1979 or 2010 ? You Tell Me

BP,The Federal Government and Booming

The following video is the reading of a long post that I read a couple weeks ago.

By the time I was done reading it, I felt in a very small way, that I had learned enough that if I had the proper tools available to me, even I, with a little bit of guidance and help from others who read the post, could head down to the gulf states and actually start the process of saving the coastline. We'd do a much better job than the supposed experts from both BP and the federal government are doing now. It wouldn't be perfect just better.

Please note, there is some very strong language in this video. While I don't like it, and tend to think points can be made strongly without using it, I long ago accepted that there are certain job environments where bad language is so deeply a part of the job culture that telling people to clean up their language would be akin to telling them not to breath, especially when they are talking about their jobs. It's not worth the time it takes to be offended when the point being made is spot on.

Live Stream BP's Oil Spill

Watch live streaming video from wkrg_oil_spill at livestream.com

This live video feed of the oil gusher in the Gulf of Mexico.

This video is of one of two leaks 5,000 feet below sea level.

Live video provided by CBS affiliate WKRG in Mobile, Alabama – because BP’s video feed doesn’t work.



Video streaming by Ustream
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Here's exactly why I don't want Tim Pawlenty to be president. Ever.

The Minnesota state GOP convention is happening this weekend. Like everywhere else and every other party, they will be nominating their candidate to run to replace Governor Tim Pawlenty.

Like most parties in power, they were addressed this morning by our departing governor, a Republican who appears to be giving serious consideration to running for president in 2012.

When Governor Pawlenty gives speeches he likes to throw out what he considers to be political zingers. I have no problem with that, I expect that from politicians of all stripes.

Today, one of his zingers was the following:

"More people died from the Hiawatha Light Rail line than from conceal and carry in Minnesota."

All I could think was that I sure hope none of the friends and loved ones of the people who died as a result of those accidents with the light rail trains here were sitting in the audience as delegates.

Time and time again,(Remember, he's the guy that said “We should take a page out of her playbook and take a 9-iron and smash the window out of big government in this country” referencing Tiger Woods wife on the day after a man flew his plane into a government building) Tim Pawlenty has shown that he is one of the least compassionate, most thoughtless politicians ever.

Does America really need a president who views people as a nothing more than part of a punchline?

Forgive But Don't Forget

“The stupid neither forgive nor forget; the naive forgive and

forget; the wise forgive but do not forget.”- Thomas S. Szasz

I feel kind of bad that I haven't been paying due diligence to my little blog for a while. It's certainly not because I haven't wanted to, heaven knows there's been plenty to write about , just very little time to write.

I know sometimes I hate it when life demands that I live it instead of doing things I love to do.

While I still have a mountain of things to do, something happened this morning that I have to get out of my system so I can focus on other things.

Early this morning, I drove up north to pick up a friend who has severe dementia to take her to the doctor for a minor but necessary medical procedure that will improve her quality of life even if she does not recognize it.

I knew that I would have a little time to kill while she was getting her surgery so I planned on heading to the gym for an hour's workout and dressed accordingly in a tee shirt and gym pants.

(I suppose at this point I should mention that the tee shirt I was wearing was an Obama tee shirt from early in the 2008 election season.)

Now I'm not politically naive and I follow the news but I admit, it never occurred to me to think politically when I was getting dressed this morning. What I was thinking was since it's a little humid out, what shirt do I have that will wick away sweat the fastest so I wouldn't be dripping all over the doctor's office when i returned to pick up my friend.

When I arrived at the doctor's office, I guess I should have had a clue when the receptionist with a broad smile on her face asked "how's all that hopey- changey was working out for me?" I smiled back at her and told her that frankly as far as I was concerned the change I've been seeing so far wasn't even close to the change I had been hoping for but that's what the next round of elections were for.

No harm- no foul. To my mind it was mediocre political bantering at best or very lame small talk at worst. My focus was on getting my friend comfortable and going to work out and that's what I did.

When I got to the gym and walked in, I got several strange looks. I attributed it to the fact that this was not my regular work out spot and I was a complete stranger to these people.

Boy, I couldn't have been more wrong. I'm not going to go into detail but I was bombarded with insults, personal comments and political attacks. Why? Because of the shirt I had chosen to work out in. There was absolutely no consideration for what my actual political ideology might be, these folks saw the shirt and to their minds that was that.

I held firm and did my workout, probably a better and harder workout than usual as I channelled my irritation with the whole situation.

As I left a man in I'd guess his mid 30's followed me out and loudly suggested (to my back) that if I "wasn't open to discussing things with them I don't come back".

I stopped in my tracks and turned around and stared at him. He stared back, For the record, I swear I could have held his gaze all day long but he was the one who looked away first.

When he glanced back at me he again told me not to come back but some of his steam had worn away in our little public stare-down.

You might be wondering if I had anything to say to him... I did and here it is:

I feel sorry for you that you felt you had to harass a middle aged woman (old enough to be your mother BTW) who only wanted to work out to make your political point because of the shirt she was wearing.

I feel sorry for you because by attacking without knowing exactly what who your attacking actually thinks, you really aren't influencing people or winning friends, both of which you need if you truly believe your cause is just.

I feel sorry for you because you haven't figured out that by attacking, without knowing exactly what the person you're attacking thinks, you have become exactly the person you're afraid of.

I forgive you but will never forget you.

With that I hopped into my little carbon footprint and drove away. I looked in the rearview mirror (seriously because I thought he was going to follow me and I was trying to remember where I had passed the fire station because I had no clue where the police department was and it was the only place I could think of to go for help) and this man was just standing there staring at me with his mouth hanging open.

After I dropped my friend back at the nursing home as I was driving back down to the city I found myself wondering what kind of country we have become when ideologies and even clothes have become more important than the people who are wearing them and saying a little prayer that things settle down quickly, that people who are being attacked don't let fear drive there willingness to stand up to this nonsense and that the people who are doing the attacking find a better way to make their point then using violence real or implied.

Footnote: When I got home, and saw the news, I noticed that our incredibly right leaning Governor received a letter from an even more right leaning group (Guardians of a Free Republic) threatening to remove him from office in 3 days if he didn't step down. Sheesh, these folks are now attacking their own....

Recycling Those Pesky Plastic Bottle Caps

Minneapolis, where I live, has been a strong proponent of recycling for many years. They go so far as to give you a monthly discount on your waste bill if you participate.

One of the things that has always really annoyed me about the recycling program is that while they accept plastic bottles the city has always required us to remove the caps from the bottles and throw them in with the regular trash. These caps then go on to either live in a landfill for heaven knows how long or to the county garbage burner to be added to the air we breathe.

Imagine my surprise yesterday to read in the paper that Aveda, wants these caps because the company is recycling them on their own for reuse on their own products.

If you'd like to, you can read the article here:

Recycle those caps

For those who don't want to read the article but do want to do a really good thing for the enviornment for minimal cost, you can either drop them off at Aveda salons nationwide (to find a location near you check AVEDA website or send your plastic caps to:

Aveda Caps Program
4000 Pheasant Ridge Dr.
Blaine, MN 55449

Thanks Aveda!

The Happiest Sick Dog Ever

My dog has a very sensitive stomach. We have to be very dilligent about what she eats and as a rule she gets very little beyond her dog food and some raw vegetables.

When her stomach gets upset, she has a natural instinct that drives her to eat some grass or dried leaves to sooth herself or to make herself throw up whatever is irritating her.

This past Saturday, she started exhibiting signs that she had an upset tummy and was demanding between air licks to go outside. Well, it's winter here. There is no grass to speak of but there is a pile of dried up clipping and leaves so out she went. As I stood at the door watching her I noticed that she wasn't content eating leaves and grass but she was also devouring sticks. I thought to myself "I'm not sure that is such a good idea, especially since they are frozen solid" so I went back in and quickly chopped up a pile of carrots and spinach leaves and tossed it out onto the snow and she quickly devoured them too.

Now, granted when it comes to my animals, I am a bit of a worrywart. I remarked to my husband that I didn't think what she was doing was normal even for a furry vacuum like her and of course he told me I was just being the worrywart that I usually am and even I really wasn't sure that wasn't the case.

After what seemed to me to be forever, our dog was ready to come in.

To make this part of the story short, as the weekend progressed, our dog remained her normal sing song, I love life, what adventure are we going to have next self, but she wouldn't eat and when she laid down she would moan and shift and clearly couldn't get comfortable. For the older readers, the best example I can give you of what was going on is this:



Guess which one is me and which one is my dog?

On Monday morning, I called the vet and said that I was convinced that she had some kind of blockage or something and could he fit me in. Now, because I tend to overreact as far as my animals are concerned and I have a great vet who does not take advantage of me, instead of saying "Bring her in", he asked "What makes you think that?" After explaining, he agrees that he should have a look at her.

I called my husband to see if he could leave work early and come with me because after getting an appointment, I spent the morning looking up her symptoms on Google and scared myself half to death. (Darn that Google!!) He agreed and at 2:15 we hopped into my carbon footprint and we were off, Nervous Nellie, Mr Borderline Annoyed with his wife and their little dog who watched out the window in eager anticipation.

We got to the vet and the dog springs out of the car, heads into the vet tail wagging and eager to meet anyone who happens to be in the waiting room. The vet comes out and says "Well, she looks great." Now, at that moment I could feel the eyes of my husband boring into me as he's calculating the cost of this visit so I respond with a small smile, "Yes she does. She's the happiest sick dog ever!" This illicts some muffled snorts and chortles from others (especially the husband and wife teams) in the waiting room who are watching the little mini-drama that just walked in.

We go in the little room so the vet can give her the once over. Other than a little fever (which leads to a blood test), she is, for all intents and purposes, acting just fine. The vet doesn't feel any blockage but suggests that we do an xray to be absolutely sure.

He comes back in with the xrays pops them up on the light screen and it turns out she essentially had ate enough sticks, weeds, leaves, carrots, spinach and heaven knows what else that she now had effectively built a birds nest in her stomach and it needed to come out because there was no other way to know what really was in there.

So Tuesday, I took her back for surgery and this happy-go-lucky dog clearly didn't let the previous days drama effect her attitude, bounds into the vet's office once again. We switched leashes and in her eagerness to inspect the office, she led the vet back to the back area. I went home thinking that I was going to pick her up on Wednesday morning.

About 6:00, I get a call asking if I would consider not having her spend the night there if she didn't settle down because even morphine would not stop this dogs outgoing nature and she was in her cage wagging her tail and trying to make friends with the other patients. I admit it, I burst out laughing. I didn't mean to, I just couldn't help myself. The vet was going to give her a valium in one last attempt to calm her down and get her to rest and call me back if it didn't work.

I picked her up at 8:00.

By 11 P.M. she was bugging me for food.

At 3:21 A.M. she had to go out, which now means having to get dressed and go out with her on the leash since she can't get her belly wet and I sure don't want her eating anymore sticks and what not any time soon.

The rest of Wednesday she rested, ate a little and snuggled with our cat who has appointed herself the charge nurse.

Today, after breakfast, she went and climbed up on the couch rolled over and looked at me with those big brown eyes and said, "now rub my stomach will you so my life would be perfect?"





What a dog, what a dog!

Rest in Peace Kate McGarrigle

For My Sister

We were easily amused weren't we?

RIP Art Clokey and many thanks. You were loved.

Hanging on to less than perfect pieces of history

I have been called a junk seller. I prefer to consider myself someone who helps to keep the past alive.

I specialize in things that are affordable and I pride myself on being able to maintain some semblence of balance between the people I buy from, the people I sell to and myself. I like it when everyone is happy with the outcomes.

Never being one to pass up an opportunity for learning, today I had the pleasure of tagging along with a fine antiques dealer when he went to visit an elderly gentleman to price his collection of military items that he spent a lifetime aquiring.

I have to admit, even with my lack of knowledge of the minutia of the military, the things this man had was stunning. Uniforms, tools, big clunky box phones and other means of communication that were used in the field during various wars... even more incredibly he knew the history and story behind almost every object.

The last room we approached had a double lock on it. When our host unlocked the door, he said that this was his war room and his personal favorite. Walking in, I knew why. I was in the playroom of many a young boy's dreams. (Well at least the young boy's of previous generations)

This man had built individual diorama's for every war that the United States had ever been involved in. I have never seen so many tin, steel, wooden, rubber and plastic soldiers all involved in war related activities in such a realistic display in my life. There were battlefields, medic stations, convoys across the desert, each perfectly capturing a moment in history, all carefully put together by loving hands.

I learned that his wife had sewn all the miniature flags and other details that brought these scenes to life.

As we were leaving I noticed a table with some miscellanious pieces on them. When questioned about it, he said that the items there were less than perfect pieces of history but he couldn't bring himself to throw them away. He handed me this old toy tank which I immediately learned was a World War I French FT-17 Tank and asked me what I thought happened to the gun. I responded that if it had been mine or my brother's when I was a kid, I would have likely found a way to remove the gun like this to give the soldier inside a clearer view of where he was going.

"Sixty years I've been wondering and asking people what happened to my tank and young lady, (Young lady! I'm so easy to please! Yippee!) I think you've just answered this question. Oh I wish I had met you when my sister was alive, so I could tell her I figured it out! She spent years teasing me about keeping that tank!"

My friend the antique dealer has a new client and the little metal tank with wooden wheels, a piece of imperfect history, has a new home where it will be cherished because of the memory of a grand visit with the most gracious host.

I am blessed.