Global warning – Reblog by Jane Dougherty

How to explain the many women who voted for a pussy grabber?
I agree with your blog, but maybe it’s a secret that evolution kept up his sleeve.

Jane Dougherty Writes

Call me naïve, but I was struck and dismayed by a string of articles on the social media today. First, a report of the 19th Chinese Communist Party Congress, and the images of dozens of men in suits…and one woman. Then the protests about said congress by Tibetan nationalists, men in orange togas facing up to men in uniforms, crowd scenes of lots of shouting…men. Then a photo report on Istanbul, crowd scenes of, guess what, men, clumps of black veiled women, cheeky children (boys), more men, more cheeky boys and glimpses of their veiled mothers in the background, but not a single girl child.

In how many countries would you expect to see the same thing, women at home, girls invisible, and all the leaders male, all the protesters in the streets male? Far too many. Women in general have little or no public face and little or…

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The Pitfalls of Aging (Don’t Do It!)

For some, going around the last bend can be quite disconcerting.  It’s natural (and easier) to want to take care of the feelings of the elderly, and so sometimes they are “protected” from the truth. Not telling someone they’e dying has been dealt with definitively, I hope. What I’m talking about is weakening the individual’s hold on reality  by ushering them into a world of make-believe.  I’m trying to figure out why it is so bothersome. Well, first off it puts the younger person in a one-up position, making decisions for the elderly instead of respecting their ability to withstand the truth. More important, I think, it tends to make the older person into a legitimate paranoid.  What is a legitimate paranoid? In my book it’s one who knows some statements are true, but having trouble deciding which are true and which  are the “protection.”  It kinda turns life into a rotten game, and especially towards the end that is an undesirable state to be in.  I guess what it lacks is respect.  If you disagree, tell me about it.

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Autumn Prairie – a Re-blog by Frank Hubeny

So comfortable.

Poetry, Short Prose and Walking

Whatever comes to cool the air
And make the greenless leaves descend
And make the clouds seem strange up there
I welcome as a smiling friend
Who tucks the prairie in to sleep
And offers dreams for it to keep.


Linked to dVerse Poetics. Kim of Writing in North Norfolk host with the request to write about “one autumnal item”. My item is a photo, “Tree and Grass”, I took last autumn that represents for me the prairie in autumn.

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Spoiler: Sad

ME: Now why did I write that?  No one will want to read something sad.

YOU: Still self-defeating.  What’s sad? I’m a tad curious.

ME: Something I read somewhere, but I can’t remember where, so it can’t be plagiarism, can it?

YOU: You’re asking ME?

ME: I got this metaphor in my head and can’t get rid of it unless I scoop it out on paper–er, the blog.

YOU: Well?

ME: It’s abut a tube of toothpaste.

YOU: Whooppee! I can’t wait.

ME: Well, this child was given a giant tube of toothpaste to do with as she pleased.

YOU: And what did she please?

ME: Squeezing it out.

YOU: Oh oh, won’t last too long that way.

ME: Yeah, that’s the problem. Once she squeezed it out she couldn’t get it back in.

YOU: So she was stuck, huh?

ME: Worse than that. She was EMPTY!

YOU: So she learned her lesson, huh?

ME: But what can she do with it?  Don’t you see?  She can NEVER NEVER NEVER retrieve it!

YOU: Tough tootie.                                     

ME: You can say that again.

YOU:  Tough tootie.

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Super-gluing My Bullet Wound – A re-blog

A spokesperson for many…I’m reblogging.

My Midwest Musing

A month ago, I was rediagnosed with C-PTSD (Complex PTSD) at the age of 27. I say (and made up) the word rediagnosed because I was originally diagnosed with C-PTSD when I was 21 years old. As most of the important things I was told when I was 21, the diagnosis seemed to evaporate in my realm of consciousness quicker than the first flake of snow that falls on pavement. I saw my C-PTSD as a light switch that I could turn on and off. I felt I had control over it, something that I could even grow out of, and therefore, must only ‘slightly’ have.

Reality was that this illness was not something I could simply grow out of; this illness fit me like a glove since the first day I was exposed to my trauma. It fuels me. It shapes me. It hijacked my personality, desires, and intuitions…

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I, I, I, Me, Me, Me, You, You, You

I wrote a joke once, to the effect that I’ve been talking through this loudspeaker I found in my crib 82 years ago and just now notice it’s not plugged in!  Except it wasn’t and isn’t a joke.  What’s missing is the connection.  I think I became a psychotherapist to have somebody to talk to.

Here I sit alone at my computer which says it’s 7:09 p.m. Sunday October 15, 2017, eating chocolate ice cream.   Is all right with the world?  Is that a line from a poem? Some things are called rhetorical but I must be misspelling it because i can’t find it in the dictionary. When I dip into the meanings of retort I find cold comfort:  to hurl back, to retaliate, to hurl the first speaker’s words back at him. Oh, there it is…rhetorical question: a question asked merely for effect with no answer expected.  Well, that’s kind of a waste of time, isn’t it?

NOW I remember how I got off on this topic! Earlier tonight I  read the blog post Forming Attachments and Bonds, by

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Senseless Sunday Sarcasm : WO mistakes RK – A Humorous Re-Blog

Not liked–loved!

Nan Re-blogging

Two on a Rant

It’s no secret that I’ve made more mistakes in the past 2 weeks than in the past 2 years.

Of course, if I could remember past yesterday, I might reconsider that statement.

This is a summation of what my short-term (and only) memory is telling me:

Or, possibly, it’s more like this:

Either way, nothing is going in and what comes out isn’t quite right.

How’s work been going this week? (You might ask).  Here’s a clue

Unfortunately, I have a work ethic that’s on steroids

First of all, I don’t want to go anywhere else.  I love what I do — when I do it right.  It’s not like I can go elsewhere to get a job.  Who in their right mind (other than social services) wants to hire an anal retentive dyslexic paper pusher who has an editing disability?

This has happened to me twice in the last…

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