Despair

I

"We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar" (. . .)


V

"This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper. "

T.S. Eliot, "The Hollow Men"

What Does YOUR Saturday Night Look Like?

Mine's gonna start out with a little British/Indian curry:

And then a little Italian trilling from an Austrian:

Who says we ain't got culture 'round here? Friends in the area--JOIN ME!

Facebook Status Update For a Non-facebook User

Becky
would rather eat dirt.

Okay, I Give Up

I can't do two. So I'm back to one--and those who aren't interested in my political views can (*ahem*) MoveOn. Dot . . . well, you know. Besides, my politics are part of who I am. Love me, little lamb, or leave me.

SO . . .
I was talking to Casey and the kids about our government system and how the founding fathers set things up, and my son piped in--"You're wrong, Mommy. My social studies teacher says we are a democracy."

Silence, while I counted to ten (at the rage building because my son's teacher doesn't even know the difference between a DEMOCRACY and a REPUBLIC), and then I (semi-calmly) began to argue with him. The little stinker was immovable at first--I don't know if it is the pre-teen "Mom doesn't know squat" thing he has going on, or the "Teachers always know everything," but he was set. My husband entered the fray, saying, "Well, I always thought we were a democracy, too."

I looked at him with my mouth open--he had been a elementary teacher for seven years! (To be fair, he taught 1st grade, so they probably didn't get into government, but STILL! What are they teaching teachers?) I got a glass of water and then began to explain the difference--a democracy is rule by the majority, whereas a republic is rule by the law--in our case, the laws set forth by the Constitution. To convince my son further, I found this GREAT video, which explains the different governments. We all watched it together, both my boy and my husband had bright light bulbs appear over their heads, and we are now a fully informed, happy-to-live-in-a-republic group again.

Give it a look; pass it on to your KIDS, because they may not be getting it in school.
Peace out.

A True Tale of Terror (Or, Why My Mother Will Probably Never Visit Me Again)

In honor of the witching time, I thought I'd share my own personal horror story with you:

Once upon a time (last week), a not-so-much-a-princess type female went into her attic to find a jacket for her son. What she beheld inside was a sight that froze her blood and made her scream loudly. Her not-so-gallant husband, who was in another room, neither dashed to her rescue nor appeared brandishing a sword; indeed, he rather grumpily growled, "What? Did you see a spider?"

The not-so-much-a-princess screamed again, this time in indignation as well as horror. "NO. Come. And. Look."

The not-so-gallant husband did so (much too slowly, in the not-so-much-a-princess's opinion), and, upon seeing what his fair maiden did screech about, changed his countenance double-quick. "That's pretty bad," he said.

The not-so-much-a-princess was mildly gratified at that, hence forgiving the not-so-gallant husband for not rushing to her aid. When the not-so-gallant husband began digging around in said attic of horror, he discovered more things horrific than can be described. He dragged evidence of the awful out and put it on the screened porch, that all may see and dismay. So the author respectfully submits them to you, dear reader, for your investigation and sympathy. Be warned: 'tis not for the weak of heart.

Yep--many, many, MANY snake skins.

From.

My.

Attic.

Lord, have mercy.

Indeed, that's a ruler. At the head.

And here is that same ruler, at the same spot, showing you how long these suckers were.


The handsome fellow I'm blaming for all this. If he didn't need to be WARM, for Pete's sake, I wouldn't have been in that chamber of terror in the first place. He's about five feet, five inches tall, so you can do the math on how long these skins are. (The answer, of course is "TOO FRIKKIN' LONG TO LIVE IN MY HOUSE!")

The worst, worst, worst part of this story is that the snake of the skins was never found, leaving one to deduce that he (she?) is still happily haunting my attic, leaving her ghostly presence for us to wonder at. I guess if we MUST have a happy ending here, it's that we certainly don't seem to have any MICE in the attic . . .

I Got Nothing

I'm full of political angst, but my friend's husband was apparently mocking me a little bit on how this was supposed to be my non-political blog, yet the subject keeps dripping out of me. So enjoy the sound of crickets here tonight; when I get a bit o' time, I'll tell you about the horror I found in my attic last week . . . (and no, it wasn't a politician of any sort).

(Hi, Jamey.)

This Ain't Ever Gonna Get Old

I literally laid around and did nothing all day today. I should get a Nobel Peace Prize.