What I want in my world...

First, I want logic and reason and kindness and no trotting down the ramp to the sheep dip with nary a thought bouncing about in one's ganglia. Second, I want perfect weather and I plan to steal it from San Diego (without the smog from the cars on the freeways that pass through and by that area). Third, I want all my friends who are logical, reasonable, kind, charitable, forgiving and funny (and who don't mingle with sheep, well, except for Mistress Mary)to be there. Fourth, I want all foods that are scrumptious to have no trans fats, no calories, no carbs, no cholesterol. Fifth, I want exercise to be a four-letter word--I guess that would be "xrsz" and forbidden. Sixth, I want a big store where everything costs nothing and the best, most flattering fashions are available whenever. Seventh, I want beautiful meadows and mountains and lakes and rivers, the oceans and the seas, deserts and valleys, and I want them to remain pristene forever and available to everyone to enjoy. Eighth, I want mornings and evenings to begin and end with prayer, gatherings of friends and family, retellings of the day's events, sharing triumphs and joys and sorrows and disappointments. Ninth, I want beautiful music everywhere to uplift and motivate everyone to do their best. Tenth, and finally, I want to eliminate the need for debates, competitions, negotiations, awards, accolades of men, rules to keep us in our places (substitute instead our own consciences that will allow us to always make good choices for the betterment of all), skirmishes or wars--of words or of soldiers--and to focus on what is good and what brings us joy. Oh, and everyone gets a beautiful home just the right size for his or her needs. I think they call this place Heaven. I know I would.

How super was Tuesday?

For some it wasn't such a super day--losses at the polls, decisions about whether to continue spending volumes of money, losing sleep, eating a lot of bad food at fund-raisers and to court voters at dinners and luncheons and BBQs, wondering why it is worth all the angst and the toll on friends and family, but then a picture of the White House pops into the brain and the desire to be a resident there, rent-free for at least four years takes over.

What also apparently has taken over the media and a sizable portion of the voters and general citizenry is prejudice, and not a subtle, hard-to-detect kind of prejudice, but one that has stepped out into the spotlight, proud and loud, declaring that a man who is well-qualified to be a president of these United States, a man who has led an exemplary life, who is devoted to his family, to his country, to good causes, who is successful as a political figure in an important and influential state, who, as a businessman, has founded businesses that are Harvard textbook successful, and who has turned companies and the Olympics around when everyone else was pulling out hairs and pointing fingers of blame, cannot be considered because of his religion. This man is studied and methodical and thoughtful. He is not without flaws or political quirks--what politician is, but he has been a front-runner throughout the campaign, declared his candidacy early on unlike several candidates who, like the marathon wannabe who waits at the final leg of the run to join the pack, waited until the waters and been tested and found "safe", and who is currently in second place as the Republican Party's presidential nominee. But to hear the media consultants both Republican and Democratic last night, Mitt Romney wasn't even being considered for VP. He was being summarily dismissed. Instead Mike Huckabee's name was touted as a definite best choice for that position. Based on what? Huckabee's winning record? His government or business triumphs? His decision to play the religion card when he had nothing else of merit with which he could criticize Romney and wanted to join other candidates and the media in the last licks campaign against Mr. Romney? Although I am not a Republican, if I were, I don't think I would be thrilled at the prospect of having any candidate in office who had such obvious prejudice against an individual because of his religion.

Freedom of religion is a cornerstone of this country's philosophy of how we conduct business--or at least it is touted as such when convenient for those who need their religious beliefs or non-beliefs honored. The wave of prejudice against Mitt Romney and, in essence, all members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has been overwhelming, public and tolerated and even accepted as humorous and clever. It is none of those. It is homely. It should have no place in our conventions or our country. But, because Mr. Romney's church doesn't believe in getting into a fist fight over this issue, the media and political pundits have taken that stance as a signal for a free-for-all attack both personal and general against the church and its members. And Mitt Romney, who should be included on the short list for VP, isn't even in the realm of possibilities. All this because he has chosen to exercise a constitutional right--freedom of religion. For this choice, he will probably lose any opportunity to become the VP in 2008 and possibly a presidential candidate at any future time. But the loss isn't just Mr. Romney's. It is the whole country's. They may never know what it is to have a solid citizen, a loving and caring husband and father, a successful businessman, a thoughtful leader, and a deeply religious man, who practices what he preaches, as the leader of this nation.

Our nation has come so far in the past 232 years, is so powerful, possesses so many resources and has great influence throughout the world, and yet it is diminished by this treatment of one of its citizens. There should be an outcry among the population over this blatant prejudice regardless of whether ordinary men and women agree with Mitt Romney's political platform, want him as president or not. The treatment of Romney and his church should be labeled outrageous by anyone who considers liberty and freedom of conscience essential to a democratic nation, and, if we elect any candidate who supports, engenders, or rallies prejudicial thinking at this or any level, then everyone is at risk of being a target.

I believe that the media, the candidates who have postured against Mr. Romney's religion, and others who have jumped on the anti-Mormon bandwagon, have done so because they felt free to do so, because they felt no one would oppose them, or at least no one of any importance, because they felt that members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints were a minor sector of the American population, because they thought that no one would stand up for the church members or call those fomenting this religious prejudice to act responsibly, that they had a ticket to ride and no one would stop the train. And they were right. That is what is so wrong about this situation and why it should be a grave concern to all of us. And grave is the appropriate term to use, because prejudice in any form is deadly, and it appears that our country has developed serious symptoms of this condition over the past few decades that will slowly destroy the body politic.

I don't really need glasses...

unless, of course, I want to see things clearly. But then I think about the Impressionists. Everyone loves impressionist paintings. We think they're lovely and ethereal and painterly. So, when I don't wear my glasses, that means I see the world as did Claude Monet, Edgar Degas and company. Everything has a wispy, soft edge to it and colors are just a little subdued. Of course, Monsier Monet was not out driving a car with myopic vision, nor was he trying to recognize people in a crowded room or trying to find an empty seat in the movie theater after the lights go down (it is very embarrassing to sit on some stranger's lap thinking no one was there because your eyes can only see dark globulas which could be anything--an empty seat, for instance). It's not that I'm vain. I like my glasses. I think they're very classy looking, but I can't read with them on--they distort my close-up vision, and I don't need reading glasses yet. I don't like putting my glasses on for the far-away view and taking them off for the close view. They're already a bit loose from years of doing that, so that I have to practically glue the glasses onto my nose to keep them from falling off when I bend over. This is when I wished I had a Roman nose with that convenient little bump up near its bridge--perfect for keeping glasses in place!

I tried contact lenses for a few years, but I have a serious astigmatism (is there such a thing as a funny astigmatism?) and one eyeball is round and one is pretty flat. My left eye has a stronger prescription (and is the flat one), and from time to time, I would inadvertently touch my left eye, the contact would roll up and off my eyeball and I would panic trying to find it. Picture this. It's dark. I'm driving on the freeway at 65 mph, I rub my left eye without thinking about the consequences, my contact comes off, drops to my chest, I wink my left eye closed to avoid the distorted vision I now have with one lens in and one out, and I feel around on my chest for the missing contact. People also driving on the freeway, pass by me--I am at least smart enough to get into the slow lane--and they wonder what kind of pervert I am as I wink at them with my pathetically myopic left eye and grope myself.

So, no, I don't really need glasses unless I want to keep some semblance of dignity in my so-called life and so I can avoid public displays that could lead to the wearing of an orange jumpsuit and my 15 minutes of fame on the 11 o'clock news.

Sometimes one man can make a whole lot of difference...

Today a great man died. He wasn't a great man as the world reveres men. He wasn't wealthy or famous or powerful (as in corporate or dictator/president of a country). He wasn't handsome or suave or debonair. He was small and humble and loving and kind, and he worried about each and every human being on the planet. He was concerned for their safety--physical and emotional, but mostly he was concerned about their spiritual safety and well-being. He was the prophet to the world, a seer, a revelator, an example of Christ-like living, someone who preached, but who practiced what he preached. He was articulate in exhorting us to do our best, to recognize our potential as spiritual beings, to serve and love others, to forgive and forget the trespasses of others and ourselves, to do what is right and to encourage others to do the same. He blessed the lives of many with his tireless efforts. He was inspiring in his words and acts. He wanted everyone to find peace and joy and happiness in their lives through righteous living. He was a son, a brother, a husband, a father, a grandfather and great-grandfather. He found purpose in life, and now he has found eternal peace. He is reunited with his family, especially his beloved wife, Marjorie. He is Gordon B. Hinckley and we were blessed to have known him and to have felt his influence for good. So, yes, sometimes one man can make a whole lot of difference in the world. President Hinckley did, and, through his example and legacy, he will continue to do so. Today the world is a lesser place, but the Celestial World rejoices...

I am thankful for cows...

because they give milk and I love ice-cold milk! It's my favorite drink. It is great with dinner or lunch or breakfast. It is yummy with anything sweet. It is satisfying all by itself. So, this is my homage to the bovine beverage.

I can empathize with the characters in the "Got Milk?" ads who can't get to or don't have any milk to drink with their chocolate chip cookies or who spend an inordinate amount of time putting straws together to try to reach the elusive glass of milk only to find themselves at the other end of a PMS-laden female's sensitivity breakdown. I am grateful that these ads do not depict real life. Hey, maybe that's a good premise for a new reality show. Each week we could watch a batch of contestants that have no lives and perfectly coiffed hair battle their way through obstacles to get to that glass of milk. Even before the writers' strike, we were being subjected to a lot of lame plots and gimmicks instead of being able to watch something well-crafted and interesting. Hey! I'd be cheering for the contestants as I live vicariously through their efforts to win those glasses of milk. And, the producers could offer the winners an extra incentive of cookies, a blankie and nap-time just to keep it interesting and at the level where most TV fare resides...

My porch light is flickering...

I mean my real porch light, not my mental porch light. Actually my mental porch light has been a dim bulb for a very long time, but no one seems to notice or they are trying to be kind. I'm good with kindness. It works. Meanwhile, I'll have to replace my real porch light --not an easy feat. First I have to get my self worked up mentally to perch on a step stool. Then I have to ignore all the smart alecs driving by honking their horns as I step up on to it--the little people are so easily amused. Next I have to take four tiny screws out of the top of the light housing, remove the top carefully, try not to lose any of those itty-bitty screws, take out the old bulb, put in the new one, test the new one BEFORE replacing the top and screwing it in place so I don't have to repeat steps two through four and give the drive-by honkers more opportunity to honk, shout and laugh their way past an old, three-haired person standing all wobbly-legged on a step stool. Finally, if the bulb lights, replace the top, step off the step stool, take a bow and think rude thoughts about all the young whipper-snapper drivers-by, exit the front porch and go back inside the house with what little dignity I might still have intact.

Speaking of things intact. The other day I had to borrow a friend's son to retrieve something for me from the loft in my garage. I watched him scurry up the ladder, grab the two items I needed. Race down the ladder with both boxes in hand, put the ladder away and, with a smile on his face, ask if there was anything elese I needed. Time elapsed: 3.5 minutes. I thanked him and said I had everything I needed. He left. Well I lied. What I didn't mention was that I didn't have any dignity left and needed some of that, but I knew he couldn't help me there. What happened to my legs, my agility, my balance? There was a time when I could have gone up and down the ladder like an energetic young pup too. When that kind of exertion wouldn't have brought on wheezing and heavy-breathing (the kind you can get arrested for) or fear of broken limbs or sloth-like movements and 10 minutes just to work up the courage to step onto the first rung of the ladder. I guess I'll just have to be content with my flickering porch light efforts on the step stool and being the entertainment for the neighborhood...GE--we bring good things to life.

I was out in the yard...

for the first time in a couple of weeks. This yard avoidance was partly due to an horrendous storm that blew through Northern California last week, dumping volumes of rain, flotsam and jetsam from everywhere, knocking out power to almost every house and business, and otherwise making a nuisance of itself. The remainder of my excuse for ignoring yard duty (sounds like I work at the Big House and I'm in charge of the inmates) is that I injured my back and it has been very unfriendly for the past two weeks.

But today, after a two-hour power nap (sleeping with a painful back generally means not-much-sleeping-going-on), I sallied forth with rake, gloves, cutting tools, a bin for yard waste, etc. I felt powerful. I was ready to conquer...and then I bent over to pick up the first errant twig, and I was no longer powerful. I felt old, decrepit and thought I needed more rest for my back, but my alter ego, a.k.a. stubborn self, prevailed and I continued my quest for picking up debris (at a snail's pace, I might add; matter-of-fact, I think I saw a snail, laughing, pointing at me with one of its antennae and rolling over onto the back of its shell), cutting back my roses, emptying my porch of the extremely sad-looking ponsettias that were way past pretty (Heavens, they were way past pathetic after the cold weather and storm), and taking down my Christmas wreath. Mr. Wreath decided he didn't want to leave the porch light where he was perched, so, after struggling with him for several minutes, I used my flower clippers to cut the wreath ring open and pull it off the light. I was on a roll and would not be defeated by a faux wreath or anything else that was clinging to sentimentality. I spent about an hour-and-a-half cleaning up the front and side yards, sweeping my porch and putting all the yard debris in the oversized yard dumpster our town provides. At one point (until recently), I had a yard service, and one evening as I moved the dumpster out to the curb for pick up the next day, I swear that there was a dead body in the bottom of that thing. It weighed a ton, and it hadn't rained, nor was my lawn growing by leaps and bounds at that time, so my only conclusion was that someone had dumped the "evidence" from their killing spree into my yard collection container, but I was too spooked to open the lid to check it out (unlike the people on TV who walk into dark, dank, spooky places, without flashlights and open doors and dumpsters and other creepy containers without much hesitation, only to find some alien or grisly murder victim--don't those people watch TV and know that there's nothing light and fluffy waiting for them?).

I felt very proud of my efforts to clean up and was surprised that my back felt better as I worked. But, I didn't want to push my luck or my recovering back, so I raked the back yard debris into one pile, where it will remain until Monday when I can finish the patio area. The dumpster is weighing in as a welter weight right now, but, by the time I get the remainder of the back yard leaves and limbs into the container, it will be a heavyweight! But at least I'll know that those limbs don't belong to someone who'll make the 11 o'clock news...