Which Reminds Me

I never got married because Mr. Right never showed up. I have said at some time or another I suppose. However, I was not referring to Mr. Wright, obviously. The Wright family lived in Belize as missionaries and their son Mickey married Becky Stewart, Susie's older sister. However, it would be ludicrous to suggest that I ever set foot in Belize or know anything about the Wright family is doing these days. Probably just the same old thing. They are always doing something but it has been many years since we talked even if we remember each other anymore. Someone is always trying to squeeze more out of the Susie connection than is actually there. We are actually not related to the Stewarts that I know of. We were just friends at one time but our lives diverged and took different paths which sometimes happens for various reason. No reason to say anything else about that. It gets sort of annoying, all these allusions to Susie, because I have my own separate identity which they never seemed to notice.

Which Reminds Me

"Don't let that cigarette make a sucker out of you." Such were the lyrics of a song performed in a concert during the year that I attended Evangel College. The performers apologized profusely when introducing the song and then they sang it anyway. I remarked later that their apology almost seemed too serious. The song was sort of humorous actually in a way. Hmmm... Who did I say that to anyway? Jan Green? Rhonda Heard? I really don't remember this now.

Which Reminds Me

While attending CBN, for some reason I was with Machelle and another girl at a grocery store. There were a couple of guys from school in the store also and Machelle was at first wanting to follow them around but they were obviously avoiding us. I really don't remember their names now. Nobody important, just a couple of guys in a grocery store.

Which Reminds Me

I am trying to remember the name of that guy was was attending CBNU at the same time that we were, a TV major I seem to think. He had a strange way of not notifying everyone that he would be reserving the entire journalism department for his private TV studio one day, interviewing a prominent visitor, Marvin Olasky, when we were expecting to get something done. Ok, whatever. I only remember that Machelle might have liked him but I really wouldn't want to embarrass her by saying anything about that. I mean, who knows where these people are from or where they are going? We were not there long enough to really get to know anyone very well. We were just there for school, to study, and then to work.

Which Reminds Me

I vaguely recall that during my journalism program I wrote an article about the need for reform of the nation's bloated health care program. How that should be done I have no idea. I just remember that at the time the need for healthcare reform was often discussed in the media.

Which Reminds Me

I vaguely recall that before Nelsa married Craig she was dating Eric. I really don't know any of those people. I do not recall ever having an actual conversation with Eric so it is puzzling that he would imagine that I would ever think of saying anything to him. I really have nothing to say to any of those boring people who are only my sister's friends, not really my friends.

Embarrassing Moments

Yes, it was so embarrassing, the water skiing accident, I cringe to think of it. And the Rockwells proved themselves the most ungentlemanly of cads in taking such unceremonious advantage of such an embarrassing moment, confirmed in their thievish intents by Max himself. No, I can say that Patty Allwood was not present. That was a whole different story.

Which Reminds Me

I am sick and tired of these people hitting my "You're in big trouble!" button, as if I were still three years old, still imagining that no one had yet figured out what we did, still imagining that he never told, still imagining that the nursery attendant was perhaps not fired for not having prevented our childish misdeeds. However, I am no longer three years old and I no longer even slightly intimidated by snarky Italian dogs who despise precocious toddlers.

I am sick and tired of being taunted by the stupid editor at the job interview who seemed horrified when I said that I created stories. Not meaning fiction. I just meant that I organized the information into paragraphs and in logical order, picking a quote here, a statistic there, etc., so that the reader could easily comprehend the gist of it. The whole kitchen sink just would not fit.

Which Reminds Me

The Spanish song, "Sombrero de Ala Ancha," (meaning "Wide-brimmed Hat") talks abstractly about Latin American women as being lazy, of golden skin (meaning brown), and smelling of tobacco, cane and tar. Some of them took this song to heart and have worked themselves up into a snit to prove themselves hard-working smokers as opposed to lazy non-smoking white people like me. This is not even a white people's song so we would need a translator to even get all the pieces of this together. It is a song written in the Spanish language written and popularized by Basque signers. Basques are not really Spaniards. They are a minority people living in Spain whose native tongue is something other than Spanish. Basques consider themselves the "other" Spain but that would be misleading because Catalans are the "other" Spain and also Gallegos are the "other" Spains. Spain has several minority groups and Spanish is only the most dominant language of that country, not the only language. So this is really not our problem. We are English-speaking non-smokers whose livelihood is in no way dependent on tobacco so basically Spain is not our problem. We have never even been there and only picked up on the song more recently. So?

Which Reminds Me

Ours is not a smoking family. Thus it confuses the picture to have all these belching chimney sweeps presuming to represent us. We actually have no idea who they are or how they got into that position or how they learned our names in the first place. We never socialize with pathetic tobacco trash so it is puzzling to consider where they got the idea that non-smokers would appreciate their devious plan to cross-pollinate smokers with non-smokers. How shortsighted is that? Do they imagine that we are so stupid that we would not foresee the potential fumes and home air pollution that would inevitably result, the eventual relaxation of no-smoking regulations, etc. etc. Sure, the smokers might eventually see the light and stop, but with tobacco dollars backing the whole scheme it is doubtful that end is in view for them. We are told to work hard but how can we get past the gang of smokers crowded just outside the front door when we always drew strength from being that one person who never took a puff from the cigarette passed around the girls' locker room after PE class. Ok, so maybe we missed some social details when by avoiding smokers but somehow I think not. There is a way that seems right at the outset but the end of it is death, as the Bible says. Tobacco dollars would have us believe it is the other way around but we know better.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, the Coopers have already been to our house to visit us and we even took them shopping. But they will not find any clues here about their creepy Carmen dog. They have yet to ask to see copies of my high school yearbooks which are not stored in the guest room. But the Smeyas would already know that since Vickie has obviously ransacked the contents and already posted online whatever she could find about us however irrelevant and trivial. I resent being dissected for purposes of redistribution of wealth when obviously I am not wealthy and yet am a unique and irreplaceable individual. I am not going to give you my identity and since you are trying to steal me you will be reported to the Identity Police.

Which Reminds Me

I seem to recall that Susie's mother's maiden name is Cooper. Of the Coopers I know almost nothing. The Coopers are never really able to explain themselves, nor has Susie provided any further explanation. What is the Coopers' problem and what do they think they are going to get from us? Not meaning to be rude, but it is rather strange that the Coopers would imagine that I would of use to them when I actually have no idea what they are talking about.

Which Reminds Me

For a time while I was at college I worked in the cafeteria washing dishes. During that time my co-worker in the dishwashing business was Henry Schmidt of whom I remember almost nothing. We never talked. We just got the job done and that was that. Thus I have no information with which to analyze the mental disturbances of the Schmidt family. They never really explain themselves clearly so we do not understand what their problem is.

Which Reminds Me

Someone is trying to make a point about the National Honor Society. However, I am not interested in going into some stupid rant about how is it that pathetically stupid, functionally illiterate Carmen got to be in the National Honor Society while the rest of us brilliant people did not make the cut. For one thing, how could I possibly keep my GPA up to that level with Spanish Lit dragging me down? Impossible. Also, I cannot speak for others. I just have no idea how these points added up that way. Digging around is not going to accomplish anything constructive so I wish you would take your agenda somewhere else and stop expecting me to solve all of the world's problems. I cannot do everything. The U.S. Congress has a lot of explaining to do. I just have no idea.

Which Begs The Question

Why am I being haunted by the ghost of Alfred Burro? Actually the last name was Burrell, which may look faintly like Burrey, the last name of my great-grandfather's mother, but there would be no family connection between Burrell and Burrey. A severely dyslexic person might be confused but we are not dyslexic and we were not confused. No reason to go to such great lengths to make such a minor and insignificant point. We do not appreciate being jerked around by dyslexic idiots who cannot remember their own names. Who am I to argue with the Tribunal of Arbitrators? I have no idea. Enough said. Thanks anyway. Now go away and get your own life because you are ruining mine with all your stupid nonsense. I need my space.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, it is creepy how these Latina dogs are so fascinated by white girls, always trying to interpose their icky stupid thoughts into our personal lives and minds. They will crowd around you and stare at you and watch everything you do as if you were a performer and even grab your hand and want to hold hands with me. Ick! What do they take me for anyway? Am I Ruth I. Ellis, possible heiress of the Salvador Commercial Company, that I should have any claim to birth in El Salvador? Susie was born in El Salvador, actually, but that is a whole different story. Ruth, a descendant of Al Burrell, was born in Usulután. That is not a place I remember being though I cannot say for sure we did not drive through there at some time or another. I really don't remember. Anyway, I don't know anything about their Icky-Sticky company nor do I care to learn more. It is really no concern of mine that the 1940 census finds Ruth living in Suisun City, California, with her partner Mary McKinney. I don't know anything about these people, really. Sorry but you only get one Susan or Suisun. Susie really loved all that attention but I always thought it was weird. I should not be dragged into Susie's stuff as I really have no idea. They never tell us anything.

Which Reminds Me

I wonder why all these rumors saying that my mother is going to make me rich and give me all kinds of money? How ridiculous. Whichever cousins are spouting that kind of misinformation are apparently not related to me or they would know better than that. My mother is not that wealthy. Helen D. Calkins' mother was quite wealthy in a German kind of way so Helen, being an only child, probably had enough to live comfortably though single and was doing well enough financially to travel and cruise to England and meet C.S. Lewis with whom she corresponded about her never-published book. Just because I once or twice mentioned the thought of writing a book, that did not mean that India would have anything to say about it. Anyway, our family is not in that kind of league. Not even close. It really hurts to have people, these quasi-relatives, imagining me as wealthy and sticking me with all kinds of bills that I am not prepared to pay, all kinds of imaginary scenarios from novels that I never bothered to read it would seem, when actually I am being dissed by these filthy rich people and so I am getting hit from both sides. How utterly rude and inconsiderate, not to mention selfish and greedy, these people are. I am not rich so there is no reason for them to imagine that I would ever be set up for anything but further embarrassment and humiliation. Also, I am neither minister nor minister's wife so I am not required to concern myself with people's pathetically stupid imaginations. Susie is a person who knows everybody by name and knows everybody's business but I really am not Susie and I really don't care that much about everybody, especially not now. Somebody stole my life and now I think somebody should pay for all this nonsense because it really has nothing to do with me. I did not apply for all this Masonic stupidity so I should not have to pay for that.

Which Reminds Me

The appearance of all these Methodist mainliners now reminds me of something that was said by someone about how the Methodists wish to colonize Pentecostals. It is true that Pentecostals are deeply rooted in Methodist thought and practice. However, we Pentecostals have our own denominations now and have no use for the Mainliners who are trying to trick us into subordinatioin to Methodism. We have our own Pentecostal churches now where the preaching of the gospel is still the primary mission and has not yet been subordinated to the humanistic agenda that has already long since derailed the original Methodist structures. ORU has brought in all these Methodist Political Junkies to try to set themselves up as the central authority over all Pentecostals but I personally am neither from Oklahoma nor an alumnus of ORU so they really have nothing on me. They only wish I was the slave property of the creepy Roberts family and their nasty dog Pam. True, distant cousins of ours live in Oklahoma and have actually left Pentecostalism and returned to Methodist Mainlineism but we don't really communicate with them that much and are not interested in aligning ourselves with their anti-Pentecostal philosophy. You see, our great-grandparents who were missionaries in China were of the earliest type of Pentecostal which are abhorred by the sipping saints of today, and yet the Pentecostals accomplished so much even without the advantages of Methodism. Efforts to discredit the early Pentecostals have been greatly exaggerated. Don't we all have our problems and our battles with legalism in every age? The Methodist Mainline churches nowadays are empty shells in need of people to pay the power bills which they must pay or shut down and sell out. They wish us to help them revive their churches but really I don't see how I could possibly help them in such an  impoverished and colonial existence. Thus, we see how Mainliners continue to shoot themselves in the foot so to speak. I am not your foot so stop shooting at me.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, the subject of legalism is a topic of discussion in many church circles. But how do you define that? I define legalism as "Dawn Saword" who believes that the Bible tells her never to cut her hair. That to me is extreme legalism. I cannot, as Dawn can, boast that no scissors ever touched my hair so I cannot base any claim of piety and righteousness on my hair. No, unlike them I must live by faith alone. Dawn also never wears pants, unlike me, and yet I must believe my mother when she tells me that actually girl's jeans are for girls, not men.

On the other hand, it would be somewhat dangerous to be discussing legalism with a drunken alcoholic dope addict named Bruce Bell, what an idiot, not that I would know. I am just imagining that someone really tripped out probably. Else why do they so loudly protest as if they are so innocent? It begs the question: Of what are they guilty? There must be some sin of which they imagine themselves condemned already, not that I would know anything about it. They never tell me anything. I just have no idea.

Sure, when I was four years old I reprimanded some lady at the beach who was smoking a cigarette but I really don't remember who that was. Nobody I knew, just some stranger.

Strange D's

Yes, it is very weird, all these creepy wicked Klein people trying to "DeKlein" me, as if I had ever thought myself entitled to get their money. No, obviously I am not related to the Klein family. Who knew? No need to point this out. I am not even interested in being friends with such creepy weird people as the Klein trash, especially not Richard, especially not now. Obviously they would take whatever they could get if we were to open to the door to the Klein busybodies. But it is not like we are even remotely related to the Kleins and were not entitled to or expecting to get anything from them and really not interested. Thus it is strange that these Klein weirdos are always buzzing around our ears as if we had something that belonged to them even though we actually don't, or as if they were more deserving of our money than we ourselves even though inheritance is a gift that we cannot earn without a birthright. Everything that might or might not be ours comes from the Strickland side of the family obviously, and not even from Beverly. Thus it is very strange to be hearing from all this Klein idiots. If you wanted to be nice that would be one thing, but just to pick our pockets is not a nice thing to do. You have your percentage allotted through Beverly and that is all that you are going to get. Get it? Good. Now go away and leave me alone, you stupid re-Kleiners.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I am suddenly somehow reminded of Ulysses, our high school classmate I barely knew even then. I do remember that he was the captain of the Blue Team, of which I was a member. The whole school was divided into four teams for the purpose of relay races on the school's Game Day. Very interesting that he died only about a year after high school graduation, as if someone had left his body stutteringly inert in some automobile accident of which I barely recall some explanation being given by the class. Yet why all these extraneous references to the hero of the Odyssey, a book that we read for Spanish literature class in Spanish, as if my English report on mythology had not focused on Hercules actually. Ulysses was discussed in Spanish class. It is always sad to see high school classmates die so young whoever they may be, although there are others who died more recently at more advanced ages. It is always sad yet sometimes truth is stranger than fiction.

Which Reminds Me

I have yet to hear any sign of intelligence coming from the word and/or thought of Tom Wagner, a high school classmate whose mild and quiet demeanor apparently masked the character of a serial killer. I seriously doubt that Wagner could be classified as a Christian in any sense of the word given the idiotic misinformation that seems to emerge from within a 1000-mile radius of Tom Wagner. Hopefully the curses of Tom Wagner will be heaped back upon his own head because I really don't want to hear another word from that Wagner idiot.

Which Reminds Me

Pam kept complaining that I never asked her any questions. I cannot imagine why I would need to ask dreary boring Pam any questions. Pam monologues incessantly giving almost no space for comment, and why bother to comment or ask questions when Pam clearly has no listening skills? Clearly, Pam by her incessant chatter has already revealed everything that I would ever need to know about Pam without bothering to ask any further questions. In fact, I really do not want to know anything else about Pam. I would like to find my own life devoid of Pam, a life in which I do not have to feel myself a captive listener of dreary Pam. Thus there was no reason to ask Pam any questions.

Which Reminds Me

While I was attending SCC I remember asking the financial aid people about grants or something like that. Was I just thinking this question and looking at the literature there in the office or did I ask a question about grants and whether I should think of applying? I could not because we were not poor enough for that. I remember this being explained to me. OK, fine. I think a lot of people know by now that SCC had the financial AIDS people from hell. Years later every little thing you ever said to a financial AIDS flunkie would be vomited upon your head. Somehow I seriously doubt that Linda Harrington and Debbie Rush could possibly have any real friends left on the earth after all this time. They are just wrong. In a free country like this we ought to be trusted to understand the answers give to us at the time without further ado. I know that I did.

For Further Details

And what would blithering Greg know about my high school years anyway? Nothing that would be any of his business obviously. He lived in the Dominican Republic which is a whole different story I am sure. Enough said. I really don't want to know more about Greg's dreary existence. I cannot for the life of me imagine why the DRs would think they know better when actually I imagine plenty of people would be prepared to take holes out of their alibis if they get out of line that way. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you, as the book says.

A Few Details

Never in my life did I ever apply for employment at the Panama Donut Shop. I have never even visited Panama for any length of time, not landed in the airport or floated through the canal, so obviously I would not have opportunity to know anything about the donut shop, let alone apply for a job there.

It is true that I did have a job in high school translating letters from Spanish to English for the private Christian school system there but that was because we were asked to do that. It was nice of them to pay us but we really had not asked for the money. It was just understood that we would be paid 5 or 10 cents a letter or something like that. It was not a lot of money, just enough for pocket change. I am not sure who made those arrangements.

It is sort of awkward to think of getting a job in high school when you are living in a foreign country and perhaps outside the U.S. until after high school graduation as myself. The country in which you are living may have rules about that or your company or something. Perhaps we should have checked on that. I never thought to ask. I have no idea whether that would have been a problem with the local authorities as we did not discuss it with them.

Which Reminds Me

My name is not Helen Ready ("I am Woman" the song), neither am I familiar with the Gilbert and Sullivan repertoire. Rather, I think that my gender identity is not defined by the work that I do. That would be a wrong answer to the question of who I am as a woman. Blah blah blah. Thus I am somewhat reluctant to rush into any working arrangement without the existence of a legally binding contract in which I would receive some form of remuneration for all of my hard work. To work for nothing would be nothing less than slavery, drudgery. Never did I apply for a job at the Panama Donut Shop, not that it would not be honest work for those called to be panderers of donuts and coffee, etc. But there would be no reason for the Donut Marketers of Panama to imagine that I would be available gratis to do whatever they want just because. Spending all of my waking hours managing dough and pouring drinks would detract from my primary calling which, needless to say, relates to the Great Commission. The donut shop denizens already have their receipts upon this earth. But I would prefer to store up treasures in heaven where rust and moths cannot corrode.

Which Reminds Me

I vaguely remember reading a magazine article about the secretary who made herself rich. Whenever her boss wanted to buy or sell stocks he would tell the secretary to call his broker with the order. The secretary got herself a brokerage account and every time she would get an order from her boss she would also buy or sell a smaller amount for her own account using her own money. Thus, the secretary got wealthy eventually although perhaps never as wealthy as her boss. Ok, so?

1. For one thing, the article does not explain whether the boss was aware of her secret account at the time. But as she was using her own money in the first place I really do not see how there is anything else to say about that.
2. Also, I cannot for the life of me remember in which publication I read that article or the names of the persons involved. I have only a sketchy idea of what happened as described in the magazine article.

Ok, so? Did I mention having read this article to someone? I really don't remember that much about it. I really cannot say how many thousands of people also read that article so there would be no reason to single me out for interrogation on matters of no concern to me. I cannot say that I was ever all that lucky but I would not want to say anything else about that. No reason to rub it in that I am not so lucky. Maybe you are not so lucky either if holding such a huge grudge. If you cannot let it go, then God will not let you go either.

Which Reminds Me

One day at SCC there were some pale green curtains in the classroom that had been removed from somewhere in the college and Tim Cederblom took the opportunity to lecture on the horrors of the color green and how he so much hates green and it reminds him of vomit. Tim thinks that all girls should be wearing only pink. I strongly disagree. I am a girl and yet I believe that my appearance would suffer irremediable harm if forced to go around campus dripping in shades of Pepto-Bismol as some do. Tim will not get anywhere with that idiotic line of reasoning.

Besides, I like green. Green is one of my favorite colors.

A History Book Jumble

Oh, isn't that cute. Lots of people find their surnames in the 19th century history books. There are the surnames Thompson, Niles, Roberts, and more in history books recording travels through Central America. However, this does nothing to prove direct lineage of missionaries by the same surname who lived in Latin America during the 20th century and onwards or else not in the same countries. It is sort of cutely funny in that strange way that Freemasons try to systematically analyze the planet but it does not necessarily mean anything. I really am not interested in joining the Masonic Club, thanks anyway. I would rather have a life than spend any more time on this trivia. I must admit that I am not interested in learning this Binary Code that Dog-Ma denizens have developed to drive me to distraction. I really wasn't thinking about this at all and I resent my attention being diverted from more productive avenues, my personal life being hijacked for no good reason, just somebody else has an axe to grind and they want me to be their substitute. Truthfully, I really don't quite get why I should care about events that no one will bother to explain. It must be all that important, obviously. So there is no reason for me to get all worked up and screaming over someone else's agenda. I really don't understand what your problem is. You are an idiot. That is all I clearly understand. You are an idiot.

Which Reminds Me

While I was living in Virginia I pled guilty on a speeding ticket. 

It is useless to argue with a laser gun when you are going 60 where only 45 is allowed.

So after postponing too long to pay by mail I went to the courthouse and pled guilty and paid my fine and that is all there is to say about that. Ok, so maybe I was not pleased to be pulled over. When is that ever convenient, especially when you are in a hurry to get somewhere on time? I might have seemed overly grouchy as I handed over my license to be written up which took forever when I had been in something of a hurry to get somewhere on time. Oh well. Never mind about having a life. I was feeling a bit guilty about not being respectful enough to the black policeman who stopped me so pleading guilty to speeding was my way of saying I am sorry, because I was speeding clearly so obviously I was guilty of driving too fast there. No contest there. So did I also tell this story to someone before? I really don’t remember.

However, I do not see how pleading guilty on one speeding ticket attaches every other guilt complex on the planet and stains my entire record. It was only a speeding ticket.

Which Reminds Me

Anyway, I am starting to see that someone upstairs is confused. No, my family was not involved in selling weapons for attacking Honduras. I cannot speak for a high school classmate Ronit Meissner in El Salvador, a Jewis redhead who yet does not resemble Libby Penders, who was a cultie. Anyone can tell they are not identical twins. I have no idea what her family was doing there. Just because they were Jewish, that did not mean they were in the weapons business. But I really don't now anything about that. I would rather that they speak for themselves. You must stop asking me questions that I cannot answer.

Which Reminds Me

And who appointed Elizabeth Hunt the Queen of the universe? She is just a snarky little witch always spreading misinformation and leaving behind a trail of confusion everywhere she has somehow had contact of any kind. And what is Venezuela to me? Nothing actually. I could not care less about Venezuela as compared to Colombia or any other South American country, the Philippines vs. Taiwan or whatever. All of these countries are full of unsaved people who need to hear the Gospel message, not unlike the U.S. Yes, it is confusing to have the backstabbing traitorous Hunts hanging on the same family tree as us, pretending to be of Pentecostal heritage while actually having sold out and turned sort of Baptist along with the Christian & Missionary Alliance defectors. It sort of confuses the picture when actually while our family is AG Pentecostal we were never exactly in agreement on certain points with the pathetically clueless empty-headed Southern Baptist Reeces and Bells who were our high school classmates in El Salvador, not that we would be able to explain it to them because they would not be able to understand. It sort of confuses the picture to have the clueless dimwitted Thompson girls sniping at us behind our backs when actually they were Venezuelan classmates of the traitorous witch Elizabeth apparently. It sorts of confuses the picture to have the Arab riff-raff Hoskins family pretending to be Chosen People. It sort of confuses the picture to have the Mexican riff-raff Bueno family pretending to be a products of Chile. It sort of confuses the picture to have the Bates riff-raff, after having defected to Puerto Rico, now presuming to be English literates. It sort of confuses the picture to have Foursquare Witch Kay attempting to "use" us for her own selfish purposes. In view of all this stupidity I think it would be better for me to just commit suicide because my existence on this planet just doesn't matter. I just don't count. Nobody cares about what happens to me. I am just nothing.

I Am Not Reminded, Nor Am I Amused

Only now do I learn of the existence of the Salvador Commercial Co., a construction company based in Oakland, Calif., and its wrangles with the Salvadoran government in about 1902. After bankruptcy was forced upon them by the government, the plan to build a port apparently having been found unworkable, the contractors were awarded a half-million dollars in compensation for the loss of the contract. After the Tribunal of Arbitrators ruled in favor of the contractor, the Salvadoran government issued bonds representing a half-million dollars to the company directors who distributed the bonds among their employees. J.B. Hays sued in 1906 for a share of bonds although I am not sure how that lawsuit turned out. The bonds were payable over eight years. Given that the bonds would have been paid out a century ago we fail to see any reason why we should a hundred years later still be exchanging stupid jokes about the Salvadoran Commercial Co. In fact, I seriously doubt that anyone in our family owns a share of said bonds. No, I am not Minnie Strickland, the black maid from Tennessee whose name appears on the 1930 census, that I should have any intimate knowledge of the Burrell family, the heirs of Alfred W. Burrell, the contractor, and his brother Henry. I am not amused.

Just because Tempky, in his Mitla, waxes rhapsodic on the beauty of the Bay of Fonseca as the terminus of ocean waves rolling across the Pacific from China, that does not mean there is any connection to our own family's mysterious paperwork of uncertain value.

Why is everyone packing on the Caluori's? Someone ought to straighten out that busybody Tony Caluori because this is not how our lives were supposed to be.

Which Reminds Me

We were living in El Salvador in July of 1969 at the time of the Soccer War between El Salvador and Honduras. I remember that after the war ended the country held a victory parade. A column of soldiers carrying guns, some riding in Jeeps and other military vehicles, paraded down Calle Roosevelt, a street that happened to be a half-block from our back door. All we had to do was walk out our back door and through a parking lot to see the victory parade. My Dad snapped some photos of the parade, and those photos are probably still somewhere in the family collection. This was after we had spent a few nights without electricity. Throughout the war, which, by the way, lasted only 100 hours, they turned of the electricity at 6 p.m. so that theoretically the Honduran bombers would not be able to find the city for bombing purposes. All was dark. We sat on the terrace listening to radio reports on my Dad's old shortwave radio, sometimes tuning in reports of either country, all sounding rather similar in reverse because each side had its war propaganda. So I am rather perturbed to be hearing tirades from some clueless Honduranian latecomers when actually it was not our war. Salvador just happened to be the place where we were living at the time due to various circumstances beyond our control, not really our native country. There were also a couple of military coups during the time we lived there but I cannot say that I really understood what that was all about.

I am certain that if we had happened to be living in Honduras at the time we might have been taking pictures of the other side. Whatever.

Which reminds me that I remember reading that a lot of Salvador's airplanes and weapons were purchased from Israel which was considered a strong ally of El Salvador at the time. I understand that in more recent years the Arabs gained much power there and changed a lot of things but back in those days it was not like that. I really don't remember the Civil War and all of the other things that happened after we left the country so I really would not be able to comment much on that.

Which Reminds Me

Europeans are perfectly cruel to me as usual. Which reminds me of a speech that somehow through the means of some sort of mentally telepathic dictation presents itself to my mind for transmittal:

And since when is the foreign policy of the United States, greatest nation of the free world, dictated by the idiotic rantings of some pathetically wicked Belgian princess who happened to marry some Honduran doctor and then ran off at the mouth on matters that are none of her business after rummaging through some paperwork debris that chanced to turn up on Nexis-Lexis or similar computer compilation? Does her marriage of condescension suddenly make Honduras a colony of Belgium? And does this "royal" connection make Honduras any less a Spanish colony than its Central American neighbors in the history of America? Who are you kidding? Have the Flemish no gratitude for our rule in securing our freedom that they would attack us for striking back at Japan after the brutal attacks of Pearl Harbor? And since when did Flemish become the national language of Honduras? Yes, the Belgian chocolate industry may well benefit from a more advantageous exchange of cacao but the rest of us have no interest in this Belgian marriage of convenience. Just because my name sounds like Candi, that does not mean a 'i' hangs on the end of this contract. Newspapers reporte that Alfred W. Burrell "contracted" pneumonia and the outcome of that transaction was only illness and death. Thus I will not of my free will be choosing to contract with Belgium or Honduras or Salvador or Nicos or Ticos, etc., or any other entities some ridiculous arrangement. Yes, these Spanish colonists are so dazzled by the royals as we all know, but here in the U.S. our government should be insulating us from their nonsense, not perpetuating it. We all may enjoy looking at pictures of these famous people in glossy magazines but we would not want those whacky people poking their noses into our personal lives. They are public figures and we are not. We do not have to buy the magazines and they are not required to let the public into their lives as they do.

Of course, we all know that Henry H. Burrell refused to sign the meeting minutes, imagining that something unknown and understood by him might perchance be lurking in the Spanish language document and yet that did not prevent the government from absconding with all of his assets, so no contract was ever signed by me.

Yes, I noticed the Honduran trailblazing of Buzz and Susie Stewart, of whose value has plunged in terms of evangelism because their stupid Honduran venture is not really that special to all. We are not the Davenports, whose grandparents were missionaries in Honduras and have a long history there, so there was no reason to get all worked up about that, as if either side won the Soccer War of 1969.