DUE TO POPULAR DEMAND

Lisa, you are being kind, I know, but hey, if you can't brag on your own blog, where can you brag, right?!

---------------
Here is the newspaper article (slightly edited) from Monday in the Sierra Vista Herald, with the particular phrases highlighted which prompted my quick response to the editor:

BISBEE — Cochise County Militia, a local group, will hold a border watch event in February … Bill Davis, founder and director of the militia (states) “Our confidential informants in Mexico say a big harvest was just completed, and drug mules are being assembled for February.”

…Davis said that people who don’t live near the border area may not realize there is a large number of illegal immigrants who enter the United States each day. And, they may not understand what kind of impact it has on homeowners living within 8 to 40 miles of Mexico.

“They lay in bed at night with their dogs barking, hearing strange noises outside, watching dark figures pass their bedroom windows, sometimes 20-50 in single file,” he said. “They hope they don’t have a home invasion, family members molested, vehicles stolen or narcotics dropped on their property for their animals and children to find.”….

He cautioned that he doesn’t want participants to “wave (handguns) around” or do any target shooting during the event. Rifles and shotguns also may be carried, he added. He suggests participants should keep the guns safeguarded in a low profile and “pray” they don’t need to use them… People can also bring pepper-gel spray or a stun gun, as these items will cause fewer problems if used, he added.


And here is my reply as printed this morning in the aforementioned newspaper:


So where did Bill Davis, founder and director of the Cochise County Militia, find these cowering border dwellers he describes in the Sierra Vista Herald front-page article of December 29th?

I have lived for the past eight years just three miles from Mexico, between the San Pedro River and the Huachuca Mountains. And I can guarantee that every single neighbor I have, if they "lay in bed at night with their dogs barking, hearing strange noises outside, watching dark figures pass their bedroom windows," are using their speed-dial to call the Border Patrol.

The Border Patrol regularly and faithfully patrols the section between the border with Mexico and Hwy. 92, at least that area around S. Kings Ranch Road. Regardless of what hour of the day or night I call, a patrol car is there within minutes.

I feel safer here that I did living in East L.A., south of Baltimore, and north of Washington D.C.

However, the thought of a militia of "patriotic people working the line" with handguns, rifles, pepper-gel spray and stun guns DOES scare the SOCKS off of me.

Bill Davis, please go defend some other area than my backyard - I'm just fine with what I already have.


Isn't it fun to be published?

IN PRINT

A section of a book I adore ("A New Earth" by Eckhart Tolle - with a name like that, what could you possible become other than an author, mental-health therapist or breaking-edge artist?) hits very close to home with me:

"An ego that wants something from another... will usually play some kind of role to get its 'needs' met, be they material gain, a sense of power, superiority or specialness, or some kind of gratification....

"Attention in some form, such as recognition, praise, admiration, or just to be noticed in some way, to have its existence acknowledged....

"Whenever you feel superior or inferior to anyone, that is the ego in you."

And oh my goodness is that ever the case with me. With work in particular, I have always craved positive reinforcement. No, I think it goes beyond 'crave' - require, perhaps, or even demand. To remain professional, I have reverted to (psychologically, at least) patting myself on the back to just get that sense of praise.

And that's not healthy, I know.

But I also recognize this is one of the reasons I blog. I check MUCH more often that I should to see if, maybe, perhaps, someone just may of left a comment. I check on that silly map to your right to see who has even accidentally STUMBLED onto my blog while searching Google for "diabetic dog dainties" or misspelling 'hopeless.'

Man.

So tonight when the local newspaper managing editor called me this evening to 1) ascertain that I was the actual writer of the emailed letter-to-the-editor renouncing Bill Davis, director of the "Cochise County Militia", description of cowering individuals living on the Mexican border who supposedly "lay in bed at night" (his wording, not mine) " with their dogs barking, hearing strange noises outside, watching dark figures pass their bedroom windows."

And thereby, according to Mr. Davis, we need a militia of elderly, oxygen-tank-dragging volunteers from northern states (the people we locally call 'snow birds' since they regularly leave the snow-covered front lawns for our sunshine and relative warmth in February) to use binoculars and cool night-vision googles to 'assist' the regular, real Border Patrol - and just 'happen' to also be armed with rifles, handguns, pepper-gel spray and stun guns 'in case' they have any sort of confrontation with any drug smugglers...

Wait, was that just number 1?

And 2) the local newspaper will be PUBLISHING my letter-to-the-editor tomorrow.

So - did I write the letter to be published (i.e. RECOGNITION)? And now, oh no, now I am writing MORE about it in this blog for MORE recognition?!

I AM AN DEMANDING NARCISSISTIC EGOTISTICAL SELF-PROMOTER.

I need therapy.

Quick.

A LITTLE KNOWLEDGE

Why do we hesitate when we don't know something, but then still don't ask questions?

Is it pride? Are we afraid of looking ignorant and uneducated? Are we ashamed that other people 'obviously' know the answer and will make fun of us for not? Will a mob of knowledgeable individuals come with pitchforks and torches to tar and feather us?

Normally that isn't what actually happens.

The older I get, the more willing I am to look a fool. Well, actually, I guess the older I get, the more I simply am a fool.

But I keep learning how much I do not know.

Having my son, mid-twenties, home from college for a couple of weeks only reinforces that.

Because he obviously DOES knows it all.

QUICK FREEZE

I'm a major wimp about cold. Any place under 82 degrees Fahrenheit (27 Celsius) is cold to me. I grew up in Southern California, so I have naturally thin blood, and it just never thickened up. Even after living in Michigan, Utah, Kansas and Germany. And my frequent flights to visit my grand kids in Hawaii just reinforce the thinniestness (just invented a new word, didn't I?).

My husband has always insisted that you can dress warmer, but you can't dress colder. I seem to be the exception the proves the rule. I can have on a long-sleeved tee, two sweatshirts, a jacket, a hat and scarf, three pairs of socks and the heaviest jeans I owe.

And be freezing.

Inside. With a heater running. Right next to me.

So last night it got down in the low 20's. Both of the horses' water troughs froze solid. I got out of bed only by literally HURLING myself from under the covers and jumping and dancing around as I got dressed (be grateful that no one caught it on camera).

I am telling you all this (and, unfortunately, have probably gotten an image of me capering around with one leg in my jeans stuck in your head for the rest of the entry - sorry) to set the stage of sitting in a cold cafe, no heat, no coffee (I don't drink it) but a cold soda (I get my caffeine from Diet Coke).

And our regular waitress comes over, shivering, in a light short-sleeved tee. She was house-sitting for someone who had an obscene amount of dogs, and couldn't wear her jacket because it was now covered in dog hair.

This was a colossal test for me. It meant giving up ONE of three sweatshirts.

But I passed.

FOCUS

There are some people I just love being around. Gaylyn Barkdull, Kevin Goates, Elena Haban - they just make me feel good each and every time I speak to them.


And after some reflection, I think I know why.


When I say 'hi' and jump into whatever conversation they are already having in the hallways of our church (an incredibly rude habit that I do constantly because otherwise I never get a chance to speak with them), their focus is immediately RIGHT THERE on ME.


Almost everyone (well, maybe not everyone, but I know I do it) is already one or two thoughts ahead when you are speaking to them; what their respondense in going to be, what cute little anecdote they could use, etc. We're all thinking about what we're gonna say back before the other person is even half-way through their first sentence.


In a way, it's normal, at least for people like me. I am not all that quick on my feet, and I have to give my brain some advance notice or I will just be standing there with a goofy look on my face going, "Er, wha!?" then they pause for a response.


(Okay, okay, those of you who know me KNOW that I am normally standing there with a goofy look on my face. Just play along and be nice, okay?)


But these wonderful people, they are not thinking about what they are going to say next, or how to tell me how rude I am (although somebody someday is going to have to do that), but they are totally and completely concentrating on what I am/am going/was saying. They are not looking down the receiving line as a politician does, for example, already ready to shake the next hand without paying any attention to you trying to ask them "And if elected, will you...?."


Nope, chance is already past. Statistically, they have increased their chance of getting your vote just by touching your hand, and that's all they really want. (They have also increased their chance of getting poxvirus, but that's another blog about my close-to-compulsive hand washing).


The few times I have met and actually spoken to a General Authority, their interest and direct concentration on ME was tangible. I was not just a person, I was someone IMPORTANT to them, an equal, someone that they could actually and were willing to serve at that moment.


Hope I can learn something from that.

PURE GRACE

(Sorry, Jen, this isn't about your daughter. At least not yet.)

My husband owns a greyhound. For those of you who are not acquainted with greyhounds, I must clarify just a few points (honest, just a few):

1. Greyhounds are not dogs. They are greyhounds.

2. Contrary to assumptions, greyhound are couch-potatoes. Yes, they race fast on the track, but they are sprinters only. They need to run about once a day at 45 mph for 24 seconds, and then sleep the next 23 hours, 59 minutes and 36 seconds.

3. Greyhounds are big. Ours weighs almost 80 lbs., and none of it is fat. The ultimate in long and lean.

Okay, enough information - let us move on.

My husband's greyhound's track name was, honestly, "I Don't Know." It leads my mind into an entire "Who's On First" routine; can't you just see it?

"I wanna place a bet on a dog."

"Okay, what's the dog's name?"

"'I Don't Know'"

Abbot and Costello, watch out.

But off-track, her name is Delilah, and that's what we call her. And she sleeps at the foot of my husband's bed.

Which leads to the fact that my husband and I have separate bedrooms.

Not for martial differences (although, of course, we have our share of those, but so does everyone), but because after 22+ years of being kept awake by his thunderous snoring, I pulled rank when we moved into this house, took over the master bedroom, study and bathroom and banished my husband to the servants' quarters next to the laundry room.

And Delilah sleeps on two dog-type pillows in there.

Since my husband goes to sleep around 7 p.m. (1900) every evening, and I go to bed after midnight, I wake Delilah up to take her outside for her very last business for the night around 11:30 p.m. (2330).

Generally, I open the door, am blown back two steps by the resonation of a not-so-soft palate vibrating (or perhaps throbbing is a better word), wait for a breath intake to take the two steps forward, and wait for Delilah to stand up, stretch (you haven't seen an animal stretch until you've seen a greyhound stretch - it's almost orgasmic).

Then she shakes her collar, which has three enormous metal I.D. tags dangling from it, loud enough to wake the dead but not someone who snores at the 90+ decibel level (anything over 85 will cause hearing loss,, just FYI), and she then comes out of the bedroom.

Until last night, that is.

When I opened the bedroom door, Delilah tried to rise. However she had somehow moved in her sleep to a east-west position from a north-south position, thereby wedging herself exactly between the bed and the bookcase in such a manner to be firmly and solidly stuck.

We all can agree that uproariously laughter and uncontrollable glee can lead to increased levels of endorphins, less bladder control, and augmented blasts of myself snorting.

She did (eventually) free herself, but this is one of the times I wish I had had a cam recorded within reach, so you could see it also.

TRADITIONS

There are just a few traditions that we have actually kept over the years:

1. Chinese food on Christmas Eve - because Harmony pointed out years ago that the wise men came from the 'east'.

2. Open one present on Christmas Eve - except for this year because Joy is working tomorrow, so we exchanged our few presents tonight.

3. Read Luke Chapter 2 together, and talk about what Christmas should really be about.

4. And maybe this is going to become a tradition - Annette posted a great quotation from Elder Neal A. Maxwell on her blog: "Each of us is an innkeeper, who decides if there is room for Jesus."

Tonight we talked as a family about how we can extend Christmas throughout the year with an attitude of caring and sharing. Bill also know of a family whose main bread-winner lost his job on Tuesday - two days before Christmas.

Talk about bad timing.

I firmly believe that God answers our prayers through other people. That's one of the reasons we are commanded to serve one another. And while my family can not reach out physically and do anything tangible for this family, we can include them in our prayers, and pray that God can touch someone who can help them.

Mother Teresa said that we cannot all do great things, but we can do small things with great love.

We're going to try to remember that all this coming year.