Musings about Newtown tragedy

Musings Dec 16 thoughts on waking

Do we have guns because we are a violent nation, or are we a violent nation because we have guns?

Can the bullets that killed those 20 children be traced to the manufacturer?  Can the manufacturer of the guns used in the Newtown murders be identified?  This ought to be made public, those manufacturers should have bragging rights; this knowledge could be a real boost to their business.

They say: Guns don’t kill people, people do.

Then it must follow:  Bombs don’t kill people, people do.

When Palestinians find themselves bombarded with bombs stamped “Made in USA,” they don’t have to blame the USA the bombs, because it is not those bombs that are killing and maiming them, it is Israel. 

Images of—inherent? or cultured? sense of violence.  During the Israeli bombing of Lebanon a few years ago, there were photos of Israeli school children being given a tour of a base that was stocked with bombs, and they were being encouraged to sign the bombs, that would later be dropped on little children like themselves.  Oh, then, remembering our own Governor Manchin, on a tour of Israel about the same time, signing a bomb, “Sending you to hell from almost heaven West Virginia.”

But I was once a gun enthusiast.  Remembering, back in the 50s, when all my children were young, at Christmas Santa brought them an assortment of guns—holsters with revolvers for the boys, rifles, and even cute little pearl-handled derringers for the girls (no sexism here).  Probably all cap-shooters.  Of course, they played their cowboys and Indians, or Civil War, or whatever they were into those days, but I cautioned them never to aim at each other, never to pretend to shoot each other, only shoot imaginary enemy.   And they could be shot by imaginary enemies, but not by each other.  Clearly I did not want them to even imagine shooting a real, live person, much less their own sibling.  Subsequently, I turned completely against play guns, and as well, am against violent video games.

When we lived in Virginia, late 60s early 70s, the older children having left home by then, Amy and Tim in late adolescence or early teens, and four little girls, their father bought a rifle and brought it down one weekend, guests and family having a little target practice, I even shooting at tin cans, I wasn’t half bad.    But later when I put it away, I put the rifle in one place, the bullets in another, the trigger, or lock, in another—no one else knew where everything was. 

Then, on Christmas Day, late afternoon , a friend called that her little boy was sick and could I take them to the emergency room?  While we were waiting there, someone came in carrying a young woman, clad in nightgown and robe, dying of a gunshot wound.  She had been recovering from the flu, and her boyfriend came to visit, bringing along his new gun, a Christmas gift, I believe it was a 22 pistol.  While showing it off to her, he accidentally shot her.

When I got home, I told Tim to sell the rifle and buy a fishing rod.  Which he did.

When my daughter, Cori, was 15 months old, in 1961, she spent eight days in the hospital with asthmatic bronchitis.  This included Christmas Day.  I remember that on that day, as we sat around in the living room, all behaving normally, the lights twinkling on the tree, Christmas music on the phonograph, the children opening their gifts, their father and I all of a sudden looked at each other and saw that tears were rolling down the other’s cheek, as well as our own.  Although we knew she would be coming home in a day or two.  How much more the suffering now, of the parents of those 20 children from Sandy Hook,--can one even imagine them getting through Christmas Day, the holidays?  We cannot possibly comprehend their sorrow, their grief, their bereavement.  And what words can we possibly offer them that will alleviate their pain.

My Fingers as Spell-Checkers

My Fingers as Spell-Checkers

My fingers are self-appointed spell checkers for me, constantly self-correcting what I am trying to write.  Problem is, they have become somewhat arrogant, and have taken upon themselves the task of pre-empting my typing, and of anticipating what word I am about to spell.  Perhaps because they know that I am an excellent speller and am not known to be prone to typos, they think they can make an easy job of it.  Consequently, when I mean to type “if,” they may instead type “is;” for “of” they will give me “or.”  They have offered up “until” for “under” and “window” for “winter.”    In the second sentence above they tried to give me “have” for “of,” which is really a stretch since they don’t even begin the same, and I wasn’t trying to type “would’ve.”  They also presume to add a “g” to any word ending in “in,” since they know that “ing” is such a common ending.  Hence, “beging” for “begin.”    In a recent post to my blog, I discovered only upon rereading after posting that they had typed “time” for “top.”  Now I ask you, is there any rhyme or reason to that one?  Further, they are always choosing which there/their/they’re I mean to type, and as often as not choosing wrong.  Problem is, since I am typing merrily along quite sure that my spelling is as good as it ever was, I am not aware when those fingers double-cross me; I have to carefully reread everything I write to be sure it comes out as I meant it to.

That gives a whole new meaning to the phrase, “Let your fingers do the talking.”  No, wait a minute, isn’t that supposed to be “walking?”

 

 

 

 

Musings December 6

Jim Clyburn says of Jim DeMint (re his resignation):  I think that Jim DeMint is a very principled guy.  I’ve never agreed with any of his principles, but he’s a very principled guy.

Funniest thing I’ve seen:  Sen McCaskill conducting the Senate and saying “whiplash,” over Sen McConnell’s decision to filibuster his own bill.

Showing my age?  “Back in my day, we had nine planets.”

Too sad, truly sad:  the British nurse who committed suicide after being pranked by some Australian pretending to be the queen inquiring after her daughter-in-law at hospital.

 A while ago I posted this message on facebook for Ed Shultz:  Ed, I see that the Michigan legislature is passing so-called "right-to-work" law, and the gov will sign it. What can be done nationally about this? If the US congress passes EFCA, would that nullify individual states’ right-to-work laws?  [what do you think, gentle reader]

Think outside the quadrilateral parallelogram.

What is “teh” and what is “meh” and how do you pronounce them?  And when do you use them?

If you know someone with twin babies, there are cute toddler tee-shirts and snap-suits in the Wireless catalog, labeled “Thing 1” and “Thing 2.”

Also in Wireless catalog:  Redneck wine glass—a small Ball Mason canning jar perched on time of a stem, complete with metal cap.

How can they speak of not only raising the age of eligibility for Social Security, but raising the age of eligibility for Medicare?  CEO of Blankfein daring to say:  “Social Security was never meant to provide for [living high on the hog] 30 years of retirement after working only 25 years.”  Of course, Blankfein has something like $9 million to retire on.  Hmmm, now let’s see.  Indeed, since I spent 21 years of my adult life as a stay-at-home mom, I only worked for about 34 years, make that 31-1/2, taking out the time I spent in college to earn a degree to get a better job.  And based on the longevity of my parents, I could indeed collect SS and be eligible for Medicare for 30 or so years.  Hang your head in shame, Windy, you greedy sponger.  That said, my own argument is that if anything, they should be lowering the age for SS and Medicare eligibility, to get older people out of the workforce and make room for younger workers.  As it is, many older workers are out-of-work, out-of-income, not contributing to SS or Medicare, subsisting on unemployment until it runs out, or food-stamps, Medicaid, and the like, and are the ones who will be out of work the longest, perhaps never finding work again, least able to ever make the same income they made before, and losing those valuable years that would normally enable them to contribute the most to their social security and therefore earn the most possible in retirement.  Bummer.  But what does Congress care?  They do not need to rely on SS or Medicare; they can sneer at the people who do.

End of the day:  A drippy, cloudy, chilly day.  An oddly comfortable feeling as I re-enter the house at dusk, having shut up the poultry, including the recalcitrant guineas who often end up on the barn roof or in the trees and will not even be enticed by their favorite white millet to come into the barn; having put out grain for the ducks and watched the little brown duck come up with them to the barn to eat—why do I think she is so sweet?  Just a little brown duck, a stray mallard that showed up on the pond about a week ago, and now keeps company with my ducks, I have to keep my distance so as not to fright her.  What a thrill to see her making herself at home.  And then, having hauled a final wheelbarrow load of firewood into the house.  Oh, and having earlier spent a lovely couple of hours at brunch with some friends.  And now, for a light supper in front of the fire, watch a little tv, catch up on some email, and read a while before bedtime.  All the while surrounded by my cats and dogs.  What more could one ask?