Books and Freedom

Well, here I am again, could you just lose it from the shock, or what? Don't let it lure you into a false sense of security; Liz will be visiting in about ten days and I'll be back to my terrible habits and getting great ideas but not getting around to doing anything about them.

Believe it or not, I am here again because I was reading some news stories again, and something got me a bit worked up. Now, you may think I'm highly opinionated, in which case I might have to use the ancient playground retort of, "I'm rubber and you're glue, anything you say bounces off me and sticks to you," or something like that, I never really used that retort. After some soul-searching, I think I can freely say that I don't have strong opinions about everything. Like corn. Corn is a vegetable that not only has many super-scientific uses, but numerous methods of preparation for eating. So maybe I don't like creamed corn but I do like lots of others, like snack chips and popcorn. On the other hand, we have something like canned spinach, which in the realm of The Lunatic is an evil thing which must be avoided at all cost, thereby making us ineligible for a lasting friendship with Popeye.

It was just one news article, my friends, which stirred me up in several ways on related subjects. The events in this story took place somewhere in the state of Texas. I can't remember where, because it didn't sink into my brain, and I really would rather not read the article again. The article was inspired by some mothers and their reactions to a specific book. Since I had never seen or even heard of the book before this evening, I will state that I am unqualified to comment on it because it would be akin to me discussing life on an oil rig, or what flying to Mars feels like.

Now that we have that cleared up, the gist of the news story. Mom gets a phone call from her friend, AnotherMom. AnotherMom is having a conniption over a book that happens to be available for checkout in the library of the High School both mothers' children attend. The book is a graphic novel by an LGBT+ author, and includes sex and gender identity issues. Both mothers jump into action to make sure that not only their children, but everyone else's, are protected from the book by banishing it forever from the School District's libraries.

The story goes on to cover the actions and beliefs of a local politician who is very much against dangerous things like kids knowing about topics like S-E-X, and LGBT+, and non-white people not getting the same treatment or protections that white folks do. The Lefties, these people all went on to say, are going after our kids. The politician and some of the mothers have formed groups with like-minded people, as is their right. These groups have names that include words like Freedom and Liberty. Their goals are to protect their freedom and liberty by making sure the Lefties are not allowed to force them or their kids to wear masks, learn about the history of race in the USA, or have access to any books that they don't want their kids to read.

This is where it all goes very wrong for me, when people profess their love for freedom and liberty by restricting the freedom or liberty of others. If you don't want your kids to read a certain book, tell the teachers and librarians that your child isn't allowed to read that particular thing. But don't tell other parents that they don't have the freedom to allow their child to read it. And if you don't want your child to know about things like racism, civil unrest, unfairness in the legal system, and the struggles of the LGBT+ community, then let your children know it. But don't tell other parents that they have no rights regarding what their kids will learn.

I'm certain that someone reading this might be saying something snide to me along the lines of me having no right to open my big, fat mouth because I have no children. Good for you, aren't you the clever one. May I remind you that I was a child in these United States of America, and was raised by people who held this county's values close to their hearts? Let's talk about that for a moment or two, shall we?

My parents and my siblings risked their lives to leave their native land and travel thousands of miles to a country where they could be free. They could read, think, or say what they wished without the risk of losing their lives or jobs or freedom. After the loss of my parents, I eventually came under the care of the woman I came to know as Gram. When I came to live with her, I was nine years old and she was sixty-two. Although she came from a far different generation (and had an incredible temper paired with a sharp tongue) here are some things about how she raised me. 

Gram never forced any political ideas upon me. She felt that it was my right to learn things and decide how I felt about them. When I was a skinny nine-year old girl walking to the local library, that heavenly place filled with books and words and ideas and the wonderful smell of paper, I was never told what books I could or could not read. I honestly don't think it ever occurred to Gram to censor my reading experiences in any way. This is undoubtedly related to her own upbringing. She was raised by a single father years before the phrase was ever invented, because her mother died in childbirth when she was twenty-two months old. Her father, who had vision problems due to an accident he experienced when working in a mill at the age of seven, would have her read books to him since he could only clearly see print the size of a newspaper headline. And any time the Catholic Church forbade its members to read a particular book, he would immediately buy it for her to read aloud. Bless him for that.

There were moments during my formative years that impressed me greatly. One of my favorites, which I've written about before, happened when I was in High School. My Social Studies teacher gave us an interesting assignment. We were told to go home and ask our parents if they would be willing to sign a document stating that if the government of our country no longer represented the wishes of its people, we had the right to overthrow it. I eagerly signed the document and felt sure that Gram would do so as well, which she did. When we had our next Social Studies class and the teacher asked about parents' reactions, there was quite an uproar. Kids were talking about how their parents were angry and said the teacher was a Communist or un-American. Who had signed it, and whose parents? I raised my hand with a smile on my face while people around me expressed their shock and disgust. When asked why I would sign such a thing, I told them it was simple. I would gladly put my signature on the Declaration of Independence, which was paraphrased in our assignment.

It wasn't until I was old enough to vote that Gram and I discussed political affiliations. She simply asked, after I registered to vote, if I had chosen to declare a party, and did I mind telling her what it was? I learned that the party affiliation I had chosen was the same as hers, but she never told me her party affiliation, not wanting to unduly influence my choice. And in case you're curious, I was raised by one of those lefties, and without even trying, she turned this kid into one as well. It must have been the books.

Postscript:  Incidentally, I don't think that the loose reins regarding reading caused me any harm whatsoever. I never felt the need to hide what I was reading, even though I read primarily from the adult sections of the library from around the age of ten. I'm pretty sure that if there was anything in those books that was over my head, it flew on by without doing any temporary or permanent damage. Also, all of this made me think about things like people not just banning, but burning books. It made me think of when Gram, her daughters, an adult granddaughter, and I all went to see the movie Victor/Victoria. Gram and I told each other later how much we enjoyed it, but Alice and Jackie deemed it filth and said we should throw rocks at the theater and then burn it down. Oy.

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The Tip Jar:

As always, I am happy and honored to write for you. It brings me great joy, and I hope that it gives you joy and/or food for thought. If you'd like to support the cause, please visit:

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The Lady is a Misogynist?

In retrospect, perhaps I should have shared online the article I've been mulling over for several days now. But then again, my strong opinions are what gave birth to this blog in the first place. Or at least its title. Seriously! A number of years ago, Trent and I were in the car and another driver did something terribly aggravating (which I can no longer remember) that irked us both. I've always taken my front-seat passenger duties very seriously, so I gave the other driver a talking-to that they, of course, didn't hear. I mean, everyone makes mistakes, let's not turn it into a road rage incident that gets on the evening news. But a little this-outburst-stays-in-the-car moment can sometimes cool down that adrenalin burn you get from a near miss. After the outburst was delivered, I told Trent that some day, if I ever started to write a blog I would call it (the) Ravings of a Lunatic. So there you go.

I'll freely admit that when I peruse the online news I don't just focus on what you might call serious news or hard news or please could I read something else because this is depressing news. I'll say, "How does this qualify as news?" even as I click on the stories about friendly dogs and the UPS drivers or US Postal Workers they love. And all kinds of other stuff, honestly, because news reading can be depressing, aggravating, worrying, and a slew of other adjectives which I shan't use now because it would seem like Showing Off.

Now, back to the article I mentioned at the beginning. I'm not quite sure where the story originated, but I suspect that it was lifted from the AITA (Am I The A-hole) forum. For those who may be unfamiliar, this is a virtual place where people seek confirmation on whether or not they were the jerk in a situation that they will describe and opine upon. Readers then have the opportunity to share their thoughts on whether the OP (Original Poster) qualifies as NTA (NOT the A-hole), YTA (You're The A-hole), or something like NWH (Nobody Wins Here). 

You will soon be fully aware that I am iffy on several of the fine details, because my little brain became hyper-focused on one particular facet of the story. The OP wanted to know, AITA? She is engaged to be married soon, and is observing and enjoying many of the rites of passage that are attached to this momentous occasion. The facts, as I recall them, are like this: the bride-to-be is going to have a bachelorette party with her bridesmaids. Bachelor and bachelorette parties have been happening for years, a last hurrah to one's life as a singleton. Depending on those involved, they may run the gamut from fairly quiet local soirees to trips to Las Vegas or other destinations full of temptations of debauchery. The point of these gatherings is generally for the couple to have a last chance at fun with friends before becoming part of a committed pair. Simple, yes?

Not so in this case. FH (Future Husband) wants to be in attendance at the bachelor party, to which the OP said no. She may have also stated that she has no desire to attend the bachelor party, I can't recall. We all know that a lot of the traditions around weddings have changed, such as couples coming to bridal showers and such, but the OP wanted a traditional bachelorette party, a chance to have fun with the women who have been her friends for years, maybe even longer than she has known her FH. Well, this didn't go over very well. At this point, while reading the article, I am having thoughts that maybe FH has control issues, or is insanely jealous, or perhaps doesn't trust the OP, maybe judging her by his own bachelor party behavior? I am also thinking, "Run, girl, while you still can. You don't need an obsessive, controlling person trying to run the rest of your life!"

When OP told FH that he was not invited to her bachelorette party, and stated all of the obvious reasons, he developed a fixative problem. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he came unglued. and argued at length that she should allow him, and any other interested significant others, to attend. She stuck to her opinion, which resulted in him saying that by only allowing her female friends to attend the party, she was being a misogynist. At this point, because I know what the word misogynist means, I am eager to read the answers/opinions in response to this OP. Also, I've decided that not only is she NTA, but that he is a JACK-A. He has responded to his future wife's desire for a females-only party by calling her a misogynist, a person who hates or despises females, someone who is anti-woman. 

I eagerly searched the responses for someone who would tell the OP that she should run like she's on fire to get away from Jack (-A), as I now think of him. I am excited to see someone tell OP that she needs to school her not so bright, potentially controlling or abusive FH that she is not by any means a woman-hater, but could possibly be developing a case of misandry from prolonged exposure to this man. Of course, I exaggerate, but I think you get the picture. The Lunatic thinks that when he pointed a finger and said misogyny, he forgot about all of the fingers that were pointing back at him, to borrow from an old saying.

And then my disappointment grew. In fact, it branched out and bloomed. Yes, the overwhelming consensus was that the OP was NTA. There were comments about FH being a person with low self esteem, being a controller, being a potential abuser. Heck, there were even comments that said that her decision didn't make her a misogynist. But the moment of reason I longed for never appeared. Not a single comment in the article mentioned that she wasn't a misogynist because she didn't disrespect herself or other women. Maybe they read the word and confused it with misanthropy? Or maybe everyone is TA? Or maybe it's just me. Oh, no, AITA? I just may be. Sigh.

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The Tip Jar:

As always, I am happy and honored to write for you. It brings me great joy, and I hope that it gives you joy and/or food for thought. If you'd like to support the cause, please visit:

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Timing is Everything

I now publicly state that I must quit dwelling too much in my thoughts and instead type some of them down. I could, at this time, elect to elaborate on that train of thought, but let's do something else this time, shall we?

On a day not long ago, I took a walk in the warm afternoon to my mailbox. My mailbox duties aren't performed with the same dedication they once were. Once upon a time, I would dutifully check my mailbox every day, making sure to keep on top of bills and grocery ads and whatnot. Of course, when you move across the country, it takes a while for your mail to catch up with you, even if you file all of the necessary paperwork. Add to that the lovely humid Florida weather, and sometimes that walk just doesn't seem as urgent as it once did. Throw in the variable of constantly getting mail for your deceased spouse, and it starts to seem even more aggravating.

When I get around to ending my dereliction of duty, sometimes the box is crammed full of all sorts of things. Grocery ads and catalogs and bills are jammed in the little box. Occasionally there is a package that's been waiting for someone, anyone, to pay it some attention for two or three days. There's even occasionally an announcement of impending nuptials or a card or note or something else not involving the goal of separating me from some of my money.

(I interrupt this blog-in-progress to wonder what the heck is up with my flowery language and dollar-and-ninety-eight-cents words tonight. Sometimes it's just like that. Seriously, I don't do it on purpose, it just happens. As I've been writing this I've been thinking that I make me sick with all of this hifalutin' talk, haha.)

We return to me and my poor, neglected mailbox. On a particular day recently, I headed over to my Fail Box, which I just decided is the name for a mailbox which is being neglected by the human it so faithfully serves. As has become my habit recently, I approached with a reusable shopping bag tucked under my arm, and an eye open for exotic bird, gecko, and squirrel buddy sightings. And yes, the box was crammed with an assortment of things just as I expected. But in front of it all was The Key.

The Key is often the provider of magical moments. It means that there is a parcel of some sort eagerly waiting to be taken home so that it can produce oohs and ahs, or comments about the color looking different on the website but that's okay because this color is nice, too. This was an unexpected package from a friend, just when it was most needed. And I will be completely honest. I had to take a little peek before I got home. Just because you're a grownup doesn't mean you can't be excited!

The first peek - a box of Junior Mints! Mint and chocolate, one of my favorite combos! I knew this was going to be a fun one! Everything in this box was something that I would enjoy and that would put a smile on my face. There were elements of chocolate, cashews, cherry, all sorts of yum! There were rolls of Smarties, and the treasure of it all, a Halloween card. Not just any Halloween card, mind you, but one that was affixed to its envelope, on which there was an original work of art from my friend. 

You know how sometimes everything about a situation is a delight? This was one of those times. All of the flavors in the box were ones that I love. The Smarties took me through many Halloweens of the past, especially the first one we had with our poodle, Paris. We had left a large bowl full of Smarties out where they'd be handy if anyone rang the bell, and little Miss Smartgirl decided to give them a try. And she didn't do anything gauche like chew them down wrapper and all, or crunch them into dusty chunks scattered everywhere. No, our girl managed to neatly unwrap them and eat them like a lady.

And not only was the card just a really great idea and so fun with the original added artwork, but it seemed as if the artwork was tailor made for me. The witch was riding her broom past a house in my favorite color - purple! Gah! The card is now in a safe place, the Binder of Important Stuff that is to be retrieved and rescued in the event of fire, flood, or other valid reasons. It is the item that, when we've moved, hasn't been packed into a box. On our move here, the Binder of Important Stuff was actually in my carry-on bag along with other treasures.

I am (not) embarrassed to admit that when I opened the little dispensing and reclosing doohickey on the Junior Mints box, I not-quite-accidentally made it unable to be refastened. Instead of transferring the contents to one of my hand-dandy resealable silicone food bags, I made the courageous decision to spend the afternoon and evening doing my best to make sure those little chocominty pieces of yum would not have to face the prospect of becoming stale (the dreaded process often known as Going Bad). Yes, I stayed up until I had protected every last bit. Sometimes a gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do. Yes, that's my story, and I'm sticking to it! Here's to more memories that are sweet!

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The Tip Jar:

As always, I am happy and honored to write for you. It brings me great joy, and I hope that it gives you joy and/or food for thought. If you'd like to support the cause, please visit:

https://www.paypal.me/TheLunatic