L-R: Meghann Cuniff, the only employed SR writer, other than DFO present, MamaJD, Boo, OtisG, Taryn Hecker and Trish, the condom concessionaire. The reason most quoted about the need for the condoms, was that since the start of Huckleberries, people have been screwing with each other without adequate protection.
DFO announces that before the party degenerates any further, Trish, on the right has an ample supply of condoms.
John & Deena Austin. Deena lights up Johns's life, as he writes great cutlines. (2009 winner, cutline champ)Also, center/background is Helen Back.
Here is DFO trying to explain to our designated curmudgeon,Gary Ingram, why he didn't vote straight Republican in the last election.
Cindy Hval & JeanneSpokane. Note the mischeivious look on cindy's face.
Dave Oliveria, the blogmeister, being presented the "cooler" award. A cooler with the more prominent names of those ditched along the way.
The big mystery at this gig, is after meeting Truly, it was hard to equate this pretty, petite, Pixie of a woman, birthing such as Sam the Reporter. I took two pictures of her. One was blurred and the other just didn't work, so I left them out, but trust me, this is one hot woman.
As I pointed out in my last post, with the shrinking of the Spokesman-Review, I'll have less in the paper. This is primarily because the editors believe that I write about such an insignificant corner of our area, as to not measure up to readers, say from Rathdrum or Post Falls. This is an assumption that is somewhat faulty, since I have received positive feedback from many areas around North Idaho and even Spokane Valley.
Nevertheless, this is the belief that from which lies the control of stories. Editors, are a strange breed. First and foremost, I couldn't write if we didn't have them. My English skills are severely lacking. I can tell a story, and many have pointed out that they like my writing style. Still,they receive very little feedback. Generally, the only response from the community is when a writer screws up, or they think he/she does. People don't get emotional over a good story. At least not enough to call or e-mail an editor to compliment them on it.
Existing in this ivory tower isn't fair to the editor nor the writer. It just is. The bottom line is that until and unless a massive gripe campaign reaches them over this issue, it won't be one. I will write my one column per month that I have been reduced to and the occasional feature story that has been pre-approved.
At the same time, as a freelance writer, I can and will look for other opportunities to exercise my avocation. Just about one and one-half years ago, I was writing weekly columns for both Bayview and Athol with some spirit Lake Thrown in. That added up to at least 8 columns per month which adequately supplemented my retirement income. That has shrunk from 8 to 10 down to one or two per month. You may conclude from this that stories about Bayview, Athol Spirit Lake and Farragut State Park are disappearing.
I will attempt to keep you informed, as time permits of items of interest on this blog. Have a good one, folks.
Beginning March 15, the Prairie Voice will merge with the Handle Extra. The Prairie voice, seen the last two years as a handout as well as part of the paper on Thursdays, and the Handle Extra, covering both Kootenai and Bonnner County, formerly seen Saturdays, will switch to the Sunday edition. With the combination, there will no longer be free distribution. You'll have to buy a Sunday paper. The positive side, is that a much larger audience will see what is published, than in the prairie Voice.
For those of you that are disappointed about the lack of local news for Bayview, Athol and spirit Lake, It's goint to get worse. Starting with the first combined issue, I will only have one column per month, plus whatever features that pop up in between. Thereafter, only the second Sunday of each month will carry my regular column.
The staff of the spokesman-review are trying very hard to find a self sustaining level that is both profitable for the paper, and still stand out as a quality news source. The emphasis will still be on people and places that are in the local scene. I urge anyone that has a story that needs to be told, to e-mail me with the particulars.
I've been told that while some of the larger market correspondents will write twice per month, lack of readers in the hinterlands of North Kootenai County, keep me limited. As I have told others, our editors really don't get much feed-back and when they do it's usually negative. Most people wishing to say nice things are just too busy to respond. The hint here, is that if enough people give feedback about lack of coverage, something might change. They need to know what is working and what isn't.
The combining of the two editions hopefully will bring the previous quality back to the North Idaho news.
The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways , but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.
We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.
We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.
We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.
We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.
These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete...
Remember; spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever.
Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.
Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.
Remember, to say,"I love you" to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.
Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.
Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.
AND ALWAYS REMEMBER:
Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.
Since we are approaching Valentine's Day, I thought it appropriate, and my editor agreed, that I solicit love stories for my print column in the Spokesman-Review. I have done so. The replies have been overwhelming, so I decided in case my editor doesn't like me featuring my own family, I would share these bit by bit in this forum. The first is one that Brother Stan wrote. I doubt that he has ever put in writing his feelings about his marriage and life in general. For that reason, and that of a mean editor might slash too much out, I am presenting, my brother, Stan Huseland and his love story:
"Herb, the Bayview blog-meister, has challenged his readership to join in a Valentine season of love stories. And he has made a pointed suggestion to this particular reader to get with it.
You see Herb is my brother. More than that, he was my best man when I wed Marilyn, a winsome Indiana girl, nearly 50 years ago (Sep. 5, 1959 for those who like detail). I quickly saw Herb's scheme. With a half century of married partnership, I had the opportunity--nay, a duty!--to share my love story.
Introspection is not my strong suit. Herb and I have curmudgeon blood coursing through our veins. We know all the ills of the outside world, and damn-sure answers to it all. Thinking about how Marilyn and I managed nearly 50 years together required a no-bull analysis that is both challenging, humbling, and a bit discomforting.
The secret, of course, is Marilyn. She has an even temper, an unselfish and gracious concern for others, a contagious smile, and oceans of patience. As I search for what glues a marriage for the long haul, I know these are the essentials. Yet I am in short supply in all these departments. I love Marilyn deeply, and I am thankful again and again for capturing this Hoosier lass. Yet I know that I rely too much on her virtues to trump my failings.
Stress is challenging for any marriage. As a young couple we had our share. She was a devout Catholic; I was a passive Protestant. We quickly had four children who tested our parenting skills and our family budget. At times, we both were earners, as finances seemed to trump togetherness. Yet through it all we persevered. I often raged at the problems; Marilyn found ways to calm the waters.
Then there came a time when all the issues seemed to subside. Our children grew up, and we experienced the sweet contentment of becoming re-acquainted with them on an adult-to-adult basis, no longer responsible for directing their lives, but sharing it as equals, always with love.
Job success leveled off, and ambition turned to thoughts of retirement. It happened 14 years ago. I decided we should travel this last chapter of our lives with a single faith. I joined Marilyn as a Catholic.
We bought a small trailer (some call them pop-ups) to explore the world (or at least the lower 48. Our adventure over these 14 years has been to see our wonderful country--Maine to Florida to California to Washington (including Bayview). Now we vegetate as Florida snowbirds, as our Indiana home awaits us in the spring.
Through it all, my Valentine partner has kept me anchored, tolerating my foibles, and finding a loving role in all that we do. It's been a terrific 50 years, and through it all, Marilyn has been the rock.
Thanks, Herb, for nudging me to this Valentine moment. You're still my best man."
And one from my son, Brian:
Brian Huseland Is Heard From
I met my wife the first time at night, around a college campfire. I was a freshman, enjoying my new found independence in distant Iowa, hundreds of miles from anything familiar. Little did I know that the landscape of my life was also about to shift, all because of that lady with waist-length hair who sat across the fire from me. We became good friends and were involved in some of the same campus clubs. We started reading books to each other, and romance blossomed somewhere between chapter 14 and 23 of James & the Giant Peach. Two years later we were married, basing our relationship on the love of Christ in the Bible. Seems like a book had done it again. Since that wedding day 16 years ago, our lives have twined together into a story of its own, packed with adventures on the Great Plains, the Southwest, a few years in Europe, and now the Inland Northwest. What remains is a happy, committed relationship. My wife is one of the best things to happen to me. Our path? Forgiveness and sacrifice. We have stayed together because we give up our own rights to nourish the joined life we live.
We first met in college. We had the same major, not a real popular one, so most of our major classes were together. I had noticed him, he had noticed me, but we had only spoken in passing. Our professor assigned the class certain tasks and he paired us together. We hit it off and began dating once the assignment was finished. I fell in love pretty quickly, but he pooh - poohed it, fearing commitment. He graduated a semester before I did and we lost track of each other. 22 years later, I logged onto our alumni association's locator web site, typed in his name (along with some other friends I lost track of) and fired off some notecards asking how the last 22 years had been treating everyone. He was the only one who responded. He was living and working in Coeur d'Alene, I was living and working in a very small town in Iowa. We corresponded for about 3 months online and thru phone calls. He flew back to see family still living in Iowa and we arranged to meet for lunch. We continued our long distance relationship....I flew to CdA a couple of times, he would drive or fly back to Iowa for holidays. He proposed on New Years Eve 2002, we were married in Minnesota in August 2003 and my son & I moved to Idaho.
We both came with baggage....I had a son, he had history. We knew we couldn't "change" one another. Before we were engaged, we talked about important stuff...finances, raising a child, the differences in our religions. Other than knowing we were 2 separate people joining together very complicated lives, communication has been at the heart of our relationship. We have had serious discussions about health issues, elderly parental concerns, what retirement will be like, raising a teenager, and through it all we have managed to maintain our love, respect and friendship for each other as well as a healthy sense of humor. We both have our "off" days, and may need some alone time for a few hours. But we know that we are here for each other.
I met my husband of 22 years in high school and if Tony had not asked me out I may have never noticed the quiet sweet boy in my biology class. We became friends though I resisted saying yes to his date proposals until one day he let me catch him.
I was the girl who claimed she would never marry until Tony dared me to marry him. It has not always been easy and we have had our challenges. When a couple marries at the age of 19 the expectation is that, it will not last. We contribute our success to the fact that we have never been crazy at the same time and though we may not always like each other in a given situation, we have always loved each other.
We have celebrated 23 Valentine's days and each year, we take the time to be grateful. So my sweet Tony, I say thank you for your perseverance, courage, and loving me. I loved the boy I married and to my surprise, I love the man you have become even more. I am grateful for you. Happy Valentine's Day!
Back in 1973, Farragut State Park hosted the National Boy Scout Jamboree. By then, I had given up the Forest Service in favor of my first love: journalism, and this is when I met my second and true, lifelong love, a guy named Love. How could you lose?
Gary Pietsch, then publisher of the Sandpoint News Bulletin weekly, asked me to take several trips down to this area prior to the 1973 Boy Scout Jamboree. My assignment was to take pictures, conduct interviews, and write feature stories about the event. I had the freedom to choose whatever topics I wished.
So, I just followed my nose from place to place around Farragut and found my stories. One in particular focused on the Trading Post Warehouse, where an advance team of college-age, handsome former scouts had arrived early to set up their shop for the Jamboree.
While conducting the interview, I was drawn off topic---a common problem of mine. When the dozen or so buff hunks from schools like the University of Texas, Alabama and Georgia learned that I was a school teacher at Sandpoint High School AND the drill team adviser, they started asking questions----one of which was, “Are the girls in Sandpoint better looking than the girls in Coeur d’Alene?” “Of course,” I responded.
Before I knew it, my mouth had once more gotten me into trouble. By the time I left, I had promised to arrange dates for the guys with my drill team girls, many of whom also played on my softball team that summer. Later, after realizing this was probably not a really good idea and stewing about how to get out of this dilemma, I received a call from one of the guys.
He informed me he was the quiet one in the back with the Tulane T-shirt and that he was in charge of the trading post staff. He wanted to assure me that the young men would be perfect gentlemen. He also wanted to know if I would be accompanying the girls to the proposed rendezvous that Saturday night at the Sandpoint City Beach. When I said, I wasn’t sure, he said he wished I would.
So, I did. The Louisiana man was true to his word, and later, he returned to Idaho as a forester. We were married in Sandpoint almost 35 years ago. Bill Love is still a forester for the Idaho Department of Lands, and we’re looking forward to celebrating that special anniversary in June.
We have two children---Willie, the assistant sports editor for the Idaho Press Tribune and Annie, who works for Ground speak , Inc. in Seattle---the creators of the sport of geocaching. Our lovely daughter-in-law, Debbie, works as a staff member for the Silver Sage Council of the Girl Scouts of America in Boise.
My husband and I met when I was in 5th grade and he was in 6th. We went to a small private school together and were in the same class for three years. During those years, we flirted as well as pre-teens can and even "went together" for a while. We would never talk to each other, but instead wrote notes and a friend would pass them back and forth for us. We would also play four-square together. Still with no talking. I can't remember if he let me win or not. Then when he was in 9th grade, he moved on to high school. We ended up going to different high schools, but still attended church together and were involved in the same youth group. In 1989 when I was almost 17, our youth group had a movie night. That night, we spent most of the evening together and even talked to each other a little. The next day, he called me! We were soon dating and quickly became a couple. We had dated for just over 3 years when he proposed on a warm May evening on the southwest corner of the boardwalk in downtown Coeur d' Alene. I said, "Yes," of course. A short 7 weeks later we were married. During our first few years of marriage, we both worked and went to college. It was a busy time, but we were young and in love and enjoyed our newlywed days. After 7 years of marriage, we had our first son. Then 19 months later, our second son was born. That changed our relationship dramatically as having kids usually does. We grew even closer as we both fell in love with these children we had created together. Then it was a whirlwind of diapers and first steps and first words and first days of school. And just when our sons could feed and dress and bathe themselves, God put the desire for another baby in my heart. I was nervous to talk to my husband about it because we had decided together that two children was enough. When I finally told him how I was feeling, he said, "If you think that's what we're supposed to do, let's do it." It was that day that I truly realized what a blessing it is to have a husband who shares my belief in following God's will. Unfortunately having a baby wasn't that easy because of a traumatic car accident a few months later that left me physically and mentally unable to even imagine being pregnant or having a newborn. Through the next year and a half, he held my hand and stood by me and was patient beyond words with my craziness that followed. Now, though, I am happy to say that we have a beautiful 8 month old little girl who has strengthened our love even more. In July we will celebrate our 17th wedding anniversary. Our lives have changed in ways that we didn't expect and couldn't imagine. But one thing has remained the same through all the ups and downs over the last 16 1/2 years . And that is that he loves me more than I can believe and more than I deserve. And I love him for that.
Due to space limitations, not all of the entries made the paper. Here's one of them.
He wasn’t wearing armor or waving a banner, and his lemon yellow Oldsmobile Omega was about as far from a noble steed as you could get, so when my white knight showed up one unassuming August day in the hallowed halls of Harding University, I very nearly missed him.
Like so many single girls, I’d spent years dreaming up my own vision of Prince Charming—some impossible combination of Antonio Banderas and Atticus Finch, gorgeous and intelligent and whimsical and high-minded and mysterious and transparent and powerful and gentle and confident and humble and…and, and, and. In short, he was the perfect man.
Thankfully, he was entirely fictional. Had I ever actually met him, I’m quite certain he would have driven me crazy.
Instead, I found Paul. Or he found me. It was sort of a mutual finding, taking shape over long afternoon walks and dollar menu dates. And in the years since, my picture of Prince Charming has been gloriously remade in the image of the wonderful, stumbling, passionate, funny, amazing man that I married. He snores. He tells the same jokes over and over. He forgets to write things down in the checkbook. He gets cranky when he hasn’t eaten in a while. And when I am lying buried under a heap of worries and frustrations, he is the one who puts a strong shoulder under the pile and helps me carry it along. From his willingness to take on the tasks that I hate (like dealing with the phone company) to the spontaneous backrubs he gives when he can tell I’ve had a crazy day, everything Paul does sends the message: “We’re in this together, babe.”
Together, we specialize in laughter and finishing each other’s sentences. We play Scrabble ferociously. We fight and make up in almost the same breath, because pouting wastes precious time. We go out a lot, but we’re secret homebodies, thankful when weather or cancellation or even sickness throws our plans to the wind and gifts us with a sweet night curled up on the couch in front of a movie.
“I married my best friend.” It’s inscribed on countless greeting cards and wedding invitations. It’s also written on the map of my life, the turning in the road that completely and forever changed my story. In this land, hand in hand with a real, live Prince, a two-bedroom apartment is a palace, a mud-splattered Ford Escort is a royal coach, and a Wendy’s Junior Bacon Cheeseburger is a feast.
I defy even Antonio Banderas to create that kind of magic.
Unfortunately, the Spokesman-Review left out about half of the stories that were tendered, and all of them that had taken the trouble to send pictures. I am not happy. Having said that, I will publish those that were left out, starting with this stirring tale of love: Herb
Our story is one that by all probabilities should not have survived. We met in December 1977, the year of our senior year of High School. He needed a date for a company Christmas party. He had heard about me from a friend of mine. We met briefly during lunch sitting in the “Pits” at CHS. We “happened” to both be at a game on the next Friday night. A bunch of us all went to Pappy’s Pizza after the game; the group included him and me “coincidentally”.
He was going out to get his family’s Christmas tree the next day, and wanted to know if I’d like to go along. He asked me to be his date for his company party. We were both just 17, and had only known each other for a short time, but we felt a connection, and ultimately we fell in love very quickly. By February, he asked me to marry him. I accepted. Strangely, the only people who did not seem to think this was the craziest thing they had ever heard were our parents. My friends were skeptical. I have heard my siblings, all much older than me, had placed bets as to how long our marriage would (or wouldn’t) last. Though my parents were not opposed, I sensed they did not want to spend too much money, in case it didn’t last. Being Depression era, they wouldn’t want to waste money, so I borrowed a wedding dress from a family friend. Honestly, if you were to tell me this story, I would probably think it was a bad idea, myself.
Fortunately, it was not a bad idea. It was a beautiful beginning to a long and wonderful friendship and love affair. October 7, 2008, we celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary. We started out as two kids, with barely two nickels to rub together, as the saying goes, who worked hard, raised two beautiful daughters, owned, and toiled, and grew a successful business together for 13 years. We now find ourselves in Moscow, Idaho while he goes back to college to finish a degree in Computer Engineering that he began back in the early 80’s at NIC.
Some have asked, “What is your secret?” There is no secret, really. Communication, and especially learning how to communicate with each other in a way that is well received by both parties seems to be a key part to the success of our relationship. It has been hard work at times, but it is well worth the effort. Love, respect and friendship, along with communication I believe are key to our relationship. Tenacity doesn’t hurt either, being willing to hang in there and work through things. Being willing to go the distance for the person and a relationship that you believe in more than anyone or anything else in the world. Oh, and forgiveness never hurts a relationship either
In this post, I am shamelessly pimping my full page layout in the Prairie Voice. Featuring love stories from throughout the region, we are helping people celebrate the successful relationships, rather than dwell on the dysfunctional, which is featured most of the time in the news.
We have several letters that have been submitted, some with pictures. We don't at this time know whether all of them will make it, but if any don't, I'll publish them here.
Bayview is dead quiet today, with most of the businesses closed. The Wheel is closed Mondays and Tuesdays, Terry's Cafe is only open Tuesday and Ralph's coffee House needs customers to help him stay open. The Buttonhook restaurant is back on the market again, as the sale being negotiated apparently failed to reach closing. Our sources point to the liquor license as the sticking point.
In the last few years, since liquor was introduced to the patio, both have used the one resort liquor license. In attempting to sell the Buttonhook, two issues are at hand.
First, if the Buttonhook is sold separately, detached from the resort, can they keep the license? Secondly, it may turn out that since Waterford Park has allegedly deeded most of it's shoreline to the condo homeowners association, do they even qualify for the license anymore. It will be an interesting few months as we all watch.
A few months back I wrote a long post about what I felt was going to happen in the economy. At this time, having been vindicated by current events, I'd like to zoom to the next year. 2010, for my predictions and why.
Currently, the new administration of President Obama, along with congress, is trying to juice the economy by pouring money into banks, hoping the banks would then loan the money out in lavish orgies, thereby bringing the economy back. There are some obvious reasons that isn't going to help. When a house of cards, or dominos starts going down, often there is little anyone can do to stop it. These banks, finally weaned off of whatever drugs they were on have shut the purse strings for very good reasons. Instead of just checking your FICA score, they are looking at job survivability. If there is a good chance you are going to face a layoff in the next year or two, they don't want a repeat of what they have just experienced. This is a classic case of cart before horse.
The Federal Government, along with most states, are running in circles, "shouting the sky is falling," but they aren't doing anything that will help. First, when faced with a crisis such as we now do, one has to go back to what caused the crash to begin with. Some will argue that it was the price of oil, the housing bubble bursting and so forth. Actually, it was none of the above.
The root cause goes back to free trade, which by now, even the most sceptable cannot claim, is free. By trying to level the world markets, the fact that other involved countries with low standards of living and cheap labor is not comparable is the point. The minute a company goes offshore for prices in the 50% range lower than could be produced, we started to fall apart.
"We'll be a service economy and our citizens will be able to buy lots of stuff they couldn't afford. We don't need manufacturing." Those economists that couldn't figure out that how a consumer can afford to buy these cheap items without incomes, didn't occur to them. "Retrain them," they said. OK, so now we have thousands of highly trained steel workers and many others, trying to find jobs flipping burgers.
That, folks was the beginning of the end, then NAFTA jumped in to cement our economic failure. We could readily absorb the Canadian difference, since our two economies are about the same. They make more money, but give most of it back in taxes. Mexico, however is a totally different story. An economy that has been in shambles for as long as I have lived and longer, cannot and will not ever be equal to where we once were.
When the market weakened, the fed lowered interest rates. liberal members of congress and the senate, cried aloud, we want a mortgage industry that can make it possible for everyone that wants to own their own home can do so. People, the only way that can happen is by lowering lending standards. Congress pushed and the greed of the mortgage industry did the rest. Bubbles that burst like the one we just encountered, happen from overheated markets building beyond demand. Interest rates were held down too low, too long, which ate up all of the demand, right when builders and developers were going balls to the wall producing housing there wasn't a need for, and were too expensive for the average middle class family to afford.
Gas prices are down, but nobody can afford to go anywhere.No job. Houses are coming down, too. Still no job. Helping small and medium size businesses seem to be the slang they are throwing around in Washington, D.C. Those are the types of poop used in an election campaign, not in solving problems. Our goverment is mostly made op of people that have never worked out in the economy, at least not recently. Don't be surprised if a government Mom holding an apple pie shows up at your door.
The only solution to this problem that won't serve to just flush more billions down the toilet, is to go back to the root cause.We need more, to redesign our basics to balance labor costs with wold prices. This is going to hurt. At the same time, we need to crank up those New England mills and stop buying cheaper than market labor to rule. I'm not talking about shutting down with total protectionism, just where the most egregious imbalances exist.
How, can we ship Iron ore from the Mesabi range across the Pacific to Japan, China and Malaysia, then after smelting the steel, fabricating it into beams ship it back to us, CHEAPER than we can do it ourselves. That used to be called dumping, or selling under market. Now it's just world trade. We need selective tariffs where such imbalances exist. Crank up U.S. Steel. If necessary, the fed if it really wants to do something right, can retrofit these factories with systems that cut the pollution of old. What we did by getting too green to fast, is shopped our economy to others so they could then pollute the area, long distance.
This country is represented, sometimes terribly, by elected officials, not self ordained sentinels of nature. The Sierra Club has done nothing worthwhile to help the economy, just to curb it, or even cause some industries to shut down.
Go back 30 years when we were the most productive nation on earth. Our government has sold us out. It's time to take it back for us, not the Asians that own most of our assets now. My next pouring forth of unsolicited opinions on the economy will deal with energy production.
Someone brought up the other day, a problem I had hoped to avoid. He/She said," How can you cover the love beat when you've been divorced for 20 years. This insensitive person went on to point out that not only have I been single for a bunch of years, but that no social activity including women has been observed.
Well yes, this is all true. But if I may say something in my defense? OK they said. First, most of the real good ones are gone. Not only gone, but like many or most of them, they know they have a good thing. That leaves me with one: losers. Two, winners that don't want a second go-around, and three they don't live in Bayview. Oh, and three, I can't do it anymore. I can't be wrong when I'm right and all of those other stupid compromises we men have to make to keep peace. I continue to believe that I am equal to women, no matter what they think, and until I find one that admits that, forget it.
All in all, I consider myself a great romantic and shall surge forward with this project with all of the delicacy of the proverbial bull in the china shop manner. But back to my original premise. I know a good love story, because I have lived many of them. All had their good points and their bad, but for the most part, none of us had maturity. Well, having burned all of those bridges, I still love parts of all of them. Er, parts of their wonderful personalities.
I ended the discussion, however, by standing tall, and explaining, "journalists do not have to know anything about the subject they write about, and have proved that many times in the past." I rest my case.
Addendum: I just realized that I missed my anniversary.which was January 27, 2005. In that period of time I show a total of visits at 45,006 and page views of 75108. I am pleased that many of you enjoy reading my stuff.
Photo by Taryn Hecker Thonpson.
"I'm just a humble Muckraker who formerly wrote a neighborhood column for the Spokesman-Review, and now just this blog. write All rights reserved. No reproduction or use of this material without written consent is permitted by copyright laws. Contact me at: firstname.lastname@example.org