I'm watching the national news on CBS. They just aired a story about a shooting today at the Holocaust Museum. A man that has a criminal history and is deeply involved in a hate group walked in with a rifle and fatally shot a guard. They reflected on last week's church shooting of the abortion provider.
Statistics they quoted said that hate groups numbered 600 in 2000, but now there are well over 900! And that's just the ones they know about! Let's be clear what we're talking about here... This is not just a bunch of people carrying around their own prejudices and being unkind; These are organized groups with specific action plans. Members of these groups feel so justified in their hate that they describe it as 'for the cause'. Some of these people were raised this way, carrying on the mindset of their kin. Others have been recruited into the groups.
What is it that makes a person hate a group of people so much that, without so much as an inkling of what those people are like, they wish them dead? I'm sure there are probably many that had some bad experience in their past that they blame on the ethnic or religious roots of the offender. But I wouldn't be surprised if most of them never had any personal contacts with the group they love to hate.
This news story came on right after Papaw took Ali to her church group meeting. I wondered if she had seen the story, how I would explain it to her. I'm sure at eleven she knows such groups exists, but could she possibly comprehend the reasoning?
Today's shooter? The news said there was no indication this would happen. No warning. Are you kidding me? He was a skinhead. Not just any skinhead mind you, but a convicted skinhead with a history of hate crimes. This man was old enough to have great-grandchildren bouncing on his knee. How many generations has he inflicted with his disease?
The statistic still scares me. Why the 50% increase since 2000? In an era where we can elect the first African-America President and ethnic groups blend together in main stream society, what feeds the hatred? Let's pretend the statistic referred to something else... What if there was suddenly a 50% increase in teen pregnancy? Or a 50% increase in breast cancer? Don't you think somebody would be jumping all over it, wanting to understand what's going on?
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
progress report
Even with shade and a breeze, the humidity was unbearable this morning. A storm was rolling in and I wanted to get the new dirt covered before it was washed away. Ali and I put down landscaping fabric to help with weeds, and then mulched the slope under the steps. Ali also used the hoe to make a little trench to anchor some landscaping timber pieces as edging.
Papaw overworked on the stones so we gave him the day off. Maybe tomorrow we can get some more into place before the heat returns.
Papaw overworked on the stones so we gave him the day off. Maybe tomorrow we can get some more into place before the heat returns.Me and the Sea
Happy Ocean Day! Did you even know it was Ocean Day? Anyway, to celebrate the occasion (to raise awareness) CrazyCris over at Here, There and Everywhere is hosting a blog-a-thon! Click this link to read contributions from all over the world: oceanic-blog-thon
Being a land-dweller far from the salty air, I mostly take for granted the ocean will always be there whenever I choose to travel to the beach. Instead of boring you statistics and details, I thought I'd share what went through my mind when Chris made me think about the ocean...
I'm more of a fresh-water girl. Sure I've splashed in the surf, Atlantic and Pacific, and felt the salt on my skin. But I've never ventured farther out than that perfect breaker for my raft, and that's been a while. I enjoy watching the educational and travel shows that explore marine life, be it animal or plant, as well as the programs that serve to warn us of the impending situation facing this magnificent liquid that covers so much of our planet. But what's it to me?
Yes, I'm concerned. Yes, I care. Truthfully? I can't relate to how big this ice shelf is that broke off. I can't relate to the loss of coral reefs or contaminated waters. I have no idea how many seals or whales populate any particular area. There is something, though, very concrete about the water that I can relate to...
Many times I have traveled to the coast and sat on the sand at night. There is no better time for me to be there. I have found myself in solitude, under the moonlight, dreaming out past the lit breakers. My worries and burdens rinse away with the sand under my feet... because I am so small. Even smaller at night. The horizon seems infinite in the sun's absence. Somewhere, far beyond any point I may strain to see, the stars and the waves merge together in total blackness. It is as if I am looking out into the vast universe with the lights turned out. It is as unimportant as a person can feel, and yet at the same time, as close to God as one can be. For me, it puts things in perspective... and that is peace.
Even in the darkness, I see the ocean as alive. It's a life force, constantly surging. And now, this hugeness, this enormous creature that sustains, is being devoured. Who or what is this demon that could cripple the most powerful force on the face of the earth?
They are the ants. Remember watching them on the picnic? Here was this huge scrap of food being carried away by this miniature army. An impossible task alone, but the army... Yes, these small, innocuous bits of life can together wreak havoc in a very large way. So what kind of ants can kill an ocean? Maybe all those small, innocuous little bits of rubbish, a few extra pounds of fish taken, a minor spill from a tanker, a slight temperature increase over a long term... The list of suspects is long and still growing. With every evil uncovered, another crisis looms undetected.
Like the ants that draw a solid line toward the watermelon, stepping on one is pointless - so why bother? Well, maybe if we first all train ourselves to recognize the sign of ants, and then you step on that one...
Being a land-dweller far from the salty air, I mostly take for granted the ocean will always be there whenever I choose to travel to the beach. Instead of boring you statistics and details, I thought I'd share what went through my mind when Chris made me think about the ocean...
I'm more of a fresh-water girl. Sure I've splashed in the surf, Atlantic and Pacific, and felt the salt on my skin. But I've never ventured farther out than that perfect breaker for my raft, and that's been a while. I enjoy watching the educational and travel shows that explore marine life, be it animal or plant, as well as the programs that serve to warn us of the impending situation facing this magnificent liquid that covers so much of our planet. But what's it to me?
Yes, I'm concerned. Yes, I care. Truthfully? I can't relate to how big this ice shelf is that broke off. I can't relate to the loss of coral reefs or contaminated waters. I have no idea how many seals or whales populate any particular area. There is something, though, very concrete about the water that I can relate to...
Many times I have traveled to the coast and sat on the sand at night. There is no better time for me to be there. I have found myself in solitude, under the moonlight, dreaming out past the lit breakers. My worries and burdens rinse away with the sand under my feet... because I am so small. Even smaller at night. The horizon seems infinite in the sun's absence. Somewhere, far beyond any point I may strain to see, the stars and the waves merge together in total blackness. It is as if I am looking out into the vast universe with the lights turned out. It is as unimportant as a person can feel, and yet at the same time, as close to God as one can be. For me, it puts things in perspective... and that is peace.
Even in the darkness, I see the ocean as alive. It's a life force, constantly surging. And now, this hugeness, this enormous creature that sustains, is being devoured. Who or what is this demon that could cripple the most powerful force on the face of the earth?
They are the ants. Remember watching them on the picnic? Here was this huge scrap of food being carried away by this miniature army. An impossible task alone, but the army... Yes, these small, innocuous bits of life can together wreak havoc in a very large way. So what kind of ants can kill an ocean? Maybe all those small, innocuous little bits of rubbish, a few extra pounds of fish taken, a minor spill from a tanker, a slight temperature increase over a long term... The list of suspects is long and still growing. With every evil uncovered, another crisis looms undetected.
Like the ants that draw a solid line toward the watermelon, stepping on one is pointless - so why bother? Well, maybe if we first all train ourselves to recognize the sign of ants, and then you step on that one...
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Just What the Doctor Ordered!
After the week we've had, it's so nice to enjoy a special family moment!
The phone woke me up at 7am! Normally, I wouldn't like that, but today it was worth it. S-i-L called to say her son Shawn was stopping by on his way back to Virginia. Hubby's nephew is career military pilot and has been deployed to Iraq & Afghanistan too many times to count. He's a super guy that never forgets his grandparents. 
Thanks Shawn. We needed that!
Work a Little, Play a Little
G#2 (Ali) is here for the summer, and likes helping with the projects. Here Sadie is supervising while Ali learns the intricate fitting process of building a stone stairway.
After a couple of hard hours, it looked like a good place to take a break...
Hard work does have its rewards!
After a couple of hard hours, it looked like a good place to take a break...
Hard work does have its rewards!
Suicide Watch
Sorry to title this post so morbidly, but that's on my heart tonight. This blog started as random opinions, sermons, thoughts, oddball items... Whatever didn't fit on the other two, went here. Now it's leading me down this road - diary of a caretaker, no-opinion counting, D-i-L. Maybe it will help someone reading to know that they are not alone if facing similar circumstances.
If you've no desire to learn what a child caring for a parent has to face, or do not wish to read intimate details of care (not too deeply intimate), then click the x in the corner. If you want to read on, but need a little background, scroll back to some recent posts.
My in-laws have lived with us for six years. It hasn't been easy, but it has had its rewards. However, the days are growing long and the rewards are farther between. Decompressing is a word that has now become important to me. It's hard to sneak a night out and not talk about appointments and medications.
We've been on a roller coaster ride this week with concern over caring for my MiL. She is now bedridden, although probably temporarily, and I can't even get her on the pot alone. Today, with FiL's help I managed, but barely got her back on the bed. To make the process as easy on her and us as possible, I have had to put her in adult diapers and leave her PJ bottoms off. It's just too hard to move her and pull everything back up. She is large and can't even roll herself. I've strained myself a few times recently trying to care for her.
She is a very proud woman and this has been extremely hard for her to take. To make matters worse, her mind is not rational. Too much illness and medications has taken a great toll on her reasoning and memory. This results in a million explanations and arguments over her PJs. FiL cannot stand to argue. He pleads with her to understand. She nags and insists that he do as she says. He begs. She nags. He tells her he can't. She tells him to do it anyway.
Three times tonight I had to go into their room and save him. They love each other too deeply to be angry. She has a temper - always has. She would never intentionally hurt him, but she doesn't understand. He has a back back, a hernia, is on three blood-thinners, and is in his eighties. And she doesn't want anyone else to do it.
F-i-L has stated that if we don't let them stay here, he will move somewhere else with her. He refuses to put her in a nursing home. In a recent post, I revealed our family's fear of a murder-suicide outcome if they were to live alone. I know that as long as they remain here, he will not do that... if only for the reason that his son could no longer live his dream on a farm.
That has not put my mind at peace. Three times tonight I listened to him tell her, during these PJ arguments, "Mommy, (Hubby - don't ever call me that!) if you don't stop I'm gonna take a walk out into the woods and be done with it!" He made a reference to something on the floor by his bed.
This is a man who has carried a gun his whole life. As a boy, he hunted around the coal-mining camps of Eastern Kentucky. He protects his loved ones with a steel sentinel waiting dutifully in the corner. Hubby can count on Dad to keep the varmints at bay. He spends hours upon hours on the lookout over the tree-lines, daring that groundhog to threaten the tractor wheels. His guns are a part of him as much as the razor-sharp pocket knife and jam-packed key ring.
So while you folks ponder whether it's possibly time to tell Dad he shouldn't drive, we're pondering over the arsenal.
If you've no desire to learn what a child caring for a parent has to face, or do not wish to read intimate details of care (not too deeply intimate), then click the x in the corner. If you want to read on, but need a little background, scroll back to some recent posts.
My in-laws have lived with us for six years. It hasn't been easy, but it has had its rewards. However, the days are growing long and the rewards are farther between. Decompressing is a word that has now become important to me. It's hard to sneak a night out and not talk about appointments and medications.
We've been on a roller coaster ride this week with concern over caring for my MiL. She is now bedridden, although probably temporarily, and I can't even get her on the pot alone. Today, with FiL's help I managed, but barely got her back on the bed. To make the process as easy on her and us as possible, I have had to put her in adult diapers and leave her PJ bottoms off. It's just too hard to move her and pull everything back up. She is large and can't even roll herself. I've strained myself a few times recently trying to care for her.
She is a very proud woman and this has been extremely hard for her to take. To make matters worse, her mind is not rational. Too much illness and medications has taken a great toll on her reasoning and memory. This results in a million explanations and arguments over her PJs. FiL cannot stand to argue. He pleads with her to understand. She nags and insists that he do as she says. He begs. She nags. He tells her he can't. She tells him to do it anyway.
Three times tonight I had to go into their room and save him. They love each other too deeply to be angry. She has a temper - always has. She would never intentionally hurt him, but she doesn't understand. He has a back back, a hernia, is on three blood-thinners, and is in his eighties. And she doesn't want anyone else to do it.
F-i-L has stated that if we don't let them stay here, he will move somewhere else with her. He refuses to put her in a nursing home. In a recent post, I revealed our family's fear of a murder-suicide outcome if they were to live alone. I know that as long as they remain here, he will not do that... if only for the reason that his son could no longer live his dream on a farm.
That has not put my mind at peace. Three times tonight I listened to him tell her, during these PJ arguments, "Mommy, (Hubby - don't ever call me that!) if you don't stop I'm gonna take a walk out into the woods and be done with it!" He made a reference to something on the floor by his bed.
This is a man who has carried a gun his whole life. As a boy, he hunted around the coal-mining camps of Eastern Kentucky. He protects his loved ones with a steel sentinel waiting dutifully in the corner. Hubby can count on Dad to keep the varmints at bay. He spends hours upon hours on the lookout over the tree-lines, daring that groundhog to threaten the tractor wheels. His guns are a part of him as much as the razor-sharp pocket knife and jam-packed key ring.
So while you folks ponder whether it's possibly time to tell Dad he shouldn't drive, we're pondering over the arsenal.
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