Wordless (almost) Wednesday

Yes, Virginia, there is a Margaritaville.

Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville is found on the lovely little island of Grand Turk, which is one of the islands which comprise Turks & Caicos. Some islanders claim that Christopher Columbus landed on this island in 1492. At any rate, the arrival of Europeans led to the death of the entire indigenous population of Tainos Indians.

Turks & Caicos have at various times been under control of Bermuda, France, Spain, Jamaica, and Great Britain. Since 1973, however, the Turks & Caicos became a Crown Colony of Great Britain.

Up until fairly recently, the economy of Grand Turks relied heavily on salt mining and an American presence: a U.S. Airforce base and a second installation affiliated with NASA. (In fact, John Glen came down just off the coast of Grand Turk.) The U.S. pulled out a number of years ago, which was a blow to the economy. Not long before that, the salt mine industry on Grand Turk closed down. And damage incurred by sustained winds up to 200 MPH during Hurricane Ike was also significant. Today, however, the economy is showing signs of recovery, thanks in large part to their major industry: tourism.

Margaritaville's Trading Post

Really - it's there!

With our cruise ship in the background

The Carribean is full of color...

...and beautiful blooms

Bean & Pasta Soup

Ingredients

1 Tablespoon olive oil
1/2 onion, diced
1 carrot, diced
1 stalk celery, diced
pinch of red pepper flakes
4 fresh sage leaves, chopped
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 can cannellini beans
1 can whole tomatoes, chopped
½ cup to 1 cup water or low sodium chicken broth
2 cups cooked whole wheat pasta - like rotini or penne

Directions

Heat a large heavy bottomed pot over medium high heat. Saute the onions, carrot, celery, pepper flakes, and sage for about 15 minutes. Add the garlic, cook for a few minutes, then add the tomatoes. Cook for another 5- 10 minutes, then add the beans, chicken broth, water, and pasta. Cook about 10 more minutes. Season with salt and pepper.

Serving Size: 8

 

Back home...

I had a wonderful opportunity to go on a cruise to 4 lovely islands: Grand Turk, the Dominican Republic, Curacao, and Aruba. I'll be sharing some photos as I have the opportunity to go through them. These are a few I took as we returned:

Our last sunset at sea

Coming in to Miami before dawn

Assistance from one of the boys as I unpacked

The law of the garbage truck

This is not original - it has made the email rounds - but it IS wonderful!

One day I hopped in a taxi and we took off for the airport. We were driving in the right lane when suddenly a black car jumped out of a parking space right in front of us. My taxi driver slammed on his brakes, skidded, and missed the other car by just inches! The driver of the other car whipped his head around and started yelling at us.

My taxi driver just smiled and waved at the guy. And I mean, he was really friendly. So I asked, 'Why did you just do that? This guy almost ruined your car and sent us to the hospital!'

This is when my taxi driver taught me what I now call, 'The Law of the Garbage Truck.'

He explained that many people are like garbage trucks. They run around full of garbage, full of frustration, full of anger, and full of disappointment. As their garbage piles up, they need a place to dump it and sometimes they'll dump it on you. Don't take it personally. Just smile, wave, wish them well, and move on. Don't take their garbage and spread it to other people at work, at home, or on the streets.

The bottom line is that successful people do not let garbage trucks take over their day.

Life's too short to wake up in the morning with regrets,

so ... Love the people who treat you right.

Pray for the ones who don't.

Life is ten percent what you make it and ninety percent how you take it! Have a garbage-free day!

Pretty, or hot?

I've copied the text of an article that has apparently caused quite a negative outcry from many women. And I'm including it here to see what other folks think about it. Is this a rant by a sexist man who wants to keep women barefoot and pregnant? Or does what he says make sense to you?

I look forward to your comments.

The Death of Pretty

by Pat Archbold Wednesday, December 21, 2011

This post is intended as a lament of sorts, a lament for something in the culture that is dying and may never been seen again.

Pretty, pretty is dying.

People will define pretty differently. For the purposes of this piece, I define pretty as a mutually enriching balanced combination of beauty and projected innocence.

Once upon a time, women wanted to project an innocence. I am not idealizing another age and I have no illusions about the virtues of our grandparents, concupiscence being what it is. But some things were different in the back then. First and foremost, many beautiful women, whatever the state of their souls, still wished to project a public innocence and virtue. And that combination of beauty and innocence is what I define as pretty.

By nature, generally when men see this combination in women it brings out their better qualities, their best in fact. That special combination of beauty and innocence, the pretty inspires men to protect and defend it.

Young women today do not seem to aspire to pretty, they prefer to be regarded as hot. Hotness is something altogether different. When women want to be hot instead of pretty, they must view themselves in a certain way and consequently men view them differently as well.

As I said, pretty inspires men’s nobler instincts to protect and defend. Pretty is cherished. Hotness, on the other hand, is a commodity. Its value is temporary and must be used. It is a consumable.

Nowhere is this pretty deficit more obvious than in our “stars,” the people we elevate as the “ideal.” The stars of the fifties surely suffered from the same sin as do stars of today. Stars of the fifties weren’t ideal but they pursued a public ideal different from today.

The merits of hotness over pretty is easy enough to understand, they made an entire musical about it. Who can forget how pretty Olivia Newton John was at the beginning of Grease. Beautiful and innocent. But her desire to be desired leads her to throw away all that is valuable in herself in the vain hopes of getting the attention of a boy. In the process, she destroys her innocence and thus destroys the pretty. What we are left with is hotness. Hotness is a consumable. A consumable that consumes as it is consumed but brings no warmth.

Most girls don’t want to be pretty anymore even if they understand what it is. It is ironic that 40 years of women’s liberation has succeeded only in turning women into a commodity. Something to be used up and thrown out.

Of course men play a role in this as well, but women should know better and they once did. Once upon a time you would hear girls talk about kind of women men date and the kind they marry. You don’t hear things like that anymore.

But here is the real truth. Most men prefer pretty over hot. Even back in 6th grade I hated the “hot” Olivia Newton John and felt sorry for her that she had to debase herself in such a way. Still do.

Our problem is that society doesn’t value innocence anymore, real or imagined. Nobody aspires to innocence anymore. Nobody wants to be thought of as innocent, the good girl. They want to be hot, not pretty.

I still hope that pretty comes back, although I think it not likely any time soon. For every Taylor Swift, there are a hundred Megan Foxs, or Lindsay Lohans, or Miley Cyruses etc.

Girls, please, bring back the pretty.

H/T to National Catholic Register.

Gotta love this dog!!!

I posted this video about a year ago, but I still find this dog to be amazing. I wonder how long it took for the two of them to perfect this routine?

The End of the Raven, by Edgar Allan Poe's Cat

I don't remember where I found this poem and don't have the author's name. If anyone can supply the name of the clever poet who wrote this, I'll gladly attribute it to him. Or her. Or them.

On a night quite unenchanting,
when the rain was downward slanting,
I awakened to the ranting
of the man I catch mice for.
Tipsy and a bit unshaven,
in a tone I found quite craven,
Poe was talking to a Raven
perched above the chamber door.
"Raven's very tasty," thought I, as I tiptoed o'er the floor,
"There is nothing I like more"

Soft upon the rug I treaded,
calm and careful as I headed
Towards his roost atop that dreaded bust of Pallas I deplore.
While the bard and birdie chattered,
I made sure that nothing clattered,
Creaked, or snapped, or fell, or shattered,
as I crossed the corridor;
For his house is crammed with trinkets, curious and wierd decor -
Bric-a-brac and junk galore.

Still the Raven never fluttered,
standing stock-still as he uttered,
In a voice that shrieked and sputtered,
his two cents' worth - "Nevermore."

While this dirge the birdbrain kept up,
oh, so silently I crept up,
Then I crouched and quickly leapt up,
pouncing on the feathered bore.
Soon he was a heap of plumage, and a little blood and gore -
Only this and not much more.

"Oooo!" my pickled poet cried out,
"Pussycat, it's time I dried out!
Never sat I in my hideout
talking to a bird before;
How I've wallowed in self-pity,
while my gallant, valiant kitty
Put and end to that damned ditty" -
then I heard him start to snore.
Back atop the door I clambered, eyed that statue I abhor,
Jumped - and smashed it on the floor.

The martial art of bathing a cat

Recently my husband and I have faced the chore of administering oral medication to two cats who manage to transform themselves into a mass of flailing claws. It put me in mind of this post from a few years ago. 

Some people say cats never have to be bathed. They say cats lick themselves clean. They say cats have a special enzyme of some sort in their saliva that works like new, improved Wisk. It dislodges the dirt where it hides and whisks it away.

I've spent most of my life believing this folklore. Like most blind believers, I've been able to discount all the facts to the contrary, the kitty odors that lurk in the corners of the garage and dirt smudges that cling to the throw rug by the fireplace.

The time comes, however, when a man must face reality: when he must look squarely in the face of massive public sentiment to the contrary and announce: "This cat smells like a port-a-potty on a hot day in Juarez."

When that day arrives at your house, as it has in mine, I have some advice you might consider as you place your feline friend under your arm and head for the bathtub:

• Know that although the cat has the advantage of quickness and lack of concern for human life, you have the advantage of strength. Capitalize on that advantage by selecting the battlefield. Don't try to bathe him in an open area where he can force you to chase him. Pick a very small bathroom. If your bathroom is more than four feet square, I recommend that you get in the tub with the cat and close the sliding-glass doors as if you were about to take a shower. (A simple shower curtain will not do. A berserk cat can shred a three-ply rubber shower curtain quicker than a politician can shift positions.)
• Know that a cat has claws and will not hesitate to remove all the skin from your body. Your advantage here is that you are smart and know how to dress to protect yourself. I recommend canvas overalls tucked into high-top construction boots, a pair of steel-mesh gloves, an army helmet, a hockey face mask, and a long-sleeved flak jacket.
• Prepare everything in advance. There is no time to go out for a towel when you have a cat digging a hole in your flak jacket. Draw the water. Make sure the bottle of kitty shampoo is inside the glass enclosure. Make sure the towel can be reached, even if you are lying on your back in the water.
• Use the element of surprise. Pick up your cat nonchalantly, as if to simply carry him to his supper dish. (Cats will not usually notice your strange attire. They have little or no interest in fashion as a rule. If he does notice your garb, calmly explain that you are taking part in a product testing experiment for J.C. Penney.)
• Once you are inside the bathroom, speed is essential to survival. In a single liquid motion, shut the bathroom door, step into the tub enclosure, slide the glass door shut, dip the cat in the water and squirt him with shampoo. You have begun one of the wildest 45 seconds of your life.
• Cats have no handles. Add the fact that he now has soapy fur, and the problem is radically compounded. Do not expect to hold on to him for more than two or three seconds at a time. When you have him, however, you must remember to give him another squirt of shampoo and rub like crazy. He'll then spring free and fall back into the water, thereby rinsing himself off. (The national record for cats is three latherings, so don't expect too much.)
• Next, the cat must be dried. Novice cat bathers always assume this part will be the most difficult, for humans generally are worn out at this point and the cat is just getting really determined. In fact, the drying is simple compared to what you have just been through. That's because by now the cat is semi-permanently affixed to your right leg. You simply pop the drain plug with you foot, reach for your towel and wait. (Occasionally, however, the cat will end up clinging to the top of your army helmet. If this happens, the best thing you can do is to shake him loose and to encourage him toward your leg.) After all the water is drained from the tub, it is a simple matter to just reach down and dry the cat.

In a few days the cat will relax enough to be removed from your leg. He will usually have nothing to say for about three weeks and will spend a lot of time sitting with his back to you. He might even become psychoceramic and develop the fixed stare of a plaster figurine.

You will be tempted to assume he is angry. This isn't usually the case. As a rule he is simply plotting ways to get through your defenses and injure you for life the next time you decide to give him a bath.
But at least now he smells a lot better.







Cat Bathing: Version 2

1. Thoroughly clean the toilet.
2. Add the required amount of shampoo to the toilet water, and have both lids lifted.
3. Obtain the cat and soothe him while you carry him towards the bathroom.
4. In one smooth movement, put the cat in the toilet and close both lids (you may need to stand on the lid so that he cannot escape). CAUTION: Do not get any part of your body too close to the edge, as his paws will be reaching out for any vulnerable surface they can find.
5. Flush the toilet three or four times. This provides a "power wash and rinse" which I have found to be quite effective.
6. Have someone open the door to the outside and ensure that there are no people between the toilet and the outside door.
7. Stand behind the toilet as far as you can, and quickly lift both lids.
8. The now-clean cat will rocket out of the toilet, and run outside where he will dry himself.

JOB DONE!

Let's get wordless!

The Cactus Cuties

Listen to this - 5 little girls from Texas, ages 6-8, singing the national anthem.

Amazing.

I promise - if you listen, you won't soon forget it.

The case of the errant embryo

 This is a "rerun" of an earlier post, but the story is important - and devastatingly true.

As our world becomes more complex and our technology becomes more sophisticated, we face increasingly thorny ethical dilemmas. One of the most disquieting I’ve heard of is that of Carolyn and Sean Savage.

The couple had two sons (now 12 and 14 years old) and wanted a third child. After a series of miscarriages, they decided to go forward with in vitro fertilization. The procedure was successful; they now had an 18-month-old daughter.

Then things got more complicated.

There were still 5 cryopreserved embryos. Carolyn and Sean believe that these embryos constitute life; they do not believe in discarding them. Carolyn said, “We felt strongly that we needed to give every embryo that we created a chance at life.”

Their physician told them that they could possibly hope for one embryo to be viable after the “transfer”, and they went forward with the procedure. Complicating matters still further, at some point along the way they realized that, because of health issues of her own, this would be Carolyn’s last pregnancy.

Not long after the embryo transfer, Sean received a call from their physician. He was told that Carolyn was pregnant, but that a mistake had been made: the wrong embryos had been implanted. Sean was faced with the responsibility of breaking this news to his wife.

The couple met with the doctor, who told them that there were two options to choose from: (1) they could terminate the pregnancy, or (2) they could take the pregnancy to term, but if they did so, they would have to give the child to the biological parents.

Sean and Carolyn’s religious faith is important to them, and their beliefs made the thought of abortion untenable. They decided to go forward with the pregnancy, knowing full well that they would be unable to keep the child.

14 weeks into the pregnancy, the Savages had their attorney contact the child’s biological parents. Ultimately, the two couples met face-to-face, and the biological parents will attend the birth of their son, which will be via Caesarean section.

“It’s been hard,” Carolyn said when interviewed for the TODAY show. “We’ve been rooting for the baby the whole time. We moved from a position of shock to a realization that this was actually going to happen. We needed to put the needs of the pregnancy and the child first. It’s just been difficult, but we feel we made the right decisions on how to handle it.”

But though the pregnancy has been difficult, the Savages recognize that the delivery will be even more difficult. They’ve asked the biological parents to give them the opportunity to say “hello” and “goodbye” to the child; after that, they don’t know if they will have another opportunity to see the child or to learn how he is doing.

Meanwhile, there are still 5 cryopreserved embryos at the fertility clinic, and as Carolyn is unable to safely become pregnant again, the Savages are currently pursuing the option of having a surrogate carry their remaining child or children to term.

If you’d like to read more about this story, go here. Also, you can view an interview with Sean and Carolyn Savage here. And please leave a comment to let me know what you think.

Ask them what they mean by "choice".

I am a nurse and, about 25 years ago, I had just come back into relationship with God. At the time, I believed in and defended a woman’s right to choose abortion.

I had the opportunity to interview for a position as a nurse on a women’s gynecological oncology unit. The interview went quite well, and I was definitely interested in taking the position. But as I prepared to leave, the manager of the unit said, “Oh… by the way… We sometimes get patients who’ve had late term abortions. Sometimes the baby will be born alive. You’ll be expected to place ‘it’ in a basin in the utility room and take care of the mother.”

I was shocked. All of the sudden, I understood exactly what it meant for me to be pro-choice. We weren’t talking about “choice” here; we were talking about a baby. We were talking about life. I couldn’t do it.

I began to listen more intently to some of the debates that raged over when life begins. Is it with fertilization? Implantation? Cell differentiation and specialization? Evidence of a beating heart? Brainstem formation?

It became clear to me that the question “When does life begin?” is a bad one. It places us on a slippery slope, because there is so much we don’t know… and so much we have to answer for if we’re wrong.

Read these words from Gianna Jessen, who testified before the Constitution Subcommittee of the House Judiciary Committee on April 22, 1996.

My name is Gianna Jessen. I am 19 years of age. I am originally from California, but now reside in Franklin, Tennessee. I am adopted. I have cerebral palsy. My biological mother was 17 years old and seven and one-half months pregnant when she made the decision to have a saline abortion. I am the person she aborted. I lived instead of died.

Fortunately for me the abortionist was not in the clinic when I arrived alive, instead of dead, at 6:00 a.m. on the morning of April 6, 1977. I was early, my death was not expected to be seen until about 9 a.m., when he would probably be arriving for his office hours. I am sure I would not be here today if the abortionist would have been in the clinic as his job is to take life, not sustain it. Some have said I am a "botched abortion", a result of a job not well done.

There were many witnesses to my entry into this world. My biological mother and other young girls in the clinic, who also awaited the death of their babies, were the first to greet me. I am told this was a hysterical moment. Next was a staff nurse who apparently called emergency medical services and had me transferred to a hospital. I remained in the hospital for almost three months. There was not much hope for me in the beginning. I weighed only two pounds. Today, babies smaller than I was have survived.

A doctor once said I had a great will to live and that I fought for my life. I eventually was able to leave the hospital and be placed in foster care. I was diagnosed with cerebral palsy as a result of the abortion. My foster mother was told that it was doubtful that I would ever crawl or walk. I could not sit up independently. Through the prayers and dedication of my foster mother, and later many other people, I eventually learned to sit up, crawl, then stand. I walked with leg braces and a walker shortly before I turned age four. I was legally adopted by my foster mother's daughter, Diana De Paul, a few months after I began to walk. The Department of Social Services would not release me any earlier for adoption.

I have continued in physical therapy for my disability, and after a total of four surgeries, I can now walk without assistance. It is not always easy. Sometimes I fall, but I have learned how to fall gracefully after falling 19 years.

I am happy to be alive. I almost died. Every day I thank God for life. I do not consider myself a by-product of conception, a clump of tissue, or any other of the titles given to a child in the womb. I do not consider any person conceived to be any of those things.

I have met other survivors of abortion. They are all thankful for life. Only a few months ago I met another saline abortion survivor. Her name is Sarah. She is two
years old. Sarah also has cerebral palsy, but her diagnosis is not good. She is blind and has severe seizures. The abortionist, besides injecting the mother with saline, also injects the baby victims. Sarah was injected in the head. I saw the place on her head where this was done. When I speak, I speak not only for myself, but for the other survivors, like Sarah, and also for those who cannot yet speak ...

Today, a baby is a baby when convenient. It is tissue or otherwise when the time is not right. A baby is a baby when miscarriage takes place at two, three, four months. A baby is called a tissue or clumps of cells when an abortion takes place at two, three, four months. Why is that? I see no difference. What are you seeing? Many close there eyes...

The best thing I can show you to defend life is my life. It has been a great gift. Killing is not the answer to any question or situation. Show me how it is the answer. There is a quote which is etched into the high ceilings of one of our state's capitol buildings. The quote says, "Whatever is morally wrong, is not politically correct." Abortion is morally wrong. Our country is shedding the blood of the innocent. America is killing its future.
All life is valuable. All life is a gift from our Creator. We must receive and cherish the gifts we are given. We must honor the right to life.

Interested in learning more about Gianna? Visit her website at http://www.giannajessen.com/. And listen to the voice of an angel singing there. That’s Gianna.

H/T to Jill Stanek for posting about Blogging For Choice! 

"Find fuel in any failure."

H/T to SparkPeople for pointing the way to this video!

I never looked at the consequences of missing a big shot. Why? Because when you think about the consequences you always think of a negative result. Some people get frozen by that fear of failure. They get it from peers or from just thinking about the possibility of a negative result. They might be afraid of looking bad or being embarrassed.

I realized that if I was going to achieve anything in life I had to be aggressive. I had to get out there and go for it. I don’t believe you can achieve anything by being passive. I’m not thinking about anything except what I’m trying to accomplish. Any fear is an illusion. You think something is standing in your way, but nothing is really there. What is there is an opportunity to do your best and gain some success.

If it turns out my best isn’t good enough, then at least I’ll never be able to look back and say I was too afraid to try. Failure always made me try harder next time. That’s why my advice has always been to ‘think positive’ and find fuel in any failure. Sometimes failure actually just gets you closer to where you want to be.

If I’m trying to fix a car, every time I try something that doesn’t work, I’m getting closer to finding the answer. The greatest inventions in the world had hundreds of failures before the answers were found...But obstacles don’t have to stop you.

If you run into a wall, don’t turn around and give up. Figure out how to climb it, go through it, or work around it.

– Michael Jordan.

An excellent question.

"They say imitation is the greatest compliment, but are your actions worthy of imitation?"

Source: SparkPeople's "Healthy Reflections" for today. 

Our Lady of the Chain

This post is a "rerun", but I'm sharing it again because I still find it interesting. I'm fairly certain that this devotion is unfamiliar to many of us.

___________________________ 

I ran into a title for Mary the other day that I’d never heard before: Our Lady of the Chain. I did a bit of research and found some interesting background.

This devotion began in the 14th century in Palermo, Italy. Three young men were condemned to death by hanging. They were being led to the gallows under heavy guard when the skies grew dark and a terrible storm arose. The guards, the condemned men, and the people who had gathered to witness the execution sought shelter in the Church of St. Mary of the Port. The fierce storm continued, forcing the execution to be postponed.

The guards secured the condemned men with extra chains and secured the doors of the church. The guards eventually fell asleep. The condemned men found themselves in front of an image of Mary, and they prayed for deliverance. As they prayed, the chains they were bound with fell to the ground. The doors of the church opened by themselves, and the men heard words coming from Mary’s image: “Go, you are free, do not fear. The Divine Infant whom I hold in my arms has heard your prayers and has granted your freedom."

When they awoke, the guards searched for and ultimately found the prisoners. The King heard about their experience in the church and granted the men their freedom, saying, “The Blessed Virgin Mary has set them free, so will I.”

News of the miracle spread throughout Italy, and the image became known as “Our Lady of the Chain”.

____________________________________

For more information about this devotion, see here. And if you have a heart for prisoners, please pray for Robert, a man on death row. I've been corresponding with Robert for more than a decade, and he told me that he was just informed that he has been scheduled for execution next month. 

Do, or do not. There is no 'try'. – Yoda

When I was a boy, my father used to take me bowling, and I wasn’t very good. But I always made excuses why I wasn’t very good. My father said, ‘Quit that. The reason you’re not a good bowler is that you don’t practice.’ And he was right.

Now if I have a defect, I work at it. I don’t make excuses. 

– Jason Kidd, 1995 NBA co-rookie of the year 

Another Wordless (Almost) Wednesday Post

A few months ago, I was puttering along the road hoping to run into something picturesque. I doubt I could quickly find this particular location, but the little town of Bonsai, NC seemed to be just what I was looking for. Next time I'll hope for some blue skies as well!

Learning without letters

Many years ago, when I was a young nurse, I had a patient who was illiterate. She had spent only a brief time in elementary school, and hadn’t “learned her letters”. She was quite elderly, so it had been something on the order of 75 years since she’d had any formal schooling at all. She was one of those people who had to “make a mark” in order to give consent to medical procedures.

I’m no Einstein, and I haven’t gone through school as far as I could have or should have, but I confess that I had always felt a bit condescending towards people who couldn’t read or write. I figured there are ways to get back on track to a basic education even if economic conditions or family tragedies interrupt the usual trajectory of education. So I questioned the ability and ambition of someone who remained illiterate well into adulthood. And my patient turned those assumptions upside down.

I remember walking into her room one day and seeing head bent over the pages of a worn King James Bible as she laboriously traced her finger across the page, her lips moving all the while. I was frankly puzzled, and I got a lesson in humility when I learned more about her story.

This woman had faithfully attended her church every time the doors opened throughout her entire life, and her copy of the King James Bible came with her each time. She would sit beside someone who was literate, and this person would point out each word as the Scripture was read. Over time, my patient taught herself to follow along with the preacher as he read the Bible lesson for the day. And although she couldn’t differentiate an “A” from a “Q”, she learned the shape of the words and could read King James English. I've often wondered what she could have achieved if she'd had the advantages I've been blessed with. She'd had virtually no formal education, yet she taught me much. She had internalized God’s Word in a way I could never hope to.

I pray I may learn from her!