You know, now that I think about it, there is never a true separation of church and state. All legislation is written by people who believe in a 'something' or a 'nothing.' And the agnostic or atheistic politicians do have to take into account the way their opinions will effect all the people--ideally. I'd be just as distressed if a member of congress were trying to pass legislation that banned all forms of religious worship as I am about Rick Santorum's religious fascism.
I think the thing that continues to amaze me most are the Santorums of the political world. Now, unless there's a version of the bible none of the rest of us has been privy to, Santorum's interpretation, especially of the new testament, is almost impossible to understand. In the bible I've read Jesus didn't ask people if they really tried to pull themselves up by their bootstraps before he helped them. He didn't interview them to determine whether or not they were lazy before he helped them. He didn't take countless applications requesting assistance from applicants unable to work, then make them wait while He made a determination as to their worthiness. He advised all the people not to throw stones at each other because we've all been guilty of some wrong-doing at one time or another. He advised us to "go, and sin no more," knowing full-well most of us are incapable of living out our lives without slipping at some point. He told us God forgives all, and that we the people are instructed to do the same; which, as we all know isn't easy at times. I'll be the first to admit, there are days when I look at the people holding signs on the street corners asking for cash assistance when I judge them harshly. Those are usually the days when I'm in a rotten mood, or I have to do something I really don't want to do. On a "good" day, I pray for them, smile at them, and yes, sometimes give them money if I have it to spare.
The thing that bothers me about so many Republicans these days on the topic of charity is that they just don't seem to believe all societies have always and may always harbor citizens who truly cannot take care of themselves. I know there are people, some I know personally, whose full-time "job" seems to be not having a job and figuring out ways to take advantage of friends, family and "the system." But we can't turn our backs on everyone in need because some of them might be conning us. I believe that in every society the fortunate should help the less-fortunate. And if the fortunate are smart, a large part of that help should come in the form of handing the less-fortunate the best opportunity for education, unless the fortunate are planning to go out themselves and fix our infrastructure. And one does not need to be highly educated in order to work at jobs societies cannot operate without, but those jobs should pay a living wage. When I was growing up in the 50's the garbage collectors, as we called them, owned homes, cars and could support more than 1.5 children.
Those are some of the reasons I'm liberal, but the reason I said I'm still a Democrat is that I'm no longer blindly loyal to the party. Corporate greed has infiltrated both parties. It would be incredibly time-consuming to examine every last politician and his voting record, so I remain a Democratic voter as I consider the Dems the lesser of the two evils. I admire many past and present Democrats, but some these days are bought and paid for by corporate interests as surely as many Republicans. But if Eisenhower were alive and the country could run the way it was run during his administration, I'd probably vote for a Republican for the first time in my life. I was raised in a Democratic environment. My family had its share of Republicans, but usually their logic for switching parties was flawed. For instance, I had an uncle who hated JFK because it was said JFK's father was a crook. And there was no arguing with my uncle. Apparently he believed the sins of the father should be visited on the son, forget all the good changes brought about by Kennedy and Johnson.
My friend Doug on facebook posted the following from an anonymous contributor and it pretty much sums up, in a sarcastic way, the reasons I'm still a Democrat these days:
Fifteen Reasons Why I Vote for Republicans
-by a Proud Republican
1. I voted Republican because you can blame problems on poor people instead of the rich ones who actually run things.
2. I voted Republican because firefighters and teachers are
scum-sucking leaches, but the oil companies raking in record profits NEED those hundreds of millions in taxpayer subsidies.
3. I voted Republican because I believe companies like my cable TV provider, insurance company and credit card company could do a better job running the country than the government, no matter how much they screw me over.
4. I voted Republican because I don’t trust the government, although I favored the government spying on my health/financial records and tapping my phone when Bush was in office to keep us safe from "terrists."
5. I voted Republican because I don't really care whether terrorists, murderers and drug dealers own guns or not.
6. I voted Republican because I believe climate change doesn't
exist; if I can't see it with my own two eyes, it doesn't exist--like
gravity.
7. I voted Republican because I hate women having abortions, but
once the baby is born and dies from a preventable illness, that's okay.
8. I voted Republican because I believe in laying off workers to
boost profits; then I get to complain about lazy unemployed people.
9. I voted Republican because I understand capitalism. Demand
doesn’t increase jobs…ensuring corporations pay no taxes and cutting healthcare and education does.
10. I voted Republican because I care about the deficit and support cutting services that I really need. But extra tax cuts for the super rich who actually caused the deficit should be extended indefinitely.
11. I voted Republican because I believe in never having to solve
any problems in the government and I insist government is the problem anyway.
12. I voted Republican because I hate activist judges, unless they
are conservative (Yes, corporations should get to spend unlimited money in elections).
13. I voted Republican because spite and fear is better than hope and change.
14. I voted Republican because I agree that life begins at the moment of conception and ends at birth, and that women are incapable of making their own reproductive choices.
15. I voted Republican because B. Hussein Obama is a secret Kenyan born Muslim- negro-far-left-wing-extremist-liberal-socialist with a dark evil secret agenda to destroy America, take my guns, ammunition and freedom, and turn them all over to Islamic extremists and homosexuals who will rob, rape and murder me, my wife, my girlfriends, and my children, and force the abortion of my unborn children.
-a Proud Republican
You know the thing I hate most about many politicians? They so willingly tell lies in order to be elected. It's too bad our government has to become this corrupt before all the people begin to take notice.
My dreams, hopes, fears and attempts to befriend the Bandersnatch and slay the Jabberwocky.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
As I Was About to Say . . .
For quite a while I've been wanting to write about the brand of theology spewing forth from some of our politicians, then I read:
http://crooksandliars.com/mike-lux/what-bible-santorum-reading
Mike Lux says it best and I really recommend it to anyone who, like me, has been saying, "What bible are they reading?"
http://crooksandliars.com/mike-lux/what-bible-santorum-reading
Mike Lux says it best and I really recommend it to anyone who, like me, has been saying, "What bible are they reading?"
Thursday, February 16, 2012
The Travails of Karma
Yesterday my sweet little girl-dog, Ruby jumped on my back and knocked me flat onto my kitchen floor. I screamed. I wasn't sure why I screamed; it was spontaneous and instantaneous. When I later analyzed the scream (I've been taught by years of psychotherapy to analyze or die) I recognized many emotions which hit me in rapid succession: fear, anger, surprise, confusion and pain, pretty much in that order. And the really ironic part is that I was walking into the kitchen to get some ibuprofen for the knee I twisted a couple weeks ago. I'll explain my analysis, but first, I have to tell you a little about Ruby, my furniture and my so-called housekeeping.
Ruby is the medium-sized, female plott hound I acquired this past summer. She was listed on facebook as a dog destined for doggy heaven due to over-crowding in the pound about 50 miles from my home. It was a very hot day when I picked her up and this particular pound is hard to find, so I wasn't in the greatest mood by the time I got there. My mood didn't improve when she threw-up all over my car. But I got her home, only to discover almost immediately she knew nothing about doing her do-dahs outdoors. It didn't take long before our wonderful Billings, who's NEVER had an accident in the house, taught her the way these things are done.
Ruby is a dog of extremes; extremely loving, extremely excitable, and extremely horrified by even so much as a disapproving glance in her direction. I have no way of knowing from whence she wandered when the dog pound people found her lying in the middle of a dirt road, but I can easily imagine some idiot acquiring her because she was an adorable puppy and turning her out when it was decided she wasn't a perfect pet. These people should be allowed to own nothing more than stuffed animals, and even that much leniency is questionable. So I got her home and Ron and I soon discovered we'll never be able to yell at each other again because Ruby thinks all anger is directed at her. She runs and hides even if we're angry and not yelling. Being a hound, I guess her senses are heightened and she knows if you're mad even if you're saying nothing! Great, right? Then when you go find her she buries her little muzzle in your armpit and eventually looks up at you with those sad little hound dog eyes. She's soooo adorable and we put up with her chewing up everything she can get her teeth into, including some of our furnishings.
My furniture is . . . old. My furniture is . . . mostly second-hand. My furniture is . . . never going to fall into the antique category, and if my daughter inherits my belongings, almost everything will end up in a landfill. My dining room table and chairs were purchased from my friend Ellen when she was moving into yet another swell place and buying more swell furniture. I love my dining room table and chairs; I don't care how old they are. The table is like a big butcher block and all the trim on the chairs is painted white. However, thanks to planned obsolescence, and unbeknownst to me, the screws that hold the legs to the chairs have been periodically falling out. My husband has been collecting them like Easter eggs when he finds them, but not putting them back into the chairs. Instead he hoards them with all his other useless screws, nails, bits of metal, shreds of paper, kleenex, and dust bunnies. That's an exaggeration, but sometime I'll write a long story about Ron and you'll be amazed.
Which brings me to housekeeping. I grew up being a fair-to-middling housekeeper. I don't like filth, but I'll put up with a certain amount of dirt. I don't like excessive clutter, but I'll put up with a certain amount of chaos. And there have been times when I'd go nuts and have to have everything immaculate and tidy. Then I met Ron. Some women would be thrilled to have a husband like Ron; he's . . . quite amorous, doesn't care if I have a job, cooks his own food unless I cook (which is seldom), and couldn't care less what the house looks like. Here's the downside: I feel guilty because for years now I haven't been amorous, I need to work because he doesn't make enough money to suit me, when he cooks he usually creates a mess and walks away from it, and his mess combined with my inability to keep up with it makes life quite hellish at times. Thank gods for prozac.
So here's how it came to be that sweet Ruby leaped onto my back and shoved me to the floor: About a month ago Ron moved one of the dining room chairs to a bizarre location in the dining room and began decorating the chair with odds and ends of junk. He'd placed his bagged laptop on the seat of the chair and little by little had been tossing mail and class papers on top of that. To add to the decor I'd hung two of his shirts on the back of the chair knowing that some year I'd iron them. This chair was very near the table, but facing away from the table. The chair was also one of the chairs that had been shedding its screws. When I got up from the table to go into the kitchen to get ibuprofen Ruby got up from the living room couch and began to shadow me as usual. Ruby was right next to the chair when the legs decided they'd had enough and collapsed under the weight of the accessories. Ruby freaked and flew feet-first onto my back causing me to go face-down onto the kitchen floor. It took me a little while to figure out what had happened, but I'm sure it happened that way. I only wish I'd caught it on video so I could have put it on youtube.
Now, what is the karmic logic of all this, I ask you? Actually I asked God. I often ask God to explain to me the logic of what's happening, but he remains silent. My God likes me to figure stuff out; He doesn't hand me the answers, but he's a pretty fair grader so I try to cut him some slack. I concluded after picking myself up off the floor, calming Ruby, and convincing myself that getting drunk would not fix anything, that God possibly realigned my spine. I honestly wasn't in as much pain when I got up as I was before I fell. It was the weirdest damn thing. Don't get me wrong; I still need ibuprofen and hopefully I'm about to find out I need hypothyroid meds, but I felt different when I got up. Maybe it is A Wonderful Life, or maybe I just needed a good scream.
Ruby is the medium-sized, female plott hound I acquired this past summer. She was listed on facebook as a dog destined for doggy heaven due to over-crowding in the pound about 50 miles from my home. It was a very hot day when I picked her up and this particular pound is hard to find, so I wasn't in the greatest mood by the time I got there. My mood didn't improve when she threw-up all over my car. But I got her home, only to discover almost immediately she knew nothing about doing her do-dahs outdoors. It didn't take long before our wonderful Billings, who's NEVER had an accident in the house, taught her the way these things are done.
Ruby is a dog of extremes; extremely loving, extremely excitable, and extremely horrified by even so much as a disapproving glance in her direction. I have no way of knowing from whence she wandered when the dog pound people found her lying in the middle of a dirt road, but I can easily imagine some idiot acquiring her because she was an adorable puppy and turning her out when it was decided she wasn't a perfect pet. These people should be allowed to own nothing more than stuffed animals, and even that much leniency is questionable. So I got her home and Ron and I soon discovered we'll never be able to yell at each other again because Ruby thinks all anger is directed at her. She runs and hides even if we're angry and not yelling. Being a hound, I guess her senses are heightened and she knows if you're mad even if you're saying nothing! Great, right? Then when you go find her she buries her little muzzle in your armpit and eventually looks up at you with those sad little hound dog eyes. She's soooo adorable and we put up with her chewing up everything she can get her teeth into, including some of our furnishings.
My furniture is . . . old. My furniture is . . . mostly second-hand. My furniture is . . . never going to fall into the antique category, and if my daughter inherits my belongings, almost everything will end up in a landfill. My dining room table and chairs were purchased from my friend Ellen when she was moving into yet another swell place and buying more swell furniture. I love my dining room table and chairs; I don't care how old they are. The table is like a big butcher block and all the trim on the chairs is painted white. However, thanks to planned obsolescence, and unbeknownst to me, the screws that hold the legs to the chairs have been periodically falling out. My husband has been collecting them like Easter eggs when he finds them, but not putting them back into the chairs. Instead he hoards them with all his other useless screws, nails, bits of metal, shreds of paper, kleenex, and dust bunnies. That's an exaggeration, but sometime I'll write a long story about Ron and you'll be amazed.
Which brings me to housekeeping. I grew up being a fair-to-middling housekeeper. I don't like filth, but I'll put up with a certain amount of dirt. I don't like excessive clutter, but I'll put up with a certain amount of chaos. And there have been times when I'd go nuts and have to have everything immaculate and tidy. Then I met Ron. Some women would be thrilled to have a husband like Ron; he's . . . quite amorous, doesn't care if I have a job, cooks his own food unless I cook (which is seldom), and couldn't care less what the house looks like. Here's the downside: I feel guilty because for years now I haven't been amorous, I need to work because he doesn't make enough money to suit me, when he cooks he usually creates a mess and walks away from it, and his mess combined with my inability to keep up with it makes life quite hellish at times. Thank gods for prozac.
So here's how it came to be that sweet Ruby leaped onto my back and shoved me to the floor: About a month ago Ron moved one of the dining room chairs to a bizarre location in the dining room and began decorating the chair with odds and ends of junk. He'd placed his bagged laptop on the seat of the chair and little by little had been tossing mail and class papers on top of that. To add to the decor I'd hung two of his shirts on the back of the chair knowing that some year I'd iron them. This chair was very near the table, but facing away from the table. The chair was also one of the chairs that had been shedding its screws. When I got up from the table to go into the kitchen to get ibuprofen Ruby got up from the living room couch and began to shadow me as usual. Ruby was right next to the chair when the legs decided they'd had enough and collapsed under the weight of the accessories. Ruby freaked and flew feet-first onto my back causing me to go face-down onto the kitchen floor. It took me a little while to figure out what had happened, but I'm sure it happened that way. I only wish I'd caught it on video so I could have put it on youtube.
Now, what is the karmic logic of all this, I ask you? Actually I asked God. I often ask God to explain to me the logic of what's happening, but he remains silent. My God likes me to figure stuff out; He doesn't hand me the answers, but he's a pretty fair grader so I try to cut him some slack. I concluded after picking myself up off the floor, calming Ruby, and convincing myself that getting drunk would not fix anything, that God possibly realigned my spine. I honestly wasn't in as much pain when I got up as I was before I fell. It was the weirdest damn thing. Don't get me wrong; I still need ibuprofen and hopefully I'm about to find out I need hypothyroid meds, but I felt different when I got up. Maybe it is A Wonderful Life, or maybe I just needed a good scream.
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