Would've voted for Ron Paul if we could have, but since Dr. Paul has endorsed Chuck Baldwin of the Constitution Party then that's who we're voting for. Can't in good conscience support either McCain or Obama.
If you'd also like to vote for Mr. Baldwin in Texas, you will have to write him in. Normally write-in votes are not counted, but Mr. Baldwin submitted all the correct paperwork to have his write-ins counted. (Well, any vote-stealing shenanigans aside) When you go vote you'll have to tell the people at the table that you'd like to cast a write-in vote for President. They may not know for sure how to do that, but there is a way. Don't give up. Politely insist that you'll be casting a write-in vote, then let them make whatever calls are necessary to figure out how you do that. I don't know if it's a provisional ballot or whatever. But it can be done.
I'd love to say "Happy Election Day!" but somehow I don't have a lot of joy about this one.
((Did you catch in the news that Bernanke is now asking for ANOTHER bailout. Seems the first one (which was actually about the fourth one) didn't work. But he's so certain that this one, number six?, will fix it. Yeah. Right.))
www.baldwin08.com
www.campaignforliberty.com
"Always vote for principle, though you may vote alone, and you may cherish the sweetest reflection that your vote is never lost." - John Quincy Adams
Monday, October 20, 2008
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Do not read this if you're squeamish about rodents. You have been warned.
Yes, that's a rat. Yes, he's dead. And yes, he's stuck in the stove. Well, I should say he *was* stuck in the stove ...
So we moved into this rent house about a month ago and are greatly enjoying it, but it soon became evident that there were mice in the attic, and one of them was traipsing through my kitchen at night. Five days of live traps hadn't worked so we resorted to poison packets which say, "Mice may ingest a fatal dose immediately, with dead mice appearing 3-5 days later." (The thought crossed my mind that rats wouldn't fit in mice traps and maybe that's why they hadn't worked, but I didn't want to dwell on that.)
Wednesday was "a few days later". Brad had come home early after a meeting and arrived in the middle of me finding the dead thing under the stove. We'd noticed "a smell" earlier and tried to ignore it, but as the day progressed it became the inevitable "smell of dead critter" scent. Brad, thankfully, was able to tend to the kids while I executed the extrication.
"Aaaaagh!" doesn't quite cut it. There are some holes manufactured into the back of the stove, at the edges, about 1-1/2" in diameter. Either the thing just happened to die halfway through the hole, or it got stuck for some reason and then died. (Soft socially-accepted expletive! :o))
So after much pacing the floor and hyperventilating and various and sundry other "I can't believe this!" noises, I and my rubber gloves, masked face, and bleach spray managed to wriggle the rat free of the hole. I had been hoping to grab the rat the standard way - from a distance, using a very long tong-like implement, and tossing it into many layers of trash sack. But, noooo! Instead, I had to get on my hands and knees, douse the thing with olive oil, hold onto it's tail bone with one hand and inch it's backside out with my fingers.
I don't know how I managed not to pass out, except making noises helped a great deal. Brad peeked around the corner and said, "You sound like you're giving birth." I said, "You should've heard me earlier!"
Brad did offer several times to handle the task for me, and he was so sweet and brave to do that. Blood and gore are definitely not his thing. I really appreciated him being willing. I wasn't quite on board, though, with his plan to just yank the rat out and clean up the body carnage afterwards. (Did I mention it was swollen and rotting and oozing?) I kept saying, "Do you know what that will smell like? You can't imagine what that will smell like!" Plus I guess I figured I'd come this far, so might as well see it through.
When it still remained wedged after several more attempts, I was just about ready to give that carnage tug, unbelievably. But then I heard our friend Heath holler in my head, "Greea-se it up!" and my eyes rose and locked onto the bottle of olive oil in my oil basket on the counter. (I appreciated God's sense of humor in the matter.) That was the game-changer. Well, that and figuring out I could hold onto the tail bone. (What am I saying?!) And remembering to pray (even in the small things, right?)
I soaked the back of the rat with olive oil, poured some down the holes in the stove, prayed, "Please, please let this rat come out!" And, "Please, please don't let it break in two!" A little more gentle wrangling and maneuvering, and out it came indeed.
I remember feeling relief at one point, when I thought it was about to come clear, and then my brain said, "The tail! Remember the tail. There will be a tail." Had I not been told that, I'm sure I would've screamed in horror when that tail came through the hole. As it was, I managed to just grunt.
I scooped the thing up in the twenty layers of paper towels I'd already covered it with, threw it in three layers of Target bags, then chunked it outside until I could get it further disposed of in black bags. I huffed and puffed and paced some more, and shuddered and stomped, while a new level of confidence rose within me. Brad was impressed, too. Then I spent the next hour bleaching and cleaning the floor under the stove, as evidently this critter had lived very fully there for quite some time.
My. What an experience. Haven't noticed any more signs of rodent guests, though.
Here's a picture of the new stove that arrived the next day. Seriously. After I realized the rat was stuck and my tong-like implement wouldn't work, I took a break from near-screaming to call the appliance place and ask about their scratch-and-dent specials. (We had been contemplating a new stove already, as the one that came with the rent house was ancient.) Our rat buddy kind of sealed the deal. For that I am grateful.
So we moved into this rent house about a month ago and are greatly enjoying it, but it soon became evident that there were mice in the attic, and one of them was traipsing through my kitchen at night. Five days of live traps hadn't worked so we resorted to poison packets which say, "Mice may ingest a fatal dose immediately, with dead mice appearing 3-5 days later." (The thought crossed my mind that rats wouldn't fit in mice traps and maybe that's why they hadn't worked, but I didn't want to dwell on that.)
Wednesday was "a few days later". Brad had come home early after a meeting and arrived in the middle of me finding the dead thing under the stove. We'd noticed "a smell" earlier and tried to ignore it, but as the day progressed it became the inevitable "smell of dead critter" scent. Brad, thankfully, was able to tend to the kids while I executed the extrication.
"Aaaaagh!" doesn't quite cut it. There are some holes manufactured into the back of the stove, at the edges, about 1-1/2" in diameter. Either the thing just happened to die halfway through the hole, or it got stuck for some reason and then died. (Soft socially-accepted expletive! :o))
So after much pacing the floor and hyperventilating and various and sundry other "I can't believe this!" noises, I and my rubber gloves, masked face, and bleach spray managed to wriggle the rat free of the hole. I had been hoping to grab the rat the standard way - from a distance, using a very long tong-like implement, and tossing it into many layers of trash sack. But, noooo! Instead, I had to get on my hands and knees, douse the thing with olive oil, hold onto it's tail bone with one hand and inch it's backside out with my fingers.
I don't know how I managed not to pass out, except making noises helped a great deal. Brad peeked around the corner and said, "You sound like you're giving birth." I said, "You should've heard me earlier!"
Brad did offer several times to handle the task for me, and he was so sweet and brave to do that. Blood and gore are definitely not his thing. I really appreciated him being willing. I wasn't quite on board, though, with his plan to just yank the rat out and clean up the body carnage afterwards. (Did I mention it was swollen and rotting and oozing?) I kept saying, "Do you know what that will smell like? You can't imagine what that will smell like!" Plus I guess I figured I'd come this far, so might as well see it through.
When it still remained wedged after several more attempts, I was just about ready to give that carnage tug, unbelievably. But then I heard our friend Heath holler in my head, "Greea-se it up!" and my eyes rose and locked onto the bottle of olive oil in my oil basket on the counter. (I appreciated God's sense of humor in the matter.) That was the game-changer. Well, that and figuring out I could hold onto the tail bone. (What am I saying?!) And remembering to pray (even in the small things, right?)
I soaked the back of the rat with olive oil, poured some down the holes in the stove, prayed, "Please, please let this rat come out!" And, "Please, please don't let it break in two!" A little more gentle wrangling and maneuvering, and out it came indeed.
I remember feeling relief at one point, when I thought it was about to come clear, and then my brain said, "The tail! Remember the tail. There will be a tail." Had I not been told that, I'm sure I would've screamed in horror when that tail came through the hole. As it was, I managed to just grunt.
I scooped the thing up in the twenty layers of paper towels I'd already covered it with, threw it in three layers of Target bags, then chunked it outside until I could get it further disposed of in black bags. I huffed and puffed and paced some more, and shuddered and stomped, while a new level of confidence rose within me. Brad was impressed, too. Then I spent the next hour bleaching and cleaning the floor under the stove, as evidently this critter had lived very fully there for quite some time.
My. What an experience. Haven't noticed any more signs of rodent guests, though.
Here's a picture of the new stove that arrived the next day. Seriously. After I realized the rat was stuck and my tong-like implement wouldn't work, I took a break from near-screaming to call the appliance place and ask about their scratch-and-dent specials. (We had been contemplating a new stove already, as the one that came with the rent house was ancient.) Our rat buddy kind of sealed the deal. For that I am grateful.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Priorities
"It's extraordinary to me that the United States can find $700 billion to save Wall Street and the entire G8 can't find $25 billion dollars to save 25,000 children who die every day from preventable diseases."
- Bono, rock star and anti-poverty activist
- Bono, rock star and anti-poverty activist
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