It's Happened Again

 I can't stop thinking about the fourth grade classroom in Uvalde, Texas. I can't believe it's happened again.

Though I've been retired for many years, I'm still an elementary school teacher in my heart. For thirty years each Fall, I prepared for, opened my classroom door to,  and cherished a new classroom full of children for 180 days. They were my kids. 

Today my mind keeps going through my former students; the Michaels, Robbies, Seans, and Jasons, the Kates, Susans, Danielles, and Lauries. I see beautiful eyes, hear their sweet voices, and marvel at the ideas they might have in our calm and safe classroom. We had the regular fire and earthquake drills, the occasional bee or spider that threatened, but never an active shooter on campus.

Now I'm eighty, have no public forum from which to decry the gun violence, and I know so many people resent the phrase, "My thoughts and prayers..." but we must do something.

 "If you see something, say something," is a common sense plan. The shooter in Uvalde had posted pictures of his assault weapons on the media. Surely that red flag could have been reported to the town authorities. 

And, I still pray. There's a song by Katy Nichole I hear often at night when I can't sleep that says, "I speak the name of Jesus over you, In your hurting, in your sorrow I will ask my God to move. I speak the name 'cause it's all that I can do."

The Bigger C

Anyone who has had cancer or has a loved one with it knows that "The Big C" has always meant Cancer. Today however, we have a bigger C; the corona virus. We all know this pandemic is affecting our world in ways not yet understood.
On a smaller level of this situation, we finally ventured out to the market. We have senior hours in many of our local stores during which the general population stays away and lets those of us who supposedly are more at risk come in.

I was expecting stripped shelves, masks firmly in place on every face, and a grim atmosphere. While not the jolliest of situations, it was not as bad as I expected. Except for the fresh meat counter, most shelves looked pretty normal and only two women (way older than I am, ha ha) had on masks. Every item on our regular list was there and I experienced an amazing sense of gratitude and assurance that for now, this area of our lives was going to be o.k.

When we got home, I washed my hands, wiped off the containers, and yes, even washed my hair as the CDC recommends. It would be easy to slip into an attitude of fear right now, but that is not what will get us through these months. Mental health experts are recommending that news is tuned into only once or twice a day, that our conversation be turned to other topics when possible, and that we lean into God and trust Him for the future.

Doggie Blues

Today I feel a little blue, down; whatever this feeling is I have today. Actually learned a new word which might fit; ennui, pronounced (an wee) means a feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction. My ennui may be rooted in a dog problem.

I am a dog lover and have owned at least one or two dogs all my life until we moved to San Marcos. Having a smaller place with no fenced yard hasn't been conducive to having a dog. However, last week I convinced myself it was time, and found a Miniature Pincher at the shelter. Having just a tiny idea of what this breed was like, and thinking he was terribly cute, we brought him home. We bought a crate, (his cone wouldn't fit into it) a bed, (he hated it) toys, treats, and food. 

The first night was terrible; he had kennel cough, a new wound from being neutered, and a constant desire to flee and find his real home. All he wanted to do was whine when he wasn't running. So the next day we took him to the vet and got a cone to keep him from biting himself, and antibiotic for the cough. 
For the next five days, I punished my knees and hips by walking, walking, walking, and lost sleep every night  because I was worried about him. Perhaps it was a sense of needing to survive that caused me to surrender him back to the shelter, but I did. The staff was totally understanding and sweet. They assured me he'd be given the rest of his antibiotic and would undoubtedly be readopted by younger people with a secure yard. 

I realize now I do not need a dog to fill my time and aside from a prayer for him to find a good home, I don't think about him.  I think my blues are coming from a Facebook response to my plight, actually three people I don't even know, who posted "Angry" emojis. Silly I know, but perhaps they can read this and see why I took the dog back. I also won't make any FB post public again!

Thoughts on the Women's March, 2017

The Women’s March yesterday with all the media coverage, posts from friends and family who marched, and my own views on the subject, are bumping around in my brain today! I’m going to copy and paste some of the comments with which I agree, as well as some to which I’m opposed. I'm not identifying any of my sources, but have put quotes around thoughts other than my own.

Here are some facts about the marches:

“Millions of Americans have taken to the streets from New York to Los Angeles and everywhere in between as the Women's Marches on Washington is estimated to be the biggest one-day protest in US history.”

“An estimated 60,000 people marched in Atlanta. 250,000 are marching in Chicago. There are estimates of 250,000 people in Boston, and 200,000 more in Denver. In New York, the estimate ranges from 200,000-500,000. City officials estimate that 500,000 people participated in the main march in Washington, DC. In Los Angeles, the estimate is anywhere from 200,000-750,000.

There were also protests of 60,000 in Oakland, CA, 50,000 in Philadelphia, 100,000 in Madison, WI, 20,000 in Pittsburgh, 20,000 in Nashville, TN, and 60,000 in St. Paul, MN.” 

These are statement which ring true to me:

“To Women who march for Women, this says it ALL:
" I do not feel I am a "second class citizen" because I am a woman. I do not feel my voice is "not heard" because I am a woman. I do not feel I am not provided opportunities in this life or in America because I am a woman. I do not feel that I "don't have control of my body or choices" because I am a woman. I do not feel like I am " not respected or undermined" because I am a woman. I am not a "victim" because you say I am.
I AM a woman.
I can make my own choices.
I can speak and be heard.
I can VOTE.
I can work if I want.
I can stay home if I want.
I control my body.
I can defend myself.
I can defend my family.
There is nothing stopping me to do anything in this world but MYSELF.
I do not blame my circumstances or problems on anything other than my own choices or even that sometimes in life, we don't always get what we want. I take responsibility for myself.
I am a mother, a daughter, a wife, a sister, a friend. I am not held back in life but only by the walls I choose to not go over which is a personal choice.
Quit blaming.
Take responsibility. “

“I was asked why as a mother of daughters I am not protesting today... And I have tons of friends who are marching in their cities.. I respect their right to, but no, I won't be. Here's my thing.  Want to support women? Volunteer at a women's shelter. Mentor a teenage girl, help a single mom, offer to babysit for somebody you know is overwhelmed, take a meal to someone who has breast cancer, donate some money towards women's research. BE the change, don't holler at people you wish would do it.”

I agree with  these  assessments of part of the march:

“About to leave to attend the Women's March on Washington. I love my country and will continue to work to support it and the Constitution as best I can.”

I disagree with these statements:

A celeb smilingly proclaims, “I’m angry and have thought of blowing up the White House.”

"I don't believe marching around actually affects change."  

My own thoughts:

I understand the march included scores of different groups, marching for rights, demanding change, and adding their presence to the count.  They have affected change if only in their own hearts and minds.    Many of them marched in freezing weather in rain or snow, getting their feet wet and super cold. I respect their drive and tenacity.  
Marchers who chanted obscenities, thrashed property, or left their signs and trash for others to pick up were probably few and far between, but they undoubtedly harmed the image of the serious marchers.  

Obviously, millions of people who felt strongly enough to leave their homes and families to travel hundreds of miles to show their support for various causes cannot be dismissed. 

“Just a Thought” from Don Clucas September 14, 2016....

This just may be the scariest thought I’ve had so far.

I just saw a report on the news about driverless cars being used by Uber.
Does this mean that on November 8th I can hire a car to “blindly” take me to a polling place in order to make a choice between candidates who seemingly have no vision for this country?

Just a thought....Yikes!!! 

“Just a Thought”... Sept 2, 2016... Speak Softly and Carry a Big Stick

• 
  
  The following story is from an article posted by the Mystic Stamp Company site entitled “This Day in History” on September 2, 2016:
  On September 2, 1901, Theodore Roosevelt delivered a speech at the Minnesota State Fair where he first publicly used the now-famous phrase, “Speak softly and carry a big stick.”
  Roosevelt had previously used the phrase in a private letter the year prior when he was governor of New York. In the letter to Henry L. Sprague dated January 26, 1900, Roosevelt expressed his happiness that the New York Republican Committee had revoked its support of a corrupt financial advisor.
  Roosevelt wrote, “I have always been fond of the West African proverb, ‘Speak softly and carry a big stick; you will go far.’” Interestingly, there is no record of this phrase in West African literature, leading some to believe that Roosevelt in fact coined the phrase himself.
  A year later, Roosevelt was U.S. Vice President under William McKinley. That September, he made a stop at the Minnesota State Fair to deliver a speech supporting the president’s international policies:
  “Right here let me make as vigorous a plea as I know how in favor of saying nothing that we do not mean, and of acting without hesitation up to whatever we say. A good many of you are probably acquainted with the old proverb, ‘Speak softly and carry a big stick – you will go far.’ If a man continually blusters, if he lacks civility, a big stick will not save him from trouble, and neither will speaking softly avail, if back of the softness there does not lie strength, power. In private life there are few beings more obnoxious than the man who is always loudly boasting, and if the boaster is not prepared to back up his words, his position becomes absolutely contemptible. So it is with the nation. It is both foolish and undignified to indulge in undue self-glorification, and, above all, in loose-tongued denunciation of other peoples. Whenever on any point we come in contact with a foreign power, I hope that we shall always strive to speak courteously and respectfully of that foreign power.
  “Let us make it evident that we intend to do justice. Then let us make it equally evident that we will not tolerate injustice being done us in return. Let us further make it evident that we use no words which we are not prepared to back up with deeds, and that while our speech is always moderate, we are ready and willing to make it good. Such an
  

  attitude will be the surest possible guarantee of that self-respecting peace, the attainment of which is and must ever be the prime aim of a self-governing people...
  “Barbarism has and can have no place in a civilized world. It is our duty toward the people living in barbarism to see that they are freed from their chains, and we can only free them by destroying barbarism itself. The missionary, the merchant and the soldier may each have to play a part in this destruction, and in the consequent uplifting of the people. Exactly as it is the duty of a civilized power scrupulously to respect the rights of all weaker civilized powers and gladly to help those who are struggling towards civilization, so it is its duty to put down savagery and barbarism. As in such a work human instruments must be used, and as human instruments are imperfect, this means that at times there will be injustices, that at times, merchant, or soldier, or even missionary may do wrong.”
  
  
  
  

  Just four days after Roosevelt delivered this speech, an assassin at the Pan-American Exposition in Buffalo, New York, shot President McKinley. Another eight days later and Roosevelt was suddenly the youngest U.S. president in history. 
  

  Just four days after Roosevelt delivered this speech, an assassin at the Pan-American Exposition in Buffalo, New York, shot President McKinley. Another eight days later and Roosevelt was suddenly the youngest U.S. president in history.
• y

“Just a Thought” from Don Clucas...August 24, 2016...

 Is Trump Really Changing?
There are some who are hopefully, and desperately, looking for any change in the behavior of Donald Trump which will give them an indication he is turning into a “good guy.”
Sorry to disappoint you, friends, but is just isn’t so. The following is from an article I sent out earlier this year (February 27). It was originally written and published by U.S. Congressman Ron Paul in Ron Paul Forums: Liberty Forest. It was last edited five years ago on May 1, 2011.
From what Ron Paul and “many others,” including myself can see is someone who has been a spoiled bully since he was young, and still remains a spoiled bully to this day.
I believe the article is worth reading again or, perhaps, for the first time for some. Please think about what Ron Paul has to say here..... “Just a Thought.”

Donald Trump Was a Horrific Spoiled Schoolyard Bully By Ron Paul

After I reported on the ex-Trump employee Julian Long’s account of extensive on-the-job harassment suffered under the extraordinarily abusive Donald Trump, the editor-in-chief of one of the world’s premiere yachting magazines read my article and said “I saw an extreme example of this in person at one of our events. He wasn’t even trying to be discreet. This is likely just the tip of the iceberg.” What are the origins of Donald Trump’s sociopathic behavior? Cursory internet research reveals that Trump as an early teen had “troubles” at the private Kew Forest School in Queens, New York. Trump publicity materials would have you believe the young Donald got switched to the New York Military Academy merely because his parents wanted to give good direction to his “energy and assertiveness.” Yet the truth apparently is that young Donald Trump was a bullying menace. The attitude and behavior that feed his adult bullying and harassment of employees and others were already visible when Trump was 13.

Trump does not want the public to know the specifics of his bullying at the Kew Forest School. One can imagine that school officials would fear retaliation from him, were they ever to put a reporter in contact with people who witnessed Trump’s despicable behavior when he was there. After all, when the New York Times’s Gail Collins published things about Trump that Trump did not want published, he sent her the newspaper with her picture and wrote “The Face of a Dog!“ on it. I e-mailed Trump’s longtime secretary and PR contact Rhona Graff-Riccio, telling her I was on deadline for this article and wanted to know specifics of how Donald Trump as a Kew Forest School student had given the school community such nightmares. It would be interesting to know,

additionally, whether Trump feels any remorse over what he inflicted on his victims. Graff did not give me the courtesy of a reply. Jerome Tuccille’s book Trump; The Saga of America’s Most Powerful Real Estate Baron gives us clues, despite Donald Trump’s efforts to cover up the profound character defects he exhibited when a youth, character failings that only festered and increased and later caused him to behave like a wretchedly-mannered, f-bomb-spewing, shameless bully as an adult. Tuccile describes Trump and his siblings as having grown up in a “plantation era mansion with more rooms than they could count.” Trump’s father Fred Christ Trump was on the Board of Directors of the Kew Forest School. He not only was one of the school’s most generous financial donors; he helped his tyrannical little bully’s school with construction projects – giving the institution free building materials – Tuccile says that daddy “lent” the materials – and then when the school was

building a new wing, Trump, Sr. “lent” a work crew to the construction project. Tuccile writes “the question of disciplining Donald was one that had to be handled delicately; Fred Trump was too valuable an asset to risk alienating him.” Tuccile produced a sycophantic account of his wealthy subject’s life. He portrays Trump’s bullying and harassment of students, teachers and staff at Kew Forest School in unjustifiably euphemistic terms. He describes Trump’s bullying and harassment, for example, as “antics” and “hijinks,” as if the victims of the bullying and harassment had been having a regular good ol’ time. Tuccile the Trump apologist even describes Trump by saying he was “Overflowing with energy and a need to assert himself among his fellow students.” Yet he gives us just enough specific information to confirm the suspicion that Donald Trump made life a living hell for others at the Kew Forest School. He states that Trump “squirted sodas at girls” and “flung erasers at teachers.” Consensual play is very different from bullying and harassment. The girls whom Trump squirted with sodas did not want him doing it, and the teachers at whom he flung erasers did not want to be the targets of that violence, either. One or two instances of consensual in- school play would not have caused Trump to be, essentially, expelled from a school where his father was a board member and top donor. That is to say, what we know of Trump’s bullying at the Kew Forest School is with certainty only the tip of the iceberg of his sociopathic behavior there. A juvenile delinquent who had gone on to become an exemplary citizen could of course be forgiven the bullying and harassment of others he carried out in his childhood and teenage years. Yet Trump, far from having rehabilitated himself, continues harassing his chosen victims in ways that society should consider absolutely intolerable. His current public bullying of LGBT Americans, grand- standing against their civil rights would alone be bad enough. That he uses President Obama as a proxy for bullying and harassing all African-Americans sets a new recent low bar for contemptible public behavior in the United States. Whereas President Obama’s innate intellectual capacities and

his academic merits and accomplishments remain unimpeachable, Donald Trump has yet to give a full and honest accounting of how he tortured the victims of his bullying and harassment at the Kew Forest School, leaving his parents no choice but to send him to be disciplined at the New York Military Academy.

“Just a Thought” from Don Clucas August 15, 2016.... Come on America, Leave Gabby Alone

Come on America, let’s get off Gabby’s back! She’s a wonderful young woman who has poured her heart and soul into representing her country in two Olympics (my apologies to all my teachers who told me not to use so many clichés in my writing).
She stood politely at attention when the national anthem was played, and didn’t do anything to show even a hint of discourtesy or lack of patriotism. So what if she didn’t place her hand over her heart. There are no hard and fast rules to say we must do “this or that” when the anthem is played or the pledge of allegiance is recited...as long as we are not being discourteous. Yes, the military has its rules of etiquette, but those rules do not apply to civilians.
Even in our religious life in this country, there are no set rules to the position we take when we are praying....seated with hands folded and palms together, or standing with hands clasped behind our backs? Standing in a group holding hands with those next to us? Kneeling on a bench? Lying in a bed? Driving on a steep mountain road with one hand grasped tightly on the steering wheel and the other hand wiping sweat off our forehead?
In his book Praying Jesus’ Way, Curtis Mitchell addresses the subject of “the procedures of prayer.” In the section “Posture in Prayer,” he quotes the poem entitled “The Prayer of Cyrus Brown” by Sam Walter Foss:
“The proper way for a man to pray,” said Deacon Lemuel Keyes,
“And the only proper attitude is down upon his knees.” “No, I should say the way to pray,” said Reverend Dr. Wise,
“Is standing straight with outstretched arms, And rapt and upturned eyes.” “Oh, no, no, no,” said Elder Slow, “Such posture is too proud.
A man should pray with eyes fast-closed, and head contritely bowed.” “It seems to me his hands should be serenely clasped in front,
With both thumbs pointing to the ground,” said Reverend Dr. Blunt. “Last year I fell in Hidgekin’s well headfirst,” said Cyrus Brown,
“With both my feet a stickin’ up and head a-pointin’ down;
And I made a prayer right then and there, the best prayer I ever said,
The prayingest prayer I ever prayed, a-standin’ on my head.”
So, if Cyrus Brown could pray “a-standin’ on his head,” what’s the big deal (oops, another cliché) about Gabby courteously standing at attention without placing her hand over her heart?...Just a thought. 

"Just a Thought from Don" Native Americans at the DNC

I can’t put my figure on an exact time when my love for “all things Indian” began. It just seems like I’ve always been drawn to anything and everything that has to do with the Native cultures of our country. And it doesn’t end there. Although my passion has always been for anything which represents American Indians, I have also had a keen interest in Native cultures from north and south of our borders.

Attempting to “put a finger” on when it all started, it may have been in Miss Boyd’s third grade class (1949-50) at Lowell Elementary School in my hometown of Santa Ana, California. My dad once told me he was certain it was Miss Boyd and the history lessons she presented on Indian life which truly got me interested in school in general.

During the following summer vacation we visited my Grandpa Jim Clucas and his wife (“Aunt” Ferne) in Idaho. My two prized souvenirs I brought home from the trip were a postcard bearing a photograph of Chief Joseph, who immediately became one of my lifelong heroes, and a small obsidian arrowhead, which I still have to this day. 

I won’t bore you with all the details of my interest in Indians (and yes, the word Indian is politically correct). But those who have known me, and do know me best – family, friends, teachers, students, and those who have read my books – understand how much the Indian, or Native American, culture means to me.

With that in mind, and with absolutely no hidden political meaning to this writing, I want to commend the DNC, and especially Bernie Sanders, on something I have witnessed during the campaign of the past months and the convention during the first couple days.

Along with all other important issues which have been discussed and brought to the forefront, many of which are extremely important to my wife Joanie and me, was the inclusion of the needs of our Native peoples. This was very evident at the DNC Convention, but more notably to me was the fact that Bernie Sanders was the only candidate from either major party who consistently included Native Americans in his campaign speeches and the debates.

My master’s degree is in education with an emphasis in American Indian Education. In 1974, I wrote what would later become my thesis. It was a curriculum guide for school teachers and was meant to basically help non-Indian instructors teach Native culture and history in a proper and realistic way. Since that time, there have been many gifted educational writers who have published materials in this area. I am truly grateful to them for the work they have done.

As I watched the DNC state delegates announcing their votes, and realized how many of the committees were represented by Native people, I couldn’t help but wonder….  ”Which of them were inspired by a teacher who helped them to take pride in who they are?” 

Presidential Candidates and the HonorThey Bestow on Their Families By Don Clucas

• “Just a Thought” by Don Clucas
  
  
  I’ll be the first to admit I could be absolutely wrong in one observation I’ve made during the 2016 presidential campaign, and you can be free to point it out to me if I am. For now, however, I’m sticking with what I think is the case. It concerns presidents, both past and present, as well as those who have campaigned during the past several months in an attempt to obtain the highest position in our land.
  First, however, I ask that you indulge me by allowing me to write some words of thanks concerning those who have gone before me, and had such an important part in making me who I am (for better or for worse) – my ancestors. And when I use the term “ancestors,” I’m not speaking about the ones who came across the Atlantic on those big boats many years ago, nor the hardworking pioneers who trudged across the plains during the westward movement. I’m talking about the ones who were alive during my lifetime and did everything in their power to raise me up to be a good person – Mom, Dad, my grandparents, a great-grandfather. And a BIG bunch of aunts and uncles as well as great aunts and uncles (both biological and by marriage). And after Joanie and I were married, there were her parents, her step-dad, and her grandmother. And, of course, it goes without saying…there was Joanie.
  Every one of these people put a lot of effort into making certain I followed the right path, worked hard, treated others with respect, and was a good citizen, and of course, loved God. Did I ever fail to be the responsible person they wanted me to be? Of course I did – I’m human. But was it because they hadn’t tried? Of course not. And while we’re at it, were they perfect? Of course not. But they never ever gave up on me.
  Okay. Back to the presidents and the candidates. You thought I forgot, didn’t you?
  It seems to me that as long as I can remember, presidential candidates and those who have gone on to fill the office itself have always done a great job of acknowledging their families and the influence they have had on their lives. I especially think of those who have had a keen awareness of the important role their mothers and spouses have played in their lives. Many have had their mothers seated at special events in which they, themselves, have been involved. I recall, most recently, of Barbara Bush’s attendance at debates which included her son Jeb. And on the other side of the campaign Hillary Clinton has always acknowledged the tremendous influence her mother, Dorothy Rodham, has had on her life. I’m certain, there could be many more similar instances which could be cited concerning other candidates. 
  However, the one glaring thing that stands out to me (finally, back to the point of this piece) is that I haven’t observed this in the case of Donald Trump. Although I have read quite a bit of information regarding his parents, Trump himself doesn’t seem to have a need to speak about them. Nor does there seem be a desire for him to give credit to anyone else in his family line who might have come alongside him in an attempt to properly “mold him.”
  What does seem to be the case is that when he has been on the campaign trail, he is surrounded by the family he has put together. And is there a fatherly and husbandly pride shown when he introduces them and talks about them? I believe there is, but it always seems to have the hidden (or maybe not-so-hidden) message of “Look at my family. See what I’VE created!” 
  
  
  Just a thought…by Don Clucas 
• 
  

Social Drinking

Social Drinking; Why Do We Drink Spoiled Liquids?

A touchy subject for sure, one which I nagged about, worried about, and fiercely taught about under the D.A.R.E. program at Carnelian Elementary School. I'm fairly certain that all my "ravings" fell on disinterested ears. I think this is the first time I've ever written down my thoughts on this subject, and not sure why I needed to today, January 1, 2016. Perhaps it was the flow of beverages at the party we attended last night, or the number of accidents reported on the news today.  Whatever, here it is.

Both my parents were alcoholics. That fact alone shaded how I reacted to drinking all these fermented fluids.  I witnessed first hand how alcohol changed a person's personality and reactions to others.  A funny and loving father changed into an angry and hateful person who caused me to tremble; a beautiful, happy mother became irrational and cruel, a fearsome woman to be avoided if possible. Most adults in my life were drinkers who slurred their words, spent nights in jail for DUI, and engaged in horrific arguments while "under the influence."

Experts say the tendency to alcoholism is inherited, and I, admittedly, have been scared to death it would happen to me. At least one of my mom and dad's grandchildren has been severely impacted by alcohol abuse.

Some feel the key is moderation, and many of our acquaintances drink moderately.  Many probably have some each day, and may not be sure where the line of moderation and addiction is drawn.  I know my mom began having "one little drink" with her work buddies daily during the war, and she fought a lifetime temptation. After she quit in 1952, she never drank again, but felt if she did, she'd slip back into drinking. My husband suffers migraines and doctors have told him one glass of red wine would give him an instant headache.

Aside from the negative effects on me of even a glass of wine (my head seems to lean to one side and everything becomes hysterical) thinking about what makes them causes a bit of nausea. I remember asking my school students if they would reach into their garbage disposal and eat something, to which they would all gag and scream, "NO!" Every alcoholic beverage is made from something spoiled which doesn't appeal to me.  Yes, a touchy subject for sure, but just my opinions and experiences.

Here's a partial Wikipedia list of of fermented beverages:

Beverages by raw material[edit]

For micro-organisms, see List of microorganisms used in food and beverage preparation and yeast in winemaking.

The names of some alcoholic beverages are determined by their raw material.

Grains

Name of fermented beverage

Name of distilled beverage

barley

beer, ale, barley wine

Scotch whisky, Irish whiskey, shōchū (mugijōchū) (Japan)

rye

rye beer, kvass

rye whiskey, vodka (Poland), Korn (Germany)

corn

chicha, corn beer, tesguino

Bourbon whiskey, moonshine, also vodka (rare)

sorghum

burukutu (Nigeria), pito (Ghana), merisa (southern Sudan), bilibili(Chad, Central African Republic, Cameroon)

maotai, gaoliang, certain other types of baijiu (China).

wheat

wheat beer

horilka (Ukraine), vodka, wheat whiskey, weizenkorn (Germany)

rice

beer, brem (Bali), huangjiu and choujiu (China), Ruou gao(Vietnam), sake (Japan), sonti (India), makgeolli and chungju(Korea), tuak (Borneo Island), thwon (Nepal)

aila (Nepal), rice baijiu (China), shōchū (komejōchū) and awamori (Japan), soju (Korea)

millet

millet beer (Sub-Saharan Africa), tongba (Nepal, Tibet), boza (the Balkans, Turkey)

buckwheat

shōchū (sobajōchū) (Japan)

Fruit juice

Name of fermented beverage

Name of distilled beverage

grapes

wine

brandy, Cognac (France), Vermouth, Armagnac (France), Branntwein (Germany), pisco (Peru, Chile, Grozdova), Rakia (The Balkans, Turkey), singani (Bolivia), Arak (Syria, Lebanon, Jordan), törkölypálinka (Hungary)

apples

cider (U.S.: "hard cider"), Apfelwein

applejack (or apple brandy), calvados, cider

pears

perry, or pear cider; poiré (France)

Poire Williams, pear brandy, Eau-de-vie (France), pálinka (Hungary), Krushova rakia / Krushevitsa (Bulgaria)

plums

plum wine

slivovitz, țuică, umeshu, pálinka, Slivova rakia / Slivovitsa (Bulgaria)

apricots

Kaisieva rakia (Bulgaria), pálinka (Hungary)

pineapples

tepache (Mexico), Pineapple Wine (Hawaii)

juniper berries

gin, borovička (Slovakia)

Opinion Piece by My Husband, Don Clucas

Ben Carson and the Pyramids
By: Donald Laine Clucas
November 19, 2015


I am not writing this piece as a letter of support for Ben Carson as president of the United States. In fact at this early “stage of the game,” I have no idea who I will be voting for. For one thing, none of us knows which candidates will be left standing when it comes voting time. However, one thing I know for sure is Ben Carson has a right to voice his opinion on a subject such as the use of the Egyptian pyramids without coming under verbal attack from other candidates such as Donald Trump.
First, a speech made in 1998 about a subject such as the use of the pyramids has no bearing on a person’s ability to be the so-called “leader of the free world.” What it does, on the other hand, is demonstrate a person’s ability to use his or her God-given intelligence to consider other possibilities (i.e. “think outside the box”) which is exactly what I challenged my students to do throughout my forty-year career as an educator.
As a college student, one of my areas of emphasis was anthropology, especially the discipline of archaeology. My main area of interest was local California Indian cultures. As a teacher, I had the privilege of passing on what I had learned to my students, both in the class and in the field. One of the main concepts I taught them was “archaeology is not an exact science.” The reason for this being that we do not (and most likely will not ever) know all the answers to the archaeologic puzzle. In other words, much of an archeologist’s time is spent in guess-work.
For example, many of the artifacts such as projectile points (arrowheads) or various grinding stones my students unearthed throughout the years were easily identifiable simply because their use has been noted in recent times. However, there were other pieces such as the obscure discoidal, a small shaped stone (similar to the mano, which is a small hand stone used for grinding seeds and grains) found in limited areas of Southern California. Archaeologists have several theories as to the purpose of the discoidal, but no one knows for certain. And no one probably will ever know because the stone has never been used in modern times, therefore knowledge of what it was meant for is lost to history. The most common theory is that it was used for religious purposes. But if an historian or archaeologist was to discover some form of proof that it was used for some other purpose such as, say, a weapon, would that entitle us to belittle the ones who had previously voiced their theories as to its use? It’s a rhetorical question because we know the answer. It would not.
In 1998, Ben Carson voiced his opinion concerning what might have possibly been the reason for building the pyramids – a theory which was first voiced by the Syrians in the 16th century.  In fact, it is only one of 13 theories concerning the building of the pyramids. The use of the pyramids as tombs is simply another theory. Although it has usually been the most accepted theory, it is just that – A THEORY. The concept has been taught for so long, however, it has been accepted as complete fact. And it may actually be the true reason the pyramids were built. The fact “mummies” have been located within the pyramids have led to that belief. In fact, alternative archaeology reporter Scott Creighton has voiced the same theory and a 2011 article published in the Smithsonian stated there is no consensus as to why the pyramids were built.
However, we do not have enough historical records to give us all the answers. As with so many other things from the past, we may never know the exact truth. But then again, if we didn’t have these things to argue about, what would most of us have to talk about?


 

Pinecone

CRACK!!! As our super-quiet afternoon was suddenly interrupted, we turned to each other and cried, "What was that!" We checked the garden area the sound came from, and finding nothing, went back to reading. However, our daughter's dog, which we were keeping for the day, had jumped up from her nap and had run behind a chair. She was taking no chances. 

CRACK!! Again, the noise startled us enough that we began to try to figure out the source.

"Could something electrical have shorted?"

"A worker with a nail gun has been shooting it carelessly!"

"A meteorite on its way through hit the ground!"  (Really far out ideas, I know)

CRACK!! The dog leaped onto my lap and stuck her head under my arm.

On our driveway, we have several potted plants, shells, and a few other collecttibles. At the last CRACK, Don realized the sound came from a huge pinecone we had picked up on Palomar Mountain a few months ago. It was sitting in the sun, and as it heated up, the piñon seeds were loosening.

 I knocked the 8" x 5" diameter cone over, and probably twenty-five piñon nuts attached to their helicopter-like wing, scattered onto the driveway. We enjoyed throwing a few up into the air to watch them twirl back to earth. After separating each nut from the fragile wing, I stored them in a plastic bag along with perhaps thirty others which had fallen out earlier. (No CRACKS heard then) 

So, in a nutshell, (no pun intended) our mystery sound was another evidence of God's creativity and care for His creatures. The stunning spiral of this "widow maker" as they are sometimes called, not only is beautiful, but productive, as it released its bounty under heat. Each seed had a propelling device to help land it somewhere fertile. Those which don't make it to the ground, in a forest setting, will feed the animals. Ours will taste great on salad!  If we can get their amazingly hard shells to  CRACK!! 

You've Just Won $1,000,000! Hahahaha!!

Today my friend and I had a good laugh over her mail from yesterday. She had letters from eight different organizations, each one guaranteeing her $1,000,000 or more if she would jump through their hoops, and of course, remit money to have the privilege of winning such a grand prize.  I added up the total of her "winnings," and it came to just over $70,000,000. That's for just one day of USPS delivery of monetary good news.

Although it gave us some humor and fun moments of "Where shall we go on a cruise?" speculation, it really made me angry.  I took down the names of the eight organizations from yesterday's mail, intending to track them down. How naive! Before I was even finished typing in the first organization, a website,  http://www.consumerfraudreporting.org/sweepstakes.php  popped up. As I followed the links, I found forty-two pages, approximately 1,260 listings of mail scams, all in alphabetical order!  Thank goodness there are good people keeping track!

If we could peek into the lives of hundreds of people, especially seniors who are often bored, we could probably find two or three such letters that people have taken seriously at some point in their lives, building their hopes up for sudden wealth while wasting untold time submitting the "next step" toward winning, and losing out.

Lesson learned is "There's no free lunch," and there certainly isn't any wealth to be found in the daily mail! I printed the list for my friend, and I'm sure she'll be checking her mail against that list from now on.

Remodel Blues

Ahhh, my new dishwasher was delivered yesterday and should have been installed today. However, when the trusty installation team began to pull out the old one, they discovered that when we had new tile laid on the floor, it was too high to get the machine free. Possible solutions were bandied about along with some choice words. After sawing off the legs with a power saw, they yanked it out. I guess with the motor in pieces and the casing torn up, it won't be refurbished. 

After measuring the new dishwasher and confirming it was an inch too tall to get into the space, he suggested we get someone to cut either the floor tiles or the counter ones. Unable to get anyone on the phone, the work day is now over, and I'll be washing dishes by hand for another day.

It reminded me of the kitchen remodel we had done in Upland. Under the umbrella of a large store, all the jobs were contracted out, and it seemed the left hand didn't know what the right hand was doing. 

Over the weeks of the remodel we had new counter tile laid but had fifty-some cap tiles crack after they were put on. Later, we were going to change out the sliding window, but couldn't because the tiles had been finished off in such a way that they blocked access.

The floor tiles were gorgeous, but we found a few that were uneven. When the supervisor came back to check on the two or three tiles, he decided he didn't like the way the WHOLE floor had been done and wanted to start all over. We declined.

The ceiling light were recessed and a wooden frame was built. Backwards. We found that outside, leaning against the house and had to get tough to get a new one. 

The new refrigerator arrived, but they couldn't get the old one out!  "What did you do…build the kitchen around the old 'fridge?"  One, two, three, four… After we took the door off ourselves because that wasn't in their job description, the men slid the refrigerator out and put a long, ugly scrape in my new wooden cupboard doors. Oh my.

Today as the men left, we heard one of them say, "You don't see that happen very often!"  Ha…tomorrow is April Fool's Day.

Falling in Love, or Just Falling

"Falling in Love!" We all know that phrase from songs, poems, and experience, but how about just "Falling?"  Hopefully, my readers, you aren't as familiar with that. 

Some of us are just more clumsy than others, and it seems that many of my family members (usually the older ones) have unfortunate familiarity with falling. I won't identify everyone because I'd like to remain friends as well as relatives. 

    Perhaps I should start with my motivation for this Valentine's Day Blog, more than just "Falling in Love." Today is Friday the 13th, but for me, Monday was the 13th. A simple trip to our library became a huge TRIP for me as my concentration shifted from getting my flip-flopped feet up a simple step to gawking at a somewhat bizarre person. Note to self…rude to gawk. Anyway, I fell hard on the flagstone patio leading up to the door. Purse, glasses, and books flew in opposite directions, and people came running. The object of my gawking ran for ice, another dear lady had a bandaid for my bleeding wrist, someone asked permission to gather up the contents of my purse and restore it, and my four books were gathered up as well. Then a man from the city came and asked, "Do you know your name?" Fortunately, I did, and was able to get up before the paramedic arrived. I missed that, thank goodness, because I was in the stacks by then. I'm fairly certain none of the great people who helped me would ever read this blog, but I sure am grateful to them for their help. 

     As my dear husband and I have nursed my sore knees and several other landing points this week, I've had time to "Count the ways of How We Have Fallen." 

     1. Down school steps, garage steps, and department store steps

     2. Forward over logs in the campground, parking bumpers in lots, a stupid decorative thingy on a sideway where it     didn't belong, and just plain over backwards. 

    3. Into a manhole (only one leg), between a loading dock and a truck, off a tram, off a ladder, through a screen door,   and onto the roller skating rink floor.

Counting the damage incurred over the years; one broken hip, a broken heel, broken ribs, broken ankle, damaged hips, knees, and shoulders leading to later replacement, countless bruises, stitches and a lot of shattered pride.   Oh yes, did you know falling up steps is as bad as falling down? As I said, this partially covers my immediate, older family members, but it doesn't stop there. This is a picture of a friend's new t-shirt. 

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