What would my mother say about the strippers?

I read about the strippers that want to sue BP because their income was reduced by the oil spill. I wonder if we could sue the strippers for their contributions to the decline of the morals in the United States? Can the woman whose husband was unfaithful sue the prostitute for alienation of affection?



One of the bloggers who responded to the story equated, them with single mothers, and he felt we should support them. I suppose he thinks it is a moral obligation to support all the shady and disruptable businesses affected by the oil spill. I can't assume that all strippers are single or mothers, and I don't think all single mothers think taking off their clothes in public to an appropriate job for a parent. It is funny that people who are old enough to have sex don't know the consequence of that act. We must be doing a worse job on sex education than I thought. Our society wants everyone to have the option to have sex; indeed, society says we have the right to have sex. Even knowing that sex is the main cause of pregnancy, we don't tell anyone not to do it. We don't seem to want to restrict anyone's freedom. The children that are born to the "free" people are the losers. The original design would provide two parents for a child, but the actuality may not even provide one. A working mother may leave the child to day care or a baby sitter.
I am afraid this blog entry has rambled and tried to cover too many issues. That's really bad, but on the other hand, it is my blog and I can ramble if I want to.

What can I blog about?

I think I'm going o have to change my blog or quit blogging at all. I can't think of things I want to rattle on abut anymore. I'm not very good at this, I guess. My mother might be very disappointed. Do I have so few memories of her that in this short period I have exhausted them? When I was taking Latin we studied some of the Greek and Roman myths about gods and goddesses, and I remembered that she had told me some of those stories. She had studied the stories though I not sure she studied the language. I was strangely touched by remembering that. Maybe the answer to my problem lies in thinking about the scenes I remember and the stories she told me. Now I have to be sure I know who those guys she told me about were.

Some days I'm just too tired.

Living takes energy. Some days I have to endure--living is beyond my reach. Some days I just try to soak up the energy to live. Some days I just try to store up the resources to make a mark, to seek out a truth, or to run in the race. I do have some ideas that need to be exploed, but I don't think I can think them through. I can't seem to get a grip or exert any pressure. There is no place to make the ideas line up for inspection. I want to string them on a chain, to put them in order, but they run in circles and leave me stranded without any pattern or order. Some days I'm just too tired.

My Mother never told me this

Sometimes I wonder if someone is asleep at the switch. I work and obey and pay my bills, but things just don't go well. I look up and see that somehow I missed a door or got on the wrong elevator.

Carol spent the night with me last night and I took her to the doctor today. She lamented that she couldn't get things to go well. She lives is a house that should be condemned and her life has gone from bad to hopeless. Besides have Rheumatoid Arthritis and losing her arm to a staff infection, her husband has become disabled and they must try to live in $1360.00 a month--three of them. Sarah is going to college; however, her efforts are less than sterling and she has no idea what profession she wants to pursue.

What is wrong with this picture? Here I am at 73 trying to get a writing career started. What am I missing here?

Enjoying poor health

I remember my mother's expression for days when she chose to lie on the couch in her lounging pajamas and receive selected guests. She said she was "enjoying poor health." She was taken of some mild affliction which benefitted from polite gossip and iced coffee on a lazy afternoon, but there was certainly nothing debilitating about it. I became a silent gnome receiving sly winks and pats on the head before becoming bored and slipping away for more challenging adventures. I am not sure that her private joke was good for my evaluation of how to avoid social situations or obligations.

I was sick last week, but it lacked the grace of my mother's "poor health." I did not want to see anyone. I wanted to be left alone to endure my misery in private agony. And I felt mildly guilty about missing choir practice and church. It is taking longer to recover from the illness that seems reasonable, too. I feel fine, but my endurance and stamina is compromised, and I feel embarrassed by the weakness.

My mother's somewhat lengthly final illness was painful and insulting, and nobody enjoyed it. It's ironic to have these mixed and confusing images of health and sickness circling in my mind. I try to cling to the humorous one in regard to her and her life. I want to remember her in scenes of joy. "Enjoying poor health" has advantages.