Glacial America or Antarctic Warming

Whatever happened to "Global Warming?"
Do you feel it yet?"
What say ye? Those frozen souls in the Midwestern, Southern and Eastern states.
Are you more worried about the melting glaciers or your freezing gluteus maximus?
After reading about "greenhouse effect" below. I think we need more "carbon dioxide." 
 Greenhouse effect
The "greenhouse effect" is the warming that happens when certain gases in Earth's atmosphere trap heat. These gases let in light but keep heat from escaping, like the glass walls of a greenhouse.
First, sunlight shines onto the Earth's surface, where it is absorbed and then radiates back into the atmosphere as heat. In the atmosphere, “greenhouse” gases trap some of this heat, and the rest escapes into space. The more greenhouse gases are in the atmosphere, the more heat gets trapped.
Scientists have known about the greenhouse effect since 1824, when Joseph Fourier calculated that the Earth would be much colder if it had no atmosphere. This greenhouse effect is what keeps the Earth's climate livable. Without it, the Earth's surface would be an average of about 60 degrees Fahrenheit cooler. In 1895, the Swedish chemist Svante Arrhenius discovered that humans could enhance the greenhouse effect by making carbon dioxide, a greenhouse gas.
  
....."The Peter Principle In an organizational structure, the Peter Principle's practical application allows assessment of the potential of an employee for a promotion based on performance in the current job; i.e., members of a hierarchical organization eventually are promoted to their highest level of competence, after which further promotion raises them to incompetence. That level is the employee's "level of incompetence" where the employee has no chance of further promotion, thus reaching their career's ceiling in an organization.

I believe that once the planet is destroyed, mankind will have reached its "level of incompetence."

But going beyond that idea: What about God's Will for mankind and Earth?

Evidence being in the natural course of life: to be born young and healthy; only to die old and ill. 

If God made mankind healthier with age, so would the planet be healthier because that would be the natural course for life.

Building a House

It will not be long before the house will be ready. We have had some slight problems that were fixed.
It's unfortunate that it doesn't matter how much education a person has, they can still be duped.
Just between you and me. The lessons learned.

Always have a contract lawyer review your construction contract.
We did not. So far, we do not have any major problem because we had good references for a reliable builder; but that does not mean there are no problems. I think we could have tightened up some of the loose ends in the contract.
Although, we have one of the best builders by reputation in that area, there is room for major improvements. 

The contract did not include some things that were taken for granted or just considered common sense by us: getting a sample before the paint was applied to the entire job. The house exterior panels were painted according to the color coded stripe that we selected; but after the builder painted all the panels before we could see one of the actual painted wood panel, the panels came out a slightly different color. More blue than green. Not a life and death mistake, but an uncomfortable one, if the entire exterior color is off due to wood color variations or color code mixed slightly wrong.


Also, in the contract are allowances, that the builder estimated, that came in high. We had no clue what the actual cost would be until we got the bids from subcontractors. Allowances being our expenses; such as lamps, tile, granite, etc; which is not in the builder's fixed price, that were probably high also; but set in concrete, after the contract is signed.
Fortunately, we learned early on that the bids going through the builder were much higher than the bids given to us directly. We learned that when he estimated the allowances so high, he was letting his own chosen subcontractors bid the job high. 
It wasn't until I saw the cost per sq. ft. for tile installation, as an example, that I realized the tile man was charging too much. We got our own bidders for subcontractors. So instead, of paying over $14,000 for tile work by the builder's sub; we will pay approx. $9,000 for the subcontractor that comes from another tile company who also has an excellent reputation.  It's not rocket science.

Guest RM #1  bathtub/shower tiling to be continued...

Guest RM  #2 bathtub/shower tiling to be continued...

Yes, everyone bills in their cost for disasters; so my husband says in his defense business, but I am not a company. I want to pay only for the work being done; not for their future disasters; which contractors try to bill me for, anyway, when a disaster actually does happen.

There can be problems with the builder working with another subcontractor, not from his own crew. His own subcontractors might have given him a kick back, considering he is giving them the job at a higher price; therefore, giving our chosen subcontractor, a harder time in the field. In the end, this will go against the builder because I will put it in my references.

Even the expert architect screwed up on some things. 
I believe that it would be very helpful when having an architect; to also have an interior designer and builder look at the architect's plan before it is set in stone.

These are the 4 main areas of concern:
The architect, builder and interior designer all need to be involved because they all have ideas and disagreements with each other on the same house that is created and built by all parties involved, including the owner. 

The architect sees a 2 dimensional spacial functionality; the builder sees a 3 dimensional operating functionality; the interior designer sees a 5th dimension (combining the 2 and 3 dimensions) for living practicality. 

We cannot understand how architects and builders who show us beautiful homes, and get outstanding references; can screw up on standard building designs. 


Our architect, did not think in a 3 D functional operating home, that would include a heating, mechanical, electrical and practical working system.
The architect forgot to allow footage between the interior's plaster wall and the exterior's concrete wall. Plaster walls cannot go up against the basement concrete wall, according to the builder; it has to have a 9 inch wooden stud in between to separate the concrete wall from the plaster wall.  That is 9 inches of lost interior space not accounted for in the architect's plan.
Also, we required a specific heating system which required extra ducting. The architect never allowed for that extra ceiling space, bringing the ceiling down in the basement about a foot. 

In the end, the basement halls will be slightly tighter between the walls and ceiling; and, not without some reconstruction on other parts of the house, to accommodate the architectural shortsightedness: I had wanted a space reserved between the two floor for an elevator, in the future, when we get decrepit. It would be a storage closet, in the meantime, for the upper and lower floors.

I gave up the upper elevator area so the builder could put the heating duct through it, so it would not impact the main hallway ceiling area; and the lower floor elevator area became a small bar with sink. Just what I needed, a drink.

I always thought one hired an expert because they knew what they were doing? Getting an expert is only 1/4 of the solution; getting them to communicate and coordinate with other team members is 3/4 of the problem.  


Although we were told that the basement hallway was that small in the homes we previewed (3 ft. by 7 ft.) it must have been a mistake even then; or why would the builder bring it up, as a problem in spacing? Maybe, he knew our expectations according to the architectural plans before he added the operational parts: heating ducts, etc.

At Least, I did not give up my Art Studio RM. South side lighting. I wanted North side painter's light, but settled for North Light,  light bulbs.  French doors leading out onto deck, overlooking Flathead Valley and Whitefish lake.

A seasoned builder could look at an architectural plan, knowing the functions of a house and tell the architect that there needs to be more space between walls and ceilings for actual heating and electrical elements. Although, both highly recommended and experienced, this did not happen. The builder usually follows the architect's plans until its too late.

Our interior designer who is married to a builder wanted to change some structural areas for greater inefficiency.  She remeasured small areas of the house to make it more practical; but because she was not involved when the house was being planned, major areas she wanted changed were already set in stone. 
Everyone has different ideas.  Since the floor plan was already approved by us, we felt comfortable with it; even if there are better solutions.


Originally, I didn't want the extra expense of an interior designer because I majored in art and I felt confident with my own judgment and experience having remodeled our California home alone. 
In the end, our interior designer cut the work of filtering through thousands of choices; and cutting the prices, by giving us tips on cutting costs; as well as, getting her discounts (40-50 % from manufacturers).

It's advisable to hire an engineer to inspect the progress at crucial points: before the walls go up; in order, to check wiring and insulation. Initially, the bank recommended this because they wanted an inspector to visit the building site to make sure the loan money was being spent appropriately, but the same engineer can also be hired to do inspections, in case, the builder misses something. 

South side: Upper floor: Left: Master BR. Right: Library doors, leading out to deck: overlooks Valley and Lake

West Side: Upper floor is Master Bedroom.  Lower floor is basement: Theater room

All in all, I am told repeatedly, by all concerned that the house will be very comfortable, cozy (meaning small) and well built which is what we wanted in the first place. 
Nothing is perfect and if it were, I probably couldn't live in it.  

A lasting Tribute To Jack Costello and To His Family

Remembering the past, once shared; celebrating a life, once lived; and grieving the loss. No small feat for the living, left behind. All these emotions, pulling in opposite directions, on a soul, in a single day.

It was a beautiful military ceremony. A former General and company executive, beloved and well liked, who left us too soon at a young age of 63. Jack Costello was an outstanding individual with an exceptional life, as attested by the aura of the ceremony which brought together people from all paths, that Jack walked.

There were former Chief of Staffs, Generals, and CEOs, but I was not aware of their presence because we all moved together like a rippling stream flowing along a well worn path, through the chapel to the cemetery. Through our connective souls, we were mindful of each other, as we hugged with soft smiling eyes; reflecting the thoughts of those sweet moments we were together, when he was still alive.
Jack's wife, Micki, and his children were comforting others, instead of being comforted, creating an atmosphere of dignity to reflect the way he lead his life.

Jack always made it easy for others, to talk to him. Everyone I knew always said nice things about Jack.  A person who had a desire to continuously learn. I see that in his wife, Micki. Taking college classes, increasing her knowledge. She also is such a strength of character. I saw it when she called out to me in the hallway, the day of the funeral. Coming towards me, being so strong on that day, with a smile and a bear hug.
I know it will be hard, going forward for her and her children. I cannot imagine what that emptiness feels like.

In the silence of the chapel, Jack's first and only grandchild, baby Samantha's cooing sounded more like musical notes to our ears throughout the ceremony. Clearly she saw the Light and heard her grandfather's encouraging words, just for her.  She is the joy and the future, he will leave behind to celebrate his life.

As we walked up the hill toward the gathering of family and friends surrounding the casket, draped with the American flag, the military band stood on the hillside above.  The American flag lying in position, waiting to be folded and handed to Micki.

There were soldiers standing in the freezing snow; waiting for their cue to salute a comrade-in-arms with the customary 21 gun and 15 cannon fire. A moment of disarming of weapons; a sign of trust.

The gravesite was a high point, on the grounds, overlooking the

convex and concave curves in the land; manicured with rows of decorated white, uniform tombs with red ribboned, dark green wreaths.
The sound of a lone bagpiper playing Amazing Grace reminding us of our sins and forgiveness.
The sound of Taps piercing the chilly air resounding the finality.

As the crowd started moving away from the gravesite, I could see Micki walking away from the comfortable path to home. She walked to the higher, icier hillside where the bagpiper, a young woman, was standing, coatless, in the freezing air.
When she reached her, she hugged and thanked her. I could not hear the words, but her courage to comfort and thank this one soul was apparent; as the crowd, below, grew small and insignificant.

At the Arlington cemetery, among the many white tombstones of fallen soldiers,
Jack Costello was laid to rest. He will be remembered affectionately.

A Coincidence or a Prayer

A Coincidence or a Prayer

I don't like funerals because I want to remember the person, not as a shell in the ground, but as a living spirit who will always be with us. I think we just have to be open to those feelings and thoughts.

As my husband and I were flying high above the puffy clouds through the blue sky, I looked out the window and said, " Look! There's Jack." He was not amused, but I know his spirit was out there, watching. I have faith. I believe in something stronger than all of us.

I never knew Jack Costello as a General. He had since retired and was among my husband's business associates when we socialized. His wife, Micki, a fellow artist of kindred spirit, always responded to my E-mail, no matter how minor in substance.

I prayed to Jack and my guardian angels while we flew across the country from California to Washington D.C. because I wanted to see Micki, alone; knowing that she would be surrounded by loved ones and close friends, and that I may not see her.

While I was praying I could feel Jack's presence; and telling my husband was a mistake. He said I sounded like I was schizophrenic if I thought I was hearing voices.
I said, "I am not hearing voices, like the ones Kristine hears. It's only a thought I get, in this case, from
Jack, saying,  "I am fine."
I believe it's a thought given to those who want that experience; while everyone else is on their Blackberry.

The following morning, of the funeral; I had left my husband at the breakfast table while I ventured upstairs to our hotel room. He reminded me that I had to use my room key, a plastic card, in the elevator, for security purposes, in order, to get to our floor. In the past, I had used an elevator key, so I didn't think anything of it.

When I got on the elevator, the doors closed, and it started moving before I could put my key in the elevator key slot. I thought: I don't need my key after all. I pushed the 17th floor button, not thinking; as our room number is 1117.
I ended up on the 18th floor. An employee got on. I asked why it did not stop on the 17th floor. She said she must have pushed the button first, going to the 18th floor.
So I inserted my card and pushed 17 again. Only to end up on the 1st floor with the employee. She said something must be wrong with my card and she left.  I inserted my card again and pushed 17; only to stop on the 16th floor where more people got on the elevator.
I said, slightly panicking, "I can't get off; to my floor. Are there stairs?"
Before going down with the elevator, a guest said, "Go to the Exit."
So I looked down the hall, not seeing the Exit sign above my head; so I decided to jumped back onto the elevator for another ride to another floor.
The doors closed and the elevator did not move. I was stuck on the 16th floor. I inserted my card and pushed the button again to the 17th floor. I waited and waited.  I looked at the Alarm button. I said to myself: I am not ready to push the alarm button, just yet.

Finally, the elevator just started moving. Someone had pushed the button on the 17th floor. I got off and ran down the hall towards what I thought was our room. I immediately realized that the room door numbers started with 17; when I knew our room number was 1117, not 1711.
I must be losing my mind. How could I make such a dumb mistake.
Probably because there is no room number on my plastic card for security reasons; therefore, remembering only the 17 as the most prominent number and mindlessly selecting it. It's nothing new for me to read backwards.
Running back to the elevator, still slightly panicky, having lost all my confidence now that I had become the hotel's creepy elevator rider who keeps asking hotel guests, "How do I get to my floor?"

Realizing my mistake, I now knew how to use the elevator key to get to my floor; but I was too afraid to get back on the elevator because I felt there were forces against me; especially, since the man getting on the elevator, didn't speak any English and would be of no help to me. So, instead, I chose to run down the hallway to the "Exit" sign.
I ran down the stairs, as fast as I could, from the 17th floor to the 11th.
I ran down the hallway, passing the elevators, as they were opening. I saw someone getting off.  I kept running until I was just a few feet from room 1117, when I heard my name.
"Nancy!"
I turned to see this person, all in black with radiant hair, come barreling down the hallway towards me.
She said," I thought it was you!"
I was shocked to see Micki standing there, so strong, smiling at me. She grabbed me and hugged me hard. We were standing alone in the hallway. I would have missed her completely, if I had not been lost on the elevator.
You can call it a coincidence. I did ask Jack and my guardian angels to see Micki, alone; and so, I did get my prayer answered; although it was a hell of a way to get it.

Banking on a Memory Test

A funny thing happened to me on the way to the online credit union. Our credit union decided they wanted a more secure website for members, so they upgraded their website to include a more current security check.
After having our password for years without any breach of security, the credit union made the new system so hard to activate; I now have to write down the password and the security answers, when before, I could keep it in my head without having to write down anything.
We now have to use upper and lower cases with numbers and at least 8 letters; not forgetting the security questions, which aren't related to my generation.

 "What's your grandfather's middle name?"  Actual question.  I don't even know that answer; but I am sure a scam artist can probably find out the answer, faster than I can, since my parents have passed.
I could not answer one security question. "What was the street name where you were born?"
The person who came up with these security questions was probably grandfatherly, and lived in another time zone. I actually had to make up names and write them down somewhere, so I wouldn't forget my grandfather's pretend name. Surely, this is more secure than having the real name of my grandfather.

That was not the fun part. I had to called the credit union representative because I had forgotten some part of the security questions. She had to completely reset my password and security answers.

First, she gave me a temporary password; but, before I could say anything, she told me that my temporary password was a combination of my phone number and my social security number.
Making sure she had the right phone number, I said, "797-1234?"
She said, "No."
I said, " Don't tell me you are using our old phone number?  Is it 7891?"
She said, " You should have called us when you changed your phone number."
I said, "It unlisted."
She said, "You have to combined your phone number with your social security number to create your temporary password."
I said, "78812222?"
She said, "No." You had the old phone number right the first time you said it."
Well, subconsciously, I had it right, the first time; but now, that I am thinking, I can't remember what it is.
I said, "What is it?"
She said, " I can't tell you. It's part of the security process."
I said, "You're kidding. I just gave you all my other personal information and you can't give me the numbers of my old phone number?"
She said, "That's right."
I started guessing. "Is it 7818?"
She said, "No."
"Is it 7888?"
"No."
"Is it 8791?"
"No."
After 8 tries, she gave me a hint.
"Take 9 from 87."
I took out my pen and subtracted the numbers.
"Is it 7891?"
FINALLY!!!!
I feel so much more secure, now, having gone through this exercise of trying to remember my old phone number.

Chefs Burning food for Flavor

     Lately I have noticed that some top chefs are more about using their own creative cooking technique than about taste. Some chefs completely lose sight of the end flavor or the nutrients when they try too hard to be creative. 
You may say to yourself, "Why do I care about this subject?" I didn't  think about it either, until I started becoming a serious food critic when it came to my health.
   Some months ago, we went to a Ritz-Carlton hotel restaurant. We had eaten at this restaurant before and the food was tasty. However, a year later, the menu has changed. The new rave seems to be searing a high grade piece of meat by burning the outside layer into a hard black shell; like a nut with the softer raw portion inside the crusted surface.
All this cremating in that night's meal, brings to mind another recent experience with another chef destroying a time proven dish, such as foie gras.
     My husband took me to a noted restaurant on my birthday this year and I bitched about the money we wasted on a beautiful  foie gras that the chef seared into a hard crusted burnt shell that coated the soft delicate flavors within.
     So I am a snob, having eaten at a mediocre French restaurant that served a soft delicately seared
foie gras with flavors to actually "die for;" if only because, the flavors were raw enough to taste; or is it just the cave woman in me talking; before fire was discovered.
     I specifically asked the waiter how the meat was cooked and he said, "Lightly Seared." So the chef decides that a change in cooking technique on a time proven recipe supersedes flavor.
     Lightly seared in American fine restaurants obviously means: cremated.
He, also, cremated my buffalo tenderloins into two pieces of hard black coal.
My husband said he can't take me anywhere because I am a food critic. The burnt food tastes fine to him. This from the man who eats with Koreans until garlic oozes from his pores.
One day, he told me that I put too much garlic in his food.
I replied, "What do you mean? I don't have Any garlic in that dish!"
So the waiter asked me what I thought of their lightly seared foie gras.
I said, "Please tell the chef to stop burning the food."
He had a poker face to my response.  I usually don't say anything to the chef or waiter about the bad foods I get. I just don't go back anymore. But in my aging years I am getting more bold because a buck doesn't go a long way. I refuse to pay for over priced burnt food.
     Yes, I know I should feel badly for the ducks or geese that are being forced fed and the Chilean Sea Bass that are being fished out, but we do eat fish or cows or some kind of meat; and unfortunately they have to die.
    And no, I am not a snob, as it took me forever to pronounce 'foie gras;' and even then, I think I just hint at what I think it sounds like and have no idea what it means.  It's a liver, I think.

All I am saying: Let this cave woman enjoy her food in, as close to, their natural state as possible: raw to rare which is just one step from being 'alive.'

Mental Illness Strikes Again

Mental Illness Strikes Again

I was walking on the bike trail some months ago and met a woman walking her dog too. She was new in the neighborhood. After 5 minutes of talking to her, I felt compelled to tell her my daughter was diagnosed with a schizoaffective disorder. She seemed shocked.  I was wondering why I mentioned it so quickly without knowing her. There must have been a reason, we both thought, when she told me her family has mental illness. Her brother and mother. She spent some time telling me that there is no one to talk to about these illnesses.  We only met 2 or 3 times since then, but it had been profound in what few minutes we shared of our experiences.
Her brother is in his fifties now; was a brilliant professor, and he decided, one day, to stop taking medication to become homeless. That's what he wanted to be. She said he hated her mother who also had a mental illness, but she was never sure what kind of mental illness. Nor is she sure what kind of mental illness her brother has.
At that first meeting on the path, she never said her son had a serious problem. I thought she said at that time, he only had a hearing problem.
About two months ago, I saw her from a distance on the path, and I tried to catch up with her, but her cell phone rang and she quickly walked home.

Today, when I saw her from a long distance walking towards her home up the hill, I decided to walk my dog up to her house.
I wanted to say, "Hi, I have been thinking of you."
We had both wanted to get together over coffee after our first introduction on the trail, but we never got that far.
I rang her door bell and stood back from the door, so my dog would not run in her house; and so she could see me from the front window. When she opened the door I could tell she looked a little tired.
I asked her how she is doing.
She said, " Not too well." I asked if she was sick.
She said, "No." She had just put her son in a mental, residential facility and she was embarrassed to admit it.  He had been there two weeks now and she is worried about the gossip and his recovery, etc.

Having been there and done that: I could tell she was at her wit's end. I told her she should get her hair done now because she has done all she can do for now.
She cannot worry about what others think. It's not her fault. It's God's doing. She said the psychologists made her feel guilty because they kept asking her questions of "how" did her son become mentally ill.
They already know her brother and mother had some kind of mental illness. I told her it really doesn't matter how it happened because it's all  'trial and error'  in giving medication; it's like a crap shoot. It's in the DNA somewhere. Who knows? Maybe it was a great, great, great, great grandparent who had it.  Everyone is guessing.

I had told her about Appleton at McLean Hospital some months ago, but she had a relative who had good results from Red Rock in Utah and they have a string of facilities; each one different depending on the illness. Her son is depressed and has mood swings. She is thinking, Bipolar.
He is 17 years old. He started stealing from the house to pay for his drug habit.
He came home from school, high on drugs. When he had mood swings and it became apparent that this situation was getting worse, she contacted her cousin.
She was told there was a Red Rock facility in Oregon. One in which her son would have a regiment of exercise, healthy foods and chores to get over the addiction of drugs; and then the treatment for his mental illness.
All I could do is reassure her that she must live for today. She cannot think about the "what ifs," or the gossip. If everyone in the neighborhood knows there is a problem because the ambulance and fire truck comes screaming up to her house; then so be it. Tell a few neighbors you know and they, I am sure, will tell everyone else. If you don't feel comfortable with some of the neighbors, than don't say anything. People will make up and say whatever they want. They are not saints.

From my experience, I told her she is very lucky to have gotten her son; although, by physical force from an agency who handles reluctant patients, to a facility that can help him. As it was the, not knowing, from day to day what her son would do, unsupervised in her home with her younger daughter, that was the real danger and now she can relax.

She said that the school her son went too; and where my daughters had once gone, is running rampant
with drugs. She heard that one girl in detention took drugs from another student in the room and then they went into the bathroom to have sex.
Her son was buying drugs in school and coming home high.

The reason I am writing this blog: It is beyond my imagination that our society is choosing to ignore the problems in our high schools and colleges; destroying any hope for the future generation.

She said that one of the parents asked the principal, who is also an elder in her church; to have a meeting of teachers and parents to discuss how parents can detect if their child is using drugs. The principal responded: "We can't have a meeting like that because people will think we have a drug problem."
I don't know why parents aren't screaming at the top of their lungs, "No! You don't have a drug problem! My child has a problem being in your school where drugs are passed around like candy. It's Your responsibility to get the drugs out of school."

My daughters remember some kids having marijuana when they were there some 8 years ago, but it is no where near the problem it is today because the so called "educators" don't care.
It's no wonder that 22 year old who shot and killed so many people in Tucson, AZ was able to do so because the school system he was in; although, they detected he was mentally ill and had him kicked out of school; They never took the responsibility of having him removed from society by force. Knowing what they knew.
Those morons, school officials, who come on the news saying they knew he would harm someone eventually because of his behavior.....Ya! Ya! Ya..
Then shut up and get off the News. I don't want to hear what you Didn't DO.

Thomas Jefferson's Hypocrisy?

So I am reading this book:   American Sphinx: The character of Thomas Jefferson by Joseph J. Ellis, a Yale guy who won a National Book Award for this book; and a Pulitzer Prize in 2001.
You would think I would be impressed, but not so fast....

Excerpts from the book below strike me as rather creepy, no matter how Ellis tries to "spin" the facts he put together to honor his hero.
The author commenting on Thomas Jefferson's psyche.       
      "both the external and internal diplomacy grew out 
      of his deep distaste for sharp disagreement and his 
      bedrock belief that harmony was matures' way 
      of signaling the    arrival of truth. More self-deception 
      than calculated hypocrisy, it was nonetheless a 
      disconcerting form of psychological agility that 
      would make it possible for Jefferson to walk past 
      the slave quarters on Mulberry Row at Monticello 
      thinking about mankind's brilliant prospects without 
      any sense of contradiction. Though it make him deaf 
      to most forms of irony, it had the decided political 
      advantage of   banishing doubt or disabling ambiguity 
      from his   mental process.  
      He had the kind of duplicity possible only 
      in the pure of heart."  
      
I think the author is slightly delusional when he repeatedly sights Jefferson's hypocrisy as "pure of heart." It makes me laugh out loud.
Jefferson's other self, as the author likes to refer to Jefferson, as if he is two men; instead of one hypocritical man, reveals his egotistical self-serving nature. If he is not a hypocrite; then he is mentally ill.
   His "pure of heart" statement comes on the heels of...
    "Perhaps the most graphic example of this capacity to 
      keep  secrets from himself dates from August 1786. 
      A fellow American slaveowner traveling to France 
      inquired about the French law prohibiting slavery 
      and allowing any slave brought into the country to 
      claim his   freedom.
      'I have made inquiries,' Jefferson explained, 
     'on the subject of the negro boy you brought, and find 
     that the laws of France give him freedom if he claims it, 
     and that it will be difficult, if not impossible, to interrupt 
     the course of the law.'
     But there was a way around or perhaps over the law:
     'I have known an instance,' Jefferson observed discreetly, 
     'where a  person bringing in a slave, and saying 
     nothing bout it, 
     has not been disturbed in his possession.'
     If one simply avoids mentioning the subject 'the young 
    negro will not probably...think of claiming his freedom.'
    The  instance Jefferson was referring to almost 
    certainly involved his own black servant James Hemings. 
    It is almost equally certain that Jefferson felt no twinge 
    of conscience about recommending a policy of secrecy, 
    which merely mirrored the deeper secrecies he routinely 
     practiced inside himself. " 
My theory has always been: For every action; there is an opposite and equal reaction. Whether in physics or our emotions.

When Jefferson became the visionary for a perfect government for the white man; he also swung in the opposite direction just as far; and as equal, by deceiving his own slaves of their opportunity to be freed in France. 
 
When it came to his love life and intimacies

    'It is difficult to avoid the conclusion that Jefferson 
    who so   remarkably adept at crafting his literary 
    person to suit the audience, simply lacked the ability
    to convey affection to his own children.  This does 
    not mean he was an unloving and uncaring father. 
    His idealization of domestic bliss as the ultimate 
    source of his personal happiness was certainly sincere, 
    and his children were integral parts of that protected space 
    where the ideal lived in his imagination. But in real life, 
    in the day to day interactions with his flesh and blood 
    daughters, he was incapable of intimacy.".......
   "An earlier letter to Polly strung together the same 
    homilies on   hard work and in a particularly insensitive passage, 
   seemed to say that his own love was conditional upon 
   her measuring up. ...Remember too as a constant 
   charge not to go out without your bonnet because it will 
   make you very ugly and then we should not love you so much."
The author at one point said that Jefferson's home was presented to visitors as an idealistic place where one could see one daughter playing the piano while he helped the other daughter compose letters.  
I personally think Jefferson's imagination made his daughters objects for his own idealistic lifestyle which was more self serving; than a loving concern for his daughters. His behavior was polar opposite to other women in his life which was also self-serving.
       "If his letters to his daughters have a lecturish, almost wooden tone and seem hurried and obligatory, his correspondence with women his own age is highly personal, soft to the point of sentimentality and carefully crafted."
I think God selected Jefferson because he had a voice in congress, to write the Declaration of Independence.  Most of Jefferson's words were regurgitated from lesser known patriots who had no voice. We all learn from others, as did Jefferson when he incorporated the words of fellow patriots. He still had the feelings and thoughts for the vision of a perfect government. He was able to capture the spirit of the American Patriots.
But at the same time:
When we try to be too perfect; we find that the pendulum swings in the opposite direction with equal force, making us too flawed; possibly a hypocrite. 
Life is full of paradoxes.  For every lighted side of an object; there is a dark side. 
What I have learned by reading this book:  In order to be as good as I should be with little hypocrisy in my life; I must keep my pendulum from swinging too far out in either direction.   I will neither be extremely good; nor extremely bad; but only 
mediocre.

Being Fatalistic

Fatalism: the belief that all events are predetermined and therefore inevitable.

I never knew that I was fatalistic. I think someone told me I am. When did that start? When my mother kept scaring me about the bogeyman hiding around every corner. How can I survive that?
I do remember thinking early on that I would never reach the age of 40. Maybe in my 20's that sounded old.
My youngest daughter told me yesterday that most people reach a mental age they like living in; and they stay there mentally; even as their body ages. I tell people I am mentally 23.  Don't I sound 23?

Today when I leave the house, I may say to my daughters: Remember to feed the dog, in case, I die.
Here are our financial papers, in case, we don't make it home tonight.
I seriously think my family should put on my burial urn:
"In Case, I Die"
 Of course, anyone reading it, on an urn, may think that I am still alive somewhere.  I may have an earthly death, but I don't plan on being dead spiritually.

A few years ago, maybe 8. I had a good friend who died. She was a neighbor, my senior and my adviser on any issue I brought to her; although, we ran in different social groups; and although, we joked how the year she got married, I was born; we were still soul mates in some unidentifiable way.
Unidentifiable because she was a very strict Catholic and I was just a renegade Christian. She followed the rules and I did not.
She would not be a good Christian if she didn't try to persuade me to go to her church.
I politely said: I like to talk to God: one on One. I don't need the Pope, a priest or preacher; especially a man, telling me what God thinks. After all, God could be a female.

For years we would walk around the lake and talk.  After her husband had an unexpected turn with cancer, she gradually started deteriorating too. First, it was dementia. She hated to give up driving.
She knew her mind was going and she would get mad when her family treated her like a helpless child.
I remember driving her home one day from the store. We were driving down one of our housing streets.
She said, " Where are we? "
I said, "Marie, if you don't like people questioning your wits, don't ask that question."

When she passed, I had a dream. She came to me to say good-bye because I didn't go to her funeral.
I was not comfortable with her family or her church friends. Her church had cliques in which they gather and gossip. I never liked cliques.
I will never forget the week Marie's daughter divorced.  Being a strict Catholic, she was devastated. Yet, a gaggle of church women came walking down the sidewalk;
seeing Marie with me, a stranger to them, they honked," We're so sorry, " as they continued walking by. Marie just started crying. I had never seen Marie cry; and it just reminded me of why I don't go to church. 

In my dream, she said she could not stay because her children needed her more. It was a short visit.

Last year, I decided to have my hair professional cut by my neighbor who worked at the local salon. While sitting in the chair, Roxy told me she had, also, been a close friend of Marie's; although it has been around 8 years since her passing. Like me, Roxy, had her own social group, being from Peru; and she did not socialize with Marie's group. 
I told her I had a dream about Marie, the day of her funeral. Roxy was surprised and relieved when I told her. She also had the same dream and was afraid others would think she was crazy.

Because I felt close to Marie I wanted to know how she was doing; and if she was O.K.  I was sorry she left my dream so quickly; but the following night of her funeral; I had another dream that I felt was related to her passing.

The Dream 

I was standing in a dark void alone. Out of the dark, I could see an enlisted young man approaching me. He had a green military uniform on with stripes. When he opened his mouth, all his teeth were rotten.
I kept thinking: what does that mean? Is it important to know?
He reached out for my hand. I was not afraid to hold his hand; in spite of, his deterioration. Once I touched his hand, I felt a protective warmth around my entire being.  I felt it was the presence of God because I had never had that kind of feeling from any human on earth. A safe feeling I had never felt before or since I was touched.
I did not want to go, from that place; but I knew I would.
I knew I was only being reassured that Marie was fine.

For all those who worry....when we finally go?  Just remember, someone is waiting for you....

with bad teeth.   And I still don't know what that means?

Montana Flu

Going to Montana, I did everything I could, bordering on paranoia, to keep from getting sick on this trip. I applied sanitizing lotion around my nose and mouth. I washed my hands excessively. I never touched the bathroom knobs or toilet without using paper towels and I still got the 24 hour BUG. I was purging from both ends.
At first I thought it was food poisoning which I have never gotten because I am careful how I prepare food and what I eat.
We were having a lovely candlelight dinner at our designer's home when I felt slightly nauseated. I started blowing up like a balloon. I said I felt slightly faint. I went into their bathroom. If you can imagine a fire hydrate gushing, that was me over the toilet. And it did not stop there. I was gushing from the other end too.
Half the time, I was cleaning up the bathroom; scrub brush and all, until my next trip to that lovely spot. My husband thought it was a riot because I was not in any pain to speak of, as I was wondering around like a lost dog, every few minutes, trying to find a place to cool down or barf.

I felt great afterwards; until I got hot again. Finding a cool spot in their open doorway, staring out into falling snow. Finally, I went to the mud room where it was cool. I had to bend over to keep from fainting.
Finally, I said I needed to go back to the Time-share where we were staying.  I opened their front door, took a few steps onto the snow and barfed 4 times. Staring down at my hostess's orange organic carrot, ginger soup in the white snow, I felt so great. Really!

Our hosts are very health conscious also; so I said, " It's all this healthy eating, that's making me detox. 

We both caught the 24 hour stomach flu while in Montana, but it did not stop us. Although I had the 48 hour flu, purging my system, I felt no real pain, only a slight nausea; and afterward, complete serenity, as if, I was floating on a cloud.

I was lying on the bed just after purging my body for a second day. I remember thinking: I can't remember being so calm; both, mentally ( in a present state of mind) and physically (detoxed). If I died now. I would be happy.

The Holidays 2010-2011

I have a number of subjects I would like to talk about, obviously to myself since no one wants to join in, the one sided conversation, I am having with myself on this blog.

Our Christmas in the Kerry home was quiet and nice. Everyone enjoyed family time.

Kathleen did make my necklace in the design I requested, two symbols: ankh and woman.  I was impressed that she got it done by Christmas. After reading one of my blogs about herself, she reminded me that I always give her a harder time than I do, to her sister.
My excuse is: she is like me in nature and I know she can do better, if she applies herself.  Like most young people today: they put too many things on their plate and they either: never finish it or do it half-assed.

I remember many people in my life who had higher expectations for me, than I had; and some of them handed me opportunities that I didn't take because I did not have the same expectations they had for me.

Her first attempt at making jewelry out of metal is good considering the parts of the metal pieces that she had already soldered together, kept melting apart, while she was heating up the other part of the necklace. She made cufflinks for her dad.  A necklace of a heart and crown that her sister really likes.

My eldest, did all of her needlepoint on time for Christmas day. She did some book markers and framed initials for her dad and me. She never did bake for the holidays, although that is going to be her profession. Go figure.

She started her pastry classes this week and made cookies every day, including these on her first day.

Tomorrow are Lemon macaroons.  I will be on a cookie diet this month.

While my husband and I were in Montana our daughters stayed home. A frightening thought, since they had always been combative; especially when it came to clothes.

This time they went shopping together. Finally, they are communicating and getting along. I never understood why they fought; although, they explained it to me a hundred times; I never had a sister, so I wouldn't know.
I am sure this new found sisterly bonding; however, loosely the bond maybe, and the lack of understanding, they still have of each other; comes with the dynamics of mental illness and maturing.

Before we left the house, I was concerned about them arguing, so I said to my oldest: I don't want you two killing each other while we are gone. Upon which she responded in a serious tone: Mom, only 4% of schizophrenics commit murder. I am not one of them.
I busted out laughing.

The Montana Home

Looking out towards Big Mountain Ski Resort. Our home located just Right on the hillside overlooking Whitefish Lake and the Valley. Facing South.  2010-11

During our Montana trip of 7 below freezing which was not so bad considering we were looking forward to a seasonal change from the rainy winter of California; we checked for moisture in the house before the insulation is installed. Perquisite to avoid future mildew.

As you can see the "great room" with the chimney on the right, is not that great. It's going to be a comfortable home, medium size, for retirement. The pictures are: looking from the library through the great room to the dining/kitchen room on the far side which extends to the outside deck: middle picture.
Yes, there are 2 guest rooms with baths; wine, gym and theater rooms which takes up footage: so we have a lot of small rooms. I told the architect I wanted a home I could walk through; not drive a car through. And sure enough, I can turn around from my stove and be standing at my island. 

We picked out another granite slab for the kitchen Island and counter tops since I am not getting the Blue Louise slab I had dreamed about. The new granite is just as nice with the same colors of blues, rusts and beige; and 1/4 the cost of the Blue Louise, so I get more slab for the buck. With more slabs I can get more counter and wall cover.  The lighter blue slabs, one of which is on the left, will go on all the counters and walls; up the back of the stove to the ceiling. The Right slab which is more colorful, will go on the island.

We should be ready by May 2011.

Flathead Lake, Polson, MT 2010

Main Street Whitefish, Montana 2010-11