A lot depends on the age of the people involved in any relationship. In the 20s females are more likely to initiate divorce than males. There are a plethora of reasons which stretch from abuse to career incompatibilities. By the mid-30s it is about equal but by the mid-40s it is usually the males that are divorcing or forcing the divorces. Then it evens off again until the man retires where once again it is the females initiating the divorce. By the late 60s, a terminal or chronic disability will often result in the wife leaving the man who has recently retired. The women I have known who have a history of having done this have told me, without exception but then I have only known 3, that they had stayed with their husband through the early years of their marriage when he was drunk every evening after work. They stayed with him when he had an affair because their children needed a father. Then he retired and came home to tell them what to do, how to do it, and when it should be done. For them, the icing on the cake was the the thought of having to take care of the tyrant who had abused their vows since taking them.

I have also known women whose husband left them because they never did care for their wives during the long years of their marriage anyway. The women were not surprised.

Every relationship is created by the events and experiences that take place over the years. In a culture which is still far from practicing equality of both males and females, which still resists moving that respect into the home, which excuses male self-centeredness and selfishness as a biological function of males, should not be surprised either when males opt out whenever they face a challenging time. It is not surprising either, that more males resolve their personal issues with suicide than females. 

The culture is in transistion. Perhaps someday it will succeed in equality, perhaps not. But if women don’t raise their sons to behave in a more mature and concerned fashion than their fathers it will never change. 

Yes, I feel the same way and practice the same. 3 weeks ago I received my annual letter from the Healthcare Administrative offices here in France telling me it was time for me to go in for my annual mammogram. This year I’ve made my appointment at another imaging clinic because the one nearer my home and whom I went to last year hurt me. I know that is not a necessary element since I have had mammograms yearly since I was 38 and am now 60. Uncomfortable, yes. Hurt, no. That is the technicians fault, not the process.

I am watching the national healthcare issue carefully because I am an American. I find it alarming that it seems women’s lives are held in such little regard when under consideration for national health care issues. I am left wondering if men’s sexual impotence issues will also be entirely disregarded and ignored? It seems to me that impotence is absolutely a disposable healthcare service when the fact is that nobody has ever died by not having sex.

I have respected Martha Stewart for quite a long time. I have followed her career, purchased some, but not all of her books, and I used to watcher her shows. I think we both have some things in common with the exception that I have never thought I could make what I do into a multi-million or billion dollar company. I don’t know if Martha knits. If she doesn’t then that is the one thing I do that she doesn’t do.

Oh, and my kitchen does get messy during large meals but it is not as messy as Julia Childs televised accidents. I often wondered if they were infact not staged?

I have a confession to make. While I love books I suffer from no love lost on books that are not printed on acid free paper and bound in leather. The rest are, unless they are craft or instructive books, fire starters. I couldn’t care less. I read because I must read. It is as much my character as is enjoying a sunny day, listening to a bird’s song, planning our dinner meal every single day. The books I invest in are worthy of investment. They will sit on my shelves until I no longer have shelves. They are warm not because they recycled trees decaying in my hands, congregarting with others of their kind in the foul acids that eat away at the authors’ works. They are sensual to hold, enlightening to behold. Paperback books are made to be recycled.

Have you ever wondered how many of the paperbacks I have taken to the recycle bin are now being flushed down the toilet as … well you know?

I will happily download how ever many books tickle my fancy and carry them with me in the form of book reader. 

I am not going to pretend to be polite about this. I wrote W.Bush a letter when he was running for president the first time. In that letter I wrote that I swore I would never vote for a republican again. It is a fact that I will not.

I have determined that Republicans center all of their policies around fear. Republican politicians build  upon fear and use they use it to destroy everything positive around whatever will not give them the money they seek for empty words and broken promises. 

The fact of the matter is that the entire world would not be in the current state it is in now if GW Bush had never been president. Just as it is difficult to clean the kitchen when children cook, President Obama is cleaning up after the debacle of Bush. It doesn’t matter who caused what problem, who had what personality flaw, while Bush was in office because he endorsed and put that person in the office he assigned them. 

Nobody is going to be able to clean up the kitchen in less than four years; not after the way Bush trashed human rights and then cooked the economy. It is up to the people that work, the real people who do the real work, to clean up the mess that the previous administration made. Meanwhile, are any of those people who were pact and package with Bush any pooer for it? Or are they better off?

That is how you tell if the political party you support is working for you or using you.

How lucky you are! I would salute you but I am not in the military so I just honor you instead. I am a bit older than you. When my Dad tried to get me to join the armed forces in ‘68 I just couldn’t imagine what in the world made him think I would fit into the armed services. Of course, back then, for females it wasn’t what it is now. I do think, had the armed services offered females the same equality as males I would have taken advantage of it. Guess my Dad knew me better than I did myself.

#1. Tell him ‘No, and this subject is closed. It will not be reopened for conversation at any time.’ Then simply never allow it to be reopened. No explanation is required. If and when he attempts to bring the subject again simply leave the room. If he follows you, get in your car and go for a drive, alone. Do not acknowledge it at all.

My first adult purchase was an all electric self-cleaning stove for my mother’s mother’s day present when I was 16. It was avocado green and it was a bit lower than usual. She was very short so every half inch less was appreciated. The second present was a Ford Maverick for my dad for father’s day, but that was 3 years later.

I earned all of the money by saving 75% of the babysitting money I had earned since I was 12 years old. When I was 15 I got an after school and weekend job at a Florist by using my mother’s social security number and lieing about my age. I also supplimented that income by making long distant patient transfers with the local ambulance companies.

My first daughter was born in 1970. We, she and I, began watching Sesame Street when she was about 18 months old. I thought she was old enough to enjoy it in my company. By the time my youngest daughter was 2 years old, a decade later, taking time to view Sesame Street with my children was just somthing that was done every day, except Sundays. But what Sesame street brings to mind is an incident that occurred in Atlanta, Georgia in 1979.

I was standing in a rather slow long line at the bank. By my side I had my 3 year old and in my arms I had my 18 month old daughter. People were quiet, the tellers were busy because it was close to noon. As the line moved closer I heard a teller humming a familar tune. When it was finally my turn to approach a teller I had the good fortune to be approaching the humming teller. After an quick exchange of pleasantries I asked her: ‘Do you know what song you are humming?’ She replied she could not think of what it was but the tune would not leave her brain. I then informed her it was Rubber Ducky. It was so oddly funny because we both laughed and then at the same time, as if in some movie script, we both began singing Rubber Ducky. Right there in a crowded bank we sang Rubber Ducky all the way through! When we had finished there was applause and then both of us became a bit pink with embaressment. In the car, my 3 year old son told me I was a movie star now.

Thanks for the memory all over again!