Here I go again...

     Here I go again...the doorbell of death has once more rung and has taken away someone I care about.  I guess I should have expected it, yet I didn't this time and I've struggled for a month to try and make some sense of it.  Death, you see, doesn't really make sense at all, and I've had to learn that time and time again. 
    
     This time it was my brother who was called home to the Lord.  I went to work on November 9th for a workshop and when I came home to have lunch with my husband, I came in the door and asked how he was doing.  He didn't answer me, so I asked him again if everything was all right.  He told me "not really," and said he would tell me what was going on once he came out of the bathroom.  I immediately thought something along the lines of "Oh crap, I forgot to pay a bill," but didn't give it too much consideration.  I went in to the kitchen to make lunch for us and I remember looking at the clock on the microwave.  Someone ~ probably me - had forgotten to clear it out after nuking something earlier in the day and I went over to fix it so I could see what time it was.  Just as I got there I heard the door to the bathroom open and my husband came out.  I turned away from the microwave and asked him, "So what's up?" never dreaming that what he was about to tell me would alter my life forever.

     He told me that my brother had died in his sleep the previous night, and that my sister in law had found him when she got up that morning to get ready to go to work.  I will spare the reader all of the nasty details of my reaction to such news except to say that I screamed so loudly and for so long that by the end of the two hours it took to calm me down, I spoke in the raspiest of voices and could hardly catch my breath.

     In the month that has followed, I am surprised to realize just how heavily his death has hit me.  My brother wasn't the healthiest man on the planet, and he was obese for nearly all of his life.  He had a penchant for avoiding the doctor and for obstinance when it came to taking care of himself.  In a sense, both my younger brother and I expected this would happen at some time, but never now and certainly not like this.  His sudden, unanticipated death caught all of us by surprise and sent everyone who knew him into a tailspin.  Even now, a month later, we are still asking ourselves what happened and how it could be that this giant in our lives could be gone.

     My brother was, I believe, a deeply wounded man.  He never shared his demons with me so I can only guess at what haunted him all his life.  And in the long run, it doesn't really matter.  Despite his woundedness, my brother was a character.  He tried to joke his way out of just about everything and he had a "sick" sense of humor.  He knew how to make the worst ~ or best, depending on your viewpoint ~ puns of anyone I knew, and he always had a funny story to share.  He was my protector in a number of ways, but he didn't want anyone to know that.  Every time I needed him,he was there.  Oh yes, sometimes he would bitch and moan, but I never had to ask twice or beg him when I needed him.  My brother often dropped everything to take care of me, but he also took care of everyone else, too.

    
     My brother wasn't much of a student but he was one of the brightest men I will ever know - and that's saying something.  He wasn't much for school and what I grew up as calling "book learning," but when he started with his hobby of photography and video-making, and then had his own computer business, his work was excellent.  He never charged people enough for the work he did, and when I told him that once, he let me know in no uncertain terms that he charged what he felt was fair and that he saw no reason to gouge people out of their money.  He told me that he knew what people could afford and he wasn't going to ask for more.

    
     My brother also knew how to get around me.  When my niece was about 3 or 4 months old, he called me and asked if I wanted to come up and play with her, given that I hadn't seen her in about a week.  I jumped at the chance to spend some time with her, so I drove up and was all set with a few new baby toys.  When I arrived, however, poor kid was squalling and crying.  I asked him what was wrong, and he shrugged and said, "Maybe she needs a change."  I picked her up, and, well, let's just say she needed more than a simple change.  I looked in horror at my brother and said some pretty ugly things to him - in between giggling, that is - and asked him why he didn't take care of it before I had arrived.  His response was to look at me as innocently as he could without laughing and he replied that he had no idea she was in such a state.

    
     Needless to say he never lived that down, and he also never pulled a stunt like that again.  It wasn't the last time I ever changed a diaper, either.  I think of that now and I think to myself that I wish I could share that story with him again, just to see that look of pseudo-innocence once more.

    
     The problem with death, whether it's anticipated or not, is that it never comes at a good time.  But with a little preparation, there is at least an   opportunity to say the things that have gone too long unsaid.  With an unanticipated death, though, there's so much left unsaid.  So many of us trudge our way to the funeral home and the cemetery, numbed with grief and filled with regrets and wishes that we could have "just one more chance."  But we're given only just so much time on this earth and it's times like this that we realize we'd damned well better use that time wisely.  Tell one another you love them, that you appreciate one another, and remember that in spite of the warts we all have, every person who crosses our paths has something to teach.  And if we're smart, we'll learn the lessons well and quickly.  I know that I will see my brother again, and one day that will give me comfort.  Right now, the sky in my heart is grey and cold but I know that the fog will lift, the sun will come out, and the winds of confusion and grief will calm.  All I need is a little patience and a lot of faith.  Thank God I have a lot of faith. 



    
     And now, Lord, about that patience...

God bless us, every one...with ALL we need

Well, it's now just under 24 hours until the skies will be filled with the sounds of reindeer flying and gentle bells jingling ~ it's Christmas once more, and I have thought quite a bit about what this means to me this year. It's going to be less painful this year than it was last year ~ the first few after Mom passed were pretty tough, and once I even wished that Christmas would just come and go and I wouldn't have to deal with it. But Christmas isn't about gifts underneath a tree, nor is it about Santa Baby hurrying down a chimney, Rudolph guiding a sleigh in the fog, or whether or not the ground is white with snow. It's about the miracle of life, and birth and even more, about rebirth of the human spirit. It took me three long years plus to remember that, but I did remember and I'm grateful.

I've been thinking of what's been happening here in my state, that of the upcoming primary election. Like many others here in NH, I am up to the eyeballs with the shenanigans these folks are pulling. One can't open his or her mouth without trying to destroy another, and one candidate even wants to pretty much elminate about half of the Cabinet! Of course, the departments he wants to eliminate are the departments that we need the most, at least in my opinion, but who am I???? Once they have to focus on another state they will be gone for a while and we'll have a chance to breathe and relax. Until June, that is. But hey, a few months is better than none.

The biggest thing on my mind right now, though, is health care. Many people are without decent health care and even more are without dental care. I'm lucky because I have the former, but I've been without dental care since I lost my job in June. Now, theoretically, if I didn't have health care, I would still be able to receive care at the local hospital if I were sick, and if I had no money to pay for my care, I would receive that care at no cost. I suspect that situations like that are less common than facilities would like us to believe, but I certainly don't think it's a rarity, either. If a patient has only a couple of hundred dollars and can pay that money toward their care, I have no doubt that any health care facility or practive would move heaven and earth to get that money ~ more to minimize losses than to be mean and spiteful about people who are down on their luck and have no "discretionary" money to spend on health care.

My big bugaboo these days is lack of dental care. The AMA has the Hyppocratic Oath that every physician takes, but I am not aware of any such commitment on the part of those physicians who specialize in dental care. When I lost my dental care in June, I was no longer able to take care of my teeth. As a diabetic, I need to pay special attention to my dental health, and before I was diagnosed about 6 years ago, I was doing just that. I was raised to think of the dentist as the next best thing (or worst, depending on your point of view) as Satan personified, and a real, live, boogeyman. I was taught to be fearful of the dentist, and I never visited one until I was in my 20's. I didn't have the worst experience with him, but he would get really angry about my bona fide phobia and told me I needed to just get over it. I eventually moved on to another dentist, who was much more empathic (and yes, that's the proper word - "empathetic" is incorrect) and who took the time to get me familiar with his office and the staff he had. It literally took me 4 years to set foot inside the examining room, and I lasted only five minutes or so before I started to - again, literally - break out in a cold sweat and to shake uncontrollably. This man was wonderful however, and offered me some conscious sedation so that he could look inside my mouth to examine my teeth. It took a long time before I could go in and have work done but I knew I had to do it to be healthy and to set an example to my own child. I was damned if I would let her pick up on my phobia and I worked hard to get through it.

However, times being what they are, I lost my dental coverage when my husband began collecting his retirement from the state several years ago. I wasn't eligible for dental benefits where I was working at the time, so I didn't go to the dentist until I was able to get insurance. If he or our child needed care, they got it, and we did what we could to pay what we could whenever we could. Again, things being what they are now, the bottom line is that dental care has become a luxury. If I do not have the money to pay to have my teeth cleaned ~ and that's about $200 - $300 ~ then I don't go, because the dentist doesn't let anyone carry a balance for any reason. If I don't have the money, it's too bad. As arrogant as that sounds in writing, I don't intend it to. It's just that if one cannot pay for one's care, then the care needs to be delayed until one can pay for that care. And that goes for co-pays as well. Before the dentist does any work at all, patients are given an estimate of how much that co-pay will be and if the patient doesn't have the money on the day of the appointment, the work isn't done. Period.

That burns me up. We talk about human rights and the right to a decent standard of living and health care, but it apparently doesn't apply to teeth. My dentist is a great guy and I don't want to go to anyone else, but it fries my butt that I can't have dental care unless I am wealthy. It's not my fault I don't have dental insurance. And yes, it's not his fault, either. I feel strongly that people who perform services deserve to be paid and paid their worth. If I had hundreds of thousands of dollars to donate, I would give much of it to him for those people who don't have insurance and who need dental care for themselves and their families. I don't have a sense of entitlement insofar as I think I deserve free care. But if all I can pay for a cleaning is $50, then I should be able to get my teeth cleaned for $50. If I need a filling or something else, I should be able to pay what I can when I can and not feel guilty about it.

The other thing that really gets me upset is that once a person is receiving Medicare benefits, all health care professionals ~ whether MD's, eye doctors, or dentists ~ should be required to accept Medicare as payment for the care a person needs. I have never understood why retirees are actually penalized for having the same needs as I do and why they are expected to fork over as much as I do (when I can pay, that is). These people are on a fixed income, and they have to pay more? No wonder the elderly end up relying more and more on Medicaid for their support!


We live in such a selfish and greedy society today. So many are out for only themselves and they don't show compassion for anyone unless it makes the 6:00 PM news. I think we need to take a good, long look at ourselves and our motivations and look at what we do to one another. And if that look isn't the kind we want to see, then we know what to do. I call on all the doctors, dentists, and any other professional enpowered with ensuring a decent qiality of life, and I challenge you all to start looking at how you live your lives and what you do to give back. We are all in this life together, you know.

My only regret is that that SOB named Donald Trump won't read this.

Something serious this time

I have had the following on my mind for some time, and I hope that everyone who reads this will give it the thought and attention it deserves.

Take a long look at this photograph. I didn't take the picture, but whoever did had a true gift. I share it today because I want to talk about abortion. There are many people for whom this is a really hot button, and while I do not apologize for pushing that button, I would like to offer a new perspective on the issue.

I believe, as most people do, in the freedom of choice. I have the right to choose what to do and not do with my body. If I want to color my hair a flaming red - and once I actually did do that - I can. If I want to pierce my ears - which I have done twice - I can. I can pierce any part of my body I want and I can get tattoos if I so desire. If I choose to not shave my legs or arms, I don't have to. That is my choice. I can eat whatever I like in whatever amount that I like, knowing that for every action I do, there is a consequence. I can choose to do whatever I would like to do in my life providing it does not infringe on the rights of someone else. I have the right to own a gun, but I do not have the right to use it against someone else simply because I don't like him/her, or because I don't approve of the lifestyle that person chooses to live. I have the right to drink myself silly but I do not have the right to drive afterward because I am impaired and thus endangering the safety and the lives of others.

As a woman, I have the right to be pregnant or not pregnant. If I want to be pregnant, then I have the right to do whatever is appropriate to bear a child. If I do not want to be pregnant, I need to do whatever is appropriate to ensure that I do not get into a compromising situation that would result in a pregnancy that I don't want. That, dear ones, is called responsibility. It is my responsibility to make the right choices while taking into consideration the rights of other people. If one doesn't wish to get pregnant, then use protection, or better still - keep your slacks zipped!

If I get pregnant when I don't want to be, I have to understand that I have choices. I can choose to give birth and raise a child I wasn't expecting, I can give the child up for adoption, or I can allow (or some might say "force") the father to take the child and raise him or her. Abortion is NOT an option. Many women would argue that since I have to right to do whatever I want to with my own body, I do have that option. But note, that element of choice, that right to choose my next step, does not include infringing on someone else's rights. That unborn child is just that - a child. I am not allowed to take someone else's life away with a weapon, so why would I be allowed to murder an unborn child?! That child never asked to be created, yet he or she has, in fact, been created. The fact that I may not want a baby is no excuse to kill that child and it never will be.

I have been accused of being naive, selfish, and "out of touch" with reality. I don't need to get into all of the specifics of trying to "prove" that an embryo or fetus isn't a living thing. The fact is that the taking of any human life is wrong. And a fetus is a life, viable or not.

What confuses me further is that if a woman spontaneously aborts a fetus, she is said to have miscarried a baby. If she chooses to purposefully abort, the fetus wasn't a child. Someone is going to have to explain that one to me because it makes no sense. You cannot have it both ways - either it's a child or it isn't.

Life is life, regardless of what stage we witness at any given time. And it is a gift from God, whoever and whatever we know God to be. Life's too precious and too rare to treat it so blithely. Last week I attended two funerals on the same day, only a couple of hours apart, and the experience more or less knocked me on my kiester. Both were for women but one was for a woman who was only a few years older than me, and she had rarely been ill. Within four months of a devestating diagnosis, her family and friends were burying her. At the wake there were photos of her with her family and in one, there was a photo of her with her mother, grandmother and her own little girl. If she had chosen not to have that baby, how different would the world be today?

Look again at the photograph at the beginning of this entry. How could anyone want to snuff out the life of that precious child?

Springtime musings...

I really love these blossoms on the tree. I don't know what they are but I love the color and the vibrancy they bring to a dark, dank skyline. The last several days it has rained and been cold and damp, so when I see images like this, I feel lifted a bit.





The job search does not go at all well, and while I don't plan to elaborate on the frustration of it all, suffice it to say that I have relied on my mantra of "God will take care of us" much more often than I would care to admit. I keep hoping that something will happen to change things but I'm not planning on it. I mean, if things do change so the money is put back into the budget so that I can, in fact, return to my job, I'll be grateful. But I can't sit on my hands waiting for it. I have to move on and so I will.





I am happy to say, though, that I have something to which I can look forward. The hub and I are going on vacation to visit the relatives in the south and I am really looking forward to that. It has been way too long since I've seen them and I feel the need to spend some time with them. At first, I thought it was because they aren't getting any younger and I want to see them while they are still healthy, but it's a lot more than that. They've always been my favorite relatives and I miss them like crazy. I'm already starting to make my infamous lists of clothing and essentials, food for the cooler, things we want to do, etc. so that when we leave after I get out of school we'll be ready to rock and roll. The only thing I regret is that our "Sweet Pea" can't go with us as she has to work. She's going to stay here and care for the doggie and take her own vacation later in the summer. Besides, we celebrated our 25th. wedding anniversary last fall and we had planned to go away for a second honeymoon anyway. This will be the perfect time. We're staying at hotels for part of the time so we'll have plenty of alone time and privacy.





My days of late have been filled with remembering. After spending time with a couple of college mates, I have found myself thinking back to those days and recalling memories I thought I had tucked away long ago. I think of all the hopes and dreams I had and all the growing and growing up I did, and while some of those days were among the most painful of my life (up to that point, at any rate) I see now how massive that experience was for me. Some of it, no doubt, I have yet to realize. But the older I get, the more I see how fragile life really is and how stupid we are for the petty things we allow to get to us at the hands of others. People hurt us and we carry grudges and we will be damned if we will blink first. By God, we will never be the first to apologize or try to make amends. "It's not my fault," we claim - and maybe it isn't. But when people go for years and years without talking or trying to repair what needs repairing, that's a real tragedy. I don't think there's anyone out there who hasn't been hurt and I also believe that there's no one out there who hasn't hurt someone else. That's just a part of life, as distasteful as it seems.

I don't know how I got onto that train of thought - but it doesn't matter. I'll be relieved when the rain stops and I can see my blossoming flowers again...and when I will get to go on vacation!

Reflections on Mother's Day

It's been a challenging week for me this week. Monday would have been my mom's birthday, today, May 5th, marks the 3rd anniversary of her death, and this coming Sunday, May 8, Mother's Day, the date we buried her ashes. I've had a couple of meltdowns, though not nearly as bad as I've had in the past, and I hope that once the weekend is over I'll have a little perspective that I don't have right now.

You see, Mom and I were pretty tight when she was well. She had Alzheimer's Disease, which is the most hideous of diseases in my mind, so the last several years of her life were plagued with worry and anxiety for her safety. Mom didn't make terrific choices at that time in her life, and she often needed one her kids to run interference for her. She never believed that she was confused, of course, which made for some rip-snorting exchanges. But when she was more oriented, she was the mom I grew up with. And there were times when, no matter how confused she was, she was able to connect with me. I'm an avid knitter and crocheter, so I always had something going. I brought my projects to her to show off, and sometimes when I was knitting I'd ask her how to do something. I really knew how to do whatever stitch or pattern that I asked about, but her face would light up like a Christmas tree when I would ask her to help me. And ironically, most of the time, she told me the right things.

Thinking back to when I was a kid, I remember random things and they all make me smile through the tears. Mom wasn't the "let's bake cookies together" or "want to try some of my make-up" type, nor would we share clothing between us (she was a tiny thing and I was more like Brumhilda). But she loved to shop, and every Saturday we'd go into town and look in all the stores for bargains. Most of the time we didn't buy much - she usually bought stockings (the long ones that required garters and a girdle) and we would go to lunch together, but for the most part we just did people watching. We'd look around in the stores for unusual people - Mom called them "creeps" - and if they were really outrageous, we'd get the giggles. And by the giggles, I mean the deep-down, full belly laughs that would bring tears to our eyes. We always had a signal that we used when we simply could not look at one another because we would embarrass ourselves and the target of our levity. I would walk away to another department and she would come after me about 10 minutes later. Silently, we would leave the store and the giggles would start again once we got into the car. One time we were walking along the Main Street and she saw a man wearing a 3-piece suit walking in the opposite direction. She started to laugh right away and I didn't know why until he got closer to us. This guy was singing "Old MacDonald" and he was barefoot. Incidentally, this happened in November, between Veteran's Day and Thanksgiving.

Mom loved decorating the house for Christmas; the day after Thanksgiving, all the bags and boxes came out and villages went up and ornaments hung from doorways. The stocking elves took their places on the top of the piano, and eventually the tree went up. I remember her wandering about in the house as we grew up and thinking she was a little daft for flooding the house as she did with the decorations. After my dad died, she no longer had the same enthusiasm for decorating but she did make sure the house looked festive.

And of course, her children and grandchildren were the greatest joys of Mom's life. Everything we all did saw Mom there cheering us on and celebrating everything we did. She loved spoiling her grandchildren and wouldn't take them shopping without buying something for them - even just a pack of gum.

So this Mother's Day, take a minute and remember your mom, whether she is alive or not. No mom is perfect, and mine sure wasn't, but she's your mom and she carried you for nine months. Even if you can't be with her this year, think of her and whisper a prayer for her. I know I will.

A few observations

I'm a teacher - most of you know that. And so whenever I'm out in public, I notice things - how people express themselves, how they are attired, things like that. Well, last week - Friday to be exact - my daughter and I stopped at Dunkin' Donuts for coffee as we were driving to school. There was a line there, as is often the case, so we waited our turn and I started "noticing" what was going on in the store.

This particular place is also a convenience store, so we were at the northern end of the building. There was a young woman, perhaps 21 at the most, in front of us and she was making out a job application. When I initially saw her, I thought I was seeing things. She was wearing a thin, navy hoodie sweatshirt that didn't quite mask her overweight body (and let me add that I am not criticizing her for being overweight; many people these days are, myself included) and which allowed a view of cleavage that left nothing to the imagination. Her hair was frizzy and didn't look like it had been brushed or combed, and her fingernails, while well-done, were jet black. What really got me, though, was what she was wearing along with the revealing hoodie - she was wearing pajama pants, bright red, with Mario from the "Super Mario Brothers" video game series on them. She wore flip flops on her feet, and her toenails were painted to match her fingers.

The worker behind the counter asked her if she wanted to wait to talk to the manager on duty, and the young woman replied "Yeah, I guess I can wait." The young man came to her a couple of minutes later, and asked her about her work history, noting that she had only held two jobs in her working career. Her response was something along the lines of, "Yeah, just a coupla jobs. I worked at one for around 5 years and the other one...uh, I think it was a couple months, give or take. Mostly, I just been a full-time mommy," the word "mommy" having been spoken in a sing-song voice, as one would speak to a child.

By this time, my daughter and I had our coffees and bagels so we were able to leave and finish our commute to school. When we got in the car, we looked at each other and said "What the hell...?" and I more or less blew up. I was outraged that someone would have the gall to go and apply for a job dressed like she just fell out of bed (it was 7:15, after all) and on top of that, have such atrocious communication skills.

After a few minutes of ranting, I quieted down and started to think. If I had been the shift manager, I wouldn't have hired her, but I also realized that as an adult in society, I am partly responsible for the way this young woman presented herself. I realized that she must not have had a supportive environment in which to grow up - no shock there, given the state of the American family in the last 30 or so years, but she also didn't get what she needed at school.

Teachers have to do a lot more than just present material for kids to learn. For me, I see my job as being that of not only French teacher, where the kids need to learn grammar, verb conjugations and French culture, but I have a responsibility to be a role model for them by modeling behavior that is appropriate and clothing that is appropriate and tasteful as well. I don't make a whole lot, but I don't think I dress badly at school. I also use correct grammar and I don't curse or speak profanely in front of the kids. When I hear them speak in that way I correct them on it swiftly and decisively. I don't teach them how to dress because that's up to the parents to do, but I have no issue whatever in telling a girl that she is showing too much cleavage or that her skirt is too short. I also have no issue telling a boy that he needs to pull up his pants and tuck in his shirt.

I have occasionally talked with my kids about what eh so-called real world is like and about the importance of taking initiative and responsibility for their actions and their appearance, and they were stunned when I told the boys that shorts down to the crack of their derrieres and tee shirts depicting a dead moose with an inscription of "Got ya sucka!" across the back are not going to open a lot of doors for them. And the girls would see few doors as well when they wore shorts up to the cheeks of their butts, spaghetti strap tops that are 2 sizes too tight and which show cleavage that I would just about KILL to have and makeup that looked like a bricklayer had applied it.

I guess my point is that as teachers, we need to be better role models for the kids we teach. We need to remind these kids that there are proper and improper ways to present themselves - and that not only do they need to dress and speak properly, hygiene is also important. Freshly groomed hair, clean teeth and fresh breath are things that adults take for granted, but somehow that message hasn't gotten to the kids. They deserve to be taught. They need to learn how to value and have some respect for themselves. And while this is tough to teach, we, as teachers, need to model that for them. And who knows, one day it may stick.

Here we go again...

Well, I got through the week, and that's something. The worst did happen - my job has been cut - and I am surprisingly calm, not overly angry (though I would be less than honest if I didn't say that I am furious), and starting to look at my options. I don't have that many but I do have a few. Come June, I may well feel worse than I do now, but again, I am leaning on my faith and I know in my heart of hearts that I will be fine. The finality of it all has not hit me yet - or perhaps it has and I'm not aware of it. Doesn't really matter; I have to move on and look to what lies ahead. I have what I need to do that, and with vacation this upcoming week, it's the perfect time. Now if I just had a working printer... I've done a lot of thinking about the state of the state and the country of late ~ who hasn't? The more I consider it all, the more frustrated I become. Many people have posted surveys online to ask if the president deserves another term in Washington, and thus far, I honestly don't know how to respond. He's no saint as far as running the country is concerned, but I'll tell you, he's far better than GW ever thought of being. When I think back on my life under the Clinton Administration, and I am talking about Mr. Clinton's presidency, not his extracurricular activities, I have to say that it was infinitely better than it is now. We had a balanced budget, we were able to buy our first home, keep up with the monthly bills, and still have some left over to save for our daughter's education. Then came GW, and inflation increased by I-don't-know-how-much, we got into a war over oil and suspected weapons of mass destruction, every ounce of privacy we've ever enjoyed is gone, and countless other changes that have made life difficult at best. I believe that the best government is the least government, which would peg me as a republican, but I also believe that charity begins at home and we have a moral responsibility to take care of those who are unable to take care of themselves adequately, which makes me - in some people's eyes anyhow - a bleeding heart liberal democrat. What strikes me as being the most idiotic is that this country has completely lost its common sense. Take for example the current budgetary concerns on both the state and federal level. What are the first things to be cut? Well, on the federal level, education, Medicare and Medicaid - I will address that in a minute - and other social programs, to name a few. On the state level, pretty much the same things. I get infuriated that education funds are severely curtailed, while at the same time, people bitch and moan about test scores being low and how the US isn't first in the world in education. You cannot have it both ways, Mr. President and Governor Lynch! You have to compromise somewhere and somehow! Now, about Medicaid. I am one of those bleeding heart tightwads (how's that for an oxymoron?!) who believes that we need a total overhaul of Medicaid funding. There are people in the world who need Medicaid and welfare programs in order to survive, and I don't want to deny anyone who truly needs help. However, these people who refuse to work and prefer to stay home and have babies have to be put on notice that we, as Americans, should not be responsible for supporting their habit of copulating. Articles of clothing have zippers for a reason, people. Let's start keeping them closed for once! Now, for those who truly need help and are willing to work, then for the love of God, help them! Get them jobs, education, whatever they need in order to get off assistance! Stop the ridiculousness of shutting off benefits just because someone has a job that pays only minimum wage. HELP people to do better, manage their money, take care of their kids. DO something besides dole out checks! And while I'm at it, let's examine Medicare and retirement. Now, in NH, retirees are in danger of having their benefits reduced, and they now have to pay a portion of their health insurance. I fail to see the logic in this. Retirees are not working...and their benefits are reduced? Retirees are on fixed incomes! Wake up! Why do you want to decrease the benefits of people who no longer work?! Where is the sense in that?! Medicare and disability benefits are the same - where is the sense in that? Did I miss something somewhere? Anyway, that's my rant for the day. Enjoy yours, everyone.