STAY AT HOME MOMS

The election year campaigns are in full gear, with all kinds of remarks being made on either side, some made without placing the mind in gear. One recent remark was made that a particular candidates wife "never worked a day in her life", that she chose to be a stay at home mom to five children. The remark was made to imply that stay at home moms had no clue about the world outside the home or about economics. I don't know about you, but I see things in a different light.

My wife is a stay at home mom, and my mother and grandmother were as well. I do not see any of those wonderful ladies as "uninformed" or lacking knowledge about economics. In fact, if you were to let a committee of stay at home moms handle the federal budget, it would be balanced very quickly. Funds would be distributed based on how badly something was needed.

Of all the people I can think of that are "lost in the shadows", moms come close to the top of the list. There seems to be a media conception that stay at home moms lounge around all day, drinking coffee, tea, or bottled water, while watching television and chatting away on the telephone. All in total ignorance of current news or without worries over finances.

If a family was ran like a corporation, the husband would in most cases be the Chief Executive Officer, who would be responsible for the overall well being of the company. But behind the scenes, every CEO has to rely on a huge number of people that actually make the wheels turn and keep everything moving along. In the family, those people are combined into one person; mom.

She is the Chief Operations Officer, scheduling family affairs and making sure that sports, scouting, library trips, grocery shopping, car maintenance, church events, and meals all fit into the day, with hopefully enough time for her to tend to her own personal needs.

She is the Chief Financial Officer, balancing a sometimes meager budget to ensure that meals are on the table, the light come on, the cable/internet is still on, gas in in the car, the phones work, and maybe still have some left over for the occassional recreational activity.

She is a counselor, offering soothing words for a missed promotion, a broken toy, or a broken heart.

She is a nurse, tending to daily bumps, bruises, cuts, and scrapes. She schedules doctor's appointments, and dispenses medications on time. At times she is also the family veterinarian, treating Fido or Fluffy, as well as tending to the final arrangements of a beloved goldfish or hamster.

She is a teacher, instructing the finer points of life that public school teachers cannot cover. She answers the "why" even if the answer is that she doesn't know for sure. Why did the goldfish die, why did grandpa die? Are all boys like that? Why are people so mean? Why is the sky blue? Where is Africa?

The list goes on and on. She is all the above as well as a best friend and lover. She is a mom.

Maybe if we had a stay at home president, things would get done a lot better.

CONTROL-ALT-DEL

I remember as a kid watching Mr. Spock and Captain Kirk talking to the computers. And I remember other movies where computers were mysterious or monstrous contraptions. And of course I remember HAL and the problems he caused.

After I enlisted in the Air Force, I had my first experience with computers. The computer we used was a main-frame, which used huge reel-to-reel tapes to store and retrieve data. Personal Computers were still in the future. I remember seeing one of the Cray Super Computers that took up a whole bottom floor of a building.

Of course the PC's did arrive, and they deep improving all the time. I can't imagine going through a day without using my computer. I use it for writing, photography, artwork, and surfing the web. There is no denying that our lives are dependent on computers.

Wouldn't it be great if our lives had a keyboard or mouse button that would make it easy?

What if we could use a BACKSPACE key and go back in time a few seconds? We could erase what we said and thereby remove the sneaker from between our teeth.

We could use the TAB key to jump forward a bit and skip over boring details in our life.

We could use a CAPS LOCK when we really wanted to be heard or understood. We could POINT and CLICK instead of being misunderstood.

We could COPY and PASTE only the best parts and CUT the bad parts out.

And perhaps best of all, at the end of the day we could be given the option to SAVE or EXIT WITHOUT SAVING.

Quick, Get the Gun, it’s An Adverb!

“Hi, I’m from maintenance!” the man stated fixedly. “Are you Ruth Smith?” he said inquiringly.

“No, she’s at the store.” The young girl answered ruthlessly.  Stepping aside, she replied openly “Come on in please.”

“Please excuse the crutches.” He said lamely.

“What happened to your foot?” was her sole question.

“I dropped a tool box on my toe.” He answered heavily. “It’s getting better, but it still hurts sometimes.” He added sorely.

“It says on my report that you have a problem with the lights.” He said darkly.

“That one over there in the corner.” She said pointedly, indicating a dark lamp by the window.

“This shouldn’t take long at all.” He stated quickly.

He stepped over to the light fixture. Reaching under the shade, he examined the light, and made an adjustment. He turned to the young woman, “The bulb wasn’t all the way in the socket.” He said loosely. “But I was able to screw it in a little more.” He told her firmly.

“Let’s see if it works.” He instructed tryingly.

“It does!” she exclaimed brightly. “Thank you so much.” she gushed gratefully.

“No problem at all.” He said effortlessly as he walked out the door.

This idea came while reading Stephen King’s book on the Art of Writing. He makes it plain that he doesn’t like adverbs.

Those who gave it all

I visited the American Cemetery in Luxembourg, where General Patton and his troops are buried. Mixed in with the white crosses are Jewish stars. Most of the markers had a name, but some had "known but to God". Each marker was the final Earthly resting place for a man that gave his life for a nation that he would never set foot on again. As a 20 year veteran, I think I can say that it is not so much giving your life for a "stranger" as it is for freedom. These men and women who rest beneath the markers in cemeteries here and abroad picked up the tab for the freedom we all enjoy. From Lexington to Bagdhad, Khe Sahn to Kettle Hill, and places on maps that don't even have a name, the boots on the ground, wings in the air, and those on the high seas paid for your freedom. Politicians use words like objectives, mission and strategy; for the soldier, sailor, and airman in harm's way there are only two words that are foremost on their minds; family, and home. God Bless and keep those who have, those who are, and those who will serve to keep the bill paid.

Happy Birthday Mom

Dear Mom,

     I held my guitar again today; the one with the repaired neck that you always loved to play when you came to visit. As my fingers slid along the neck they found the old familiar places and I started to play a song you taught me so many years ago. It’s an old gospel song that you and your mother played for us. And for a minute I thought I heard your voice singing in harmony with grandma. The name of the song, “If I Could Hear My Mother Pray Again”, will always remind me of you.

     You taught me a lot about music, art, and life in general. Like a sponge I soaked up as much as I could. Some of your lessons did not sink in until I got a bit older. I like to tell people that I was amazed at how wise you became between the time I was 16 and the time I was 30.

     You never asked dad for much as I recall. I think of that each time I hear Dolly Parton sing her song “To Daddy.” Your sister told me once that she never saw dad give you any flowers, or special gift. Maybe that is why your eyes sparkled when I gave you roses for Mother’s Day when you came to visit a few years back.

   Your wardrobe was never fancy; you liked it that way, and you kept your plain gold band on your finger, long after you and dad split up. I remember you saying that it wasn’t you that broke the vows and you had no reason to take it off. The only other jewelry that I saw you wear was a cheap watch and a necklace with all of the kids’ birthstones on it. You wouldn’t wear the necklace either until I lied to you and told you it only cost me eighteen dollars.

     Remember when you taught us how to make shadow animals with our hands that time we were out of power for a few hours? We were laughing so much we forgot about the storm outside. You always did try to take our minds off of things that were troubling or scary. Like the time my dog got hit by a car, and you sat on the edge of my bed for hours, talking to me, until I finally went to sleep.

     You taught me how to imagine shapes in clouds and how to recognize the good in people. You taught me to pay attention to what was above and below me and to remember that I need to be careful where I step in life, so I don’t trample what is below me, or step on somebody’s feelings.

     The best lessons that you taught were about religion. You never forced us to go to church because you believed that for our faith to be true, we had to find our testimonies on our own. There were no hellfire and brimstone sermons, and you never told me that I was going straight to hell in a hand basket, although there were some in the family that said that I was. And you told me that I should look at the beam in my eye before I told somebody about the splinter in their eye. Your lessons have stuck with me over the years and they are simple rules to live by.

I am not better than anybody else and nobody is better than me.

If I am not sure about something, then I need to pray about it.

If I have to ask if I am doing something wrong, then I probably am.

I should love God and treat everybody like I want to be treated.

And always remember that I am not responsible for another person’s actions, but I am 100% responsible for my reaction to their actions.

And perhaps the most important lesson was that I should learn whatever I can about something that interests me.

     It’s your birthday today, but you already know that. You left us in the spring last year, in early April. Poor health kept me from making the trip to Oklahoma to see you off, but we had already said goodbye the last time we were together. It’s been almost a year now and the ache is still there. I suppose it will never leave. There’s a line from a song that sums it up for me. “I sure miss you but heaven’s sweeter with you there.”

I love you mom!

Johnny

ENGLISH?

      I heard once that English is the hardest language to learn. It was difficult for me to understand why people would have a tough time with a language that I was taught from the cradle. But English, or at least our American version, can be confusing, even for those who only speak English.

     American English can be as confusing, strange, and vast as the nation itself, with the different regions, accents (only y’all.. I don’t have an accent), foods, and cultures. At one time America was considered the melting pot of the world, where the “tired, huddled, masses” came and we were all supposed to blend together like a giant smoothie. It didn’t happen quite the way it was envisioned.

   We are more like a giant salad bar, where we take a little here and a little there.  Immigrants brought their words as well as their skills from the old country. Food, drink, dress, music, and even romance were influenced and in many cases improved by the addition of a foreign word. Sometimes the people and language were already here, in the case of the Mexicans and Native Americans. The American salad bar of language is very impressive.

     It would seem that it should be simple; with only 26 letters, how can it get messed up? On the basic level you have a subject (noun) and a verb (action). Dogs bark, I sing, and politicians lie. It should be simple, straightforward and easy to understand, right?  If only we could keep it on the basic level.

    But we have to add to it, spice it up and add more details. So now, dogs bark loudly, I sing badly, and politicians lie constantly. That’s not too bad, except we can always take it to another level and add more.  That means small dogs bark loudly, I sing very badly, and all politicians lie constantly. I can still live with that, but we moved away from simple and got the political correctness crowd involved as well as the wordsmiths, who put a new spin on words. Remember a former president that answered a question with, “That depends on what the meaning of “is” is.”

    In the PC world, canines express themselves verbally, I am still tone challenged, and politicians misspeak (often).

   I think I have a fair command of the English language and can express myself verbally or in writing. For that I owe a debt of thanks to my mother and to the teachers I had in school. They gave me the basic understanding of how to put together a sentence in a way that other people could understand me.

   And to my high-school English and Journalism teacher, a special thanks for teaching me to look at all language as a source of humor. He taught me that there are rules of composition and rules of grammar, but those rules get broken all the time. And that gives the rest of us something to laugh at.

Thank You For Your Time

     In 1985, the Country Music group Alabama, released a song titled, “40 hour week”, in which they pay tribute to the unsung workers of our nation. The song mentions truckers, policemen, steelworkers, farmers, and others, who work to keep our nation going. The workers mentioned are not white collar workers earning six-figure salaries. They are the workers who depend on an hourly wage to pay the bills and keep a family fed, safe, and secure.

     As I have researched my family tree and helped others with their genealogy, I have ran across job titles that make me do some extra research just to find out what kind of job the ancestor had.

     Of course I found a lot of farmers, laborers, and other jobs that have not changed a lot over the years, but what was a “Cooper”? Well, it turns out that a Cooper makes or repairs wooden barrels. That is a job that was replaced by automation.

     Some of the occupations came over from the old countries and were passed down from generation to generation until they too faded into memory, replaced by a machine. Some occupations had their names changed even though the basic work stayed the same.

     Does a Barker still work with animal hides? Is a metal worker still called a Brightsmith, or will the union allow that?

    There was a time when a Drummer was a traveling salesman and not a wild-man who pounds away on a percussion instrument with a pair of sticks. Or a Duffer was a door to door salesman and not a poor golfer.

    Kedgers sold fish, Chandlers sold candles, Cinder Winches sold gas work cinders, a Packman sold goods out of his pack, and a Pever sold pepper.

     Boilermakers worked with metal in industrial settings and Clod Hoppers worked with plows, while a Collier worked in the coal mines.

    A Charwoman would clean your house and if you needed your shoes fixed you would seek out a Cobbler. You would buy new pots from a Crocker and to replace the broken garden hoe, you would visit the local Hacker to get a new one.

     If you were a Felter, you worked in the hat industry, where you might work with a Stripper, who did not get paid to remove their clothing, but to remove assorted rubbish from the carders used in the wool trade. If both of you worked the early shift, your employer might hire a Knocker-up to wake you up early in the morning in time for work.

     As you left for work early in the morning, you might see the KnockKnobber making his rounds, picking up stray dogs. Or you might say good morning to the Coney Catcher as he heads out in the fields to catch rabbits. The bleating of goats might be carried by the morning mist as the Gatward moves his herd out to the pasture for the day.

     The local Feller would be making his way to the forest to cut some trees which he would later take to the Sawyer, who would turn the lumber onto boards that the House Wright will use to build a home for the town Phrenologist, who earned the money to pay for the home by telling fortunes based on the lumps found on a person's head.

Near the center of town, the Vulcan was opening his shop. This Vulcan was not a long eared alien, but made his living as a blacksmith.

     And you might see some young Ankle-Beaters gathering near the stock-yards, waiting to help herd some livestock to market.

     The names may have changed. Some jobs may have disappeared, victims of progress, but the majority of Americans still get up day after day and go off to work to “Get er done!” I believe there is still a lot of pride in what we do, whether we swing a hammer, check a pulse, flip a burger, patrol a highway, or keep a house going.

     To all the workers, past, present, and future, as it says in the song, “Thank you for your time!”