Movies

I watched two movies over the long week-end. American Sniper and Selma. Both took me more than one sitting to watch them.

American Sniper reminded me of The Kingdom, which I really liked. It was good, but I liked it less than The Kingdom. I am trying hard to like B Cooper. Or, his choice of characters, I suppose.

Selma was very intense. Both movies are true-life events. Both sad. Both thought provoking and both grabbing you by the collar and saying "Wake up! There is hard life going on all around your precious little happy bubble!" 

It makes me want to crawl under the covers and hide. But I realize, that is what I am already doing. I feel guilty enjoying my life when there is so much pain and un-fairness in the world.

Free Lunch

Sorry this photo became skewed. I lifted it off the Internets. Anyway, the photo is the closest I could find to the lunch plates that were used when I was in grade school.

I am having a hard time deciding if I am going to post about this topic or not. Thirty, twenty and even ten years ago I would never have considered it. I try not to talk about these things.

For many reason. First and foremost is - I don't want pity. I don't want people to think I want pity, either. That bothers me beyond belief.

But, I read a post today that got me to thinking.

Free lunches, free breakfasts in schools.

So many people say it is a great idea - how nice to help the needy.

Today's kids are different than we were back in the 50's and 60's. In that era it was a SHAME to get a free lunch. Breakfasts were not even considered, yet. My Mom told me that when our brother (1953) signed up for free lunches the teacher would write their names on the chalkboard. That is right. The entire list of students who were to get a free lunch written for all the world to see. The "haves" had a field day teasing the "have nots".

Since that time my Mom never let us sign up for free anything again. She lined up five brown bags (at that time five of us were in school) every morning and we ate a bologna sandwich, one small orange and about three cookies every day. It was twenty years before I could touch bologna again. To this day I won't eat it with mayonnaise.  In high school I just did not eat lunch.

And, every time I eat a sandwich or an orange, my stomach wants those three damn cookies. Well, okay - my brain wants the three damn cookies. Funny thing, I never seem to want the orange. My brain is completely satisfied skipping the orange but never the cookies. Sigh.

Anyway, for those that think it is a wonderful idea - it is. But consider this. It ain't so wonderful for the child who gets ridiculed by other students and teachers (OH YES THEY DO) when you are getting something free. There is always a teacher or two who believe she is paying for your lunch right out of her pocket and she wants to make certain that you are aware of where that money (lunch) is coming from.

A co-worker told me a story her daughter shared about just such an incident. This incident (which I hope my co-worker reported to the school superintendent) was about her daughter sitting with a friend at lunch. The friend had chosen a salad for lunch. A teacher came up behind the child and snapped "You better eat ALL that salad because I paid for it! Why didn't you get a peanut butter sandwich or something?"  TRUE!  As if to say that the free loaders need only have a bland sandwich and were not entitled to a more healthy fresh salad as privileged children are. My friend's daughter was confused. She asked her Mom why the teacher paid for her friends' lunches. I don't recall  how my co-worker handled the question. She is a wonderful and bright lady, so I am certain her daughter learned something valuable that day.

2013 folks. It is alive and well in our schools today. Shame on the children of the lousy free loaders!

In the post I read I came across the word discrete. The free food is given to the students in need discretely. Really? Does a machine give them the food? Because if there is a human handing out that free food there is always going to be talk. That human tells another human who gets the free lunches. Really - they do. They can't seem to help themselves. Pretty soon a dozen people now know who gets free hand outs. And if even one person has a chip on their shoulder about a family getting free stuff because the father is no good (must be his wife's fault) then it all comes pouring out.

My older sister and brother tell me stories of their youth. Before they became old enough to help the family begin to stand on our own and not rely on hand outs. My father was a drunk. There, I said it. He barely worked. My Mom had 8 children. She was not able to work outside the home, although she did get flack from the welfare agency as to why she thought she could not work and provide for her family and of course they made her feel like it was her fault that my dad was a drunk, etc..

That stopped the welfare. My Mom refused to go back. My older brother joined the Air Force and began sending money home. My older sister put herself through college, worked two jobs and paid the bills with the help from my older brother. They are still close today and live together and help each other. And they still hand money out to the siblings that just keep asking for it. Sigh. I don't know why. It is ingrained in them, I suppose.

Enough of that. It makes me want to vomit just re-reading what I wrote. If you do comment, please do not comment about that. Thanks.

Back to discrete and human nature. I worked as a data entry operator in the early 80's. The business was food distribution to schools, hospitals, nursing homes, bars and diners. At one point a saleslady came up to me with an order and she said "This order is for the shelter for abused and battered women."  She said "You know where it is, don't you?"  And before I could utter no or any other word she proceeded to tell me where this shelter was. I did NOT need to know. I was not the driver or delivery person. Sheesh. Why couldn't she have kept her mouth shut? Then I began thinking about all the people who actually knew where the shelter is physically located - and then how safe is that? Every policeman would know. The fire department would know. The creepy truck drivers we employed would know. The sleazy salesmen we have would all have know. Discrete my ass. Sorry. No such thing.

Thr Travelling Wall

Going here today.  Not to the real one, the traveling one.

It started yesterday. Sister 1944 wanted a sister to go with her to the genealogy picnic. I said "Sure". I wasn't doing anything. I got myself up and ready, made my calico beans and went. I don't know what has happened to me over the past few years but I have become a super-charged extrovert. This is a 180 from when I was growing up as a shy, bashful introvert. How does that happen? I have no idea.

Regardless, my medication (that I have taken for maybe a  year, now) has exacerbated the extrovertism. Ha, that isn't a word. But,you get the idea.

Gabapentin is the generic name. Here is a list of side effects.  I seriously think it would have been easier to print things that it "DOES NOT" do.

Hyperactivity. Oh, yeah. I got that one covered. It started about 11 o'clock. It did not stop until I was by myself in the car on the way home at 4:30. Sometimes I wonder if my brother-in-law just wants to tell me to shut the f@ck up. My sister laughs with me. I think he just tolerates us. (Seriously I think he really enjoys his wife laughing and having a good time. She is under a lot of stress right now). I certainly am the one to entertain.

I was the bingo caller at the picnic. When they said they were going to start the bingo game I automatically got up to call. Sister 1944 asked me how I knew I was going to be the caller, I just gave her my incredulous look. Like "Seriously? Who else would do it? Who else has this big of a mouth?"

We stopped on the way home to visit another sister and brother. The laughter did not stop. Sister 1944 was getting a headache from laughing so much. The movie "The Mask" with Jim Carey comes to mind. When he spins and says "Somebody stop me!"  That is truly what I feel like because I feel like I cannot stop myself. I am like a runaway train or a bouncing ping pong ball.

In the car by myself,  I do calm down a little bit. Not much, though. I crank the music and sing. Maybe I should begin to cut the caffeine intake. Sigh.

Anyway, sister 1944's husband was a marine in the Viet Nam war. They said they are coming to my neck of the woods today to visit with their grandson and if I wanted to go. I said "I'm not doing anything,  I'm in!"

We will go today and I will definitely be curbing my hyperactivity today. When I read that there would be clergy and counsel available I began a slow panic. Oh, no. I can't handle the crying. I am going to be bawling like a baby and I don't know one soul who passed away in the war. None that I can think of anyway. No cousins, either. Oh dear. The other side effect to the medicine:  Over-reacting too quickly, and too emotional. Oh, dear, dear, dear. I am done for. Focus, I  must focus. I need super glue for my mouth because I know I will be going up to people, hugging them and asking them to tell me all about their lost loved one.

I'm talking complete strangers, here. I have no fear. If somebody is freaked out by my actions, I read the environment, back-pedal and move on to the next victim..err, person.

The vocation of counseling does run in my family. I have three relatives in the therapy area. We seem to know what to say and when to listen. The drawback is we fall victim to the emotional vampires. People (co-workers) who unload all their problems and issues onto us. Then they feel better and we become depressed - zapped of our energy. They sucked the energy right out of us when they go on and on about their problems. How does a therapist do it?

Crumbled

And this was the GOOD side of the fire station.

My brother and his wife's family were toned out Wednesday early evening in their little town to sound the tornado alarm. They man the fire department as volunteers.

They got in one blast before they themselves were hit.

The other side of the station was much worse than this side.

The building is a total loss.

Thankfully, there were no injuries.

Clean up and recovery will be a long haul.

Oh, and an interesting tidbit. Just after the six nearly lost their lives, they actually drove through town helping others in need because that is what they do. They are there when nobody else is. They do not get paid.

Now, granted - some are grand standers and glory seekers. My brother admits that he gets a "rush" when there is trouble or a disaster (or wince - a car wreck). Most of the volunteers do. That is what drives them. And for that little bit of "rush" or glory seeking - bless them. Dealing or living with their "rush" is a small price to pay.

My brother does state one thing. Most marriages will not survive unless both are involved in the volunteer entity. That fire station is (was) their second home. It consumes them. If one spouse is not involved, they feel left out. Perhaps that "rush" is an addiction of sorts.

I remember back in the early 80's my employer made the remark that he didn't understand volunteer fire fighters.

I made no comment at the time. Two of my brothers were volunteers at that time in my little town fire department.

It was later that I came to realize that some people just don't get it. He was a businessman. He was out for himself. Greed ruled his life. He never had any empathy for others.