Some guy tried and failed to kill 45.
He failed but killed someone else in the crowd and seriously wounded three others. He, in turn, was killed by the Secret Service.
We will never know what exactly prompted this person to attempt assassination.
Too bad. I'd have liked to hear his reasoning.
Regardless, two people are dead because of an automatic rifle that is legal to carry open in Pennsylvania.
FACING THE WORLD WITH LITTLE SLEEP
i CAN'T EVEN GET THE MACHINE TO GET THE LETTERS RIGHT. i NEED SLEEP.
woke UP AROUND 2, ENDED UP TAKING A BENEDRYL SO i MIGHT GET SOME SLEEP. WOKE UP AT 9 FEELING AS IF SOMEONE SAT ON MY HEAD.
GOT DOWNSTAIRS, TRYING TO EAT GRAHAM CRACKERS FOR BREAKFAST WHEN hERB STARTS CLEARING STUFF OFF THE TABLE AND IS ABOUT TO TOSS OUT SOME PAPERS WHEN OUT OF THE STACK FALLS A GREEN POSTCARD ADDRESSED TO ME REQUIRING ME TO FILL OUT A FORM FOR JURY DUTY.
aFTER DRIVING TO THE AIRPORT TO PICK UP THE KIDS, i GOT HOME, ATE LUNCH AND CAME UP HERE TO FILL OUT THE DON'T PICK ME FOR JURY DUTY FORM ONLINE. i MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE DONE IT RIGHT.
i AM OVER 75. i AM DISABLED. i CAN BARELY WALK OR STAND WITHOUT HELP. i WISH i COULD HAVE FILLED SOMETHING OUT STATING MY VOTING PREFERENCES BUT THERE WASN'T A SPOT ON THE FORM FOR THAT.
cURRENTLY, i AM IN A VERY BAD MOOD.
i AM A GOOD AMERICAN PERSON. FIFTEEN YEARS A GIRL SCOUT. TEACHING FROM 1971 UNTIL 1996. mOTHER OF TWO. wIFE OF A vIETNAM VETERAN. TOOK CARE OF MY MOTHER SINCE 1985 UNTIL HER DEATH IN 20016.
yES, i AM A GOOD PERSON. i HAVE CERTAIN FOIBLES, BUT THEY ARE CONSISTENT WITH BEING A PUBLISHED WRITER OF FICTION.
i WILLNOT WAVE FLAGS. i WILL NOT PUT ANTI-SO AND SO SIGNS ON MY FRONT LAWN. i WILL NOT DESTROY SIGNS OF ASSHOLES WHO DO PUT ANTI-SO AND SO SIGNS ON THEIR LAWNS.
i VOTE, NEVER MISSING A VOTE SINCE i TURNED 21.
nO, i CAN'T SEE THE SCREEN FROM WHERE i AM AND i NEED TO TAKE MY SHOWER RIGHT NOW.
Woke up this morning with a strange word in my mind: Saltpeter.
It is a chemical once obtained from the bottom of empty wine barrels, used by alchemists and those who fiddled around with any natural chemical they could find in their medieval world mindset.
Popular thinking at the time, and evidently still is thought, that the men in the military were given the potassium nitrate in their scrambled eggs to keep their minds on the job, not on women because it was thought that the use of saltpeter, a chemical used in fertilizer and gunpowder, would subdue the male libido.
In other words, it was anti-Cialis or Viagra. While those drugs make the erectile function, saltpeter supposedly did away with sexual desire.
Yeah, right.
It was used to preserve meat here in the US previous to 1980, it has been removed from such use. Back in the days of the "how can we keep meat from spoiling", or how can we get the biggest bang for our military buck, it was used. There are also suggestions that certain navies used it to keep their sailors ready to fight, not to ----. To keep their minds on the job of firing cannons, not using their own guns.
Perhaps it had the desired effect back in the day and it was not talked about, much like UFOs still are, because of what it might do to the fighting forces. It has no effect on females, by the way.
So, in my brilliance first thing this morning, I considered a national Give "Em Saltpeter every morning as women are now forced to take birth control meds in order to get around the unwanted pregnancy thing.
Here I thought I had managed to solve the destruction of Roe v. Wade problem perfectly.
Yes, again. My computer with the funny little icons to get me here to my website is effed up.
I am angry enough to spit.
Well, it is Good Friday and I always try to behave on Good Friday, but I really am tiked off.
Somehow, since I never made those icons myself, the lords of computerdom have decided to change shit around. Why can't they leave me alone?
I'm actually working on an editing job. The story is great and I hacve this awful feeling if I don't finish toeday, all my remarks and edits may disappear before I can remember how to send the work back to my friend. (It's a cozy mystery that has me tangled up better than Stephanie Plum.)
Let's see if this goes through and even onto FB.
Well, here it is, Christmas.
Ten days away. I have done nothing but order some candy from Vermont Country Store and watch Monarch on tv. Putting Doctor Who off for later. Can only take so much excitement.
Monday I go for mammogram and bone density tests. Fun fun fun. Then next day Karyn has some stuff at yet another doctor. Nothing for me until after January when I see the oncologist then primary. Of course I will worry.
I do that so well, I ought to be in the Olympics.
Baking to do, decorating to do...I thought the house would be Hallmark style. Might get there.
The outside of the house is bedecked with penguins. Herb has had his way with the front. Last year he even put lights up in the back.
The little fake tree is up from the cellar, but without decorations. Got to have stuff on it...after all, it is Christmas!
Wait. I sent out all the Christmas cards. That ought to count
Merry Christmas, everyone!
Admit it.
You've seen her...the slim, tall model, upswept hair, nondescript bland outfit...enjoying her family Christmas gathering.
As she sits there, she picks up a ball of candy and after unwrapping the shiny foil, slowly nibbles at a luscious chocolate ball of candy. Nibbles. She carefully doesn't bite it. A smile spreads over her lips and she almost inhales delight.
Right.
You've seen her. I've seen her...she's modeling and nibbling all over the Hallmark Channel.
You sorta dislike her.
Well, you may do more than sorta dislike her, if you are someone like me.
Bite the damn truffle, bitch! Eat it as if it won't put ten pounds on your thighs! Maybe you won't fit into that pencil skirt if you actually swallow the sweet confection!
Be human!
You see, magnificent model person, there are women watching you nibble, women who like chocolate. Who look forward to actually tasting that deliciousness. Women who hesitate because they worry about those ten pounds added to their thighs or butts or ankles or chin.
Maybe more women than you even know because they aren't models for anything but diabetes drugs.
We, the pudgy! We the women who do not nibble! We the women who like chocolate and potatoes and spaghetti and cake!
Sorry. You and I cannot be friends.
Ever.
Nibble away, bitch!
AAARGH!
I've written about the fabulous purple cape previously. In case you don't remember, let me refresh your memories.
The purple cape came to our family in the mid-1950s. Beloved Uncle Gene gave it to us after his stint in a circus. I know nothing more about this but he came away with four silly costumes and the desire to build a Ferris wheel in a vacant lot in Middlesex, NJ. There were lots of empty spaces back then, not so now.
Anyway, the costumes were pure circus. Some kind of flapper dress with black tassels, a green two flapped piece of material that I imagine was part of a harem girl's costume and something else I can't remember, but along with these gaudy bits, was the Purple Cape.
Let me describe it to you. It was deep purple, royal purple, about four feet in length, made of flannel. I only now realize it was flannel and not satin because I was just a kid and it was absolutely gorgeous to me.
Around the neckline was the only decoration. A band of pure gold, emerald and ruby lay around the neck. Absolutely gem quality. Beautiful. Magnificent.
Everybody wanted to wear the purple cape, even if we were just playing cowboys. Every kid on our street wanted that honor. After all, it was deep purple and encrusted with precious gems around the neck.
But at Halloween, it was most in demand. Cowboys, bums, girly girls, you name it, that purple cape went with every costume.
Chilly Halloween nights, it served as warmth and status.
Years went by. The cape was always there. Then, it disappeared. I don't know whether my younger brother every enjoyed wearing it, but by the time I was taking him out trick or treating, it was no longer used.
Oh, the delights of that regal bit of material!
I think I'm a princess just remembering it.
Many years later, as an adult, I was in our old garage, looking for fishing rods or something when I spied a crumpled bit of purple stashed in a corner. No! It couldn't be!
Alas, I recognized the bejeweled collar. Gold, emerald and ruby, still shining, while the cape had faded a dull grey.
The purple cape.
I pulled it out of the corner, passed my hand lovingly against the stiff flannel and sighed.
Gone was the glory.
I should have cut the jewels away and kept them, but I didn't. I buried it in the garbage can and cried.
However, I do hold the glory of the Purple Cape in my heart and every year about this time, I remember it fondly, lovingly, and long for the days when it was magnificent to come back, if just for a second, to cheer my heart.
