First World Problems

Studly Doright handed me a catalog for a local store that carries a myriad of manly man implements and tools. Like a small child he’d gone through the catalog page by page and circled things he’d like to receive for Christmas. In red crayon. Seriously.

“What do you want?” He then asked.

“World peace, stricter gun laws, an end to hunger, equal pay for equal work, paid leave for all new parents, a $15 living wage, single payer health care, fully funded Planned Parenthood, a case of Shiner Bock, and a bottle of Cakebread merlot.”

“Ok,” he said. “I’ll vote for Bernie Sanders and give you a gift card for the booze.”

  
Now that’s a shopping list, right?

Peace, people!

Presenting the Finished Tree

   
It’s not going to make it into the pages of Better Homes and Gardens or Southern Living. Martha Stewart isn’t going to copy my decorating technique, but it’s done. Or perhaps overdone. 

A couple of times I tried to stop hanging ornaments, but it was as if some one or some thing made me keep going until the tree itself was barely visible underneath the eclectic mix of Christmas tchotchkies. Must be the true spirit of Christmas at work right here in Doright Manor.

In the process of decorating the evergreen I managed to break not one, not two, but three ornaments: Dancer of eight tiny reindeer fame, Mickey Mouse dressed as Scrooge, and a random snowman. Now I’m down to just six reindeer, having never acquired Vixen. 

Maybe if I have another glass of wine this evening the tree will begin to look less cluttered and more classy. What goes best with kitsch? Cabernet Sauvignon or Merlot?

Peace, people!

Angels 

Studly Doright and I married on July 30, 1976. We were young, in love, and profoundly broke. I hadn’t really noticed just how broke we were until our first Christmas rolled around.

We managed to buy a sad little tree, but we had no ornaments. I know now there existed women who could whip up some crafty ornaments using a mixture of baking soda, grape jelly, and crushed leaves, but I was not one of those women. And this was way before Pinterest. 

My mother came to the rescue. She bought me two kits of do-it-yourself felt ornaments. At first I was overwhelmed. I couldn’t, and still can’t, sew, but I began working on the ornaments a little bit every evening, hanging them on the tree as I finished. 

 
In the beginning there were twelve ornaments, but after 16 moves in 39 years of marriage a couple have gone missing. One wreath shaped ornament was last seen being tossed around by our Siamese cat, aptly named Holly. Said wreath had a decidedly bedraggled air before it disappeared for good around 1996. The other missing ornament just went A.W.O.L. one year, perhaps fearing it would meet a death similar to that of the mangled wreath.

My favorite of the lot are the scarecrow and the angel.

  
Poor scarecrow is holding on, but just barely. He is missing an eye and his hat has undergone drastic alterations, but he continues to smile. I feel like scarecrow is my spirit animal. 

  
The angel has fared better than the rest of the crew. All but one of her sequins remain intact. She’s still praying for peace, and she means it. 

After my mom passed away I began collecting angels. Some are intricately carved, others beautifully crafted. A few were quite expensive. But this little felt angel, given to me that first Christmas of my marriage by my mother and sewn imperfectly by me, is the one I cherish most.

Peace, people.

Rain on the Lake

  
can you feel rain on the lake
from afar?

i can.

every drop,
each plip drip
on the surface
a joyful kiss
a shiver
so fluid
tiny tributaries
form and form again

if water always seeks the
least resistant path
i am here
unprotesting,
welcoming,
rain,

i know how you feel.

One Word

if you were told
that starting
tomorrow you
would be
allowed
just
one word
what would
your word be?
mine would be
“peace” people! 

Picasso’s Dove of Peace
 

What word would be yours? 

A Paranoid Congress and Guns

  
I am a gun owner who once again weeps in horror and disbelief at our Republican legislators’ most recent unconscionable actions.
From the New York Daily News, 12/04/15:

WASHINGTON — Senate Republicans voted against barring suspected terrorists, felons and the mentally ill from getting guns on Thursday afternoon, parroting National Rifle Association arguments that doing so would strip some innocent people of their constitutional rights to gun access just a day after yet another massacre on U.S. soil.

A pair of Democratic measures – one to close background check loopholes to make it harder for felons and the mentally ill from buying guns, another to ban those on the terror watch list from buying guns – both went down in flames against near-unanimous GOP opposition.

Most of these same legislators offered up their fervent prayers for the victims of the tragic domestic terrorist attack in San Bernadino the day before they voted against measures that might help avoid similar tragedies. 

I couldn’t conceive the thinking behind their votes. After all, the GOP and its puppet masters the NRA assert again and again that,

 “Guns Don’t Kill People. People Kill People!”

Wouldn’t any sane and decent person then logically deny certain people, say those on the terrorist watch list, those with a history of mental illness, and those who have served time for felony convictions, the right to purchase and own guns?

Gosh, it seemed like a no-brainer to a little old country girl like me. So, why did our supposedly learned legislators vote in such a decidedly unlearned way?  

Carly Fiorina provided a clue in a recent televised appearance saying that a friend’s husband had been placed on the terror watch list in error and that she did not believe the list was accurate. I deemed that a small picture reaction to a big picture problem, until I looked at the Republican Party’s behavior over the past seven years.

Since the first term of President Barak Obama, the Republican Party has operated as an extreme oppositional force. On the night of President Obama’s first inauguration a group of powerful Republican Party members assembled in a not-so-secret meeting, led by Paul Ryan (who has just recently been elevated to Speaker of the House), and agreed to block the President in any way possible. Often this agreement has worked to the detriment of the nation as a whole. Common sense and the best interests of the country were tromped on in favor of making certain that the Obama presidency  failed. Treason, anyone? 

Instead of failing, President Obama was elected to a second term. Could Republicans and their NRA backers be concerned that depending on the outcome of future elections that some of them might end up on a no-fly, no-buy watch list? Has their paranoia gone to that extreme?

That could certainly help put their decidedly unlearned votes in a new light. Unless of course their favorite slogan is meaningless. Maybe it is the guns that kill people. Pick a side GOP. You can’t have it both ways.

Peace, and common sense, people.

Check out the Twitter feed of Igor Volsky @igorvolsky for information on the amount of money provided to congressmen by the NRA. Each time a congressman tweets out his or her thoughts and prayers Mr. Volsky supplies donation details. It’s a sick, slick business.

Paranoia is an unfounded or exaggerated distrust of others, sometimes reaching delusional proportions.

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, fourth edition (DSM-IV), the diagnostic standard for mental health professionals in the United States, lists the following symptoms for paranoid personality disorder:

suspicious; unfounded suspicions; believes others are plotting against him/her

preoccupied with unsupported doubts about friends or associates

reluctant to confide in others due to a fear that information may be used against him/her

reads negative meanings into innocuous remarks

bears grudges

perceives attacks on his/her reputation that are not clear to others, and is quick to counterattack

Sources: 

Gale Encyclopedia of Medicine. Copyright 2008 The Gale Group, Inc. All rights reserved.

National Institute of Mental Health. Mental Health Public Inquiries, 5600 Fishers Lane, Room 15C-05, Rockville, MD 20857. (888) 826-9438. http://www.nimh.nih.gov.


Mouthing Off

I scalded the roof of my mouth several days ago while dining on the exquisite Fit Fare Veggie Skillet at the Denny’s just down the road. Before you look down your nose at my choice of restaurant let me assure you that our Denny’s in Midway, Florida, is the best in the world. It is well-managed with an efficient and personable wait staff, and food that looks exactly like the pictures featured on the glossy menu, and tastes just like I need it to taste.

When my favorite server brought me my favorite meal I dug right in and was immediately rewarded by that ohmygoshtoohottoohot!!! panic. I couldn’t very well spit the food into my plate so I grabbed my ice cold soda and took a long drink, holding the liquid in my mouth until the food cooled.

I knew immediately that I’d pay for my eager gluttony for days, after all, this wasn’t my first burning mouth event. But I don’t think I’ve ever gotten actual blisters in my mouth before. Worst of all I couldn’t even drink my coffee this morning! Maybe I should just go back to bed. To heal.

Me on a day when my mouth didn’t hurt. That’s Studly Doright guiding me around the dance floor.

Peace, people! 

Postscript: Several days after scalding my mouth I’ve been rinsing with lots of Shiner Bock beer. Salt water would probably be better for the healing process, but it doesn’t mellow me out like beer does.

Christmas Catalog-o-Rama

 

Catalogs we’ve received in the past ten days.
 
Winter, and the impending Christmas holiday, are heralded in Florida not by cooling temperatures, but by the arrival of catalogs. I estimate that Studly Doright and I began receiving between four and eight of the glossy mailings daily beginning around the first of November. Today there were 12 catalogs in the Doright Manor mailbox. Twelve. I almost needed to make two trips to carry them all.

 

I’ve recycled four times this number.
 
Some of the catalogs go straight into the recycling bin, while others are put into a stack for future browsing. Generally, the future browsing pile never gets browsed, but I like to give them a sense of hope.

  
The Hickory Farms catalog is one I always take a few minutes to thumb through. Back when Studly and I were newlyweds the Hickory Farms catalog was about the only one we’d get in the mail. I’d read each page and daydream about someday hosting a Christmas Eve party where I’d serve all the cute little cheese and sausage trays. I’d be the hostess with the mostest for sure. 

One year I scraped up the money to place an order and was so very disappointed in the sizes of the cheeses. I had looked at the pictures and not the dimensions. So much for my hostessing abilities. Nowadays I know to have plenty of wine and beer on hand so nobody cares about the size, quantity, or even the existence of the hors d’oeuvres.

That’s why my new “go to” catalog is the one from Wine Country Gift Baskets:

  

Of course I don’t often buy anything, but I’m still planning that perfect Christmas Eve gathering…chestnuts roasting by an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose…

Peace, people.
  

Instead of Mittens, How About a Job?

Good thinking here! Redswrap.wordpress.com

Jan Wilberg's avatarRed's Wrap

It’s that time of year again when we are collecting up things to give to people who are homeless. Gloves, mittens, hats, scarves, sleeping bags.

Here. Doing a little urban camping right now? Here’s a nice blanket. I sound cynical. I’m not really, I’m just questioning this approach.

The other day, someone tied new scarves around lamp posts in a downtown park with a card inviting people who needed a scarf to take one. I love that. I love all charity. I love giving things to people who need them, no questions asked. I do two donation drives myself. One is called Time of the Month Club. Conducted in the fall, I, along with a network of other women, collect a ton of feminine hygiene products for distribution to women in shelters. Sox Rox is what it sounds like, a sock drive for men, women and children who are homeless…

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