Today in My History

2001:  Reflections of Life
2002: Just a Simple School Marm
2003: To Be Vulnerable
2004: Secret Love
2005:
  
Brad and Jen
2006:  Only God Can Make a Tree
2007:  You Can't Get There from Here
2008:  What Hath Dog Wrought?

2009:  Photo Treasure Hunt
2010:  "Come Home"
2011:  Shakin' the Night Away
2012: 
 Back to San Rafael
2013: Hey, My Buddy!
2014:  
Sunday Stealing
2015: Underdog
2016: It's Turkey Time
2017:
The Pleasure of your Company


Theater Reviews
Updated 12/5
"Something Rotten"

Books Read in 2017
 Updated 12/28
"Voyage of the Dawn Treader"
"The Silver Chair"


Personal Home Page

My family

Books Read in 2017
Books Read in 2016
Books Read in 2015
Books Read in 2014
Books Read in 2013

Books Read in 2012
Books Read in 2011
Books Read in 2010


Blogroll
updated
9/15

Cast
updated 7/16

Email
(you know how to fix it)


Mirror Site for RSS Feed:
Airy Persiflage


Some Background Links:
The Philosophy of Juice & Crackers
The story of Delicate Pooh
The story of the Piņata Group
Who IS this Gilbert person anyway?
Sold!


Swap Bot: 
My Day
Favorite Travel Photos
Things in My Life
Pocket Letters
7 Days of Meals


mail to Walt / mail to Bev  

SHITHOLE COUNTRIES

12 January, 2018

I have a strong need to write to my three Compassion children in Haiti and the bunch of them in African countries to tell them that they are loved, that they are special, and that they should never listen to people who tell them otherwise.

I am so angry at what that White House bigot has said today that I can hardly speak.  The man who was born with a golden spoon in his mouth, who has never served his country in the military and who has done nothing but raise and lose money and market his own brand dares to smear an entire segment of the world population with the term "shithole."  He couldn't last one week, maybe not one day, struggling the way the people of those countries live. 

Why are we not getting more immigrants from Norway?  Maybe because it is a better country to live in than this one.  Especially now.  I might think of emigrating to Norway myself (if it weren't such a long commute to Santa Barbara).


I returned to Atria, finally, today.  As I suspect she didn't have a clue it's been nearly 2 weeks since I was last at Atria and was unconcerned when I told her I had been in bed for the past 2 weeks (well, recliner, but "bed" sounded better). 

She was bright and conversational today, but was not in "today."  She told me that her sister Marge was finally getting things together, that she'd been in trouble lately, but she was getting her life in order (Marge was Peach's mother who died some 40+ years ago).  She said she needed to see her brother Jim, long dead, and she asked me if I had been with her mother before I came to see her.

At least she was talking about something other than how old she was, and we had a nice conversation about how good it was that Marge was getting things together.  We eventually got around to age and when I mentioned being almost 75, she said in shock "why that's an old, old lady!"  Thanks Mom.  :)

For Christmas, Atria gave each person in the facility this big box called "Storywise."  It's filled with cards on the front of which is a suggestion to share a story and on the back a photo to help prod the memory.  Like this:

The idea is to get easy memories flowing, but sadly my mother can't relate to this any more.  There was one card that said something about favorite thing her mother cooked but she couldn't remember anything her mother ever cooked.  If I had asked her about her first home, I doubt she could remember that either.  The box kind of broke and spilled cards everywhere and I ended up taking about half of them home with me because they would not stay neatly in the box.  Maybe I'll use them as journal prompts from time to time...or maybe put some of them into a shape to make a Sunday Stealing list of questions.

When after I realized she couldn't think of anything her mother used to cook, I mentioned the can pile her father kept.  I can't tell you how many times she told us of the big pile of cans her father kept in the back yard and whenever they wanted to do anything he said first they had to move the cans to the other side of the yard.  Later, when she grew up, he admitted it was just a job he could give them to keep them busy.

But she no longer remembers there was a can pile and it's sad that I am probably the only one who remembers the story, now that Peach and Kathy are dead.
 

PHOTO OF THE DAY

Some of those African "huts" #45 spoke of

I'd love it if you'd leave a comment!
Remember to sign your name in the "Name" box or else you will show up as "anonymous"
(unless you want to be anonymous, that is!)

HTML Guestbook is loading comments...

 

 

 

 

<--previousnext -->

Journal home | bio | cast | archive | links | awards |  Flickr | Bev's Home Page
 


This is entry #6504