Our “Breakfast Club”

Years ago, when I started writing and joined the blogging community, the subject matter was so much more…lighthearted. For the most part. When I developed my own website, it wrapped itself around my unfinished book which is a collection of memories of dealing with my later mother’s battle with dementia. 

That…has come full circle. 

Writing, to me, is about growth, about not marginalizing oneself into focusing on a single topic, day in and day out. Let’s face it, we all have opinions and so much more to say…about everything. Blogging provides that platform, almost a stage where we perform through what we write. 

Within the past two, or more years, my overall “tone” has developed an edge of sorts. Chalk it up to the pandemic, just like everyone else does, it seems. And now, with the current world turmoil, and all that goes along with that touchy subject, it’s quite difficult to sit down and put together some rambling words that spout sunshine, rainbows and lollipops. 

But then a good friend tagged me in a Facebook post, and it made me stop and think about good times, and friendships. And breakfasts on Sunday mornings. 

It all started well over one year ago with friends from a club The Husband and I belong to here where we live. Outside of that domain, several of us have gathered for long walks and meet just about every week at a great spot here in Carmel for breakfast. We call ourselves the Breakfast Club (of course) and we have our own spot in the upstairs part of George’s where at least ten or more of us sit in the same seats, week after week. We share and vent about life’s injustices from the days before or those ahead of us. From one end of the huge table to the other, idiotic YouTube videos and Memes are shared while we talk politics on all levels. Of course, there’s a bit of gossip to be had and we laugh like hell, sometimes so loud that our waitress, Karen, shuts the upstairs level door so we don’t disturb others. (Some of us, no names mentioned, can be a tad…loud.)

Positive friendships have blossomed and, in that, a respect for our differences along with support for the personal or family medical issues some have on their plate. And, speaking of plates…each week the breakfast orders range from oatmeal with blueberries, eggs over easy with a side of hash browns, stacks of pancakes, cheese omelets over corned beef hash (with a side of rye toast), waffles smothered with apples and whipped cream and… coffee, lots and lots of coffee.   Did I mention…” please pass the hot sauce”? Yup, that and ketchup. 

Each Sunday morning ends with gentle hugs outside the restaurant and we make our way into one more week. And we smile and wave as each of us drives away, knowing we’ll get to do it all over again in just a few more days. 

From Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop…
Write about what you miss most about your early days of blogging. 
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Hear me roar…

strong woman

 

Here we are, doing our best to exist in the 21st century. From where I’m sitting, it’s a shit show and I refuse to apologize for this, or any of the commentary which follows. As I like to remind those who read what I write, here on my internet domain, if you don’t like it, or disagree with it, just move along. Please. 

Still here? Great. I’ll start with current events focused on the Supreme Court confirmation hearing involving Ketanji Brown Jackson, touted as a radical, left-wing activist by some, but the woman does bring extensive credentials to the governmental table. Except for two things, one which is getting beaten to death and is a point of annoyance to many, myself included. The second….is… and should be of tremendous concern to everyone. 

As she sat in the proverbial “hot seat”, Jackson was asked to define “woman”. She would not, possibly could not, but it was most likely an artful dodge of her “left ideology” refusal to acknowledge what a woman truly is. You know, I know, we all know, that a woman is an adult female person who belongs to a particular category (as by birth, residence, membership or occupation) ….at least Merriam-Webster thinks so. In fact, so do I but the underlying issue here is the political drama behind any response given by either side of the political coin.

What I find insulting is that any individual slated to take a seat on the high court of our country who professes such an asinine and ambiguous attitude when asked a damn elementary-level question… should not get away with it.  Whatever. In the order of things so much more important, this little episode will be nothing other than fodder for social media babble for an extended period…or until Facebook or Instagram deletes posts and those who share same. 

But…Jackson’s ambivalent attitude and censurable judicial performance toward mandating due process to individuals convicted of being pedophiles is far worse and unforgivable. At no point, ever, should a “soft on crime” attitude and likewise mandated incarceration period be minimized when any child is victimized, or worse, by some degenerate who should not roam free in society. Any future decisions on crimes such as this when Jackson sits on the Supreme Court should be focused on the children, not federal guidelines which, in many cases, are not followed, as stated by Douglas Berman, an Ohio State law professor… “federal sentencing guidelines for child sexual abuse imagery “are widely recognized as dysfunctional and unduly severe” and that “federal judges nationwide rarely follow them.” “If and when we properly contextualize Judge Jackson’s sentencing record in federal child porn cases, it looks pretty mainstream,” he wrote.  

Mainstream, eh? Minimizing the trauma and damage suffered by children at the hands of those who are deemed “less serious offenders” or “socially inadequate people” is deplorable. Why is there almost an element of acceptance when lenient sentences are given to sex offenders? Data shows there is further evidence of the systematic protection of sexual predators in this country, both by judges and prosecutors. This is more than evident with Ketanji Jackson’s judicial track record. 

Sadly, as we’ve all witnessed, too many political decisions are based solely on party preference with little or no thought given to how these individuals will properly represent the citizens of our country. Yes, yes, this is voting and… the entire process has taken a significant nosedive. Our country stands almost in a state of Limbo, lacking any true guidance while the threat of a devastating war looks over the world’s shoulder. 

But, aside from Ketanji Jackson, most of us know what a woman is….and aren’t hesitant to share the definition.  Especially me.  Hear me roar.

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As the stomach turns….

Definition of Tripe:

1:  Stomach tissue especially of a ruminant (as an ox) used as food.

Yuck!

2: Something poor, worthless or offensive.

Highly offensive!

 

Make no bones about it, I despise Tripe, in fact, just thinking and typing about it gives me the chills.

There are some fairly disgusting foods that people ingest, even going so far as to label them “delicacies” but this particular one is, in one word, grotesque.

Before all the cards, letters and e-mails start rushing in from people lauding the wonderfulness of entrails, pigs feet, tails, fried grasshoppers or other assorted vile food items, let me assure you that I will never go over to the dark side of the table where any of the above is concerned.

I’ve never eaten or come close to Tripe other than viewing it sitting there inside a butcher’s case, looking all gnarly and gross.  And, there was that instance of childhood trauma which may have triggered my lifelong revulsion to this ruminant.   Nope, scratch the “may have”…it has definitely scarred my taste buds.

 

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Got your attention, did I?

Let me take you back.  The year..1952, I was seven years old.  An only child, dragged along to the movies by my parents to see “Moulin Rouge”, a movie they found entertaining but was way over my young head; in fact, it terrified me with just the opening scenes.  The music blared in the movie theater and images of women danced across the screen, kicking their legs up in the air along with massive, twirling, petticoats that, to me, looked just like Tripe, ready to jump out of the screen and into my frightened lap.

Do you understand where I’m going with this?  I hope so!
Returning home that evening, I went to bed and awoke later with nightmares. Tripe…dancing around in my room, Tripe…dancing over my bed.  Ugh.  It has been something that haunts me still.  Just so you don’t think I’m certifiable, allow me to present further evidence as to my reasoning and distaste for this food substance I absolutely abhor….the similarities to the petticoats from Moulin Rouge.

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Must….I say more?  And, please, don’t tell me it tastes “just like chicken!”

 

 

workshop-button-1From Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop:…Are you a picky eater? Write about the foods that trigger your fight or flight response.   This is an older post, re-worked a bit, but too good to pass up for this prompt.  To this very day, I don’t think there is any other food on the planet which makes my stomach turn as much as this.

 

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