As the daughter of an 84 year old WWII Veteran, who is very upset about this, I put this on my blog. I usually keep politics out of my blog, but you know what , I don't care if it gets under your skin.

If you read any active Armed Services blogs, you will see how incredibly mad they are about this.

Maybe you should go argue with them.

After all, they are defending your right to speak freely:

"Since its inception in 1953, every new president has attended The Salute to Heroes Inaugural Ball – until now.

The ball was created for President Dwight Eisenhower's inauguration to honor recipients of the Medal of Honor, the nation's highest military award. The event is sponsored by the American Legion and co-sponsored by 13 other veteran's service organizations, including the Paralyzed Veterans of America and the Military Order of the Purple Heart.

And while 48 of the nation's 99 living recipients of the Medal of Honor attended the event, newly sworn-in President Barack Obama became the first president in 56 years to skip out on the ceremony. "

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I'm a Bonehead

Okay I'm a bonehead and I'm not afraid to tell.

Well actually I have no choice...there's no hiding it.

I had my oil changed today and normally I go to the dealer but I'm in a hurry , so, I go to Jiffy Lube...now Jiffy Lube is the place you take your teenager when he starts to get bad grades and threatens to drop out of school.

Why? Because you can tell him this is where he will end up working for the rest of his life if he doesn't get a high school/college education.

It's like that movie "Scared Straight" for white Suburban soccer moms.

But I digress...I always watch them like a hawk and make sure they aren't stealing my Diana Krall cd or my big honkin' pig sticker knife I keep in the door pocket in case I need to cut myself out of my seat belt....go ahead, I'll wait while you stop laughing.

Then I have to sit through the sales pitch of things they could do to my car if I was only willing to open up my wallet and shake it. That's when I say pertly "No thank you , just an oil change today."

When they are done, ewww, touching my car all over and banging things and getting in and out of it , they drive it outside with the windows down and let it sit inches away from major traffic... while I pay and try to watch the car and my wallet at the same time.

Are you getting the drift that I am a hyper-vigilant?

Are you getting that this exercise may tweak me a bit?

Can you picture my quick glances from car to wallet, car to wallet, car to wallet?

Okay.

SO I am finally , mercifully, released from the bonds of the guy at the register who marvels in my all cash transaction...like I'm using my debit card THERE?

I head out to my car, which is sitting there windows down, did I say it was inches away from major traffic, and I get in and can't raise my window...

click click, the other windows don't raise either...

I check the lock-window button, nothing...

I head back in to Jiffy Lube and ask for help..."Maybe you guys bumped something while you were near the battery, maybe you bumped the, the fuse box and the windows won't work"...

the one oil change tech follows me outside....

tries the window buttons, looks into the car then at me and says, as nice as he can ,now mind you..

"Turn your car on."

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7am.

OmiGod, it's my cell phone ringing....I don't want to answer it, but I'm scared not to, I just got back from visiting my father in the hospital (my sister is there now) and I'm making plans to head back, and I'm frightened they are calling to say he has passed away....

Me: "Hello?"

Caller: breathy male "What are you doing?"

Me: groggy "What?"

Caller: "What are you doing?"

By now I am searching my brain data base to recognize the voice of the caller, and I'm still groggy...but I'm getting the drift that it AIN'T THE HOSPITAL...

Me: "Who is this?" (dumb, dumb question)

Caller: "Who do you think it is?"

Me : noting his heaving breathing..."What?"

Caller: "What are you doing?"

Me: "You have the wrong number"

Caller: "I'm sorry..." CLICK.... I hang up.....

Okay, so as you have guessed, it was a would-be obscene phone call. It's been so long since I've had one, I forgot to tell the guy what an impotent voyeur he is and then whistle that loud whistle I learned at Pirate games in his sick pale ear.

Maybe the fact that he said "I'm sorry", threw me off because it could've been some guy calling his girlfriend to "wake her up" and got the wrong number...and had I been on my game and not so anxious that it was the hospital, I might have given him a great story to tell his girlfriend.

But that didn't happen, and I'm glad it wasn't the hospital, and next time I'll be sure to rock it with the whistle...and that, was my morning...how was yours?

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Sandwich generation and the truth....

It's been nearly a year and a half since my mother passed on.

Now my father is heading there.

Many of you are sandwich generation people like I am, meaning that you are taking care of your children and your parents..."sandwiched" in between the responsibilities...and it's all one big learning curve.

With raising children you learn terms like Dip/Tet vaccine and Star Wars Clone Wars, late tuition fee penalty. With your parents, it's terms like Living Will, Medicare Part D and what's a chest tube?

It jumbles around in your brain along with that Starbucks Gingersnap Latte and the latest email you received from the Giant Eagle Fuel Perks Mall and omigod is tax time that close?

How do we keep it straight and make the right decisions?

Are we doing this right? Is anyone going to figure out that we are just winging it? Is anyone going to see how scared we are?

No...we save that reveal for the quiet moment on the steps of the porch when we sit with the dog and make sure the Big Dipper is still out there in the night sky.

Tell the dog all about it...he/she won't judge you, or question your decisions...no way, that dog of yours will just sit there, staring at the stars too , wondering if the Milky Way is where Milk Bones come from.

By the way, if you have a cat, no such luck. They will not only judge you, they will view you as the inferior food-walla you are.

Stick with the dog.

Then after you bring the dog inside and eye up that Dove bar in the freezer, take comfort in the fact that your parents were once in this place, and one day your kids will be too, and nobody,

NOBODY, will ever feel they did it right.

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What's Cooking...

Here's the good news...I'm doing a small re-no on my kitchen

Now the bad news...you will have to suffer through it with me.

Oh yeah, complaining , whining, indecision...and that's just picking out the cabinets.

I have a kitchen the size of a canoe. I can't knock down any walls, so I need to be ultra smart about placement and use of space.

The dog is not happy about this.

My husband has put a chain on his wallet and connected it to his ankle.

Cabinet choices, over the range microhoods, hardware, fabrics...all decisions made in my sleep...we shall see how it all "pans" out.

Like you care....but you will Jedi, you will.

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