Intended Consequences

Thinking about unintended consequences brought me to an intended consequence.

People who write sentences where they substitute the letter "n" or "the n word" instead of writing it all out think they are being very caring and discerning, but what they are really doing is making me be the one saying the bad word!

And if they write "f--k" they know I'll have to say the darned word outloud in my head, thereby making me be the curser!

So if they want to say the words, just say them, just write them down, just get on with it and stop pretending to be nicey-nice!

Unintended Consequences

For many years the Chinese have restricted the number of children their marrieds can have in the interest of curbing their population growth. I've always been quietly proud that we have not had to live with such an edict, but lately I've given thought to another form of child-limitation laws.

For most people in the U.S.A. there is a limit on how many children any couple can have. In practical terms it is eight. In even more practical terms it is four. But for most people, the limit is three.

So, you say, "There's no law like that in our country!" Yup, there is. It's one of those pesky "unintended consequences" that my hubby is always warning about.

Every child under the age of four (I think that's the age, but I may be wrong) has to sit in an approved child restraint seat. Every other person in the auto has to be seatbelted. So, count the seatbelts in an ordinary car. The answer is _______, (making the limit 2 adults and three children).

If you have four children, your vehicle must seat ____, which means you have to own a minivan.

The upper limit, unless you want to drive a school bus or take two cars everywhere, is eight, and you have to buy, maintain, and gas up a full-sized van.

I'm not proposing that we change any safety law. Goodness knows seatbelts and child restraint seats have saved countless lives and prevented a myriad of injuries. But, when we're criticizing China for their limiting law, we must also recognize that we live with some limitations ourselves.

Profanity 101

I remember when I decided I was old enough to swear. I’d spent 16 years using only darn and heck, and shortly after I turned 16 I allowed myself to say damn and hell. It was such a major step toward what I considered to be maturity. I watched my adult family smoke, but never considered smoking a badge of maturity. Swearing was something else again.

The adults in my family honed their swear-word vocabulary and used the power words and phrases liberally. Hardly any of them could or would complete a sentence without a g-damn or sob (they didn’t abbreviate them, of course). The words wafted around the dinner tables, casual conversations, political arguments, anecdotes, jokes, and so forth. It seemed to me that grownups had this separate and unequal language that was reserved for them….and I kind of wanted to be mature like that.

I was too much of a “good girl” to use such language, however. At 16 it was time to stretch out. I don’t recall exactly when I first used a damn in the presence of my mother, but bless her heart, she didn’t bat an eye. Damn and hell became okay words, and I reveled in being able to use them.

I think it was several years later when I added ---- (chit, as cousin Joy says in print). I have always thought it a vulgar word, and regret that I ever started using it. But some of the funniest lines extant are those that use this useful if despicable word. I was always careful to reserve the word to private conversations. I remember one time at a church dinner one of the girls spilled a whole glass of milk on the table. I said, “Oh shoot!” Our minister was impressed. He said that not many people would have been able to resist the obvious swear word to fit the occasion.

Using profanity at home was usual. I didn’t realize how ubiquitous it was, until the day my 3-year old son and I stepped out the side door, and caught sight of a blooming plant. He said, “I wonder what the hell kind of plant that is?” Ooops! Time to clean up the family language, and I did.

Almost everyone remembers the first time their offspring correctly used profanity. Three year old grandson Robbie was trying to pull up a beet, and his mother heard him say to himself, “How the hell do you get this damn fing outa here!”

And now those swear words that gave me such pleasure have been eclipsed by “the queen mother of all swear words.” And the power of that all-purpose word has been diluted until its as common as the word “the.” It’s a word I’ve never learned to use freely, and I think I’ll keep it that way. I reserve it for really serious situations where I need the most powerful of profane words to express or release the tension. But I guess I’m old-fashioned.

Nine Months to Learn to Knit

Feeling motherly when I discovered I was pregnant with my first baby, I decided I'd knit it a sweater (In those days we had to do things the old fashioned way, and I didn't know if "it" was a boy or a girl). I got one of those "How to Knit" books at the Ben Franklin store and a couple of hanks of light yellow baby yarn. It was slow learning, but I had nine months to do it in. I got all the pieces done, sleeves, back, fronts, but I never got it put together which is just as well, because by that time I was sick of that color of yellow.

However, by then I had the knitting bug, and for the next 5 years I knitted sweater after sweater for my kids, a girl and a boy eventually.

I even knitted a sweater for my father-in-law who said one January that no one had ever knitted him a sweater. It turns out that the sweater was too big, and I don't think he ever wore it, but he liked the idea that I had done it for him. When he died, my youngest daughter glommed on to that sweater and probably still has it.

I knit argyle socks for my father in nylon yarn. They were a blast to knit! And he WORE them! Eventually one of my daughters got those, too.

There were some flops along the way. I knitted a heather blue sweater for my mother that got into deep trouble with the cowl collar. Even she couldn't figure out how to finish that sweater, and she was an excellent knitter. A couple of years ago I set out to knit sweaters for my two- and one-year-old granddaughters. I think I got one finished, but the other one is languishing and will probably never be completed. That doesn't bother me really. The part of knitting I like is the DOING of it!

You've Got to Wonder

In the wake of the election of the Obama, the developing trend is disturbing.

You know, if anyone were trying to undermine the government of the U.S.A., what they need to do is get elected president and then appoint the very worst examples to major posts.

For example, they might start by naming John Kerry as Secretary of State. Another good choice would be the most partisan Democrat to the post of Chief of Staff. And to take a famous general and make him Secretary of Education.

It wouldn't be hard to come up with the people who would be most likely to fail, to louse things up. Looks like the good old U.S.A. has some tumultous and maybe disastrous times ahead.

I've never read The Manchurian Candidate, but maybe it's time that I did.