Which Reminds Me

Someone was referencing that quote by J.F. Kennedy, "Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country." Yes, well, that might be an appropriate way to address Peace Corps enlistees but neither question seems to apply to me. My country seems to be doing just fine without any help from me, myself not having anything to offer as a Peace Corps volunteer, and I seem to be doing fine without government assistance. Thus there is no reason to continue this discussion. Why should I sign up for welfare when an able-bodied person like me could always get a job doing something? Work work work. The American Dream only works if you can work and make money. Without money you are just stuck at home doing nothing it would seem. I get this point. There was no need to stress that point so rudely.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, those were two miserable months having Judy Umstead for a roommate. One morning I was up and preparing for the day and I dropped my hairbrush in the sink. The sound of that stirred Judy from her slumber. She got up, pitched a fit, screaming and yelling nonsensically, and then stormed out of the room and went somewhere. And I had not even said anything. So I did not try to figure out where she went and did not understand what she was saying. I just thought she was mentally deranged. She might have come in late the night before after hanging out with her lowlife slob boyfriend Larry but that was no reason to scream at me for getting up early in the morning for breakfast. There is nothing in Scripture requiring me to live me life to please the crude and vulgar slime of Pennsylvania, especially not Judy. Judy deserves not an ounce of sympathy from me.

Which Reminds Me

I imagine that someone is reminding me that some people are big fans of Michael Jackson and his unmentionable songs but I don't understand why I would need to mention that. Was there a rule about watching that on TV? I don't remember it that way. It wasn't my choice of TV program but I am not their mother.

Which Reminds Me

The diaries of great-grandfather recording the Pentecostal experiences of my aunt and uncle who are described as speaking in tongues. This only proves that speaking in tongues is not everything. Uncle Merle is described as speaking in tongues and yet he later dumped his first wife and married Wicked Witch Kay, a novelist of no particular achievement from all reports. Regency romance novels are a dime a dozen in some circles. I daresay there will be no Nobel prize in their tawdry future of diminishing returns. Also recorded as speaking in tongues is Aunt Cindy, who went on to raise two worldly decadent children of no particular interest. Maybe some day they will get saved but there are no guarantees. Like my mother said, speaking in tongues is not everything. You can speak in tongues and yet be guided by worldly spirits. My mother tells the story of the man at the San Bernardino church who spoke loudly in tongues and also donated many plants to decorate the church grounds. Later it was learned that the plants were stolen from somewhere else. Oh. Ok, so you can be right on some Pentecostal points and yet very wrong on other points. Pentecostal is not everything, obviously. It was not necessary to kill all of the people to prove this minor point. We already knew this anyway.

Very Strange

Anyway, I could not care less about Daniel. Nobody really cares what Daniel and his family say or do. He married a black lady. I would hate to sound prejudiced in talking about them but she did not win herself any prize in getting this lowlife slob Daniel for a husband. Daniel gets what he deserves from us which is nothing. There really is no reservoir of goodwill in reserve for Daniel in our hearts because he only plays political games against us and never does anything to help. We do not want to hear another word from his black in-laws who are really not that important and are stuck with a not really so high-class blue-collar truck driving lowlife white guy for a son-in-law. I am not really related to them and could not care less where they send their son to school.

Which Reminds Me

Flipping through college papers we see that Dana Cole married a certain Mr. McGuire and now lives in Oklahoma where she works in the medical industry. Yes, just another example of a music major who just didn't have what it really takes to succeed in music and yet they cannot resist a constant whining about how nobody else should have a chance either and everyone should be dragged down to their level of imcompetence, surrounded by the dreary classmates of that year's track most of whom bombed out in the end probably because they mostly complained about everything that wasn't right while not really having any creative ideas of their own that anyone can recall. With them it's just always blah blah blah.

Interestingly

It strikes me as very strange that some dippity dumb blond TV broadcaster completely unknown to me would be taking personal digs at me, myself being Miss General Public, as if it were wrong for me to set my alarm clock at an appropriate hour to get up early in the morning for breakfast. As if my existence were just a matter to be obliterated with nerve drugs dispensed by mentally deranged CIA operatives. As if I should not exist to facilitate the future planned confiscation of family mineral rights. It makes it so much easier to plan for that if I am prevented from marriage and childbearing so that there will be no children to inherit and no grounds on which to claim that I deserve to receive my own inheritance. That is the whole plan, is it not? Why pretend otherwise?

Which Reminds Me

I do not quite recall but also in attendance in the New Testament Survey class taught by Prof. Gary Kellner at Evangel College might have been that asinine bitch Judy Umstead, a truly horrid monster from Pennsylvania. There is nothing nice to say about Judy Umstead. Judy Umstead is just a pathetically horrid nasty person with a reputation for pitching stupid screaming fits for absolutely no reason whatever other than maybe my alarm clock went off at 6 a.m. or whatever. There is no credibility in any wicked pronouncement of horrid Judy Umstead. Nobody cares about that piece of garbage. If she ran off her boyfriend it was probably because she is such a horrible person, not because of anything that I did or didn't do. Sometimes I imagine I hearing the asinine yapping of stupid Judy Umstead emanating Pennsylvania but I doubt that I would very there. Everyone loathed Judy Umstead and for very good reason.

Which Reminds Me

Jennifer was always such a prickly person, always quick to nitpick every little thing, so eager to criticize that a little thing like the spelling of "asinine" would not be an obstacle to her vast ambitions. However, my name is not Jennifer nor do I care to socialize with her dreary friends. So desperate are they to find something on me that they will stop at nothing, I daresay, to gain some unfair advantage over me but nothing will satisfy them.

Which Reminds Me

It was our cousin Karen who had a story about the alleged Indian ancestry of some relative in the history book. I don't remember the details of that or even if Karen knew what she was talking about. Yet in reviewing the McClellan history book now I do not see any evidence of Indian ancestry. You could always ask Karen what she meant by that.

Which Reminds Me

It was easy enough to locate the Reece girls on Facbook, Lori now living in the Florida Keys, but I would only be speculating and in danger of pure fictionalization, if I were to try to paint a picture of Lori cowering with her Italian buddies in the Italian port city of Genoa West fearful of an English invasion by sea. That would just be a total fiction. I was not planning to attack Lori anytime soon but it seems the Italian friends of Lori spend all of their energies in trying to stage an attack even though I don't really know what happened nor do I care that much if everyone is going to be so nasty about everything. If they insist on more and more drama they will find plenty of entertainment in hell where they insist on going.

Which Reminds Me

Her name was Charlotte, the possibly wicked woman who stole Lord Kirkcudbright away from his wife, Lady Kirkcudbright, or something like that. At least that is one possible interpretation of the ancient documents. Upon the death of Lord Kirkcudbright somewhere around 1827 Charlotte was given 500 pounds for her troubles while the rest of the estate went to the wife, Lady Kirkcudbright, according to the will that was pronounced upon in the English courts. Whatever happened to Charlotte anyway? I really have no idea.

And why are we hearing so many messages from North Carolina, where Charlotte is a prominent city? I have no idea. I have never more than driven through North Carolina without stopping. There is no one in North Carolina that I would know or consider a personal friend that I could ever trust that I know of. North Carolina means nothing to me.

You see, our McClellan family is not descended from Lord Kirkcudbright, whose title later became extinct. I cannot speak for other McClellans who may imagine themselves more closely connected to the Scottish town and its skeletal castle now owned by the UK's National Trust which is a good thing because it is doubtful that any of us in America would ever think of going there just for a pile of rocks. It would an interesting one-day outing if I ever could afford to vacation there but not a place to stay.

A Few Other Puzzlements

There are a few other puzzling topics of conversation currently circulating that seem to us entirely irrelevant and do not seem to apply to us.

Amish: We are not Amish, neither are there any Amish people on our family tree that I am aware of. If they were Amish they would be living in some little shack with no electricity, no running water, no computer access, no car with which to get themselves to a store, etc. etc. No, they are obviously not Amish and neither are we. The Amish are very far removed from us in terms of religious beliefs and lifestyle. There is really no real comparison and we really have nothing to say about the Amish one way or another. Their lifestyle is good in some ways but anyway I doubt that we would want to give up our computers to live like that.

Interestingly

And now we are wondering how it is that Kansas bulldog Lynda Botsford ends up with all this cash? Ok, so she runs the IT network at Pacific Forge, but we are not in the aeronautics business so we are not taking orders from Lynda, are we? Since when does Lynda's mindless chatter matter to us? Lynda is the one who plays piano for weddings and then jokes endlessly about weddings. That's not us. Lynda's mindless chatterbox has been shut down for a long time now so we think it is high time that her brother Tom's records also be mailed back to Fontana, CA, where they belong. Nobody really cares that much about Kansas these days. It doesn't belong to Kansas.

Which Reminds Me

It is somewhat annoying how the dreary SanGio family continually pretends to be part of my life. Kathy was nothing but a nuisance and her mother, the choir director, taught us the most dreary songs, nothing all that good. It was just all we had in high school. Things would get better later after we hard returned to the U.S. and could finally shut the nasty SanGio dogs out of our lives. We were very limited there in high school as the SanGio family is nothing to us. After high school they will move back to their hometown somewhere in Sicily and we will never hear another word from them. I really don't understand about Kathy's constant sniping at me. It makes me think that she may have some mental problem and should be committed to the institution because I really don't care. They are not my problem.

Which Reminds Me

In the minds of presuppositionalists, blondes often imagine that only they alone are attractive to men and can be sure of their future lineage upon the earth. Redheads, being recessive and not so genetically dominant, cannot be sure of future procreation because men would likely pick a blonde and/or brunette over a redhead. Thus, we often see this phenomenon of Dutch blondes and Dutch brunettes sneering at redheads. This phenomenon was prominently seen on our family tree where my uncle's wife Linda, being some type of Dutch person, although not blonde, often looked askance at the rest of the family so productive of redheads and was sometimes rude and sneering at us. We know nothing of Linda's family nor do we care to learn more about those nasty Dutch dogs. Clearly the Dutch can pay their own way and thus will not be receiving anything more from us in the way of assistance and aids to this Dutch disorder which we leave to the doctors for diagnosis and treatment because we really don't care.

Which Reminds Me

Upon revisiting my old college alma mater I did notice the short pathway somewhere near the library composed of paver bricks that are personalized with various persons' names engraved upon them. I do recognize many of those names from the years that I was there in college. They are persons who paid to have their own personalized brick on the Paver Brick Road for some reason. Probably their parents are dripping with money and so they paid for their children's personalized brick in addition to paying their college tuition, etc., etc. I seem to remember that some of them belong to the college's honor society or have stellar GPA's or something like that. I really don't remember the specifics of that. I do remember reading in the alumni newsletter about the paver brick promotion. It was apparently discontinued after two or three years because the names only seem to span a three or four year time span. However, for some reason I never did not think myself qualified to have my own paver brick and anyway I really don't care about that. I graduated easily enough. I think that my GPA perhaps would have been better if I had not taken so many music classes but whatever. Anyway I am a college graduate and nobody can take that away from me. Those who tried are just shameless liars. Why should I have to defend myself against against a barrage of stupid hackers? Besides, just having your own brick does not prove that you have any real "honor" or credibility in God's eyes. I had not thought of using that but anyway there it is on a platter waiting to be used.

Which Reminds Me

"There's Something About Mary" is the title of a movie that I never saw nor does it sound at all interesting to me that I would even think to look for it. Nevertheless, there is some story line in circulation out there about Mary of which I am not informed. You would have to ask one of her real friends, Nan perhaps or one of those people who I was not invited to lunch with. They would be able to explain that to all concerned.

Which Reminds Me

I often get the message about how I am not "dear" to them. To them I am just a deer in the headlights. It amuses them to see the startled look on my face whenever they launch into some bizarrely disjointed commentary or accuse me of something that someone else did, expecting me to take the fall for Cindy, as if wicked Cindy were worth anything to me. I am not able to save Cindy from the consequences of her bad behavior so I am tired of hearing about that. I wash my hands of Cindy. I cannot help her now.

Thrown to the Ducks

I got the message that Vanessa was throwing me to the ducks. Vanessa was afraid that I would categorize her as gay alike with her brother Ralph Butterfield via the duck feeding excursion and so she was going to pretend that I was the person who went with Ralph and Grandpa Calkins to feed the ducks that day while Vanessa stayed home and read a book or watched TV or something.

What a strange thing for Vanessa to imagine. The thought had not occurred to me to use the duck excursion for anything but since learning that Vanessa would go to such ridiculous lengths to vilify me in every way, I see that I must counter with the whole truth about the dreary wicked Butterfields, not that I know very much about them. In fact, the duck feeding invitation declined is probably one of the few things that Vanessa remembers about me since we were only there that one year before returning to El Salvador in1971.

Incidentally, Uncle Merle does a very good Donald Duck voice. He often amused us children with that Donald Duck thing.

Which Reminds Me

It is hard for me to resist a good book. When I was 12 I declined an invitation to go with Grandpa Calkins to feed the ducks with Vanessa and Ralph Butterfield. I decided to stay at the grandparents' house to read a book or watch TV something. Somehow I just couldn't see spending that much time with those dull and dreary Butterfield cousins who always treat me like an outsider anyway. There are many things too personal to be shared with the nasty, sneaky Butterfields which is why there are some things that the Warrens will just never get. Thanks anyway.

Which Reminds Me

My cousins Karen and Richard Andrews have yet to mention whether they are somehow related to Roy Chapman Andrews, the taxidermist from Wisconsin who made such a name for himself with the American Museum of Natural History conducting foreign expeditions back in the 1920. My cousins also have the surname of Andrews but they have never told us much about the Andrews side of their family. Their mother is our mother's sister. Our Aunt 'Mert' married 'Doc' Andrews, actually a dentist. They lived somewhere in the Oakland area in Northern California. You would really have to ask them whether or not they have any connection to the Wisconsin taxidermist.

Which Reminds Me

Years ago while I was living in California, one of my co-workers at Lockman Foundation was Gene Napier who was finishing a degree in pscyhology at the nearby university, Cal State Fullerton. Gene left when he finished his degree and moved north to Lodi. Interestingly, when I was leaving California I spent a few days visiting my relatives up north at the Delta where they were staying. I went with Richard to a grocery store on the outskirts of Lodi and lo and behold there in the parking lot was Gene Napier and his wife who were out shopping and so Richard met Gene.

Hmmm... Or did Richard and Gene already know each other and was the parking lot encounter pre-arranged? I don't know. I had not thought to ask such an awkward question. Was there more to it than just a chance encounter in a parking lot? When does that ever happen? I cannot imagine why that would be planed? Was there something else Gene was expecting me to say? And why would I ask myself all these impossible questions when I have other things on my mind. Gene was never that important to me.

Interestingly, I recall that college classmate Dennis Buchmiller also was from Lodi.

Interestingly, I recall meeting Trina Tinker at the high school reunion mentioning that her boyfriend, Peter Chen, is from Lodi.

So that is a lot of Lodi hotheads whose names I barely remember, who mean almost nothing to me, and who I believe should not be given an inside track on my personal life to yank me around on a chain when I did nothing in the first place except maybe talk too much to people who did nothing but prove themselves unworthy of my trust.

Which Reminds Me

I my choice were between earning $1 million-plus with versus attending the wedding of some snarky decadent French bitch who forgot abiout me I would definitely take the money and run. I would take the money and eat French fries forever. I never was impressed withe Do-Re-Mi dogs anyway. They are really not nice people, those decadent French skunks.

Interestingly

The Chinese authorities eventually agreed to pay an indemnity of $25, 000 to the United States. Perhaps in exchange the United States is agreeing to hold them harmless or at least to minimize the damage to international relations that might have been caused by Coltman's alleged illegal activities, whatever that was, or something like that mabye. I don't know very much about that. I only learned about this now.

But, like, why would I personally need an indemnity when I never shot anyone? I cannot imagine such a thing. In fact, I do not recall saying whether I am for or against guns although someone out is clamoring to know. I personally do not own a gun but that does not mean that I would want to move to the Soviet Union where only the army has guns. The right to bear arms is written right into the U.S. Constitution so the principle must have been important to the Founding Fathers for some practical purpose having to do with, probably, self-defense and also perhaps the mustering of an army for the Revolutionary War. Perhaps we would still be a colony of Great Britain if it weren't for arms.

Which Reminds Me

It was interesting to learn that the Chinese government eventually did pay an indemnity to the United States over the unwarranted shooting of Charles Coltman. I don't know how long that took or what twists and turns that plot took before the Chinese finally coughed up the dough. Even if Coltman was in violation of some Chinese laws, as they seem to have alleged, shooting him was probably not the appropriate solution, not that I would know. I only learned recently that Samuel Sobokin signed Coltman's documents in Kalgan in 1919 whereas he signed my great-grandfather's passport application in Shanghai in 1917, a completely different set of circumstances in a completely different location. No other connection that I know of and yet I can't say that I know everything about that.

How strange that Samuel's report of the Coltman shooting differed so greatly from that of the Chinese authorities who were responsible for the shooting, as if the Chinese authorities were responsible for a completely different shooting.

And why would I want to side with either Samuel or the Chinese government in this matter of which I know almost nothing? I wash my hands of Samuel's myserious affairs and yet I am no pilot. How would I know who is telling the truth anyway when they never really explain? I have no idea. I have no interest in taking sides with either party, Sam or Hsu, just to clarify, so why would I be calling 911 over some mysterious shootings and passport applications and Mongolian expeditions and other events of which I know nothing? Something about this picture just doesn't fit.

Which Reminds Me

As a matter of fact, come to think of it, the only time I ever darkened the door of a Unitarian Church was while I was working for a newspaper in Boca Raton and my editor, Steve Ricci, asked me to cover a motivational lecture that was held in the local Unitarian Church building. So I did what I was assigned by Steve to do, covered the lecture, turned in the story and then never went back there because obviously I personally am not a Unitarian. In a million years I would never take religious instruction from Steve, who is, needless to say, not qualified to instruct on these matters. Steve might have something of a complex trying to throw his weight around to compensate for not having much to go on, but dropping down to a lower level of ignorance would only handicap myself ultimately. Anyway, I no longer work for Steve, who I noticed now lives up north somewhere.

Speaking of Church

And since when did my feet ever darken the door of a Unitarian Church? In a million years I never agreed to congregate in that doom buggy. Every half-wit should know that Unitarians have a lot in common with Mormons, they are not really considered Christian by the measure of orthodox Christianity. Thus, it boggles the imagination that any self-respecting orthodox Christian would go there. Enough said about that.

Which Reminds Me

Someone was asking me why I don't show proper respect for Aunt Anita. For one thing, I am barely aware of these people's existence. They have rarely played any role in my life. They have their own lives and never think of me. Also, I am continually getting all these messages from them about how they are doing to cut me off so that Laurie can shine as the oldest granddaugther of Esther. I am six months older than Laurie but how dare I remind them of such a minor detail? The Butterfields always did despise me and were planning to ruin my live, make no mistake.

Which Reminds Me

Many years ago while attending Oakland Park Assembly I was wearing a cotton blouse that I had sewn myself. I had picked the material at a fabric store and used my very own sewing machine. I recall Craig Bowlingball more than once teasing me about that, asking me if I had cut up some curtains because I looked like I was wearing curtains. Oh, ha ha ha! Not really that funny even the first time, and constant repetition only confirms that Craig would never really make it in the world as a comedian, obviously.

"No," I replied, and that was about all I said about that.

At the time it did not occur to me to launch into some scripted rigamarole but with the advantage of hindsight I now see that perhaps I could have said something like, "Is my name Maria von Trapp that I would ever be considered qualified for the position of governess to the widowed captain's seven children? That I should ever be a Catholic nun? That I should be toting a guitar around all over the place for impromptu renderings of "My Favorite Things"? That I should aspire to a promotion to Austrian baroness when obviously I don't run in such aristocratic circles nor do I speak German? No obviously not. My name is not Maria Von Trapp nor is my family in the entertainment business that I should imagine myself a singer."

I was never very quick with my tongue. I only think of these things later, much later.

Which reminds me that I once called Pam to say hello and she acted very strange and hesitant, said that she had lied about me to Craig and that she was sorry. Very strange. That is a point that the police could explore in their future interrogations of Pam. What did she mean by that anyway?

Which Reminds Me

Yes, it was always so irritating when Susie and Sammy Stewart were visiting in El Salvador. Sammy would say, "How are you, Candi and Rene?" or "What do you think about that, Candi and Rene?" It was as if Sammy thought that my sister and I were a single unit, that we must be always a pair, my sister and I, as if I, Candi, have no identity separate from my sister or my parents. I might have said something about that, like, "Who do you think you are talking to, anyway, Sammy?" I don't remember exactly how I might have said that. But if I don't exist then why would Sammy be expecting a check from me? Obviously, Charlie's Lunch will get along just fine without my existence on this planet so there would be no reason for me to feel guilty about not mailing a check. So thanks for nothing.

Which Reminds Me

I got the message about how I was going to be eliminated from the human race because of racial considerations. They, whoever they are, the wicked Butterfields and Delesies, the army, the compound, etc., will not allow me to get married and have children. Apparently the wicked Do-Re-Mi relatives think that I have too much English blood and would be channeling Tudor monarchs in a non-monarchical America. Ha ha ha! How utterly ridiculous. How racist can you get? I am just as much an American citizen as any other person in my family that I know of so it is unbelievably rude and flagrantly unjust to be targeting me as some kind of pseudo-British subrace. For one thing, I deeply resent being held responsible for the childish stupidity of Don Triplett's castle business. That was never my idea. The castle idea was hatched in Don's vacuous, empty head all by itself with no help from me. Also, I doubt that the Butterfields have that much more Irish in them than I do and just as much Calkins which we had  thought to be sort of Welsh. How utterly rude to target me in this way over such a ridiculous pretense. Perhaps my grandmother had some inclination toward reading English magazines but, uh, whatever. And do not million of other Americans also read the occasional book or magazine article or watch the occasional TV program from a British author in the ubiquitous English language so strangely adapted for all kinds of international purposes? So I feel no reason to apologize for my existence on this planet. I cannot have stupid people targeting me in this horrible way. I must be in control of my own life or I will die. Give me liberty or give me death. No dreary state of subordination to Central Party military control freaks will be tolerated by me. I only regret that I was unable to get married and have my own family which was, needless to say, the primary mission of my life on earth. But things got too complicated, unfortunately for me. Why does everything always have to work against me?

Which Reminds Me

Someone really should ask Vicki who gave her permission to be monkeying around behind our backs. The Smeyas are just country bumpkins out of Arkansas. They don't really know anything so no one should be giving Arkansas credit for knowing anything about anything.

Which Reminds Me

Someone apparently forgot to put the snarky wicked Butterfield dogs down in their place where they belong. No one should imagine that the wicked Butterfields were ever victims. Quite the contrary. They are monstrously aggressive nasty people whose descendants may rot in hell, as if I care. I never did like them anyway. I am just stuck with these horrid people on my family tree and there is nothing that I can do about it, unfortunately for me.

Which Reminds Me

Someone is always out there badgering me about helping poor people. Generally speaking I agree that that is a good thing to give to the poor. Does not the Bible not say that giving a cup of water to a poor person is the equivalent of giving that to Jesus? In principle, it is a Christian duty to help the poor. However, the avenues that I might choose to do that may or may not coincide with those of other missionaries or MKs who I happen to know. Should I feel myself obligated to support everyone else's ministry when I do not even know how I am going to pay for college? I think that it would be premature for me to make promises that I cannot keep to any missionary family and/or ministry when, anyway, whatever their connection to me might be, I don't know what the future may hold for me. I don't recall making any commitments in that regard and thus it is rather irritating later to be pressured on various points that I don't recall. I don't recall making any promises. It just wouldn't be right.

Which Reminds Me

I got the message that Steve despises me and wishes to cast me as the Wicked Witch in his latest fantasy. However, I am not interested in auditioning for the part of Wicked Witch, thanks anyway. Please tell Steve to get off my back and leave me alone. I will not be auditioning for the part of Wicked Witch of the West/East now or ever.

Which reminds me that during my senior year of high school, the first year in the country for the newest missionaries Roy and Vickie Smeya, Vickie gave me a copy of Seventeen magazine that she had bought somewhere but some pages were cut out of it. Later in the high school library I was looking at Seventeen magazine during study hall there, which was my favorite reading matter when out of homework to work on, that and the Time Magazine books series on the 20th century, one volume for each decade with such interesting old photos, and I noticed that the pages missing from the Seventeen magazine that Vickie Smeya had given me were mainly an article on Linda Blair, the actress who played the part of demon-possessed child in that most horrid movie that I never saw anyway, and would never recommend, "The Exorcist." I recall some persons in my high school class talked about seeing that movie, namely Margot de la Guardia, who regards herself a witch, but I do not subscribe to her belief system in any way. Her eyes glazed over when I tried to say something so I just gave up on trying to witness to her. Maybe someday she will throw her witchcraft books out the window and get save but I don't know the future. Someone might remark that Linda Blair strangely resembles Linda Whitaker but I don't remember anything more about that loopy loop. You would have to ask the Whitakers or their hangers-on what that was about.

Which Reminds Me

I do remember opining, when someone asked, that probably Ted Kennedy would not be elected president because of Chappaquidick. My answer, admittedly partially a parroting of other's thought, was not appreciated by this person whose name escape me at the moment. They belong to the Mary Jo Kopechne Society and they believe that she deserved to die because she was a trashy slut and should not have been in the car in the first place. Yes, they have a good point there. She should not have been there in the first place. Nevertheless, when a person is drowning, whoever they are, you do not just walk home and forget about it until the next day. A lot of people only dream of fitting me into the Mary Jo Kopechne box but it doesn't quite fit, does it? No, obviously not.

Re: Mass

Yes, all this emphasis on Massachusetts is very strange, as if I ever was there or knew anything about it. Our family were all California Republicans that I know of and doubtless never voted for a Kennedy. And if male persons in my family should voice their opinions not so positive opinions of the Kennedys in response to the evening news on television, what of that? Is there no free speech in America? There would no reason for the Butterfields to be reporting the family's generally Republican political leanings to the Central Democratic Party, at least none that I know of.

Which Reminds Me

How rude of the Okie Roberts Klan to shove their sun worshiping ancestor upon us, as if I we ever knew anything about that. We have no custom of building sun lodges and dancing ourselves into a druggie's trance. I have no idea where that came from.

Which Reminds Me

I keep hearing all of these "get us" jokes and it really does get on my nerves. Coincidentally, I vaguely remember hearing that my cousin Laurie ran off and married some chain-smoking slob she met in the army with the surname of Goetchius, which does sound a little bit like "get us," not that I ever cared what Laurie did one way or another. They never tell us anything. But if you really knew the Butterfields, you would know that they are very selfish people who only care about themselves. You can never rely on the Butterfields to be there when you need help or someone to care because they just are always going to be somewhere else off doing their own thing, which means that we will just have to get by without the Butterfields in our lives for the most part.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, and who am I to compete with the Hiatt whores so assiduously striving to attain that most exalted title, the "Great Whore of Babble-On?" It seems that the Hiatt whores have clinched that title fair and square and it would be vain futility for me to even think of competing for a position of such exalted fame and possibly fortune, too. I was not able to keep up with the Hiatt golddiggers and it would be useless for me to even try, obviously. And my name is not even Susan that I should pretend to be their mother Murlene Bates' twin sister who never married. It is not like I ever weighed 500 pounds or taught school in San Diego, as did Susan. But the Hiatt whores are not ones to let a small matter of semantics ruin their schematic. The Hiatt whores are demanding a perpetual single spare tire to sneer at and deride while planning some type of hell on earth and I was available at a time when many of my wicked relatives were tripping out, unbeknownst to me and unfortunately for me.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, it was so sad when Dr. Giacumakis was fired while I was working at the Lockman Foundation. He was such a nice person, always so friendly to everyone. We all heard him talking about his vacation in Greece visiting his family members there. I do not remember the specific details of why he was fired. Sometimes you can be such a nice person and so popular with the staff and yet be outvoted by the Editorial Board due to disagreements over some very subtle points of wording in regards to how Greek and Hebrew words should be translated. The water is purest at the source and later it gets dirtier and dirtier. And do I have a Ph.D. tacked to the end of my name that I would be able to explain the details of that? No, obviously not. They were working on the NAS Study Bible notes and Dr. Giacumakis was the executive director of the project. Irene was typing the study notes into the computer with the requisite typesetting codes. Irene was saying that Bob, the accountant who runs Lockman Foundation staff and pays the bills, was having strange issues and not cooperating or something. Then later Bob fired Irene. I do not recall who was fired first, Irene or Dr. Jake. Anyway, suddenly Dr. Jake was gone also. Later I did do some of Irene's duties and eventually I left because, I don't know, I don't see any future for myself there. Either I will leave or eventually I will trip somehow and also get myself fired. It's not like I could be promoted to translator, not having a Ph.D. or even the linguistics training that Mindy could boast of. There was just nothing there but it was a very nice job to have for 2-3 years until something else may open up. For the specifics of that you would really need to talk to Bob Lambert who probably has the memo from the editorial board stored somewhere in the files there. I really would not want to assume the responsibility of having to explain the details of that, not being the person responsible nor having the appropriate academic credentials for such a burdensome responsibility.

Which Reminds Me

I vaguely remember that in seventh grade I was in Modesto, Calif., where we attended a Christian school there. We rode the bus and there was a black girl around the corner who was on our bus. She was always a bit stiff and not particularly friendly but I did not think very much about her. One day we did walk around the corner to her house to play with her but she was not allowed outside. There is not much to say about  her. I don't remember anything. It was strange that more recently I was getting messages about her, that her family thought I was a racist and whatever. I really don't remember anything about her. Very strange that any anonymous person making anonymous reports about me behind my back can ruin my life even if I didn't do anything that I can recall. It is almost like we are living back in the days of merry old England where speech was severely censored by royal decree. Perhaps we had forgot how bad things were back then and why we left.

Which Reminds Me

During my senior year of high school there was a missionary retreat in Guatemala in January. It was the week after Christmas or New Year's or something like that. I was there most of the time but had to leave a day early so I missed the final banquet on Friday night. I don't remember why I had to leave early, something about school and my pending graduation, maybe the SAT test although I really don't remember. I do remember that later the La Fon's, missionaries in Honduras, were saying nasty things about us later and complaining that we were not nice to them or something. This may have something to do with their eldest daughter who was a year or two older than myself but somehow stunted in growth and mentally very strange. I don't know very much about that. Also at the retreat were the Cederbloms and the Brookes and the Godwins and the Bowmans, etc.. Debbie Bowman was there, very young and strangely ugly. A few years later at MK Retreat Debbie was dating Allen Skogerbo but their relationship somehow fell apart later. I am not sure what happened but they never did get back together that I know of. I was not paying that much attention to them anyway. I think that Debbie ended up in Modesto somehow but I don't know anything about that. I don't remember that much about Debbie Bowman.

Which Reminds Me

When we were young living in El Salvador, Bobby and David amused us with their imitations of the peasant dialect of Salvadorans who live way out in the countryside where Spanish is linguistically distorted by various influences. The word "pues" becomes "pos" and there are lots of "g" substitutions with the "gua" sound is thrown in there so that, for example, the word "bueno" mutates somehow to "guano." Very interesting.

And who is this Mary Stewart from whom they claim descent? I have no idea. They never tell us anything. Oh, I had not realized they had such strong "Stewart" ties wielded over us that they would even consider themselves Stewart heirs. Sometimes the Stewarts are just too dominant there and so we have to get away to find our own space, no insult intended. It just really grates when we know that they are obviously nowhere in the monarchical roster of future potentates, at least not any time soon. I am just saying.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, that kung pao chicken sure did burn my mouth. I had not realized until then that there could be such hot Chinese food. They label it spicy but that really means just as hot as any red hot Mexican chile pepper. And then suddenly I was drinking water and asking for more water. It took a lot of water. (Does that have something to do with the circulation of Mexican pesos over there?) So maybe I mentioned this to one of my co-workers at Lockman Foundation, Irene who was fired or maybe Mindy the linguistics expert who moved away north. I don't remember now. In fact I had completely forgotten, but not quite. Never in my life will I ever again order kung pao chicken.

Which Reminds Me

I sure wish someone would rescue me from this miserable trap, held hostage by wicked Scandinavians who are not so innocent or unmalicious as you might imagine. Help! I wasn't going to do this because I know I would just self-destruct but then I did it anyway under pressure even though I really can't afford to do this. I really need help now. Heeeeelp!!!!!!

Which Reminds Me

And how many times do I have to explain that we are not "Grapes of Wrath" people? When will these clueless snobs ever learn that while there might have been some superficial similarity of historical setting, the reality of our family was so much different from the lowlife Oke slobs depicted in Steinbeck fiction that any thought of comparison to literature cannot be dignified with further comment from me. I am not a "Grapes of Wrath" person. Our family went from Texas to Modesto versus the fictional Joads from Oklahoma to Bakersfield. There is a very big difference there. Shady Acres vs. Weedpatch. No comparison. There is really nothing else to say about the events of 60 years ago. Anyway, I have yet to read Steinbeck's book. I really don't care that much about fiction.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, there really is something innately repulsive and very Wicked about Judy Thompson. Judy Thompson really does look like the original blond beauty queen from the musical "Wicked." The part almost seems written to fit Judy Thompson, not that I ever saw the musical or know anything about it. Just heard the song. However, let no one imagine that I am the Green Witch portrayed in the music. No, the Green Witch is named Debbie. Debbie is Judy's gaymate, obviously. How else would Debbie be throwing her weight around as if anyone other than Judy remembers anything rainbow dog Debbie. And why is that? Because rainbow dog Debbie wants us all to share the misery of her family life, unfortunately for us.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, it is rather awkward to have this not-so-pretty bimbo Judy pretending to be part of our family tree, as if we were descended from that piece of nastiness. Practicing social engineering with the people who only want to kill us is not exactly smart strategy in our book so we are not impressed with the results of Judy's wicked experiment. Unlike these other stupid people, we are not impressed with Judy's oh so fakey pretense of spirituality when actually racial hatred seethes from every pore of her not-so-English compounded complex. German and Irish. Why all this rage against the English and Scottish and nothing about the Irish problem? Someone really ought to fire Judy who obviously spent lots of time visiting the Hunt dogs in Venezuela but obviously knows nothing about us.

Which Reminds Me

That was so utterly ridiculous and absurd, all that rubbish about myself having some family connection to the Tudor sisters Elizabeth and Mary of 16th century England. Of the history of the Strickland family I know almost nothing. Even with all my recent research I do not see any real connection there. I am Protestant, never married and no children and yet my name is not Elizabeth. They must have me confused with my Dad's cousin Elizabeth Hunt who lived in Venezuela most of her childhood and later converted to Judaism. All of these lame scenarios are so utterly stupid and ridiculous that it makes me just want to do something to stop this nonsense because this is all wrong. I am not available to be shoved around for political purposes. That was 500 years ago and those historical characters cannot be revived from their graves to serve as proxy punching bags. Certainly no one should expect me to cooperate with such a ridiculous and horrific scenario.

Which Reminds Me

Am I my grandmother that I would know anything at all about the Strickland relatives? Yes, something was said about the lawsuit that my grandparents lost back in the 1950s but I don't know very much about that. Am I the person who possibly lied about selling the mineral rights while actually retaining the mineral rights? No, that was my grandparents who somehow "forgot." How that happened I really have no idea. They are dead and gone now, buried in the cemetery there in Modesto, and that whole matter was resolved in the courts somehow. I don't know anything about it. Anyway, and what about the unidentified Texas characters who possibly murdered their son Herbert? Did he just fall out of the pickup truck or was he pushed? All of these questions are not answerable by me. Call the police or the courts or somebody who knows something about that. I have no idea.

Guilty Until Proven Innocent

I hate this picture of myself being held hostage 40 years while attempting to prove myself innocent of some crime of which I am actually unaware. No one ever said anything about Fran... that I can recall or at least it was never discussed with me or better said I do not recall overhearing anything said about her within my earshot so I am not sure what exactly the problem is or why I should feel myself obliged to report on someone's crimes of which I have no clue. Francie was my favorite Barbie doll at age 9 but that was a whole different story.

Interestingly

We see that it was the wicked Swedish "other" woman Ethel Lindgren who stole Karen's husband, the wicked Norwegian Oscar Mamen. But these facts do not appear in Andrews' book published in 1921 because apparently Oscar at that time had not yet dumped Karen, his wife married in Norway and mother of his two sons, to run off the wicked Swedish witch Ethel, who was apparently also visiting Mongolia researching anthropological matters. I am only guessing, obviously. These wicked Scandinavian affairs were unknown to us until now. We cannot be expected to keep track of these wicked Scandinavians.

Which reminds me that at the MK school there were some very wicked books stashed in the back of the closet that the younger children were not allowed to enter. One day we older students were allowed to look in there and we found some very wickedly "progressive" books that were written by Swedish people, among other things. I think those were among the books burnt in my parents' bonfire although I don't remember anything specific about that. We cannot be expected to keep track of these wickedly decadent Swedish socialists. We are missionaries, not anthropologists.

Which Reminds Me

There was no reason to take anything Tim Cederblom said seriously. After all, anyone who knows them knows that they cannot resist any opportunity to pull someone's leg, however lame the occasion might be. Tim has in the past been heard to spin pathetically stupid yarns that anyone with half a brain can see through. Scandinavians of their type know of no other category of humor. In that sense they are much like the author of Lake Woebegone. The yarns of fiction intertwine with reality so closely that nobody really wants to spend that much time trying to figure out where they are. They believe their clever yarns are a way of keeping dogs like me out of the family circle. Which, if carried to logical extension, makes the Pentecostal church a purely Scandinavian affair of no concern to me. The extraneous persons of mostly English ancestry such as myself will be exiled from the Pentecostal church and instructed to seek refuge amongst the mainline denominations. I was told that I ought to consider Methodism although I am not sure why I would want to go there. Mainliners are very dry spiritually speaking from a Pentecostal point of view. But things will change. Change is unavoidable. I was told that in future generations persons from churches with infant baptism will have the advantage, reflecting the alliance of Episcopalian Catholics. Persons who believe in adult baptism will have fewer opportunities for public life and will occupy a substrata of society. How strange. I had thought the debate for adult baptism was fought centuries ago. And if we have a dedication ceremony for infants, does that qualify as infant baptism? And what about me? I was dedicated as an infant and yet was so naughty later at age three. Which proves that dedication was not enough? Perhaps the dedication was nullified by my bad behavior or else there really is something defective about my mental faculties. If everyone says so it must be true?

Which Reminds Me

One day during college I was walking across campus and there was Tim Cederblom standing there talking to someone and he made a comment about a red splotch on my neck. He called it a hickey and said, "What have you and Terry been doing?"
"Nothing," I replied. Or else I brushed past them silently, not dignifying such typically stupid impertinence and patently false absurdity with further comment, which in his case would probably only encourage further impudence.
If there was a red blotch on my neck I don't remember how it got there, not being aware of it being there until he said that. Anyway, my skin being a bit sensitive, perhaps I scratched myself when brushing my hair or getting dressed or something. I have no idea. There was nothing else to say about that.

Which Reminds Me

Someone was ranting about the early Pentecostal magazines with one-word names like "Trust" and "Confidence" that were popular in the early 1900s, not that I had ever heard of said magazines at the time. Perhaps they were reminded of modernist journals with one-word names "Blast" "Owl" "Others" etc., not that a Christian girl like me would even be aware of such scandalous and decadent reading material. And what sort of Christian man would be stashing copies of "Rolling Stone" magazine under the back seat of his Datsun 280Z where a passenger in the front seat might not tice? What Christian girl would even think of opening the first page of such a jaded and worldly publication? If we are Christians we ought to be countering the darkness with light, not just absorbing more darkness that way.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I recall that one day I locked my bedroom door and then when Stevie was at our house he was very upset because he had to ask permission to be allowed to play in my room. He takes his Tonka truck or some play car in there and turns my room into some sort of imaginary racetrack and then later everything is messed up and I have to straighten up. I cannot have Stevie imagining that I am the maid Rosita he can just order around. He has to behave himself and ask permission nicely so that I will open the door for him. I wasn't saying that he couldn't play in my room. I was just saying that he had to ask permission and not take everything granted or maybe someday I just won't be there to be abused anymore, thanks anyway.

In Case You Forgot

I say no. Is my name Sylvia that I would ever live in a house full of boys? Life was hard enough surrounded by little MK boys but at least they go home after dinner so I can put my life back together. I would not want them underfoot 24 hours a day. Give me a break.

Which Reminds Me

I recall the time that Terry Cederblom was joking with some girls and imitating the way that girls are sometimes seen to shrug their shoulders to adjust their we'll just say undergarments. I mean, if you are going to be such a stickler for details let's clear up this confusion.

Speaking of Offensive

And who let that vile decadent skunk out of her cage? I am referring of course to Sandra Rivera, an insanely rich person from German auto dealership who I recall as being the most hateful vindictive monster on the planet. She was Joan Calabrese's best friend so would be much more intimately familiar with the San Francisco scene than I could ever hope to be, myself having been only a tourist there for a short time while they have so many close connections with the Bay Area and Joan now living there. Sandra would be in a much better position than I to explain all of the horrors of that. I have no idea. We never really talked. In my opinion, Sandra is a most despicable person of no account whose opinion I would never take seriously in a million years. I imagine that she would hire assassins to kill me if I did not do whatever they want. That is how those rich people are.

And I recall hearing about Margot being driven to school daily in a chauffeur-driven limousine. Her family was Panamanian. I once was at her house working on some homework project and then she set me up on a blind date, a guy whose name I don't recall, because she wanted an excuse to get together with her boyfriend. It was shocking to learn that Margot's friends were Marxists fascinated with Che. That happens sometimes. You may find that people's political connections are more controversial than you had bargained for.

Which Reminds Me

I remember hearing that Greg married a girl named Rene which is also my sister's name but Greg is fortunately not related to us so it is none of Greg's business what we do. Sometimes I do wonder exactly who they are channeling anyway but then again I recall that Greg never really had anything of interest to say that I can recall so it really doesn't matter. I have often driven by Lester's Diner without stopping to eat there. Not even tempted. Thanks anyway.

End of Story

So like I always said from the very beginning, I actually don't think there is any "special" knowledge out there to find by dissecting books in this peculiar way, not that the thought of doing that had ever crossed my mind until recently. As I have spent the last 10-12 years demonstrating, there is nothing else of interest to be discovered in the past that I know of. Everything that we need for life is already revealed in the Bible and everything else is just icing on the cake so to speak. Sure in lit class we often had to find pithy quotes to demonstrate the author's point, but anyway it is evident that the unicorn is long since extinct and any evidence of its prior existence is owned by rich people or institutions. Not that I care that much. The unicorn, if it ever lived, was only an animal often used perhaps to advocate wildlife conservation. Matthew 6:20 says: "But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal." Thieves cannot get to my inside heart but, yes, those nasty rich people certainly can do a lot of damage to my life with their continual harassment, as they are attempting to demonstrate in this obnoxious way. I could say more but...

Which Reminds Me

Actually, his last name is spelled D-I-B-L-E. He is a redheaded magician who was intrigued by the idea of selling his soul to the devil, which he explains another more advanced magician admitted to. He met the deviled magician at a magic shop. This was the gist of a conversation with Mike, a co-worker. Irene Cool would remember the details of Mike even better than myself because she also worked with Mike and can explain better than I how Mike is a diagnosed schizophrenic who talks to imaginary people even at work and whose mother is extremely domineering. Irene Boyd would not remember Mike and is not remembered as one who would remember anything about myself either as we never really talked, unlike Irene Cool.

Which Reminds Me

Flipping through my yearbook from Evangel College I see a photo of Mark Hausfeld. However, I have no personal memory of seeing him there. Mark is nothing to me. I really do not like Mark and Linda very much so I will not be writing the sequel to their book for whatever that is worth. I wasn't going to say anything about that but someone was persistently asking and all this tap-tap-tapping at my window really gets on my nerves.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I too sometimes feel like I was somehow shot in the head by some high-falutin nasty Texas tea power brokers wielding high-powered weapons, whoever they may be. I certainly do not like or appreciate feeling like some sort of hunted prey, as if those Texas oil trash had any oil rights to claim me as their groveling slave dog. I would rather jump off a bridge than tolerate the oil company dogs screaming and yelling at me as if I were the maid. I might have voted for George in the past but the future is not so clear. Thus, if I took the money does that make me their wage slave? And who says they have to pay for oil development on land that is not theirs in the first place? Flip sides of a coin, obviously. I don't need some stupid Italian press dog to explain that minor point to me, thanks anyway. This country was great years ago but that was before those fanged Italian dogs had a chance to interpose their godfatherish stupidity into my every personal relationship. Now the future is not so clear. Probably our country will decline to the depths of a pathetically horrible Italy if things continue this way. After all, Italy's past is not something we would need to emulate when obviously we were doing so much better than that. But Italians want to drag us down to their level of stupid Italian so that they can be slave masters to us stupid white people. I don't like that picture, obviously.