Tag Archives: Rhonda Vincent

communication, complaints, language

I don’t care if “it’s what’s for dinner”… especially since “I ain’t been nowhere”.

I think Bill and I are on the verge of insanity. The last few months have been rather difficult for both of us. Bill has been working very hard, traveling for long stints to the same place in Bavaria, and working extremely long shifts– sometimes overnight, which is not a good fit for his early bird personality. I’m not physically and mentally exhausted like Bill is, but I’m feeling the strain of being socially distanced and not having any fun. We both really need a vacation. It’s not that we’ll die without one… it’s more that we both seriously need a change of scenery. Lately, I’ve found myself daydreaming about day trips to the Rhein, which we used to enjoy before the pandemic struck.

Don’t get me wrong… I know the pandemic is still going on and people are still getting sick and dying. But it’s good to see the infection numbers going down and rules starting to relax a little bit. I’m finding myself less interested in reading about COVID-19 or reading the shrill opinions of neurotic people who think we should be wearing masks forever. I hope to score a walk in appointment this week so I can get my second shot and be “street legal” by my birthday on the 20th. If that doesn’t happen, I’ll get pricked on the 9th. I think Bill is already trying to come up with something for us to do… When we finally do get to break out of here, I suspect it will be a nice trip. Or… I hope it will be. You just never know what’s going to happen in the wonderful world of contracting for the U.S. military.

A few friends managed to get away for the holiday. They’ve been posting photos from Belgium, Luxembourg, and Iceland. I’m happy for them that they got to travel. I hope to join them very soon. I think it will do wonders for my disposition. Lately, I’ve been a bit crankier than usual. I’m sure I’m not the only one, either. Even Rhonda Vincent agrees, having just released a brand new album with this fabulous COVID-19 inspired parody of “I’ve Been Everywhere”… because she, like Bill and I, “ain’t been nowhere” because we’re doing the “responsible” thing and staying home… avoiding masks and annoying busybodies who think we should live this way forever– and if we disagree, we need to be “corrected” and “reeducated”. (I need to quit reading The Atlantic, for sure!)

I love Rhonda Vincent… and I love her song, “I Ain’t Been Nowhere.” I ain’t, you know, and it’s making me even bitchier than I might otherwise be.

Yesterday, I posted a crabby status update about how much I hate the old beef ads from the early 90s… you know, the ones that used Aaron Copland’s “Appalachian Spring” and gave us the ever annoying slogan, “Beef! It’s what’s for dinner!” I don’t remember hating that ad when it was new. It was aired during a time when a lot of Americans had turned away from eating red meat because of the heart risks. Instead of eating beef, people were eating poultry and fish or pork, “the other white meat”. Beef farmers were concerned about their lagging profits, so they came up with this ad, which has led to a highly irritating catchphrase that many people still use today.

On one hand, this was a wildly successful commercial. On the other hand, it’s still irritating the fuck out of me almost 30 years later.

I wish I had a quarter for every time someone says or writes “it’s what’s for dinner”… I would be a much wealthier woman than I am today. Today’s featured photo is a picture I used for my last blog moan about this trend… which I wrote almost five years ago. Yes, this also annoyed me in 2016… and probably before then, too. And in five years, nothing has changed, because people haven’t come up with anything catchier or more clever to say about their evening victuals as they share them with everyone on Facebook.

I bitched about this yesterday, and a friend who is a teacher and also likes to say “kiddo” (another word I can’t stand because it reminds me of a rapey stepfather on the Guiding Light), stopped by to tell me why the beef ad from 1993 is good. I have a feeling she might have felt offended that I was complaining about it, since she’s said she thinks it’s a great ad and apparently uses it as a teaching tool. Look– I am all for people using whatever they can when they teach children. Teaching is a tough job. However, the fact that it’s a good ad for use in the classroom has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it sets my teeth on edge.

I love beef, too. I would happily eat steak or a burger or barbecue with anyone, unless I’m in Armenia, where the beef wasn’t very good. I wouldn’t say German beef is that awesome, either. I’ve got nothing against beef as a food, even if procuring it does involve killing animals. I should probably like it less than I do.

I just don’t want to hear about “it’s what’s for dinner”… because I just don’t give a fuck. I’d like to be having dinner somewhere where I can order something off a menu and take photos of it for my blog. And the fact that today’s kids like that ad is irrelevant. They weren’t around in the early 90s, when it was shown incessantly on TV– back in the days before the Internet, getting into ridiculous conversations about annoying cliches, and wondering why I shouldn’t be able to say I don’t like something without having my opinions corrected.

As for the word “kiddo”… Yesterday, as I was telling Bill about how much I hate the old beef ads, I introduced him to the sordid tale of Bradley Raines, played by the late James Rebhorn on Guiding Light, a soap opera that lasted for over 70 years and has the distinction of being the only daytime serial that ever held my attention. Back in 1983, when I was about eleven years old, the iconic power couple of Phillip Spaulding (Grant Aleksander) and Beth Raines (Judi Evans) was born. Phillip’s original girlfriend, Mindy Lewis (Krista Tesreau) was in the hospital because she got bucked off of a horse named Boss. Beth was in the hospital because she was abused by her yucky stepfather, Bradley. She called him Bradley, even though he had adopted her and she used his last name.

Bradley Raines was a creepy character. James Rebhorn was a great actor, and he portrayed the part of a narcissistic abusive pervert to the hilt. However, thanks to Rebhorn’s turn as Bradley Raines, I’m left despising the word “kiddo”. Every time I hear it, I think of him, and the way he treated his adopted daughter/stepdaughter, Beth, who was portrayed as fragile and sweet… at least in the early years of her character’s existence.

Phillip and Beth meet, after Beth is hospitalized after Bradley threw her down the stairs.
Rapey stepfather!
Kiddo again, at 9:36. Yuck! At 11:00, he’s abusive to Beth’s mom, Lillian, and at 12:30, he hits Beth.
He says that damnable word, “kiddo”, at 9:59. Looks like a mean motherfucker, too. Incidentally, he was a motherfucker, since he fucked Beth’s mother. Most men are motherfuckers, aren’t they?

Ever since the 80s, the word “kiddo” has made me cringe. I feel the same way about the cutesy term, “doggo”. Ick. One time I mentioned hating that word, “kiddo”, and someone decided to correct my opinions about that, too. Why can’t people just let someone express a thought or an opinion without trying to correct it somehow? It’s just an opinion. If everyone agreed, the world would be a very boring place. I won’t be writing any letters demanding that the word “kiddo” is struck from the everyday American lexicon. I just hate hearing it because it makes me think of Bradley Raines.

But really, I mostly think I just dislike cliches. I am more impressed with people who come up with fresh ways to say things. I think the people who made the beef ads were very good at their job… but they were too good, if you know what I mean. Because people are still parroting that annoying cliche many years later, reminding me of dead cow flesh and Aaron Copland. I used to like Aaron Copland’s masterpiece, but now I feel the same way about it as I do the “it’s what’s for dinner” slogan. If I never hear it again, I’ll be pretty happy. 😉

A classic George Carlin routine on cliches… and how fucking annoying they are.

Ah well… I think I will be a lot less cranky when I can no longer say “I ain’t been nowhere.” I think Bill and I both need to get away and unplug for awhile. I don’t know where we’ll go. Europe is opening up… but, like I said, one never knows what will happen in the wonderful world of military contracting. Bill has been working very hard and needs a rest, though. So hopefully we’ll get a temporary one very soon… and even if it’s not outside of Germany, that will be fine. I would be happy just to have a new hill to photograph and a rainfall shower in a stall that I won’t have to clean. Plus, Noyzi needs to meet the dog sitter.

I ain’t been nowhere in way too long… today, my big plans involve going to the backyard and enjoying the sun while drinking myself into a stupor. Bill plans to barbecue chicken… not beef. Because at our house, beef is what’s NOT for dinner… although wine probably will be. Not that anyone cares. If you don’t care, I don’t want to hear about it… or be corrected… and I don’t want to know “what’s for dinner”.

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family, memories, musings

The Heavenly Thanksgiving Party…

Thanksgiving has historically been my favorite holiday. For years, I loved it because it meant going to my Granny’s house, hanging around my mostly fun extended family, seeing the mountains of Virginia, and eating good food. Then afterwards, we’d have a party. There are a lot of musicians in my family, so on Friday after Thanksgiving, there was typically dancing and live music. I remember a few post Thanksgiving Friday night “hops” over the years that were real “barn burners”. Almost every year, for as long as I can remember, there’s been a big Thanksgiving family reunion party at Granny’s. It was something we could all count on, except for a couple of exceedingly rare years when it didn’t happen. 2020 is one of those years.

I haven’t been home for Thanksgiving since 2014. I went there to sing at my dad’s memorial service, which was held over Thanksgiving so more people could come to his memorial. He actually died in July 2014. Since then, a lot more people have passed away, but living in Germany has kept me away from home for their funerals. Some deaths have hurt more than others.

I’m not a very religious person, but I do like to think that Heaven is a real place. I imagine my cousin Karen, who died on Saturday, arriving in Heaven, being greeted by long lost loved ones like her parents and our grandmother. I think of my Aunt Jeanne and Uncle Bob waiting by the Pearly Gates, ready to embrace her and lead her to see Granny, who passed away in 2007.

I love Rhonda Vincent’s music… even when she sings about Jesus. I picture the Homecoming kind of like this.

I like to think of the arrival of a new soul in Heaven as a big party, like the ones we had years ago at Granny’s house, when everyone was still young enough and healthy, and wanted to stay up visiting. My mom would have a couple of drinks and get on the organ and play with my Uncle Brownlee’s band. Or my Uncle Steve would play trombone. There was a lot of dancing and singing and drinking too much… Maybe that’s what homecoming was like for Karen and my other relatives. Maybe they’re all sitting around a big table, as if they’re waiting for more people to join the party up in Heaven.

Actual footage from one of our Thanksgiving parties… That’s my niece dancing with one of my cousins. I’m pretty sure the music was live, too. It usually is.

I picture my Aunt Nance serving turtle cheesecake that has no calories. I picture my Uncle Kenneth sitting at the table telling stories with my Uncle Carl and his wife, Aunt Betty. I think of my Aunt Susan, who died in 1962, healthy and making up for lost time with her brothers and sisters who have finally passed the bar. I think of my Uncle Brownlee playing organ while my dad nods along approvingly. I think of Granny and Pappy looking on adoringly. No one is drunk or angry or being obnoxious. Everyone is having a great time, just like we did at so many Thanksgiving parties over the years… and they’re all waiting for the rest of us to arrive.

Thanksgiving 2014. A number of the people in this picture are no longer with us. They’re at the Heavenly Thanksgiving Party.

Then I start thinking about all of the people I’ve found as I’ve searched our genealogy. I wonder if they’re at the party, too. Will I somehow know my ancestors in Heaven? What about people I’m related to by marriage? What about Bill’s dad, who died just nine days ago? Somehow, I think if Heaven exists, he’ll be there. Because anything is possible in Heaven, right? And there will be no worries about not enough bathrooms, cleaning up the mess the next day, lack of parking spots, or paying for anything. There will be room at the table for everyone; everyone will be heard and appreciated; and there will be no talk about politics or controversy. And no one will be sneakily taking any unflattering photos, either. 😉

Me and my sisters in 2014… this picture was taken by my cousin, Karen, who just passed away a few days ago.

My Uncle Brownlee was probably my favorite relative. We had a lot in common. His birthday was the day after mine and we shared a love for music and off color humor. He died in 2019. I couldn’t be at his funeral due to the logistics. Now that we have COVID-19, it’s even harder to go home. And even if we were in the United States, people would probably shame us if we tried to have a gathering this year. In fact, attending Thanksgiving with a bunch of relatives on Earth might hasten our own arrivals at the Heavenly Thanksgiving Party.

I don’t think about God as much as a lot of my relatives do. Some of my people are super Christian types. They don’t curse and they go to church a lot. They figure cursing offends God. Personally, I think if God is as perfect as people claim, S/he (does God have genitals?) is probably above being offended. Being offended is a human thing. I don’t think God is human. Humans aren’t perfect. I’d like to think that God is nothing but wisdom, kindness, and love, but that’s probably too simplistic of a description. The fact is, I can’t imagine God, although I’m not quite at a point at which I don’t believe in God. But even if there is no such thing as God or Heaven, I do think that concept has inspired a lot of people to do incredible things. And that’s mostly a good thing. On the other hand, the concept of God has also inspired some pretty horrible things, too… albeit for very flawed human reasons.

Granny’s house… it’s been the family homestead since the 1930s.
To me, this place is pretty Heavenly… I have missed being here. I imagine the Heavenly Thanksgiving Party is going on as usual above the clouds.

Anyway, as Thanksgiving approaches, I am picturing my long lost relatives, all of whom loved being together on Thanksgiving (I presume, anyway), and enjoying the holiday up in Heaven, eating, drinking, laughing, singing, dancing, and visiting, with no worries about anything. They could have that Heavenly Thanksgiving Party forever, if they wanted to. Because Heaven is a perfect place, where there’s no suffering. Or, if they hated parties on Earth, maybe they’re somewhere they loved to be. Sitting by a quiet, rushing brook in the most beautiful place, with nothing but the company of beloved pets… actually, that sounds more like Heaven to me. Ditto if I’m surrounded by books and music and maybe enjoying the company of my favorite person, Bill.

Maybe this perfection doesn’t exist. Maybe death just means cessation of life. In that case, it means there’s no more pain or problems. That’s not a bad thing for the person who’s gone. It’s bad for the people who miss that person, left here on Earth, stuck in a cumbersome body that eventually fails for everyone. But eventually, everybody gets an invitation to the Heavenly Thanksgiving Party. Or so I’d like to believe. And I find it comforting to think of my relatives and friends enjoying their time at the Heavenly Party, waiting for the rest of us to join them in the fun.

As for our 2020 Thanksgiving celebration, it promises to be as quiet and peaceful as the last five have been. We’re just not going to cook. This year, we’re ordering a Thanksgiving takeout meal from a restaurant. It makes sense– less cleaning up and leftovers, and we do our part to keep the restaurants going until we can get a vaccine against the dreaded COVID-19 virus. I expect our 2020 Thanksgiving will be much like our anniversary was yesterday… kind of boring in some ways, but extraordinary in others. Bill’s daughter wished us a happy anniversary yesterday and even sent us a gift. Up until a few years ago, I never thought she would speak to Bill again, let alone acknowledge our anniversary. So even though our 2020 celebration had no naked dips at Irish Roman baths or palatial accommodations, it was remarkable just the same. We had originally planned to see Keb’ Mo’ in concert in Mainz. Naturally, that concert has now been rescheduled twice, thanks to COVID-19. I expect we’ll still be here when it finally does occur… at this point, in September 2021.

The featured photo is my dad and his mother… looks like maybe it was taken at my sister’s wedding, which was also a pretty epic celebration at Granny’s house. My dad died just seven years after he lost his mother, so they probably had a pretty awesome reunion in 2014.

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religion

Blue sky cathedral…

A few days ago, I read an article about how millennials are turning away from religion. A college friend shared it. She’s a devoted churchgoer and she thinks it’s “sad” that so many people are turning away from religion. I was intrigued, so I decided to share it with my own friends.

The first person who responded clicked the “sad” reaction. I was perplexed by that, so I wrote this:

I don’t think it’s a sad thing. Some people simply aren’t into religion, and many people have suffered abuse in religion. If they are happier outside of it, that should be alright.

I grew up mainstream Presbyterian. For the most part, I don’t miss going to church, even though I went for most of my childhood. When I was growing up, everybody went to church. Most of my friends were Baptists or Methodists, but a few were at the Presbyterian church with me, and I had a few Episcopalian friends. I didn’t have Catholic friends until I got to college and started mingling with people from Northern Virginia again. It wasn’t until later than that that I encountered Mormons, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Jewish people, and Muslims.

A lot of people my age have quit attending church, and it sounds like a lot of younger people have, too. I didn’t hate church… well, I shouldn’t say that. As a child, I didn’t like it because I found it boring. My mom was always playing organ and my dad was in the choir, so I sat with the wife of a man who was also in the choir. She kept me occupied. But for me, it wasn’t really a family thing. I know in some families, religion and church attendance is important and part of being in the family. For me, it was almost like it was optics. We didn’t say grace at my house, or bedtime prayers– at least not beyond my toddler years. My dad was more religious than my mom, but I really think it was a social and musical outlet for him. For my mom, it was a source of income. And I went to church because they worried what people would think if they didn’t take me, even though my parents rarely attended the same church.

The guy who clicked the “sad” reaction wrote, “some of us seem to have found a really secure, not so corrupted home church – though not within the doctrine we were raised.” So I responded,

Good for you. If you like church, by all means go to church. I’m for people doing what makes them happy, as long as they don’t hurt other people.

I think it’s much sadder when a person feels “trapped” by religion because if they stop believing or acting like they believe, they’ll be disowned. The LDS church was used as one “reason” Bill wasn’t fit to see his daughters. Of course, that was complete bullshit, and the truth about what happened is now becoming very apparent to his younger daughter.  

Every day, I read stories written by young Mormons who feel forced to go on church missions or be disowned by their families… Or people who have to hide their sexuality because of religion and the threat of being ostracized. For too many people, religion is used as a means to control others or an excuse to be closed-minded to other people’s lifestyles or politics.

It’s not just the Mormons who are guilty of this, of course. That just happens to be the religion that affected us personally.

But if you’ve found comfort in religion, great. I am happy for you. Personally, I didn’t have a bad experience with church. I just don’t think it’s a tragedy that some people have turned away from it. Not everyone needs church to be happy.

Just this week, I read a thread on RfM written by an 18 year old guy who is upset because he doesn’t believe in Mormonism, but is scheduled to start his two year mission in Tampa, Florida next month. He doesn’t want to go. His believes his parents will kick him out of the house if he doesn’t do his two years of door knocking for the LDS church. He came to RfM to ask for advice– ideas on what he can do to get out of the mission, yet not wind up homeless.

I know it sounds far-fetched that loving parents would disown their child over something like religion. Sadly, this was not the first time I heard or read of such a thing. In fact, the Mormon church is rife with stories about adult children who have found themselves cast out because they don’t believe in the religion, or perhaps they suffer from what the church calls “same sex attraction”. Lots of homosexual Mormons deny their sexual orientations and try to live the straight life in the name of religion. It’s not fair for them, and it’s certainly not fair for their spouses, who will never truly be attractive to their partners.

Not long ago, Ed Smart, father of kidnap victim turned activist Elizabeth Smart, came out as gay. He and his wife, Lois, have six children and are divorcing after many years of marriage. I’m sure Mrs. Smart is devastated by this turn of events. She’s not alone, either. LDS writer, Carol Lynn Pearson, who is still a devout believer, was married to a homosexual man and had children with him. After it became clear that her husband is gay, Pearson got a divorce. Her ex husband later contracted AIDS and died. Fortunately, his family, including his ex wife, still loved him very much and were by his side as he drew his last breaths. Carol Lynn Pearson’s daughter, Emily, went on to marry Steven Fales, a homosexual man who had been raised to believe that he had to marry a woman to be able to make it to the highest echelon of heaven. The marriage failed, just as it had between her parents. Wouldn’t it have been better for everyone involved if homosexuality weren’t deemed sinful? It would have been so much easier for everyone to find partners with whom they were sexually compatible.

I’m picking on the Mormons here, but that church is certainly not the only one guilty of screwing up members’ lives by causing people to feel shame for simply being who they are. Life is already difficult without people coming over to your house, looking to see if you have a coffeemaker or judging you for the DVDs in your collection. Moreover, people are very busy. Sundays used to be for rest, but a lot of people are forced to work on Sundays. Maybe they would like to be in church rather than at work, but maybe they would prefer to stay home and rest.

Personally, I don’t miss attending church. Bill is not a fan of organized religion and doesn’t want to go to church anymore. But he’s one of the most soulful, spiritual people I know. He believes very much in God. He doesn’t believe in organized churches, although he has said that if he had to go back, he’d go back to being Catholic. That suits me fine, although I am not Catholic myself and know little about it.

Another friend wrote that she finds God when she takes walks in nature. I can relate to that myself. In fact, Rhonda Vincent sang a song about it.

I think you can find God anywhere… if you seek God, that is. Not everyone believes, and that’s not necessarily a sad thing.

As for me… I can’t say I’m an atheist yet. I believe in God. I don’t care about church. Some people find comfort and value in religion, and that’s fine with me. Many of my family members are devout Christians, even though they cheer for Trump. I find that hard to reconcile, since Trump pretty much is the opposite of a Christian role model in my opinion. For me, the music was what meant the most… and sometimes if a pastor was a good speaker who was wise and kind, I would relate to that. But I don’t feel like I need to dress up and go to church every Sunday anymore. Don’t shed a tear for me, though. I’m fine, and so are a lot of other people who live just fine without their weekly dosage of religion.

I will admit that I love this little chapel, though… We used to have a view of it from our backyard when we lived in Germany the first time. Wurlinger Kapelle
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Trump

“Shut up, Pee Wee. Let the adults talk.”

After being kind of downtrodden over the past few days, I was in a playful mood last night. Bill and I had dinner, and we were drinking wine and talking about the day’s events. I spotted an article on the Army Times’ Facebook page about retired Admiral William McRaven’s recent op-ed piece for the New York Times. I will admit that I haven’t read the op-ed or even the story the Army Times shared. I only read the headline. A lot of people do this, including me. I don’t like to encourage people to make comments about an article they haven’t read, although I did notice this quote, which is what made me take interest in the first place:

“As I stood on the parade field at Fort Bragg, one retired four-star general, grabbed my arm, shook me and shouted, ‘I don’t like the Democrats, but Trump is destroying the Republic!’” McRaven wrote in a New York Times opinion piece.

I felt like Bender last night.

Instead of reading the article, I felt compelled to read some of the Facebook comments in response to the story about Admiral McRaven. I’m not even sure why that was. There are times when I can’t resist reading the comments posted on the military news sites. Sometimes, they’re hilarious. Sometimes, they’re infuriating and borderline moronic. I can think of other subjects that I’d definitely be more excited about than McRaven’s op-ed, yet I still felt like seeing what the military masses had to say about this. Sure enough, some guy last night, obviously a person who also never bothered to read the article, made some comment about how he didn’t like McRaven because McRaven didn’t think he should be allowed to own an AR 15.

An AR 15 is, of course, a weapon expressly designed for killing people. And, in case you haven’t noticed, we have a huge problem with gun violence in the United States. Lots and lots of people have died– many of them children and teenagers– because of the obsession some people have with owning firearms. The AR 15 is a prominent culprit in a lot of those mass shooting deaths. And yet, many people– typically southern, “God fearing” white men with Trump proclivities– feel they must own one of these weapons.

If I had been in a more serious and contemplative mood, I might have tried to have a reasonable discussion with the guy who is annoyed with McRaven for wanting to take away his big gun. But instead, I was just really bored by his attitude, which is shared by so many people who claim to be Christians, yet enjoy destroying people and things with their macho guns. I suggested that he go play with his (preferably loaded) AR 15 and let the adults talk.

Just as I expected, the guy came back and immediately accused me of being a Clinton loving “lefty” who watches The View. Rather than trying to correct this guy– because obviously he doesn’t know me or care about my opinions, and has drawn his own wrong conclusions– I wrote that he was a “load that should have been swallowed” and that must be hard. In fact, it’s probably the “hardest” thing about him. Yeah, I know. Not very nice. Not kind or respectful. Kind of a cheap shot.

I don’t know what got into me, really. I don’t often respond so disrespectfully, even to people who clearly deserve it. But as I was typing my rather nasty and déclassé response, and before he’d even had a chance to see it, the guy posted that he went to my Facebook page (creepy)… and I skipped over the rest of his long-winded comment until I got to his last sentence… which read “And I hope that pisses you off.” Then, after he read my gross comment about how he should have been swallowed, he made a comment about how I lack “class”.

Well, okay… I’ll own that. It’s not “classy” to tell someone they are a “load that should have been swallowed”, although I’ll bet a lot of military men have no issues whatsoever saying stuff like that to each other– it’s only nasty when a woman says or writes it, right? Then Bill jumped in and wrote that I’m not a Trump or Clinton fan– which is the truth. I’m also quite centrist in my political leanings. Meanwhile, I was wondering what information that man might have gleaned from my Facebook page, given that most of it is pretty well locked down. He might have seen the name of my blog, which probably really disgusted him, since he likely believes education is wasted on women. He probably saw a lot of pictures of my dogs, too. From that, he’s incorrectly gleaned that I’m a clueless bimbo who watches morning TV and aligns my views with women on a talk show.

Bill said he went on the guy’s page and noticed there were a lot of pictures of sunrises in Florida, along with weepy comments wondering how anyone could doubt there is a God in the face of such natural beauty. I wonder how this man could profess to be a God loving person who cherishes all of the things God made, yet he wants to own a weapon expressly made for killing human beings. Didn’t God create man? Doesn’t this God loving “load that should have been swallowed” value the God-created beauty in his fellow man? Does he only love the scenery God made? Or just people who look, think, and believe the same way he does?

Shut up, peewee.
I am not ashamed to admit that I was channeling Mr. Vernon…

Anyway… he came back with another retort, but by that time, I was losing both my patience and interest in trolling him. I posted, “Shut up, Pee Wee. Let the adults talk.” And that was about the end of our enlightened chat, because it was getting late and Bill’s eyes were drooping.

Maybe I shouldn’t be proud of what I did last night. I don’t regularly bait people like that. It’s not often I engage people on Facebook anymore, because it’s usually a waste of time. I’ve found that most people are set in their opinions, and being behind a keyboard emboldens them to be disrespectful. Disrespectful people piss me off, so I don’t bother arguing on social media because I want to protect my peace. I’d rather rant about this stuff in my blog for those who actually want to read it. But last night, I was in a rare mood. It was all about fun and games. I was laughing maniacally as I insulted this poorly endowed Trumper who tried to appeal to my ego by accusing me of being a View watching “lefty” and lacking “class”.

Who gives a shit if he thinks I have no class? I think it’s far classier for a person to tell someone they are a “load that should have been swallowed” than it is to admire weapons that can kill dozens of people within seconds while simultaneously professing to love God. As Rhonda Vincent once sang, “You don’t love God if you don’t love your neighbor.” And I don’t think I need to waste time on diplomacy with such a person, particularly if I have a bee in my bonnet and a belly full of beer (or wine, as the case may be)!

I am not a particularly religious person, but I do admire great musicians. Rhonda Vincent and The Rage rock! And dammit, if you honestly profess to love God, you shouldn’t want to own weapons expressly designed for destroying God’s creations– especially your neighbors. On another note, this video makes me want to go home to America and listen to live bluegrass.

Although I don’t think being overtly rude is generally the right way to behave, there are times when it’s more productive to simply have fun with these types of people. I can’t change their minds with reason, so I might as well have a good laugh. I’ve found that one of the quickest and easiest ways to piss off a gun toting Trumper, particularly those with military ties, is to make fun of their sexual prowess, or lack thereof. Then, after I make a really nasty comment that would never disgust them if it came from a man, I simply ignore everything they say and accuse them of needing a big gun to compensate for their small dicks. They usually then try to retort, but I reiterate that they can’t satisfy anyone with their little peckers and that’s why they’re so mad at the world that they need a big gun that makes big explosions. If they had someone who would happily blow them, maybe they’d be less bitter about life and hell bent on blowing up stuff. Who knows?

An even better and potentially more effective way to piss off this type of person is to simply agree with all of their insults with just a hint of sass. I’ve seen many an insecure boy/man melt down into rage when they think I don’t take them or their insults seriously. However, I will admit that I have to be in a certain mood to do this. I do have a fragile ego myself and I’m a long way from saying “fuck it” to everything and everyone… But sometimes, it’s so much fun to fuck with Trump lovers! The trick is, just don’t respond to anything they say or write as if you take them seriously. Then sit back and watch the fallout. It’s hilarious! And before anyone reminds me of what Rhonda Vincent sings, let me remind you that unlike Mr. AR 15 God lover, I don’t profess to be particularly “Christian” myself. God doesn’t dip His pen of love in my heart that often… but when He does, it’s usually when I’m listening to bluegrass.

And I will admit, when I hear this, I love God, too.

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dogs, musings

After the thrill is gone, he’s gone to a better place…

I always pay attention to the music that plays when Bill and I are on our way to or from a euthanasia appointment. It may seem weird that I do this, but music makes up part of my psyche. It’s important to me. So I listen carefully just before and after I lose a pet.

In 2012, when we lost our dog, MacGregor, we were on our way to North Carolina State University Veterinary School to attend his death. On the way there, the song “Far Side Banks of Jordan” by Alison Krauss and the Cox Family came on my iPod. That song goes like this…

I believe my steps are growin’ wearier each day
Still I’ve got another journey on my mind
Lures of this old world have ceased to make me wanna stay
And my one regret is leavin’ you behind

But if it proves to be his will that I am first to go
And somehow I’ve a feelin’ it will be
When it comes your time to travel likewise, don’t feel lost
For I will be the first one that you’ll see

And I’ll be waiting on the far side banks of Jordan
I’ll be sitting drawing pictures in the sand
And when I see you coming, I will rise up with the shout
And come running through the shallow waters, reaching for your hand

Through this life we’ve labored hard to earn our meager fare
It’s brought us trembling hands and failing eyes
So I’ll just rest here on this shore and turn my eyes away
Until you come, then we’ll see paradise

And I’ll be waiting on the far side banks of Jordan
I’ll be sitting drawing pictures in the sand
And when I see you coming, I will rise up with the shout
And come running through the shallow waters, reaching for your hand

I’ll be waiting on the far side banks of Jordan
I’ll be sitting drawing pictures in the sand
And when I see you coming, I will rise up with the shout
And come running through the shallow waters, reaching for your hand, hmm

It seemed like MacGregor was telepathically comforting us, even though logic tells me it was a coincidence.

You’d have to know MacGregor to know how significant this song seemed as we drove to his euthanasia appointment. He was very much a country dog– mostly beagle and basset hound. He was afraid of strangers, but if he knew you, he was the most awesome, hilarious, funny dog. And he was a very devoted friend.

After MacGregor died, we listened to music on the way home to Zane. About twenty minutes after we set his spirit free, this song by Rhonda Vincent came on the iPod.

It was a gathering of some 300 people
In the little church the crowd began to swell
Quite a send off for a simple country farmer
For many loved and knew the old man well

And as his bride of 60 years came forward
She bravely walked to where his body lay
A hush fell over all that stood around her
She smiled through tears as she began to say

I will see you again
For this isn’t the end
You’re my forever friend
And I will see you again

Ever since a simple carpenter from Nazareth
Walked the mountains and the shores of Galilee
Ever since he died and rose again on Easter
Death doesn’t have the same old victory

Tonight I’ll lay my head upon his pillow
And cry until the breaking of the day
But even in the pain of separation
There’s a hope inside my heart that lets me say

I will see you again
For this isn’t the end
You’re my forever friend
And I will see you again

Jesus, He made a way
There is coming a day
So I will hold on ’til then
And I will see you again

I will hold on ’til then
And I will see you…again

I’m not a very religious person, but this was playing on the way back from seeing MacGregor’s entry into the next world… I found it very comforting.

Yesterday, when we lost Zane, I played the iPod again. On the way to appointment, there was a song by Folk Uke. It was definitely not a religious song. However, on the surface, it seemed kind of appropriate. It was called “Try to Say Goodbye”. Folk Uke is a very irreverent band, and this was not a comforting song.

If you knew Zane, this might seem appropriate… He was kind of a wise ass, even as he always tried so hard to be good.

On the way back from the appointment, I noticed the Eagles were playing… and it was this song, of all things…

All day, I got condolences from people paying respects in the wake of Zane’s death. Some were very heartfelt, loving, and kind. Some were pretty tone deaf and borderline offensive. I mostly tried to give people the benefit of the doubt. A lot of folks just plain aren’t good at comforting others. They don’t know what to say, but feel like they should say something. Most of the time, they offer thoughts and prayers, condolences, or just plain write “sorry”. These thoughts are probably better received offline, because about 80% of communication is non-verbal. But in today’s Internet connected world, we’ve lost the ability to communicate non-verbally. If you’re typing on a computer, you miss out on seeing the other person’s facial expressions and body language, which offers so much more of a clue as to what they really mean and whether or not they really mean it. So those words are not particularly comforting. They show that someone has tried to make an effort to be kind and sympathetic, which I do recognize. But are they meaningful, wise, or soothing? Not really, if I’m honest.

Well… I mostly cut people some slack. I appreciate that people were trying to be kind. We are taught that when someone experiences the painful loss of a loved one, we should be sympathetic. If one manages empathy, that’s even better. But a lot of people just don’t get the concept of empathy. Many people don’t have the sensitivity or the time for that, or they don’t know the person well enough to know how to respond. I get that. I really do. It means something when a person makes a sincere effort, even if the effort is a bit bumbling.

However, I think the comment that kind of cut me to the quick was one that came from a family member who typed, “He’s gone to a better place.” I do think I know what she was trying to convey, although more than once, she’s claimed to be an atheist. If she’s an atheist, then no, she probably doesn’t believe he’s “gone to a better place.” Either way, “a better place” is separated from me. She’s basically said my dog is “better off dead”, which is a really shitty thing to say… although I don’t think that’s what she meant.

It’s kind of akin to Donald Trump’s massive gaffe a couple of years ago, when he tried and failed to comfort a young soldier’s wife whose husband was killed in Nigeria. Trump said something along the lines of, “He died doing exactly what he wanted to do.” Basically, it sounds like that means he’d rather be sweating in Nigeria dodging bullets than being at home with his loving wife and their children. What Trump probably meant to convey was that the soldier had willingly signed up for the military because he wanted to defend the country and be of service. However, people join the military for all kinds of reasons. Maybe he believed in the mission in which he gave his life. Maybe he didn’t. He died with honor, though, doing what he agreed to do. And he was many thousands of miles away from his wife and babies when he did it. I’d like to hope he would not have preferred being in Nigeria over being with his family. But we don’t know. Trump didn’t know, either. His words were not comforting or particularly kind. They were thoughtless and insensitive.

As to my relative and her choice of words… well, I am not surprised. She isn’t known for being particularly empathetic. This particular relative, on the day we buried our grandmother, mused aloud if maybe I wasn’t my father’s biological daughter. She cited the fact that I have blonde hair, blue eyes, and a lack of freckles, while Dad was dark haired, dark eyed, and freckled. Also, my dad and I didn’t get along very well, although we did love each other. Fortunately, 23 and Me has put that particular question to rest.

It stung when I read my relative’s words, though, although I do understand that she was trying to be comforting. It would have been better if she’d said, “his suffering is over now” or “you were kind to help ease his way” or something like that. Telling me that my dog has “gone to a better place” sounds like it means that he’s better off dead, away from me and Bill, than at home with his loving family. And when those words come from someone who claims she doesn’t believe in God or the hereafter, they are especially hollow and meaningless.

Zane loved us. It was very clear that he did. Although he didn’t fight death, I doubt he really would have preferred dying over being with us. Is he at the Rainbow Bridge? I’d like to think there is such a place, although logic tells me there probably isn’t. But I do know that he’s no longer sick, exhausted, in pain, or suffering. He doesn’t have trouble breathing. He’s not bleeding internally. He doesn’t feel the frustration of not being able to do what he’s always been able to do. He was a dog who loved to run and play. He had a wonderful sense of humor, and he loved to snuggle in bed with us. In the last weeks, he stopped being able to do those things. He no longer has to live with the frustration of not being able to enjoy soft beds (because they made breathing too difficult), long walks (because he didn’t have the energy), good food (because cancer killed his appetite), or sitting in my lap (because he no longer had the strength, stamina, or coordination to jump up into it). Even if he’s not at the Rainbow Bridge, he’s no longer conscious of the things he could no longer enjoy. That’s a blessing.

This experience has reminded me to be more careful about what I say or write to people who have experienced the loss of a loved one. It’s better to be helpful than harmful. If I can’t be helpful and kind, it’s better not to say anything at all. Even though I love to write, I don’t always have the right words… And I don’t always have to say anything. A lot of people didn’t notice/didn’t comment on Zane’s death yesterday. Although it would have been nice if more of my family members had cared enough to comment, I think it’s better that people keep silent if they don’t have the right words. I’m no longer very close to my family, mainly due to my vehement rejection of Trump and my love for swearing and raucous humor. So they don’t follow me and they don’t know… As for my friends, the ones who really know and truly care about me had the right words. They were enough to make me feel loved. While I do appreciate the condolences left by people who don’t know me so well, I was reminded that when it comes to words of comfort, sometimes less is more.

Incidentally, I think Arran is grieving a bit. This morning, he was lying in Zane’s usual spot, looking forlorn. This is going to be an adjustment for all of us.

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