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the meanies

There’s a lot of stuff going on about bullying and what to do about it in the media these days. And I say good on everyone for finally saying ENOUGH. Let’s empower the good kids to stand up to the poop heads. If you want to read all about bullying and what to do about it, I’ll let you Google yourself silly. Because what I want to talk about is a corollary to the topic of bullying:

People who like to be mean.

I’m talking about adults, now. And you know the type. They enjoy making people suffer, just for suffering’s sake. I don’t even know how to explain what I’m trying to say, I understand it so little.

They enjoy being the cause of other people’s pain.

They like to get back at other people, for the slightest imagined transgression.

They like to pick a fight so they can win it.

They hold grudges so they have something to gossip about.

They destroy people’s reputations for sport.

They are always keeping score. And by God, they will win at the Game of Life.

Am I making sense?

They permeate politics, sports organizations and your PTA. My God, they thrive in the PTA. It almost never gets them anywhere. Why do they do it? I can’t wrap my head around the only conclusion I can come up with:

Just for fun.


raising kids and rising blood pressure

I am the Rodney Dangerfield of mothers.

My children keep a list of things I’ve said that they think are hysterical.  That’s right.  Like I used to do for them when they were first learning to talk.  Bottled Lightning actually called Boywonder to relate the latest lines culled from my witty lips.

Only I don’t see what’s so dag-nabbit funny.  For instance…

The dog had explosive diarrhea, a popular topic in our house no matter which of us is afflicted.  After a spirited discussion about all the things that could have caused it, I said to The Girls, “So you’re telling me she’s been poisoned.”

This is the sort of thing that makes them roll around on the floor, holding their jolly bellies and gasping.

Yes, I test them periodically for drugs.

They roll their eyes when I tell them that they don’t realize how good they’ve got it.  Well, that’s pretty normal for the teen years…even though Freckles McYoungest is the only teen left…

But if I get mad and start yelling…they laugh!

Which makes me even madder!


They’re supposed to quake in their boots and make little mewling sounds!


All my authority seems to come from my kids’ concern that I might do injury to myself, rather than them.  They usually comply with my wishes when they’re afraid I’ll have a stroke.

Well, whatever works.

r-e-s-p-e-c-t-i-n-g food

Indigenous people know where their food comes from.

There are myths and legends about the animals they eat, because the hunters understand the hunted. People who live close to their food source thank their prey for laying down its life.  They use every bit of the animal, respecting the sacrifice and honoring it by wasting nothing.  


Such people also have an intimate undestanding of the plants they eat.  For instance, Native Americans consider corn, beans and squash to be the Three Sisters.  They plant them together.  The corn makes a stalk that the beans can climb up, the beans capture nitrogen that enriches the soil for the corn, and the squash produces copious vines that keep the others’ roots cool and help conserve water: 

In late spring, we plant the corn and beans and squash. They’re not just plants- we call them the three sisters. We plant them together, three kinds of seeds in one hole. They want to be together with each other, just as we Indians want to be together with each other. So long as the three sisters are with us we know we will never starve. The Creator sends them to us each year. We celebrate them now. We thank Him for the gift He gives us today and every day.

– Chief Louis Farmer (Onondaga)

 Now, consider how Americans obtain their food.




The farmer raises the cow, then ships it to a feed lot, who auctions it to a purveyor, who sells it to the slaughter house, who chops it in big pieces and ships it to the grocery store, who packages it in little saran-wrapped packages with styrofoam trays.

Then you buy it.  Do you know which cow your beef came from?  Did you live in relation with it?  Do you even know what part of the country…or world your meal came from? 

Do you know what a whole cow looks like, put together without the plastic?


When food becomes disconnected from its source, it loses its value.  People who don’t respect food overeat, eat things that are bad for them, and waste food.  And our bodies show it.


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