Even Scofield would be jealous.

]]> http://fascistpanties.wordpress.com/2009/12/05/all-in-the-masculinity-or-wheres-your-car/ Sat, 05 Dec 2009 10:00:02 +0000 fascistpanties http://fascistpanties.wordpress.com/2009/12/05/all-in-the-masculinity-or-wheres-your-car/

http://ongcore.wordpress.com/2009/12/02/all-in-the-family/

Is “uncle” better than ‘dude?” Being from Los Angeles, specifically from the Valley, I think we know where I will land on this one. And this will be short and sweet. Uncle. UNCLE? … Fine, I’ll give you your familial designation of choice. And if used in the British sense, as in “bob’s your uncle,” I will concede that if the cabbie got you to your destination in one piece, it may be appropriate.

But I will make the case that “dude” is way more versatile, and thus better than uncle. And I will do it in two:

1. dude can be used at the end of just about any sentence to add emphasis, this is not gender specific. Example: “Check out that rice cooker. Dude!” Now when would your cabbie be in the store with you when you’re in the market for rice cookers?

2. It can be used on its own to show expression. Example: “Duuuuude.” [imagine some tragic or awesome event, like a car getting stolen or a beautiful sunrise.]

q.e.d.

… but if you want some academic-y whatever about the phenomenon that is “dude” – & gendered – here ya go: http://americanspeech.dukejournals.org/cgi/content/abstract/79/3/281

Today a woman named Laura Goldstein reached out to a website to give a shocking story about R&B singer Pleasure P, a.k.a. Marcus Cooper. Laura is the daughter of the Florida attorney who allegedly represented Pleasure P in the molestation case. She claims to have documented proof that Pleasure P/Marcus Cooper molested not only ONE but SEVERAL kids, while being a member Pretty Ricky:

Read full article and see the court documents…

Read the original article for more details…

What do you think of singer Pleasure P?

DID SINGER PLEASURE P MOLEST THESE INNOCENT CHILDREN?WHAT DO YOU THINK??

COURT DOCS EXPOSED*: Is Pleasure P A Child Molestor?

On this the stranger, who was a famous African magician, fell on his neck and kissed him saying:
“I am your uncle, and knew you from your likeness to my brother.
Go to your mother and tell her I am coming.” Aladdin ran home
and told his mother of his newly found uncle. “Indeed, child,” she
said, “your father had a brother, but I always thought he was dead.”
However, she prepared supper, and bade Aladdin seek his uncle,
who came laden with wine and fruit. He fell down and kissed the
place where Mustapha used to sit, bidding Aladdin’s mother not to
be surprised at not having seen him before, as he had been forty
years out of the country. He then turned to Aladdin, and asked
him his trade, at which the boy hung his head, while his mother
burst into tears.

I was scrambling eggs as Evan watched.

Evan: Mommy!  I want to be like Papi!  I’m going to grow as tall as Papi!  I’m going to have a big, fat tummy like Papi!  I’m going to like the same football team as Papi!  The Dallas Cowboys!

Ah teaching moment about obesity.

Me:  That’s wonderful Evan!  You can be whatever you want to be.  But it’s not good to be fat.

Evan: But Papi is!

Me: Well, yes.  But we want Papi to lose some weight because it’s not healthy for him.  We should play more sports with him.

Evan: So I’ll go on a diet with Papi.  Then we can have big, fat tummies together!

OK.  Not the best teaching moment.  Just let it go.

Two hours later I was telling the story to The Husband.

Evan: No, Mommy!  I want to be like Uncle M!  I’m going to grow as big as Uncle M!  Because I want to be big enough to get the lollipops down!  (When he visits our house, my brother likes to tease the boys by putting the lollipop container on a shelf that only he at 6’5” can reach.)  Then I can go to work and be able to buy anything my heart wants!

Me: That’s a good plan.

gotta put this down somewhere for posterity because as I know meself, it will slip out of my mind perhaps just a tad slower than today’s political news. So, I was watching a show about Maria Tanase-by the way, splendid woman (which does not mean that I actually know anything about her)- when my mom surprises me with a memory. Apparently, her uncle, my grandfather’s brother (a part of the family that was and is very musical with members playing instruments, sporting sensibility and such jobs as orchestra conductor or plane ole members of the national orchestra…alas yet again my resemblance to the other side of the family-even a poor job of that since I didn’t get their brains for physics and chemistry, therefore…I’m floating in the nothing. could I at least fantasize at my language-gifted great uncle? nah…I’d never have his honor)…oops, I’ve lost my idea. Oh yeah! my mom’s uncle, monsieur Petre C., a conductor of the orchestra and I think teacher at the Conservatory (his nephew, my cousin, is totally studying that) was the one teaching Maria Tanase in the ole days the ways of etiquette. well, that’s neat to know about one’s family. Trivia: apparently she had quite a flare about her, quite an intuitive brightness and could easily catch on and adjust.

Birth of KPC

I have to fill up some gap in the narrative.

About two centuries ago, a girl in my kk family fell in love with a boy in Kunnathur mana (Padinjaredath, after the split into Kizhakedath and Padinjaredath). As he was a younger brother, he should not have married from his own caste; but the lovers managed to marry.

In due course, a bonny boy was born to the couple who lived in-cognito. The boy was regularly brought to the Peruvanam temple for Darshan of Eratteppan (it was recently that I knew about it. Eratta = double; there is a big lingam and a small one, side by side). The smart boy invited the attention of Ittivasu-aphan (Brother-in-law of Shaktanthampuran) who was meditating in the mandapam.

 On being asked: which is your family?

The boy said: Padinjaredath which surprised the aphan!

A boy in my family, unknown to me?

When matters were clarified, he persuaded the elder brother to bring the young family and both lived happily ……till fate ordered almost a violent implosion. My uncle (eldest) and father of the present kpc generaion hated each other, like Duryodhana and Bhima. My brother may know all about it. A separate kitchen was set up. Maternal grandmother who knew Mahabharat so well failed to intervene. Her opposite number was a simple village girl. After protracted cold war, it was decided to partition the property. Neither party had enough money to pay compensation. So they approached Raja of Travancore who purchased the house. Now some social activities are going on there.

Uncle moved to Kuttapuzha which is very fresh in my memory, as construction of the new house at Naruvakulangara was going on under the supervision of my father. There were a number of wooden vessels used to store sambar etc during feast and we used  to play in them as boats !From Kuttapuzha house we would climb the broken corner wall of the temple and collect marod- a long flat piece of baked earth used as tile-rendered waste after the temple was renovated, with manglore tiles. We would make multi storey structures with marod. Krishnammaman, of my age, was my playmate. Ma’s father married a second time to dispose of my ma’s elder sister(here was a tragedy before which ma’s fate pales into insignificance; at least, ma enjoyed brief spells of affluence and happiness) Krishnammaman was son to the second wife.

One day there was a commotion. My stepsister was running towards the fence. Maheswaran’n elder brother, who was later to be closely associated to me, was trying to come down from a bamboo tree. A thorn had pierced his eye. They took him to Nambisan’s clinic at Trichur, but could not save the eye.

School

My guru died, followed by several of his brothers, on account of some epidemic, I think. Vedic education came to an end. I wanted to go to school inspired by the fact, perhaps, that all my cousins in ma’s house went to school.

Somehow, I had a half shirt and half trouser. I changed into this new dress and approached uncle Vasudevaphn, who was working at high school at Cherpu. He was reading something at his bungalow at kottical. When he heard me, he quietly gave me a four anna coin (25 paise) and dismissed me.

I went straight to ma’s house at Naruvakulangara and requested the one-eyed Aniettan (Neelakanthan)to help me. Next day at 9 am we started for the high school, where he was studying. In front of the Karayogam School, he asked me to wait and proceeded further. At 10 the bell rang. I panicked and followed the children who went into the first standard. I sat with them on a bench. There were no desks. Ramankutty master (there male teachers were called so) must have been surprised. He did not say anything. I immensely liked the new atmosphere .The masterji drew a fine pumpkin on the blackboard which looked like a real one.

At lunch break, he gave me a form and told me to get it filled by elders. I do not remember who signed it. Perhaps my second uncle. I dutifully handed over the form to masterji.

That was the happiest day in my life! Goddess Saraswatiy must have been very pleased. My parents or anybody in my family, probably, did not know about it, until I returned on Friday evening.

Pidikaparambu

After partition of property between Vasudevaphan and our family, when we came away, we became refugees in our own village. Who would take responsibility of a young widow and her four children without any wherewithal? We were housed in an old uninhabited cottage. A faithful maidservant remained with mother even in her woes. Across the fields my brother and I would run to join our cousins who are children of Ramaphan, who happened to be patrnal great grandfather’s youngest son. Recently I happened to see the latter’s cousin, something like a character from history. I did not know that such a person ever lived. This is a peculiar nature. I never cared to know anything about anyone. Now I want to have a record of each member of our clan. Living ones are more than sixty in number.

Ramaphan’s son Unni (KRS) is only slightly elder to me. At that time, we were about thirteen. Next comes Vasudevan and Raman. Their orchard is very large and has a big pond and two or three wells. In the night we all used to sleep together.

At the Shiva temple Othootu was going on. Yajurveda would be recited every day for forty one days continuously, from morning till midnight with lunch break of an hour or so.

Morning breakfast at 8, lunch at 1p.m., evening light food at 6, and dinner at midnight .There were oil and vaka (powdered bark of a tree) and crushed leaves of hedge for shampoo (what a healthy life style !) at the temple tank for our use (only for Namboodiris) Our bath may take a long time, massaging, talking and swimming…..

Practically we children enjoyed the time.

Poor ma once woke up in the night and saw something hanging from the roof .The only light was from a small bottle lamp (filled with kerosene and fitted with a perforated lid through which a wick is inserted) She woke up the maid. It was a SNAKE, probably poisonless (Rat snake) chera, but remember that father died of snakebite !All through the night, they kept vigil lest it may harm the sleeping girls…

Thiruvallakavu temple, now famous for initiating kids into the world of letters, is only two miles from our house. People offer appam (rice powder and jaggery mixed and made into balls which are then fried in pure cows’ ghee) We walk the distance , circumventing the hill, with hardly any dwelling in that are (now there is bus service, tarred road, plenty of terrace buildings and Santa Maria School) and stray dogs with menacing looks, reach the main Trichur-Kodungallor road. At 3pm is the pooja. The appetizing fragrance of ghee diverts our attention while praying for sadbudhi (wisdom). We may eat the appam then and there.

One day a stranger appeared, wearing khaki trousers and half-sleeved shirt. He smiled at us and started talking, as if he knew us. He was hefty and well built and had leadership qualities. He organized local farmers to form a Kisan Sabha.We were easily entangled into a Balasangham.He became a hero-comrade M.N., later; a warrier also became an activist.

Our Cochin state was an independent entity, ruled by a king, area comprising of the land south of Bharatapuzha and Travancore state in the South, beyond Ernakulum district. There was demand for peoples’ representation in the administration and people were becoming politically conscious. A private road leading to a temple was closed to lower castes. They were agitating for the right to use the road. Police mercilessly beat them up. M.N. was among them. We saw him coming with several injuries. Our tender hearts melted, we gave the appams we were carrying, to comrade.

At that time I took Savithri, my sister to Vallachira School and enrolled her there. I do not remember any of our relatives visiting us. Not even maternal grandmother!

Avanavil mana had three elephants. The youngest Ramachandran became out of control and refused to come out of the temple tank. We all went to see the fun. It was spectacle worth watching. The animal was swimming and diving, sometimes only the four feet visible above water, moving from corner to corner within seconds, muddying the water, putting the mahouts to an ordeal. They taught him a lesson, after he was ultimately enticed with a bunch of plantains, beating him right and left. The poor creature was simply enjoying a dip in water. He was a waterfriend. I almost wept. Why do we not allow these forest animals their freedom?

Pazhai

Ultimately Veembur kadalayil mana adopted us and we moved to a cottage adjoining their’s, purchased from a nair family, marking the beginning of a lifelong relationship with V.B.S, my guide and mentor until I left Keralam for good.

The lady in white, my maternal grandma ,belonged to this house which was earlier located at Thalore.

 Pazhai(gone waste)

 The very name is a thrill. In the village library, I found my first novel(Translation of  “The Wreck by Tagore “), I devoured every word, like a thirsty man drinking dew drops. I was disappointed, when Kamala returned to her lawful husband, whom she had never seen! The love between her and  Romesh, the hero, was pure and devoid of selfishness. Alas, such love wilts under the heat of married life!

There was an ashram of Vivekananda Mission, near the river (now under RSS).The plot was donated by maternal grandma’s uncle. The library had children’s English books which I greedily read, though half the words were unknown to me.

VBS’s cousins and their children, my maternal uncles and occasionally, politicians used to frequent the VK house and, in short, a certain intellectual air prevailed there, very stimulating and invigorating. There, I learned the basics of Marxism. Gorky’s books were a favourite. Ralph Fox, Steinbeck, Howard Fast etc. were too familiar, even though, Trotsky’s autobiography was read only recently in Dyal Singh Library (he was unjustly maligned by Stalinists. He was a genius of the rank of Lenin, M.N.Roy, Mao etc).

Like the title says. It’s amazing, the song is amazing, the whole thing is amazing.

One of my roommates was catching the rest of us up after our Thanksgiving apart, and she told us something kinda disturbing and unexpected.  Apparently, her uncle was asked by one of his friends to be the best man in his wedding.  To a mail order bride.

Like, for real this guy is going to China soon to pick up the wife he bought.

This has a Law & Oder: SVU episode written all over it.

I just didn’t think this really happened!  I mean, I know in history it did, even in America from one coast to another (for example, see the movie or read the book “Sara, Plain and Tall”).  But now?  How is that not outlawed for being flat out creepy?

And apparently this guy was married before and has a son in college, but how do you tell this type of thing to your family?  I can just see him at Thanksgiving dinner, “Oh son, by the way, after I drop you back off at school, I’m heading to China to pick up your new mommy.  Pass the yams, please?”

I can’t even quite wrap my mind around it.  None of us could.  So we Googled “mail order bride” and a legit website seemed to come up where you could actually pick what country you wanted your wife to come from.  But it’s so creepy!!!

I flew back to Texas for the Thanksgiving holiday to see my family. There have been lots of new additions over the last 2 years. I took home some prints for the little ones to put up in their rooms. Some of them are starting to talk and they’ve been learning what sounds certain animals make. As I showed them each picture they proudly blurted out the appropriate noises and acted out the movements – toddler charades is much more entertaining than you would think.

“RAAWWWRRR!”

‘Very good! That’s exactly what a tiger sounds like…’

“OOH OOH, AH AH!” (scratching head with one hand)

‘Yay! It IS a monkey!’

[Silence]

‘Hmmm…what sound does a giraffe make? Or a zebra for that matter?’

(Shoulder shrug)

‘I’ll pick better animals next time.’

 MEMOIRS (Abridged) Includes articles and essays on various topics in SCIENCE, GEOGRAPHY, PHILOSOPHY, STATECRAFT etc. in addition to Travel notes.  Price Rs. 1oo, postage extra.  

                                                                                          By K.K.Subramanian

Waterfriend remembers his childhood

 Kunnathur Mana

My mother was born in a very illustrious family Kunnathur Padinjaredath.You can see the ancestral house near the Peruvanam temple south gopuram (gate)

I have vague memories of sitting upstairs; looking at the road. I must be four at that time.

The family came there in search of livelihood and became the tantry (main priest-they still are) of the temple. I can imagine mother (kali was her name-a goddess) walking towards the temple, holding the hands of the maid servant, almost naked, with only a plantain leaf strip to cover nakedness, not knowing what fate awaited her…tears swell in my eyes, even as I write these lines

She was married off at the tender age of thirteen or so to Subrahmanian Nambudiripad, aged forty plus, already having two wives, one living and the next one and her son still fresh in memory, and a daughter of mother’s age whom her brother married the same day, probably. Mother was dark, uncouth and short; my step sister was fair, lean and very handsome whom mother hated heartily!

I do not remember any one caring for her,  except her younger sister and some cousins. Uncle (eldest) never talked to her or even to her children (in all six, two died early). She had a sharp tongue and was outspoken but had a heart of gold. She was very lazy and father was the laziest!

I digressed…

Around 150 years ago, mother’s ancestor was married to the sister of the king of erstwhile Cochin State who was known as Shaktan Thampuran. He bestowed on the Kunnathur family tax free land. The family became rich.

Maternal grandfather was very intelligent, so too was my uncle. At that time a rich local Nambudiri of Chittoor mana established a school, where we all studied, and uncle was the first student, duly initiated before a lighted lamp etc. Of course the student was without a shirt! I had a few classmates, topless, in primary school. Grandmother was wise, cultured and well versed in puranas (old legends of Hindu religion).When she got angry and shouted like a lioness, her husband shivered like a mouse! She did like my mother, always told me to look after her well but did nothing when she needed assistance. In fact no one accompanied her when she left the house built by father, and we were travelling in a country boat, through the swollen river. Being a fool, I enjoyed the trip!…

Earliest memories centre around a small village Thalore, near Trichur. I was about four. Mother had given birth to a dead baby and so she continued to feed me. I just came in from the spacious orchard where I was playing, lay down in my mother’s lap and started sucking her big breast. (In those days our women folk did not wear blouse.) “Ma, who put sugar in your milk?” -I asked. She just pushed me off and that was the end breast feeding !

I had a playmate Bhagi about eight years or so . She was attached to our maid servant Madhavi. I always thought she was her daughter.

 One day the girl was mopping the kitchen floor. I said something .She didn’t listen and I gave a blow on her back with an iron ladle. The poor girl cried out aloud inviting the attention of mother and paternal grand mother I felt guilty and wretched. Perhaps that was the only time I used violence against any living creature…..

With just a piece of cloth tied like lady’s bikini, I used to accompany Madhavi to the grocery shop owned by a Tamil Brahmin .He would give a piece of jaggery. We never got chocolates in those days.

Father and mother slept in the upstairs bed room. I slept with them. Mother used to tell stories. Elder brother used to sleep with grandmother. He was her favourite. Paternal uncle Krishnaphan was an occasional visitor. We loved him, as he was a good storyteller. About Lilliputs we heard from him. He was dark and fat unlike another p. uncle Vasudevaphan who was slim and fair, the first person to go to school from K.K. family. He was teacher and a close friend of E.M.S. Namboodiripad.

One day an old lady came, covered up to the neck in pure white dhoti (in north India only a widow will dress in white) Do you know her? –they asked. When I blinked, they all laughed . I felt ashamed. It was mother’s ma. As a girl, she was born and brought up in the same house where we were staying temporarily-the great Veembur Kadalayil Mana (which was lying vacant at the time. Mahatma Gandhi visited the house in 1929). Father who was a good architect and astrologer was making our house near the river, about four miles away. One day brother and I accompanied him to see the construction work. My legs were paining like hell. I earned the reputation of having walked four miles when four years old.    

 At that time , another paternal uncle, Parameswaran by name, took me with him to fort Tripunithura where royal family members lived. By custom, only a nambudiri may marry a princess. And, in a nambudiri family only the eldest can marry; others may have legitimate relationship with women of other upper castes, the latter not entitled for a share of nambudiri property. They are not allowed to share meals with us.(My grandfather’s younger brother’s daughter was my schoolmate .I never knew about the blood relationship, though I somehow liked her. Of course I was too shy to talk to her! )

That is how uncle married a real princess and lived in Palace no.11. I was too small to notice the clean bed, the sumptuous food (at home we had it only on birthdays or during Onam) The great festival was going on at the Poornathrayeesha (Krishna) temple and there were any number of elephants (I wanted to become a mahout-I am never tired of watching these majestic animals)

An elephant was being fed. Uncle asked me-do you want to mount it . I shook my head. The mahout lifted me and handed over to his colleague sitting on the elephant. He placed me on its neck. I felt uncomfortable, its hair pricking my naked bottom and I being lifted up and down by the motion of its head while eating; still I enjoyed it .

One day we were taken to Akavoormana near river Periyar. We enjoyed playing in the shallow swift flowing water. I lay down in the water and was carried away some distance. Flapping my arms I managed to remain floating. Thus I learnt the rudiments of swimming. I do not know how to swim really. Like cattle only my head remains above water.

There were two young elephants there. As a baby Ramankutty used to roam about in the house and snatch things from the kitchen. Even now I like to have a baby elephant ….

Vasudevan uncle (the youngest among five brothers, father being the eldest) was working as teacher in Namboori Vidyalaya at Trichur. I would look with admiration  the fat books in his shelf. One day when I grow up I shall read them!

Savithri was born. I refused to see the baby. I wanted a brother. This dislike of girls remained for a long time to come.

When Vas uncle brought a wife I was too shy to meet her. Afterwards the words “cheriamme “automatically escaped from my mouth and all exclaimed “today it will rain” 

   Recently, during morning walk I reached the church and, turning right, easily located the arch, proclaiming entry towards the Shiv temple. I went through it and turned right. A little further, I had hardly turned left when I could easily spot the old gate as it was in 1937! It was something like a flashback in TV screen! The front yard was very small. (in my mind it was very big.)The main building was intact, though concretised. I saw mother’s bedroom upstairs where I slept. Through the left side I traced a few steps and saw the workplace where women husked rice .It was locked. I could easily see the rope swing and Bhagi and I playing there. The reddish brown cow must be somewhere nearby. Bhagi showed me how to pick silky smooth, egg shaped thing (she called it pattunni) from the cow’s skin. She would place it on a stone and crush it with another stone spilling blood. Ma must be in the kitchen. The great surprise was when I turned to the east courtyard and looked to the flight of steps leading to the orchard. I was expecting at least thirty steps. I could count hardly four! To the child everything appears on a mega screen. To the grown up, it is all on TV screen. The surroundings had been cut into plots and sold. There are flats now. But the main structure is unoccupied till now.

Originally, it belonged to Moothedath Kadalayil which was merged with Veembur Kadalayil. On shifting to Pazhai, the house was sold to Akavoor Mana, my paternal grand mother’s maiden house (illam). We were just living there. The Akavoor namboodiri even suggested,” sister, why don’t you live here, why build a new house?” But father wanted to be near our village. 

Pues queridos amigos tal vez no cambie nada , pero si de algo sirve diré esto . No sera presidente obrador , o tal vez México no sea campeon de mundo.

Pero por fin se abrió un blog de todos y para todos, los bloggers :

Weborroba , Phobo , Uncle , Aclaraciones , entre otros

ya empezamos un proyecto con visperas de ubicarlo como un blog

concurrido.

Es llamado : http://eraboee.blogspot.com/ y espero que sea del gusto de ustedes, como inicio pusimos unos wallpaper…

chido Visiten

http://eraboee.blogspot.com/

My sister is doing it, my niece is doing it, I’m going to do it and now my Uncle Dan says he’s thinking of doing it! Hallelujah! He’s diabetic and has already had a heart attack and a couple different surgeries on his back.  We’ve been long scared of losing him to weight caused health problems.  I’ve always felt close to my Uncle Dan.  He is my Dad’s younger brother. My parents took him and the other siblings in when my Grandma died (of a heart attack at 40).  Uncle Dan was only 11 when he came to live with my family. I was not yet born.

Praying he takes this opportunity and goes through with it. Dr. Gluck is giving a seminar the first week in December and Uncle Dan AND a close family friend, Lynn, are going to go to it together! Lynn just found out last week that she is now diabetic. Poor Lynn was absolutely terrified. She says she has never been anything but overweight.  She’d like to be thin for once but her biggest draw is that having the vertical sleeve or roux-en-y surgery is a near instant cure for type 2 diabeties. They are even doing studies to find out if it’s a good idea to do these surgeries on people who are not obese in order to cure their diabeties. 60 minutes did a special on this.

See here for 60 Minutes Special  – ‘Bypass Effect’ on bottom of page

and I will be your new director.

]]> http://oxymoronlover.wordpress.com/2009/11/27/life-aint-fair/ Fri, 27 Nov 2009 15:02:07 +0000 oxymoronlover http://oxymoronlover.wordpress.com/2009/11/27/life-aint-fair/

My youngest son Wyatt, was born with a baseball in one hand, and a basketball in the other. His older brother was about to turn five when he was born, so he was always trying to live up to his big bro’s standards. . .a tough job for one so much younger. No one let him win at anything, for the simple pleasure of winning. He had to work hard to learn how to compete at an early age, because his brother was athletic, an honor student, and wanted to be the best at everything he did.It was not enjoyable to watch him get walked on at times, but we also knew he was learning a life lesson in the process, and he could not be given everything on a silver platter, as much as his momma wanted him to experience the joy of succeeding.

I will never forget the day he had to learn the lesson that the world is not fair. All the times his brother beat him at running, making baskets, hitting baseballs, or winning board games, he lost fair and square. The night we went to a PTO function where trophies were given to grades K-2, 3-5, and 6-8 for shooting free throws, our family watched and cheered as they let him compete against the K-2 graders because he was still too young to be in school. Wyatt made every free throw but one, into the plastic Michael Jordan basketball goal with the miniature basketball; far better than the other competitors. Naively, we screamed and clapped and told him how he won. He wasn’t stupid–he could count and knew he had the most points. When the trophies were doled out, he waited patiently to receive his. Someone must have overlooked his score, because third, second, and first places went to kids with lower scores. It was all over, and when it became obvious he was not getting a trophy, he bit his quivering lip, and held the tears in. Four years old. In the car, the tears came. So did mine. How do you explain only the kids who go to school get the trophies, even though he knew he made more baskets? It was absolutely heartbreaking. His aunt, uncle, and cousins had been there, too. He must have felt humiliated. We all went home, deflated.

About an hour later, there was a knock on our door. It was his uncle. He had gone to his basement and scrounged up an old basketball trophy of his own, about 20 years old, by the look of the dulling metal and the ’70’s style shorts on the basketball player posed with a raised ball. He had taken a piece of green paper and written with a Sharpie, “Hoop Shoot ’95, 9 out of 10,“ and taped it to the marble base where the metal plate with his own inscripted honor had been.

It was touching, and Wyatt was so pleased. We could tell he felt important. We watched as a big smile spread across his little face. It was precious.

The trophy has always kept its place of honor on a cabinet where other awards like the GEC All-Conference MVP in baseball and Duff-Kingston Sportsmanship in basketball have joined it over the years. He has made his own way in sports and academics, possibly because of those early lessons he was forced to learn from his big brother. He didn’t know it then, but the fact that life isn’t always fair was the least of the lessons to be learned that night of the PTO function. When he reads this story and is reminded of how his big, tough, six- foot-something uncle went to the effort to even the playing field for him, he is going to see the unconditional love that only God can put in another’s heart. It is the kind of life lesson we all want our children to experience first hand.

PALACE OF KANS

When the guide showed us a mound of earth, describing it as the Palace of Kans, Krishna’s uncle at Mathura, we all laughed. That was in 1967.

When I read Alexander Cunningham’s tour notes, I realized that it was no joke. He has said the same thing about the mound at Mathura. He is considered the father of Archeology in India. It was at his instance, that we started digging the” earthen hills” at Nalanda in 1914, and lo!; what a discovery! About the famous university, he had read. Following the foot steps of Huen Tsang, he reached the village, which was just a waste land. Cunningham realized that it must be the location of the famous Nalanda University.

 When I stood there and looked at the workers still digging there, I thanked the Englishman!

There is too much talk of Ram Janmabhoomi and building a temple there. Why not dig the palace of Kans? After all, it is Krishna Janmabhoomi.

I interrupt my regularly-scheduled broadcast……to bring you this very important breaking news update.

Today I found out my uncle is sick and in the hospital.

Our entire family is praying for him – that he will recover – and have many more years to celebrate life. Hearing this news from my mom this morning started me thinking about a “moment” that my Uncle Wes and I had together during my wedding in may.

I was showing him the video I had made for John and my Uncle became visibly touched. Now, you have to know my Uncle Wes to know, this just does not happen!

Uncle Wes is my favorite “tough-guy” uncle, replete with tats and would probably have a Harley if my Auntie would let him. He has this gruff voice that lumbers in the air far after he leaves the room. When I was a kid, if Uncle Wes got mad, you had better leave the country because you were about to get a lickin that would keep on stingin for months!

After watching the video, my Uncle Wes shared some wisdom and encouragement with me about marriage that I bring to remembrance daily as I navigate these new waters of “one-fleshness” with John. My whole world stopped as I stepped into that “moment” with my Uncle Wes and just soaked in it. Of all of the “moments” during my wedding day, it is that one that I will cherish in my heart forever.

This is my Uncle Wes at the wedding…

And this is my Uncle Wes, my mom & step dad, and my Auntie MaryKay… ain’t they cute!

So before we move on, could you lift my Uncle Wes and Auntie Mary Kay up in prayer today for God’s healing touch?

It has been said that…Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.

The older I become, the more I realize this to be true. It is those captivating moments that I look back on that I can point to and say “in that moment I learned something… became something… gained something… in that moment I was defined…or in that moment life took on a whole new meaning for me…”

Those moments have no monetary value but yet they are a treasure no amount of money can buy.

“There is nothing sweeter in this sad world than the sound of someone you love calling your name.” ~ Kate DiCamillo

This quote couldn’t be more true. 

 I recently lost a long time friend to suicide.  This was very painful for many of us who knew him.  There’s soo many feelings that come with death, especially if it is from that person taking their own life.  I was soo angry and sad, as were many others.  This was only last month.  I know the saying is “death comes in 3’s”.  What is scary about this saying, is that it seems to ring true. 

My dad called me about 2 hours ago.  My Uncle Denny was fighting cancer and passed away on Saturday.  He died from a heart attack.  His heart couldn’t take the chemo any longer.  He was fighting to live!   The funeral is Wednesday in Ohio and I won’t be able to go. 

Soo many things don’t make sense in this world, even though I know God has a plan.  I am soo very sad.  I can actually feel my heart hurting.  The Holiday season is already hard this year without loosing someone.  I know I will be fine.  The Lord is always there to help me. 

 I feel for everyone who looses someone close to them around the Holiday season.  The loss never seems to go away.  It gets better, but it’s always there each season.  

I lost a friend that was like a sister to me when I was 17 yrs. old.  The doctor’s  never did figure out why her lungs filled up with fluid.  The funeral was on Christmas Eve that year.  I think about her every Christmas Eve.  A part of her still lives on that is now a part of my family.  She had a daughter, obviously at a young age.  My Aunt and Uncle adopted her daughter as a baby. Rachel is now 22 yrs. old and I see Cathy in her often.  It makes me sad and happy at the same time.  Every Christmas Rachel asks me to tell her about her mom.  I tell her the same stories she has heard for the past few years, but she loves to hear them and it keeps her memory alive.  I guess I am fortunate enough to have her daughter (my cousin)  to tell them to. 

Remember to cherish your family and friends.  You never know when and why they won’t be there to say your name. 

Wishing everyone a Blessed, Happy and Safe Holiday this week.

Well, the move of this journal to a new location is now complete. I apologize for any confusion or difficulty that anyone had to deal with.

The move was made to protect myself and my readers from a hateful individual that was in my life. Apparently, despite years of being open about it, I was “ambushed” by an uncle of mine over my religious beliefs. I think I can sum up how low the conversation went just by telling you that he repeatedly told me that if he ever sees me he will “stone” me for my “ridiculous beliefs.” He feels that my beliefs, which I’ve held since I was a child, are “just a cry for attention.” Several of my family members and friends are very angry over this… to the point that many of us have severed all ties. It is unfortunate that it came to that point, but I know that I personally have enough drama in my life without his contribution. I don’t need to associate with a man who hates me simply because I do not hold identical views to his when it comes to religion.

I don’t know if it’s like this for everyone, but I remember one single event in my childhood that caused me to know there was no Santa Claus.  Maybe for some kids it’s a more gradual process, whereby first there is doubt, then mounting evidence to support that doubt until, finally, you just know.  I know for another kid in my fifth-grade class, she was teased into the realization and, to my everlasting shame, I was one of the teasers.  When the rest of us discovered that, at the ripe and ungullible age of 10, she still believed, man, it was like we just couldn’t stop laughing.  And that’s because there are very few people on earth capable of such dazzling and deliberate cruelty as children.  Luckily, we mostly outgrow it.  Damn it, I interrupted myself again.

I was maybe seven years old, and every year on Christmas Eve, we had a huge family Christmas party at my great-grandma’s house or at the local Eagles Aerie every year.  Most of the relatives that end up at the Christmas party were the same that attended the ginormous camping trip in the summer.  Best of all, toward the end of the evening, the man himself would show, Santa Claus, big as life and twice as hairy. 

Always the inquisitive type (so many things in my life would be easier if this weren’t true), I had determined that this year, I was going to catch a glimpse of the reindeer.  So I went through the whole process as usual, stood in line with the other kids, sat on Santa’s lap and told him the million and six things I wanted for Christmas, then got my gift and ran over by the front door to open it.

Did I mention that, even when we had the party at my great-grandma’s house, and even though she had a fireplace, Santa always came in the front door?  And I never even thought anything was weird about this until after the events I’m about to relate. 

I figured since Santa would leave by the front door and go get back in his sleigh, as soon as he walked out, I could glance out the front window and watch as the sleigh and reindeer took off from the roof.  I was SO excited, I was actually having a hard time breathing.  But I waited, I bided my time, and eventually was rewarded.  With a mighty, “HO, HO, HO!!“, Santa vacated the premises, and no one noticed the overly inquisitive seven-year-old boy who meandered over to the front window.

With bated breath, I watched Santa cross the porch, crunch across the snow in the front yard, and, rather than magicking himself up onto the roof or anything spectacularly Santa-y like that, he stopped.  He looked left.  He looked right.  “He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake,” but he didn’t  see me peeking out that window.  And that’s when it happened.

Santa pulled his whole beard OFF!!!

And, worse, HE WAS MY UNCLE WAYNE!!!!

Oh, the trauma!  The betrayal!  What in the holy hell was happening??? I wanted to know! 

I immediately tracked down my mom and accused, “Santa Claus was UNCLE WAYNE!!“

She shhhed me so the other kids wouldn’t hear, and explained that Santa was one helluva busy guy and didn’t exactly have time to show up to everybody’s family parties on Christmas Eve, but that Uncle Wayne was one of his “special helpers”.  This actually was enough to shut me up, but I didn’t believe a word of it.  Christmas was always different after that — from that point on, I pretended to believe, and Mom and Dad pretended to believe that I believed.  I’m pretty sure my son doesn’t believe, but he sure asked a lot of interesting questions about the whole thing last year.

“Don’t I need to know if there’s really a Santa Claus so I don’t grow up and buy Christmas presents for my kids only to have Santa show up with a bunch more?  You don’t want me to waste money, do you?”  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, there are times when I wish we’d had a dumb kid.  I’m sure my parents often thought the same.

I was asked recently what I would not offer freely. This got me to thinking about my limits. I had not explored them seriously in quite some time. Just random comments of, “no red,” or “you know that’s a hard limit” when things came up. Back when Husband and I first entered the community, I did a lot with lists. Filled out fetish lists, filled out like/dislike/limits lists. But it had been quite a while since I seriously visited the topic, and limits do change over time. My partners have challenged my limits, poking them gently here and there, never Leaping over the line, just prodding it until they made a hole to slip through. Or, in a couple cases, waiting until I changed my mind and Asked to try something.

So I now have three lists. Current Hard Limits, acknowledging that things do change. Previously Hard Limits that have been pushed to Soft Limits, acknowledging that these are still tricky ground, and often partner specific. And a very short Soft Limits list of two things I didn’t know enough to have put on my Hard Limits list in the first place.

Current Hard Limits

Children

Age Play/Infantilism

Animals(yes, this includes snakes)

Furry Play

Shit

Piss

Puke

Blood (except for sex during menstruation)

Needles/Staples

Hooks/Piercings

Cutting of the skin (does not include scraping/scratching or breaking from impact play)

Medical Play (specifically enemas, sounds, catheters)

Removal of my pubic hair

Branding

Bull whips (longer than 4 feet)

Significant Facial Impact (smacking, hitting, punching, etc)

Unsafe sex

Public sex (more than two other people present)

Willfully Breaking the Law (only exception is private play in a public area where there is reasonable safety of not being caught, (i.e. sex after dark in a car or park))

Humiliation Play

Previously Hard Limits that have been pushed to Soft Limits

Breath play

Ball gags

Grabbing by the throat

Gentle face slapping

Uncle

Single Tails(under 4 feet)

Dragon Tails

Sex while menstruating

Anal

Soft Limits

Essential Flavored Oils

Diet/Food Control