Romney believes—and this is preposterous—that "almost half of Americans are dependent upon government and see themselves as victims". I believe that Romney is out of touch with everyday Americans in our country; people who work and pay taxes and try to make ends meet. These Americans are not relying on the government. In some cases they may benefit by certain programs that are in place to lessen their burden, like those in place to benefit their children (education and health programs), but on the whole they are by no means relying on the government. Do these Americans see themselves as victims; perhaps—and with good reason; raise your hand if you remember receiving those enticing credit card offers in the mail. The formative word here is "enticing". The word "manipulation" also applies and perhaps the term “false sense of security.”

Raise your hand if you are a member of the middle class. How much do you have to earn to be a member of the middle class? Does anyone know? I believe that “MIDDLE CLASS” is an illusion. You don’t actually have to make a lot of money to think you are middle class. The reason for this is “CREDIT”.  Back in the days when the banks were sending us offers for credit cards whether or not we asked for them, my husband and I were able to buy anything we wanted, whether or not we could afford it. Had we any sense back then we would not have done so. We would have held out a little longer until we could save the money we needed for the item so desirable; instead we wound up getting deeper into debt and our illusion of prosperity was fading before our eyes. So we did what any hard-working young couple would do—we re-financed our mortgage, adding our new debt onto our old debt so we could once again realize the illusion of prosperity. This form of reasoning got a lot of people into trouble once the housing market tanked and the banks and credit card companies were on the verge of collapse. So many Americans lost their homes and there are many still hanging by a thread. The foundation built by the illusion of a “strong” middle class is not so sturdy anymore. It is only a truly strong foundation when built on real prosperity. Real prosperity is realized by the very wealthy, which is a small percentage of the American population. The rest of us strive for a prosperity that lately seems beyond our reach.
 
 


 

Rhetoric

 

There is a lot of animosity out there today in the political arena. You can hear it in the oratory. The message is clear and unyielding. It’s as though there is an immovable force among our leaders keeping things to either one side or the other. And I think it is having a negative affect on “we the people.” We are seeing only black or white based on what we are hearing. We are experiencing the unyielding constituent of human nature.

Rhetoric is a powerful tool. It can bring people together or it can push them further apart; it can spawn hatred or it can induce compassion; it can and will generate either good will or dissension among the ranks—all depending upon the way it is written and they way it is said. It’s hard not to fall prey to it’s power.

I’ve never been one to discuss politics on an intellectual level. Quite frankly I don’t have the brains for it. I find politics as confusing as mathematics. I cannot debate a subject, but I can write about it with skill. I’ve been writing most of my life about one thing or another. That is my strength. I always find the words. I shape them in such a way that the reader may be inspired by my thoughts and perhaps my logic, and I make an effort not to be unyielding when conveying these thoughts. I try to use good sense when I am writing, for I know there are two sides to every coin; an opposing perspective. I am on one side and my neighbor or even a family member may be on the other. But the coin itself is intact. It needs both of it’s sides to exist.

It's 6:15 Saturday morning. I got up with Ray. He had to work today and I like to have coffee with him in the morning before he leaves at 5:30 in the A.M.

I have off Monday and Tuesday, and Wednesday is the July 4th holiday. I'm going to enjoy the next five days. I've been looking forward to my mini vacation, and I'm taking my mom to Charlestown on Tuesday. My sister Diane is driving to Long Island to see our cousin Nancy B.

Oh - just got a pop up that Diane is on-line so I Skyped her. What I have discovered so early this morning is that they had a big storm last night (as did we) and a tree fell down and is blocking her front stoop. She's still going to NY and is leaving in 15 minutes. I am to call mom and tell her that Diane will stop in before she leaves—which I just did. Mom is fine. Callee was scared though during the night and jumped up on mom's bed for comfort. Mom put her arm around her to let her know she was safe. Mom loves Callee and Callee loves my mom. So for this morning all is well in Mt. Airy, Maryland with the exception of the tree in front of my sister's house. My systematic and neurotic concerns about the health and well being of my loved ones having been mollified (for today), I can get down to some serious writing.

I'm trying to emerge from a ten month writer’s block brought about by the extreme demands of my job. My mind is still racing from this week. Monday and Tuesday were horrendous and I wanted to quit—but of course I cannot—or would not, because as much as I hate my job I love it. I'm terribly attached to my co-workers and there's not a one I do not like. And we’re all going through the same experience—though mine is a little more intense since I’m in operations. Operations, shall we say, is the heartbeat of the office. Let’s stop here to explore the heart:

“…the heart beats more than two and a half billion times, without ever pausing to rest. Like a pumping machine, the heart provides the power needed for life.” see http://www.fi.edu/learn/heart/

The body in which our hypothetical heart is situated is the exceptional sales force that generates the flow of it’s life-giving blood, and the exceptional group of client service associates who work diligently to support and monitor this blood stream—aka clients connected to mounds of client related documents.

This blood stream flows to our hypothetical heart and is redirected through the arteries (service portal) through the capillaries (categories and sub-categories) and finally through the veins to different regions in the body for rejuvenation and then it’s back to the hypothetical heart where the process starts all over again. It’s like a merry-go-round. Most importantly our hypothetical heart must be strong, systematic and of sound judgment. Throw a conversion into the stream and you have chaos and temporary insanity.

What is conversion you ask? Oh well, let's just say it's the merging of two companies into one; the merging of two formerly separate platforms into one, whereby they pick and choose from each the best way of doing things and build a whole new world of computer enlightenment and entertainment, as well as adding a whole new set of procedures and rules to the procedures and what-to-do’s and what-not-to-do’s that already exist. I will liken this experience to being at a carnival, on a seemingly never ending roller-coaster ride, during a tornado—exhilarating! In all probability the roller-coaster ride will end and I’ll be first on line for the fun house. In the interim I will endeavor to keep my cool because at-work is a worthwhile place to be.

Lana Del Rey

Today I listened to a CD my husband bought by artist Lana Del Rey, Born To Die. It is so beautiful and so original. Lana's voice is hypnotic. Her lyrics are intelligent and poetic. She is an astoundingly talented young woman. I would recommend this CD to anyone who likes jazz, soul and hiphop.

Really Old Films

Fiver Star Final (1931) directed by Mervin LeRoy

After years of waiting for this film to be released, I finally have my copy of Five Star Final (a Christmas present from Flickead). Years ago he had taped it off TCM, but the copy wasn’t that great. Now I have it on DVD.

Newspaper and Tabloid sensationalism to boost circulation is what this film is all about. My favorite line: “God gives us heartache and the devil gives us whiskey” uttered by a remorseful editor after his series of articles, resurrecting a twenty year old murder case, destroys a loving family. That’s all I need say, except that Edward G Robinson is superb as the remorseful editor Joseph Randal, and Boris Karloff is also in the film, playing staff reporter Isopod. It’s funny, but even in a suit and tie impersonating a clergyman, he's scary. He’s pretty good too.

My Christmas Shoes

Ray Young’s FB Page - November 26, 2011

“After being together for nearly thirty years, the Mrs. and I have both drawn a blank as to what to get one another for Christmas. Not out of spite or anger, just a basic and shared apathy. This is, in fact, the first holiday in which I have absolutely no desire to buy anyone anything. While my more progressive-minded FB friends would likely see this as no big thing, the traditionalist in me is at a loss. Anybody else in a long-term marriage faced with the same conundrum?”

As my husband so aptly suggested on his FB page, the giving of gifts between us on Christmas morning is not the same as it used to be for the simple reason that we have everything we need and require nothing more. Actually, I’d like to get rid of a lot of the stuff we’ve accumulated over the years. There are things we need though and occasionally we’ll go out and buy stuff. Like shoes for instance. Shoes are what I want for Christmas is what I was thinking during our morning coffee and conversation.

So, today I plotted the course and my husband drove us to the shoe store—not just any shoe store mind you—a really good shoe store the likes of which I haven’t seen since I was in grade school. In this store they actually measure your foot and bring you your shoes and you try them on and the sales person stays with you until you’ve found what you want. He brought me a shoe with a pointy toe that I hadn’t even considered at first, and the outcome was that it was a to-die-for style that actually fit me. Of course he had to put the Metatarsal pads in for me because my left foot is from Mars and my right foot is from Venus, but the end result is that we bought the pair of shoes which were on sale from $149 down to only $99 dollars. My husband was in awe of the store and being the diplomat he is said as much to the sales person, and I chimed in that I haven’t been in a shoe store of such quality and courtesy since I was five. We left the store very happy with what I considered to be my Christmas present. Tomorrow I'll go to Mass since I haven't been there in a while. I'll contemplate the true meaning of Christmas. Before I leave I’ll snatch a card off the giving tree. The card will have the age of an individual—most likely a child—and his/her Christmas wish. I enjoy buying this present every year.

Saying Goodbye to a Friend

I have been very sad these past weeks. My mom is 91 years old and she has a best friend in her little Sheltie-mix, Penny, who is about 14 years old now. Penny loves my mom and follows her wherever she goes. It has been especially so since my dad passed away in 2009.

It has become apparent that Penny is not comfortable now and it's hard for her to get up and down the steps going outside. It is equally hard for my mom to help her. Penny has lost her hearing and is also now incontinent, and she has tumors all around her body. But she still loves to play with her "baby" - the little pink pig that squeaks when she takes it in her mouth. That squeak may be the only sound she can hear.

My mom has made the difficult decision to end Penny's suffering and the appointment has been made with her veterinarian for next Saturday, October 8th. I am not looking forward to it. I love this dog almost as much as my mom does. It's never easy to euthanize our pets. They are as much a part of our family as our relatives are, and although we try to convince ourselves that it's the best thing for the animal, we still feel that we are doing a terrible thing. My mom has come to terms with her decision and is starting to plan projects for herself during the coming weeks, and there will be no shortage of family members keeping her busy with places to go and things to do. And I have decided to stay with her for a while to make sure she's ok. When all is said and done I'm sure it will be my mom comforting me, because I'm just your typical basket case.

I have put 3 of my pets to sleep in the past 15 years and in every situation I have felt guilty. It's my fault that my beloved companion is sick. What could I have done to prevent this? Why hadn't I seen the signs earlier? I could have fixed it somehow—as if there is a miracle drug that would prevent the animal from becoming old. The fact of the matter is that there is no miracle fix. Our pets get old faster than we do, and sometimes they even get sick and die before their time, and the only way to prevent this feeling of sorrow and guilt over their loss is to not have a pet at all, saving ourselves the agony—and it is agony. We feel empty inside and we cry like babies. But if we love animals we will go through this process over and over again, because it is the unconditional love we receive from them that brightens each day and outweighs the eventual sorrow.

When we put our beloved dog Benji to sleep in 1996, I was so beside myself that I actually went to our Rectory to talk to a priest at my church. His words were comforting but the guilt did not go away. I went to my doctor next to see if he would give me a prescription for valium. He did not, saying that I had to mourn. He was kind and suggested I seek help from a professional. Finally I made an appointment to see a grievance counselor at the Bide-a-Wee shelter where I lived on Long Island. The counselor was wonderful. We talked for quite a while and she helped me put my feelings into perspective. I realize now that at times like this it’s not so much what people say to you in their attempt to make you feel better, it’s what you say to anyone who will listen in your attempt to ease the pain. Upon leaving the counselor gave me some literature. I left her office, got in my car, took a deep breath and opened the pamphlet. Within there was a poem by Elizabeth Frye. I would recite this poem often during the next few weeks. I know it by heart now and share it with anyone who has lost a loved one.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.