Thursday, January 31, 2013

The Frozen Chosen

Which reminds me that there are many very old books that have antiquated spellings of the name of the country Korea, transliterated as "Corea" or "Chosen." I suppose that some jokers might laugh at that and think that perhaps the Koreans imagine themselves as the Chosen People but that would be a misunderstanding. The Jewish people are the Chosen ones and the rest of us are the Gentiles are the grafted on branches, even the Japanese who tend to disdain the Koreans as a race inferior to them. Which was another annoying thing about Cori when she was talking about the Koreans and putting them down as if she thought herself Japanese. I thought that was weird because if you are in a missionary family you know that all of those peoples in all of those counries have various prejudices against each other and there are higher and lower classes who would rather die than sit next to each other on a church pew but the missionary is American so that missionaries can stay above all of that internal class warfare stuff and just preach the Gospel to everybody regardless of race or ethnicity, all those who have ears to hear and are willing to listen, because that is the job of the missionary or the preacher. We don't really care who is Brahmin or Untouchable or whatever. The Gospel is an equal opportunity employer in one sense even though not everyone is called to do that. I may not be called individually to do that but I am just saying that it is the principle of the thing that we don't want to get involved in their internal class warfare. We kind of know it is there but we can't really understand it. There are some wounds that only God knows how to heal. I really have no idea.

And Re the Blond Dummies

There was never any law on the books requiring that I try to befriend those snarky blond bitches Kelly Elliott, Gwen Juneau, Judy Stutler, and Jeanice Barton. Given that their sneering attitude was entirely absent of any acknowledgement of my existence, I do not see why I should put myself in harm's way in trying to engage conversation with persons who always seemed so ominously hostile in their Dummies-Class kind of way, as I do not recall us ever having lunch hour or class schedules that ever matched or locker locations of a proximity that would require even that much interaction. Thus, I really think that somehow the tables need to be turned on Kelly because I don't feel any great need to explain myself to such a worthless dummy or see any further reason for public communication that is only a one-way street.

Which Reminds Me

Given that Uncle Winfred's descendants have never done me any favors and never extended to me one thin dime, quite to the contrary, it goes without saying that those obnoxious whiners will have nothing at all to say about what I do in my spare time with money that I never got from them anyway at any time in my life, nor should they expect or demand any public appearance of mine ever in this lifetime. Given that the gas and oil whiners of Texas never did me any favors, I do not understand why I should care about their pathetically stupid and ill-informed opinions of me and my non-existent money that I never got from them anyway nor was it ever expected that I would ever get that kind of money with all those bad luck "Wicked Witch" rich bitches yapping at my heels. Kelly imagines that she has all the cards stacked in her favor so that there will be nothing left for me to do except to go out and hang myself as per the crazy-mixed up instructions of that old joke which also instructs my pursuers to "Go thou and do likewise." So there you have the punchline which proves that my relatives are actually my worst enemies. So? Nothing is really new under the sun, obviously.

Which Reminds Me

When I was working at Lockman Foundation I remember Lynn Johnson being fanatical about her diet because her husband was requiring that she lose weight, so she was drinking nothing but broth for lunch and that type of thing. So perhaps in one sense I am fortunate not to have a husband telling me what to eat. If I want to lose weight it would be only for myself feeling better, not because some man has dictated my weight requirement and thus there is no reason for me not to get as fat as I want to be if I wanted to be that fat, although I don't particularly want to be that fat or that skinny, and have to be nagged all the time about what to eat or not to eat. And also there are no Johnsons in my family tree so there is no reason for them to imagine that I would vote for LBJ anwyay just because Lady Bird's secretary or some type of assisatnt was somehow acquainted with my distant relatives, or so I remember having heard of. That does not change the fact that my parents voted for Nixon anyway because the Great Society was not really a conservative idea. But now that the great system of entitlement is built there we will never be able to get rid of it so thanks for nothing.

Speaking of Snarky Jokes

Oh, if you were looking for snarky jokes you got the wrong sister. You should be talking to my sister. She always did have a knack for that type of snarky joke that just gives me a headache.

Speaking of Juvenile Jokes

It is obvious that some juvenile delinquent is trying to compose some juvenile joke about the "Speed-the-Light" program of the Assemblies of God, as if the cars were living animals, and as if those juvenile delinquents ever had a funny bone in their bodies. Their jokes fall flatter than a stale pancake. Ok, so horses were the means of transportation in the 19th century but in the 20th century the financing of cars helped hundreds even thousands of missionaries to penetrate many more towns and villages to take the gospel of Christ to the people who lived in darkness. So? Stop calling me because I don't care about your used car lot full of stolen cars. You are no missionary, obviously. I don't know anything about the car business so I really don't care about your useless points. It doesn't change the fact that my car does not belong to you and you are nothing but a petty thief.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013


Ok, so someone was trying to make some sarcastic joke about my Dad's illustrated sermon which was preached all over El Salvador in many churches and to many people. Lots of people could have been there to hear the theological points that my Dad was making in his sermon which would be basically along the lines of AG doctrines and theology as taught at SCBC. So? I fail to see why I should get involved in someone else's sarcastic joke because maybe they did not get it. How can you not know this? Duh!

Monday, January 28, 2013

Which Reminds Me

In maybe the second grade at San Bernardino Christian School I had chicken pox for a whole week and had to stay home and mostly slept all day because I felt so miserable and itchy with little red bloteches and so I missed having cupcakes in the school classroom on my actual birthday which was such a huge disappointment. I was so looking forward to having my birthday cupcakes with all my classmates at school but it was not meant to be. I don't remember. Maybe we did have cupcakes later but it wasn't my actual birthday. I just remember being so disappointed because I was sick. And how many times do I have to repeat this story? Over and over again I tell this story because I made the mistake of telling it the first time. Just never talk is the best policy. How can I ever progress when I have to loop back to the beginning and start all over again and again? Do you people not remember anything? What short-term memories you all have!

Peruvian Gold Standard

This is a book by Luisa Jeter Walker of which I was not aware until just now when I was scrolling through to remind myself what books she wrote. It was quite a few books that she wrote but anyway I had not noticed this one but I can see where some people probably did notice this and probably even made some snarky comments about if the missionaries in Peru imagine themselves the gold standard, what does that make the rest of us? Are we dog meat to be fed to the dogs? I did not hear that but I think that someone probably said that. I can imagine someone saying that so that could have something to do with it.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Which Reminds Me

Someone was accusing me of being a Catholic but they are obviously wrong and seriously confused. For one thing, there are no Catholics in my family. However, I can see where some people may be confused. After all, it was the Kramers in Venezuela who converted to Catholicism while serving as AG missionaries there after having gone to language school in Mexico with my parents. In reading Marilyn's wacky witch book one can rightly wonder how those two space cadets ever got missionary appointment when obviously their heads were not in the right place. I don't know any Venezuela people other than my Dad's Aunt and Uncle, the Hunts, but they were Christian Missionary Alliance missionaries, not AG, so obviously they did not convert to Catholicism. They might have converted to Baptist in a manner of speaking but not Catholic. The Kramers were close friends of Elmer and Lee Bueno in Venezuela but we don't know anything about that. It does make one wonder what was going on down there in South America but you can read Luisa's book to find out all the juicy details about that. I have no clue and I really don't care.

Assistant Pastors

Speaking of assistant pastors, I forget who it was that imagined himself the heart's desire of every woman in the church by virtue of his job title. So he imagines all these women are aggressively pursuing him as if they were men and himself a woman, the Pastor Bride pursued. This sort of inflated ego is typical of men but gets wearisome when it interferes with every woman's life. He actually is not every woman's partner, in case he forgot. Some women are not so picky about their husband's job title and don't appreciate the unwanted interference of pastoral intimidation. They don't want other guys of non-pastoral job titles to be discouraged thinking that women would automatically turn them down without a pastoral job title. There might be other reasons, but that would be a different point. Ministry is not the only reason to get married, just because it worked that way in that book written by that single woman who married Derek Prince in Israel late in life. These books are not written as recipe books. These are just stories to encourage faith but we are not mindless copycat robots. Some personal choices are left to our personal discretion.

Which Reminds Me

Nobody cares what Brian Emory thinks about anything. He is not even an assistant pastor, just a computer techie guy with a big fat mouth. He was a funny guy when we first met him but that was back when we all still remembered what it meant to be an MK. Later Brian married that dog and turned into an obnoxious creep with an attitude.

Which Reminds Me

Back in the day when I was working at the Boca Times our newspaper was sued by Bill Smith who was at that time the mayor of Boca Raton. However, I do not believe that he was suing me personally. Obviously, he was suing several people including my editors Rick Haydan and Steve Ricci, both of whom basically despised Smith and would to go great pains to make sure nothing nice was ever said about him, and also the publisher, Bruce Warshal, with whom he had an ongoing personal feud. Smith and Warshal had been friends until Warshal asked Smith to be his other sponsor for membership into the Royal Palm Yacht Club. Smith refused and then the two became bitter enemies. Warshal was often asking us to write certain stories of interest in his personal feud with Smith. He even supervised the wording of certain stories to make sure things came out the way he wanted, as for example the story about the campaign signs that were smeared with swastikas for some mysterious reason. So I don't think it was a personal thing about me. It was just the whole atmosphere of that time. There were certain activists agitating against Smith and they found welcoming ears in Steve and Rick and then I would have to try to write something to satisfy the demands of the activists even though there might not be anything else to say about Mizner Park. It will just always be there. And then I would get a phone call from Batmasian threatening to get me fired if I did not cooperate with their demands or something, and also Danciu made some ominous threats because things were not going his way and he was convinced that it was all my fault. The former reporter in my position had apparently been so much more cooperative with them, whatever her name was. I don't remember anything specific.

Walker's Stepchildren

Which reminds me that Luisa Jeter Walker was one of those stray people who showed up around here from time to time. She was living in the area while working on some book projects for Editorial Vida so my mother invited her to our house for dinner or something like that. Also, one time when we were in Springfield, Mo. my mother talked me into going with her to visit Luisa Jeter Walker at Maranatha Village where she was living at the time and we saw her apartment and office where she was writing her famous history book chronicling the doings of Assemblies of God missionaries of Latin America during the 20th century. It was published in Spanish in three volumes but I am not sure if it was ever translated into English. So that's nice. On another occasion I remember that she turned her head in my direction and said, somewhat pointedly, "We're not taking you with us." Yes, and what did she mean by that anyway? Obviously my name would not be mentioned in the history books. I am nobody. Have I forgotten that children are supposed to be seen and not heard? Anyway, the Walkers were in Peru, which means nothing to me. She must have had such a miserable life there in Peru raising six horrid stepchildren, Walker's obnoxious whiners of whom we would prefer not to be hearing another word. Did their parents never teach them when to keep their mouths shut? The Walker family meant nothing to me so I really don't care if they are not taking me with them. There is really nothing left of missionary life anyway except the memories, most of which are best forgotten because nobody really cared anyway whether I lived or died. Nothing new there.

Friday, January 25, 2013

Which Reminds Me

Kathy invited some of us to try out for the girls' hardball team and so we lined up to bat and I don't know about the others but I struck out. That was the first and only time I ever tried to hit one of Kathy's hardball serves. Probably some of the others in line with us struck out as well. I really never asked. Kathy never said anything about that so I never asked because it really wasn't that important to me. I used to hit home runs once in a while in softball for P.E. class so I guess that is good enough for me. Hardball just wasn't that important to me.

And also someone was going on and on and about Venice and Florence Nightengale's time spent in Venice and on and on. Blah blah blah. I really don't remember much about that and I really don't understand why I should care. I would rather die than go to nursing school. There are other things to do with one's life than train as a nurse. I really don't care. It just wasn't that important to me.

Thursday, January 24, 2013

Which Reminds Me

There was a time when a copy of Thackery's "Vanity Fair" sat on my bookshelf but I don't think that I ever got past the first or second chapters. It never made any sense to me, all those nonsensical dialogues of unreal persons and the affected and mannered way in which they interact with one another. I have no idea what they are talking about so how could I possibly understand the point of that book? So it just sat on my bookshelf for quite a while until I was thinning out my book collection and it was probably donated to charity via some thrift shop if I can recall.

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Which Reminds Me

I have never smoked a cigarette in my entire life. Such a filthy habit. And I don't appreciate being confused with that other redhead of my class on this point.

Someone was trying to pick an argument in terms of which PE class you were in determines whether or not you are a smoker. Actually, I was probably one of the few persons, perhaps even the only one in my girls' PE class who never touched the cigarette that was being passed around the locker room after PE class and of which most of them sucked a drag. So while I was not in the other PE class of supposedly "Olympic" caliber, neither was I a smoker. Anyway, I never heard of the sports groupies ever winning any Olympic medals so that does that make my PE class Olympic winners? Uh, not really. This affected dualism is just stupid. Is it any wonder that I mostly avoid stupid sports groupies?

Street Names

Oddly, I can't find the Japanese street names as I remember them on the map. Either they changed the street names or my memory is flawed and malfunctioning. Something like that. So whatever.

Which Reminds Me

Back when I was living in El Salvador, most of the Baptist missionaries and also the Sawords lived in Colonia Miramonte, an area that as I recall it had streets with Japanese names. The name "Miramonte" brings to mind the dominant view of the volcano. Anyway, I don't see how that puts them in Ecuador so obviously someone is playing jokes. I don't anything about that. I only know that we lived in Colonia Buenos Aires which does not put us in Argentina and we lived near to Calle Gabriela Mistral, named after the famous Chilean poet, which does not in any way put our house in Chile. Someone up the hill may be addicted to belabored jokes but that does not change the reality that we were living in El Salvador.

Monday, January 21, 2013

Which Reminds Me

It seems that many years ago, perhaps before I was born, my grandfather might have worked for a winery company there in Modesto. I really don't know anything about that, nor would I want those former employers of my grandfather to imagine that we descendants of him are their property in any sense of the word "property." The wine sellers have come a long way since the days of prohibition but their plan to corral us teetotalers and non-drinkers into some little shantytown of unsociability is just too ludicrous to be tolerated. I refuse to play along with that ridiculous Gallo joke. Something ought to be done about bringing back the Kool-Aid and the fruit juice because anyway the punch was not spiked, only had blobs of ice cream or ginger ale, and it wasn't funny to suggest that it might be. I forget who said that anyway.

And Speaking of Lame Jokes

It is becoming fairly obvious that someone is angling for a joke about the missionary lands controversy of 19th century New Zealand. Not being conversant in the history of New Zealand I would not be able to "get" it without delving into that area of history even though I have never been there and don't care about that. Yes, and there is Maranatha Village in Springfield, Missouri, which is a retirement home where retired missionaries can live out their golden years if they choose that option assuming they qualify for admission. However, New Zealand was never a goal of mine so the whole cumbersome joke fails to amuse. In fact, I find it somewhat cruel, not to mention oddly irrelevant.

Anyway, never having taken any vow of poverty, there is nothing to prevent me from buying land in the future assuming the convergence of advantageous circumstances. Given the right opportunity and financial resources I probably would buy land or property somewhere on the planet for whatever purpose without needing to discuss it first with Simon and David, thanks anyway. However, no money, no deal.

Sunday, January 20, 2013


How odd that I would be hearing messages from Down Under, maybe New Zealand although I am not sure. The only persons I remember from there would be David "Goat Legs" Goatley, who was in 7th grade when I was in 8th grade, and Simon, a little kid whose last name I don't recall. Their families were of the Plymouth Brethren Church, similar to the Canadian Saword family. Those families worked together there and probably even lived near each other and thus knew each other well. However, they are sort of exclusive in their thinking of themselves as the sole representatives of the Christian church on the planet, in addition to being anti-Pentecostal so, well, maybe they did not like me but, anyway, I really did not care very much what they think about anything because, anyway, it is not like they would really understand. I could try to explain, but, well....

Anyway, in addition to not being Plymouth Brethren and being of Pentecostal family I am also a girl so obviously they are not going to want to get anything from me, especially when they are very strict about women being silent in the church. Duh!

So we were all in MK school together but that does not mean that we necessarily agreed on every point of doctrine or that we ever discussed that or that we were going to belong to the same denomination later.

Also, Mrs. Richardson was Grace Brethren, not Plymouth Brethren, so she was not exactly one of them, although she was also anti-Pentecostal so not exactly one of us either.

Still, I don't remember anything particularly controversial about Bible class at 8 a.m. It was all Bible stories and songs and that kind of thing. Anyway, there was never any guarantee that we would recognize each other later in life so I really have nothing to add to that.

Which Reminds Me

Years ago Bill Maginn at church once talked about going to the doctor and confessing to being addicted to chocolate milk and danish. Obviously I am not the only person who heard him say that. So? The doctor's advice was obvious. Anyone could have told him that such a combination compounded daily certainly would cause enormous weight gain, but Bill had to go to the doctor to get it, I suppose. So? Anyway, I don't need Bill to explain this to me. I just wish Bill would go away and stop pretending to be my friend when he is really not.

Saturday, January 19, 2013

North Carolina

Yes, it is somewhat of a relief to know that many of the worst nasties who formerly lived around here have moved away to the vast wasteland of North Carolina so that we no longer have them hanging around making all kinds of nasty digs to our face. They might still be stabbing me in the back but anyway at least they may find it harder to get a knife in my back from that position now that I have unloaded. Obviously we have no connection to Billy Graham and his dull and boring family members who live around here. They are all Presbyterians and anti-Pentecostal so obviously it is not like those people would ever do us any favors. There would be no reason to apply to work at the Billy Graham organization as they probably only hire Presbyterians and/or Baptists and I don't have that type of credential to my name. Anyway, they are mostly a historical museum nowadays, just spending their excess money on relief and development projects, with not really anything of future promise to offer regular people like me. They are just a old rich people's club as far as I can tell.

Friday, January 18, 2013

Which Reminds Me

I vaguely remember that Miss Marken in 10th grade class led a very interesting discussion of that book, "To Kill a Mockingbird," or else it was Mark Twain's "Puddnhead Wilson," in which the laws against mixed marriages that existed in the 19th century and the attitudes of racial segregation that existed even as recently as the 20th century. We no longer have those anti-mixed marriage laws so there is no reason for me to be cast as the enemy in this discussion. Just because there is no law against my marrying that guy at youth camp whose invitation to break the rules and take a walk on the beach I declined, that does not mean I would want to break the youth camp rules just so that he can get a free green card to the U.S. and become a doctor, as if that were a good way to get into medical school. It is not a legal kind of thing. It was just that I didn't like him. He grated on my nerves with his fakey cloying friendliness. Sorry. I wasn't trying to be mean but sometimes it is better to take "No!" for an answer and not try to murder the girl later because things just didn't go the way you had planned.

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Which Reminds Me

I vaguely remember my sister's roommates in California, Linda Harrington and Jill Anderson, joking about the idea of being Baker Acted, as if any expression not meeting their standard of Pollyanna-positive is regarded as suicidal and thus one can never say anything negative in any sense of the word without fear of being reported to the authorities. You can never admit you are depressed or sad to that kind of person without fear of repercussion. Thus it is better not to ever speak to them and hear Jill Anderson telling all of those off-color stories because someone might forget that it was actually Jill who was saying that, not me. There is no reason to expect a creepy Anderson to be able to avoid lying to cover their own butt or to imagine that anyone of good sense lives in Houston, where all of the birds of obnoxious feather seemingly flock together. I don't see anything good ever coming out of Houston, just that hideous Sue Watkins, yet another worthless counselor to me. Sue was Jill Anderson's older sister. Don't these people know anything?

Monday, January 14, 2013


I fail to see why I alone should be asked to dispose of parents. I think that plenty of other people have plenty of cause to be embarrassed at the memory of their parents spouting off about whatever. For example, the Bueno-Hoskins brats have the most vile greedy decadent thieves for parents, but it would be sort of awkward to point this out if they are just chips off the old block anyway. So whatever.

Which Reminds Me

Of course who could forget Mr. Schaeffer's interesting diversionary discussion of the Amish custom of bundling during 10th grade biology class? If you cannot look at her face the next morning then obviously you are not equipped to handle reality. Of course, I don't exactly remember but it is possible that the subject of bundling might never have arisen without the fortuitous circumstance of my duck report in which the mating habits of ducks were lightly alluded to as a phenomenon of this particular species of Canadian duck, the male being the one to sit on the eggs and act as mother after the mother duck has laid the eggs and flown away. The imprinting of the mother duck upon the hatchling was explored in greater depth because it was actually the main point of the story. If imprinted with a portrait of something else, even a human, the duck might imagine that something other than a duck is its mother and not the mother duck herself. However, if the substite mother is not a duck the result would be a duck that does not know itself, does not understand its own identity as a feathered fowl of the duck variety and not some other gadget or plaything substituted by scientific researchers. However, it is possible that the gliding over of the duck mating issue prompted some other thoughts in Mr. Schaeefer's mind, although I don't remember whether there was a connection, and Mr. Schaeffer was never shy about running off on tangents now and then in addition to talking about biology.

Which Reminds Me

I read in the news about the five victims of Arkansas child molester Dalton Webber. It is only coincidental I would assume that my grandfather who was a church deacon at the church in Carlsbad, California, pastored by Webber back in the 1970s when the alleged victimization occurred, was deceived. Webber himself admitted his guilt and the denomination paid out millions to the victims of the said molestation. However, I was not there most of the time and only met the Webber one time that I can recall when I visited. Thus it boggles the mind as to how I was dragged into this mess by the vindictive families who were not satisifed with money alone. They also wanted to ruin the lives of everyone else even remotely connected to the Webber and they went way too far.

And now who am I supposed to sue? And for what cause exactly?

How convenient for the victims to have an actual legal case. I, on the other hand, have everyone to blame and no way of collecting for damages because of that wicked Webber man and his wicked Arkansas cronies who are covering for his wickedness and pretending that we had something to do with that. I don't know anything about it but I certainly do not think of the child molesters of Arkansas as my friends.

Sunday, January 13, 2013

Which reminds me

Someone had concocted some bizarre plan for me, something about me founding an orphanage somewhere and then I would have to dedicate all my time and energies to raising funds for this fictitious orphanage and its non-existent children who would probably live in some other country and would need food and clothing and shelter and education. I am not saying that would not be a noble thing to do with one's life if so called, but I don't feel so called. Just because some unnamed witch somewhere decided that I would have to copycat Angie Thomson of Romania, that does not mean that I am never going to actually do that, which is why I am still sitting her waiting for those people to get a clue that, guess what, I am not going to do whatever they say just because Rob got all worked up one day and started spouting off about whatever. Guess what, I never made a fortune working in Silicon Valley so obviously I don't have any money left over for orphanages, let alone the bare necessities, for one thing. And also I never attended Bethany so I don't have a clue about the La-la land of Northern California. And guess what, I never really knew the Hoskins very well, and they never liked me anyway, so obviously I would not want to do what Angie had to do, which was to work with David. Why would I want to assume a problem that does not belong to me? So ridiculous. I feel sorry for Angie in some ways but anyway she has loads of money and connections to do whatever she wants to do. But I personally would not want to have those mental retards imagining themselves in charge of my life, because they are not. All they are is whiners who do everything to make my life impossible and yet I never get a break. Something has got to give because this whole thing just doesn't work. It is just wrong wrong wrong.

Saturday, January 12, 2013

Which Reminds Me

After the Benners moved to town, we were invited over to someone's house and there was Miss Murphy sitting in the lap of her newfound husband, cuddling and acting sort of babyish. Someone  probably even commented out loud about the spectacle of desperate Old Maid Miss Murphy showing off her trophy husband, even if he was only a creepily decadent millionaire with an ex-wife and two children to complicate matters. Of course we would never verbalize such a jarring thought in polite company, but I imagine that someone probably said something about that. Where did she find him? I have no idea. I only remember hearing that he was from Colorado, a state of which I know almost nothing, having visited there only once on vacation. Someone said that his first wife was Chinese but I know nothing about that as it would seem sort of rude to ask if information is not forthcoming and it was not my job to figure these thigns out. I have no clues to offer in regards to the Benners, myself having no connection to their family in the U.S. If you want to know more about the Benners you would probably have to ask their dear friends, the Buenos who were possibly classmates of Miss Murphy at Bethany or something like that. The Buenos would know all about that.

Friday, January 11, 2013

Which Reminds Me

Miss Murphy was my fourth grade teacher. I know that I had sometimes said third grade in the past but that was not true. She might have been Sammy's third grade teacher but the Stewarts were back in the U.S. the year that I was in fourth grade with Cheryl Davenport in the little kids' room, which comprised grades one through four. Mrs. Richardson was teaching the big kids that year, grades 5-8. That might have been the year that a vegetable garden was planted behind the little kids' school, little seeds planted in rows on a little strip of land behind the school so the garden would not be trampled at recess. Later there were carrots and radishes, I seem to remember. However, myself not being aware of the existence of Dr. Clark, I would not have any way of making comparisons to Dr. Clark's New England vegetable garden described so ably in his article for The Outlook: "Farming as a Moral Equivalent for War."

Dr. Clark says:
But not only does every tree have its own enemies, but every part of the tree has its foes. The bark has its borers and its scale, the leaf its lice and curlers, the blossom its moths, the fruit its borers. Each enemy knows exactly the weakest part of the citadel he has to attack. He knows the exact moment when his attack will be most effective. He has the accumulated experience of a thousand ancestors behind him. H e never makes a mistake in his maneuvers, or fails to avail himself of the psychological moment.
What, then, can I, a mere man, do with a thousand watchful, unwearied foes to combat—a mere man, with only one pair of hands and one poor brain to oppose these multifarious enemies; or, if I do not forget to count my Portuguese assistant farmer, two pairs of hands and two poor brains at the most and best? Shall I give up the fight and call myself beaten by the worm, and the moth, and the crow, and the weed—which I have hitherto forgotten to mention, but which is always ready to spring up and take my plants by the throat and strangle them?''

Thursday, January 10, 2013

Good or Bad?

Yes, that was so cold and cruel of John Bueno to try to put my Mom and I on some kind of weird guilt trip that day near the time of my graduation from high school. One would think that he would have had some encouraging thing to say to me about my future adult life and plans for college and possible vocation or something. Instead, he was talking about the money as if there was some reason for us to feel guilty about something. I was not sure exactly what that was about. I don't recall any drama about the school finances. Obviously the Buenos had already been very successful in recruiting the wealthy donors as the schools were already quite well financed as far as we knew. Also the Buenos had brought to the country their dear friend, the millionaire Don Benner who positively dripped with money in his bold plan to divorce his wife and marry the schoolteacher and found an orphanage there, so obviously there was nothing for us to say about that.

Amish Whiners

Yes, the Amish look so quaint in their old-fashioned clothes driving their horse-drawn buggies and living in their quaint farmhouses harvesting their crops with sickle in hand and baking their cakes and pies on wood-burning stoves. However, there is a reason why we regular people don't go there, because their particular blend of legalism is somewhat toxic to persons who have not been raised in that from infancy. I, for example, would never survive there because I was a girl who wore pants in high school. Pants are a big taboo for girls of the Amish world even though in the mainstream world jeans are the normal uniform anymore.

However, given that these Amish people live isolated in their exclusive communities and never have any contact with us regular folks, we regular people ought have nothing to fear of the Amish.

Fortunately for me, there are no Amish people in my family. I have no Amish connections whatever, not one, so there is no reason for me to be getting weird messages from those quaint and bizarre Amish people. Their opinions are not really so highly regarded by regular people like me as they might imagine. They may have some good points but overall they miss the mark in a way. We could try to explain our point of view to them but they would not be able to listen.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Which reminds me

Probably lots of people remember in Miss Marken's 10th grade English class when Mario Caballero gave a somewhat interesting speech about how his wealthy landholding family finds it necessary to keep the low-class peons in their places. Apparently his family owns some type of ranch or has lots of people working for them. I don't know anything about that so obviously it was ridiculous for Stacy or someone who overheard this speech to try to lump me together with the slaveholding Tacketts of Alabama, if they were that, and I am not even related to the Tacketts directly, just because I was sitting there and heard him say that. I really would not know that. I only know that the Stricklands are not from Alabama and not really slaveholders if they were even born yet when my grandmother's father was soldiering with the Texas Rangers back in the old times of which no one living really remembers much of anything. I always thought that I was very nice to the maid, at least nice enough. Perhaps I did presume too much but I cannot rewrite history on this point. For me it is all just a matter of doing better later, unless I am not murdered by them first.

Monday, January 7, 2013

Group Projects

Furthermore, I mostly loathe and despise these group projects by means of which a lot of dummies get passed without having to do any homework. Unless I have the good fortune to have group members who are cooperative about dividing up the work and don't monopolize everyone's time by running off at the mouth for hours at a time on trivialities, I would rather just do my own thing, thank you very much. Is it any wonder that I would rather die than join this Socialist European groupies?

Which reminds me

I am not necessarily more organized than anyone else. I just hate group projects, that's all. In high school Spanish literature class sometimes the other girls in my group just wanted to sit there and chat and gossip about anything else and not talk about the assignment so as not to reveal that they had not actually even tried to read the book and really did not really have anything to contribute to the discussion. So if I jump in and say something about how we ought to get started now or anything at all about the book then I am labeled as the book-reading drudge and they all sit there looking at me like I am crazy because I just want to do my homework and get good grades in my classes. I don't think of class as the time to sit there chatting about everything else on the planet. In that sense yes I am sort of organized to a certain degree. I may not get straight As but I am not stupid and I don't like my grades being dragged down by these slackers. I was trapped by cheaters.

Sunday, January 6, 2013

Which Reminds Me

I remember during college at SCC thinking that Sheryl Gansky was such a nice person. She was always so friendly. She married Matt Nelson of whom I remember almost nothing. Oddly, I no longer have such a high opinion of Matt and Sheri as I did during college. I don't know how that happened but now, looking back, nothing of importance comes to mind. She was a waitress at Marie Callendar's and he is only a psychology teacher. And what have psychology people ever done for me? Nothing comes to mind. I think those psychology people should be testing their own medicine and croak before inflicting it on the rest of us unsuspecting victims.

Which reminds me

Grandma and Grandpa Calkins lived on So. Tremont Street but in Oceanside, California, not to be confused with Boston's legendary Tremont Row, obviously. Thus we have no connection to Massachusetts or any reason to imagine that those filthy rich nasty people of Cape Cod are going to be tripping us every time we turn around. But then again there is no sure thing in this world.

Friday, January 4, 2013

Uncle Joe

Yes, there are many Uncle Joes. There was Joseph "Uncle Joe" Stilwell, the U.S. general who oversaw much of the U.S. military operations in China during World War II, not to be confused with Colonel Southwell who may have served somewhere in the South Pacific during the war judging from some of the photos in the family collection although I don't really know anything about that.

And then there was my Dad's Uncle Joe, who was born in China and also lived in Hawaii so he might remember a lot about that even though I don't know that Grandma would necessarily approve of Uncle Joe running the show. Some people in the family sort of thought of Joe and Dora as the black sheep of the family but I am sure that their children would disagree on that point. Anyway, it kind of depends on what points you are trying to make. Uncle Joe died and is no longer available for discussion so obviously Uncle Joe's son Leonard will not have much opportunity to steal the spotlight if he cannot produce any evidence. After all, the story is obviously not about Joe and Dora and their extended vacations in Hawaii.

Which Reminds Me

Someone was talking about the "Decameron," a book that I have not actually read, I must confess. It might have been referred to in high school in high school but nothing specific comes to mind, just the general idea of expressing that they imagine themselves of higher value than the rest of us ordinary mortals and are saving themselves from the plague currently unleashed upon mankind by isolating themselves in their vacuum chamber in the outskirts of Florence. I myself having been deemed not worthy of leaving a legacy am thus left without any protection and vulnerable to the virus that is twisting everything all around and eroding anything of value. What is truth? The virus inflicted on the earth has everyone confused and bewildered. They believe that after the virus has abated and the dead cleared away, they will emerge from isolation to populate a new and more perfect world. Yes, I believe that is what they were saying.

Thursday, January 3, 2013

Which Reminds Me

I vaguely remember that during ninth grade there was a fight between two girls. One of them was Margaux de la Guardia, who is from Panama. I did not see the fight. I only heard about it later because I am thinking that Margot was talking about it herself in the middle of class during a lull or study hall or something and describing what she did and how she confronted this person and there was an umbrella involved that was flying around or something, or else the other person was talking about it. I formerly thought that she had a fight with Patti Cruz but maybe it was someone else. I don't remember. I don't really understand what that was about. If you want to press charges you really should be talking to the school authorities because I don't know anything about it and it had nothing to do with me.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Failure to see

I fail to see what a girl's choice of pajama style would have to do with a book I never read anyway, which is, "Valley of the Dolls," a roman a clef written by Jacqueline Susann. Wikipedia speedily reminds us that the term "doll" as used in the book also could be used as underworld terminology for barbiturates or sleeping pills. And yet it was the "speed" diet pills that belonged to Joan's older sister that were referred to in Miss Marken's 10th grade English class. Joan said that she took one of her sister's diet pill and then was so wired she could not sleep for three days. Thus we get a fleeting glimpse of Joan's druggie older sister, maybe. I really would not want to point fingers but then again I am not taking any bluff from those Italian whiners.


Further Googling reveals that the 1931 yearbook of the Glad Tidings Bible Institute, an early Pentecostal school located in San Francisco, contains in the back pages an advertisement from a jeweler, Henry S. Bailey, located at 133 Geary Street. This is coincidental, I suppose, to the existence of The Comforter League of Light at the same address in 1920. That was 10 years earlier. And where has Florence Crawford gone by 1930? Well, I don't know. The 1930 census does reveal a Mrs. Florence G. Crawford and husband Robert living at "Fort-Funston" in San Francisco but whether that is really the author or some other Florence G. Crawford I really can't say. More research is needed.

The Comforter

We see that the San Francisco address of The Comforter League of Light is listed variously as 133 Geary Street or 408 Stockton Street. Neither of these addresses turns up anything on Google Maps as these original buildings were apparently torn down and paved over. I am not having any luck finding a trace of The Comforter League of Light, which figures. San Francisco has gone far down the "New Age" road since Florence Gloria Crawford left her mark on California, obviously.

The Florence Question

There is some type of joke or overused pun running around regarding the name of Florence of Pentecostal fame. There was the Florence L. Crawford who was a close associate of William Seymour at Azusa Street in Los Angeles who absconded with the mailing list and removed the popular newspaper, "Apostolic Faith," north to Portland, Oregon, which some attribute as partial cause of the fading of the Azusa Street success. And blitzing through Google search we find that there was also the Florence Gloria Crawford who authored two books, "The Faith That Demonstrates" and "The Christ Ideal for World Peace," and was the founder of "The Comforter League of Light," which also published the long defunct and so far unavailable magazines, "The Comforter" and "Everybody's Partner." There is almost no information available about this person, just clues that some may be attributing the appearance of "New Age" thinking to Florence and her league of "Light." Although the word "Comforter" would make one think that this is a Pentecostal organization, it appears that the league is just all about Florence and whatever visions are flashing through her head. I cannot find much information to suggest that Florence ever attended a Pentecostal church or paid tithes to one so there is no reason to suggest that Florence deserves any special mention in terms of Pentecostal history.

More of nothing

This is Patty Duke's song from "Valley of the Dolls," but I never read the book or saw the movie so I really cannot understand why I should be expected to care about that. I vaguely recall in high school Joan Calabrese was reading this book and something was said about it, perhaps in Miss Marken's 10th grade English, but I don't remember much about that. I did not feel myself even remotely tempted to read the book given that it was only something that Joan would read, which means nothing to me. I see no reason to keep track of what those people are doing out there in La-La land.

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

The problem with Pharisees

Yes, whoever got the idea of resurrecting those odious Pharisees? Jesus never really had anything nice to say about the Pharisees and for very good reason. The Pharisees might fulfill the letter of the law and yet the deny the spirit of the law. I could try to explain something but the spirit of it would be lost in translation. Perhaps that was why the Pharisees felt themselves with no choice but to put the Son of God on the cross. Which just further proves the need for a Savior, because otherwise the world will go to hell in a handbasket with the Pharisees in charge and always demanding the impossible.

Whatever "It" Meant

I am sorry to say that I really do not remember what "it" meant. Someone was lamenting that she was feeling like an "it" and I tried to be sympathetic but I don't remember exactly what she was talking about. Perhaps Dauna would remember as she obviously knows everything about everything and has lots of ways of getting in there behind the scenes and hammering on things and trying to figure out what everybody was doing and talking about even when they would rather not share it with her, especially as she does not have a particularly empathetic point of view and only wants to gossip. Actually, come to think of it, Dauna was not present at the original conversation and I forgot that she would not know what I was talking about. Yes, that was it. I referred to the "it" in a conversation with Dauna and she did not remember the original conversation where that came from so obviously Dauna cannot produce the "it" if I cannot remember what the "it" meant unless by some deduction. Dauna cannot bear to not know something but I am afraid that Dauna will have to be satisfied with nothing more. I really don't remember very much about that anymore, not even the name of the person who originally said that. It was something that I just want to forget about. Obviously I cannot possibly remember something that I have completely forgotten.

One thing that I have not forgotten is that Dauna is annoyed by that song constantly ringing in the ears, "It's a Small World After All," as am I in these contexts. Not to denigrate Disney's cute little ride but anyway "it" is probably a lot more complicated than I could possibly explain as I never really understood what she was talking about in the first place. Enough said about that.

I Suppose

Yes, I suppose that the Cranfords would not even think of thanking me for devoting myself full-time to the problem of clearing away their hornet's nest of creepy Klein in-law hangers-on that they brought upon themselves somehow, for some mysterious reason unbeknownst to us because we never discussed this with them. They did not bother to warn us or give advance notice that we would be assaulted by a barrage of whiny Klein Swine of no legal standing. Those illegals just sit there yapping like hyenas and making a nuisance of themselves because obviously they want our money. If they were kids of Beverly that would be one thing, but no, they are just whiners and complainers of the most obnoxious variety. Sorry but we are not interested in selling out to the Klein dogs. Thanks anyway.