barns while doing his chores. I was surprised and felt a little slighted about the candid feelings she shared with my friend. Mom had never talked about her days as a youth, but it was no surprise that she reached out to help someone in need even though she had known him for just a few years.
Mom was always kind and thoughtful to everyone and, even though some of us kids had friends who were questionable in her opinion, she gave us the benefit of our youth to make responsible decisions of our own. There was never anyone she forbade us to share our friendships with. Even my brother Russ’ Eddy Haskell-type classmate was accepted, which was a disappointment to me because he was creepier than Wally Cleaver’s buddy and treated me no better than what the Beaver had to endure.
My Mom was always there for each of us, making sure we ate a full breakfast before getting on the school bus and filled our lunch bags had the right balance of foods, including some homemade goodies. Occasionally we were given lunch money for the school cafeteria but I still preferred Mom’s meals because she knew what I liked and disliked, although we’d compromise on occasions and I’d get something special if I promised to eat something just shy of being a favorite of mine. She knew there were trade-offs now and then at school but that was between my friends and me.
Mom was a busy person with five children and a husband who depended on her to handle everything beyond tending to the crops and barnyard animals, although we heard stories how she had driven the tractors right along with dad to get the fields ready for planting before the children were born. She prepared all the meals, giving Dad special consideration whenever the main course was fine by us kids but not to his liking. She’d pan-fry one of those over-cooked, knife-bending steaks his Mom had cooked for him.
There was always a desert of one kind or another. Sunday afternoon dinner would be followed with one of a variety of cakes, often made by request, and the rest of the week we’d have other sweetmeats to look forward to. Jell-O was a frequent desert but little Ronnie would have none of it if bananas were one of the ingredients, so a separate, special portion would always be there for me. Mom would usually accommodate our likes and dislikes because she loved each and every one of us. Homemade pies with farm fresh apples, blueberries, huckleberries or cherries were some of my favorite pie deserts, but raspberry was special to nearly everyone. Dad would pass on that one and would usually have a couple of molasses cookies.
Even in wintertime there were canned or frozen fruits, vegetables and meats. Dad would plow and disk last year’s garden to prepare the ground for the spring but it was Mom who oversaw the planting, weeding and the harvesting of the fruits and vegetables of our labors. Most times, she was right out there with us, not so much to keep us kids from fighting, but to make sure we didn’t consume too much of our chores. Still, we’d brush off the dirt and eat as much as we could safely get away with, keeping in mind that she’d know how much there should be compared to what we brought in. Fresh strawberries were a casualty of our desires.
The times when Mom would take us out to the hickory tree in the middle of one of the fields to pick up walnuts are fresh in my mind, as are those summer afternoons when we would sit in front of the TV, maybe watching cartoons or an afternoon variety talk show as we snapped wax beans or husked sweet corn for supper. Those were the times when she bonded with us kids, although back then it wasn’t necessary to put a label on everything. She gave us a close-knit and loving environment, making sure we understood how fortunate we were to have such bountiful gifts of nourishment.
Mom usually handled discipline but we got to ages where something other than a hand would have the intended affect. There were times when she told us to “wait until your Dad comes in”. Mom didn’t threaten; we knew we were in big trouble when those words were spoken. We were good kids for the most part but there were times of shame for most of us, including myself. Little Susie was the perfectly behaved child and baby Sally was spoiled by everyone so she could do no wrong.
There was the time I was caught shoplifting. Take note that this was in the ‘60s when stores were a little lenient if the felon showed sincere remorse and terror when a call was made to Mom, forced me to explain what I had done, listen to her yell at me, let her talk to the store Security Officer, listen to her yell at me again, telling me to come straight home to be yelled at once again. And waited for Dad to come in.
There was the time I stole from Mom’s purse. She gave us kids an ultimatum for the thief to make a confession with a thirty-minute deadline. I couldn’t do it but she already knew from the evidence found in the perpetrator’s dresser drawer but even then I couldn’t surrender my guilt. Dad didn’t have to get involved with the situation because Mom’s wrath toward my taking money from the family budget was all it took to make me an ashamed outcast. It took a few weeks for me to redeem myself but her silent reprimand for my dishonesty taught me one of the most important lessons in life.
One other piece of my devilish side that’s followed me through the years was a rather light-hearted moment. I was in the 7th grade and was given an assignment to write a short story for English class. Even today, I don’t know how I got the idea or the knowledge but I was pretty descriptive about life of the Roaring ‘20s. How could I and why would I write about flappers and gin bathes? I don’t remember, but the English teacher called Mom who talked to me about it for a few minutes; I gave her my word to have discretion on what I wrote then she destroyed the product of a creative mind, never to be discussed again. I remember the incident and relish her thoughtfulness.
There are so many great memories of all the things Mom did for me. You may ask, what did I do for her? I never really knew how I could show my love and appreciation for all she’d done. The typical gifts I gave her were always short of what I felt she deserved. I claimed my independence at age 20, moved to Florida, then Chicago and on to Los Angeles before I settled down and bought a home back in Florida. I was extremely naïve when I left the farm yet Mom was the one person who had given me direction and had faith in me to achieve to the best of my abilities, follow her example of ethics, be considerate and understanding of others, and expect nothing other than what I earned in life.
Mom had never flown and swore she could never do it, yet she gave in to the fear to visit wherever I lived. Sea World. Busch Gardens. Catalina Island. The Grand Canyon. Bryce Canyon. Zion. The Atlantic Ocean. The Pacific Ocean. These were special moments in her life as well as mine. She wouldn’t allow me to pay her airfare but it was my pleasure to escort her to sights and wonders she had never experienced. I think she was proud of my abilities to adapt to different environments and maintain successful employment. She traveled with one or more of my Aunts on each of her visits. It was quite an adventure when three of her sisters, Jean, Rooney and Donis came to visit one of their other sisters, Doris, in California. I drove the lot of us to the Hearst Castle and realized too late that there was nowhere to get a dinner after 9 p.m., so we settled on crackers or something, had sodas from a convenience store, played cards and made the experience one of the fondest memories of our lives.
Mom had cancer in her mid-50s and divorced Dad because of his drinking; she “couldn’t deal with both”. She survived and most of her trips were made over the next ten years, when the handicap of surgery of her lower jaw made it difficult to chew and swallow. She was having lunch with my sister, Sally, and her husband of four months; they were about to tell her of her pregnancy and the next grandchild in the family. Paramedics did their best, but by the time I arrived from Orlando the next day I found her life was being extended solely by a support system. She passed away at 4:36 p.m. on February 10th, 1992.
The eulogy was mine to give as I had always intended. I couldn’t keep my voice from constantly cracking but I withheld the tears until the casket was closed. I talked about her love of flowers, sewing and her beloved grandchildren. A script wasn’t necessary.
I think of Mom most days and frequently update her on my thoughts and events in my life.
Mom, I thank you so very much for your love and guidance and so many wonderful memories. I treasure the life you gave me. I’ll always love you, Mom, as only this son can do.
PARCEL POST 2008 @ www.parcelpost08.blogspot.com
A New Year. A New Blog.
It’s a vague memory but there were a few years when I called her “mommy”. For another short period of time “momma” was used to get her attention. Of course, she was called “mom” for most of my life. I’ve never used the word “mother” as it was too formal, and the thought of calling her by her Christian name, Maryon, was never a thought. Saying the word “Mom” has always been a special honor of thanks to the woman who nurtured me from birth.
Mom talked very little about her years of growing up on her Dad’s farm but when a friend lost his own Mom, she was right there with compassion, understanding and emotional concern. She told Dave about the devastation she felt when her dad passed away during her senior year of high school. She was his “favorite” of eleven children. Her dad passed away from a massive heart attack just outside one of the barns while doing his chores. I was surprised and felt a little slighted about the candid feelings she shared with my friend. Mom had never talked about her days as a youth, but it was no surprise that she reached out to help someone in need even though she had known him for just a few years.
Mom was always kind and thoughtful to everyone and, even though some of us kids had friends who were questionable in her opinion, she gave us the benefit of our youth to make responsible decisions of our own. There was never anyone she forbade us to share our friendships with. Even my brother Russ’ Eddy Haskell-type classmate was accepted, which was a disappointment to me because he was creepier than Wally Cleaver’s buddy and treated me no better than what the Beaver had to endure.
My Mom was always there for each of us, making sure we ate a full breakfast before getting on the school bus and filled our lunch bags had the right balance of foods, including some homemade goodies. Occasionally we were given lunch money for the school cafeteria but I still preferred Mom’s meals because she knew what I liked and disliked, although we’d compromise on occasions and I’d get something special if I promised to eat something just shy of being a favorite of mine. She knew there were trade-offs now and then at school but that was between my friends and me.
Mom was a busy person with five children and a husband who depended on her to handle everything beyond tending to the crops and barnyard animals, although we heard stories how she had driven the tractors right along with dad to get the fields ready for planting before the children were born. She prepared all the meals, giving Dad special consideration whenever the main course was fine by us kids but not to his liking. She’d pan-fry one of those over-cooked, knife-bending steaks his Mom had cooked for him.
There was always a desert of one kind or another. Sunday afternoon dinner would be followed with one of a variety of cakes, often made by request, and the rest of the week we’d have other sweetmeats to look forward to. Jell-O was a frequent desert but little Ronnie would have none of it if bananas were one of the ingredients, so a separate, special portion would always be there for me. Mom would usually accommodate our likes and dislikes because she loved each and every one of us. Homemade pies with farm fresh apples, blueberries, huckleberries or cherries were some of my favorite pie deserts, but raspberry was special to nearly everyone. Dad would pass on that one and would usually have a couple of molasses cookies.
Even in wintertime there were canned or frozen fruits, vegetables and meats. Dad would plow and disk last year’s garden to prepare the ground for the spring but it was Mom who oversaw the planting, weeding and the harvesting of the fruits and vegetables of our labors. Most times, she was right out there with us, not so much to keep us kids from fighting, but to make sure we didn’t consume too much of our chores. Still, we’d brush off the dirt and eat as much as we could safely get away with, keeping in mind that she’d know how much there should be compared to what we brought in. Fresh strawberries were a casualty of our desires.
The times when Mom would take us out to the hickory tree in the middle of one of the fields to pick up walnuts are fresh in my mind, as are those summer afternoons when we would sit in front of the TV, maybe watching cartoons or an afternoon variety talk show as we snapped wax beans or husked sweet corn for supper. Those were the times when she bonded with us kids, although back then it wasn’t necessary to put a label on everything. She gave us a close-knit and loving environment, making sure we understood how fortunate we were to have such bountiful gifts of nourishment.
Mom usually handled discipline but we got to ages where something other than a hand would have the intended affect. There were times when she told us to “wait until your Dad comes in”. Mom didn’t threaten; we knew we were in big trouble when those words were spoken. We were good kids for the most part but there were times of shame for most of us, including myself. Little Susie was the perfectly behaved child and baby Sally was spoiled by everyone so she could do no wrong.
There was the time I was caught shoplifting. Take note that this was in the ‘60s when stores were a little lenient if the felon showed sincere remorse and terror when a call was made to Mom, forced me to explain what I had done, listen to her yell at me, let her talk to the store Security Officer, listen to her yell at me again, telling me to come straight home to be yelled at once again. And waited for Dad to come in.
There was the time I stole from Mom’s purse. She gave us kids an ultimatum for the thief to make a confession with a thirty-minute deadline. I couldn’t do it but she already knew from the evidence found in the perpetrator’s dresser drawer but even then I couldn’t surrender my guilt. Dad didn’t have to get involved with the situation because Mom’s wrath toward my taking money from the family budget was all it took to make me an ashamed outcast. It took a few weeks for me to redeem myself but her silent reprimand for my dishonesty taught me one of the most important lessons in life.
One other piece of my devilish side that’s followed me through the years was a rather light-hearted moment. I was in the 7th grade and was given an assignment to write a short story for English class. Even today, I don’t know how I got the idea or the knowledge but I was pretty descriptive about life of the Roaring ‘20s. How could I and why would I write about flappers and gin bathes? I don’t remember, but the English teacher called Mom who talked to me about it for a few minutes; I gave her my word to have discretion on what I wrote then she destroyed the product of a creative mind, never to be discussed again. I remember the incident and relish her thoughtfulness.
There are so many great memories of all the things Mom did for me. You may ask, what did I do for her? I never really knew how I could show my love and appreciation for all she’d done. The typical gifts I gave her were always short of what I felt she deserved. I claimed my independence at age 20, moved to Florida, then Chicago and on to Los Angeles before I settled down and bought a home back in Florida. I was extremely naïve when I left the farm yet Mom was the one person who had given me direction and had faith in me to achieve to the best of my abilities, follow her example of ethics, be considerate and understanding of others, and expect nothing other than what I earned in life.
Mom had never flown and swore she could never do it, yet she gave in to the fear to visit wherever I lived. Sea World. Busch Gardens. Catalina Island. The Grand Canyon. Bryce Canyon. Zion. The Atlantic Ocean. The Pacific Ocean. These were special moments in her life as well as mine. She wouldn’t allow me to pay her airfare but it was my pleasure to escort her to sights and wonders she had never experienced. I think she was proud of my abilities to adapt to different environments and maintain successful employment. She traveled with one or more of my Aunts on each of her visits. It was quite an adventure when three of her sisters, Jean, Rooney and Donis came to visit one of their other sisters, Doris, in California. I drove the lot of us to the Hearst Castle and realized too late that there was nowhere to get a dinner after 9 p.m., so we settled on crackers or something, had sodas from a convenience store, played cards and made the experience one of the fondest memories of our lives.
Mom had cancer in her mid-50s and divorced Dad because of his drinking; she “couldn’t deal with both”. She survived and most of her trips were made over the next ten years, when the handicap of surgery of her lower jaw made it difficult to chew and swallow. She was having lunch with my sister, Sally, and her husband of four months; they were about to tell her of her pregnancy and the next grandchild in the family. Paramedics did their best, but by the time I arrived from Orlando the next day I found her life was being extended solely by a support system. She passed away at 4:36 p.m. on February 10th, 1992.
The eulogy was mine to give as I had always intended. I couldn’t keep my voice from constantly cracking but I withheld the tears until the casket was closed. I talked about her love of flowers, sewing and her beloved grandchildren. A script wasn’t necessary.
I think of Mom most days and frequently update her on my thoughts and events in my life.
Mom, I thank you so very much for your love and guidance and so many wonderful memories. I treasure the life you gave me. I’ll always love you, Mom, as only this son can do.
PARCEL POST 2008 @ www.parcelpost08.blogspot.com
A New Year. A New Blog.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
The Elvis and Sassy Show-off
My adopted boys both turned two years old this month and the term “terrible twos” has already proven aptly decreed. The period has just begun and I suspect my confidence that it won’t be as bad as everyone portrays it to be will quickly bring me to rational acceptance. As they have become more inquisitive, I’ve had to either put items out of reach or remove them entirely. Although no harm has been done, it was wise of me to view candles as a possible tragedy in the making and a lesson to be learned at another time.
Their contrasting features actually make each of them more endearing. As one has jet-black hair and will grow to be of a small, slim frame, my other boy is blond and full-bodied and may have the potential of being overweight, so I’ll have to maintain a watchful diet and promote exercise through the years. It’s a bit reassuring when I see him being playful and how responsive he is to rolling one of the toys on the carpet. The other guy is content to watch and show facial expressions of interest or confusion.
They’ve gotten along so well with each other from the beginning but there’s a hint of jealousy from time to time. Neither of them is aware of, nor comprehends, my words when I tell each of them he’s my favorite, always supplemental the statement with assurance “except for the other”.
They have learned the word “no” very well and I’ve taken great care to make it a positive learning experience by saying it in a firm, low tone. I have no problem repeating it a few times, if necessary, but an occasional loud, firm voice is used only to gain their attention if they are at risk of harming themselves. They fear nothing in the house, including brooms and the vacuum cleaner; I’ve never found it necessary to go to such extremes.
My personal possessions are of little concern; my boys’ safety is always first and foremost.
They love to be nurtured, almost demanding to be held to the point where it may become a concern of dependency, not just for them but for myself as well. As long as I’m aware of that possibility and take corrective action if warranted, they should become independent and confident as they grow. They will always be assured that they can count on me to put their interests and well being above my own.
One of the most treasured times are in the morning as one or the other of my boys will get my attention to be fed. There are days when it’s untimely but I’m never in doubt of waking up at a more than respectable hour. As their day begins, so does mine. The only annoying period in the morning is when they decide to play with my newspaper. True, I don’t want them to get ink print on themselves, but it’s a major misdemeanor when either of my boys rips my reading material. Why does it seem that I’m the one to adjust to them? I was here first!
They never fight, or so I thought for the longest of time. Occasionally I would hear a thump somewhere in the house but by the time I checked it out they were calmly lying on the floor. At other times I’d find a vase knocked over on the floor but just figured one or the other, or both, were playing. It was by chance I saw their bodies entangled, roughing each other up, tossing and turning, feigning injury or exposing themselves in a vulnerable position. They were fighting! But not a sound came from either’s mouths. There was total silence as they tried to outdo the other. I chuckle with delight every time I see them at play-fighting. It happens quite often and they often look to make sure I’m aware of their entertaining antics. Precious.
As Auntie says, “You don’t own them; they own you.” There is surely some truth to the statement but they’re under my protection, not possession.
As you can imagine, these little guys mean the world to me. They keep me on my toes, give me a sense of tranquility and make me appreciate yet another wonder of nature in life. They won’t be with me forever and, although I’m in my mid-50s, I’m prepared as much as possible to lose them before my own life comes to an end. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Elvis, named after The King, is Burmese and the smaller of the two. Sassy, so aptly named within moments of being in my life, is Siamese. Cats and other pets are meant to have one parent figure. I’ve adjusted my diet and corrected some vices to do all I can to outlive them. It’s up to me to accept their inevitable future, to understand grief, shed tears and carry on through life, knowing I have done all I could to provide a safe, secure and healthy environment for all three of us.
They are daddy’s boys through and through. We belong to a Mutual Admiration Society of three. Elvis, Sassy and me.
PARCEL POST 2008 @ www.parcelpost08.blogspot.com A New Year. A New Blog.
Their contrasting features actually make each of them more endearing. As one has jet-black hair and will grow to be of a small, slim frame, my other boy is blond and full-bodied and may have the potential of being overweight, so I’ll have to maintain a watchful diet and promote exercise through the years. It’s a bit reassuring when I see him being playful and how responsive he is to rolling one of the toys on the carpet. The other guy is content to watch and show facial expressions of interest or confusion.
They’ve gotten along so well with each other from the beginning but there’s a hint of jealousy from time to time. Neither of them is aware of, nor comprehends, my words when I tell each of them he’s my favorite, always supplemental the statement with assurance “except for the other”.
They have learned the word “no” very well and I’ve taken great care to make it a positive learning experience by saying it in a firm, low tone. I have no problem repeating it a few times, if necessary, but an occasional loud, firm voice is used only to gain their attention if they are at risk of harming themselves. They fear nothing in the house, including brooms and the vacuum cleaner; I’ve never found it necessary to go to such extremes.
My personal possessions are of little concern; my boys’ safety is always first and foremost.
They love to be nurtured, almost demanding to be held to the point where it may become a concern of dependency, not just for them but for myself as well. As long as I’m aware of that possibility and take corrective action if warranted, they should become independent and confident as they grow. They will always be assured that they can count on me to put their interests and well being above my own.
One of the most treasured times are in the morning as one or the other of my boys will get my attention to be fed. There are days when it’s untimely but I’m never in doubt of waking up at a more than respectable hour. As their day begins, so does mine. The only annoying period in the morning is when they decide to play with my newspaper. True, I don’t want them to get ink print on themselves, but it’s a major misdemeanor when either of my boys rips my reading material. Why does it seem that I’m the one to adjust to them? I was here first!
They never fight, or so I thought for the longest of time. Occasionally I would hear a thump somewhere in the house but by the time I checked it out they were calmly lying on the floor. At other times I’d find a vase knocked over on the floor but just figured one or the other, or both, were playing. It was by chance I saw their bodies entangled, roughing each other up, tossing and turning, feigning injury or exposing themselves in a vulnerable position. They were fighting! But not a sound came from either’s mouths. There was total silence as they tried to outdo the other. I chuckle with delight every time I see them at play-fighting. It happens quite often and they often look to make sure I’m aware of their entertaining antics. Precious.
As Auntie says, “You don’t own them; they own you.” There is surely some truth to the statement but they’re under my protection, not possession.
As you can imagine, these little guys mean the world to me. They keep me on my toes, give me a sense of tranquility and make me appreciate yet another wonder of nature in life. They won’t be with me forever and, although I’m in my mid-50s, I’m prepared as much as possible to lose them before my own life comes to an end. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Elvis, named after The King, is Burmese and the smaller of the two. Sassy, so aptly named within moments of being in my life, is Siamese. Cats and other pets are meant to have one parent figure. I’ve adjusted my diet and corrected some vices to do all I can to outlive them. It’s up to me to accept their inevitable future, to understand grief, shed tears and carry on through life, knowing I have done all I could to provide a safe, secure and healthy environment for all three of us.
They are daddy’s boys through and through. We belong to a Mutual Admiration Society of three. Elvis, Sassy and me.
PARCEL POST 2008 @ www.parcelpost08.blogspot.com A New Year. A New Blog.
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