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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: 5,367

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

Not for Egyptian Arabians, the original small desert horse. The original bloodlines,

not always popular in the size-crazy US, were and are horses even though they seldom rose much above 14 hands and many were only 13. Anything approaching 15 hands is not a real Arabian. My Sunshine had a pedigree going back almost as far as records were kept. To call them 'ponies' is a deep affront. I don't need you to define 'hands' for me either, thank you. I was breeding and training these HORSES long enough to know more than you ever imagined.

The larger Arabians you see so much in America and Europe have been bred to a height totally out of keeping with their original purpose. They're not good for much except halter classes in my opinion. Couldn't do a decent day's work or a real FIVE DAY marathon if their lives depended on it. Certainly not w/o great risk. One time My Sunshine had a 3 month layoff while I was working 2 full time jobs. The day that ordeal ended, I hopped on her and we took a goat path up, down, and over the mountains and raced across the valley for 8 hours. At the end she was barely lathered on her neck, and she never once in her life limped or even needed leg liniment. Iron legs. Never wore shoes either. She had PERFECT feet. That's what you can get with a genuinely ancient bloodline.

BTW, when she used to run in pasture and fallow crop land near the highway, it was such a spectacular sight that people would pull over in their vehicles and stop to watch. I moved up to a better ranch 3 times while she was alive, and in the new location I could generally snooker quarter horse people into a race at least half a mile long because like so many, they had no respect for her small size. We'd even give them a good head start and still win. (It didn't hurt that My Sunshine carried only about 115 lbs including me and the racing saddle while those big ol' cowboys were loaded down with baggage and their horses had little to nothing after the 1/4 mile mark. Before long word would make the rounds and I couldn't beg or buy a race with anybody. No $ involved but their egos took a beating. Big old horses couldn't beat that little bitty mare, boo hoo. With thoroubreds I always insisted on a 2-mile race because I could watch them a few minutes and know pretty well what they were good for. But I'll admit that even I'd have wanted a minimum 3 miles against Secretariat in my notion of a dream race.

One other thing, too, since you did kinda get my Irish up. 'My Sunshine' was only her pet name, of course. Her registered name was about 3 feet long, haha! Almost bigger than she was!

Yep. The GOP sheeple believe it all the way to the economic (and sometimes real) slaughterhouse.

They're so drunk on hate that they'll continue to resist change even if they happen to have a glimmer of what's being done to them, and I think some actually do. Perverse suicide.

I like Krugman, Piketty, and Wolff too.

Thanks, Faygo.

Funny little story here that touches at least somewhat on our favorite horse:

A neighbor of mine around that time bought a full brother of Secretariat for only $6K a couple years after the Belmont - HE looked like a twin but hated to run at all. She bought him for a kid's horse. Plod, plod, plod no matter what else was going on around him. He wouldn't even trot back to the stable. Bloodlines are important, but they're no guarantee. Secretariat was all fire and speed. His brother a few years later had absolutely nothing in the tank.

I really hope CA Chrome makes it. He's a great horse.

Yes, Secretariat was still accelerating over the finish line.

His true potential speed was never tapped. I literally cheered and cried for joy at the beauty of his run. Having run casual races on my own horses - once had an Egyptian Arabian mare who couldn't be beat - I know the feeling pretty well, and it's like nothing else on earth. My Sunshine was only 13 hands, one inch above pony size. To illustrate, I was 5'1 at the time and I could rest my chin on her withers. Of course Secretariat could've beat any horse in history at 2-3 miles, but the simple truth is she could've run even him into the ground at anything over 3 miles. I'd stake my life on it, which in effect I did more than once because she was one weird horse. Once I decided to just let her go and see how long she'd run AFTER dropping (when they settle down into their lowest position/fastest speed). After 4 miles I gave in and pulled her up because I was afraid of her injuring herself. But there was no other horse around; she just loved to run.

Minor comment on a couple small matters

Almost too trivial to bother with. But - I read an excellent idea recently for using shower curtain rings on clothes hangers for neck scarves.

And... wait for it! ... a neighbor lady who's a sister thrifter asked me if I had any use for the lid from her old round trash can. It took me awhile to think of something, but then I realized I was looking at a winter cap for one of my outdoor plant pots that are too big and heavy to drag indoors during the snow&freeze season. A brick or two on top to hold it down, and it will work just fine.

But... but....

Didn't some GOP asshat candidate say last week or so that he favored revoking female suffrage? Really! I was awake and not under the (undue) influence of coffee at the time. I know what I saw!

LefTeas. What an appropriate term. Scratch the surface and you can't tell them from Bubba.

Well, to be fair you really don't have to go to that much trouble. It's there staring us in the face.

However, I believe I will add the term LefTeas to my collection, since I'm fond of descriptive language. It might even beat out my two other recent favorites, 'dirt nap' (one's expiration date) and 'Beckstabbed'.

'Libertarian' is such an oxymoron too, it almost defies description. That idiotic notion is what drives a lot of 'LefTeas'. They're childish and ignorant to the core.

Hysterical. At a time when I needed a little laugh, this delivered in spades.

And now we have a new word to play with: Beckstabbed! Does it get any better?

As a 68-yr-old Irish-American lady, I might strike some as the epitome of Old Fogeydom.

Maybe in some ways I actually am. Yet for some inexplicable reason I usually get along far better with 'kids' and REALLY OLD people better than my age mates. Still love college towns because for some reason the students are so outgoing. Even at my age I can be walking down a crowded street and sooner or later somebody will high-five me. It's a little mystifying because I'm not wearing a Che shirt or anything. Maybe they're reacting to subliminal messages, because I just plain LIKE them.

Anyway, back to music: w/o doubt we've always had to search out the best. Remember that Pat Boone was an auditory atrocity straight out the gate! We have to be conscious of our own prejudices, too. For instance I once heard a couple songs I really loved when I didn't know they were by David Lee Roth and some heavy metal guy I personally detested. Kinda took me down a peg or two, and I benefited greatly from it.

That said, my personal tastes have always been wide ranging if picky in general. But here's what will strike many as real Old Fogeyism: the only NPR station I can pick up in this remote region where I retired has a music lineup that I thoroughly enjoy. Prairie Home Companion (lots of classics, folk, blues, etc.), Celtic Connection and later Thistle and Shamrock, and other programs devoted exclusively to old and new folk, rock, and blues. Happy Land for me. What I'm trying to say is that Old Fogeys don't have to be curmudgeons.

And when I recently heard St. Paul and the Broken Bones (classic r&b YOUNG band) for the first time, I felt as if I'd already died and gone to heaven. They're THAT great. All 20-somethings. So you cheat yourself if you shut your heart and ears to what the young have to offer. Maybe I AM an old fogey, but I've never been that stupid.
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