This was to have been a philosophical post.

But right before she was to begin it, the DHM and the HG brought to The Equuschick two Back Massager Thingies to try out.

So now she’s sitting on one of them and has entered into a state of delirious bliss that is lovely indeed but not conducive to deep philosophical thoughts. It produces, instead, drool and drooped eye-lids.

But speaking of back pain (Shasta tells her it was all to do with the hiking on Saturday and the 70 Trail Steps of Doom, she prefers to pretend it was doing the laundry, and she is sure had nothing had to do with mounted horse-training demonstrations to her student yesterday morning, and in reality it is probably due to a combination of the above and being small but being pregnant) she did have an epiphany the other day.

So the question “On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad is your pain?” never meant much to The Equuschick until she went and got her pancreas lacerated. That was easy. It was a 10.

And so since when that was the only time in her life when she had ever had a real clear idea of Pain Measurement, any time she is asked or asks herself just how much pain she’s in she stops and thinks “Well, between 1 and 10?”

The problem is (as you’ve probably guessed)that the 10 she compares whatever is currently bothering her to is the pain of a lacerated pancreas.

In other words, a lacerated pancreas is now the standard for pain. If she’s less than the 10 of a lacerated pancreas, than clearly she’s doing great.

It occurred to her the other day that maybe this was a flawed perspective.

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John Faulkner and Beneath the Willow

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Twitterpations and Jubilations

The Equuschick is very, very, very tactile defensive about other people touching her. Even her mom. I very seldom get to feel her baby bump, which makes me sad. Nevertheless, LAST NIGHT I GOT FEEL THE BABY MOVE!!!

I had sneaked a hand onto her belly as she was sitting next to me, and asked if the baby was kicking. “NO.” she said emphatically. At which point, the baby moved beneath my hand equally emphatically, as if to say, “HI, Grandmama,” just to spite her.=)

They aren’t planning on getting an ultrasound, which means I’ll have to wait until after the baby is born to get a picture, the old fashioned way.

Since our camera, she is broke (fortunately, AFTER the wedding Jenny and Pip just went to in New Mexico), Pip is going around feeling like she’s lost a part of herself, and I’m a little anxious about getting it replaced in time for the baby and wedding before the end of the year.

I took my dad in to a Dr. appointment yesterday and went to the local Walmart while waiting. I looked at cameras, and decided I really didn’t want to spend that much money just yet. Then I went to the garden department and spent exactly the same amount on flowers and a basket to hang on our deck rail. It made me feel a wee bit ill inside, but then, when I got home and looked at all my flowers, they made me feel pretty happy inside.

Last night we celebrated the HG’s last birthday at home as Miss Common Room rather than Mrs. Strider. It wasn’t her birthday. Her birthday fell during the last couple months of school and she simply couldn’t face another distraction, so we put it off until school was out. Strider brought his camera for us so we could get a few pictures to mark the occasion.

Speaking of occasions…. I ran into an old friend at the Walmart yesterday who had heard about the engagement (it is a small town, news travels with the speed of thought) and told me, “But I’ve met Strider, and I thought there was something going on there a couple years ago, but when I asked the HG she told me empathically that No. Way. They were only friends.” I nodded. “For the last four or five years that is what they have been,” I said. “Just friends. And then, kind of suddenly, something changed.” She said she thought that was best, anyway, to be friends first, and I agreed, and we went about our separate ways. As I continued shopping I was humming happily. At some point I realized I was humming the old Steve and Annie Chapman song, “True love starts with the kiss of hearts.”

Earlier this week I had a sudden flashback of memory that made me grin. Some three or four years ago when we moved into this house and Strider came to help us, he also came to church with us one evening (at that time we went to a different congregation north of us). Sometimes it is our custom to sit one of the two youngest children in between a young man and our young ladies- this began, I think, with an importunate young man who needed NOT to be encouraged, and it prevents embarrassment and awkwardness at times, and if you don’t understand that, I cannot explain it.

Anyway, we do that from time to time, and so the boy sat between Strider and the HG. Afterwards, the HG told me with a nonchalant wave of her hand, “Oh, that’s not necessary with Strider. He’s just Strider.” And now they sit next to each other and share a hymnal (a surefire sign of romance, be aware of this if you ever visit an acapella singing congregation).

Life is funny like that.

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Snort

Another picture of the AF1 photo op that scared Manhattan is up. Take a look.

And at American Thinker we have a letter of amends from a recovering leftist. Funny, and disturbing, stuff.

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My Illiterate Rep Responds

Latest letter from my rep:


Thank you for contacting me (etc. etc.) I appreciate hearing from you.

To address your concerns, I have taken the liberty of forwarding a copy of your correspondence to Consumer Product Safety Commission Chairman Nancy Nord. Enclosed, please find a copy of my cover letter to Chairman Nord, asking that she address your concerns. Be assured that I will let you know when I receive a response.
Thank you again for contacting me. Do not hesitate to let me know if you have any other questions or concerns.”

Here’s his cover letter to Nord:

I write on behalf of [insert my name here, albeit he uses an incorrect title which I am nitpicky about and did not use in my letter- wives are NOT Mrs. Her first name, Last Name. They are Mrs. Husband’s first name, Last Name]
Mrs. Common Room has contacted me to express her concerns regarding the implementation of P.L. 110-329, the Consumer Product Safety Improvement Act. Specifically, she is concerned that the implementation of P.L. 110-329 has made the sale of children’s books printed prior to 1985 subject to testing requirements. Enclosed, please find a copy of the correspondence I have received from [me]. I would appreciate your addressing her concerns.

Thank you in advance for yoru serious consideration of this matter. Do not hesitate to let me know if you have any questions or need additional information.

Sincerely,

Is that a fair assessment of what I wrote? Well, I first wrote my representative about my concerns with the CPSIA months ago, and he sent me back the usual form letter everybody gets, the one making it obvious that neither he nor his staff members actually had the courtesy to read my letter.

So I wrote again. You can read the whole thing here. Here is a representative excerpt from the letter to which my rep refers in the above correspondence:


I believe we specifically mentioned that pre-1985 books are one of our biggest concerns in our letter to you, so it is somewhat disappointing to be given erroneous information from you. The stay ALSO does not cover zippers, snaps, buttons and grommets, nor does it cover mini-bikes, ball-point pens, and a number of other items. Therefore, regardless of the stay, it is illegal to sell children jackets, shirts, or onesies of they have snaps or zippers, unless they are tested. This is impossible for the second hand market. Regardless of the stay, it is illegal, right this minute, to sell mini-bikes or most bicycles to children.

The problems with this bill cannot be fixed by the CPSC. Congress wrote the problems into the bill, and they are ironclad. Congress ruled that ALL children’s products were covered by the testing requirements. Congress required wet testing, which destroys the sample, and when selling pre-1985 books, we typically only have a single copy.

Congress wrote the law so that the books that 12 year olds read are treated precisely the same as books two year olds read. Only Congress can change that. The CPSC can offer no fix to remedy this problem.
The CPSC is prevented by the law from exempting ball point pens, pre-1985 books, or mini bikes from the onerous and nonsensical requirements of this law, even though children do not lick their tire stems or get any more lead from them than they would from a glass of tap water. Only Congress can fix this.

Do they read for comprehension in D.C., or do they hope to weary us and befuddle us with obfuscation and irrelevance?

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