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Thursday, May 21, 2015

Fixing a problem

I have been told that the readability of my blog is hard to read because it reproduces in such a manner that the line spacing is wrong.  I have been using the largest type that google has for the print because my eyes are bad and large print helps.  I have other methods to vary the print size so I can read it when I make it up.  This post will be in the next size down which is half way between  largest and normal.  I also set it to be in bold type.  I can do a ctrl + to make it bigger. This should eliminate distortion caused by two browsers having trouble reading each other.  If this does not fix it I will do a normal type tomorrow and then make it more readable for me  by making it bigger with a ctrl + if you respond please let me know what browser you use.  Internet explorer, google, mozilla etc.  I have a plan that will  eliminate a lot of print soon.  But you will have to put up with my ugly face instead.   Please help me fix this problem

I do some observing.

Kay was still in the dining room when I got there.  When I took her to our place in the hall she walked so slowly.  I don't know why.  Could be weakness.  She seemed to be somewhat hungry.  The first caregiver I asked how she ate breakfast indicated she ate ok.  Another one later said she barely ate anything. So I gave her what I had.  She ate most of a banana, some crackers and a couple truffles.  Not a diet anyone would particularly recommend but at least it was something.  As we took our time doing what we did together and the bus was late getting me there my stay was short.  Especially because the bus was early to pick me up.  It chops off the front of my visit and the end of my visit.  It seems there is some flu on the first floor so they are trying to conntain it.  I certainly  hope they do.  
Many big grocery chains offer bus service to their stores for people in institutions like this who don't drive or able to walk to a local store.  The down side to this is they come just some days of the month.  It is better than nothing but not the most desirable if you need something in an emergency.  I have noticed that a local Thriftway just about a half dozen blocks away is on a bus line. Also the bus line goes by this place.  Unfortunately the bus only goes once an hour.  Of course this is the big reason the bus will never offer competition to the automobile.  If you wait here and and at the destination  it is easier to just wait for their shuttle which comes once a week.  At leas it goes right to the door of both places.  Then I noticed that all three of the bus lines that go by here also go to the bus stop outside the Thriftway store.  I didn't check their schedules but figured they would not all run in bunches so the wait time would not be excessive.   I wanted to see if shopping by bus could be managed without taking all afternoon.  So after lunch I just went put to the bus stop to wait for one of the three buses.  I had to wait long enough that I decided it would be best to check the schedule and go at a time the bus was scheduled to come by.  The same problem existed coming back from the store.  The buses seem to go in bunches.  Well  this will take some analysis to see just how  much waiting I would have to do.  That could be done here at my apartment.  However before too long a bus came by not on the sign so I took it back.  t seems this stretch of street is right on the way to downtown and on to the terminal at the Tacoma Dome.  This place is part of the downtown.  It was a nice hotel when it was built in 1952.
Tacoma was ripped off by the contractors who built the sidewalks here.  When I built the sidewalks at my house in Lake Forest Park   last time I looked they were essentially the same as the way they were when I put them in in 1953.  Rod Swanson, me and another friend put them in.  The  sidewalks here are like cobblestones.  most of the cement and sand has  worn away.  Leaving just the rocks to walk on or push the walker over.  There are many crack and holes for the walker to hang up on.  Many of the streets are like one long series of speed bumps.  I think Tacoma has the worst streets in the area.  You actually wear out a walker on these sidewalks.  Especially this kind I have.  It vibrates the joints so much it begins to make the joints loose.  I would think that these cities and towns have been in business long enough that they have the sense to have a reserve built in to their budget that would automatically take care of the maintenance that is sure to come.  When I came west on Route 66 it was still unpaved in some sections in New Mexico and Arizona. You will note that the states keep adding taxes to build things.  They dont add taxes specifically to keep it in operation.
 After the war  they built the National Defense Highway System.  It seems they build new things but do not plan on having to repair them.  Now they have decided that the time has come.  All I have heard so  far is just talk.  Leave it to our kids to pay for it.  We wore it out but they will pay to fix it. It seems they have learned this in Europe.  Yes there is no speed limit on the Autobahn but you  had better be prepared to stop or adjust your driving for the repairs being done.  Kay and I traveled roads thousands of years old.  They are still in operation because they kept them in repair.  Well, the time has come where avoiding the issue wont work.  At least much longer.  

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Corn on the cob.

Quick trip both ways.  Kay was still in bed when I got there at 9 AM.  I saw a caregiver and asked him if she ate breakfast.  He said she did not eat.  And after getting dressed she stayed in bed.  I had a banana, crackers and truffles so I gave these for her to eat.  She was obviously not happy with the caregiver and pushed him away.  This is the one who may have treated her roughly some time ago. She seemed to take me about normal but I don't remember her   smiling at me.  I tried to ask her if she hurt but did not get an answer.  She did not seem to be in pain.  I just called the nurse where she is and the nurse said she ate lunch and dinner.  I don't know how the nurse can remember this without looking it up.  I am convinced that employees there will tell you what you want to hear.  I don't know know if this is the case now but I know for sure it has happened in the past.  As I visit every day  I will know tomorrow if she does not eat her meals.   I stayed with her and let her stay in bed until it was time to go.  I was about ready to go when I discovered my phone was missing.  As the bus could come any minute I pulled the call light and got a caregiver to call my number.  I could hear it but had quite a time  finding it.

There is a Thriftway just a few blocks away but it might as well be 5 miles considering my walking ability.  However it may be on 1 or more bus lines that go by my location so I took it's shuttle to get there and find out for sure.  My eyes are so bad it is hard to read the booklet that Pierce County transit publishes.  I figured it was easiest to go there and read the list at the bus stop.  I did some shopping while there.  I don't see how it could be better.  3 busses go by here that go there.  Of course they also come back here.  Going by bus sucks usually.  Most lines in Tacoma run just an hour apart. So it could take all afternoon to  go just these 6 blocks if it was on only one line because of the waiting.  But with 3 busses going here to there it should be fairly quick.  The bus stops are close to where i live and close to the grocery store.  I am interested in the deli  there for varety from the menu here. While there today I bought some corn on the cob then for dinner I cooked enough for 4 people and took it down for the others to eat.  Fortunately Alma was not there so I managed to get two pieces that gave me a decent serving.  One of the ears I didn't break in the middle and it was quite small.  When I gave it to the one across the table she said it was such a small piece.  I was going to give her the other piece anyway.  She is the one that cries like a baby when her portions are too small for her.  If Alma had been there  I would  have had to eat it.  I knew that small a piece would not satisfy her. I was coming up to my room and cook the last ear for myself anyway.  Surprise surprise, Alma did show up for dinner but too late.  We were completely done.  She loves corn on the cob.  I did this once before.  We could safely tell her we had corn  as the only evidence left were the cobs.    

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

1st Amendment

It was not easy to see how slowly Kay moved today.  It was just 8:45 when I went to her dining room where she still sat from breakfast.  I am pretty sure she knew me.  But it took a little time to smile in recognition.  After a while I got her walker and we went to the hall for treats.  This is where I noticed that she was so slow.  I  presume she had walked to the dining room without her walker.  I don't know how she managed that as she seemed not to be able to walk without something to support her. She can get to the dining room by holding on to the guard rail.  But part of her walk had to be done without anything to support her. Somehow she managed it without the walker.  Coming back from the treats we have to walk about 125 feet and I began to wonder if she was able to walk that far. I decided to just stay with her and not do exercises.


  • The name if this blog has the words senior observer  in the title. So I am going to do a little observing.  I think the reason the government can get away with what it does these days is because of the ignorance of what the  Constitution is meant to do.  From reading even just the Bill of Rights it is clear the Constitution is a contract between the individual citizen and the government.  The citizen is a free man and can make a contract in his daily life with other citizens.  His way to redress a grievance with another citizen is through the courts.  If he has a dispute with the government he can peaceably assemble for redress of his grievance.  He doesn't congregate in the streets and break windows and burn buildings if he has a grievance with the Government. So when the government allows mobs to burn and destroy  the government is not fulfilling it's contract with it's citizens.  There used to be laws for disturbing the peace but this business of allowing mobs to demonstrate at the expense of the other citizens is a failure of the government to live up to it's part of the contract.  For the government to allow these mobs to so called demonstrate is contrary to the plain reading of what was written.  For the Supreme Court to change the meaning of the 1st Amendment makes the Supreme Court worse than these anarchists.    


Saturday, May 16, 2015

Eating is a disease.





Everything was default today The only difference was I was tired and we stayed together in her room. Nothing was  going on on the third floor anyway.  

The habit of eating is worse than the habit of heron.  Some doctors say it easier to cure cancer.  I can believe that.  A woman at my table has an eating disease.  She can not stop eating even though she has been told she will die because of it.  She can do nothing about it.  She takes over 10 pills a day for her foot pain.  Caused by high b/g.  She was sick for 3 days and when she came back she had been to the doctor and about all he did was increase the size of the patch.  I had given her the book by Bernstein which would have explained how she could control her diabetes.  She read one chapter then quit.  She is the one I told you about who cried like a baby when her plate did  not have big enough portions for her.  For this kind of person eating is a disease.  She said her doctor said  her diabetes is under control.  Of course she does not know what control is anyway.  I have never heard of a doctor telling the patient they must control their eating or they are going to die.  They just keep them coming back taking their fees.  It would seem ethical to me to tell the patient they must control their eating.  Or they must go somewhere else for treatment.  Because unless they do they can do nothing for them.  Do doctors ever do that?  This place is full of people mostly like her.  They keep eating, getting bigger and bigger. Getting worse and worse.  One of them a couple days ago had a congestive heart failure.   B/G readings or 200, 300, 400.  When it goes over 300 some are shocked but have no idea what to do about it.  It's sad.  

Friday, May 15, 2015

Liberation day in Holland

Nothing was going on at her place so I watched TV and held her hand while she dozed. It was a default visit and does not require much description.  What I am really excited about is a new version of Taps that was given to me. This version of Taps is new to me.  In fact I did not know there was another version.  This new version was written by an Italian.  Please listen and see if you don't agree that it is an event that makes you fully understand what it means to die for your country.  




Look at these baby faces and remember that it is these kind of kids  you send to fight your wars.  

St. Avold, France 1945 25,000

At the time I took this  in 1945 at St Avold France 25,000 Americans were buried here.  Many of them  just like the boys in the pictures you see above.

Each year in   Holland  they commemorate Liberation Day.  On May 5 this year Holland remembered  those who died liberating Holland from the German occupation. What makes the ceremony exceptional this year is the little 13 year old angel who played Taps and the beautiful version of Taps she played. I think  you  will get the full impact of the sacrifice these men made for  their country when you hear it.    Click on the link and  see for yourself. 

You will have to copy  and paste the link in the address bar for it to work.  

http://www.flixxy.com/trumpet-solo-melissa-venema.htm 

Thursday, May 14, 2015

Dull Visit. Tell It Like It Is

 About all we  did today was hold hands.  I managed to give her a treat or two.  But it was pretty mundane. 

As there  is not a lot going on when I visited Kay I will insert an article written by Fred Reed a while ago to hopefully make things more interesting. 

Vassar...Vassar?

Watching the Leper's Fingers Fall

April 12, 2015
Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. At Vassar some ditzbunny got blitzed, got laid, and a year later decided that she had been sexually assaulted. I guess she didn’t notice it at the time. You have to be alert to know when you have been raped. It can happen when you are distracted, maybe working on your laundry list, and you don’t find out about it for a while.
Congruent with the national fantasy that college girls don’t know about sex or the effects of beer, a conventionally imbecilic judge found the guy guilty. No surprise here. (“What part of “yes” don’t you understand, your honor?”)
But check out the astonishing email she wrote to the offender:
"I'm really sorry I led you on last night I should have known better then [sic] to let my self [sic] drink yet, I really don't want this to effect [sic] our team dynamic or friendship. I don't think any less of you at all I had a wonderful time last night I'm just too close to my previous relationship to be in one right now."
Doesn’t sound very raped to me, but what do I know? I love her grammar. The child is semiliterate. I couldn’t have gotten away with such stuff in the sixth grade. Vassar? The national fingers drop. Drop, drop, drop they drop.
Next, in Stars and Stripes, we find that American Special Operations troops do not believe that women can succeed in their death-in-the-bushes outfits. The shame. How can they believe that women, who obviously can’t do certain things, obviously can’t do the things they obviously can’t do? This discriminatory position has no support at all, other than common sense, observation, and experience.
You see: Women, imperiled by frat parties, want to be SEALs. The only conclusion possible is that women are crazy.
Next, Rolling Stone retracts its story about yet another imaginary rape, this time at the University of Virginia. The magazine admits that it just invented the story. This too is traditional, as in the Tawana Brawley and the Duke lacrosse unrapes. The magazine called the story’s fabricator, one Sabrina Erdely, ”a really expert fabulist storyteller.”  This is flackspeak for “an accomplished liar.” The magazine says that Sabrina will not be fired. Apparently the story was in the nature of a typo. It could happen to anyone.
I find myself wondering what is going on in the swirling minds of American women. I asked Natalia, my Mexican stepdaughter, whether rape was a concern on her university campus in Guadalajara. “No,” she said, and apparently thought she had exhausted the subject. There is in these rape rhapsodies a whiff of lurking bogeymen, an hysteria reminiscent of the spinster looking under her bed every night for fear, or in hopes, of finding a man.
Something curious goes on with our indigenous females. What? Is it that they can’t decide whether they want to be biochemists or mommies? That they really aren’t comfortable in the workplace? The insecurity of not having a place in society with which they are comfortable? Have stopped quite being women without quite being men, and it boggles them? Get things through affirmative action but know that they got them that way? Their personal systems seem to be under some nameless stress.
Next, the US has become a continental Vassar. Fortuneheadline: “American Millennials are among the world's least skilled.” It warms a curmudgeon’s heart, as it will lead to something apppallingly stupid but interesting. Wilful collapse is wonderful entertainment.
Yes. We gringos are all brainless now, men and women together, koom bah yah. This is the unsurprising conclusion of a sprawling international exam.
Here we go:
“Sponsored by the OECD, the test was designed to measure the job skills of adults, aged 16 to 65, in 23 countries. When the results were analyzed by age group and nationality, ETS got a shock. It turns out, says a new report, that Millennials in the U.S. fall short when it comes to the skills employers want most: literacy (including the ability to follow simple instructions), practical math, and — hold on to your hat — a category called “problem-solving in technology-rich environments.”
Actually, our larvae fall way short, being behind everyone but Spain, Ireland, and Poland. Welcome to Vassar.
Not to worry, though. Nobody can hope to challenge America, us, the indispensable country. In particular, the Chinese are lazy, narcissistic, stupid, immature, lacking in ambition, and very, very bad at math. They enroll only in victims’ studies, and spend most of their time in studying rape or taking selfies.
As proof of this inferiority, I offer a column of the other day by Pat Buchanan.
By way of introduction, Thomas Jefferson High School, in Fairfax County in the Virginia suburbs of Washington, DC, accepts only seriously smart kids. I mean, pretty seriously seriously smart kids.
Writes Buchanan, “According to the Post, 70 percent of the incoming freshmen are Asians, the highest percentage ever…White students make up only 22 percent of the entering class.”
Ye gods and little catfish. And big ones too. This is worse than it seems since whites much outnumber Asians in suburban Virginia. Seventy freaking percent? But the snowballing inadequacy is everywhere, like corruption and sinus drainage.At CalTech, with probably the highest entrance standards in the US, and no affirmative action: Asians 40%, whites 29%, Hispanics 10%, and blacks 1.7%. In the elite high schools of New York, the same pattern holds.
But not to worry. Writes Buchanan, “Jeremy Shughart, admissions director at TJ, has a committee “reviewing the application process to improve diversity at the school.” Oh good. Affirmative action. Heartwarming morons. Dumbed-down classes will presumably follow.
More specifically, the school will admit unqualified blacks and Hispanics at the expense of whites, or at the expense of Asians. That will fix things.  The white kids will probably have to take Ritalin, attend rape-consciousness seminars, and discuss feelings.
Being as I am incorrigible, and weary of bureaucratic capons, in Shughart’s place I would have told the entitlement doxies, “Bugger off. TJ is not a remedial institution for the mentally lame and halt, the ethnically challenged and gender-deficient. If you can’t cut the mustard, get a federal job.”
But the man—I use the term loosely—doesn’t have the glands. Dimmer and dimmer we get, and dimmer, and dimmer. What else could one expect in a feminized system of schools hostile to academics, boys, talent, and competition? And unable to see the consequences of their sillinesses? Not to worry, though. Not for a little bit. 

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

What is wrong with the truth?

 Very dull visit today.  She was in bed and it looked like she was sleeping.  So I just sat down by the bed and watched the RT.  Eventually she woke up and I gave her a  truffle.  Later she was tired of being in bed so  started walking down the hall.  A caregiver told me the bus was there.  Even though it was a little early I went down without making it register on her I think that I was leaving.  I don't know how she will react if she realizes I am not there. I like her to know when I am leaving so her mind wont think I am still there.  

I had to leave without breakfast as the server forgot after I told her I had an 8:30 bus to catch.  I really didn't care as I had eaten a large bowl of oatmeal that no doubt made my b/g go skyhigh.  I didn't need any more carbs to push it even higher. Besides I take stuff with me to eat in the middle of the morning.   

It was somewhat after breakfast and I saw the server down at the other end of the dining room serving there.  I began to suspect she might have forgotten because the time was approaching when I should decide what to do about breakfast if I  were to catch the bus.  Finally at 20 after 8 I had to go up to my room and eat a bite of something ( apple in this case) on my way down to wait for the bus.  I arrived just about 8:30 exactly.  Bear with me on this because I have something to bring in about caregivers.  
On my way back from my visit with Kay I was still under the impression that what happened at breakfast was just  forgetfulness.  It probably was forgetfulness that I  reason I didn't get my breakfast.  At the noon lunch when this server was delivering the drinks I asked if she had forgotten anything at breakfast. She said she didn't forget anything.  I asked her if she didn't forget my breakfast I was to get so  I could catch the 8:30 bus.  She said she did bring my breakfast.  As I left at 8:20 it had to be after that if it came at all.  The others left after I did.    I  asked them if she had delivered the breakfast before they left.   They said no.  In all other cases when I have told the kitchen staff I had an early bus to catch they brought the plate right around 8 AM.  This is what really ticks me off.  The people here will tell a lie even though the truch would do very well.  If she had just admitted she had forgotten that would have been the end of it.  It is obvious I can not trust her which brings up other factors to consider.  She occasionally does a shift over where Kay is.  I am somewhat reluctant to say anything about this because I dont want anything to be taken out on Kay.  I have just ignored this womans bossiness towards some of the residents here.  Her job is to serve the food.  I saw her boss a resident around when he wanted to change his table but she told him he could not.  She told him to get back to where his table was.  I have no doubt  she feels very safe in bossing the residents over where Kay is because   they are helpless to resist or know how.  How to manage the people there is very important.   I think it is hard to keep from pushing them too hard.  Because they are so slow.  I know of an instance where a caregiver   tried to make Kay do what she was unable to do so much  that she struck out at the caregiver. Of course that would not have amounted to anything she is so feeble.  I don't trust people who lie when the simple truth would do perfectly well.  My fear is that these little people will try to get back at me by taking it out on Kay.

Have a nice day. 

     
 .  

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

I have to change mailing proceedure



Kay was not in the default mode in some respects.  Default is in bed in her room.  She was in the Lunchroom just sitting.  She was quite alert so I easily got her up and took her to have her truffles.  She wanted to concentrate on truffles.  However I managed to get her to eat some banana in addition to a usual graham cracker.  There was no exercise program today and I got her to do some extra walking to substitute for that. I opened Shirley's mothers day card and read it to her.  I was tired so we rested the remainder of the visit.

Something strange going around here.  Or was.  It may have been fixed.  Yesterday I guess it was I wanted to mail a letter with either return receipt requested of get a signature. When I moved in they would only sell stamps.  then for some time if I had something to mail I just gave them the pkg or envelop and they would run it through the meter and I would just give them the money for the stamp the meter put on the mail.  That was real nice as I didn't have to mess with a bunch of stamps. Yesterday though a supervisor was manning the front desk because of a temporary need and he told me when I wanted to mail the letter that they did not provide those services here but I should go to a Post Office.  I didn't get those services before but sent quite a few manila envelopes  out with DVD's in them around Christmas. So perhaps this  accounts for the personnel changes around here recently.       

Following is an article how we are a police state.  He writes about informers.  I have noticed that all the trials of terrorists arrested in the US were arrested because an informer informed on them.  You don't normally get this view in your news source and may even disagree with him.  Try it anyway.  






May 11, 2015 "Information Clearing House" - "Truthdig" - A totalitarian state is only as strong as its informants. And the United States has a lot of them. They read our emails. They listen to, download and store our phone calls. They photograph us on street corners, on subway platforms, in stores, on highways and in public and private buildings. They track us through our electronic devices. They infiltrate our organizations. They entice and facilitate “acts of terrorism” by Muslims, radical environmentalists, activists and Black Bloc anarchists, framing these hapless dissidents and sending them off to prison for years. They have amassed detailed profiles of our habits, our tastes, our peculiar proclivities, our medical and financial records, our sexual orientations, our employment histories, our shopping habits and our criminal records. They store this information in government computers. It sits there, waiting like a time bomb, for the moment when the state decides to criminalize us.
Totalitarian states record even the most banal of our activities so that when it comes time to lock us up they can invest these activities with subversive or criminal intent. And citizens who know, because of the courage of Edward Snowden, that they are being watched but naively believe they “have done nothing wrong” do not grasp this dark and terrifying logic.
Tyranny is always welded together by subterranean networks of informants. These informants keep a populace in a state of fear. They perpetuate constant anxiety and enforce isolation through distrust. The state uses wholesale surveillance and spying to break down trust and deny us the privacy to think and speak freely.
A state security and surveillance apparatus, at the same time, conditions all citizens to become informants. In airports and train, subway and bus stations the recruitment campaign is relentless. We are fed lurid government videos and other messages warning us to be vigilant and report anything suspicious. The videos, on endless loops broadcast through mounted television screens, have the prerequisite ominous music, the shady-looking criminal types, the alert citizen calling the authorities and in some cases the apprehended evildoer being led away in handcuffs. The message to be hypervigilant and help the state ferret out dangerous internal enemies is at the same time disseminated throughout government agencies, the mass media, the press and the entertainment industry. 
“If you see something say something,” goes the chorus.
In any Amtrak station, waiting passengers are told to tell authorities—some of whom often can be found walking among us with dogs—about anyone who “looks like they are in an unauthorized area,” who is “loitering, staring or watching employees and customers,” who is “expressing an unusual level of interest in operations, equipment, and personnel,” who is “dressed inappropriately for the weather conditions, such as a bulky coat in summer,” who “is acting extremely nervous or anxious,” who is “restricting an individual’s freedom of movement” or who is “being coached on what to say to law enforcement or immigration officials.”
What is especially disturbing about this constant call to become a citizen informant is that it directs our eyes away from what we should see—the death of our democracy, the growing presence and omnipotence of the police state, and the evisceration, in the name of our security, of our most basic civil liberties.
Manufactured fear engenders self-doubt. It makes us, often unconsciously, conform in our outward and inward behavior. It conditions us to relate to those around us with suspicion. It destroys the possibility of organizing, community and dissent. We have built what Robert Gellately calls a “culture of denunciation.”
Snitches in prisons, the quintessential totalitarian system, are the glue that allows prison authorities to maintain control and keep prisoners divided and weak. Snitches also populate the courts, where the police make secret deals to drop or mitigate charges against them in exchange for their selling out individuals targeted by the state. Our prisons are filled with people serving long sentences based on false statements that informants provided in exchange for leniency.
There are no rules in this dirty game. Police, like prison officials, can offer snitches deals that lack judicial oversight or control. (Deals sometimes involve something as trivial as allowing a prisoner access to food like cheeseburgers.) Snitches allow the state to skirt what is left of our legal protections. Snitches can obtain information for the authorities and do not have to give their targets aMiranda warning. And because of the desperation of most who are recruited to snitch, informants will do almost anything asked of them by authorities.
Just as infected as the prisons and the courts are poor neighborhoods, which abound with snitches, many of them low-level drug dealers allowed to sell on the streets in exchange for information. And from there our culture of snitches spirals upward into the headquarters of the National Security Agency, Homeland Security and the FBI.
Systems of police and military authority are ruthless when their own, such as Edward Snowden or Chelsea Manning, become informants on behalf of the common good. The power structure imposes walls of silence and harsh forms of retribution within its ranks in an effort to make sure no one speaks. Power understands that once it is divided, once those inside its walls become snitches, it becomes as weak and vulnerable as those it subjugates.
We will not be able to reclaim our democracy and free ourselves from tyranny until the informants and the vast networks that sustain them are banished. As long as we are watched 24 hours a day we cannot use the word “liberty.” This is the relationship of a master and a slave. Any prisoner understands this.
Alexander Solzhenitsyn in his masterpiece “The Gulag Archipelago,” which chronicles his time in Josef Stalin’s gulags and is a brilliant reflection of the nature of oppression and tyranny, describes a moment when an influx of western Ukrainians who had been soldiers during World War II arrived at his camp, at Ekibastuz. The Ukrainians, he wrote, “were horrified by the apathy and slavery they saw, and reached for their knives.” They began to murder the informants.
Solzhenitsyn continued:
“Kill the stoolie!” That was it, the vital link! A knife in the heart of the stoolie! Make knives and cut the stoolie’s throats—that was it!
Now as I write this chapter, rows of humane books frown down at me from the walls, the tarnished gilt on their well-worn spines glinting reproachfully like stars through the cloud. Nothing in the world should be sought through violence! By taking up the sword, the knife, the rifle, we quickly put ourselves on the level of tormentors and persecutors. And there will be no end to it. …
There will be no end. … Here, at my desk, in a warm place, I agree completely.
If you ever get twenty-five years for nothing, if you find yourself wearing four number patches on your clothes, holding your hands permanently behind your back, submitting to searches morning and evening, working until you are utterly exhausted, dragged into the cooler whenever someone denounces you, trodden deeper and deeper into the ground—from the hole you’re in, the fine words of the great humanists will sound like the chatter of the well-fed and free.
There will be no end of it! ... But will there be a beginning? Will there be a ray of hope in our lives or not?
The oppressed at least concluded that evil cannot be cast out by good.
The eradication of some snitches and intimidation of others transformed the camp. It was, Solzhenitsyn admits, an imperfect justice since there was no “documentary confirmation that a man was an informer.” But, he noted, even this “improperly constituted, illegal, and invisible court was much more acute in its judgments, much less often mistaken, than any of the tribunals, panels of three, courts-martial, or Special Boards with which we are familiar.”
“Of the five thousand men about a dozen were killed, but with every stroke of the knife more and more of the clinging, twining tentacles fell away,” he wrote. “A remarkable fresh breeze was blowing! On the surface we were prisoners living in a camp just as before, but in reality we had become free—free because for the very first time in our lives we had started saying openly and aloud all that we thought! No one who has not experienced this transition can imagine what it is like!
And the informers … stopped informing.”
The camp bosses, he wrote “were suddenly blind and deaf. To all appearances, the tubby major, his equally tubby second in command, Captain Prokofiev, and all the wardens walked freely about the camp, where nothing threatened them; moved among us, watched us—and yet saw nothing! Because a man in uniform sees and hears nothing without stoolies.”
The system of internal control in the camp broke down. Prisoners no longer would serve as foremen on work details. Prisoners organized their own self-governing council. Guards began to move about the camp in fear and no longer treated prisoners like cattle. Pilfering and theft among prisoners stopped. “The old camp mentality—you die first, I’ll wait a bit; there is no justice so forget it; that’s the way it was, and that’s the way it will be—also began to disappear.”
Solzhenitsyn concluded this chapter, “Behind the Wire the Ground Is Burning,” in Volume 3 of his book, with this reflection.
Purged of human filth, delivered from spies and eavesdroppers we looked about and saw, wide-eyed that … we were thousands! That we were …politicals! That we could resist!
We had chosen well; the chain would snap if we tugged at this link—the stoolies, the talebearers and traitors! Our own kind had made our lives impossible. As on some ancient sacrificial altar, their blood had been shed that we might be freed from the curse that hung over us.
The revolution was gathering strength. The wind that seemed to have subsided had sprung up again in a hurricane to fill our eager lungs.
Later in the book Solzhenitsyn would write, “Our little island had experienced an earthquake—and ceased to belong to the Archipelago.” 
Freedom demands the destruction of the security and surveillance organs and the disempowering of the millions of informants who work for the state. This is not a call to murder our own stoolies—although some of the 2.3 million prisoners in cages in America’s own gulags would perhaps rightly accuse me of writing this from a position of privilege and comfort and not understanding the brutal dynamics of oppression – but instead to accept that unless these informants on the streets, in the prisons and manning our massive, government data-collection centers are disarmed we will never achieve liberty. I do not have quick and simple suggestions for how this is to be accomplished. But I know it must.
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Monday, May 11, 2015

Moroccan Salmon at BJ's

 I will leave out the default events which you should know by now if you read this blog regularly.  I guess there is nothing to report that is not in the default events that happen when I visit Kay.  No exercises but I think they are done starting on Tuesdays.  Yesterday we went to BJ's at the Tacoma Mall. Nice restaurant but I picked Moroccan salmon which I didn't like.  I don't say it was bad I just did not like the sauce it was cooked in.  It's on the menu so some people must like it. Kay loved getting out.  Today my  visit was almost a  half hour longer because the bus was that late getting there to pick me up.  

Saturday, May 9, 2015

Kay not so good





Kay seemed to be having a problem today but I could not be sure what was bothering.  I thought it might be acid reflux bothering her.  I took her outside to sit in the sun for a while but it was too hot.  But I had a good long visit for a change. 

Here is a paragraph from an  article in informationclearinghouse.info that might interest you if you think ISIS is the main people who behead people.  Of course the French were pretty good at it  a while back. Bill Van Auken was the writer of the article if you want to read all of it. These are buddies of Kerry, Bush and others

The nature of the Saudi regime was made abundantly clear on the eve of Kerry’s visit with the mass beheading of five immigrants—two from Yemen and one each from Sudan, Eritrea and Chad. A Saudi national was decapitated on the day the US secretary of state landed in the desert kingdom. After these grisly public executions, the headless corpses of the victims were hung from helicopters to ensure the maximum display of the state atrocity.

Friday, May 8, 2015

Saudi Arabia Beheads 5. not ISIS

Nice friends we have. Or rather Bush has

 Saudi Arabia Beheads Five Foreigners, Hangs their Corpses from Helicopter:

Kah fwll

 Kay was in bed.  Yesterday or perhaps in the evening she fell.  I only  know what was told me on the voice mail.  I was not able to talk to anyone about it who was there.  Probably a fall from unsteadiness. She is very unsteady and I am very careful when I get her up or put her down.  On the Wednesday meeting with the  Alzheimer's support group they were disappointed at the reception that Cascade gave to the idea of a Skype kind of contact with patients there.  Loneliness is a  terrible feeling.  Remember your young days when you might have been separated from family during a summer camp? some never get over wanting to go home. 70  years ago today I was in Worms Germany.  WW 2 was over for Germany.  Now the procedure of getting an assignment was going to be easier.  Before this someone had to  be  killed or wounded for there to be a place for me in a fighting unit.  Now they would be dismantling the army  in Germany by sending some units to  the Pacific to continue the war there.  The men with  3 or 4 years of war were to be sent home.  During these years the 3rd Infantry suffered 26,000 casualties.  When you realize that most of these casualties were by the infantry riflemen and that there were perhaps 10 thousand riflemen in a division   if you sign up try the Navy.  The end of the war did not mean the end of horror especially in the Russian zone.  The   surrender turned loose an army of predators on the civilians.  The woman next to me was a German woman 16 years old in Berlin.  I keep getting bits and pieces from her.  I've known this from other sources but this is first hand. The Russian soldiers lined up to gang rape women.  All ages. Show resistance and they put a gun to the womans head and showed her what the alternative was. There has been the effort in recent years to whitewash what happened in Germany and Berlin by the   Russian/Communist  conduct.  RT America's reporting  is a total lie of the 70th anniversary of the surrender.  Forgotten and no longer remembered are the millions killed by the Russians after the war.  Including the Ukrainians.          

Thursday, May 7, 2015

Humdrum

 This will probably be short as I am eager to get on some editing of one of my videos.   

Kay was in the  activity room I think.  I took her for some treats but now that we have been sitting there others get the idea so I have to take Kay to her toom.  Soon I will be able to take her out on the patio as the weather is getting warmer.  I think she tires if she has to walk more than a hundred feet.  The trainees from St Patricks are out in droves. The bus was late but back promptly.  If they would be late picking me up it would compensate for me getting there late.  

Got some editing to do.  

Wednesday, May 6, 2015

Dementia meeting.

 Kay was sleeping but dressed.  I sat by her for a while and finally she woke.  While I was calling Tom for some reason some of the Trainees came in seeing a man in the room got excited and wondered if I should be there.  The director of exercise and  news reading for the group came in and advised me it would go  on shortly  This woke Kay so in a few minutes I took Kay in to the meeting.  During the reading of the funnies I took Kay back to her room to be ready for the bus if came on time.  I  think it would be easier to leave her in her room where she is used to me telling her goodbye.  She always seems to be ok there.  In the room with all the others she wants to go with me.

We had our monthly Alzheimer's meeting this evening.  Not many attend but as I am just upstairs I go anyway.  My problems are minor compared to others.    One woman told how her sister fell and broke her leg, On top of the dementia she also has Down Syndrome. Because of this she will not cooperate with the caregivers so Medicaid will not pay for her care.  The absolute minimum you can get group home care costs from 6,000 to 8,000 a month.

I told them why I am not pursuing my idea to introduce Skype type visits to people at the Gardens.   I could tell from the lack of enthusiasm that I was fighting a losing battle.  So forget it.  They were anticipating my report and were disappointed that I could not get a good response out of Cascade officials.  Kay could not benefit from it but some could.

I am working on getting a new meter as the new ones they use are just like the cheap Walmart.  It works fine but it is one of the kind that this type registers more than the other style of b/g measures.  My doctor did not prescribe it so I don't know how they managed to change without my knowledge and ok.  I am looking into it.    

Tuesday, May 5, 2015

Got exercised today.

First I  recommend you watch this video of the greatest boatlift of all time and it happened right here in the good old U S of A.  The come back and read the rest of this post.  I had never heard of this I don't recall. http://www.youtube.com/embed/MDOrzF7B2Kg  

I got there early and she was dressed but still in bed.  When I tried to kiss her hello she pushed me away.  I let it simmer for a while then as exercises were to begin I tried to get her to come but she wanted to sleep.  I thought I might as well go alone for the 15 minutes the exercises take.  But in a few minutes I was told she was coming.  So we went through them and returned after the news.  I gave her a couple truffles and part of a cracker.  The rest of the visit was normal.  I have no idea what she was upset about. Didn't seem to be sick.

Great ride home although we did a couple stops to drop off other riders but they were mostly on the route and they  were able to walk off without help which makes it fast. 




 http://www.youtube.com/embed/MDOrzF7B2Kg

Monday, May 4, 2015

Another opinion by Fred Reed


Here is another recent article by Fred Reed.  To write him go to his web page at fredoneverything.net.  He wont read it though as he was blinded in VietNam then the job was almost completed by an incompetent Dr. at the VA


Vassar...Vassar?

Watching the Leper's Fingers Fall

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. At Vassar some ditzbunny got blitzed, got laid, and a year later decided that she had been sexually assaulted. I guess she didn’t notice it at the time. You have to be alert to know when you have been raped. It can happen when you are distracted, maybe working on your laundry list, and you don’t find out about it for a while.
Congruent with the national fantasy that college girls don’t know about sex or the effects of beer, a conventionally imbecilic judge found the guy guilty. No surprise here. (“What part of “yes” don’t you understand, your honor?”)
But check out the astonishing email she wrote to the offender:
"I'm really sorry I led you on last night I should have known better then [sic] to let my self [sic] drink yet, I really don't want this to effect [sic] our team dynamic or friendship. I don't think any less of you at all I had a wonderful time last night I'm just too close to my previous relationship to be in one right now."
Doesn’t sound very raped to me, but what do I know? I love her grammar. The child is semiliterate. I couldn’t have gotten away with such stuff in the sixth grade. Vassar? The national fingers drop. Drop, drop, drop they drop.
Next, in Stars and Stripes, we find that American Special Operations troops do not believe that women can succeed in their death-in-the-bushes outfits. The shame. How can they believe that women, who obviously can’t do certain things, obviously can’t do the things they obviously can’t do? This discriminatory position has no support at all, other than common sense, observation, and experience.
You see: Women, imperiled by frat parties, want to be SEALs. The only conclusion possible is that women are crazy.
Next, Rolling Stone retracts its story about yet another imaginary rape, this time at the University of Virginia. The magazine admits that it just invented the story. This too is traditional, as in the Tawana Brawley and the Duke lacrosse unrapes. The magazine called the story’s fabricator, one Sabrina Erdely, ”a really expert fabulist storyteller.”  This is flackspeak for “an accomplished liar.” The magazine says that Sabrina will not be fired. Apparently the story was in the nature of a typo. It could happen to anyone.
I find myself wondering what is going on in the swirling minds of American women. I asked Natalia, my Mexican stepdaughter, whether rape was a concern on her university campus in Guadalajara. “No,” she said, and apparently thought she had exhausted the subject. There is in these rape rhapsodies a whiff of lurking bogeymen, an hysteria reminiscent of the spinster looking under her bed every night for fear, or in hopes, of finding a man.
Something curious goes on with our indigenous females. What? Is it that they can’t decide whether they want to be biochemists or mommies? That they really aren’t comfortable in the workplace? The insecurity of not having a place in society with which they are comfortable? Have stopped quite being women without quite being men, and it boggles them? Get things through affirmative action but know that they got them that way? Their personal systems seem to be under some nameless stress.
Next, the US has become a continental Vassar. Fortuneheadline: “American Millennials are among the world's least skilled.” It warms a curmudgeon’s heart, as it will lead to something apppallingly stupid but interesting. Wilful collapse is wonderful entertainment.
Yes. We gringos are all brainless now, men and women together, koom bah yah. This is the unsurprising conclusion of a sprawling international exam.
Here we go:
“Sponsored by the OECD, the test was designed to measure the job skills of adults, aged 16 to 65, in 23 countries. When the results were analyzed by age group and nationality, ETS got a shock. It turns out, says a new report, that Millennials in the U.S. fall short when it comes to the skills employers want most: literacy (including the ability to follow simple instructions), practical math, and — hold on to your hat — a category called “problem-solving in technology-rich environments.”
Actually, our larvae fall way short, being behind everyone but Spain, Ireland, and Poland. Welcome to Vassar.
Not to worry, though. Nobody can hope to challenge America, us, the indispensable country. In particular, the Chinese are lazy, narcissistic, stupid, immature, lacking in ambition, and very, very bad at math. They enroll only in victims’ studies, and spend most of their time in studying rape or taking selfies.
As proof of this inferiority, I offer a column of the other day by Pat Buchanan.
By way of introduction, Thomas Jefferson High School, in Fairfax County in the Virginia suburbs of Washington, DC, accepts only seriously smart kids. I mean, pretty seriously seriously smart kids.
Writes Buchanan, “According to the Post, 70 percent of the incoming freshmen are Asians, the highest percentage ever…White students make up only 22 percent of the entering class.”
Ye gods and little catfish. And big ones too. This is worse than it seems since whites much outnumber Asians in suburban Virginia. Seventy freaking percent? But the snowballing inadequacy is everywhere, like corruption and sinus drainage.At CalTech, with probably the highest entrance standards in the US, and no affirmative action: Asians 40%, whites 29%, Hispanics 10%, and blacks 1.7%. In the elite high schools of New York, the same pattern holds.
But not to worry. Writes Buchanan, “Jeremy Shughart, admissions director at TJ, has a committee “reviewing the application process to improve diversity at the school.” Oh good. Affirmative action. Heartwarming morons. Dumbed-down classes will presumably follow.
More specifically, the school will admit unqualified blacks and Hispanics at the expense of whites, or at the expense of Asians. That will fix things.  The white kids will probably have to take Ritalin, attend rape-consciousness seminars, and discuss feelings.
Being as I am incorrigible, and weary of bureaucratic capons, in Shughart’s place I would have told the entitlement doxies, “Bugger off. TJ is not a remedial institution for the mentally lame and halt, the ethnically challenged and gender-deficient. If you can’t cut the mustard, get a federal job.”
But the man—I use the term loosely—doesn’t have the glands. Dimmer and dimmer we get, and dimmer, and dimmer. What else could one expect in a feminized system of schools hostile to academics, boys, talent, and competition? And unable to see the consequences of their sillinesses? Not to owrry, though. Not for a little bit.

Why do people lie?

 Kay was lying on the bed clothed.  For a while I just sat next to her until finally I got her up to take a walk.  We had quite a walk in the hall then back where I finally gave her the treats.  She seemed qjite hungry.  A couple truffes, a small banana, and a couple crackers.  The bus came on time and took me home without stopping.  The bus driver said the police both city and state had some roads blocked off which he luckily managed to avoid.  

An example of how easily people in institutions will lie to you.  For no reason at all experhaps in this case she might have to admit she was not doing her job.  When Kristine the food server at breakfast brought the breakfast she brought the no sugar syrup. For those who don't  want that they normally provide normal maple syrup by a known brand firm.  As I prefer flavor over just sweetness. I asked her to give me some real syrup.  Instead she just said they didn't have any.  She had asked the other server and he said no.  I told her they always have this option and I was going to the kitchen and find out.  Which I did and asked a cook who went went and got me a pkg.  Coming back to the table I held it up to her and asked "does this look like syrup?"   Typical of some of the workers who think you are so simple you will just gobble up anything they tell you.  What I think is it really shows you what they think of you.  If they respected you or even had any self respect they would not be so quick to lie. But some will lie first when the truth would do  just as well. 

A number of people recently have had  911 called because of emergencies.  One died.  If I thought about it very much it would be depressing.  A good reason to get out as much as possible. A good reason too to treat the sick and old compassionately.  You may  will be there someday if you live.  

Sunday, May 3, 2015

Good weather is here.

 Kay was sitting in the TV room today.  I took her outside to set in the sun even though it was only 9.  I gave her the treats  there. After a while it was back up to her room for the remainder of my  time.  She walked like she could barely move.  So slow.  

I was going to tell you about the food.  It varies from here to there.  What I have noticed is we get quite a bit of canned vegetables.  Canned vegetables are OK if something is done to make them palatable.  Without  something added they are not worth eating.  I thought  I would bring up a way they could save on grocery bills and a make a lot of people happy.  (happier?)  Make a survey after meals and dont serve what we are throwing out.  Keep in mind that this place has been here for 16 years so I am pretty sure they are doing it the way they  want it done.  Sure enough the answer was that if they did that all they would serve would be corn.  All that did as far as I was concernd that they are fulfilling government regulations and if we want to eat it that is not their main concern.  So we get a lot of canned vegetables.  This is not to say they do not make any effort at all.   They do make a certain amount of dishes that are good so I guess we should be thankful for small favors.  You can do this to us adults but not to kids in school.  They tried that. 

Next I will be comparing my b/g test results to their new meter they are using on me and didn't tell me how they got it. Which doctor prescribed it for instance.  

If I would just give up and throw in the towel and say to hell with it like their, as far as I am concerned, quack doctor suggested I'm supposed to be a lot happier.  They cant seem to understand why anyone would want to manage their diabetes so they remain healthy.  Let it all hang out like most do in their wheel chairs, feet hurting, foot sores, high cholesterol , blindness and all the diabetes related illnesses that I don't have since I started managing my diabetes to where by b/g is in the normal range.  So I don't expect them to make my job any harder.  If I don't do it no one will do it.  

Saturday, May 2, 2015

Keeping them on the straight and narrow.

 Kay was watching TV after breakfast when I got there.  This was in the dining room where she had eaten breakfast. There is a TV there also.  She was actually looking at it which surprised me as usually doesn't even look at it.  I took her to our picnic spot and gave her the usual which she  ate quite a bit.  Must have been still hungry as this was only about 8 45.   I took her downstairs to the 2nd floor and we sat and watched the coming and going.  Then back upstairs for the remainder of the visit.  

They had one of their ordinary meetings where residents can ask questions of the officials, and managers.  You must remember though that this place has been in business for 16 years and I think has things pretty well figured out how they run the place.  Residents come, die and new ones take their place.  Managers for the main continue on managing the place as they learn to their advantage.  I am pretty sure for instance that the Fed's have ordained they provide a balanced diet of the current opinion of what is healthy.  Like it does in the schools.  Unfortunately they did not include a book of recipes. But more on this later.  

The past week I was offered doses of insulin that were entirely wrong two times.  The place here  has contracted to provide the medication prescribed by the doctor and they are required to adhere strictly to what he orders.  Makes sense as more people die from medicine mistakes than are killed in auto accidents. One of the mistakes could have been serious under some conditions if I had not caught it. So I brought this subject up. The head nurse had not gotten back to me after getting my email  about it.  I would not have brought up the subject if she had just commented to even in passing that she was looking into it.   Anyway that gave them something to chew on.  I got to thinking later about why these mistakes can happen other than just carelessness. The first mistake where the nurse was going to give me less than doctors orders probably happened because the eyesight of the nurse went bad.  She told me that on her BD a few days ago she seemed to start going blind.  Her mom did not believe her.  But you certainly go blind suddenly.  I have also not seen her here since then.  She was also a major player the Saturday when the nurse failed to show up here leaving scores of people here without their medicine or treatment.  The nurse that tried to give me almost double my prescribed amount is young and just out of school.  This is apparently her first job.  What should be looked into I think is the possibility that she needs glasses.  Being young and good looking and throw in a certain amount of vanity doesn't mean she doesn't need glasses. The sheet they use to know what is the right amount might be printed poorly. It is hard to tell the difference between a 5 and an 8  sometimes. 

What I learned about food will have to wait until tomorrow. 

Friday, May 1, 2015

Kay, and Cascade Vista

 Made good time going and coming.  She was in the dining room but someone else had the spot in front of the heater.  She had on socks but no slippers.  I keep telling them to keep her teeth in because I don't want her to forget how to use them.  That is one of the small things that make such a difference in her looks but is not very important to the Caregivers there.    I got her walker from somewhere else but she wanted mine.  I took her to her room as I  cant give her something to eat in the activity room with others looking on.  Not polite of course.  She seemed very hungry and ate truffles, two Ritz, and a small banana.  All of it.  Everyone keeps saying how cute she is and actually is compared to some others.  I would discount this but it is nice.  Even some of the patients also say so and they are not being paid.  Taking care of herself and getting what help she needed from the plastic surgeon pays off in the end.

I attended the general meeting and made my complaint about the apparent lack of appreciation of how important it is to get the right amount when dispensing insulin.  I was intended to get enough that might have might have killed me if I was not aware and didn't compensate for it.  But I happened to ask how much and got her to change it to the correct amount.  Her mistake didn't seem to faze her.  That is what got me.  No expression that she had better take more care.  She is very new just out of school and at this stage is getting a lot of stuff thrown at her so that this importance is not where it should be in her mind. A big problem is these syringes are not made for the small amounts and are hard to read. This is the result of some bureaucrat who has not made any decisions recently and probably decided that by issuing a new order the world would be a safer place.  So they decided the medical industry had to use a syringe that has machinery built in to when handled a person would not get stuck. As a result I am sure there are many times a nurse has not filled the right amount in the syringe because it was so hard to read the syringe. A similar situation developed here when they required the facility to install restrictors in all the faucets so no one would get blasted and scalded with hot water when they turned it on .    Great idea but in a large building the hot water tank is perhaps a hundred feet away. Now it is rare to get hot water to do dishes.  .  Besides they  keep the water at about 105 to 130 degrees,  My guess no one has every been scalded in the 16 years this place has been here.  When you say "the Government"   people's eyes glaze over and a picture of some out of this world organization making wonderful necessary decrees everyone is to follow blindly.  Just go out onto the street and look at the passerby's.  Those are the kind of people issuing all these stupid orders.  I've used up my quota for the day. 

Thursday, April 30, 2015

read the Special Feature.

 Kay was in her room as usual.  When it came time for exercises I took her there too.  She was quite alert but did not participate in the exercises like she did yesterday I think it was.  Because the bus was quite late I did not have a  long visit.  When with her I just sat by her in a chair until time to go. I gotta do something about the TV remotes as they keep disappearing.  they are not take by the Residents because of the way I hide them.  I also have told some of the Caregivers where I put them.  I think this one might have been taken to replace a missing one in one of the other rooms where residents watch TV.   I think one was taken there to replace one of my missing remotes.  You got that straight? I am not sure even I can make sense out of it.

I had to inform the head nurse about the carelessness of some of the nurses in dispensing insulin  She didn't seem all that happy about it. I do it by email and keep a copy of course.  It is rare for the people of my generation to have a  computer or much in the way of skills.  They have 3 computers in the activity room but the main activity is to play games. So she may be not too happy to get these kinds of messages.  This place has a good reputation and I hope to see that they earn it. It looks like they may be looking for another "nurse". I'd better stop now before I say too much.  

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Quick trip today

 Kay was sitting in the dining room in front of the electric wall heater.  Everyone else but one woman were somewhere else  Probably in the TV room.  Hardly anyone watches it.  I sat with her a while and eventually took her into her room.  I gave her a couple truffles and what I found later was part of a stale graham cracker.  Almost all graham crackers are on the stale side.  Apparently they sit on the shelf for a long while.  When opened they will probably have a crisp bite but a really fresh taste no.  So when I keep a zip bag a couple days it should be thrown out.  I retrieved my cell phone from her chest of drawers when I got her in her room.  I absent mindedly put my cell phone in her drawer to hide it in a sock instead of the TV remote.
The exercise leader came in and advised us there would be exercises this morning in about 15 minutes which we attended.  Kay did not try any today.  After the leader finished the exercises and took a few minutes going over events in the past and some funnies (comics ) we went back to her room for the remainder of the time.  As the bus came 5 minutes or so early there was no time to do anything but adjust the TV to the Arts channel and adjust the volume before I had to go.

Last night I watched the DVD Girls in Trouble and tonight I am watching something called Fried Green Tomatoes. I've watched about 30 minutes so far.  The difference taken towards  the "Family" is striking.  In Girls in Trouble the family is a distant second to sex. The influence of family is just as remote.
 In Fried Green Tomatoes the traditional old fashioned view is taken.   How it turns out and how much influence it has I will have to wait and see.  Family is the reason I go see her every day.  It isn't a duty it is because I want to. I thank those who do this because of duty but hopefully more do it because they want to. You certainly will enjoy it more.

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

The predicament for women



I had to encourage Kay to come with me to exercises.  However she even tried to   exercise when we got there.  Not well, but she tried. She hardly ever tries to exercise at all.  It is heart breaking.  But I can look at her and think about how lucky I was to marry her.  In the following article I have included written, by Fred Reed,   he says to marry young and well.  I did both.   

More Dykes than the Zeiderzee

April 26, 2015
We have suffered for decades now the squalling of ara chnid feminists (if arachnids can squall), usually lesbians but sometimes more-or less-normal women. For a while, however inadvertently, they made a degree of sense. All decent people (I hope) have supported equal pay, equal opportunity, and such. Unfortunately feminism has been shaped by awful dykes who (thank god) will never have children and who hate men. Consequently they do not have the desire of the sexually normal to get along with people of the other flavor, to learn their quirks and live with them. Since many feminists look like fire plugs with leprosy, they would have little chance anyway.

Andrea Dworkin. Finally, a cure for self-abuse.
These horrors frequently give young women marital advice that often ends by making them miserable—usually meaning single and childless and too old to do anything about either.
As a forties-ish man in Washington DC years back, dating mid-thirties-ish women, I and my fellows in this condition saw in women consistent patterns. They were either divorced and back on the market, sometimes with children, or they were career women not yet married—and both were desperate to be so. Those who had chosen career over marriage were finding that work was not empowering as promised, but just work. They, like the divorced, knew that their looks were fading, that they were becoming—old women. They wanted husbands. Now.
The hunting was poor. When they looked around, they saw that the good men were taken. Those remaining were homosexuals, or three-time  losers looking for a fourth divorce, or confirmed bachelors, or hopeless dweebs. For the career women, that damned biological clock was ticking like Peter Pan’s alligator.
This made it a guy’s market. If you were a man of forty-five, employed, not actually a serial killer, and had fewer than five nostrils, you did well. The women, though desperate, were often attractive, smart, good-looking, warm-blooded, and great people. They were catches, certainly all that I dated, but we were not looking. I had been burned in a divorce—my wife wasn’t bad at all, but the marriage was—and I was perfectly happy seeing a girlfriend on weekends and maybe Wednesdays. I had nothing to gain by marriage. None of us did. And feminists had made marriage dangerous.
This led to a common progression from the woman:
“Oh, I don’t want to get married. I just want to enjoy life.”
“I don’t want to get married, but I can understand why my friends do.”
“I don’t want to get married now, but maybe sometime.”
“Is this goddamed relationship going anywhere, or what?”
If a woman did find a good man, or one good enough, given the dearth of choices, she faced a dilemma. If after a year he hadn’t popped the question, which he almost certainly hadn’t, should she invest another year and hope, or bail out and look for another prospect? How many years are there between thirty-five and hopeless?
It is not a question that bothers the diesel dykes of The Movement, but they eagerly inflict it on those it does bother.
I perhaps make it sound amusing, but for our dates it wasn’t. Not at all. It didn’t matter that to soothe our consciences, we had said straightforwardly that we had no interest in marriage. They never believed it. We knew they wouldn’t, but were we supposed to remain celibate because we didn’t want to tie the ugly knot?
The inevitable truths of existence encroached on them. At age twenty-three when they had entered the office, male heads had followed them. At age thirty-five, male heads still followed women of twenty-three. It is a simple fact that men prefer young and pretty. Nice tits attract men as money attracts women. You may think this unjust. You may think that the sun should rise in the west, or hover in the sky. It doesn’t. That’s how it is.
By the time a woman is, say, forty, she is pretty much off the table. Smart women figure this out, however much they may hate it.
Another awful truth: Though men are much uglier than women, they age better. As years go by, a woman’s value on the meat bourse declines and the man’s rises. A man of fifty-five if not gone to suet can date women of thirty and, unless he is crazy, will. A woman is attracted to power, success, credit cards, and prestige. These tend to come in older packages. By contrast, a man would rather have his teeth pulled than date a prestigious lawyeress twenty years his senior.
A yet further truth:  A man who has lost his children in a divorce, or even one who hasn’t, does not want a woman who has children. Kids are a damned nuisance, and make dating difficult—and they are not his.
Hovering like a ghost over all of this is the long-forgotten Sexual Revolution, in which feminists commoditized sex and made women more or les fungible. While women are as sexual as men and often more so—Democratic women anyway—men are more plagued by the necessity. Back when a feller needed to say “I do” to get laid regular, he had an incentive to say it. The Revolution almost forced a woman to say Yes, since if she didn’t, someone else would. For men, this was wonderful, but it sorely reduced a gal’s bargaining power.
Seasoning this sorry broth was the success feminists had in turning law and divorce courts against men. The motive usually was hostility, not justice for the woman or the welfare of the children. (Feminists, being in the Sapphic traffic, seldom mention children, to them an alien concept.) Men found themselves being screwed regarding custody, visitation, and child support. Fraudulent accusations of sexual abuse of the children became almost routinely encouraged by lawyers. Men had their passports confiscated by feminist judges, male and female.
And men learned that, in the ugly climate of today, there is usually a snarling feminist slightly hidden inside that sweet flower of his--you know, with the rosy cheeks and all. Word got around. Men got wary.  Why buy the cow, they said, when the milk is free? As feminist hostility drove men from college, campus turned into a playground for the few males left.
All of the foregoing suggests that if a woman does not want to die a spinster with three cats in a condo on upper Connecticut Avenue, she would be wise to marry early and wisely. The idea infuriates feminists, but them’s the facts, ladies.
“Wisely” means honestly, among other things. Women too are capable of false-flag operations, sometimes with disastrous results. A bit of internet wisdom says, “She thinks he will change, and he doesn’t. He thinks she won’t change, and she does.” He starts off perfectly happy in masculine squalor in a small apartment downtown with his scuba gear in the middle of the floor where he can find it and a Harley Sportster in the garage. She pronounces this good until the knot is tied.  Then she wants a Volvo station wagon and a boring house in the suburbs. Come the divorce, she can’t figure out what happened.
Men. The bastards.
Men of my (then) age noticed that with a high frequency these women gobbled anti-depressants--lithium, Depacote, Welbutrin, Prozac, Xanax, all the bonbons of the chronically unhappy. My impression, which I cannot document, was that women happy with their husbands did not need pills, or even cats.
Ain’t my problem, and I don’t have much sympathy for the self-inflicted sufferings of women hostile to me, but there it is.
Philip Francis Stanley and Grotesque Ophthalmological Malpractice

More Dykes than the Zeiderzee

April 26, 2015
We have suffered for decades now the squalling of arachnid feminists (if arachnids can squall), usually lesbians but sometimes more-or less-normal women. For a while, however inadvertently, they made a degree of sense. All decent people (I hope) have supported equal pay, equal opportunity, and such. Unfortunately feminism has been shaped by awful dykes who (thank god) will never have children and who hate men. Consequently they do not have the desire of the sexually normal to get along with people of the other flavor, to learn their quirks and live with them. Since many feminists look like fire plugs with leprosy, they would have little chance anyway.

Andrea Dworkin. Finally, a cure for self-abuse.
These horrors frequently give young women marital advice that often ends by making them miserable—usually meaning single and childless and too old to do anything about either.
As a forties-ish man in Washington DC years back, dating mid-thirties-ish women, I and my fellows in this condition saw in women consistent patterns. They were either divorced and back on the market, sometimes with children, or they were career women not yet married—and both were desperate to be so. Those who had chosen career over marriage were finding that work was not empowering as promised, but just work. They, like the divorced, knew that their looks were fading, that they were becoming—old women. They wanted husbands. Now.
The hunting was poor. When they looked around, they saw that the good men were taken. Those remaining were homosexuals, or three-time losers looking for a fourth divorce, or confirmed bachelors, or hopeless dweebs. For the career women, that damned biological clock was ticking like Peter Pan’s alligator.
This made it a guy’s market. If you were a man of forty-five, employed, not actually a serial killer, and had fewer than five nostrils, you did well. The women, though desperate, were often attractive, smart, good-looking, warm-blooded, and great people. They were catches, certainly all that I dated, but we were not looking. I had been burned in a divorce—my wife wasn’t bad at all, but the marriage was—and I was perfectly happy seeing a girlfriend on weekends and maybe Wednesdays. I had nothing to gain by marriage. None of us did. And feminists had made marriage dangerous.
This led to a common progression from the woman:
“Oh, I don’t want to get married. I just want to enjoy life.”
“I don’t want to get married, but I can understand why my friends do.”
“I don’t want to get married now, but maybe sometime.”
“Is this goddamed relationship going anywhere, or what?”
If a woman did find a good man, or one good enough, given the dearth of choices, she faced a dilemma. If after a year he hadn’t popped the question, which he almost certainly hadn’t, should she invest another year and hope, or bail out and look for another prospect? How many years are there between thirty-five and hopeless?
It is not a question that bothers the diesel dykes of The Movement, but they eagerly inflict it on those it does bother.
I perhaps make it sound amusing, but for our dates it wasn’t. Not at all. It didn’t matter that to soothe our consciences, we had said straightforwardly that we had no interest in marriage. They never believed it. We knew they wouldn’t, but were we supposed to remain celibate because we didn’t want to tie the ugly knot?
The inevitable truths of existence encroached on them. At age twenty-three when they had entered the office, male heads had followed them. At age thirty-five, male heads still followed women of twenty-three. It is a simple fact that men prefer young and pretty. Nice tits attract men as money attracts women. You may think this unjust. You may think that the sun should rise in the west, or hover in the sky. It doesn’t. That’s how it is.
By the time a woman is, say, forty, she is pretty much off the table. Smart women figure this out, however much they may hate it.
Another awful truth: Though men are much uglier than women, they age better. As years go by, a woman’s value on the meat bourse declines and the man’s rises. A man of fifty-five if not gone to suet can date women of thirty and, unless he is crazy, will. A woman is attracted to power, success, credit cards, and prestige. These tend to come in older packages. By contrast, a man would rather have his teeth pulled than date a prestigious lawyeress twenty years his senior.
A yet further truth:  A man who has lost his children in a divorce, or even one who hasn’t, does not want a woman who has children. Kids are a damned nuisance, and make dating difficult—and they are not his.
Hovering like a ghost over all of this is the long-forgotten Sexual Revolution, in which feminists commoditized sex and made women more or les fungible. While women are as sexual as men and often more so—Democratic women anyway—men are more plagued by the necessity. Back when a feller needed to say “I do” to get laid regular, he had an incentive to say it. The Revolution almost forced a woman to say Yes, since if she didn’t, someone else would. For men, this was wonderful, but it sorely reduced a gal’s bargaining power.
Seasoning this sorry broth was the success feminists had in turning law and divorce courts against men. The motive usually was hostility, not justice for the woman or the welfare of the children. (Feminists, being in the Sapphic traffic, seldom mention children, to them an alien concept.) Men found themselves being screwed regarding custody, visitation, and child support. Fraudulent accusations of sexual abuse of the children became almost routinely encouraged by lawyers. Men had their passports confiscated by feminist judges, male and female.
And men learned that, in the ugly climate of today, there is usually a snarling feminist slightly hidden inside that sweet flower of his--you know, with the rosy cheeks and all. Word got around. Men got wary.  Why buy the cow, they said, when the milk is free? As feminist hostility drove men from college, campus turned into a playground for the few males left.
All of the foregoing suggests that if a woman does not want to die a spinster with three cats in a condo on upper Connecticut Avenue, she would be wise to marry early and wisely. The idea infuriates feminists, but them’s the facts, ladies.
“Wisely” means honestly, among other things. Women too are capable of false-flag operations, sometimes with disastrous results. A bit of internet wisdom says, “She thinks he will change, and he doesn’t. He thinks she won’t change, and she does.” He starts off perfectly happy in masculine squalor in a small apartment downtown with his scuba gear in the middle of the floor where he can find it and a Harley Sportster in the garage. She pronounces this good until the knot is tied.  Then she wants a Volvo station wagon and a boring house in the suburbs. Come the divorce, she can’t figure out what happened.
Men. The bastards.
Men of my (then) age noticed that with a high frequency these women gobbled anti-depressants--lithium, Depacote, Welbutrin, Prozac, Xanax, all the bonbons of the chronically unhappy. My impression, which I cannot document, was that women happy with their husbands did not need pills, or even cats.
Ain’t my problem, and I don’t have much sympathy for the self-inflicted sufferings of women hostile to me, but there it is.
Philip Francis Stanley and Grotesque Ophthalmological Malpractice