First a word about Venezuela.
Oil
It’s always been about the oil. Not drugs because fentanyl does not come from Venezuela. Proven fact. The majority of the drug comes from Mexico. Get the facts.
And Paul Singer, one of the billionaires who has made millions of contributions to GOP political races stands to profit significantly from the recent actions. Amber Energy, an affiliate of Paul Singer’s Elliott Management hedge-fund firm, emerged victorious in late November in an auction for the U.S. oil refiner Citgo Petroleum Corp. The refiner is a subsidiary of Venezuela’s state-owned company PDVSA.
So I repeat. It’s always been about the oil, and how the wealthiest of the wealthy can profit from it.
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And now too make an abrupt switch from serious to humor before my head explodes, I have one of my old newspaper columns to share. I found this handwritten draft recently and two things surprised me. First, there was a time when I could actually write in cursive and most of that was readable.
Secondly, this was written a long, long time ago. Dare I say that the daughter mentioned here is now, um, over 50 years old. Not sure how that can be. I’m still 39, right?
Don’t answer that. 🙂
That draft was also written when my hubby brought home stacks of computer paper for me to use. We were very frugal back then – always looking for ways to save money – and I used a lot of paper for writing whenever I had a few spare minutes.
Thankfully, we had lots of pencils, so I didn’t have to use a piece of coal.
Who remembers those reams of paper slowly rolling out of huge printers back when computers filled an entire basement of a building, not just a corner of a desk?
Technology sure has come a long way since then, and now I can read that directly into voice recognition and have it appear right here for you to enjoy. I hope you do.
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Having had some thirteen-odd years experience at this motherhood game, I really thought I’d heard all the dumb questions in the world, and all the dumb arguments to my answers imaginable. But little did I know that my youngest has set out to spoil this delusion along with all the others I once had about my expertise as a mother.
What what I’m trying to say is that there’s nothing like a precocious five year old to make you feel like a total incompetent.
The questions for the most part aren’t too bad. On a good day I can almost handle them.
“Why does my skin wrinkle when I fold my hand? “
“Will my hair be gray when I’m old like you mommy? “
“Can I grow bigger? “
(Sure kid hurry up, so I don’t have to listen to any more of these inane questions.”
But the arguments, they’re the ones that really get to me.
“Why can’t I walk on my hands and feed the way Ruffy does?”
“Because Ruffy is a dog, and dogs walk on all four paws. People have hands and feet and only walk on their feet.”
“Uh, uh. I can walk on my handsome feet, see
Question, “Can Angels hear me when I talk?”
“I suppose so if you talk loud enough.”
“Uh, uh. Cuz Angels don’t have ears. Michael told me so.”
This child reminds me of my fourth grade teacher who used to ask loaded questions just to try to catch us sleeping with our eyes open.
But one argument I was glad I had no part in occurred between my daughter and a friend of mine who was watching my kids while I ran errands. The conversation centered around a mutual friend who had just had a baby girl.
According to my friend, the conversation went something like this:
“Oh goody,” my daughter said. “I have another sister.”
“No Danielle. That’s not your sister.”
“Yes it is. If it was a boy baby it would be a brother. But it’s a girl baby so it’s my sister.”
My friend decided that it’s one thing to watch a kid who asks a million questions, but an entirely different matter to watch one who has all the answers. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to discover that this friend is unusually busy the next time I need a babysitter in a hurry.
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That’s all from me for today folks. I do hope the rest of your week goes splendidly. Be safe. Be happy.