As for Newt’s “baggage,” I finally read the “dirt” they had on Newt about his marriages. Not only was I embarrassed for the people writing this stuff and for the ex-wife spilling her venom, I was appalled at their combined lack of decorum. And, like you, I cheered when Newt excoriated them.

Marriages are very private and personal relationships. Regardless of what some groups like to claim, marriages consist of agreements made between two people, who, at the time, wish to join forces and travel together, for whatever reason, which is nobody else’s business. Some marriages last for many years, some for lifetimes. But, if the marriage no longer works for one or both members, divorce is an option. The “institution of slavery” was ended with the Civil War and the “institution of marriage” has not taken its place in our society, which is why we have divorce courts open to either party.

Hooray for both Newt and South Carolina!

But rebellion boiled inside me, where I secretly sneered at the preacher’s daughter while envying her for her pretty blue Easter dress. I softened my pain by wrapping it in anger and built a wall around my vulnerability. My anger was not allowed to be expressed in the face of my mother’s prayers of thanksgiving for God’s love and tender care (ha!) so I kept it between us two.

One evening while my mother was thanking God for getting us a load of coal to get us through the winter, my teenaged brother Andy called from the kitchen after having refused to join the circle, “I’m the one who got us that load of coal!” Mom did not acknowledge his outburst but I was thrilled by it. “There,” I thought. “There, God.” And I was content to know I was not alone

Of course I would grow through the bruises and heartaches of living to become grateful for the life I had, to recognize that it was granted to me by a loving God. Who also let me find my own way to exist in this strange life on his beautiful planet. But also to realize that his love knows no limits, that he loves each and every one of us.

My gripe today is not against God but against a society that doesn’t value its people as God values us. We have groups called minorities who have been bullied and excluded due to their differences from the mainstream of society—people who even dare to use the supposed words of God to justify their insufferable actions.

Some progress towards equality has been made with the larger groups of minorities but one group that has been blatantly excluded includes gays and lesbians.

In the beginning of my realization there were such beings in the world I too felt uncomfortable with them. It just didn’t “feel” right. But having learned to question my feelings since my first run-in with God, I asked myself how it would feel to love someone of the same sex in the same way one loves someone of the opposite sex, that merging into a couple that makes the world glow with an intense joy that lights up our spirit.

How would it feel to be born with that difference, yet be told I must “have” or “pretend” to have that feeling for someone whom I can’t love? Otherwise to be told I’m bad, depraved, and out of favor with God. Because gay people recognize early in life that they’re attracted to their own sex even if the full realization takes place much later, it is obvious to me that when God created them, he did it with love. He did not make a mistake.

 So when we walk in the park I have no need to worry about walkers or joggers.  They seldom stand still long enough to be mistaken for a pee-post and often give this old lady and her dog a wide berth.  The occasional walker who does approach quickly backs away as Winston growls ferociously.  I apologize, explaining that my sweet little doggie has become old and cranky.   (I wonder if it’s true that we humans pick dogs that resemble us).

On our walk this morning, however, I thought about it being the last day of the year.  And wondered if I should speak up about what is on my mind.  You know – “speak now or forever hold your peace”.  The “now or never” thought really piles the pressure on. 

So, here I am, ending another year into my dotage, realizing that tomorrow I might not remember what I was so angry about today.  Wondering if during the past year I’ve learned anything worth carrying  forward into 2012.  You know, like reaching the end of a page in my checkbook, writing “carry forward” at the bottom and “brought forward” on the next page.  Simple.   

Intended or not, something from this year will be carried forward into the next (unless the world ends tonight, not an impossibility) something perhaps stronger, more important than New Year Resolutions.

So, drawing on my most recent experience, or should I say, my most recent gripe, let these words become your guide.  Don’t be a pee-post.  Don’t stand still as the presidential candidates use you to mark out their territory.  Ignore their vile accusations against each other.  That stink in the Iowa air does not come from the hog lots.

You can’t be a doormat if you don’t lie down.  You won’t be a pee-post if you keep on moving

So, pick your candidate based on proven qualities of leadership. If you have to hold your nose, so be it. It’s better than continuing with the administration we have now.
So keep on moving. Make 2012 a Happy New Year!

And I don’t hate the Santa Claus and gifts part either. It’s the memories that part brings up and the realization that many children will soon learn too early there is no Santa. That’s what I hate. And don’t preach to me about that part, either, about Santa being the spirit of giving, blah, blah, blah.

The memory of those children from the past blend with knowing that many children in the present will have no Christmas this year. They’ve joined the little ghosts that walk in the back of my mind. Like a Greek chorus. A mute one— because what can they say?

So now that I’ve made you indescribably sad let me add that phrase the elitists like to use: it’s the human condition. Distance yourself from it. What else can you do? Provide for your own and put some change in the Salvation Army’s bucket after you buy your Christmas turkey or ham.

But for God’s sake, don’t whine and carry on about it. If there’s anything I really, really hate it’s a whiner! Merry Christmas.

I hate women who stand by their men. Who stoically pose on some public platform and share his shame. Pretending to believe his apology when everyone knows he’d still be doing what it often is, if he’d never been found out. He’s just sorry he got caught.

Maybe with some wives it’s self-preservation, so they can maintain the lifestyle to which they’ve become accustomed. Now take Kobe Bryant’s wife (remember the nineteen-year-old maid eight years ago who claimed it wasn’t consensual, in other words that it was rape?—which he denied but later admitted to what he called a consensual act?).

Well, there you have it. Eight years later, hmmmm. I wonder what the eight years did to her self-esteem. Every time she walked down the street, somebody pointing and saying “There’s the woman who stood by her man…..” while laughing hysterically.

So, naturally, the next thing I hate is that song Tammy Wynette likes to sing “Stand by Your Man”. What drivel!

“Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman” So? We knew that from the day Eve was tempted by the snake. And of course Adam told God it was all Eve’s fault. He was one of those kinds of men.

Eve was not only the first woman, she was also the first feminist. She passed down those good genes not only to any woman with self-respect but also to some good men who respect their wives.

I’ve been teetering off-kilter for awhile but am finally forced to face the truth; the positive crap I’ve projected onto my environment for most of my adult life is just that, pure unholy crap.

Blame it on all those self-help books I absorbed like nectar from the gods. Using them as bricks to build a stupid wall of right thinking Drowning out the negative! Ha! A word of warning. If you keep burying the negative, one day it will jump out and bite you, like it did me and every time you turn on your television you’ll start seeing men in black suits and red ties.

So, here’s a remedy. Find out what you hate, from that pile of crap I just mentioned. Grab a shovel and dig for your life. I mean literally, your life. No more pablum, nicey-nice bullshit. Jump up and down, scream, whatever you feel, just get it out. Make a list. Here’s mine:

I hate elitists, who think they know what’s best for the rest of us. They’re everywhere: in politics, in the media, in academia. Extolling their virtues and our ignorance (we who cling to our guns and religion).

I hate phonies (including elitists) who masquerade as authentic, caring human beings; my dog could teach them a few lessons on integrity.

Most of all I hate the mock gladiators, displaying their weapons of deception and lies, as they parade past me in their black suits and red ties.

The men in the community often gathered around the pot-bellied stove at the general store to gossip (of course they didn’t call it that as only women gossiped in those days). Knowing Alfred’s proclivity for thinking only good of people, one day when they saw him coming they started bad-mouthing the meanest man in the county (Mama never told me his name so if anyone recognizes him as an ancestor by his occupation please forgive me).

As the men talked they kept an eye on Alfred, stopping to give him time to comment. “Well,” Alfred said after a long pause, “he’s a good whistler.” The man was an engineer on the railroad and was well-known for his whistling as he ran his train through the small community. Grandpa’s response tickled the men no end and the story was passed down – for over a hundred years!

Another story that was passed down, but in secret, so I did not learn of it until I was in my thirties, was Alfred’s ancestry. He claimed to be a “base-born German Jew”. Some said he was raised by his grandfather and took his surname from him.

It seemed Alfred had told someone his father was a “Berger” or “Burger” – something like that. Because some of the Amburgeys in the area had shortened their name to Burger or Burgey (and the original name was Amberger) this was seen as a vital clue to his identity. The family wondered which Amburgey man had fathered him but had found no strong evidence in that direction.

I, too, searched for clues. Alfred had recorded in his military records that he was born in October, 1832 in Buncombe County, North Carolina. This was the only solid evidence I could find about his birth, and came from him. I worked around that while looking for any Burgers, Burgeys, Bergens, etc. in that area. Nothing fit. I’m not a genealogist but I believe I’m a fair researcher.

Alfred was in Letcher County, Kentucky by 1851 when he married his first wife, Elizabeth Amburgey. She gave him three children before she died, and in the 1860 Census, the oldest child, Robert, age eight, was living with the John Pigman family. The other two children, Thomas, age 2 and Phebe, age 6, were living “in houses nearby.”

In February 1861 Alfred married his second wife, Elizabeth Reynolds, who was a cousin to his first wife, and in November 1861 joined the Confederate cause in the Civil War for a period of one year.

During Alfred’s enlistment in the Confederacy, Union General James Garfield*, later to become, in 1880 our 20th president and the last one to be born in a log cabin, took possession of Piketon (later Pikeville) on February 19, 1862. Garfield wrote to Assistant Adjutant General J. B. Fry that there had been a marked change in favor of the Union among the citizens of the neighboring Virginia counties (Pikeville lies near the border of Virginia). He said that at the foot of the Cumberland Mountains several meetings had been held inviting him to “come among them and promising their cordial support.”

Perhaps Alfred was one of those persuaded by the General. On August 22, 1863 Alfred re-enlisted, this time on the Union side, and mustered in on October 10th. He was honorably discharged at Catlettsburg on December 17, 1864 and mustered out on December 24th in time to be home for Christmas. According to the Adjutant General of the State of Kentucky Historical Data Systems, Inc. Alfred was discharged in good standing from both the Confederate and Union armies.

When Alfred went off to war for the Union Elizabeth was expecting their first child together, Ulysses S. Grant Honeycutt (called Grant), my great grandfather, who was born February 18, 1864.

While I was attempting to trace Alfred’s parentage I came across a book called “North Carolina Bastardy Bonds” by Betty J. and Edwin A. Camin and ordered it. On page 23 was a listing for Susannah Hunnicutt (Honeycutts has had various spellings) in Buncombe County, in October, 1832.

These bonds were posted because of the birth or impending birth of an illegitimate child, and were intended to protect the county or parish from the expense of raising the child. When the pregnancy of a woman or birth of a child was brought to the attention of the court, a warrant was issued and the woman brought to court. She was questioned under oath and asked to declare the name of the child’s father. The reputed father was then served a warrant and required to post bond.

I sent to Raleigh, North Carolina for a copy of the original bond and received a photostatic copy which said the father of the child was William G. Davis.

I’ve wondered since then if Alfred even knew the name of his father, or if he’d been told his name was “Berger” etc. Then other things about him came to mind, how he would never speak ill of anyone, how he appears to be a man of conscience and integrity, not afraid or ashamed to change sides in the war when he felt it was the right thing to do. But sometimes one has to quit being nice, and just tell it like it is.

Alfred, who never spoke ill of anyone, when asked who his father was, may have said his daddy was a booger. If so, for generations to come, soft-spoken Alfred’s comment would be taken for an answer to the question. Instead of what it was: a condemnation of the man, most likely already married, who brought shame to his mother.

“booger (slang): a worthless, despicable person”

Note: Most everyone knows President Garfield* was assassinated but many may not be aware of what happend after he was mortally (?) wounded. I decided to add the following story from my Kentucky book to this post for those who may find it of interest:

Evil Knows No Bounderies

Do I believe a future President of the United States was “cursed” by the evil that swept the mountains, or tainted by his short sojourn there? Of course not. President Garfield’s assassination is just a case in point, that evil knows no boundaries. It is ever present, in every place, in every age, in some form.

At the 1880 Republican Convention, Garfield became a “dark horse” presidential nominee on the 36th ballot, and won the election by a margin of only 10,000 popular votes. On July 2, 1881, in a Washington railroad station, after only six months in office, Garfield was on his way to visit his sick wife in Elberon, New Jersey, when he was shot by a loopy pretender who had sought a consular post.

Mortally wounded, President Garfield lay in the White House for weeks. Alexander Graham Bell, inventor of the telephone, tried unsuccessfully to find the bullet with an induction-balance electrical device, which he had designed. Garfield was treated by many doctors, or rather, mistreated, according to history. A number of atrocious treatments were tried out on him, and although sterilization had been preached it was not widely practiced.

President James A. Garfield died on September 19, 1881. At the autopsy, examiners determined that the bullet had lodged itself some four inches from the spine in a protective cyst. Their conclusion? Garfield would’ve survived if the doctors had left him alone.

The murderer argued at his trial that he did not kill the President; the doctors deserved all the blame for his death. That argument didn’t work in the 1880s and Guiteau was hanged on June 30, 1882.

President James A. Garfield was the last of our presidents who was born in a log cabin. Six months was not long enough for him to make his mark on history, yet in that time he attacked political corruption and won back for the Presidency a measure of prestige it had lost during the Reconstruction period.

Meanwhile, in the Kentucky Mountains where he had waged successful battles for the Union, the War continued in the mountain feuds; hardly a county without its “war” as a struggle for political power was waged between the former Union and Rebel forces. Both sides fought to capture local offices, with the ex-Confederates losing out to the “good old Union boys”, who elected their former comrades to fill the log courthouses and to run the counties. (Harry Caudill, Night Comes to the Cumberlands).

The “Union” boys indicted the “Rebels” for war crimes, charging defeated Rebels with murder, arson, rape, grand larceny, treason against the Commonwealth, conspiracy, etc., and the Confederates fought back with a vengeance. In fear for their lives, Jurors became reluctant to convict them.

When officers traveled with the few who were convicted, they were set upon by well-armed members of the opposing side, who demanded the prisoners be set free.

The feuds in the Kentucky Mountains would come to represent to many the backwardness of a mountain culture as defined by the famous Hatfields and McCoys.

Meantime, the foolishness of the supposedly civilized world leading to the death of a President would merely be buried in the annals of history, proving that, indeed, evil knows no boundaries.

News Flash!  America finally admits it has an obesity epidemic.   The government has gotten fatter and fatter.   Oh – you mean they’re talking about the people?   Oh. So who got fat first?   Dah-dah-dah-dah-dah  (finger pointing). 

They even admit now that the obesity rate has gone up since 1991.  We knew that already.  However, they’re talking about the rest of us, we who cling to our guns and religion while sitting in front of our television sets eating cheap junk food and listening to their lies.  

The question is:  Does the government represent its citizenry or does its citizenry reflect the ills of its government?  And how did the government get so fat in the first place?   Because it was taken over by the Fat Cats Club, most of whom also belong to the Lucky Sperm Club.  They scratch each other’s backs (or other parts) while dividing the spoils and using our tax money to reward their outside back-scratching cronies.   

The rest of us:  The obesity that began in Washington has spread throughout the country.  It’s contagious.   Oddly, the fattest people make the least amount of money.  What?  Do they spend all their money on food, with no activity, sitting and gorging all day?   No, but they buy the cheapest food, which is not nutritious, so they’re still hungry and eat more of it to try to get full, which they never do.   Healthy foods cost too much.

That’s not all, of course.   Society’s ills are never so simple.  For instance, most people on a steady diet of processed foods develop a taste for it (probably all those tasty additives, some deliberately used by food manufacturers because they’re so addictive).  

The government needs to cut its obesity rate by at least fifty percent (they didn’t count themselves but it must be close to 100.)   Do you suppose Newt could work up a contract between our obese citizens and our obese government?

So, okay.   If my soul is trying to get in touch with me then I should try to get in touch with my soul.  Maybe the astrologer is talking about that voice in my head that tells me I should or should not do things.  Although I thought that voice was my conscience, and it’s still there.  I hear it plainly, even though I sometimes ignore what it has to say.   Especially when it puts me on a guilt trip for things I’m not responsible for.   In fact, we argue quite a bit.   I believe much of this inner battle is due to changes in my beliefs.   When one has begun questioning old beliefs because they’ve become outdated or one realizes they were never true— the old beliefs will persist on arguing with the new.   Because the old beliefs have become a matter of habit.

 And we know how hard habits are to break.  Take smoking, for instance.   When I began smoking cigarettes as a teenager it was considered the cool thing to do, and I became addicted.  For many years this voice in my head told me I had to quit and I did, about fifty times.  But while I was quit the voice would switch sides and encourage me to have a cigarette, telling me it was okay.   So, in this case, it was not my conscience talking but my habit.

Finally, almost four years ago I was able to stay quit (although I did sneak a cigarette from time to time for about three years) through the use of nicotine gum.   But what gave me the power to stay quit was the desire to see my youngest grandchildren grow up, and the realization that my smoking may not only cut my life short but could also make my last years so miserable that I couldn’t be a loving grandmother. 

But what, I wondered, does that have to do with my soul?   My search continued.   In the meantime I’d established a goal of living as healthy a life as I could.   I already had old age problems, type 2 diabetes, high blood pressure and high cholesterol.  Due to the possible side effects of medication and my desire to seek natural cures, the only medicine I felt comfortable taking was for high blood pressure, as it was most likely responsible for an eye occlusion I had.  As I was determined to control my diabetes and cholesterol through diet and exercise, I researched online for the right foods, quantities, and supplements that would help in doing so.

Not only did I get my latest A1C reading (three-month glucose test) down to 5.8, and my fasting glucose most mornings below 100, I also got my cholesterol down, the LDL (bad) to more acceptable levels plus I raised the  HDL (good) to a high level.  Since, simplified, the LDL lines the arteries with placque and the HDL cleans them out, the doctor is pleased with these results.

I get my daily exercise by walking Winston, my little Pooh-Chon.  Many times I’m reading or writing and don’t want to stop, but a sad look in his big dark eyes keeps me active.   I know just a word from me will make him jump up with a smile.  “Walk?” I say, as I grab his leash and we’re off.   Luckily, we live less than two blocks from the entrance to a beautiful park with trails, a large pond, lovely flowers, trees and foliage.  As we walk in the park my heart soars and I thank God for my many Blessings. 

And I feel I have found my soul.  I believe it wants me to be more authentic, to be myself both inwardly and outwardly.  Which sounded simple until I examined myself.  For many years there was the outer me, yielding to circumstances , afraid to reveal thoughts and beliefs others might not agree with, might criticize.   The outer me that wanted to keep the peace at any price.   I had to gain the courage to be myself.

As Blessed Mother Teresa said “Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough.  Give the world the best you have anyway.  Because in the final analysis, all of this is between you and God….It was never between you and them anyway.”   God Bless.