Thoughts on Guns, Mental Illness, and God in the Schools

The beyond terrible events in Newtown, CT this past week have led to another spate of Facebook posts politicizing the death of 20 little kids.  "Guns don't kill, people do" is a common theme among some.

I can't disagree with that sentiment.  But I also don't think that it tells the whole truth.  Hunters who use guns and keep them responsibly locked up are one thing.  People who own several handguns, including semi-automatics, are another.  It only takes one gun to protect yourself, if that's why you own a gun.  So why did a mentally ill man have access to at least 6 guns, all listed in his Mother's name?

I don't like guns, never have.  But this debate shouldn't be about guns.  It should be about gun ownership, and putting stricter rules around who gets a gun, what kind of gun, and how many guns.

I don't get offended at the pro or anti gun sentiments on Facebook, just like I don't get offended when my Conservative friends state their opinions, which are opposite mine.  It's part of what makes America great.

But the last couple days I've been seeing several posts, using the image of Jesus, that imply that if God were allowed in schools, this never would have happened.  REALLY?

It hurts my soul, because it implies that somehow God isn't with us always, everywhere.  And it implies that somehow this horrific tragedy is our government's fault for separating church and state. Or our fault for not believing in the right God, namely Jesus.

If religion was taught in our public schools (and I assume it would be the Christian religion since the Facebook posters reference a Caucasian, western image of Jesus in their posts), how would that have stopped a mentally deranged gunman from entering the school and doing what he did?  Does having God in the schools put a Harry Potter like invisible barrier around the school?  And would that barrier protect the Jewish kids too?  How about the Hindus?  Muslims too?

I pray to God that he forgives us for bringing him into this dialogue.

'Tis the Season

This time of year I usually take the week of Thanksgiving off, then only have to work 3 more weeks before having at least 2 weeks of vacation again.  The best movies come out this time of year, plus I usually manage to get one or two house chores out of the way.

Today, the last day of my Thanksgiving break is no different.  I've seen The Life of Pi, Lincoln, and Skyfall this week, and can highly recommend all of them.  I caught up on the laundry and ironing, and completely cleaned and reorganized my pantry.  I created my own recipe for scalloped potatoes, complete with duck fat, mushrooms, shallots, and cheese, made chocolate chip cookies with dark chocolate chips, and the best gingersnaps in the world.  And I got my teeth cleaned - teeth are the gateway to your body, so I'm proud to say that I take care of mine!

This time of year, too, I normally tend to suffer from tiredness, depression, and malaise.  I've been saying for years that it was SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder), but didn't do anything about it until this Fall.  I bought a small light box and turn it on for 30 minutes each morning.  I also started taking Vitamin D every day (it comes in gummy candy now!).  What a difference - I feel wide awake and alert now all day long.

Not so much goodness at night though.  I'm starting to experience my own "personal summers" more often during the day, and haven't slept through the night in months due to waking up all hot and sweaty.  In the past year I've only had 2 periods, and my last one was in May.  If I can make it to May 2013 without another one I'll officially be in Menopause.  Funny - I think I feel better now then I did when I was in my thirties.

Gracie and Sam are doing marvelously well, and we're catching up on our snuggle time.  Grace is a miracle baby, going from almost certain death from chronic renal failure to being back to her fighting weight, with a shiny coat and bright eyes.  Her back legs seem a little weak, but hey - she's 15.  I attribute her turnaround to a supplement called Azodyl.  It's basically dialysis, except the toxins get eliminated in her poop.  And no prescription is required, so I get it over the Internet for about $40.00 for a 90-day supply.

Work begins again tomorrow, but I have a good supply of clean, freshly ironed clothes to choose from for many days.  And gingersnap cookies, which I may or may not share!

This and That and a Little Black Cat

I'm back in my Winter Palace, which is in need of many repairs, like baseboards and doors that don't stick.  I've got 6 1/2 months to work on getting this place fixed, but not a whole lot of money to do it with.  What else is new?

My 15 year old cat Grace lost her kidney function this summer and lost a ton of weight.  The Vet Tech had me almost convinced that it was her time, until she mentioned that when cats don't eat, they die.  But Grace was still eating, in fact she approaches meal time with an unbounded excitement.  So we talked about alternatives.  In order to get her back on her feet, she first needed fluids.  I didn't like the idea of her being kept in the Vet's office for 3 days on an IV, so we sent her home with my wonderful pet sitter, who gave her fluids several times a day by inserting a needle under her skin (I was still in residence at my Summer Palace when this happened).  In addition, Grace now needs to take a pill once a day that is described as dialysis in a pill form.

I've been home for 3 weeks now, and Grace has bloomed and blossomed, and looks like she was never sick to begin with.  Her eyes are bright, her fur is shiny, and she's gained all of her weight back.  

Her kidneys won't ever recover, and my research tells me that Chronic Kidney Failure is fatal, but hopefully I'll get to enjoy a couple more years of quality time with her in the meantime.

I'm off to Phoenix Sunday for 2 days on a business trip.  Since I'm flying in Sunday morning I'll get a chance to visit my friend Jack, who has his winter castle in Mesa.  He turns 88 on Halloween, and insists that he plans to live well into the hundreds.  I hope so, because he's an awfully nice man.

Turkey Day will be spent in North Dakota with family...and friends!  My friend Robert is going to Fargo to see friends over the holiday, so hopefully I'll get a chance to break bread with him while he's there.  He's a Brit transplanted to Texas, so Fargo in late November might be a bit of a shock for him.

Several people in my family sent me the very welcome news that American Airlines is planning to start non-stop Fargo-Dallas Fort Worth flights in February.  I personally never thought I'd see that happen, but I'm not complaining!

Chaos Theory

I've been down in Santiago, Chile for about 10 days working on the implementation of a major airline to our system.  Everything went well; even better than expected.  I'm assigned to the overnight shift of "channel support", which means that anything our hundreds of employees in the field can't answer, they call, e-mail, or IM me for help.

Also assigned to the same shift are two very boisterous men - one Latin, one Indian.  They are always talking, always joking, and have the very bad habit of not letting anyone finish a sentence.  My irritation and lack of patience has reared its ugly head more than once this week.  I've tried asking nicely, I've tried sarcasm, and I've tried yelling at them to please shut up, to no avail.  They talk over each other, not to mention anyone else in the room.

I have come to realize something about myself through this.  There is a reason why I choose to work from home as much as I do.  It's not just these two gentlemen that behave this way - it seems to be rampant in much of the company these days.  Nobody has a simple conversation - it's all one-upmanship to see who can talk the loudest, or the fastest, or who can manipulate the most electronic devices at one time while still pretending to listen to what you're saying to them.

I've heard all sorts of theories on why this is - overstimulation from TV, computers, iPhones, iPads, iPods, video games, and just a fast-paced life.  But my theory is different - people do it just because everyone else does it.  It's not that they aren't nice people - they are.  And their table manners are impeccable.  But I cannot deal with a room full of people all vying for attention, all absolutely certain that it should be only their voice that should be heard.

In the meantime, I'll be oh so happy to get back to my little Summer Palace known as a camper, where the only sounds I hear are the birds chirping in the morning.

Little Things

Someone's post on Facebook today brought back an unexpected memory that made me smile.  We lived 2 blocks from the school (yes, the one and only school in town; elementary and high school) and sometimes the marching band would come out to practice, marching right by our house.  It always felt like it was a surprise present just for us, and we'd drop everything to go listen and watch as the teenagers in uniforms marched by with drums, saxophones, clarinets, and tubas.

Thinking about that reminded me of other memories, like hearing the fire siren blow and jumping in the car to go chase the fire trucks.

Taking Miss Pepper, the dog, to Dairy Queen for an ice cream cone.  And Butterscotch Dilly Bars!

Bowling night for Mom, when Dad would make us popcorn in the electric skillet, but pretend all night he wasn't going to this week.  Bowling night for Dad, when Mom would wax the hardwood floors and we'd take turns running and sliding in the hallway with just our socks on (it was also bath night).  That tradition ended when I got a huge sliver and had to have a tetanus shot and stitches.

Laying out on the cool grass late at night watching a meteor shower because Dewey Berquist said we should (Dewey was the weatherman on TV, and we donated our grandfather's telescope to him so we felt like we were his friends).

Making the first snowman of the year and getting our picture in the paper for it.

And riding on top of the firetruck with the sirens blasting on Halloween.  If we were real lucky we'd get to sit inside and actually blow the siren ourselves.

The smell of burning leaves in the air.  The last day of school.  The feel of a fish tugging on our line.

Today I watched two hummingbirds chase each other, up and down, in circles, and side to side.  It almost seemed like they were dancing for me.  It felt like the school's marching band was coming down our street, playing just for us.

Batteries Recharged!

WE Fest is one of the nation's largest music and camping festivals, and it happens about a mile from my Summer Palace the first week of August every year.  The site, still called Soo Pass Ranch, used to be a horseback riding "dude" ranch, and my brother and I rode horses there as kids.

Some of the most famous musicians in the world have performed there - Ray Charles, Kid Rock to name a couple.  This year some of the headliners were Toby Keith, Alabama, Jason Aldean, Eric Church, Brantley Gilbert, Sawyer Brown, and John Anderson.

I had never been to WE Fest and wasn't sure I wanted to - I like country music all right, but I'm not a huge fan.  And there are always stories of younger adults getting really drunk and doing stupid stuff.  But my neighbor talked me into volunteering for the Humane Society and serving beer at the festival.  Two six-hour shifts and I would get a 3-day music pass.  When the Human Society called me, they asked if I could work three shifts since they were so desperate for volunteers.  For that, I got a camping pass (not needed) and $10 in food tickets every day in addition to the music pass.

From the first moment (Thursday night) of getting on a shuttle bus, it was as if I was dropped into an alternate universe where everyone was happy and everyone loved everyone else.  We were greeted in the aisle of the bus with "happy WE Fest", and one kid told me I was beautiful.

We got to work at the Leinie Lodge, which specializes in Leinenkugel, a Wisconsin beer.  The jobs were servers or pourers.  I was asked to be a server, which meant I took people's tickets, and gave them the beer of their choice, all the while trying to get as many tips as possible for the Humane Society.  Sweet muscle-bound tattooed boys would come in my line and tell me they loved me, that I was beautiful, and would kiss my hands before leaving.  And we in the booth were having the best time ever, making up claps and chants for when we got a tip.

The next day I worked the day shift and then joined my brother and sister-in-law to see Steve Martin (yes, THAT Steve Martin) and Toby Keith.  Soon after I sat down, an announcement was made that a bad storm was heading in, with rain and winds up to 50 mph.  We ran for shelter, and I ended up under the "porch" of the Leinie Lodge with an umbrella.  The porch didn't have a solid roof, so it wasn't that great of a shelter.  A 21-year old boy squeezed in next to me, told me he wanted to be a paramedic, and was worried about his girlfriend in the Hilltop campground.  He asked if I knew where that was.  I did, but told him it was way too far away to get to on foot in the storm.  He hung out for a little while longer, then took off running into the night.

The rain lessened, I was reunited with my brother and sister-in-law, and we wandered up to the Saloon for awhile, since it actually had a roof on it.  On the way back down I bought a delicious lamb Gyro and a sweatshirt since it was now cold AND rainy.  Even though it was miserable outside, everyone still was happy!

Steve Martin finally came on and did an abbreviated show (his banjo playing is amazing), and then Toby Keith took the stage, a week after having gall bladder surgery.  After "Red Solo Cup", we started the mile walk home around 1:30 in the morning.  There's nothing like a late-night walk in squishy shoes to make you wish for a hot bath!

The final day of the festival I worked during the day again, and walking around the grounds was just as much fun as before.  We'd start conversations with perfect strangers, and end up getting big hugs or high fives.

Today is Sunday - everyone has packed up and are heading home; some to homes several states away.  I am stiff, sore, have multiple blisters, and still feel like I just came home from a 3-week vacation.  I met so many fun people, all of whom were out to have as much fun as possible in the 3 days they were there.  Why did it take me 30 years to go?

Perspective - It's a Grand Thing

I grew up in a tiny town, where my Dad owned a hardware store and Mom cooked and cleaned and also worked at the store once we started going to school.  Summers were spent running around the neighborhood until it got too dark to see, and sometimes we even would lay on the grass late at night to look at the stars.  When we got older, we started going to The Lake.  No matter which late folks around town went to, it was still called "the lake", sometimes "the lakes", as in "are you going to the lake this weekend?".

Swimming off the dock, fishing with our Dad, digging our bare feet into the muck at the bottom of the lake...all part of the experience.  Catching minnows with a net, collecting turtles, and yes, dealing with mosquitoes after dark were part of my childhood.

My neighbors here in Minnesota had their son, daughter-in-law and two grandkids visit from Texas this week.  When the kids were encouraged to take their shoes off to run through the grass, they declined, saying that they were afraid of fire ants (we don't have fire ants here, just the regular old picnic ants).  They didn't want to go into the lake for fear that they'd run into a fish.  Their parents wouldn't go in either - too mucky and "dirty" for them (the lake is very clean).

My neighbors told me these things with a sad, disappointed look on their face.  You see, they grew up like I did here in North Dakota/Minnesota.  But their jobs took them to the big city, and later to Texas before their son got to experience what we did.  And now they might as well be from a different planet, wondering how on earth we all survived growing up the way we did.

My 4 year old grand niece is getting the lake experience - she loves the water; even dives off the high part of the pontoon into the lake already.  Her shoes are rarely on (except for a couple of months when her Mom couldn't convince her to remove her snow boots), and she stays up late by the campfire, shooting off sparklers and roasting marshmallows.  She's a lucky girl indeed.