Back To My Roots

 

Boy oh boy was I a beauty or what?

(much sarcasm intended)

My mother was furious when I (totally over) plucked my eyebrows into two thin arches without asking or telling her. Now at the age of almost sixty five I understand why she was mad. They never grow back. Ever.

This was the age which I starting writing in earnest, meaning I wrote every single day or so. I still have about five filled hard back journals and even a diary from when I was about ten. You know, the kind with a lock and tiny key which kept absolutely no one out of it. Writing has always been my friend and always will be. I'm no rocket scientist and was never an outstanding scholar. I made straight A's in first grade and was all academically downhill from there once math came into play. My first grade teacher loved me. Reading came very easy to me and I excelled in the subject. I could read a book out loud in class with the correct inflections and knew how to make the words tell the story rather than sound like an assignment the teacher called on you to perform during class.

I didn't know it then, but it was when my love affair of the written word began.

I am teetering on the precipice of sixty five and still enjoy writing more than anything else I do, besides loving my family.

When COVID hit in 2020, it changed everyone's life, routine and sense of reasoning. I was pretty much forced into retirement. Our restaurant shut down March 16 and didn't reopen until almost summer. When they finally reopened and called people back to work it was on a scaled down list and can't blame them for going with the younger servers but still felt like a slap in the face considering I had worked circles around every young server there for almost four years and often did my job as well as theirs. So much for seniority...literally.

Luckily by this point we were out of the sardine can rental and into our forever home in the Isle of Pines, so I was happily/ begrudgingly unemployed. I began writing again and made snail mail not only my friend but my friends' friend as well. I wrote to my parent's friends that I was still in touch with after both of their passing many years ago. I wrote to folks I knew from back home in Georgia, old classmates, elementary, high and even college years, old co workers, former bosses and even former customers  I'd waited on who I had become friends with. Just a little something for them to find sitting in the mailbox along with bills and junk mail. Sometimes one stamp is all it costs/takes to make someone smile for a couple of minutes in their day, and that's a good and positive thing to do with your spare time. Plus I enjoy the actual writing on paper with a pen as opposed to a typed message, text or email.

This past year I slacked off a bit for a number of reasons. I took up a cause after nosing and inserting myself into a former classmate from high schools' business, who was searching for her long lost sister who was missing and had been living on the streets of the outskirts of downtown Atlanta for over a decade. That's a pretty big search area.

For once social media giant FB  did what it was designed to do. Reconnect people and friends.

She was found living under a bridge in below freezing temperatures. She had a thread bare coat, hat, backpack and a blue tarp. 

 Cathy was an absolute minimalist, that's for sure. How she survived the lean mean streets for eleven years boggles my mind.

After a huge social media push and with help from friends, former classmates, people who had stopped by to check on her under the bridge and even strangers, we somehow someway beat the exhaustive red tape and endless hurdles and secured her permanent housing on the outskirts of downtown Atlanta. People donated furniture, new clothing, supplies, bedding, toiletries, untensils, dishes, pans and even a basically brand new washer and dryer. My sister and I decided she needed a comfy recliner and I found one for free in my neighborhood. My brother graciously shipped it up from here in Orlando to  Atlanta and a dear friend of mine went to the freight terminal in ATL and not only picked it up but delivered it right to her new apartment.

This entire situation, all the generosity, charity and literal moving truck full of furniture and supplies was very overwhelming for her. You could see it on her face. She was terrified of it. Yes she wanted it, but she was still terrified of it after eleven years of absolutely nothing and no one. I don't blame her for being apprehensive after all she's been through on the streets and over the years.

She almost looks confused and bewildered in the photos...and trust me she was. She'd been living a feral life for over a decade. 

How she didn't have one gray hair on her head was and still is a mystery to me. She still has that beautiful red hair from childhood.

Yes, now she had four walls around her with a door which locked and a roof over her head. She had new socks, underwear, clothing, a place to bathe, a place to cook and even a place to wash and dry her clothes. New sheets, bedding, comforter and pillows on a beautiful queen size bed. Love seat, end tables, coffee table, kitchen table and chairs, rugs for the floor, and a pretty fully stocked kitchen and pantry.

We were thrilled for her, right along with all the many people who'd joined our journey in finding her safe and permanent housing. A place for her to call home.

Of course her mental health has taken a tremendous blow after years on the streets alone. I don't think I could have even survived it not to mention still retain any semblance of sane thinking. She refused any counselling or even talking with a mental health official. She's a grown woman and was her decision to make or not make, as much as we wanted her to seek help.

She's been off the streets for almost a year now, and still hasn't slept in the bed that was lovingly donated along with an almost brand new mattress, box springs and all new bedding.

She feels like it is too nice to even mess up by getting into. She slept curled up on the floor or the love seat in the living room. That's when we found her the recliner down here in Orlando where I live and had my brother once again ship it up to ATL for her. He had shipped the bed, mattress and box springs up as well. The recliner is what she now sleeps in. She simply doesn't feel worthy. She feels like (in her own words) "beholding" to all these good people who have done all of these wonderful things for her. She's scared to wear the new coat someone bought her because (she said) it was too nice and would get beat up for it if she wore it. 

It's been a year long struggle for her sister, who found her under the bridge after eleven years of looking. She still works full time and lives two hours north of Atlanta. Every weekend she makes the drive down to check on her and take her to run errands. It's been a struggle for Cathy, mentally and emotionally, through no fault of her own but simply by the cards life dealt her. She lived with her mother with who she was very close to and when her mother died it broke her. She just walked away from her life and lived on the streets moving from underpass to underpass and somehow survived until her older sister found her through a Facebook post about a homeless woman living under bridges near the area where we grew up. Some citizens in the community often stopped to check on her or take her food. She always declined offers of housing. They sometimes posted about her on their community FB page and someone who knew her sister reached out to her asking if this may be her missing sibling...and turned out it was.

I can't even begin to imagine what all her mental well being has been through and endured for over a decade on the lean streets. It is a testament of her strength as a tiny woman that she has even made it this far.

Sadly, budgeting, planning, keeping track of  all the things involved in maintaining your own place simply isn't in her wheel house...through no fault of her own but still is a requirement when having a home to take care of. It has overwhelmed her and frustrated her. Without constant and steady guidance she seems unable to live and maintain on her own independently. It has taken a toll on not only Cathy but her sister who makes the almost 200 mile round trip almost every weekend sometimes more, while maintaining her own full time job and sanity. How she has continued to do it for almost a year now is a mystery to me but a true testament about the love of a sister.

She and I talk frequently, usually while she is either driving down there to check on Cathy or driving back to her own home in north Georgia.

Cathy has struggled to remember when rent is due or how to even use the cell phone her sister bought her. She's gotten behind a couple of times and doesn't seem to grasp the urgency of a due date and being on time with things she is expected to take care of. It's like we have overloaded her thought process and mental capacity in a huge and overwhelming way. She said she doesn't deserve or can take care of all these things and feels she will be better off at the women's mission in downtown Atlanta. So her sister took her to visit the mission, which is not a pleasant or calming experience. Cathy hasn't mentioned going back to it since, but now we know where we stand.

We all pooled our generosity and gave Cathy everything we thought she needed for a better life. We did all of that from the comfort of our own home which I guarantee most of us take for advantage. We (which absolutely includes me) didn't consider how she would manage suddenly going from the streets to a warm place with amenities she feels she doesn't deserve or know how to manage.

Yes we want her to get mental health help and guidance she desperately needs but she is a grown woman and her own person. She isn't a child or puppet we can pull the strings of.

It's a total catch 22. The past month or so has been a roller coaster and her sister is distraught over what all these people who contributed to getting Cathy off the streets will think, especially if things don't work out.

I told my friend to mark that worry off her list. I know pretty much every single person who has contributed to this venture...I was simply a facilitator. While I also contributed, I was more of a person who just got Cathy's story out and am lucky enough to have and know some really wonderful friends and people. I know that not one single one of them did it for recognition or brownie points. If it ends up not working out, they won't be looking for refunds or holding grudges about anything which may or may not happen.

If you are reading this, do me a favor. Say a prayer, send up or out good vibes for Cathy and all she has not only gone through but is still going through. Be her village right along with all of us. Keep her in your thoughts and wish nothing but positivity and the best for her mental and physical well being...because there but the Grace of God go any one of us. Any of us could be Cathy or someone in her worn out shoes. I think about that every single day.

She's living like a homeless person in an apartment with everything she needs for a calm and safe existence. She just doesn't feel worthy or justified in having nice things but believe me you, she deserves it more than anyone I have ever met. And her sister deserves to feel like her sister is safe as well. And before you come back with comments, yes she tried to get Cathy to come live with her but she refuses. With all her weaknesses and problems, she is still an adult and still in control of her own life and decisions. The best we can hope for is that she comes around and makes the choices we all hope for her to make.

Kinda makes your own problems feel small and unimportant doesn't it? I know it does for me.

Send Cathy good vibes out to the universe please. I'd sure appreciate it, and so would Cathy and her sister. Any suggestions or ideas are always more than welcome, we've pretty much exhausted all of ours, but will keep up the fight as long as necessary. It the worn shoe was on the other foot, Cathy would be the first person to volunteer and help if she could. She's a good person.

This journey with Cathy and her sister changed my life. It has made me realize how much (most) all of us take for granted in our lives and how truly lucky I am, with all my faults, flaws and inadequacies. I am indeed a lucky woman.

Till next time, COTTON

Watch That First Step When You're Over Sixty, It's A Doozy

 

What a week it's been.

I've been off the grid and incommunicado since Tuesday night. I fell asleep on the couch alongside my precious Riley on Tuesday night.

All Thanksgiving shopping had been done and was stored in the garage fridge except for fresh produce to be purchased at Aldi on Wednesday. The house was semi clean and laundry was done. I woke up around three AM with mother nature calling. I turned the TV off and got up to go to the restroom. My foot hit the pile of clothes I had shed  during a hot flash and slid out from me making me stumble and  fall into the coffee table before catching myself. What I did catch was the corner of it with my rib cage.

Huge. Ouch.

I peed and returned to the scene of the crime to retrieve my sweat pants and socks and instead just tumbled back onto the couch for the rest of the night.

Waking up Wednesday morning wasn't a whole lot of fun and I stayed on the couch until almost noon, scared to try and get up again.

I fall asleep on the couch quite a bit, especially when Tim has to work and be up before five AM. My daughter gets up even earlier for work so to let them sleep in peace and quiet, my night owl self stays in the living room on my computer or out on the lanai since all the the bedrooms are on the other side of our living room and kitchen, in the back of the house. My son works at night and usually rolls in after midnight and sometimes even later. He eats and goes to his room to play video games so he's pretty quiet. Me, I like to have music on at all times and sometimes watch YouTube videos. In other words, I'm loud.

Massey had the week off so she came into the living room to see when I wanted to go to the store. I tried to roll over and thought someone had stabbed me in the side. I told her what had happened and she helped me into a sitting position...also painful. Zachary got up to wash his work uniform and heard us talking. He said he heard when the table scooted across the tile floor after he went to bed but didn't know I had fallen.

I put on a brave (although wincing) face and went to Aldi with Massey to pick up our last few items. She wanted to stop for lunch at our favorite Mexican place first so I obliged, since we were in her car and she was driving and paying. I got a phone call I needed to take as we were pulling into the parking lot so I told her to go in and get us a table and I would be in shortly. I got to the table just as the server brought out our glasses of water and two nice big margaritas. (That's my girl)

She said she thought I could use one and being such a team player joined me with another for herself. We ate lunch and took our time sipping our drink, which actually did take a little of the sting out.

By the time we grocery shopped and stopped for gas I was exhausted and ready to do anything but stand up or walk around.

I don't know if it's because I'm getting (am) older and probably have some osteoparosis but when I hurt myself it is always a whopper of an injury and usually always around a holiday. On Mother's Day one year my flip flop got stuck between a crack on our back patio which is about a foot off the ground and  made of broken pieces of concrete cemented together. Great to look at, hard to walk on in flops. I fell forward and put both hands out to catch myself right before my face hit. It took me several minutes before I could muster up the energy and wherewithal to get up and go inside. Both hands were cut up from the concrete and when we sat down to eat I couldn't even lift my fork to my mouth. I had hollered for help after I fell but guess I'm not as loud as I thought I was, because none of the other people we had invited over for dinner heard a thing. (so they said)  It took me a week to get over that one! 

Then there's the time I was simply using a rake to pull out cut trimmings out of our bushes. Massey was using the electric hedger and I was pulling the cuttings off the bushes so I could rake them up and put them in our yard cans. My shoulder popped so loud it was audible and made me immediately nauseous.

That injury put my arm in a sling for several days and still hurts to this day if I turn or move the wrong way. Probably a torn rotator cuff if I had to guess, but it finally healed enough to only hurt sporadically.

Maybe I should write to one of the doctors at General Hospital in Port Charles for a video consult.

 That's about as close as I like to get to doctors. I'm scared they are going to find something I'd rather not know about at this point in my life.

I have chosen the path of "Physician heal thyself" in my senior years. I have my GoGo juice I drink every day made from fresh lemon, lime, orange, turmeric, cinnamon, nutmeg, cayenne,apple cider vinegar and local honey. I Take collagen and Elderberry every day along with magnesium and multi vitamins. I drink water every day all day long and only allow myself one glass of ice tea every other day or so. I cut out soda years ago and never buy cokes for the house. I'll drink maybe one a month when I'm out somewhere. I cut out drinking coffee and switched to hot peppermint tea with fresh lime and local honey. I have cut out a lot of my junk food habits and quit smoking cigarettes over eight years ago. I have a big exercise ball for stretching and we have an inversion table in our gym that Massey and Tim made in our detached garage. We have free weights, a rowing machine, a tread mill, exercise bike, work out bench and even a one person sauna.

Tim asked me the other day why I don't go to the doctor since he put me on his insurance last year. I told him that policy was for the day I finally fall out and don't wake up and they have no other choice but to call 911 and have me carted away in an ambulance. Besides, I'm dropping off his policy in the new year and switching to Medicare when I turn sixty five in July.

I know I'm an idiot but is just the way I am. A diagnosis scaredy cat.

Anyhoo, back to my lastest injury. I almost asked Tim to take me to the hospital a couple of times. It was the sharpest pain I have felt since my last birth contraction. To make matters even worse we've had a respiratory illness going around the house. Massey had it, then Zach, then Tim. Then after ten days Massey got better and Tim relapsed.

Guess who got it after she shredded her ribs? It's not a lot of fun to have to cough with cracked ribs. It was borderline torture. Every. Time.

It made me realize that I can multi task even when feeling poorly. I can cough and scream at the same time now.

I took to the bed on Wednesday afternoon. I knew I had to let my body heal itself. Besides there's nothing a doctor can do for cracked ribs other than charge you a fortune to tell you to do everything a Google search can tell you for free, and the last thing I need is prescription pain killers. Big Pharma is not your friend. It's just an addicting band-aid.  Massey bought me a wrap around bandage, an herbal balm which is fantastic for bruise relief off Amazon and was in here less than a few hours. Throw in wonderful edibles (thank you Florida for medical marijuana) and after four days of laying on my good side doing absolutely nothing, I woke up this morning and could get out of bed with out even so much as a grimace. I'm still sore and moving slow, but I took a shower today and began weaning myself off the Motrin. It sounds gross but I even kept a small spit cup by my bed so every time I painfully coughed up phlegm I spit it out. Better out than in.

Unfortunately my Google search tells me it may take up to six weeks for total healing. At least it doesn't hurt to breathe or take deep breaths, a sign of broken ribs or a punctured lung. No coughing up blood, just the same crud that has been ravaging our house for ten days.

Cooking Thanksgiving was absolutely out of the question for me, and thank goodness it was just us four this year. Massey stepped up and did most all the cooking. Zachary cooked the brined turkey, made the gravy and creamed potatoes. Massey did the dressing, green beans, sweet potato casserole and her wonderful homemade cranberry sauce. I sat straight up in the living room recliner and answered her cooking questions. After dinner I went back to bed while they cleaned up and remained there until Sunday afternoon.

Today I finally felt significantly better and think the worst has passed. I will continue to take it easy the rest of this week and give my 100 lb bag of bones time to heal. Tim and the kids have been nothing but wonderful to me. I'll be honest, those first couple of days had even me worried. I have never felt pain like that and hope I never do again.

Getting old ain't for sissies, especially skinny ones with no padding. I'll be honest. I did a lot of praying these past few days. There were times when I regretted not going to the ER, but The Big Guy came through for me. I am sure my family sent some prayers up on my behalf as well, and probably a few for themselves having to do basically everything for five days with no help from me whatsoever, while taking absolutely wonderful care of this broken down old nag. No glue factory for me yet!

In all honesty, I was extremely worried those first couple of days. It was a silent worry and my brain was working overtime with different scenarios. The pain was so intense that I couldn't even sleep. I would pray for sleep and also pray if it was my time, just let me go to sleep and not wake up. Yes I am a coward. But God had other plans this time, and for that I will be forever grateful. I was so unsure about the severity of my injury that I didn't even look at or pick up my cell phone for three days, nor did I log into any device. I just wanted to wait it out alone without pity or unasked for advice or criticism.

Once again I am one of the luckiest people on the planet and have (hopefully) dodged yet another one of life's bullets. I hurt my ribs years ago and while this was more intense it was much the same type of pain, which is: "not fun."

It's going to be a long few weeks, Riley already wonders why I'm not out with her in the yards every day and would come into our bedroom and check on me every few hours. She'd gingerly sniff my face, give me a little boop and go back into the living room with everyone else.

I guess we all know what I am thankful for this Thanksgiving and it's true...

Till next time, COTTON

Love Is A Four Legged Word

 

I don't get out much (by my own choosing) and rarely ever venture out at night except for a quick dinner at one of our local/neighborhood favorite restaurants. All non chain places. We have a great family owned Italian, a great ramen place, a Chinese restaurant, excellent pizza place and a favorite Mexican spot. All less than fifteen minutes from our house unless traffic is horrible.

Last month my daughter talked me into going into downtown Orlando one night with her for trivia night at a pub on Orange Avenue. Orange Avenue is the equivalent of Peachtree Street in Atlanta or the main drag that runs through any big city. I tried to back out but she refused to let me. It was going to be "The Office"  trivia night and her boss from work along with his wife were going and needed back up knowledge. I have watched the entire series at least ten times if not more. The Office is right up there for me along with Parks and Rec, Schitt's Creek and Seinfeld. Every episode of every one of those series is epic, repeatable and classic.

She had me when she told me we were going to a dog bar. Her boss and his wife always take their cute rescue pup, Peggy with them. It was quite the experience, right from the jump. You go in, there is a wooden gate you go through and shut behind you, with another wooden gate in front of you. Beyond that is the wonderful controlled chaos of fifty to seventy five off leash dogs making the rounds, chasing tails and sniffing butts. I'm talking big dogs and tiny dogs and all in between dogs. All the floor is covered with AstroTurf with a drainage beneath it so they can spray down the floor after the occasional poop pick up or more frequent marking/peeing. It has an open air area in the back so isn't a closed in environment and all they serve is beer and wine. You are welcome to bring in your own pizza, snacks or wings and also have a food truck in the parking lot that will deliver hot cheese steaks, salads or chicken nuggets directly to your table.

I was pleasantly surprised when I came up with several (correct) clutch answers when others on our team didn't know the answer. We didn't win but we had fun and placed decently as opposed to being blown away.

So a month goes by and Massey tells me it's going to be "Harry Potter" trivia night at Pup's Pub and wanted me to go with her again. She is a HP know it all and binged the movies and books for years. Her boss and his wife are HP fans as well.

Me, not so much. When I was a lunch lady at the kids elementary school back in the early 2000's (hardest job I ever had) I was also still waiting tables at night and every weekend. Those were long years. If they don't get you on a PTA committee they'll get you as a room mom or a volunteer at every field day or fall carnival. So when the books first came out I went to my younger sons' third grade classroom every weekday after I got off my Lunch Lady gig (around 2:00) and read the class the first Harry Potter book for thirty minutes before school let out. Let me tell you, I mispronounced about every name in the book, especially Hermione. I pronounced it "Her-Moin". No one (even his teacher) ever corrected me. I'm not even sure if the first movie had come out yet so I was safe idiot...especially in central Georgia where we have our own southern spin on every word in the English language.

Anyhoo, back to Harry Potter night. I was just there for moral support and dog pets. Very popular night at the ole Pup's Pub. There were dobermans, great danes, rottweilers, Bernese mountain dogs, Aussies, Dachshunds, retrievers and labs. Heinz 57's, toy poodles, boxer mixes and terrier after terrier and of course doodles. It was awesome.

We got there early to get a booth for the rest of our team. We sat down and this little girl hopped onto the seat and plopped down on the top of the table like it was hers and only hers.

I just love this place! Right after this a little dachshund wandered over and jumped into my lap for a ten minute nap.

The one and only answer I knew was the first question about what a non magic person is called. I knew muggle and that was about my extent of my HP knowledge and the questions got harder with every one so I refocused on making dog friends and meeting as many as I could.

After I took a video tour of the place with my cell phone I returned to our table where our (their) team was hunkered over the table trying to remember what the incantation spell was for (I believe opening doors?)

 My suggested answer was "Abracadabra" but when my daughter rolled her eyes at me I quickly changed it to "Bibbity Bobbitty Boo!" 

At least all of them chuckled at that one. They are all such good kids. Yes they are in their mid to late twenties but hanging around them keeps me young at heart as well.

I told them if they ever held a General Hospital trivia night we'd walk out with the grand prize easy peasy.

I don't watch GH on the daily  anymore but thanks to streaming catch up with it at random times. I loved 'All My Children.' I called it All My Kids. I can remember being in third or fourth grade and running down the hill from our elementary school to watch 'Another World' with my mother at 2:30. Ray Liotta got his big break on that soap. He played Joey Perrini, a troubled kid who lived next door to Ada Hobson, the matriarch of the show, who's daughter (Rachel) was a dumpster fire. Soaps were great in the sixties and seventies. Someone coughed once...they were doomed to die. Then after they died they'd come back as an evil twin...maybe twice if the writers twisted the storyline enough. You gotta love a soap.

So at least I'm getting out of my homebody state and visiting the real world every once in a while now. What makes it even better is that it involves all the dogs I could possibly want to be around. Talk about an enjoyable evening.

They don't know each other or each others story but all manage to get along. They have a great time and learn how to mingle with same breeds, mixed breeds or mutts. They don't care about anything other than sniffing booties for dog intel, then playing, chasing, sometimes resting, other times looking for love from peeps they've never met and simply just living the good life.

We could (and should) learn a lot from our four legged friends.

Oh I will be a patron of Pup's Pub for life. 

Til next time, COTTON 

Cruel And Unusual Punishment

 

The election took its toll on my mental health.

Trump?? Really?

Somebody wake me up, there must be a mistake.

Maybe if we give him back his TV show he'll resign. And to add insult to injury, who does Elon Musk think he is in this whole scenario? I read today he calls himself "The Best Buddy." That's also worrisome to me. The whole thing is worrisome to me. I wish I were wrong about both (or either) of them but unfortunately I don't think I am.

And Matt Gaetz? May as well pardon and appoint P Diddy for the job. I'm thinking MTG will be tapped for Secretary of Offense.

Am I the only person who remembers him saying (touting) if he won the election the Ukraine/Russian war would be over the first day? Well he's had almost two weeks and guess what? It's not over. Kinda like that wall he was going to build in 2020 with Mexico footing the bill. 

Seems like Felon47 suffers from Sometimers. That's not good either...for any of us.

For the life of me I can't wrap my head around the fact that number one he isn't already in jail. And number two now he is poised to be in the position to pardon the worst of the worst and once again dodge his own culpability in literally dozens of cases where he has been found guilty time after time after time.

I'll be honest with you. I'd rather pay more for eggs and gas than to have him in control of this country for four more years. I'd rather walk and raise my own chickens if need be.

And let's legislate some laws pertaining to what he can and cannot do with his own swinging Richard for starters.

Women have been dealt a tremendous slap in the face by mostly politicians who don't even have a uterus and apparently have even fewer balls to stand up for women's rights.

My husband tells me to quit all my worrying and just let it play out. He said "God's watching and He knows."

I need The Big Guy on speed dial. I'm texting all the prayers I can through the virtual number I have for Him.

PearlyGates911

I am hoping upon hope that my husband is right. What worries me most is that elected presidents aren't the ones in real control. The filthy rich/corporations/conglomerates, all who's money get them there will pull most all the strings, all of the time. It's not a presidency anymore, it's a puppetry.

And boy oh boy have we elected one doozy of a puppet this time. I realize all politicians have their own agendas and aspirations but with no campaign reform and unchecked balance of powers, we the people are just a casualty of whatever they are paid to do and say and vote for or against.

What a sad state of affairs, for all of us, and our children and our grandchildren.

Do I think Kamala was the best choice of all people as a candidate? No, but she hands down was 100% better than the alternative parties choice. He is a monster. He is a convicted sexual assailant and a thirty four time convicted felon, not to mention a con man and racist.

Yet the majority of America voted this ass wipe into office...again. 

My message to all those voters?

Be careful what You ask for. Mark my words.

Here's my barometer. Even Jimmy Carter didn't vote for him. His own former vice president didn't even endorse him or pretty much anyone in his former cabinet.

I'm thinking they know a lot more about him than we do, and I'm following their lead.

Now we have Musk jumping all around behind the orange pie hole because now he's going to even increase his government contracts through SpaceX and StarLink. Do you really think Elon gives a rats ass about any of us Americans?

And seems to me like not too long ago the orange pie hole was bashing all electric vehicles and demanding we go back to the Flintstone years of raping the planet for fossil fuel instead of moving forward with a more conscientious and environmentally friendly source of solar and wind power. Sustainable and absolutely unlimited.

Now all of the sudden Musk is his right hand man. (stroking pun totally intended)

If he gives MTG a cabinet position I might just stroke out myself.

I am not sure if I (or this country) can take four more years of this orange clown but I do know that by the end of this term he will not be remembered in a favorable light.

Mark my words.

He doesn't care about me or you. He doesn't care about education or climate change or women's rights or even the rights of native Americans or immigrants simply trying to do what we all did, come to this country for a better life. And don't get me started on African Americans or people who have the audacity to love who they want to love and not be questioned or targeted for it.

I have lost more than a few people from my life over the orange one via social media, text or face to face interaction. That's okay too. At least I know now where they stand and they know the same about me. I don't need or want friends who support a vile and venomous and totally despicable excuse for a human being. Are you really more worried about the almighty dollar over the sense of doing what's decent and right for everyone? He is going to do nothing for ones hurting the most, who need it the most.

That's selfish if you ask me.  And I remember what my husband told me..."God is watching."

But that's just me, and I like being me.

Till next time, COTTON

Socks In November...In Orlando?!

 While I like a break from the heat, I don't appreciate suddenly having to wear socks. That wasn't what I signed up for when I moved to Florida. I'm a flip flops gal, not a slides gal. Socks are okay with slides, flip flops not so much. I do have a pair of slides my daughter bought me a while back and have them out and into the current rotation.  It's like there's no norm anymore here in central Florida...or the rest of the country for that matter. 

It's like the orange pie hole's new administration picks and appointees are all climbing out of the same clown car. 

And people wonder about Biden's lucidity? At least Biden (finally) had the good grace to step aside, albeit too late. Sore point with me but hindsight is always 20/20. 

Number one I'm not a big fan of any politician. They all have ulterior motives... until a single one of them convinces me otherwise and I don't expect that to be happening anytime soon.

It's a crisp cool snap here in the House of Mouse Town. Me no like. Cooler temps for me now are 70 in the wake up hour and the mid 70's around noon. It doesn't help the sun goes down at fiveish and begins to wane around three. Criminal activity on Maw Naytch's part if you ask me, and who do I need to speak to about it?

I'm (not really) serious when I say it feels like a therapist conspiracy. Make bright sunlight over by three, dark starting around four and by five thirty you're huddled in a dark room wondering where your day went?

It almost makes me wish I had a therapist to consult. Instead I gripe to my dog. She's an excellent listener and her prices are hard to beat.

At least she looks  like she's listening to me. She always has a look on her face like "Then what did they say, and can you believe their audacity?"

That's my team! If you have four paws on your team you are golden.

I haven't worn a long sleeve shirt since late January. Or socks. Or long pants.

"Woe is me" may not be the right way to go, but after living here almost eight years I have a certain understanding with the weather. It's either really pleasant, or a hurricane is on the way.

I give Maw Naytch maybe ten rouge days a year to show out and catch us off guard. But unless a hurricane or tropical storm disrupts our meteorologists paradise, I'm in it to win it. Sunshine, tolerable temps all twelve months and my azaleas bloom year round. What more could a woman want at this point in life?

Love where you are planted.

I only wish my sister was planted closer to me now but unfortunately she isn't. That's okay. Love is unstoppable, unbreakable, not measured by miles and always constant.

Once again I am a lucky lucky woman...even if I have to wear socks for a day or two. And puffy vests are my friend as well. Gotta leave those arms exposed for hot flashes.

Till next time, COTTON

Climate Spoiled

 

I was born in 1960 (yikes I'm old) and grew up in East Point, Georgia.  A small city, yet literally a ten minute drive from downtown Atlanta. It was home to the Atlanta airport and home to me. After I got married in 1990 we moved to the suburbs to raise youngsters in a little more rural area. Coweta County was twenty five minutes south of the airport and a pretty great place to raise kiddos. After almost twenty five years there, my husband got transferred to Orlando with his job. We moved down in the fall and the day before Christmas my daughter and I scooted over to Cocoa Beach, a thirty minute drive from the house. We stayed on the beach maybe three hours and came home sunburned like we had spent the day in Equador.

I'm not a fan of cold weather so I was pumped to be living in central Florida and less than an hour from the coast.

I quickly became a temp snob. A woman can get away with comfortably wearing a sports bra or tank top, shorts and flip flops pretty much year round with a few cold (coolish) snaps thrown in about ten days a year. I was listening to the radio this morning when the DJ said, tomorrow will be cold when you wake up with a predicted low of sixty seven.

Oh my!!

Just wait, it gets worse. On the noon newscast it was reported some areas may drop into the fifties tomorrow in the morning during wake up hours.

CANCEL SCHOOL!!!!  Go buy all the firewood they have stacked out front of Publix and  make some chili for dinner.

Trust me. People will have on full winter gear, complete with fur lined Uggs and parkas, also with fur lined hoods. All dogs will have their little sweaters on as well when being walked by their owners in the frigid conditions.

Here's the thing about Florida. Rain doesn't bother or deter anyone from doing anything or going anywhere. Unless a hurricane is predicted to be a direct hit as a Cat four, it's just another reason for a party. We don't sell out of milk and bread, we sell out of Fireball, wine and Tequila.

I will also admit my dogs quickly got spoiled as well. In Georgia it would be in the teens for days on end and the dogs had no problem about tromping around the yards. Once we moved here and temps would dip below seventy, they would go out, do their business and be barking at the door in three minutes to get back inside. Let me point out they all wear a head to tail fur coat 24/7.

I did downsize my winter wardrobe. I gave away all but one coat. My Harley Davidson jacket. I have had it since 1980 and fits my Masters of the Universe Skeletor body like a glove.

 I kept two vests. One puffy and one fake lambskin. I have a couple of long sweaters which are mid calf length and one knitted winter hat. The only gloves I own are for gardening, and don't even wear them. They make my hands hot.

Any woman...and I mean any woman who has been through or going through menopause is all about keeping it cool. I would have never survived Florida before A/C and ceiling fans when I was raging through menopause. It still creeps up on me from time to time but nothing like it did a few years ago.

But when it does come a calling, all blankets, covers and sheets and socks and sport bras come off. I don't care if it's twenty below outside.

Then five minutes later you are putting the socks back on and climbing back underneath the sheets and blanket...for another thirty minutes. Rinse and repeat...it's the hot flash mantra.

That Eve really did a number on us, didn't she? And all over an apple (and a man).  Go figure.

Of course this is all in jest. (kinda)

I love living here. Even when it dips into the fifties from time to time. We found the perfect spot to live but the one and only bad thing about it is that my sister is still in Georgia.

 

This pic is from when we had dinner together right before we moved to Florida. I miss her every day and all the time.

It's been a learning curve for us both. We've never lived more than twenty miles from each other. But as Glennon Doyle has taught me, we can do hard things. We will survive.

Our country? That's another sitch altogether and worries me greatly.

The one single and only good take away from this recent election is that Florida will be rid of the orange abyss of a pie hole, Matt Gaetz (charged with underage sex trafficking) Marco-Polo flim flam Rubio and Rick Scott who committed major fraud concerning Medicaid and Medicare. Thanks for cleaning up our part of the swamp for at least four years. Maybe we need to put up a border preventing all of them access to return to the Sunshine State. Maybe you can find a cabinet position for Ron DeSantis up there too.

To everyone who voted this ass hat into office... be careful what you ask for. Trust me, he's just getting started and it isn't going to be pretty. 

Things are heating up for sure. 

Climate change is taking on a whole new meaning. It's going to be a long four years and it's going to get ugly.

I'm Beyond Tore Slap Up

 

'Tore slap up' is southern speak at its finest. Kinda like 'Fixing to' ... 'Bless her heart' and 'Mama and nem.'  (meaning everyone)

I have been having some serious issues with all things social media related lately. My God...people are seemingly out of their minds.

If it is posted on Facebook or X or IG or any other stupid social page it's taken as fact. Most social media is anything but true or fact.

Once the election got heated I should have simply stepped away from it but it quickly turned into a dumpster fire of a train wreck and I just couldn't look away. It was borderline mind boggling. How and why do people believe any thing that comes out of his orange pie hole?

I have faith in this nation, we just need to take it back from the NRA, big business and deep pockets doling money out to politicians like candy on Halloween.

Can we survive four more years of him? I certainly hope so, I just wish we didn't have to. The idiot is a hero to many in our neighborhood. They have his face on the American flag (yikes) and one guy is even flying a huge banner from his porch which reads "Jesus is my Savior and Trump is my president."  He'd better count on his first choice more than his second one, that's for sure. I can just imagine God Upstairs, rolling his eyes at all the shenanigans that 215(not)lb con man is getting away with. Time after time after time. Thirty four times to be exact...so far.

I am going to have to reset my mind set. It's not healthy for my mental well being which lately has been hanging on by a bare thread. I refuse to let the orange one get into my head and muck up my mojo. He's not worth it.

I am also going to stand up for my beliefs in the neighborhood where we live. My daughter, who is also on Substack, wrote a very eloquent and spot on post about being neighborly. Look her up, Massey Cotton. She's a pretty sharp chickadee if I may say so myself. Beautiful inside and out, with a heart as wide as the oceans.

She and I offered to help last year with the Halloween party for all the kids at our community park within our neighborhood last year. Members on the neighborhood Hatebook page complained that the same people helped with every party and was time for others to step up...so we did. It was our first time helping and help we did! My sister was in town visiting from Georgia so she and I, along with Massey and her brother who moved here a couple of years ago all went to help set up. My husband even went and filled our huge hurricane cooler with  six  bags of ice for them to use and dropped it off at the park. Our newer neighbor from two doors down signed up as well and it was a banging good time. For the kiddos and adults as well.

This year Halloween rolled around and we were asked to help once again, so we did. Zachary (my son) had to work and so did my husband but Massey and I did it all over again, along with our neighbor and we did a great job decorating. While putting the empty plastic bins back into the storage shed after using all the decorations we came across a twenty foot long ghoul that had been stored for years and years and wasn't in the greatest shape but decided if we hung it high enough up it would look great and you'd never notice how old or falling apart it was. Massey and the guy running the event (a member of the board) took it to the front of the park entrance to nail it high up in a tree by the gate. There wasn't a great locale for it so Massey suggested they run it up the flagpole by the boat launch at the dock right past the pavilion we decorated for the party, including about twelve picnic tables, a huge grill pit, a stage and big wrap around counter for all the food people brought to be shared. We live in a lake community, and after two back to back hurricanes the flag had been taken down so the pole was empty. Great idea! Run Mr. Ghoul up the pole as a welcome to all the littles, who over half of were dressed as ghouls themselves. I took a short video of them running Ghouly up the pole and posted it on the neighborhood page the next day. Tons of likes and the party was a huge success. It felt good to start feeling like a part of the community. Many people out here are second and even third generation families. I don't blame them. We are a hidden gem in Orlando, who's busting at the seams with development and over building, taking more and more of Mother Nature away for the almighty dollar and more revenue. Sad.

So several days go by after the party, which was a huge hit complete with costume contest, tons of good food, music and dancing. Decorated golf carts and candy being given out from each one to all the trick or treaters and adult beverages for us older folk.

So I'm looking through the neighborhood page a few days later and someone (I've never heard of) commented that "I never comment on here but find it offensive the American flag was replaced with a demonic symbol on a flag pole meant to honor all the many service members who live in our neighborhood.

Really?

Kudos to one board member who immediately replied "The flag wasn't up, it has been down since the hurricanes."

I chimed in and said we would have never taken down the American flag to run a Halloween (not demonic) decoration up the pole.

And of course they come right back at me.

"That's not the point. My family donated that pole."

Okay then, you got your pat on the back post out there, thanks for the pole. We love you, you're great! Had I have known it was their pole I would have certainly reached out (privately) to make sure it was okay with them. (eye roll)

My biggest take away was this.

They complained when other people didn't step up and volunteer to help in the community with parties and celebrations. Then when we did volunteer, they still complained. It soured me to a point that we don't want or intend to help with other parties, and they have a lot of them. Next up is the Christmas party, then the Chili cook off in January where you sign up and pay dues for the upcoming year. Which we won't be doing for the first time since moving here. It's a nice park and gives you access to have a key for the gate and can go anytime you want unless it is reserved for a party or event by another neighbor in the hood.

We don't own a boat to take or launch from there and our kids are all grown. I don't foresee them wanting to swing on the  monkey bars or climb the jungle gyms.

I volunteered because I was a part of this neighborhood and the neighborhood asked for new volunteers.

I'm not asking or wanting these people to feel the same way I do or have the same beliefs I have. I was just trying to be neighborly and feel slapped in the face for even trying. It was humiliating and absolutely unnecessary. 

As my daughter so eloquently put it in her Substack:  "I'm not asking you to be my friend or be friendly with me. I'm asking you to be my neighbor and be neighborly to me."

The whole thing jaded me and (unfortunately) am a big grudge holder when you do me wrong, especially when I am only trying to help do the right thing.

Yay!!(not really) 

The majority of our neighbors' favorite won. The ball is in your court. You got what you asked for. 

On the other hand you also asked for other people to help in the hood and we stepped up. Then we got trampled, humiliated and made to look like buffoons who didn't care about respect for the flag.

As much as I enjoyed it, I won't sign up again. We won't join the voluntary association again this January. They have made it evident and make me feel they don't want or need or our $150.00.

How sad is that? How petulant and petty is that?

And who does that remind you of?

I absolutely love living here, glad we landed here but learned that some people out here are so single minded, unable to accept other opinions and feel the need to humiliate and make fun of anyone who doesn't align with their own views.

Once again, who does that remind you of?

Bless their hearts.

It's going to be a long four years.

COTTON

November...Already?

 

Unbelievably this year is literally a few short weeks away from being over. Where has the time gone and more importantly what have we done with it? 

It's been a learning curve for me. Old age and forty plus years of slinging heavy plates and carrying countless bus tubs and huge buckets of ice took their toll on my body. It doesn't help that I'm basically a hundred pound walking saggy bag of bones but think as far as sixty five years goes, I pickled pretty well. (just don't get or look too closely at my face, mustache or goatee and random whiskers)

I look my best from ten feet away, without florescent lighting, and advance notice that you're looking at my face.

True facts at my age.

Resting Bi*ch Face is a real kill joy and is so hard to concentrate on not making sometimes. Unfortunately I have a mirror built into the wall above my kitchen sink. Fortunately it looks great there, and has an actual window frame around it complete with a sill and panes. Makes the entire kitchen look twice as big and I like being able and see all the way down the hallway behind me when I am at the sink. It has helped me with my RBF since every time I look in I need (and take) immediate action to correct my unprovoked grimace.

I'm learning to accept the fact that it is what it is. I'm a senior citizen now. When I was in high school it was all the rage and super cool to finally be a senior.

Now? Not so much.

How in the world did I end up being in the same age group as all my parent's friends? My mother died  just after I turned seventeen. My father died in 2002 from West Nile Virus but I have kept in touch with many of their good friends over the years. There's  not a large number of them left anymore but it's not a shabby number either. I'm going to guess about ten or fifteen. I write to a lot them (snail mail) and call the ones I have numbers for. I can even text the really savvy ones. Yes they tell me the same stories sometimes but I am also a compulsive repeater, especially if it's a funny story. I get it from my mother. My father used to make fun of her for it, and now so do my husband and brother... in their defense I am an easy target but in my defense they both still laugh when I tell them. So at least there's that.

Ya gotta count those blessings!

See what I mean about no florescent lighting and ten feet away? Works like a charm. Every. Time.

Dusk or dim lighting is even better! At my age you need to utilize your strengths, especially if it doesn't include any heavy lifting or walking up a lot of stairs.

 I have one bad knee I twisted in a speed skate for mothers at the skating rink in the early 2000's when my kids were little...and yes I came in second.

Kinda ticked me off because at first they announced it was only a speed skate for mothers and I went out there (pushed by my kids) but eventually followed by one other mom.. Then the guy on skates with whistle and referee shirt on says into the microphone "Or fourteen and up!!"

Are you kidding me? Of course a young girl won but I was hot on her trail. Not too shabby for a middle aged woman.

This was at a skate night for their elementary school. I was still waiting tables at night and on weekends but had taken a job in the cafeteria of their school so they could remain there when a huge county redistricting happened and they wanted my kids to attend a school further away.

We were on the starting line and I could hear kids screaming "GO Lunch Lady!!" So I did.

I still have a bad knee to prove it. But that's okay, I have another knee that is just fine. A year or two ago I was raking clippings out of our shrubbery as my daughter trimmed them with the electric hedger. I slung the rake over the hedge the wrong way and my shoulder literally audibly popped so loud even my daughter heard it. It hurt so bad it made me immediately nauseous. It still goes in and out and makes me wince when it does, sometimes making me want to scream. Kudos for me though, I still have another perfectly good shoulder and is located on the other side of my body from my bad knee so I'm basically batting .500 at the tender age of fifty fifteen.

It's all about perspective at this point. At least that's my take. 

We only have one dog now after losing my precious Ziggy last year but my brother still has two. I am the official Mon-Fri dog watcher for both houses, all three hounds, and couldn't have or want a better job. I scooter (my brother bought me the scooter for Christmas last year and love it) from our house to his at least a couple of times a day to let his dogs out and spend most of my day in our yards with our pup. I highly suggest hanging around dogs more than humans.

Love is a four legged word...that's for sure.

This little 55 lb. girl has us all wrapped around her front paw, which looks like black velvet but can rip my old lady skin back or up with one glance.  I've used more band aids since I turned sixty than I have my entire life.  My brother has two dobermans so that's even more hazardous to my old lady skin. Luckily they are older and not the clown that our boxer is. She's one hot mess.

My brother adopted a Dobie a couple of years ago that was an escaper. I don't know why she tried to escape, he treats his dogs better than I treat my own kids. If I was one of his dogs I would be attached to his hip. Post Note: she has since done exactly that.

But before that she was horrible.  She would wiggle, dig under around or between any compromise in the fence. Granted it was an older fence but we were all worried she would get hit by a car. He finally paid well over ten grand to have a new fence installed all around his house and property.

While the fence was being installed I had to walk both Dobies on a leash. His older girl, Robin wouldn't leave the yard if the gate was left wide open and you called to her from the street. She knew which side of the fence was buttered.

Not Shelby. I was walking her one day in the yard with a leash on so she couldn't escape when one of our neighbors had the audacity to walk their own dog by my brother's house...on a leash none the less.

Shelby went ape sh*t crazy and ran circles around me (I had her on an extendable leash) essentially hog tying me and dragging me by my ankles up the gravel driveway. My neighbor looked horrified and asked if I was okay. I gave him a thumbs up and was glad we had more than that ten foot buffer because I was bleeding like a stuck pig. I still have scars on my ankles.

The next time the ole heifer got me was when I once again had her on the leash about a week later while the fence was still being installed. I was by some pine trees and a squirrel darted up one by us. Shelby took off around the tree, dragging my arm holding the leash with her. Raked back about a three inch slice of skin off my forearm and had to pick pine bark out of the cut before I washed it in my brothers sink, pushed my skin back the right way and wrapped my arm in paper towels before I could even begin to search my brother's house  for bandages.

Shelby was a lot, but has turned out to be a perfect dog. Just took her a year or so and over ten thousand dollars worth of new fencing.

I can say I never ever took her out on a long extendable leash again. Four feet was all Smalls/Shelby got after that.

She's turned out to be a love bug and my brother has since adopted another Dobie after his other girl Robin passed away.

Now he has Shelby and Warlock. Warlock is a blue doberman. Absolutely stunning pup.

This is what a blue Dobie looks like:

Warlock (sorry I don't have a pic of him) has the floppy ears like the one on the left and the exact some coloring. I have never seen a dog more happy and complacent to be rescued and loved. Nothing bothers this dog, except squirrels and birds. He also knows what side of the fence is buttered and has no desire to leave or get out of the yard. He runs the fence line with his head up high, looking for birds and squirrels in the trees. How he doesn't have a massive crick in his neck is a mystery to me. He is obsessed and relentless. Luckily the squirrels and birds have (so far) been quicker. I'm hoping I am not on duty the day he finds a slow one. Dobermans aren't quitters by any stretch of the canine imagination. 

I suppose where all this written drivel is leading is that I am still a pretty lucky person, regardless of how I think (know) I look or sometimes feel. At least I'm still kicking...granted not too high (don't want to pull a hamstring) and will never be a Rockette or in  Riverdance but at least I can get out of bed every day, go about my business and not feel pressured to do something I don't want to do or clock in at a job and have to follow rules and guidelines while other coworkers skirt them on the daily. 

Trust me, we all worked with that person. Every job has one. (or two or three)

So I'm going out on a limb here and saying I've done okay in life. I have been blessed, beyond blessed and then some. 

I haven't changed the world by any means but feel that I have made a (probably insignificant but well meaning) positive difference at best. 

That's all I have ever wanted to do or be. A good person.

Have I failed at times? Absolutely. Who hasn't?

With the new year rapidly approaching my mind is spinning. This latest election in the USA has proven (once again) that politics are not topics to be discussed or expressed anywhere except behind the (now proverbial) curtain in a polling booth. Our parents called that one right. I wish we would have listened.

It's turned into a flat out hate fest. It turned into a mudslinging of misinformation and the only ones benefiting are the puppeteers pulling political strings with their deep pockets and more often than not taking our hard earned money and using it for their own agenda and profit. And I am absolutely talking about both sides of the swamp. It's called a swamp for a reason, there is an extremely muddy and mucked up bank on either side and all around it.

Let's dial it back (especially on social media) to keeping political opinions to ourselves. Has that been hard for me? Extremely. I am not a fan of our newly elected president, but it is what it is. He won.

We shall see what we shall see.

Don't cry over spilled milk. Just be careful next time you pour a glass.

 Till next time...COTTON

Talk About A Gut Punch

 

I am stunned. I am in disbelief. We elected a  thirty four time convicted felon for our president. Someone please tell me how that makes sense, especially considering he was also found guilty of sexual assault with a huge financial verdict awarded?

I am walking around in a daze, if I get out of bed at all. You may think I'm kidding but that first morning after the election I was literally sick to my stomach. The things I've seen and heard him say (on a live feed) boggles my mind. I haven't cooked nor offered to. I just sit and stare off into space wondering how we got here. The rest of my family all know I am in a huge, huge funk but also know how I wear my heart on my sleeve and how committed I am to my principals and beliefs.

Of course he'll tell people anything! He's always been that way, but trust me he has "The Donald's" best and only interest at heart. Every. Time.

It is what it is. There is nothing I can do about it now.

My worst fear is that he will get sworn into office and pardon not only all the rioters from Jan.6  but somehow finagle and pardon himself from his own 34 count felony convictions. Not thirty four charges, thirty four convictions.

Where's the justice in that? 

And let's talk about Elon Musk (richest man in America) who also owns the mega huge social network X buying himself a president for the paltry sum of $100,000,000.  Not to mention the NRA and all other global giant conglomerates holding us hostage with their inflated prices, while they post record setting earnings.

Who's zooming who? 

It will take me a few days to process all the hate Trump has brought to this country's table and spewed amongst the  forefront of our society not to mention the political arena. He's made bullying and making fun of people an okay thing to do...and his followers/haters jumped right on board and even offered to drive the train and blow the horn, while waving the Rebel/ Trump flags while crashing through the windows of the nation's capitol like a barbaric mob and storming down the halls.

For my own sanity I have decided to disengage myself from Facebook. I would delete the app totally if not for local and neighborhood pages who post lost pets and available rescues. Recipes and garden tips I can find on my own.

Sanity will take some work.

A lot of the  people I grew up with and even some of the people I've met since, just don't share the same views that I do.

Number one: Immigration?

Hello...we are all immigrants unless we are of Native American descent. And yes this is a great country  (although has been historically proven we stole and raped them and their land) but if I was living in squalor with my children in Mexico or Venezuela, Ukraine, Gaza etc... and wanted to give them a better chance at a better life, you bet your bippy I would find some razor wire to throw a jacket or blanket over and simply just get them to the other side of the border for the chance at a decent and better life. When you have small babies and children you don't have years and years to wait for official documents or documentation, not when their life is on the line along with your own.

Love your neighbor.

Go ahead and get rid of and ship back all migrant workers and see how much of our food gets picked and harvested for pennies on the dollar. I bet Americans will be lining up for those jobs like it's a Taylor Swift concert. (extreme sarcasm intended)

And women's rights to medical access and care? 

There isn't one single male president, governor or politician on this earth who should have any (and let me repeat that) ANY  opinion, input or authority to legislate what a female does with her own body.

At least not until they legislate what a male can or cannot do with his ding dong. (just trying to keep it light although is a heavy subject on my heart)

And who cares who someone else wants to love? Since when is that a crime (or any of your business)?

We are worrying about the wrong things, we are electing the wrong people and we are letting big politics and even bigger business and gigantic conglomerates rule us, and laugh behind our backs as they hold us hostage all the way to the bank. Us having to withdraw our money to simply survive while they deposit billions into their own accounts and reap record profits.

I'm no brain surgeon but it seems pretty simple to me.

Love and let Love. 

And my last gripe of the day is this whole Daylight Savings.

My candidate lost, my immediate concerns and values are on the line. I am worried for my own daughter and grand daughter's future...and then you wanna make it start to get dark at four thirty in the afternoon?

I'm thinking this is maybe a ploy by therapists, psychologists and even psychiatrists to make me want and make an appointment...  because I'm feeling like I need to talk to someone...and although my dog is a good listener, it bothers me when I get to a crucial part in my rant and she's just licking her cooter like it's hers to claim.

 

Till next time...COTTON