I was wandering the web today and came across this quote from ... "The "Transformers" bombshell-cum-uninhibited philosophizer" Megan Fox. I didn't bother with the first Transformers movie--I had to step on Transformers when they were the height of the toy craze in the 80s, so am exempt from anything to do with them for the rest of my life--and so am not terribly familiar with who she is, what she looks like, or her acting abilities.

She does very little to entice me when she says things like this: "... also contemplates -- reluctantly -- what she would say to Megatron to keep him from destroying the world. "I'd barter with him," she muses to the July issue Total Film UK, "and say instead of the entire planet, can you just take out all of the white trash, hillbilly, anti-gay, super bible-beating people in Middle America."

Just so you all know, by all Ms Fox says, I am White Trash. I have lived in a trailer when they were trailers, not mobile homes. I did so when I was a kid and then again when I was an adult. I'm not really a Hillbilly, as I have never even set foot in the Appalachians, but I do qualify as a Redneck and the two are fairly interchangeable in this context. By what the media tells me, I am anti-gay. Meaning, if you do not support and celebrate the Gay lifestyle, you are anti. I dont' think it's true, but, hey, who am I to argue with my cultural betters? And, I'm sure Ms Fox would consider me a super Bible-beater as I not only attend church weekly, but I also believe that the Bible is the word of God and true. *gasp*

Oh, I have also lived in Middle America. Missouri to be exact. Though, we slipped the fence about 20 years ago and made it to the bluer-than-blue state of Oregon. (And believe me, I am not happy about it.)

I told my husband about this comment and he laughed. That's when he pointed out we live in a blue state so all the "bad" folk aren't just in Middle America. I made a crack about Ms Fox no doubt lives in a trendy, politically enlightened part of L. A.. I really had to laugh when he pointed out the even Jed Clampett lived in Beverly Hills.

We are everywhere, Ms Fox. There are likely some WTHAGSBTs in your zip code.

And the question was asked on another blog, why is the term White Trash acceptable in this day of political correctness? I mean being derisive about someone's heritage is verboten, no? Maybe it's okay for the same reason Liberal David Letterman can crack funny about a baseball player 'impregnating" one of Conservative Sarah Palin's daughters.

Hypocrisy perhaps?

Take care--Susan Kaye

Wentworth was shocked. The woman was the most beautiful he had ever seen.

She greeted them, and then went to the woodcutting pair.

Despite her condition, the woman moved with grace and a sort of languid ease. Her hair was wonderfully thick auburn, and straining to break free of the combs that held it in check. Lovely green eyes competed for supremacy with rosy cheeks, and a nose lightly dusted with pale freckles. This woman was no poor drudge, the likes of which one would expect to find attached to either of these rustic characters. In Gaelic, she asked the old man who the visitors were and he replied in less-than-flattering terms they were English strangers come to leech off him. The younger man laughed and let the axe swing down from his shoulder. As recompense for his derision, the heavy axe head bashed the splitting block, and bouncing back to clout him in the leg. The old man finally found something amusing.

Wentworth found his bearings and directed his statement to the woman. "My friend and I need some water."

"It looks as if you need more than water." Aine responded in English and then moved towards the door. To someone inside, she gestured and said, "Shoo, you two peepers." He heard children giggling and light steps fading away. "Bring her in the house." Aine disappeared inside.

Wentworth was about to rise and see to Anne when the old man called to Aine, and began a fine Gaelic tirade. The old man had a limp and had to struggle to drag one leg as he went to the cottage. The younger man looked at Anne and Wentworth and decided it was better to watch the spectacle unfolding in the cottage. He slammed the door, causing a fine shower of dust from the eaves to fall on Anne.

More Pleasant Days Here...

Stockholm, Sweden, May 12, 2009 / 06:02 pm (CNA).- Sweden, which legalized abortion in 1938, has taken its abortion extremism one step further by legalizing “gender based” abortion which allows a mother to decide to abort her baby solely due to his or her sex.

The Local reported that a pregnant woman in South Sweden, who already has two girls, arrived at Mälaren Hospital and inquired whether or not she would be giving birth to another girl.   She went on to tell her doctors that her previous two pregnancies ended in abortion because she did not want to have another girl - and if this child was another girl, she would have it aborted as well.

Doctors expressed concern over this and brought it to the attention of Sweden’s National Board of Health and Welfare. They asked how to handle requests where doctors felt “pressured to examine the [fetus’s] gender” without a medical rationale.

The Board came back and said that requests to for abortions based on a child’s gender cannot be refused.

Reading this makes me angry and a bit hopeless. I very much want to disavow any connection to this person by way of our common gender and supposed humanity. Having just spent time with my granddaughter yesterday, I can say that anyone who believes someone this beautiful and vulnerable can be mutilated and swept away because her genitalia isn't to the liking of Mum is wrong, and vile.

I can't jinn up sympathy for a woman who has already done away with two of her children for being the wrong gender. Later, because this woman's confession is in the public view, the emotional fallout from the two daughters who have made it through the hellish gauntlet of this woman's birth canal is going to be horrific. I should feel pity for such a terrible situation. I'll pray, I can't feel anything but loathing.

Too bad that as a nation we are heading this way.

Take care--Susan Kaye

HT NRO

While I'm sure a search of the web might turn up some nifty software that will randomly draw names from a list, I'm a very low-tech gal in many ways and felt that scraps of paper drawn from a hat were just the ticket for this contest. (All entrants with multiple correct guess had several bits of paper.)

Here's the hat:


Yeah, I know it's a bowl. It's one of my favorite Pyrex bowls and I thought it would be good luck for somebody. Not that I believe in luck.

Here are the names on the slips of paper.


Please don't look too closely, I use the backs of my husband's pay statements as scrap paper.

The first name drawn will receive, all expenses paid, a copy of either "None But You," of "For You Alone."

Drumroll ... isn't this exciting?


Name number two will receive the same:

Drumroll ... swirling names in the hat ....


And now, the grand prize winner of an entire SET of Frederick Wentworth, Captain ... drumroll ......


Here's a snap of the names drawn.


The results of this contest have been verified by me and my dog Jacki. Well, she's snoozing away on the couch right now but as soon as she wakes up, I'm going to tell her all about it. I promise.

I'll be contacting the winners today. Thank you all for playing along in my first contest. Maybe we can do this again soon.

And I mean it Readers, I really thank you all for taking part.

Have a great weekend.

And here's my last chance to use this pic for a while:


Just because I really like it.

Take care--Susan Kaye

 

Even with Frederick’s help—he was practically carrying her—each step was a torment. Both of them were unsteady as they lurched and slipped their way up what seemed to be a mountain of hard, sharp stones, punctuated by the occasional stretch of loose sand. Anne's attention was required for each step. So much so, she could not attend to the bantering of the two men and their voices were lost in the sound of the waves and her own laboured breathing.

They halted suddenly. She was grateful for the rest. Frederick’s arm was about her waist and shook as much as his voice. "Finally."

Harville lifted the lantern and gestured with his hand. "Your accommodations for the night." They stood at the edge of a hole about four feet deep.

She felt him sigh rather than heard it. "I thought the only hole in the ground I'd ever go into was a grave." Anne knew she ought to be alarmed by the prospect of sleeping in little more than a hole in the ground, but her aching body refused to allow her to more than stare into the pit.

"Just be glad Providence saw fit not to put any of us in a grave tonight, Captain." Harville bent and looked around. "Did you see anything besides this bale of wool?"

Frederick saw Anne seated on the edge and jumped in. He took the lantern and crouched. "I saw—these." He held up another lantern and a wine bottle. "G-give us a light." Using some dried grass they managed to feed enough of a flame to light the second lantern. "Help Miss Elliot and then be on your way."

Harville did little; it was Frederick who lifted her down. "Is there anything else?"

"There is little, but another bottle of spirits, and a couple of empty crates."

"We've made it just in time." Harville lifted the hatch, ready to close it. "The wind's picking up."

Wentworth crouched and pulled Anne down to a crouch. "Close us in then. Remember. Day after tomorrow at the Keystone."

"And you're buying, Captain." Harville laughed a little and then closed the hatch.

"What is this place?" Anne was just realising she was out of the weather.

More Pleasant Days Here...

When your mother dies, I suspect the world changes completely.

Ann Coulter's mother died last week. Regardless of what you may think of her, she writes a wonderful eulogy.

I've told my husband and kids, when I die they are to have a great party and tell all the stories about my flubs, goofs, and gaffs. And they are to make bloody certain no one begins to speak in hushed tones about my sweetness and love for the whole world. I'm a cantankerous old bag much of the time who has unexplainable  bursts of kindness.

The world and those who inhabit it are theoretical in many ways. I pray those big, general prayers for that theory, but my heartfelt ones are for those I know. I pray earnestly for my family, my friends and even for my readers. Many of you have shared that my writing has helped in the hard times. I can't think of any better reward for what I do.

Okay, I know I'm behind schedule and you want another installment. On to work. Mush button "off."

Take care--Susan Kaye