Buffalo Gal

Everyone dreams if they sleep normally.  Many do not remember their dreams; I know people in my own family who claim they NEVER dream, but they do, if they go into R.E.M. sleep.

I watched a special about sleep and dreaming on TV not too long ago, and it was fascinating and informative. There were films made of sleepers who were hooked up to all kinds of electronic devices to measure their brain activity while sleeping.  It was most interesting to see the close ups of the faces of people who had gone into the deepest sleep mode…. that of Rapid Eye Movement sleep (when you dream).  The eyes beneath the closed eyelids were obviously doing what R.E.M. stands for—-their eyes were literally rolling around in their sockets as the electronic monitors showed a rapid rise in brain activity with neurons firing all over the place.    There were also films of sleeping animals…one familiar to me was a film of a dog sound asleep whose 4 legs were moving as though the dog were chasing something in its dream.  I remember all our dogs having "dog-dreemz" and moving their legs; one even made a perfect tiny "O" of his mouth and gave out a soft, eerie howl!    There were films of sleep-walking cats….up and about but in a deep sleep even while they were moving around. It reminded me of one of our kids who was a nightly sleepwalker til he hooked a padlocked bike chain to his cutoff jeans and locked himself on the bedpost so that he got jerked awake when he tried to set off on his nightly meanderings.  A nephew was such a sleepwalker that he tried to go out the door, declaring to a startled babysitter that he had "Tennis!….Big Tennis!"  He also go up once and wild-eyed, declared he needed to get "rice for my dad"!  An uncle- by- marriage had wild dreemz too; as a young man he turned a bed  around..360 degrees… with his sleeping brother in it, in a room that was so small they could not move the bed!   Later when he was older he got up one night and was whacking the floor and walls with his walking cane because "there was a weasel in the room".  This happened when he was badly disabled and could not walk normally when he was awake!   Dreemz do strange things!

I have always heard about Sigmund Freud’s dream interpretation theory;  poor Siggie got debunked on that TV special with new information given by sleep scientists that dreams are not necessarily significant or signs of what is deep in your psyche.  That was a great relief to me because I really have some doozies of "dreemz".   I usually wake from a dream and am greatly relieved to realize that this dream is not really happening to me since a lot of my dreams involve losing things, trying to carry armloads of things that I cannot carry without dropping most of my load, missing the "choir bus" on which I rode over 50 years ago— and of trying to take care of a pet or a baby that keeps on getting away from me.  I wake in a  state of panic, often.  

I have had some bizarre and memorable dreams that do not leave me…most of them I only remember for the moment I wake, but I had one last week that has stayed with me and puzzled me greatly (not that I should be puzzled any more since Sigmund’s dream interpretation theory was put to rest on that recent TV special.)  So I guess I can tell it.

I was in a HUGE Mexican restaurant—I mean I am talking BIG BOX huge with rows and rows of booths in a very decorative Mexican mode… a bit like the downtown "Mexican Village" in Fargo.  The rows of seating were long and wide—kind of like the rows in the lumber and building supplies sections of stores like Menards or Lowes.   My husband and I were shown to our booth and we sat down and ordered our meals.  Then I had some reason I had to go back to the parking lot and get something from our car…so I left him sitting there in the booth in the long BIG BOX row of seats.    As I returned from the parking lot and came through a door, there was Billy Graham sitting on a chair by the door kind of acting like a "greeter". I was thrilled to see Billy and stopped to have a really good conversation with him as if I was one of his old friends.  He was delighted to see me and talk to me, too, and it went on for a long time.  (he was very old and wizened in this dream..as he probably is now). I suddenly remembered that my food would be waiting for me and I ran off to find the long hall where we were seated…only I could not find it; all the long halls of booths were confusing and I ran up and down them searching for our booth and my food!  I never did find my way back and woke up snarled in bedclothes and breathing heavily from my severe R.E.M. "attack". I still am wondering where such a dream came from.  I will not forget it; it is as vivid as the one I had years ago when one of the other teachers in school and I tried to walk over one of those vine bridges that cross a deep chasm in a jungle and the bridge swun wildly and tipped over, sending us into a downward plunge.  I even landed in that dream, disproving  the old adage about "if you land when you dream you are falling, you will die". (I landed in deep soft snow.)

I am still alive and dreaming "dreemz" that are equally confusing and crazy.   All my vivid dreams are in color and they have sound as well!     Too bad some movie maker cannot capture them—–they would make surreal and oddball films for those who like to have nightmares in theaters.

 I think someone in my family must have put some "skeptical/cynical’ pills in my Thanksgiving mashed potatoes and gravy.  Ever since that day, I have been having cyncial/skeptical thoughts..also wanting to write about them.  So I once again grabbed a title from young adult writer Kate Di Camillo who wrote an award- winning book a few years ago titled THE TIGER RISING.   My tiger is not Kate’s tiger however…my tiger is Tiger Woods who is "in the soup" after driving his Cadillac SUV over a fire hydrant and a neighbor’s tree just at the end of his own driveway in the wee hours of the morning the day after Thanksgiving.

So what has happened?  There are speculations and articles galore on line and in print…..he must have been drunk (no, said the policemen who arrived at the accident scene—no evidence of alcohol).    A big fight with his Swedish wife, Elin over the reports on the National Enquirer that Tiger had been keeping company with a New York night club hostess in Melbourne, Australia recently?  No comment on anything personal said Tiger’s agent and the Tiger couple are not saying anything.  It might be hard for the Tiger TO say anything—he bashed up his lips and lower face in the accident (no seat belt, said the police).  I can imagine what his lips and face feel like if he hit the steering wheel or dashboard with his mouth…Owwwww—ie!!!   Swollen City!!!!  Black and Blue Avenue!!!

So my skepticism/cynicism kicked in immediately after I read two or three articles about the Big Bash at the Tiger driveway in the exlusive Florida neighborhood populated by other rich people , especially golf people.

No big fight with the wife?   Yeah, um-hmmmm.   No alcohol involved?  Yeah–uh-hmmmmm!  A Tiger friend said maybe he was going to "work out" at his health club.  Yeah–uh-huh!    

 I am reminded of the denials that spewed forth from Washington D.C. a couple of years ago when Rep. Patrick Kennedy (son of Ted) crashed into a few obstacles in down town Washington in the middle of the night/early morning.  He told police he was driving fast to get to a vote in the House of Representatives (which was not in session at 3 a.m. but that’s what he said and the police must have believed him because he was not charged and they offered to drive him home)  He WAS under the influence of both drugs and alcohol but you know he was sick with his addictions for many years previous, poor boy.   Big Mucky Mucks like Patrick’s daddy Ted, do not get arrested or questioned very much even when they drive off bridges on Chappaquidick Island and cause death to a girl riding in the car. It is OK to report the accident about 10 hours after it happened, too ( giving enough time to sober up).   The Tiger’s acident was not reported for many hours either.  (My cynicism is really kicking in now—it is causing hot flushes)

So if you are a Mucky Muck, either political or pro- sports- wise, especially if you have been re-elected for a lifetime or have won many major golf tournaments and been the darling of the golf set—-or the son or daughter of a Mucky Muck—you will be treated differently than an ordinary schmuck who drives off a bridge, over a tree, or over obstacles in downtown Washington D.C.. No problem!   We will not question you or publish your accident til you have given us your permission to speak.   (Skepticism is now causing a severe red rash on parts of the body) 

All the reports of the Tiger’s accident mention that his wife Elin frantically broke the back window of the SUV in order to uncage the Tiger inside.( the reports did not say if SHE had been tested for alcohol consumption)  Her father and mother in Sweden acted like they didn’t know her at all when they were called for comment.  "Who’s she?"   

  My skepticism rears its ugly head  again and says in my ear, "Oh yeah?  I bet she was getting in one more swing with one of his golf clubs  to fix her cheating Tiger  but she did not hit the right front window… she broke   the back window instead."   The reports said she was found kneeling over the prone body of Tiger by authorities who arrived at the scene. The reports did not say if her hands were locked around his throat and had to be peeled off by the attending officers.

So will we ever know what really caused the Tiger accident in the posh Florida neighborhood for rich people and golfers????   If the National Enquirer gets ahold of anything, we can expect to read all about it when we are standing in line at Cashwise or SunMart or Hornbachers.    Stay in line and stay tuned.

I have always liked the phrase, "things that go bump in the night" so it was fun to play with that phrase and make it into "things that go ugh in the brain".  I have noticed some things recently that really irritate me and make me say "ugh" out loud or in my mind.

*** Pictures Of Dead Deer:   Every year at this time they appear everywhere;  the hunters holding up the head of a dead gutted deer, often a big buck with lots of points on its antlers. I hate them—the dead deer pictures.  They are gruesome, ugly, and make me wonder what it is that motivates hunters to have pictures taken with these  deer they have so courageously killed with their sophisticated hunting rifles.  All I can hope for is that they made an instantly- killing shot.  Last hunting season (2008) I watched a wounded deer painfully hobble across our neighbor’s field and struggle into our shelterbelt to die. We called the authorities who came and put the poor deer out of its misery from a hunter who did NOT make a killing shot.  There are times when I fantasize , Gary Larson-like, about a picture of a  live deer holding up a dead human in an orange hunting hat.

***Bad Citizen Awards      The first award goes to the dumkopfs who dump their garbage bags right in the middle of what they think is a secluded country road.  I hope they get to spend Eternity standing on their heads in a huge pile of rotting garbage. 

 The second Bad Citizen Award goes to——–tah-dah—-the lazy As—s who cannot walk ten steps to a cart corral in the Big Box parking lots or any parking lot of businesses who allow shoppers to take their loads out in the store carts.  What a bunch of inconsiderate Pigs!!!

I just read what I wrote and think to myself that I am getting far too Grinchy and far too Grumpy but those things really BUG me!   I am just telling the truth as I see it.  I am sick and tired of hearing excuses for Bad Behavior by adults and others who are not yet adults …chronologically.   Where has good citizenship gone?   Who is NOT teaching people to be better caretakers of all things in this world???

Another Thanksgiving Day has come to an end and the Cook is ready to go to bed!  I am always the official cook for the holiday dinners and I enjoy it…I love to make home-made dinner rolls, home-made lefse, real mashed potatoes, real gravy from the turkey juices, home-made stuffing with home-grown sage; cranberry relishes and pickled beet relish… for a few things we have for our dinners. One of my good friends is the "Pie Lady" for the holiday dinners so I do not have to think about dessert.  I have some wonderful family members…daughters in law and grandkids who take over the clean-up operations after the meal is over so it makes the cooking even more worthwhile when I do not have to clean up my own mess.  Cooking is fun; cleaning up after yourself is not fun..I came to that conclusion many long years ago when I first started out as the Holiday cook.

After we had stuffed ourselves at the table and done a bit of cleaning up in the kitchen, we bring out the games and have a blast playing things like "Catchphrase",  "Apples To Apples" and a new one this year…"Buzzword".  All of these are games involving words and language so it is stimulating for old and young brains alike.  I enjoy seeing my grandkids take to the word games as much as I do…every year they are word-smarter than the year past. Meanwhile there is some serious football watching and serious cat-napping going on in another room by the adult males in the family.  The natural sleep inducer in turkey meat…tryptophan..kicks in shortly after the meal and the football watching turns into  some "cutting of Zees" as one adult male puts it.

It was such a nice day today that we went outside while it was still light and took a lot of pictures on the digital camera and the "regular" camera.  I am making an 8-picture frame of the grandkids and we got 3 really good photos of the 3 grandkids who were here today. It amazes me how much they grow and mature from year to year.  I am stunned by the beauty of the girls and the handsomeness of the boys; I know I am prejudiced but they are really good looking kids!!!  If I were an 18 year old teenage girl (unrelated)… I would be drooling over the handsome 18 year old who is my grandson!!!  I am eager to get pictures of the other 5 so I can complete my grandchild picture frame to hang up on a wall in some prominent place here at home.  Next summer there will be wedding pictures of the oldest grandchild—-our oldest granddaughter will be married next July….we can barely believe it but it will happen.

Today… and every day… I am so thankful for so many blessings….small ones and great ones, like continuing good health for my husband and me….a comfortable warm home to give us shelter; an abundance of food that would stun many people in other parts of this world; getting up each morning and turning on electric lights;  water, both hot and cold, running from the faucets in our home whenever we need it;  the warmth produced by a good heating system.  How blessed we Americans are!   Our lives our so easy compared with many people in other lands who struggle daily just to live and care for their families.  We take so much of our blessings for granted every day of our lives.

It has been a wonderful day with family and friends.   I forgot to put on my apron that says "Kiss the cook—she is Norwegian" today but that does not matter.  We ate splendidly and enjoyed each other’s company tremendously. The games are put away (til Christmas anyway) The counters and table are clean and neat once again after the huge mess created by a big holiday meal.  The lights are off in the kitchen and one of the family is relaxing and dozing in the recliner in front of the last football game of the day.  The kitty has come out of hiding after hearing the click of dog claws on the kitchen floor from "Otto" our visiting grand- dogger.  It is definitely time to relax and read a bit more from my current book, "Olive Kitteridge" and finally drop off to sleep after a day of great pleasure and thankfulness.

I have never thought of Bill Gates the Microsoft Guru, as a philosopher.  Til today.  I read a piece attributed to him and it contains some valuable advice that I would give to all 8 of you if you have not already figured out what this piece says to all young people in today’s youngest generation.   The introduction says that Bill Gates spoke at a high school graduation and used this wisdom to tell the Graduates eleven rules they probably never learned in school.   If every teenager and twenty-something could write these thoughts on their hearts , they would be better off all of their adult lives.  So here is wisdom from Bill Gates who made it big by starting Microsoft, when he was still a young man….his words tell me that he learned a lot more than computer skills.

Rule # 1:   Life is not fair—-get used to it.            Rule # 2: The world does not care about your self esteem.  The world will expect you to accomplish something BEFORE you feel good about yourself.  {note from Gramma: this might come as a shock if you have had  teachers in school that have promoted the false gospel  of "self esteem" over real learning!!!}                     #3:   You will not earn $60,000 dollars a year right out of high school.  You will not be a vice president of a company with a car phone until you earn both.        Rule # 4:  If you think a teacher is tough, just wait til you get a boss.   Rule # 5:  Flipping burgers is not beneath your dignity.  Your Grandparents had a different word for burger flipping—-they called it opportunity.      Rule # 6:  If you mess up, it is not your parents’ fault;  so do not whine about your mistakes….learn from them.           Rule # 7:  Before you were born your parents were not as boring as you think they are now.  They got that way from paying your bills, cleaning your clothes, and listening to you talk about how cool you think you are.  So before you save the rain forest from the parasites of your parents’ generation, try delousing the closet in your own room.    Rule # 8:  Your school may have done away with winners and losers, but life HAS NOT; in some schools, the have abolished failing grades and they’ll give you as many times as you need to get the right answer.  This doesn’t bear any resemblance to ANYTHING in real life.      Rule # 9:  Life is not divided into semesters.  You don’t get summers off and very few employers are interested in helping you FIND YOURSELF.  Do that on your own time.    Rule # 10:  Television is not real life.  In real life people have to leave the coffee shop and go to work at their jobs.   Rule # 11:  Be nice to Nerds.  Chances are, you will end up working for one.

My Dear Grandchildren:  I have lived long enough to know that all of these rules are absolutely true.  I was more fortunate than you are….I grew up at a time when we did not get to have everything we wanted when we wanted it.  We had to wait a long time to get certain things…like cars, special clothes that were expensive,  our own rooms,  a big  house to live in, more than two pairs of shoes (one for everyday and one for dress-up)  new jackets every winter…we had to wear ours for a few years before we got a new one.

    We were the children born of the adults who went through the worst of the Great Depression of 1929- 1941.  We grew up living the motto that said   "Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without."   We actually wore hand-me-downs from siblings or cousins.   Our parents hammered this into our heads:  always respect adults and especially your teachers.   If you go to work for someone, you better do the very best job you can…do more than is expected of you.  Never tell lies…they will catch up with you in the end;  always be completely honest about everything, especially about using money.  You better not be a quitter; if you start something, you WILL finish it.  That goes for sports, school, clubs and activities.    The world does not owe you a living;  you owe the world the ability to live well and be a really good person.

My sincerest hope for you, dear Grandkids of mine…..that these rules and memories will profit you in many ways but especially in living the best lives you can and being a worthwhile adult who will make a happy home for your own wives, husbands and children.

Because of the book I am working on for my kids and grandkids, I think back alot these days. I just read the article about the Perham/Dent schoolkids about to lose their "school dog" Murphy because of a possible policy by the school board banning all pets in school.  That made me think of "Jiggs" and other memorable dogs I have known over the years of my life.

The first memorable dog in my life was "Toby" whom I cannot even remember because I was only a baby when Toby was my pal.  I have seen pictures of myself in my stroller petting Toby who belonged to our neighbors, "Grandma and Grandpa Nicolai" who were not my real grandparents but they loved me and treated me like I was a grandchild.  Toby was a water spaniel with tight curly hair and the long wiry tail of a water spaniel.  He was a great first dog for me.   My Grandma had a farm dog at her farm also, and there are pictures with me and that dog also.  I cannot remember the dog but it was a good dog for a baby who liked to put her hands into the dog’s hair and pull on it.  That good dog did not flinch or bite and let me do it over and over. That farm dog was followed by "Tootsie" and "Pal" who became my dogs when I was at my Grandma’s farm visiting in the summertime.

Anohter memorable dog was "Jiggs" who belonged to my friend Dennis, another first grader like me in Miss Mickelson’s classroom in 1944-45.  Jiggs followed Dennis to school and waited around for the day to end so he could walk home with his boy.  When the weather got cold, Miss Mickelson, soft hearted motherly teacher that she was, let us bring Jiggs into our classroom where he slept all day long while we learned to read, write, do simple "arithmetic" and color, cut and paste our art projects. Jiggs was our mascot through our class play, "Peter Rabbit".  We did not use Jiggs in the cast but he was there watching, I know it! Once Jiggs had a bit of an accident from staying indoors too long and we had to clean up a little dog poop with paper towels but Jiggs was not banned for doing that…it was really our fault for not letting him outside at the right time.  Jiggs was a good dog and we all loved him.  I bet Jiggs could recognize our closing song of the day each day…."Now the Day is Over" which we sang before leaving our classroom.  It was a hymn….how different the classrooms of today are.  No such song could be sung today.

"Super" was my next memorable dog.  She was a black cocker spaniel who belonged to our good friends Jack and Agnes.  When they went on a trip one winter to California, we took care of Super at our house and almost could not part with her when her people returned home.  It led my family to getting a dog of our own about one summer later.  And that leads me to….

Cindy:  our first family dog …another black cocker/springer cross puppy who was a tiny 6 week old when she joined us.  We had her for the rest of the years I spent at home before I graduated and went off to college.  She was a gentle friend to us and we loved her dearly. My sister and I would laugh with delight when our Dad talked "dog talk" to Cindy while he scratched her tummy.  Our Dad had such a sense of humor, he knew just what to say to the dog that would make his daughters squeal with laughter.   When I learned of Cindy’s death while I was in Washington state, I was saddened for days.  She was the first and best dog I ever had while I was growing up.

When our own family returned to Minnesota about 1965 it did not take us long to get our first family dog…."Freckles" who was a cross between a Border Collie and an Australian Sheepdog. She had a freckled black and silver coat and she was the perfect dog for 2 little boys who loved her and played with her.  She hid under our back steps for weeks when we first got her as she had spent her first puppy days in a dark barn with her mother and her siblings.   She became our "Arctic Dog" because when she was young, she could run after my Dad’s old Arctic Cat snowmobile for an entire afternoon and not get tired out.  She slept alot the next day though!  She dutifully kept the squirrels and bluejays away from picking up the acorns off our back steps in our first farmhouse.  She scared the living daylights out of the Cenex man who was delivering propane to our place; she was protective of us and he thought she was a German Shepherd and went into a terror-stricken dance when she encountered him in the yard.  He was dancing around and making frightened yipping noises when I came out to tell him she was "friendly"..he did not believe me and he was terribly embarrassed about his yipping and dancing around.  She could look fierce when she barked and put her back hair up if strangers came around.  She once chased off middle- of- the -night thieves who tried to steal our blue Honda bike; we found the bike tipped over along the driveway and realized what Freckles had been barking about the previous night.  I bet those thieving so- and- sos were scared out of their wits when the guardian dog arrived on the scene and gave them a run for their money.  She lived to be almost 16 years old and we were stricken with grief when she died.  She is the first dog buried in our pet cemetery below our big hill.

Annie was the next memorable dog and she was a rascal with one blue eye and one brown eye…a purebred Australian sheepdog.  We only had her 7 years because she died of toxemia when she was pregnant with way too many puppies.  We grieved terribly for her also.  She was a nosy dog and once got caught in a fox trap trying to steal the bait; she got by one time but the next time she got caught again, her one foot froze and she became our three legged Annie.  She and Freckles did not like it when we moved to our new house and they constantly went back to the old place and crawled into their old doghouse.  We retrieved them many times before they finally figured out that we lived at a new place.

Mac joined us in 1980 and he was such a buddy and was so smart!  A pure- bred Border Collie, we had sheep when he was a tiny puppy and he instinctively crouched down in the Border Collie stance when he saw the ewes.  He stalked them and they butted him and sent him rolling and yipping but he got up and stalked them some more til they got used to having him around.  He took care of the sheep for months and would keep them in a small group when we put them out to eat grass in an unpenned area.  He could do the job with no help from us.  He also once went into the "excavating business" in the early fall when I went back to school, the boys went back to school, and he was alone during the day.  Resentful of his loneliness, he dug a deep trench right by the foundation of our home and nearly got down to the underground electrical wires before we saw what he was up to.  We had to fill the trench with big rocks to discourage his digging business.  He also forced me to plant flowers in containers because he found my small gardens in the shade very comfortable for digging himself a nice cool hole in the dirt when it got hot in summer.  He spent many years "rounding me up" everytime I went to get the mail; he rounded up the boys on their way to the school bus and rounded them up in the afternoon when they got home from school as they walked the driveway.  He rounded up "Trudi" our new daughter- in- law’s dog when she came to visit.  The two of them had a ritual:  Trudi would run after a tennis ball and Mac would run after Trudi, rounding her up as she returned with the spitty-tennis ball.  If he irritated her, she would get "sassy" and put him in his place….on his back with his paws in the air.  She definitely established herself as the Alpha Dog when she first visited.  Mac was too timid to defend himself against the assertive Trudi.  His extreme timidity extended to running and hiding behind the shelter belt when strangers came into the yard.  Any burglars could have had a field day with Mac fleeing the scene everytime anyone came.  Our boys developed a scenario in which Mac was speaking;  "Oh no, here comes a car…..what are they doing here?   They are strangers?  Why are they here?   OH NO..they want to KILL ME!"  That was the boys’ explanation for our "chicken-hearted " dog’s reaction to newcomers in our yard.  Mac lived til he was past 15 just like Freckles did, and we grieved terribly for him also.    It took months for me not to begin crying when I turned into our driveway and realized that Mac would not be there to greet me.  It was a hard 5-6 months before I stopped crying over "my boy Mac".

Mac was our last dog.   He was so memorable and so lovable that we could not bear to get another one and go through the grief of losing another dog.   Our cat and dog cemetery now holds the bodies of  Freckles, Mac, Trudi, and Mikey, our beautiful Siamese colored cat.  There is a grave waiting for "Otto" our grand-dog, who is over 15 and failing in health.  Every spring, the grandkids and I clip the grass by the pet graves and sometimes we bring old silk flowers down there to mark their graves.   In due time, we will leave our heart at another pet grave when our Princess Kitty grows old and dies.  memorable dogs—-and cats—have been very much a part of our lives for a long long time.

Well "Boys"—- all three of you guys who are now grown up with families of your own—-and to all 8 grandkids:  I think you all know your Mother and your Grandma is a highly opinionated person..at least my sons know it for sure, as we have discussed, argued, screamed and fretted with each other over the years.   Today, I am relieving some pressure by discussing some really bad "burrs under my saddle" that have been festering for at least a week or longer.

I must quote one of my references today, immediately:  Sherman Frederick of the "Las Vegas Journal Review" said this of his op-ed piece I will use in this blog:  " This {blog} column is not for the politically correct moral relatavist…..so if you cannot stand the thought of clearly naming (and confronting) the evil of terrorism among us, I ‘d ask you to move along now."

Consider yourselves warned!!!!   Bug off…. if you fit in the above category!

My saddle burrs have been festering since the day Major Nidal Hassan shot up a part of Fort Hood at the huge army base at Killeen, Texas.  After studying a lot of written material in the days following the shooting, I came to my conclusion:  this was an act of terrorism— committed once again, on our own soil just as the attack in New York and Washington D.C. was a clear act of terrorism in September of 2001.  And here I must quote Sherman Frederick again because his op-ed is such a plain statement of my own conclusions about the horrific murders at Fort Hood.

"Consider the current case of Maj. Nidal Hasan, who joined (or should we say was ‘embedded with’ the U.S. Army) and then massacred 13 unarmed soldiers at Fort Hood.  So long as American liberals beginning with President Barack Obama can’t muster the honesty call the acts of evil by Maj. Hasan by their rightful name, our citizens are sitting ducks for those who, at this very moment, plot to do us harm.  This is a teaching moment, Mr. President. Repeat after me:***Nidal Hassan is a jihadist.    *** Nidal Hassan committed acts of terrorism.     *** Nidal Hasan is every ounce the terrorist as the 9/11 hijackers.   ***Nidal Hasan warrants no less serious scrutiny than Tikmothy McVeigh, who by the way, was a certified, no-question-about-it- terrorist."

"Why is that not plain as day?  Because for moral relatavists,(like our president) there is no right and wrong—only shades of gray.  They urge accomodation of evil in the name of tolerance.  It’s why we negotiate with Iran.   It’s why old ladies in wheelchairs get frisked at the airports while the guys with beards and bombs in their shoes walk through unchecked……it’s why we forbid soldiers at military bases from carrying weapons…..even now, after the massacre when it is clear that Major Hasan, the jihadist demanded our scrutiny, our president cannot bring himself to use the word ‘terrorism’.  Instead he tells us not to jump to conclusions.    Jump to conclusions?  Mr. President, Maj. Hasan talked with co-workers about cutting off the heads of Infidels.  He maintained ties to a radical Imam and finally, he killed 13 U.S. soldiers while screaming ‘Allhu Akbar’.  And you ask me not to jump to conclusions?"              Sherman Frederick’s concluding sentence says "Stand by for more terrorism"  and I agree with  his words.

I am led to wonder how much political correctness has played in these denials of terrorism. I am also led to wonder if the President’s denials are part of not wanting this  to have happened on "his watch" after we had 7 years of no terrorism in the Untied States following the 9/11 attacks that came  during the Bush administration.  This is hard stuff for a president who has only been in office less than one year.  It reminds me of the denial in 1993 during another administration, when the first terrorist attempt was made on the World Trade Center and it was treated as a crime for police to deal with.  And that leads me to the second bad burr under my saddle….the bringing of admitted Terrorists from the Guantanamo prison for those who were captured on the battlefield or elsewhere, participating in, or planning acts of terrorism against the United States and its citizens and its soldiers….to Manhattan, the site of the 9/11 attacks for a civil trial for their terrorist acts.

The unbelievable announcement just a few days ago made by Attorney General Eric Holder to bring Khalid Shiekh Mohammed and four other prisoners to New York City for federal trials is beyond bad judgement.   Another op-ed writer, a New Yorker, Michael Goodwin, opines this way:  

"Take the iconic ‘I Love New York" poster and plunge a dagger into its heart.  That’s what the Obama administration is doing by bringing the Mastermind of 9/11 and other terror freaks here for trial….Mohammed and his murderous crew do not belong in civilian courts, where they will get defendant rights designed for ordinary criminal suspects.  They declared war on our nation, were captured on foreign battlefields and deserve no presumption of innocence or other constitutional protections…..New York already took a big hit for the team.  The 9/11 attacks were aimed at America and it’s a sacriledge to the dead to bring these defendants back and invite another terrorist attack. Here’s an idea.  Put the trial in Chicago."

I can readily understand why some New Yorkers who have been interviewed have said "bring them back, yeah—and let us take care of them!"    Perhaps that would be true justice….turn these terrorist monsters loose among the families of the victims who died in those buildings on 9/11/2001.  That would be true "eye for an eye" type justice.

To my three sons..and to the grandkids who may not even remember 9/11 because some of you were infants when it happened….. although I bought three books about that day and gave it to each of the familes so that you, too, would always remember what happened to us on that second "Pearl Harbor" of September 11, 2001……your Grandmother and Mother has made herself absolutely clear on these travesties being foisted upon us at the present time.    I protest it vigorously and years from now, I want you all to remember the stand I have taken.

I love my country!   I want it to remain free as our constitution guarantees our freedom.  I am sick of the distortions being foisted on us by midguided and mistaken so called "leaders".

 Dear Kids and Grandkids, I have to inject some humor to my book of memories otherwise it will be Boooooooorrrr-e—ing!   So here, for my sons, especially, who always made fun of my facial contortions when I was cooking, stirring, peeling, slicing, dicing, or doing other kitchen tasks.  You laughed at my lip contortions, the tongue sticking out of the corner of my mouth, et. al. when I was truly working hard on kitchen jobs.  You always got hysterical when I stirred and kneaded bread dough.

Last night you would have gotten in on a lot of facial, lip and tongue contortions.  I bought two pomegranates during my last grocery shopping trip.  There were instructions for cutting open a fresh pomegranate at the store but I forgot them so I looked it up on Google and got some good tips.  So I did what they said:   1.  I cut the top off the "crown" of the pomegranate and did my best to scrape away some of the membrane I could see.    2. I "scored" the rather large thick skinned fruit in 4 equal places.    3.  I put pressure on the fruit so it would open nicely into 4 equal parts.

But it did not do what it was supposed to. It was sort of like the time I bought the tomato slicer and the tomato blew up on me when I used it for the first time.    I actually started wrestling with the stupid pomegranate.  I almost put my one foot up on the counter as I exerted more pressure on the rind.  Finally it kind of exploded in my face.   The inside looked like it was supposed to look….lots of white membrane like in grapefruit and lots of hidden pomegranate seeds with the juicy flesh around them.  But it was supposed to kind of come out nicely and you were supposed to  peel off the fleshy seeds easily onto the counter.  Some came off and some stayed put, hiding stubbornly inside the white membrane, frustrating me totally.  I was beginning to swear under my breath and the muttering was nearly turning into yelling as I struggled with the blasted pomegranate.  There was red juice all over everything—– on my shirt, the counter, the floor, the cutting board.   There were pomegranate seeds shooting out onto the floor and at 2 pomegranates for 3.98 I was picking them all up off the floor to rinse them off and use them. Piles of pomegranate peel and membrane were scattering over the countertop.

I finally got 1/2 of a glass pint jar of the fleshy seeds.   It was far more frustrating than shelling peas.  I have one more pomegranate to deal with but I have to recover from my wrestling match with the first one.  I had to wash the one wall, part of the ceiling, the kitchen counter, my shirt, the cutting board, part of the floor,   the front of the microwave (pomegranates squirt worse than pressed lemons).

  When you come home for the holidays, maybe I can entertain you by cutting up another pomegranate—-or I could try opening a coconut for you.  I am sure that would be equally entertaining.  I know my tongue was sticking out the side of my mouth as far as it could go and I am sure I had pursed my lips as far as they could be pursed.  My 3 sons would have been rolling on the floor if they would have been here last night.    Bad Boys!   It is truly Mother Abuse when you laugh at my efforts (and facial contortions) in the kitchen!

The sunsets come early at this time of the year.  After a near-perfect day on November 11, the sun has gone down once again on another Veterans’ Day.  Veterans were honored in places all over the country today….with ceremonies, parades, speeches, remembrances, pictures, memorials……as it should be.

I just watched a newscast presentation about the soldiers of today…those who are in the volunteer army, navy, marines..all branches of the military are currently made up of those who have volunteered to serve.  As our President struggles with the dilemma of sending more troops to Afghanistan at the leading General’s request, I think about those who must go even after serving several times already…mostly in the Middle East or in Afghanistan.

Our people wonder how many tours of duty can our military men and women stand?  The military expert who was interviewed on the news tonight spoke of the heavy toll many tours take on an individual….many suffer from the syndrome of stress brought on by the horrors of serving in a battle zone.  In WW 1 they called it "shell shock";  in WW 2 they called it "battle fatigue" and General George Patton got himself in a heap of trouble by slapping a soldier who was suffering from it.  In the more recent wars many returning men and women suffer from the "post traumatic stress syndrome" the most current appelation for describing what veterans go through after being in dangerous battle zones, seeing buddies killed right next to them or going through an explosion of a hidden explosive on the roadside as we heard so much about in Iraq before things calmed down in that country. Every generation of soldiers goes through this at whatever time they served in a war zone.

I think about the military during WW 2 when young men were drafted to serve.  It was the only way to get enough men to cover the needs brought on by the attacks around the entire world during that conflict.  I know a veteran of WW 2 who is now in his 80s.  He was away from home for more than 4 years during his stint in an engineering corps who landed in Africa, Italy, and finally on the coast of France at Utah Beach on D- Day.  If anyone suffered from PTS syndrome,it ought to be men like him.  But he–and many others came home—and resumed civilian life and built this great nation during the later 1940s and 1950s without seeming to suffer from their war experiences.  I know they suffered silently, or in dreams and nightmares but they somehow carried on, most of them anyway.  Some never recovered from the long times away from home  in the battle zones or in aircraft as pilots or navigators or gunners.  

And then I wonder:  is there a difference in the make-up of today’s soldiers and those of WW 2 or Korea or other wars?  Are today’s youth less strong mentally and emotionally?   Could there be that much of a difference in the generations?   Would the relatively "soft life" of the Affluent Generations make them less able to take the stress of serving in military battles and tough situations?  Was the military a lot tougher-minded in those ways a couple of generations ago?

Or might it be that there are too few of them in the present "volunteer" status of our military?     Is this why so many have to go back to duty so many times?   Or why the national guard units have been called up over and over during the past decade?  I do not know any of the answers…I only ask the quesions on this Veterans’ Day 2009.

I have so much respect for those who serve in our military.  They truly lay their lives on the line on behalf of the rest of us.  It has not been a peacetime military since we were attacked on 9-11-2001.  I have sent off my e-mails to veterans I know thanking them for the times they served.  We made a couple of calls to veterans we know who do not have or use e-mail.   It is all we can do…thank them for serving in our places.

Earlier today I recommended that readers of Areavoices read PRAIRIE WOMAN and PARADE WATCHER  today.  I must add to that:  read Doug Leier’s blog today also.

I wish I could answer my own questions.  I wish I did not have to ask these questions but I have to ask.  Maybe some readers will add their thoughts to this blog and I can understand a few more things about what war does to those who fight in it.

I am so moved by two blogs I just read this morning.  I cannot express my thanks adequately to PRAIRIE WOMAN.   Also watch  the video on PARADE WATCHER.

As PRAIRIE WOMAN concluded with a familiar adage we all  know…..Freedom Is Not Free!

Please read these blogs today!