If you Googled or Yahoo'ed something and it brought you to my site, but you can't find it, don't be afraid to email me and ask. I USUALLY know where things are. I've noticed lately that Google keeps bringing up my current page instead of the page the item is actually located on.
I was listening to a story on CNN this morning about a pastor, Rev. Fred Phelps and his daughter, who protest at the funerals of men killed Iraq. Now as IF the families don't have enough to deal with losing their loved ones, Phelp's and his followers from a Topeka, Kan.-based Westboro Baptist Church, say the deaths are "God's punishment for U.S. tolerance toward gays."
They sent one woman, Brandy Sacco, an email telling her that her late husband was "in hell,"
and that because he was killed in Iraq, he "left his family in the lurch."
The protestors show up at military funerals and scream things like, "EVery dead soldier coming home is a punishment from the Lord your God." "You crossed the line. Now God is your enemy. We are going to put the cup of the wrath of God to your lips and we are going to make you drink it."
Thankfully for Brandy Sacco, a group of motorcycle riders, the Patriot Guard, showed up at her husband's funeral and drowned out the noise from the protestors. The Patriot Guard's objective is to "Show our sincere respect for our fallen heroes, their families and their communities (and) to shield the mourning family and friends from interruptions created by any protester or group of protesters." Now THAT's doing God's work.
This is what I don't understand about religious "idiots" like Phelps' and his followers. IF God were the vicious, hateful God they make Him out to be, and IF He hated the gays, wouldn't He just wipe out the gays--that He created, btw--and be done with it? What does the death of some innocent soldier in Iraq have to do with gay guys? Perhaps these religious zealots think God isn't smart enough to figure that out for Himself? I'm guessing He's smart enough to figure that out and I'm guessing He's also smart enough to figure out when people are USING HIM to push THEIR AGENDA forward, and HIDING BEHIND HIS WORDS to say hateful things to intimidate others.
I wish Brandy and her family the best.
On CNN they described the U.S. showing in Turin as "the Olympics to forget." Well, DUH. Haven't I been saying that all along?!
I've pretty much forgotten all of it ,
except for the cotton candy and the way cool beach towels.
They gave Mr. G's dad another CAT scan yesterday to determine whether or not he had a stroke.
When my sister-in-law went in to see him Thursday night she said his left eye and the side of his mouth was drooping. She asked the nurse if he had a stroke and she said no it was probably from the medicine. Why do people seem to get sicker when they go to the hospital?
He's DEFINITELY overmedicated. That will come as no surprise to anyone who has an elderly parent in and out of the hospital system. I mentioned that they had to sedate him one night. On top of that they started him on three Xanax a day. His symptoms, confusion, slurred speech and staggering are ALL symptoms of Xanax over dose. I talked to the nurse last night and told them to tell the doctor to adjust this dosage. He was sleeping yesterday when I called my sister in law at 11 and he was just waking up from sleep when we got there at 5:30. Yet his nurse for the day AND my sister in law who said he was still sleeping at 11 a.m., INSISTED he had been awake ALL day. Clearly we have different ideas on what "ALL day" means. I told my husband it looks as if he needs a Xanax around 9 or 10 a.m. and then in the evening again around 7 p.m. He doesn't need that third dose. What's the point of living if you're laying in bed, drugged up all day? Of course, Mr. G's sister was insistent that his confusion had nothing to do with the medication. She said the same thing about his memory. I said, "The man is EIGHTY ONE years old and you can't understand why he might be forgetful?!" Good grief. Many is the day I've taken my vitamins then two minutes later stood there thinking, "Now did I take them or was I GOING to take them?" Oy. The problem is we do so many things UNconsciously that we don't remember them.
Anyway, the doctors want to put stents in his heart and they told us that IF they see the stents aren't working, they will immediately take him for open heart surgery. No way would he survive that in his present condition. Mr G is pushing for them to adjust this Xanax,release him from the hospital and let him come home and get stronger, THEN allow his father to make his own decisions. His wife and daughter are making the decisions for him and I agree with my husband, his father is sharp enough to make his own decisions....when he's not high on more than life.
Ok, enough of that.
I was looking at a book called "The Day I Met God" and it reminded me of the
day I met the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile. I was about ten and a HUGE lover of HOTT dogs.
(Yes, even at that young age I lusted after weiners. HOTT weiners.)
Anywho, I was walking (Phew! thank God I've gotten over that nasty habit) to the local Acme (yes, I'm THAT old) to do my mother's grocery shopping. She was too lazy after raising kids and going on drinking binges to do her own damn grocery shopping. (Wow. The nut really doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?) I was half way up the street and I heard this glorious sound. No, not the ice cream truck. That's a magical sound. I turned towards the melodious strains of "Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Meyer Weiner," and beheld a fabulous (still using that Thesaurus I got for Christmas) sight: the biggest (non African American) WEINER I'd ever seen in a bun driving straight towards me. If it had been dipped in chocolate, surely I would have reached Nirvana. As it stood, I came pretty damn close that day. I was surely shedding tears as I ran towards this mouth-watering vehicle and lovingly ran my hands over parts of the big weeny. I dropped to my knees--I was young enough to get up in those days--and gave thanks for this miracle. All was fine until the police had to forcibly pull me off of the Weinermobile while I was putting mustard and relish on it. Good times. Good times.
Speaking of HOTT dogs, I felt so bad for Holly yesterday. I had to leave the house at 6:45 and Mr. G was already gone. He didn't get home until 4:30 and then he had to leave again at 5:30 to go to the hospital. Holly must have excellent bladder control though. She held it all that time. I HATE having to leave her that long. We didn't get home until 8ish, but we took her for her two mile walk anyway. Wasn't her fault we have a busy schedule. Mr. G said she gave him that "sad puppy look" when she realized he was leaving again at 5:30.
Bode Miller says that "winning isn't nearly as important as some make it out to be'.
Good thing he feels that way, since he's finding that out first hand. He said he was worried that
winning gold medals wouldnt' allow him to lead a "normal life." Problem solved!
Huh. This is interesting. When I was flipping channels today they were talking about
some "winter games." I wonder why I didn't hear anything about them when I was in Turin covering the Olympics?