Darwin’s Missing Link

It amazes me when I hear fellow Americans, who have had access to books and education, argue against Darwin’s theory of evolution.  Physical evidence abounds in the form of bones and fossils.  Scientific observation has shown the abilities of organisms to adapt and change to their environment.  However, the most indisputable proof EVER can be observed everyday on daytime TV.  The missing link between modern humans and their most primitive ancestors can be found in living color on the Jerry Springer show.

I try not to look at these creatures.  I’d rather only read about them in books.  Sometimes, when the TV is on and I hear the “Jerry, Jerry” chanting from the beginning of the show, I run to find the remote to change the channel immediately.  I only recently allowed the kids to catch a glimpse of these frightful beings.  Youngest Son is in college, a biology major, and I figured he was ready for this visual lesson in anthropology.  Yet, even his jaw dropped in amazement, his eyes transfixed upon these strange life forms.  I allowed myself a glimpse the other day when I had some shirts to iron.  It’s like watching mankind’s journey from the primordial ooze.

These denizens of the Springer show use a rudimentary language quite similar to our own, yet their grammar structure is far from developed.  They all speak with a pronounced twang, unlike any regional accent.  Voice modulation is a skill they haven’t mastered.  They often scream and yell, and make their point by lunging at one another.

They still rely on hand signals as a common method of communication.  They wave their arms and use hand gestures like the following:

talk to the hand

Their family structure is quite random.  Sometimes they marry, but the vows are rarely taken seriously.  They use their offspring as a means of showing relationship, such as baby momma or baby daddy, although frequently baby daddy is not known.  Sexual urges seem to be very strong, and boundaries on mating are not clear.  Often a male will mate with a female, and then move on to her sister or even her mother.

I ask you, folks.  How can they teach creationism when the evidence for evolution is so crystal clear?

Use It Before You Lose It

Today was a balmy sunny 68 degrees F.  In southwestern Pennsylvania, in the middle of November, this is truly a gift.  The whole weekend was like this.  A double bonus.

Perfect November day

I know I swore I’d never do another 5K race.  Last year, unlike so many other years, none of us did the local 5K Turkey Trot race on Thanksgiving morning.  I remember how warm and happy and grateful I felt that morning as I snuggled under the covers and listened to the cold rain pouring down.  I not only wasn’t running the race, but I didn’t even have to go out and support any family members.  This year, however, Youngest Son said to sign him up.  Then I asked the other family members if they wanted to run.  Oldest Son said, “Of course.”  Then they all proceeded to get on my case.  And I figured if I had to get up and go out anyways, I might as well run.  And as much as my life will suck for a short time that morning, I’ll feel less guilty as I’m stuffing my face with turkey and gravy later that day.

So yesterday I took advantage of the beautiful day and ran my nearly 5K practice course.  As usual, it both felt good and yet hurt at the same time.  The thing that usually makes me want to stop running and slow down to a walk, a discomfort in my midsection, was a little more acute than usual.  It’s usually worse when I run uphill, or try to sprint.  But yesterday I felt like I had just been punched in the solar plexus, and I wasn’t on a hill, and I wasn’t running fast.  I realized that is the sensation I hate most about running!

While I was running today, I started getting that feeling again.  I thought about the mantras my sons use to keep themselves running and to try to inspire me not to give up.  “Quitting is not an option,” Youngest Son tells himself.  And somehow he can convince himself not to ever quit.  “Embrace the suck,” Oldest Son learned as he pushed himself through a very rigorous Army basic training.  But, alas, poor old mama wants to embrace nothing more than a nice warm lounge chair and a bag of Doritos.

But today, on this blessedly beautiful autumn day, I thought about how lucky I was to be able to enjoy this moment.  My breathing was slightly labored from the exertion of running, but I felt flushed and alive.  I had to will my legs to keep on moving, but I could feel the breeze through my hair, and the warmth of the sun on my face.  It made me push through the pain, because I realized that very soon we will be shivering in the cold, shoveling snow off the driveway. And perhaps not so soon, but soon enough, I may not be able to run anymore.  I may inherit the heart problems my mother has, which has slowed her down to a leisurely walk.  I may someday actually become nostalgic for the pain I haven’t yet learned to embrace.

It’s Better To Help Than To Judge

Early yesterday morning, in Pittsburgh’s Hill District, a 16-year-old girl gave birth, stuffed the baby in a bin under her bed, then went to school.  When she confided to a friend, her young friend did the right thing and contacted authorities.

Luckily for the sixteen-year-old, she won’t be facing murder charges.  After an autopsy on the baby, it was proven that it was stillborn and hadn’t taken a breath.  She had carried the baby only about six months.  I’m glad the scared young teen won’t have to deal with even more tragedy, which would be the case if she was charged with murder.

This story got me thinking about the controversial issue of abortion.  I doubt there are many women who consider abortion a great choice when faced with this decision.  Some are young and scared like this young girl and just want the problem to go away.  Others may be coerced by the partner that got them pregnant; I’m sure many men don’t want to be saddled with child support payments for eighteen years.  Others still are probably dreading being judged by others in their lives for having an unplanned child while not in a steady relationship.  While there is definitely more acceptance for unwed mothers these days, some people still find it necessary to pass judgment upon others who may differ from them only by the fact that their birth control method didn’t work one time.

When I was younger, before I had my own children, I didn’t really have a strong opinion on the abortion issue.  Although I accompanied a college roommate to an abortion clinic because she didn’t want to go alone, I knew deep in my heart that if I ever was in that situation myself, I would NOT go that route.  I would deal with the hand that life dealt me and give birth to the child, and hopefully be able to raise it myself.  And I was scared enough that I made sure I did everything in my power to never have to make such a decision.

Rather than judge others or spend time protesting at abortion clinics, I urge people that are opposed to abortion to consider helping an unwed mother through this difficult time.  Don’t preach about the evils or premarital sex or abortion; be a sympathetic listener or let your own children know that although you would not be pleased if they were in this situation, you would help them deal with it.  Donate your time or gently used baby items to charities that help unwed mothers.  Consider opening your home to an unwed pregnant minor.

I was made aware of this last option when talking with the representative of the foster care agency who came to my home for the initial evaluation.  I was asked if we would consider taking in a pregnant teen.  For me, this was not a good option for many reasons.  For others, this may be perfectly doable.

There are so many ways we can make a point and make a difference in this life.  It is so much better to choose a positive and life-affirming method.

Halloweenies

Many haunted moons ago, Halloween night was one of the most exciting and anticipated nights of the year for me and the rest of the neighborhood munchkins.  The smell of leaves and a cool nip was in the air.  We would gulp down our dinners impatiently and wait for it to get dark enough to go trick-or-treating.  Back then, it had to be dark.  That made it way more fun and scary.

Most of the people I knew would go trick-or-treating only to houses of neighbors and people they knew.  We thought we were so slick in our cheap store-bought costumes, trying to fool the neighbor ladies as they guessed (or pretended not to know) who was behind our masks.  After they asked us in and played the guessing game and/or commented on how cute/scary/funny we looked, they would drop a full-size nickel candy bar into our plastic Halloween bag (today those candy bars would set them back about 79 cents each).  Then our parent would walk us to the next house.  Once in a while we would hear on the news about some poor kid that got a Halloween apple with a razor blade in it or some other scary thing, but since we knew everyone that gave us a treat, we never worried.  We happily gobbled up the homemade popcorn balls my piano teacher made every year, and ate the occasional apple without inspecting it.  It was just fun dressing up as something fun and different and trying to impress the neighbors with our cool costumes.  The treats were an added bonus.

Where I live, trick-or-treaters still go door-to-door on Halloween night after it gets dark.  I’m glad for them.  Some of the areas around us make the kids celebrate the weekend before, or during the day.  It’s probably safer.  It just doesn’t seem so exciting. The people that make it unsafe for kids to celebrate Halloween like we did are just plain sick.  I can’t even talk about them.  There are two types of less distorted, yet somewhat scary folks that don’t seem to remember the innocent fun of Halloween night.  I call them the Halloweenies.

The first type of Halloweenie is the miserly old cheapskate that refuses to open the door and greet the little panhandlers.  I’m not talking about the poor old frail lady that has trouble getting out of bed, or the family that has hit hard times and just can’t afford the treats.  I know some perfectly well-to-do people that deliberately keep their lights out and refuse to answer the door because they’re just too damned cheap to spend a couple bucks on candy for the kids.  What makes it worse, a lot of these Halloween Scrooges had no problem waltzing their own little darlings from house to house when their kids were younger.  I can’t help but dislike this kind of person.

The other Halloweenie distorts this present-day holiday into something it never was and was never meant to be.  Like the cheapskates, they have every right not to answer their door if they don’t want to, but they sometimes carry it a little too far.   They forbid their own children to celebrate with the other kids, but they also condemn and complain about the families that enjoy this harmless annual fun.  They insist that Halloween is devil worshipping evil, instead of the innocent make-believe play that it actually is for the majority of us that grew up never knowing about real witches or associating Halloween with anything sinister.  They don’t even have their facts straight.  The ancient Celts that supposedly inspired our current day Halloween were attempting to appease their pagan gods to protect them from the dead and get them through the long dangerous winter.  I have never yet met a child that was praying to anyone on Halloween night except maybe to the good Lord to help them get lots of candy!

Let the kiddoes have some fun, you weenies.  You only get to be a child once.

Changes

I’ve chosen to not turn my computer on until very late in the day this week.  I have dust bunnies to sweep up and walls to scrub, and it’s too easy to get ensnared for too long in the interwebs.  I may have tricked convinced my kids into thinking they rarely missed school because a little dust built up their immune systems, but the guy from the foster parent agency may not see things that way.  The house is looking clean and shiny!  This is a welcome change.

I became aware of a not so lovely change today, however, when I popped into the office for a visit on my way to Wal-Mart.  For the second time since we’ve moved into this building, our lovely office space is being downsized again!  Last time I got a bigger office, with even more window space.  This new configuration is giving me an interior area, with no windows, no doors, and not much privacy.  Like the rest of the world in this downsized economy, I am feeling the results of the havoc wreaked by greedy CEOs and inept politicians.  Lucky for me, though, I will still be working at a job I enjoy with people that I like.  And it’s only two months a year.  I was a tad spoiled.

I would feel a lot better about the whole thing, however, if we could force the jerks on Capitol Hill to give up their plush offices and fancy cars paid for by us, the poor downsized taxpayers.  It only seems fair!

It’s Not a Mid-Life Crisis, Is It?

Recently, one of my sons told me that one of his friends who frequently stays here said that they like being here because we seem like a normal family.  That made me feel really happy, because sometimes I feel like we’re just goofy.  I’ve matured to the point where I don’t actually worry about what other people think of me, but sometimes I still wonder.  There’s me, singing along really loudly with the radio as I do the dishes.  There’s Oldest Son, the nightstalker, with his weird insomniac sleep patterns, jabbering away about his latest video game exploits or brilliant creative invention idea in words that sometimes only a college professor would understand.  Big Daddy has the ability to disappear like a ninja, but can usually be found “playing in the dirt,” doing some new landscaping project in our big back yard.  The younger two boys, I’m sorry, I just look at them sometimes and have to crack up.  And we all joke about our dog being gay.  She’s strong and muscular, and she just loves to snuggle up to the boys’ female guests boobs.  So, normal family?  That makes me laugh.

Although I’m skeptical about how normal we may be, I know we’re a good family, and our house is a fun place to be most of the time.  There’s lots of love here, and good vibes most of the time.  And we’re ready to share.

Remember when I said I may need something to do to give my life a little more structure?  I was thinking about finding a temporary job until tax season starts to force me to get up earlier and get more things done.  And the first thing I saw when I turned to the classified ads page was an ad looking for foster parents.

This is something we’ve talked about, off and on, for years.  In fact, I had even placed a call maybe like 15 years ago, to an agency and a caseworker was going to evaluate us.  The day she was supposed to come, a huge snowstorm hit and she couldn’t make it.  I took this as a sign that maybe this wasn’t the right thing at the time, and I didn’t reschedule.  My own kids were still pretty young at the time, and while I knew we could provide a fun and loving home for another child, I kind of worried about the safety of my own children if we were given a particularly needy child to care for.  I too often read about children placed in foster homes that end up being abused as badly as the home they were originally taken out of, and it makes me angry and breaks my heart.  Recently, there were four little brothers, ranging in age from 2 to about 9, who “escaped” a local foster home to hitchhike to their father’s home about 30 miles away in Pittsburgh.  They were malnourished, neglected, and the baby had bruises.  I wanted to take them in and read to them, and kick soccer balls with them in our big back yard.

I’m not going into this blindly.  I realize any child we get may have some psychological scars.  But we’re all old enough here now to deal with that.  And I have some time on my hands, and experience to back me up.  My preference is for an elementary school-aged child, so I’ll still have a few free hours to myself to run errands and go jogging.  But I’ll have to get up early to get the child safely onto the school bus.  And I guess I’ll have the dreaded homework to deal with again!

I hope I’m not being premature by spilling the beans.  We’re scheduled for a preliminary evaluation next week.  Who knows?  We may not even make the grade.  Maybe they won’t be able to find a compatible child even if we do pass their tests.  But I feel good about this decision.  I agree with Cyndi, that we women are so much more than a mom, but being a mom brings out the very best in me.

Taxes Won’t Buy Passion

Every time you turn around, they think up a new tax for us to pay.  Sometimes, the tax is enacted to get us out of a jam–but then, when the crisis is over, the tax is never repealed.  Most of us know that once they’ve found a way to grab more of our money, they’re never gonna give it back.  They’ll just find new things to spend it on, think up new reasons to tax us for the next crisis, and never even try to become more efficient.

In the US, we’re taxed locally, federally, and by our states.  We’re taxed on our incomes, on the things we buy, the services we receive, and often on the real estate we own.  Money is withheld from our paychecks, tacked on to the prices of goods we buy, and subtly included in the totals on our utility bills.  It sucks.  And it doesn’t buy us a lot for what it costs us.  I know.  I’m a super bargain-hunting coupon-clipping shopper.  I know a good deal when I see one.  Believe me when I tell you…we’re getting the shaft.

FEMA handed out millions of dollars allocated to misplaced Hurrican Katrina victims to scammers, while many true victims were left to fend for themselves.  Jaycee Dugard, the young girl kidnapped by a known pedophile and abused for 18 years, was further victimized by the “Keystone Kops” who could have saved her from years of torture had they followed up on leads and done some simple police investigation.  Are these workers lazy?  Inept?  Are they just there for the paycheck, not really having any passion for the jobs they do?  Maybe they’re overextended–but Lord knows, it’s not because we’re not throwing enough cash out there!

Here in my neck of the woods, there is a man with a passion for reuniting stolen children with their custodial parent.  He performs a valuable public service that complements law enforcement and missing children agencies.  And, despite the fact that he does not have taxpayer dollars being thrown his way, he has been successful.  He doesn’t charge for his services, either.  He relies mostly on donations, and volunteers include some of the grateful parents of recovered children.

Although Mark Miller has spent many hours on a lean budget bringing home children from all over the country, and sometimes even outside the country, he is in a court battle to have his charitable organization, American Association for Lost Children, Inc., exempt from property taxes.  This past summer, Commonwealth Court upheld a county ruling that the association should pay property taxes because it did not establish that it “relieved the government of some of its burden.”

Hmmm.  It seems to me he’s performing a huge public service, freeing up time and resources that many law enforcement agencies would have to spend looking for these children.  Even the local District Attorney and Sheriff sent affidavits stating that an organization like this does reduce the government’s burden.  But when the taxman needs that fix, there is no logic involved.  Just keep on sending that money.  They’ll find a way to waste it.

*Article from 10/18/09 issue of Greensburg Tribune-Review provided facts and inspiration for this post.

I Like To Work At Nothing All Day

It’s the perfect storm. It’s been rainy and unseasonably cold for weeks. Youngest Son has hardly had time to text me, let alone come home for a visit. He’s the strong-minded son that can often motivate me to get off my lazy butt and sprint up hills with him or make me lift weights. As I noted a few posts ago, I was having trouble finding motivation to write. Looking at the whole picture, I’m having trouble doing much of anything. I’m not depressed or anything–nothing more serious than the seasonal blues I get from lack of warmth and sunshine. And, after talking with Youngest Son, who finally managed to come home this weekend only because his school has a 4-day fall break, I may just need to add some self-imposed torture structure to my life.  Just a little.  Just temporary. I may need to get myself a temporary job.

It’s funny he mentioned this.  I love my life.  I love my work schedule.  Due to our extreme awesomeness and efficiency at work, my 12-month part-time job became a 2-month seasonal full-time with overtime job over the years.  This schedule suits all of us.  They only need to pay me when they really need me. I recuperate, enjoy my summer, get projects done, get lazy, and then repeat the cycle.  The laziness has settled in with a vengeance this month.  I DID bake cookies last week, which shocked the hell out of Oldest Son, but that was only because Big Daddy’s been craving baked goods and I couldn’t find anything cheaper than $3.99/dozen in the bakery.  I’m cheaper than I am lazy.  But as much as I love the freedom of structuring my own days, the thought has recently crossed my mind to maybe find a temp job until the end of the year.

Like Youngest Son said, you get more done when you have to do it.  I do manage to get the essentials done, whether I’m working or not.  But somehow, making yourself have to get up early and forcing upon yourself that sense of urgency that comes from having limited free time helps push you to do more.  And not feel so much like a lazy slug.  And God knows September always drains the family finances.  Two college tuition bills, school supplies, the BIG real estate tax payment, and the quarterly car insurance payment make September quite the bleak month.  And the damn van still hasn’t sold!  It’s not like I couldn’t use the extra cash.

But I’ll have to think this through a little more.  Later today Youngest Son and I are planning to hit the track.  I won’t have so much time to do this if I’m working.  And the morning’s supposed to be extra chilly, which means I’ll feel so cozy with the covers pulled up over my head.  It’s 2:00am right now and I don’t need to be in bed. I’ve always been a night person.  Early morning makes me gag.  What’s a lazy mama to do?  Stay tuned while I try to figure out the answer.

R-R-R-Really?

Big Daddy and I were winding down the evening watching an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation that he recorded on DVR.  Actually, he was watching while I was flipping through the last section of the newspaper, so I thought he was joking when after fast-forwarding through the commercials, he said he saw a Barack Obama Chia head. We went back to look for it.  I thought it had to be some kind of joke, maybe some kind of SNL-type skit.  But no, it’s for real, folks.  And just in time for the holiday shopping season!

Ch-Ch-Ch-Chia!

Our Nobel Leader

According to Wikipedia, Alfred Nobel’s will specified that the Peace Prize should be awarded “to the person who shall have done the most or the best work for fraternity between nations, for the abolition or reduction of standing armies and for the holding and promotion of peace congresses.”  Two years ago I wasn’t even aware of the existence of the most recent recipient of the Peace Prize.   Most people were not familiar with Barack Obama, outside of his fellow politicians and community activists, and the people of Illinois where he served as a state senator.  Now, through the award, he is linked with the likes of Albert Schweitzer, Martin Luther King Jr., and Mother Teresa, who each spent  the majority of their lives selflessly devoted to the downtrodden and less fortunate.  He is now one in a list of actual participants in important world-changing peace treaties, which include Sadat and Begin, Kissinger and Le Duc Tho, and Woodrow Wilson.

As an American, I am proud that the President of our country has been chosen to receive such an award.  But as an objective observer, I am baffled by the choice.

President Obama has been able to break the color barrier in achieving the highest office in our land, but I hardly think this is a reason to win the Nobel Peace Prize.  He may have some nebulous vision of hope and change, but clearly he has not been in charge long enough to bring that about, not to mention that the change he seeks is the destruction of the American way of life.  His past associations have been with people and organizations that are anything but peaceful.  His former mentor and pastor, Jeremiah Wright, incited racial divisiveness with his hate rhetoric.  His supporters and associates include former terrorists Bill Ayers and Bernardine Dohrn, who famously planted bombs of destruction and applauded murderers.  Obama himself was an important part of ACORN, an organization that is being investigated for more than a few corrupt and illegal practices.  None of this brings to mind “peace.” 

The leftist elite of the world are now using the riches bequeathed by entrepreneur Nobel to reward and influence their leftist agenda.  While ineffective anti-capitalists such as Jimmy Carter and Al Gore have received the award recently, Reagan was ignored while Gorbachev, his Russian counterpart in ending the Cold War, was recognized.  Here are some famous conservative’s views on the selection process as reported by Politico:

“This fully exposes the illusion that is Barack Obama,” Rush Limbaugh told POLITICO in an e-mail. “And with this ‘award’ the elites of the world are urging Obama, THE MAN OF PEACE, to not do the surge in Afghanistan, not take action against Iran and its nuclear program and to basically continue his intentions to emasculate the United States.”

Limbaugh continued: “They love a weakened, neutered U.S, and this is their way of promoting that concept. I think God has a great sense of humor, too.”

And from conservative strategist Craig Shirley:

“Utterly ridiculous. The credibility of the Nobel Peace Prize has been dwindling downward for years and now it has hit rock bottom.. . . Reagan won the Cold War, freed millions, yet was never awarded the Nobel.”

“Amen,” says Mama.