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Friday, July 29, 2011

The Debt Ceiling and the Tooth Fairy

[NOTE: I have closed my Yahoo website and will be incorporating that content into this site. Look to the right of this note and find “Home” and “Fun Page” and click on them from time to time for additional information!]
[New blogs posted every weekend. For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower right of this screen. Click on the small black arrows for a drop down list.]
I find it challenging to reconcile my checkbook so the issue of raising or not raising our country’s debt ceiling is a bit esoteric for me.  I do know we are in credit rating chaos which can be horrifically expensive for us as a nation (and very lucrative for our payees). Whichever way our Congressional leaders go we are still going to be in tremendous debt. I’m putting off painting my house because I don’t want to incur debt. But we all know houses don’t improve spontaneously and need maintenance so putting it off isn’t the answer. The answer is to buy better paint and take care of maintaining it by frequent cleanings and spot painting as time goes on. Can we do that for our country?
We don’t have to be financial wizards to know what has happened to our country is the fault of our country’s leaders. That is hard for some to accept until they understand that our country is run by large corporations who have our leaders in their deep pockets and don’t give a crap about our credit rating, our mortgages, our oil dependency, our disappearing resources, our jobs outsourcing to the moon, our education system hitting the bottom of the barrel while top education administrators earn huge salaries and outrageous retirement benefits sufficient to support a small island somewhere in the Pacific, our infrastructures disintegrating into crumbling piles of crap while criminal contractors milk local and state government agencies for huge sums of money then they buy inferior and dangerous materials instead of the expensive materials promised in their bids and pocket the difference, our inability to manage drug lords here and elsewhere at the expense of our citizens, our pathetic and deplorable health care system, our constant devotion to wars we have no business being involved in (wars are very expensive, possibly the most expensive system in the entire world and our biggest government budget item and we know how well our returning veterans are being treated at our disappearing veterans hospitals), and the list is quite long but I’m depressed typing this crap so I’ll move on.
Case in point---when the mortgage fiasco hit our country the banks and mortgage companies were mandated to assist homeowners with modifications and that was a load of crap and scant few got any relief at all. Now we are supposed to believe that the proper way to handle our credit ceiling will make or break us as a nation. Really? WE ARE ALREADY BROKEN. Threatening to not pay 90-year-old seniors living in tenement houses their pitiful little Social Security checks is absolutely criminal behavior and it’s not going to happen anyway. It’s a fear tactic piece of crap fashioned to scare us into hanging on every word of the politicians/corporation CEOs and accepting whatever piece of crap they come up with to shove down our throats so that we will believe the malarkey they push on us.
I know. I’m using the word “crap” too much. Not very professional. Believe me when I say I’m practicing extreme restraint. I have many more words that would fit better but I don’t want to be arrested or kicked off the internet. And I don’t give a crap. I’m sick of being told that this or that must happen to help us “continue” to recover. Recover? Really? Are we recovering? Did I miss that on the evening news? We’ve been recovering?
I’m going to call my credit card companies and ask them to raise my limits by, oh, say, 150%, and then I’m going to go out and spend it all. Then I’ll ask for it to be raised again. Next, I’m going to contact my utilities and tell them that I can no longer pay them, that they are going to be cut in my budget strategy, and that it’s not my fault I had to raise my debt ceiling. Our country’s credit limit has been raised many times prior to this latest hoopla. So what’s good for the country is good for me. That makes perfect sense; right? Of course, I still have a house that wasn’t stolen from me by corrupt millionaire bankers.
Raise the ceiling, lower the ceiling, keep the ceiling as is. It makes absolutely no difference whatsoever to those of us out here in the trenches. We are being screwed every which way we turn. We’re in such a deep hole that a couple generations are going to live and die and not have any relief whatsoever from the mess we are in. They won’t own homes, they will have to skip college for themselves and their kids, they will work at crappy jobs because that’s all that’s going to be available, they won’t buy cars, go on vacations, have Sunday picnics. They will work and slave and---yikes! Sounds like a Dickens novel.
[The Debt Ceiling and The Tooth Fairy are alike because both require pain, a little blood, and all you’ll end up with is pocket change.]

(Debt Ceiling Definition: Since 1917, Congress has agreed on a limit of how much debt the U.S. can owe without risking default, and legislators raise the limit when they feel we need to borrow more money to sustain the economy. The legislature has raised the debt ceiling 74 times in the past 50 years, and about ten times since 2001. At this point, some voters and leaders feel that it doesn’t even make sense to have a debt ceiling, since Congress has the option to raise it virtually any time.)

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Sunday, July 24, 2011

Young At Heart

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     I had lunch with a few younger friends recently and we discussed their upcoming retirements. I have been retired for a little over four years and they wanted to know what I did with myself all day. That always cracks me up. The retirement picture for most people is still this: a white haired senior sitting in a rocking chair on her front porch sipping Earl Grey with a cat on her lap. Though there are probably some of those folks around (I don’t know any), most of the ones I know are sipping tea after finishing their 5-mile run and before getting ready to paint their house. I know some “very” senior people who take hiking vacations---with other seniors. Isn’t it time to upgrade the senior image? Yes, but first, start from within.
     Keeping the “old” senior stereotype alive damages life for those of us who are not living that way. It makes it harder for us to find work and it lessens our credibility as productive citizens of the world. Our viewpoints aren’t taken seriously. There will always be people older than their chronological years. I know one couple who were “old” in their 50s. They dressed “old,” wore their hair “old,” and behaved “old.” It was a state of mind. Then they developed illnesses and issues associated with what people think old people end up with.
     We know how important it is to eat well, stay active (physically and mentally) and most friends in my age group (65 and older) are doing that. Though illness and body issues come along we can forestall many of them. But not without a global appreciation for today’s modern seniors. That includes people who work with seniors and see them as vibrant and productive. We must surround ourselves with people who believe in us.
     Remember when our kids were little? Did we say “you can’t do that” or “don't do that because you’ll fail” or “always play it safe, don't take chances”? It’s so good for us to try and fail. As we get older we fail less. By the time we get to this age we’re damn near perfect because of all our “failures.” We can do all sorts of things because we’re at the peak of our intelligence via our experiences. 
     I have aches and pains. When I hit the floor some days my back sends me a message. “Hey, who do you think you are? You aren’t twenty anymore. Slow down.” I usually reply, “Screw you.” Mind over matter? You bet. Always. And if that doesn’t work, head to the doctor and demand proper treatment and not “act your age” scolding. If my doctor ever tries to convince me I’m too old to put up shelving in my garage I will find a new doctor.
     I’ve written about seniors before---a lot. Probably because I am one and I continue to hear negatives about being older and retirement. No. No. No. (Pun intended.) I love this age. All of the ravages of youth are behind me. We know what they were: hormone issues prior to menopause, then menopause (I have a few lingering hot flashes), child-rearing, good and bad spouses, parent problems, employment problems, insurance problems (I love Medicare though it’s lacking), no time to do anything, racing around keeping it all together while working all day, and not speaking my mind for fear of reprisals (now I don't care what I say.)
     So now I am away from all the physical and crazy things that zapped a huge portion of my life. As I write this I have music playing in the background, a nice cup of hot coffee sitting by my computer, I’m in my nightgown, and when I’m done here I’m getting dressed and will walk my dogs for an hour. After that I’ll work in the yard a bit then take a bubble bath. After lunch I’ll spend the afternoon editing my latest masterpiece and will check in on Facebook and Twitter and email a few friends and family members. Two or three times each week I meet with friends for lunch or coffee. I drive an hour north once a week and visit mom and help her out a little (she’s 85). I have a stack of books and I also have a few eBooks. I’m new to eBooks and loving it. I’m working on house projects and each day I check out my “to-do” list then tackle a project. I rarely do “nothing.” When quiet I read. I relax in the tub with music playing and do nothing but semi-float. Talk about Zen.
     I planned this retirement. It didn’t just spring up out of thin air. I worked hard for it. I went to night school for five years to obtain an A.A. that enabled me to get a promotion at work then I kept at it for many years until I reached 62. (I had hoped to continue with a B.A. but the cost was outrageous.) And then I retired. It was hard going to night school and working and taking care of kids. It was worth every minute because now I’m sitting here in my nightgown and when I press submit after finishing this small post I’m off to the trail with my dogs.
     I don't have a porch but I do have a cat. She sits on my lap when I’m writing. I don't drink Earl Grey. I prefer strong freshly ground coffee. So bring it on. Just ask Judith Viorst and Dylan Thomas!
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Sunday, July 17, 2011

Ewwww. Food poisoning again!

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My adult daughter recently came down with a roaring case of food poisoning. It lasted several hours and left her weak and unable to fall asleep. She was busy at work with little time for lunch but that day she grabbed a sandwich at a popular shop near her office to eat at her desk while she worked. Shortly after her meal, a nasty little organism worked its way through her body and by around 7:00 p.m. it attacked her full on. I will not describe the event. We all know what happens when we are victims of food poisoning. The next morning she was fine but worn out and still weak. She took a shower and managed to get to work but I felt terrible for her. I told her to call the shop and complain and I suspect she wouldn’t have been the only call.

In January of 2010 I posted a blog on food poisoning. Not long ago I tried a new restaurant in town with friends. It was fantastic. The food was fresh and well prepared, the décor was authentic, the restaurant was clean, and the service was outstanding. After lunch my friends returned to work and I came home. I didn’t get sick but I often do.

I’m retired now and usually when I eat out I always try to come home after rather than run errands or go to a movie or whatever because I have been the victim of food poisoning so many times I only eat out now with fear and trepidation. And I’m not alone. I know several people who only visit certain restaurants. Yet, there’s still a chance that the food the restaurant purchases is contaminated even if they are a well-run establishment with safety their highest priority. Though their habits may be pristine where they purchase their wholesale foods may have less than sanitary methods.

I once was a participant in a potluck at work. Over half of us came down with food poisoning and some ended up in the emergency room. A friend of mind attends potlucks when necessary but only pretends to eat. She’s become an expert at disposing of her plates full of food in the nearest trash cans out of view of other diners.

Food poisoning, in all its nasty forms, has been around for thousands of years. It is understandable that food would spoil quickly before the days of refrigeration and before people were aware their food needed special care to avoid death, but it seems odd we have so much of it today, in this country in particular. However, indeed we do and it’s increasing.

The problem is the result of mass processing of foods by thousands of companies, which is then handled by hundreds of thousands of employees. Food is mass-produced in enormous quantities and the variety of foods we can purchase is staggering. Not long ago Tylenol recalled thousands of their products which were contaminated with mold. They determined the mold came from shipping pallets made of wood which contained the mold spores that made their way into the packaged and sealed products prior to shipment. Tylenol is not food but we do consume it and trust that medication of all things will be safe. We also import food from other countries. They are required to meet food safety standards before shipping. I have zero faith in that process.

Buying food not processed in any way by another country is very difficult. Though the label may say “packaged in Modesto,” the package itself could be from---dare I say it---China. Much of the beautiful fruit and vegetables we see in our super stores are from Mexico, Central and South America, and other parts of the world. There is some concern that terrorists may be able to hurt us by simply contaminating the foods that are imported for our consumption.

Over the past 20 or so years I have fallen victim to a variety of food poisonings from restaurants and potlucks. I do not recall a time I have ever been sick from food I’ve prepared at home. Sometimes we think we have the flu when in fact we are suffering from some form of food poisoning. If it's food poisoning caused by bacteria or their toxins, then nausea, abdominal pain, diarrhea and vomiting can begin as soon as an hour after consumption.

Stomach flu has similar symptoms. Viruses that afflict the stomach and intestines, viral gastroenteritis, cause the stomach flu. These viruses are spread by the fecal-oral route and can persist on objects like doorknobs or on food surfaces for days. We feel miserable with both and both are hard to avoid. But several TV “doctors” have increasingly blamed illnesses that come on quickly or hours after eating a meal on food and not the flu. When people visit doctors after such an illness takes them by surprise, most often the doctors suspect food poisoning.

Flu patterns are different from food poisoning patterns. In a potluck incident, it’s obvious after just a few questions when visiting a doctor. But I can tell if I’m sick from food poisoning because for me the problem usually develops very soon after eating the suspect food. Eggs seem to bother me when eaten in a restaurant but never at home. I believe it’s the frequency of grill cleaning or lack thereof. It may also be the egg and whatever storage it sat in before sale to a restaurant. I always ordered my eggs scrambled well and still had the problem. I stopped ordering eggs about a year ago. I almost never order meat in restaurants for the same reason. Things that live in water are often a problem. Fortunately, I do not like things that live in the water except to admire them. Quality control of things that live in the water is of the highest importance in a restaurant. Pick those restaurants with caution.

Employee hygiene is often blamed for food poisoning but management stretching their food dollars and keeping food after it’s lost its prime (and not staffing an adequate cleaning schedule) plays heavily into food industry problems. Take a peek at local county websites that list restaurant safety and cleanliness ratings. You may never eat out again.

Over the years I have spent a good amount of time studying food preparation and storage because of that problem. I had a relative who worked for Federal Food & Drug. I was surprised he could eat at all after some of the horrific stories he told us about when inspecting restaurants and stores. Even the famous cooking shows now include explanations on the proper way to prepare food in the kitchen, especially how to handle chicken, and how to clean surfaces and hands to prevent problems.

When I prepare and store food I am OCD careful. I could probably write an entire blog on just my food prep routine. Before I prepare a meal I first make sure my hands and food surfaces are cleaned. The food is then carefully unwrapped over the sink so that any crumbs or drips are not spread over a cutting board or counter top. I do not use the same cutting surface for preparing all my food items. Each food item I prepare gets a new cutting board or a thoroughly cleaned cutting board. Once the food is prepared and consumed, leftovers are placed in the fridge and are tossed if not consumed in a day or two, depending on the leftover. Some can be frozen. After the meal the kitchen is swabbed with cleanser. I also seem to live on an anthill so it’s another reason to keep the area very clean. 

Because I have a pristine food prep style I believe it may be a contributing factor as to why I get so sick when I eat out. I don’t purchase many processed foods which cuts down on contamination possibilities. I also don’t eat out a lot so that when I do my stomach, which is used to a super clean food environment, may be too “delicate” to eat in a less than perfect environment.

A year or so ago I took a 6-week class on nutrition and preparation and storage was discussed in almost every class. Almost every person in the class had a food horror story to share. We were all surprised but then we discussed all the ways we get our food and the places our foods come from and how foods are stored and handled and we were amazed we weren’t all dead. We also discussed that most deaths in developing nations are almost entirely caused by lack of clean water and food.

I can’t even imagine what is happening in Haiti now. Many people who survived the earthquake and the following days later died because of food and water contamination. This applies to the rescue workers and medical personnel. At some point in a given day or week they too may ingest something they believe is safe but it may not be. They are arriving with packaged foods but it seems unrealistic that they will be able to have enough available to them when in desperate situations. Eventually they may have to eat or drink something not carefully sealed in a nice clean container. The earthquake will keep on giving for a long time.

Time for lunch!

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Saturday, July 9, 2011

My Love Affair

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I’m in the middle of a glorious love affair. It’s not really an “affair” because neither of us is married. I guess it’s just a wonderful love relationship rather than an affair. I’ve only experienced this type of love three times in my entire life. My first time I was 16. We all remember our first love. It’s funny when I look back on it now because the object of my affection way back then was not like my new love. But I still remember the experience with great joy.
Okay. I can’t do this anymore. I have to tell the truth. It’s a car. Yes, it’s a car. Just a car. But I am truly in love with this little car. When I was 16 I worked in the pear sheds in northern California and saved all my money and bought an adorable 1953 pink and white Ford with blue vinyl interior. I loaded that beauty up with friends and off we’d go on hot summer nights. The radio was blasting, the windows were down, and we cruised the drag for hours and hours. It is one of my favorite youthful memories.
I had a few cars after that one but found a red MGB one day, bought it, and fell in love with a car again. The cars surrounding those two fun cars were functional and got me from point A to point B adequately and reliably but I didn’t love them. The pink Ford and the MGB I loved. I had to sell my MGB because it had serious maintenance issues and expenses and I just couldn’t cope with it anymore. It was old when I bought it and had a few problems but it seemed to develop more and more problems and I couldn’t keep up. I’m not sure what happened to the pink Ford. I purchased it in 1962 and it was a 1953 so perhaps it was also a maintenance issue.
Americans, and in particular Californians, love cars. Unless one lives in a major city it’s hard to get around without a car. Suburban mass transit is usually slow and often difficult to get to. In a large city we can walk out our door, walk a block or so, and find many forms of mass transportation. I lived in San Francisco for many years and never drove my car unless I went out of town on weekends. It’s a lot cheaper to live without a car if living in a city. No car insurance, no repair or maintenance bills, no annual registration, no wildly fluctuating gas prices, and no outrageous parking fees. Taking the bus every day is so much cheaper and bus drivers manage well navigating the busy streets. If we sometimes work late at night we can take a cab home and though that seems expensive it’s not too bad when added to an annual budget where we calculate car expenses versus public transit. We come out way ahead. My son lives in Sacramento and they have an efficient system which he uses every day.
But those of us living outside the major city hubs need our cars. And more than that, we love our cars. It’s fun to drive in less clogged communities. It’s comfortable to run errands or visit friends without the big city congestion. And so we put a lot of time and effort into selecting just the right car for our personalities and lifestyles. Still, even though I’m a suburbanite, I have always been a somewhat conservative car customer. I want cars that are reliable and not too expensive to run. Once I purchase a car I keep it for years and years. A few years ago I donated a 1994 Saturn to the Humane Society of Sonoma County. It was in perfect condition but I had an opportunity to purchase a newer car (Honda Accord) from a friend so I did. It was newer and a definite upscale from the Saturn.  A few years after that I traded cars with my daughter. Both cars began to pile on the miles and years but were still in great condition. My son joined the family car trading business and he continues to drive one of the original cars we’ve been swapping.
So last week while sitting at my computer my daughter emailed me to tell me she found my favorite car on display at a dealership next to her office. Even in the color I love. I thought she was merely mentioning it because she knows I love this particular car. We chatted about it and I never once thought about buying it because I had a perfectly good car sitting in my garage even though it was beginning to be a senior citizen---like me. That was on a Monday. On Thursday she bought the car for me and we picked it up. I’m still stunned. So what is this glorious car? It’s a Mini Cooper in mellow yellow with black trim, leather seats (with seat warmers), and power everything. It is, beyond a doubt, the cutest thing on wheels and I am definitely in love with it. 
My love affair with the Mini Cooper came, as it did for thousands of others, after watching the fun movie The Italian Affair. Though there are human actors in this film, and very good ones too, it’s the Mini Cooper that steals the movie. It’s sort of like having a cute dog or cat in a movie. Who watches the actors when there’s a funny dog performing alongside? Same with the Mini Cooper. I won’t give the story away but for those who like engaging chase scenes and clever revenge stories, this is the movie to watch. For many years after that movie whenever I saw a Mini Cooper on the highways I always smiled remembering how adorable they were in that film and secretly thought that someday I would have one.
I wasn’t sure it would be practical for me since I have two dogs I transport around a lot, one the size of a small Lab, and I visit my 86-year-old mom and often take her places with her wheelchair but still I had that little seed of hope in the back of my head. You know, sort of like the hope that one day Paul McCartney would stop fooling around with all these silly women and marry me instead.
My daughter likes them too. And she knew how much I’ve loved them. So when she saw my favorite model and color two blocks from her office she knew what she had to do. And she did. I have a very close relationship with my kids because we have been through some tough times together. Single parenting is daunting---and expensive. But our team of three got them both through college and now they have good jobs and she just wanted to do this. Many people have asked if I was surprised but when I think about it, no, I was not. I was thrilled but not surprised. That’s who she is.
I have to go now because I’ve had the car for a week and it’s time to wash it and dry it (there could be hugging and kissing) and polish the chrome. Yes, chrome. It’s the sports package so it has chrome. And racing stripes. And checkered side mirrors.  Like I said, I’m having a glorious love affair and do not anticipate a divorce.
Now I’ll have to work on Paul McCartney because apparently dreams really do come true.
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Saturday, July 2, 2011

And Crown Thy Good With Brotherhood

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I come from a long line of illegal immigrants. When my family arrived here they acquired land illegally and built their lives. They had many children who took part in all this new land had to offer. Today we are spread out all over this great country and have never received “official” documentation that we are legal citizens of this country.

Shocking? Not really because when my family came to this country they never met any Native Americans and therefore never received permission to reside here. Other European illegal immigrants told my family what to do and where they could get property and gave them documents proving their right to be here, documents not obtained from Native Americans, and off they went.

Native Americans fought vigorously to stop all of the illegal immigrants but they were unsuccessful. Why? Because the desire to escape oppressive governments back in the “old country” was strong and my family was tired of being fearful and starving and afraid all the time so they came here and took what they wanted and lived lives and developed strong healthy families. That’s what immigrants do. Legal or otherwise.

The Native Americans didn’t want them. They knew they had delicate resources, just enough to sustain the many scattered tribes across the land and the encroaching mostly Europeans were soon depleting valuable reserves of buffalo and land required to keep ancient tribes thriving. Some illegal immigrants brought disease and weapons and crime. The Native Americans lost the battle of ownership. Oh, along the way my early relatives picked up a few slaves to manage and enrich the growth of their lives here. But don't worry. They weren’t illegal aliens. They were property.

My family did well. We did indeed cultivate property and families and friendships and lives here. My family still owns the original homestead from before the Revolution which is the purpose of this joyous weekend---we won! All of this was taken from the Native Americans and on the backs of slaves my family owned. Their lives in their native European lands were horrible and they felt they had no choice. They were uneducated and miserable and came here with their pitiful belongings and began lives. They denied themselves the knowledge that they did this while displacing the original inhabitants and by utilizing the horror of slavery. The desire to make a decent life for a family is strong. My ancestors did all they could to never be hungry again, for their children to never be hungry again, and for generations of their family to live well in America.

There were Native American wars and death and destruction to retain our homes. There were slave revolts and eventually the slaves received their freedom but at a great price to all. Slaves starved for years and years after the Civil War and suffered and lost children and roamed the country trying to find homes of their own but all too many found nothing but hateful people who didn’t want to share any piece of this country with anyone. Especially slaves and Native Americans.

The Mexicans living in the west suffered the same fate of the Native Americans and were displaced and sent packing further south into Mexico even though much of the west belonged to Mexico, i.e. Spain, and they had shared it with Native Americans for centuries. But the European illegal immigrants were powerful and strong and there were too many to fight. Some of the Mexicans continue to return to their native lands even today but they are driven back by border guards who are themselves illegal immigrants from way back in the history of our country.

And so today the descendants of these tough Europeans feel as the Native Americans did. They fear the new illegal immigrants and don’t want them to take the resources away from them, the same resources we stole from the Native Americans and Mexicans way back then. The slave descendants are still fighting the battle to belong as full members of our society. How long is that going to take? 

If I lived in Mexico I’d be crawling here on my hands and knees every day to hop the fence on the border. Every time I was caught I’d come back. That’s because I come from tough illegal immigrant stock. The power of freedom and a better life is strong. Maybe like my ancestors I’d let nothing stop me and I’d form alliances with bad people in an effort to stay here no matter what and raise a family and acquire land. It’s the human way. We fight hard to have a better life.

For every illegal immigrant who climbs the border fence or goes through the scary tunnels by the Rio Grande there’s a story. A sad story of poverty and despair and fear. Fear every single day of their lives. No one cares about them or helps them. Not their new country nor their home country. Everyone hates them. Everyone wants them sent back on the next bus---with a sandwich and a bottle of water. The official deportation menu.

They are oppressed and starving. Just like the folks in Afghanistan, Iraq, and other parts of the world where we are providing assistance at a great cost. When Afghanistan explodes, and it will, the flood gates will open and we will have those immigrants, legal and illegal, flocking to our shores for protection. And we will take them and protect them and house them and educate them and care for them because we always do---unless they come from Mexico.

I’ve had the good fortune to know lots of people originally from Mexico because my family has been in California for a long time. I do not know any Mexican gang members or criminals in the same way that I don’t know any Mafia members amongst my Italian friends or any other criminal types from any other group in my wide selection of friends from all over the world. I just know ordinary people living ordinary lives and trying to manage families as peacefully as possible.

Criminals and terrorists from all countries will always be able to get into our country or any country they desire to be in because they have money, resources, and sometimes pay off officials to help them on both sides of the borders. We can’t keep them out. Tough legislation to keep illegal immigrants out is laughable to them. They don’t give a fig about our laws. Our tougher laws keep out people who are desperate for better lives.

I do know a lot of perverts and criminals in Congress but there are also many moral and honest people running our country. Should we just toss the entire lot? Maybe we should just take all of Congress and put them on buses and planes with sandwiches and bottles of water and send them all back to their familial countries of origin. That would make room for the decent people slipping over fences to pick grapes.

Who would you rather live next door to? A migrant field worker who works in the fields all day or Anthony Weiner? Excuse me for a minute. I'm going to go make his sandwich. I think I have some bottled water in the garage. 

O beautiful for spacious skies, 
For amber waves of grain, 
For purple mountain majesties 
Above the fruited plain! 
America! America! 
God shed his grace on thee 
And crown thy good with brotherhood 
From sea to shining sea! 
--Katherine Lee Bates

[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author. Blog series began in March 2009.]