I don’t know how many of you have enrolled in your local Next Door Neighbor site, but on the advice of my youngest I did.  Given my ‘hood, I’ve over 1,300 neighbors.  In my greater area, I’ve more than 20,000.

This is a most curious web site: people post items for sale, recommendations for restaurants, landscapers, handy men, and even contractors.  Need your pool cleaned? Call—. A car tuneup? Hairdresser? A house or a car?  Thankfully, political opinions are taken down immediately.

Neighbors also post instances of criminal activity, which brings me to the reason for this blog.  Thanks to video cameras on October 31st, there were a vast number of robberies in my ‘hood.  Video indicate the perp was the same 25-30 year-old dude.  He targeted lighted, decorated front doors, as many folk just left bowls filled with treats outside for the goblins.  But the Halloween Grinch stole the entire bowl full!  And to add insult to injury, had the audacity to sell both the candy and the holiday containers the next day–about 2 miles from his crime zone.

Frankly, I’m confounded.  What kind of jerk would do this?  The same kind of guy who injects Swedish Fish with THC, needles, or slivers of wood?  The same kind of guy who subscribes to the mantra:  If I can steal it, it’s mine?  

I far too old to understand why folk behave in this manner.  WTF?

First, don’t get your knickers in a knot.  I adore my two, highly successful daughters.  They bring joy and happiness to my life.  But my years of child-rearing are far behind me.  Thus, with the adoption of my newest puppy, I share my thoughts.

Dogs have attributes humans don’t have. They love unconditionally.  When I arise from bed, I look like a bag lady, with my messy hair and half-awake eyes.  Yet, they gaze adoringly at me.  When I walk down the driveway to get the mail or make a quick trip to the grocery store, they greet me, as though I’ve been gone for months.  As I write this blog, they all lie at my feet.  My kids never did that.

Secondly, my dogs are not divas.  They’ve never asked for my credit card to buy trendy shoes or purses.  Nor do my dogs want Michael Kors, Kate Spade, Mark Jacobs, Louis V. clothing and accessories. They’ve never asked for a ride to cheer practice or tennis lessons.  They never asked for a ride to the mall or for money.  (Once, my eldest called when she was in college requesting money.  Whoa! She got a monthly allowance, so I phoned and asked why she needed money.  Her answer: You don’t know how expensive it is to eat out In California!  True, I rarely ate out.).  My dogs are fine with their non-designer kibble.

My dogs don’t talk back;  they know I’m the alpha. None of them have ever called me a name, yelled at me, nor called into question my opinions or advice.  They willingly follow my leadership,  And I’m most grateful, they didn’t go through puberty, nor endure the petty girl spats and lack of dates with dreamy, Joe Jock.

So in my golden years, I’m living the dream with my six companions, who adore me–in spite of my flaws and warts.  Seriously, my life couldn’t be more wonderful…in the company of dogs.

• General Mattis’ performance at a New York benefit dinner where he humorously took down the President with such one liner’s as: I earned my spurs on the battlefield while Trump earned his spurs from a letter from a doctor, made me curious about the former Secretary of Defense.  Mattis wrote a letter of resignation, which questioned the President’s policies. However, the President’s spin was: You’re fired.

My curiosity was peaked. Who is this General Mattis? A college graduate from Central Washington University who rose through the ranks of the Marine Corps during the Gulf War, War in Afghanistan, Iraq War, and the two battles of Fallujah.  He’s described as intellectual, urbane, and polished.  (A DC rarity).  He trained all of his Marines in cultural sensitivity to Mid-Eastern ways.  In fact, as his troops were monitoring Iraqi protests, he insisted they give Iraqi citizens bottles of ice water–hard to throw a rock at someone’s who’s given you a cold drink on a 120-degree day.

According to some who served with him, he forsook his plush quarters and spent nights in the trenches with his men.  (Hmm. No comment.) Further, General Mattis, a bachelor, is described as a devout Catholic and chooses not to talk about it.

Finally, he advocates for international foreign policy.  He’s stated that his own troops have been affected by climate change, not to mention the ravages of terrorist groups, whom prey on innocent citizens.

America has had 12 Generals elected President from Washington through Eisenhower, so this is not a new idea.  Yet, let us pause to imagine a culturally-sensitive, humble, urbane, intellectual President. Could he heal our fractured America?  Unless, you can sell me on someone else, I’m voting Mattis in 2020! (I just wish I had enough money to convince others.)

I realize it’s been a number of weeks since I blogged.  No, thankfully, I’ve not been ill.  Just too busy doing “must dos.”

My eldest just moved from Phoenix to Aiken, SC for a new position.  Was it traumatic or dramatic? Of course, I’d spent over two years being back in her life.  Now, both of my girls reside east of the Mississippi, and I’ve no family here.

I cried and felt sorry for myself…alone again.  (Except for my dogs, whom adore me.)  My recovery came last night.  I recalled a phone conversation with my maternal grandmother.  “Grandma, I can hardly believe, my youngest is going to kindergarten; it makes me weep.  I’ll no longer have a baby.”

She retorted, “Sue, that’s silly and stupid. Just be glad she has sense enough to go to school.”

And so it is with parenting.  As a parent, my sole responsibility is to raise morally and ethically good citizens, whom contribute to the proverbial greater good.  Who are educated and empathetic to those in need.  Who care more about the plight of others, who are not insular, who never give up in adversity.  Just like the larva, who leaves the cocoon and morphs into a beautiful butterfly, my job is to set my kids free!

Besides, my kids probably are delighted to have escaped their cantankerous, crazy mom.

I suspect like many of my readers,  our adult children moved out and moved on. Certainly, was my case, but they left behind lots of stuff from their childhood.  My youngest was an avid Beanie Baby collector; so much so, we had to scour the airport shops and every toy store both in Phoenix and wherever we traveled.  At the time, Beanie Babies were a bigger craze than Tickle Me Elmo or Furbies.

Today, Beanie Babies are worthless, unless you have the original Princess Diana, the McDonald’s international bears, Peace the Bear, Iggy the Iguana, Gobbles the Turkey, Patti the Platypus, Snort the Red Bull, and Claude the Crab.  If you can find a buyer, these have the potential of earning you upwards to $50,000! But again, the rest of the collection is practically worthless.

Last week I saw a Facebook post about someone who donated her kid’s Beanies to the school librarian.  In turn, the librarian created adoption tags for each; however, no student would qualify to adopt, unless he/ she agreed to read to the pet 20 minutes a day. A brilliant idea to motivate our social media-indoctrinated kids.

With permission of my daughter, I donated 40 or so to our neighborhood school, media specialist–the adoption took off like a monsoon.  The children were so jazzed about not only adopting, but about pledging to read to their pets.  Thus, before purging your house of unwanted stuffed animals, talk to an elementary school librarian/media specialist.  Let’s work together to make our kids thoughtful readers, not internet junkies.

When I undertook writing my second novel in which DNA played an integral role, I was boggled by its science.  True, science never has been my strongest suit; I was mystified.  What did all these fancy schmancy terms mean to a schlep like me?  Thus, I had only one choice: test my DNA.

While there are a number of commercial kits available, I chose the one with the highest consumer-star rating.  Thankfully, I’d read the instructions prior; I knew the protocol.  Several days later, I massaged my saliva glands.  I spit in the bottle.  WTH? Not enough.  Massage, massage, spit.  Still not enough. (Perhaps this is how cows feel when they’re asked to fill the gallon jar.)  I milked my saliva until the spit container was full.  Dropped it in the envelope and mailed it off.

Now, I was fairly sure I wouldn’t encounter any surprises about my heritage, even though I had to agree I understood at the onset, highly personal ancestral information might be discovered.  When the results came, they confirmed: 99.6% northwestern European; Neanderthal ancestry; descendent of Ava, a prehistoric woman from northern Scotland over 4,000 years ago; 2,013 second, third, fourth, and fifth cousins in the company’s current, data base–105 in California, 70 in Texas, etc.  In fact, I’m most certain I’ve a second cousin in Tennessee I’ve never met.

My personal health profile was thankfully worry free.  After reviewing my personal trait profile,  6 were not me, e.g less likely to experience motion sickness. (One cruise was enough for me.) However, the remaining 27 traits were indeed accurate, e.g. likely no cleft chin, nor unibrow.

Spit. Who knew my spit could reveal such interesting facts?

(NOTE: New novel coming this fall: Secret of Lake Brier set in the fictional, steel town of Lewiston, Ohio.  Many of my Ohio readers will absolutely know Lake Brier.)

Granted I rarely agree with anything our President says, but he’s spot on when he coined the term, fake news. In fact, he tweets much of it himself, e.g. his adoration in El Paso and his explanation of Epstein’s hanging.

But this week, I’ve seen a plethora of fake news in social media: Denzel Washington Leaves the Democratic Party,  The CIA was responsible for the mass murders in El Paso and Dayton, and Global warming is not true.  Quite frankly, I’m appalled by the ignorance of many, whom seem to believe if it’s on the internet, it’s true.

OMG! Are these the folk who still believe the world is flat?  Do they believe this beauty product is going to make them young? Do they believe this toothpaste will restore their teeth? Advertising is all about selling, not factual information.  All of this reminds me of PT Barnum, the world’s greatest showman–there’s a sucker born every minute.

What is most frightening, though, is as the 2020 election draws near, more and more of these outrageous, non-factual, non-researched posts will flood social media. Foreign countries will influence with lunatic assertions.  People will believe it!

My heart breaks as an educator. I’ve failed.  Obviously, my colleagues and I didn’t teach fact vs. fiction.

On Tuesday, our school district will welcome 31,000+ students to school.  And though I have vivid memories of my excitement and anticipation when I entered kindergarten, I wonder about some of the older children who will enter our schools.

In the last 24 hours, America has experienced two mass shootings.  Twenty-nine people are dead, 40 or so are injured.  Why? For going to a Texas Walmart or an Ohio restaurant.  People have been mowed down at churches and synagogues, at movies theaters, at malls, at festivals, and yes, unfortunately at schools.  Our children must wonder if any place is safe; they must wonder about hate; they must wonder why.

As you know, I’ve been a school board member for 19 years.  There has not been/nor is one night I go to bed without praying for our children. My focus is no longer on test scores or instructional practices; I’m consumed with worry for their safety.  Further, I realize I’m incapable of guaranteeing child safety, in spite of all of the measures taken since Sandy Hook.  I can not build the walls high enough, nor deep enough to keep evil out.

I’m frustrated by the elephants in my nation, who obviously think AK-47’s should be as readily available to any teenager as hamburgers and French fries.  And, I’m very tired of the rhetoric.  I gag when I read or hear thoughts and prayers. America is awash with aberrant behavior, greedy politicians, and powerful lobbyists.

I find it curious the President Lincoln and his son, Tad, took daily walks on the streets of Washington, DC, while our current President has already spent $110 million playing golf!  Our money for his protection and security.

So, I humbly ask once again–when is enough, enough?  Sadly, I suspect many of our students on Tuesday will ask their teachers the same question. What shall we answer?

Please know this is not about the random calls I receive from either the IRS, not the federal government about going to jail if I fail to return the call. On a more esoteric level, it’s about “a calling.”

A colleague and friend of mine is a Mormon, and she’s always talking about someone “being called” as a bishop or stake president.  Common terminology found from Catholics to Presbyterians.  Common terminology found in the health professions.  For me, it took years to discover I had been “called.”

Since my parents financed my college education, they expected me to get a job at graduation.  Me? I was an English major, lolling about reading, discussing, and writing. I planned on writing the great American novel, until the reality of graduation drew closer.  So, I took enough really stupid education courses–yes in the late 60’s I learned how to thread a huge movie projector, operate a sinister, purple mimeograph machine, and decorate a bulletin board.  The first time I stood in front of a class was Spring Semester of my senior year–student teaching.  Thankfully, I had an encouraging cooperating teacher, and I found the gig moderately entertaining.  At the conclusion of my student-teaching, my cooperating teacher said, “You must teach; you have the gift.” Really?  Teaching is a gift? There must be another job that’s more lucrative and fun.

Forty-nine years ago, I landed my first teaching job, and within three months, I was hooked! I was called. And 49 years later, I still occasionally teach and continue my service on a large suburban, school board.

In a few weeks, the 2019-2020 school year will begin.  Rest assured, your children and/or grandchildren will encounter a vast majority of those of us, whom have been called to lead our future to their success.  I assure you your children are in good hands.

Several weeks ago, I wrote a blog about the incarceration of children.  Some of you wrote: “Have them come here legally.”  Really?  When the Von Trapps chose to flee Austria, did they leave their children behind?  The children had NO choice but to follow their parents or to survive alone on the street. (I urge your advice as to what two or three-year-old can survive on the street. Mine certainly would have been unable.)

Secondly, most Americans have ancestors whom didn’t enter our country “legally.”  Federal laws were eventually enacted, but many of the laws were state laws, eg. Ellis Island enrollment.  Certainly, the native Americans didn’t require the Pilgrims to establish proof of citizenship.  And if you’re still not convinced, take the 23andMe saliva test;  doubtful, your ancestry is not American.

Yes, it’s been three weeks since my last blog on children in cages.  Nothing has changed.  As a humanitarian, I fully realize there’s nothing I can do but vote and air my voice.  So, I ordered 500 business card-size magnets, which I wear proudly on the back of my cars.  I hand them out to others, whom are as appalled as me.  If you’d like some, private message me.  They’re free.  Join me in doing the right thing.