A Kick In The Ass I Need

I posted this video on the blog over six years ago, and it's just the kick in the ass I need.



Please know that I'm



Hoping all is well with you, Citizens.

Don't Let It

(This post is dedicated to my friend, Deb, who is diagnosed with ALS.)

Debilitating losses.

Terminal diseases.

They can take so much from a person. Energy.  Mobility.  Limbs.  Memories. Cruel and greedy, they strip so many things away without recourse.

Yet there is one thing they can never take.

The human spirit.  That joie de vivre that makes up who we are. That indomitable well spring of a life worth living.

Unless we let it.

Don't. Don't let it make you give up living your life to the fullest that you can before it's your time. Don't let it crush your spirit and make you a shell. Don't let it snatch away those precious months, days. Minutes.

Don't!




Thank you Valerie Harper for illustrating this so beautifully and showing us all what a life worth living looks like.

Damn Deer

So I got T-boned by a deer tonight as I ferried the oldest Urchin to dance class. It ran right into the side of the minivan, crunching the handle of the sliding door.

Sigh.

There's still a tuft of fur jammed in the side of said door handle. It was one of those times when there was nothing I could have done. It shot out of the woods at top speed like the hounds of Hell were on its heels. Or at least a pack of ill-tempered and slightly rabid squirrels. And head butted the side of the van. I saw it get up and move off in the rear view as I kept going.

At least the person tailgating me in the snowfall didn't run it over. They were (barely) able to stop in time.

All in all, it could have been much worse.

So, any deer collisions in your past?

Overwhelmed

I'm dealing with a lot of shit here.

My beloved dog, whom we've had for almost fifteen years is really reaching the end now. She was diagnosed with cancer just after Christmas last year, and it's been a year of every day is a bonus, but watching her decline more and more just has been breaking my heart all year long. It's getting very close to the end now, and it's killing me.

I'm trying to list on Ebay for this holiday selling season, which takes a lot of time and energy that I don't seem to have any more of.

I'm trying to deal with all the new responsibilities of becoming the president of my writer's group. Which entail reading bylaws and policy and procedures among other things. I haven't gotten very far.

I'm trying to write more, but with the Urchins being off school for Thanksgiving for the last 11 days, nothing got written at all.

I'm on the committee with the blue haired old ladies for our township's new year's celebration. And after about thirty minutes into the meeting, I wish I could be like Sheldon Cooper when he stops a conversation because it has come full circle. But I just can't. Plus I have lots of responsibilities and footwork to do for them.

Because I'm at home, I feel obligated to volunteer in my girls' classrooms around once or twice a week.

And I just want to curl up into a ball and hide my head under a desk like the children in an atomic bomb drill from the fifties.

from apps.detnews.com

Remember That Pinched Nerve?

Well, I do. And now it's back. I spent the morning at the doctor's office being twisted into a pretzel from the waist down and being asked, "Does this hurt?" I swear he was a sadist in disguise. And I was secretly on some new kinky reality show. At the very least I was getting punk'd.

Then I was sent for back xrays. I'd never gotten anything xrayed before besides my teeth. That was an interesting experience. Standing for the whole thing proved slightly problematic. That's all I'll say.

I am now on steroids and some heavy duty locate-your-bed-before-you-take-these pain pills. I'm supposed to be packing for vacation right now. We're going camping. On Monday. On plywood boards that have pathetic foam coverings so they can masquerade as beds. Suffice it to say I'm not going to be a happy camper.

But I'll take one for the team and hope like hell I don't develop paralysis over the long term.

Look on the bright side. Apparently this was the universe's way of supplying me with a summer re-run.

So here it is.

All It Took Was A Pinched Nerve

Happy trails, citizens.

Carny Part Deux Railroaded By Skunk

So, I was going to report about the Fireman's Fair, but there really isn't that much to tell this year. We had lots of people come and enjoy it with us. The antique tractor parade was as quaint as usual, and the food was awesome- especially since I didn't have to cook any of it.

But new developments must be reported upon.

I'm terrified that a skunk is in our basement.

Yes, you read that correctly.

We woke up at about five this morning to the smell of skunk. I figured one got hit on the road out front and, considering it was the oldest Urchin's first day of school, that I would have to deal with disgusting, smelly road kill as we waited for the bus. But when we trudged down to the end of the driveway at 7:50, there were no bloody, flattened, carcasses to be seen. Which, as anyone knows, is a source of great rejoicing.

It's been windy here today, and I expected the smell to dissipate quickly. And most of it has.

Except at the side porch.

Where the only access to our dirt floor basement is located. With its doors wide open and a fan blowing up the stone steps.

I am a-feared that the smell is emanating from there.

I've reported my suspicions to The Man, because as repeated frequently here at Tongue In Cheek, at Chez Quinn the disposal of animals falls directly into Man-land territory. (Okay, there was that one carny fish incident and oh, the dead uber-mouse where I took matters into my own gloved hands, but for the most part, Man-land.)

So I will now have to update you with the skunk report once things get checked out. I'm sure you'll be waiting with bated breath.

As will I, citizens.

As will I.

Stomach Flu Or . . .

mild food poisoning. I got one or the other. Hit me hard yesterday. I also am developing a sty. Really painful and gross looking.

It's my writing group's 50/50 challenge (write 50 words a day for 50 days straight) right now too. I'm hoping I can stay in. This is how I'm feeling.



Sigh. Maybe someone will throw me a pity party in the comments and then I can move on.

Nothing to Joke About

I know the name up there says Tongue in Cheek, but today I just couldn't find the humor. I read a blog post yesterday that still is striking a chord in me. The arrogance and narrow view point of the author just boggled my mind. I have many similarities with the author. We are both white, suburban stay at home moms living in the United States. But though our demographics are strikingly similar, our world view is not.

This woman, with her condescending tone, preached to her choir about the horrors of . . . sending your child to daycare. She called it "child abandonment" and pulled observations out of her ass and passed them off as gospel.

Woman, I don't even know where to begin. Not all people who put their children in child care do it so they can "have the second income to be able to afford a second luxury car." They do it out of necessity. Secondly, abandonment means you leave and never come back. Not you leave, and pick them up in a few hours. It's been done for ages.

America survived and built itself during the "children should be seen, but not heard" era.

Just because you were raised during the "Baby on Board" generation where everyone gets a participation trophy and there are never any losers, doesn't mean that sending your child to preschool makes that parent the spawn of Lucifer.

Get a fricking world view. If the evils of dropping off at daycare are throwing shivers of horror down your spine, you need to expand your horizons.

Check into some of these real issues:
June's death toll for Afghanistan coalition forces were the highest of the entire war.

Stoning to death of female victims of rape

FGM still occurs today to millions of little girls.

Children conscripted into armies.



So, lady, before I jump down off my soap box and return to my regularly scheduled blog full of nonsense, remember this. Not every parent in the U.S. has the financial choice to stay at home with their children. Not only that, but most children, under the tutelage of caring professionals thrive and flourish in that environment, picking up new learning paths and social skills. Not every child should be exposed to only one point of view all day long. If they do, they'll end up as narrow minded and stunted in the knowledge of real world problems as you are and will never become a productive member of our free thinking society.

Back In the Saddle and Poor Research Practices

So, the antibiotics are starting to kick in. And the most wonderful medicine of all - codeine- has ensured a full night's rest. So I'm on the mend. I was looking back over the last few posts, and I definitely need to quit the bellyachin. But here's the last one. I lost one of my slippers two weeks ago. I sit here typing with only one slipper on. Of course I've looked everywhere, but no luck. So my left foot is out in the cold for now.

What does your Christmas list say about you? The only thing on mine right now is a new pair of slippers. Kinda pathetic, huh? I'd even be pleased with one left slipper. I don't even need a matched set. You got any requests for Mr. Claus?

On to other, loftier thoughts besides the contemplation of my indoor foot coverings. Do you think an author has a responsibility to the genre? I've been reading (a dangerous pastime if ever I heard of one, because we all know what that can lead to- *horrific shudder* - thinking). Some people out there are concerned about the reputation of the oft maligned romance genre. It seems, many times, that its detractors are people who've never actually read a romance. The harsh stereotype of bodice ripping, poorly written porn gets thrown around, a proclamation is made about how worthless the entire genre is, and the opinion is repeated ad nauseum all over the place until others take up the call and it gets taken for fact.

There are bad books in any genre. But should romance authors feel an extra guarded duty to protect and/or elevate romance? My opinion is to write the stories you think up to the best of your ability.

But the real bottom line is sex. People's views on sex are often entwined in emotions and religion which boils down to beliefs. Which then leads to strong opinions. There's enough disagreement over the amount of sex included in romance books between authors within the genre to make a federal case. This isn't a new argument by any stretch of the imagination. It's just one I've been giving a little consideration recently.

The article (and I use that term very, very loosely) I read that started these musings is How Romance Novels Take the Romance Out of Romance. It's touched off a lot of nerves within the romance community. I'll only mention that the author obviously went into his grand experiment with his mind already made up, admits he did some shoddy research and then made some large opinionated proclamations. Which he's completely entitled to do.

I don't get too worked up about these things. Yet the scientific part of my brain rebels at the thought of making a decision based on heresay or crappy research. The mind is a terrible thing to waste, and even our publicly funded education introduced the concept of the scientific method. Not that anyone has to employ it in the strictest sense, just being aware of the concept should allow a person to have the resources to make informed decisions instead of uneducated spoutings. But as we all know, that's not what blogs are about. And that's an entry for a different day.

Until next time, citizens!

Not Much To Say About This

Except, wow.

Problem Vs. Inconvenience

Get ready for a rant.

I normally don't get too serious on this venue; thus the name. But I need to vent. I always seem to need to vent when I spend large amounts of time with my in-laws. So I dedicate this entry and the soapbox that goes with it to them.

When I was a teenager, I read an article that profoundly affected my views. I read it in Readers Digest, of all places. The author related a story about his youth when he worked on a ranch. The cook for the hands on the ranch was an old timer who didn't say much. Well, this young man, after coming in from working hard all day, doing back breaking manual labor in the hot sun stomped inside and knew that if he was going to be served pork and beans for dinner for the fifth time in a row, he'd explode. As soon as he entered the mess hall, the smell of that dinner hit him full in the face. He began complaining loudly as he brought his plate up to the old cook about how they were having pork and beans yet again. As he took a breath to continue his diatribe, the old man, with his thick accent, looked up and quietly asked him a question.

"Is this a problem, or an inconvenience?"

The younger man was taken aback because the cook barely said anything to anyone, ever. But here he was, looking him directly in the eye and questioning him. The young cowboy didn't know what to say, but the old man did.

He told a story of a young boy who lived behind high fences topped with barbed wire, just like the cattle the cowboy tended, except the boy and all the people inside the fence were treated even worse than livestock. He told of fighting rats to wrestle the rotten food away from them so the boy could consume it, of watching everyone around him turn gray and weak, of the big men coming to beat and tear away the people inside the fence from each other. He told of smoke rising from chimneys. Smoke so foul that it laid on your skin like an infection and choked the life from you just by its presence. He told of the boy watching every single person in his family die a slow and dehumanizing death by malnourishment, mistreatment, disease and worst of all - apathy.

The old cook pushed up the sleeve of his tattered flannel shirt and showed the young cowboy the blue tattoo on his arm of numbers blurred by the passing of time, revealing that he, himself, was the boy from the story. He then asked the cowboy again.

"Is having pork and beans served to you every night for a week a problem or an inconvenience?"

The story not only gave the author new perspective, but also myself. The AIDS epidemic in Africa is a problem. Women in the Middle East being stoned to death because they were raped is a problem. Bride burning in India is a problem. Global warming is a problem. Sex trafficking is a problem. Children being conscripted into armies torn by civil war in Africa is a problem. Suicide bombers are a problem.

Having your parents ask if you would like to have heirlooms from their family is not a problem. Having to buy a fourth TV for the kitchen is not a problem. Your teenage daughter wanting to talk on the phone to her boyfriend is not a problem. Not being able to pack all the new presents from the holiday to take back to your house is not a problem. Having to listen to High School Musical is not a problem. Those, and a lot more like them, are inconveniences.

Suck it up and quit complaining. There is always someone who's had it worse than you. If you don't believe that, do one or all of the following:

1. Read Night by Eli Wiesel.
2. Read A Child Called "It" by Dave Pelzer.
3. Read Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe.
4. Watch U571.
5. Watch Saving Private Ryan.
6. Watch Pray the Devil Back to Hell.
7. Watch Hotel Rwanda.
8. Visit a women's shelter.
9. Visit a homeless shelter.
10. Visit a VA hospital.
11. Visit the pediatric wing of your local hospital.

I could go on, but dear readers, I've ranted you to death, and I'm sure you're not guilty of the above. Come back in a few days. I'm sure I'll be perkier since my in -laws will soon be going back to where they came from. I leave with this parting thought that I'm using as my mantra for when I go back to the house where all the in-laws are in just a few short hours. Everyone is going through their own battles. Try and be patient, even if they're only inconveniences and not real problems.

Annoyed! (and other stuff)

Annoyed, annoyed, annoyed. I haven't been able to update my website for a couple months now, and I'm not sure if it's iweb, filezilla or my web hosting that is the problem. I now need to go through all the lines of error codes to try and figure it out. I'm not relishing that particular chore at all. Could be worse, but still annoying.

I've decided on the sea monkey article for the newsletter, but not if I should add it to the Editor's Link or not. I'm not sure why I'm having such a hard time making a decision about it. I think because I'm a newbie at this whole writing gig, and I don't know how it would be perceived (big industry picture-wise)to have my dinky little article out there. I don't want to look like a fool, or come across arrogant or pushy. Which will probably mean that I will keep it to the local writing group only. When in doubt, leave it out.

I'm full of cliches. Sometime I think I'll try to speak only in cliches or well known phrases for the entire day. I bet I could do it.

Speaking of cliches and old adages, I said one the other day that I hadn't thought of since I was a little girl. Smoke follows beauty. I have a million of them, some are more obscure than others. For example, if your nose itches, my mom always said that person would get a kiss or a letter or something better. Many people have told me over the years that if your nose itches you'll get in a fight or kiss a fool. I like mine better.

How about you? Any old sayings that you use? Maybe ones you grew up with? Let's hear them!

In Which Way Do Threes Come?

So I thought I was done complaining, but evidently I'm not. The old saying goes, bad luck comes in threes. I'm wondering how it comes in threes because by this point I'm thinking three months of bad luck instead of three bad things happening. Here's the latest round of three.

A deer hit my husband's car, I had a tire blowout while I was driving, and yesterday we woke up to a cold house and no gas to heat it.

The deer hit the car earlier in the month. My husband decided that it wasn't all that bad, and that he could repair it himself, thereby bypassing the cost of labor. The parts arrived (with a hefty price tag), and have been sitting in my dining room for the month. He hasn't had the time, energy or good enough weather to begin the repairs.

Last Wednesday I was driving along a back road, when the minivan started shaking. I knew right away what it was. This is the second blowout I've had in my lifetime. The first was getting off of a highway on the outlying area of Philadelphia. That one was scary, especially for a nineteen year old. So anyway, everyone was fine, but we need four new tires on the minivan because the one that blew really brought home the fact that they're worn out. (the radials are showing through on the inside track.) So there's four new tires and an alignment.

Yesterday, Sunday of course, I wake up to sleet outside, and fifty degree temps inside. Our gas had run out. Now, I guess part of that is our fault for not checking diligently, but we're on an automatic delivery system with Amerigas, that sometimes they don't deliver as regularly as they should. Plus, when we moved in, the gas gauge for one of the tanks was broken. The gas company owns the tanks, and refuses to fix it or replace it. Don't get me started on the evils of Amerigas. I will be giving some poor secretary or hopefully customer representative a hard time later this morning. So since it's Sunday, there is no one at Amerigas. They're closed. So the best thing I can do is leave a message. And you can bet your sweet bippy I did. This isn't the first time they've left us without gas. The first time was Christmas Eve a few years back. That was pleasant, let me tell you.

So there are three new ones for the month of November. It's not all the crappy stuff that happened, but the major highlights. November hasn't shaped up to be any better than October was. But let's try and look on the bright side, shall we? The deer didn't total the car. No one got hurt in the tire blowout. The gas ran out Sunday instead of Saturday when we had my brother and his family up for Thanksgiving, and we were able to cook the turkey and all the trimmings. Plus we have a wood stove and lots o' wood to burn.

So in which ways do threes come? Three and they're done? Three per month? Three a day? I have to tell you, I'm starting to get superstitious. I keep trying to think back. Did I break a mirror? Did I cross paths with a black cat? Did I piss off some entity that's now exacting revenge? It's probably the last one. I think I'll hang up some garlic garland with my tinsel this year and hope that the new year brings some better luck with it.