tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36296864686301925392024-02-07T19:07:35.766-08:00nothingsCarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.comBlogger142125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-15186450074087810382015-12-01T14:53:00.001-08:002015-12-01T14:53:40.740-08:00The Joy of Rudeness<br />
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One benefit of reaching advanced age is that you can be quite rude when necessary. It's more than a privilege, more like a quaint tic that is expected of you. I used to bite my tongue when people would say something absurd, or wrong, or just tacky. No more, man. For those of you who haven't quite got the hang of it, read and take notes.</div>
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If someone says:<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>You may say:</div>
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How do you like my hair (or botox job,<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Looks like a turd in a blender</div>
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or casserole)</div>
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I don't believe in evolution<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I don't believe in bricks</div>
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Abortion is a sin<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Don't have one</div>
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I don't believe in climate change<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>No one gives a rat's ass what you believe</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></div>
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Obama is a Muslim traitor<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He says the same thing about you</div>
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The media has a liberal bias<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>So does the dictionary</div>
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Taxes are just redistribution of wealth<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>You still pay taxes?</div>
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The point is not to engage in an argument, but to stun them with your rudeness. If you worry that they won't be your friend anymore, are you so desperate that you want such a twit for a friend? You must be really short on friends. It may be because you're fat and ugly.</div>
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CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-15618803691957736852015-11-11T15:50:00.000-08:002015-11-11T15:50:40.539-08:00The Best Laid PlansThe blog has been on hiatus for a while now. I noticed the last entry was a few days before CJ died. That could have something to do with it. I did some journaling this last year, trying to organize and make sense of this new life as a widow.<br />
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I miss CJ terribly, of course, and after 56 years of marriage, things are different. I didn't know at first how different. Not better, not worse, but in a way I felt like I had retired again. The first retirement was 14 years ago. I hadn't done much planning for either one.<br />
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Sure, I had checked and rechecked IRA's, other investments, insurance policies, all that boring trivia that keeps us going. I just had not planned what we, or I, would do with myself. But, as the saying goes, "Man plans, God laughs."<br />
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After the office retirement, I scheduled time for art, music lessons, swimming, exercise classes, book club, fancy cooking, gardening, sewing, all those things that had been on the to-do list for 20 years. We downsized houses, remodeled the new house and yard, spent more time at the lake. Spent more time with friends and relatives, traveled a bit. But, the biggest chunks of time were spent going to doctors.<br />
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Scheduling the appointments, allowing waiting time for each one, working out conflicts, filing insurance claims and arguing over details became a full-time job for long periods of time. We each had different doctors for each body part, and those parts began to wear out and needed repairs or replacement. Both of us with our graduate degrees had real difficulty making sense of the bills.<br />
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My filing system has evolved into a model of simplicity. Instead of stacking, sorting, and labeling the reams of paper by type, by patient, I now have a current file labeled "2015." When it gets too fat, I start another. At the end of the year they go in a box. A few go in a file for the accountant. The box goes on the closet shelf, like purgatory, for 3 years.<br />
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I'm still figuring out what this second retirement is about. I must make plans. I must make a "2016" file soon.<br />
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<br />CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-75410944007058324082014-05-04T16:55:00.000-07:002014-05-04T16:55:44.545-07:00Hospital BillBeen awhile since I posted to this blog. Doctor's notes for excused absences? I have a note from my mother? None of the above, I just don't like to post unfinished thoughts. Although, you have noticed, I do. It's my rule, so I can break it with my permission.<br />
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I also do not like to whine. My recent medical adventure ended well, was painless but a little scary. I had cataract surgery 12 or 15 years ago. Pretty routine now, they remove your old lens, slip in a new plastic one, 10 minutes and you're good to go. For 12 or 15 years. One morning I woke up to find that my left eye was seeing the world as though looking into the window of a front-loading washer. "Hey!" Said I of the steel-trap mind, "This is just wrong." Seems the little plastic lens had escaped into my eyeball. Went to hospital, my great brother-in-law holding my hand, while they retrieved it and put in a shiny new one. Good as new.<br />
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Now I have shortened this a bit, left out a couple of doctor visits, but this was not an emergency room trip. Into the hospital at 6:00 AM, out by 10:00 AM, no bed, no room, no meals. The hospital bill alone, not counting any doctors, billed to insurance, of course, was $52,000.00.<br />
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Of course Medicare and United Health will knock it down as excessive. Of course the hospital will show this as a loss. I know this, and I understand this, but I don't have to approve of it. Maybe it will change with Obamacare. Maybe not. I'm just glad I'm insured.<br />
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CJ is still in the hospital, since March 31. I can't wait to see his bill.CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-13717930016212314342014-02-11T14:17:00.001-08:002014-02-11T14:17:46.132-08:00Hiring and Firing Doctors<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In the last several years we’ve hired and fired quite a few doctors. C. J. and I have primary care doctors, and every body part has it's own specialist. Not just eyes and teeth, but we have ones like the toe guy, the cancer guy, and "Gastro Man." He laughs when I call him that. Getting good ones doesn’t come easy; you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find a prince. Here are some hints on finding your prince(s).</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">WAITING ROOM</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Is it clean? One of CJ’s specialists had peeling linoluem on the floor, stained walls and woodwork, and no sink in the exam room so you could see if the doctor washes up. Even if it’s clean, is it crowded? Does he expect you to spend a lot of time there with patients who are coughing and snorting and screaming kids? An hour is too much, and it shows the doctor doesn’t respect you or your time. The receptionist has your phone number, and could call if an emergency affects the schedule. Greed leads to overbooking, which leads to long waits for you.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">COMMUNICATION</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">If you call the office and get a busy signal, this doctor is living in the dark ages. He or she doesn’t trust voicemail, e-mail, or fax messages. Odds are they are using paper files instead of a computer, and get all information by pony express. Your appointment time is spent digging through paperwork instead of looking down your throat or up your wazoo, which should be more interesting. Odds are good that they are not sharing information with your other doctors or the pharmacy, as they should.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">COURTESY</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We have had doctors who will not shake our hand without rubber gloves. We had one who wouldn’t let patients use the rest room, sending them upstairs and down a hall, some trailing tubes or tanks. Most do not visit hospitals at all, or even make a phone call. One asked me how my surgery had gone, after I dragged my sorry body to the office for a follow-up visit. I told her I had no idea, because I slept through the whole thing. That question told me she hadn't even checked with the hospital or the surgeon.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">FIRING</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This is easier than breaking up with a boyfriend or firing your yard man. No need to say good-bye, no need to ask for records, no reason to tell them why. Just hire a new doctor. We like new doctors, not just as in different, but newly graduated. This includes those with a dozen or more years or so under their white coat. They know the new tricks, are not burnt out, and don’t seem so arrogant. Maybe they run them through a charm school course. Or they may just appreciate your business.</span></div>
CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-89993914025044630352014-01-01T10:52:00.001-08:002014-01-01T10:52:15.705-08:00Storming the CastleSomething triggered memories of our last European trip, probably pictures posted by friends. It was 1976, a milestone in several ways. It was the Bicentennial, it was the year before CJ's stroke, but is best remembered as the year we stormed the castle.<br />
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We took Doug and June, who were about 12 and 16 at the time, to see Europe by train. We carried only hand luggage so we could be spontaneous, sleeping by night and jumping off in the morning when we saw an interesting place. No reservations, just a vague plan to visit friends in the Netherlands, mosey up to Copenhagen, then down through Germany. The only Must Do was to spend the night in a castle on the Rhine, selected and booked ahead because it looked like a true castle, turrets and all.<br />
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The Netherlands trip included a bike ride in the Haag up to the North Sea beach to see the German bunkers, which were accessible by hiking through a nude beach. It also included a day trip to Gouda for the cheese festival, with music, dancing, and lots of cheese. We picked out a lovely ball of Gouda, sealed in wax, as a snackable souvenir.<br />
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Traveling by train in the summer sometimes included open cars, sometimes shared with livestock in the rear seats, and sometimes quite warm. After a night sleeping head to toe in our compartment, just the four of us and the cheese, we began to regret the cheese We checked into a hotel in Copenhagen, all took showers, and ditched the cheese. However, as we toured Tivoli Gardens, we still reeked of Gouda. We could part a crowd, which was a good thing.<br />
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At our next stop we found a laundromat, where we washed and dried the clothes in our satchels, put them on, and then washed and dried the clothes we had been wearing. No more Gouda cloud around us! {We told CJ we thought it was his socks anyway.}<br />
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We changed from train to bus to boat as we neared the Rhine, courtesy of Eurailpass. In less than an hour we spotted the turrets on top of a hill, and told the pilot to let us off at the castle. Sure enough, there was a dock with the right name on it, so we hopped off with our satchels and headed up the mountain.<br />
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After a hundred feet or so, the path gave out, and we stashed out satchels and began to climb. Even as we are parting vines and helping one another over boulders and ravines, it never occurred to us to turn back. We finally reached a wall about ten feet tall. It had some slits, probably for pouring hot oil on the enemy, that gave us a bit of a toe hold. Looking over the top, we saw a large courtyard with several tables of well-dressed people having tea and cookies. They looked at us with astonishment.<br />
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The waiters, however, brought over chairs to help our descent, led us to a table, and took our orders, oblivious to the fact that we were sweaty and trailing vines. Soon a manager arrived, confirmed our reservations, and asked about our luggage. He said he would send a car for it, and that is when we noticed a parking lot around the corner. Yes, there was a paved road that most people used, a few yards south of the dock. We used it the next day, after a lovely night at the castle.<br />
<br />CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-49063693072591256192013-12-16T12:36:00.000-08:002013-12-16T12:36:08.330-08:00Joyous FestivusI was going to write a sweet Christmas spirit kind of entry today, but it just isn't happening. Some years I'm overwhelmed by comfort and joy. This is not one of them. If I go to Hell when I die (If?) there will be a choir of nitwits singing "Little Drummer Boy." Another group will follow with "The 27 Days of Christmas" or whatever number it is. For the solo, I want a lounge singer with a boozy version of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Whatever."<br />
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Our newspaper gives a "Sour Orange" award for the worst scoundrels of the year. Sort of like hoping Santa reads the Times and will bring them a lump of coal. Instead, their misdeeds are richly rewarded. The runner-up was Duke Energy, who has collected billions in advance to build a nuclear power plant that they have decided not to build after all. They not only get to keep the billions they collected but never spent, we are also going to spend billions more to decommission their old, broken plant. They will just keep on burning oil, thank you anyway.<br />
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The winner was Congress, who is refusing to reconsider a bill passed in haste last year that blows the lid off flood insurance. They were assuming that the "subsidies" being given to owners of homes in flood zones were rewarding rich people with waterfront mansions. Actually, the average homes affected in our area are about 1500 square feet, are not on the water or even in view of the water, and met all building codes when built. Their flood rates are going up from $2,000 to $40,000 a year, but they don't know for sure until the bills come in. The required affordability study was never done, and they voted with erroneous data, but they shrugged it off.<br />
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The third pisser of the week was Texas Governor Rick Perry getting a bill passed making it legal to say "Merry Christmas." This has people surprised and angry that it was illegal (it wasn't) and makes Perry a hero. Brilliant! I wish everyone Happy Hanukkah, Joyous Festivus, and Good Ramadan, just to make a point.CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-87749927328838918282013-11-16T12:37:00.000-08:002013-11-16T12:37:22.461-08:00A Christmas TripStarted playing around with "Tell us 10 things about yourself that we may not know," and anyone that comments is supposed to add their own. I remembered a train trip I took, quite by accident, when I was six.<br />
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The train trip was only an accident because I did it alone. Mama was going to take me to New York to see the Christmas lights and windows. We were living in Princeton, N. J. for a few months in 1943 while Daddy was in training with the Navy before going off to war. The train pulled in to the station, the doors opened, so I got on. I didn't notice that Mama wasn't with me until the doors closed and we were off and going. I figured she was in another car or maybe the bathroom, but it was no big deal. I wasn't worried, because we were both going to New York, and I'd just find her there.<br />
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It didn't seem like long before we pulled into a tunnel. It wasn't scary because there were lights. No one got off at the first few stops, so I didn't either. Then, it seemed like everyone got off, so I did too. There was a big sign that said "MACY'S'"with more toys and Christmas trees and music than you could ever imagine. This must be Heaven! You just walked across the platform and right in the door and it went on forever. There were big moving elves and snowmen and deer and Santas of all sizes. I picked up a baby doll and decided to keep that for my own. I danced to the music, climbed up to a big tree, and sang along.<br />
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It was wonderful until I heard loud screaming. Mama came running in with a couple of policemen and a little Santa guy I had seen by the door. A policeman picked me up and asked me if I was alright. He tried to take my doll so I kicked him. He held me way out in front of himself when he carried me over to Mama. She was really crying and I didn't know why. It wasn't a sad thing, because we were just where we had planned to be. I guess she was sad because she missed the train. She told me not to tell Daddy, but I did. And I got to keep the doll. Her name was Barbara.CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-18973995204797760882013-10-19T16:56:00.000-07:002013-10-19T16:56:17.000-07:00Opinions, Mistakes, Lies<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I got the same e-mail from two friends, listing facts I don't know. For instance, I never knew how many ridges are on a dime, or that butterflies taste with their feet. Now I believe these facts, because these friends wouldn't just make them up. What's the point? But the main reason I believe things they tell me is that, as far as I know, they have never lied to me before.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">There are others that I would go outside and check if they told me it was raining. They are the "friends" in Facebook terms, that send me bogus e-mails. There are lots of ways to check a story to find out if it's true or a big lie. Call your library, ask the nice lady in the reference department. Call your Congressman's office. But if you send me a story, you are telling me that you believe it's true.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Instead, you tell me you got it from Rush, or Sean, or Glen, or somebody else you're on a first-name basis with. If I listened to your guys, I would know the truth about the government coming for your guns, your home, your horses. They would tell me about how our leaders are violating the (non-existent) 28th amendment, or the dreaded Agenda 27 of the U. N., whatever that is.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">The problem is that once you send me a lie and expect me to believe it, I can't believe anything else you say. I'm not talking about mistakes. God knows, I may tell you it's Tuesday when it's Wednesday, just because my pill dispenser got off on a wrong start this week. I forgive your mistakes as much as I hope you forgive mine. But don't lie to me.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">OK, you can tell me I look like I've lost weight. That's an opinion, based on a mistake, and I really appreciate it. You can say that you truly believe Obama is a Muslim. I will chalk you up as a racist, but that's your opinion. Tell me he created this gazillion dollar deficit since he took office, and that 's a lie, not an opinion. Tell me he has to follow the 28th amendment, and it's a mistake, unless you know better, then it's a lie.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">By the way, I'm very glad we don't taste with our feet. It would make for a disgusting dinner party. And do you know where those feet have been?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span>CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-86110221508763448292013-10-07T17:25:00.001-07:002013-10-07T17:25:39.475-07:00Too much Anger<br />
I don't understand where all this anger is coming from. I've lived through some decades of election year vitriol, and we expect that and shrug it off. Or we used to. Then we'd all cool off, have a beer, and plan how to change the world next time. Not now.<br />
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If you can't figure it out, I'm talking about the shutdown of the federal government. Don't tell me both sides are to blame. When I hear that, I know which TV network you watch. I'm worried that the inmates have taken over the asylum, the bonafide crazies are claiming victory over putting hundreds of thousands of people out of work, turning little children out of day care, and they're dancing around giving each other high-fives.<br />
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There are some people ignorant enough to think this is about health care. It's not. we already pay for health care for everyone who needs it, just not very well and not at all efficiently. I'm not insulting you if you are among these ignorant, which just means you are not well informed. If you want to be better informed, read more than one newspaper, listen to more than one radio or TV station, and ignore any of them that claim to be telling you The Truth. It's about a bunch of prima donnas who got elected in gerrymandered safe districts and are preaching to their little choirs that they know what's best for the country, not the rest of us who form the majority.<br />
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Notice I have not called you poor deluded souls dumb, just ignorant. Ignorant can be fixed with leaning. There ain't no cure for dumb. Dumb is voluntary, and is best pictured as the monkey sitting there with his hands over his ears, saying "Don't confuse me with the facts." If we want to let the crazies wreck the economy, put millions out of work, and change the way this country works, cheer 'em on. Otherwise, scratch your head and say "What would Reagan do?"CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-4026551461137395272013-09-22T08:22:00.000-07:002013-09-22T08:22:14.397-07:00The Real Malpractice ProblemHad an occasion recently to talk to a bright young doctor about malpractice. He didn't know, for one thing, that it's harder to sue doctors than most anyone else. You have to hire your own expert witnesses, as though you are going to trial, who will testify in your favor, and have a mediation session where they will lay out your case. Local doctors aren't eager to do this, so you may have to go out-of-state. All told, the cost estimate for pre-suit activity was around $50,000, and that was twenty years ago.<br />
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That's when CJ fell and broke his hip. When he got to the emergency room they whisked him away for X-rays, told us nothing was broken and we should take him home. Well, this was a problem because he couldn't stand up, much less walk. They reluctantly admitted him, put him in a room on the stroke patients' hall. Well, yes he had had a stroke 15 years before that kept him from talking much, but he had been walking with just a bit of a limp. He walked the dogs until they were exhausted, morning and evening. Well, the doctor thought that some physical therapy would help.<br />
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After a couple of days I went in during his therapy session, and they were trying to get him to walk between parallel bars. He couldn't take a step. As I watched, the therapist poked him with a stick, and his leg twitched. CJ was crying, so I told them to put him back to bed. I asked the therapist about the stick, and was told it was an electric stimulator. A cattle prod!<br />
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I found the doctor in charge and told him that this was cruel and unacceptable. He replied that they had run out of options, that CJ was not cooperative, and we should just take him home or to a nursing home. Our daughter, June, suggested they call a meeting with the doctors, nurses, and staff who had been working with him, and they did. She asked where the orthopedic doctor was, and they replied that he hadn't needed one because no bones were broken. Well, they did call one, who found that his hip was snapped in two. The only X-rays taken in the emergency room were of the chest.<br />
<br />
After getting a new hip and months of physical therapy, CJ was walking slowly, now with a cane. I worked part-time for months, son Jason took a semester off from college, but things would never be the same. We visited several lawyers we knew who were specialists in medical malpractice. Each of them declined to take the case. The reason? Negligence was clear, but it was "garden variety negligence," meaning that it happens so often as to be predictable. Also, he was already disabled, so we couldn't sue for lost income. My lost income, our son's lost semester, CJ's lost ability to do things like walking the dogs, all fell under the "too bad" rule. Even if a jury felt especially generous, it was unlikely that an award would reach the $50,000 it would cost to file suit, much less the costs to go to trial.<br />
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So the next time you hear that medical costs are soaring because of greedy lawyers, put on your skeptical hat. The next time you see glossy ads for doctors or medicines, do not get sucked in. The next time you hear that doctors are leaving their practice for fear of lawsuits, get the facts. Just don't depend on your insurance salesman to give you the straight stuff. He makes a living off scaring doctors.CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-5777448038960977222013-08-31T08:10:00.001-07:002013-08-31T08:10:57.598-07:00Animusic HD - Resonant Chamber (1080p)<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/XlyCLbt3Thk" width="480"></iframe>There are times when I think I could play music really well if I just practiced more. Then a slap myself in the forehead and know to forget it, just play for the pure fun of it. Same with painting, writing, even cooking. Just have fun and get on with your day. That's enough.CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-87304315009193164842013-08-06T14:17:00.000-07:002013-08-06T14:17:42.348-07:00NSA, FBI, other spooksOur grandson, Daniel, just posted a picture on Facebook that lets you push a button to find out the words and phrases that will flag the NSA that you are worthy of monitoring. Of course, by doing this you are automatically making yourself monitor-worthy. I was curious enough to push the button, but stopped my hand just in time to save myself a lot of grief.<br />
<br />
Many moons ago, about 50 years or so, I believed that if you didn't have anything to hide, it didn't matter if you were watched, followed, phones bugged, searched or whatever. After all, we had nothing to hide. How naive was that?<br />
<br />
We began to get clicking sounds and an echo on our phone. I was going to call the phone company, but one night about bedtime a neighbor called to say there was a man up on the telephone pole in the alley behind our house. I was amazed that the phone company could read my mind. I went out back to thank the repairman, but he clambered down and ran away. Maybe I looked scary in my robe and curlers.<br />
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A few days later, I was over at my friend Joanne's house, and she noticed a plain white sedan parked in front of her house, behind my car. Two men wearing snap-brim hats sat in the front seat. And sat. And sat. We laughed and said they must be gangsters or FBI, because we had seen movies and knew they wore those hats. It wasn't so funny when they followed me home.<br />
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Within a short time I wondered if I was still being followed, and I mentioned it to CJ. He had also noticed a strange white car showing up regularly. He was practicing criminal law at the time, so he knew quite a few police officers and mentioned our concerns to them. They frowned and took notes. He mentioned it to a couple of his criminal clients, who took more of an interest and started following the followers. Of course, then the police followed the clients.<br />
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I went out to lunch with my friend Betty Ann, and as I'm telling her these stories, two men at the next table seemed very interested. Their snap-brim hats were in the vacant chair beside them. I wrote a note that said "We know who you are and we know what you're doing." After showing it to her, I folded it and left it under the salt shaker as we left the diner.<br />
<br />
Turns out the men were indeed FBI, who had a hunch that CJ was hiding a witness they needed, him being a criminal lawyer and all. I must have been guilty by implication too. My sassy note just made things worse. I was turned from a law and order citizen to a shady moll who had a sudden urge to rob a bank. Years later, I am still a bit suspicious of the government, and we all should be, a little.CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-77596868645356729332013-07-24T15:40:00.000-07:002013-07-24T15:40:01.382-07:00Now It Can Be ToldTalk at book club today turned to President Obama's memories that made him identify with Treyvon Martin. He was profiled as a teen, followed around in stores by suspicious clerks. He heard the clicks of car doors locking when he walked through parking lots, saw women clutch their purses a little tighter when he came near. Several of the Bookies confessed that they had done the same thing, and now felt bad about it. I confessed this story that trumped theirs.<br />
<br />
I had gone to Tampa, some 20 years ago, to get some paperwork from the Sheriff. I was directed to a substation in Ybor City. I got lost, and found myself in College Hill, a particularly scary section of Tampa that showed evidence of firebombs, burned out cars, and a total absence of people on the street at noon. I saw a building that had a flagpole, slowed down and saw that it was a Tampa police station. I pulled into the parking lot, and went to ask for directions to the Sheriff's station. I walked up to the door, but it was locked. I looked in the windows of the door, and saw policemen and others working, but they ignored my knocks and yelling.<br />
<br />
I turned around to see a large black man running toward me. I tossed him my purse, and he caught it.<br />
He laughed, came over and returned my purse, and said "Let me walk you to your car. This is a dangerous neighborhood." I said "I'm so embarrassed. I was afraid of you." He said "Don't feel bad. All those police in there are afraid too. They don't take walk-ins in this neighborhood." I felt better, but I still felt like a fool.CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-56366045745074074942013-07-22T08:43:00.001-07:002013-07-22T08:43:46.979-07:00Smell memoriesTook a break from blogging while I got a new hip and took up journaling, instead. In a book. With a pen. Just for me. I didn't think anyone but me would want to know about my adventures in helplessness. (Hey Frank, would you get me off this bedpan?)<br />
<br />
I'm getting pretty used to after-market parts. Three hips and a left breast, not to mention a couple of teeth. I'm also getting over funny looks when I walk Romeo by looping his leash over CJ's scooter. He gets to run, I don't have to worry about getting yanked off my feet and bounced along behind him. One old lady still points and snickers. Fuck you, lady.<br />
<br />
Summer is here in full force, with blinding heat and blinding rain. It happens every year, and every year we're surprised. Finally had to replace the air conditioner. This followed 6 weeks after replacing the car.<br />
We grew up without air conditioning, or TV, or washers and dryers or freezers, but now we're spoiled. We lived at the beach with the windows open, and our memories of that time are rose-colored.<br />
<br />
The air smelled of ocean breezes, tinged with DDT from the mosquito truck. We ate canned beans with our fresh fish, and washed our clothes in the kitchen sink. We put light bulbs in the closets and even the piano to fight mildew, and mothballs were scattered everywhere,<br />
<br />
Today we put sunscreen on first thing, so we smell of coconut. A little hairspray adds a whiff of mango. The spray of "OFF" is necessary to ward off mosquitos, and if you add cologne you might explode. Someday our kids will remember these smells with nostalgia.CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-54638858413792353952013-02-12T10:54:00.003-08:002013-02-12T10:54:37.788-08:00Florida, Heaven for Lobbyists<br />
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I just read in the Tampa Bay Times that we may have more lobbyists per capita than any other state.</div>
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Okay, I made that up. However, we do have 3,235 lobbyists registered to tug on the elbows of the legislature (of 100 members) and 4,925 to pressure and pester the governor and his aides in the executive wing. These are only the registered, official lobbyists, mind you. This doesn't count the people that pay these lobbyists, either, and they are not volunteers. What's wrong with this picture?</div>
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Back in my working days (!) one of my jobs was to communicate with Pinellas County's lobbyist, or legislative liason as she was known. I would get copies of thousands of proposed bills, figure out which county employees or officials might be affected, and ask them to comment back to the lobbyist. Typical comment: What the f*ck to those Tallahassee morons trying to do to us? </div>
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A recurring theme is for the state government to pass duties off to the local governments to pay for. The jobs they keep for themselves are largely privatized, which means a way to hire somebody's unqualified son-in-law to do something that didn't really need doing, and funnel lots of money to him as a favor to the family for contributing lots of money to the "job creator."</div>
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As the legislature goes into session, keep your wallet hidden and your eyes and ears open. Perk up when you hear the terms "privatized" or "job creation." They mean different things to different people.</div>
CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-53695124731481592042013-01-21T08:54:00.001-08:002013-01-21T08:54:09.346-08:00Who are these people?<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Who are these people that enjoy posting fibs on the internet? I know who signs their name and pretends to quote Billy Graham or Mr. Rogers or Bill Cosby or Andy Rooney. You may think they are actual quotes, except they never said such mean, untrue, and offensive things. Someone, perhaps many someones, sits in a smelly dark room and makes them up. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">If you checked with any one of the many fact-checker services, you would know there is not a grain of truth there, or maybe enough of a grain to hook you. Maybe you want to believe it is true, that “The Newtown shootings would never have happened if we had prayer in our schools.” Maybe “Obama has a secret agenda to come to your house and break down the doors and take all your guns, or ammunition.” Maybe you want to believe that “Hitler rose to power by restricting gun ownership,” when the opposite is true. Maybe you know these statements are not true, but that if they are spread far and wide they will become true.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">One thing is true. When you pass these quotes on, you are telling me and others that you think they are true. You are also telling us that you agree with them. You are also telling us that you’re too lazy to find out whether they are true or false. And that makes us lose respect for you.</span></div>
CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-54121676996564312912013-01-15T10:55:00.000-08:002013-01-15T10:55:45.536-08:00Pop Quiz<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPU5QPg4zsUfEvwlctk3XStp1SJnImDxHVmSOxDVZxRJlhNDjE9sV6t5k8Sba26Neiin0tEonruUHsKqy7TLJunKI9FY-sN_SbUpne4UJebiE6JtewzIZwrOaeWWEvmxZ07c2YLoRjli5E/s1600/IMG_6873.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPU5QPg4zsUfEvwlctk3XStp1SJnImDxHVmSOxDVZxRJlhNDjE9sV6t5k8Sba26Neiin0tEonruUHsKqy7TLJunKI9FY-sN_SbUpne4UJebiE6JtewzIZwrOaeWWEvmxZ07c2YLoRjli5E/s320/IMG_6873.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
The Christmas group, 2012<br />
<br />
Standing: Lazara, Doug, Emily, Daniel, Jason, Sarah Jean, Jacob<br />
Seated: CJ, Carol, Miley the Dog<br />
Elsewhere: Mima (Ft. Lauderdale), June and Kevin (San Francisco)<br />
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We didn't photoshop the missing persons in this year, but then we didn't do another cookbook, either. How well do you know us?<br />
Which 3 are stage hands? Which 2 used to be? Which 2 are lawyers? Which one will be? Which 2 were born in Cuba? Who has grown more hair in the last year? Who is a CPA? Which 2 are aeronautical engineers? Who is a U of Washington alum? U of Miami? USF? Which two are FSU? Which one is a Gator? Which 2 are Baylor? Which two are Stetson? Which one poops in the yard? (OK, that one should be easy.) Who is the best cook? (OK, this one should be hard.)CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-80170663795646331422012-12-10T07:37:00.000-08:002012-12-10T07:37:21.544-08:00Manger SceneLest you may have interpreted my last blog to think that I hate Christmas, let me set you straight. It's not about tacky lawn ornaments or Christmas Specials in the stores. It's about friends, families, traditions, Baby Jesus, and memories. All of these are wrapped up in our ratty old manger scene.<br />
<br />
It is made of paper mache, intended to look like Italian Renaissance porcelain. It was passed around in the family for years before we gave it a home. It had seen better days. The figures were ten to twelve inches tall if intact, but they weren't. None of the sheep had four legs, the camel's neck was broken, the cow had no horns, the shepherd had no crook. We made replacement parts out of plastic clay and painted them. The shepherd was happy to have a swizzle stick as a crook. Every year we had more patching to do.<br />
<br />
Worst of all was the after-market Baby Jesus, who was way too big for his red plastic strawberry basket manger filled with pink Easter grass. He sort of lay in there at an angle, and looked like a five-year old Eddie Haskell. One year I found a perfect replacement, the right size, in a believable manger, and he actually looked like a baby. However, you can't just toss the original in the trash, so we have always had two. Jason called them the Babies Jesi.<br />
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The original group took up about three feet on the buffet, arranged on a sheet of white cotton batting. We stuck books under it in the back that could have been sand dunes. The kids began adding characters from their toy box, so the display grew every year. Horses and cows seemed to belong, but there were no rules. A tiny train set, Happy Meal characters such as the Little Mermaid showed up. Santa Claus.<br />
Little green army men. Lions, tigers, even a gorilla were welcome. The display got so large that there is no room in our down-sized house. We are hoping one of our kids or grandkids will give it a home.CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-7191714855930410272012-12-07T11:42:00.001-08:002012-12-07T11:42:42.511-08:00Christmas ConfusionMaybe it's just me, but I don't understand much of this Christmas stuff. God knows, I try. I religiously watch the Macy's parade and hope to get infused with the Christmas Spirit, whatever that is. I watch Spongebob Squarepants and Spiderman balloons and wonder what they're doing up there. Maybe a Baby Jesus balloon wouldn't be quite right, either, though.<br />
<br />
I go shopping, to see if that will help with the blahs. The decorations and gifts that have been there since Labor Day are looking a little dusty, and are already marked down. The gift guides in every magazine and paper try to convince me to send my loved ones socks or TV's. What do they have to do with Christmas?<br />
<br />
Lawn decorations are a mystery. One neighbor had life-sized animated people, animals, and elves climbing all around inside their garage, to make it look like an old-fashioned department store window. There were so many cars and buses lined up that we were prisoners in our house. This year is all about wire deer, dolphins, locomotives and even a helicopter, lighted to look like they're moving. One neighbor has wired his lawn so that it changes patterns in time with Mannheim Steamroller on the speakers. The most recent addition to the scene is the life-sized bronze rhinoceros, all decked out in a leafy wreath collar. I guess a rhino is just as appropriate as Spiderman.<br />
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Once again, my family will receive virtual pigs and goats from Heifer, with the actual beasties going to third world families. I know, pigs and goats don't exactly scream "Merry Christmas" either. So I will be sending cookies and candy, which is what Baby Jesus would have wantedCarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-90610771822695076492012-11-18T11:26:00.002-08:002012-11-18T11:26:36.162-08:00Thanksgiving Thoughts<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I promised I wouldn't blog about the election, because I don't want to sound like a smug winner. In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I will share the thoughts of another blogger, who expresses herself more eloquently:</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px; text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://mrsbeansblog.blogspot.com/2012/11/my-america-real-america.html">http://mrsbeansblog.blogspot.com/2012/11/my-america-real-america.html</a></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I agree with her statements, and I wish some of my friends and relatives would take them to heart. I wish some total strangers would take them to heart. There is an undercurrent of hate in the air that you can reach out and touch. All 50 states have now submitted petitions to withdraw from the Union. There is a movement to impeach Obama floating around. The hope that Romney would win has turned into something really ugly. I suspect the followers of some talk radio and TV folks for whipping it up, but I have no real basis for that suspicion. People, sit down and take a few deep breaths. Go outdoors and feel the sunshine, the cool breeze, even the rain. Life goes on, for most of us.</span></div>
CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-70915801925482014582012-11-04T09:13:00.000-08:002012-11-04T09:13:22.351-08:00Lies, damn lies, and piesSaw a yard sign yesterday, saying "Three more days to save the country." I don't need to tell you how many other signs and flags and banners were there too. There was an old couple working in that yard.<br />
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Now, I don't consider myself old, even though I turned 75 last week. But, some of our friends and relatives are getting to that category. One thing we have learned over the years is that this country can survive bad presidents. Lord knows, it has already, more than once.<br />
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No matter who wins, about half the folks will be disappointed. The other half will believe that they have a mandate to heap scorn on the losers. Life goes on. Nobody has cornered the market on virtue or wisdom or a simple solution to all the problems that need solving.<br />
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My first memory of political craziness was the Red Scare and the McCarthy inquisition, looking for<br />
Communists everywhere, ruining many reputations and careers. "Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the Communist Party?" These loyalty oaths were given to every public figure and job applicant. Would you lie to get that job? Don't be silly.<br />
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In this election, each side firmly believes the other party's presidential candidates are lying, It isn't a lie to change your mind, and it isn't a lie to fail to accomplish what you intended. In fact, a skillful liar will lie in such ephemeral ways that his lies can't come back at him like a pie in the face. That's the one that gets my vote.CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-62872396992597676342012-10-20T12:32:00.000-07:002012-10-20T12:32:13.743-07:00Grits, mystery food<br />
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<span class="messageBody" style="color: #333333; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.38;"><span class="userContent">Shamelessly stole this from James Bell, of the Spartan Times Facebook page. </span></span></h5>
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<span class="messageBody" style="color: #333333; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.38;"><span class="userContent">Where did grits come from? Nobody knows. Some folks believe grits are grown on bushes and are harvested by midgets by shaking the bushes after spreading sheets around them.<br /><br />Many people feel that grits are made from ground up bits of white corn. These are obviously lies spread by Communists and terrorists. Nothing as good as a Grits can be made from corn.<br /><br />Others claim that the mysterious Manna that God rained down upon the Israelites during their time in the Sinai Desert was most likely Grits.<br /><br />Critics disagree, stating that there is no record of biscuits, butter, salt, and red eye gravy raining down from the sky, and that God would not punish his people by forcing them to eat Grits!<br /><br />How Grits are Formed.<br /><br />Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction: Grits are formed deep underground under intense heat and pressure. It takes over 1000 years to form a single Grit. Most of the world's grit mines are in South Carolina , and are guarded day and night by armed guards and pit bull dogs.<br /><br />Harvesting the Grit is a dangerous occupation, and many Grit miners lose their lives each year so that Grits can continue to be served morning after morning for breakfast (not that having Grits for lunch and dinner is out of the question).<br /><br />Yankees have attempted to create a synthetic Grits. They call them Cream of Wheat. As far as we can tell the key ingredients of Cream of Wheat are Elmer's Glue and shredded Styrofoam. These synthetic grits have also been shown to cause nausea, and may leave you unable to have children.<br /><br />Historical Grits<br /><br />As we mentioned earlier, the first known mention of the Grits was by the Ancient Israelites in the Sinai Desert . After that, the Grits was not heard from for another 1000 years. Experts feel that the Grits was used during this time only during secret religious ceremonies, and was kept from the public due to it's rarity.<br /><br />The next mention of the Grits was found amidst the ruins of the ancient city of Pompeii in a woman's personal diary. The woman's name was Herculaneum Jemimaneus (Aunt Jemima to her friends.)<br /><br />The 10 Commandments of Grits<br /><br />I. Thou shalt not put syrup on thy Grits<br /><br />II. Thou shalt not eat thy Grits with a spoon or knife<br /><br />III. Thou shalt not eat Cream of Wheat and call it Grits, for this is blasphemy<br /><br />IV. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbors Grits<br /><br />V. Thou shalt use only Salt, Butter, and red eye gravy as toppings for thy Grits<br /><br />VI. Thou shalt not eat Instant Grits<br /><br />VII. Thou shalt not put ketchup on thy Grits<br /><br />VIII. Thou shalt not put margarine on thy Grits.<br /><br />IX. Thou shalt not eat toast with thy Grits, only biscuits made from scratch .<br /><br />X. Thou shalt eat grits on the Sabbath for this is manna from heaven.<br /><br />How to Cook Grits<br /><br />For one serving of Grits:<br /><br />Boil 1.5 cups of water with salt and a little butter.<br /><br />Add 5 TBsp of Grits.<br /><br />Reduce to a simmer and allow the Grits to soak up all the water.<br /><br />When a pencil stuck into the grits stands alone, it is done. That's all there is to cooking grits.<br /><br />How to make red eye gravy<br /><br />Fry salt cured country ham in cast iron pan. Remove the ham when done and add coffee to the gravy and simmer for several minutes. Great on grits and biscuits.<br /><br />How to Eat Grits<br /><br />Immediately after removing your grits from the stove top, add a generous portion of butter or red eye gravy. (WARNING: Do NOT use low-fat butter.) The butter should cause the Grits to turn a wondrous shade of yellow. (Hold a banana or a yellow rain slicker next to your Grits; if the colors match, you have the correct amount of butter.)<br /><br />In lieu of butter, pour a generous helping of red eye gravy on your grits. Be sure to pour enough to have some left for sopping up with your biscuits. Never, ever substitute canned or store bought biscuits for the real thing because they caused cancer, rotten teeth and impotence.<br /><br />Next, add salt. (NOTICE: The correct ration of Grit to Salt is 10:1 Therefore for every 10 grits, you should have 1 grain of salt.)<br /><br />Now begin eating your grits.<br /><br />Always use a fork, never a spoon, to eat Grits. Your grits should be thick enough so they do not run through the tines of the fork.<br /><br />The correct beverage to serve with Grits is black coffee.<br /><br />DO NOT use cream or, heaven forbid, Skim Milk.)<br /><br />Your grits should never be eaten in a bowl because Yankees will think its Cream of Wheat.<br /><br />Ways to Eat Leftover Grits:<br /><br />(Leftover grits are extremely rare)<br /><br />Spread them in the bottom of a casserole dish,<br /><br />Cover and place them in the refrigerator overnight.<br /><br />The Grits will congeal into a gelatinous mass.<br /><br />Next morning, slice the Grits into squares and fry them in 1/2' of cooking oil and butter until they turn a golden brown.<br /><br />Many people are tempted to pour syrup onto Grits served this way. This is, of course, unacceptable.<br /><br />BLESSING BEFORE EATING GRITS<br /><br />Bless these grits, May no Yankee ever get the recipe, May I eat grits every day while living, And may I die while eating grits!</span></span></h5>
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CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-82485532728354410932012-10-17T11:56:00.000-07:002012-10-17T11:56:24.357-07:00Hallowe'en ThoughtsThis business of decorating lawns for Hallowe'en is a mystery to me. If you are one who does, I'm not trying to question your motives or your sanity, I just don't understand it. Even Christmas lawn decor goes to excess, seeming to say "Look how rich we are!"<br />
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An older couple down the street doesn't bother taking down decorations for one holiday before moving into the next. Picture the angel with wings and a trumpet, tooting toward Saint Patrick, who seems to have joined the wise men and the baby Jesus in the stable at Bethlehem, with the Easter Bunny close by visiting with Grinch. Ghosts and goblins are dancing around a large Uncle Sam, who is smiling at a giant turkey. The Peanuts gang is all here, skating around on a sheet of plastic. They are all lit up and mostly animated. Now this isn't just slovenliness; the owners have to move them around to mow the grass, so they really want them all out there. Do I need to say music plays in the evening?<br />
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I quit Hallowe'en several years ago. The cute little angels and cowboys sent out by the parents to beg candy from strangers was bad enough. The teenagers with their pants at half mast had a hard time holding up their britches while smoking and begging at the same time. The last straw was the fat Mama with a gaggle of children who pushed them out of the way and scooped every last candy from my tray into her pillowcase. She actually said "There, you little bastards, that's how you trick or treat!"<br />
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If you're looking for us this year, we are sitting in the dark with the shades drawn, pretending we're not at home.CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-60979413074238635822012-10-15T08:05:00.001-07:002012-10-15T08:05:48.118-07:00Inconsistent Prior StatementEvery trial lawyer looks forward to catching an adverse witness in a fib. The juiciest way to impeach a fibber is by catching him in a "prior inconsistent statement." Best example is when the witness testifies on the stand that the light was green when he started through the intersection. He had told the policeman at the accident scene that it was red, or that he didn't notice. Either way, you pounce with the "Are you lying now, or were you lying then?" zinger.<br />
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This is why election years are so frustrating for us spectators. Mr. Romney, you are telling us that you will not support laws limiting abortion? Didn't you tell us a couple of months ago that you would abolish Planned Parenthood because of its support for abortion education, among many other services? Haven't you shifted your position on many issues to attract more mainstream, less Tea Party voters?<br />
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We actually kind of like the new, moderate Mitt. But there's this uncomfortable feeling that we don't really know you. We're not sure if what you say is what you mean, or what you will mean tomorrow. Mitt, were you lying then, or are you lying now?CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3629686468630192539.post-8152934674066026102012-09-30T13:25:00.000-07:002012-09-30T13:25:32.867-07:00Undecided? I Can Help.<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As we find ourselves little more than a month from electing a president, a fairly sizeable number of people refer to themselves as “undecided.” That may or may not include some who really mean “None of your business, pollster.” Some elections seem to be between Frick and Frack, so you can flip a coin at the polls and it really won’t matter. Not so this year.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Obama supporters liked him four years ago, and haven’t found any reason to turn him out of office with unfinished business. No, he’s made mistakes, he could have done things better, but he seems to be trying hard. On health care alone, he’s gotten some momentum toward real changes, and grudging acceptance that the old system is broken. He’s bringing our troops home from wars we should have never started, and it will take many years to heal the wounded and to heal the hatred from those invaded countries. It will take years to get us out of the Great Recession and to take steps to prevent a recurrence and to mend the economy. His supporters are not undecided.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">People may be undecided about the best way to do these things, but there is general agreement that they need doing. Romney supporters do sincerely believe that he can do these things better. I have never heard less undecided people than Romney supporters. Even the lower-income and less educated voters who pay no taxes and reap the most benefits from the programs favored by the Democrats are Romney voters for sure. It’s not just because he’s white, they assure us. It’s not just because Obama might be a Muslim or might be coming after their guns. They are not undecided for a minute.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I have not heard a single soul admit to being undecided. Not that I’ve asked, but the TV interviewers and the pollsters have. Are they the apathetic, the ignorant, the angry? I wish I knew who they are. I’ll help them.</span></div>
CarolBehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02869395143843530091noreply@blogger.com1