Mine to Claim

African-American! ?, My European Butt

Warning this post is going to be a rant, it is guaranteed to offend just about everyone, just like those films that say this is formatted to fit your screen.  This is guaranteed to offend blacks, whites, Asian, wait, can we say Asians, or is it Orientals?  I'm not sure of the politically correct choice here.
 Are African-Americans able to tell where you  are from in Africa, a tribe, the place,  maybe the country they're from?  (insert the slavery argument. Yeah, yeah, I've heard it. See rebuttal below with Native American issue.)

 I'm Swedish, and one-half at that.  I know which place, city, which port my ancestors came from.  I have a picture of one of my ancestors standing next to the sign in the town that my forefathers left to come here to America.   I've seen my Great Grandfather's naturalization papers. Do I go around calling myself a Swedish American?  Did you know that about Africa?

A couple of years ago, Bob had a friend from school that was from West Africa.  We had him over for dinner.  We pulled out the atlas, and had him show us where he was from.  He showed us where his town was, where he went to school, where his parents lived, places he visited and other points of interest.  He was a African American.

I can say that I am Native American.  I have Cherokee blood.  I can trace it to different lines of my family history.  There is verification way back, and lots of documentation.  I even have physical characteristics that distinguish me as Native American, although I am as white as skim milk. My mouth turns down at the corners.  An Apache Indian man once asked me if I was native because I had very tiny feet, which is considered beautiful in the native culture.  I laughed, and said yes, just a little bit of Cherokee, and thanked him.

I cannot, however, claim my heritage legally because the natives in my family never "signed up" and therefore are not in any major rolls.  Many were lost on the Cherokee "trail of tears" when they were forcibly  removed from their homes and marched for miles and died along the way.

There are lots of benefits afforded to me, if I were able to prove my heritage.  But I am content to realize that yes I do have native blood.  I do not claim what is not mine to claim.

So, for those of you that go and demonstrate, or worse yet, riot in the streets, act like animals, or waste your lives, and the opportunities afforded to here because you have brown skin, you are not African Americans.  You are immature children.  Grow up.  Do not claim what is not yours to claim.

The last time I posted was last year at this time. So much has changed. At that time I started on a wild roller coaster ride of thyroid issues. I was sick, depressed, weak and dizzy. I could hardly walk, let alone blog, garden or any of the fun things that go with summer. On top of that, life was changing drastically. My son was getting older, starting college, spending more time on his own, pulling away from Mom and Dad, needed more help adjusting to life but at the same time not letting us into his life. I felt totally at the mercy of the current. Today is so totally different. Just as the irises and lilacs are blooming, the grass in knee-high, and the birds are nesting outside the window; life has circled around to a new beginning. My son is finishing his homeschool high school work. He has finished his college degree. My hubby is back to work full time after 5 years of work comp battles, college for him, followed by unemployment. I am medically stable, both thyroid-wise and seizure-wise. I am emotionally and psychologically stable again. What have I learned? Once again, that I am not the General Manager of the Universe. I keep applying, but they send my resume back. Most of the stuff I worry about doesn't ever happen. I will never get to know in advance what will happen and how it will turn out. My son is his own person and will learn best if I get of his way and let him thrash his way through, unless he wants help. My hubby needs appreciation and affection as much as I do. No one cares if I'm not perfect. Whew. Lots to process, but I'm in a good place. I hope to enjoy what I missed last summer.

Everyone's shedding!

My friends have been talking about "shedding" ie. decluttering and simplifying their lives. That's all well and good, but why does my family think they need to join in. It's not the same thing, anyway. Their "shedding" involves their stuff, draped over chairs, spread across the carpet, dragged in from the yard and left on the kitchen counter.

I vacuum; ds comes in and kicks off his shoes in the hallway, spreading sand across the newly vacuumed and mopped floor. Hubby hangs hats, coats and shirts on any available post, usually the kitchen chairs or the newel on the stairs. An attractive look, really. The dishes get done, and as soon as the sink is empty someone dumps more dirty dishes in. Do they not see the empty sink and think'Hmm, maybe I can just put this in the dishwasher?' No! Of course not!

I wash clothes; leave the clean ones folded nicely in the basket, ready to be put away. do they get put away?No, just more dirty clothes get piled on.

Then the cats. Puffs of hair everywhere.

I give up. Does nobody notice what I do around here?

Goodbye, Scotty

Scott MacRunnel, you died too young. You were a shining star in the night sky. The nights are darker now. You will continue to shine in our hearts, and your light continues even now.

Au Natural

Yesterday dear son was playing with the digital camera while I sat at the computer. I heard "Smile, Mom!" and turned in time for him to snap my less than elegant expression. I made the mistake of looking at the picture.

In the flattering lighting of computer monitor and desk lamp, I was jaundiced, windburned and spotty. When did I buy that turtleneck? Wait, that's MY neck!! Good heavens, when did the elastic on my body poop out like that?

Why is it that when you go barefaced in your 20s you look fresh-scrubbed and dewy, and if you try it in your forties, you look like a pair of chinos left in the dryer too long? Now that I finally have the chuzpah and self esteem to venture out in public without full-battle makeup and hair, it turns out not to be such a good choice. Why is it then when you finally come to terms with the body God gave you, you realize you really liked better the one He gave you earlier on?

There really is no justice here. And it's time to exfoliate. My, life gets complicated.

And Then You Die - A Cautionary Tale

When my son was in the Toddlers in church, he had a contemporary, also a strong-willed child. I came up to the door of the Sunday School room to hear this conversation between the little boy and his mother.
“Why can’t I climb on the railings?”
“Because you’ll fall.”
“And then what?”
“Then you’ll get hurt.”
“Then what?”
“You’ll have to go to the hospital.”
“Then what?” he asked again.
“You’ll have to have shots and stitches and casts.”
“And then what?”
His mother sighed. “And then you die.”
She must have caught my quizzical look, for she turned to me and explained. No explanation of the possible consequences of any behavior seemed to be dire enough for her son. As long as it fell short of terminal, it could possibly be alright to try. Only the phrase “And then you die,” seemed to be final and dire enough.

Strong-willed kids are risk takers. It is not enough for them to be told something is dangerous or ill-advised. Oh, no, they really must find out for themselves. After all, you couldn’t possibly be telling them the truth. There are more ways to get hurt than you have outlined for them. That is more than half the appeal, anyway! As James Dobson so aptly put it in his book Bringing Up Boys, “Boys…are slower to learn from calamities. They tend to think their injuries were caused by “bad luck”. Maybe their luck will be better next time. Besides, scars are cool.” (p.4)

My suggestion is this; tell them they’ll die. No, not really. But a strong-willed kid really is calculating the cost into the “try it” equation, and most likely will try it. You as a parent can be a ready source of information about just how costly it will be. Give them the worst case scenario. When it happens, they can’t blame you for not warning them!