Thank you, my dear true friend.

No, LEO thinks it's funny and ridicules anything I tell them as possibly untrue and certainly nothing worth their trouble. I wrote you a lengthier explanation but won't repeat it here, because I've squawked about it so often on DU that a lot of people are probably tired of it here too. But don't worry, I'm a tough old bird. No point in having window bars even if I could afford them because this house was built in 1915 around a sturdy 1848 slave cabin, and it would be the easiest thing in the world for anyone to break into no matter what. My 16-year-old chows died in '12, but now I have a couple of smaller barkers, and people know I pay attention. The mini beagle/pom wouldn't be any protection, but believe it or not a Jack Russell Terrierist has all the protective instincts of a bigger dog, and they're insanely fearless. My smooth-coat JRT is well over AKC allowable height, and she'd doubtless bite anyone she considered dangerous. The first time she saw and heard fireworks last summer, she'd charge the fence sounding like a pack of mad dogs every time they went off or sailed overhead. Molly cowered under my feet, but Brigid flew into a rage.

Most people don't know I traded my extended double-barrel Colt that looked like a sawed-off shotgun to my new handyman for labor, but I let people know when I bought it, so they'll think I still have it. I also keep wasp spray by the bed in lieu of pepper spray. The two dogs sleep in a spindle baby bed next to me, so there'd be no danger of their getting caught in side spray. Most lots here are about a quarter acre, and asleep or awake, the dogs know if anyone even walks by on the street.

Can I move pix from Flickr to FaceBook?

I chose Flickr to avoid the google earth embed thing so people couldn't look me up. And I've honestly tried to find the answer myself over 2 hours now. Giving up if someone in here can't help me. FB will just have to do w/o my pix.

But it is kinda stupid for a group admin on a pet charity page not to have any pix even of my own dogs.

As a devout cradle Catholic, I was still given a wide education in comparative religion,

and I mean OUTSIDE church - so don't think for one minute it was skewed. But it had the strongest impact on my own world view, and I'm thankful for that. Not respecting other persons and cultures enough to learn about what was important to them is, to me, a most un-Christian behavior. I like, for instance, the way Buddhist and Catholic priests in Asia commonly co-officiate at various ceremonies, and I was able to attend lectures given by prominent theologians from different faiths. While my own church did not require this, my parents certainly did. The one and only televangelist I every listened to and enjoyed ran a long series on different Christian denominations, and he wasn't into criticizing any of them. The title of his series was "What I Like About..." and it was totally delightful.

Point being, ignorance is not our friend. Knowledge is.

Conservatives have never enjoyed my favorite story about living in L.A. where my home served as an unofficial welcome wagon for many new immigrants. On one occasion a couple arrived for dinner and everything was fine until I excused myself to step into the kitchen, wearing my shoes. I knew from their horrified gasps that I'd committed some faux pas. Turns out at least in their culture, and from what I later learned about many poverty stricken areas, there's a strong belief in a kitchen god. Since food is scarce, the place it's prepared becomes especially holy and wearing shoes there is just as disrespectful as in a temple.

Once I realized the particulars, I told them most Americans didn't have kitchen gods (for better or worse) but the international laws of hospitality do encourage respect for guests. So I could happily remove my shoes for them. They were happy even though they didn't want the honor for themselves. They also didn't want to bring a curse on my house by eating food there which might not be in accordance with what they considered reverent. So it was a win-win situation and we had a thoroughly happy evening.

Now go try to tell that to a conservative of any sort and watch their heads explode. I don't need to tell you what they'll scream in rage; indeed, most of it doesn't bear repeating in public.

That sick old man is totally cuckoo and cruel as a snake.

He might pray, but if so it's more to the southern hemisphere, as far from heaven as a person can go.

Anybody who listens to him is a fool.

Thanks for the beautiful picture.

Maybe it's silly of me, but I really love the spelling of O'Bama!

That's the nicest way to put it.

And he too, like others described in this thread, went from at least seeming liberal to the polar opposite. The only compliment I can remember hearing from him was when he told me once that being with me was almost as good as being alone. After he retired from the military, he soon became a Washington lobbyist for the wrong side. If we hadn't split before then, that would've been it for us. Among other days in the year I celebrate, the day our divorce became final has always loomed large.

Hell, I celebrate that every day!

Oligarchs are still worshipped in flyover country where I retired. Stockholm Syndrome -

people are terrified of upsetting their owners because then what few crumbs are left will be taken from them. Can't live with themselves knowing how afraid they are to stand up like real human beings, so they prefer to think of their jailers as beloved heroes. To ease their own conscience - they know they're participating in the slaughter themselves.

I heard Rowling say in an interview once that she remained in the country of her birth

so that she could return good for good by supporting the system that had given her a fighting chance to succeed. Imagine! A really rich person who wants to pay high taxes. That takes character. Too bad she's rare as hen's teeth.

It's all about using $ to measure treasured anatomy. The more $, the bigger.... y'know.

I can relate. My ex once looked me straight in the face and wondered aloud, unblinking,

"How will you know I love you if I don't complain?"

He suffered the delusion that if a person yelled bloody murder about every little thing, but still stayed, THAT was how to prove love. First class sicko.