Passing Tests

It is funny how family's hear something and all of a sudden it becomes the family "saying" of the moment. Watching this week's drama play out in the daily online, for free, has been quite amusing. So many quotes to chose from. My gosh, josh, just begs to be quoted, however, "Lies, lies, lies," can only play out so many times.

Richard Lee has had some great quotes this week, but too long to be family sayings. Plus, his have been a little too specific and you have to be in the right frame of mind to give (and take) them. Sam Patrick's repertoire has been honed to his smug smile that he gives when he doesn't vote but Richard ignores his childish behavior at the BOCC meetings. Really not much for a family to appreciate there.

So, what does that leave us with? This week the winnnnnner is, "That just doesn't pass the smell test." Did you remember to drop the Netflix off in the mailbox? Oh, no, the line in front of the mailbox was too long. That just doesn't pass the smell test.

Did you remember to feed the dog? We're out of dog food, and I couldn't find anything that wasn't covered with something fuzzy in the frig. That just doesn't pass the smell test, and its your turn to clean the frig.

The phone rings. "Hi there! This is Marge I am calling from Sunshine Corp for the Daily Astorian, your hometown newspaper, and did you know you can get the Daily Astorian at the all time low price of just $7.40 delivered right to your door? You can get all the local coverage, keep up on local events, find out the scores of your favorite local teams and get the Weekend Round Up! Can I just get the name of what city you live in and we can start your delivery tomorrow!"


I loved telling her, "No thank-you. The Daily Astorian just doesn't pass the smell test!"

Strikes Rescinded

When my children were teenagers they had a variety of friends. Since we homeschooled you would think we had a little bit more control over who they "associated" or were "affiliated" with. Yeah, right! What we found is that we had more control over the friends than we did over our children.

Friends can be sent home. Your own children can pout for days, teenagers can pout for years. Half the time you don't even know what they're pouting about. How can you win? Through their friends. If the friend is the one that wants the fun thing to happen (the camping trip during school days, the trip to Portland, the sleepovers so they use your widescreen dvd projector and eat your food) they're the ones that will keep your kids in line.

We told the friends they got three strikes. On the third strike they were OUT! Out of our home for six months. And we followed through. Never once did one of the friends get a third strike and get leniency because of who they were or any special tie to the family. Eldest's best friend (who later became our fifth child) got a third strike and we didn't see her for six months. We still hear about that!

You could only get a third strike for one thing. Deception. You were not allowed to deceive us. If you said you all were going to the movies but you went to a friends house and no phone call was made everyone in the group got a strike. WOW! The kids all were told to call us and FAST when plans were changed. We would even get calls from guys saying they weren't sure if any of the girls had remembered to call but they had decided to go over to John's house instead of Steven's and they were next-door neighbors!

Those were the days! All too soon the girls (mind you we had four all the same age) were meeting guys who weren't so cooperative and the last thing they cared about were camping trips with the family and movies on the widescreen. Lovable TH was the bane of our existence with Hubby making at least one early morning call down a muddy farm lane to yank two daughters out of a house. TH - Your strikes were MUCHO! And you wondered where your months of banishment came from?

One of the girls friends recently told us that she had two strikes on her and it still fills her with fear at what would have happened to her if she had received that third one. Her eyes actually welled up! Now, mine do too. I told her, all you had to do was "don't lie"! She said, "That's just not as easy as you say, especially when you're a teenager!" But, she's still afraid!

To one of our daughters' dearest friends: You did something today for me and only you know how great it really was! You are the only one of our children's friends who has ever told us how dear those strikes were to you. You are in control of your life now and forever. For the first time in the history of the family I decree, "Your strikes have all been rescinded." Don't let our strikes be your guide, let your conscience. We love you, trust you, believe in you. Believe in yourself.

Hard wind blowing

WOW! What a blow Thursday and Friday! Hard winds, blow hards outdoors and indoors. The weather such a mixture of rain, sleet, hail, thunder and lightening. The heavens wept, almost as if it were making its own displeasure known.

This wasn't a Chinook Wind blowing, the warm wet winds we learn to love. The winds blowing these past two days were the chilling ones full of foreboding, cold is coming sooner than any of us were fully ready for, without fully understanding how deep into the season we already are. Winds warning of oppressive times when thick blankets piled high and deep and heads buried deeper is the only way to ride out the impending stormy season. Or so some would have us think.

Others of the local native breed confront this type of season head on, no matter how foolhardy others think they are. They look at this time as a time of challenge, a time to face what is known as bad and find the good, eschew the safe path and confront the danger and with one hand stretched towards the angels and the other in a fist shaken at the devils, they laugh into the wind and know they are alive.

Time enough for the thick blankets, roaring fires, hot cocoa and a good book after the day is over. However, hatches must be battened down, the woodpile must be stocked full, the neighbor's pantry must be as full as yours, their blankets must be as thick and they must feel as safe as you do or does it matter how hard the wind blows? Do you have a right to bury your head?

Spammed

Re: Your Pharmacy Invoice # 0512913700 xSXPU Don't be aware of fraud! We are certified by VISA, VeriSign and provide secure and confidential purchase!

Too funny! Does this actually steer people to their site? Have you EVER clicked on one of these links? I must have had a least a dozen of these in my spam file today. Do they share them? Forward them? How do they get credit for being the one that finally gets a curious lookie loo like me to take a look?

And notice the italicized words. Don't be aware of fraud! Is this a real crook telling you ahead of time not to be aware of fraud? Was that a subliminal message? What kind of crook is this? How often do you see that, a word slipped in that changes the whole meaning of the sentence or the paragraph?

If I am really bored I will go to the dot com place but I never click on the link because my hubby has warned me of the dire consequences of doing so. Internet hell happens. The household becomes open to hostile attacks of hackers waiting in breathless anticipation. These faceless predators, apparently, have been waiting for almost a decade to get over the firewalls that my husband has been building with all of the care and persistence that his forbearers built their stockades around the citadel.

With one careless stroke of my finger I could cause a tear that would rip asunder the world as we know it! My finger waivers ever so often. Especially after a skirmish in which he is still chanting, “I win, no rule changes” like the adults that we are. Instead I reach up and tilt one of the pictures on the wall out of alignment and then another, and then another. It still drives him nuts and doesn’t threaten the “safety of our world as we know it.”

Choices

After a day like today I miss Haifa with all my heart and soul. If I were there I would miss here, I know I would, but dear God, some moments I would like the opportunity to miss here in trade for being there.

My mind was blown today by finding out that because I love my county, love keeping those things local which should stay local, love justice and truth that I have a "pathological hatred" of the district attorney. His words, not mine. That frightens me.

Does he have a "pathological hatred" when he walks into the courtroom to defend our state's statutes and constitution? Doesn't he defend them out of love? Why would he assign hatred to me? I am so confused by this accusation. I perform best when I love hardest, not when I hate. Doesn't he do the same? Does he walk into the courtroom filled with hatred for the accused or love for truth and justice? Doesn't he want those two things to prevail? I know I do.

Thank goodness for grandchildren to keep things in perspective. I had three phones going today and my grandson underfoot. " 'Bika, you okay?" "'Bika kin I have some juice, pweaze?" "'Bika, you need shockolat? Let's have shockolat, it makes you feel better." Gotta love the kid, he knows what life's about.

I read where 'Abdu'l-Baha encouraged the children of his household to learn their prayers with encouraging rewards of sweets, dates, sugar chips, etc. I have sugarless chocolates for my tense moments (and those special womanly needs, you know) but I have taken to sharing my stash with my grandson in exchange for learning a line from a prayer. With his invite that "shockolate" would make us both feel better I took out a piece for us each. He received his and solemnly said, "Greater is God than every great one," and popped it into his mouth. I said, "Oh, good job and popped mine into my mouth. "'Bika!" he squealed, "say a prayer" as 'shockolate' juice ran down his chin. I quickly said, "I bear witness O my God, that thou hast created me to know Thee and to worship Thee." He nodded in satisfaction and said, "Good job, Beek!"

An appraisal by a disgruntled district attorney, an appraisal by a two and a half year old grandson. One of hatred, one of love. Hmmmmm, which one shall I accept? I guess I'll stay around for awhile longer.

Blah, blah, blah ....

I shouldn't even be doing this because I have sooooo many important assignments due asap but I can't seem to focus. I hate deadlines and mine is for, like, 8 am tomorrow morning so what am I doing at 2 am the night before? Watching dippy cartoons and reading other people's blogs. SO many good local writers! I am envious.

I am soooo tired of the issue of this campaign, honestly. And I am frustrated with people not getting it and then I am frustrated with myself for trying to convince people with closed minds about anything. Forty years of training you'd think I'd understand closed minds, but I can't conceive of a mind that doesn't look at logic and come to the logical conclusion. (grin)

I do have to admit that phone calls from reporters have been fun but the down side is trying to remember what was said afterwards. I keep thinking I need a tape recorder so I know what points I was trying to make and what actually came out of my mouth. I swear my mouth and my brain are not connected at times. I also have a terrible habit of speaking to the person in whatever accent they are using. It embarrasses my children horribly and I am completely unaware that I am doing it! How does crap like that happen?

From the ballot measure experience what I would like to do is consult. The biggest break down in this issue was goodwill from the parties involved. This is critical in the relationship between county administrators and local state offices. You see this type of break down a lot between the different law enforcement agencies. Maybe the DA is a residual effect from that? So sad to see our community suffer as a result.

No cute stories that I can tell this week. I will keep my eyes open, though. I will make a goodwill effort to post more often and with much more interesting posts. Rallly I will. Where'd that come from? Oh, I see what's on television! (chuckle)

Mind Blogging

While it appears I have been lazy, lately, I actually have been blogging, its just not making it to the keyboard. Let me tell you, they have been some awesome posts, too! Probably the best I've never wrote.

Like last week when I went hunting for the first time in a few years. I used to go hunting all of the time. Its what you did that told you fall was here. When I went back to college I got out of the habit, just not enough time. This year I decided even if I only went out a couple half dozen times (what do statements like that even mean) all I needed was one bullet and one clear shot, right? The three bucks we saw were just as impressed with my logic, too. It was as fun as I remembered. Cold, wet, tired, hungry and after being awe struck with the beauty of the back eighty it got boring. Trudge, listen, point. Trudge, listen, point. Point gun down, bring up binos, balance gun and binos. Glare at chipmunk doing crazy mania chirp in the tree to your right. Jump a jazillion feet in the air when the three bucks jump straight up into the air one hundred feet in front of you. Drop binos, yell at hubby, "Buck, buck, buck, shoot, shoot, shoot!" Quarrel with hubby over whose shot it was. Track buck, buck, buck for five more hours through wet underbrush. Think about warm house, hot coffee, computer. Blog in mind. Blog about beauty of forest in mind. Blog about beauty of wildlife in mind. Blog about cold, wet, stinky, rain forest in mind. Blog about loud, obnoxious chipmunks in mind. Blog about backstrap frying over fire in mind. Blog about obstinate husband tracking deer that could be in Knappa by now in mind. Think about hot tub, think about warm woolly socks, think about flannel nightgown. Isn't hunting fun?

Mind blogging about the grandson, who is always underfoot, usually in a good sort of way. This week he is being a terrible, terrible two year old. Look Babika, look at this, its disgusting. "This" is my ink cartridge that he's taken out of the office garbage can, running the inky bottom along the arm of the couch and leaving a permanent trail. Mind blogging how cute he looked as his nose wrinkled up and mouth askew reminded me of his mother doing the same thing and the horror as I remembered that I would now have to throw out yet another couch cover and this house is supposed to be ready to sell at a moments notice. Look 'Bika, look at me, I'm prettier now. "Now" being that he has taken the permanent marker to make lines around his eyes either like his mom or, as his uncle insists, a football player. I think he was going for the Johnny Depp, ala Jack Sparrow, look myself. He does want one to know he is a permanent part of their lives. Blogging in my minds eye, this kid could make us mucho dinero if we could just get him on television (how original, no grandparent has ever thought that).

Mind blogging the father who has had a horrendous week with his meds. He keeps forgetting to take them, even when he's called, so he doubles up and takes anything left over at the end of the day. This led to hallucinations. Bad and freaky until we figured out what was going on. Blogged in my mind's eye an imaginary scene complete with a police blotter report of my father as a fugitive because he thought his house had been broken into and was now out on a vigilante quest, his joking stories of being a purple barrett suddenly springing to life!

Mind blogging the campaign? AAAACCCKK, no! Too much angst, even for a Harry Potter book.

Search through the fog bank now rolling in. Where were those really great ideas? The funny things you saw, you did, you wished you'd done? Think, think, think! I think I need a PDA for when I'm in the woods. Why bother living in the moment when I should be blogging about it, right?