I've been purposely staying away from this topic--the presidential election--because we're inundated, and rightly so since it's important, with it on the tv, radio, newspapers, internet. I figured everyone needed a break some place. Okay, on the phone, if you've brought it up first, I've talked about it, but not here on the blog, at least not since the primaries.
But you know what? Today is a new day!
It's no secret, I guess, that I'm not a Republican. Although that's not really true. I vote for whoever I feel is best qualified for the job. Locally, I have voted for many a Republican candidate.
When John McCain chose Sarah Pailin to be his running mate, even though I am not a card carrying Republican, I felt insulted. Why? Because he chose her, to me, for all the wrong reasons.
McCain, and I have to assume the head Republicans felt this way as well, seem to think that any woman--or any person for that matter--who backed Hillary Clinton would back Pailin. Why? Because, again to me, they felt a white cunt was a white cunt was a white cunt. Excuse my directness, please.
McCain figured he'd get the white womans' vote, and he figured he'd get the vote of every yahoo (racist white person) who just could not bring themselves to vote for that n-----.
Did you see the debate between McCain and Obama last week? Did you notice the way McCain never looked at Obama when he spoke? He responded to Obama's remarks, but he never glanced over at him as he did. He never acknowledged his prescence.
The debate was held in Mississippi. Mississippi, if you'll recall your history, was quite the place not to be if you weren't white back in the Jim Crow days. Back then, and maybe there's still pockets of this type of racism lurking elsewhere in this country today, hell, we know there are, white folks had an ingrained habit of talking about n----- right in front of them, all the while never once acknowledging that said n----- was even in the room.
Do I think McCain, perhaps unwittingly (because I hate hate hate labelling someone a racist) was channelling the ghosts of the Jim Crow era? I don't know. But I saw what I saw and I know what I saw.
And all of this takes me to this next thing: No offense to anyone who is planning to vote the McCain/Pailin ticket come November, but I have to look at you differently. I have to question your intelligence and your judgement. If, after educating yourself regarding McCain's policies and past voting history, you think he's the guy to be President of the USA, there is something radically flawed with your thinking process. And it pains me to say that, but I believe it to be true.
Be good and be careful, take care, stay strong.
hugs, Tawny
www.tawnyford.com
Monday, September 29, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
Mississippi Bound
I received several emails regarding yesterday's Aunt Shug story. I wish you all could meet her, I know you'd love her. Families are blessed to have oldsters among them. Aunt Shug has 80+ years of life experiences and, when we take the time to sit and talk with her, and listen, really listen, we all learn so much. And even when she's off, I mean even when she has a blind spot, like with her son Michael, we can still learn a thing or two. One, about love, a mother's love for her son. And two, about turning a blind eye where one shouldn't and it's repercussions.
I don't know if I've ever shared this Michael story with you. If I have, sorry about that.
It happened a few years ago. Someone died, I think it may have been Aunt Shug's first husband, the father of her oldest kids. Everyone was headed to Mississippi for the funeral. Bob, Gloria Jean's husband, was driving their motor home down and said anyone who wanted to ride with them was welcome. Only one rule: no alcohol could be consumed in the motor home. Bob is a former alcoholic. Yeah, I know, once an alcoholic always an alcoholic, blah blah blah.
All three of the old aunties rode with Bob and GJ, along with an assortment of adult cousins. Michael among them. Okay, I told you yesterday how Michael was cross-addicted, crack and alcohol, right? And he has an attitude problem, too. In Michael's World no rules are applicable to him. No alcohol? Yeah, like he cares about Bob saying that. Please.
So somewhere on the way down south, Ohio, Tennessee, I can't remember which state, Michael breaks out his fifth and starts drinking. Bob tells him once, then twice to put the bottle away. Michael, with his foul mouth and fouler attitude, tells Bob where he can go and exactly what he can do when he gets there.
Now Bob is in his early sixties, short and not a physical sort of man. Michael, late 30's, tall and lanky, is in pretty good physical shape for a crackhead.
At some point Bob took and pulled the motor home over to the side of the interstate and told Michael to get his suitcase and get out. Michael started to throw down, and several of my cousins, one of them a Detroit policeman, jumped in and put Michael out of the motor home. Passing motorists saw the brouha going on and called the police. When the police got there and heard the story, and my cousin the cop showed his badge, Bob took money out of his wallet, gave it to the police and asked them to take Michael to the bus station and put him on a bus headed for Detroit.
The old aunties started to whine and complain, Shug being the loudest. Poor Michael! How could you do that to him? Who do you think you are? And so on and so forth. Bob pulled over again and told everyone in the motor home that if they didn't like it they were welcome to get out and he'd give them bus fare back to Detroit. There were no takers and the grumbling ceased.
I'd like to say that Michael has renewed respect for Bob but this story doesn't have one of those kind of endings. I think that kind of stuff only happens in fairy tales, or when 'better' people are invovled.
But I'll tell you, for me, while I always liked Bob and respected him, he gets big props from me now. Everybody in the family has always pretty much gone along to get along when it came to Michael. Particularly if Shug was in the picture because no one wanted to upset her. Bob, bless his heart, drew a line in the sand and, when Michael, all the while fully aware of just exactly where that line was, crossed it, Bob acted on it. Hooray for Bob!
Okay, that's it for me for today. While I still have some time left on this computer, there's folks waiting to use them and I'm going to be nice. Plus, it's a beautiful day outside and I'm eager to get out in the sunshine.
You be good and be careful, take care, stay strong and give me a call when you have the opportunity. You know I always love hearing from you.
hugs, Tawny
www.tawnyford.com
I don't know if I've ever shared this Michael story with you. If I have, sorry about that.
It happened a few years ago. Someone died, I think it may have been Aunt Shug's first husband, the father of her oldest kids. Everyone was headed to Mississippi for the funeral. Bob, Gloria Jean's husband, was driving their motor home down and said anyone who wanted to ride with them was welcome. Only one rule: no alcohol could be consumed in the motor home. Bob is a former alcoholic. Yeah, I know, once an alcoholic always an alcoholic, blah blah blah.
All three of the old aunties rode with Bob and GJ, along with an assortment of adult cousins. Michael among them. Okay, I told you yesterday how Michael was cross-addicted, crack and alcohol, right? And he has an attitude problem, too. In Michael's World no rules are applicable to him. No alcohol? Yeah, like he cares about Bob saying that. Please.
So somewhere on the way down south, Ohio, Tennessee, I can't remember which state, Michael breaks out his fifth and starts drinking. Bob tells him once, then twice to put the bottle away. Michael, with his foul mouth and fouler attitude, tells Bob where he can go and exactly what he can do when he gets there.
Now Bob is in his early sixties, short and not a physical sort of man. Michael, late 30's, tall and lanky, is in pretty good physical shape for a crackhead.
At some point Bob took and pulled the motor home over to the side of the interstate and told Michael to get his suitcase and get out. Michael started to throw down, and several of my cousins, one of them a Detroit policeman, jumped in and put Michael out of the motor home. Passing motorists saw the brouha going on and called the police. When the police got there and heard the story, and my cousin the cop showed his badge, Bob took money out of his wallet, gave it to the police and asked them to take Michael to the bus station and put him on a bus headed for Detroit.
The old aunties started to whine and complain, Shug being the loudest. Poor Michael! How could you do that to him? Who do you think you are? And so on and so forth. Bob pulled over again and told everyone in the motor home that if they didn't like it they were welcome to get out and he'd give them bus fare back to Detroit. There were no takers and the grumbling ceased.
I'd like to say that Michael has renewed respect for Bob but this story doesn't have one of those kind of endings. I think that kind of stuff only happens in fairy tales, or when 'better' people are invovled.
But I'll tell you, for me, while I always liked Bob and respected him, he gets big props from me now. Everybody in the family has always pretty much gone along to get along when it came to Michael. Particularly if Shug was in the picture because no one wanted to upset her. Bob, bless his heart, drew a line in the sand and, when Michael, all the while fully aware of just exactly where that line was, crossed it, Bob acted on it. Hooray for Bob!
Okay, that's it for me for today. While I still have some time left on this computer, there's folks waiting to use them and I'm going to be nice. Plus, it's a beautiful day outside and I'm eager to get out in the sunshine.
You be good and be careful, take care, stay strong and give me a call when you have the opportunity. You know I always love hearing from you.
hugs, Tawny
www.tawnyford.com
Thursday, September 25, 2008
You know, I went to sleep last night thinking about my Aunt Shug. If you'll recall, Aunt Shug is 83 years old, or maybe 84, I'm not sure. A few years ago we celebrated her 80th birthday with a major hoopla--a black tie dinner at a rented hall. It was great fun for everyone who attended and it was nicer than nice to be able to honor our oldest (living) Aunt. The gala was hosted by my cousin, Gloria Jean (one of Aunt Shug's daughters), and GJ's husband, Bob.
So a month ago or so, one of my cousin's (not any of Shug's kids) husband died. He'd been sick for awhile, a lingering illness, and he passed away. Of course, Shug attended the funeral. And she insisted that Gloria Jean take her to the cemetery, too.
At the cemetery Shug hollered out as they were lowering the casket into the grave. Every one thought she was struck by grief. Turned out, while she felt bad for her niece losing her husband, what really happened to Shug was she had an attack. 911 service in the City of Detroit is notoriously slow. So slow that when a police officer gets shot, his fellow cops load him in the police car and take him directly to the hospital themselves. Countless people die in Detroit waiting for the ambulance. So Gloria Jean loaded her Mom into her car and sped off for the hospital.
Turns out Shug has some blocked arteries. The doctors want to do open heart surgery on her. While most folks wouldn't even consider doing something like this to a woman as elderly as Shug, Shug is not your typical old woman. She is healthy and strong and vital. Okay, she uses a cane to lean on a bit, but I think it's more to ward off potential attackers than because she's feeble (smile).
So after numerous medical consultations, after her grown children discussed it amongst themselves, after she called my Uncle David in for his opinion even, it was decided that Shug would have the surgery. And all was good to go until Michael, her youngest son, got himself a ride to the hospital to see his Mama.
Michael, or Mike, he goes by both, is a crackhead. And no, I'm not saying that because I don't like him, fact is he's a crackhead. He doesn't work. At least he isn't 'gainfully employed', he doesn't bring home a weekly check. But because he's a crackhead, and an alcoholic, co-addicted as they say, he hustles to get enough money to support his habits. And he gets some sort of assistance check. I'm not sure from whom, maybe social security.
Michael also lives off Shug. He's her youngest, her baby, and even though he is truly a good for nothing individual, she loves him and is always giving up some of her social security check to him. Plus, she lets him live with her. Him and his sometimes-woman.
So when Michael found out Shug was going to have the operation, and that it was soon, like within a few days, and he knew her social security check would be in the mailbox during that time--he set about to talk Shug out of the operation. And he was coy, never once saying 'Ma, your check, how you gonna cash it while you're in the hospital?'. Nope, he said 'Ma, you're 83, you're not gonna survive an operation like that, better to live with what you got for as long as you've got....'.
To say that his other siblings wanted to kill him right then and there would be an understatement. But Shug, well, this was her baby talking. And so she opted out of the operation.
Okay, we all know surgery is risky for anybody. There's no guarantee that any of us will survive the knife. But damn, the doctors said she would, they guaranteed it as much as anyone could. And they said if she didn't have it, well, she'd fall out (have more attacks), her quality of life would suck, and she'd eventually, sooner rather than later, die.
But hey, Michael can suck off her check and free load in her house right up until that day comes.
I never want to wish anything bad on anybody, you know? But I would wish that Michael, short of oding on some bad crack, would get lost. Maybe get locked up for something, it's happened before. And while he's incommunicado I wish that Shug would rethink this whole hospital/operation thing and go ahead with it.
I realize that anyone under the influence of a mind altering substance like crack is not in their right mind. But it doesn't make it any easier for folks to be able to look at Michael and not want to reach out with a heavy, blunt object and crack him in his head.
Be good and be careful, take care, stay strong.
hugs, Tawny
www.tawnyford.com
So a month ago or so, one of my cousin's (not any of Shug's kids) husband died. He'd been sick for awhile, a lingering illness, and he passed away. Of course, Shug attended the funeral. And she insisted that Gloria Jean take her to the cemetery, too.
At the cemetery Shug hollered out as they were lowering the casket into the grave. Every one thought she was struck by grief. Turned out, while she felt bad for her niece losing her husband, what really happened to Shug was she had an attack. 911 service in the City of Detroit is notoriously slow. So slow that when a police officer gets shot, his fellow cops load him in the police car and take him directly to the hospital themselves. Countless people die in Detroit waiting for the ambulance. So Gloria Jean loaded her Mom into her car and sped off for the hospital.
Turns out Shug has some blocked arteries. The doctors want to do open heart surgery on her. While most folks wouldn't even consider doing something like this to a woman as elderly as Shug, Shug is not your typical old woman. She is healthy and strong and vital. Okay, she uses a cane to lean on a bit, but I think it's more to ward off potential attackers than because she's feeble (smile).
So after numerous medical consultations, after her grown children discussed it amongst themselves, after she called my Uncle David in for his opinion even, it was decided that Shug would have the surgery. And all was good to go until Michael, her youngest son, got himself a ride to the hospital to see his Mama.
Michael, or Mike, he goes by both, is a crackhead. And no, I'm not saying that because I don't like him, fact is he's a crackhead. He doesn't work. At least he isn't 'gainfully employed', he doesn't bring home a weekly check. But because he's a crackhead, and an alcoholic, co-addicted as they say, he hustles to get enough money to support his habits. And he gets some sort of assistance check. I'm not sure from whom, maybe social security.
Michael also lives off Shug. He's her youngest, her baby, and even though he is truly a good for nothing individual, she loves him and is always giving up some of her social security check to him. Plus, she lets him live with her. Him and his sometimes-woman.
So when Michael found out Shug was going to have the operation, and that it was soon, like within a few days, and he knew her social security check would be in the mailbox during that time--he set about to talk Shug out of the operation. And he was coy, never once saying 'Ma, your check, how you gonna cash it while you're in the hospital?'. Nope, he said 'Ma, you're 83, you're not gonna survive an operation like that, better to live with what you got for as long as you've got....'.
To say that his other siblings wanted to kill him right then and there would be an understatement. But Shug, well, this was her baby talking. And so she opted out of the operation.
Okay, we all know surgery is risky for anybody. There's no guarantee that any of us will survive the knife. But damn, the doctors said she would, they guaranteed it as much as anyone could. And they said if she didn't have it, well, she'd fall out (have more attacks), her quality of life would suck, and she'd eventually, sooner rather than later, die.
But hey, Michael can suck off her check and free load in her house right up until that day comes.
I never want to wish anything bad on anybody, you know? But I would wish that Michael, short of oding on some bad crack, would get lost. Maybe get locked up for something, it's happened before. And while he's incommunicado I wish that Shug would rethink this whole hospital/operation thing and go ahead with it.
I realize that anyone under the influence of a mind altering substance like crack is not in their right mind. But it doesn't make it any easier for folks to be able to look at Michael and not want to reach out with a heavy, blunt object and crack him in his head.
Be good and be careful, take care, stay strong.
hugs, Tawny
www.tawnyford.com
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
For everyone who phoned last night, and you most certainly know who you are, I'm sorry that I missed the opportunity to speak with you. As the message on the answerring machine said, I was at a birthday party. Whose birthday? HSM's (Home School Mom) oldest child. Yesterday he turned 19.
At their house, on your birthday, you get to request the meal. Birthday Boy's first choice was stuffed green peppers but because they're either out of season or the grocery store was doing some price gouging, well, they were totally out of the question. His second choice was chicken parmesan and that was the meal. Chicken parmesan with a side of spaghetti, fresh bakery bread, garden salad and--the piece d'resistance!--yellow birthday cake with chocolate frosting and peanut butter/chocolate ice cream! Burp (smile)!
After dinner I mentioned that I wanted to take us all out for dinner on the last day of Ramadan (which is the last day of this month, Tuesday of next week). And before anyone gets themselves all wanked up here DO NOT email or call me hollering about 'Tawny! WTF! A Muslim??? You're a Muslim? You know Muslims????' because you're not going to like what I respond with. Fair warning.
A number of restaurants were discussed. One of the kids suggested Red Robin and his parents vetoed it on the spot. Another kid suggested a buffet-type place. BB suggested the Arab restaurant here in town. The parents 'won', it's going to be the really nice Italian place near their house.
I had to laugh though when BB brought up the Arab restaurant. Why? Well, he stayed at my house for a few days a couple of weeks ago and one evening, when it was time to break fast, I took us to the Arab restaurant. It's my favorite place to eat. And it was his first time ever. He was concerned that, being as he hadn't eaten for a tad over 12 hours, what if he didn't like the food? His concerns weren't a concern because he loved the food.
The other thing he loved, or at least had an eye for, was our waitress. She was somewhere between 17 and 20 and lovely. English seemed to be her second language and she had an adorable accent. While I have always had great service when I've dined there, it was never better than that night (smile). She seemed to have an eye for BB, too (smile).
If she refilled our water glasses once, she refilled them a couple of dozen times. We had numerous baskets of fresh from the oven pita bread deliverred to our table before we even realized we wanted them. She flirted as hard as she could with BB without seeming to. It was really sweet.
For his part, he pretended he didn't know she was flirting. Yeah, like I believed him, fat chance. Ever since that night he's been trying to fanagle a trip back. I told him we'd do lunch there after Ramadan. I hope she's working there when we go and I know he does, too (smile).
So it's almost the end of September and, while the days are still warm and sunny like summer, the nights are gloriously cool and perfect sleeping weather. Some of the leaves are turning, too. Just on the way to the libray this morning I saw several trees that were coverred with brilliantly red leaves. This is one of my favorite times of year.
Next week I'm going to the cider mill, another fall ritual for me. There's a cider mill about 15 miles from here that still makes unpasteurized cider. To me, unless it's unpasteurized, it's just pricier apple juice. Their cider is always a deep caramel color and good tasting. I'm planning on buying a couple of gallons, some freshly made donuts and some apple chips. Have you ever had apple chips? Like potato chips (no salt) but apples instead. Everey flavor, and they come in 3 or 4, is good.
Well, that's it for today, I think. I look forward to speaking with you when you have the time.
Be good and be careful, take care, stay strong.
hugs, Tawny
www.tawnyford.com
At their house, on your birthday, you get to request the meal. Birthday Boy's first choice was stuffed green peppers but because they're either out of season or the grocery store was doing some price gouging, well, they were totally out of the question. His second choice was chicken parmesan and that was the meal. Chicken parmesan with a side of spaghetti, fresh bakery bread, garden salad and--the piece d'resistance!--yellow birthday cake with chocolate frosting and peanut butter/chocolate ice cream! Burp (smile)!
After dinner I mentioned that I wanted to take us all out for dinner on the last day of Ramadan (which is the last day of this month, Tuesday of next week). And before anyone gets themselves all wanked up here DO NOT email or call me hollering about 'Tawny! WTF! A Muslim??? You're a Muslim? You know Muslims????' because you're not going to like what I respond with. Fair warning.
A number of restaurants were discussed. One of the kids suggested Red Robin and his parents vetoed it on the spot. Another kid suggested a buffet-type place. BB suggested the Arab restaurant here in town. The parents 'won', it's going to be the really nice Italian place near their house.
I had to laugh though when BB brought up the Arab restaurant. Why? Well, he stayed at my house for a few days a couple of weeks ago and one evening, when it was time to break fast, I took us to the Arab restaurant. It's my favorite place to eat. And it was his first time ever. He was concerned that, being as he hadn't eaten for a tad over 12 hours, what if he didn't like the food? His concerns weren't a concern because he loved the food.
The other thing he loved, or at least had an eye for, was our waitress. She was somewhere between 17 and 20 and lovely. English seemed to be her second language and she had an adorable accent. While I have always had great service when I've dined there, it was never better than that night (smile). She seemed to have an eye for BB, too (smile).
If she refilled our water glasses once, she refilled them a couple of dozen times. We had numerous baskets of fresh from the oven pita bread deliverred to our table before we even realized we wanted them. She flirted as hard as she could with BB without seeming to. It was really sweet.
For his part, he pretended he didn't know she was flirting. Yeah, like I believed him, fat chance. Ever since that night he's been trying to fanagle a trip back. I told him we'd do lunch there after Ramadan. I hope she's working there when we go and I know he does, too (smile).
So it's almost the end of September and, while the days are still warm and sunny like summer, the nights are gloriously cool and perfect sleeping weather. Some of the leaves are turning, too. Just on the way to the libray this morning I saw several trees that were coverred with brilliantly red leaves. This is one of my favorite times of year.
Next week I'm going to the cider mill, another fall ritual for me. There's a cider mill about 15 miles from here that still makes unpasteurized cider. To me, unless it's unpasteurized, it's just pricier apple juice. Their cider is always a deep caramel color and good tasting. I'm planning on buying a couple of gallons, some freshly made donuts and some apple chips. Have you ever had apple chips? Like potato chips (no salt) but apples instead. Everey flavor, and they come in 3 or 4, is good.
Well, that's it for today, I think. I look forward to speaking with you when you have the time.
Be good and be careful, take care, stay strong.
hugs, Tawny
www.tawnyford.com
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
The gentleman who oh so kindly serves as Webmaster for my website, www.tawnyford.com, has been after me for weeks to get back to writing on this blog. Thing is, I mean to. Just about every single day I have it down on my to-do list. Why is it then that I haven't written anything in over a month? Your guess is as good as mine. And I don't really know. I have a theory but I don't know if I'm right or not.Sometimes I think it's because I don't have any more words. Okay, sounds weird, I know, but remember I talk for a living. I think that we all are given x-number of words to get us through our day. Some of us use them all up; some of us have leftovers--rollovers, if you will, that we hold until we need them.
There are days that I feel I use all of my words up. Not only use them up, but also borrow from the next day or the next week or month.
That's kind of how I've been feeling lately. Sort of empty word wise.
But today, in a supreme effort to get the ball rolling again…
Remember my friend Tallulah who lives up in Marquette, Michigan? Well, she has sent me another photo that she took at sunrise on Lake Superior. I thought it was so pretty, beautiful actually, that I wanted to share it with you.
I don't know about you, but I rarely ever see sunrise. I'm just not up that early in the warm weather. And sunrises in Farmington Hills, while lovely in their own right, are just not in the same league as a sunrise over a body of water.
A few years ago I took a late vacation and traveled to Mackinaw City, Michigan. If you look at a map of Michigan you'll find Mackinaw City right at the tippy tip of the Lower Peninsula. Continue north, cross the Mackinac Bridge, and next thing you know you're in the Upper Peninsula.
The hotel I stayed at on that trip was on the shores of Lake Huron. It was glorious to have the beach right outside my door and the sounds of waves lapping against that shoreline.
Equally as lovely, but something I was totally unprepared for, was the sunrise. The dazzling, burn your eyeballs out, sunrise.
The sun came up that first morning and even though I had the drapes shut, I was convinced I was on an episode of COPS--Come out with your hands up! That's just how lit up my room was!
I think I'm more of a sunset person. Most summers I spend a week in Ludington, Michigan, a beach town that sits squarely on the shores of Lake Michigan. Ludington is famous for it's sunsets. Everybody in town, or so it seems, manages to find their way down to the beach minutes
before the sun sets each night. And each sunset is staggeringly beautiful to see.
I've been meaning to get to Ludington all summer and here it is almost the end of September and I still haven't made it. I'm hoping to get that way long before the snow flies. I need to see a sunset over Lake Michigan.
Be good and be careful, stay strong, take care.
Hugs, Tawny
www.tawnyford.com
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