Explaining the Obvious

I wonder why these people would imagine that I would want to be Lori Way's mother? Just because I happened to overhear her arguing with her mother rather loudly about dancing. As if it matters one bit what that dance hall bimbo thinks about anything? Just because her Dad is a pilot and her Mom bakes some huge chocolate chip cookies, that does not mean that I should be forced to drag these obnoxious people around with me for the rest of my life. Do I owe you something? I am no longer accepting these invitations from rich people who only want a retinue, not a friend. I am just dittoing whatever I would say about Cori because I cannot really tell those two apart anymore. They melted together into one obnoxious broom witch who was fired from the position of "friend" long ago. I need those snarky back-stabbing people in my life like I need enemies

Ok, so Wicked Witch Lori married that sniveling little creep Al Moore, as if he were anything but some camerman working in video or something like all of those people. I have no idea what they do now just as I had no idea what they were up to back then and I really don't care.

Which Reminds Me

The U.S. government is apparently unable to protect us from the aggressions and territorialities of this network of "It" conspirators of which Thomas is apparently a willing  and wickedly snickering participant. As if we would ever want to hear from the Stricklands of the U.K. or Malta. We really could not care less about being exposed to their sinister intrigues. Only recently, in doing my geneaological research, have I discovered that the Stricklands in America may or may not be descended from Matthew Strickland who came to America in the 1600s. He was born at Sizergh Castle which was apparently the feudal headquarters of the Stricklands, but died at Lower Parish in Isle of Wight, Virginia. Oh, I didn't know that. I had no idea the Stricklands were anything but regular folks back in England. We just don't know these things here in America. It just doesn't matter. We do not have monarchy or aristocracy and could not care less about rebuilding that system over here.

The Stricklands who stayed in the UK and did not emigrate to America branch down to the Walter Strickland who married Barbara Huddleston Abney-Hastings, the 13th Countess of Loudon. Their son Michael emigrated to Australia and his heir is Simon, the 15th Earl of Loudon. Ok, so whatever. We don't know those people. It is sometimes amusing to hear about them on the news or read about them on Wikipedia but there is no personal acquaintance. We just have no idea.

Barbara is the one who is of Plantegenet descent, a family that has claims of being the true heirs of the English throne, as if history could ever be any different than it is now. Anyway, we are not in any way connected to the Plantegenets so we don't want to be hearing too much about that. We have our lives here in America and these distractions are just too much.

Thus there is no reason for myself to feel inferior to these Canadians — Dawn Saword, Linda Crawley, Rafael Carias, Michele. Just because they are Canadian, and feel themselves bound to pay homage to the British monarchy as Canadian Expats, that does not mean that their attacking me is going to change the course of history.

They will not be getting any medals, prizes or awards for being such ungracious bullies. Their opinions of me are not worth two cents when obviously all of them could also easily be buried in shame if all their friends and family were likewise induced to turn on them and deliver the goods. I am sure that I don't know the half of it.

Lost in Translation

I am not unaware of a huge list of Spanish-language books that have yet to be translated into the English language. Some people in Spain imagine themselves on the cutting edge of Reformed theology and think that we here in America are clamoring to read more of them. I am not saying that every book should not be translated into every other language eventually, but God has no need of translators. Who is your audience anyway? There is also a long list of English language books that never get translated into Spanish for various reasons, especially if they are too politically and culturally American so as to be not that meaningful to people in other countries. Sometimes things just get lost in translation, in other words.

I did translate five books into English from Spanish but only because the publishing company asked and was willing to pay the price for translation and book production. Publishing companies pay several thousand dollars to get a single book to market in their meticulous and quality controlled way so they like to know that the book translated into Spanish is from an author who is very popular and well known to the target audience, the Hispanic market of America, so that at the very least the costs of book production will be covered. Just some local pastor of a sleepy little village in Spain might not be known or heard of in America even if all his friends over there like him very much and highly recommend him.

I am just saying that the poor and under-capitalized translator is only going to do the work if paid and if no publishing company is going to pay then obviously the translator is not a publishing company by virtue of translation of alone. It takes several days, weeks, perhaps even months in some cases, to do a translation job. The rights belong to the author who gets the royalties and the publishing company who leases the rights and gets a commission also on future sales but the translator only gets the one-time translation fee. Thus there is no incentive for the pathetically poor translator to bother with translating books that may or may not sell a half-dozen copies now and then.

Thus there is no reason for some huge publishing company to be beating up on some poor little translator who actually does not know what happened or care that much. I just have no idea.

Which Reminds Me

For some mysterious reason my parents named me Candi but their second choice of first name for me was Nancy. However, that never happened.

Dutch vs. Danish

Yes, I don't want to hear another word about this so-called war between the Dutch and the Danish, as if the Nelsons were ever Danish and I was thrown to the Dutch. How utterly ridiculous. It would not be so hard for me to throw the Peter Nelsons to the Baptists, as if they were ever Pentecostal in the first place. Well, just because you were born in a Pentecostal family, that does not mean the only solution is to go Baptist. There could be plenty of other options other than Baptist if you really want to settle for something less. If you really cannot believe anything you could even be an atheist. I mean, that would be radical, but isn't radical an end in itself nowadays? Just be radical no matter how stupid that might be seems a common theme of our times. But when is stupid good or bad? Sometimes it is good to admit that we only started something, we only got something started and don't really know where it might lead in a few hundred years, give or take some, till Jesus comes. In the meantime, we cannot just pretend that we did not have something better than the Baptists. The Baptists were good but they were from Atlanta, Southern belle territory, so obviously we are not going to agree on every point of U.S. history and politics. They have their strongly voiced opinions but we never really cared that much about reenacting the Civil War. They just weren't that important to us. Of else if you are the Confederate Nelsons you might argue that the Baptists are from Detroit. Yes, it is just a straw man argument that just makes everyone confused about who is Dutch or Danish.

Which Reminds Me

When I did a three- or four-month internship at a newspaper I was required to sign some type of contract giving them exclusive rights to whatever I might write for them. The only thing I wrote for them were about 10 articles and also some little short items and calendar entries. And that only means that I cannot send those articles to some other magazine pretending that those articles are not already copyrighted by someone else. I cannot offer the right of first publication on those particular items, not that it matters all that much. I could still use the information in the article and rewrite it some other way and offer first rights on that. I just would not be able to republish the article as originally published. I could use those 10 articles as clips attached to my resume if I wanted to but I am not sure that I would want an editor to think that all of those assigned and heavily edited articles actually represent what I would think of doing without a gang of editors over my head.

No Deal

And what makes those Dutch dogs imagine that I would agree to pay for their stupid brownie tricks? No way! I will not! The trailer trash Asmuth girls will have to make their own explanations because there is no way that I am connected to all their garbage, all their rotten attitudes, all their harping about every little thing that was not really such a big deal.  In fact, at the time I did not know anything at all about Karen's other immoral ventures that came later. The wicked Dutch Asmuth girls may have a lot of explaining to do but I cannot be expected to do it for them. I suspect, in fact am fairly certain that I do not know the half of it so don't ask me. Ask them.

Gifts

I vaguely recall that during college Karen Asmuth and some other girls went over to the guys' house bearing a gift of brownies that were laced with Ex-Lax. We heard about this the next day when some guys who ate the brownies were complaining about their rough night. You see, Ex-Lax, in case someone forgot, is a laxative, not some divorcee's reference to LAX. So the guys who ate the brownies had a rough night as we heard and Terry was not shy about expressing his displeasure to Karen and everyone else within earshot. Wow, who would have even thought to do that? My mind really does not work that way. Pranks are always so funny to the pranksters but, I don't know, I just don't care that much. It never seemed that important to me. People were constantly pulling various pranks during college and it is always the same old story about trying to find some way to make your mark on the planet and make your voice heard. Ok, whatever. Anyway, I really was not in a good place to tell the exalted President of the Musicians Guild what or what not to do. It is always whatever they want, never what I want.

And later Mike Rogers told me about a prank that his brother Dave pulled on him. I guess I should feel sorry for these unfortunate people so beaten down and pouring out their tales of pranks and pranksters and yet I don't know what went on there between them so I really cannot comment one way or another.

It is unfortunate that these people are preyed upon and yet they do not seem to understand what a liability and plague they are to us regular people who were just doing our school thing and not intending to get involved or wanting to be associated with such immoral practices. I mean, I have a choice and I can choose NOT to follow the rainbow trail, thanks anyway.

Which Reminds Me

Years ago we did a double date, Susie Stewart and I, with two guys with missionary connections, Ben Mercado's son, what's-his-name, an organist in the Chicago area, and the Kirsten's son, I think his name was Phil, a scientist in Wisconsin. So maybe we went bowling or something, I don't remember exactly. Later I was a bit perturbed because Susie said that the Mercados were upset that I was not inviting their son over to my house or out to do more things so that we could get better acquainted and he would have more things to do while visiting his parents on vacation. I don't know why I didn't do more about that, something about the way he never really asked me after the double date and also there was not much interest. So that was so snarky of the Mercados to try to make an issue out of that and make me feel guilty about what I did not do for them and yet they are from Argentina, so we understand how they are. It is so typical of Argentina to make everybody feel like we work for them and imperiously boss everyone around and tell everybody what to do. As if I would want the Mercados appearing at my house and going through my personal things. Yuk! I never really liked the Mercados that much. I mean, I tried to be friendly to those snarky people and yet I always get the message somehow that they are out there behind my back poking and prodding with their little knives. Can you imagine how horrible it would be to have the Mercados in my actual family? I shudder to think of it. Interestingly, I recently learned that Murlene's youngest daughter is married to some guy named Walter Mercado. I wonder if there is a connection to the Ben Mercado family. I would ask but I really don't care. The Hiatts are not that close to us anyway so obviously it is not about them.

The Panama Connection

And is my name Sherri Turnbull that I should go around screaming and yelling and making everyone feel like garbage? No, obviously not. Obviously someone is confused. I would not want to be confused with Wicked Witch Sherri Turnbull.

Which Reminds Me

George and Billie Davis lived here in Miami years ago. I remember seeing her at Editorial Vida when I worked there in the lunchroom but I do not know her personally. My mother said something about her story and it is very remarkable. My mother also said that they adopted a girl from Peru or one of those countries. Their daughter is adopted.

Which Reminds Me

While we were living in El Salvador my Dad spent two or three months traveling throughout Latin America with four or five people traveling in a small airplane. George Davis was the pilot.

Interestingly, George Davis' wife, Billie Davis, is a Ph.D. who was originally the child of migrant workers. She was somehow able to go from the lowest level of poverty to the highest level of academic achievement which is a rather remarkable story. Her article in the Saturday Evening Post, December 12, 1952, is titled, "I was a hobo kid."

So that's nice that she was able to accomplish so much in her life. Not everyone is so fortunate.

Which Reminds Me

During our second term in El Salvador my Dad, among other things, was in charge of the little school, meaning the missionary kid school. My parents went through and cleaned out the library and burned some of the books that were considered excess or rotting and falling apart or whatever. Some people were apparently freaked out about the idea of burning books but, anyway, I don't know, it was just something that seemed like a good idea at the time. I really don't remember what books they burned because I wasn't there at the book burning although I do remember arriving later and seeing some books in a pile being burned. I don't know which books were burned so don't ask me. I have no idea. I do remember that seeing some books that had writing indicating they were donated from some place in Sao Paulo, Brazil, but I don't have any idea they got to our school or why the Brazilians would think it is OK to kill us over some silly books. I do remember seeing books that even had holes clear through. There really is such a thing as a bookworm was the answer given when this was pointed out.

Creepy

I can't pretend that it was not creepy that some Scandinavian Pentecostals would want to kill all the English Pentecostals so that all the white people you would see at church you can be sure are the cool suave Scandinavians and not the messy English who quibble over these insignificant doctrinal points. If so, it will be sort of dangerous for regular white people like me to get involved at church at all or go to "Christian" college. It just would not mean the same things that it formerly meant, whatever that meant. I don't know what else to say other than, well, it would have been nice to have had company in my misery but whatever. I really don't want to lend credence to that type of Germanic babble but then again I suppose I should not ignore it either, all that stuff about paying the English back for WWII and the German side of the conflict and whatever. People ought to be aware that some Germans are out there agitating for some reason. I always thought the war was over and done with but perhaps no one should take anything for granted. However, I don't think they could possibly be my relatives or they would have gotten their heads rearranged.

German Gibberish

There was some gibberish thrown around, something about the Germans against the English. They have cast me as the English person who will be killed so that the whole family will just be everything other than English, as if I were even related to them. How utterly rude. I mean, lots of Americans are descended from the English so that would just be ridiculous.

Outdoor LIving

Yes, it was Cori's idea to use the outdoor shower at the campground. She was certain that no one could see anything but I suppose if some overly aggressive person were poking around and sticking their necks where they were not supposed to they might notice something that their little eyes should not be seeing. Was that my fault? No, not really. You should not be confusing my story with that of Wicked Witch Carole Hultgren who really does deserve to have all her teeth kicked out of her wicked head. Yes, we all heard the story of how her mother went to a house to pick her up at a party and, well, the people at the party were not dressed up for the occasion, let's just say. I don't want to hear another word from the vapid lowlife Carole Hultgren and her idiot brother. No one could do any worse than that. There is no reason for me to feel myself afraid or intimidated by what the idiotic Brazil nuts might say about anything.

Freedom

I was never Catholic so the idea of excommunicating me would just be a ridiculous farce. Catholics are sometimes unable to think outside the box enough to understand that we really don't care about reconnecting to their system of cruel slavery. My great-great-great-grandmother Mary Carr was born a Prussian Catholic but escaped to the freedom of Protestant America where she married Jacob Burry, son of Jacob Burry, the Reformed Swiss immigrant. Life in 19th century America was hard sometimes but at least Mary Carr was free to study the Bible on her own. I think that our ancestors would turn over in their graves if we went backwards to Catholicism. They worked so hard to make things better for us here in Protestant America. So many good things came of the Protestant Reformation even with all of its emotional excesses. Catholics only wish they had thought of this United States thing and freedom of religion first, but they really didn't. If it were up to Catholics, we would all be slaves of their system.

Arkansas

It seems odd that the slave traders of Arkansas would expect us to appreciate their attempts to sell us down the river. We do not actually. I never did have that much affinity for the Deep South and all of its roller coaster futility. The only thing there might be the dregs of John Dixon. Other than that there is not much there of interest for a book. I will not be on the Dixon payroll anyway so there would be no reason for me to think of moving to New Orleans. Really, any worthwhile information, photos and documents, ought to be donated to the Pentecostal history museum where it could be picked up. As things stand currently there is nothing to be picked up and reviewed.

One Way

I think that no MKs would object to the State Department giving Don Triplet and company a one-way ticket home to France. I really could not care less about their castle fantasyland, personally speaking. What is that anyway? I mean, children's evangelism is good. Followup and discipleship is good. But we cannot control what people do with their lives after that. Some will fall away, cast upon bad soil or choked by thorns. A few will fall on good soil and thrive. Who am I to say what will happen to them later? I mean, Bible study skills and Christian literature are the main things that can help the new Christians. Beyond that, we have our own personal lives to think about and not worry. God will take care of them.

Which Reminds Me

During my senior year of high school the Baptist family, the Reeses, who have two daughters, Shannon and Lori, invited us to be part of a group project, making Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy dolls. We had our pieces made and stuff and then we had to leave the country so we never finished putting that together. They dropped off a box of stuffing but it was not enough to finish even our dolls. And then they complained later about us using all the stuffing and them having to get other stuffing from somewhere else but, sorry, there just wasn't enough to start with.

Which Reminds Me

There was that mentally retarded lady and her mother who always were standing near the door of the Centro Evangelístico in San Salvador after church was out and everyone was making their way out of the building. Whenever I would get near the front door on my way out the mentally retarded lady would come over and give me a big hug and say "God bless you" a million times. People with Downs Syndrome have that sweet and friendly disposition so of course I always tried to be friendly and hug her back even though it did get a little bit tiresome even I were really honest about that. I try to be friendly to these people but sometimes I might be impatient and in a hurry to escape through same other door and that might seem sort of mean. Ok, so yes, maybe I did that a time or two. Still, I don't see why that should be sufficient cause for John Bueno to cast me as the mentally retarded girl with her mother, as if he did not remember me at all. How utterly rude, but then again that is just how they are, just utterly self-interested. White people like me are just tools they use for their own selfish gains. That was all that was about.

Which Reminds Me

Pastor Max always hated that song, "Sweet Hour of Prayer," especially when someone sang it at church. Was that me? I don't remember. Anyway, he goes into this long spiel about how people should not be misled into thinking that one hour prayer is enough. No, he says, people should be praying two or three or four hours a day. Ok, so it is not like anyone is going to argue that point. Or ever again mention, let alone sing, that song at church. I cannot even find Sandi Patti's version on Youtube, oddly enough. It just isn't there.

Separate But Equal

The motto "Separate But Equal" sounds very racist in view of the controversy over forced integration of public schools and all that went on with that. However, someone was raising the question of whether forced integration of churches and religions and can also be accomplished perhaps by busing black people to white churches to make the congregation look more ethnically diverse among other solutions, including an intentional overlooking of doctrinal differences. This forced integration of church seems to some of us to be taking the idea of "Separate" out of its proper context. There are those who demand ethnic diversity at church but the church is not owned by the government and people have choices so I don't know. Some people, especially white people, are more inclined to leave if they feel uncomfortable about something, especially if the new people are trying to run the show, and they feel pushed aside and then the congregation starts to look browner and blacker until finally most of the white people are gone and nobody knows where they went. Still, the Bible tells us not to forsake the assembling of the saints, and so we continue to go there even though the church ceases to offer the former sense of fellowship or community and becomes just another type of office space where we have to perform social duties that are no longer enjoyable or meaningful. We have to force ourselves to go there and try to meet and greet these strangely hostile persons who only want to one-up us and try to be part of the congregation at least for our personal spiritual edification at least long enough to count as church attendance even though nobody really likes us or wants us to be there or cares whether we ever come back. At least I go to church. I do not see how television could really substitute for church but still the pressure of forced integration makes it seem like forced labor to get there and back. I don't see any solution. I just don't care anymore.

I don't understand why the Catholics and Anglicans think that it is OK for them to go around killing the Anabaptists and/or separatists as if there were something wrong us for not wanting to be forcibly integrated into the boozers club. They do not seem to understand that it is OK to be separate in some sense. We are not talking about race. It is a s. To be separate has to do with holiness. God tells us to be separate, to be holy, to be perfect. The first Americans were often separatists. It is OK to be separate.

Which Reminds Me

I forgot to mention that the chapter on the Dominican Republic was attributed to Rachel Peterson's authorship so for some reason they get to write their own missionary history. The Petersons throw us into that island mix even though we never really met them and don't know very much about that. Have they forgotten that Central America wrote the book about how things ought to be done? We actually never thought very much of the Petersons or cared what they thought about us.

Their geeky twerp son Vern Peterson (MK-DR) lives or more precisely lived somewhere near here in South Florida. We heard that he married a Baptist Fundamentalist which made their relationship somewhat rocky but that is what happens when you married some girl you picked up at a laundromat. They live on their own little island of Patmos but not really Greece. Patmos is Vern's publishing company which does Spanish language books that my mother's publishing company, Editorial Vida, helps to distribute throughout Latin America.

All of this does not explain how Vern's mother got to write her own warped version of the island history which inexplicably tries to incorporate us into Caribbean history and also explains how the Turnbulls lived in Haiti for some time, how the Petersons served 20 years in Cuba and then 20 years in the Dominican Republic, and the Petersons' involvement with the Assemblies of God Bible Institute and ICI operations there.

How is it that the clueless Petersons would presume and/or attempt to write about us when they are so clearly not well informed and unable to put things in their proper perspective? Perhaps it was just Vern's overwhelming desire to be snarky, a way to pass for Baptist Fundamentalist nerd while pretending that you are not really a Pentecostal turncoat, a category in which, come to think of it, the Houston relatives also fit nicely.

So just because you are playing the Baptist game for now, that does not mean that you are on the right side of history. Time will tell.

Interestingly

Christie probably wishes her name were in the history books, too, but alas, her parents Joe and Margaret Register get all the credit for "El Lugar Secreto," meaning "The Secret Place," a children's television program that was filmed at the ASTRO Studios in Central Florida, along with Sara and Maritza Segura and lots of other people who frequented the Lakeland studios to tape various video programs. I would imagine that Christie probably has lots of snarky little things figured out to say about that. After all, she herself being an experienced puppeteer probably really likes being a stick. It is not so much fun the other way around.

To Quote/Translate

TAKE 3, Page 212

Royal Rangers

From 1966 George Davis, international commander for the Royal Rangers in Latin America, and Juan Romero, training coordinator, promoted the work among young boys with conventions and prepared study materials. Harold Calkins, in El Salvador, prepared Bible studies for the boys.
When Eugene Hunt and his wife Caroline arrived in the Dominican Republic in 1971, he felt a great burden for the boys and adolescent males. In 1973 he carried out the first camp meeting with guest Robert Turnbull. The Royal Rangers was organized at a national level with Hunt as the commander. After about one year there were 200 members of this program, and Hunt translated the leadership manual into Spanish.

Which Reminds Me

Someone was trying to throw us to the Mennonites but that was silly. That won't stick mainly because it is not true. If it was the Bueno brats who were thinking that they were the only AG missionaries in El Salvador after 1970 they are somewhat confused. I can see where the Bueno brats might have been confused though. Perhaps they forgot that they always did have a special deal with headquarters wherein they could do whatever they wanted. Found a School system. A feeding program. Economic development program. They always were allowed to do whatever they wanted. Not like that with the rest of us. My parents had to go by the rules and not get involved in certain ways. We were not expecting any historical returns so we are particularly hurt when our names do not appear in Luisa Jeter Walker's history book. However, it does seem odd to me that eight years of missionary service apparently meant nothing. My Dad spoke in lots of little churches all over the country and yet his name somehow appears only in the chapter on the Dominican Republic, alongside Eugene and Caroline Hunt, no relation to my Dad's Aunt Mary Olive and her husband Eugene Hunt who were missionaries in Venezuela, but they are with the Christian and Missionary Alliance, not the AG, under a subheading of the Royal Rangers program and Sunday School conference work. My Dad did work with Royal Rangers quite a bit but only visited Dominican Republic on a short-term visit to speak at Sunday School conferences as also Venezuela and a few other countries of Latin America. The Davenports also do not appear in the El Salvador chapter even though they were there for three terms and neither do the Smeyas appear. The excuse given was that 1965 was the cutoff date and we did not arrive there until 1966. And yet other missionaries arriving later than 1966 are mentioned in the book in chapters on other countries. So it is just politics, obviously. The Buenos were playing hardball with the Tripletts and it is hard to argue with power. We just don't have an opportunity to say anything about Walker's pointy black-hat history book.

Which Reminds Me

Our great-great-grandmother Rhoda Burry was the granddaughter of Jacob Burry, who came to the United States in 1818, at age 33, from Walhern, Canton Berne, Switzerland. Public records record of his confirmation at age 49 at St. Paul's German Lutheran Reform Church. So the Burrys were apparently Reformed people but we are not them. We in our generation belong to the Assemblies of God denomination which dedicates children and baptizes adults. That does not mean that we have any Mennonites in our family. Lots of Christian groups adhere to adult baptism and are not Mennonites. We sort of view the Mennonites as extreme in their separatism but we are separatists in some ways. Maybe the Butterfields have some other idea on this point but we are not them.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I always did suspect that Lori Way was conspiring with Cori Nipper against me somehow behind my back. As if. As if there were not already all this pain and suffering in the world, millions of souls still unsaved and children starving to death and so forth and the only issue that troubles Lori's empty head is whether we ought to be allowed to go dancing. As if that were important. I mean, I need to go dancing and make a fool of myself on the dance floor like I need a hole in my head. No thanks. I really do not need more of Dance Hall Bimbo Lori in my life. This probably explains why Lori and Cori got left in the dust, because with that type of "friends" I won't need any "enemies." I can just pretend that all of my friends are my enemies and that pretty much leaves me with only my own brilliant mind for company which is not bad. Better me than some other idiot.

No Clues Available Here

Those sleazy rich people might be surprised how little or no interest we regular folks have in learning where they get their money or what they are doing with it. I would not want them poking their noses into my personal finances so obviously, as the Golden Rule tells us to do unto others as we would have them do unto us, we do not waste a lot of time poking our noses into theirs or have much idea as to who their supporters might be, the Russian mafia or whatever. There have been rumors about that obviously or that would not be eternally circulating in the ozone layer but we are not going to spend another minute investigating the Russian connection. We really don't care personally speaking. You were on your own and then you came back from Russia with a third wife, surprise! one who apparently now lives in an expensive oceanfront condo in Miami, so obviously Wendy's little house in Virginia just wasn't enough for you after Rhonda's houseboat went into foreclosure. And where did all those children come from? You always wanted more more more. If you want to drop more detailed information about that in front of our noses so that we cannot miss reading about it in the newspaper or watching it on television we might be tempted to add our two-cents' worth personal opinion to that but otherwise we really do not have anything specific to say about that stuff. We really do not know much. I personally do not work for the International Development Bank or such highfalutin financial institutions that would have access to information about these people's actual bank accounts so I have no idea. It is not my job.

More about bread

Jesus said: "I am the bread of life." This Bible verse, if I remember rightly, was at one time engraved or somehow emblazoned on the wall at church, the Evangelistic Center, where my family attended Sunday mornings during most of the time that we were in El Salvador. Also, my Dad and sister and I once or twice sang in a trio the song, "Fill My Cup, Lord," which includes the words: "Bread of heaven feed me till I want no more" music that my Dad got from somewhere. Obviously these references were not advertisements for the Mennonite Bread Company. These were allegorical references to the spiritual bread which is the Word of God which feeds the soul. Only an idiot, a spiritually dead idiot, would try to make something else out of that.

There are those who want to make points about feeding programs and, well, they are entitled to their opinions. However, I personally do not feel called to that type of cooking ministry. I like to eat bread but I never had much luck or patience with yeast and how it rises over time and all that. I mostly leave the bread baking to the cooks who have studied recipes and know how that works.

Fight

Yes, some smart alecky person was perhaps trying to make some lame point about the meaning of the word "Lido," which was the name of the bread produced by the Lobos family. The attempt to make this word a verb of the singular present tense, "I fight," is rather lame as the word "lido" is not a verb and appears only as a noun in the bilingual dictionary. However, the word lido can mean public swimming pool. One might wonder how that thought got attached to a loaf of bread but I would not be able to answer even these elementary questions, let alone the complicated facts of the civil war. Is my name Elizabeth that I should claim and/or disclaim possession of a bread factory that was never mine? No, my name is not Elizabeth so obviously I would have no clue about that. I only would have a vague idea that the word "lido" would sound sort of fashionably cool as it is often gets attached to beach clubs and fashionable hangout places, not that I would know anything about that. I am just saying that you would have to ask Elizabeth about that stuff. I have no idea.

Which Reminds Me

The Mennonite bread was delicious. They delivered it to our house in their little truck every few days, available in white or wheat. We subscribed to that part of the time. Bread making was one of the fundraising activities of the Mennonite mission that was stationed there in El Salvador. Once in a while we would see the Mennonites walking around the shopping center or somewhere, the women always wearing their little white gauze bonnets. They were easily identified that way. However, we did not know them personally. They do not associate much with outsiders of their particular mission and they have their own compound somewhere in the city where they all live and do their bread-making and other activities. I don't know anything about that.

Our mission board generally preferred not to engage in commercial activities in the country in which our families were working so we really do not know very much about the arrangement that the Mennonite had for their activities.

It might seem to some that the Mennonites were putting themselves in direct competition with other local breadmakers of the country, which would include Pan Lido, a company that was owned by the family of a high school classmate, Elizabeth Lobos, which produced something inexpensive type of Wonder Bread which was also very popular for sandwich making. You would have to ask Elizabeth to explain the details of the bread conflict of the civil war, as I was saying to someone, because I really don't know very much about that. Bread is good.

Yes, and Lee Bueno's donut shop in Panama was operated there under arrangements of which we know very little, yet in competition with other donut shops of Panama. You would have to ask them what they were thinking. I have no idea.

Which Reminds Me

Carol the receptionist was Mark's partner in crime. They were both fired and dispatched to oblivion after it was discovered that they were illegally tapping the telephones in the building. Oddly, Carol's telephone would always ring first thing in the morning as soon as work was to start, something about setting up the tapping mechanism for the day it was learned later, or at least that was what Sharon said shortly after the firings. Carol was from Montana, widow of a pilot and Debbie Tracy's former piano teacher. Some may be wondering whether Carol spent a lot of time in prison atoning for her illegal wiretapping activities but it seems not. She very well connected to the characters at TBN and knows all about their personal lives so they apparently intervened to get the criminals excused. In fact, it almost seems that Mark and Carol were rewarded for their crimes because tidbits of lunchroom conversations are still circulating in the ozone layer, as if there was nothing wrong with spying on innocent bystanders such as myself and as if Mark's opinion ever mattered to anyone. Very weird. I never worked for the TBN people so it is not like they would ever mail me a paycheck for whatever insignificant trivia gathered in that highly offensive way. You have to be hired and placed on the payroll with a W-9 form before you can get a paycheck so it is not like these charges of insubordination would ever really stick. It is not that some people in the neighboring ministry were volunteering their time but I was not in a position to do the volunteering thing for just anybody. It sounds so good to volunteer, and I inquired about that option more than once, but my volunteering options are not something that I would want to discuss with Mark Carpenter. It was really none of Mark's business whether or not I had previously telephoned some other entity to inquire about volunteering options there. It is not like I would want to discuss that with some other people in the office. It was just something to think that but not necessarily do. So it was rather odd that the volunteer asked me if I also wanted to volunteer with them. As if I did not already work 40 hours per week. As if I would want to spend more time in their office hanging around doing more things that bore me out of my mind and with no paycheck to compensate. With their office staffed entirely by volunteers they would be able to spend all of the funds raised on expensive evening gowns and airline travel and Cadillacs and luxury real estate ventures. There is not necessarily anything wrong with that but I prefer not to get involved, thanks anyway. Not on that basis. Maybe I was too emotional in the way I expressed my "No." In retrospect I might say "No" in a nicer, more pleasant way, but still my answer would be No No No. Never Never. Never.

Which Reminds Me

I attended a magician event with Carol Sanchez and probably some other children at the national theater in San Salvador. Some time during the event, probably at the half time or afterwards, Carol wanted to get the magician's autograph so I went with her to stand in line for that. I don't remember much about that but I think he did eventually make an appearance at the side door. I was never into collecting autographs but Carol had a special book for that.

Which Reminds Me

In 6th grade our teacher at MK school, Miss Dina Knox, sometimes challenged us all to race to get our work done fast and the first ones to finish would be allowed to walk a couple of blocks over to the store and bring back popsicles for everyone else. I remember attaining this privilege more than once of leaving the classroom and walking over there to get the popsicles while the rest of the children had to stay in the classroom and work and work and work. However, it is not because I worked too fast that I won this privilege. We see that other children would take the whole hour not rushing and still get more answers wrong because, well, Dawn always was sort of dumb that way. Miss Knox might have been trying to motivate Dawn also to stop giggling at every little thing and concentrate on getting the schoolwork done and maybe the popsicle outing was not the best choice of reward system. All those popsicles and sugar right before school let out. Still, that was the system that Miss Knox created, herself already weighing more than 300 pounds, so there is no reason for me to be punished for a system that was easier for me to win with because I always was smarter than stupid Dawn. I am not saying that was the right way to do it, but that was just the way it was, like it or not.

Which Reminds Me

One fall semester at SCC, Johnny Carl, choir director, asked for volunteers to sing solos. The only volunteer for the choir concert was Dana Heinrichs, who sang Gesu Bambino and did an OK job even if her voice is not exactly spectacular. Ok, so sometimes it pays to be bold and get your foot in the door first even if later nobody really wants to hear anything more from some pushy Montana dogs.

Well curses to you too

I am sick and tired of listening to these curses spewing and/or emanating constantly from some idiot upstairs, something about how they are trying to curse our money and how the money is no longer going to come from us and we are going to lose all our money and blah blah blah, as if were ever the rich people. We never had that much money to start with so it is somewhat ridiculous, not to mention rude, selfish and greedy, for those crackpots upstairs to once again try to reach and attempt to confiscate some imaginary pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. The switchboard artist is apparently confused and sending phone calls to the wrong place. We are not rich people and we do not have a huge amount of money sitting around for use on some Modesto-based social studies project that is not family-related. Sorry but that is just how it is. Cursing us is not going to help you locate the money. All we can say is that we don't have it and we are not expecting to get anything much in the future either. The Irish send us a box of walnuts and pecans every Christmas for use in our baking projects, which is nice, and that is all we get. Got it? Ok, now shut your big fat mouth and leave us be.

Because it is very eerie to be around all these Irish people who just want to kill me and don't care what happens to me and some are even related to me. It is very chilling.

College Closing

Yes, I can see where the closing of Bethany might be a good thing for all persons concerned, not that I would know anything about that. This will be a good time for them to kick Judy's Wicked Witch butt to the curb. Judy and her sisters will no longer be able to rely on a mainly Northern California network of thieving liars and rainbow dog trash for their info and gossip needs. They will have to go out and get real jobs or go to school and talk to people who are not yet tagged and stereotyped on the Bethany network "safelist" and learn new facts not previously incorporated into the somewhat limited Bethany database. That could be a good thing for all of us as it is not fun to have some stupid Bethany snipers running around making a mess of everything and getting all the wires crossed and tangled. We know Judy Thomson's best friend and source of information about Vanguard University is rainbow trash Debbie Tracy which means that Judy is mostly clueless about everything that matters and aware only of the stupid cliquey nonsense spewed by Debbie Tracy and her limited clique of clueless music cliqueists whom I ignore most of the time because I don't like them. I don't like putrid Sharon. I don't like putrid Rose. Etc. etc. I don't like you Sam I am.

Which Reminds Me

Mark Carpenter, the radio guy who was fired for illegally tapping the office telephones, had talked about being a missionary kid who had lived in Ecuador where his family worked with the Christian megastation there, HCJB, and also in Gibraltar, the British outpost at the southernmost point of Spain. It is very hot in Spain, Mark was saying. That is almost all that I remember about Mark. I got very tired of hearing Mark's cranky voice always harping on insignificant details and trying to find fault with everything I say or do. I do not appreciate the idea of Mark eavesdropping on my personal telephone calls and ferreting personal information that he can use as a weapon against me. I do not like the idea of Mark still being out there still living on this planet and able to wreak havoc incognito after he had been supposedly taken out once and for all back when his illegal eavesdropping activities were first discovered. Just because you were an MK, that does not mean that you were mature, obviously. He and his wife attended a church in Whittier and over the lunch table he was telling us about all the problems of the crazy people who attend that church. That is how it is when you are not Spirit-filled and think that you have to make everything happen in the fleshly way, so typical of these Baptist whiners. That is how Baptists are. We just sort of take everything they say with a grain of salt and let some things fly in one ear and out the other because we know that Baptists don't quite get it. Mark is a few bricks short of a full load, his elevator does not quite reach the top floor, etc. etc. Baptist MKs, espcially Mark, are seriously conflicted because they are confused and, thinking that we Pentecostals are the enemy, find themselves fighting against God instead of with God. Yes, you can do a lot of damage trying to beat me down but that does not prove that you are right or have any significant points. It only proves that you are a male with a very big fat mouth.

Interestingly, the pop singer Albert Hammond is also from Gibraltar. Makes you wonder if those people all know each other. Not that I would care one way or another.

I just want Mark to go away and stay out of my personal life. We no longer work for the same company so we are not going to be meeting over the lunch table any time soon. I will be flying away o glory someday to heaven but where Mark is going in the afterlife I really cannot say. It would not be my place to say anything else about Mark.

Which Reminds Me

I am suddenly reminded of the college talent show in which Rose Wilson appeared in a Viking outfit singing something operatic. I was not sure what she was singing but Lynda insisted that she was singing the word, "I forgot my words." Ok, whatever. I never was sure what was about nor did I think it mattered in the long run. Those people were deeply weird always. Maybe she was funny or maybe she was just being weird. It is hard for me to know the difference as I really don't care.

China Bates

I recently became aware of the existence of Miner Searle Bates (1897-1978), who was a famous missionary in China, commissioned by the United Christian Missionary Society to teach at Nanking University and played a heroic role in the Nanking Massacre of 1937. He taught history in China from 1920 to 1950 except for the time he was on furlough in the U.S. working on his Ph.D. in Chinese history. Interesting that this surname of Bates is also the surname of my Dad's Aunt Julia, whose first husband was Elmer Bates and her son also is Elmer Bates, a Presbyterian minister. Evidence seems to indicate that our Bates were formerly Oklahoma farm people, not that I ever knew anything about that. It is nice that the Bates are willing to help with the Pentecostal history project, if there ever is one, even though my Dad's cousin Elmer Bates is actually a Presbyterian minister. Perhaps it is hard to move with the spirit when you have one foot in the gravy but perhaps more information will turn up someday. I never really asked but I seriously doubt that those Bates were connected to Miner Searle Bates, or Robert Bates, other Bates missionaries in China, but I never really asked so I could be wrong. Obviously, the Nanking Massacre was not a part of our family history so we will not have much use for that murder scenario that you were outlining for us over dinner. Do not be sitting on the edge of your seat waiting for the Pentecostal history museum to call for more information about the Nanking Massacre of 1937. Your presentation will not be needed. It really is outside the scope of our potential project although I am sure that there is some historical value in knowing more about the murderous activities of the army and why so many people had to die in such a cruel and barbarous manner. I don't know very much about that. There is a place in the history books for information about such massacres and testimony about the horrific war crimes was provided by Miner Bates. However, it is not really what we were talking about in the first place and anyway I doubt that our ancestors ever spent much time in Nanking, being that they spent most of their time in Shanghai or Hong Kong, and anyway their surname was Barth, not Bates. I hope this helps clarify things somehow.

Shyness Lock

Yes, I am not unaware that there is this Shyness-Lock on me that makes it very hard to just go out there and be friendly to everyone given that I have certain degree of nervous anxiety at all times. I have to wait for them to ask before I can start talking. However, it is very strange to me that anyone would be angry with me for not talking very much. I am not so stupid as to be unaware that certain persons are waiting with daggers poised for me to come out of my shell but if they ask first their nefarious motives will be crystal clear. So they expect me to flap my jaws and just voluntarily hand over to them all of the ammunition they would need to put me away for life and they get very frustrated with my non-acquiescent silence. However, it wasn't like that. I never was thinking about them all that much actually, not being much aware of all these extreneous facts until recently, so it is very odd that they should imagine that I was badmouthing them all over the place or that I would even say anything about them most of the time. I don't remember them actually. Anyway, I am entitled to my unique and particular and individual viewpoint regardless of what some other people think or whether you like it or not. For example, when I was in ninth grade seeing a bunch of blue-jeaned hippies sitting under a tree listening to Lance and his sidekick Yasushi playing the guitar and singing rock songs seemed so worldly to me. That was just the way I saw it at the time. I just thought they were all sort of mindless groupies. I don't remember saying much about that though and even if I had nobody would really care very much about my mostly unexpressed opinions. My opinion always was sort of irrelevant to everyone so obviously if they were getting flak it wasn't coming from me. They are rich and powerful people and I am just a poor nobody. Nobody cares what I think about anything. The only problem people I might be vaguely aware of might be that serial killer Samuel Barth and the San Jose gang who really ought to be put away for life. I mean, who wants to have those total strangers throwing firebombs at me every time I turn around? I cannot even open my mouth without these whiners trying to trip me up and they don't even know what they are talking about. It just gets ridiculous. I might as well just sit here and force them to pay for this abuse because it just isn't fair that the creepy vermin of San Jose should be allowed to get away scot-free when actually they ought to admit they are related to us and that they are only hurting themselves by targeting me, you can be sure of that. Someone really should be putting the screws on San Jose, not the other way around, because actually they are the problem. Just killing a 3-year-old does not excuse their bad behavior. I am only a distraction from their much more serious problems. And I have noticed a few other things on the Internet, or is that your brother?, not that I ever knew of those people's existence. I wasn't planning to say all these things but somehow justice makes it necessary.

Shy Low vs. Yackety-Yak High

I might be somewhat on the introverted side which manifests in a certain degree of shyness in some social situations. However, it does not logically follow that I would know much about why the Old Testament tabernacle was stationed at Shiloh for all those hundreds of years beyond what the Bible says about that. The tabernacle was in tattered rags by the time that Solomon's temple was completed and the old tabernacle was no longer needed and could be retired. But that was probably well over a hundred years after Eli's family met with disaster at Shiloh. Taking the ark of the covenant out of its place turned out to be a horribly bad idea, as Eli's sons learned to their disgrace. Still, shyness is not a symptom of genealogical descent from Ichabod, Eli's grandson from whom the glory of Israel had departed. At least I seriously doubt that there is any scientific evidence of any genealogical link between shyness and Ichabod, which would mean a lifelong curse and pain and unending woe to all shy people. Only extroverts are allowed to live freely on this planet, according to some unending yakkers who sometimes fail to put brain in gear before flapping jaws, which reminds me of a poster that I once gave someone as a gift, one of my sister's former boyfriends. Ok, so someone was trying to make shyness seem low, a terrible attribute to be drummed out of human race in future social engineering projects, but I beg to differ. It is hard to understand how those yakkers can even think when they never stop to listen. I don't mind listening to yakkers but it is always a relief to be left alone to not have to listen to that all the time. It just doesn't matter. And how would we have writers and works of art if persons could not be alone with their thoughts in a Shy-low world? Shut up! Somehow it seems to me that humankind might be diminished with the reducing of the full richness and variety of human gifts and talents and temperaments. But, anyway, we will just never know how things might have been. It is useless to talk about what I should have done and if only I had done this or that. I only have the present and that is all that I get, just like you and everyone else on the planet.

Sylvia's Book

It is very odd that anyone would suspect me of doing anything to Sylvia's book. I have no idea what they did or who did that. I never did anything to Sylvia's book and do not know anything much about that except what I read on the Internet. Obviously, if I had not been there maybe things would have been different and maybe not. It is hard for me to imagine Jeff any other way than his meddlesome self, a fat ugly slob he seems to me in retrospect. Jeff left so there is nothing else to say about him and the two or three dates he had with Sylvia which Sylvia mentioned to me before she left. Jeff never asked me on a date so there was no reason for me to imagine that Jeff was ever a friend of mine. I could say something similar about Sharon. I did not do anything to them so it really is very rude of them to hang around like parasitical attachments for such a long time demanding some explanation of nothing much. I left also and so there is nothing else to say about that irrelevant encounter. I imagine that the Oddos are still there when they are not visiting with the Ashcrafts of San Diego. Those families all know my parents from the church on Western Avenue in Los Angeles where I was such a naughty problem to all concerned. It is not fair to me that these people should waste my time with all of this nonsense when, all things considered, it just wasn't that important and, anyway, I am no longer three years old. And yet all of this unnecessary rehashing of the past makes it hard for me to get on with my own life. Jeff and Sharon and Sylvia are at best college acquaintances that I may or may not ever see again in this lifetime. I don't know them very well. We just don't have anything in common and our paths never seem to cross after that. I am not worried about them, however. God will take care of them and God will take care of me without any help from the wicked Barth brothers, the filthy rich donor Ashcrafts, etc. etc., the viper's den of San Jose, etc. I wish those email spammers would go away and leave me alone. I am not going to buy anything else from them, especially not now.

P.S. So if you see a hideous hag wearing a pointy black hat and riding on a broomstick you can be pretty sure that it is the Wicked Witch of the West, Ann Ashcraft, out to give unfair advantage to her two hideous stepdaughters and their assorted connections mostly of San Diego of which I know almost nothing. One of the Ashcraft daughters was singing with a band at one time but mostly in San Diego area. We once went to Disneyland with them when I was maybe 12 or 13 but I don't remember anything now and I really don't care. They are typical Californians, just totally self-interested and greedy, but, guess what, it's not all about them.

Irish Oz

Yes, we probably should not forget that Frank Baum was Irish and his Oz vision sort of fits an Irish-American world for those Irish-Americans who like everything done with an Irish jig. I really don't have that much Irish in me actually, red hair notwithstanding. Celtic is not confined to national boundaries or archaic languages, so I sort of understand them and I sort of don't understand what they are talking about half the time. Someone was saying that there are actually more redheads in Scotland than Ireland, not that I would be able to verify that. It might have been related to the question of whether the reddish hair and freckles make me Irish. Actually not but this is a common misunderstanding that comes from persons ignorant of the complexities of American ethnic composition. It it not something that white people like us would really want to discuss with email spammers, thanks anyway. It is more complicated than that. It would take a long time to fully research my genealogy to try to figure exactly all the percentages of the various European nationalities represented there and then if I had those numbers, so what? It really would not matter that much or change very much about the circumstances of my life or the number of my days. I think that I am white American generally speaking but to get more specific than that requires a level of trust that you are not going to use that information for some vast social engineering project in which I will be engineered out of existence. Someone, I don't remember who, was saying that genocidal methods worked well in France, where the Huguenots and other Protestant groups were pressured or bred out of existence so that only Roman Catholics live in France. They want to do the same here in America, so that only Roman Catholics will survive in the new world that is to come. Protestants will diminish and eventually become extinct. Thus it would pay to be Irish in the coming New World Order of Irish-Italian Catholics because only they will be allowed to supervise the work. The rest of us will not be allowed to do anything and we will just be expected to disappear into the woodwork and let them do whatever they want. Thus the future looks very bleak and dismal for us white people who are not part of the New World Order of Catholicism and have to allow ourselves to be bullied around by this horrid Italian whiners. We just won't have another American continent to which we can escape from this European rot. We will just be here and stuck with their rotten European mess and not able to do much about that. One would think that they would be humble and apologetic about trying to impose their European rottenness upon us, but alas they have no ability to see how rotten they themselves actually are. For them it is just a game about winning and we are the opposing team so they just don't care about us. It is just the system.

Guilt Money

We will not be playing any cat and mouse games. The cat tries to lure us out of our hiding place with the bait of money and other benefits but we do not buy that. We are, however, willing to accept your guilt money. You feel guilty about ruining our lives but talk is cheap. If you would be willing to confess your guilt you would need to put some money into our Fundrazr account. This money will reimburse us for all these expenses incurred in trying to locate the needle in the public domain haystack. In donating to our public domain projects you are admitting your malice aforethought, your reckless disregard for the truth, your perpetual and continual intent to inflict injuries, both emotional and physical, and so forth. That is how the money will be accepted through Fundrazr, thank you very much for at least admitting guilt.

Shredder

Obviously I will not be mailing my manuscript to the television people, not that I ever had one. I only a few times expressed the idea of maybe writing a book someday but obviously if everyone is so certain that it would be so terrible, why would I bother sitting down to even write it down in the first place, let alone mail it to someone who would just put it through a shredder? Obviously I would never mail out a manuscript without keeping a copy on my hard drive. Nevertheless, there is no manuscript available on my hard drive to mail for a fresh and new target of your derisive mockery. You could probably try pasting together some of my pathetically horrible blog posts but you would never make a penny from all that garbage. Where is the action? Where is the drama? There is no story there. It is mostly some extremely introverted ponderings that you always disdained as worthless in the first place. But guess what, I am not so dumb as to not notice that you hate me and are trying to ruin my life and make everyone hate me as much as you do. I noticed that even if I did not say so.

Poor Syliva

The television people absolutely destroyed Sylvia's book and now they sit there pontificating as if nothing had ever happened. Poor Sylvia. Even a poor man's copyright ought to mean something.

Which Reminds Me

Almost the only other thing I remember is Suzette talking about how they would have to investigate various methods that her tax evasive uncle might be using to keep things off the books. For example, people might be paid cash under the table and various agreements involving a trade of services not involving the exchange of money could be ways that mafia people use to avoid reporting every little thing to the IRS, although evidence of these trades might surface elsewhere. So you would have to be "in the family" to know this, and I suppose that Suzette being "in the family" could really help the IRS with get an inside look at the "family" business. That is about all I would be able to remember about what Suzette was saying. Perhaps you could get a lot more out of Pam and Craig who are college-trained accountants. I really don't remember very much about that.

Which Makes Me Wonder

I wonder why so much attention is focused on Suzette and her IRS investigation of her tax evasive mafia uncle? I don't even remember who her uncle was or what exactly he did for a living, nor do I care to investigate that further. Rene is obviously confused about exactly who said what and also her brother Frank never was a friend of mine obviously. I really do not want to hear another word from the tediously whiney and dreary Cuccio family about all their mafia tax evasion problems. They imagine themselves rich people and yet they are acting like street garbage, jeering at poor people like us as if we even care what they do. We really don't care. They have accountants and the IRS to keep track of these details. I could not be bothered because I have other things on my mind. They should be more worried about the business journal writer who just sits there and never says a word. One of these days maybe thosee financial statements will explode all over the front pages if there really is some legitimate reason for the Cuccios' uncle to fear the IRS.

Question

And what makes these Irish Catholic Mahons imagine themselves related or having some secret knowledge of us? I for one do not see any connection whatsoever between us and them. The Mahons are nothing to us.

Which Reminds Me

I vaguely recall that Suzette Cuccio was talking about her tax-evasive mafia uncle and how her boss was wanting her help in figuring that out. Pam and Craig thought that was fascinating and wanted to know more about that. Personally, I don't want to get involved. I heard part of this conversation but I really don't know anything else to add to that. Anyway, Suzette's distinctly Brooklyn accent makes it hard for me to understand what those people are talking about. Suzette has a sister named Rene who later married some wealthy man and lives in Palm Beach County and goes to Pam and Craig's church, or at least that is what Pam once said years ago. I don't know very much about that. I really don't want to know whether Rene pays her taxes to the IRS. I mean, it is not my job to keep track of such things. I don't work for the IRS so it is not my problem. We see might see these people at church once a week, or else maybe not, but we really have no idea what these people do in their spare time. Sometimes we are better off not knowing too many details. Ick!

The "It" Girl

So we know that Clara Bow was the "It" girl, an actress of the silent movie era who also happened to be a redhead. However, she was mostly played the role of scandalous bad girl, not really someone who would be acceptable in good society, which was not far from who she really was, a girl of troubled background plucked from the ghettos of New York. She was hugely popular in the 1920s but fell out of favor after the advent of talkies. Ok, so someone is making pointed jokes about redheads, a wicked witch colleague of Aunt Linda's perhaps, but a stereotyped movie star does not reflect the reality of who I am. This Clara Bow joke only reflects the vapid emptiness of Aunt Linda's pathetically empty head, in which almost no fact dwells regarding my existence. Anyway, these Dutch people obviously do not have any special advantage in this world except within the vapid intrigues of continental Europe and also perhaps in the Do-Re-Mi dwellings of bankrupt California. Then I guess I am not missing anything important be leaving California in the rear-view mirror. The word "family" lacks definition there.

Dutch dogs

Which reminds me that way too much emphasis is placed on Dutch ethnicity, especially in California. Why is it that these Wicked Witch Dutch dogs are given all this special attention, as if they were victims in need of help instead of the reverse? Someone really ought to put the Dutch dogs back in their places because obviously they are not going to pay the weight and freight that their wickedness has created. I don't even remember whether Aunt Linda was of Dutch ethnicity or some other type of dull European continental but I am starting to wonder. She really had a sick idea of her own identity and drove the family nuts with all her mental problems. She had a way of insulting us redheads in the family as if we were somehow less than equal to and hopelessly inferior to some pathetically wicked Dutch bimbo as herself. Linda was famous for her beehive hairdos. Oh! Later I even thought I was hearing messages from that vicious Dutch bimbo Kathy Lidstrand of whom I remembered almost nothing, as if that trashy Dutch milkmaid would have access to my college application. How ridiculous. Lots of people who were popular homecoming queens in college in today's economy would not be able to get themselves elected dogcatcher, not that I was ever much aware of Kathy. Being a stupid Continental idiot was never that important to me, not that I understood what that meant at the time. Do we really want Los Angeles looking like another Amsterdam, which is nothing but a cesspool? No, someone really ought to do something about this Dutch thing, although it won't be me. It is not my place.

Lamb Family

Anyway, please tell the Lamb family to go away and stop bothering us. We did not do anything to them and were not even aware of them most of this time. Great-grandfather died many years ago and so nobody living is available to explain what that was all about. I have no idea.

Odd Facts

Reviewing the family genealogy work that I did, I am reminded of the odd 1920 federal census in which our great-grandfather, Carlton Reuben Calkins, is reportedly living in Fresno and married since 1915 to Ella Lamb. My grandfather's name was Ralph Calkins and he was born in 1906, his mother being Ella Marsella Collins. But his name does not appear in Fresno. We all know that he was living in an orphanage for several years after his mother died. The children of Fresno 1920 are Orla and Louise Lamb and also Paul R. Calkins. So it seems sort of like a mistake, or maybe not. They also could have been lying, because elsewhere he appears as Robert Paul Lamb, born in 1914. All kinds of "mistakes" appear in census reports. People sometimes forget what year they were born and in which state. These mistakes or discrepancies are seen from time to time. Could there have been two different Ella Calkins' in the family? It might seem strange but then again there a lot of things that I don't know about these people. A lot can happen between the 10-year federal census reports. I have no idea.

Which Reminds Me

I seem to remember in digging around noticing that my Dad's Uncle Ariel married Evelyn who was a Scandinavian from Iowa. I don't know, maybe that's why that branch of the family is so utterly arrogant and snooty to the rest of us even though we didn't do anything to them. Just because I was once mentioned in the diaries at about age 5 or so, that does not mean that I am still sitting there as described in the diaries. Yes, after Uncle Ariel is gone there won't be any reason to be hearing from them. Only recently did I read the diaries and found a kazillion reference to Evelyn whenever great-grandmother would travel to Pasadena to visit them once or twice a year. She seems to have spent quite a bit of time there playing anagrams. I really don't know them but really they sound like regular people like everybody else so there really was no reason for Danny to get all worked up on his high horse about every little thing. But I suppose if we are playing the compare and contrast game they do sort of look better than some of the other relatives who are doing so pathetically bad, if you want to feel better that way. At least some of us still go to church on Sundays and have an idea about what is in the Bible and that sort of thing. I can't really say that about some of my relatives. They are just out there thinking that being "good" for their own sake is good enough even though they just ain't that "good." Of course nobody really is good but at least some of us are aware that we can't make it without God's help. That is sort of the difference between us and them.

First Person

When I was 10 years old I said that when I grew up I would be famous and write my autobiography. Ok, so I lied. Obviously I am not going to be famous when everyone on the planet obviously hates and loathes me and will do everything to ensure that I never succeed at anything. Still, they still harbor that nagging fear that I might write something on the order of an autobiography. But in order to do that I would need to write in the first person. But if my viewpoints and observations can be swallowed by the collective groupies, and they are insisting that all my thoughts and ideas must be censored first by them and harmonized with the collective and not allowed to run amok in individualistic lines of thought, then I will be mostly writing in the second or third person which is not really about me. It might even be fiction for all I know. It would be hard for me to actually write an autobiography when I really have nothing to say, nothing eventful to record, experienced nothing of overwhelming significance, just a miserable soul plodding along who will be glad when life is over and perhaps no longer have to think about this. Yes, what kind of uplifting and inspiring autobiography would I write anyway? It would just be nothing.

Where do I go to sue?

Where do I go to sue the CIA, the SanGios, the School, Chavez, Thomsons, etc. etc. for trying to shove me into some rainbow trash agenda hell concocted I imagine by crude and vulgar foul-mouthed dog Heather Catto et al, may they rot in rainbow trash hell? I would even sue my own Wicked Witch sister on this point because I didn't do that.

I would be utterly insulted that anyone would imagine me in the rainbow trash gay category. How utterly rude. How utterly stupid can you putrid people be? I would rather die than be tainted by association with some putrid lesbian dike. How disgusting. I might sit here and accidentally in flipping TV channel catch a glimpse of such hideous dogs as filthy slime Ellen vomiting on national television but I would rather die than personally say any word of encouragement on behalf of those pathetically misguided and digustingly vile lesbian dogs or be associated with them in anyway.

MAKE NO MISTAKE!

I praise God that I am not a vile putrid lesbian on the lowlife level of crude and vulgar Joanne Calabrese. I praise God that I did not fall for that piece of vile garbage and never had any respect or regard for that pestiferous piece Italian dogmeat. Hallelujah!

Ok, now I really do sound like a Pharisee.

I wasn't even thinking about this but since everyone went to so much trouble to point these things out, I suppose that I am expected to express as I see it. So here it is.