Some people say they stop going to see their parents with Alzheimer's when they no longer recognize

their own kids. I imagine the process scares the kids too. Thing is, the Alzheimer's sufferer still knows that somebody is caring for them even if they don't know who. That matters.

Maybe your governor could bunk with Christie

and the other GOP govs under investigation along with various senators, when they all get sent to the same prison.

I've always enjoyed voting in person, so I can march in in front of other people and get my voting sticker too. But I'm getting older now, and it never occurred to me that anything could happen to me before I could make it to the polls. Maybe I should rethink the matter.

Sorry I don't have a link to offer,

and I also know that polls are wickedly unreliable.

That said, however, some major outfit came out with a poll lately showing that if the haters' votes were disregarded, President Obama's approval rating shot up to the high 80's somewhere.

So he IS wildly popular and beloved by non-racists.

Pig Boy GIVES me gas.

Great OP. Only wish I could rec it & the comments x1M.

Love the costumes too. But I heard about one today that would be ideal for me. Just plain clothes, and when someone asks what I'm supposed to be, I can say "A psychopath. They're hard to spot."

Can't remember quite where I heard that, but I liked it! So I hope it ain't true.

Precocious kid, eh?

Yes, if there's anything I covet, it's a robot mower. Truly.

My yard's only a quarter acre, but that's common in the more rural communities. While your suggestions are excellent and welcome, let me put my location in clear perspective: the nearest Walmart of any kind is 60 miles away, and the NEXT-closest is over 80. I do go to nearby auctions etc. In fact, I'm a notorious curbside shopper for clearly discarded but still useful (to me) odds and ends left in open view.

The main trouble with auctions, however, kinda sorta rests partly on my own shoulders. Not having a vehicle means I can only go so far as my short little legs will carry me. Then too I've noticed that the better stuff tends to get brought up later than sooner. It's hard for me to spend all day there. I've seen some dirty tricks pulled too - as when the auctioneer will indicate something he knows I don't want is up for bids when all the time it's something different so his buddy doesn't have to bid against me. Most of these guys are a little too big for me to thrash and they know it. So my hands are tied even if my mouth shoots off. Probably the worst danger for me, however, is that I almost always find something I want but don't need, and that's what I bring home.

BTW, thanks for asking.... yes, I did find a willing tree trimmer at last. The majority of my paid projects around home now go automatically to the Amish, who don't care about my politics (or anyone else's either) one whit. And a little of the animosity has abated in a few other quarters too. So life here in general isn't unbearable for a liberal, congenial introvert largely content with her own company. Even though nobody around here has ever heard of a WHAT?! A Yard Bug, neighbor! I tend to address many people as 'neighbor' because I don't always know their name, even after almost a decade.

One of my friends is a bit of a McGyver type, though. I know if I can find a good design for what I need, he can at least reproduce it.

Hope I didn't choose the wrong pew for this OP

But at least it does touch somewhat on doctrinal differences. I posted this on another website too after something on the radio brought back memories of a very happy moment in my life. One that ended somewhat painfully but not enough to destroy the joy.

I wrote:


Prairie Home Companion is one of my favorite radio shows. NOTICE TO ALL FANS: next week is the annual Joke Show.

Back to the present... tonight they had a great accapella (sp?) gospel group belting out 'On That Great Gettin' Up Morning'. Those guys really rocked. I don't know how anyone sits still when they hear that song done well. While many if not most fundies object to dancing, especially to gospel tunes, they sit in a different pew from mine. After all, didn't Miriam and David both dance before the Lord? According to the Bible at least, David wasn't exactly overdressed either.

It reminded me of a happy/sad occasion in my early 40's. I decided to participate in a fundraiser talent show for a school by spoofing Dylan's 'Maggie's Farm'. Due to scheduling rehearsal was held only just before showtime. People were milling around warming up when a bluegrass band started to sing that song accapella. I wasn't in costume yet, and their music revived my inner hippie - in seconds I went twirling around the room. They got into it and the faster they sang, the faster I danced. By the time they picked up their fiddles, I was almost a whirling dervish. Freest I ever felt. Other people started clapping in time, and it was an authentic celebration.


This wasn't the first time I ever ran afoul of fundies. The so-called director showed up, flew into a snit, and tried to block my way. I just danced around her and kept going. Spirit had me too strong, and she was too slow to corner me.

By the time it trailed off and I got dressed for my planned performance, I learned she'd convinced the principal that the pitchfork - w/o which it's impossible to spoof 'Maggie's Farm' - represented a lethal weapon and so he'd confiscated it. This in a rural community! I guess he was fundie too. So I refused to go on and stormed out, trailing more than a few other performers in my wake. It ended painfully, but I'd do the whole thing over again given a chance. That was still one of the sweetest moments of my life.

So yes, every time I hear 'On That Great Gettin' Up Morning', I'm going to dance at least a little jig if I have to lean on a walker to do it.

Jesuits are the cream of the crop as far as I'm concerned.

Nobody really knows first hand what a real Inquisition is

until they move alone to a remote rural town and it turns out they're the only liberal around. I didn't expect it to be easy, but I'd counted on the local Catholic congregation being my home away from home. Not gonna happen. Not after a hateful woman stood up and denounced me during Mass and the priest, who the next Sunday as we were leaving, laughed and told me that my top was the ugliest garment he'd ever seen. I wore it again the next Sunday just to show him he couldn't get away with shaming my admittedly festive seasonal attire. But then I haven't gone back after that either.