Sunday, June 30, 2013

Hell-Bound Children

Non-Christian readers can stop here if they wish, since this post is actually geared towards Christians.

A lot of folks don’t want to think about it, but we are BORN heading for Hell. Of course, all we have to do is to accept Jesus as our savior and we’ll be headed AWAY from that place and TOWARD a home in Heaven. All around me, I see young to middle-age adults whose parents saw to it that they learned about Jesus early on. Many got saved, but then drifted away from church for various reasons, many perfectly legitimate. Since I believe that once a person is TRULY saved that they stay that way, I consider them “good to go.” (Yes, I know that many of you don’t hold that belief, but bear with me.)

The problem is, they’ve had children along the way that are NOT being taken to church OR being taught about Jesus at home. They are blithely letting their kids go down the road to Hell without a second thought. They might talk about the age of accountability, but if there is one (the Bible doesn’t say), going by Jewish tradition would mean they’re still Hell-bound, once they turn 13. Do they not love their children? They ply them with ipads, iphones, video games and other things that will be out of date in a year or two, but completely ignore helping their children to find the same eternal security that THEY have. I guess it must just be part of the “ME” culture of the modern world. When those parents get to Heaven, I fear that one of the things they’ll find that they’ll have to be forgiven for is the blood of their own children on their hands. It’s a sad state of affairs. © 2013

Saturday, June 29, 2013

You Can’t Win With A Nag

No, I’m not talking about horse racing. I mean that there’s no productive way of dealing with someone who nags all the time. Traditionally, nags have generally been thought of as women, perhaps for a reason. However, I’ve seen plenty of guys who could be classed as nags, too. I’m not sure just what all the scenarios might be that would cause a person to spend their life telling others what to do, constantly reminding them of what they should be doing and complaining about it if they don’t (or don’t do it quickly enough).

I know that some people who’ve been thrust into a position of familial authority as children (such as the oldest child of two working parents) often spend the rest of their lives telling their younger siblings what to do. That doesn’t go over well once those siblings hit the “terrible teens.” Often, those people shift their nagging to others that they get to know, and then wonder why they can’t get truly close to anyone. This is often the case in marriages, with nagging wives and domineering husbands.

Sometimes, I believe nagging is a sign of low self-esteem, or a feeling of being powerless, with the person then over-compensating by trying to be constantly “in charge” or trying to appear competent. That, too, may trace back to childhood, perhaps caused by parents who constantly nag or belittle their kids.

Then, too, I occasionally see someone who seems to honestly believe that they know everything about all things, and that the whole rest of the world needs (and should relish) their directions and opinions. I think you see this a lot in kids who’ve been spoiled growing up, and from people who’ve been in a position of authority for an extended period. We often refer to such people as “little Napoleons.” Once again, maybe the reality is over-compensation for low self-esteem, but I really don’t know.

I DO know that there is no way to break a person of nagging unless they can first admit that they ARE a nag and sincerely wish to change. Sadly, that almost never happens. For one thing, life tends to affirm the success of nagging in their eyes. Others, seeking to shut the person up, may do what the nagging person wants, thus proving the success of the technique to the one doing the nagging. If the thing being nagged about is a situation that requires action at some point, and the nagging has been persistent (and it always is), the one nagging will be convinced that their last nag was the straw that broke the “camel’s back” to what they apparently consider resistance to their “power” or good judgment. With their actions thus vindicated, they move quickly on to the next item.

I suppose that SOME people might be broken of nagging, though I believe that they would be few and far between. I’ve tried using logic on some of them, but that doesn’t cut it, because THEIR logic is always so much “better.” Perhaps if you told them the first time they nagged about something that, the NEXT time they said anything would cause their desired action to NEVER be done, some might eventually learn (but I doubt it). Furthermore, that would make the second person sort of lower themselves to the level of the first, so that isn’t something a lot of folks would chose to do.

In the end, I think we have to admit that nagging is a mental and emotional problem that can only be cured by the person doing it, and they will probably never be honest enough with themselves to try. That means the rest of us basically have to decide whether we can tolerate that sort of person, or if we simply have to get away from them. The latter can be most difficult, especially if the culprit is your boss or your spouse. © 2013

Friday, June 28, 2013

Some Of My Knives


I realize that most of you won't be at all interested in this, but a FEW of you will be. SO, this is for those few; I guess the rest of you will just have to wait until something better comes along.

For reference, the boards in my porch are about 5-1/4 inches wide. At the bottom on the left of the photo is Dad’s last Barlow. He died in ’84 and I started carrying it in my pocket most of the time until this past Christmas. It now sits on my desk as a letter opener. Above the Barlow is the knife that has replaced it in my pocket, a Swiss Army knife by Wenger that my wife got me for Christmas. I think I’ve already used every tool on it at least once by now, and some many times.

The next one up is a #6 Opinel that I bought at O’Hurley’s General Store in Shepherdstown, West Virginia, many years ago. I carried it for a while to peel apples, but it was a little small for me and made my hand cramp. I then called O’Hurley’s and ordered the #8 above it. It fit my hand well and worked great for peeling apples, but, like the #6, it would sometimes work slightly open in my pocket and cause me to prick a finger on the blade. I put a rubber band around it, which made it safe, but that was a bit of a bother, so I went back to Dad’s Barlow. I guess Opinel has since solved the problem. They are wonderful knives, sort of like a folding Mora would be.

The green-handled folder above the Opinels is an el-cheapo Chinese knife that I paid $4 for at Kmart many years ago. It was to replace a $4 Herters “knock-off” knife in a dangler sheath that I dearly loved which had been lost or stolen. There’s at least one company still making that style of knife, and I may get one someday (but probably not). I keep hoping that I’ll come across the old Herter’s knife in a box of junk in the basement or attic someday. Despite the price and the country of origin, the folder has dressed many deer in the past and has proven itself to be well worth the extravagant price that I paid for it.

Above the folder is a cherry handled knife that I made from an old worn-out butcher knife from my uncle’s smoke house. The severe drop point was an experiment that didn’t pan out; I’ve just never got around to regrinding the back. It makes a pretty good small kitchen chopper as it is.

Next is a dagger that I made from a file, the end of a broken shovel handle and a pipe collar. I made it during odd moments while working in the forge at the factory and didn’t have time to temper it properly. As a result, the tip was brittle, so I kept regrinding it and slapping it against the brick wall until the tip no longer broke off. I then slowly ground it to shape. It would have been about an inch longer otherwise.

The strange-looking knife above it is a skew knife. Leather-workers, wood-carvers and Indian-craft folks may be familiar with them. I made it from a piece of broken shovel blade at the factory.

At the lower right is a knife I refigured from a very old, wooden-handled butter knife. The handle is original, as is the blade, of course. Even butter knives had good steel in those days! It’s a little large for the purpose, but I’d intended to use it for a patch knife for my muzzleloader.

The red-handled Mora is a great little knife for whittling, dressing small game, or even deer. If the plastic sheath’s belt loops hadn’t sucked so badly, I would have carried it. I chose to take off the loop part and carry the knife in a bag or pack.

Next is an old hunting knife given to me by my maternal grandfather. I forget the brand. Above that is the yellow-handled pig-sticker that belonged to the same grandfather. Yellow paint was his “brand” for his tools. Sentimentality aside, I think I’ll clean the paint off someday and dose the slabs with boiled linseed oil.

Above that is an eight inch slicer by Old Hickory, unused as of yet, followed by a walnut-handled crooked-knife made from a broken scuffle-hoe at the factory. Then comes a recently purchased and yet unused seven inch butcher by Old Hickory.

The strange knife with the large, curved blade was purchased from DR Power Equipment a few years ago as an “Italian Farmer’s Knife.” Others might call it a fascine knife, hedge-laying knife or bill-hook. I find it handy both for cutting brush and in limited use as a replacement for a sickle. It SHOULD make one wicked self-defense tool, as well!

At the top is a Woodsman’s Pal that I purchased last year. I’m not real thrilled with it. I suspect that I will like it much better if I ever get the horribly blunt edge reground.

Missing from this photo is a six-inch sticking knife by Old Hickory and a six-inch skinning knife by the same. They’re around somewhere, but I couldn’t find them. Together, they have skinned and cut up a multitude of deer back in the day, and still look nearly like new. Also missing is a 14 inch homemade butcher or corn knife with a slightly curved two-inch wide blade. I found it in an abandoned outbuilding years ago and put a cherry handle on it. I thought about using it as a machete/short sword in a longhunter get-up.

Elsewhere, I have a “Congress” style four blade Boker penknife that was my paternal grandfathers, a walnut-slabbed single-blade penknife that belonged to HIS father and a solid-brass-slabbed single-bladed penknife that belonged to that same great-grandfather. Of course, I also have a Leatherman tool, a couple handle-less blades, and a few other knives that don’t currently come to mind. All-in-all, you’ll notice that I have no custom knives, though I love to look at them, and that my knives tend to be either a bit crude or inexpensive. I may not have everything I want in the way of knives, but truthfully, I have everything I need. © 2013

Thursday, June 27, 2013

Remembering A True Friend

Click image to enlarge.

It’s been five years now since we lost our first little Dachshund, Gretchie (short for Gretchen). She had been our friend and companion for 15 years. With only the three of us in our home, losing her felt like losing a member of the family. I guess, in our hearts, she WAS a member of the family. My wife had told me to scatter her ashes in the woods around our house, not wanting to be constantly reminded of her loss with some visual connection.

Unknown to my wife, I put the ashes at the edge of the yard, thinking that if our little friend  had a say in the matter, she’d have wanted to remain as close to us as possible. And so, little Gretchie’s ashes resided under a small, flat sandstone all this time. Recently, we scraped together enough funds to take a jaunt to Amish country in Ohio. While there, I came across a concrete statue of a Dachshund about a foot long, and I knew it was time to do something for Gretchie’s grave. I really couldn’t afford $20 for a piece of concrete, but I bought it anyway.

Once home, I asked my wife if it had been long enough that she could bear knowing where our little friend had been buried. She said yes. So, once outside again, I picked up the stone, put down a concrete paver that I’d bought for another project, and then sat the statue on that. The picture you see above is the view from the porch swing by our “front” door (actually located on the side of the house). The next time my wife came out the door, the little memorial was in place. She seemed to think it was a good location. Gretchie was such a loving, sweet little dog—I find myself getting misty-eyed, even as I type this. © 2013

Monday, June 24, 2013

Muddled Musings

I deleted this by accident and am reposting it for any who may have missed it:
On Facebook this morning, a friend asked if anyone thought the current administration could survive all the scandals in which it’s embroiled. My reply was that a corrupt nation elected those responsible, and that nation continues to make excuses for them, so YES, the current administration absolutely CAN survive all this.

I love architecturally interesting buildings, including the old gothic cathedrals. But let’s be honest, those buildings were built to honor kings and cardinals, NOT God. We would probably be shocked to know how many people have starved to death within sight of those monstrosities as they were being built. I think the same about the so-called “Crystal Cathedral” of the elder Robert Schuller. That preacher-turned-showman certainly had a beautiful stage on which to mount his productions, but again, I wonder how many hungry, homeless people watched that grand edifice rise from the dirt. Still, it was a beautiful place. Now, due to running his more spiritual son out of the pastorate there, the old man is living to see his great, shiny monument-to-himself being sold out from under him and his ministry and his family destroyed. I have to wonder if the place will be torn down to make parking lot or such.

I usually do my unemployment forms as soon after midnight on Saturday as possible, so I can be at the head of the list and get my money on Tuesday. I forgot to do so until after 4PM today, so it will probably be Wednesday now, which is as slow as if I’d turned the form in to the office by hand TOMORROW morning. It sort of makes me wonder why they say it’s more convenient—more convenient for THEM I suspect.

Saw one of my young former coworkers working at Lowes today. He’s working, his wife is working, he has two kids and they now go to church. He probably thinks he’s poor, but he seems happy. I wonder if he knows how truly blessed he is?

My stepson and his fiancée put their picture on Facebook last night and said that if they got a million “likes” they’d get married. I guess they feel safe that they won’t get a million likes. All I can say kids, is that if it feels good do it (marriage that is), but if it doesn’t, well, better to learn it now.

I jokingly called our dog my “other woman” on my blog and Facebook last night. We know how traumatized kids are by divorce, I wonder if anyone has stopped to think about the poor family dog who loves all unconditionally and is then separated for some of those he/she loves. I’ve seen people spend big money fighting over who gets the dog. Interestingly enough, I rarely hear of couples fighting over the cat.

The weather keeps threatening storms here, but all we ever get is a piddly little shower at times. We NEED some rain; I wish we could get some moisture without all the fireworks.

I’ve been thinking lately that I remember Revelation insinuating that there would be beheading during the tribulation. Of course, we KNOW what religion loves to behead people. This isn’t what I was meaning, but it’s an interesting read:

© 2013

Sunday, June 23, 2013

What I Believe (And What I KNOW)

Even though I try my best to keep people informed about all the dangers to our freedoms, I believe that most people don’t care about anything that doesn't affect them personally and immediately. Due to that apathy and ignorance, I believe that the chance of us continuing as a relatively free nation for more than another decade is about the same as that proverbial snowball in Hell. I believe that the problem is NOT that a traitor now sits in the White House, but that half of this nation’s voters are traitors themselves for putting him there. I believe that this nation has lost so much of its morals that God has removed his protection from us completely. I believe that islam will take over this country in a few years, as it has much of Europe, and that it is the system that satan will use to bring the antichrist to power. I believe that in a few short years, we will see blood running in the streets as never before. I also believe (rightly or wrongly) in a pre-tribulation rapture of Christians from the earth. If that is so, then Christians will not have to witness the worst days ever to be on this planet. I believe that you can avoid suffering through the tribulation yourself, if you repent of your sins and accept Jesus as your savior.

I KNOW that I deserve Hell. I also KNOW that I will never see Hell, because the sacred blood of Jesus has washed my sins away, and that I am promised a home in Heaven. I KNOW this is so, NOT because I deserve it in any way, but because GOD PROMISED SALVATION FOR ALL WHO TRUST ON THE NAME OF JESUS, HIS SON! I KNOW that whether Jesus comes back for His church before, during or after the tribulation, the ultimate home for believers will be Heaven. I KNOW that God will not turn you away if you are sincere and seek salvation through His son Jesus. Why not do it now, while there is still time, so YOU can KNOW that you, too, will have a home in HEAVEN? © 2013

Friday, June 21, 2013

The Paula Deen Situation

Everyone knows that Paula Deen is now rich. You have to wonder if that’s the REAL reason for the lawsuit against her and her brother by a former employee, not racism. Ms. Deen is also 66 years old, long in tooth for television. SO, she was directly asked if she ever used the term “nigger,” and admitted that she had “a long time ago.” That is the excuse the Food Channel is using to ditch her. AND, I believe it IS only an excuse. Blacks need to grow up and live by the same standard that they put on whites, or shut the h_ll up. As long as terms like “honky”, “whitey” and “cracker” come from black lips, they have absolutely NO RIGHT to complain about “nigger!” Quote me if you wish, any self-righteous, hypocritical race-baiters that may read this! © 2013

Great-Granddad’s Cane

I can’t remember what all I’ve said here about my mom’s paternal grandfather, but he was quite a character. After growing up on a farm, he became a teamster, hauling supplies into the oilfields of West Virginia. He worked hard, cussed hard, drank hard and probably fought hard. Once married, his wife and children eventually seemed to have some civilizing effect on him, as did riding into a low barn door on a tall horse one night when he was drunk. When he regained consciousness, he seemed to have a changed perspective. He supposedly got saved soon after and joined the Methodist Church.

He ended up becoming a horse-trader (some would say a pin-hooker), but anything and everything was fair game for trade, including cattle, mules, sheep, goats, land, firearms and more. Methodist or not, I get the feeling that he was a bit of a shyster. He was old when I knew him, though, spending much of his day in a rocking chair near the bay window of my granddad’s home. My great-grandmother had died the year before I was born, and he had grown feeble soon after and chose to live with his son. He hobbled through his later years using one of his old livestock canes, which had been painted brown. He used it to grab me around the neck when I’d go rushing by his chair, deliberately tempting him to do so. Only as an adult did I realize the combination of speed and gentleness he retained at that age. Maybe it came from all those years of using the cane to hook sheep around the neck as he sorted them!

He died when I was six years old, and his funeral was the first of many that I would attend in my youth. Years later, I ended up with the cane, and recently, some knee problems have caused me to use it on occasion. The old brown paint was badly worn, and I decided to refinish the cane and return it to nearer its original appearance. The first thing I discovered was that it had two holes in it where a steel rod had once run from near the end of the crook back to the main body of the cane, to add strength, I assume. I suspect he removed the rod to allow him to use it as a short shepherd’s crook while sorting sheep in pens and cattle shoots. I’m sure glad the rod wasn’t there when he hooked ME around the neck! The awl and the nail-file on my Swiss Army knife got rid of some of the plastic wood that had been used to fill the holes before the cane was painted. I decided to leave most that remained in the holes, as I had no plans to replace the rod.

I couldn’t find any paint remover in the basement, so I bought a can of the expense brand for $10. I found that scraping it off, as directed, wasn’t easy on a small piece of wood like a cane. Four applications and many paper towels later, I had it wiped clean. When I went back to the basement to get my can of mineral spirits for a final wipe-down, I found TWO cans of paint remover! Oh well, I know that I’ve got plenty now!

I had thought about sanding the cane a bit to get rid of some of the dings and scratches, but decided against it. The surface was actually smooth already, although slightly stained to some depth on the handle part and on the bottom foot or so. I figured the dings and scratches each had a story, though I don’t know the details. The stains on the handle area could have been from tobacco and those near the bottom from years of mucking around in barns. The black stain on the bottom 3 inches, from the friction tape that once held on a cracked cane tip, came off with the stripper. I applied a 50/50 mix of rubbing alcohol and boiled linseed oil and called it good enough. A black cane tip from the hardware store completed the job. So now, when my knee is acting up, and I wish to look a bit more civilized than my big walking stick would allow, I’ve got an old cane with a story to help me on my way. What would we old folks do without our memories? Some days, they seem to be all we have left! © 2013
Great-Granddad and me when I was four years old. Unfortunately, the cane isn't in the picture.

The cane - before refinishing.
The cane - AFTER being refinished


Monday, June 17, 2013

Thoughts Prompted By The Zimmerman Fiasco

As I’ve mentioned earlier on this site, when people march in the streets for “justice” in a cross-racial homicide, they’re rarely after justice; they’re usually after revenge. The national news, a few evenings ago, showed blacks marching in the streets demanding “justice for Trayvon,” the black 14-year-old killed by neighborhood watch member George Zimmerman. What about justice for Mr. Zimmerman? I wonder if those marchers have ever heard the Pledge of Allegiance. If so, they’d remember the closing line, “…with liberty and justice for ALL.”

Unfortunately, the pendulum of the civil rights movement has swung well past center, so now too many blacks think that they should be immune to all responsibility and consequences. I still think that if George’s last name had been “Alvarez,” the blacks would have been at least a LITTLE slower to rage in the streets. Maybe I’m wrong, but I suspect they imagined that they were dealing with some skin-head neo-Nazi when they heard a German name. Of course, to save face, they couldn’t back down when they learned that Zimmerman was from another minority. Then again, maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference, since black gangs and Hispanic gangs often clash on the streets. I saw what I think were some of the jury members that had been chosen for that trial a couple nights ago. Of course, they were black. Considering that 95% of black voters were foolish enough to vote for Obama a SECOND time, I can’t help but wonder about the likelihood of them listening to any facts about the Zimmerman case.

That isn’t the only thing that bothers me about that trial, though. It will be tried by a jury of only six members, NOT twelve. People have been sold a bill of goods that we needed to cut costs on trials, and that halving the size of the jury was the best way to do it in some cases or jurisdictions. That leaves the rest of a defendant’s life hanging on the moods and whims of only half a jury. I find that scary. I believe it may be just one step in the desired direction of the powers-that-be, however. I look for there to eventually be a move to drop the jury size to three members, and eventually to no jury at all, only a judge. Wouldn’t THAT a sure-fire fair trial?

Another thing that I think is foolish is trying to find jurors at this point who have either never heard of the whole affair, OR have heard of it and profess to have formed no opinions, whatsoever. It seems to me that they should want people informed enough to have heard of it, but MATURE enough to change their mind if facts contradict any opinions that they may have formed. The jury they seek would be comprised either of liars, idiots, or a mix of the two. For Mr. Zimmerman’s sake, I hope they don’t get exactly the jury that either the attorneys or the judge profess to want.

Yes, I have an opinion on the matter. I don’t know how anyone who’s heard everything on the news COULDN’T form an opinion. But I also realize that the media can’t be trusted to get out ALL the facts, so nothing is cut in stone with me. Then again, I also know that many judges will not allow many relevant facts to be told in court, even though they demand that witnesses tell the WHOLE truth. I’m glad that I’m not in Mr. Zimmerman’s shoes; but who’s to say that YOU OR I won’t be in that very situation tomorrow? May God have mercy on this insane nation! © 2013

Sunday, June 16, 2013

Bankruptcy On Five Bucks A Day

I bumped into Bill, one of my former coworkers, today. I sort of wish I hadn’t, considering the mood he was in. Like me, he hasn’t found a job yet. He started telling me things I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear, but I guess he needed to vent. He explained that his wife has no understanding of finances. He told that no matter how much money he's made over the years, she somehow always caused him to spend about $5 more a day than he took in. She doesn’t mean to, apparently. She doesn’t ask for diamonds or new cars, and she isn’t out to keep up with the Jones’ to hear him tell it. She just doesn’t understand anything about managing money. In her mind, they either have money or they don’t. “When you have it, you spend it, when you don’t, you go into depression,” appears to be her credo.

He went on to explain how he had to give up self-employment, because of her lack of understanding. He said that he also ended up selling his old homeplace due to bills they’d racked up AFTER he got a good factory job. He said that if they had lived frugally, and he’d gone back to self-emplyment part-time, he could have easily made it through retirement with those funds. Apparently that money is all gone, he’s unemployed, and she now wants to sell the place they have, buy a little place in town and “live off what’s left.” He said that she doesn’t realize that there probably wouldn’t be anything left over after buying another place, and if there was, she’d go through it in no time. He said that divorce was the only way to keep her from bankrupting him, and he’d given up on that idea some thirty-odd years ago. She’s a good person at heart, he insists; she’s just clueless.

I had no answers for him, but the story hit too close to home for he to condemn him. I left HIM feeling better, I think, for getting things off his chest, but I can’t say that the encounter lightened MY spirits any! I suspect that, with a few variations here and there, the guy’s story describes far too many couples across America. I don’t have my figures with me as I type this up, but I did a little figuring on a calculator. Since most debt goes first on a credit card, I took $5 times 30 days to get $150, then I added another $150, plus the month’s interest on the first month. I did this for one year’s time (12 months) and got $1800 plus interest. Say that you get a consolidation loan to save on the interest, and still keep living the same way. In a couple more years, you’ll have to get a new and larger consolidation loan. Then you keep living the same lifestyle. If you have a decent income and plenty of equity, banks will let you get in far deeper than you can ever get out of, without sacrificing something major. It surprised me how fast the number topped $60, 000, where I stopped figuring.

The figures, and Bill’s story, reminded me of two stories having to do with horseshoes. The first starts out, “For the want of a nail, the shoe was lost…” The other is about a blacksmith charging a penny for the first nail in a horse’s shoe, two cents for the second, four cents for the third, eight for the fourth and so on. A horse, naturally, has four shoes at an average of eight nails a shoe. Figure it out someday when you have some time to spare. Bill’s been married a few years more than I have, I think, and I’ve been married for 30 years now. Can you imagine the fortune they’ve squandered over the years? © 2013

Saturday, June 15, 2013

My Day (Yesterday, since it’s 1AM now!)

The wife and I slept way too late, so we went to town and got pizza for lunch, picked up some milk for us and a cheeseburger for the dog, mailed a coin I’d sold on eBay, and came back home. We noticed a couple young fellows in a little red car that seemed awfully interested in our place as we left. So, we followed them back and forth at a distance a couple times, until they seemed to get nervous and left the neighborhood. I got a description of the driver and car, plus the license number. I probably should give them to the sheriff’s department, since we’ve had some vandalism in the area lately. Neither of us felt up to snuff today, so we took a nap when we came back!

I’d planned to pick some greens this evening, but my wife INSISTED that I mow the yard, so there ARE no greens to pick now. I’m glad the lawn is done, though; it’s supposed to rain Sunday. I put some more topsoil around the potato plants in the tire. My wife tried to lean out the window and blow some leaves off the porch roof with the blower, but all she managed to do was pile them up out next to the gutter. She’s no longer able to climb out the window to get on the porch roof like she did when she was younger. Now I’m going to have to see if I can get up the ladder with my bad knee, tomorrow, and sweep them off before they get rained on again.

Three times this winter, I heard cars hit deer in front of my house. Each time, the car and the deer were both gone by the time I looked. As I mowed today, I came across part of the spine and ribs from what looked like one of last year’s deer. The bones were weathered and picked clean. It had apparently died in the little finger of woods between me and my neighbor a hundred yards to the south. Being winter, it didn’t stink as the critters slowly ate everything that wasn’t too big to chew. Something had drug it out into the edge of the yard since the last mowing. Like probably 90% of deer collisions, it was more than likely completely unnecessary.

I read on the internet tonight that 62% of voters think it’s okay for the government to read and listen to their personal communications. Imagine, only 38% of the voters have the slightest shred of intelligence! Even worse, that 62% INCLUDED so-called conservatives! I’m glad I’m a Christian; I’d hate to think that this insane world was all there is. © 2013

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Justice My Foot!

On the evening news the other day, it showed blacks once again marching in the streets demanding “justice” for Trayvon Martin. Let’s get real; despite being only 12 percent of the population, blacks commit crimes at a rate several times higher than that. For all of the effort to paint Martin as a choir boy, he WASN'T. Under the current situation in the United States, those who want justice sit quietly at home, awaiting the decision of the jury. Those who march in the streets are simply seeking revenge. Of course, they sort of HAVE to continue marching, since they began their howling the second they first heard the other man’s name was Zimmerman. I’m certain that in their mind’s eye, Martin was killed by some skin-head Nazi. It came as a surprise to them, I’m sure, that he was Hispanic. Now, they must continue their ranting or they would appear PREJUDICE for heaven’s sake! Let’s be honest, nothing would suit those “protesters” better than to get their hands on Zimmerman so they could beat him to death. If they wish to start a race war, however, they might want to consider that Hispanics make up 14 percent of the population compared to their 12 percent. © 2013

For those who think I’m being too rough on blacks, I put some information below from a website I found. It's not ALL about blacks, incidentally.

The report “The Color of Crime” (2005, second expanded edition) by the New Century Foundation, states that there are several problems with the official crime statistics in the United States. These tend to cause underestimation of racial crime differences. One example being "Whites" sometimes including Hispanics. Another is not adjusting for that the different racial groups differ in population size. The report reviews the more accurate statistics that is available and describes many large differences in crime rates between races. The report also examines the research on possible bias against racial minorities in the justice system and the police and concludes that bias not a significant explanation for the different racial crime rates.[3]
It major findings were stated as:[3]
§  Blacks are seven times more likely than people of other races to commit murder, and eight times more likely to commit robbery.
§  When Blacks commit crimes of violence, they are nearly three times more likely than non-Blacks to use a gun, and more than twice as likely to use a knife.
§  Hispanics commit violent crimes at roughly three times the white rate, and Asians commit violent crimes at about one quarter the White rate.
§  The single best indicator of violent crime levels in an area is the percentage of the population that is Black and Hispanic.
§  Of the nearly 770,000 violent interracial crimes committed every year involving Blacks and Whites, Blacks commit 85 percent and Whites commit 15 percent.
§  Blacks commit more violent crime against whites than against blacks. Forty-five percent of their victims are white, 43 percent are Black, and 10 percent are Hispanic. When Whites commit violent crime, only three percent of their victims are Black.
§  Blacks are an estimated 39 times more likely to commit a violent crime against a White than vice versa, and 136 times more likely to commit robbery.
§  Blacks are 2.25 times more likely to commit officially-designated hate crimes against whites than vice versa.
§  Only 10 percent of youth gang members are white.
§  Hispanics are 19 times more likely than whites to be members of youth gangs. Blacks are 15 times more likely, and Asians are nine times more likely.
§  Between 1980 and 2003 the US incarceration rate more than tripled, from 139 to 482 per 100,000, and the number of prisoners increased from 320,000 to 1.39 million.
§  Blacks are seven times more likely to be in prison than Whites. Hispanics are three times more likely.
The report also stated that between 2001 and 2003 there were an average of 15,400 Black-on-White rapes. The number of White-on-Black rapes were unclear. Counting some Hispanics as Whites, there were 900 "White"-on-Black rapes. Blacks were 7.2 time more likely to commit interracial rape even after controlling for differences in population size and for the higher general rate of rape for Blacks. This may suggest a deliberate targeting of Whites.[3]
There were 10,000 gang-rapes by Blacks against Whites between but not a single "White"-on-Black gang rape.[3]
A common myth is that Whites are more likely to commit white-collar offenses. Actually, Blacks are 3-5 times more likely than Whites to be in prison for fraud, bribery/conflict of interest, racketeering, and embezzlement.[3]
A large number of studies have examined the relationship between percentage of Black population in an area and crime. Almost all have found a higher percentage of Blacks in the area to be associated with more violent crime and most have found such a relationship with other types of crimes.[1]
Only 0.3% of reported interracial crimes are classified as official "hate crimes". This classification has been argued to be arbitrary and biased against Whites. Despite this Blacks commit 2.25 times more official hate crimes against Whites and Hispanics than the reverse. The media has been argued to give undue emphasis to official hate crimes as compared to the much more common interracial crimes in general as well as having a bias towards reporting the more uncommon White-on-Black crimes.[4][3]
For men in their early thirties, Blacks are about 7 times more likely to have a prison record than Whites. They are more likely to have been in prison (22.4 percent) than in the military (17.4 percent) or in college. 12.5 percent have a bachelor’s degree. The results are related on educational achievement. 30 percent of those without college education and nearly 60 percent of high school dropouts had prison records.[6]


Sunday, June 9, 2013

Collards And Marital Harmony

I’ve never cared for cabbage but, a few years ago, my wife lightly sautéed some in real butter and it wasn’t bad. Since then, she’s served it to me scorched in pan-leavings from the meat course with a splash of olive oil and doesn’t understand why I don’t like it so well. On those rare occasions when she fixes it anymore, I just agree with her how great it is and choke it down. The smell alone has always been a turn-off for me. My wife gets angry when I tell her that it smells like it “done been et once.”

Recently, though, I’ve eaten wild greens a couple times, and enjoyed them, but she tells that my greens smell up the house. I can’t always get them when I want them anyway, so I told my wife to pick me up a few cans of spinach when she bought groceries. She came back with a couple cans of spinach and a couple of cans of collards. I’d never eaten collards, but the second I opened the can, I knew that they were in the cabbage family! They had some smoke flavoring added and actually didn’t taste bad. They tasted even better heated with some chopped up sausage in them.

Suddenly, my wife came running from the back room screaming that I’d stunk up the whole house! I told her the collards just smelled like her cooked cabbage, but she said they were far worse. (Actually, I think she’s right, but I won’t tell her that!) There was too much for me for one sitting, so I covered them up and put them in the fridge. I got two more servings from them and, of course, my wife howled both times. I have since promised never to eat collards inside the house again, and told her to donate the other can to the food pantry. I bet she won’t mind my greens quite as much now! © 2013

Saturday, June 8, 2013

Trimmin' The 'Brows

“D’ya want me to get the eyebrows?” the barber asked. I told him that yes, if I wanted to make a better appearance when applying for work, it would be a good idea. Usually, I trim my own eyebrows, but I’d been a bit lax lately. If I don’t take a whack at them once in a while, I start looking like I might be related to John L. Lewis or Leonid Brezhnev. If you’re younger than 50, you probably won’t have any idea who those guys were. I don’t have a unibrow and my eyebrows aren’t really that heavy, but they just keep growing, now that I’m old and geezerly, so they can get a little shaggy.

It was later that very day that I paid the price for my laziness. You see, my way of trimming them is to use the scissors to trim only any hair that sticks beyond the “hairline” of the brow. The barber’s way of trimming them is to run a comb into them and use the clippers to trim off everything that sticks up above the teeth. Quick and precise, BUT, it doesn’t leave enough eyebrow to serve the purpose for which the good Lord made them. Not only do normal eyebrows help keep a certain amount of dirt from falling into your eye, they also hold a lot of sweat that would otherwise run into your eye. If they DO get over-loaded with perspiration, they often allow it to drip out away from the eye, or redirect it to the sides of your head to where it misses the eye. As I worked in the yard that evening, I spent more time than I am accustomed to wiping sweat from my forehead, before it could run into my eyes.

At least I HAVE eyebrows. I get tickled at the women who shave theirs off, pluck them out or have them removed with electrolysis, only to draw new ones up to an inch higher than the originals. In their minds, this makes their eye look bigger and sexier. To me, if it goes too extreme, it just makes them look like a distant relative of the banjo-picking kid on Deliverance, or maybe some alien from Star Trek. Guess I’m just weird that way. In MY mind, one of the most attractive women going is some Canadian actress, whose name I never remember, who has big, black, bushy eyebrows, but underneath those brows is one of the softest-looking and alluring set of eyes I’ve ever seen. (Hey, I’m OLD, not DEAD!) I bet she doesn’t get a lot of sweat in her eyes, either! ;-) © 2013

Thursday, June 6, 2013

Livin’ On The Edge

The edge of the porch, that is. It’s a cloudy evening, but it’s not yet sundown, if the sun could be seen. It’s darker than normal for this hour of the day, though. The dog has just sniffed her way out to the road and fertilized and watered the white pines out there. Then she sniffed and snuffled her way back to the house. She’s not big on pointless exercise, but she’s all for sniffing. Along the way, she stops to mark territory nearly as often as a male. Now that we’re back, I urge her to jump up the step and get on the porch, then I walk her along the edge as I tread the sloping ground below. When I get to proper sitting height for me, I park myself on the edge of the porch and she lies down by my right thigh. We sit here often and survey our domain.

It feels a bit cool to my wife, who stepped outside for a few minutes earlier. It’s just right for me and the dog. The young crows must be out of the nest. I hear them at the field’s edge behind the neighbor’s house, still begging for food, but at various locations now, instead of just one. There’s a little twittering in the woods around our own house, as if the song birds are thinking about roosting. Two or three birds are making a small fuss in the dying oak in the front yard. I can’t see them from my angle and think they might be blue-jays. Finally, they fly to the white pines by the road and I see that they’re boat-tailed grackles. Two are larger, one smaller, like it might be their only surviving nestling. They soon move away to the main woods.

The “kids” in the trailer about 200 feet away don’t let the slight coolness keep them out of their small above-ground pool. They just put up a privacy fence around the small deck around one side and want to test it out, perhaps. I hear them and their two children remaining at home (two have grown up and left) laughing, talking and giggling. Their voices are muted by the finger of woods between our places. Only one voice comes booming through, that of a somewhat older lady who’s been living with them the last few months. I don’t know if she’s just a “big-mouth broad” or if the beer has turned up the volume.

An Indian Hen makes its silent, swooping flight to the dying oak, knocks off a few pieces of loose bark as it looks for bugs, then flies away making its loud, insane-sounding call. A four-wheeler fires up a couple houses away and takes off toward a neighbor’s place. Half-a-mile away, I hear some kid roaring along in his car, letting off the gas to make the hard left, squealing his tires not from spinning but from side-slippage, then giving it more gas as he hits the next straight-stretch as he continues my way. Before long, he roars by, squeals around a slight bend before the next neighbor's place and then roars into the distance. It’s still a little early for whippoorwills, but the mosquitoes are making themselves known, so we give one last listen to the rustling of the breeze in the oaks, rise and reluctantly retreat to the house for the evening. © 2013

Monday, June 3, 2013

The REAL Puppet-Master

On Facebook this morning, a lady I don’t know asked me who I thought the puppet-masters were behind all of our act-alike politicians. Most informed folks now accept the idea that, at least at the federal level, we have only the Republicans that the powers-that-be have selected, or the Democrats that the powers-that-be have chosen. Any differences are in name and rhetoric only, their performance on the things that really matter is nearly identical. Ultimately, both support increasing government interference in our lives and less individual freedom.

Now, some folks believe that the Illuminati control the strings, some say world bankers (primarily the Rothschild’s). Others think the Bilderberg Group rules the world, or that the Masons are behind everything. A few still hold the Communists responsible for the decline in western civilization. An even smaller group thinks that George Soros and a couple other folks of his ilk have seized control. And then there are the “peaceful” followers of Mohammed, slaughtering people in the streets and buying American elections with oil money!

Personally, I think that all these groups are actively trying to reshape the world into their own idea of perfection. Membership in these groups overlaps some, I’m sure. At times, their efforts may be in co-ordination with each other. At other times, they may be actively working against one another. Don’t think there isn’t envy and jockeying for position even amongst the small group of the uber-elite. Still, the overall direction is toward less personal freedom and more concentration of power. When discussing this subject with the friend that I call “the guru,” I asked, with the very world already at their finger tips, what more could these people possibly want. His reply was that they already had everything EXCEPT the absolute power of life and death over ALL of those “below” them. So, since that was the ONLY thing they DIDN’T have, that was exactly what they wanted. I fear he’s right.

So what is the force behind all this evil? Few people today will admit the truth, but the simple answer is Satan. That’s why Christianity is gradually being more persecuted around the globe, including in the U.S. Satan doesn’t want the world to know who’s in control, for fear that many would turn away from supporting his work. Satan isn’t as smart as I used to think he is; he still thinks he can win! However, I know that even though Satan may be the puppet-master, God Almighty (Yahweh) still owns the stage and will throw him out on his ear when Satan least expects it. Yes, I know that for a fact, because I’ve read the end of The Book. © 2013