Tonight, as I was driving home from work, I was listening to the Mark Levine show on the radio. He had a man on, whose name I wish I could remember, who was a former member of the U.S. Congress. He was a very wise man and pretty much laid the economic problems of the country out in a way that, for me at least, made sense and scared the heck out of me. He said that there are so many people in this country who pay NO taxes at all that, even if there were a HUGE tax increase for ALL Americans who pay taxes at all -- not just the "Rich" people that Obama says "Should pay a little more", but ALL tax payers -- we STILL would not be able to keep up with the current levels of government spending. He estimated that within 2 to 2 1/2 years, the country will be in such economic crisis that our money will be worth nothing at all.
Sadly, this is a situation that is familiar to me. When I arrived in Argentina in 1983, they had just dropped two zeroes off of all of their pesos. They were printing out new money, called "Pesos Argentinos" that were updated from the old, regular pesos. In the new Pesos Argentinos, a bill that formerly was worth 500 pesos, was now worth just 5. A peso that had been worth 1,000 pesos, was now worth 10 Pesos Argentinos. (Hence, the removal of the two zeroes) The bills that had been worth 1, 5, or 10 pesos, were now worth absolutely nothing; people just tossed them out on the streets. We would literally walk on streets paved with money (albeit worthless money) every day. (Hey, they made great souveniers!)
As missionaries, we would receive our monthly 'spending money' at the beginning of each month. We were handed an envelope with Pesos Argentinos, NOT US Dollars, that was equal to $100 US dollars at the current exchange rate. Now, I was used to trying to conserve my money to make it last through the month. That was how I'd lived through college. That was the absolute WRONG thing to do in Argentina, however. If I saved my money, spending as little as possible every week, I would end up with no food at the end of the month. The Pesos Argentinos lost their value so quickly that they could not buy as much as the end of the month as they could have at the beginning of the month. I had to learn a whole new mindset. At the beginning of the month, when we got our money, we would go out and buy as much food and other necessities as we could possibly keep (we had no refrigeration, which made it tricky to save some foods). We would use all but just a small amount of our money, which we kept on hand to buy perishables and pay for bus fare and things like that. Having food and other goods was worth more than having a fistfull of Pesos Argentinos. As the months went on, the government announced that they were AGAIN going to drop two zeroes from the newly-printed Pesos Argentinos. So now the original 50,000 pesos that had become the 500 Pesos Argentinos was worth 5 pesos. Again, the streets were littered with bills that were now not even accepted as currency. Eventually, we missionaries were given an increase in our monthly amount of money. Instead of receiving Pesos Argentinos equivalent to $100 US dollars, we were given the equivalent to $150 US dollars. That helped, but by the time I left, they were getting ready to raise the amount again because it was such a struggle to live on that amount. There were at least three instances on my mission where we did not have any food at all for 4 days at a time. I knew we were being blessed because we managed to live through those times. If we had had actual US dollars, it would have been fabulous, but we did not.
I remember one time, as we were riding the bus, I saw the headline of the newspaper that the man sitting in front of me was reading. The headline stated that inflation for the previous month had been 16%. SIXTEEN PERCENT inflation in just a MONTH'S time! It made my head spin just thinking about it.
When I left Argentina, I had a NEW 1,000 Pesos Argentinos bill. This was the former 100,000 Pesos Argentinos bill with two zeroes removed, which would have been a 10,000,000 Pesos bill when I first arrived in the country. That bill, when I left the country, was worth less than $20.00 US dollars. I wish I could say for sure how much that 10,000,000 Pesos bill was worth when I first arrived, but I cannot.
I can easily envision the time when the United States of America has to go through what the country of Argentina has gone through and continues to go through. A time when our money is practically worthless and having goods and food is all that matters. A couple of years ago, I read a news story about a train in Argentina that had hit a cow on the tracks and killed it. I am not sure what town this ocurred in, but it really doesn't matter. It really could have been anywhere in that poor country. Upon hearing that the cow had been hit, everybody who could, ran to the tracks. There were hundreds of people there, with butcher knives and scissors and anything they could grab and take with them, trying to get a piece of the dead cow. People came to blows, some even stabbing and hurting others, in an attempt to cut off any piece of cow at all, to take home to feed their families. I was heartsick when I read that. I could just imagine that horrible scene. I wonder now if I will see such things in this country in the near future.
Like Argentina, America is a land rich with resources. Like Argentina, we have our own "Evita and Juan Peron" in Michelle and Barack Obama, who are robbing our country blind, stealing everything they can for themselves and their cronies, as well as their buddies in other countries, and turning a blind eye to their own citizenry. Like Argentina, our leaders have blinded much of the population into thinking that they are saints and saviors, rather than the evil people that they truly are. Even today, there are homes in Argentina where photos of Evita Peron adorn the walls right next to the pictures of the Catholic Saints and the Virgin Mary. Just yesterday, an artist released a painting or a picture (I am not sure which) that he had done, portraying Barack Obama as Jesus Christ. Last week, a black man on a television program urged the audience to thank God and to worship "Our lord and savior, Barack Obama." In the days of the Perons, they managed to fool enough people, buy off enough people, and destroy enough people to get themselves elected and stay in power for quite a few years. Barack Obama has managed to fool enough people, buy off enough people and create enough hatred and divisiveness among people to be reelected to a second term as President. Argentina has never regained what it lost during the years of Peronista power. I sincerely doubt that our country can recover from four more years of Barack Obama. But, as I heard someone say recently, "We got the President that the majority of the people wanted. But will they be happy with the President that they wanted?" I suppose the jury is still out on that question but, for me, the answer is clear: ABSOLUTELY NOT.
They say that history repeats itself for those who do not learn from the past.
"Don't cry for me, Argentina.....the truth is, I never left you......"
Friday, November 30, 2012
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Stages Of Mourning
It has been 5 days since the election. The pain of it still sears me inside. At first, I just wanted to be alone. To curl up in a ball and hope for death or coma or.......I don't know what. I didn't read much of what was posted on facebook. I didn't read the news pages. I didn't listen to talk radio. I cried a lot. Well, good news! I just googled the 5 stages of loss and grief and, it would appear that I am right on track because, today, I have started to feel really, REALLY mad. I just want to yell and scream and hurt people. (Probably a good thing there's no school tomorrow!)
A couple of days before the election, my home teacher sent me a message on facebook, chastizing me for being "inappropriate" in my comments about President Obama. He recommended I go to a facebook page that he frequents called "Mormons for Obama" or something like that. He said it was full of "Civil" people, like himself, and that my hatred of Obama was just "Not Christlike." We messaged back and forth for two days. At first, I tried to just be polite and kind of joke it off. But he would not leave it alone. I was curious, so I did go to the facebook page he'd mentioned. The people there were no more civil than any on any other facebook page. I finally had enough of his comments and wrote him back and said, "I reject your assessment of me." We exchanged some more messages. I was ready to just drop the whole thing and ignore him. Then, the election results came in. I replaced my profile picture with one of a woman, all in black, sobbing. I wrote that I was without hope. A few minutes later, my home teacher had clicked "LIKE" under that post. I totally lost it. What, exactly, was it that he liked? The fact that I was without hope? The fact that I was sobbing? The fact that he was right in saying Obama was going to win? It just hurt me so much!
Thursday, I saw my friend Sonja. I had not told anyone here about the situation with my home teacher, but I told her. Sonja told her husband who told the Stake President who told my Bishop. I have no idea what is going to happen now. I did not want to go to church today because I knew my home teacher would probably want to talk to me, if only to gloat. I want nothing to do with him, at this point. But I did not stay home because I knew that would be what Satan wants. At church today, I made no attempt to approach him and he made no attempt to approach me. I did get some dirty looks from his wife and from another sister in the ward who is also a total liberal. As I said, although I have been feeling very sad and hurt for days, today I started just feeling total RAGE at these idiots who voted for Obama and who think that they can judge me. I am ready to un-friend every person on facebook who is liberal or who thinks I should just "Cheer up."
I am worried about the future. Will Roger and I be able to retire? If we can retire, can we leave here? Will we be able to sell our houses if the country is in the middle of a depression? What if one or both of us loses our jobs? What if one or both of us has health problems? Will we get the care we need or will we be deemed too old or too sickly to be worth saving? We are both so grateful that we do not have children -- that would compound our worries. What about Iran and the nuclear arms it is developing? What about Israel?
I am in the process of making a card for the Romneys. I want to thank them for trying to help save our country. In my opinion, the country doesn't deserve the Romneys. Clearly, there is too much evil in this nation for Heavenly Father to continue to bless it and keep it a land of promise. Clearly, the majority of the people here would rather serve Satan. Maybe the Romneys will never even see the card, but I feel like I have to send it. They must be hurting too. They deserve to know that people care and that not everyone is debating all of the 'mistakes' Mitt Romney made in his campaign or how he lost the election. AFTER the fact, everybody thinks they could have done better. Idiots!
If Kubler-Ross is to be believed, I will eventually come to accept this situation. Maybe I will, maybe I won't. Right now, acceptance feels like I would be giving up and conceding to the liberals. I can never do that. But I do hope that the pain and the anger will soon go away.
A couple of days before the election, my home teacher sent me a message on facebook, chastizing me for being "inappropriate" in my comments about President Obama. He recommended I go to a facebook page that he frequents called "Mormons for Obama" or something like that. He said it was full of "Civil" people, like himself, and that my hatred of Obama was just "Not Christlike." We messaged back and forth for two days. At first, I tried to just be polite and kind of joke it off. But he would not leave it alone. I was curious, so I did go to the facebook page he'd mentioned. The people there were no more civil than any on any other facebook page. I finally had enough of his comments and wrote him back and said, "I reject your assessment of me." We exchanged some more messages. I was ready to just drop the whole thing and ignore him. Then, the election results came in. I replaced my profile picture with one of a woman, all in black, sobbing. I wrote that I was without hope. A few minutes later, my home teacher had clicked "LIKE" under that post. I totally lost it. What, exactly, was it that he liked? The fact that I was without hope? The fact that I was sobbing? The fact that he was right in saying Obama was going to win? It just hurt me so much!
Thursday, I saw my friend Sonja. I had not told anyone here about the situation with my home teacher, but I told her. Sonja told her husband who told the Stake President who told my Bishop. I have no idea what is going to happen now. I did not want to go to church today because I knew my home teacher would probably want to talk to me, if only to gloat. I want nothing to do with him, at this point. But I did not stay home because I knew that would be what Satan wants. At church today, I made no attempt to approach him and he made no attempt to approach me. I did get some dirty looks from his wife and from another sister in the ward who is also a total liberal. As I said, although I have been feeling very sad and hurt for days, today I started just feeling total RAGE at these idiots who voted for Obama and who think that they can judge me. I am ready to un-friend every person on facebook who is liberal or who thinks I should just "Cheer up."
I am worried about the future. Will Roger and I be able to retire? If we can retire, can we leave here? Will we be able to sell our houses if the country is in the middle of a depression? What if one or both of us loses our jobs? What if one or both of us has health problems? Will we get the care we need or will we be deemed too old or too sickly to be worth saving? We are both so grateful that we do not have children -- that would compound our worries. What about Iran and the nuclear arms it is developing? What about Israel?
I am in the process of making a card for the Romneys. I want to thank them for trying to help save our country. In my opinion, the country doesn't deserve the Romneys. Clearly, there is too much evil in this nation for Heavenly Father to continue to bless it and keep it a land of promise. Clearly, the majority of the people here would rather serve Satan. Maybe the Romneys will never even see the card, but I feel like I have to send it. They must be hurting too. They deserve to know that people care and that not everyone is debating all of the 'mistakes' Mitt Romney made in his campaign or how he lost the election. AFTER the fact, everybody thinks they could have done better. Idiots!
If Kubler-Ross is to be believed, I will eventually come to accept this situation. Maybe I will, maybe I won't. Right now, acceptance feels like I would be giving up and conceding to the liberals. I can never do that. But I do hope that the pain and the anger will soon go away.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Hello???? Is anybody there???? I know my blog is not that great. I know that I do not have a lot of followers. But, I am wondering if I really have ANY followers at all. If you read my blog, could you PLEASE just do me a favor and post a comment? It doesn't have to be long. You don't have to agree with me or praise me. But if you could just say, "This is Suy-Q and I read what you wrote" I'd appreciate it. Thank you!
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
The End
November 2008. Election night. Just after 8:00 p.m. The television is on. The news anchor says, "Now that the polls have closed in California, we can project that Barack Obama has won the election and will be the next president of the United States." I begin to cry. My husband embraces me and tries to reassure me that everything will be alright.
It really wasn't that big a surprise. Barack Obama was the new "It" boy in politics. The country was thrilled at the prospect of electing the "First Black President." Nobody knew a thing about the man but he promised hope and change and the people ate it up like popcorn at the movies. Extra butter.
For 4 long years, I saw this man's arrogant, ugly face on magazine covers, in newspapers, on television, on the computer. Worse, I saw his dog-ugly wife touted as the "next Jackie Kennedy" (In WHAT universe?!?!?) and watched as the family took vacation after vacation, each a bit more lavish than the last, all on our dime. I watched close friends lose their jobs, their homes, their cars, their hope, their dignity. President Obama passed his healthcare plan, took credit for killing Osama Bin Laden, doubled our national debt, poured money down all kinds of rabbit holes in the name of economic recovery, bowed to foreign heads of state, apologized for our country all over the world, failed to keep his campaign promises, made an ass of himself on a visit to Queen Elizabeth, and told the American people that we needed to tighten our belts as he took off on yet another golfing vacation.
Then, in September of 2012, came Benghazi. The President and his cabinet watched live as the American ambassador and two other citizens tried to fight off
a terrorist attack on our embassy in Libya. They pleaded for help. The American military units in the area asked to be allowed to help. President Obama told them to "Stand down." Despite fighting for SEVEN hours, our ambassador was tortured, killed, and his body dragged through the streets. The other two Americans were killed as well. The President watched it all and did nothing to help.
As the president carried on his reelection campaign, which began the day after his inauguration, all of the scandals, the lies, the arrogance, the lavish spending, was put before the American people. "He's done," I thought. "There is NO WAY he will get reelected, especially after Benghazi." I just KNEW that Mitt Romney was going to win. He'd run a campaign that was as positive as it could have been, with definite plans on how to solve the nation's problems. Mitt was a righteous, loving family man. He had experience in stepping into horrible messes and fixing things. He was a successful businessman. He gave tons of his own money to charities. He had worked for at least 20 years of his life, in various jobs and political offices, without taking a salary. "This," I thought, "is a man who will be a wonderful president!" The fact that he was a Mormon was doubly-exciting. Who could have ever thought we'd have a Mormon president? People had been so excited for a black president, a Mormon would be even more historic, in my opinion. Romney had a beautiful wife (the perfect picture of a First Lady), a wonderful running mate, good ideas, and momentum. It was a tight race, but I KNEW Romney could do it!
For most of 2012, I'd worked as hard as I could to see that Obama would NOT be reelected. I started a facebook page, "Voices Against Obama." We had about 200 members, which was NOTHING in facebook-land, but still made me feel proud. I donated money every month to Mitt Romney's campaign and, when I could, made extra donations on top of the monthly amount. I prayed and fasted. I talked to people to try to convince them that Romney was the better man for the job. By the time November of 2012 came, I felt SURE that Romney was going to be elected. I imagined how gorgeous his wife was going to look in her gown at the Inauguration balls. I imagined the Inauguration itself. Would the Mormon Tabernacle Choir perform, as they had for Ronald Reagan? It was going to be so wonderful.
November 6, 2012. Election night. I am on the computer, anxiously following the election coverage. At first, Romney is ahead. Not by a lot, but he is ahead. I am THRILLED. We are about to elect President Romney. Then, Obama pulls ahead and keeps on going. Later that night, Mitt Romney concedes the election with the most eloquent and sportmanlike speech ever. A total class act. Exactly what one would expect from Mitt Romney. I watch the speech and try to absorb the fact that he has lost. I am sobbing so hard, I think I might choke or stop breathing. A part of me wishes that would happen. I would rather be dead than be living through 4 more years of Barack Hussein Obama. The first time he was elected, it was bad, but not completely unexpected. This time, it is a hard blow to the gut. Out of nowhere. An excruciatingly painful knife cutting through my very soul. I go to bed but I cannot sleep. My whole body aches. I feel sick. My head throbs. I am thrashing around on the bed in pain. At 1:00 a.m., I get up and take a hot bath, hoping that it will relax me and take away some of the pain. It doesn't.
November 7, 2012. A horrible, sad day. I cannot stay home from school. The report cards need to be sent home. The awards assembly is this afternoon. I need to be there for my kindergartners. All day long, I see posts on facebook and reports on the computer about the democrats. They are gloating in their victory, mocking the republicans, and generally making complete asses of themselves. I do not post on facebook. I have no desire to bash Obama or his followers. I have no desire to theorize on what went wrong. I do not want to participate in online discussions of voter fraud, impeachment proceedings and the like. Most of all, I am sick as a dog of people telling me to cheer up or calm down or chill out. I do not WANT to cheer up or calm down. I feel like somebody very close to me has died. Not a peaceful, died-while-sleeping death. A horrible, tortured, painful death. I am left alone, desolate, inconsolable. Nobody goes up to someone who has just lost a dear loved one and says, "Chin up!" Nobody should be saying that to me, either. Because, the fact is, I have lost something very dear to me. The United States of America has been mortally wounded. Rather than get an emergency physician to try to save her, the electorate has voted to allow the same quack doctor to keep treating her in a manner which will ultimately lead to her death.
In four more years of Obama, the national debt will be so high that there will be no way to ever get a handle on it. More and more people will lose jobs, cars, homes, and will be living in poverty. Hollywood stars and moguls, as well as the big union leaders will continue to make money hand over fist from a grateful president who was aided in his reelection by these types of people. Meanwhile, the middle class will shrink even more and will eventually disappear altogether.
I write this as a person who has no more hope. If people will reelect an egotistical, dishonest, divisive, murderer like Obama, then I guess the country gets what it deserves. It is unbelievable that they would reelect such a man but the proof is in the votes. I have cried and cried. I still have a killer headache and my body is sore. But, most of all, my heart is broken. Rest in Peace, America. You were very good to me. I'm so sorry that people have treated you so badly.
It really wasn't that big a surprise. Barack Obama was the new "It" boy in politics. The country was thrilled at the prospect of electing the "First Black President." Nobody knew a thing about the man but he promised hope and change and the people ate it up like popcorn at the movies. Extra butter.
For 4 long years, I saw this man's arrogant, ugly face on magazine covers, in newspapers, on television, on the computer. Worse, I saw his dog-ugly wife touted as the "next Jackie Kennedy" (In WHAT universe?!?!?) and watched as the family took vacation after vacation, each a bit more lavish than the last, all on our dime. I watched close friends lose their jobs, their homes, their cars, their hope, their dignity. President Obama passed his healthcare plan, took credit for killing Osama Bin Laden, doubled our national debt, poured money down all kinds of rabbit holes in the name of economic recovery, bowed to foreign heads of state, apologized for our country all over the world, failed to keep his campaign promises, made an ass of himself on a visit to Queen Elizabeth, and told the American people that we needed to tighten our belts as he took off on yet another golfing vacation.
Then, in September of 2012, came Benghazi. The President and his cabinet watched live as the American ambassador and two other citizens tried to fight off
a terrorist attack on our embassy in Libya. They pleaded for help. The American military units in the area asked to be allowed to help. President Obama told them to "Stand down." Despite fighting for SEVEN hours, our ambassador was tortured, killed, and his body dragged through the streets. The other two Americans were killed as well. The President watched it all and did nothing to help.
As the president carried on his reelection campaign, which began the day after his inauguration, all of the scandals, the lies, the arrogance, the lavish spending, was put before the American people. "He's done," I thought. "There is NO WAY he will get reelected, especially after Benghazi." I just KNEW that Mitt Romney was going to win. He'd run a campaign that was as positive as it could have been, with definite plans on how to solve the nation's problems. Mitt was a righteous, loving family man. He had experience in stepping into horrible messes and fixing things. He was a successful businessman. He gave tons of his own money to charities. He had worked for at least 20 years of his life, in various jobs and political offices, without taking a salary. "This," I thought, "is a man who will be a wonderful president!" The fact that he was a Mormon was doubly-exciting. Who could have ever thought we'd have a Mormon president? People had been so excited for a black president, a Mormon would be even more historic, in my opinion. Romney had a beautiful wife (the perfect picture of a First Lady), a wonderful running mate, good ideas, and momentum. It was a tight race, but I KNEW Romney could do it!
For most of 2012, I'd worked as hard as I could to see that Obama would NOT be reelected. I started a facebook page, "Voices Against Obama." We had about 200 members, which was NOTHING in facebook-land, but still made me feel proud. I donated money every month to Mitt Romney's campaign and, when I could, made extra donations on top of the monthly amount. I prayed and fasted. I talked to people to try to convince them that Romney was the better man for the job. By the time November of 2012 came, I felt SURE that Romney was going to be elected. I imagined how gorgeous his wife was going to look in her gown at the Inauguration balls. I imagined the Inauguration itself. Would the Mormon Tabernacle Choir perform, as they had for Ronald Reagan? It was going to be so wonderful.
November 6, 2012. Election night. I am on the computer, anxiously following the election coverage. At first, Romney is ahead. Not by a lot, but he is ahead. I am THRILLED. We are about to elect President Romney. Then, Obama pulls ahead and keeps on going. Later that night, Mitt Romney concedes the election with the most eloquent and sportmanlike speech ever. A total class act. Exactly what one would expect from Mitt Romney. I watch the speech and try to absorb the fact that he has lost. I am sobbing so hard, I think I might choke or stop breathing. A part of me wishes that would happen. I would rather be dead than be living through 4 more years of Barack Hussein Obama. The first time he was elected, it was bad, but not completely unexpected. This time, it is a hard blow to the gut. Out of nowhere. An excruciatingly painful knife cutting through my very soul. I go to bed but I cannot sleep. My whole body aches. I feel sick. My head throbs. I am thrashing around on the bed in pain. At 1:00 a.m., I get up and take a hot bath, hoping that it will relax me and take away some of the pain. It doesn't.
November 7, 2012. A horrible, sad day. I cannot stay home from school. The report cards need to be sent home. The awards assembly is this afternoon. I need to be there for my kindergartners. All day long, I see posts on facebook and reports on the computer about the democrats. They are gloating in their victory, mocking the republicans, and generally making complete asses of themselves. I do not post on facebook. I have no desire to bash Obama or his followers. I have no desire to theorize on what went wrong. I do not want to participate in online discussions of voter fraud, impeachment proceedings and the like. Most of all, I am sick as a dog of people telling me to cheer up or calm down or chill out. I do not WANT to cheer up or calm down. I feel like somebody very close to me has died. Not a peaceful, died-while-sleeping death. A horrible, tortured, painful death. I am left alone, desolate, inconsolable. Nobody goes up to someone who has just lost a dear loved one and says, "Chin up!" Nobody should be saying that to me, either. Because, the fact is, I have lost something very dear to me. The United States of America has been mortally wounded. Rather than get an emergency physician to try to save her, the electorate has voted to allow the same quack doctor to keep treating her in a manner which will ultimately lead to her death.
In four more years of Obama, the national debt will be so high that there will be no way to ever get a handle on it. More and more people will lose jobs, cars, homes, and will be living in poverty. Hollywood stars and moguls, as well as the big union leaders will continue to make money hand over fist from a grateful president who was aided in his reelection by these types of people. Meanwhile, the middle class will shrink even more and will eventually disappear altogether.
I write this as a person who has no more hope. If people will reelect an egotistical, dishonest, divisive, murderer like Obama, then I guess the country gets what it deserves. It is unbelievable that they would reelect such a man but the proof is in the votes. I have cried and cried. I still have a killer headache and my body is sore. But, most of all, my heart is broken. Rest in Peace, America. You were very good to me. I'm so sorry that people have treated you so badly.
Friday, September 28, 2012
Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures!
As I have gotten older I have been very critical of Hollywood celebrities and their plastic surgeries. Why, I would always ask, do they do that to themselves? They make themselves look worse, not better. Take, for example, Marie Osmond. She was always so beautiful! At this point, though, she barely resembles her 'natural' self. What with the brow lift and the 'trout pout' (anybody out there see her on Oprah after her son committed suicide?), she looks like a freak! I just never understood. How on earth could these women think that they looked better? That was then. Now, I understand.
When I turned 50, I started experiencing the joyful symptoms of menopause. I was plagued, particularly, with hot flashes which are, by the way, VERY hot and come on in a flash. I remember one particular time, I was standing in line to check out at Macy's. There was one woman in line in front of me. The salesgirl glanced at me and said that she would be right with me. The woman in front of me had maybe 2 items, so it did not take long to conclude her transaction. However, in that very brief amount of time, I began to experience a hot flash. They always start from the top of my head and go down my body. In no time at all, yea, a veritable FLASH, all of my hair was soaking wet, my face was dripping, and my shirt was sticking to my sopping wet chest. I moved forward and put my items on the counter. The salesgirl who had glanced at me only moments previous, now gasped and asked, "Are you alright?" (Never a good sign when they ask that!) I said, "Have you ever heard of hot flashes?" She indicated that, yes, she had heard of such things. I said, "Well, this is what one looks like." She was clearly disturbed by this information.
As 50 turned into 51, I was fully in the throes of "The Change." My hair, which was always very thick when I was younger, began to thin. I began to experience the severe joint pain that can be associated with menopause. My face suddenly became a road map of wrinkles. I'd chuckle bitterly at the Oil of Olay ads that promised to "smooth out fine lines"......there was nothing fine about my lines. They were deep rivulets that I could FEEL with my fingertips, even when I had no mirror with which to view them. I also began to enjoy to highly-euphemistically-named "Mood Swings" that I had not had much trouble with when I was menstruating. I would be driving down the highway and suddenly start SOBBING and not have a clue why. I felt like I was losing my mind.
My OB/Gyn was not much help. She refused to prescribe hormone replacement drugs or any other kind of medication for me. She explained, with an irritatingly sweet smile on her face, that this was "just another phase of life" to enjoy and experience. I asked her if it would ever get better. With the same lovely grin on her face, she responded, "No."
Now I am 52. In addition to all of the aforementioned symptoms, I am not experiencing hair LOSS. The hair on the very top of my head is so thin, my scalp is clearly visible. My face has finally given up the fight. Whereas before, if I wore enough make-up, was in the right light, and used the right camera angle, I had a chance of still being able to take a somewhat flattering photograph, not even those techniques will work anymore. The last time I tried to get a good picture taken, I looked at all of the rejected attempts and wept. I realized the truth: I am old and ugly and there is nothing I can do about it anymore. It was then that I also realized why Marie and all of her cohorts are rushing to their plastic surgeons and estheticians in droves: they have had that "I-am-old-and-ugly" moment themselves and, since they have the money to do so, have decided to put up a fight.
Sadly, it is a losing battle. I ask myself, if I were incredibly rich, would I go under the knife. The answer is: probably yes. But I do not have that kind of cash, so it is not an option. I guess it's for the best. It would be a waste of money, I am sure. I have to face the truth: I am old and ugly and middle-aged and a dried up old (did I already use that word??) hag. It's depressing, but there is nothing to do but live with it and hope that I did not inherit my Great-Grandmother's longevity. She lived to be over 100 years old!
When I turned 50, I started experiencing the joyful symptoms of menopause. I was plagued, particularly, with hot flashes which are, by the way, VERY hot and come on in a flash. I remember one particular time, I was standing in line to check out at Macy's. There was one woman in line in front of me. The salesgirl glanced at me and said that she would be right with me. The woman in front of me had maybe 2 items, so it did not take long to conclude her transaction. However, in that very brief amount of time, I began to experience a hot flash. They always start from the top of my head and go down my body. In no time at all, yea, a veritable FLASH, all of my hair was soaking wet, my face was dripping, and my shirt was sticking to my sopping wet chest. I moved forward and put my items on the counter. The salesgirl who had glanced at me only moments previous, now gasped and asked, "Are you alright?" (Never a good sign when they ask that!) I said, "Have you ever heard of hot flashes?" She indicated that, yes, she had heard of such things. I said, "Well, this is what one looks like." She was clearly disturbed by this information.
As 50 turned into 51, I was fully in the throes of "The Change." My hair, which was always very thick when I was younger, began to thin. I began to experience the severe joint pain that can be associated with menopause. My face suddenly became a road map of wrinkles. I'd chuckle bitterly at the Oil of Olay ads that promised to "smooth out fine lines"......there was nothing fine about my lines. They were deep rivulets that I could FEEL with my fingertips, even when I had no mirror with which to view them. I also began to enjoy to highly-euphemistically-named "Mood Swings" that I had not had much trouble with when I was menstruating. I would be driving down the highway and suddenly start SOBBING and not have a clue why. I felt like I was losing my mind.
My OB/Gyn was not much help. She refused to prescribe hormone replacement drugs or any other kind of medication for me. She explained, with an irritatingly sweet smile on her face, that this was "just another phase of life" to enjoy and experience. I asked her if it would ever get better. With the same lovely grin on her face, she responded, "No."
Now I am 52. In addition to all of the aforementioned symptoms, I am not experiencing hair LOSS. The hair on the very top of my head is so thin, my scalp is clearly visible. My face has finally given up the fight. Whereas before, if I wore enough make-up, was in the right light, and used the right camera angle, I had a chance of still being able to take a somewhat flattering photograph, not even those techniques will work anymore. The last time I tried to get a good picture taken, I looked at all of the rejected attempts and wept. I realized the truth: I am old and ugly and there is nothing I can do about it anymore. It was then that I also realized why Marie and all of her cohorts are rushing to their plastic surgeons and estheticians in droves: they have had that "I-am-old-and-ugly" moment themselves and, since they have the money to do so, have decided to put up a fight.
Sadly, it is a losing battle. I ask myself, if I were incredibly rich, would I go under the knife. The answer is: probably yes. But I do not have that kind of cash, so it is not an option. I guess it's for the best. It would be a waste of money, I am sure. I have to face the truth: I am old and ugly and middle-aged and a dried up old (did I already use that word??) hag. It's depressing, but there is nothing to do but live with it and hope that I did not inherit my Great-Grandmother's longevity. She lived to be over 100 years old!
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
A Tale of Two Sort-Of Cities
I grew up in Northeast Los Angeles, California. I have always considered myself a "city girl." My friends and I used to buy season tickets each year for the Orange County Performing Arts Center. As a member of the Southern California Mormon Choir, I have had the opportunity to sing on the stages of the Hollywood Bowl, The Forum, and The Dorothy Chandler Pavillion. I have sung on the soundtracks of two videos. I have sung at a big Hollywood wedding. I have been to pretty much every museum in the greater Los Angeles area, most more than once. I have enjoyed the perks of city living.
In 2002, I moved to Placerville, California. Placerville is about an hour's drive northeast of Sacramento and has a population of just over 10,000. There is a quaint "Main Street", with antique stores, bookstores, a newspaper shop, and other assorted businesses. It is quite different from Los Angeles in many ways. I owe a great deal to my friend, Lynne, who invited me to live there and who introduced me to all of her friends. In almost no time at all, I felt like a part of things. I had friends. I felt cared about. I only lived there for 9 months but, ten years later, I can still go to Placerville and have people remember me and be glad to see me.
Flash forward to 2004. I married a wonderful man, who happened to grow up in Brawley, California. The latest Census shows the population of Brawley to be just under 25,000 people. I moved to Brawley to be with my new husband and got a job teaching school in the Imperial Valley. It took some time, but I eventually made friends within the Brawley ward. They are not people who socialize outside of church on Sunday. I have invited people to go out or to do something at my house and they always give me a vague answer to the effect of, "Oh yeah.....someday we'll have to do that...." They never do. But, on Sundays, they do make me feel welcome and cared about and a part of the ward family. I have made friends in the community as well. My colleagues at work, however, are a very different story.
Most of the people I work with grew up here and have never taught anywhere outside of the Imperial Valley. Despite my best efforts, the majority of them have not really accepted me into their circle and some of them are quite rude to me. It has really caused me to think: What on earth makes these people think that they are so great? Do they really believe that anyone outside of Holtville knows or cares a whit about the "Swiss Club" or that their last name could get them so much as a cup of coffee outside of this valley? It's a lot easier to be a cheerleader in a high school that has a total population of less than 500 than it is in a high school (like mine) where the population of the senior class is twice that. This entire valley does not have a single quality bookstore. It does not have a fabric store. There is one very small museum. The only musical theatre is put on by the local high schools. They have only had a Target store for about 5 years and the one mall in the entire valley has been here less time than that. So why on earth should they look down their noses at someone who dares to move here?
We will probably be here for at least another 4-5 years. I will be fine. I know how to do my job and I do it, whether people are kind to me or not. I am a teacher because I care about children and truly want to make a difference in the world. That will never change. I do not HAVE to have friends at work. It would be nice if I did but, after trying for the past 8 years and being used and lied about and thrown under the bus on more than one ocassion by someone who I truly believed was a friend, I am pretty done.
Hopefully, the next city we live in will be two things:
1. An actual CITY, not some little burg where people have a very over-inflated opinion of their self-worth and importance in the world
and
2. A place where we can feel welcomed and cared about.
I look forward to finding that place!
In 2002, I moved to Placerville, California. Placerville is about an hour's drive northeast of Sacramento and has a population of just over 10,000. There is a quaint "Main Street", with antique stores, bookstores, a newspaper shop, and other assorted businesses. It is quite different from Los Angeles in many ways. I owe a great deal to my friend, Lynne, who invited me to live there and who introduced me to all of her friends. In almost no time at all, I felt like a part of things. I had friends. I felt cared about. I only lived there for 9 months but, ten years later, I can still go to Placerville and have people remember me and be glad to see me.
Flash forward to 2004. I married a wonderful man, who happened to grow up in Brawley, California. The latest Census shows the population of Brawley to be just under 25,000 people. I moved to Brawley to be with my new husband and got a job teaching school in the Imperial Valley. It took some time, but I eventually made friends within the Brawley ward. They are not people who socialize outside of church on Sunday. I have invited people to go out or to do something at my house and they always give me a vague answer to the effect of, "Oh yeah.....someday we'll have to do that...." They never do. But, on Sundays, they do make me feel welcome and cared about and a part of the ward family. I have made friends in the community as well. My colleagues at work, however, are a very different story.
Most of the people I work with grew up here and have never taught anywhere outside of the Imperial Valley. Despite my best efforts, the majority of them have not really accepted me into their circle and some of them are quite rude to me. It has really caused me to think: What on earth makes these people think that they are so great? Do they really believe that anyone outside of Holtville knows or cares a whit about the "Swiss Club" or that their last name could get them so much as a cup of coffee outside of this valley? It's a lot easier to be a cheerleader in a high school that has a total population of less than 500 than it is in a high school (like mine) where the population of the senior class is twice that. This entire valley does not have a single quality bookstore. It does not have a fabric store. There is one very small museum. The only musical theatre is put on by the local high schools. They have only had a Target store for about 5 years and the one mall in the entire valley has been here less time than that. So why on earth should they look down their noses at someone who dares to move here?
We will probably be here for at least another 4-5 years. I will be fine. I know how to do my job and I do it, whether people are kind to me or not. I am a teacher because I care about children and truly want to make a difference in the world. That will never change. I do not HAVE to have friends at work. It would be nice if I did but, after trying for the past 8 years and being used and lied about and thrown under the bus on more than one ocassion by someone who I truly believed was a friend, I am pretty done.
Hopefully, the next city we live in will be two things:
1. An actual CITY, not some little burg where people have a very over-inflated opinion of their self-worth and importance in the world
and
2. A place where we can feel welcomed and cared about.
I look forward to finding that place!
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
I only met him once. He got up in church that Sunday a few months ago to bear his testimony. His words touched me and impressed me. The strength of his testimony, his complete sureness of it, was just wonderful. His words were not particularly loud -- he actually spoke in a very reverent tone -- but they were so powerful! He said that he prayed to be blessed with the same blessing that was granted to Helaman -- the ability to bring his men back home alive. As he spoke, I thought, "This is his farewell testimony," and then immediately felt horrified that I could think such a thing. After the meeting, I went up to him. I wanted to hug him -- his words had meant so much to me. But I had never even met him before, and it did not seem appropriate. So I shook his hand and thanked him for both his testimony and for his service to our country. Meeting him made the war a personal thing to me. Until then, I had not known anyone who was actually serving in the military in Afghanistan, someone who was putting himself in harm's way every day so that I could contine to live in a free country. All of this ran through my mind today when I heard that he had been shot down and killed. His parents, my Bishop and his wife, are leaving tomorrow to go to Dover, to recover his remains. I cannot begin to imagine their grief, the horror of having to do that. It feels like a very personal loss to me, yet I only met him once. Thank you so much, Scott Pace! Thank you for serving in the military of the United States of America. Thank you for your testimony and spiritual strength. And, most of all, thank you for touching my heart. I know that there are many, MANY people who are mourning your loss today. I know that they will never forget you. I want you to know that I will never forget you, either, even though I only met you once.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Nobody can tell me that God is not aware of us.
This morning, I was rushing out the door to go to work. I was feeling kind of down and wished I could just stay home. I walked outside and turned to lock the front door behind me. There was a very cool breeze and I was immediately aware of how wonderful it felt. I walked around the side of the garage and literally stopped in my tracks. "Wow!" I gasped. There was a beautiful rainbow, a complete arc, right above my car in the driveway. My mood completely changed. I grabbed my cell phone and began taking photos. I felt like the rainbow was a sign from God, a promise that things will get better. Just as I finished taking several pictures, it began to rain. Giant, wet, soft, cool raindrops. The sky was blue, yet it was raining. It was so gentle. I stood there, luxuriating in it. Roger drove up. He asked me if I was OK. I told him I'd been feeling so bad but when I came outside and looked up, I felt like God was talking to me. "Looked up?" he asked. "Yes," I said, "Isn't it beautiful?" He looked up and saw the rainbow. Amazingly, he had not even seen it as he drove home from the hospital. He hugged me and said, "Everything will be alright, Sweetie." "I know," I said. In less than 2 minutes, the rain had stopped, and all traces of the rainbow were gone. It had come and gone so quickly, but it was exactly what I needed. Almost if it had happened just for me.
Nobody can tell me that God is not aware of us. He answers our prayers. He blesses us. And, sometimes, when we really need it, he sends something to get our attention and remind us that He is there. I will always be grateful!
Thursday, March 15, 2012
A couple of years after my Grandma died, I was reading a book put out by one of the scrapbook paper companies, in which they had published the winner and the ten finalists of their latest scrapbook contest. Apparently, every year they had this contest and the winner won $10,000.00. The ten finalists each won $100.00. The winner's scrapbook was published in it's entirety, and the finalist's books were each featured, in this yearly book. I was immediately taken with the idea of making a book about my Grandma to enter in the contest. The prize money was not important to me. What I wanted was to have my book published. I felt like it would be a way to preserve my Grandma's story and history. I feel like I know her better than a lot of people did but, since I have no children, her story would die with me. I desperately wanted others to know her, to appreciate her, and to remember her. I put my heart and soul into making that book.
To this day, it is the scrapbook that means the most to me. I told about Grandma's family, her courtship and marriage to my Grandpa, her job, things she'd taught me, things we'd done together, the surprise party we all threw for her 80th birthday. I ended it all by telling about watching her deteriorate and die from the complications of breast cancer. It was gut-wrenching. It was joyful. It was emotional. I carefully made color photocopies of all of the pages and bound them to send them in with my entry form. The company who was sponsoring the contest would look at all of the photocopied entries, then contact the ten finalists and the big winner. I waited impatiently for the date that the winners would be announced. I felt certain that my book would be one of the ones that would be published.
The date of the announcement came. To my dismay, I did not receive a phone call or an e-mail. A few days later, the company posted the winners on their website. My name was not there. I was devastated. I cried and cried. I felt like I had let my Grandma down. I felt like I'd lost her all over again. I e-mailed the sponsors and asked if they could just give me some feedback. Why had they not chosen my book? How many entries had their been? What were they looking for? The answers came back: There had been only 100 entries. My book had not been chosen because they "Did not feel that the story was emotional enough." I couldn't believe it! The story of my Grandma raising me all alone and then dying of cancer right in front of me was not emotional enough??? What kind of cold, calloused individuals were these people??? I also felt ashamed that, with only 100 entries, I had a 1 out of 10 chance to be in the book and I didn't make it. I have not purchased scrapbook materials from that company since.
This year, ten years after my Grandma's death, I entered my scrapbook about her in our local county fair. It won first prize in the scrapbook division. Today I got a check from the fair for $7.00--my prize money. It made me chuckle when I opened the envelope. The money still doesn't matter. What matters to me is that someone, or some people, read my book and thought it was good.
My Grandma's stories probably will die when I do. That is sad. But I will spend the rest of my life trying to live as a memorial to her. All of the good things about me I owe to the gospel of Jesus Christ and to my Grandma. She taught me to sew, crochet, lead music, teach children, sing alto, pray, serve, love beauty, make lovely things from the cast-offs of others, love reading, and express my creativity. She was not perfect. Neither am I. But I try each day to make her proud of me and to honor her.
I love you, Grandma!
To this day, it is the scrapbook that means the most to me. I told about Grandma's family, her courtship and marriage to my Grandpa, her job, things she'd taught me, things we'd done together, the surprise party we all threw for her 80th birthday. I ended it all by telling about watching her deteriorate and die from the complications of breast cancer. It was gut-wrenching. It was joyful. It was emotional. I carefully made color photocopies of all of the pages and bound them to send them in with my entry form. The company who was sponsoring the contest would look at all of the photocopied entries, then contact the ten finalists and the big winner. I waited impatiently for the date that the winners would be announced. I felt certain that my book would be one of the ones that would be published.
The date of the announcement came. To my dismay, I did not receive a phone call or an e-mail. A few days later, the company posted the winners on their website. My name was not there. I was devastated. I cried and cried. I felt like I had let my Grandma down. I felt like I'd lost her all over again. I e-mailed the sponsors and asked if they could just give me some feedback. Why had they not chosen my book? How many entries had their been? What were they looking for? The answers came back: There had been only 100 entries. My book had not been chosen because they "Did not feel that the story was emotional enough." I couldn't believe it! The story of my Grandma raising me all alone and then dying of cancer right in front of me was not emotional enough??? What kind of cold, calloused individuals were these people??? I also felt ashamed that, with only 100 entries, I had a 1 out of 10 chance to be in the book and I didn't make it. I have not purchased scrapbook materials from that company since.
This year, ten years after my Grandma's death, I entered my scrapbook about her in our local county fair. It won first prize in the scrapbook division. Today I got a check from the fair for $7.00--my prize money. It made me chuckle when I opened the envelope. The money still doesn't matter. What matters to me is that someone, or some people, read my book and thought it was good.
My Grandma's stories probably will die when I do. That is sad. But I will spend the rest of my life trying to live as a memorial to her. All of the good things about me I owe to the gospel of Jesus Christ and to my Grandma. She taught me to sew, crochet, lead music, teach children, sing alto, pray, serve, love beauty, make lovely things from the cast-offs of others, love reading, and express my creativity. She was not perfect. Neither am I. But I try each day to make her proud of me and to honor her.
I love you, Grandma!
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