Does this picture make me look stupid?

Oh, the curiosity of online dating.  Dating is so different from 35 years ago, when I would go out with someone after getting to know him due to similar circumstances (in the same organization, working together for a while, that sort of thing).  It’s different when your 52, instead of 20.  EVERYTHING IS DIFFERENT…even how I feel about it. All of it is different.

And…there’s landmines around which one must tread carefully.  But the scammer types, the ones who are trying to do whatever it is they’re trying to do…they’re so stinkin’ obvious about it…to me, at least. Talking talking, flurry of emails full of compliments and WOW YOU’R SO INTERESTING… and gradually get more personal and sweeter and start in with the endearments like “oh sweetheart, you seem to be exactly what I’m wanting” and “Oh this is amazing I hope I don’t do anything to screw this up” and yet, there’s no real personal information there.

Oh! You’re a contractor? What’s your current job? Answered with a flurry of vague “have to go talk to my workers now I’ll get back with you later”

The most recent one…he had to go to Dubai (it’s always Dubai…) for a final job… Because Dubai is going to hire a private contractor to build a bridge and road…and he will be there 2 weeks because that’s how long it takes…


His final email said something along the lines of “Oh darling, would you please UPS me some sunscreen and cookies because I don’t have anything to eat and everything is in Arabic here”

ummmmmmmmm. no. But I will google a bunch of pharmacies in Dubai that carry everything in English so go get your own damn cookies.  Asshole.

Image result for do i look stupid to you

But no! What about the one in a nearby town?  He seems nice! But still vague. And strangely, the town of about 5000, where his business is apparently based, has no record of his existence…sooo….hmmmmmm…I wrote him a terse letter as well, telling him that unless he could provide compelling evidence he actually exists as he says he does, he can take a short step off a tall cliff.

But…what about the most recent one? We talked on the phone and he asked “so, how’s the online dating thing going?” And I told him. And he said

OK! Here’s my address, you have my phone number, my cars are (this) and (that) and if you want to send your sons over to check me out I’d be happy to have them. You see, (he said) I am a retired police officer, and have dealt with scammers and their mess, so I want you to be comfortable with me.

Then he said the “widow” word on my status was a magnet for those types. I reassured him that even though I am a widow, I am competent and well-armed. (HA!) as well as fairly smart. I have not given away any really personal information except my phone number to him and Moneybags (who I scared off with a brief discussion of the arsenal). He doesn’t even know my last name or address yet.

Well that’s certainly refreshing.  We’re still going to meet in a public place for coffee, though.

So why did I give him my number? I had an epiphany. First of all, he gave me his number first. And email address. I still felt cagey about it all. Then, #4 came home and said he got a girl’s number at a party. That marinated in my brain for a bit and I thought OH!…that’s how it’s done! And this guy gave me his number and I essentially called him a “stalker until proven otherwise” which is kind of rude, really.

So I sent him a text message, apologizing for responding weird, and said he could call me. Which he did, and we talked for about an hour. Which was really nice. So, we’re going to meet for coffee, or a coke, or something…next Saturday. And he didn’t say a single thing about dumping his girlfriend because she hit menopause, so he’s already one up on Moneybags from the other day.

So for now, we’ll see if we can be friends, since he’s not a contractor on his way to Dubai.

At this point, the online dating thing has become a psychological exercise. I wish I were working on a PhD and could make this some sort of dissertation because it’s kind of fun, since my boundaries are thick.

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So, tell me more!

This online-dating adventure is nothing less than fascinating.  I am getting some very interesting e-mails, from some very interesting (and some not-so) men.  Generally the first one or 2 exchanges are polite, cocktail party “so, what do you do” sorts of things.  After that, I try to be a bit more forthcoming, a bit of my story, so to speak. Mainly because they ask things like “So, what is your story?”. And then…many of them don’t tell me anything…it’s all just glitter and smoke screen.

Have you met me? Do I seem like the glitter type to you? And I don’t smoke.

I’m also 52, and not a fool. If you can’t tell me anything (and I don’t mean phone number or address) about yourself…stuff along the lines of “I grew up in Des Moines and got out of there ASAP” but only say things like “Your such a lovely lady and I want to throw glitter at you for the rest of your life and here’s another smoke screen” then I am not going to talk to you anymore. Even if you say you’re a Christian. Because no…I won’t.

Ain’t nobody got time for that!

On the other hand, I have time for you if you tell me verifiable things like “I worked for thus and such a charity for years, then retired” (and the charity exists) or tell me you grew up in Europe and said “I read for architecture at <European university with an acclaimed architecture school> but decided construction was more fun”  Yes, I know that COULD be a falsehood but just by saying you read for it, rather than you have a degree in it, kind of goes a bit toward your veracity on the subject.  If you tell me about yourself, however humble you might think those things are, I’m going to listen/read.

I will never ask for any information from you that I am unwilling to give about myself.  What was your childhood like? I spent mine in the woods with my dog. What’s your family like? Mine’s a bunch of slightly weird creatives who will try anything. Do you have children? I have 4 overly protective sons.  and so on. (with more detail than that)

No one is completely story-less. I know what sort of person with whom I will be happy for the rest of my life. Mind you, I am not trying to find Himself Pt 2…that would be impossible.  But I would like to find someone who can talk the talk and carry a conversation to it’s logical extreme without thinking it’s strange or getting uncomfortable.  Smart, free thinking, a Believer in Christ, with a silly streak. I’m not so fearful for my future that I’m willing to settle for less than that.

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Dipping my toe into the pool

Well, it’s happened. I went on a date.  It was very…shall we say…ok… My friends asked “Are you going to blog this? Please say you’re going to blog this!”  Right now, I’m going to only say that I was unimpressed by 2 things.

  1. His money. Apparently he has a lot of it and I don’t care. Maybe that’s a problem? But I have a house and a car and enough income to eat sushi with a friend on Friday night. Who needs more than that?  But apparently he wanted to tell me all about investment and retirement funds and Roth IRAs and how much he threw around.
  2.  I am thankful he liked to talk about those things because it meant when he implied we should find the nearest hotel room and (I don’t even remember how he worded it, but he worded it 4 or 5 times during the meal)…I was able to divert the conversation back to retirement plans.  The only reason I didn’t get up and walk out? It was my favorite restaurant and the steak was incredibly good.

In the interest of being a courteous and ladylike Southern Woman…”and that’s all I’ve got to say about that”. Believe me, the desire to be mercilessly merciless about this is strong.


So via the dating site I am using (for +50’s) I am gradually able to figure out the different types of men and their (apparent) methods.  Also, I am assuming it’s mostly women who read this, so if you’re masculine eyes and mind are upset by what I say,  you might fit one of the molds I’m laying out and should consider a life-coach. On the other hand, there are many, many wonderful men in the world who don’t fit these stereotypes and I applaud and salute you.

*and aside…Himself thought I had a bit of a nasty streak sometimes. He was right (still is, even though he’s busy learning to play the guitar and sing with Jesus and maybe Don Williams), however…if the shoe fits…*

So here’s what I’m finding.

  1. The one who wants to impress me with money. See above. Money doesn’t impress me. What you might do with it could…water wells in Africa, sewage treatment plants in India, microloans for small businesses in Bangladesh, setting up a fresh food market in an inner city food desert. Ok if you have money and use it for those things, you’ll catch my attention. But a Lexus and a Phillipe Patek watch and the people for whom you made buttloads of money on the stock market are not interesting.  NEXT
  2. The one who says “I can worship in nature on the golf course as much as I can in a church building”    NEXT
  3. The one who sees “widow” on the profile and instantly assumes “lonely and desperate” and thinks flowery words and immediate proclamations of beauty, faithfulness and a lifelong partnership of true and devoted admiration are what I crave more than air and water…um. No. “Widow” means I was married for a long time and had the man I chose for a life partner rudely yanked away and I had no part in that decision.  It doesn’t mean I’m helpless or confused.  NEXT
  4. The one who has a profile description something along the lines of “Gurl, ur a lucky lady to catch this big fish”  hm…Think I’ll not even bait that hook.  NEXT

So what am I looking for? At first I wasn’t sure. A few online conversations, including one that was proceeding beautifully and I was feeling hopeful.  However, when I asked him to send a current picture, of himself holding a card with my name on it so I could be positive he was who was in the photos he’d sent me (I’d sent him one doing just that), he blew up and started ranting about American women and their constant suspicion…annd…I said…Ok, thank you for your time and the great conversations. and blocked him.  Fortunately I have to good sense God gave me, and never told him my full name or the town I lived in.    If someone is truly interested and invested in having a genuine relationship with me, he will be willing to do what I need to reassure me that he is who he says he is. Whether it’s online or in person. And I would be willing to do the same. This is a strange and sometimes frightening world we live in, and as a woman (albeit a well armed and competent woman) I am cautious with who I choose to give my information. And if he is truly a gentleman, and someone who respects me, he will be forthcoming and do what he can to reassure me.

So, I know what I’m not looking for….just what AM I wanting? Right now- I’d like to make a couple of friends. I miss the singular conversation with  a man.  Men talk differently than women, and as much as I cherish my woman-friends, they tend to not talk much about the merits of a small-block 350 over a big-block 489, or generally recognize the visceral thrill of hitting a bullseye with a .45 from 50 yards. I miss the ideas and laughter of men’s conversation.  (Other than that one friend who’s sometimes also a 14 year old boy like me)

So, I’m learning to pick through the baloney and figure out how all this works. It may mean eventually I’ll set aside the online stuff and allow my friends to do the choosing. The only men I like to talk to right now are all married, so the conversations are very limited, and never over tacos and beer (unless their wife is there too).

All I’m doing right now is standing at the edge of the pond and seeing what the fish look like. I’ve thrown the line in a couple of times, and thrown back what I’ve caught.

Long term- I’d like to find a man who loves and worships God as much as I do, who passes muster with my sons, and who’s children (if he has any) approve of me.  He can’t take himself, or this human life, very seriously, and maybe has a bit of a dad-bod.  Currently I feel a little bit like I’m interviewing people, and it’s the first round.   After that first date (where I was nervous for about 3 seconds, then decided not to be), a friend reminded me that I AM A GREAT CATCH and HE has to impress ME, not the other way around. That doesn’t mean I’m stuck on myself, only that I’m doing fine, look pretty good for 52, and the complete lack of desperation allows me to be choosy.

So, there’s the “diamond merchant” and the “architect in Dubai with a helicopter” and I cannot for the life of me figure out how they intend to keep up that facade if we were to ever meet in real life.  So. Men. If you’re reading this…Tell the truth and back it up with pictures.  Please?

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This morning, as I was sifting through all the morning stuff on the internet, it occurred to me that I hadn’t been here in a little while. Nothing personal, I’ve just been busy.  So logging in the blogs I like to follow popped up and I saw that on one of them, she wrote about her niece’s husband dying in a car accident a couple of days ago.  3 years ago, I would have thought “oh that’s so sad” and moved on. Possibly saying a prayer for her family, but not much more.

It’s strange how life affects a person. After reading what she wrote, I dissolved.  Anytime someone I know, whether in person or virtually, suffers the loss of a loved one, it throws me back 2-1/2 years and I know what they feel- for the most part. Everyone’s reaction to an extreme loss like that is  little bit different, but the mental and emotional chaos that results, all that “what the hell just happened” and “God, make it stop” is something I can relate to and there is nothing quite like it.  Remembering weeks and weeks of “please let this just be a dream”, of people’s sad looks and offers of help (that I rarely accepted, being all Tough and Independent and such), all those things I never thought would happen.

One of the best comforts when I was trying to wrap my head around what happened with Himself, was the presence of other people who’s been through a similar circumstance.  I was told that it didn’t matter how a beloved dies- whether it’s in an instant, or over a long period of time from illness, it is still a shock, still something to wrap your mind around, and you still need people.  There was a woman in our church who’d lost her husband a few years prior, and she held my hand for weeks after, constantly reassuring me that I would live through this, even when I’d forget to eat or sleep or breathe, and look what happened: I lived through it. It sucked. I cried, slept, threw things, insisted God got this all wrong and I was meant to be half of a pair of old people, started to think maybe God knew what He was doing even if I didn’t agree with it, got things worked out (for the most part) and now, even though occasionally I disagree with God about the wisdom of putting me on this path, have started to accept that this here is the path I’m on no matter how much I still hate it.

The fact is, being a widow stinks. It’s a label no one wants to have, for a club no one wants to be in. It’s sometimes very lonely, often frustrating, and in the long run, forces you to grow up in a direction you’d never anticipated.  Sometimes it’s really hard to sit in church and see the older couples who’ve been together forever. I resent it. It’s not fair. (says my inner entitled self). But then, was it fair for Jesus Christ to be punished for what everyone else in the world did?  To my knowledge, he only complained about that once, and only briefly.  In Luke 22:42, as He was praying in the garden of Gethsemane the night before he was crucified, He said “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” . That was something I had to remind my self a LOT.  I said, freqently “It is what it is”, and “God knows what He’s doing, even if I have no clue”, and Hebrew 12:1 helped me plow ahead: “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us”

My widow friend told me that one early on, when I was missing Himself so deeply that I couldn’t think straight.  Himself is a part of that cloud, cheering me on as I blunder my way through the rest of my life.  Perseverance is a necessity born out of need to live, and desire to flourish.  Seriously, if the only thing good that comes out of losing Himself, is the ability to help someone else (however feebly) who’s lost their beloved, then I will have made something useful out of the event.  I will never be able to say I’m glad it happened. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully be able to “Thank You God, for this path You planned out”, or quit getting dizzy and sick when I read about someone else being forced onto this road.  At this point, I’m starting to be able to say “you can do this.”.

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I finally bit the bullet and hired a guy to come deal with this jungle I loosely call “my yard”.  He looked at the back yard and opined that it might need a bushhog. Yes. It’s that bad.  The front yard is just tall and certain parts need a good weedwhacking. Letting the yard go is one of those things that just…snowballs.  I am looking forward to it being NORMAL…not looking like something where you might find a car on blocks that you forgot about.  I make up all sorts of excuses that sound like “school” and “work” and “broken mower” until it gets to the point people say things like “bushhog” and point to stuff growing up the side of the house.  I didn’t know the cost of stuff like lawn service, so it was easier to just ignore it all. Only, when I’ve been gone a week and have to drive through the neighborhood to get to my house, and I notice all the trim and tailored yards, it makes my own…let’s call it “meadowlike” or maybe “EPA Protected Wetlands” (the front yard can get a soggy spot when it rains a lot. Which it hasn’t been so that isn’t a logical excuse anymore) yard look that much worse and I feel  like I’m THAT neighbor. The one everyone averts their eyes to as they drive by.   I keep hoping they’re thinking “poor widow, doesn’t have time or whatever to take care of the lawn like she used to.” But I know they aren’t because no one really KNOWS I’m a widow except my 2 next door neighbors.  One of them has been very kind in allowing me to borrow his riding mower some, but I feel bad about doing that.   So, I hired the service that cuts the grass of the other next door neighbor. I figure, if he’s in the area, why not do both.

I need to go through The Jungle and make sure there aren’t any errant car parts, bricks, or other mower-trashing items.  I mean…it’s the least I can do since he is risking life and limb, taming my back 40.  Ok not really 40, more like Back 1/2, but still.  I don’t want to be here when they come because it’s embarassing.  I know, everyone says “oh I’ve let my back yard go before, how bad can it be?”  When the yard man says “bushhog” it’s pretty bad. At least there aren’t any cars on blocks. That I am aware of. Which doesn’t mean there isn’t one, only that I don’t know about it because it’s been a good 2 years…seriously…since I have investigated the back yard thoroughly.

You see, Himself’s workshop is back there.  It’s very quiet these days. No sawdust or grinding noises. No Robert Palmer on loud so as to be heard over the noise of shop equipment.  None of that, and it hurts. Still, even 2-1/2 years later. That’s how it is. Time and healing and stuff, but some things still hurt and there isn’t anything that can be done about that.  It helps to imagine that Himself has access to ALL the best equipment now, along with all the time in Eternity to perfect his joinery and choose the perfect pieces of quartersawn oak without the frustration of ugly crooked pieces. That’s how I like to imagine him, it’s what gives me a sense of peace and comfort, to think of him having Eternity to work, no frustration or running out of time, and maybe even The Great Carpenter there with him, bouncing ideas off each other, laughing and planning stuff.

Anyway, the yard will look like someone who cares lives here. That will be nice.


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Seriously, click on the video link…

The week has been eventful, in so many ways. I’m going to list them starting with..let me think about it for a minute…

Ok last week, I had several projects to present for school. Those went very well. Of course they did, I’m an overachiever, trying to make up for the underachieving of my Youth.  Then:

Sunday morning, #4 said his stomach was kind of hurting. I asked where, and he put his hand over the lower right part of his gut. Hm, I thought. He allowed me to mash around on it, and then flinched when I hit that part.  Hm, I thought. It could be gas but it could be Something Else. But he didn’t seem to be in agony, and he had work that day, so I sent him to work and I went to church. When I got home around 12:30 he texted and said he was in real pain, and was coming home. Hm, I thought. I’m taking him to the ER because it could be his appendix. The ER was quiet so he got right in. Blood was drawn, belly was mashed, and the doctor said Hm.  While we waited for results from the bloodwork, 7 people were brought into the ER by ambulance, including a few nasty traumas. I know this because our little room was near the back door and we saw the EMTs and gurneys go by. Hm, I though. That’s going to delay things.  Eventually blood work was finished (inconclusive) and the Dr. had #4 undergo a CT scan. I was able to video #4, under the Influence of Powerful Narcotics, imitating the CT machine.  Click on that because I haven’t figured out how to format it so I can embed it here. I’m just proud to know I can say things like “format” and “embed” and know what I’m talking about, sort of.

By 6pm Sunday, he was being wheeled into the operating room, for an appendectomy.   I kept thinking “thankYou, God, for modern medicine and doctors” because what if…so many what ifs. What if this were 200 years ago. What if I didn’t know the symptoms of appendicitis? I’d totally thought he had gas.  What if we lived in the middle of nowhere without transportation. So. Many.  And yet, none of those. Thus, he’s here at home, mildly sore with 3 holes poked in his belly (laporoscopic surgery…amazing).  He can’t lift anything heavy, and can’t work for a while, so What If he’d been married with a family to support? but he’s not, has a stable roof, food, and care. The best possible circumstances, given the circumstances.

Only, I had a final exam scheduled for Monday, with a kid in the hospital and no time to prepare because I also had a big project to turn in and another one to present. So, while he was in pre-op I emailed the instructors and told them the situation. They got back with me and said not to worry, I could do all that later. Family First! they both said. I’m going to make it all up tomorrow, now that #4 is stable and eating and not really in pain and capable of tending to himself for a couple of hours (plus #2 is here Just In Case)

While in the waiting room during his surgery, I was having a few flashbacks to the last time I was there- Himself was being frantically worked on and in the process of dying. So I was pretty uncomfortable. Several friends showed up, one with food and a deep understanding of how uncomfortable I must be. I did a fairly good job of Holding It Together…I think. It’s what I do when others are around. When I got home (no, I didn’t sleep in the hospital room. He was doing fine and at 18, wasn’t required to have a family member there. They promised to call if anything happened) I collapsed, and was exhausted but tense and unhappy. The next morning when I got there, he was dopey but relatively comfortable and was able to leave by 11. Amazing isn’t it…how short a hospital stay can be.  I remember as a kid, that an appendectomy meant a week in the hospital, with a big ol’ scar. Now? an overnight, and 3 tiny scars. He was disappointed. He wanted a big ol’ scar.

Anyway, that’s what happened over Sunday and Monday.  Drama and laundry.

And today?  It would be our 31st wedding anniversary.  It is #3’s 3rd anniversary and his 26th birthday.   #3 came here Sunday because “little brother, Mom…I can’t stay away” and we went trhough some stuff, including one of Himself’s cigar humidors.  Looking through that, and the cigar bands (he saved them), coming across a picture of us on our honeymoon, all that was kind of emotional. So. Much. Emotion.  #4 is taking me to a movie today, because I’m doing all his laundry. I need that- a 2 hour escape into another universe, with popcorn and coke.  Because…I need a break from all this.


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Mind boggling

once again, I am amazed by the technology we have at our fingertips.  Truly amazed. I want to say those things like “kids these days don’t know how good they have it” and “when I was a kid we didn’t have (whatever)”

Mind you, I am not pining for the Good Old Days. I don’t miss the manual typewriter on which I learned to type. Nor the white-out, nor having to retype the entire paper because of one or two misspelled words in the first of 29 paragraphs. I do love me a computer with spell-check and the squiggly blue underline that questions the grammar of a sentence. Often it’s just as I want it to be and I tell the blue line to take a hike, but sometimes it is helpful.

I am amazed and delighted by very pedestrian appliances like the washing machine.  I know, everyone I know either has one or has access to one and they aren’t remarkable at all. But think about it…without them you’d be slapping your underwear in a river, or rubbing them up and down on a board in a bucket. Now? No. you throw them in a barrel, add a scoop of soap and punch a few buttons, and 45 minutes later you have clean clothes. You can even throw them in another barrel, punch a few buttons, and 45 minutes later have dry clothes. Having to fold them, in the grand scheme of things, is hardly even worth mentioning. Even if you have 19 kids. (if you have that many kids, let the older ones do it while you go do something else.)

We have (for most of us) access to food. Or we should. I have read about the Food Deserts in major cities and let me tell you, with as much as we have in this country, with trucks and farms and everything, there should not be a food desert anywhere. It shouldn’t exist. I read about people who were doing something about that here: Veggie Van.

But I have to tell you, the thing that amazes and delights me more than anything, is the ability to talk to people IN REAL TIME from places on the other side of the world! CRAAAZY! Ok, I had a pen pal for many years, I wrote about that a couple of posts ago.  And I wrote about looking for another one. I found several, and have some fantastic correspondence going on now. Some of it is on the website where I connected with them, a couple of them are via email, and one is snail mail (she collects stamps and loves the Art of the Written Letter).  Over the past few days’s I’ve had an ongoing conversation with a gentleman from Bhutan, who wants some help with his English grammar. Mind you, school is taught in English over there, but he has recognized that his grammar isn’t perfect, and as a teacher, he wants to improve it. In the mean time, I am trying to learn a couple of words in Dongzkha, but given that it is a very tonal language, and one tone wrong could mean a completely different word, it is very difficult for me. I will be happy to be able to say “hello” and not “you smell funny”  How amazing is it that I can converse about language, philosophy (he’s Buddhist) and child psychology with someone who’s 10 hours ahead of me? Nuts. that’s what it is. Beautiful mindboggling nuts.

A man in Brazil is teaching me very basic Portuguese in exchange for learning how to ask for directions and order from a menu in English.  A woman in Japan wants to know how to make tacos and I want to know how to make gyoza. Another woman in Siberia (Yakutsk) taught me about the Summer festival in her town, called Yssyakh, and showed me pictures of it. It looks a lot like our Native American pow-wows. A woman in Rotterdam and I talk abut our kids. My world has expanded outside of this little town in this small part of the country.  I have, of course, always known there was so much out there, and I love to read about it, but to get to talk to someone and learn that Tomar cafezinho, Café da manhã is the first thing I would say in the morning, if I lived in Sao Paolo, brings the world a little bit closer.

There is a degree of sifting through the sawdust required, in order to find some real people, but it doesn’t take long to figure out how.

One of my classes in school requires videos to be made, demonstrating particular types of management tasks- like disciplinary actions (they aren’t called that), or final warnings, before a firing (it’s not called that). Using the camera on my laptop, editing on the computer, and downloading onto Youtube are all part of it. Think about it. I can write a script on my computer, print it out, and then record it. Then I can tell my computer to save it someplace Out There, and my instructor can look at it, record the grade on his computer with comments, and I can look at that. All within an hour’s time, with him over there and me right here. Crazy and Amazing.

I can warm up food in the microwave, using the same bowl I’m going to eat it from, without dirtying up a pot.  I can go to the store and buy something by sticking a piece of plastic in a little box and it takes some numbers out of my bank account and put them in the store’s bank account.  (has it ever occurred to you our financial system is nothing but a bunch of numbers that get switched around and traded for eggs or gasoline?) (this is why I like to barter. It’s more concrete and I like concrete)

Even medical stuff! My little dog, Rusty, has back pain from time to time.  I can take him to the vet, where a technician gets a wand and waves a red light over his back. I swear that is all it looks like. I stuck my hand in the red light and didn’t feel a thing. But I could see him visibly relax. So I looked it up. And yes. There’s some science behind it. Amazing. Who figured that out?

Cell phones, bluetooth stuff, wireless internet, gracious…internet PERIOD…wireless or not. Think about it! We live in an amazing world.

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