Sticky post .... Whatever that is
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Posted:Mar 21, 2011 1:12 pm
Last Updated:Oct 24, 2012 10:35 am
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I am a standard member here. Can't read profiles can't respond to winks can't send emails .... So here's where you can leave me a message (I think)
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A rose by any other name....
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Posted:Apr 5, 2011 10:48 am
Last Updated:Oct 5, 2011 5:32 am
38993 Views
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OK, I admit it.
I messed up.
When i wandered onto this strange place a few years ago, I came up with this screen name. I thought it was cute. I thought it was funny. I thought it was a nice play of words. i thought, "boy, I'll be unique and stick out". Yeah, right.
I don't know WHY I joined. Got the email, decided what the hell...and here I am. Didn't know what I wanted to do on the site. Knew I wasn't looking to meet anyone. Guess I was just an occasional prowler. Coming on, watching a cam or two, not thinking about it often at all.
And one day I got an email from someone. Innocuous enough. I responded. She responded back. We chatted. I read her blog. Suddenly, I knew why I was here (Thank you [blog nicjy2]). I was hooked.
And now, here I sit with this ridiculous, obnoxious, stupid screen name. I got tired of being called "clit", so added a signature to say its Bob. I now sign most of my posts that way. I'm running as fast as these old legs can carry me...but clitlick4you keeps following me.
So, I've contacted customer services to see what I can do about changing my screen name while NOT loosing my posts, and more importantly, all of your comments.
Your comments, suggestions, criticisms and praises keep me posting. I THRIVE on that feedback. And now, I need it again...
It's the "help bob change his screen name" blogathon. I'm looking for suggestions. I have a couple in my head now, and want to get your ideas.
Don't know if you want to participate, don't know if you care or not, but wanted the feedback if you're willing to provide it.
So...what should the new screen name be? (and no, dickhead is not an option, nor is mypenisisshortandthin.)
Ideas???
Keep it up folks. You're making me laugh out loud. I LOVE the suggestions...might have to figure out a couple of favorites and have a poll..
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I think she died....
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Posted:Aug 19, 2011 2:00 pm
Last Updated:Jan 20, 2012 4:28 am
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The muse that is.
Everyone else is fine, but the muse that has so enthralled me with this place, seems to have sneaked out in the middle of the night without so much as a good night kiss.
My life is crazy right now. I know I'm not alone in that...all of us have things going on that take up our time.
But for me, things are so hectic that I'm having a hard time even enjoying life's little pleasures.
The grand are around, and I find myself acting like an adult instead of a . I've noticed...and I sense that they have noticed too.
I think I need to seek out the inner in me again.
Maybe the muse is hiding in there just waiting to be found.
The grand are out the house this weekend...perhaps we'll play hide and seek.
I hope I can find me.
Bob
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I always lower the toilet seat...
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Posted:Jul 22, 2011 12:03 pm
Last Updated:Mar 4, 2012 12:46 pm
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Mrs. Bob and I raised a blended family of four boys. We did this in a small, one bathroom house.
Five males, who shared a bathroom with one woman.
Mrs. Bob decided one day that we should get into the habit of raising the toilet seat to urinate, and then lowering it back down so that she was ready to go when she was "ready to go". This made little sense to me (or our sons).
"Since you're the only one that has to sit down EVERY time mom, why don't you just always lower the seat and then raise it when you're finished?" they would ask.
Made perfect sense to me.
Mrs. Bob on the other hand, had different ideas. Since this wasn't a hill worth dying on, I dutifully instructed the boys that the seat should ALWAYS be raised before going. After they were finished, the seat should ALWAYS be lowered.
Just like with puppies it took a while, be we were finally all trained to do as Mrs. Bob wanted.
Mrs. Bob was happy. Momma was happy. The house was happy.
It's been that way for 25 years now. I do have to admit, it's kept me from stumbling into the bathroom in the middle of the night and falling in. So all has been well, until this morning.
As I was rushing to head to work this morning, I stopped by the bathroom on the way out the door.
I leaned over to raise the toilet seat, and SPLASH.
My iPhone is out of my shirt pocket, and is now sitting at the bottom of the bowl. A perfect shot.
The good news is that I hadn't yet used the toilet, so fishing out the phone wasn't too gross.
The bad news is that the phone is toast.
Maybe it SHOULD have been a hill to die on. 
Bob
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I didn't mean to make her cry....
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Posted:Jul 18, 2011 1:01 pm
Last Updated:Feb 12, 2013 12:45 pm
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As many of you know, I've been struggling for the last few weeks over some tough personnel decisions at work.
I had to have conversations and let two people go because of some economic downsizing we are going through. It was very rough on me, and I've had a hard time getting my spirits back up.
The grand were around this weekend, and as you know, that ALWAYS brightens my life. I was on the road to forgetting the work woes and just enjoying my . And then I made the oldest grand (six year old Jenny) cry.
To set the stage, you need to understand that Mrs. Bob fancies herself a gardener. What that REALLY means is that I go with her to the nursery, I pay for and load whatever plants strike her fancy. And of course, I have to load the plants and bags of soil and fertilizer necessary to insure they can be planted.
Once we're home, I have to unload the plants, dig the holes, amend the soil, plant the plants, spread the mulch and water.
If I'm fortunate, I only have to dig ONE hole for each plant. Sometimes "they don't look right in that spot" and the hole is filled back up, a new hole dug, soil amended and new plant put in the ground.
When I say she's a gardener, I guess I really mean that she has a hired gardener to take care of the stuff. But I digress.....(as I'm wont to do).
In any case, we bring home some plants this weekend to plant on the side of the hill. We've put in a long stream flowing down into a pond filled with fish. It's always a thrill for the grand to feed them when we're outside working.
As Jenny and her sister are feeding the Koi, Mrs. Bob is trying to decide where to plant the new purchases. As we're talking back and forth, I hear Jenny and her sister talking, the voices getting louder. Suddenly, Jenny yells out "I AM NOT" and bursts into tears, and goes running into the house. Of course, I drop the shovel and 50 pound bag of soil and go running into the house to see what's up.
I walk inside, and find her sitting on sofa, her head buried in one of the 5 million pillows Mrs. Bob has decided needs to sit on the sofa.
I pull her onto my lap and just cuddle her for a moment, trying to get her to calm down long enough to tell me what's wrong.
Finally, regaining her composure, she asked why I was saying all those mean things about her.
Dumfounded, I look at her and say "sweetie, Papa didn't say any many things about you. I'd never do that".
She proceeds to tell me that she heard Mrs. Bob and I talking about her. Having no idea to what she was referring, I asked her what she heard.
"You said I was creepy" she told me. I looked at her in amazement and said that we never said you were creepy.
"Yes you did Papa" she said. "You and Nana were talking about where you should put me." Still without a clue, I asked what exactly she heard.
And that's when she told me.
"Papa, you asked Nana where you should put creepy Jenny".
It was all I could do to maintain a straight face as I explained to her that we asked where should we put the CREEPING Jenny, and that we were talking about a plant, not her.
Of course, the creeping Jenny was later planted in the exact spot the Nice Jenny wanted it to go.
Damn my grand can turn my mood around.
Bob
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I think I'll go get drunk...
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Posted:Jul 8, 2011 11:06 am
Last Updated:Jul 24, 2011 6:51 am
36872 Views
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I spent the morning today talking to two people who are now unemployed. It was VERY hard.
I've had to let people go before, but it's always been about performance. While ANY conversation like that is hard, there was a sense of justice to it. Compassion was still needed and involved, but in every single case the folks saw it coming. There was no surprise, and it was a necessary evil.
This time was different.
These were people who were doing their job. It's just that in times like this, we couldn't continue to afford them.
I thought it would be an easy decision. I would just keep the hardest and best workers, and let go of the two who were quite as good.
Sounds great in theory. Practice was another matter.
In the end, I kept the single mother and parted ways with the male. I know that wasn't "fair", but the liberal leaning side of me realized the young, single white male would have an easier time finding a job, and coping with the economic issue.
When I looked at the woman, I saw TWO people impacted. Decision made.
When I gave him the news, he told me he understood. He thanked me for the opportunity, and asked if I would be a reference for him in his job search.
The other was easier to justify. While a good "worker", she was an often disruptive personality in the department. She wasn't well liked in the department, nor in the organization. While her WORK will be missed, I can't say the same for her personality.
In any case, the deed was done. She took things much differently than he. All I could do was tell them both how sorry I was.
And now I'm still sick to my stomach. This has taken an emotional toll on me, and I feel physically drained.
I think I'll read some posts, respond to some comments, and then go get drunk.
After all, if I'm going to continue to throw up, I might as well have ANOTHER reason.
Bob
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When real life gets in the way
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Posted:Jun 24, 2011 5:31 am
Last Updated:Jul 8, 2011 11:07 am
33945 Views
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Friends:
I've received emails from several of you asking if I'm OK. I'm touched by your concerns, and yes, I'm fine. It's just that real life has gotten in the way.
All is well in life.
I'm fine.
Mrs. Bob is fine.
All the 's are fine.
Most importantly, all the grand are fine.
It's just that real life has gotten in the way.
We're going through a major reorganization at work, and my normal 10 hour days have become 12 and 14 hour days.
Real life has gotten in the way.
I'm having to prepare for a reduction in my staff. People will be losing jobs. It sucks having to decide the fate of people who work for me. Soon, some of them will be without jobs.
Real life has gotten in the way of me being here. And real life will REALLY be getting in the way for some of those people.
Not having the time to be with all of you (and reading YOUR blogs) stinks.
Decided about real people losing their incomes REALLY sucks. It's depressing to me because I have to pick and choose. It's depressing to them, because they are REALLY impacted.
Sometimes real life takes a hard wrong turn.
Real life has gotten in the way for me, and it's a nuisance. Real life will REALLY get in the way for some of them, and it will be devastating.
While real life is usually glorious...right now it's a bummer.
Please keep all of the untold and unknown people who suffer in your prayers.
I shall rejoin this life, when real life allows...
Peace is my sister, and we still go forward (WGF).
Bob
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Hi Papa, Yarkie died
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Posted:Jun 10, 2011 11:35 am
Last Updated:Nov 8, 2011 12:08 pm
42524 Views
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That was the phrase my 4 year old grand greeted me with last night when I walked in the door.
Of course I knew Yarkie had died, that's why she was at our house.
Yarkie was my in law's uncle.
The in law never knew her father. The only male in the household as she was growing up was her uncle Yarkie.
Yarkie has always had problems. He suffered from both physical and mental health issues. He's always been a little "slow" (not sure that's politically correct, but it does define the man), and has always been in terrible health. But he is the only "father figure" that had ever been in the in laws life until me.
And boy did Yarkie love the little one.
So, we're taking care of the grand while the in law and mother/sister are making funeral arrangements.
"Yarkie died Papa" she said again.
"I know sweetie, I'm so sorry. He was a very nice man".
How do you explain death to a four year old?
We talked of heaven. We talked of how his legs won't hurt him any more. We talked of him being happy and running and jumping now.
She of course didn't get it (Hell, not sure that "I" get it so how could she?).
She asked how old he was. I answered that he was 57. She asked if I was older than Yarkie. Yes, I said.
Then she asked the question I was dreading.
"Are you going to die too Papa?"
BAM!
All sorts of thoughts ran through my mind. Of course I'll die. Everyone dies. But she didn't need to hear that right now.
I looked at her and smiled.
"No sweetie. I'm not going to die. I'm going to always be with you".
She just looked at me and smiled. She started to go back into the house.
She turned and looked back and said, "thank you for not dying Papa".
I smiled at her and said "thank you for helping me live sweetie."
Then I stood up, took her end my arms and gave her a big Papa kiss.
Then I said, "Come on, let's go get some gummies".
Nothing more was said about Yarkie, or dying.
Thank goodness.
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A devil's ...
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Posted:Jun 7, 2011 1:19 pm
Last Updated:Feb 12, 2013 12:47 pm
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Today is my oldest grand daughters birthday. She turns five today. For those of you with higher math skills, that means she was born in 2006.
My in law was a little beyond "normal term", and the doctor had told her during Friday's checkup that if she hadn't had the baby by that Monday, they would schedule a C-section for Tuesday.
When my told me that in mid-swallow of a beer, I spewed beer all over him with a WHAT???
As he stood up yelling at me he asked what was wrong. I reminded him that Tuesday would be the sixth.
Did he really want his first to be born on 6-6-6? This wide-eyed look of panic crossed his face.
MARK OF THE BEAST. Nah, let's reschedule for Wednesday. So there you have it, the devil's 's birthday was delayed a day.
Now, fast forward to this weekend.
There's a birthday party held for her at one of the bouncy places here in town. You know the kind of place I'm talking about. A warehouse filled with all sorts of inflatable games. Just her, her cousins, her sister, and 34 of her closest friends. Yep, nearly forty little rug rats running around, bouncing up and down. There were a few minor collisions, some bumps and bruises, but no major accidents. LOT'S of noise, but no deaths.
And then it was ice cream and cake time.
The horde is escorted into a room, the candles lit, and wishes made. The only light in the room other than the glow of the candles is coming from a 1980's era disco ball on the ceiling.
The thought that was really cool. Soon, I heard the banshee scream of a in pain. The lights are turned back on to investigate the murder scene. It's the birthday girl. It turns out that her 3 year old sister had decided to bite her on the arm.
After assurances that she would be OK and that we'd put a band-aid on it later, things returned to normal. The lights go back out.
Suddenly another blood curdling wail. On go the lights.
I look up to see the 3 year old's face, covered in cake. Sure enough, the 5 year old had cake on her hands. Guilty your honor.
When I asked why she did that to her sister, her only answer was "Papa, she deserved it".
Maybe the calender was off. She can be a little devil.
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The is dead....but don't call PETA
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Posted:Jun 3, 2011 11:00 am
Last Updated:Feb 12, 2013 12:46 pm
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Well my friends, another lesson learned from Mrs. Bob last night.
We're sitting on the deck last night, glass of wine in hand talking about our day.
Innocuous enough conversation. What happened, anything exciting occur, how did that project end up, etc. You know, just normal chit chat.
Soon the subject turned to something I had been promising to do, and hadn't remembered to do. OK, I admit it, I remembered, it just wasn't high enough on my priority list to get around to checking off.
Now, I know I was wrong, and I apologized. And it wouldn't have made any difference if I HADN'T been wrong. You see, I'm a pleaser, and I detest conflict. It's much easier to admit I'm wrong and move on than it is to dig in my heels just on principle.
Well, it seems as if we might have had more glasses of wine than I realized, because in this case, she wouldn't let it go. No amount of "I'm sorry's" was going to be accepted.
She kept recounting the event, and I kept saying I'm sorry.
And then, I uttered that fateful phrase....
"Mrs. Bob, the is on it's back, all four feet are sticking straight up in the air...it's dead. Let's quit beating it".
Oops.
Well, Mrs. Bob proceeded to give me a stare that would have KILLED the on it's own. She then calmly said, "It's not dead until I say it's dead".
That's when it dawned on me. Yep, another epiphany.
Mrs. Bob (and maybe many other women) work through issues by (gasp) TALKING about them.
Mr. Bob (and maybe many other men) work through issues by recognizing the problem, owning it when appropriate, and trying to fix it.
Is it logic versus emotion? Is it idiocy versus verbal analysis? I don't know.
What I DO know is that Mrs. Bob is now the veterinarian of the household. SHE will pronounce when the is dead.
And now, I must go. I have some tasks I need to perform.
Have a nice weekend my friends.
Bob
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She said...He heard
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Posted:May 31, 2011 11:13 am
Last Updated:May 3, 2012 5:47 pm
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Yes, the age old dilemma came back ONCE AGAIN to bite me in the ass.
You'd think that after nearly 40 years of marriage (14 to the first one that doesn't really count) and 25 to Mrs. Bob, that I would have learned my lesson.
Not a chance, and once again it got me.
Mrs Bob casually (?) mentioned to me Friday night that she would like to clean out the garage this weekend. I of course, looked away and rolled my eyes (no way I'm going to let her see THAT) and meekly said, "OK, let's do that tomorrow".
Now, understand a garage is important to her. The first 16 years of our marriage we had no garage. That means walking to the house with young ones in tow through the rain and wind and snow and dead of night. Delivering our own little males. A garage was a must have on the house we bought.
A garage is so important to her, that when we moved in, all the boxes went INSIDE the house. No boxes in the garage. Our first night both cars were parked in the garage. And have been ever since.
But, as "stuff" accumulates, it ends up in the garage. Shelving everywhere. Lawn items lined up along the wall. I can barely get out of my car because of the "stuff" lining the walls.
So, she says "let's clean out the garage".
I hear "let's completely reorganize things, build something, hang pegboard on the wall to get the garden tools up, throw out a bunch of stuff and make this place pristine."
So, Saturday morning, items are pulled out of the garage and stacked in the driveway. All sorts of stuff. stuff. Adult stuff. Toys, tools, EVERYTHING.
There were items everywhere. In fact, at one point I looked up to see a stranger, weed eater in hand asking how much I wanted for it. He thought we were having a garage sell.
Being the frustrated handyman that I am, I decided to build suspended shelving to get all the stuff up off the floor. I draw the plans up, make my supply list, and head out for one of my 4 trips to the home improvement store. (men ALWAYS miss something)
Equipment and supplies on hand, I start building.
Cutting, screwing, hammering, measuring, marking. Over and over. Working like crazy.
Oh, did I tell you it was 94 degrees (35 Celsius)outside? In a garage, with no circulation, and sawdust everywhere.
So it's end of day one, the contraption built but not yet hanging. A few cold beers during the day, sweating off ten pounds. I'm ready for bed and a night of sound sleep.
Up the next morning. Coffee in hand. Back at it.
number 2 is over. Spends just enough time there to help hold the platform 7 feet in the air so it can be secured. Chains attached from the ceiling. Plywood added. Boxes stored. A real work of art.
Now, another trip to the home improvement store to get items so equipment can be hung on the wall. Another 6 hours of work.
Hot, tired, sweaty...but moving on.
Mrs. Bob thinks the floor needs to be mopped. I argue that all of the chalk drawings made by the grand should be preserved. The argument falls on deaf ears. The floor is mopped.
Things start coming back into the garage. Of course, everything has to be arranged. And rearranged. And tried out "over there". Moved to "over here". Back to "over there". Allied Van Lines has nothing on me.
Finally, all back in. Everything in it's place. Room to walk. Things can be found. It's great.
Sitting out on the deck with a cold beer in hand, I asked her what she thought.
Her comments?
"Bob, it really looks great and is so much better. But you know what? I really just wanted to clean out the garage and throw a few things out. You didn't need to do all of that work".
WTF???
So, once again, she said one thing. I heard another.
I think it's a problem with most of us men. We always assume you women don't really mean what you say. We HAVE to put our own spin on it.
We have to decipher what you REALLY mean when you say something.
I wonder if I'll EVER learn that lesson.
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I did something last night I've missed doing.....
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Posted:May 26, 2011 11:33 am
Last Updated:Jun 2, 2011 4:44 am
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OK pervs, mind out of the gutter.
I got to spend yesterday afternoon and evening with the 4 year old grand . T-ball game and dinner...nothing gets much better.
So, since I had the opportunity to do in real life what I love doing, it's only fair I do the same in this digital life.
It's time to write about the loves of my life...my family.
The girls game is about 45 minutes away from here, so Mrs. Bob and I met at my office in order to only drive one car. While that all makes perfect sense, it does have both advantages and disadvantages.
Usually we sit out on the deck and the end of the workday, glass of wine in hand, and talk about our days. That's really a great time for us. Special moments just sitting there talking and reconnecting.
Rush hour drive time is an entirely different matter. You see, Mrs. Bob is a backseat driver..even from the passenger seat. So we play this little game...I count each time she pokes or prods me, screams out my name in horror or stomps her foot on the floor as if it's a drivers education car and she has some control.
I'm actually a good driver...just not as slow as she would like.
I had counted to eight by the time the drive was completed and we had parked at the ball fields. Good fun time, but not nearly as relaxing as the deck...and I had no wine. But hey, I saved some gas money.
I go walking up to the ball field, see her warming up on the sidelines, and start chanting "let's go Dodgers, let's go Dodgers".
She breaks out in a big smile and yells "PAPA!!". My heart melts.
Through the dugout she runs, out the gate, and jumps into my arms, and gives me a big STRONG hug. Hugs are so rewarding and calming, and even more so when they come from a or grand .
She gives me a papa kiss. A papa kiss is on the cheek. Seems my mustache tickles them. I put her down and she runs back to the dugout, stops part way there to wave to me. I wave back and give her a smile from the bottom of my soul.
I move to the bleachers and take my seat.
DAMN. We're playing the Red Sox. I feel my dislike swell up in my Yankee's heart. I remind myself that I'm at a little league game, and control my urge to begin shouting "Red Sox Suck". It's a knee jerk reaction I have to keep under control.
An hour later the game is over (Red Sox win 13 to 7). Snacks are distributed, team mother talks WAY to long about one thing or another, and we head to the parking lot to go to dinner.
I'm carrying her in my arms, and she's very forlorn....almost crying. Never seen this before.
I asked if she had fun. Yes she says.
I congratulate her on her hits and fielding. She says thank you.
She still is moping as I carry her to the car.
Finally I asked what was wrong.
She looked at me and said "Papa, we lost".
Now, winning and losing had NEVER even been mentioned before...at least in a serious way.
I said "that's ok sweetie...you had fun and sometimes you win and sometimes you lose".
Didn't seem to help. So I asked her why losing was so bad this time.
In her big girl voice she looked at me and said...
"Papa, we lost to the RED SOX."
"They suck".
Damn I'm proud of that little girl.
Bob
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I'm an enabler, but all is forgiven...mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa
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Posted:May 23, 2011 8:34 pm
Last Updated:Jun 6, 2011 10:09 am
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Holy Shit. The Roman Catholic Church and another blogger are BOTH asking that I acknowledge my sins. Go figure...
I debated on whether to post this. Sought advice from a friend who has also been caught up in all this shit. The advice to me was to do what my heart told me to do.
So....here goes.
I'm new here. Been here two months and love that I'm free to tell of my life, my family, and the things that drive me to crazy spots sometimes, to wonderful spots at others.
I've observed the two armies in this argument facing off across no-man's land. Several of us have been caught in the middle as EACH "side" (I have no other way to describe it...don't want to be pejorative) have slung their shit. We're not fence sitters, we're collateral damage.
Know what? The only one's bathed in the excrement thrown are those of us in the middle.
As I've watched (and read) all of this unfold, I've heard from, and been pleaded to, by both sides. "Believe me, I have the truth". Both sides claim it. God is on OUR side...each side has said.
I'm asked to discern the truth when I don't even know what the fuck the issue was? I don't think that's possible.
So, I judge people based upon how they treat me.
Members of both "sides" have been nice to me.
Members of both "sides" have been ass holes to me.
Guess THAT defines me as being in the middle of this nonsense.
Well, so now the nonsense is over. Oops...not over...I'm sure it's just a lull. Olive branches are extended. The problem is the "TO" address is written in invisible ink. It will be someone else's name tomorrow.
After this post, I'll probably have my nice guy card revoked (again).
But I read something yesterday afternoon that has been sticking in my craw (as they say down south), and I MUST address it.
Understand, politically I'm to the left of Micheal Moore. A liberal to me is a neo-con. I read and listen to the "right" (in the political, not moral sense) so I can understand their talking points, and know how to respond. Know your enemy as Sun Tzu says in "the art of war".
I read the blog of someone here occasionally who is certainly to the right of me politically. In a recent post, he talked of presidents and pro athletes. Liars, convicted liars, charged liars, and "truth" tellers. I thought, "cool..don't agree with him on ANYTHING political, but this might be good". I was wrong. No, not wrong...enlightened.
You see, I found out that I have gone astray. I found out that all I have to do is say Mea Culpa and I'll be loved. I'm told that I feel persecuted because I was wrong and I was an enabler.
I was informed that I wasn't the "offender", but I must recognize that I was an enabler.
What is REALLY cool is that I'm now told that he has open arms.
He likes me. He REALLY likes me.
All he's asking is that I let him.
Well, I have 3 words for you...and they're not "love you too".
I think they fall along the lines of "go fuck yourself".
How DARE you define those of us who chose to not get involved (oops...I'll speak for myself) like that.
You Don't KNOW me. To say that a person was either on your side, on the bad guy's side or an enabler is absolute fucking bullshit.
To automatically assume that since some of us weren't lined up in the trenches throwing shit makes us guilty of something is either stupidity or arrogance. Or perhaps both.
I don't want you to like me...because I don't like you. I don't like your politics (although I can live with a cordial debate) and I sure as HELL don't like your condescending attitude.
You remind me of Kilgore in Apocalypse Now. You know, the one who loves the smell of napalm in the morning.
You're so wrapped up in your perceived victory, that you can't smell the stench of your own decaying morality and vindictiveness.
I just want to blog. Don't want your love, and for sure don't want your morality play. I didn't take sides then, but you're beginning to make me think I should take sides now.
Not in that battle, but rather in the battle of common decency.
I think if ANYONE owes a Mea Culpa, it is you, and anyone else who takes pride and glory and glee in what has occurred. I think it's all very sad...regardless of the "side" you're on.
This may be my last post.
The stench is becoming hard to bear.
Peace is STILL my sister.
And I STILL go forward (or at least try).
Bob
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