Living Through Election Year Politics

   

     This blog is a place of sharing thoughts and memories from my rather lengthy accumulation. Sometimes it’s fun stuff; sometimes it’s a bit serious. Generally, it’s whatever tweaks my interest.

Today, this quote caught my attention:

     "I'm confident that the Supreme Court will not take what would be an unprecedented, extraordinary step of overturning a law that was passed by a strong majority of a democratically elected Congress," Obama said on Monday

.     From what I’ve remembered and researched, such an action is not exactly unprecedented. Eight of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal programs were struck down by the Supreme Court. One was the National Recovery Act (NRA). [1]I remember seeing those stickers in store windows and remember that the provisions in that program were not popular. It was a type of price setting, and wage control that limited competition between businesses. As I remember, there was a penalty for not participating in the program.

     I’m not exactly sure whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing to be old enough to remember things like that.

     I’ve noticed all of the following appear in political campaigns of past years. The techniques are getting more sophisticated due to studies on what influences and what doesn’t. Just as our buying habits have been studied by marketing firms, political teams are on our trail. We’re the game they hope to capture. Watch for these traps:

1. Distortions                                                4. “Misspoken” excuses

2. Misquotes                                                 5. Lies and Manipulations

3. Statements taken out of context.           6. Gaffes

                         

     Before Election Day we will have seen all of the above. Some are truly unintentional; Some are calculated attempts to influence the voters.

     We may become so tired of all the blather that we close our ears to it all.

     -Or we may become so angry that blood pressure medication is necessary.

     -Or we may be so befuddled we doubt our ability to make the right choices.

     In this political year, we’re watching a game of words and actions Think of it as a game of chess (except a serious game of chess is deathly quiet). Watch the moves. One side’s misstep is a victory for the other side. Watch how things get blown out of proportion. This game may already be tiresome, but it’s terribly important – and remember, the rules of the game include using the six tools listed above.  I hope you enjoy watching the game.

Dannie

---

[1] Industrial Recovery, Internet

Ms. Senior Citizen

I should be doing my tax return––or pulling weeds––or cleaning out closets. Instead I'm cleaning my computer of years of saved goodies. Unlike closet overflow, I can't have a garage sale of computer tidbits There's a stack of these goodies. Some are quiet old and may have been around the world several times. If they may still have the power to bring a smile to your face, I'm glad.  Now it's up to you––save or drag to the wastebasket. I advise the later.


  A  SENIOR'S LETTER TO HER BANK

  Shown below is an actual letter that was sent to a bank by an 86 year old woman. The bank manager thought it amusing enough to have it published in the New York Times. 

 Dear Sir: 

I am writing to thank you for bouncing my check with which I endeavored to pay my plumber last month.  By my calculations, three nanoseconds must have elapsed between his presenting the check and the arrival in my account of the funds needed to honor it.  I refer, of course, to the automatic monthly deposit of my entire pension, an arrangement which, I admit, has been in place for only eight years. You are to be commended for seizing that brief window of opportunity, and also for debiting my account $30 by way of penalty for the inconvenience caused to your bank. My thankfulness springs from the manner in which this incident has caused me to rethink my errant financial ways.  I noticed that whereas I personally answer your telephone calls and letters, when I try to contact you, I am confronted by the impersonal, overcharging, pre-recorded, faceless entity which your bank has become. 

 From now on, I, like you, choose only to deal with a flesh-and-blood person. My mortgage and loan repayments will therefore and hereafter no longer be automatic, but will arrive at your bank, by check, addressed personally and confidentially to an employee at your bank whom you must nominate. 

 Be aware that it is an offense under the Postal Act for any other person to open such an envelope. Please find attached an Application Contact which I require your chosen employee to complete. I am sorry it runs to eight pages, but in order that I know as much about him or her as your bank knows about me, there is no alternative. Please note that all copies of his or her medical history must be countersigned by a Notary Public, and the mandatory details of his/her financial situation (income, debts, assets and liabilities) must be  accompanied by documented proof. In due course, at MY convenience, I will issue your employee with a PIN number which he/she must quote in dealings with me. I regret that it cannot be shorter than 28 digits but, again, I have modeled it on the number of button presses required of me to access my account balance on your phone bank service. As they say, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. 

  

Let me level the playing field even further.   When you call me, press buttons as follows: 

IMMEDIATELY AFTER DIALING, PRESS THE STAR (*) BUTTON FOR ENGLISH 

 #1. To make an appointment to see me 

#2. To query a missing payment. 

#3. To trans fer the call to my living room in case I am there. 

   

 #4 To transfer the call to my bedroom in case I am sleeping 

#5. To transfer the call to my toilet in case I am attending to nature. 

 #6.. To transfer the call to my mobile phone if I am not at home 

#7. To leave a message on my computer, a password to access my computer is required. Password will be communicated to you at a later date to that Authorized Contact mentioned earlier. 

 #8. To return to the main menu and to listen to options 1 through 7.  

 #9. To make a general complaint or inquiry. The contact will then be put on hold, pending the attention of my automated answering service.

 #10. This is a second reminder to press* for English. While this may, on occasion, involve a lengthy wait, uplifting music will play for the duration of the call. 

 Regrettably, but again following your example, I must also levy an establishment fee to cover the setting up of this new arrangement 

  Your Humble Client 

(Remember: This was written by an  86 year old woman -'YA JUST GOTTA LOVE? US  SENIORS" !!!!! )

And remember: Don't make old people mad. We don't like being old in the first place, so it doesn't take much to set us off. 

 Now I get to drag my copy to the trashcan. What a relief!

Dannie

Dandy's Yogg

Woof, woof!
 Now, you folks who know me, know I'm not at all vain, but facts are facts. I'm a good guard dog and I take good care of My Lady. And I don't look too bad, either. The trouble is, a dog  needs a little help now and then, if he's going to look his best. And I was needing help, big time. My hair was growing faster than the weeds in My Lady's yard. It was dragging those weeds and the burr clover was in bloom. That meant bad trouble in the near future. A trip to the groomer was in order.

That was not a good day. My friend took me and things didn't go right from the very first minute. They were a bit persnickety about puddling on their floor. Now this is a place for dogs, right? Did they provide a public puddle facility? There ought to be a law!

Well, I didn't exactly have an appointment––just a promise to be worked in. I guess they took one look at all my long hair and took a long lunch break, hoping I'd go away, 'cause it was four hours later before I got back to my house. I expect a great part of that time was spent on the slick trim I got.

If all that wasn't bad enough, when I finally got home, My Lady wasn't there to greet me. That was upsetting. That was very upsetting. I stay home when she goes away. When she returns, I'm at the door to greet her and I run around and tell her how glad I am that's she's home. I get my favorite toy out for her to play with. I talk my dog talk to her so she'll laugh. All that, and she wasn't there for me. I came home to an empty house. She has't  heard the last of this, that's for sure.

Would I pout? Of course not! I just ignore. I'm a pro at ignoring. I just lay in my bed and don't move––not even a twitch of an eyelash. You ought to hear all the goings-on when I do that. Whoo-ee, it's comical.

Of course, My Lady can't stand that, so she uses her "treat" trick and I give in. I'm not stupid, you know.

Sometime I bury my treats but not today. It takes a lot of energy to bury anything in a house with a rock floor. My Lady gets a little upset when I try out the sofa pillows, but I've found a place in a little indoor planter. Trouble is, I can't get her plants back the way she had them, so I get the bad dog treatment when she finds them lying out on the floor. Sometimes saving is not a good idea.

There's times when being a dog gets tough. No public puddlers, rules about where a fellow can bury his treats, and not even a mirror to look in while the groomer is working you over. I might have had a suggestion or two. Just look at that shine. Isn't that a slick cut?

Well, it's been a bit tiresome around here so the news can wait. I'll just take a nap.

Woof!

Dandy

The Writing Path

 Writers, Writing and Wannabes    

      There are always news tidbits to catch our attention – an interesting medical development, a frog so little it’s dwarfed by the dime it’s squatting upon, or how many people are living in poverty. 

      Within days, sometimes hours, we forget most of these. One remained in my mind. It wasn’t related to anything of particular importance to our health or our economy. It was just a little throwaway statistic. To me, it was a bit of a “believe it or not” issue, and I could hardly believe that 81% of our populace feels they have a story worth writing.

      Hard to believe? I thought so. Until I thought about it a moment. How often have you heard someone say, “That’d make a great story”? Or, “You ought to write that down”?

And generally, that’s correct. Our grandfather’s tales of the good ‘ole days, the nerve-racking experiences of a vacation gone wrong, workplace incidents – all have made good stories in the telling, so you decide to turn them into a written narrative.

        You read the words you’ve written. Something has changed. The story has lost its impact, it no longer seems especially interesting, and it has certainly lost every smidgen of its original humor.

     What went wrong? For one thing, in the vocal version, the teller used body language. Just try translating that into words, you would-be-writers.

     Then, there are all the different voice inflections that are used as a story is told. They don’t translate well, either.

      Okay, the English language is full of words. They fill dictionaries so thick we can barely lift them. If you’re writing on a computer you don’t have to worry with those archaic things called reference books. A dictionary or thesaurus is at your service, with the click of a key.

     With those tools, writing should be a snap, right?

     Wrong. There are rules in writing.

     Any sensible person would now either turn on the TV, or pick up that book they’ve been intending to read for the last two months.

     A determined writer does neither of these things. They enroll in some type of writing class; a local seminar, perhaps, or one conducted online. They plunk down money to learn more about the various ways they can torment themselves by attempting to arrange words into interesting sentences.

      Now, if you’re one of these wannabe writers, you may have already learned you can't spell. The little doodad you won in the fifth grade as a spelling prize means nothing. At times, even one-syllable words have brought you to a halt.

      That’s a bit frustrating, but no big problem.  Computer and writing apps have spell check, and if you’ve come anywhere near the correct combination of letters, they’ll very graciously supply the correct spelling.

      Punctuation? Maybe you have a good grasp of the rules. Most likely you don’t. There’re a few pitfalls here: editors don’t like exclamation points. Please don’t rely on that little mark to tell them something is being said with special emphasis. “Show me,” they insist. So you show them, with that elusive word that’s tucked away in the dictionary – or the thesaurus. It’s there, if you can remember how to spell it.

  

                                                                            ! ,  ? ! , . " - ' ,  
   

Those little squiggles above have rules governing their use. The comma, for example, has at least 15 rules of 'dos' and 'don'ts'. 

      There’s also a little problem for those who learned to type many years ago. Long, long ago, typists inserted two spaces at the end of a sentence. Click, click. It’s as automatic as breathing. Today, it’s a no-no. Has something to do with our brainy computers handling the spacing, with no input from the writer.
                                              

      If the writing bug has given you a serious case of writing fever, all these little spelling and punctuation problems are shrugged off. You’ve learned to cope - you have mastered a multitude of online writing helps.  All you need is a little boost from a writing course. Something to take off the rough edges of what you’re writing. 

     That’s not at all difficult. There are many classes being offered online. All the eager writer needs to do is look for one that fits their needs – and shake out that piggy bank for a bit of financing

     So let the fun begin.

          One class, Making Writing a Happy Habit, coached by Cynthia Morris, is an enjoyable and enthusiastic venture into learning why you write and how to keep writing, no matter what. Students explore their goals and weaknesses, and share their problems with other aspiring writers. In this class there is a great amount of camaraderie as the writers find their writing problems are very similar – and there is constant coaching and encouragement. Cynthia also offers a great variety of online classes, tips, and writing help books.

     There are classes for every phase of writing- for every step along the way. The wannabe can find guidance from the first sentence, to the signing of a publishing contract. There’re also free tips and guidelines, best used as ongoing support.

      Some classes focus on techniques and the basic rules of writing. These are especially important, but aren’t for wimps or know-it-alls. It takes a tough skin to endure the criticism of those wonderful words you submitted in the lesson plan. In addition, if you are convinced you know your writing is correct and interesting and doesn’t need the suggestions you’re receiving––well, you have more to learn than you suspected.

     Often a sample of your writing is requested. The student submits an interesting paragraph or two with nice colorful descriptions, and a bit of exciting action, and sits back waiting for a bit of praise. Obviously, a person with an exceptional amount of talent has written this. Surely the instructor will recognize this fact.

     Wrong. Something unheard of has happened. That perfectly worded sentence is passive.  How can that be? Come on, now, it was full of action, how can it be passive?

     Read the rules.

     Okay, first lesson learned.  More writing submitted. Something called POV pops up.  It seems a writer must be careful about switching from the point of view of one character to another.

Read the rules.

      So goes the class. The student learns their first beautiful scene-setting paragraph is entirely too bland for an opening - something exciting is in order. This may have something to do with our changing society – the need to have something stimulating and exciting, now. Who wants to take the time to read a description of the peaceful pastoral scene. No, the reader wants thunder and flashes of lightening. A weeping heroine, a racing car - action is in demand - in a non-passive sentence, of course - and  the goal of a writer, is to tweak the interest of the reader, so again, go by the rules.

    

     You’ve taken several classes, studied the rules, and perhaps you’ve learned you have a great idea but are a long way from being a skillful writer. What comes next? Do you give up? No. You edit, you rewrite. You repeat the process again and again.

One writing coach has stated that if you truly want to write, you will. Nothing will stop you.

     

      There’s one more step to take. Before sending your finished manuscript out to take its chances in the cruel world, you must have it read and edited, either by a professional (not an inexpensive route) or by a critique group. You cannot critique your own work.  You can edit and edit again, but your mind   will skim over unclear statements and repetitious words.

      Some of those in a group may be more critical than you’re comfortable with, but even the most severe and painful criticism can be helpful. Usually!

      Having other writers read your work is extremely helpful, and fun, besides. You’re meeting other writers and even learning by critiquing their work. You will also learn that the words that were in your mind didn’t always make it to the printed page. Rewrite, rewrite, rewrite.

      Use the suggestions, both the good and the bad, constructively. Think about it. There’s no rule, no law saying you must do as one critic insists. Remember the old fable of the man who tried to please everyone? ‘Taint possible. Your work is yours. It’s your decision.

     You still want to write that story? Get a soft cushion for your chair, vow to ignore the laundry, the scattered newspapers, all big sale advertisements, and learn to drink your coffee cold.

     That's  the path you've embarked upon. Enjoy.

Dannie

Things Saved

CLEANING OUT THE FILES:

Many bits of information have come my way, usually forwarded through Facebook, , some funny, some educational, and some worrisome. And I save them. My files are worthy of the attention of those folks featured on television – the one that shows the homes of hoarders. And just like those hoarders, there’s some good stuff stashed away in my files – if I could just find it.

Tonight, I’m systematically (if you believe that, you don’t know me very well), going through the clearly marked “Fun Stuff” file. I see a lot of 'stuff' in there -everything from cartoons to old worn out jokes, but “systematic” isn’t going to fit this project. No way. Haphazard is a much better word.

The very first thing I opened was a group of fun-poking cartoons about aging. A few were saved the rest discarded.

Next came a file of old Southern sayings listed alphabetically – the  Southern saying, spelled phonically on the left, the meaning on the right.

Many of these have migrated westward and are readily understood by Texans––at least this Texan.  Hm-m-m. This could explain why I get questioning looks when chatting with out-of-state friends.

To name a few that caught my eye:

  

Catty-corner(ed)            Diagonal

Cattywampus                Askew, awry, not straight

Chinchy                        Real stingy

Conniption                    A major fit, a total loss of control of one’s temper

Consarned                     An expression used by those who don’t wish to say “damned” 

Fixins                          What is needed to prepare a dish

Frazzle                         Worn out, fatigue, nervous because of some happening

Heap                            Quanity, a great amount

Holler                          A small valley––also to talk at the top of your voice

Kick up a ruckus           To cause a commotion

Kilt                              Past tense of kill

This dictionery of sayings is a keeper.  My score for the night: one file tossed in the trash, one file saved, and an hour or so browsing and laughing. But I’m curious––Were the meaning of those words clear to you––without reading the definitions?

This project may be too time-consuming to continue. I’ll give it some thought.

Dannie

Dandy's guard duty

Woof,woof, everybody.

 It's not easy to get my paws on this contraption nowadays. Seems like My Lady is holding it in her lap day and night. Well, now that I have a chance, let me tell you about my troubles.

I have a problem with My Lady. She’s nice enough, in general––well actually, I like her a lot, but personally I think she’s a little dumb.

Here I am, the best guard dog she’s ever had, and she keeps me on this, bark ,bark, bark, leash. Sorry about the cussing, but I get a little exasperated at times. 

Last week, for example, I was at my window lookout, and the neighbor’s big fat cat jumped up in the birdbath right outside my window. I barked and barked, but all My Lady did, was pat me a little and went back to this thing she calls a laptop, and didn’t let me out to clear the yard of this trespasser.

Oh well, it was just a cat, and I guess he heard me barking, ‘cause he left and hasn’t been back. Sometimes I miss those cats that once lived here.  I had a lot of fun scattering that bunch, especially that hateful black one that always bowed up every time I walked by.

Today I was outside––on a long leash, of course––there was a deer coming out of the brush, down close to my rock wall.  Well, of course, I didn’t want that thing coming up in my yard, so I barked a warning, but all it did was waggled those big ears and kept walking.

What happened next is hard to believe. Despite my warning, deer kept strolling out of that brush, until there were six of those big-eared dummies. Well, I barked and barked, but all they did was flop those ears a few times and look in my direction. They must not see very well, because I know if they’d seen who was on guard, they’d turned tail and left in a hurry.

Well, I barked until I was hoarse, and those critters finally decided to leave, but not in the big leaps I would have preferred.

After they were gone, my Lady unhooked my leash. Now  she unleashes me? Kinda dumb, wouldn’t you agree?  I could’ve saved myself a lot of barking, if she’d just wake up to the real world, and let me tend to things.

It makes a fellow want to retire from this watchdog business.

Woof, woof

Dandy

Writing and Trivia

In another month maybe the tiny buds
 forming on my Forsythia will look like this.

     It’s been a while since I’ve posted any thoughts so today I thought ––how difficult would it be to share a few of the humorous things items that have been passed along from friends?   We could all use a few chuckles, right?

     But first, my excuses for not tending to my blogs...

     I’ve been sidetracked from blogging in recent months by an unexpected activity that has kept me busy and burning much mid-night oil.

      You may think ‘busy’, a strange word to use in connection with sitting in a recliner, a cold drink or cup of coffee, (depending upon the weather), nearby; laptop in place, and me, pounding away on the keyboard. But I am correct in its usage. I had no idea how correct, until, curious, I checked the thesaurus,  and found these synonyms: hard, tiring, hectic, eventful.

      The event that started all this line of activity, was a simple request by our children to write down the memories of their father’s and my early lives. I think they expected a rather humorous account, because of their Dad’s laughter as he told his tales of growing up.

     That bit of writing turned into more than a mere bit. Even without the modern stuff they were familiar with, there was more than thirty years of combined individual lives and then those of our early married life, the wartime years, and those that followed.

     Anyway, I bit the bullet, so to speak, finished the project, without the humor, unfortunately, since I’ve heard of no one losing their breath from laughter. I’m still thinking of incidents to add.

      With that, I discovered I liked to write. Sure, I’d written twenty years of newsletters on the aluminum giftware of the Depression years, and numerous articles for the trade papers, but I discovered writing fiction.

     Writing fiction has created that busy life I spoke of earlier, with all its various meanings. To make a very long story short, I have been critiquing the work of two talented writers, and in turn, they are doing the same for me. It’s an educational, eye opening, fun experience. And a time consuming one.

End of excuses and a glimpse at a few things I’ve saved.

Cowboy rules:

   Every person in the Wild West waves. It's called being friendly. Try to understand the concept.

  If that cell phone rings while a bunch of geese/pheasants/ducks/doves are comin' in during a hunt, we WILL shoot it outta your hand. You better hope you don't have it up to your ear at the time.

Texas Trivia:

King Ranch in South Texas is larger than Rhode Island .

Beaumont to El Paso   : 742miles

Beaumont to Chicago : 770 miles

Understanding Southern dialogue:

Catty-corner(ed)	a. Diagonal.
Cattywampus	a. Askew, awry; not straight.
Chicken fried steak	n. A steak dipped in batter like chicken then fried until crisp. Some cooks will then smother it in gravy to hide the evidence.
Chinchy	a. Real stingy, as in, "That Roscoe's the chinchiest sonnovagun I ever seen."
Chunk	v. To throw, thoe, or toss, as in, "Hey, boy! Chunk me a chunk of at-ere wood you got dere."
Citify	v. To take the country out of the boy; said by some to be impossible.
Citified	v. Urban or urbane. Takes yuh pick.

Funny or maddening?

I came across this little tidbit while doing some research for a story. It does raise a question––how much credence should we give to the highest court’s decisions?

 U.S. Supreme Court, which, in April 1873, said it was within the power of Illinois to limit membership in the bar to men only. Only one Justice dissented. One Justice wrote:

Man is, or should be, woman's protector or defender. The natural and proper timidity and delicacy, which belongs to the female sex evidently, unfits it for many of the occupations of civil life.... The paramount destiny and mission of woman are to fulfill the benign offices of wife and mother. This is the law of the Creator. And the rules of civil society must be adapted to the general constitution of things, and cannot be based on exceptional cases.

Old Ornaments Holding Memories

From the '60s.-the era of tiny
grabbing hands

Decorated by a youngster in
bed with mono.

Hand-painted Santa ornaments according
to each family member's hobby

                                                             

     What would have been my best Christmas ever? I remember one, with a little boy getting his first puppy and a teenaged daughter getting a sewing machine. Then there were the ones with the tricycles, the new clothes, the dolls...... And I remember the year the deed to the site of our new home-to-be was on the tree.

     But nothing–––nothing–––can rival the excitement and anticipation of a Depression Age five-year-old when that fragrant cedar tree is set up and decorated. That is what I remember most.                                                          

    The tree was set up, supported in a bucket filled with rocks and the ornaments and ropes of tinsel were hung. The living room had huge honeycomb appearing tissue bell hung here and there and red wreaths hung in the two windows and on the front door. They weren’t big or elaborately festooned with holly and cones – they were only about seven inches in dia. and a faded red. Each had a tiny crushed wisp of greenery and a few bedraggled red berries.

     The tinsel was crushed, the rough paper ropes were faded and so were some of the ornaments.  No matter. It was Christmas. The decorations said so.

      The tree stood at the end of the room opposite the old wood-burning heater. That is where I spent hours gazing into the red globes that distorted my image; admiring the little ornaments with deep recesses that sparkled like jewels. I gazed at those ornaments until I was numb with cold and then stood by the heater until I was slmost singed. Then back to the tree.

     The color, the magic, the dreams that that little cedar tree held in its branches! Santa Claus would visit and he would leave gifts. There would be wonderful new things; things I could play with ---a doll, maybe one with sleepy eyes and long hair.

     So my memory is of the excitement of anticipation; of the magic of color and glitter in a world that had very little to offer in that regard; it was the promise of something special and the mystery of that wonderful person who gave to little children---Santa Claus.

       In later years I learned that my mother had one dollar, or less, to spend on my gifts and she supplemented that with wonderful doll clothes. My dad, probably remembering his sisters’ enjoyment of their Christmas dolls, always picked out the doll that stood under the tree.

     Looking back on those lean years, I can imagine the difficulty of saving enough nickels and dimes to help Santa retain his status.

       So little brought (not bought) so much.

In special memory of
 Kent

PEARL HARBOR

December 7, 2011––December 7, 1941

Seventy years ago. An unbelievable happening. A jarring wake-up on a peaceful Sunday morning.

My dad had turned on the old battery powered radio expecting the usual rather mundane news to blare out. Instead of hearing unemployment statistics or congressional disputes we heard WE HAD BEEN ATTACKED BY THE JAPANESE--ships destroyed--hundreds killed.                    

I expect my parents more fully recognized the seriousness of what our nation was facing than I. I was still young (really, now, I was), and although the semi-weekly newspaper had been filled with reports of the war in Europe, that was far away, That was a world away.

My dad was an independent man who had chosen the life of a farmer, partly because he loved growing things and the outdoors, but also because he wanted the freedom of doing his work the way he thought best, free of interference from anyone.

 By this date, 1941, Franklin Roosevelt had been in office almost eleven years and in his efforts to move the country out of its deep depression, had promoted many new laws, some extremely beneficial, some very restrictive, and some determined to be unconstitutional. My dad, the independent farmer, had found himself being told what to do, when to do it, and how. He expressed his opinion of our nation's leader quite frequently and quite expressively, all negative.

So, is it any wonder that the two most memorable statements of the next day were, first, President Roosevelt declaring in that unmatched ringing voice of his: "We are at war." and second, my father saying, "Dannie, you've heard me criticizing our President, but you'll not hear another critical word. We are at war and he is our Commander-in-Chief."

What a hornet's nest that attack had disturbed. Going to war meant winning the war, and that's exactly what we intended to do. Men 'joined up.' Women went to work outside their homes. We bought War Bonds to help finance it, and endured severe rationing in order to supply our troops. Old methods of manufacturing were trashed and the assembly line created. Classmates were drafted or volunteered. And before the year was over, we learned some would never return.

Those who were left on the home front listened to heavily censored news. Letters from servicemen had sections blacked out. The newsreels we saw at the movies (no home TV watching of an invasion) were horrible, showing burning convoys of ships, bombing runs and then the resulting devastation. There was an unspoken fear––were we going to be able to win this war?

Tonight, I saw the faces of survivors of Pearl Harbor––old weathered and wrinkled faces of men in their late eighties and nineties. There were photos of the young men they had been and there were a few stories of their war years that followed. To see those old warriors, to remember the battles they fought for our country, should make us all stop and give serious thought to what we have––and why we have it.

Dandy

   Woof, woof.   I hate to admit that this has been one boring place since all those silly cats disappeared. I've watched a few deer grazing and once a fox crossed my front yard but since he was trotting along and seemed to have no interest in lingering, I didn't even bother to bark.
      Once, when I was outside, sniffing the air, I spotted a deer lying by the rock wall, and when I let out my fearsome bark, it leaped high and left the country.  I was rather pleased with that. I'm just a little fellow,  but that big deer didn't stay around to discuss squatter's rights.

  

      Most of the time I don't even bother to bark. They're almost as dumb as those cats. I would bark and the silly things would look up and twitch those big ears a bit, then go back to grazing.  I guess they were smart enough to realize I was locked in the house and couldn't get to them. I betcha if I'd been outside they'd gone off my hill, pronto!

      My Lady is rather lax about watching out the windows for unwanted visitors, so it's left up to me. I don't mind. She has made me a convenient place by a front window, and I watch the traffic and its nice to see someone turn in my driveway.
      My neighbor's dog comes by every morning but I'm not very interested in her. She a feisty little black and brown terrior type, always jumping around, wanting to play when I'm outside. I consider myself too mature to waste my time on that silly stuff. After all, I'm my Lady's guard dog and I'm going spend my time taking care of her.
      Yesterday, while I was watching, I saw an enormous German sherpherd type of dog out front in my yard. This fellow was big-g-g-g. I dug down for my deepest, scariest bark, but he didn't seem to notice. I expect he was too far away to hear me or he'd have left this place in one giant leap. My Lady noticed my alert, and that is good. She needs to listen to me! Anyway, she looked out and saw this dog and petted me and called me a good dog. I like that, but I was hoping she'd open the door for a better look. If she had, I'd been out of here, and taken care of that intruder. There are times I suspect  she knows my intentions and outsmarts me.
      Oh well, it was nice being called a good dog.  I barked some more and didn't get scolded and sent to my bed, so I'll continue to be on a look-out. You'd better be my friend if you're planning to come in my yard.

Relaxing after guard duty.

Woof, woof.

Dandy

                                                                 

Resetting the system

Soon after the new Facebook was thrust upon us, I wrote and published my new posts as usual but did not realize until this morning, that they went out to only a select few...a very short list that FB had selected when I failed to create my own.

Although there was nothing special about this one from my rocking chair, but now that I've discovered the problem, and hopefully will remember to follow the new procedure, I'm reposting....I hope.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 2011

Dear Facebook

Dear Facebook,

 I hope you know that I have tried very hard to like the new you that you have served to me on your Ethernet platter. You have even garnished your serving with a great variety of tantalizing tidbits, all intended to please me.

I’m sorry, Facebook, but I am not pleased. All this involves change, and these days I am leery of change.

Change involves energy and I’m conserving mine. Yes, I know I am usually sitting down when I’m scrolling through Facebook, making that a low-energy project, but I’m referring to the energy my brain’s going to use as I sort through all the benefits being offered by your new look.

And, yes, I realize the brain needs exercise, lots of exercise, to ward off those dreadful things that happen when the brain is allowed to become idle. I read all this kind of stuff. That’s why I’m stingy in using my brain’s energy on your changed system; I need to put my brain’s energy toward keeping up with these latest brain-improvement projects.

I’m sorry, Facebook. Keeping up with your whims is not on my brain-improvement list.

But Facebook, I am annoyed that you have taken my friendship for granted. I am surprised that you did not realize that I would be vexed by your taking every click on the keyboard, every link I have followed, every “like” I have clicked, to create  a computer image of  Dannie Woodard. Didn’t you even care? So many relationships have ended this way. It’s sad.

 Ah yes. Facebook, you rascal you, I remember the occasional innocent questions you’ve asked, the new opportunities that have been introduced.  Now I understand! All were a prelude to the biggest opportunity of all…that of navigating the new Facebook and facing the challenges of finding an option that will protect the remnants of our privacy.

You know so much about me, Facebook: your computer brain has analyzed all my keyboard clicks,  you know where I live, my age, that I’m Caucasian and female. That last should have warned you. A woman can be helpless or capable, she can be fickle or faithful. She may be stuck in one persona or she may be as changeable as the weather. So remember, Facebook, that what you think I am may be changed by tomorrow. Please don’t assume you know my preferences. Remember…tomorrow I turn a fresh page.

Dannie

PS. I am so thankful that I did not write this when I was angry.