Believe it or not!, Health, Who's the mom here?, Womanhood

There’s Killing; And then there’s KILLING.

Posted on May 31, 2011May 30, 2011 by Katharine

Number killed or missing in action in all wars in U.S. history: 1,343,812. Adding the wounded: 2,489,335.

Number killed or missing in action in U.S. wars since 1973: 12,387. Adding the wounded: 96,680.

Number of executions in U.S. history dating back to 1608: 15,269.

Number killed in the September 11 attacks: 2,977.

Number of detainees waterboarded by the CIA under President Bush: 3.

Number of abortions in the U.S. since 1973: 53,310,843 through 2010.

Number of abortions per year in the U.S. since 1973: 1,402,917.

Number of abortions per month in the U.S. since 1973: 116,910.

Number of abortions per week in the U.S. since 1973: 26,979.

Number of abortions per day in the U.S. since 1973: 3,841.

Number of abortions by Planned Parenthood in the U.S. in 2009: 332,278, more than 900 per day, or 27.6% of all abortions in the U.S.

Believe it or not!, Blessings of Habit, Homemaking, Wisdom, Womanhood

Ten Steps to Tornado Safety

Posted on May 27, 2011March 26, 2018 by Katharine

Yesterday I shared my memories of surviving the Ruskin Heights tornado of 1957.

Today I’d like to explain what was wrong with what we did.

Few people took tornadoes as seriously as they should have.
ALWAYS TAKE A TORNADO SERIOUSLY; IF YOU WANT TO CHASE OR WATCH THEM, GET THE TRAINING, FIRST.
There were very few sirens and they were not systematic in their sounds.
LEARN WHAT THE VARIOUS TONES AND PATTERNS OF YOUR EARLY WARNING SYSTEM MEAN. ALSO, DEMAND THAT YOUR AREA SOUND SIRENS ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES AND PRESCRIBED TESTING, NOT FOR SETTING CLOCKS OR CELEBRATING.
It was against some law or policy to issue tornado warnings over radio, although a Mr. Audsley did so, that night in 1957, risking his job to save lives.
ALWAYS LISTEN TO RADIO, OR BETTER YET, TO A DOPPLER-BASED WEATHER RADIO STATION. HAVE A RADIO THAT WORKS DURING BLACKOUTS.
Few people knew what to do. Our hiding under a table was as futile as our running across lawns was dangerous.
KNOW HOW TO BE SAFE, WHICH PORTIONS OF ANY BUILDING ARE GENERALLY SAFER IN A TORNADO, AND HOW YOU CAN BE SAFER IF CAUGHT OUTDOORS.
We were barefoot or nearly barefoot.
WHEN YOU REALIZE A TORNADO MAY BE ON ITS WAY, PUT ON YOUR MOST STURDY SHOES AND SOME SOCKS, STURDY JEANS, AND A STURDY SHIRT. MAKE YOUR CHILDREN DO THE SAME.
Although helmets for children were not available over 50 years ago, today we also should store helmets in the basement or safe place during tornado weather, one for each family member.
Many people were caught bathing.
NEVER BATHE DURING LIGHTNING OR TORNADOES.
Although Kansas and Missouri are notorious, worldwide, for hosting tornadoes, few people were ready with a plan and supplies.
WE HAVE LEARNED HOW TO FACE TORNADOES WITH PREPAREDNESS. RENEW YOUR PREPAREDNESS PLAN AND SUPPLIES AT LEAST EVERY SPRING.
We were shocked at the far-reaching effects.
DEBRIS CAN LAND ANYWHERE. WATCH OUT FOR FALLING DOORS, TRICYCLES, ETC.
People were injured by the aftermath.
DO NOT TOUCH DOWNED WIRES OR GO NEAR THEM—ELECTRICITY CAN JUMP. IF YOU SMELL GAS, EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY AND DO NOT LIGHT OR START ANYTHING OR CAUSE ANY SPARKS, EVEN ELECTRIC SPARKS. DO NOT GO INTO WRECKED BUILDINGS WITHOUT HEADGEAR. ETC.
Although phones were different back then and most were down, today we must:
MAKE ONLY ONE PHONE CALL TO AN OUTSIDE FRIEND OR RELATIVE AND ASK HIM OR HER TO FORWARD YOUR STATUS. LEAVE THE LINES OPEN FOR THOSE WHO NEED EMERGENCY CARE.

More tomorrow.

Believe it or not!, Good ol' days, Inspiring, Who's the mom here?, Womanhood

RUN! OH, RUN!

Posted on May 26, 2011October 18, 2019 by Katharine

Tornado! I remember my mother’s voice that evening: It warbled.

And though I was only six years old, I knew the warble came from utter terror. We were running as fast as a heavily pregnant woman with three children ages 2-6 could run. She was watching the sky more than the path to the gate, carrying my sister, holding my brother’s hand, and sort of warbling to me, “Oh, run, hurry, RUN!”

I dug my toes into my flip-flops and ran.

I knew it was a tornado up there, whatever a tornado was. I looked up, too, and stumbled.

Mom scolded me sharply. “Don’t look up! Don’t look up! Don’t look up!” She seldom scolded sharply. It hurt my feelings but I knew it was no time for hurt feelings. Her words were like a mantra, a warbled charm against bad omens . . . don’t look up, don’t look up . . .

But, when I had looked up I was puzzled. It looked just like clouds.

Then I had seen a door. And when, disobeying, I looked up again, I saw a tricycle.

We were headed to our neighbor’s house. My mom screamed for them to let us in. We cowered under their huge oaken table, in the dark, with our mother’s arms encircling us. I heard my mom praying, so I prayed too. We cried and pleaded with God to protect us. I did not know what to be scared about, but my mom’s fear was plenty for us both.

The neighbor calmly stood on his front porch and watched the sky. His wife wrung her hands and paced through the house. I remember her shoes and feeling sort of dumb lying on the floor under her table while she walked by. I thought of a Little Rascals episode in which the children hid under furniture.

Then it was over. We went home. My mom talked for days about the foolishness of standing on the front porch to watch a tornado go by, summoning new terror at each telling.

It was over, yes, for us, but for the victims it still goes on. The forty-four dead would be burried. The over 500 injured would tell their stories.

And the RUIN still speaks.

More tomorrow.

To read a beautiful memorial written for one of the victims, read here.

Believe it or not!, Herbs, Homemaking, Who's the mom here?

Eye Came, Eye Saw, Eye Conquered

Posted on May 17, 2011May 11, 2011 by Katharine

I went to the eye doctor a week ago. I’ve had some sort of problem for months and am finding little satisfaction in the medical profession. Also am spending all I have on doctors, and we do have insurance.

At first, I had all the symptoms of glaucoma, except blindness, and all the exacerbating preconditions except heredity. I went to an eye doctor and behold, my eye pressure was okay, but I just needed bifocals. I put on the glasses and three weeks of headaches were gone in three hours.

Then vision changed again, with the things I looked at moving while I looked at them. The venetian blinds were bent, the words I typed were missing letters, my eyes did not focus at the same depth. Weird.

I decided I needed a different doctor, since I now thought I had macular degeneration and the previous doctor had not even tried checking me for that although I am 60 and complained of vision loss and slow and unequal focusing.

We investigated and found—at least a 6-week waiting period for an appointment. But, wonder of wonders, I contracted some kind of infection with red, swollen eyes weeping all day, and itchy. My G.P. was booked, everyone in town having flu, pneumonia, etc. Could I try my optometrist? Grrrr.

Of course, he was available. I had a staph infection of a non-fatal type, and should pitch all my eye makeup, wash my eyes with special towelettes, soak my toothbrush in peroxide, not let anyone drink after me, and use special prescription drops with antibiotics. And steroids. Grrrr.

I did everything he said, religiously, and although the symptoms faded, I felt they never were fully gone. My eyes still itched. Sometimes they were still matted in the morning. Everyone encouraged me to ignore this, because I was so improved.

But the dimness of vision, the eyes playing tricks on me, continued. I was seriously considering visiting the booked-up ophthalmic surgeon, when, wonder of wonders, the infection came back. I knew it: It never did go away.

Only this time, I had a blister on my eyelid. This was getting out of hand. Of course, this was Friday night. No eye doctors available for DAYS. I felt it time to take matters into my own hands.

First, I drained the blister. I could see better immediately after that. Then, I used a Q-Tip soaked in colloidal silver to treat the perimeter of the eye. This gave such instant relief from itching that, coupled with hot compresses, I saw and felt great improvement.

This was my vision, though, that I was nonchalantly treating without any expertise, so I tried for and got a quick appointment: Tuesday, not the six weeks I’d heard about. Hmm.

Oh, I wish I could tell you the good doctor praised me for anything I did. Nope. He also disparaged the first doctor, saying the diagnosis and the medicine were wrong. Okay, so my doctor and I were totally ignorant, but get this: This new doctor then told me that HE DID NOT KNOW what was causing my itching eyes and to USE HOT COMPRESSES. What!

Now I have another appointment, a referral to a big time specialist who can do an ultrasound on my eyes, because it is obvious the vision is not good.

Can you guess what I expect to experience then? I’ll keep you posted . . .

Believe it or not!, Who's the mom here?, Womanhood

The Coat Hanger, Revisited

Posted on May 4, 2011May 4, 2011 by Katharine

It’s all new, but it’s old as life, itself: a new way to kill.

You go to the Planned Parent Hoodlums (PPH) and find someone there (Nurse? Janitor? Toxic waste clean-up pro? Who knows?) to give you a poison pill you cannot swallow until you e-mail a doctor.

Right.

You do NOT get a chance to consult with a licensed physician as the FDA says you should. You just web-cam the guy.

It’s the all new telemed coat hanger. And it costs the PPH a lot less. They don’t have to hire a doctor, after all. Whew! Wasn’t THAT a close call!

Friends, this is NOT about equal access to healthcare for women.

This is about those who PROFIT from reaching their tentacles into places where abortion was already “RARE” and causing more of it, by inflicting a dangerous drug cocktail on women and even minor females.

These women and girls are told that if they have any physical troubles, to go to an emergency room and pretend they are having a legitimate miscarriage. Think: If you were a little girl who may or may not have known how you got pregnant in the first place, and have had NO medical counsel, would you know if you were having troubles that necessitated an ER visit? Maybe. And your UNATTENDING physician—where is he? Still unattending, of course, since what he has done is very lawsuit worthy.

Basically, if you dare darken the doors of PPH, you could be merrily sent on your way to hemorrhage to death. Wow, that will certainly cost taxpayers less, since PPH can lay off the toxic waste disposal team, if they bother to have one. Or, hey, they could lay them off and pretend they did not, since they are so into pretending lies, and still collect the money for it. Perfect set up!

But if you do manage to realize you need the ER, and if you do feel enough shame to join in the cover up, and if you do have those poisons racing through your veins, and if the actual REAL attending physician happens to believe you—you will receive treatment based on incomplete information. How safe is that, hmm?

And how obvious PPH does not give a hoot.

About you, that is.

Just money.

Let me tell you one thing: If someone gave a young BOY a poison pill, told him he might feel bad, and if he goes to a doctor NOT to tell what happened, it would be murder and certainly not bankrolled by our taxes.

Let’s hope.

Believe it or not!, Homemaking, Inspiring, Wisdom

Most Popular Post, So Far

Posted on May 2, 2011March 16, 2015 by Katharine

The folks at postaday asked us to list for them our top posts for the year. Since my Internet still has issues with the idea that I am trying to USE it, I thought I would repost this one for those who may have missed it. Hope you like it; it got scads of views!

Reclaiming the Dream

I remember a dream house we moved into, once, that required walking through a nightmare before we could really own it. In a job relocation, we had looked everywhere for anything that would contain us all and that was not affected by the housing bubble. Funny, although it was the only house we could afford, it was clearly the biggest we’d ever seen. I mean, 4000 square feet with 7 acres far exceeded our hopes, in my favorite layout: an A-frame with wings. I thought it was a dream come true.

On closing day, our realtor apologized for having to board an airplane immediately for a business trip. A lie? Maybe, but certainly convenient for the realtor. The sellers skipped town, too. Our sold house was 400 miles away. The new job beckoned.

The promised cleaning had not happened. In fact, the house was far dirtier than at the showing. Everything unwanted from the attic lay strewn all over the game roomfloor—three garbage bags full of it. The kitchen looked like a murder had happened there. Probably someone had just dragged leaky packages of ground beef across the floor to the fridge when someone slipped and nearly fell in it. And had not wiped it up. Of course, the promised professional carpet cleaning existed only in the land of promises-promises. The finale for the day probably was the cat litter and feces on the dining room carpet and the animal barf on the laundry room floor. That is, until I lifted the nasty, old, wet, cleaning rag from the kitchen sink and found inside it a huge dog clunker. I screamed and nearly passed out, grabbed a plastic bag, and hurried the mess out the front door. And bleached absolutely everything while crying.

What followed was a month of the unbelievable. We mastered spot-treating carpet. I would steam clean every night until I could not remember how to turn the machine off, usually around 2 a.m. We learned how to remove vinyl wall-paper glue with a knife. We used five coats of sealer/primer on the purple paint. I list only part. No one believes the rest. Or cares, usually. Let’s say “the dream house became a nightmare.”

BUT—God went before us. Constantly we found signs of His loving approval. The perfect wallpaper in NEUTRAL colors went on sale for $4.00. A wonderful furniture salesman helped us find honest repairmen. We thank God, often, for the fact that of all the things that did not work, the smoke alarms did, since there was a fire, one night.

God blessed, protected, and boosted us as we slipped into this hard place. He gave us joy and strength as we plowed through insurmountable difficulties. One by one, each small space was ours, by right of conquest.

Lately I’ve been thinking about myself when the Lord first moved into my being. I think I know a bit about how He felt.

But He’s been up late, nights.

I am His by right of conquest.

Believe it or not!, Good ol' days

Well, Which Disaster Do You Want First?

Posted on April 29, 2011June 2, 2011 by Katharine

I think I’m back, but my heart hardly knows where to break first . . . .

Disaster #1 – Beloved minister and rescuer of teenage drug captives, David Wilkerson, has died in a car wreck. His wife, Gwen, was with him in the car and is in critical condition. He wrote The Cross and the Switchblade about his early life in New York and how it overlapped the life of Nicky Cruz. After beginning his ministry in Texas, he opened a church in an old theater in New York, where he preached and ministered to whomever dropped in, whether tramp or New York businessman. He was a real modern-day prophet and author of many books, and faithfully published and sent free newsletters (of the postage type) to all who desired to receive them. Listening to his preaching was the first occasion of awakening to the Lord’s call for one of my sons.

Disaster #2 -A beyond-enormous tornado ripped through the Deep South, leaving around 300 dead, at last count.

Disaster #3 -One of the sweetest ladies I know in the world lost her favorite sister to that storm–the sister who stood by her when her son was murdered–gone, along with the sister’s husband.

Disaster #4 – Someone desecrated a memorial to the unborn at Clarion University in Pennsylvania. It was the usual collection of crosses depicting the enormity of the death sentence on the children of our country: 350 white crosses to commemorate the 53 million dead. But the crosses were found turned upside down (a common satanic ritual symbol), spattered with blood-colored paint, and bloody-looking infant footprints appeared on the site. Also in red, on the sidewalk was the phrase, “pro-choice”.

I’m glad to be back with fairly good service available, but cannot process what a sad day it is, out there. It makes our storm seem paltry by comparison (and I KNOW, it’s not a competition and I am glad we do not measure up.)

But tomorrow, Lord willing (I think we need to start saying that more), I will try to bring you a sweet and humorous story from our storm experience.

See ya’.