I’ve been searching for words the past few days, my mind has been so disturbed by the recent societal violence between the police force and African-American men. The only answer is to respect each other. The killing must stop. Each of us must reach out to someone. Hopefully, the message will get across that we all need the same thing. At lunch today, two black men sat at the next table. We didn’t talk or interact in any way. When I paid my ticket, I paid their ticket as well. I left a note on their table asking them to work for brotherhood and healing. It’s one little step. Let there be brotherhood and healing.
WHY TEACHERS DRINK!!!
From tsra
The following was emailed to me by the Sussex Shadow:
Only teachers will believe this really can be true!!!!
The following questions were set in last year’s GED examination
These are genuine answers from 16 year olds!
Q. Name the four seasons
A. Salt, pepper, mustard and vinegar
Q. Explain one of the processes by which water can be made safe to drink
A. Flirtation makes water safe to drink because it removes large pollutants like grit, sand, dead sheep and canoeists
Q. How is dew formed
A. The sun shines down on the leaves and makes them perspire
Q. What causes the tides in the oceans
A. The tides are a fight between the earth and the moon. All water tends to flow towards the moon, because there is no water on the moon, and nature abhors a vacuum. I forget where the sun joins the fight
Q. What…
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Meanwhile, In America
Reblogged from Chatter Blog
On Radical Acceptance (& Not Fixing Your Kid)
Such a lot to know.
There’s a small town in Belgium named Geel (pronounced hale with a throaty, Germanic H). By 1930, a quarter of its residents were mentally ill. If you know about Geel, you know this was not because something lurked in the water or food supply. It was because for 700 years families in Geel accepted mentally ill patients, or “boarders,” to live with them in their own homes. The town got a nickname: “Paradise for the Insane.”
I’ve never been to Geel, but I recently heard about it on NPR’s Invisibilia podcast. In the episode, reporter Lulu Miller interviews Ellen Baxter, a researcher who earned a grant to live in Geel for a year. Prior to this trip, Baxter had faked her way into a mental institution, wanting to find out about the therapeutic practices used. She saw virtually none. What she did see: people watching television, looking out the…
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Doing What Needs to Be Done
Our plan was uncomplicated plan as we bumbled through raising our children, trying to give them a safe place to grow, the necessities, and a few of the things they wanted, hoping they’d become strong, independent, contributing adults. Because we both struggled to get through college on our own, we wanted to make that path easier. There were no gender-specific expectations. Both learned to cook, clean, sew on a button, mow, and fix a flat.
Nowadays, I am often surprised to hear themtelling the things they are grateful for. My daughter says she’s never been intimidated by men, freely speaking her mind, and doing what needs to be done at home and professionally. My son is a kind, sensitive man who treats his wife like a queen, putting her needs on an equal par with his. Both work hard to do the right thing.
The only thing I’d do differently if I were raising kids today, is place less importance on college, putting a road block in the path of those who’d prefer a technical, or blue-collar job. So many get out of college with a mountain of debt today, when they’d have already been several years into a career as a hairdresser, electrician, plumber, woodworker, or some other honorable job. We need to support children who are showing interest in a trade or skilled job instead of directing the masses toward college and debt.
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Blacking Mama’s Eyes
Bud has his own disaster injuring his mama, but it was after we married. Bud and his sister had nice upholstered rocking chairs when they were small. When both had toddlers, Miss Mary brought the rockers out of the barn to refurbish for the little ones. She did a beautiful job, but one arm ended up glued a bit crooked and she wanted Bud to help her get it apart to straighten. She had already painted it and didn’t want to mess up her paint job.
“Okay, Mom, but I’m going to have to pull really hard,” he warned. He gave it a mighty tug, just as she leaned in to see if he was making any progress. The arm came off,and the chair broke loose, hitting her right between the eyes. She and the chair rolled a couple of feet. She came up with blood pouring from her nose and swollen eyes. The flying chair had broken the eyepiece on her glasses. In a couple of hours, she looked like she’d been in a barroom brawl. She laughed till she wet her pants, and Bud felt just awful about beating his mama up.
It’s All Fun and Games till Somebody Loses an Eye
“It’s All Fun and Games till Somebody Loses an Eye!”
I heard that warning so many times when I was a kid I could have sung it back to my parents before they’d finished, if I’d had a death wish. All I had to do was run with a glass, toss the scissors, or jump out of a tree on a kid to get them started. I was a smart, tough kid. I KNEW I wasn’t going to get hurt. I had the power of ten because my heart was pure. Well, maybe not pure, but I was sure I had the power of ten.
At any rate, only one time did I ever know of a kid to lose an eye from horseplay, and that circumstance couldn’t have been anticipated. Thankfully, I wasn’t involved. One of the neighbors had a large peanut patch. For those of you who don’t know, peanuts grow underground and have to be dug up. Mr. Jones had already harvested his peanuts and a group of neighborhood kids played in the field, an entirely harmless pastime. Had there been a crop left, it would have been a heinous crime, but the parents were sitting close by, drinking iced tea and watching the kids at their peanut war. They’d eat a few peanuts and toss a few. The greatest harm one would have expected would be a bellyache from too many raw peanuts. Unbelievably, a kid was hit in the eye with a peanut shell, scratching his eyeball. His parents rinsed it and sent him on his way, not thinking much of it. By the next day, the eye was swollen and infected. The boy ultimately lost his eye from that accident, a totally unexpected outcome.
Lessons of a Hard Life
Daddy was a pragmatist with a dim view of positive reinforcement. Throughout his life, he’d seen many of acquaintances make the expedient rather than the better choice. I don’t know whether he considered his choice of associates might have an effect on their decision-making but he did need a fix of low company from time to time, probably feeling they held a lofty view of him. He held himself apart from drinking and trashy behavior, but did appreciate hearing just enough to reinforce his self-view, also providing an opportunity for edification should these “friends in low places” need his help and guidance. They enjoyed his generosity far more than his immediate family. Taking care of one’s family is a thankless task, whereas news of “bread cast upon the waters” may be touted far and wide. Though not a minister, he frequently preached that a person trying to lift himself out of a “life of sin” is to be praised far above those never wallowed. I am sure, this was personal, since he took every opportunity to use his own early behavior and redemption as an example of all he’d overcome. For some reason, he never encouraged us to sample the delights of sin so we could ascend to sainthood as he had, just made sure we never enjoyed the opportunity to mess up.
It was heart-warming to hear of the improved behavior of Josey Johnson, who only two weeks earlier had abandoned a loving husband or wife and little children for the company of a hard-drinking friend. If Daddy could corner Josey and get in a little preaching and Josey came home, Daddy was ecstatic. Josey could count on all kinds of favors, till he or she took off again. Daddy wasn’t bad about letting us know when Josey backslid, but hastened to update us if Josie returned home for some rest and rehabilitation. It didn’t matter that Josey might have been kicked out of a den of iniquity and was roosting at home till something better came along.
Unfortunately, Daddy never understood that not all people seek the low life. Life is full of people who do the right thing, just because it is right. I still wish he’d learned that not everyone falls, given the opportunity. I know his difficult background shaped his attitude.
This photo pictures my father and several of his siblings. He is the boy in the middle holding the cap. I feel sure my grandmother seized the opportunity to have their pictures made by someone who happened by with a camera. They were sharecroppers. It is unlikely she was able to make any preparations for this photo. Times got even harder for the family when her husband died at forty-two, leaving her with five children between three and eighteen. The eldest had already married and left home. The oldest boy, at eighteen was working at whatever he could find. The fifteen-year-old boy went into the Civilian Conservation Corps as soon as he could. My father was thirteen and did farm work and odd jobs to help out till he got on as a night watchman at an oil rig at fifteen. The rig wasn’t too far from the house so he often slipped home to get something to eat and warm up, since he was too poorly clothed to keep warm.
Nutsrok 