Job Corps Update

Well, life has intervened and my blog has fallen victim. The good news is that I have a literary agent! The other good news is that I have a lot of writing to do...There is actually not a lot of bad news in my life right now.
But the GREAT news is an update on our experience with Job Corps at Chadron, NE.

Normally, I would have a number of off-the-wall comments to make here. Humor. The thing is, I am so overwhelmed with our son Matt's weekend visit that no sarcasm or wit surface.

If you have not read my first blog on the Job Corps, here is the link. That page DOES have some humor in it.

http://beyonderqueen.tripod.com/id95.html


We took Matt to the Chadron center the first week in March. He was nervous and so were we. There was a rainbow of kids there, and Matt is used to thinking in terms of brown and white. There were kids from big cities, from farms and from small towns like ours.It was a new world and we weren't sure matt was ready for it.

Fast forward 2 1/2 months. A paltry 10 weeks. The young man who came home for graduation was not the young man who entered the program. Okay,maybe he was, but with major improvements. This young man stood tall and walked with confidence. His eyes had a spark in them. His voice rang with respect and resolution. I cried.

You see, I can envision a bright future for this young man now. And things may go south; they often do. But Matt has seen his potential; which is what the teachers at Job Corps tell us they see in him. POTENTIAL.

Charlie and I believe God ordained us to go to the training where we began to think about Job Corps for Matt. We believe God said ( in His gentle way) You two have screwed this up. Let me take over. And THERE WAS LIGHT!
YAY

What's the Good Word

Got an email from a home schooling site today about the ten words we should use with our preschoolers every day. I think they are good words to use with EVERYONE every day. The words are:

Thank you. Sounds like a no-brainer, doesn’t it? Well, it is. I mean it should become instinct to say thank you. The harder thing is to be really grateful. And I admit that sometimes when I am not feeling kindly to a child, I say thank you with a snarl in my voice. Being polite. Word but not intention. I mean, the kid has just hammered two horseshoe nails into your 100-year-old stair banister and told you that the teacher’s complaints about his school behavior were lies. He hands you a spoon so you can stir the eggs into the casserole and you’re supposed to say thank you and mean it? In a word: yeah.

Tell me more: Okay, this kid can go on for twenty minutes about the booger on the principal’s nose before he tells you that the science class did a special project. And you’re supposed to encourage him to elaborate? Again, yeah.

Please. Another no brainer. Except, this kid won’t respond to please. You have to follow it up with a raised voice and a threat or two. Okay. But I guess we’re supposed to start with the please thing.

How about a hug? Okay. Maybe not with everyone. But lots of grownups need them too and many never get them.

The others are: Let’s all pitch in, you can do it, how can I help, it’s time to…(this one is about setting boundaries) and I love you.

The thing is, saying these things isn’t enough. You have to mean them. And one other thing: God could use a few of these sentiments from us, too.

Thank you God. Please help me. I know YOU can do it, so I won’t worry. The pastor read some good words from You on Sunday. Tell me more. You expect your people to be your representatives on earth. How can I help? Let’s all pitch in.

And the #1 thing we could tell God every day? I love you. How about a hug?

" In a Relationship"

I'm in a relationship. <3 If you are in to Facebook, you know that supposedly means "I have a significant other." Unfortunately, people seem to be getting into relationships earlier these days. How young is too young? The other day I heard a three year old talking about his "old woman." And she IS old. She's four. Robbing the cradle, that's what she's doing. Abercrombie-Fitch has its finger on the nation's pulse. It is marketing padded bra bikini swimwear to 8 year olds who otherwise would have no padding. God slipped up, it seems but man has intervened. And, come on, if not for the padding, how else is an 8 year old to get a "significant other?" The rule at my house is, and has always been, you are old enough for group dating at 14 and for single dating at 16. That doesn't mean the kids have not claimed to have girl or boy friends. They sit together in assemblies and talk on the phone. THEY DO NOT DATE. Date means go somewhere together. And someone usually pays. But things are different today. Anna and Brandon used to date last year when they were both 12. But at 13, Anna has clearly outgrown Brandon's boyish humor. She wants a real man. Someone who can belch the alphabet. Someone like 14 year old Jonathan. She's seen the condom he carries in his Velcro wallet. He tried to use it last semester as a water balloon but couldn't get it to break before his homeroom teacher Mrs. Robertson caught him and called his parents. As it turned out, it wasn't a big deal because his dad gave him the condom. (I believe he gave it to Jonathan the day Jonathan's mother announced she was going to wash the car. The little package had been in the glove box, and his dad was pretty sure Mom wouldn't believe the water balloon thing coming from someone 36 years old.) But enough of Jonathan's parents' problems.) Jonathan and Anna are dating now. He walks her to American History and she saves him a seat at the lunch table. Everyone knows they're a couple. And therein lies the trouble. because Brandon used to sit in the seat next to Anna, and he's ticked. So he posted to Facebook that he was single now, and below that, he added that Anna was the class "ho." Several people commented, including ten of Anna's friends. They hotly contested Brandon's claims. Four of his friends commented as well. Three of them had also "dated" Anna and they agreed with Brandon. She'd eat lunch with anyone who could belch his name. "Not true," said Anna's supporters. "She wouldn't sit with Brandon." It isn't easy to slow Brandon down. His parents could take away his computer time, but he has his own laptop and keeps it in his room. AND his $200 cell phone is Internet enabled so he can access Facebook whenever he wants. Truthfully, though, they don't know what to do. Yesterday, his mom saw one of his comments on the social network. he is "in a relationship" again. It's this Russian chick who wants to come to America to meet him. He responded to an email he got from her. When his parents confronted him about it he got testy. "I don't know what you people want from me," he said. "She's a poor girl stuck in Communism who got my name from a friend of hers who once sold me real estate." That was a little scary, but after all, the girl was far away...in Russia...and she was 29, which is certainly old enough to be "in a relationship."

Welcome Zoey...some thoughts

My newest great granddaughter just made the scene. She is beautiful. But someone asked the question on Facebook, "How many grandchildren do you have?" The answer is 14 1/2 grandchildren and 3 great grandchildren. AND if you add to the grandchildren total the husbands of my older granddaughters, you get 16 1/2.
Why did I choose to have such a large family?
Okay, well, I probably didn't choose. I just didn't discover what was causing all those kids until I had four. Then,I adopted three more. And those kids can't get it figured out either. The reason our family is so large is that my kids are SLOW LEARNERS.
Zoey, kids in our family miss out on a lot. You won't get the high-ticket gifts at holidays; there are simply too many of us for that. And you won't get a lot of one-on-one time with relatives because there isn't time enough for three on threes, let alone one-on-ones. And those "vote with your wallet" cute baby contests? While other grandparents can stuff a twenty in their grandbaby's jar, I have to ask the clerk at the register for change for a twenty. And divide it.
I guess I miss out on things too, like being THAT SPECIAL grandma. I mean, when I do something for one, I just about have to do it for all. I can't spoil the grandkids like other grandparents do; we have foster kids who deserve our attention too.
But the feeling I get when everyone is together at holidays? I can't describe it to you, Zoey, but you'll experience it yourself,and you'll find it is sometimes too sweet for words. The room rocks with the noise of babies and toddlers and the chatter of teens and adults, and we are all part of something much bigger. FAMILY.
I didn't actually choose a large family, Zoey; it just happened. But I would not trade one of my kids or grandkids or great grandkids or "sisters from another mother" for anything or anyone. I am proud of each of them. I am proud of YOU.
FAMILIES ARE FOREVER.

Harold Hill Wouldn't Like It Either

Several nights in a row I have found myself in the middle of the parade scene of “The Music Man” marching down the Main Street of River City pumping a baton and singing “thundering, thundering all along the way.” When I awake, the only part of the dream that remains is the bass pounding in my ears. Pounding.

As a matter of fact, the bass is what wakes me. You know those cartoons where the character is trying to sleep and some noise starts a rumba beat? Everything in the room moves in sync to the rhythm. Well, it turns out that cartoon has roots in reality. The beat of that bass coming from a neighbor’s house at 11:00 PM seems to shake the bed.
(All right. I KNOW it’s only 11:00 and we’re in bed…have been since 10:30… we’re old.)

I could be wrong, but isn’t that much volume injurious to one’s hearing? I SAID isn’t that much volume injurious to…oh never mind. I see I’m talking to the wrong crowd. When I was a teenager. I figured the best place at a concert was next to the speakers. I was wrong. But fortunately I didn’t get to that many live concerts. And the main injury to my health from loud noises has been my recent loss of sleep.

I played my music loud. But then, I had good taste in music…stuff I knew the neighbors would want to hear. And I offered variety. Lots of nights I would play my organ until bed time and then close out the concert with “Taps” on harmonica. (This may sound like tongue in cheek, but it is sadly true.) And I either stopped or turned down my music by 10 or so. If I hadn’t, my parents would have cancelled all future performances. They figured that other people’s rights should be considered too.

My parents had a crazy idea that my rights stopped where my neighbor’s nose started. The notion that my rights should not infringe on the rights of others made sense to me then, and it does now. We have the right to kill ourselves with tobacco smoke, to drink ourselves to death, to let our “butt cleavage” hang out and to deafen ourselves with our music. But here’s the thing: that right is not greater than the next person’s right NOT to be subjected to us. Many of us choose not to inhale poisonous smoke, not to drink until we vomit and not to watch someone’s bare behind jiggle when they walk or spread on a bleacher when they sit down. And we enjoy nature sounds and silence, especially late at night.

Which brings me back to my dream. I can’t get restful sleep when I spend the entire night marching behind Professor Harold Hill. I wake up tired. Cranky, too. And I’m apt to voice my ire in grouchy tirades such as this.

MEET MOLLY

At the bottom of Molly's prosthesis is a happy face. She leaveds happy prints wherever she goes

Meet Molly.She's a grey speckled pony who
was abandoned by her owners when Hurricane
Katrina hit southern Louisiana .. She spent weeks
on her own before finally being rescued and taken
To a farm where abandoned animals were stockpiled. While there, she was attacked by apit bull terrier
and almost died. Her gnawed right front leg became
infected, and her vet went to LSU for help, but
LSU was overwhelmed, and this pony was a welfare
case. You know how that goes.

But after surgeon Rustin Moore met Molly, he
changed his mind.He saw how the pony was
careful to lie down on different sides so she didn't
seem to get sores, and how she allowed people to
handle her.She protected her injured leg.She
constantly shifted her weight and didn't overload
her good leg. She was a smart pony with a serious
survival ethic.

Moore agreed to remove her leg below the knee,
and a temporary artificial limb was built. Molly
walked out of the clinic and her story really
begins there.

'This was the right horse and the right owner,'
Moore insists Molly happened to be a one-in-a-million patient. She's tough as nails, but sweet,and she was willing to cope with pain.
She made it obvious she understood that! she was
in trouble.The other important factor, according
to Moore , is having a truly committed and compliant
owner who is dedicated to providing the daily care
required over the lifetime of the horse.

Molly's story turns into a parable for life inPost-Katrina Louisiana ....The little pony gained weight, and her mane finally felt a comb. A human prosthesis designer built her a leg...

The prosthetic has given Molly a whole new life,
Allison Barca DVM, Molly's regular vet, reports.

And she asks for it. She will put her little limb out,
and come to you and let you know that she wants
you to put it on. Sometimes she wants you to take
lt off too. And sometimes, Molly gets away from
Barca. 'It can be pretty bad when you can't catch
a three-legged horse,' she laughs.

Most important of all, Molly has a job now. Kay,
the rescue farm owner, started taking Molly to
shelters, hospitals, nursing homes, and rehabilitation
centers... Anywhere she thought that people needed
hope. Wherever Molly went, she showed people
her pluck. She inspired people, and she had a
good time doing it.

'It's obvious to me that Molly had a bigger role to
play in life, Moore said. She survived the hurricane,
she survived a horrible injury, and now she is giving hope to others.'
Barca concluded, 'She's not back to normal, but
she's going to be better.To me, she could be a
symbol! for New Orleans itself.'


This is Molly's most recent prosthesis. The bottom
photo shows the ground surface that she stands on,
which has a smiley face embossed in it.. Wherever
Molly goes, she leaves a smiley hoof print behind.


Send this and share it with all of the
animal lovers that you know.

God's creatures often reflect the character to which we aspire.

HOMEWORK: NECESSARY EVIL?

NOTE TO READER: You may find it necessary to take notes on this article. There is a short self-test at the end.


Well, that was a turn-off, wasn’t it?
I just finished reading a book entitled “The Homework Myth” by Alfie Kohn. ( Lifelong Books, 2006.) It was interesting, though heavy reading. The book targets academia, not parents, and so I had to slog through it to understand its principals.
Why would I do that? Well, at first, I thought it might give me some insight on the problems I have with getting my kids to do homework. After reading the book, however, I suppose its greatest value is in CE (continuing education) hours.
It isn’t that the book is off-base, it is only that it is an idealistic view of a complex issue.

Do we learn anything from homework?
That depends. Are we discussing the kids or the parents? How often have you told your kids, “I just don’t know how to communicate this concept to you”? The translation of that phrase is “ I haven’t got a clue what this means. Ask your teacher.”

I had a foster child who came home with a math assignment to compute the area of a circle sector in congruent planes. Or was it to figure out the area of a plane flying over congruent crop circles? I didn’t have a clue. I asked him where his textbook was and he had not brought it home. Evidently, he believed that without the guidebook we wouldn’t venture into the forest.

According to Mr. Kohn, Most studies show only an associative relationship between homework and learning, not a causal one. Or, in terms I’m more comfortable using, studies show that kids who do a lot of homework sometimes perform better when their learning is assessed than kids who do no homework, but it cannot be shown that they do better BECAUSE they do the homework.
A lot of other factors enter into the results. Did some teachers do a better job of teaching the skill in the classroom? Are the grades used to measure progress skewed? Are the teachers too subjective? (Okay. If I show up to teach a class of 7th graders and I have a migraine headache, I might not be as effective as I would if I felt fine. AND teaching a class of 7th graders could result in a migraine, a factor that should NOT be overlooked.)
And Kohn points out that many studies that support the idea homework fosters learning rely on faulty data. That is, they ask the kids how much homework they do and they get one answer, another answer comes from the parents and still another from the teacher of how much he or she assigns.

In fact, in the National Assessment of Educational Programs, kids who did little or no homework fared as well as those who did.

And Kohn cites a teacher named Phil Lyons who taught social studies. According to Lyons, in the beginning of his teaching career he gave out homework, but as he himself mastered the subjects less homework was necessary for the class to learn. Finally, he stopped giving homework at all. The results? His students scored higher on advanced placement tests and had more enthusiasm for learning.
In other words, Kohn raises the question of whether the amount of homework a teacher assigns might be inversely related to that teacher’s effectiveness in the classroom.

The National education Association uses a term called Time On Task. They say that the more TOT there is, the greater the learning that occurs. But, Kohn says, all time is not quality time. Spending much time on a subject is useful only if we want the student to repeat a specific behavior, not understand a concept.
He compares the TOT concept to practicing skills. Practice is important to train our minds and bodies to respond without thinking. Consider playing the piano or learning wrestling moves. But time is NOT a factor in understanding concepts.
Kohn says students given a lot of math problems to practice, for instance, are less likely to consider what makes sense in solving a problem and more likely to concentrate on what they should do.
Okay. Back to my foster son. I sent him back to school to retrieve his text book ( we live half a block from the school) and read the section myself. I could conceive of no way to relate the information to him in a way he would understand. Finally, I resorted to doing the problems the way I had learned to do them eons ago when the only writing tools we had were charred sticks we plucked from the fire (once we had mastered making fires.) In steps.
He refused to even consider that I might be right. I did not use the same procedure his teacher did. I did not understand the concept. In short, although I could prove to him that my answers were right, he would not accept them because I hadn’t arrived at them the way his teacher did. Now, understandably, his perceptions would differ from a child who was not delayed, but the idea is the same. He was not taught why the problem was solved the way it was, how it might apply to him in later life (arguably it will NOT be of use to him) or even shown how to think the process through. He was simply told to repeat a formula over and over. And that’s okay if the student understands when the formula applies in life. But without that understanding, it is no more than a bit of useless trivia he’ll forget as soon as the class is beyond that chapter.
So to this child, the homework was nothing more than an irritant between him and me; a source of conflict over him “getting it done.”
To be honest, I have been concerned over studies which show the US is ranked with 3rd world nations in science and math. Many educators seem to feel more time in school
( longer days, more homework, fewer and shorter holiday breaks) would even the playing field. But an international study found that the top-ranked country was Japan, and students there spend less time studying than American kids.

So, if homework is not effective in teaching concepts ( which Kohn says should be done in the classroom) what is its value?

There are some homework advocates who say that homework teaches study skills. But if, as Kohn says, learning is not related to the amount of homework a child does, are those study skills useful only for learning how to do more homework? Or how to perform well on tests ( by rote.)

HERE is the first conflict I find with Mr. Kohn. I believe his idea is sound. BUT in an ideal world.
To get into college, a student must have a good high school transcript. That translates into grades. Grades that the child must accumulate throughout junior and senior high. Financial aid is based on tests, as well. Cramming may not net us lifelong learning, but it gets us high enough scores to get in to a university. Grades are a reality.
And Kohn feels that if adults trusted kids to manage their own learning, they would be more interested and learn more. Maybe your kids. Not mine. Kohn says they would tire of video games and TV and spend more time out shooting hoops or reading books about things which interest them, and which would pique their interest in furthering that learning.
Some kids, maybe most, would. Ideally. But our system doesn’t give them that kind of time. It demands performance today. Now. On demand.
And kids who have been in the foster system for a while would probably be slow to make that move, if they ever did. We also have to factor in the concepts of entitlement and low self-esteem and lagging skills. Many long-term foster children have been disrupted from their educations many times. They read and reason at a level several years behind their peers.
For those children, homework does serve a purpose. It is an underscoring of the boundaries we must put around them. It brings an interaction (though admittedly not always a good one) between foster parent and child.
But it can become a power struggle, too.
My foster son hates homework. He would rather go without privileges for a week instead of doing ten minutes of reading. And he will say you cannot make him do the work. He’s right. I can take away his privileges, but he is a fatalist who will then just think, “My life is terrible, now I don’t have TV” or “Now I’m grounded.” It will not occur to him to change his behavior to alter his circumstances.

What do you do?
Well there are some homework helps on my website http://beyonderqueen.tripod.com/id41.htmlAnd, reassured by Mr. Kohn’s insight, I resolve not to stress over homework. I ask my foster son to put out some effort. If he really doesn’t understand it (or if I don’t) I tell him to put it away and then I have him read for a while. This way he hasn’t “gotten out of” anything. He can ask his teacher for help and she will understand the difficulty in teaching this child one-on-one ( as opposed to lecturing a classroom of kids) besides using her expertise to teach him the skills. And he still has to spend his “homework time” doing something profitable.
Oh, that’s another of Mr. Kohn’s theories. Children will manage their own learning in time. They will not always choose video games over a good book about a subject that interests them. They will not opt to watch TV instead of being physically active.
Hey. Mine do. Do always opt to watch TV or play videos. That’s why we have a rule that, in summer, the TV goes off at 9 A.M. and stays off until it gets dark.
Because I believe what Mr. Kohn says. I believe that in a perfect world kids would choose the right from the wrong and the profitable from the worthless. But the world hasn’t been perfect since God threw Adam and Eve out of Eden. And I KNOW KIDS. I was one once.

Goodbye to a Good Guy.

He was one of the most aggravating men I've ever known.
Blunt as a butter knife.
Opinionated beyond belief.
And very, very dear.
I met Bernard Speicher when I crossed the threshold of the old Assembly of God Church in Holyoke. He attended there with his first wife Wilda and his mother-in-law Grandma Brethower. Wilda and Grandma B. played the piano. Bernard ran the church.
Having no contact with my own family, I found in Bernard a father.
He adopted me, too.
Through the years, even as my own father has come into my life again, Bernard has loomed large. He steered me, prodded me and guided me. He comforted me through the death of his beloved little granddaughter, and again when I lost my own son. He chided me for whispering to my young husband during the church service. Once, when I decided to let my hair grow back to it's natural shade, he complimented me on the color of dye I was using. The old rascal knew perfectly well...

And he has always been there for a kiss on the cheek or a hug.
After Wilda's death, Bernard remarried.
To say he and Ilene were a dynamic duo is a mild description. They kept one another active, and irritated the daylights out of one another. And the two of them, like teenaged sweethearts, whispered all through the church service.
He wasn't ashamed to tell everyone how proud he was of his family...even to making public proclamations from the front of the church. I think he cried through every music special Darlow ever presented.
Charlie hit the nail on the head about Bernard when he told someone he felt badly because he hadn't been at the hospital as much as he should and the person said, "well, but you aren't blood" and Charlie said "not far from it."
There isn't much to add to all the eulogies I've seen for Bernard except this one thing: I sure loved the old goat.

STUDENT "COUNSEL"

I had an interesting discussion with my 13 year old this morning. He wanted to wear wind pants to school and I told him I thought that was against the dress code. Turns out I was wrong. Sweats and wind pants are allowed. But should they be?
Okay, I come from a different generation. ( Gen X-Lax) and things were different when I was in high school.
Girls did NOT wear pants to school. (I mean slacks or jeans. They did not wear slacks or jeans. That is DEFINITELY not the same as going commando, which I don’t know if they did or didn’t.)
Boys wore pants that DID NOT show their underwear. (And admittedly, they COULD have been going commando, but under those dress codes, no one would have suffered with that decision but them)
We DID NOT call our teachers by their first names. Or by a nickname (to their faces. My principal was bald, and we called him Old Chrome Dome behind his back. But no one would have shortened that to Mr. CD and then used that in addressing him.) Mr. Kiefer, my chemistry teacher, would have made me sit in front where the room smelled like sulphur for calling him Rick. Okay, his name was Robert, but still…
I suppose I am hard nosed, but I just would like to see kids become students again. My generation was no smarter, nor were they more inventive, than today’s kids. So why was America ranked with the major players academically then and now we can’t even compete with third world nations? I think it comes down to attitudes.
CONSIDER: There was a wide debate over whether to use red pencil to correct student papers because the red color seemed so judgmental. It could traumatize them. Maybe they could use some trauma.
We have no way of knowing if our kids have done their homework (or have done it correctly) because they get a couple of periods a day to work on it and they don’t bring it home. In other words, kids don’t really have homework any more. My 13 year old dashes something off on an assignment and hands it in, correct or not. I HAVE NO OPPORTUNITY TO CHECK THE WORK. Okay, again, admittedly I don’t remember how to do a lot of the math, but I am STILL a force to be reckoned with when it comes to English or history

There is some evidence that, under certain circumstances, use of an Ipod during class might help a student tune out voices and other noises that could be even more distracting. Okay. I can sort of see that. I guess, to old people like me, it just seems disrespectful to teachers to attend their classes with an earbud in you ear and a cord hanging down your body.
But cell phones are another matter. Kids are allowed to bring them to school, but not use them in class. Like that happens. Stats say most of kids texting happens during class time. AND older teens spend an average of nearly two hours a day texting in addition to half an hour talking.
I’m going to investigate this Ipod-vs. distraction thing further. There may be something to it.
And I am not against girls wearing slacks to school (though low rise jeans give them that little belly bulge (the new term for it is muffin top, I think) which is SO attractive.
But I believe that dress DOES affect attitude. And if we want kids to respect us, we have to model that for them.
AND IF THEY’RE GOING TO BRING MUSIC TO SCHOOL, I VOTE FOR TEXAS SWING OR SQUAREDANCE.

Happy "Ha-ha-ha I Just Got a Ten Pound Box of Russell Stovers and I'm Gonna Eat it All" Day

So. Are ya gonna? I mean, it's the day...and you have to. You have to be my valentine. And do you know why?
Well, one story says it's a Pagan rite. Young men who were "coming of age" (like we don't know what that means) were allowed to draw the name of a young maiden from a bowl. AND that was his date all year.
There's another story. The government ( Which government? I don't know which government. Let's call it Upper Turkissandwich) outlawed marriage to preserve a reservoir of single men from which to populate its army. But one man--Bishop Valentine--was performing secret marriages anyway. well, the Turkissandwich-ian government found out and imprisoned old Bishop Valentine and had him executed. But before the ax fell, he managed to get a note out to his sweetheart that he loved her...and he signed it "from your Valentine." Get it? Valentine? Valentine's Day?
But the thing about Valentine's day is that it's a fraud.
National "Look what MY sweetheart got me. Don't you wish you had a sweetheart that sweet? "
Day.
National "Man, I'm a loser because I'm single" day.
National "Buy my cards and my candy and my lingerie to give to your sweetheart" day.
The thing is, we tell ourselves that the ULTIMATE goal for each person is to find that "right one" and settle down to produce 2 1/2 children.
That anyone who remains single has no worth. That there is someone out there for each of us...if we are just lovable enough.
IT'S NOT TRUE.
I mean, what jerk told a teenager he or she wasn't worth a second look if he was still not "in a relationship" by the time he was 18? HAVE YOU NOTICED HOW OFTEN PEOPLE CHANGE THE FACEBOOK STATUS "IN A RELATIONSHIP?" What kind of relationship changes every three days? So let's be honest. We aren't talking about love here. We're talking about sex. Or maybe just the comfort of someone to hold us and tell us we aren't alone.
EVERYONE is not intended to fit into the married mode. YOUR WORTH IS NOT MEASURED BY YOUR MARITAL STATUS. That only counts if you are adding up Federal deductions for taxes.
Okay, you say. But you aren't single. How can you know?
You're right. But I have friends who are. I have friends who are admirable, trustworthy, attractive and single. What do I say to those people?
I wish you love. I wish you a certainty that you matter to people. I wish you many fulfilling relationships in your life...not just romantic interludes.
And I want to remind you that Valentines Day only comes once a year. Love--all kinds of love--endures forever.

Put Away the China

I heard an interview with a politician the other day. It was shortly after the China visit. The politician was dragging China over hot coals because of its dismal record on human rights. Now, China may not be forthcoming with aid to its poor, and they may be stuck on this one-child thing. They may jail their disidents, and burn negative publicity, but:
In 2009, American owed China around $750,000,000,000 in long-term debt. That's seven hundred and fifty BILLION dollars.
So, looked at from that perspective, Chinese money is giving American students financial aid. It is reaching out to victims of natural disaster all over the globe.
It permeates every level of what should be our national budget.

Okay. I am not bashing the USA. America is a great and proud country. BUT consider:
I left a generous tip for a waitress the other day. I knew her, and her struggle to make ends meet. I gave her money I had earned, not borrowed. If I was mortgaged up to my eyebrows and borrowing more just to live, I could not have given the woman a tip. I could not have eaten out. I WOULD NOT have eaten out. I would have spent that money making sure my family had the essentials.
But our politicians don't understand that concept. They vote to borrow money from other countries, then go wild spending it on earmarked projects and congressional benefits. They send it overseas to help the starving in third world countries, and ignore our own poor. And then they have the guts to ask Americans to tighten their belts so they can go on doing it.

AND the guts to tell China off.

We throw billions at the world community ( billions we have to borrow) trying to make them like us. Trying to live up to the image we once had. AND THEY DON'T LIKE US NO MATTER HOW MUCH WE SPEND.
If Americans have to live within their means, why doesn't America?
That's all I'm saying.

ARE YOU TOO OLD?

When is "old" OLD?
I mean, when do you cross over that hair's breadth line between middle-aged and old?

I thought about it the other day, when the question of MY age came up. (When are you going to apply for your Social Security payments? You know, you are eliglible now.)
I decided age is in the eye of the beholder ( provided he's not too vain to wear his bifocals.)

You are old when: You wear your sneakers untied not because it is the fashion, but because it will take you ten minutes to tie them IF you can bend down that far.

You are old when: You can't rush to the bathroom at the high school basketball game half-time because it takes you eight minutes just to get off the bleachers.

You are old when: You put your jaw out by biting down too hard on the dried cranberry in your granola cereal.

You are old when: You experience a horrific moment in the bathroom because you are desperate and you can't get your skirt up, but then you remember you're wearing gauchos.

You are old when: You keep asking questions at a parent teacher conference because you suspect you won't be able to get out of that little desk when your turn is over

You are old when you take the time to read through a blog entry like this just to see if it applies to you.

Job Corps

Okay. I rant and rave about people taking advantage of the system. By taking advantage, I mean people who get welfare because they don't want to work. Because they can get more for sitting on their behinds then they can from earning a paycheck.
But on Tuesday, I saw an attempt to address that.
On Tuesday I toured Pine Ridge Job Corps.
Job Corps is a federal program for "at risk" kids who otherwise might end up being a drain on the system. It is NOT a blank check, nor a lifetime membership into the Federal Dole. What it is , is a new take on the old problem: Is it wiser to put a fence at the top of a steep hill or to buy an ambulance for those who end up at the bottom?
Like the Armed Services, Job Corps covers every need ( room and board, living expenses, medical etc.) for a specified time ( up to two years)while kids are gaining skills and attitudes and ethics which translate to being useful citizens.
( Read: TAXPAYERS, not SYSTEM USERS)
Kids who come into the program with high school diplomas take a test to determine if they are proficient in math, English, etc. and if they are not proficient, they MUST take remedial classes. Imagine that. They have to be proficient before they graduate the program. WHAT A CONCEPT!
They get a great vocational education as well as some character building. They are expected to adopt the rigorous discipline of the centers as their own and to take that self-discipline with them when they graduate.
AND when they graduate, Job Corps helps them find employment. They even get 1 year of free job counseling, someone to follow them on the job to ensure success.
I HATE people who expect to live supported by the system for life. We spend a lot of money on "ambulances."
But Job Corps is a genuine attempt to put a fence at the top of that steep slope into welfare dependency. Yay.

My Husband's Affair. A Remote Chance To Salvage My Relationship?

Charlie is in the grips of a tumultuous relationship.
I've watched it grow, and I fear that my husband is headed for nothing but heartache. I could give in to jealousy, but it would be of no use. The object of his affections can offer him things I can't.
For one thing, I am not sleek. I've noticed the way his hands caress the slim form of his beloved... the tight, bulgeless lines.
And the object of Charlie's fickle emotions is so available. He does not want for company or attention. But with all that, my rival is not demanding.
Maybe that is where I have gone wrong. I sometimes have my own agenda, and I ask for chunks of his time. I require him to answer my questions.
Oh, his love asks for input as well, but only when he initiates the contact.
The relationship offers him such peace that he sometimes drifts off to sleep embracing his beloved. And when he does that, my rival simply waits, unoffended.
I would be livid.
Instead, I can only sit by and watch the relationship unfold. I find it hard to believe that he is so callous to my feelings.
My only hope is that the relationship will cool over time. That more and more effort will be demanded of him before his needs are met. That the shiny newness of everything will wear off.
Oh yes. This is not his first dalliance. I've seen it before.

The last remote we had got lodged in the side of the recliner and several buttons were hopelessly jammed. We had to get a new one.
I, on the other hand, am still here.

Put the Scrubs In

I went to a "C" game last night. You know what that is: There's varsity, junior varsity and the "C's." The coaches say they do it that way so that the other kids, the kids who can't usually dribble without losing the ball and the ones who shoot and miss the basket by feet, can play.
The "C" kids practice with the rest of the team. They suit up and support the varsity and junior varsity at their games. And they wait eagerly for the few games that they have scheduled. ( Not every school has enough kids out to make up a "C" team, so many times all that practice leads to four hours sitting the bench.)
The thing is, when those kids play, they play hard. To them it's not the "scrub" game. It is THEIR game.
So when the coaches decide to play the junior varsity in the "C" game, cutting down play time for the real "C" team kids to a paltry 4 or 5 minutes, it seems unfair. But the coaches want to win. They want that badly. And they put in those kids who aren't really on the "C" team to achieve that goal.
I got to thinking last night. What does it say to a kid who isn't good enough to make the varsity, nor the junior varsity, and then can't even play in the last league? Does it tell them they are valued, or does it convince them the world isn't interested in "losers?"
Life can be like that, I suppose. So maybe the lesson is warranted. Maybe they need to learn, and learn early, that not everyone is created equal. That hard work and determination are not always rewarded, and that sometimes we work desperately and achieve the prize only to have it snatched away and put into the hands of someone who "deserves it more."
Don't get me wrong. Few things infuriate me more than the concept of entitlement-- the idea that society "owes" us because of who we are or what we have been through. Career welfare recipients ( those who won't work because they get more from the system) are thieves.
But when someone works hard and finally surmounts obstacles to gain the prize, however small that prize may seem, they deserve to keep it...even if the "team" doesn't win.
Just sayin'.

CHANGE PICTURE?

Every time I get the mouse pointer ( does it have a name?) anywhere near my profile picture, a pop-up suggests I change it.
I have news for my mouse. It doesn't get any better. You are who you are.
Oh, I've tried.
I hid out in my bathroom once, set my camera for automatic timer and tried to get posed before the flash went off. I almost made it. There is just a bit of my forehead visible. See, at the last moment, I realized that the camera was pointed up, and I climbed up onto the tub edge, grabbed the shower curtain rod and smiled. The flash went off just as I fell, and caught my forehead. The tub caught the rest of me.
And once, I rested the camera on the place where two huge branches of my catalpa tree converge just over my deck. I set the timer and got into position before I heard the bird above me. As the flash went off, I looked up...
My daughter takes lovely pictures, and she has attempted to photograph me. Unfortunately, her camera can do only so much. And I've tried those touch-up features on the online photo programs. When you get to that degree of touch-up, the program asks you to upgrade your membership.
No, You just are what you are, and I suppose I should be grateful. My wrinkles hide most of my imperfections...things like my eyes and my nose. People don't study my pictures too much. Peering into those wrinkles is a little like looking into dark caverns: you can't see anything, but you can hear the bats flying around.
I'm just glad you can't smell guano.
As for my mouse, he'll have to get used to the profile picture I'm using. It's the same one I've had posted in the kitchen for years. Sure repels his cousins.