Welcome to My Nightmares

I dream every night. Usually they are vivid, in color, and dramatic. I don't always remember them, but my husband, at least once a week or so, wakes me to stop my yelling or screaming out in my sleep.

It's an unfortunate routine for him and tiring for me. My brain does not shut off well.

Last night was particularly bad. I woke myself up a few times talking aloud, and he woke me as well. "Wake up, baby, you're dreaming," he says. It usually takes me a minute to get back to this world.

In my dream, I had a chain around my neck. There was a mass of dirt before me, and it was full of dead bodies.

My job was to walk around this mass of dirt in a circle, stepping on the bodies, to crunch them down and make them rot faster.

Isn't that a horrible thing to dream?

As I trudged along, crying and sobbing, and noticing how awful it smelled, I looked in the sky to see a line of people coming to help me. My husband, my father, a couple of friends, and my physical therapist were walking along the sky, sort of like a popular vision of the fellowship in the Lord of the Rings:

Actually it looked a lot like this, except the sky was a brilliant blue behind the shadow figures, which I perceived as angels. I grew very excited and I tried to get my camera to take a picture of the people coming to save me as they came across the sky, but I could not reach my camera. When I looked back, they were gone.

So I kept trudging along my mound of dead people, but I had hope now.

Somehow, then, I got loose, and I found myself opening a garage door to reveal a doe and fawn laying in hay on a wooden floor. A voice over my shoulder said, "We have to get them out so we can lock you in there."

Holy crap on a cracker. I wasn't free!

I think that's about when my husband woke me.

Dreams are weird. I don't have a problem with the Lord of the Rings imagery - anyone who reads my blog knows I'm obsessed a bit with that - but the rest of it? It was very Holocaust-like, the trudging on mounds of death.

I haven't watched or read anything about World War II recently, so I don't know where that imagery comes from. Maybe these comments I see comparing each presidential candidate to Hitler brought it up, or maybe it was Bill Maher's reference to gas chambers last night when we watched a rerun of his Friday show.

Perhaps that was enough to trigger such an intense and ghastly image in my head.

I have a couple of dream books, one of which I purchased for the fine price of 35 cents new, bought, I think, when I was about 10 years old. It's a little "pocket book" that I've kept on my desk all of these years.

It says, if you dream of dead people, it "denotes affliction and mental suffering."

If you dream of angels, it "indicates prosperity, peace, happiness, and sweet fellowship."

Those two are odds with one another, eh?

To dream of chains "tells that enemies are trying to harm you, but you will escape their meshes. Being confined in chains predicts severe trials from which you will be extricated in time."

To dream of deer "foretells quarrels and dissensions. In trade it denotes embarrassment and failure."

Well, okay then. Lots to look forward to.

Fortunately, I do not believe that dream books tell you anything. They are fun to look at and sometimes, if I am lucky, a line in a dream book might help me figure out what a dream means.

But generally my dreams are simply weird and terrifying.

My husband says tonight we will not eat salad, which is what we had for dinner last night. He has requested pork chops and mashed potatoes.

That, he believes, will give him - and me - a better night's sleep.

Exit 150

Exit 150 off of Interstate 81 in Virginia is one of the busiest interchanges in the state. At this intersection, US 11 and US 220 also intersect, and not far down the road is US 460.

As such, this area has always had a lot of traffic.

For the majority of my life, there was a big truckstop at the exit, but the state purchased the structure and removed the business in 2015. This, in my opinion, was all that needed to be done, aside from maybe a lane for the Pilot station across the street which became the "new" undesignated truck stop for those long-haulers who needed to make a pit stop.

I remember when the exit was a nightmare. Botetourt County was then more of a bedroom community to the city, and commuters would sometimes be caught in a miles-long backup of traffic come 5 p.m. At times, traffic wanting to get off at Exit 150 backed up to the weighing scales. That's because there was only one exit area on the northbound side, and in order for people to head to Fincastle, they had to make a left turn.

In the 1980s, the state took steps to improve the intersection, but did only a half-way job of it. They added a second exit. The work resolved some, but not all, of the problems. Truckers tended to still use the first exit and then attempt to make a left-hand turn at the stop light, often blocking three lands of traffic as they did so (had they gone a bit further to the "B" exit at 150, they would not have done this, but apparently many of them ignored signs).

By the 1990s there was talk of a "flyover" interchange that would dump traffic out about where Food Lion is today. That plan never saw the light of day, and as the state wound through its money issues with do-nothing delegates (much like the federal government), projects such as Exit 150 improvements were moved back.

But now it is underway, and last night the county held an "open house" forum to introduce the public to the concept of an Urban Development Area zoning designation. The supervisors want to designate the Exit 150 as a UDA, and they also want to apply this designation to the Daleville Town Center area.


What the Daleville Town Center was
supposed to look like as of 2008,
 prior to proffer changes.

My husband and I are skeptics about the ability of the county to accomplish anything of substance, and unfortunately our "rulers" such as they are, tend to listen only to the moneyed folks. Daleville Town Center looks nothing like its initial premise. We knew when the county passed it that the developers would soon be back whining that certain proffers (things they promised to do) would cost too much and they would ask for exceptions.

This they did, have done, and I suppose will continue to do, unless the supervisors have given them a blank check to develop the property in whatever manner the moneyed folks see fit. That is what it looks like from this side of the road, anyway.

The supervisors want to see Exit 150 built up as "walkable district with a mix of new housing, shops, offices, and hotels." Daleville Town Center was supposed to be a planned community with that type of thing, but it has turned instead into a mish-mash of buildings and apartments, with no design coherency. The developers take whatever they can get and build it.

I don't see why Exit 150 would be any different. This is especially true since the owner of one 22-acre parcel is most unhappy with state's eminent domain usurpation of his property in order to create the thru-lane from Alternate US 220 to US 11, a little bypass around the stoplight. The state said his land was worth about $900,000; he's in court this week asking for $3.8 million, according to a story in today's daily paper.

You can read the state's version of what it is doing at Exit 150 at the VDOT website at this link.

Exit 150 is an eyesore and has been for a very long time. I do not dispute that. It has been a traffic hazard for most of my life. The county had no zoning to speak of until the late 1990s, and this allowed gas stations, hotels, and restaurants to spring up in a piece mill fashion. Some of the older structures are dilapidated and worthless - they need bulldozing, if anything. But the property is prime, right there on US 220, and the owners have high price tags on purchases.

The open house forum last night was well attended but poorly explained. I could never get close enough to actually see the plans, and in all honestly, I am not sure what the focus of the event was. I think it was just to say they had something for the public.



This appeared to be the main plan.

 

This was as close as I could get; I never took a good look.
 



This describes what an Urban Development area is -
"a planning tool ... to create great places by
focusing capital investments on target growth areas."  Government bureaucratic speak at its finest.

 

At least somebody did take down comments if
 you stood there and talked to him long enough.

 
 


Nobody looked at this map. I don't think
 anyone understood it.

 

This man was taking pictures. I know him
 but I will be nice and not name him.

 

Some of the comments concerned affordable
 housing, the fact that Daleville Town Center did not
 become what was promised, the need for
 restaurants, and quality of development.

Will this "vision" come to pass? Will Exit 150 be a beautiful space in my lifetime? I seriously doubt it. As one person said to me, we lack the will as a community, as well as the money.

Driving might improve - although more than a few us think an ambulance may as well take a permanent spot in that round-about because we think it is going to cause lots of wrecks - but if Daleville Town Center is any indication of the way this county goes about creating "planned communities," Exit 150 will be another hodge-podge mix of uses, with no thought for anything except who can get the biggest amount of money for what.

*I am no longer a news reporter, but I still have an interest in my community. This is not a news report, this is my opinion on something the county is doing.*

I Did Okay

I turned out okay.

Regardless of what anyone else thinks, I have done well with my 53 years of life. I am no millionaire, but I do not measure success by money, so that's perfectly fine.

My mother used to tell me I would not amount to anything, even though I was a straight A student and I graduated fourth in my class in high school. I wanted to be a writer and she told me to take secretary classes - because all I was good for was to be some guy's little girl who would fetch his coffee.

I wanted to go to Hollins College and major in English. Instead, my parents sent me to a music school in Tennessee, where I lasted about two nights and then came home. I didn't want to major in music. While I played guitar well enough, I knew I wasn't good enough to make a career of it. I was no Sheryl Crow or Melissa Etheridge or Nancy Wilson. I was just average, and I knew that.

But I wasn't an average writer, and I knew that, too.

And I sure as hell wasn't anybody's little girl who would fetch coffee.

So I married at the age of 20 - making sure I fell in love with a nice guy who valued family and women, who wasn't a misogynistic asshole who would treat me poorly but instead would be my life partner and not my king. I wanted a husband, not a ruler. I would make us both a castle, not one just for him, with me his servant. And that is what I did.

Mom was right - I did become a secretary at a manufacturing place, but moved up to a management position pretty quickly. I lost the job when I became ill, or maybe the boss wanted me fired because I refused to pick up his laundry on my lunch hour. It was my lunch hour. He could pick up his own damn laundry. I think I told him I'd take an extra half-hour and go get it, on the time he was paying me and not my own. I remember it didn't go over well.

I drew unemployment so I wasn't in the wrong, whatever the reason I lost the job.

Then I became a legal secretary, which was still a secretary, but I also started writing and publishing. I went to the community college at night, working on my two-year degree.

When I learned that Hollins College accepted older students, I made a case for myself as an older student, even though they defined older as age 27 and I was only 22. I was married, I said. I was working. I couldn't live on campus. They let me into the program because they had this gap that apparently no one else had tried to fill - and I wanted to go to Hollins bad enough to fight for it, so I did.

They changed the rules and redesigned the program a bit, in part because of my insistence on entry. And later, while I took eight years to get my diploma because of multiple surgeries, I took on the establishment over class limits and grant funding, writing furious letters to the president of the college asking for equality for older students.

At that time, they only allowed older students to take two (or maybe it was three) classes - not enough to be a full-time student. So we couldn't qualify for things like the TAG grant, or other grants available for those who carried a full load of courses.

Lots of people don't know that, how hard I fought to get that changed. Most of the people who were at the college then aren't around now. But I did fight for it. It was a long time coming, but I laid the groundwork. I am proud of that even if I am the only person who acknowledges it or remembers it.

My husband and I built a small home, large enough and not so big that it is a pain in the behind to keep up. It's a nice little ranch, all on one level, easily accessible with a wheelchair. We both plan to die here. It's a good home.

We have had help, of course, my husband and I. We had privilege - both of us had parents who could offer us financial assistance in one way or another. He had a good job. I worked as much as my health would allow me, until I finally in 1993 could no longer handle a job.

I switched over to freelancing at just the right time - a time when one could do that and make a small but decent amount of money. At one time, I fell into the category of top 10 percent of paid freelancers. That was an easy thing to do, as freelancing paid so little, but I worked hard at it. My work was mostly locally published, and while I disappointed one of my Hollins professors, I think, by not going into poetry or novel writing, I loved news reporting.

My work was well-received and generally well-written. I didn't always score a homerun with my words, but nobody does every time, and besides, government meetings are boring and there are only so many ways to make those stories interesting.

My health has been my Achilles heel. Too many abdominal surgeries, too many allergies, too much fat on a body not made to carry such a load, and too much inflammation from eating processed food. I was raised on bologna sandwiches, just like every other kid in my generation. I hated to cook, and still don't like it. We don't starve but I do not serve gourmet meals, although I do try for healthy. Meat and a vegetable, maybe a little whole grain bread. That's dinner.

So I'm basically retired, now. I'm under doctor's orders to work on my health and not worry about anything else. I have a prescription that says that pinned to my wall.

And still, I think I did okay. I went back to school again and received my masters degree. I did not end up in jail, or create problems for other people, or destroy property or do drugs. I couldn't have children and that was a trial, but I am too old now for that to matter any more. It's long behind me and it's a regret I cannot undo. My little articles were my children. Thousands of little children, all on the pages of local newspapers, touching the lives of thousands of people. Hopefully they found some of them helpful.

One day, 100 years from now maybe, someone - maybe my niece's grandchild - will look back on copies of The Fincastle Herald, The New Castle Record, The Roanoke Times, and other local publications, and find my byline. Maybe that someone will be curious enough to try to figure out who I was, this writer with a byline that said "contributing writer" and not "staff writer." This writer who went up in a hot air balloon and an airplane, and explored caves where endangered bats lived. Who was she?

Maybe they'll look back at my body of work and say, whoever she was, she did okay.

Sunday Stealing: Martial Arts

Sunday Stealing: The Martial Arts Meme

1. Who was the last person that you held hands with?

A. My husband. I hugged a friend Saturday morning.

2. Are you loud, outgoing or shy?

A. I am shy.

3. Who are you looking forward to seeing?

A. Next spring I will be seeing Tommy Emmanuel play guitar, live and in person.



4. Are you easy to get along with?

A. I suspect that depends upon whom you ask. I generally think so.

5. Have you ever given up on someone, only to let them back into your lives? Why?

A. Yes, I have given up on someone and let the person back into my life. The reason? Relative.

6. If you were ill, which TV doctor or nurse would you want to take care of you?

A. The nurse that Kate Jackson played on The Rookies. I don't watch those kinds of shows so I have no idea who else to suggest.

7. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable?

A. Yes.

8. Who was the last person that you had a serious conversation with?

A. My friend.

9. What was the last text message you received about?

A. Don't text.

10. Do you believe in luck and/or miracles?

A. I think we make our own lucks and miracles are just circumstances of life overly construed.

11. What good thing happened this summer?

A. Nothing bad happened. That was the good thing.

12. Convince us why we should or should not believe in life on other planets?

A. We should believe in life on other planets because "life" is not simply human, but microbes and
assorted fungi and whatever else might grow and duplicate itself. It may not be life as we recognize it, but it is probably life. For all we know there is life on the moon; we just aren't advanced enough to understand what kind of "life" it is.


13. Who was your first crush on?

A. David Cassidy on the Partridge Family.

14. Favorite part of daily routine?

A. Reading.

15. Do you like your neighbors?

A. I live on a farm. My nearest neighbor is 1/4 mile away. But I don't have any problems with any of the people who live in my area.

16. What’s your worst feature?

A. I talk about myself too much with my friends, I think.

17. Have you ever had trust issues?

A. Yes, and why are you asking that? Don't you know you're making me paranoid?

Saturday 9: September in the Rain

Saturday 9: September in the Rain (1956)

Unfamiliar with this week's tune? Hear it here.

1) This song refers to "leaves of brown." Can you see any leaves outside your window? What color are they?

A. Green, brown, and yellow. They are starting to change here on some of the trees.

2) It also mentions whispered words of love. What did you say last time you lowered your voice?

A. I don't know why, but I was talking to myself in my own house. I think at some point I asked myself why I was whispering. And yes, I answered myself.

3) Clearly this song is about a treasured romantic memory that took place in autumn. Think about your favorite romantic memory. In what season did it take place?

A. November, which is still Autumn, even though it can look a bit bleak.

4) This week's featured artist, Julie London, was famous as a singer and actress. Less prominent in her bio is her appearance as a "pin up girl" in Esquire magazine when she was just 17. What's in your resume that you'd prefer to de-emphasize or gloss over?

A. Well, there's no point in listing those jobs I did when I was in my teens, or even my 20s, really. They only serve to highlight my age.

5) Julie recorded more than 30 albums and was named "most popular female vocalist" by Billboard magazine in 1956. If you could see any entertainer -- male or female -- in concert, who would you choose?

A. I'll go with Melissa Etheridge, although I am torn between her and Fleetwood Mac/Stevie Nicks.

6) She became well-known to another generation when she appeared in the 1970s TV show Emergency! The younger actors credited her for keeping everything calm on the set. Who has a calming influence on you?

A. My husband, a few friends, and oddly my physical therapist.

7) Her Emergency! costar was her husband, Bobby Troup, and the show was produced by her ex-husband, Jack Webb. Do you have an ex that you're on very good terms with?

A. I was 20 years old when I married my current husband. I don't have an ex.

8) Julie was a chain-smoker since she was a teenager and in the 1950s recorded a jingle for Marlboro cigarettes. Yet in the 1970s, when she saw Bobby Troup's health negatively effected by smoking, she pressed him to quit. Tell us about a time you found yourself in a "do as I say, not as I do" situation.

A. When I was teaching, before I became ill, I told my students they had to know the rules of writing before they could "violate" them. And then I violated something and one of them called me on it. I had to explain that I could do it because I knew what I was doing - and if they could tell me why I did it, they could do it, too. They couldn't, so I told them they had to write it correctly, then. (I don't remember the sentence or topic, even, only the ensuing discussion.)

9) Random question: You have won an all-expenses paid trip to an exclusive resort in the Hawaii. When you get there, you discover that the private beach is bathing suit optional. Do you swim nude?

A. No. I would be afraid someone would call animal control to report a beached whale.


_____________

I encourage you to visit other participants in Saturday 9 posts and leave a comment. Because there are no rules, it is your choice. Saturday 9 players hate rules. We love memes, however. And this my 146th time to play!

Sunflowers Off Wheatland Road



Okay, turn your backs on me.




There is always one who looks the other way.




Thirty acres of sunflowers dancing down the hill.




I am the sunflower queen!




No you are not, we are all sunflower queens!




We are the three wicked step sisters!




And we're Cinderella's guardians!



Thursday 13 #465

Your Offer Ends Today


1. It takes more than a smile

2. We're kicking off a big-time sale

3. But your offer ends today.

4. October ushers in fall

5. All together now!

6. You're traditional with a splash of modern,

7. So don't miss out!

8. We're blowing the final whistle!

9. Your opinion counts,

10. But your offer ends today.

11. A surprise for you

12. Before it's too late

13. But your offer ends today.


*These are all spam/advertisement subject lines in my current email.*

_______________

Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; there is a list here if you want to read other Thursday Thirteens and/or play along. I've been playing for a while and this is my 465th time to do a list of 13 on a Thursday. 

I Cannot Remember

You come toward me in the library, or the grocery store, or at the book store. Maybe we run into one another at the local CVS. You greet me and talk to me about your family, my family, or something you saw I wrote on Facebook, or maybe my blog. You know who I am.

I know I know you. I have seen you and spoken with you and maybe spent time by your side volunteering to sell chicken 20 years ago when the local fire department did that sort of thing. Maybe we went to high school together and we sat through Ms. All's geometry class.

And darn it, I cannot remember your name. Many times I don't even know how I know you. I just know I do.

Maybe I had a college course with you, or we took a continuing education seminar somewhere. Or I wrote an article about you. Or we were in a service group together, working for the betterment of some cause or another.

Over the years, I've served in and worked with many groups, and written more stories about people in my locality than I could ever recall.

I have over 500 friends on Facebook, and I do not know all of these people well. But I have been in the "public eye" as a former news reporter; it means people know me (or think they do) even if I don't know them.

Even people who read my blog think they know me. Some do.

Most don't.

So we greet, and we talk. I ask standard questions: how are things going, how's everyone in your life (I used to ask after the family, but that doesn't always work). If you look about my age, I might ask if you're still working, hoping for a hint because you'll say, no, I'm still working at ABC, or oh yes, I retired from DFG last year.

But frequently all I get is "yes" or "no" and so I remain clueless. I wish you a good day, urge you to stay out of the heat, and head on to wherever I was going.

I will recall your face many times in the next few hours, and you will haunt me for the rest of the day and maybe into next week, while I try to think of your name - which will come to me at some point, when I least expect it. I will be putting away laundry, maybe, and I will shout out, "Oh, she was XYZ!" Then I will be relieved because I made the connection.

I do not have prosopagnosia, which is an inability to recognize familiar faces. I know I know this person; I recognize the face. But maybe I have some form of it.

I do not remember your name for any simple reason. It is not, I assure you, because you do not interest me. I am interested in everyone I meet - I wrote your life stories for a living. My inability to recall your name has nothing to do with you. I know as soon as I see you that you're someone super special, somebody I ought to know things about.

And I still can't remember your name. I am so sorry. Once I make the connection - which might be a week later - I will know everything I'm supposed to know about you. I will.

That will be too late, of course. And it might be months before I see you again.

Sometimes this makes me look like a nut. Once I introduced my mother-in-law to someone I was sure was a certain person, only to have the person stand up, sniff, and say, "I am NMOP!" and walk off in a huff. Because I introduced her as "JKL."

Oops.

Or I ask how the job at the bank is going, because I feel sure that is where I know the person from. "I work at the library," she will say.

Egads.

I found a test for recognizing famous faces here. It's called faceblind.org. I scored 64%. Most people average 85%.

So I am a bit low in facial recognition, even for celebrities. I also noted when I took the test that I have more trouble with female faces than with male faces, though the test doesn't point that out. It was just something I realized while I was trying to figure out who was who.

This has bothered and frustrated me for years. I mean, I could see someone week after week sitting at his desk in some office I visited regularly, and then not remember his name when I run into him at the drug store. He's not where he is supposed to be. Apparently I associate names and faces with places.

According to this British article, "once you realise that recalling names is just intrinsically harder than recognising faces, you need not be too hard on yourself for forgetting your neighbours’ or co-workers’ names anymore."

It's a psychological thing.

But dang, I wish I could remember who you are.

Summer's End

Sometimes

Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, or how hard you turn yourself upside down and inside out for a person you love, they aren't going to love you back.

It's an unfortunate truth that just because you love someone that doesn't mean they will also love you. Many times, they won't.

Maybe they will love you in some way that you don't identify as love. Or you will love them in some way that they don't identify as love. Maybe you'll never have the conversation you need to have.

Young loves - infatuations - can be terrible blows to the psyche, if not handled well.

Old loves can hurt, too.

When the people you are trying to make love you are folks who really ought to love you anyway - parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles - family - that makes it all the harder.

Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, nothing is going to work. Your friend is going to pull away from you. The dog is going to die. Your spouse is going to be more interested in work than in taking care of the house. You're going to hit a deer with your car.

Crap happens sometimes.

Nothing is happening to me right now. There is no crap flying around my head, or landing in my face, or messing up my shoes. At least, no new crap. I have a lot of old crap trailing after me, stuff I can't shake off. Maybe I never will.

I'm just brooding, watching the world as I tend do, and thinking how hard it is to be a person. It seems harder every day.

Life used to be physically hard. My ancestors worked the soil, toiling in the heat, hoe in hand, the man making hay while the woman sweated inside over a hot fire as she canned vegetables. Water and tears rolled down their faces; they had callouses on their hands.

Were they happy? I don't know. I think, during the times they had enough food and resources, they probably were. Struggles can make anyone unhappy. Having just enough, whatever that is, can make you feel okay for a while.

Most of us don't work with our hands like that anymore. We don't toil physically, and our bodies are awful because we eat poorly and we're obese.

So we don't feel well. That happens even to rich folk.

On top of that, life is hard mentally, now. Harder, I think, than it ever has been at any time in recorded history.
 
You can't move or say anything anymore without someone having something to say about it. We are constantly under a barrage of discord and disgust, from commercials pointing out that you need to go on a diet to Internet slander because you exist and take up space.

Everybody thinks they have a right to criticize you. To mock you. To hurt you.

The presidential election is about to kill me because there is so much crap being flung about. Everywhere I look, I feel like I have to drop to my knees to avoid feces.

When did this become okay? When did it become fine to beat someone down until individuals want to crawl into holes? Until they give up on love, and give up on themselves?

What happened to manners and polite society? Did that exist? Was it an illusion?

I trace the changes back to 9/11, when America became emasculated to the point that anger and hatred shriveled the nuts of all of the males, and the females went running backwards into the patriarchy, away from self-sufficiency and strength. The terrorists won, because they turned this country from the one I knew into something I no longer recognize.

(I asked my husband if the above paragraph was a bad thing to say; he was walking by as I wrote it. He said he didn't know. "Maybe," he said, "you shouldn't try to write a blog entry when you don't feel well." He is right, but I don't have many folks who read these long entries, anyway.)

Today my thoughts are all over the place. My pain is high, which makes me think funny things. I wonder about love. I wonder about truth. I wonder about hate.

I wonder if I'm really living in a world gone insane. Do you feel it? Do you feel the rage and anger when you walk through public places?

Why is everyone so mad?

Some days, I feel it everywhere I go. I duck my head and move as quickly as I can from the public sphere. Am I moving further away, maybe, from someone who wants to love me? Could it be I'm not noticing it because all I feel is the meanness emanating from the folks around me? Am I missing out on a friendship because my brains are fried by the craziness around me?

Sometimes it eats me up. Sometimes I think I'm losing my mind.

Sometimes, I just don't know.

Autumn on the Way

I Don't Care/I Do Care - What About You?

Things in the news lately that I don't care about:

• if you stand, sit, put your hand over your heart, or wear your hat during the Pledge of Allegiance. It is not a requirement to do these things to live in the United States, and the day that doing such a thing is a requirement, this will no longer be the United States. Everyone has a constitutional right NOT to say the Pledge of Allegiance, or salute the flag, or sing America the Beautiful. For some religions, saying the pledge is akin to worshipping a false god and their religion forbids it (Jehovah's Witnesses comes to mind). I don't understand why this is a big deal. Actually, I don't understand why it is said before football games and NASCAR races, anyway.
• if Hillary Clinton had to leave the 9/11 tribute early because she has pneumonia. I wouldn't have even gone, if I had pneumonia.
• if Donald Trump has multiple ex-wives
• smart cars
• Windows 10 upgrades. I have to use it for now, I'm stuck with it, so blah. I don't want to hear anymore about it.
• football
• whatever the latest celebrity is doing (Beyoncé apparently let one of her singers "put a ring on it during a concert. Big whoop. It's all over my FB page - how could I miss it?)
• The Miss America pageant (also all over FB)
• JonBenet Ramsey (all over TV)
• what religion anybody is or isn't or wants to be or whatever. It's none of my business.
• the latest in smart phones

Things I do care about:

• what's happening in Syria
• pipeline issues, including locally and those in the Dakatos
• gun deaths
• computer hackers messing with the election
• sugar and other "ingredients" that have helped add to my health concerns
• energy use
• climate change
• the broken health care system
• clean water
• food for those who are hungry
• a better Fourth Estate
• equality

Yes, I am a bleeding heart liberal - or so some have called me. Or a libtard, as I frequently see conservatives post on FB.

It is my right to have these opinions.

As John F. Kennedy so famously said, ". . . if by a "Liberal" they mean someone who looks ahead and not behind, someone who welcomes new ideas without rigid reactions, someone who cares about the welfare of the people -- their health, their housing, their schools, their jobs, their civil rights, and their civil liberties -- someone who believes we can break through the stalemate and suspicions that grip us in our policies abroad, if that is what they mean by a "Liberal," then I'm proud to say I'm a "Liberal."

One thing social media has taught me is that many people take every opportunity to name call, to be mean, and to say bad things about someone who disagrees with them. I may even be guilty of this, if only unconsciously. It seems that to be human, we must degrade and downgrade. Dishonor and demean. Deplore and find deplorable anything that frightens us or forces us to question our own opinions and beliefs.

There was a time when folks at a business stood around the water cooler and talked about the same TV shows and the same headline in the daily newspaper or the local TV news. Those days are long gone, replaced instead by bubbles where we all pick and choose what we want depending on our views. We don't challenge ourselves to rethink our positions, to see the other side, to wonder why someone else might think it a good idea to do thus and such when you don't.

Lack of empathy, I've heard it called. An inability to understand how someone else feels.

It has been going on a long time - it started back in the 1980s with late night radio talk shows. I listened to some of them when I was attending college classes at Virginia Western. I'd be driving home on the interstate and I'd tune in to hear whatever. As far back as 1986 there were people on talk radio talking about taking the vote back from women, or allowing only landowners to vote, or only people of a certain color to vote. The hatred and rage seethed on these talk shows.

Generally, I could not listen to them all the way through because they upset me so. How could people want to deny me a basic right - the right to vote? How could someone want to deny anyone who lives in this country the right to vote?

I would come home and tell my husband about the things I heard; he told me to stop listening to those shows.

But I am a news hound, and even today, I read both sides. Do conservatives sway me? Not often - but I can sometimes see their side. Do I think there is a lot of middle ground, if people would only stop talking long enough to listen?

You bet. I think there is a lot of room for middle ground. An entire country's worth of middle ground.

Alas, we're so busy trying to refute an argument that we don't even hear the words anymore.

I wonder what it will take for us to listen.