1. The deficit is actually shrinking.
2. The deficit grew under George W. Bush.
3. The deficit has grown in the last four years mostly due to the recession.
4. The stimuous cost much less than Bush's wars and tax cuts.
5. Investors are now paying us to borrow money.
6. Investors aren't running away. They are buying Treasury Bonds.
7. The Health Care Reform Act reduces the deficit.
8. The US is borrowing much less from Foreign countries now than before the recession.
9. We are spending 20% of the budget on defense.
10. We are spending 21% of the budget on healthcare.
Monday, September 17, 2012
I'm not looking but it's ok because I believe...
Why don't people open their eyes? Why do many people believe the loudest voice on the TV or radio? Why are the same mistakes made as history is ignored? There must be profit in it for someone. Not me; of course, I am in the lower half of the "middle class". One thing that President Obama, Mitt Romney, George Will, and most other national politicos have in common is that they are so out of touch they cannot conceive how much of a luxury going out for a $5 McDonald's lunch is for me. To realize evidence of this it is only necessary to listen to many who say that this or that government program or tax hurts small business people. Of course, the term "small business" includes many businesses that routinely trade over a million dollars. Of course; to them, I could be making $200,000 a year and still be considered "middle class". To me a small business is the mom and pop bookstore on 3rd street that has half a dozen employees. Most people don't think to ask what is meant by "small business" or "middle class" because they are too busy believing in someone or some philosophy.
I don't understand how anyone can believe that we can have the society we have without government regulation and by reducing taxes on those who can afford them most. I know it doesn't seem fair that Warren Buffet should have to pay a higher percentage of his money in taxes than me, but the aforementioned hamburger costs us both the same. If my taxes are a larger percentage of my available income (for food) than his, it affects me more. If we both routinely buy the $5 hamburger, I don't get to buy new shoes this year and he still gets to buy a new Rolls Royce. Many "middle class" people cannot afford new shoes at all.
The belief function of the brain and the thinking part of the brain are separate. You can't do both at the same time. This is a big part of the problem. When people start believing in someone or something they stop thinking. Remember that when your candidate of choice says something will hurt or help small businesses or the middle class: they cannot relate to what a small business or middle income level is to you and me.
Please people: stop believing and start thinking.
.
I don't understand how anyone can believe that we can have the society we have without government regulation and by reducing taxes on those who can afford them most. I know it doesn't seem fair that Warren Buffet should have to pay a higher percentage of his money in taxes than me, but the aforementioned hamburger costs us both the same. If my taxes are a larger percentage of my available income (for food) than his, it affects me more. If we both routinely buy the $5 hamburger, I don't get to buy new shoes this year and he still gets to buy a new Rolls Royce. Many "middle class" people cannot afford new shoes at all.
The belief function of the brain and the thinking part of the brain are separate. You can't do both at the same time. This is a big part of the problem. When people start believing in someone or something they stop thinking. Remember that when your candidate of choice says something will hurt or help small businesses or the middle class: they cannot relate to what a small business or middle income level is to you and me.
Please people: stop believing and start thinking.
.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Mom baked cookies
My mom loved everybody. Personal space be damned; mom was a hugger. Everybody knew my mom's smile and hugs and of course: her cookies.
Mom was a professional woman. She had a 4 year college degree and was a registered nurse. She only worked as a nurse when she needed to. She was always a full-time mother and housewife. I guess you could say she was liberated because she was free to do what she wanted; and what she wanted was to raise her boys and take care of her household. She loved housework. My mother ironed our tee shirts just for the joy of doing it! She also had dinner on the table promptly at 5:30 each night. Somewhere in there she found time to bake. Apple pie and strawberry shortcake were seasonal delights but brownies and cookies were regulars.
When my bothers and I grew up and moved away, mom retired from nursing and did volunteer work at Northside and North Fulton Hospital. She never let on to them that she was a nurse. This way she could care for people (the way she loved) in an environment she knew well, without any pressure. With a home that didn't have three growing boys and their friends constantly messing it up, and with a whole lot less laundry to do, mom baked more. She settled on sugar cookies.
Now Mom wasn't the greatest baker in the World. She did cook with a whole lot of love and it came through even when the edges were a bit brown and the texture somewhat overly crunchy (hard as rocks). Of course, Mom firmly believed a cold glass of milk could fix any miscalculation in baking times. The fact is: she didn't pay a whole lot of attention to baking times and everything got baked at 350 degrees.
I'm not really sure where the sugar cookie recipe Mom used came from. When I was small and insecure Mom's form of therapy involved teaching me to bake brownies or chocolate chip cookies which she never used a written recipe for (I think that this is why she never baked bread). The improvisational method of baking has it's successes and failures but I never remember a bad batch of brownies. Until later in life though sugar cookies were reserved for Chirstmas cutout cookies. Between having to wait for the dough to chill, adding lots of food coloring and decorating with colored nonpareils, sugar cookies were a major production to be eagerly anticipated. Still never a recipe. Sometimes they were hard and sometimes the green Christmas trees looked like they had the blight, but they were always tasty. When she "retired" and sugar cookies became a weekly thing for Mom she actually wrote down her recipe and Dad sent it in to a magazine contest which she won. Even after that I don't think she ever referred to her own recipe. It was this, that and a pinch of something else. Chill the dough, cut them out (simple rounds now) throw them in a 350 degree oven for awhile. Nothing fancy, but they filled the cookie jar.
That cookie jar never stayed full though. If you visited Mom and Dad's the cookie jar came off the fridge and you had a cookie. Most likely you left with a bag of cookies. The mailman got cookies. The UPS man left with cookies. The flower delivery person (Dad loved to send Mom flowers as often as he could afford to) left with cookies. The preacher and every neighbor knew my Mom's sugar cookies. She did venture out once in awhile and try molasses cookies (my Grandmother's specialty) ginger snaps, or snickerdoodles. But she always came back to sugar cookies and everybody got them.
When my mom died peacefully in her sleep we had to decide upon a vessel of some sort to put her ashes in for the memorial/interment service. Even though we thought it might raise a few eyebrows, there was really only one thing we could use: her cookie jar. At the funeral when the pall was removed and there sat Mom's earthly remains inside her cookie jar, there was not a murmur, chuckle or any little old ladies gasping to be heard. There were a whole bunch of smiles though. Everyone knew Mom baked cookies.
Now Mom wasn't the greatest baker in the World. She did cook with a whole lot of love and it came through even when the edges were a bit brown and the texture somewhat overly crunchy (hard as rocks). Of course, Mom firmly believed a cold glass of milk could fix any miscalculation in baking times. The fact is: she didn't pay a whole lot of attention to baking times and everything got baked at 350 degrees.
I'm not really sure where the sugar cookie recipe Mom used came from. When I was small and insecure Mom's form of therapy involved teaching me to bake brownies or chocolate chip cookies which she never used a written recipe for (I think that this is why she never baked bread). The improvisational method of baking has it's successes and failures but I never remember a bad batch of brownies. Until later in life though sugar cookies were reserved for Chirstmas cutout cookies. Between having to wait for the dough to chill, adding lots of food coloring and decorating with colored nonpareils, sugar cookies were a major production to be eagerly anticipated. Still never a recipe. Sometimes they were hard and sometimes the green Christmas trees looked like they had the blight, but they were always tasty. When she "retired" and sugar cookies became a weekly thing for Mom she actually wrote down her recipe and Dad sent it in to a magazine contest which she won. Even after that I don't think she ever referred to her own recipe. It was this, that and a pinch of something else. Chill the dough, cut them out (simple rounds now) throw them in a 350 degree oven for awhile. Nothing fancy, but they filled the cookie jar.
That cookie jar never stayed full though. If you visited Mom and Dad's the cookie jar came off the fridge and you had a cookie. Most likely you left with a bag of cookies. The mailman got cookies. The UPS man left with cookies. The flower delivery person (Dad loved to send Mom flowers as often as he could afford to) left with cookies. The preacher and every neighbor knew my Mom's sugar cookies. She did venture out once in awhile and try molasses cookies (my Grandmother's specialty) ginger snaps, or snickerdoodles. But she always came back to sugar cookies and everybody got them.
When my mom died peacefully in her sleep we had to decide upon a vessel of some sort to put her ashes in for the memorial/interment service. Even though we thought it might raise a few eyebrows, there was really only one thing we could use: her cookie jar. At the funeral when the pall was removed and there sat Mom's earthly remains inside her cookie jar, there was not a murmur, chuckle or any little old ladies gasping to be heard. There were a whole bunch of smiles though. Everyone knew Mom baked cookies.
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