Because I Want A Kindle

If a Five-Year-Old Ruled the World

"There are two people who rule the world," my five-year-old grand-daughter explained to her audience of me, her parents, two aunts and an uncle. "They are Jesus and me."

The ego on this child is not lacking.

However I found it an interesting proposition.  What would life be like if the world was run by a five-year-old?

People would be fed and everyone would get to have milk and cookies as well.
We would all have to share.
Animals would get cuddles. 
We would play tag and races.
We would spend time with each other.
There would be more artists, singers and actors.
Soldiers would carry toy guns or sticks and not real guns. So would police officers, because you can play at war but not actually kill each other. In fact there wouldn't be any real guns or bombs because they hurt people.
Everyone would have a nice place to live.
Stay-at-home mom's would be paid what they're worth.
So would teachers.
Bad people who hurt people and destroy or steal other people's stuff would have to go somewhere away from good people.

Tantrums would be allowed and then forgotten.
There would be more dress up and pajama days.
It wouldn't matter what you looked like. Everyone would be equal.

Hmmm. Maybe age doesn't equal wisdom.

Letter to Truckers

Dear Truckers,

Let me first thank you for all the work you do. I am aware that you work long hours and drive in dangerous conditions in order to bring supplies to people like me. I appreciate it. Really I do.

And I try and do my part to make sure that you do so safely. I do not travel immediately behind you. I maintain quite a bit of distance. When I pass you I try and do it in a way so that you can see me. When I have passed you I make sure I can clearly see you in my rear view mirror before moving in front of you. I may annoy cars behind me in order to maintain such safety, but that's their problem. I can't hear them swearing at me.

In return I ask some things.

Please do not pass me on narrow winding roads in the black of night. I know that you have places to go and things to do, but so do I and I would like to get there. Sure I may be going slower than you like, but that's because it's a NARROW WINDING ROAD IN THE BLACK OF NIGHT and 180 km an hour is simply not safe. Your actions could very well result in meeting up with someone coming from the opposite direction and if you're beside me when you do this or close in front of me the results might not be pretty.

When the rain is pouring down I tend to go slower than the posted speed limits. Why? Because if I go the speed limit I won't be driving, I'll be flying as my car hydroplanes along the road. My car is not built to fly and so the normal safety controls like brakes and steering are not in place. I know it's frustrating to follow a pokey little car when you want to travel 180 kmph but when you pass me you create hurricane conditions where water engulfs my car and I am completely blinded. If you still choose to create a tsunami for me then at least do it on a straight road with no other cars around so that I don't drive off a cliff while I'm blinded. Better still, if it's night time pull over and go to sleep. I may not have that option but I know you've got those trucks all pimped out with stereos and beds and lights. Oh and snow conditions aren't much safer for passing. You create a blizzard when you pass by. It's hard to see when everything has turned completely white.

As far as I know, and I could be wrong about this and if so I will apologize and take back my statement, yield signs are for everyone. Including truckers.

                                          They look something like this.


Or this.





                                           Or this.



However they look they tend to be a triangle with the pointy side down and more often than not actually have the word "YIELD" printed on it. This does not mean "speed up and force whomever's coming into the ditch". You actually have to slow down and maybe even stop if there is a car coming because believe it or not, just because you're bigger does not mean you have the right of way. I know it's inconvenient when you're traveling 180 and you're pulling a hundred thousand tons of stuff, but I have yet to see a sign that says "YIELD IF YOU WANT TO".

Before you pass the vehicle in front of you, please check and make sure that I'm not trying to pass you. Sure, I could stay behind you my entire trip and not see a thing in front of me, including important signs, but I prefer not to do that. I do not suddenly swing out from behind you. I start my pass well enough back that you should see me. I cannot help it if at some point I am in your blind side. It's inevitable that there is at least one. So you actually have to make sure there's no one in the passing lane before you pass. If I hit you, because you've suddenly swung out right in front of me, or you hit me, you probably won't feel it. I'm just a bug. But it might actually kill me and the children I have in my car. We will be on the side of the road in a grisly mess while you travel your merry little way.

Some highways go through the center of towns. You cannot travel highway speeds through the center of a town. In the movies when cars are zooming through towns people merely jump out of the way because everyone is an olympic athlete and can do so, and no one gets hurt because they have the body composition of Gumby, but in real life, a truck traveling at highways speeds could actually kill someone who is on a crosswalk with their groceries in one hand and their toddler's hand in the other. Did you know that pedestrians have the right of way in a crosswalk even if you are bigger and badder? It's far easier to stop if you go the posted speed and since there's so much more of you to stop you should actually go slower than the posted speed. In fact it would be nice if you could just avoid those small towns all together unless you are actually delivering to a store in town. There is usually a way around a town.

I think that's it. I appreciate your time.

Sincerely,

Anna Maria Junus (who does not drive a truck)

The Three R's: Redecorating, Renaming, and Resignation

Cover your ears while I scream.

AAAAAAUUUURRRRGGGGG!

I had the loveliest blog template for years. It took me quite awhile to find and then when I did find it I yelled Ureeka like I had discovered the secret to making kids wash the dishes.

When you find something that works you hang on to it. Forever.

Only it stopped working.

I went to my webpage yesterday and discovered that the background was missing. No amount of uploading the template made it look the way it was supposed to.

It was gone. What I had left was the sad little skeleton. And although skeletons have become cool for some odd reason, I'm not a fan. I don't like zombies or vampires either.

So it was back on the hunt for a new blog template.

I found this one. A bench by the ocean with books and suitcases. I love the ocean. I love books. I love to travel. I love to sit. Yes, this was me. I could do this.

It required moving all my gadgets around.

And it involved something else that I wasn't planning. Once the template was in place my title "Real Women Don't Wear Bikinis" didn't look right anymore. Now I had to create a new title.

So here it is. "Postcards From a Gypsy Packrat".

Now if I could actually go somewhere.

Why Does Disney Hate Mothers?

Why does Disney hate mothers?

Think about this, Snow White’s mom—dead. She had a wicked step-mom instead—in fact a wicked witch of a step-mom.

Pinocchio didn’t have a mom, just a lonely wood carver that created him.

Bambi’s mom got killed so he had to look up to a father that was never around—but in the end it turns out that he was a good father in spite of never being around.

Cinderella didn’t have a mom either, just another wicked step-mother with two bratty daughters. Her father picked well on his second marriage.

Sleeping Beauty’s mom gave her away. And it wasn’t like she was some poor teenage mother, she was a queen. Aurora was sent away from her grand palace to live in the forest in a little hut with three batty fairies. She wasn’t even told who she was.

Dumbo had a mom. But they put her in prison for being a mom and protecting her baby.

Jasmine, no mom. No mention of a mom. Maybe her dad had a harem and so her mom wasn’t that important.Where were all those women in that harem anyway?

Come to think of it, Aladdin didn’t have a Mom either and there’s no mention of his mom. He just had a monkey that got him into trouble.

Belle didn’t have a mom. She had a lunatic father. And in spite of living in town where everyone knew her, there didn’t appear to be any women who stepped in to be a mother-like figure. Like the lady down the block who bakes homemade cookies, or the seamstress that helps teach sewing. No women, nadda.

Simba had a mom, but it appears that she played no role in his upbringing since the whole story surrounded his dad and how much he looked up to his dad and how he wanted to be like his dad. I guess his mom only gave birth to him.

Mulon had a mom who only cared about marrying her off and what kind of impression she made. Mulon sacrificed everything for her father.

Tarzan’s mom was killed by a tiger. Sure he had an adopted gorilla mom who loved him and his gorilla dad wasn’t nice, but his real mom still got killed.

Ariel, again no mother in sight. There’s a lot of kids in that family though. I guess merpeople don’t need mothers. However Ariel did turn into a nice mother, but then I guess Disney couldn’t kill her off. That would be too traumatic. Can you imagine if they had started “The Little Mermaid II” off with the murder of Ariel?

Lilo has no mother, just a sister whom Lilo drives nuts.

Nemo’s mom gets eaten by a shark before Nemo is even born. Why couldn’t it have been Nemo’s dad that gets eaten by the shark and Nemo’s mom be the one to have to find Nemo?

Rapunzal's Mom stole her from her real mom and kept her a prisoner in a tower.

Sure, there are a few moms scattered here and there. The Aristocats has a mother, 101 Dalmations has a mother, and there is a mom on Treasure Planet. And there's a real mom on The Incredibles that all moms can be proud of. I watched it thinking “Finally, a Mom. And a really cool Mom too! I wish I could be that flexible.”

But still, the pickings have been slim. It’s like they go into a room and think “Mom’s just get in the way. They don’t let you go on adventures and they tell you to eat your spinach and put on clean underwear. Let’s kill them off.”

Admittedly, many of the Disney stories come from fairy tales and the Brothers Grimm are responsible for killing off a lot of moms, such as Snow White’s and Cinderella’s. And some stories like Tarzan come from famous novels where the writer has killed off the mom.

But really, does every mother have to suffer the fate of death? And does every step-mother have to be wicked? And why is it that the bad fathers in Disney stories are not really bad, but just misunderstood, or they come around and realize that they’ve been unfair and all is forgiven.

Where’s the fathers that run away and don’t send child support? Or the wicked stepfathers who brew up potions to kill their step-children? I mean, lets have some equal opportunity badness here.

In Disney’s world most families are one parent families with the father being the main caregiver.

Of course, no one has ever accused Disney of presenting real life.

But it does make me wonder, why do so many Disney executives hate their moms?

While I Am Sleeping or Why Can't I Have the Shoemaker's Elves

Do you remember the story of the shoemaker and the elves?

The story goes that there was a very poor shoemaker (it seems that all shoemakers were poor which makes you wonder why they went into the business in the first place. Do shoemakers even exist anymore? I guess they must to make specialty shoes).

Anyway, this shoemaker didn’t make specialty shoes, he just made ordinary shoes at a time when you couldn’t go to Walmart and pick out a pair for 14.99 which sounds like a good deal until you realize while you’re in Walmart that you need a new set of sheets, and a broom to replace the one the kids broke while they were playing Harry Potter, and you notice a really cute purse, and while you’re there you might as well pick up a cheap movie to watch for family night and a, okay I’m rambling…

Anyway, this poor shoemaker was struggling trying to get his work done and one night he went to bed and when he woke up in the morning all of his work was finished.

See, it wasn’t about him having a lack of work, it was more about supply and demand and he couldn’t keep up with the amount of work that he had which is bad since then you get the reputation of not being reliable and you end up losing business and so instead of hiring someone to help him retain the business he had he decided instead to do everything himself. I guess he was the “I can do it all” kind of guy and he didn’t like to ask for help and he definitely didn’t like to pay for help especially for something that he could do himself. Only he couldn’t do it all himself and he was falling behind but he wouldn’t admit it. Just like a man.

Where was I?...Oh yeah, he woke up and all his work was done, which was great for business and it continued to happen night after night until he wasn’t poor anymore.

Then he decided to find out how his work was being done. See if it had been me, I would have been wondering the first day but this guy waited until he was well off before his curiosity kicked in. I know I would have been wondering, “How did those shoes get finished?” and then I would have asked all over the place and then I would have seen if it happened again and then when it did I would have done a stake out like in the movies.

Which is what he ended up doing. He and his wife stayed up all night waiting to see what would happen. Nowadays we would just put a hidden camera in a teddy bear but they didn’t have them back then (cameras or teddy bears) so they made some popcorn and curled up in a corner hiding and waiting for the show to start.

I know these elves aren't naked but I couldn't put
 naked elves on my family blog



Suddenly these naked elves appear and start fixing all the shoes. These elves can make shoes but they can’t tie a piece of cloth around themselves and call it a toga. Nowadays there would have been a big blur or dot put in strategic places but since this was live and had no 10 second delay, there was no big blurs or dots.

So the next day his wife decides that she can’t have naked elves in her house and decides to whip them up all new outfits. Now anyone who sews knows that it’s almost as much work to make something little as to make something big.

She designs them little outfits and figures out what size the elves are (I guess she mentally measured them while watching) and she sews up all the clothing by hand since they didn’t have sewing machines back then and she has them all ready by nightfall. Which makes me wonder, if she was able to design, fit, and sew so quickly why wasn’t she helping her struggling husband by taking in sewing from rich people?



Or why didn’t he teach her how to make shoes because she could have had a dozen pairs made up to his one and then they wouldn’t have needed the naked elves.

They laid out all the clothes and made some popcorn and hid in a corner to watch the show.

The elves came, tried on all their clothes, danced around in happy delirium and left never to come back and make any more shoes.

I don’t know what the moral of this story is. If you pay someone they will leave you. Or elves can only make shoes when they’re naked. Or if you don’t ask for help someone will come and give it to you anyway. I don’t know. None of this sounds right but that isn’t the point.

I don't get elves that help me like the shoemaker did. I get the other kind of elves.

While I sleep, elves enter my home and steal single socks, hide my keys and put dishes in my sink, both clean and dirty dishes, which make the clean dishes dirty.

They overload the garbage, make the cordless phone disappear, and take all the batteries out of the remote controls that I can find. Of course there are the remote controls that I can’t find.



Elves play on my computer and store files in odd places, change my desktop, download weird programs, and put in sneaky little viruses and worms that confound my virus scan. They also make quadruple copies of spam email. They empty the ink from my printer, hide all the 100 pens that I keep on my desk and rearrange all my papers.



In my bathroom, they go into my linen closet and throw sheets on the floor, soak towels in the bathtub, make toilet paper streamers, put toothpaste on the mirrors, unwrap and wet down several bars of soap and take all the papers off of the band-aids.



In my fridge, they loosen salad dressing lids, knock over ketchup bottles and jump up and down on them, hide my leftovers so that I can’t find them until my nose does and they add chemicals to my vegetables to make them rot faster than they normally would.

While I sleep, in my room they mix my clean clothes with my dirty ones, hide the latest book I’m reading, and change the time and alarm on my clock. In my closet they shrink my clothes, tangle up my hangers, and separate my blazers from the matching skirts and pants.

In my children’s bedrooms they throw all the clothes on the floor, break all the toys, scatter legos, undress dolls, and spill nail polish on carpets.

They like to take all the movies and either mix them up in the boxes or hide the boxes and throw everything on the floor.

On my bookshelves they place Stephen King next to Louisa May Alcott.

They put strange appointments on my calendar and hide my important phone numbers.



They call my phone number and leave wierd messages or no messages at all.

I often wonder why I didn’t get the kind of elves that make shoes. I could use some new shoes. Especially since my elves hid mine.

Maybe if I made them little clothes they would go away. Of course they could always wear the clothes that they take off of the dolls.

I wonder if I could trade my elves in for house fairies. I hear they're pretty nice to have around.

From 2002: The Adventures of a Cross Stitched Driver

A few weeks ago I went away on a retreat.

I know, this can give images of people sitting around with their legs crossed and going “Ohm” over and over. Or having breakdowns in front of total strangers over the fact that they didn’t get the bike they wanted when they were six. Or going into hypnotic states and talking about past lives when they were Cleopatra and Attila the Hun.

My retreat was none of this. It was a stitching retreat. A full weekend of doing needlework and chatting with other women who like to do needlework. No children, no husbands, no workouts or diets, no housework, TV or computers.

Now I know, some of you have your eyes glazed over and are going “that sounds as exciting as watching the snail Olympics.”

For others of you, just the idea of getting away from husbands and children would be enough to send you into glorious fits of ecstacy similar to the feelings you get when you finally give yourself permission to have a D.Q Pecan Mudslide after several months of eating nothing but broccoli and cabbage soup.

It was a retreat with eight women, out in the middle of nowhere (okay, Pigeon Lake) in a house to ourselves. We were all responsible for one meal, which was already planned and bought, and clean up at the end of the weekend.

I started out happily on my journey. My car loaded up with needlework and snacks. My computer would not download the map that was sent to me, but someone said it was not hard to find, just follow the road signs, and it was at Pigeon Lake so how hard could it be?

I have no sense of direction. And when it comes to asking for directions, I am a man. I admit it. I will not ask for directions. Never say lost, because all roads lead to somewhere, and never ask for directions because I’ll never be able to follow them anyway. Several hours later, still driving around in the middle of nowhere, I finally realized that the roads I was on led to nowhere. I was lost. Completely and utterly lost. Never get out of here lost. I would be found one day, withered away from starvation (and it would take a long time to wither me away) my hands clutched to an empty snickers wrapper, and frozen from the cold.

Fortunately I had my cell.

And more fortunately my friends called me. Good thing too, because I didn’t have their number. After several attempts to get me going the right way, my friends decided that a rescue mission was in order. So they put on their black clothes with stocking caps, grabbed an emergency bag (for stitchers this would have embroidery floss, a needle, a piece of lovely fabric and a chart) and set out in an unmarked van.

This experience has taught me two things: one, it is a good idea to keep the cell phone recharged, and two, in spite of what everyone says about cell phones and driving, I don’t want to make it illegal, because it was a great comfort being able to drive around with the phone up to my ear as someone was talking to me If it becomes illegal how else are people supposed to find their way? I can just see hordes of drivers meandering all over desperately searching for a familiar sign.

“Okay, we’re coming up to a blinking red stop sign.” I hear in the phone.
“I’m near a blinking red stop sign!” I replied as I flashed my lights. “Is that you that just passed me by?”
“We’re turning around.” With joy I watched a van turn around and drive by me. I followed, relieved to finally be rescued. But just as I was going merrily on my way a woman stepped in front of my car and flagged me down.

She asked me for directions.

Which I might have given to her (“go home before you get sucked into an eternal black hole and never be heard from again”} if I hadn’t been so worried about losing my rescuers.

It occurred to me as I followed the van through twists and turns and several wrong directionless moves, that I hadn’t actually seen who was in the van, and I might be following a mass murderer.

Especially when a sign appeared that said “cemetery” with a direction arrow, and they turned TOWARDS the cemetery.


I had a great weekend. Good food, good friends, and good stitching. Better than the snail Olympics. If anyone wants to stitch with me, give me a shout. I’ll be sure to bring my cell and oh yeah, a map.