It Ain't As Easy As It Looks From the Pulpit

Since the Republicans who rode the "We hear you, America and will make jobs for the jobless our top priority" bandwagon back into office have decided that the best way to make jobs is to repeal healthcare, outlaw abortions and make damn sure Those Gays never get to marry, I have a few things I'd like to say on the subject of Planned Parenthood, since it seems that's front and foremost on the chopping block of moral vengeance.

Here's the thing.

Planned Parenthood does not = Abortions R Us.

I know, I know- that's not what FOX News says.

But I've been a patient at Planned Parenthood- from the ages of 15-20 and 35-45 during times I had no insurance to cover reproductive health. Fifteen years of Planned Parenthood and not ONCE was I offered an abortion. Not ONCE did the personnel say "Honey, here's a year's worth of pills- if they don't work you just come on back in and we'll fix you up good as new".

Because that's not mainly what they do.

Here's what happens at Planned Parenthood.

You call for an appointment. Just like the doctor.

The office is clean and professional. Just like the doctor.

They take your vitals, do a complete physical exam, pap smear, bloodwork and urinalysis. Just like the doctor.

They ask if you have any questions, concerns, need any counseling for anything or problems. Just like the doctor.

You're asked about your income and they use a sliding scale to figure out what you'll pay for your visit- my total cost for the above services plus a year's worth of birth control pills was about $50. Which is decidedly NOT like the doctor.

If there hadn't been Planned Parenthood available to me, I would not have received ANY routine health care during a large portion of my adult years, and a great many women use it as exactly that- the only health care they can afford. And until we here in the US of A have a single payer option for universal health care, that's not going to change

but that's a whole nuther kettle of worms.

My POINT is that to attack and de-fund Planned Parenthood does not simply mean an attack and de-funding on abortion. It means yanking the only available affordable SAFE care a lot of women have away from them.

Women like me.

I hate to muddy up the whole Right vs. Wrong Black vs. White waters, but here's what I want you to think about for just a minute.

Say you're a 15 year old girl. You go to church every Sunday and your parents raised you strictly but lovingly.

Although you are taught that compassion, forgiveness and love are the basis of your religion and family, you see the actions of your church differently- anyone not toeing the line of morality is not looked upon kindly and frankly not welcome anymore. And your parents agree with that. Because those who don't follow the Word of God when they know otherwise are willful sinners and should not be associated with.

You and your boyfriend get a little carried away, because yanno, you're HUMAN and all. He didn't have a condom and you weren't prepared because if you were so armed, you'd be PLANNING on sinning.

You miss your period. Then another one. Your body tells you things you don't want to hear.

You're scared stiff and when you're alone you spend a lot of time crying and throwing up.

Things your parents have said about other girls "who got into trouble" play over and over in your head- they were sinners, they're going to hell, how could they be so Godless and selfish? How could they bring such SHAME into their family?

You clearly can NOT go to your parents.

Things you've heard thundering out of the pulpit play over and over in your head- the wages of Sin are Death, only the Pure will enter the Kingdom of God, giving into the Pleasures of the Flesh is Evil.

You clearly can NOT go to your pastor.

Every vestige of a support system is unavailable to you when you most need it. You simply cannot endure the anger and disappointment that will show in your parents' eyes, the disapproval and judgment in the eyes of your pastor and the rest of the congregation.

You go to Planned Parenthood and tearfully tell them that no- you cannot have this baby- no one would understand. And you mourn that baby for your entire life.

The End.

What purpose does closing Planned Parenthood serve, what purpose the acres of little white crosses and picketing and harrassing patients and caregivers?

When what NEEDS to be changed is our society- until ALL women have options and support, until they KNOW they have options and support, until young girls grow up seeing those around them literally practicing what they preach and not saying one thing and doing another- not advocating love and submission to God's will and then judging others without knowing their hearts. These are the changes that need to be made, not closing clinics or vilifying women who are very very aware of what they are doing and whose hearts are breaking just fine without your help thank you very much.

The girl in the story- are you angry at her? At the clinic?

Then you don't get it.

And may your God have more mercy on your soul than you have for others.

WHY AREN'T VENUS FLYTRAPS NATIVE HERE?

Yanno what I hate?

I hate when I'm on Facebook and there's an invitation to join a page and I click on it and afterwards think "Was that such a good idea?"

Today, for example. I've been away from the computer except for "work stuff" all week and haven't had a chance to blog. So I've had all week to get good and worked up about so very many things

...and yet.

I clicked "I am attending" to this-

http://www.facebook.com/?sk=lf#!/event.php?eid=189170184442695&index=1

A day of Peace. Today. Because it sounded like a good idea and pretty innocuous.

*Then I read the rules*

I have to be nice. All day. To everyone. About Everything.

I'm not sure, but that may do permanent damage to the vengeful hateful little core that keeps me alive.

But I'll give it a shot. For the sake of Peace.

Because that's what my 11 year old boy wished for blowing out the candles of his birthday cake with the peace sign on it.

I'll give it a shot.

So for today there is no ranting, no spewing, no frustration- just some photos of early spring wild flowers here on the 'stead, all of them completely and obstinately non-carnivorous, which would've given me at least a tiny bit of satisfaction.

*Peace- and I'll see ya'll tomorrow...if I haven't spontaneously combusted.

I'll Take a Handful Of the Little Yellow Ones, Please

So, we were watching our morning dose of "What the rest of the world thinks is normal and/or important" via Good Morning America. We like to do that right after viewing the morning traffic commute information for Dallas- the two together sorta act as our daily affirmation of how much we love our life, and a renewed certainty of what we endeavor to avoid at all costs.

Most days, there's at least one thing that makes us go "Huh. Weird". or "SERIOUSLY?" and every so often we can literally see the letters W T F flashing red inside our eyeballs at something especially insane.

The day in question was one of those days.

There was an expert (there's always an expert) who was also a psychiatrist talking about a NEW syndrome for people to be plagued with-

*FRUGAL FATIGUE*

Huh. Weird. SERIOUSLY? WTF???

Apparently, because of our recent National Economic Downturn, people have had to (wait for it...) WATCH THEIR POCKETBOOKS.

And that has made them sad, nay more than sad- they're (insert whiny voice) TIRED OF PINCHING PENNIES.

Tired of Pinching Pennies= Frugal Fatigue.

The good doctor on the TV warned that if Frugal Fatigue is not addressed properly and with all due respect, the afflicted will be likely to fall off the bargain bin wagon and (wait for it...) GO ON A SPENDING BINGE.

Once I got over my shock and horror at this new malady gnawing at the very loins of our Great Nation, I was stricken with a vision, a clue, a prophesy if you will about how to cure Frugal Fatigue without the help of physicians or pharmaceuticals.

So here's the wickedly simple fix for Frugal Fatigue, America-

GROW THE HELL UP.

Yep- I've had to pinch pennies all my life and other than the times I've been caring for newborns or working 2 full time jobs to make ends meet, I've yet to be fatigued for even a second.

In fact, I'm generally tickled pink to find a deal- I consider it the height of the shopping experience to see something I like, then find it at a deep discount (or at Goodwill) before making an actual purchase. I love Goodwill. I get a very real and physical thrill at coming home with a huge bag of clothing- all name brands- and having spent under $50 for what would be $500 worth of stuff at the mall.

Shopping wisely and making every penny count two or three times isn't a burden- it's good budgeting and fiscal responsibility. To give it a medical name is the first step.

That's "Recognizing the problem".

The next step is to find a drug to fix it.

Disgusting.

I can't stand all the advertisements- anti-depressants, anti-insomniacs, what the hell? "Do you find yourself sad and worried most of the time?" "Do you lie awake at night unable to sleep?"

OF COURSE WE DO, YOU ASSHOLES- OUR COUNTRY'S IN THE SHITTER AND WE'RE EFFECTIVELY HELPLESS TO FIX IT OR CHANGE THE COURSE OF OUR OWN MEAGER LIVES.

*ahem*

I'd be horribly remiss if I didn't share the handy hints to stave off the dreaded "spending binge" Frugal Fatigue may trigger, so here they are-

-allow yourself a small luxury now and then- sort of a valve release so you don't just one day go ballistic in Dillards and need a UHaul to get yer stuff home.

-only carry cash- that way you have a very tactile sense of spending money- you aren't just slapping the plastic on the counter, you're counting out actual greenbacks.

-(this one's my favorite) only carry big bills, because you'll be less likely to want to break 'em into change. Notice it says "bills" plural. Like we've all got a mittful of Ben Franklins to walk around with.

That right there told me how very far removed the expert psychiatrist and the hosts of Good Morning America really are from the reality most of us move around in.

The heartbreaking thing is that people are sitting around watching this drivel and thinking "Hey- I'm pretty pissed off and tired of not having any money- I think I've got this here Frugal Fatigue" and simultaneously "Someday I'm gonna be just like those people on the TV- that's the "normal" we're all supposed to be shooting for".

No. It's not. None of the above. If you get up every day and work your ass off to keep your family fed and clothed and happy, and you do it by shopping the sales racks and discount stores and never having a slim dime to put in the "entertainment" column of a budget sheet, YOU ARE A WINNER AND A HERO.

And don't let any talking head or PHD or TV ad with a computer generated moth on it tell you otherwise.

Rock On.

We Need a Bigger Shelter

Lets get this out of the way straight off- I'm not a Conservative Republican. I'm not a practicing Christian, and I throw up a little in my mouth if I'm even in the same building as a TV with Glenn Beck on it.

Back in November, I was busy getting a house built, then it was the holidays, and moving in, and 2 count them 2 trips to Houston for scans and appointments and whatnot, then we lost internet connection for over a month, so I really haven't had a chance to properly verbalize how the mid-term elections felt to me, and what I've been feeling ever since.

Just in case anyone has the illusion that I look at the world through rose colored hippiechick glasses and think life is filled with Hallmark moments, let me assure you that when I make the analogy that the last election felt like the swinging pendulum of an abusive relationship, I know whereof I speak.

I've been there. I've been told what an awful wife, mother, money handler, lover, and person I was and how useless I was. I've been frightened, threatened, had a gun held to my head and hid many many bruises.

I've walked on eggshells and tried so very hard to be good. Good enough. Good enough to be loved and to save the marriage. Good enough to be allowed to live.

Eventually I became sick. Sick with fear and trepidation. I'd go to work and function competently and professionally all day, then get into my car and start shaking so hard it was an effort to get the key into the ignition. All the way home I'd tremble and taste fear.

Because I never knew what The Mood would be when I walked in the door.

One day he left me- told me he couldn't be married to me any more because I was "too intolerant" and I let him go.

Amazingly, the above scenario wasn't played out with one husband but 2. The first one had me believing I was so worthless, I was ripe for the picking by the second, more deadly one.

The first one told me every day that he didn't need me. The second one hated me because he was helpless without me.

From age 20 till 35 my marital life was a living hell.

The psychology of an abusive relationship is tricky- and anyone who says "Why doesn't she just leave?" has no idea. It has nothing to do with weakness of character- in fact the strongest women are the ones who believe they have in their power the ability to make everything better by sheer force of will, and they stay the longest.

I met Ward when I was 35, and he took me in and healed me with kindness, and quiet strength, and love. I was very very lucky.

But I digress.

Here's what I saw, through my marital-abuse-war-torn eyes and heart, during the 2008 elections (because even so many years later, that period of my personal history is still a very real gnawing terror in my soul). The American people were disgruntled and disillusioned. So they changed the guard, went from a Republican held government to a Democratic one. Not a big deal. Happens all the time.

Except. This time the Republicans took it very personally that they were publicly chastised, and it really pissed 'em off.

***Please be clear that I am NOT vilifying a particular party- I'm talking about the individual players here.

So these individuals spent the next 2 years basically sucking up- the flowers, dinner, sweet talking phase- the "Oh Baby, I LOVE you and see the heinous errors of my ways and if you give me one more chance I'll never, ever, ever hurt you again" phase.

So the voters did. They collectively fell for it.

And I trembled and tasted fear.

Before they were sworn back in,the abuse started again- the Tea Party? They'd been used, but did they really expect to be taken seriously?

The voters who were out of work and hurting financially? Oh. Yeah. We can't help you. Sorry.

Why would they do that? Because in an abusive relationship, once you let the abuser back in, there must be a period of punishment. For the victim. To make up for the inconvenience and embarrassment she may have caused.

The government we are seeing in action now is not Of the People For the People By the People, it's a group of small petty men and women (on both sides of the aisle) who have been paid for lock stock and barrel by special interests to keep those special interests safe, not us.

Oh, they try to duck and dodge, and thanks to the internet and corporate money behind them they are managing to keep everyone fired up, suspicious, fearful and hating everyone else- Tea Partiers, liberals, Christians, Muslims, whites, blacks, browns, gays and straights- all being fed the lines that the enemy is THERE...no, wait, over THERE...this one- this different person, group, religion, culture is the root of your problems...

NOT US- "Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain..."

The men and women in power right now are users and abusers, not public servants, and no matter how many flags they wave, babies they kiss, church services they attend or empty promises they make they will never, ever tire of beating us down to make themselves feel bigger.

I love my country. I love its people.

And I don't know where to find a shelter big enough to hold us all till we can stop being afraid, and hating one another needlessly, till we can regain our sanity and breathe long enough to say

"Enough. You must go now, and not come back."

Today's Inspirational Message

Our homily today comes from Interneticus Chapter 2, verse 24.

And lo, they walked in the darkness for 49 days and 49 nights- neither hearing nor seeing anything of the outside world.

Finally, the Powers that Be sent the Archangel Mike to deliver them into the Light.

Yea verily, on the 50th day of their exile the cable didst cross from the outside of the house to the inside of the house

*and there was internet*

*and it was Good*

We will fear no more the screen that doeth proclaim "Limited or no connectivity", nor will we turn in shame and disappointment from our computers.

BECAUSE I'M BACK, MY PRETTIES- AND BOY HOWDY DO I HAVE A LOT OF CATCHING UP TO D0- HOW DARE THE UNIVERSE VOMIT UP ALL SORTS OF OUTRAGEOUS SHIT FOR ME TO FUME ABOUT WHEN I HAD NO WAY TO DO SO

*Amen*

A Quick Update...

...on all fronts.

There is a beautiful metal/plastic post at our gate and it says it's a marker for the cable that runs the phone/internet. Once this stupid 20 degree, sleeting weather is out of the way they should be running it into the house and from there to my computer, and then...I'll be back on the interwebs, to infinity and BEYOND!!!

*ahem*

We still are not entirely out of the old house, thanks to the weather, and our goats, horse and poultry are not moved yet because of same.

I'm done with winter, it can go away now.

ReyaRamona has learned quickly- how to play with Fizzgig, what sounds mean dinner (or breakfast or lunch- she's still so thin she gets 3 squares daily instead of the 2 everyone else enjoys) is impending, how to jump onto and off of the sofa, and where the best spot between Ward and me is on the bed at night. A little over a week with us and we've got her entirely ruined. Awesome.

I suspect from her behavior that she came from a puppy mill type breeder- she (was) most comfortable in a cage, and is still very leery of being picked up and/or held- she holds herself very stiff and doesn't cuddle in. Gimme another week- she'll be over that, too.

She's really more schnauzer in looks than poodle, and the one time she let out with a bark (visitors to the house- getting possessive much?) it was definitely of the schnauzer variety, heaven help us.

Today in the cold (dropping from high 30's at daybreak to a current barely- 20 and falling) and wind driven sleet, ReyaRamona ceased walking on leash like a princess- she did her business and hauled curly fluffy ass back into the house at the end of the leash, on hind legs, as fast as her little toes could carry her. I could hear her thoughts "I spent my time in this mess- get me the hell in the warm house, my sofa is waiting".

Right behind you, little buddy.

Here We Go Again...

Eleven years ago on Ward's birthday I brought home a scraggly little waif of a poodle named Tiny Ramon the Magnificent. He recently passed away and if you look around the blog you'll come across his eulogy.

Sunday, Joe moved his camper over to the new house, because HIS new house is done now too, and he told me he saw a scraggly little waif of a poodle running in the highway. Being an idiot, instead of running away, I went in search of said waif. But I didn't see it, and came home.

Monday, on my way to run eleven billion errands, all time-specific, I saw the dog. It was cowered in front of the front gate of an empty house, wet from the rain and shivering. Someone had put a dish of water next to it, telling me it was not letting itself get caught. I called Joe and he and his friend Karen went to see if they could snag it. Karen's gentle wiles won the dog over, and it came home to us.

On Ward's birthday.

Wet, hungry and shivering when caught, yesterday the temperature plummeted and last night was deadly- 14 degrees and very windy- I have no doubt she never would've survived that.

She's not full poodle, like Ramon was, most likely she's a poodle/schnauzer- a Schnoodle- and she's chocolate instead of grey, but like Ramon was, she's painfully thin and obviously abandoned- she walks on a leash like a princess. Ramon was old when I found him- at least 10 years old. This one is young- no more than 2.

But like Ramon, you can read the confused question in her button eyes- "I tried to be a good dog- why did they leave me?"

It's been only a few days, and we're keeping Fizzgig and her separated till she's come out of her shell some- Fizzgig can be a little...overwhelming and boisterous.

But already the hurt reflected in her eyes is fading and being replaced with the soft gaze of adoration only a rescued dog can manage.

Tiny Ramon the Magnificent named himself- I'd never named a tiny dog and had no clue as to what to call him. If you sit and quiet your mind near an animal, and you're open to the possibilities, there can be non-verbal communication as clear as speech.

So Tiny Ramon the Magnificent named himself.

Alec and I both questioned the new dog as to her name, and tell us she did.

Happy birthday Ward- meet Reya Ramona.

(and the song "Don't Give Up on Love" by The Poodles? Seriously.)