Musings on the Presidential Race

On this rainy afternoon before yet another Republican debate, and the day following a Democrat debate (in which Hillary actually lost her temper and lied through her teeth -- again), it might be fun to post a few goodies stolen off of Facebook. Here we go:

Found in Bernie's lunch pail.

These people procreate. And vote.

And, perhaps my favorite:

Makes a lot of sense, doesn't it? What kind of perpetual cage fight will there be if The Donald and Hill get the nominations? No, I really don't need to know.

So, how much longer do you think Marco will hang in there?

I Guess Yap Wins This Round

Remember this picture from a few days ago?

Then tell me -- who is in whose personal space here?

Love my pushy girl dogs!

Sunday Musings

Today's Arkansas Democrat-Gazette notes that "the Chinese government confiscated 8,000 rolls of toilet paper and 20,000 packages of tissue paper that were to be sold during the Chinese New Year and that were adorned with unflattering images of [Hong Kong's] pro-Beijing chief executive." Who do they think they are? The IRS?

I'm really, really glad I don't live in China. I'd wind up in jail for sure.

How 'bout that Brian Williams! He's laying low until the Liar-gate kerfuffle blows over. I'd say his credibility is pretty well shot. I won't miss him, though -- we don't watch the letter networks' national news. There are some good gigs at him circulating around Facebook -- this is one of my favorites:

I've also seen depictions of him at Iwo Jima and with Abe Lincoln, among others. Heh.

The girl dogs have been getting a little pushy when it comes to our snacks:

"Hand over the cheese dip and no one gets hurt."

That's all I've got. I think I might go take a little nap.  See ya.

Stolen Stuff Saturday

There's some good -- and some slightly disturbing -- stuff out there to steal today, y'all!

For those who are still in the midst of Polar Hell, this one was stolen from Harvey at Bad Example:

Or May.

And this one I found over at MacBourne's Musings (WARNING! Might frighten susceptible young children and those averse to rednecks.):

. . . "Like two raccoons fightin' over a biscuit."  Quite an image, that.

And that reminds me -- I wonder what Brit-Brit has been up to lately?

Or Paula Jones?

See -- I told you there was some scary stuff out there.

Will someone please explain to me why Britney Spears even flittered across the surface of my mind, much less stopped off long enough to rise to the level of conscious thought?  Sweet mystery of life.

1 + 2 = 12

While searching for a specific pic of Elder Daughter to post on Facebook (Today's her birthday -- it's amazing how she continues to age while I have stopped!  Heh.), I ran across this post from 2011:

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 27, 2011

The Pre- Halloween Power of Twelve

Something just occurred to me that adds up to 2012 being a banner year for Moogie's family.  Something big must be coming.

Consider these addresses with connections to us:

#12 Sandstone Court -- where I lived when I met Pep

1912 Arrowhead Drive -- the address of our first house together

2613 Wentwood Valley -- our next house -- 2 + 6 + 1 + 3 = 12

4503 Moogie Lane -- the current site of Moogie's Mansion -- 4 + 5 + 0 + 3 = 12

1912 Landry -- the address of the New Orleans Military and Maritime Academy where Pep is a new member of the Board of Directors.

ADDITION -- Younger daughter pointed out that her wedding date, 06-04-11, also adds up to 12!  Elder daughter's only misses by 1 -- 04-24-10 = 11.  Curiouser and curiouser!

Or, if you take the more "typical" numerology route, 1 + 2 = 3; 3 stands for "fulfillment, social gathering, achievement," so, unless we plan to host a big, successful party to explore the mysteries of the Mayan calendar, I doubt that The Apocalypse will come into play.  I suppose we need  politely to decline any invitation to attend such a party, too, so please don't invite us to one.

Pretty weird, huh?  What do you think?

Ordinarily I wouldn't re-post something like that, but I have thought of some more big Twelves.

The Son was born on 12/2; his first son was born on 2/12.  

When Pepper moved to New Orleans, Younger Daughter and I moved to an apartment down the street until she graduated from high school, then we moved to NOLA full-time.  The address of the apartment was 2221 Wentwood Valley, #12.

Our new palace, Moogie's Manor, bears the address of 14212 Moogie Court.  And, yes, that Twelve did indeed factor into my evaluation that this house was meant for us.  (Along with several more coincidences).

So,there was no Mayan Apocalypse in 2012, but Obama was re-elected.   That's disaster enough.

I wonder where my next Twelve will come from?

A Look Back in Time -- Christmas 2005

We'll see if this works.  It's mainly for Lou -- she asked for a picture of Moogie's Mansion because the old girl might become the subject of one of Lou's paintings!  (If so, maybe she'll post it!)

Anyway, the best picture I have of the Mansion appeared in the Christmas newsletter I composed in 2005 while we were evacuated after Katrina.  I rarely do Christmas newsletters, but 2005 was such an eventful year, I needed to do it so I could remember everything.  And seeing as the Christmas season has rolled around again, hence and thusly, I present (hopefully):

Woo hoo!  It worked!

(and there is much less of several of us to love these days in the poundage department!)

Merry week before Christmas!

The Pre- Halloween Power of Twelve

Something just occurred to me that adds up to 2012 being a banner year for Moogie's family.  Something big must be coming.

Consider these addresses with connections to us:

#12 Sandstone Court -- where I lived when I met Pep

1912 Arrowhead Drive -- the address of our first house together

2613 Wentwood Valley -- our next house -- 2 + 6 + 1 + 3 = 12

4503 Moogie Lane -- the current site of Moogie's Mansion -- 4 + 5 + 0 + 3 = 12

1912 Landry -- the address of the New Orleans Military and Maritime Academy where Pep is a new member of the Board of Directors.

ADDITION -- Younger daughter pointed out that her wedding date, 06-04-11, also adds up to 12!  Elder daughter's only misses by 1 -- 04-24-10 = 11.  Curiouser and curiouser!

Or, if you take the more "typical" numerology route, 1 + 2 = 3; 3 stands for "fulfillment, social gathering, achievement," so, unless we plan to host a big, successful party to explore the mysteries of the Mayan calendar, I doubt that The Apocalypse will come into play.  I suppose we need  politely to decline any invitation to attend such a party, too, so please don't invite us to one.

Pretty weird, huh?  What do you think?

The World Does, Indeed, Change

There's something about Pepper's high school reunions that is so fascinating. Several of his classmates, particularly a few of the ladies, never seem to age. I've accused them on more than one occasion of possessing portraits of themselves in their attics that are beginning to resemble withered old crones.

Pepper's is the Class of '66 -- Vietnam era, the Beach Blanket Bingo generation. Mine is the Class of '72 -- second year of high school integration, last year of the Draft lottery.

Every single one of Pepper's classmates is white. Every single one. Most of the men served in the military for at least a few years; few in my class either wore, or respected, the uniform. Pepper's class learned of Kennedy's assassination in their high school classrooms where they could grasp some of the more dire consequences of that loss; I heard it over the intercom in my fourth grade room and wasn't quite sure why we would have no school for the remainder of the week.

I never really thought about the considerable differences in our high school experiences until last night while listening to them reminisce. Some of those differences, especially some of the "more innocent days," made me a little envious.

I guess one never really gets over being star-struck by the big kids.

The Wisdom of Felines

Man, do I ever know what it feels like to be in this spot.  I think I'll have some business cards made up featuring this saucy kitty.

Stolen from Facebook.

History Repeating . . . ?

I wish I had received the email earlier this month that today sent me searching for something I found at PatriotThoughts.com.

We commemorated the 66th anniversary of Victory in the Pacific and the end of WWII earlier this month.  August 6th or 10th would probably have been more appropriate dates to ruminate on the decision to use nuclear weapons against a civilian population in order to save that civilian population.

The photographs and narrative on Patriot Thoughts are indeed thought provoking.  The Enola Gay, Bockscar, Little Boy and Fat Man; Hiroshima and Nagasaki; Saipan and the Banzai Cliff. 

The incomprehensible mindset of the Japanese people of the mid-Twentieth Century.

Tiny Tinian Island, is described as "a flat green dot in the vastness of Pacific blue."  The very idea that a place that today looks like this:

was the starting block for this:

and this:

is, in itself, a stunning notion that sends the mind into a self-examining do-loop.

What the science of History has been able to extrapolate from an unbiased, dispassionate distance is this: the utter and total destruction of Japan's major cities led to the metamorphosis of her culture; led to a nation that today is capable of creating this:

We've seen the rise and fall of great peoples -- and great cities -- throughout human recollection.  Even recently, and very close to home. 

When New Orleans drowned, her rotten-to-the-core, inadequate public education system crumbled along with her.  Today, that education system is among the fastest-improving systems in the state.  Perhaps, wiping the slate clean and having little to build upon save that which is buried beneath our feet, is what gives rise to legitimate human progress.  Civilizations are built upon civilizations.

What does that truth suggest about our Nation during the first term of Barack Hussein Obama?  Are we crumbling as a people, looking to rise from our own ashes?  Will it take that to get us back on track to being the world's Superpower?  Or, are we sliding toward a penniless and wretched decline as just another cog in the global machine?  Is that really what the Progressive movement desires?  Can it possibly be?

Perhaps August 21st is just as good a day as the 6th or 10th to wax philosophical on the destruction of a once great nation -- whether, as Rome, caused by rotting from within like a gangrene, or as Hiroshima and Nagasaki, by nuclear holocaust.  

Would that I had some answers.

Musings About Hatred

I'm not one to hate easily.  But, do you know what I hate?

I hate it when thoughtless, slovenly people throw empty glass bottles into the water at City Park where adorable dogs who are banned from the City Bark Dog Park because they're still in possession of their family jewels must go to swim instead.

Then, I really hate it when one must drop a C-note at the vet to fix the by-product of that thoughtlessness.

At least he didn't have to have stitches.  Poor puppy.

Musings: Legal Education in a Different Vein

I was watching "Horrible Bosses" on the Jaywalking segment of The Tonight Show last night and it brought a rather unpleasant memory out of hiding.  Not as bad as some of those, but unpleasant nonetheless.

There weren't a whole heckuva lot of lady lawyers in Arkansas when I graduated from law school.  I was only the second to be hired in my firm (even though most of the new-hire associates and clerks in the next few following years were ladies.  Or women, at least.)  In those days, the late 70s/early 80s, there was still a "Men's Grill" at the Little Rock Club where a whole lotta gender-segregated business went down during the lunch and cocktail hours -- the Men's Grill was open only to folks with external plumbing.

I had done a lot of grunt work on one case -- research, writing pleadings and motions, tracking things down.  I remember, two senior partners (one of which was my cherished mentor -- a friend of my father; the other was Daddy's fraternity brother) and I had been in the large conference room for hours with opposing counsel, working on settlement negotiations, when it got to be about lunchtime. 

At a break, just as we were getting really close to a settlement, Fraternity Brother stood up, stretched, and announced, "Let's take this over to the Club."  Everyone stood up but me, gathered what they needed, and headed for the door; Mentor was the last in line.  I'm certain that my face flashed twelve different shades of red. 

As they filed  out of the room, I stood, and as I straightened my files and picked up my coffee cup, Mentor turned to see me preparing to head to my office upstairs.  He said, "Oh.  Moogie.  We can go to the regular dining room instead of the Grill."  I thought it over for a minute and told him, "No, that won't be necessary; just let me continue to bill over lunch while I get these notes cleaned up."

I'll never forget the expression on his face.  He finally got it. 

I didn't then, nor do now, object to gender-specific, or race-specific, clubs in general; but I did, and do, object to using them to conduct business to the detriment of a player via exclusion.

That particular scenario didn't play out again, either with me or with any of the other women -- probably because, of course, the "good ol' girls' network" was quickly made privy to that incident.  Along with the named and managing partners, I'd bet.  Accordingly, I like to think I had something to do with the education of the partners of my old firm.

I also like to think I had something to do with the rather generous maternity policy for lady lawyers at the firm.  Since I was the prototype (the first pregnant associate), the senior partners asked me what I needed, so I told them: since I would do a little work at home (which I did, including testifying for one of the partners 1 1/2 weeks after Younger Daughter was born), I expected to be paid, and that I needed at least the standard (at that time) six weeks off, clearance from my OB to return to work, time for doctor appointments, continuation in benefits, and deeming the pregnancy in the same light as they would any other disability.  They had no counter.  See The Pregnancy Act of 1978.

They also had no ammunition to argue against continuing the paid leave when I needed an extra four weeks with Elder Daughter due to some recovery issues.  Or two weeks of bed rest before Younger Daughter was born due to a serious lung infection, complete with at least one visit to the ER before I was scheduled to give a dinner party.  But, that's another story.

So, I guess "horrible bosses" don't have to be horrible if they're schooled appropriately, even if one of the senior partners insisted on putting his arm around me when I was great with child and explaining to me how Cherokee women just stepped off the trail, gave birth, and kept right on moving along the Trail of Tears.  He was not exactly a sensitive 70s kind of guy.  (not like Buck!)  Arm-arounder's wife left him and he wound up leaving the firm, living on a boat on the Arkansas River.  Literally.  (But considerably nicer than a van down by the river!)

I guess they don't have to be totally horrible bosses.  It just takes a good teacher.  With thick skin.  ;-)

Saturday Speculation

Man, Little Rock got spanked by the Thursday night/early Friday morning storms. Trees down, trees down on houses.

The weather seems to have it in for people these days.

I blame it on the EPA. And the White House.

Musings on Union Activity Up North

The war between Public Service unions and normal people seems to be coming to a head -- it appears that some of the fugitive Wisconsin Democrat lawmakers are cracking.  Maybe that pregnant Senator on the lam will go into labor and the ambulance that brings her back to her hospital in Wisconsin will stop by the State House in Madison for a little voting action before she has to start pushing.  It would be nice for those folks to be able to get back to some semblance of a normal life. 

Before the final vote, though, I think they should tack on one more little amendment to the Public Union bill.  Since they're always mouthing about "protecting the public welfare," the amendment should require the posting of a warning wherever the union gathers together in its name.  It could look a little like this sign I found somewhere:

I wonder if the Employee Free Choice Act will raise its ugly head any time soon?

And those clever unionized teachers have come up with a plan to save their benefits!

Sounds like the same tune we've been hearing for quite some time now.  Sheesh.

The Middle East -- The Big Uneasy

Don't know about you, but I'm pretty uneasy about this situation in Egypt.

And genuinely thankful I don't live in Israel.

This might be a pretty good time to invest in domestic oil exploration.

Musings on a Dark and Rainy Evening

Here are some musings for ya.

How come the garbage bag waits to break and spill until you've struggled to get out of the kitchen door without an eager dog, it's dark and rainy, and you've already busted a blood vessel trying to move the big green monster trash can far enough away from the house to get the lid to stay propped open so you could've swung the previously unbusted garbage bag into said big green monster on an evening when your blood sugar is running low and you've been understandably a little testy? Trust me, you've been understandably a little testy. Trust me, okay?!?!

And just who busts a blood vessel in the knuckle of her pinky finger anyway? And who ever suspected a busted blood vessel in the pinky finger would smart so much?

Just wondering.

Moogie Gets Reflective -- and More Smarter

Now that life seems to be returning to normal around Moogie's Mansion (whatever that may be!), I'd like to share a few ruminations that have been rattling around in my head.

First off, our precious granddaughter, Princess Lizzy, turned 3 on January 14th!  Oddly enough, this odd blog also turned 2 on that very same day.  So Happy Birth-iversary to us, Lizzy Lou!!!

I looked back at last year's Blogiversary post, and found it pretty tame and standard.  It was, however, absolutely true in its simplicity.

Nonetheless, I've learned a lot about life, and the blogosphere, since last year. 

Life is mainly about relationships.  It's odd how the human psyche craves relationships.  We may have the best friends and families on the face of the Earth that fulfill us to no end, yet we still yearn for more contact.  We "adopt" pets, we cultivate plants, we name our automobiles.  Even the Cast Away dude made a friend of Wilson, the basketball, and grieved its loss at sea.

Today, we spend hours in cyberspace, both in Social Media and the blogosphere, trading yarns, opinions, and barbs with people we've never laid eyes upon in person, yet feel as comfortable around as the chums we made in elementary school.  That's the spot where I find myself today. 

That's also where I didn't find myself in late December - early January when my routine was discombobulated by the holidays, merriment, serious footballage, and the onset of Carnival.  And I have since learned that the discombobulance made a difference to, and had an effect on, me on several levels.

First off, I missed you guys!  I missed having the opportunity to visit your spots a couple of times a day to catch up on what you were doing and to leave a snarky (or supportive) comment.  I missed having the time to post the fruits of my brilliant discourse and analysis, prodding some of you to leave snarky (or supportive) comments here.  I may not ever say it, but I truly do appreciate your comments.  As many of you have already admitted, I now openly acknowledge that it really does mean a lot for people to take the time to think about what I've come up with and type a reaction or two.  That's a connection that is very, very real, regardless of tactility. 

And there.  That word, tactility.  I wouldn't have come up with that word last week.  I wouldn't have come up with that word because of the Second  Lesson I've learned about this blogging thing.

Bloggers are among the best informed folks around; they're the best researchers, the cleverest wits, unafraid to express their true opinions and duel with those whose opinions differ.  Becoming that type of folk requires a great deal of intellectual work.  And that was another thing I missed during the holiday hiatus -- the intellectual work.  I physically worked my derriere into near exhaustion with important, yet mundane things, like hostessing and housework and feast-making, but I finally recognize that I need more than that to keep my brain on its toes. Use it or lose it is a very real concept.  Probably more so as we age.  It hit me square in the noggin last week when I had to ask Pepper while we were watching a movie what the name of that town is -- you know, the capital of Norway.  Not the capital of Sweden; the capital of Norway.

Today, after just a few days of regular research and blogging, I'd never have to Google Oslo. 

That's pretty much of a major relief in the Alzheimer's fear sphere.

So.  To keep me properly befriended and on my mental toes, I vow not to let my research and blogging slip as much in the future.  Watching non-stop movies in the company of family, and sharing drinks with corporeal friends are important, but the ol' brain needs its daily recommended dose of gritty stimulation, too.

(It probably didn't hurt the mental mush, either, that Congress was in recess and I could shove them into a drawer in my head and ignore them for a few weeks.  Congress is definitely a stimulus, both to lucidity and to the blood pressure.)

Again, so.  Here's to another year rattling around the blogosphere, and to my friends and families, both physical and virtual!!!  Good health, good times, and bon mots!!!!!

Love, MoogieP.

Musings on a Lazy, Saintless Sunday

Still strutting my Razorback thang and contemplating the very real possibility that Moogie's Mansion could be converted to an impromptu Bed & Breakfast on Sugar Bowl Eve.

Dear Lord, central Arkansas is glorious in the fall!

I wonder if all those folks we saw near War Memorial Stadium hours after the game was over -- the ones Pepper referred to as DCRs (Drunks Crossing Roads) -- made it to wherever they were trying to go?

Dogs with access to a big picture window are easily entertained.

Pizza is sounding pretty tasty right about now.

Wooo Pig Sooooieeee!!!!

Remembrance and Reflection

September 11th.  9/11.  9 - 1 - 1.

The repercussions from that day are many and diverse, aside from the obvious holes in the ground and in our hearts. 

The wound -- the pandemic pain and suffering that we all shared with one another and the families of the fallen -- is still here even though it's scabbed over now.  I suspect, however, that it wouldn't take much to knock the scab off and start the blood flowing all over again.  I think the kerfuffles over Koran-burning and mosque-building the last couple of weeks are proof positive of that suspicion.

For the last 8 years, I've gotten pretty contemplative during the days leading up to this date, as have most Americans, I imagine.

My younger cousin posted on Facebook this morning that she had just dropped off her young children at school when the first plane hit.  She firmly believes her oldest is now a Cadet at West Point as a direct consequence of that day's events.

Pepper was on one of the first civilian flights cleared to take off on September 14th.  He was headed to a meeting originally scheduled to take place at the Pentagon, but re-located after al-Qaeda crashed a plane into it.  There had been friends in the Pentagon that September morning.  It was hard to watch him get on that plane.

We all recall where we were, what we were doing, how life changed after the towers fell.  My own life changed dramatically but, oddly, for the better after that day.

Having moved down to New Orleans full-time only a couple of months beforehand, I knew but a few souls in the whole city and those few were still just passing acquaintances.  My father was in Little Rock.  All the kids were out of the house, married or in college towns in Arkansas and Louisiana.  On the 11th, the girls badly wanted to ditch classes and run to mama's and daddy's arms for comfort as they did when they were little, but we encouraged them to stick it out where they were.  That sounds like "tough love" but, truth be told, we were scared to put them on the highways, not knowing what was next and conjuring up Armageddon.  It was a very, very lonely time.

The week following the attacks, I saw a newspaper article about a service designed to support local military families that had been affected.  I called the telephone number in the article, and when the voice at the other end of the line asked how she could help me, I replied that I wasn't seeking help, I wanted to volunteer with the program.  She handed the phone to a man who has since become a close friend, and that conversation led me to eventual membership in the Mayor's Military Advisory Committee, The Military Officers' Wives' Club, and ESGR (Employer Support of the Guard and Reserve).  September 11th molded my life in New Orleans and blessed me with new friends and volunteer opportunities.

I'm not sure why, but I never really appreciated that blessing until this year: out of disaster came a fresh start; out of reflection came recognition.

Would that it could be that way for the world. 

Musings on Pop Culture and Friendship

Moogie recently watched age 55 disappear in the rear-view mirror.  It was a little-heralded birthday, but pleasant nonetheless, especially so because Pepper took me out to dinner -- even made the reservation all by himself! -- and I didn't have to clean up the kitchen.  I love to cook; don't like to clean up the kitchen.

I'm not sure why, but one of my very favorite things in the world is goofy cocktail napkins.  My bestest buddy Diane, who lives most of the time in Hong Kong now, called on my birthday and I opened my gift from her while we were chatting and sharing a long-distance cup of coffee (isn't that skype thingy amazing?!) 

Are you ready for this?

She knows me waaaay too well!