The Tortoise And The Scare

Unless you've been living under a rock for the past week, you've heard the gruesome and riveting story of (the late) Travis, the Terrifying Connecticut Chimpanzee.

Travis, for all intents and purposes, lived (and died) like a human ... in a real house with, presumably, all the creature comforts. Unlike most of us, he made Old Navy commercials. He drank iced tea from a glass. He was allowed to drive the family car. He experienced situational and/or social anxiety, for which he possibly ingested Xanax.

His caretaker was a woman who was quoted in the newspaper as having said that Travis "couldn't have been more my son than if I gave birth to him."

Vicky has perfect vision and this tortoise is cross-eyed.

Forget her terrible syntax; did you read what that woman said? Maybe we have unwittingly pinpointed poor Travis's whole problem. They say if it's not one thing, it's your mother.

Mind you, I am an animal lover. Always have been and always will be. I do not like the thought of a defenseless animal being exploited or abused in any way.

Travis, however, weighed 200 pounds and was hardwired to be aggressive. Two hundred pounds of unrestrained chimpanzee aggression is anything but defenseless ... as was sadly discovered by a family friend whom Travis mauled nearly to death before he himself was shot dead by the local lawmen.

(I would like to say here, with all due respect to Travis's victim: if a chimpanzee should rip off my face and my hands, please have a heart and leave me for dead. Consider me a DNR. Put a pretty picture of a younger, thinner me beside my rose-bedecked coffin at the funeral and talk of better days. There; I've said it and I'm not sorry.)

In a similar (sort of) vein, only absent the aggression, enter Victoria the Tortoise. Or exit Victoria the Tortoise, would perhaps be more appropriate.

Victoria, who at age seven weighs fifty pounds, hails from Charleston, South Carolina. She recently went missing. Happily, within a reasonable amount of time calls began pouring in about a tortoise answering Victoria's general description, wandering aimlessly around North Charleston. Hallelujah!

But wait. Victoria's owner, a lady named Cindy, upon being reunited with what was believed to be her pet tortoise (Because really, folks, how many 50-pound tortoises are to be found wandering the streets of Charleston at any given time?), immediately rejected the tortoise as being an impostor. Why?

She said, and I quote: "I know Vicky's face."

Now, friends ... I can't be sure about you but I would have been much more inclined to believe Cindy if she had given as a reason, for example, "This can't be Vicky. Vicky only wears red toenail polish and this tortoise is wearing pink," or "This can't be Vicky. Vicky only wears Wind Song and this tortoise has been spritzed with Chanel Number Five," or "This can't be Vicky. Vicky has perfect vision and this tortoise is cross-eyed," or "This can't be Vicky. Vicky hates onions but this tortoise reeks of them."

But no. "I know Vicky's face" was her stated reason for disbelieving that Victoria had at last been located.

While gentle, plodding Victoria presumably remains at large, let us hope she does not encounter a 200-pound Depends-clad chimpanzee with a Xanax prescription and the car keys ... or any pet owner kookier than her own dear Cindy.

For The Price Of Postage

How often is it that you have the opportunity to send a powerful message in the defense of innocent life, in exchange for a minute of your time and $.42? Just such a chance presents itself on Red Envelope Day, March 31, 2009.

I hope you will join me and multitudes of other pro-life advocates who are banding together to bombard President Barack Obama on that day with what we hope will be tens of millions of empty red envelopes.

That's fifty million.

As explained here, each empty red envelope should bear this message on the back:

This envelope represents one child who died because of an abortion. It is empty because the life that was taken is now unable to be a part of our world.

This is an excellent project for Sunday School classes and entire church congregations to promote and do together, as it only takes a few moments to write the words and put a stamp on the front of the envelope. You could even use red postcards. For convenience, mass-produced labels could be used to address the mail to President Obama at the White House.

It is hoped that President Obama will receive one envelope or postcard for each child murdered by abortion in the United States of America since Roe v. Wade ... a number so astronomical, it is practically meaningless to the average mind due to its sheer volume and magnitude: 50,000,000.

That's fifty million.

And the number is rising every day at a breathtaking rate.

For these and more astounding statistics, listen to this wonderful speech written and delivered at her school by 12-year-old Lia, a brave and eloquent Canadian girl who is passionately pro-life.

As you watch Lia and listen to her speech, bear in mind that her teacher and her school's administrators all but forbade her to use this topic for the assignment. If you care to, you may read more about that here.

Please participate in Red Envelope Day! It's for the babies.

My Valentine ... 2009

NOTE:  I wrote this last year and thought I'd rerun it because not only is it still true, it's more true than ever.  I've updated where appropriate.

~{~}~{~}~{~}~{~}~{~}~

My valentine and I have the same exact middle name even though he's a boy and I'm a girl. My valentine and I share the same four wonderful children (three girls and one of the other kind), the same son-in-law, the same two granddaughters (one four-year-old and one one-year-old), and the same comical excuse for a dog. My valentine and I love sleeping and snuggling in our king-size bed. My valentine and I enjoy being together to talk, listen to music, watch our favorite programs, or quietly read.

My valentine and I laugh at most of the same things and get sad at a lot of the same things. My valentine and I have many of the same memories because we have been friends for 33 years. We have been together as a couple for 30 years, 5 months, and 21 days and have been husband and wife for 29 years, 7 months, and 28 days. My valentine and I surprised some people when we paired off, and we still smile about that.

My valentine is never demanding and always supportive.

My valentine thinks I'm pretty, funny, smart, and interesting. My valentine calls me "Little Miss Fire and Ice" and means it in a good way. My valentine is always bragging on me to others and I brag on him too. My valentine knows when to be romantic but understands when it's best to leave me alone. My valentine is tall, dark, and exceedingly handsome in addition to being uncommonly sweet, amazingly intelligent, and endearingly modest. My valentine smells incredibly good. My valentine has wide hazel eyes, high cheekbones, a disarming smile, and lovely long fingers. My valentine has the most tender touch.

My valentine and I love to discuss various topics and we almost always agree on what's ridiculous and what's not. My valentine and I never have to avoid the subjects of religion and politics because we feel the same way about both. My valentine goes out of his way to make me happy and give me the things I want. My valentine appreciates the things I do for him, even though I don't think I do nearly enough. My valentine likes to kiss my hand and I like to kiss his lips. My valentine can still make me go weak in the knees.

My valentine is never demanding and always supportive. My valentine knows my name but usually refers to me as precious or baby. My valentine is my beloved and I am his. My valentine and I both think this is a pretty good deal. My valentine is not perfect but he's close enough for me. I wish everyone a valentine like my valentine.

Happy *kissy kiss* Valentine's Day!

Hate Male

Daughter Erica was sitting at her computer on Saturday, chuckling.

Because I'm a busybody, I asked: "What's the deal?"

Turns out Erica was on Facebook, and she had just read a comment left by one Madison W., a lovely young lady who happens to be a dear friend of our family. Madison's comment was short and to the point:

Madison loves Sean Hannity, the Hate Hannity Hotline is like a dagger in my heart ... :-(.

Crikey! Where is PeTA when you need them?

My ears perked up because I too have a soft spot in my heart for Sean Hannity. I catch his show at least three times a week. Soooooo sweet since it's now simply Hannity instead of Hannity & Colmes.

(I always thought that Colmes guy was a liability. Good riddance. Sean Hannity is a great American; Alan Colmes, not so much. Just my humble opinion.)

Yesterday as I was loading the dishwasher at the conclusion of Sunday lunch, Hannity was on my kitchen TV and, lo and behold, Sean ended the show by playing the remarks of callers to the Hate Hannity Hotline. My ears perked up again.

BTW, I like the way Sean is not afraid to make public the verbal vitriol heaped upon him by his liberal detractors. But then, why should he be? They are by and large a profane and disturbed bunch. Sean only proves his point by giving them all the rope they need to hang themselves.

For example, the first several remarks were so riddled with profanity, they were largely unintelligible except for spat-out syllables interrupted by bleeps. How charming! Where libs fall short in common sense, they more than compensate in blue language.

They're like poster children for How Not To Talk. But I digress.

Suddenly I was arrested in my methodical racking of plates and bowls by a particularly venomous string of expletives issuing from a male caller, who ended his mini-tirade by promising: "Every day Sean Hannity is on the air I'm gonna put a kitten in a woodchipper!"

Crikey! Where is PeTA when you need them?

Folks, liberals are sad, deluded, soul-sick people (the ones, that is, who are not merely deceived). Furthermore, what we have here is additional evidence that America is engaged in a classic battle of good versus evil. As if we needed more proof.

Imagine what would happen if there was a Hate Ob*ma Hotline (I am NOT suggesting that there should be one ... and if there were, I would not use it ... because I don't hate Mr. Obama ... I just want him to go away), and a conservative caller threatened to flambé a puppydog for every day the man is in office!

They'd likely have the FBI breathing down their necks in less time than it takes to intone "Change we can believe in."

(And PeTA would be there, cloaked in all its hyper-liberal lunacy, to take up the cause of the charred puppies. The woodchipper-bound kittens, however, are on their own.)

Because as we all know, it's perfectly acceptable to hate in America, as long as you hate the proper people. That would be conservatives and -- much more better -- religious conservatives. The double whammy, as it were.

Am I right? A kitty in a woodchipper says I am.

207 More Weeks ...

... or 3 years, 11 months, and 19 days ...

... or 1,449 days ...

... or 34,776 hours ...

... or 2,086,560 minutes ...

... or 125,193,600 seconds ...

... until the end of the Obama administration. But who's counting?

At least President Bush knew a door when he saw one!

I am.

One can only hope that by then, our distinguished president will be able to distinguish the oval office's windows from its doors.

Unlike the time in 2005 when President Bush attempted to open a locked door while at a conference in Beijing -- "news" that ended up on page one, above the fold -- this item was not carried by The New York Times.

President Bush was a moron when he tried to open a huge door he could not have known was locked. Mr. Obama is merely preoccupied with matters of state -- and perhaps eager to return to the office where the thermostat is set so high that "you could grow orchids in there" -- when he searches in vain for a doorknob on a window.

At least President Bush knew a door when he saw one! I think that counts for something.

Some think of President Obama as the messiah. I think of him as a mess.

As for the euphemistically termed "Stimulus Bill" the president is trying so desperately to get past the Senate, I am reminded of Johnny Depp's famous bon mot regarding the breakfast food of politicians: You need patience with bacon ... you have to maintain a calm attitude with pork.

Believe me when I tell you, I am trying.