Plastic People Patrol on the Prowl

I suppose you've probably figured out by now that we are a bit of an odd family. It might have to do with having been military for so long and moving around so much that we have to make our own fun or at least come up with some innovative ways to entertain ourselves.

The Plastic People Patrol started several years ago when we lived in Texas. We were riding high on the dot-com bubble and were living in a fairly upscale neighborhood like all the other stock-option people in Austin. We had just finished hanging up our Christmas lights and were heading to the pool (Austin was 80 degrees at the time) when we walked past a house and were stopped in our tracks. The lawn (which was the size of a postage stamp in this zero-lot-line development) was absolutely FILLED with "internally illuminated" Christmas decorations - plastic people. How the communist-led neighborhood association had let this one get past their keen radar was beyond me! It was a sight to behold!

This family had the traditional nativity scene with Mary and Joseph and Baby Jesus PLUS the wisemen, their camels, Santa and sleigh and all 9 reindeer (Rudolph included), Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, a full choir, an army of nutcracker soldiers, 3-foot-high candles, a snowman army, candy canes, and a Grinch. It was so red-neck, the ginormous modern house to which the lawn was attached was incongruent. It should have been a single-wide instead of a 5-bedroom, 3-car mortgage broker's dream. Even the Mercedes parked in the driveway now seemed out-of-place situated among the Plastic People population.

We counted up the number of Plastic People in that yard that year and came up with 34. The next year, the group had reproduced somehow (maybe Snow White and one of the dwarves?) and stood at 36. We started riding around the neighborhood and other developments in southwest Austin looking for another house that beat that record of 36 Plastic People. The Plastic People Patrol was born and a family tradition was launched.

That year in Texas, we decided the 36-count Plastic People home deserved a tribute for starting a family tradition so we printed up an award on Christmas paper, tucked a twenty-dollar bill in the envelope with it, and left it anonymously in the mailslot of the front door of that house. The Plastic People Patrol had awarded it's first annual recognition award!

Now, every year we go on Plastic People Patrol looking for the house in the county that has the most Plastic People included in their holiday exterior illumination display. Lighted things like Christmas trees, hanging icicles, and wire figures do not count. Plastic People have to be made out of plastic to qualify. With the advent of the blow-up holiday decorations, we've included them as qualifying Plastic People since they do contain some sort of petroleum-based or synthetic product in their covering and are illuminated internally. No matter the size, though, they only count once. A 14-foot inflatable carousel, while impressive, cannot count twice.

We've seen some interesting decorations in our yearly quest to find the winner of the Plastic People Award. The house that turned it's trampoline on it's side and put lights around the outside edge to make a 12-foot wreath was inventive. The house that just left up the Halloween decorations and added Christmas decorations to the mix was a bit schizophrenic. Some houses rival Clark Griswald's and you have to wonder what the electricity bill runs for the month of December.

It's been several years now that our Plastic People Patrol has been in operation. Families in two states and three counties have earned places in the Plastic People Award Hall of Fame and been awarded certificates placed in their mailboxes. Son has hit his teenage years so we are now making it a team effort among his group of friends. We'll be making our final enumeration tour one night soon. The boys will be piling into the Denali, hyped up on energy drinks while Mom (that's me), hyped up on Prozac to survive 5 teenage boys hyped up on energy drinks crammed into an SUV, drives them by all the houses they have noted as contenders. Head counts of Plastic People will be executed as a group and the contender with the highest population will win the coveted 2007 Plastic People Award and the cash award of $20 that accompanies it. A family tradition survives another year and perhaps will be passed on to future generations.

Are we weird or what?

What Would the Holidays Be without Firearms?

Ahhh, Thanksgiving Day has passed and the stampede on Wal-mart has passed for the moment. It is time to sit back and enjoy the essence of a Southern Christmas. Living in the bastion for the Second Amendment, firearms and the holidays have always been woven together around here.

For example, the Saturday after Thanksgiving is opening day for duck season. It's a wonderful tradition to be awoken at the lovely hour of 3:00 am as husband and son try to "quietly" gather all their equipment for a day of duck hunting. "Dad, did you get the Beanie Weanies?" and "Where did you put my socks? I laid them right here!" whispered sotto voice are common in Southern households everywhere. Once the dynamic duo are out the door and sleep mercifully returns, the annual recreation of the Battle of Chickamauga launches out on the river with shotguns blasting away at unsuspecting waterfowl. Said unsuspecting waterfowl get wise after losing a few of their comrades and decide to fly to other places less dangerous (like the wildlife refuge a half-mile away), leaving the ghosts of the Confederate Army (now dressed in camo and bright orange) to pretend they see a duck and just shoot to be making noise. The windows of the house rattle and the dogs hide under the bed all day. Yes, it's Christmas-time!

Another good example arose around here this past weekend after football games were over and turkey eaten. As I'm struggling to get the Christmas tree up and the decorations out, dearest son decides he's going to rid the household of that pesky varmint the skunk, affectionately known by me and our dog Buster as The Devil Incarnate after our little dustup a few weeks ago. Son has a complex plan of action. First of all, reconnaissance is required to determine just where the creature is sheltered using the highly developed olfactory sense. In other words, dear son went around the yard sniffing. He narrowed it down to several potential locations, with the two prime spots being the ivy covering the wellhead and the culvert under the road at the bottom of the orchard.

The next step of the battle plan is armament. Son spends some time on expedition inside his closet and emerges with his camo, paintball helmet, 20-gauge shotgun and 12-gauge shotgun. Pockets bulging with shells, he declares he's ready but explosives are needed. What's a good skunk hunt without being able to blow something up, right?

Son pulls the last remnants of his Fourth of July firecrackers from the box under his bed and is heard mumbling "Man, I wish I had some M-80s..." as he rummages through the junk drawer looking for the lighter. The Plan (note the capitalization because now we have form to this endeavor) is to flush the skunk out with the firecrackers and then shoot him with one of the two shotguns as he goes running across the yard. Bottle rockets were considered but rejected because of their unpredictability and proximity to firearms. In other words, mom (being me) said "no".

As dad and I stand at the back door - inside of course - watching the last male member of the family line stomp around the back yard looking like a skinny Rambo, we decided there was the potential here for side-splitting humor. We started wagering on which gun he was going to drop first in his flight from the skunk and which tree he'd run into during his getaway. There was no doubt in our minds that the skunk was going to come out on top if his Tora Bora cave was exposed.

Alas, the depth charges did not serve to flush out Mr. Stinky and son had to return to the house defeated and dejected, having used up all his explosives. However, the shotguns are handy and ready at the backdoor just in case the opportunity arises for battle. You can never be too well-armed, you know. The Battle of the Backyard shall continue another day.

And finally, it just wouldn't be a Southern Christmas without all the flyers arriving in the mail from Cabela's and Bass Pro advertising the latest and greatest in deer rifles, scopes, and intruder-deterrent pistolry. With Sharpies and ads in hand, the males of the species retreat to the "reading rooms" to make out their Christmas lists by circling the weapons of their dreams while taking care of other business. Man, if only I had some M-80s....

Keeping It in Perspective

Last night after a very long day and few sales (I work on commission), I was lying in bed watching Fox News and thinking about the upcoming holidays. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I've already purchased all the groceries for a traditional meal. Everything is ready to go and I'll start today with the things that can and should be done ahead of time for a good Southern Thanksgiving dinner.

As these fairly random thoughts are running through my head, my subconscious is set on "worry" mode. Day before yesterday, I got word that my aunt had had a stroke. I got a call yesterday from my nephew concerning an issue that my brother is having with his landlord. I realized that my quarterlies are due next month. And I haven't started Christmas shopping. My house is a wreck and I have a mouse that so far only I have seen (my husband and son think I'm hallucinating and who knows - I might be!).

Problems, problems, problems. I started thinking "if only I had a lot of money, most of these problems could be solved". I could hire a housekeeper for my house, not to mention a mouse-hunter (or a psychiatrist if the mouse is truly a figment of my imagination). I could afford to move my brother and mother into nice assisted living facilities where they would both be well-cared-for. I could not worry about a budget on Christmas and how I'm going to afford everything. Taxes - well, if you listen to any liberal Democrat I wouldn't be paying taxes because I'm rich but the reality would be that I would be paying an accountant and financial advisor to find as many tax breaks as possible so I wouldn't be supporting Sierra Leone all on my own. As for my aunt, not much money can do on that except help with expenses if needed.

Being human, I decided I had come up with the perfect solution. Money would solve all my problems. In my mind I said, "God, I need to win the lottery or something. Think you can arrange that?" Then one of those rare moments occurred. I heard God talking back to me. No, not out loud but in my head, very clearly and very distinctly. He said, "Okay. But which blessing do you want to give up for it?" What? What did He mean give up a blessing? He had my attention.

He went on to say "Here are the major blessings which I've given you: a good job, a great house, plenty of food, a great husband and a terrific son, enough income to meet all your bills and then some, two vehicles that operate well and look decent, good health, and good friends and neighbors. I've surrounded you with animals of both the domestic and wild variety which calms your spirit. I've given you the opportunity to pursue hobbies you enjoy. I've brought you home from around the world and settled you in one of my favorite spots. You are warm, clothed, fed, and loved. I can arrange the lottery or the windfall but which of these blessings are you going to give up for it?"

There's nothing more humbling than when God shows you your own lack of faith. I was so embarrassed and it's not a good feeling to be ashamed before the Lord.

So this Thanksgiving, I'm giving thanks for all those blessings AND the problems because God's got it all under control. I just have to remember that and stop thinking that I have all the answers. Thank you God for letting me still have my brother and mother this side of heaven; I know my time with them is limited. Thank you for the income that is high enough that I have to pay quarterlies. Thank you for the mouse because, let's face it - he's cute as a button with those big ears. Thank you for the mess because it is in a wonderful house. But most of all God, thank you for Jesus, without whom we would have nothing for which to give thanks and certainly no Christmas to celebrate.

Red Letter Day

I love living in the country. While I was raised within the city limits of a small town, our environment was still fairly rural and my grandparents lived on a farm so I have always considered myself a country girl. I am beginning to suspect, however, that the years of city-living I've had over the past twenty years have softened me up too much.

Yesterday at the pre-dawn hour of 5:30, I took my dogs out for their morning potty break and sniff session. Our biggest one, Buster (who has the personality to match his name), took off after something in the dark. Buster is an 8-lb. Chihuahua who thinks he's a pit bull. There was a huge ruckus and I decided to go investigate thinking he'd maybe actually caught one of the wild cats that hangs around our bird feeders. Wrong. It was not a nice kitty. It must have looked kind of like a kitty to bird-brained Buster in the dark, but it was the devil in disguise. It was Pepe LePeue on steroids.

Oh heavens. I got close enough for my nose to tell me the story and I turned tail and beat it back to the house. The other two dogs (who have more than 3 brain cells) followed right along. They didn't want any part of this dust-up. Buster was on his own as far as they were concerned. There's fraternal loyalty and then there's stupidity.

I got them in and finally Buster comes dragging back to the porch looking shocked and appalled. His expression said it all - "What the heck WAS that thing? And how did it arm itself with pepper spray? Cats are supposed to run and then you get a nice chase in but this thing zapped me!" Poor Buster looked like a police academy cadet who had just undergone the pepper spray training exercise. His eyes were red and swollen, his chest and ears were cherry red.

My sympathy was only half-hearted, though, because I knew now I had to clean up this eight-pound mass of stink. Then I committed a cardinal sin - I brought him inside. Big, big mistake. Not only did I then have a contaminated dog but the house was soon an EPA Supersite, too. The husband comes downstairs clutching a wash rag over his face, gagging and saying "what are you doing???"

I guess my old vet-tech mindset had kicked in and I wasn't thinking that skunk smell permeates EVERYTHING. Those molecules are relentless. I had cleaned up enough skunked dogs when working for the vet as a teenager and I wasn't thinking "house" but rather "what was that deskunkifier recipe??" It had been twenty-five years since I'd last made a batch.

The rest of the story is a lesson in hazardous material handling. The house was unlivable for the rest of the day. Lucky for me, I had to drive 200 miles yesterday to pick up my son from grandma's house so I was out until afternoon. I stuck Buster in the basement, turned on the big house fan (1948 a/c) and left. Of course, those molecules were everywhere - in my hair, my clothes, my nose, and my purse. I finally stopped at a McDonalds and transferred the contents of my new leather purse to a Wal-mart bag and tossed the purse in the dumpster. It was a total loss. I rolled down all the windows in the Denali and put the seat heater on so I could see to drive without the fumes tearing my eyes too much. Ever drive 78 mph in 42-degree weather with all the windows down? Not fun.

When we got back to the house yesterday afternoon, it was possible to be in the house but we were all dripping Visine every fifteen minutes like dope heads and burning every candle we can find. Everything made of cloth has to be washed now. I want to kiss whoever decided to put Febreeze in Tide and Downy.

And to top off this lovely Red Letter Day in our household - Al Gore wins the Nobel Peace Prize. Good God.

Home Work a Hassle?

I was reading a blog posting this morning in our local large city newspaper concerning homework and how kids these days are bogged down with it. Read it here. A Wall Street Journal article (read it here) and the general consensus of parents seems to be that homework is just a time-consuming hassle. It interferes with life and stresses out kids.

I'm a former middle school teacher and the mother of a 14-year old so I have some exposure to this situation from both sides of the fence. When I taught in the public school system, I taught in a rural middle school where the majority of the students came from impoverished backgrounds. Today that would be called an at-risk school but at the time (twenty years ago) we weren't sweating over test scores so the term never arose. I would say we had a good school. We had dedicated teachers, a great administration, and average students. We had an exceptional program for the gifted and talented and for the "educationally challenged" students, too. Some parents were involved but most weren't (not any different than today).

What we DIDN'T have were students whose lives were scheduled down to the last second. If a student played a sport, it was a school sport. There were no community soccer associations or karate schools or other such things. If a student played an instrument, it was in the band. No violin lessons or trumpet lessons after school. A student went home, did homework, and hung out. Parents came home, fixed supper and hung out. There was no "living in the mini-van" as mom carted kids from one activity to the other all afternoon, every afternoon.

The writer of the WSJ blog probably doesn't realize it but his child has just caught his and his wife's anxiety disease. The parents have communicated that the child must get As and Bs and makes it such a priority that they are constantly in the kid's face with flashcards and lists of spelling words, even in restaurants. The school work isn't stressing the kid out - it's the parents! Give the kid a break! Let him do it on his own. How is he going to learn to study on his own if his parents are constantly there pushing this stuff down his throat? He's not anxious because he's getting Ds - he's anxious because his parents are getting Ds! They need to back off.

Home work has it's place. It provides additional practice for new concepts learned at school that day. It can provide supporting learning opportunities for concepts with which the student struggles. Should a parent be involved in all home work activities? NO! Let the child do the work! A parent should be there if the child has a question but the parent should butt out otherwise. Be encouraging and help when needed but let the kid do the work and shoulder the responsibility. The child isn't going to have the parent there by his or her side when they are away at college and then what will happen?

As to the amount of home work. I suggest the parents cut out all after-school activities and just have the child come home and do homework and see what that does to the pace of their lives. I bet they will discover that the home work wasn't the problem after all - it was the million and one activities they had the child doing after school that was sucking up time and creating stress.

It's a documented fact that American children are over-scheduled. Parents use after-school activities as a baby-sitting service. When people my age (41) and older were in school, most moms didn't work so you came home, ate a Twinkie, did your home work and then got to watch an hour of Gomer Pyle and Bewitched before going outside to play with your friends until it was too dark to see. If you had trouble with your home work, you asked mom but otherwise she was probably busy making supper or doing laundry. If it was a math problem, you waited for dad to come home.

Now, moms work so they have to put the kids somewhere until they get off work so they enroll them in after-school programs that are glorified day cares (or even real day cares). To assuage their guilty feelings, parent put pressure on their children to perform in school so they can prove that the lifestyle they've chosen is not detrimental to the child and that they can produce "super kids". Remember, those test scores are all important and now the fever that has infected our educational professionals has spread to the parents. Johnny has to score high on those tests in the spring or he'll be an outcast, won't get into a good college, blah, blah, blah.

What a load of crap. I'm sorry, but there are some children that should just be left behind. It's a good wake up call that no one uses anymore. It was embarrassing as heck to fail a grade when I was a kid and usually it took just once to wake you up. No one is left behind now. It would be too detrimental to the child's self-esteem. (read heavy sarcasm there)

But that's another soapbox for another day. Back to the home work issue. Did I assign home work as a teacher? Yes, when I thought it was necessary which was often. Many of my students didn't have a home life that was conducive to sitting down and studying (as in their parents were drug addicts, etc) so I kept it to a minimum but I did assign it when I felt it was called for. I often provided opportunities to work on it in class simply because I knew what their home lives were like. We also had study hall (something else that is disappearing from the educational landscape) where the student had a chance to work on home work.

Home work teaches a lot of things, but primarily it teaches responsibility. When a parent takes over the responsibility for homework, one of the main purposes of homework is nullified. Do I welcome homework for my own son? Absolutely. In fact, I don't think he gets enough home work assigned.

Bottom line is parents need to stop blaming teachers for trying to teach something to their children and instead cut out all the extra-curricular activities that they've laid on their children in the effort to produce super-kids. Give the kids a break. Moms - get your butts home by 3:00 so your kid can have a normal life if you are so concerned about the kids' stress level.

Beaver Cleaver didn't seem stressed out much. Wonder why?

Death Penalty Painful? Well, DUH!

I love being from Tennessee. It's a beautiful state and the people are friendly. Most of all, people in Tennessee are generally sensible and down-to-earth. We are the Volunteer State and that's a well-earned title. If you need help doing something, we're there. I think half the state headed south in the wake of Katrina. We have high numbers of men and women who volunteer for the military. If your car won't start in the parking lot of a Wal-Mart in Tennessee, you don't even have to ask someone to jump-start the battery. At that first "click" of the starter, the good 0l' boy in the pick-up next to you is already grabbing the jumper cables out of his truck box. We're just sensible.

Why in the WORLD then has some judge ruled the death penalty as conducted by lethal injection unconstitutional on the basis of "cruel and unusual punishment" but Old Sparky, the electric chair was drug out of the closet and used to zap a killer 'til his eyeballs popped out a couple of weeks ago? Does anyone besides me see the stupidity here as demonstrated by our judicial system?? How about the sheer irony? Does that not just baffle you?

What is the deal with these judges legislating from the bench? Our legislative process is such that it takes a bill through both houses of the state legislature and then in front of the State Supreme Court to "vet it for constitutionality" before the governor signs it into law. This is how all our legislative processes in this country work. The death penalty law has been passed and used for YEARS and now some judge takes it upon his subjective mind to declare it is "unconstitutional".

What's so funny is that he bases that subjective opinion on "cruel and unusual punishment". What can be more humane than lethal injection? Let's get real here - the most cruelty that could be involved would be if the doc doing the IV missed the vein. Shoot, if that's the case, then I should have several viable lawsuits against dingaling nurses in my doctor's office and at the Red Cross for jabbing me full of holes in search of the "disappearing blood vessel". (Honey, I just know it was there. I could feel it! Let me try one more time...)

Hey, I have an idea. Let's do away with lethal injection altogether and just run with Ol' Sparky. He obviously still works after 45 years and he's easy to use. Strap 'em in and flip the switch. Wait a few seconds. Repeat. The ultimate 'taser! Woo hoo! And he's much more entertaining and dramatic. It gives the families of the victims better "closure" to see the murderer of their precious loved ones fried like a green tomato. Fires up the protesters more, too. Nothing gets liberal leftists more riled up than a good zapping.

Alternatively, we could go with one of the various middle eastern methods. Hanging seems common and so is beheading. I personally like Saddam's old method of getting rid of people he didn't like - shredding them starting with the feet. I really wish they'd used that on him. The phrase "hanging is too good for him" was very applicable in his case.

I know the argument against the death penalty in general is that some innocent people get "sent on" by accident. That's probably true, especially in the days before DNA and high tech forensics. That's where Barry Sheck (sp?) and his Innocence Project comes in. I'm all for them going over old cases and funding DNA testing just so we make doubly sure we got the right low-life to zap or hang or shoot or whatever we end up as an alternative to the cruel and unusual lethal injection.

Yeah, right...

A Sobering Read

I was meandering through the bookstore the other day (one of my favorite pastimes) and noticed a book on one of the center aisle tables entitled "The Widow of the South" by Robert Hicks. Being a Southerner (and darn proud of it), I picked it up and read the back. The book is a fictional tale about real life people and real life events that were birthed by the Battle of Franklin near the end of the Civil War (or as we Southerners prefer to call it - the War of Northern Aggression). It looked interesting so it went in my bag at the checkout counter.

I've now spent the last week reading this book every chance I got. (Take my advice, don't try to read and drive.) It's an odd book. Not a pleasant read so much as a story that grabs you with cold hands and compels you to read further. It is full of mental illness, death, depravity of the human soul, violence, hope, faith, and a steadfastness of character - all good Southern novel traits according to my college Southern Literature professor at Middle Tennessee State University oh so long ago.

Ashamedly, I have to confess that despite having been born and bred about 30 miles from the location of the novel, Franklin, Tennessee, I had never heard of the central character Carrie Winder McGavock. I have heard of McGavock High School and McGavock Pike in Nashville but never wondered where the name originated. Now I know.

I had also never studied up much on the Battle of Franklin. I was quite familiar with the Battle of Stones River that occurred in Murfreesboro where I went to college and lived for several years. I've been to Shiloh and Lookout Mountain, Chickamauga and Stone Mountain. I've visited Andersonville Prison in Georgia, even. But I've never really paid attention to the Battle of Franklin. I am ashamed.

The most deadly day in the entire Civil War occurred in a place that I associate with great malls and a high-income population, big houses and golf courses. I never knew it. How did I miss this? I grew up under the wing of a Civil War enthusiast, my dad, and across the street from a real, live historian. The fact that 9.200 Americans died in one day in Franklin has simply stopped me in my tracks this week as I read this book.

Think about that for a minute. 9,200 Americans DEAD in ONE DAY. That's worse than 9/11 and the Iraq war combined. You could even throw in Pearl Harbor and only approach that number. That's more than died in Normandy on D-Day.

The book is not so much about the Battle of Franklin as how it impacted the lives of people who were there. I recognize some of the common traits of disaster survived in the characters that Hicks has built around these real-life people. I recognize the Southern outlook on faith, death, work, family, and honor these people held.

Over the years, it seems that Carrie McGavock has become a sort of historical heroine who was viewed as better than others with stronger moral fiber than others. I beg to differ. Carrie McGavock sounds like an average Southern woman to me. She was pragmatic and practical. She did what needed to be done because it needed to be done and she happened to be there to do it. She grit her teeth and went to work helping people that needed help. That's what we Southern women do. Sure, we have our blue days just like Carrie. Who doesn't? But we carry on and we are polite about it. The world is too full of unpleasantness without us adding to it.

Next week I will be traveling right by Carnton Plantation on my way back across the state from a trip to west Tennessee. I hope I have time to stop and visit. If not, I'll build in time on my next trip because I need to see Carrie's cemetery and thank all those boys who died in a different war long ago.

Have You Forgotten

By sheer chance, I was unpacking an old moving box that I had not unpacked since 2003 when we moved from Texas. Inside it were four magazines from the week of September 11, 2001. They were Time (Special Issue), Newsweek (Extra Edition), People, and a photographic special edition of Time.

I opened the one on top - Time, Special Issue - and glanced at the cover title "One Nation, Indivisible". How ironic. I flipped through the to the big main spread with the extra fold-out showing the workers at Ground Zero rescuing (or maybe recovering?) a victim. The article was written by Nancy Gibbs..."So while it was up to the President and his generals to plot the response, for the rest of us who are not soldiers and have no cruise missiles, we had candles, and we lit them on Friday night in an act of mourning, and an act of war.

That is because we are fighting not one enemy but two: one unseen, the other inside. Terror on this scale is meant to wreck the way we live our lives...If we falter, they win, even if they never plant another bomb."

Within the same pages of the same edition were results of a poll taken by Harris Interactive by telephone of 1,082 adult Americans on Sept. 13, 2001. Those poll results said:

• 78% thought it was very likely that Osama bin Laden was personally involved in the attacks.
• 44% thought it was "somewhat likely" and 34% thought it was "very likely" that Saddam Hussein was personally involved in the attacks.
• 62% thought the US should declare war as a result of the attacks.
• 66% were in favor of ground invasion of another country as part of retribution.
• 65% thought that US military strikes against OBL would lead to a broader war between the US and other countries in the Middle East.
• 85% favored strategic air strikes against isolated military targets.
• 81% favored assassinations of leaders responsible for terrorism.
• 55% favored ground invasion with US troops that would result in loss of US lives.
• 48% favored massive bombings that might kill civilians.
  

From Newsweek, in the article entitled "The Toll on Our Psyche" by Sharon Begley..."The attacks have broken the illusion, deeply embedded in the American mind, 'that we are more protected, and safer, than other countries,' says trauma specialist Terrence Real of Massachusetts' Family Institute of Cambridge...."We as a country have been living as though the catastrophes in the rest of the world don't apply to us, disaster doesn't happen on our soil. But from now on, we can no longer deny that we are vulnerable."

From People, in the article "America Under Attack: Black Tuesday" the unnamed author states..."But while World War II was a battle for national survival, the conflict against terrorism is something more subtle and limited - a struggle to preserve national values."

From Time, in the article "If You Want to Humble an Empire..."This was the bloodiest day on American soil since our Civil War, a modern Antietam played out in real time, on fast-forward, and not with soldiers but with secretaries, security guards, lawyers, bankers, janitors. It was strange that a day of war was a day we stood still."

So, have we forgotten? I believe a majority of our population has. We are definitely a divided nation. Divided politically and becoming even more divided ideologically every day on not only defense but on issues that make up the very fabric of those national values that were attacked.

Are we only filled with pride and a sense of one purpose when we bleed? Do we have to be under attack to realize we, a nation struck by the peoples of the world, have more points of agreement than points of division? We are disagreeing over troop strength and withdrawal dates, WMDs and funding. But surely, surely, we agree that no one has the right to come to our shores and kill our citizens without provocation or reason. Are we allowing these evil fiends to tear us apart in the hearts of our character and our values?

War is now something fought in a distant land rather than coming to our streets and our cities and our fields. It's inconvenient to political candidates regardless of whether they are "for" the war or "against" the war (or were for it before they were against it). The war is now a beach ball being batted around on the Sunday news shows and from political stumps. Polls, not unlike the one noted above, are taken to see where the best "stance" should be in order to win votes. What would the citizens of our great nation answer to those same questions now? I'm sure there would be different numbers because, for the most part, we have forgotten. The politicians and bureaucrats and talking heads have forgotten. Congressmen and Senators have forgotten. Media pundits have forgotten.

You know who remembers best? Those who lost friends and family that September day six years ago. Those whose friends and family members are in our volunteer military. Those volunteer soldiers who even now are preventing that war from coming back to our shores by taking the fight to the initiators and their doorsteps.

Wake up people. This war is not going to go away if we just take our toys and go home. They will be back. They will be back and they will be even better prepared. They will have bigger catastrophes in store than four jetliners loaded with fuel and 19 nut cases with box cutters. There is a whole population of nut cases out there who are ready and more than willing to bring this war back to our shores. We have to prevent that from happening again. Let their citizens perish as a result of their actions - not ours.

Who can stop it? No, not the President and surely not those wafflers in Congress. Our soldiers on the fronts lines can delay it. Our guys in the mountains of Afghanistan and Pakistan can take them out one by one but they are only removing men, not evil. Our soldiers in the streets of Fallujah and Baghdad can dampen it. Our sailors patrolling the waters where the world's oil supplies are floated out to the nations can forestall it. But only us, WE THE PEOPLE can stop these crazy, evil demons from toppling all that our nation stands for, has worked for, and has died for in the last 231 years. We have to be united when we don't bleed, or else we surely will bleed once again.

God bless America. God bless our President. God bless our soldiers.

Eco-Craziness

The liberal left has to have a cause. Back in the sixties, they discovered that to have a cause was to identify with some kind of group and perhaps become more important in the grand scheme of things. It wasn't the cause that was important so much as the effort to become immortal or somehow make a lasting impact on the universe that was the goal. For instance, the Sixties Boomers joined anti-war groups, love-ins, sit-ins, draft card burnings, etc. Many of them did all these things just in an effort to belong to some group rather than as a true statement of conviction.

In the seventies, the environment issue first arose and I will admit, we needed to start paying attention. I remember when chucking your hamburger bag out the window was normal. Trying to hit the road sign with your glass Kick soda bottle was a sport. Some of us were pretty good at it, too. Then the "clean environment" movement came along and things like Love Canal were uncovered and suddenly we had Super Sites in our backyards that had been killing us for years without our knowledge. Something needed to be done and I'm grateful for those who had sense to do it.

Then came the cause for the homeless in the eighties. All the Hollywood names jumped on the bandwagon - help the homeless! What everyone forgot to do was ask the homeless if they wanted to be helped. Many did not. They LIKED living the lifestyle. So many were mentally ill and would not accept help regardless. The help the homeless movement got a toe-hold and then faded away among the liberal left as "glamorous" or "fashionable" and the faith-based community picked up the cause and have done wonders with it.

"We are the World" also came about in the eighties in an effort to feed the starving of Africa. As far as I know, the people in Africa are still starving despite all the millions and billions raised for their assistance. Again, it was the faith-based organizations that are still there teaching farming, dealing with the war-torn, and actually helping these people, even on a small scale.

Now, the trendy "cause" is global warming. You are not "in" in the liberal world if you are not paying carbon offsets and griping about carbon dioxide levels as you ride to your 20,000 square foot mansion in your 5 mpg limo after getting off your private jet. These people gripe about cow farts and how the methane is causing the polar ice caps to melt. (Obviously, these people have never been around my brother who can put out more methane than a whole herd of Holsteins. It's an art form with him.)

And as a country girl, I suspect most of them have never even been around cows. Let's face it people, cows smell bad. Their poop smells bad. However, it makes great fertilizer (my God, a natural USE for cow poop! Who-da thunk it!) It makes tomatoes grow and corn and all those "natural, organic" foods the liberal left love! If you want organic food, people, you have to have cow poop. And chicken poop. And goat poop. Bat poop is supposed to be really good but it's hard to find. To have all this poop, you have to have methane! And there go the polar ice caps.

I saw a news segment on Fox and Friends about eco-friendly pets. Some dude was on there touting organic dog food and such. Did he stop to think that that organic dog food has to get to the consumer via big rig truck? Putting out lots of diesel fumes and (gasp) carbon dioxide? What an idiot. I think he was just a savvy marketing consultant (he even had a dog in a cape as a hype point) being paid by the organic dog food company to push their products.

You want an eco-friendly pet? I offer you mine. They poop outside which fertilizes the grass of my orchard. I feed them leftovers from my table so I don't buy dog food that has to be shipped in from somewhere. Concerning my leftovers: I get my beef from my neighbor down the road who has a herd of Black Angus. I get eggs from my neighbor across the street who has a flock of chickens. The horse farm across the way is an endless supply of manure for fertilizer (boy you should be here when they spread it on the hay fields - Phew!) I can buy vegetables from farmers in any direction I go and cheaper than at the store.

Now how is my carbon footprint so far? Oh, I guess I should mention the negatives. I drive a Denali SUV that sucks gas. To balance it out, I also drive a Honda Civic that sips gas. I have an empty pasture and barn that I've been thinking of populating with a couple of shire horses so I can hitch up the Honda to them and ride to town without using ANY gas. But then we have the methane issue again and WOOPS there go the polar ice caps.

Who Cares?

As I watch the news this morning (Fox) and peruse all my online news portals, it appears to be a slow news day. It makes me wonder what Grand Poobah decides what makes the news. Whoever it is, I'm sure they work at the Associated Press because all the news outlets take their "reporting" from the talking points of the AP feed every day. Doesn't any news channel do independent reporting and research anymore?

I detest that everything now is a "news alert". Does anyone remember when a news alert would stop you in your tracks wherever you were in the house and make you pay attention to the news? It meant something really BIG was happening. Always in the back of your mind, the thought "It's the Russians" would wiggle when you heard the networks break in with "Breaking News". Of course, more than likely it would be a tornado warning or an airplane crash or something. Now, a news alert can be something as inconsequential as Paris Hilton breaking a heel as she comes out of rehab. (Yes, I used "Paris Hilton" and "inconsequential" in the same sentence - imagine that.)

I'm a news junkie - I'll admit it. I just wish there was better smack to feed my brain with than the continuous drivel that the 24/7 newsies pour out.

Position Statement from the Porch

• I am a conservative white American (English-American if you want to trace the genealogy back far enough and be politically correct).
  
• Married. Christian. Middle class female.
  
• I DON'T drive a minivan and don't do soccer - we stick to traditional sports like baseball and football.
  
• I vote Republican or Libertarian or Independent, depending on the views of the candidate on key issues such as national defense, abortion, immigration, and family values. I'd vote for a monkey over a Democrat. I am going to vote for Fred Thompson in 08.
  
• I'm self-employed and a military "dependent". My husband reenlisted in 2003 when Iraqi Freedom started and I supported that decision 100%.
  
• Our son wants to attend the AF Academy for college and is currently in a private Christian school for which we pay (no vouchers here and no tax break either).
• I've lived in other countries and seen nationalized health care and don't want to go that route.
• I'm a member of the Sandwich Generation in that I have elderly parents and a disabled brother for whom I care.
  
• I plan to use this blog to voice my opinions. I hope you chime in because I LOVE a good debate.