I urge you to check this out

In keeping with yesterday's post:

The stories you'll find on this link (below) encompass the very spirit that has made this country great. They are the voices of true Americans. Read these stories, be inspired, and if you agree, then consider adding your own life anecdote.


http://the53.tumblr.com/

When an American says that he loves his country, he means not only that he loves the New England hills, the prairies glistening in the sun, the wide and rising plains, the great mountains, and the sea. He means that he loves an inner air, an inner light in which freedom lives and in which a man can draw the breath of self-respect.
~Adlai Stevenson

This is why I don't watch the news

Watching the news, any news, for more than a couple of minutes is nearly impossible for me. The stories on the news are either ludicrous, horrific, or feature mind-numbingly evil antagonists. And sometimes, those stories infuriate me.

The local news can be awful, but often equates a soap-opera news option—overly dramatic broadcasters, all blonde hair, raised eyebrows and deadpan delivery, covering fires in abandoned buildings, bearded men who are arrested for not placing reflective triangles on their buggies... Sometimes the stories are tragic, and sometimes it's just a slow news day.

The world news? That's usually too disturbing to watch for long. We've become immune to violence and death from over-exposure. How many people were killed in the bombing? Was that a dead body I just saw covered in rubble? There was another natural disaster? What was it this time? Oh.

Let's take a look at what's going on now. Okay, there was a large-scale exotic animal massacre in Ohio because some loon of a guy who had amassed all these amazing creatures decided to 1) release them and 2) kill himself. Huh?! What in the world? Why did he collect them all, and then why did he free them and take his own life? Did he think this was some sort of statement? Did he honestly believe the animals would roam freely and not come to harm? How did he even get them? Was it legal? Apparently there were complaints for years about this goofball, yet he continued to acquire (both animals and bizarre personal traits, I'm guessing) and here we are today with a boatload of animal corpses in Ohio.

It gets better. In Philadelphia, authorities uncovered a dungeon of suffering for mentally challenged adults and an assortment of youth who receive government assistance of some sort. A sick little trio of friends decided, apparently, this was an easy way to make some money. How in the world this seemed like a defensible idea to anyone, I will never know. I can't even go there. I am ill just considering the conditions and suffering that these people were held in.

Now, those are stories that turn our stomachs, as they should. I don't want to know about them, but I probably should be at least informed so I keep abreast of what people are capable of doing. I can't begin to understand, but I should be aware and be reminded: This is a really messed up place with some seriously twisted people in it.

But then there are stories that enrage me, too. Like the whole Occupy Wall Street nonsense. What are these people against, exactly? Joblessness? If they had jobs, they likely wouldn't be able to participate in this lovely demonstration for very long. So maybe that's the beef? Or is it that big, bad corporations weren't held accountable for money loss? Were they hoping for college loans to be forgotten and that didn't happen? Have they come to the depressing realization that they can't drive new, fast cars on their current budgets? Do these folks even know why they're there? Are they angry that their cell phones are out of battery power? That their designer duds got dirty and/or no longer match? What, really, is the main complaint?

I can't stand to watch much of it, these people camped out in the very spaces that corporations provide for them, the displeased crowds who all manage to have what they really value (technology, name brands, nice camping gear) but bemoan the lack of money and opportunity. I hate to burst everyone's bubble, but here's the truth: many lives begin with (and sometimes continue with) un-fantastic, uninspiring, unrewarding work. Many of us started there, and frankly, more than a few have remained there. I can tell you why the middle class is shrinking; it's because the middle class tries very hard to have a lot of the same baubles that the upper class enjoys. We here in middle world have a very serious case of misguided, confused priorities. I want to live in a country that appreciates hard work, the basics, and has values. I don't really care to join with a band of creative hippy types who are whining about the lack of handouts.

Stop looking for handouts. Stop kvetching about who got them. Contact the president who's exacerbating the situation, your local and state representatives (do you even know who they are? did you vote?) and share your frustrations with them, and then go to work somewhere. Drive a small used car, live in a smaller house or apartment, shop where I shop, and most of all, Shush. Vociferously occupying a space that lies in the shadow of the very corporations that fund your hobbies, hand-helds, and highfalutin pursuits is hypocritical. If we look back at the history of this country, our success has been the result of individuals who competed to make money and make things better, and who worked hard. Sometimes, success has rested on the ability of many to do without, to sacrifice willingly. Nobody got rich by spreading the wealth, which actually means taking someone else's wealth. Which that wealthy person likely worked to attain. It's not the government's job to provide for us. The government owes us nothing but rights, freedoms, and protection from crazy people.

All right. I'm stepping off the soapbox now. I'm getting fired up just thinking about all this, weird people, cruel people, uninformed spoiled people, etc. I don't want to live in a bubble, but I also don't want to immerse myself in a boiling cauldron of information that fills me with helpless fury.

So, I'll keep the television off, and limit my time online. If I want to maintain a healthy balance in my mind and heart, I need to restrict my exposure. I want to feel genuine love for my fellow man, but golly, they can be an unlovable bunch.

Embracing my purpose

I'm becoming more and more convinced that one of my biggest roles on this little planet is to speak truth. I don't often enjoy the job, because most people don't want to hear what I have to say, seeing as it's usually bad news. Yet, I am bound by my personality to fulfill my duty.

This time, my somewhat unwilling speech is about food. The movie Food Inc., to be exact. But it's not just that movie; it's my slow, unhappy, dawning realization that the food supply in this country is really messed up.

Let me say, up front, that I am not a vegetarian. I eat meat. We own firearms. I am increasingly conservative. However, we also have a garden and grow food in it. I am an avid cook who tries to use healthy, natural ingredients as much as possible. I love animals, while also realizing that we are superior to them in our intellect. I believe that God made us in his image, and that animals are wonderful companions that are here to help, teach, and serve us.

It seems logical to me that, if we are more intellectually capable than any other earthly living thing (that we know of), it should be our goal to treat all of creation with respect and gratitude. (Within reason, of course. Respecting nature doesn't mean we never chop a tree, or that we move an entire city because its existence threatens the life cycle of an owl, etc.)

Anyway. This movie, Food Inc., is disturbing. If you're not thinking seriously about where your food comes from, you ought to. It's sort of a companion piece to King Corn, another eye-opening flick, plus one of the commentators in Food Inc. is Michael Pollan, author of The Omnivore's Dilemma (which I have yet to read but very much want to).

In the same way that the phrase "throw that away" has somehow turned into a mammoth floating garbage dump in the ocean , the idea of "going to the store" has morphed into a weird, utterly dependent system of unhealthy consumption that feeds our twisted, tightly controlled agricultural economy.

Even if you don't live in a city, it's still quite likely that you don't know any farmers. Why is that? If not, where did they go? Food is coming from somewhere... so neatly wrapped, in pretty packaging, it just magically appears and we buy it and eat it and ask no questions.

People: WE SHOULD BE ASKING QUESTIONS.

I need to keep this short because, lo and behold, my little guy came home sick from school today; he's feeling pretty lousy and I need to be attentive now that "Arthur" has ended. But seriously, I hope you'll watch the movie. I hope you'll ask some questions. I hope you'll see, as I am seeing, that the terrorists of this world won't even need to bring us down, because we're doing it to ourselves with ignorant and bad choices.

Over and out, for now. Next on my public service messages? Buying American. Then, we'll tackle the abandonment of plastic bags.

Inquiring minds want to know

(Notice I spelled inquiring with an "i" because I do not in any way want to be associated with the National Enquirer, the classless rag that first made such a statement. Frankly, I'm not even sure that it merits the italics used to indicate a publication...)

I have an inquiring mind, and I want to know. I want to know because I need to know. How bad is it going to get in America? In the world? Situations are unraveling faster than the newspeople can address them. You'll notice the local news-givers have simply refused to acknowledge any serious news outside of an invisible 60-mile radius surrounding our city. Another local fire? Robbery? Shooting? Demonstration? Quick, find a barely literate, clueless person to interview!

Anyway. Obviously, no one's getting the truth from the liberal, purchased national media folks, either. What I do manage to learn, (mostly via web sites which merely visiting could earn me the label of militant troublemaker,) is all bad. Economy and employment=bad. America produces very little and is controlled by thugs. Food? Bad; it's controlled by giant conglomerates like Monsanto who force chemicals, additives, and dependency on its unsuspecting consumers. Housing: bad for most, unless you had the sense to purchase a tiny, cheap home in a decent market for a fair price, and you've somehow managed to stay employed for the past 3 or 4 years. The youth? They're the victims of all this degradation and sadly, a lot of them don't even realize how unbalanced (not to mention immoral and sleazy) our world has become. Hope and change? Fading fast. Leadership and government? They're in midair now, having already driven off the cliff. (Did I mention you were in the cart they dragged behind them?)

So, what's a poor, flustered, concerned suburbanite to do in the face of all this madness?

Go off grid. Actually, go off off-grid. Just being a survivalist and removing yourself from the so-called "grid" that our culture has slowly plugged into the back of your head, Matrix-style, is no longer sufficient. Now, apparently, you must branch off from the off-grid lifestyle.

Or so I'm guessing, based on the talk about a book that becomes available in force via book bomb tomorrow, March 4. The author is a full-fledged, real-life off-gridder, and I for one am quite interested in any insights he has to offer. The intelligent, informed people over at the Granny Miller blog had some good things to say about it, and they've piqued my curiosity. I might have to bite the wallet and order one.

I love being near the city for many reasons. If someday Todd and I decide to remove ourselves from its midst, I will miss the culture, and the availability of odd and wholesome foods, and the diversity, and the dazzling array of amazing manmade creations, and the opportunities and events and seemingly limitless re-sale options. But at the same time, I can clearly see the rapid deterioration of our easy, effortless lifestyle, of the freedoms that we take for granted daily. I can see that the entire country, and most of the modern world, is teetering on the brink of some really difficult times that will make the depression look mild. It's not going to take a super-human shove to push us over the edge. Unpayable debt, overloaded systems, a majority of citizens that rely on government assistance in some form, unhealthy agricultural monopolies, pollution and corruption and—well, you see my point.

Not to mention the cost of gasoline. The refusal of our figureheads to drill at home, thus our reliance on knuckleheads. The absolute breakdown of everything when there's a disaster, natural or otherwise. Can you even imagine this country if we all lose power for any length of time? Or if some evil person gets into some major water supplies and fouls them up? Can you envision what will happen if some major roadways are disrupted for any reason and become impassable for a length of time? What if (gasp) the dollar is replaced as global currency?

I try not to picture these things, but I still do. I can't help myself. I am grounded firmly in reality. I don't like confrontation either, but I prefer it to walking away while peering with trepidation over my shoulder.

I have to think it's better to address these looming possibilities, and what I can do if they come to fruition. I wouldn't be nearly as concerned if I weren't so bloody dependent on all these faulty, flawed systems. That's why I keep eying this whole off-the-grid idea with such focus and fervor. I like the idea of being a self-sufficient unit. I enjoy the pleasures of our culture, the entertainment factors, the modern conveniences, the exotic choices in every realm. But I could live without most of it pretty easily. Could I live without all of it? What would it take? Where would it need to happen? How much money, knowledge, and preparation would it require? How much work would it be?

I know it's a lot to think about. But I do believe it merits a ponder, or two or five. Because truly, the good thing about being such a darned pessimist is that after thinking of all the bad things that could happen, the pessimist is empowered to then move forward into the preparation and planning stages.

I hope you'll check out Granny's site, or the book's website (the link is there).

Meantime, anybody want to sell me some remote land and livestock cheap?

P.S. Sorry if you find more typos than usual here; I'm hurrying, because I want to get this live so my two readers can check out the book by tomorrow...

On switching gears yet again

So, I was a little bit stir crazy that first week of school. I'd been watching our savings account slowly dwindle over the summer. And I had been looking at jobs online for weeks; I'd been noticing a disturbing trend among the so-called "writing" jobs.

Writing does not require any real training or skill these days—did you know? Any opinionated fool with an internet connection can share his or her lunacy, however poorly worded or ineffectively expressed, for the entire world to consume like soda pop and salty chips.

I knew it was coming to this, I did. I foresaw it with texting, and responses on YouTube, and comments on every online article (even the news), and even in the rapidly growing number of blogs. I could easily predict that the value of the word would plummet as words became more and more common and available. And indeed, that has happened.

The turning point was a writing job advertised on craigslist, which specified that no writing experience was necessary. I followed that one by clicking on a cleaning job that paid better anyway. You can probably guess what happened: I called about the cleaning job. And got it.

I don't know how long I'll last. I've only been at it for a week, and part-time at that. I've been in some unbelievably swank, sumptuous homes—the kind of homes I did not believe existed except among celebs and sports heroes. In fact, I've been in a celebrity home of sorts, a name you'd recognize (no, not a sports hero, so get your skivvies untangled). It's been eye-opening to say the least. If this is the world of home-cleaning during a recession, then HOLY COW, people, I don't think I'd be able to take it when the economy's good. I might end up at Gatsby's house, and then who knows what could happen...

I've learned that I'm actually not such a good cleaner. All this time, I've been known as a neatnik. Some people (including me) actually thought I had OCD tendencies; not so. Actually, I am only bothered by clutter. For all these years, I've been absentmindedly avoiding the real scum in my home. Well, I can't do that any more—my blissful, if smudgy, ignorance has been wiped unforgivingly clear. Happily, I've also begun to learn some of the tricks of the trade.

I've suddenly become mindful of how a single hair left on porcelain can undo an hour's worth of scrubbing in the eyes of a client.

I've learned that even rich people's kids make messes with toothpaste, and sometimes miss the toilet.

I've learned, too, that I never want to own stainless steel appliances.

I've learned how one industry is taking advantage of the two income, work-or-run-constantly lifestyle, and making it profitable. More power to them; these people earn every penny. I never dreamed this was such grueling work. I thought I was in pretty good physical shape, and knew how to get a house in order. Wrong. I will never again take for granted a shiny hotel shower, a perfectly vacuumed carpet or spotless tiles. Those cleaning people, carrying a giant bucket of supplies, toting a mop or broom? Never again will those people go unnoticed by me. They are slaving, doing an honest day's work. They deserve my recognition.

I've learned there are far worse jobs than this one. While I'm scrubbing, or dusting, or whatever, my mind is focused on the job at hand. When I'm done, I'm weary, sometimes sore...but not in a bad way. I don't have to feel guilt about what I've done. I haven't talked an older person into an unnecessary home improvement. I haven't sold a gadget that doesn't work. I haven't contributed to someone's poor health by creating an unhealthy food item, or selling cigarettes or trans-fatty donuts. I haven't even been forced to make yet another round of pointless, expensive changes to a client's advertisement, newsletter, or catalog.

Still. This is hard. And humbling. And I don't know how long I'll last. It's money, it gets me out of the house, and it's probably good for me. Is it ultimately what I'm supposed to be doing? I don't know. Is it using my best God-given talents? Doubtful. And might I be fired because I stink at it? Perhaps. I've left every job by my choice, in my time, except for one: the first I'd ever had, where I was let go...by the local supermarket. It seems I do not excel at the menial stuff. Hmmmm. Go figure.

I'll keep you posted. Until then, say hello to the next cleaning person you see. And if it's me? Try not to snicker.

Value, and values, clarified

In a time of limited supply, of uncertain future, one must consider the true, lasting values of things.

We’re pinching pennies here. And that’s forcing us to consider some things from a new point of view. We’re prioritizing like never before. We’ve done that in the past, certainly, but probably not to this degree—at least not since college or those first poor years after graduating. And not since we had a child and dropped to a single income.

Is a new cell phone necessary? No. Come to think of it, is a cell phone necessary? Nope. We already ditched cable several years ago. It’s like sugar; I miss it less and less as time goes by. Once you’re distanced from the unnecessary item, you can begin to recognize it for what it is: a sweet but shallow substitute for something really satisfying…like carbs. Sigh. (I’ll never stop missing those…)

We’re even re-thinking home projects. Which ones will provide the most bang for our buck? The continued yard re-design? Or painting the front trim on the house? Or the ugliest of all: the remodeling of and wood stove addition to the basement? We’re leaning toward the basement work, which is of course the most expensive project. But we know a long, lonely winter is coming, and we’d rather be ready for that than gazing out upon a lovely, refinished, snow-covered yard. Warmth will likely matter more than beauty. In the end it always does, just like brute strength is always the inevitable decider.

The people of this country are being forced to consider true values of things; that much has been evident in the last few weeks. Yes, my doctor is hard to reach, and sometimes I think he gives me too much medicine… But boy, I like being able to pick which doc I see. I like knowing that I have options when it comes to all that expensive medicine. And maybe, just maybe, there’s a reason people leave Canada to have surgery elsewhere. Yes, sometimes folks leave the States to have surgery elsewhere, but I believe the bulk of those cases involves elective, mostly cosmetic surgery, and I just can’t put that in the same category as surgery surgery.

As humans, it’s our nature to weigh the value of something only when we’re in danger of losing it… or have already lost it. I’ve been down that path with jobs and money recently. I’ve traveled that road with relationships of all kinds, with personal freedoms that are threatened, with both potential and realized losses of everything from friends to “me” time. In jeopardy, we are often forced to wax deeply and philosophically about how important something really is. Thankfully, desperate times give us clearer lenses. Perhaps that’s why it’s taken so long for the American people to wake the #*&! up and rebel a little bit. Times haven’t been desperate enough to stir us to serious thought and action.

It feels like we’re there now, doesn’t it? Uncertainties and untruths abound. Jobs disappear. Control is sought and wrestled for. It’s feeling sort of desperate to me. And as a result, honest and genuine worth is becoming easier to spot.

We sat out on the porch yesterday, watching a storm. Rain misted over us, the boy pointed at lightning, we all jumped when thunder shook, my husband pulled a blanket up over his son’s legs to keep them dry. It was a valuable and worthwhile moment, not to be missed but to be held dear. If we’d been rolling in the money, comfortably ensconced in a job and busy-ness, we probably wouldn’t have been there, perhaps wouldn’t have even been home. We might have missed it, groveling for that extra dime.

I’m not sure what I’m trying to say; I guess I’m just urging us all to savor this moment of clarity and seek truth and wisdom instead of pursuing further distraction. Myself included. Because clarity can be frightening, and may even require some painful prioritization and uncomfortably expressed passion for that which we hold dear. I’m not getting a new cell phone, and I’m not being unpatriotic when I speak up against something that I think is a bad idea. I’m putting my money where I think it belongs, not where the culture tells me. I’m putting my foot down when I see cockroaches under it. I’m standing by what’s really meaningful, what lasts.

We’ll ride this out, all of us, by clinging to the important stuff. Hold tightly to it.

Pondering my potential comeback...or lack thereof

I apologize for my absence. Just in case you noticed I’ve been absent.

I’ve been turning over some heavy subjects, not the least of which concerns whether I will have to return to work sooner than planned. (And pretty much anytime is sooner than planned, since I had cherished the hope that I’d simply be adored and supported comfortably by my patrons for the rest of my life. Don’t laugh; you know you hope for that, too.)

Now, please don’t misread my statement. I am not in a complete panic about the possibility of returning to work. There’s a not-so-small part of me that would embrace an opportunity to work outside of the home again. To work for pay again. To work for recognition again. To work at something I’ve studied and practiced and feel somewhat competent while performing. To be acknowledged by the rest of the working world. No, those aspects or returning to work don’t sound too daunting. My concerns run much deeper than that.

I fear that all the time and effort I’ve invested in my son will be lost. Suppose my investment should fade, those memories we’ve made become lost. Suppose his wild boy instincts are nurtured aggressively by an alternative caregiver, and my sensitive little sweetheart who loves to read and make his stuffed animals talk suddenly becomes a rough-and-tumble bruiser who thinks I’m a sissy neatnik. I know that will likely happen anyway… But does it have to happen already? So soon? I gave up a lot for this kid—and now he probably won’t even remember the bulk of my commitment, if it is to end at this point.

I also shudder when I consider that perhaps, no one will want to hire me. Why should they? What have I to offer? A frumpy housewife who’s been out of the workforce for over 4 years… My work experiences of late are probably not so useful to a potential employer. Yeah, I know there are lots of people out there touting the returning-to-work SAHM and how much common sense and no-nonsense attitude she brings to the office, but honestly, most of the folks spouting that opinion are—you guessed it—other SAHMs who are trying to return to work outside the home. The minute they see I’m not on LinkedIn, they’ll toss my skimpy resume aside like last week’s Us magazine. (Although, in honesty, isn’t LinkedIn just a work version of Facebook? “Connections,” “friends,” whatever you want to call ‘em—it’s all sort of high schoolish to me.)

And the biggest fear of all? That if I somehow can overcome everything, market myself successfully, iron a shirt and wear lipstick for a change, slough off the old homemaker/mom dinginess, and be a valuable commodity again, that it won’t be enough. Because, you see, it won’t be just me pulling myself up by my bootstraps and hitting the street, will it? No sir, it’ll be me…and thousands of other people who live quite near to me. Of which possibly hundreds are qualified to do the same sort of work I am seeking.

So, you can see why I haven’t had much to say of late. I’ve been thinking way more than I’d like to. Sometimes, it really does stink to be a realist.

Maybe next time, I can write something light and funny about my boy. I hate to milk him for amusing anecdotes like that, but I’m just not seeing much else worthy of sharing right now.

Stay tuned. And thanks for checking in.

The third unemployed morning

Cacophany of barking dogs
Has ripped me from a restless sleep;
The sun emerges from the east
And coaxes me to wakefulness.

A bus or truck is rumbling near;
It’s growing bright, a new day looms
With promise, light, and hope of—wait:
My husband got laid off last week.

Must find work.
Must find work.
Must find work.

This should come as no surprise

Silly me, telling you that my next post would be happy. Tut, tut.

Yesterday began simply enough. Todd’s truck was being repaired, so he took the car to work—which always makes me feel trapped. The kid and I woke up later than normal (that was nice!), hung around, played a bit, watched Sesame Street, and then decided it was warm enough to go outside. The sun was beaming, the sky was a glorious shade of blue, and we donned our jackets and stepped onto the porch.

It was a pretty day, but the wind was whipping. We ended up huddled first in the protected sunken driveway, and then on the sunny porch that is somewhat shielded from the buffeting gales. We finally gave up and went inside. The whole time we braved the cold, I was wondering where Todd was. He was supposed to come home for lunch, thus returning the car, and then I would take him back to work after lunch and he’d ride home with a friend who lived near the car-repair shop that had his truck.

He didn’t come. And he didn’t come. And a twinge of worry crept into my tummy. We started to eat a late lunch without him. And finally, I heard the garage door. He was home.

And I knew, as he climbed the steps toward me, that we had become a statistic.

I knew from his face, from the unspoken apology in his expression, from the stiffness of his gait. I knew before he ever said, “You don’t need to take me back to the office.” I knew.

No one yelled or cried. We were amazingly calm, although I realized my hands were shaking as I finished making my sandwich. It’s not as if we’re the first to have this happen, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been half-expecting this for the past year. We kept ourselves slightly perky, to belie our trepidation for our little boy’s sake. Daddy told him he’d need to find another job, because he wasn’t needed at this one anymore. And our attentive boy commented, “So 3 people lost their jobs.” Which means he’s been listening carefully—because yes, last week’s scary announcement at Todd’s job involved a layoff of 2 other folks from a sister company.

We finished lunch in mostly silence, while I tried to distract the kiddo with questions about preschool. I don’t think he was fooled, but he seemed to appreciate the conversation.

Then we all climbed into the car for the long drive to retrieve the truck, a haul even without traffic, and we timed it perfectly to coordinate with end-of-day traffic. To make matters worse, there’d been a misunderstanding between mechanics and while one had told us the truck was finished, in actuality it was not. We paid and loaded ourselves back into both vehicles, knowing all the while that Todd would have to turn around and make the same stupid trip the next day.

As I followed my boys through the streets of that small town, making our way toward the inevitable hell of rush hour around Pittsburgh, we stopped at a red light and I found myself gazing around at various store fronts. One place was an embroidery specialty store (now, honestly, do you see that surviving this economy? What a shame.) The store had a large window with a low, wide ledge, and I noticed motion on the ledge. Awww! There were two adorable pugs, watching the traffic, their funny compressed noses tilted slightly upward as they gazed at passersby. I looked at the light to make certain it had not yet changed to green, and then I glanced back at the storefront.

The dogs were copulating.

Yep, right there, in the window of an embroidery store. So inappropriate. And I guess I shouldn’t assume that the male dog was accomplishing anything—I was not close enough to be sure of his success or lack thereof—but the “under-dog” had resigned herself to the activity and was just trying to outlast the event. She looked distracted and weary. She knew there was no use fighting or trying to escape; she was just waiting until it was over. When the light changed to green, I pulled away, leaving the dogs to their scandalous window activities, and the thought that was foremost in my mind was this: I guess everybody gets theirs at one point or another.

The moral of the story? Sometimes you’re “top dog” (not to be facetious), and sometimes you’re the other dog.

Mad as h*!l

At the risk of sounding like a broken record—or worse, someone else's broken record—I will still speak about what's on my heart: Rage.

Wanna join me? If not, go to a happy website like this and have a blast.

If so, go here and watch this video about the credit crisis.

Then go here to listen to a voice of reason in an insane world.

Then make a telephone call (or more than one!) about the $410 billion spending bill that's already passed in the House. Start with Specter (R-PA) at 866-960-8136.

Lastly, stockpile some food, lots of water, and self-defense methods—and pray ceaselessly for God to become our country's focus once again.

When I can write a more positive post, I'll be back. Looking forward to it. Hope it's soon.

Beatin' that dead equine-omy

So, I’m watching the economy as it crumbles. And I’m thinking some pretty deep thoughts—deep for me, at least.

"Free enterprise will work if you will."
-Ray Kroc (founder, McDonald’s restaurant)

Hmmm. Does anyone still embrace that philosophy today? It would seem that the biggest, wealthiest corporate types don’t often represent that sort of thinking in American society. I’m trying to drum up some positive examples of leadership in our country, some folks who continued to believe in working hard to succeed even when scams were running rampant at every level of business… but the only examples I can think of are the schmucks who are stammering excuses when asked to account for bailout bucks. It’s no wonder the kids are confused about right and wrong, when there’s such a paucity of moral heroes to look to for guidance.

Oddly enough, our iffy economy isn’t hurting everybody; sales of SPAM are strong. Not strong enough to float Hormel, but hey, every sale counts. (See this story.) That got me thinking about how in tough times, people go for the cheapest stuff—food and otherwise. Fast food is probably not feeling the pinch of shut wallets as much as classy, fancy (read: expensive) restaurants are. Might the same be true of goods? Are necessary purchases being made, but on tighter budgets? Perhaps the lesser-known brand, in many cases lower-quality item is the one leaving the shelf, for significantly less money… and isn’t that sort of the opposite of what capitalism is supposed to do? It seems to me that the idea of free trade would spur better products and raise them to the top. For example, cars right now: the more efficient, longer-lasting versions that people can afford are faring much better than their gas-sucking, rust-bucket competition. If what’s happening with food is happening in other sectors, I fear our capitalism is floundering.

And why is the government trying to save everyone? After all, isn't the general concept of capitalism based on the premise that not everyone will succeed? That the best will survive and others will fail, or try again and be improved by the competition? Todd and I were discussing the many annoyances of packaging around Christmas (as many of you were, I'm sure--especially those of you with small children), and it occurred to both of us that the ridiculous level of detail given to packaging today is likely thanks to our competitive market. Back in the day, you just bought your flour out of a barrel at the general store, and then maybe some hot shot started to bag his own brand with a recognizable color or image. And his brand never had weevils. And the other fellow tried that, too, but the first guy just had a better product, and he succeeded and eventually put the other guy out of the flour business--or bought him out and employed him. Who knows. The point is, better products that resulted from competition (and perhaps from flashy packaging) is what built this goofy society with all its bells and whistles. Every great invention was created because someone could do something better, or faster, or cheaper, or all three. If we get away from the very bare bones of competitive free trade, we abandon a valuable part of our history.

Additionally, the husband and I are watching home mortgage rates to see if we can swing a refinanced loan for a shorter term. Except guess what happened to the closing costs and fees in the past couple of years? Yep, they shot up. Way up. It feels as if we—the responsible borrowers who took what we could afford, paid on time, and never got a second adjustable rate mortgage—are now being punished while others who bought 3 times the house on less income are being saved from themselves with amazing deals, rates, and debt forgiveness. You think Obama’s planning to save us? Think again.

In sum? America is rewarding and furthering greed, indirectly lowering our standards on much of the stuff we purchase, discouraging the building blocks of our economy by trying to save bad businessmen, and enabling some individuals who had already proven they couldn’t handle the debt they had before they ever took on the biggest debt of their lives.

It’s a really good thing I’m not bitter about all this.