Category Archives: life
Bottled Lightning recently graduated with her Masters in Statistics. With the requisite mariachi band recessional.
As I said at her celebratory dinner, I should’ve known way back when that she’d end up a statistician.
1. When she was 3 she had a “binky” collection which consisted of cicada skins. First, she had them in a jar. Then, she got a square piece of cardboard and glue-gunned the whole lot in equidistant rows. The affair ended in a horrible tragedy, when the dog we had at the time ate them.
2. We went on a long road trip when Bottled Lightning was 9 or so, during which she kept a running tab of roadkill we passed on the highway. Separated into species. Quantified. Then charted on the computer.
Why am I telling you these semi-horrifying tales? Well, to make a point.
Kids do things that make no sense—at the time. Let ’em do stuff that’s weird. Or messy. You never know how it’s gonna pay off.
Geez Louise, I despise New Year’s resolutions. I never keep them, and don’t even remember what I resolved past January 3rd. Usually, along about October I find the notebook I was supposed to write in every morning, stuffed under the car seat or kicked under the washing machine.
Then I despair.
Not this year, bucko!
I don’t want to generate failure anymore. No more promises to work on habits and goals that I don’t really want, no matter how many Good Writers recommend them. Instead, whatever interests me, I’m just gonna do it.
And when it doesn’t float my boat anymore, I will stop.
Maybe I’ll end up making the same changes in my life that a New Year’s Resolver does, but I won’t feel like I’m being punished, and I sure won’t feel guilty if my self-improvement ideas don’t work out.
Should not even be an issue.
Government needs to get out of the marriage business all together.
Marriage, after all, is a religious institution. Let the churches handle marriage, let the government handle Civil Partnerships.
See, everybody should have a partner in life, someone who’s got your back. And that person should be designated your “next-of-kin” for legal purposes–insurance, benefits, debts and assets. Health directives.
A Civil Partnership could be two seventy-year-old widowed friends with no family, no interest in remarrying, living a Golden Girls life.
Maybe two people do not want to marry but are committed to raising children together–for whatever reason. A partnership might be two siblings who must live together and raise six orphaned nephews. Why shouldn’t those siblings have the tax advantages and insurance rates a married couple has? They certainly have the expenses that the married benefits were designed to mitigate.
Yeah. No one’s brought that up. Because they are nimrods.
Because they are too busy DRAWING PICTURES IN THEIR HEADS OF WHAT PEOPLE ARE DOING IN THE BEDROOM.
Yes, in my perfect world, just as religiously married people currently are also civilly married, a religiously married person would also have a legal Civil Partnership. But you would not HAVE to be married, to enter into a Civil Partnership.
It’s none of my effin’ business, what floats somebody’s boat. And it’s just plain rude to speculate on such matters.
So quit waggin’ your collective finger. Quit judging each other. Allow everyone to decide what is best for them, guided by religious, philosophic, and scientific institutions.
The only thing left for the government to decide, is what is equitable.
Quit saying Adam Lanza had Asperger’s. That was not his problem.
There was a child in my kids’ elementary school who reminds me of Adam Lanza. Weird. Occasional outbursts, when not totally absorbed inside himself. Wore strange outfits. Once, his family was in a procession at church and he didn’t like the way his little brother did something–and he slapped the holy hell out of him all the way down the center aisle, to the horror of the congregation. Other kids did not care to be around him, to say the least. Mom was infinitely patient. (He was just incredibly sensitive, you know.) Until he got big enough to really hurt people, and she started taking him to doctors to find out what was wrong. Surely it was an allergy to wheat or something. Finally, a doctor pinned “Asperger’s” on him. No one had heard of this, and there was an assembly to explain to the children that now they should understand his bizarre behavior and tolerate it.
Because now,15 years later, I have known several people actually and professionally diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome. And they aint’ anything like this kid, or Adam Lanza. People with Asperger’s Syndrome are awkward, a little confusing or uncomfortable to talk to in certain situations, perhaps, but they have intelligence and creativity and talents and feelings and empathy, in their own way, (they must be taught social cues, where it comes naturally for non-aspies, I think,) and are REGULAR ACTUAL PEOPLE WITH INDIVIDUAL PERSONALITIES.
Not sociopathic mass-murderers. This is something completely different.
Reports are that the mother stayed home to care for Lanza, home schooling him the last few years of high school because he couldn’t get along.
That’s right. Lanza couldn’t buy the damn things on his own. But his mom not only gave him access to weapons, she taught him how to use them.
I. Am. Without. Speech.
When you are a parent you have to give up a lot of things. The parent of a special needs kid gives up a lot more. And I can’t even imagine what the parent of an unpredictable, mentally ill kid has to give up, but it must be done. It is the responsible path.
You have a mentally ill kid, you don’t keep semi-automatic weapons in the house. I don’t care if you love guns with a passion that knows no bounds, you don’t get to indulge that hobby anymore.
Take up knitting.
Sometimes they are planned, a satisfying denouement to a well-lived story.
But other times a new beginning is thrust upon us out of nowhere.
If you’re blindsided, the first reaction is…
…that deer-in-the-headlights feeling–caught. Frozen. Blank.
This is when you must make The Decision:
Choose to turn your face toward the past, long for lost friends, lost loves and lost opportunities.
Fix your gaze on the future. Create a new adventure with joy and enthusiasm.
I choose Joy.
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/chris_gin/3063246217/”>Chris Gin</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a>
Imma gonna say it.
Not only can you use this app to go to your indie store, try out an item, and THEN see how cheap you can get it on Amazon, YOU CAN REPORT BACK TO AMAZON HOW CHEAP YOU CAN GET IT IN AN INDIE STORE, SO AMAZON CAN LOWER THEIR PRICES.
Amazon has made the entire smart-phone-owning public their minions.
AND THERE ARE SUCKERS GOING ALONG WITH THIS.
But here’s the part that’s going to make a whole lot of you angry with me:
How many times have you gone to a store and checked something out, then gone home and bought it on Amazon for a much lower price?
Where do you think Amazon got the idea for this app, anyway?
Amazon just made it so you didn’t have to write the store price down on a piece of paper.
And while providing that service, they tossed in an extra step of allowing you to actually, you know, directly throw every last indie shop out of business.
Hey. I like a bargain just like the next gal. But I buy my books locally, unless I can’t find them here. (Yes, I can hanker after the odd book or two.) I buy used books when I’ve already bought a new copy of the title, or if it’s out of print.
I use Amazon for things I can’t find around here, usually at Christmas. In fact, I ordered something yesterday.
Amazon is not the devil. Don’t let it make you one.