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IrishAyes

Profile Information

Gender: Female
Home country: US
Current location: retired to MidWest
Member since: Mon Feb 18, 2013, 09:15 PM
Number of posts: 5,041

About Me

Still an ardent Irish-American Catholic damnYankee Yellow Dog Democrat socialist after all these years. (cue Simon music) Army brat and wife for many years, now have been on the loose far longer than I was married. After my two red chows died, I took in a mini-beagle cross that I named Molly Maguire, thinking she might need a good Irish name like my original real one. Later she got a baby sister, a smooth-coat JRT I named Brigid after the greatest of the ancient Celtic goddesses. My great-grandfather and his son fought for Michael Collins and barely made it out of Ireland one step ahead of John Bull. They slipped over to Wales for new identities and then forward to the States for a fresh start. That makes me second generation of illegal but certainly justified immigrants. There are precious few people to whose defense I fly immediately, but the list includes Hillary Clinton, President Barack Obama even when I disagree with him - it happens! - and living Irish patriots Gerry Adams and Martin \\\'Mind Your Kneecaps\\\' McGuiness. I pray earnestly for a united and free Ireland rescued from all official British occupation, with every square inch of alleged \\\'ancestral lands\\\' now held immorally and illegally by the invaders returned to the rightful owners. Irish-only rule for Ireland. No foreign masters anymore! I find it passing strange when Brits chide ME about \'interfering\' in Irish politics!

Journal Archives

Any decent shrink will tell you

that emotions are influenced by activity. If you don't even want to get up and move to improve your life, you will remain mired in place. Urging activity, even upon the unwilling, is a kindness, not abuse. If and when you accept the notion that you are totally helpless - note I did NOT say impaired, because that much is undeniable - you have participated in your own defeat. Trying to fan the tiniest spark of life into a person is doing them a favor. Agreeing that the situation is hopeless is cruel and unusual punishment. One reason I don't give a damn whether you like me or not is because I want to ignite some spark of life in you no matter how you revile me for it. Emotions follow actions just as much as the opposite is true.

If my bootcamp philosophy offends you, try to consider its survival utility. You're in a fight for your very life. I want you to win. If that makes you furious, at least you've made progress. All these naysayers in this thread seem to have no clue as to how devoted many a DI is to recruits; on the surface it might appear to outsiders and some shavetails to be mean as hell. No. It's an ultimate kindness. Until you realize and admit that principle to yourself, yes, I'd have to agree. You are doomed.

So choose. Hate me and let it make you want to live if for no other reason than to kill me; or hate yourself and perish.

Don't put words in my mouth. Your description of what I said is totally inaccurate.

I do advocate self help to the extent possible. That's not at all the same as 'just get over it.' But I'm sure you know that deep down. If you just needed to strike at me, fine. Stick to reality while you're at it. I don't give a rat's ass whether you like me or not.

Very sorry to hear of your troubles. Not that I have any pull at all,

but I don't see why anyone should object to your post. It would be cruel and heartless to do so. I only wish you the best, and would help if I could. Unfortunately I live on the thin edge myself. In retirement it's fairly secure, but I don't even have a car. I hope and pray things get better for you and the family. I know how hard times can feel.

Thought I'd drop by and share my favorite poem for Lenten contemplation:

Three Dollars Worth of God

I would like to buy $3 worth of God, please.
Not enough to explode my soul or disturb my sleep,
but just enough to equal a cup of warm milk
or a snooze in the sunshine.
I donít want enough of God to make me love a black man
or pick beets with a migrant.
I want ecstasy, not transformation.
I want warmth of the womb, not a new birth.
I want a pound of the Eternal in a paper sack.
I would like to buy $3 worth of God, please.

ó Wilbur Rees


Unfortunately I have met people intellectually challenged enough to read that as a racist screed instead of what it truly is, the most powerful expose of the condition of many a human soul. We all need to be on guard against letting it creep into our hearts.

You might already know this by heart; but here 'tis for any interested reader:

Three Dollars Worth of God

I would like to buy $3 worth of God, please.
Not enough to explode my soul or disturb my sleep,
but just enough to equal a cup of warm milk
or a snooze in the sunshine.
I donít want enough of God to make me love a black man
or pick beets with a migrant.
I want ecstasy, not transformation.
I want warmth of the womb, not a new birth.
I want a pound of the Eternal in a paper sack.
I would like to buy $3 worth of God, please.

ó Wilbur Rees


Unfortunately I have met people intellectually challenged enough to read that as a racist screed instead of what it truly is, the most powerful expose of the condition of too many a human soul.

Pope Francis is not only a wise and good man, but also a very brave one.

But then he used to travel through rough neighborhoods at night on his bike, too, in perfect safety. People know he's the real thing.

Very nice post.

I must say that the American Baptists tend to be progressive compared to their Southern Baptist brethren. The more so, the better.

Funny story: When the small book '$3 Worth of God' came out, I read it with great delight and wanted to know more about the author. "Sounds like maybe a liberal Catholic" I thought to myself. He turned out to be an American Baptist minister! It's still one of my favorite books and poems.

That type always reminds me of a guy I've had the misfortune to know, living near

stop me if you've heard this story before!

this tiny town in RedNeckLand - uh, 'flyover country' - where I retired for financial reasons. He was (maybe still is) a frequent passenger on the regional OATS minibus I used to ride twice a week. As a self-described intellectual, he often bragged how he had graduated 8th grade and could read, but his girlfriend had almost completed the 11th grade! I used to enjoy comedic characters like Barney Fife and Jethro Bodine until I met too many of their real life counterparts. Police chief (has one part time deputy) here remarked once that the guy is literally the craziest person he's ever met. Thank you, Ronnie Raygun, for dismantling the mental health centers those sad cases need so badly. One of the last times I rode the bus, the (now ex-) driver let this guy scream furiously at me a full five minutes w/o doing a thing to damp it down. Of course that driver was at least nearly as dangerous as his buddy passenger.

Point being, the usual 'gang of 10' as I thought of them, all considered themselves brilliant because they could regurgitate what they'd heard their idol Rush spewing the day before. My own sense could be questioned, I guess; I needed that damned bus too for transportation, but I should've kept ear phones and dark glasses on and my mouth shut the whole time. Usually I didn't argue back with them too much because a) they wouldn't listen anyway; and b) they usually kept up a bloodthirsty roar all on their own.

However, in true Irish fashion, sometimes I'd wait until a brief lull and then chirp, "Isn't it fabulous what President Obama did this week? yadayadayada." They'd all start screaming again on cue. Well, they'd already worn me out and I felt devilish enough to poke them back a little.

On rare occasions I'd bait somebody directly, as in the following account with a woman I'll call Keggy because she was often half drunk at least:

Keggy: "Last night Rush said blahblahblah (about economics)...."

Me: "Keggy, if you want to impress me with your financial wisdom, first you have to demonstrate some knowledge of the basics, okay?"

A moment of dead silence followed; she was at least able to grasp that something she wouldn't like was about to happen.

Me: "First of all, what's the difference between micro economics and macro economics?"

Dead silence. Rush hadn't told her that, possibly because he might not know either.

Me: "What's the main news organ of the NY financial community? Don't anybody tell her the answer, now!"

More dead silence, as expected, because I knew they didn't know either or they would've blurted it out.

Me: "Well, here's an easy one: Who's known as the Sage of Omaha?"

Not quite so quiet now; a low rumble of disapproval started.

Me: "OK then, let me ask you one more question. If you - and apparently everyone else on this bus - doesn't have the slightest idea in the world what you're talking about, pray tell why should I listen to you regurgitating the crap you heard Rush vomit on his latest show? Guess what? He probably doesn't know the answers either! hahaha..."

At that point if not before, all hell would break out. Today I'm still amazed I ever got off that bus alive. The (ex-) driver did eventually file a false police report against me, claiming I'd carried a gun on board and threatened everybody, and they were all ready to testify about it. So you can take your choice about who was more stupid, them or me for ragging them on now and then - but I had no choice! It was either that or risk a heart attack from stress.

Unfortunately I have to admit one thing: they really might have represented the brightest and best the locals have to offer. When I supposed that aloud one time, it took forever for the insult to sink in, and then it never percolated down past the surface. They just sensed somehow that it might not be quite the complimentary concession it sounded like at first.

(No, they're not ALL that stupid - just 90-95%) Be careful before buying a house in a red state. Maybe your yearly property tax will only be $184 refundable like mine, but you will pay big time in other ways.

Point taken.

Won't debate the finer points.

Kindly see post #9, if you will, please.

I grew up in a household that often included 8 or 9 people, never more than one bathroom. That's a laboratory for learning cooperation and familial duty. I suppose with some it could result in chaos, but we were just glad to have indoor plumbing.

I've known of kindergarten teachers saying they can tell w/o checking records

which of their kids had preschool. My son was an only, so I put him in preschool for socialization as much as anything else. I don't remember exactly when, but it was first grade or earlier when a little girl got off the bus at his stop, and he brought her to me and announced that they were going to get married. I said fine, welcomed her to the family, and wondered if maybe we should let her parents know? Got her home safely, but they didn't want to part. Puppy love is a great gift to be cherished, not laughed about. I get furious with so-called adults who ridicule kids. That's why I can't stand Jimmy Kimmel and his Halloween prank. Imagine lying to a child and laughing when they cry - it's evil.
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