Dear Auntie Linda, August 23, 2015

Dear Auntie Linda,  I bake and decorate cakes out of my home for a living.  On occasion, I have given a cake as a gift to a very close friend.  I am constantly asked for my work as a favor by family, friends, and acquaintances, who seem to think my work is a hobby, not my livelihood.  They often say, “I’ll pay for your supplies, as though that’s a big deal.”  My labor, time, and creativity are my biggest investment.  I doubt these people would consider asking a factory worker, social worker, or doctor for a few hours of their time and expertise.  Why on earth would they think it is okay to ask a baker, hairdresser, baby sitter, seamstress, or any other person who has a home business to sacrifice income?  Fed up with Moochers

Dear Fed up, You are right.  People do seem to think home workers aren’t seriously in need of and entitled every penny hey earn.  They would likely be mortally offended should you suggest they donate several hours of pay on the occasion of your son’s birthday, wedding, graduation, Bar Mitzvah, especially if you weren’t even particularly close.  Good you can say, “here’s my price list.”  Auntie Linda.

Dear Auntie Linda,  My sister Debbie’s six year-old-daughter, Becky, is an “all star.”  She dances, sings, and keeps us giggling.  I love her and am proud of her but would love for my sister to enjoy my “stars” accomplishments.  Julie has Down’s Syndrome.  A sweeter and more loving child was never born.  Her first steps were late, but triumphant.  and her smiles light up our lives.  Becky totally adores Julie.  The girls are inseparable when they have the chance to play together.  My sister is so pained and regretful at Julie’s Down’s Syndrome that she is unable to share the joy she brings to our lives.  I wish Debbie could stop needlessly grieving on our behalves and share our happiness.  Proud Mama

Dear Proud Mama, Perhaps if Debbie had time alone with Julie, she would get to know her and share your love and pride.  Until I worked with children with Down’s Syndrome, I never appreciated how loving they are.  Maybe you can manage some alone time for them while you and Becky share some time. Congratulations on your beautiful daughter.  Auntie Linda

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Surviving Childhood Sexual Abuse: It’s Time To Speak Up

Reblog Healing is on the Horizon. Please support this woman and other victims of this horrific abuse

Steph Mignon

Horizonhawaii

When I was 22-years old, I came out of hiding. I stepped out of the darkness of the sexual abuse victim’s closet, and into the light.  I can’t say I haven’t looked back, because with something like childhood sexual abuse it’s impossible not to, but I can say my future has been a lot brighter because of my willingness to tell the truth.

With people like Josh Duggar and Jared from Subway in the news recently, the newest string of celebrity sexual predators, I’ve decided there’s no better time than the present to keep telling my story. With a 16-month old daughter, and possibly another baby on the way, the times is NOW. There are other people like me who need my strength. There are other people like me, and, frankly, I need their strength too.

I remember the night I first told someone. It was my best friend. We…

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Evening Chuckle

Alice and Myrtle were old friends. One slow summer afternoon as they sipped iced tea, Alice asked, “Myrtle, did you and your husband ever have mutual orgasm?”

Myrtle sipped and rocked and rocked and sipped. “No,” she finally replied. “We always had State Farm.”

 

Boudreau asks Bubba if he wants to go to the beach. Bubba says, “Oh, I’m embarrassed to go to the beach. I don’t fill out a swimsuit none too good.”

Boudreau says, “Bubba, just stick a nice sized tater down the front of your swim suit. It’ll do jist fine.”

So they head off to the beach. Boudreau sits down to read and Bubba goes for a walk. Boudreau comes back an hour later and he says, “Bubba, I don’t think that there tater was such a good idea. Ever’bodys pointin’ and laughin’.”

Boudreau tells him, “Bubba, you idjit, I tolt ya to put that there tater down the FRONT o’ yer suit!”

 

 

1st College Student: Did you hear that Fred’s parents sent him abroad for the summer?

2nd College Student: My parents won’t even allow playboy centerfolds on the wall..

 

Alter Your Course

This is an actual radio conversation released by the Chief of Naval
Operations, 10-10-95, MSG#H0000115020ecb52EMHS

#1: “Please divert your course 15 degrees to the north to avoid a collision.”
#2: “Recommend that you change YOUR course 15 degrees to the south to avoid a collision.”

#1: “This is the captain of a U.S. navy ship. I say again, divert YOUR course.”
#2: “No, I say again divert YOUR course.”

#1: “This is the aircraft carrier Enterprise, we are a large warship of the U.S. navy. Divert your course NOW!”
#2: “This is a lighthouse. Your call?”

How to Raise Healthy Eaters in 5 Easy Steps

Kids

I am the girl in the second row with the dark sweater.  See how hungry we all look.

Connie and Marilyn's Toddler Pictures

Just look at the spindly legs on these poor, undernourished babies.  They suffered so!

Bill 2

Pictured above is the poor, hungry creature I sat on while I ate the only Twinkie from the day-old bakery box.  I think malnutrition stunted his growth.  He is only six foot four.  He is pictured here with my mother, the woman who deprived us all of delicious goodies.

My mother was a child-rearing genius.  She taught me her fool-proof plan for raising healthy-eaters, though she never sat down to delineate it for me.  She was too busy trying to get dinner on the table.  I’ve done that for all of you.  You are welcome.

  1. There were five of us kids.   Mother’s food budget was minimal.  She put the food on the table, believing no child starved with food available. We ate like pigs in slop because should we we tarry, one of the other pigs got it.  It would be a long, hungry time till the next meal.
  2. Kids don’t eat what isn’t there.  She only bought and served nutritious foods, which we hated, by the way, but not as much as hunger.  Our diet was based on vegetables supplemented by a modicum of chicken.  Mother checked the markdowns and specials first.  Though she bought many dented cans, she inspected them carefully for leakage, swelling, and signs of spoilage.  It must have been a great disappointment, but she never managed to poison any of us.  I often showed up at the table disgusted again to see beans, peas, greens, corn, rice, potatoes, corn, squash, spinach, tomatoes, and a tidbit or no meat on the table, again.  A time or two, I tried turning my nose up at it.  Mother’s response killed that.  “Fine, maybe there will be a little left for supper.  Now start on the dishes while we eat.”
  3. Leftovers were snacks.  That meant, you might get a leftover biscuit, piece of cornbread, or flapjack if you beat the other kids off the bus. You had to be pretty hungry to go for flapjack.  Mother’s flapjacks were disgusting.  Sometimes, if she caught it on special, Mother bought peanut butter and saltines.  We burned through those in a day or two.  We made quick work  Once in a while Mother made popcorn, but that was a family snack to be shared by the whole family while watching “Gunsmoke.”  Remember “Gunsmoke?”
  4.  Dessert was rare, usually reserved for Sunday’s and holidays.  No cake, pie, cookies, lingered long.  On rare blessed weeks, she went by the bread store to pick up a box of day-old bread, pies, cakes, hot dog buns, and various and sundry cast offs.  One of my fondest memories is finding a lone, moldy Twinkie near the bottom of one of those boxes.   I sat on my brother and ate it without chewing.  If by some miracle a goody survived the initial family attack, the last piece had to be saved for Daddy.  God help the misbegotten fool dared go there.
  5. Finally, she shared her pain when company dropped in for the WHOLE weekend polishing off the carefully stewarded foodstuffs that would have barely let her squeak through till payday, anyway.  We needed to know that she would have to kite a check to get some dry beans, flour, shortening, and that a couple of chickens in the barnyard have a date with destiny this week.  It stimulated our flagging appetites!

Sometimes, I’d hear Mother’s friends complaining that their kids were picky eaters.  Once, just once, I’d have loved to hear her defend us saying we were, too, but, no!  Invariably she’d crassly complain, “My kids eat anything I put in front of them!”  She had no pride at all.