Yes, it is much better to give in to manufactured terror from folks we don’t know, than terror from the very same folks — the ones with guns and ‘God on their side’ who keep killing people. 
To donate to Planned Parenthood: https://secure.ppaction.org/site/Donation2?df_id=12913&12913.donation=form1
Filed under 'Merica, 2016, Abortion, Adult Traumas, All The News You Need, All We Are Saying Is Give Peace A Chance, Bat-shit crazy, Beating that Dead Horse, Being an asshole, Campaigning, Cancer on Society, Criminal Activity, Disgustology, Do GOP Voters Actually THINK?, Elections, Elections Matter, Gun control, Hypocrisy, Law, Oh shit, Planned Parenthood, Pro-Birth, Rerun, Shit, WTF?
Today as I prepare a million different dishes for Thursday’s feast, I thought I’d share (for a second time) another family story, about the year my Mom forgot her turkey. I’m pretty sure you’ll buy fresh from now on. I certainly do!
It seems like just the other day that I was talking about folks to whom strange things just happen. Maybe that’s because it was just the other day that I told this story.
I have a secret, though. I’m not the only person in my family with this, ummm, gift for attracting the strange and humorous. Dad used to say that if there was a weirdo within 5 miles of him, that weirdo would find Dad and have a nice long chat. But if something weird was going to happen, well, it would happen to Mom. Somehow I managed to inherit both weirdness magnets. Sigh.
But this is Mom’s story.
Mom wasn’t the bird lover in our family. Dad was. So I should have known something weird had happened when Mom identified a bird I was looking at from a distance. Mom and Dad were visiting John and I in Connecticut. She and I were driving not far from our house one day in about 1990, and I pulled over to look at the large birds circling above us. Back then large predatory birds soaring were still an unusual sight — when I saw those large silhouettes, I always assumed they were eagles. I mean, what else could it be? I kept trying to get a good look.
“They’re turkey vultures,” Mom said with complete certainty. “We see them all the time at home in Florida.”
They weren’t eagles?
(Google image, natch)
“Turkey vultures?” I said, not believing her for a minute. I’d never even heard of such a creature. Mom pursed her lips and looked back at me, slightly annoyed that I was questioning her (never seen before) bird identification skills.
I should have been suspicious. I should have know there was a story behind Mom’s new-found large bird expertise. I should have known that something weird was involved.
“They’re really big. And up close, they really do look just like turkeys.”
“When did you ever get ‘up close’ to a turkey vulture, Mom?”
She tried to avoid the question.
“Mom….” It was never too hard to get Mom to tell her stories. Something else we have in common. “Fess up…”
“It wasn’t my fault. That refrigerator at home is just too small.”
“Huh?”
“Well, it happened last Thanksgiving, but I didn’t want to tell you,” she laughed. “I knew I’d never hear the end of it.”
“Mom …”
“Dad and I went to the grocery store on Saturday, as usual, the weekend before Thanksgiving,” she continued. “And we bought a frozen turkey for Thanksgiving Dinner.”
“OK.” I wasn’t catching on.
“Well, it was a frozen turkey. Frozen solid. You know it takes days to thaw those things. You might as well try to melt an iceberg. I put it into the roasting pan and placed it on the counter to thaw. But I kept having to move it around that tiny kitchen to do anything else. Then, on Sunday night when I was making dinner, I needed my counter. So I put the still rock hard turkey into the carport.”
“Mom, doesn’t your carport get pretty warm? It is in Florida, after all.”
“Well, that wasn’t really the problem,” she said, laughing. “Not exactly, anyhow. Or not at first. The problem was that I forgot I’d left the turkey there. I woke up Thursday morning, ready to get started on Thanksgiving Dinner and couldn’t find my turkey! I thought I was going nuts. I knew we had bought one. ‘Where’d you put my turkey?’ I asked your father, accusingly. ‘I didn’t do anything with it. Did it get up and walk away?’ he asked. And then I remembered – ‘Oh Lord, it’s in the carport. I hope it’s still OK to eat.’”
“I went out the door to find the carport filled with turkey vultures–I don’t even know how many were in there. They were sitting on the car, on the workbench. On the floor. Everywhere! And you know, they really do look just like turkeys. They have those red heads and bulging eyes. They had torn the packaging apart and were eating our Thanksgiving turkey! I sent your father out to shoo them all away. And then he had to go to Publix to get something for our feast.”
I roared. So did she, remembering.
“I told him to get a piece of beef to roast. I’d had enough birds for a while.”
Mom was absolutely right. Turkey vultures look a whole lot like turkey turkeys. Especially after they’ve just had Thanksgiving dinner.
Photo by Tom Nichols, Fairfield, CA found here: http://www.ibabuzz.com/garybogue/2011/09/02/turkey-vulture-up-close-and-personal/
Oh, and her instinct was right — she should never have told me this story. She never did hear the end of it!
To those who aren’t over indulging this week, can I send you a few pounds?
Filed under 'Merica, Adult Traumas, Bat-shit crazy, Bloggin' Buddies, Conspicuous consumption, Cool people, Crazy family members, Diet tips, Disgustology, Driving, Family, History, Holidays, Huh?, Humiliation, Humor, laughter, Love, Missing Folks, Mom, Mom would die of embarrassment, Oh shit, Pets, Wild Beasts, WTF?
I found this thoughtful piece through my friend, Father Kaine at the Last of the Milleniums. It sums up so beautifully exactly what has happened in our country in recent years, and exactly what we should all, IMHO, fight against.
That headline might be somewhat puzzling to most of you. But, I believe it must be asked. We often hear about “American Exceptionalism” and the “Land of the Free.” It is time to consider just what those terms actually mean. Next week is Thanksgiving. It is a time for us to reflect on our good fortune for living in such a good country. And, yes, America is a good country.
The problem is that somewhere we seem to have lost our way. Somewhere we have lost our vision. Somewhere we seem to have lost our identity. This is shown by the rhetoric that has permeated our politics for the last 7 years or so. We have gone from a country where everyone can live their dream to one that claims only certain people can live the dream.
American Exceptionalism is not what the Republican candidates are saying it is. To…
View original post 747 more words
Filed under Humor
Every day of my life, I thank my lucky stars when I get up, go into my clean bathroom, and take care of business.
Some days of my life, I’m less thankful when I am somewhere where the only “facilities” have no running water. No handle to push. No way to wash my hands.
Of course, with my potty problems, I guess I’m more in tune to toilet issues than most people.
Why am I telling you this? You see, Thursday, November 19, is World Toilet Day. And of course, I’m (1) telling you about it; and (2) celebrating it.
A toilet stands outside the Llamocca family home at Villa Lourdes in Villa Maria del Triunfo on the outskirts of Lima, Peru, October 7, 2015. REUTERS/Mariana Bazo
The point of World Toilet Day is actually pretty important. People without access to hygienic facilities risk illness, many women are preyed upon and attacked as they seek out a place to go. Diseases are transmitted, including infections, cholera, well, here’s a picture.
The “F-diagram” (feces, fingers, flies, fields, fluids, food), showing pathways of fecal-oral disease transmission. The vertical blue lines show barriers: toilets, safe water, hygiene and handwashing.
Source Wikipedia
Hope you’re not eating.
World Toilet Day is to help the fortunate ones of us around the world realize that:
2.4 billion people around the world don’t have access to decent sanitation and more than a billion are forced to defecate in the open, risking disease and other dangers, according to the United Nations
We in the West are rather spoiled. And the reality of what some folks, many folks must deal with can be eye-opening.
About 25 years ago, my friend Ed got a grant and went to Africa to study something or other. It was his first experience visiting the Third World. When he came back, he talked only about poop.
It seemed that the city he had visited ran with raw sewage. Poop was in the gutters. Children played in those gutters. The sewage ran into the river that was used to irrigate crops.
Piles of poop were everywhere. In the street. Under trees. In the corners of buildings; everywhere, he said. Even inside. Ed described a memorable elevator in the middle of a hotel lobby, that he had seen. The decorative ironwork around the elevator shaft was delicate and beautiful. But the elevator didn’t run — in fact, the elevator itself had been removed. But people would stand with their backs to the elevator shaft, pull down their pants/up their skirts, hang their butts over the open elevator shaft. And they’d poop.
“I realized something incredibly important, “ said my horrified friend:
So when you’re thinking about the craziness in today’s world, maybe we all need to realize that part of our problem is that so very many people just don’t have a pot to piss in.
Filed under Adult Traumas, Advice from an Expert Patient, All The News You Need, All We Are Saying Is Give Peace A Chance, Criminal Activity, Disgustology, Farts, Flatulence, Good Deed Doers, Health, Health and Medicine, Huh?, Humiliation, Humor, Hypocrisy, I Can't Get No, Illness, keys to success, Mom would die of embarrassment, Neighbors, Oh shit, Poop, Shit, Shit happens, Taking Care of Each Other, Toilets, Useful thing to do with poop
It was the only story Dad told us about the missions he flew when he was stationed on the USS Monterey , an aircraft carrier, during WWII.
Oh boy did we have fun, Dad would say. We’d go out on a mission, and then head back to the ship. We flew so low, we could feel the spray of the water from below us. We’d fly just this high over the waves! He’d hold his hand out at the exact height of my head. No matter how tall I got, that’s just how far above the waves Dad, Smokey (their navigator and Dad’s best wartime buddy) and their pilot flew. Not high above them at all.
The Japs, he’d say (before there was such a thing as PC), they couldn’t do it. They couldn’t maneuver over the waves. We could, and we lost them that way every time. They never managed to hit us, and they couldn’t follow us back to the ship.
And we had a blast. Cheating death, every day.
An SBD Dauntles, over Wake Island in the Pacific, 1943. My Dad was the gunner; he rode backwards. Photo credit (via Wikipedia) Lt. Charles Kerlee. USNR – General Photographic File of the Department of Navy [1] or [2]
Every time, I asked the same question:
“Dad, weren’t you scared?”
You see, I’m a total coward, I fear pain and injury. The idea of anybody enjoying a near-death experience, riding 2-5 feet above the waves of the Pacific Ocean, with enemy planes shooting at them, well, it always seemed unbelievable to me.
When you’re number is up, it’s up, Dad would say, shrugging his shoulders, every time. Nobody gets out alive!
That was Dad’s philosophy, learned in the ready room of the USS Monterey.
The USS Monterey, Dad’s Ship for most of his time in the Pacific.
That was where we hung out when we were off duty — the Ready Room. That’s also where the duty roster when up — where we’d find out when we were flying out to meet the Japs. Each squadron had a number. When you’re number was up on the board, you went out. And when your number was up, you never knew if you would make it back to the ship.
We understood that “when your number was up” meant a bit more than a flight for many of Dad’s fellow service men.
I’m not sure if Dad’s philosophy became my own through osmosis or because I thought about it and realized he was right. Maybe a little bit of both. But I more or less agree with Dad. When your number is up, it’s up. And worrying about it, well, to quote Dad, won’t make a lick of difference.
I think of this as a gift from my Dad. One that has lasted long past Dad’s own expiration date.
There is no point in worrying about dying. It’s gonna happen to all of us.
What’s important is how we live.
We need to remember who we are, recall the immigrant roots of our country, and how it was immigrants — my ancestors and likely yours — who made America what it is.
We need to remember that to our shame, we closed our borders to Jewish refugees in the 1930s and 1940s. Remember what happened to them?
We need to thumb our collective noses at the terrorists, and just not give in to the terror.
This cartoon, on the cover of Charlie Hebdo, the recipient of France’s previous horrible terror attack thumbs its nose at the terrorists.
Enter a caption
Charlie Hebdo cover: They have weapons. Fuck them. We have champagne.
Source: Huffington Post.
Let’s all get our thumbs into position. Oh and get our hearts into the “open” position. Because that is who we are as people.
Flicker Image
I got TWO!
I recommend Karen Kingsley and Kingsley Ink
The Highest Honor
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
FiftyFourandAHalf 