DarjeelinGirl

Personally, I think PETA tends to get as goofy (we shouldn’t eat fish because they have feelings and don’t like it) as some christianeesies at times, but this video is informative. Animal cruelty is only a symptom of the problem - and a very large symptom at that. We’re talking a cosmic greed coming from a few behind a corporation that disregards every other life, including human, for the sake of a buck and convenience. And the thing is, we get unknowingly swept away with it. Or try part 1 and part 2 of lileks.com, which isn’t even a vegan site at all; it just exposes the propaganda that has gotten aciremA to where it is today.

I would like to say that I don’t think its wrong to eat meat. I just think it’s deadly to eat aciremAn factory farmed meat, which is 90%+ of the meat out there. Plus I think, supporting the factory farming industry makes me complicit in the narcissistic, irresponsible, corporate greed, convenience lifestyle. It’s killing aciremAns left and right. It’s all part of the diseased attitude in aciremA’s soul - from poverty to obesity to euthanasia, abortion, etc. Who needs terrorists? We are killing ourselves, all by ourselves. Our demand for fast food and quantity gave the factory farming industry permission to live and grow. And in order to meet the demand, they get by with the wounded, abused, drugged, poisoned animal procedures, not to mention the unconscionable working conditions. The factory farming industry is even fueling and exploiting the illegal immigrant problem!

What got me into all this all of a sudden? Well, it wasn’t all of a sudden. The Lord’s been working on me for the last few weeks, well, no, years, now that I think about it. I’ve got plenty of yummy vegetarian cook books on my shelves and I was a La Leche League Leader when my babies were babies. LLL has always encouraged people to eat food in as close to its natural state as possible. But what finally clinched it was this conference I attended last weekend. We aciremAn Christians are so hot on taking care of the mind and spirit, but we neglect the body. I’m way guilty. Now the health/cancer/diabetes/obesity issue is huge in our country and the masses are crying out for a Savior some more - and it’s not another diet plan we need. It’s power over the sin of falling for or demanding whatever’s most convenient and cheapest, what I don’t have to think about, whatever I can get may hands on to satisfy my cravings no matter what the cost to others; it’s all about me, me, me. But, I know That Savior and things should be different in my life and I should have Something to offer to others. Mostly for me, it’s a spiritual growth, obedience to God thing. It’s a mental/spiritual/physical health issue for me and my kids. And yes, it’s a social/political thing. The Goliath in our country has been ever present in my life. Becoming vegan is a small smooth stone in the right direction.

And we’ve been enjoying it quite well, thank you! If I ever find a real farmer who feeds his aminals real food and not ground up cats, dogs, feces, while pumping them full of antibiotics, hormones, steroids, etc., I will still eat meat - occasionally - I think. I’m still grossed out. My Grandma almost died of colon cancer. Now I know why people are getting cancer and other incurable diseases so much. You would think it would be the opposite with all the medical advances and technology we have. But it’s getting worse. I never knew where our meat was coming from, but if you think about it, how else could the industry supply all the meat in the world for all the Big Macs, Whoppers, KFC’s, grocery stores, restaurants etc? Factory farms are really only the logical possibility. Here, educate yourself with this.

out the shrews!

The remodeling and minor additions I made to my house last summer (egress windows for rooms in the basement) have inadvertently drawn nightly unwanted squatters to my property. I still haven’t figured out how to completely evict them. I wish I could persuade an owl to move into the pines in the back yard. Meanwhile, they fall into the window wells and scratch, scratch, shuffle, scratch, scratch in the rocks right outside my window - always just after I have phased in and out of my first cycle of much needed REM. Last year, between August and first snow, I think we eradicated 11 or 14 or 18. I don’t remember and I didn’t write it down, but it was over 11 - one dark, sleep deprived night at a time. But this year I will keep a running total in my column to the right.

My 11 yr old son doesn’t always appreciate being woken up in the wee hours of the night to provide moral support and all the intestinal fortitude I can get, but I ain’t going out there on my own. For some reason, my imagination insists that a killer rabbit-like scene from the Holy Grail awaits me. But afterwards I always have this strange sense of euphoric victory.

So, how do we do the little buggers in?

Primarily, in the middle of the night or when its raining, we use Josiah’s homemade dandy:

If necessary, we apply this:

Or, if it’s daytime and not raining, we simply use this:

So tonight, #1 of Summer 2005 met his demise at approximately 1:28am:

And now that the adrenaline is flowing and it’s only 2:26am, I think I will tackle those 420 waiting papers…

Overall, it was a very good weekend:

moved 64 cubic feet of sand
moved 8′ by 8′ sand box
raked front and back yard of fall and winter debris
cleaned out window wells
got lawn mower started after a long winter’s nap
mowed front yard
straightened and beefed up mulch around the house
cleaned out garage
found and restored leaf sucker/blower
put winter paraphernalia in orderly storage
bikes out of storage and pumped up
replaced burned out light bulb in garage door opener
caulked the bathtub
completed 2004 taxes (if I pass the audit, I will come out ahead this year, yay!)
created and employed a system for organizing receipts for next year’s taxes
cleaned up 13 piles of alien dog doo-doo
built alliance with neighboring victims of dog doo-doo deposits (there’s comfort in not being the only one)
almost have doo-doo doer’s owner identified

Special thanks to neighbor Wayne (for the wheel barrow), neighbor Bill (for the doo-doo lead), Jim (lawn mower tip), Peter (taking J to wrestling tournament), Josiah (window wells), Stephen (lawn king extraordinaire), Luke (sand box and bicycle detail, and great Subway sandwhich tip), Kari (for sharing Luke all day), and Darla (Brekke Bunch bus driver)!

And I edited at least 80 papers so far! (only 420 left to go…)

It’s now Cookie Monster’s fault that Americans are overweight. No more “C is for Cookie”. Now it’s “A Cookie is Sometimes Food”. How in the world do they ever get that to rhyme, much less set it to music?

Show producers say with the rise in childhood obesity, “Sesame Street” is focusing on teaching children about healthy foods and physical activity.

How about just not parking kids in front of the tv to begin with?

I was driving home from work on 694 yesterday, and I saw a car pulled over by a cop. The officer was driving an unmarked green mini-van fully equipped with blinky lights in the massive and deeply tinted windows. Pretty sneaky, huh?

I don’t know where Becki Snow is from but she has been at the hospice through it all. From the moment they removed Terri’s feeding tube (a spoon or straw to you and me) Becki protested with a hunger strike. I have been tracking her blog ever since. She vowed to fast until Terri was rescued from the hospice. Becki is naturally a good writer and her firey spunk irradiates the blogosphere with God’s truth and righteousness even more. This post of the end of her fast is incredible.

Breaking Fast, Body and Soul

When the end came, it was an achingly poigniant way to break fast.

I arrived at Hospice shortly after Terri’s death. Do not expect tears from me at a funeral; I never cry at a funeral. I am the one running around in the background, helping people with their wheelchairs, taking water to old folks, making sure that people are greeted at the door. There will always be time for crying later. So I approached this day - not with tears, but with a determination find some job to do.

I came upon Catholic Mass in progress, and at the helm was Father Melanowski. This is a man’s man, a tall white-haired military Chaplain who served bravely in combat during the Korean War. Hale and fiesty at 82, he has been Terri’s Priest, and if I were ever to become Catholic this man would be the reason. He’s the kind of man who makes you believe in priests again. He and I have known each other for years, and even though he knows I am not Catholic, he never hesitates to bless me and call me by name. I confessed to him this week that I am truly a sinner, and yet he still seems ever caring, ever understanding. His support and concern for me throughout this hunger strike has been unwavering, so I am profoundly grateful to him. Upon seeing him, I fell to my knees and joined the service, in the grass in front of what used to be Terri’s earthly prison.

It was lovely, the meditative rhythms of the Aves rising above the reality of passing trucks and strolling passers-by. Then the Bread and the Wine were adored, and it was time to partake of the Eucharist - for everyone but me. I have never minded that; the belief that the Body and Blood of Christ are sacred and not to be taken lightly is more important than my need to feel included. When attending a Catholic mass, I simply cross my hands over my chest and bow my head so that the priest may give me a blessing rather than the Sacrament, thus avoiding any irreverance on my part. I prepared myself as Father Melanowski drew near, making the sign for him to pass even though I knew that he would merely bless me as he had so often before. The sign was merely to let others know I was refusing communion out of respect for their beliefs, not because of any lack of desire on my part.

Father Melanowski held up the host, and the sun shone through it. He pointed at me. I whispered to the man beside me “I think he means you”.

“No”, the man whispered back, “he wants you”.

Had the Father forgotten? Perhaps the stress had caused him to forget; I did truly want the sacrament, and it was plain from my expression that I longed for the comfort of Communion with God. None were there to give me this comfort from any other church, so I had no where else to turn. But I was afraid of making any mistake; I once again bowed my head, crossed my arms and patted visibly, so he might see it clearly. Father Melanowski now stepped directly in front of me, and he bent down from the full six feet two to put himself directly in front of me. He looked into my eyes: we’ve been through the fire together, haven’t we friend? We have been witness and we are changed forever…

“I know” he spoke with great tenderness. “This is for you - in memory of Terri”. I opened my mouth, speechless, and he place the wafer upon my tongue. It was then I leaned forward in disbelief and gratitude; in a moment of sadness, I had been given a great blessing. Still kneeling, I hid my face in the green grass and finally wept.

The fast was ended.

John 15:13-14
12My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. 13Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. 14You are my friends if you do what I command.