Male or Female? They decide. You live with it.

Kazimierz Pułaski (Casimir Pulaski)

In this era of the #MeToo movement and the public outcry against the crimes women have been subjected to, we are finding out more in the graves and questions about who or what is buried where. It seems that women have been found in graves purportedly to be men's graves, throwing a monkey wrench into the debate. Sometimes the women have been found to be posing as men prior to the exhumation -- at least as far as modern historians and anthropologists are concerned. Now it turns out that these women are indeed biologically women, at least as far as the historical record is concerned, and their gender muddies the waters historically. Or do they?

It seems these women are considered by our modern technology to be intersex, outwardly appearing to be men when in reality they are biologically women. It is rather a sticky wicket as far as modern society sees these things.

The issue is not only the identity of the skeleton but the public outcry that would have these intersex skeletons declared male or female and an end put to the whole question. That is not going to happen when women are denied their proper place in history (at least in the case of women being exhumed and found to be Viking warriors.) Will this too become a sticky wicket because the exhumed body appears to be female or the person who was interred passed as male though s/he is being considered intersex -- neither one or the other or both male and female in one body?

There are those, like talk host, Ben Shapiro, talks about how men and women are biologically determined and speaks out about blurring the gender lines. he forgets that all through history there have been men posing as women and vice versa and that is endemic throughout history. This gender fluidity is not new but has been around since the beginning of time. It seems that man-made gods do make mistakes -- or so it seems when intersex skeletons shatter our certainty about the factual evidence when male graves are exhumed and the male turns out to be female, as in the case of Casimir Pulaski the Polish soldier who fought in the American Revolution and is the father of the American cavalry, except that Kasmierz Pulaski's grave shows a female was buried instead of Casimir.

The point is that Casimir lived his life as a male, appeared to be a male, but was actually intersex, having the features of male and female. He had the soft features of femininity but had a mustache and male pattern baldness and his skeleton was definitely female. Casimir who has a holiday in his honor in Illinois and Chicago specifically lived his/her life as a male and is remembered for his exploits as an officer in Washington's army. No one questioned his gender or his identity as he was purportedly a male -- or at least posing as a male, specifically a male officer. He passed for a male, identified as a male, and was buried with honors as a revolutionary war hero, a male. It wasn't until now when his grave has been exhumed that his skeleton is definitely female. There's the rub.

There really is no issue, not in modern times, when the public at large accepts sexual reassignment was the father of the cavalry) the cavalry, and was buried with honors. That his skeleton proves him to be otherwise than he saw himself and passed for male doesn't matter. He chose his gender and lived his life as a man. He is who and what he said he was and his female skeleton does not change that at all.

Female Viking?
A 19th-century illustration of the contents of the tomb, which was quickly
identified after its discovery as that of a high-ranking warrior.CreditCredit
Evald Hansen/The Swedish History Museum 

Unlike modern times, a man passing for a woman or vice versa is something we expect and seldom say anything. This is not someone who is a female, decidedly so, who has chosen to take hormones and has had the surgery to become a male, but someone whose gender is considered intersex, having the features of a man, dressing as a man, and being buried as a man being found to be a female.

This is not one of those cases. This is a biological anomaly that has been discovered long after the fact and does not fit in with the male/female dichotomy of the past. Most likely, his parents didn't bat an eye at their son being intersex and accepted him as he was. He earned honors and excelled at being a soldier, fighting in the Revolutionary War, earning honors as a horseman, being so good at it that he created (surgery as normal, de rigueur.)

Would liberals, or others so inclined, change the history to favor the female skeleton found in his grave or will we simply let it go and let him be who and what he decided to be? I think it is possible that though we can change the physical appearance of a man to be a woman or vice versa, we should let history decide what had already been decided. We should accept Casimir Pulaski as a male and let history show him as a male, reserving our opinions to ourselves. What does it matter that Casimir was intersexed, both male and female, and let history remain as it was and is forever?

In a sense, Casimir Pulaski is a genetic oddity and there are many such genetic oddities that have been and always will be. Liberals can have this one since Casimir and his parents decided how to deal with his intersexuality and call him male. No one needs to change anything, just live with the knowledge as a fact we found out long after it mattered to him and his family. Nothing will be harmed nor should it be. Nor should it matter to historians, anthropologists, and #MeToo proponents that sometimes gender doesn't matter. It's all about who and what the person was when they were alive, not now that anthropologists and historians have discovered the world is far more complex and interesting than it originally was.

The same is true of whether or not women were Viking warriors. No doubt, some of them were also intersex and their original gender matters only to nitpickers now that their skeletons have been exhumed and what we thought we would find turns out to be different than we originally expected to find. If a skeleton turns out to be male or female, the fact remains that during their lives they were who and what they were and we cannot change the past nor can we predict the future. Let them be and move on. Celebrate what they achieved and do not seek to tack a gender to their exploits or use them to further your gender cause now or ever.

Sometimes people choose to be inside and their appearance to the world at large should allow them to be what they feel they are and the manner they wish to be seen. Gender is fluid and we have reached the point where a person can choose to be whatever gender they decide. We have the surgical techniques to reshape their outward form to coincide with their inner truth and accept them as they are or as they wish to be. That is all and all about it. They decide how they wish to appear and we should applaud them for their deeds and exploits and not pin them to whatever makes US happy when it is the person's desires and wishes that are paramount. That is all that matters.

That is all. Disperse.

The Price of Truth

I have received a message from Beanie. She has asked me not to contact her again -- and I will not. She has not answered any of my messages and has not responded to my emails. That is the way things are these days.

I have not had a visit from BB, who promised to visit, which is why I live here in Urbana to be closer to her. I warned here even before moving here that things were about to change for her and that her grandson, now ten and beginning to wish to spend time with those his own age, would not hold her interest long. He is growing up and would rather spend his weekends with his buddies. He is no longer a child but entering the first flush of puberty and choosing his own path in life.

BB warned me that my family has turned against me because of my mouth. It is not my mouth that gives me trouble from my family, but my propensity to write what I see and what affects me. My families actions do indeed affect me and I will write about it. The apartment manager insists that I write what I do and that it upsets my family (which it does and often sets me at odds with my family). That is all part of life and particularly part of this life -- my life.

I have no doubt that my family will not support me when I plunge deep into the political arena and they will not vote for me. I've no qualms about that nor do I expect them to vote for me because we are related. That may be what most people in politics believe; their families will pull together and be seen as supporting them but I have no illusions there.

I do not speak truth to shame the devil (as many people will and do say) but to speak the truth, however painful or onerous it is to whomever. I will speak the truth and not shame the devil -- or my family come to that. I will be true and speak true no matter what comes. I will not, as in times past or even times present, fail to speak or fib just to gain the people's favor. I will not keep a mistress or be a mistress because my family choose to ally themselves with another family, thus marrying me off for the family's good and keep a mistress or be a mistress -- or in the case of the Clintons -- buy off or pay off an inconvenient mistress or get rid of an illegitimate son -- just to be a political success. And I will not mouth platitudes for political success. What you see -- and what you read and hear -- is the truth from my perspective. If I am found wrong later, I will also acknowledge I was wrong and that my information is fallible. But I will not shy away from the truth or make nice just to make my family -- or the people I represent -- happy. That is not (and has not been) my way.

Since I do not believe in the devil -- or in man-made gods -- I have no one to please or harm but myself. I came to grips with the knowledge that my father was not as he claimed to be -- a heterosexual -- and he hid in the closet and played it straight for the rest of the world. Maybe that is what was behind Mom's constant abuse of him and why she could not forgive him for his indiscretions. She tortured him for her own ego and used her power over him to keep him on the straight and narrow path. She abhorred his drinking and he could never fool her by drinking vodka. Her nose was far too keen and so by drinking vodka he only fooled himself; he never fooled her nor did he ever fool the man-made god and Jesus, come to that. He lived a lie all of his life and never repented, though he went to the altar many times, often Mom led the way likely got her own sins and errors as much as for his. 

But I will not follow their path nor will I change my manner of writing. I have previously kept my thoughts private in my written journals, but now (thanks to Mom and Beanie) I am released to publish my own middle-aged meanderings online in full view of the world. I do not shrink from what I once feared -- hiding the truth. Mom has read all that I had written and asked kept from her, which was not done as Mom gained access and read it all: good, bad, and indifferent. She found out that my world did not revolve around her nor did I blame her for as much as she visited on me. Instead, I was mapping my progress along the road of life (my life) without shame or regret or apology.

At least in that regard, Beanie did me a favor by not burning my journals to keep Mom from them. I might have regretted that she had failed me by not burning the journals, but now I am glad that Mom knew the truth, even the truth about Dad, though no doubt she already knew and had kept it from herself and abused Dad in her own way. That was her way -- abusing her husband for the rest of their lives together, even using me to talk him back home when he had quit her and walked away. I regret that I was used thus, but that is in the past and I loved Dad and would have done anything to keep him at home and married to Mom because I was a child and easily manipulated.

You may say that parents should not use their children so callously, but they do and I am proof. I did not know the full scope of Mom's perfidy with regard to Dad and her marriage, but that is in the past and I know that, just as I know that Dad's behavior is also in the past and it does not stay in the past because it is part of my life and I hide nothing. I speak the truth, even when it hurts me. Life is not an easy path and the road to heaven and hell is before us. Whether we travel the broad road paved to heaven or hell, it is the road we choose and final judgment will come in the end.

I do not believe that St. Peter stands at the gate to welcome those who are rewarded with walking through the pearly gates and watches those who travel the broad, paved path to hell with regret while a tear streaks silently down his cheek. Heaven and hell are reward and punishment and I have never believed in them and I questioned how a fire could harm an eternal soul. I wrote about it endlessly and often argued with Mom over that one issue. My path was decided before I drew my first breath and is now solidified in that I have chosen to be an atheist because I do not believe in man-made gods or demons. I believe in the Universal Creator, he whom the Muslims call Allah. Allah is no more the universal creator than I am the man in the moon, but I doubt my saying so -- or writing so -- would change the beliefs of millions of Muslims who are caught in the web Mohammed wove around his believers 1400 years ago, and they are caught in the trap, willingly, because they are not allowed to question the words of a warped and cruel dwarf who was caught in his own madness, trapped by his pernicious and wealthy wife and further trapped by his prepubescent bride protecting her position and catered to his madness in her innocence. Muslims will have to face that and either cast their beliefs aside and join the rest of sane humanity instead of becoming martyrs for their reward in Paradise. It does not exist, but they will have to deal with that I as I have and face the facts.

My future it would seem is bleak and friendless, but I believe that I am the corporeal reality while the Universal Creator figures himself (or itself) out. That is it and all about it.

And so I wish my family had seen me and the truth differently, but they have their way and I have mine. I will not trade lies for truth for them and I will not do so to join a political party like Bernie Sanders did. I will speak the truth no matter how hard it is for others (including my family) to read or hear. I will not be false, but at least I will couch their names and identities as I have with Beanie, BB, and the Mushroom or Idiot (not that nicknames or couching names have fooled the truly determined) but at least it will make my family feel better about what they read or hear and thus they may end up voting for me and/or supporting me as they have not done until now.

The best (or worst) is yet to come.

That is all. Disperse.

All in the Eyes

I remember a time when I was not so infatuated with Don. I even told him that even across a crowded room he would not catch my eye. Why would he? I thought. He is bald and much older than I was (about 12 years) and, though he was well dressed (in a suit and tie), he was not my type. 

At that point in our relationship (and it was a relationship at that point), we could be honest with each other. We were having an affair, so honesty was permissible. Or not. He was married, had two children (his daughter was in college and his son was probably a senior in high school), and his wife and he were on the road to divorce -- as I saw it. Don was not the kind of man who would give in at the end of a thirty-year marriage without a fight. He was still having sexual relations with his wife, Lois, who was still mostly in the picture. Lois was a bulldog and not going to give up without a fight as far as I could see. I should probably say snapping turtle since she would never let Don go without making sure she had a really good settlement.

Their daughter was studying art in college and ensconced in her own life. She had a boyfriend she liked and lived with, but she was not so involved in her own life she would miss the clues in her father's life -- like a mistress.

We (Don and I) did not dare to go too far into the whole issue of her father having an affair and her parents' marriage on the rocks. No, Don and I had to be discreet or he would be blown out of the water. I did not want that to happen since he was my employer.

I, innocent that I was, did not want to end our affair, but I was confident -- and so was Don -- that I could meet his daughter, have a conversation, and go on with my -- our -- lives. Don was confident he could bring about a meeting between his daughter and me on neutral ground -- The Humidor, a club in downtown Cleveland where Don went to share his poetry -- his live poetry. His wife, Lois, would not come; she was not interested in poetry, except in the usual marital sense of being present. Don's daughter would be interested. She was daddy's girl and she was an artist, so bound to be interested in her father's poetry at The Humidor; she would be there.

I would be there, too, since Don and I had been there before and would be again. I was also interested in Don's poetry since I was a writer (another artist) and creative types tend to travel together to be supportive of each other. No doubt, that is why his daughter was going to be there -- not to meet me, though she would be there and she would meet me, but to be supportive of her father's creative endeavor, his poetry reading in public.

And so she and I would finally meet and hopefully like each other and get to know each other without blowing Don's cover (his affair with his much younger female employee.  Her mother had met the employee (me) and had pronounced me as no threat at all to her marriage or to Don since the employee was fat.

She (Lois) had seen me, met me, and dismissed me because I was fat. Don was thin as a rake and his wife was shorter and very petite -- a mere five feet to my five feet eight inches -- and I was fat. No threat to his marriage or his wife as far as she could see. Lois did not see the reason in being at The Humidor since she was not worried and she had to work on documents pertaining to her long term care facility. No sense letting her husband's hobbies (poetry) getting in the way of her promotion at her job. Her daughter would attend the reading and she would get on with her work.

And so it went.

I, for the first time since Don and I began our affair, would drive to downtown Cleveland and arrive at The Humidor separately. I would get a table by myself and he would get a table for himself and his daughter. We would sit apart and, at some point, he would see me, recognize me, and introduce me to his daughter. No harm, no foul. Don and I would be safe -- or rather he would be safe from detection, either by his daughter who would not tell his wife that she had met me and that she had liked me. That is the scenario Don and I had painted in bright, cheery colors.

That is not what happened.

After a horrible miscommunication and screwed up directions, I ended up on the side of town where Cleveland had its projects -- the poor side of town, the criminally active side of town. I am not the shrinking violet type nor am I the panic when I get lost type. I did what any thinking person would do, I stopped at a 7/11 store to get clearer directions. The bonus was that a police car was out front and I met the officer inside the store.

No, the officer was not getting a donut. He was responding to the cashier's alert that a shoplifting criminal had been seen. It was late at night and dark and the police officer had thwarted the perp's plan to steal the money from the store's till. The perp got away -- his driver took off with the perp as he emerged from the store and took off down the road probably to lose the cops in the projects, but it never got that far. The perp (sans cash or loot of any kind) jumped into the car and the driver sped away as I parked my car and went into the store. I was in no danger and the officer was especially kind and helpful to me. He offered to show me the way, getting into his vehicle and leading me down the road (the opposite way to which I had arrived) and waited for me to pull up behind him before heading off down the road.

The officer did not so much as pause at stop lights. Ignoring the lights, he drove through, waving at me through the window to follow, which I did reluctantly -- and somewhat hesitantly. I was following the police so would be in no trouble and in no danger of getting a traffic violation. I followed the officer to the right side of town and began to recognize the street where The Humidor existed. The officer stopped and came back to my car to tell me I was on the right track and The Humidor was right down there -- pointing to the sidewalk where the stairs went down into the sidewalk. The Humidor's sign was visible and I was finally there. I thanked the officer who politely touched his hat and then my hand resting on the window of my car before walking back to his cruiser, getting inside, and driving off having done what I thought was a good deed for the day: he had protected and served the public -- me.

I was soon safely inside The Humidor and ensconced at a table near the back, alone with a drink on the table in front of me, and I waited for Don and his daughter to arrive. I did not have a lot of time to cool my heels and noticed Don and his daughter arrive and take a seat. Her boyfriend (I assume it was her boyfriend since he held her chair and sat down next to her) seated her and sat down between her and Don, chatting amiably.

I was nervous and a bit anxious since they had arrived and were just a table away. I kept an eye on Don, but not so anyone would notice. I tried to listen to their conversation, but the club was noisy and I could not hear anything. Don did not notice me and did not even look in my direction. He was engaged in conversation with his daughter and her boyfriend, laughing and explaining the history of how he came to be there at The Humidor to recite his poetry. I already knew all that, so I did not join in the conversation, stayed silent, and waited for some hint as to when -- and if -- he would introduce me.

He did not.

Don did not even notice me when the emcee called him to the stage where he pulled his poems from his jacket, took a deep breath, licked his lips, and began to read -- and perform -- his poetry. It was Poetry Slam night and everyone else got up on stage and performed their poems. Don was not the poetry slam kind of poet. He was a poet, but much like me who never remembers his writing well enough to recite without reading my notes, Don did not so much as perform his work, he read them.

He read some of his racier poems, but not the poems he wrote about me or about anything that could be construed as being about a young female (or a mistress), just poems that had racy details like ripe peaches warm from the sun and dripping with nectar falling into his hands, and such like.

As soon as he finished and took his seat (still without recognizing me or introducing me to his daughter and her boyfriend), they chatted quietly about Don's performance and marveled at the much younger poets who wore dredlocks and were pierced in various places in their eyebrows, lips, and one young girl had a diamond stud in her nose gesticulated, screamed, and performed their poems to thunderous applause.

Don had rated a polite smattering of respectful applause, but no thunder echoed in that smoky and darkened club -- and no sign of recognition nor did he turn to me or introduce me to his daughter or her boyfriend. After a polite interval, the boyfriend stood up, reached his hand to Don's daughter, and assisted her to stand, helped her into her coat (it was winter after all), waited patiently for Don to rise and shake his hand, and they left. Don followed them out the door and into the blackness beyond the fog of cigarette and cigar smoke, leaving me behind unrecognized and still waiting to be introduced. ''

The eyes certainly do not have it. He did not notice me sitting at the table next to him. He would not have crossed the room -- or turn around -- to look at me. 

I finished my drink and began to stand when the gentleman behind me touched my elbow and asked if I would like to sit down."'No, I think it is time for me to go home."

"Will you be all right to drive?" he asked.

"Of course. I only had one Irish coffee, and it was more coffee than Irish," I said. "After the one coffee, I just drank ice water. That was hours ago. I will be fine to drive," I assured him.

"Just checking," he said. The cops have been out in force and I did not want you to be arrested for drunk driving."

"I think I could walk a straight line after half a dozen glasses of ice water," I said. "Thank you."

I drove home and driving was easier than I thought since I finally knew how to get to The Humidor and would be traveling home on the freeway. The road was slick. It had been snowing and sleeting since I had been inside The Humidor, but slick roads bring out the stupid in other drivers. That night was just such a night for idiots on the road. Good thing I had drunk very little of the Iris coffee. I had never liked coffee -- it was too bitter -- and no amount of Irish cream would change my mind. I did not smoke either, but was brought up in a house where Mom smoked, and so did my Grandma, Grandpa, and my aunt -- all of whom were back in Columbus and unaware that I was out and about on such a night.

As soon as I thought I was no worse for wear, I hit a slick spot and careened toward the back of an empty semi truck. I remembered to keep my foot off the brake and steered slowly into the spin. I slowly and very deliberately caromed off the guard rail until I was pointed back the way I had come. I was shaken but alive and unhurt. The car was still running and no one still driving the freeway had noticed I had had an accident. Not even the police since I saw no police and no cruisers flashing red lights at me. I was safe and unharmed -- and I was unnoticed by drivers heading down the road, opposite to where I was facing. The car was still running and I suddenly had the feeling that I would still be good enough to drive. The truck I almost hit had continued on his way, had not even noticed I almost hit him, and my car was still running.

I looked out at the traffic, waiting for a good time to see if the car could drive, pulled out onto the freeway, hands shaking, turned back around, and headed for home. The car still drove. I had not actually crashed into the guardrail. I was safe, my car still drove, and I soon exited the freeway, hands still shaking, and pulled off at the Budget Motel where I currently lived, parked the car, took a few deep, deep breaths, stilled my hands, and got out of the car. After putting my key in the door, I pushed open the door, hung up my jacket, and fell onto the bed, and did not even notice the door was still ajar. I levered myself up, shut and locked the door, kicked off my shoes, and crawled into bed with my clothes still on.

I was home at last.

I was alive.

I was safe.

Don had not recognized me or introduced me.

The evening was a bust, but I did not care. I was alive, unhurt, and my hands had stopped shaking.

I was alive.

I did not realize anything until the next morning when the phone jangled me awake.

"Who the f...?"

That is all. Disperse.

Getting It Right

FREE Clip Art 

For the first time since I began, I finally got into the Live Chat given by my professor, Dr. Debra Shingledecker. The point is that I was using the expected time as the real time and not the actual time, which is an hour ahead of me now that I am in EST (eastern standard time). I was all right when I lived in Colorado. That was Mountain Standard Time and 2 hours ahead of here in Ohio. I should have stayed in Colorado then I would already be set and be on time since I have been dealing with EST and living in MST (2 hours ahead of the east) for nearly a decade.

I did not have trouble with the time change and already figured the time was earlier or later due to the time zone, except that I do not have the time zones set now that I am here in Ohio. I will have to fix that.

At any rate, I do not have to do the extra credit of writing a summary on today's live chat since I lived through it. Dr. Deb already gave me the credit for attending the Live Chat today and I will have to deal with that instead of writing another summary.

Dr. Deb replied to an email I sent her and she praised my scores already (100%) and mentioned that I am doing fine and that my plans for resuscitating my drawing skills are good and ahead of schedule. I may not be able to stand it -- kudos and a pat on the head without the inevitable stab in the back I came to expect from Mom -- and now my siblings. It is all part of the paradigm of being caught up in Mom's dysfunctional and often abusive parenting style. Carol has picked that up from Mom and now she will have to unlearn Mom's style after she reads my new book, "Tattletale".

What do I know best -- how to journal and write about myself and my family -- and my life. Everything is game because I am a writer, but also because Mom taught me that telling the truth is preferable to the lies and games she played her whole life. She was abusive and lied frequently, but calling someone a liar was not always the truth when it came from her. She was setting me up so that no one would believe me and she could continue to abuse me psychologically, and sometimes physically, without compunction.

There are a couple of truths I learned from my parents. Mom was a liar and she loved to play games with other people's heads (mostly mine, but often all of her children) and Dad was a gossip. Dad loved to gossip more than a woman gossiping over the back fence, but Dad preferred to gossip about his children, me and the other three biologically born children. Dad gossiped most often when throwing one of us under the bus to get himself out of whatever hot water Mom had boiling on the stove ready to push him into the pot. Throwing someone else, especially one of his children, was preferable to being flayed alive or boiled in the pot.

The things one has to do to make a marriage work. I never learned to work the system which is why I have been twice divorced and have taken MEN off the menu. I like men, and I liked boys, but not at the cost of throwing them under the bus or playing with their heads.

Dad threw us under the bus or told on us, but Mom patted us (mostly me) on the head before shoving a knife into our backs -- or slapping us in the face. First the praise and then the slap in the face. That was Mom and no doubts about it.

I do not think Mom fooled anyone about her favorite child (my brother) and her favorite target (me). the neighbors all knew what to expect with Mom because they saw her in action every single day. She did not even fool her brothers and sisters in the church. Often they would come up to me to let me know what they thought of her and what they thought of me -- "You didn't deserve that." Some of their comments were not lost on me and I knew they came from a heartfelt place where they were letting me know they would have treated me better than Mom. I thanked them and nodded and went on about my business. I knew better than to be seen by Mom consorting with the enemy (from her perspective) and that telling Mom would have ended in tears and regret (mine). I was smart enough not to get caught in the trap and wise enough not to let Mom know what people thought of her -- not that Mom would have believed me anyway.

I am sure somewhere within Mom she knew that she was not coming off as innocent and nice as she believed herself to be. Carol believes that no one sees her as I see her -- and have written her in the story of my life. Carol believes that everyone sees her as nice and law-abiding, even generous at times, but Carol, like Mom, believes her own press.

Many of the people we have known over the decades of our lives have characterized my sister as a brat -- and she is. I do not add spoiled to the brat, but I do not need to do so since Carol knows she is spoiled and has had more perks than most people. Carol also knows that she is not the first in Mom's affections because she is not Jimmy, our younger brother and the apple of Mom's eye. Even Beanie, the youngest, knows that in the hierarchy of affection, she comes last because Jimmy her elder brother is still the boy and Beanie is just a girl and not the BOY in Mom's affections.

This is the order of favoritism in our house. I, the oldest, am last; Carol, the first born daughter, is second in Mom's affections, but still far above me, the adopted daughter; Jimmy is first and foremost because he was born with a penis; and Beanie is last because she was born last and was disappointing to Mom because she was not born with a penis. Even so, had she been born a boy, Jimmy would still be first in Mom's affections -- and in her eyes.

It does not matter that Beanie, like me, can do anything a boy can do (sometimes better than a boy), but she still suffers from the handicap of being born a daughter when everyone knows that boys (men) come first in the world. Like me, Beanie should join the #MeToo movement because we have been abused and set aside because she is short and small while I am tall and well built -- both born without penises. We may be fond of the penis, being heterosexual, and our only accomplishment has been in producing sons.

Although Beanie and I had sons, our sons do not carry our father's name of Cornwell. They carry the names of the men we married who planted the seeds of their sons inside of us. In Mom's eyes, we can be forgiven -- to a point -- because we bore sons, but only to a point.

Mom sided with Beanie's first husband, abuser that he was, and told Beanie that she would stand against her when the issue came to court even though her son-in-law was an abuser of the first order and abused Beanie because Beanie chose to ally herself with other men who were not her husband. Beanie preferred the company of men, most of them pleasanter in her eyes than her husband, but sinful since they were not her husband. Beanie had affairs and neither her husband nor Mom knew about these affairs. Only I knew about them because Beanie trusted me. That was back in the days when Beanie told me everything and I kept that knowledge to my journals and then in my public journals online where Laura, our cousin, could dig it up, read it, and send Carol to do the dirty work of telling Mom about her daughter's sins. The real point was Laura getting Carol to tell Mom who would tell Beanie who would then jump on me.

Laura had her own agenda -- fixing her aunt's wagon by putting all of her daughters in the soup and getting some of her father's own back from his older sister, the one who had caused him so much grief and suffering his whole life because Mom pitted their mother, our grandmother, Lottie, against him. It was the one instance when Mom preferred to be the apple of her mother's eye and align herself against her own children, Jimmy excluded because he was the apple of her eye. Mom supplanted her older brother, Jack, the man for whom I was named and who died of leukemia five years before I was born, and her younger brother, Bob, the selfsame man for whom Laura set her sights on her aunt's sinful daughters -- me, Carol, and Beanie.

That is the problem with dysfunctional families -- not only does the family get it in the neck, but first cousins set their sights on making every cousin pay. Jimmy got out of the trap because he did not get involved. Jimmy was sacrosanct. He was the boy. He was perfect in her aunt's eyes and untouchable -- at least where Laura was concerned. Laura was canny enough to leave Jimmy out of her plans and schemes because she could not get purchase where he was concerned. It was easier to get her aunt's three daughters in the soup since we were all suffering because we did not have penises.

Maybe I am being too harsh in my characterization of Laura -- or maybe not. I have far more experience writing about my own family, my own siblings and Mom and Dad than I do when I add in the cousins. It is not that I do not see the cousins clearly or recognize the dysfunction when I see it, but I just have more experience writing about my immediate family and have only mentioned my Uncle Bob in glowing and almost reverent terms.

It is not that I do not see my cousins as shining examples of honor and truth but that I see my siblings so much clearer and have far more decades of experience writing about them. I may get into the cousin side of things later.

Or not.

I see the same dysfunctions in my cousins, but not as clearly as I see my own familial ring of dysfunction and issues. When it comes down to it, I guess I am what Carol called me decades ago -- a tattletale. Though I have chosen to follow my Mom's example by proving my case and verifying the truth of my allegations, I am what Carol decided about me when she first wet the bed and I got blamed for it, a tattletale. I prefer to think of myself as a historian or biographer, but you call it what you will. I put things in a new light and I get to shine the light.

That is all. Disperse.

Immigrants or Zombies?

The problems with being lazy is that old put up or shut up dilemma. Much like Trump's wall. We — or at least Trump — sees the wall as being a way to keep immigrants from jumping the border fences or climbing over them.

What if the problem were zombies?

I think that is what the zombie movies and zombie books is really all about — unwanted and uninvited beings attacking and/or entering our borders.

What if zombies were streaming across our borders and we (Trump) wanted to keep them out? Trump said Mexico would pay for the border fence, but now it seems as if that is the top salesman's imagined dream — delusion — wish.

Substitute zombies for illegal immigrants and the picture changes.

The United States of America is not an embattled population fighting off zombies, but a sovereign state that has not (and will not) passed socialized medicine. That goes against our (America's) grain. We believe in the highly competitive marketplace of the single payer system. "But the payer does not own the doctors or the hospitals or the nurses or the MRI scanners." That quote comes from the Washington Post and was written by Ezra Klein.

Well, you will say, socialized medicine is not the same as building a wall to keep out illegal immigrants.

Isn't it? I beg to differ.

The Democratic party wants to open all borders and let immigrants come freely into any country on the planet regardless of their behavior or their needs. After all, Canada has socialized medicine, and so does most of Europe. Immigration was no problem when Angela Merkel, chancellor of Germany, opened her arms and welcomed the hordes of Muslims to her door. Justin Trudeau, current president of Canada, opens his arms and welcomes all immigrants — no matter who or what they are. All are welcome, he says. But Canada and Germany both have socialized medicine — as do most of the western European countries. The UK similarly opens its arms and welcomes the Muslim hordes to its shores — and welcomes the Muslim hordes to their socialized medicine with equal affability, which is why there are hordes of Muslims living in the UK battling for recognition and setting off bombs while assassins murder their people wherever — as in the Ariana Grande concert where 22 fans died and 59 fans were wounded. The attack was perpetrated by a suicide bomber — a Muslim suicide bomber.

Similar attacks have ravaged Europe since the refugee Muslims from the Middle East and Africa, among other countries, fled to the relative safety of Europe. Muslims have been welcomed throughout Europe where suicide bombers have attacked Paris, the UK, and other cities throughout the world. Even Canada has dealt with the terrorist attacks as has the USA when a lone Muslim gunman attacked the Pulse nightclub in Orlando, Florida. The gunman was Muslim, but was carrying out the dictates of his Muslim beliefs when he gunned down 49 49 and wounded 53.

America has not escaped terror attacks. A Muslim couple gunned down employees where the man worked in San Bernardino and two young Muslim men set off a bombing at the finish line of the Boston Marathon. Tamerlan Tsarnaev died, but his brother, Dzhokhar, three other acquaintances relative Ibragim Tsarnaev were implicated and arrested.

Then there was the Army psychiatrist, Major Nidal Malik Hasan, at Fort Hood, Texas who gunned down 12 and wounded 31. He was a Muslim, born in Virginia, but was not happy about his deployment to Iraq. 

Noting the Arabic nature of the gunman’s name, the Council on American-Islamic Relations, a Washington interest group, condemned “this cowardly attack in the strongest terms possible and ask that the perpetrators be punished to the full extent of the law.”

”No political or religious ideology could ever justify or excuse such wanton and indiscriminate violence,” the council said in a statement. “The attack was particularly heinous in that it targeted the all-volunteer army that protects our nation. American Muslims stand with our fellow citizens in offering both prayers for the victims and sincere condolences to the families of those killed or injured.”

Talk is cheap, but the facts begin to show the danger of immigration — legal or illegal. These immigrants are as dangerous as a zombie apocalypse. The difference is obvious — or it is not. Zombies are mindless corpses with the drive to eat human flesh or brain — depending which authority you follow in zombie literature. It's rather like the difference between which news service you follow — the world news or the US news. President Trump believes the US news, which can be co-opted and is at the beck and call of whichever power (political or oligarch) controls the funding, or even which puppeteer is pulling the strings (the celebrity powers that be — Harvey Weinstein, Clintons, Bushes, Cosby, or Obama), which is really the same thing. Substitute zombies craving human flesh or brains with Muslims, illegal immigrants, or mentally ill terrorists and the result — outcome — is the same. Death and terror. 

If Stephen King had written The Stand during these times, the invading evil might well have been illegal immigrants or zombie hordes instead of the flu that kills more than the usual and more natural 10% of the Earth's population, decimating the medical system, and throwing the population back to a more primitive state where nuclear bombs would leave the planet a burned out cinder instead of plunging us into yet another Dark Age where the remaining life on this planet would be mutated by the nuclear fallout and residual nuclear contamination of this, our Earth. 

In the end, whether the fence is built to keep out illegal immigrants or zombies, it must be built and we, the people of the United States, must quash our political differences and build the fence to keep the US borders safe from being over run by whomever — or whatever. We cannot keep out the plague such as Stephen King imagined when he wrote The Stand because plagues cannot be kept out by fences. Not even being overrun by zombies as in the zombie apocalypse can a fence protect us as the walls surrounding enclaves where humans live unmolested and we, the people, have no Rodrigo de Bivar (El Cid) to bring together the Muslims who have become a part of the country's population as they did during the time of El Cid to battle the African hordes bent on jihad streaming up from Africa 

In the end, whether the fence will be built (if it will be built by Trump in his desire to keep the illegal immigrants out), the fence will have to include funds obtained by whatever means (taxes, tariffs, or payments to live, which Islam calls dhimmitude and the Spanish Inquisition called conversos. Torquemada did his best to convert as many Jews as possible or they were sent to the fire (auto-da-fe). The only other opportunity for Jews during the Inquisition was to flee to Turkey where Caliph Bayezit took them in and allowed them to pay the dhimmi tax (payment that allowed Christians and/or Jews to retain and practice their religion). 

Here in the USA, we require immigrants to legally immigrate or be marginalized by being illegal while feeding off the social teat (Welfare), their children becoming American citizens if they are born here in the US where they will by birth claim all rights of a US citizen though their parents sneaked across the border, defying our immigration laws, and taking from us, the US citizens, all they can get by right of birth — rather like Caliph Bayezit of Turkey who took in the Jews when they fled Spain in order to continue to practice their religion and beliefs, for which they paid dhimmitude to Bayezit. 

Islam had a hand in Adolph Hitler's Final Solution and Jews, gypsies, and Christians — as well as other undesirables — were sent to relocation camps, lined up, gave up their money, jewels, portraits, and all property which reverted to the state — Nazis fled to Argentina with their booty (goods stripped from gas chamber victims, right down to the gold in their teeth) and lived in luxury until the social revolution caught up with them or Simon Wiesenthal and other Nazi hunters made them pay for their atrocities in blood.  

Will Trump follow Hitler (and tax the invaders) or Bayezit who enriched his country and the ultimate Ottoman expansion of Islam with dhimmitude? Or will Trump follow Jefferson's example and welcome the immigrants of the caravan, folding them into our population, doling out Welfare much the same as socialized countries like Canada and Europe, or refuse to accept immigrant children born on American soil as full US citizens? Basically, it is a question of doling out Welfare to illegal immigrants and accepting their children born in the US as citizens with voting rights and free access to Welfare, food stamps, and such. In a sense, the USA is socialized sufficiently, especially  with Welfare, food stamps, and such. Though the USA and Trump do not believe in socialized medicine, they do believe that a person's hard work will be rewarded, and that is also true in socialized countries where the rich can afford to jump to the head of the socialized medicine list and get what they need without the constant waiting and endless hurdles that must be clambered over to get that social medicine — or the eventual collapse of the socialized medicine framework as it has in the UK and throughout Europe under the onslaught of Muslims who continue to breed more children with multiple wives and/or rape Christians, Jews, and undesirables and seeding them with future Muslims  — or in this case the onslaught of the caravan with its children, women, and men migrating north to escape the oppression and poverty of their home countries.  

It comes down to morality. You can save one person by allowing them access to medical care or treating 100 people by providing access to social medicine. It is rather like the dilemma I face every day where $19 will help wounded warriors, children with cancer or birth defects, senior citizens down on their luck and forcibly retired, or animals dealing with inclement weather, starvation, and/or abuse. I would help them all if it were left up to me, but I am hampered by my limited social security and having to pay $37 every time I let sentiment and morality take precedence over the need and desire to work and contribute with the remainder of my strength and time. I would rather use my talents to speak my mind and change ideas and hearts and not fall into Trump's abyss by tweeting everything that comes into my mind and heart. 

Trump is the President of the United States, the leader of our democratic country of we, the people, and head of the Armed Forces who has a quixotic relation to the truth (in the news or from himself) and he has pledged to build the wall to keep our borders strong against the invading hordes of immigrants who are all too willing to travel hundreds of miles through dangerous and ill hospitable land just to enter illegally. They might as well be zombies when it comes down to it. 

Zombies don't ask for citizenship or expect to vote and over burden our social services. Zombies only ask to feed on our flesh and scrape brains from our bodies to feed their need. No matter what movies and television depict, the end result is the same. Death to the host and infection for all who come into contact with their ravenous needs. That is the aim of the Democrats whose desire to use the illegal immigrants to boost their ideology and enrich their status. The result is Maxine Waters living in a million-dollar mansion and not within the area where people voted for her, Bill and HIllary Clinton living off the proceeds and tainted blood from convicts that infected recipients with AIDS and hepatitis and the possibility of pregnancy when raped by Bill or drugged into a receptive state and raped by Bill Cosby, Harvey Weinstein exacting sexual favors for a part in a movie, and the list goes on. It all comes down to morality, which translates into the politics of government and sexuality. We choose one person — or thing over another — and often the determination is determined by the individual's morality and ethics — or the individual politics. No matter what or why these United States of America were conceived, our forefathers believed that we, the people, were ultimately responsible for our own individual ethics and morality. 

The Constitution and the laws of this land lead the way and we individuals must follow their beliefs into the future where our morality and ethics blaze forth from our shining city on the hill — no matter who is in residence. 

Ultimately, whether or not we build the wall, no matter who funds it, we will hold true to our moral principles and personal ethics no matter which party or individual sits in the Oval Office. 

I blanched when I heard that some writer had ruined Pride and Prejudice by adding zombies, but what I found was zombies that actually fit into the classic penned by Jane Austen. 

Zombies or illegal immigrants? What is the difference in the end? 

That is all Disperse. 

The Future is Here

I go through a process when hurdles pop up. I panic a little then step back and consider the problem from a different perspective and then, when I'm done weighing the options, I act. I seldom act in haste until I've weighed the options and see where things are taking me. That is what I did when I left Colorado, seeming to all and sundry to have acted in haste. It may have seemed that way, but I act quickly when I've weighed the options.

I was in a similar state of muddle before I acted and considered asking for help from my friends and my sons with regard to my current situation. Then one of the residents came home last night and told her about her young relative who had just lost her father and she didn't know what to do or where to turn. For all intents and purposes, Sue's relative had lost the only father she knew, though he had been sick and in and out of the hospital recently. She had no idea what to do about the funeral and Sue was encouraging her to move away from Kentucky, the only home she had known, away from her friends and support group, and come here to Urbana -- or at least to this community to be with her family. Sue and her children and their children are the woman's family. Sue's relative has a readymade support system that she does not know. She wants to stay in Kentucky where she has lived with her father until he died (he was not her legal father, but her father for all real intents and purposes). she has worked at a local job there for 11 years and doesn't want to leave her friends, her community, or her job to be near family. I don't blame her. She has every reason and her support system to stay in Kentucky in the community where she has lived.

Though her father is gone, she still has to pay for his funeral and I will assume he did not leave a will or an insurance policy. She has set up a GoFundMe project to pay for everything. Luckily, because of the holiday season, she has had several people willing to send her money through GoFundMe and will be able to make a dent in the funeral arrangements. I do hope she has not succumbed to the usual fear that she must give her father a costly burial, which is where most funeral homes get you. The funeral home directors and employees are only doing their job by talking grieving relatives into the more expensive send-offs because they are in effect business people and that is their job -- to talk you into buying a package that would do the deceased proud. What should be a two thousand dollar funeral will end up being eight thousand and very likely more funeral to do the deceased up proud. That is how funeral homes make money -- by talking the grieving relatives into doing the deceased up proud. Guilt is a great motivator during times of grief.

Luckily, I cannot under the rules of Medicare purchase or pay for a final needs insurance policy because the government would be obliged to confiscate the policy, just as the government would take all the ready cash I have and leave me with no more than $30 cash in my pocket or in my bank account. That is what the government does if you fall under the Medicaid umbrella. You have to pay for the government taking care of you unless you have a financial wizard in your support system who knows where and how to hide your ready cash.

It is only fair. You have to pay the government back if you are going to use the government as a fall-back position or rely on the government to take care of your final needs. It's like health care. You cannot get socialized health care unless someone foots the bill -- like with much higher taxes. So, no matter what Democrats say (and what Bernie Sanders promised) there is no get unless someone else gives. Look at the tax rates in the socialized medicine countries in Europe and you will begin to see what is really going on. Imagine living in a socialized medicine country where everyone's taxes are 50% or higher, systems which are collapsing under the weight of the uncontrolled immigration of Muslims from the Middle East and Africa because the Muslims have lots of children that must be supported by the socialized medicine and cannot pay into the system because minors (children) have no income and thus cannot pay taxes to prop up the socialized medicine system.

The UK's system has already collapsed. Doctors and medical personnel are opting for the private sector and the UK is begging students to train and choose medicine to prop up the failing system. Nurses, aides, doctors, etc. are in short supply because they are opting for private practice and the money they as medical professionals can command in the private sector. I'm certain Angela Merkel's open-handed generosity when she opened her borders and said "Come on in," to the immigrant horde swarming northward from what Obama called fleeing from Climate Change in their home countries and becoming a horde of anarchists and criminals as they settled into communities that cater to the migrant hordes of widows and children of Muslim refugees straining Europe's failing socialized medical system with their hands out and their murderous Islamic violence intact, hiding the bombs, knives, guns, and Muslim ideology savaging the European population that had taken in their widows and orphans in the spirit of generosity and kindness.

What the news reporters won't show you are the rape gangs out for recruits to their Islamic hordes or the bombings, knifings, and murders that accompany the Islamic hordes (mostly young males hopped up on Islamic hate and convinced that Mohammed was right, that the Muslims (good Islamic young males sworn to the cause that Mohammed set out when he created his religion  and subjugated nearly two-thirds of the Western Christian and Jewish world). It is all about the spread of Islam and jihad, which youngsters are taught from the earliest age. 

Islam nearly conquered Europe in the years before the 20th century and will finish the job if left unchecked. Islam is not a religion of peace. It is a religion of hate and jihad. How is that consistent with the socialized Europe that opened its arms to immigration? Muslims were the authors of Hitler's final solution, but Germany did their level best putting together the Holocaust.  There is nothing like German technology, Hitler's hatred of Jews, and the even greater hatred of Islam for the Jews. In this regard, Hitler partnered not only with Japan and Mussolini, but with Islam to rid Europe of the Jews. Nothing like multitasking to do the job all while stealing as much of what the Jews had accumulated of the centuries to see off to see their nefarious ends paid for.

Well, this has nothing to do with Sue's young relative grieving for her father now deceased. I have suggested Sue's relative ask for a leave of absence and come here to Urbana to grieve and lick her wounds. She would be near family and would be able to grieve and heal for a time while testing the waters and deciding on the next step on her chosen path.

Yes, she has a rough row to hoe, but she will mend and will eventually find her place in the scheme of things -- whether it is here or in Kentucky. She will have the support of her family and that is a good thing.

I have to laugh. The college counselor asked me yesterday what support system I had in place to help me through study and college. I had to answer none. I have no family and no familial support, but that is as it has always been. I don't have the grief Sue's young relative has because this lack Yet I am still here and the depression is gone because I have found the ketogenic lifestyle (often called nutritional ketosis) and depression is far behind me.

BB would not admit that such was the case, but Mom often told me things that she meant for only me to hear, so BB would not know because I wrote it in my paper journals and did not share my depression, sadness, or the abuse I suffered with her. She didn't share with me either. Typical sibling rivalry -- we didn't talk. BB shares her thoughts with our cousin, Laura, and probably commiserates with Beanie and the Mushroom on Messengers or similar methods while at work or by their smart phones.

My once close relationship with Beanie has disintegrated since her marriage to Dan. He knew nothing of me because I lived in Colorado and only new of me the one time Beanie stopped by her (actually his) home when she picked me up and dropped me at a cheap motel in Washington Court House where I stayed until I finally ended up in Rehab and then went to my first apartment on Kingsford in Columbus.

I kept a low profile and upset Beanie who was doing my laundry (incontinence issues) and then dropping it at my motel before she raced home to be with her husband. I saw my nephews (Cody and Ants) once and her stepson, Daniel, also once, but Beanie had her job and she worked full time. She didn't have time for me; she had a husband who needed her and he had forbidden her to waste her energy and time dancing attendance on me.

And so I sat watching TV alone, venturing out some days with a taxi driver I'd made friends with, Joe, who took me by his mother's home to visit her and then took me back to the motel. Joe took me to Columbus to apply for the apartment I eventually got and he went back to Washington Court House to live his life.

Beanie couldn't understand why I didn't check out more apartments. How about because I didn't have sufficient funds to do so?

Carol at least took me to check out Messiah Community where I now live and where I spend time alone, though I will soon be studying to take the CLEP tests (what my advisor calls the Fast Track) to opt out of some of my college requirements. I'll take the exams (at least the English 104 exam) on January 1, 2019 and have been told I will get some of my grant money back to be paid into my account. I will be taking 4 classes: 2 math and 1 criminal justice -- and must pass and so I will study until I take the exams in January. I will do all four and will study from now until then. I only need to pass at 70%, but would prefer to do a whole lot better than that.

I've finished my FAFSA (financial aid forms for college) and I will also get a federal grant because of my Dad's military service -- 22 years in the Army. I'll apply for scholarships and other grants as we go along, but I will do my best to take or get as few loans as possible. I don't want to mire myself in horrendous debt at the start.

And so I go forward. Might still pick up the graphic arts later on or I might just throw my hat into the ring and get right to it in politics. That decision should help with volunteering and working with women and seniors. At this point, I am game for anything.

That is all. Disperse.

The Bill Cosby Effect

Bill Cosby, that fatherly entertainer, was a rapist. He was judged and will be sentenced to up to 10 years in prison.

Like many of you, I enjoyed Bill Cosby as an entertainer, an actor who played family man, Dr. Huxtable, but I did not enjoy knowing that hat Bill Cosby was also a sexual predator and had sexually assaulted (raped) 60 women. Cosby's money bought him freedom from the allegations for decades, but the fact is that Bill Cosby was guilty of rape.

Rape is when one person takes sexual advantage of another, usually a man taking sexual advantage of a woman. It is the Harvey Weinstein effect. Weinstein used his power in Hollywood to use women as Kleenex, as victims, pitting their desire for a career in Hollywood against his power to make that Hollywood career happen for them. Rape is all about power over the powerless with women often playing the victim to a man's lust and power. They have no power, some of which they have given away in order to make themselves rich and famous, most of which doesn't happen. That is what the #MeToo movement is all about -- changing the playing field, putting victims in charge of their own lives at last.

Yes, when Bill Cosby drugged his lovers he committed rape. He won't acknowledge that fact, but it is a FACT.

Yes, he is old, but he committed these rapes for decades in the wake of his rising fame from the Robert Culp TV show, I Spy, in which he was teamed with Culp as the other half of a team. We cannot let Cosby go free just because he has lived his life and has become rich doing so while committing rape, even with women who had welcomed their sexual liaisons but were drugged into insensibility and raped by Cosby. Yes, it is rape when Cosby drugged them to have his wicked way with them, even though he had a consensual relationship with them at the time. A consensual relationship is only possible when the other person can agree and say yes to whatever the other person proposes while the woman in this case is able to say yes. When her voice and mind are stilled with drugs it is the same thing as when someone in a bar is hitting on you and uses drugs to put you in a more conducive frame of mind -- like with Roofies (Rohypnol).

In such a case the person who gave the victim Rohypnol circumvented the victim's normal responses and took advantage of his/her drugged state. That is the same thing that Cosby did when he drugged his consensual lovers in order to exert his power over them while they were in the throes of the drug. The drug doesn't matter. The fact is that Cosby rendered them compliant and thus took away their right to speak out and say yes or no. In that case, what he did was rape his victims.

I remember seeing an interview with a young woman who was Cosby's lover at the time and she said that she would have agreed, but he never gave her the chance, preferring to drug her into submission and then taking sexual advantage of her.

The worm has turned and women can finally get justice when a man rapes them or sexually assaults them. Cosby learned that his money didn't protect him -- and now it is time for politicians, no matter who they are or what high office they hold, to finally get the justice that their victims deserve.

That includes Bill Clinton when it comes to raping Juanita Broadrick. Clinton was president, but he was merely the governor of Arkansas when he raped Broadrick. He should be brought to justice, take his turn in the hot seat, and plead his case before a trial of his peers -- without his wife, Hillary, to defend his actions or plead his case before a judge.

There is one law, one law for all men, no matter how high they climb or how rich and famous they become, and that law states that rape is a crime and the rapist -- in the words of Hillary Clinton -- a super predator.

The same is true of sitting president, Donald Trump. If he has raped a woman or women in the past, he must also stand trial.

One law for all.

He will have to take his turn in the hot seat and face his accuser(s). No one gets away. There is not enough money to tear the blindfold from Justice's eyes. She is not dazzled by the money because she cannot see it. She is not dazzled by the fame or high position the accused has attained. She is blind by choice. Justice is blind and each accusor must face her rapist and hear the jury's verdict, not stopping until the criminal (super predator) is found guilty, sentenced, and accused. Bill Clinton thought he was safe, but in this country now with the Weinstein crimes shown in plain view, he was only safe for a while. Neither illness or advancing age, not his wealth, not is fame, and not his money will tear the blindfold from Justice's eyes. Bill Clinton will have to face his accusers and stand trial. Justice will finally be served.

If Donald Clinton raped a woman or took sexual advantage of a woman, then he, too, will have to face his accusers and stand trial. Being president didn't save Clinton and it will not save Trump either.

In the end, one law for all. That is the whole of it.

While we may break God's law with impunity, man's law is not the same. Not as long as man stands up and invokes Justice.

That is all. Disperse.

When looks fail...

It seems Megyn Kelly, the pretty girl on the Fox news network is getting fired again but SHE WANTS TO BE PAID FOR HER FULL CONTRACT in spite of having failed. 

Megyn Kelly is pretty and has a law degree but somewhere along the line Fox put her up front and gave credence to her presence on Fox News, and now that she jumped ship with NBC-- until she was fired from her morning talk show — again — Megyn is suing and wants to drag a gay man with her (Ronan Farrow) to support her side of the fight. 

You can afford to miss this one. Megyn is posturing (like many of the #MeToo women) to get a forum and keep going. If she can't stand the heat, walk away from the fireplace. 

I don't get it. Megyn isn't drawing like she did when she was on Fox News and that is at the heart of this controversy and not her failure to draw. This is the continuing saga of a woman who has claimed she has been sexually harassed once again and still wants to keep all her marbles. Sorry, Megyn, but that's what happens in the real world when you are fired. You don't get to keep the marbles because you didn't do the job NBC hired you to do. Contract canceled. Show over. Now clear out of your dressing room on NBC property and go home quietly — and with a modicum of your dignity intact. Don't try to maneuver NBC and its board into another whine fest like you did when you jumped ship from Fox News after your Trump tirade. 

Get over it. You're done. You have a valid law degree, so use it and don't whine any more. 

Don't drag Ronan into this debacle and leave him and Jon Lovett alone. You got yourself into this mess, so go home, pick up your make-up brush, and sob quietly in your bedroom. You can even use a pillow to muffle your sobs of rage. That's what the big girls do, not this constant public whining and maneuvering. 

Yes, you're pretty, but you didn't do the job you were hired to do. Yes, there is an old boys club working, but they aren't out after you again. You didn't do what you promised to do and nothing can fix that debacle but taking your toys and going home quietly where you can sob. 

That is unless you have an older sister who pointed out what would happen and you didn't listen and did it anyway. 

So sorry. So long. Goodbye. 

Looks got you this far, but at some point you have to do the job and do it brilliantly. But you failed. Take your medicine and don't let the door hit you where the good Lord split you. Looks only go so far and you are far beyond that point. Get to steppin'. 

That is all. Disperse. 

Acting OUT in haste

The evening before I left Colorado and came to Ohio, Megan told me I was in her sights and she was taking aim.

Better if she had done that when she hooked up with my eldest son, David Scott.

Of course, if she had, I would not have two beautiful and talented granddaughters, Addy and Tori. 

She forbid me to show up at her door or to see my granddaughters. She informed me that she stalked me for two years, not to let her girls get to know their paternal grandmother (that's me) but to let me know about her and my granddaughters.

She claimed she was not replacing the girls' real grandmother, her mother (and I don't dispute that and don't want to take aim at her at all. I like and respect her.) but informing me of Tori and Addy's existence.

Thank you, Megan. I have never disputed their existence and I enjoyed thoroughly getting to know the girls. I do not agree with your actions regarding me.

You have banished me from your life -- and the girls' lives -- without giving me a chance. You gave David Scott more chances than you gave me.

Yes, I should not have talked so plainly with Tori. I should not have acquainted her with David Scott's history since you have taken great pains to hide much of the truth from Victoria and Addison, and I have aided and abetted you with regard to that. Mea culpa. I did wrong.

I should have told them the WHOLE truth. I bowed to your wisdom in hiding from them the fact that David Scott had married Julie, the mother of his twins (and their half-brother and sister), Connor's death, and Sierra's adoption by her maternal grandparents. David has left a long trail of broken hearts and broken dreams in his wake that stretches from Ohio to Mexico and up the western coast of this country. You may tell the girls whatever you choose and I will stay silent and won't turn up on your doorstep to meet the girls face to face. That is your choice -- and I have honored that choice.

No longer.

I will not stay silent any more. I will see the girls -- and meet them. If you were prefer I do not, then go to court and get an official order -- a TRO, temporary restraining order. You may get a judge to agree with you and then you will have to renew the TRO every five years (if the TRO is granted) to keep me away. You will have stalled my toxic effect on the girls -- for the time being. You will not, however, get me arrested and thrown in jail for ignoring  your wishes and meeting MY GRANDDAUGHTERS. I think your mother would agree with me and that I have the right to see, meet, and get to know them without the distance between Ohio and Colorado since I am here IN OHIO and living in the state.

You may turn away and send back any letters I send and you have already unfriended me on Facebook. So be it.

Just a note, my siblings have cut me out of their lives too. I'm used to it. They have their views and opinions of me and I will not -- and cannot -- change their minds. It's rather like the endemic abuse suffered by women since Eve. I might even join the #metoo movement, not only for my own abuse by men and relatives, but by MEN since the beginning of time.

You have the right to refuse to see me, talk to me, or listen to me and I will respect YOUR rights, but you must respect MY rights.

I AM their paternal grandmother and I will speak the truth, the WHOLE TRUTH, whether you agree or not. I will no longer censor myself. I will be who I have always been and will always be. Keep that in mind.

I have been honest with you and now I'm going to be honest with Victoria and Addison. They need to know the truth, not the truth as you have told them, but the whole truth. I'm going to be honest with them. I won't lie to them or for you any more.

So go get your legal TRO and keep renewing it every 5 years as long as it is in force -- and while I am alive and a danger to you and your daughters. You might want to get another TRO for David Scott if he ever returns to Ohio and keep renewing that one every 5 years as long as he is a threat

Go on with your life. Get married. Move out of your mother's home and grow up. Be an adult. Be responsible for yourself and take responsibility for your life without using (and abusing) your mother's kindness and tolerance.

There are consequences to hasty actions and here they are in black and white. Don't blame others. Either tolerate them and accept their generosity or cut them out of their lives and take the consequences. Not everyone -- and that includes me -- agrees with your decisions or your actions. I don't agree with my sons' actions -- not even David Scott.

That is all. Disperse.