I am a hard worker, Part 1

Myth Busters is a show on Discovery were different theories or "myths" are put to the test.   One such theory, that women have higher pain tolerance than men, was in question on last night's show.  Turns out, the women were able to submerge their arm in ice-water for 100.4 seconds on average, and men 84.3 seconds.

Boy Toy and I discussed these results via email from work.   We are very, very hard working individuals.   Management material, really. 

BT:   Well I'll be. Girls won. Did you think they would? Any reason? What did the show say about the reasons why?

*Pause*  This is a brave man to engage me in such conversation, for he knows he is about to open Pandora's box. 

[Continue]

Me:   No, they were just trying to dispel the theory.  But there was no dispelling.  The test subjects were not aware that they were participants in this battle of the sexes so they were just performing au naturale.   By the way, you'd better hope that a morsel of internal fortitude and toughness made it into the double x chromosomes or all mankind would sucking their thumbs in a dusty corner somewhere.   Who takes care of mom when she's at deaths door the life needs addressing?  And how does the average male behave when he's got a touch of the flu?

[enter soapboxing here...]

Me:  And if I may, I would like to comment on why I think women have their own brand of strength and uniqueness, apart from masculinity.   This is not a male bashing segment.   It goes without saying that the earth would cease to exist without y'all.   There would have been no great Westward expansion, no new technologies, no wars to be started or finished, no vaccines, no imposing architecture.   There is no denying this, so I will not attempt to.  However, women are the civilising force in the world. 

In the movie John Adams, Abigail Adams daughter asked the question as she watched her father and older brothers go off on another stint in Europe,  "How come they get to have all the fun?"   Abigail smiled at her and said, "Because we let them".   There is a shred of truth to that.  If we're a prudent people, we can see the bigger picture of gender responsibilities.  If women enable men to be men, in the way they were designed to operate, our future can be made more secure and our children and society as a whole will have a greater means to thrive.  Those were broad strokes, but bear with me.

Ok, now that I've rambled on, the real reason I think women have higher pain tolerance is that we are the better, stronger sex.  Amen.

 BT:   Because we let them? Ha. Why didn't they let themselves vote?  What if a man were asked why women have become more involved in the workplace and he answered "because we let them?"

Me:   Say Abigail Adams decided that she did not want to raise her family or keep her house in order.   She instead wanted to be a lawyer and part-time manicurist and not so much a mother or a wife.   How could they have survived?  John Adams would never have been the influential figure he was during the conception of our country had he been saddled with a family and other outside obligations.   

While women might not be down in the books as the authors of a many great things, we are the great conspirators and catalysts in human history.   Without women's willingness to fulfill their god-given roles to nurture and support their families and husbands, there would be no such thing as progress in any right. 

Me BT:  Oh Amanda, you're right.   So, so right.   And beautiful.   How could I ever doubt you?  Also, Jessica Simpson is a tramp.   Icky-icky.   I hope to never meet her in person.   I'm quite certain she'll smell, unlike you my little fragrant Petunia! 

Ahh... I just love it when we can see eye to eye on things. 

P.S   This is not meant to be a referendum on any woman who has chosen a family, career and everything in between.   This is just the world as I see it, and it may not be your reality.    Both are worthy callings.   Remember, my brain is scrappy and my mouth is wide and unruly.  

Saturday Musings

Right now, Michael Buble' is singing into my ear. Oh, how he croons. I have the house to myself so I can croon along with certain vigor.  I should probably close the windows so I don't get any pesky autograph requests from the neighbor dogs.

"Other arms reach out to meeeee, other eyes smile tendeeerllyyyyy, still in peaceful dreams I see the road leads back to youuuuuu."

Buble' is quite different from these aging rockers and their haunting performance in Madison Square Garden last year. Delicious, minus the Hawaiian shirt.

Back to business.

I have a few pictures to share with you today, my faithful few. My Semper Fi's if you will.  The trusty iPhone was in my back pocket all day to whip out in case I ran across anything note worthy, like Barack Obama or a giraffe.  But mainly, there are pictures of The Cat. I have candy in my pockets if you'll stay until the end.

Ol' Peg-leg Pauley. I would imagine he was picked dead last in basket-ball with those gams.

Mary Kay, West Virginia style.

The kind of pants that sends dad into a frenzy. "You mean you paid money for jeans that look junked?"

The backyard. Pretty, no?

Oh look! A furry visitor is lurking!

He's my little widget, love bucket, silly sally, Sir Winston Churchill, ninny pot, Ezekiel. All legitimate names, all spoken before 2 pm this afternoon.

"Yes, Bentley-Eugene? Have you found employment yet? No? Shocking. Does all this breathing business make you tired? Thought so. See you in 20."

Here Bentley learned his car was being repo'd outside.

Aladdin on his stained, magic carpet.

Reva's Glory

It's 3:40 in the morning and sleep, I figure, is overrated especially when you have no choice in the matter. My phone that I accidentally knocked off the bed and retrieved contained a voicemail that informed me that my friend, Reva Arnold, passed away last night. She is in glory!

Reva had been battling ALS for the past year, along with a host of other ailments that rendered her with limited speech capacity, and little mobility but still a clear and sound mind which is an unfortunate hallmark of the disease.  A picture cemented in my mind is that of her 87 year old mother, barely mobile herself and sole care-taker, shuffling Reva to and from the bathroom and bedroom with Reva's arm draped around her weakened and arthritic back, walking together. Please remember Della Arnold in your prayers.

The last time I was able to visit her, she relayed to me a dream she had around the time of my own mom's passing.  In it she saw mom singing in a sea of people Handel's Messiah. She said it was breath-taking and that mom looked radiant. Reva did not know at the time that mom had passed away or that her favorite song had been that exact composition. She was sobbing as she relayed that story. We all were.

Reva no longer has rigid hands and locked fingers, instead she is raising them in restored glory to praise the one who has set her free from her ravaged shell.  Reva is now talking, laughing and praising from the same lips that just hours ago rendered her speechless.  Reva is in glory with her Lord.  There is much to rejoice about today.

Dialog

What do you do to delay the news that you spent $120 at Walmart when you were going out for just a "few groceries"?  You pretend you are playing a ukulele and create a diversion.  That's what.

Me:  "Dad!  Look at me!  I'm playing a ukulele! And I spent a hundred-twenty dollars at Walmart.  By the way, Isn't that Bentley just the limit?!"

D:  "What!?"

D:   "Did you say you spent a hundred-twenty dollars at Walmart?"

Me:  "No."

D:  "So you didn't then."

Me:  "No."

(In a defeated voice. He's been here before)

D:   "Amanda.  Where's the checkbook."

Me:  "I ate it.  It's in my belly."

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What post would be complete without a picture of my unemployed, low-skilled labor cat?   Let me answer that.  Not a one as it would be a worthless, dark, and soulless post.  Icky. 

  That cataract gaze has launched a thousand ships. Bentley of Troy. Or just Bentley of Circle Drive.

It's April!

It's April!  Who knew? You expect that I update this thing once every election cycle? You have lofty goals for me.  But I appreciate your anticipations. Proper grammar is of no consequence this evening. I write because I must.

Tonight, we were guest-hosting a bible study at our house. Though it be 55 outside, dad had our electric fire-source roaring, I popped some popcorn, brewed some coffee, and positioned the ice-cream cake lovingly on the counter top.  Spoons, plates, utensils were placed neatly nearby, with various sugars and decorative creamers.  Did I mention that I made 7 cups of coffee?  Well, I did.  And it was a darn shame because no one showed up.  Not a soul.  It would have been a bigger bust of an evening had dad and I not gotten a huge kick out of calling each other a "friendless loser". We are a twisted bunch.

And who was even more disappointed tonight?  Bentley Eugene.  He had completed his reading for the week and was ready to discuss a chapter out of Romans...

Here I was able to catch him as he was being slain in the spirit...