rambling rosemarie

One of my favorite lines from the movie Titanic is delivered by a baffled man in steerage. Jack and Fabrizio, overjoyed with their good fortune at winning a poker hand and receiving two tickets for passage on Titanic's maiden voyage for their gamble, come tumbling into their prize berth and introduce themselves to their unsuspecting roommates. Surprised at the arrival of strangers one of the men looks at his friend and says, "Where's Sven?" Sven, having been cold cocked by his companion for betting their tickets and losing their voyage to the land of opportunity is nursing a black eye and what I am certain was bitter disappointment. He must have been in absolute disbelief. Titanic has been making the rounds on HBO and I confess, depending on where they are with the story when I bump into it channel surfing, I am likely to watch. The story line itself isn't interesting to me. In fact it is pretty despicable. Of course if it's early in the movie and I get

I read Psalm 31 this morning. It's given me a lot to consider. There are people I admire; people whose character and accomplishments are miles above mine. Those are the people I would like to emulate but often can't get out of my own way or step over my own foibles to come anywhere close. I am not good at being good. There are people who completely confound me. I can't work out what makes them tick. I'd like to poke and prod them a bit until I understand why they do what they do. Curiosity not animosity you understand. We all have our heroes and obsessions. I have always considered social history, crazes and trends a particular fascination. Pet rocks and Oobies were among my favorite phenomenons to ponder back in the 60s and early 70s, especially when juxtaposed with world events. It was apparent to me even then that we have some bizarre herd behaviors. Are you like me in that you enjoy the old musicals? When most kids were watching animated cartoons on Saturd

Things I know about myself... and wish I didn't. I can sit for hours on end watching a movie or chatting with a friend while waxing philosophically about obscure topics. My butt hurts in under 15 minutes when I sit and read my bible. I can still recite the Preamble and the Gettysburg Address. I still know all my lines from being Yente in a production of Fiddler on the Roof. I remember the Pledge of Allegiance and know when the Lords of Leaping and Pipers Piping do their thing in the 12 Days of Christmas. I memorized Isaiah 6 at one time. Now? "In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord, high and exalted seated on his throne, and the train of his robe filled the temple....and something something something and then woe is me for I am a man of unclean lips, something else more too." When I did a post on Tommy Jordan shooting his daughter's laptop after she posted some hateful stuff about her parents on her Face Book wall? I knew what she'd done was wrong

Twenty-six years ago today I lost almost everything I owned in the Valentine's Day Flood of 1986. In November of 1985 my mother died and my step-dad wasn't coping very well in his new role as widower. He asked me if I would move home for awhile. I did and I stored my household in the basement area under his home. Mom and Pop lived in an area of northern California that has been vacation community for years. It floods habitually in winter. The locals expect it and know what to do and where to buy in order to avoid being flooded out. Many homes are built on pillar and post, raising the living area out of harm's way. My parents home was in an area affected by the first rising waters. It was on a hill and they had it raised a story so while the street flooded the house did not. When they had the home raised I went from fearing floods to enjoying them. We were an island of warmth and comfort while the water lapped at the first level of stairs coming to the house from the

There's a video that's gone viral in the last couple of days, it's one of Tommy Jordan taking his .45 to his daughter's laptop. If you haven't seen it, I will let you Google it or find it on You Tube on your own. You need to know that Mr. Jordan lets expletives fly and although I can probably cuss him and his daughter under the table on any given day, I can't in good conscience link to the video. I am also not willing to throw Mr. Jordan under the bus nor kick him to the curb. This post isn't about telling you what a jerk Mr. Jordan is or how I giggled a bit when he 5 X'd the laptop. I have no ax to grind or stone to throw. I do want to make some observations though. First, let me say that I will never get the parent of the year award. I made some serious mistakes raising my kids. I sincerely thought at the time that I was doing the right thing, and may well have, except that I did it the wrong way. I think Mr. Jordan and I have that in common. For

There are a few things about being single that I don't like and this morning I was reminded of one of them. Pest control. Pest control is a man's job. In fact I daresay men, in consideration for the amount of poo filled diapers women clean up, are by default in charge of all vermin and pestilence eradication. It seems a fair trade. For the past several weeks my cat has kept herself entertained at night by watching a spectacle on the back deck. I knew something was getting into my flowerpots and gnawing away at my hyacinth bulbs but whenever I turned the light on to see what Mali Meow was stalking through the glass, there was nothing to see. Isn't that the way of it, light shines in darkness and creepy things disappear. Last night I was on the telephone in the living room and suddenly the sounds of a cat launching herself into the sliding glass door and batting her paws furiously came resounding from the kitchen. The noise was incredible! It caused the dogs to bark, t

I took some ribbing last night from someone I am certain loves me and has my best interest at heart, which makes all the difference when you're being teased. In the middle of the feigned attacks and my mock protests a serious question was asked. "Why did what Bryan Loritts say get under your skin any more than the hundreds of thousands of other stupid things that are posted on the net?" ( You can read my previous rant here. ) It was a fair question and one I had to do something thinking about. I went to bed thinking about it and woke up thinking about it. Here are my conclusions. Racism is a tender issue for me because I grew up in the East Bay Area during the 60s and 70s. My father was, for most of his life, a bigot. Not the sort of bigot that yelled the dreaded "n" word from the comfort and safety of his car. He was an amiable sort of bigot. He got along with most people but made sure I used my grandmother's address in El Sobrante so I could go to a p