What Is Blogging Today?

Posted on by May 4, 2015
2

why blog?

Mamacita says:  What is blogging today?  Yesterday, blogging was an extension of our selves.  Blogging expressed our personalities, and shared little bits of our lives with strangers who often became friends. Today, many people “blog” to make money, to pimp products, to be living billboards for Disney. . . .  There is nothing wrong with that, but those kinds of blogs are not really what “blogging” is about.

blog

There is a big difference between a business blog full of content marketing and a personal blog full of you and me.  I think we have lost the concept of personal blogging in the excitement and heat of blogging for profit.

But there are many different kinds of profit.  If you are blogging for the express purpose of making money, good for you.  If wearing a badge that proclaims you as a Mommy Blogger and nothing else, well, if that’s what you want. . . . Proud Disney blogger?  That’s nice.  Every post offers your readers a freebie if they jump through a few hoops?  That’s nice, too.  Not everybody likes every kind of tea.  We’re all different.  We like different things.

Some of us blog with no labels.  I think those blogs are the best kind.

I’m not referring to actual business blogs here.  Those have a perfect right to pimp their products because we expect them to.  It’s nice when they throw in a little personal life, too, and the best ones know that and do it.

There are still many of us old-school bloggers, and some newbies as well, who are still expressing ourselves on our personal blogs.  Some of us are writing for businesses, too, but it’s our personal blogs that probably opened the door to that.

My point?  Please don’t abandon your personal blog – the blog that introduced us to each other and shared your lives with us – because you’re too busy now blogging for money.

personal blogging

I’m really not interested in reading about how your family loved your free  kitchen appliances, or how Disney gave you free passes in return for positive blogging about your experience.

What I AM interested in is your day-to-day life.  That includes your vacations and your love of cooking, sure, but it’s better without the constant references to all the freebies you’re getting by mentioning products by name.

Once in a while it’s great, but if that’s all you’re blogging about. . . . if that’s all you mention. . . . if it’s obvious that a post isn’t a personal glimpse into your life and is merely a Hallmark commercial trying to tug at my heartstrings and convince me to purchase something. . . . that’s not a blog.

That’s just a marketing post.

Please, bloggers.  Let’s bring back the personal blog.  Keep the pimping on the honest business blog.  On our personal blogs, let’s be ourselves again.

Those personal blogs that introduced us to each other all those years ago were wonderful. Bring back the wonderful days.

Please?

P.S.  A conference that focused on personal blogging and not on product placement and pimpage would be nice, too.  Can we bring that back?  Oh please, can we bring that back?

 

 

Liberal or Conservative: I Don’t Know

Posted on by May 2, 2015
2

Mamacita says:  Someone asked me the other day whether I was a liberal or a conservative. I answered truthfully: I don’t know.

It varies with the subject.

It depends on the issues.

It depends on the issues.

With some topics, I lean towards the liberal left and with other topics I lean towards to conservative right.

Mostly, I think I stand proudly straddling the dividing line, waiting to hear details and facts about  the subject at hand before I speak up.

It seems to me that if you declare yourself to be liberal, or conservative, then certain things are expected of you, and when you fail to deliver those expected things, people are upset.

How can anyone be 100% either way, on EVERYTHING? I don’t think anyone can.

If the truth were told, I think most people have liberal leanings in some areas and conservative leanings in other areas.

What’s the matter with standing in the middle and choosing the battles on which I declare a
liberal or conservative stand, carefully?

Even those subjects on which I lean to the right, there are many paths leading to the left there in plain view, and vice versa. I don’t think I’m 100% conservative or 100% liberal on anything. I have a hard time believing in people who claim to be all or nothing either way.

Is this good? Is this bad? I don’t know. It’s me. If you ask me what I think, I will tell you. After 26 years in the public schools, I’ve seen a lot, both good and bad. I’ve seen parents at their best and at their worst, as anyone does in any job. I am of the belief that it is very hard sometimes for a parent to evaluate his/her own child. Sometimes, we have to step back and look with someone else’s eyes. But even after all I’ve seen, I still believe that most people mean well. Most people are good people.

Unless, of course, they are too stupid to think for themselves, and must rely on a guru of some kind.

Beware of the guru, my friends. A guru is simply someone who’s found an audience of suckers. Suckers with money.

When it comes to certain issues, I proudly take a stand. Even then, I’m a mix of both leanings. Why not? Few things are absolute, and I am a mixture in my definition of absoluteness.

In issues concerning children and young people, I tend to be conservative with a BIG dash of quirkiness and humor. To be conservative and have no sense of humor? God help us all with THOSE people.

In issues concerning politics and religion, I tend to be liberal with a BIG dash of quirkiness and humor. To be liberal and have no sense of humor? God help us all with THOSE people.

And depending on the particular item under discussion, those leanings can turn on a dime.

My mild courteous stance with people who raise welts on tiny children is a tad on the conservative side. Whereas my liberal leanings are demonstrated by my name-calling skills. Just kidding.

But in case there is any doubt, I am far from liberal and far from conservative when it comes to children. I am MYSELF.  If any child stands before me with welts, I will have someone’s sorry ass hauled before the judge faster than anyone can tell me which Pearl chapter tells parents they MUST humble their children and force them to acknowledge their parents as their masters. If you brag that your child would, without hesitation, jump out of the window of a moving vehicle if you so commanded him or her to do so, you are an idiot and a beast. I find this mindset appalling.

I did not have children so I could show off blindly obedient little zombies who flinched when I moved and jumped when I spoke. I had children not just because my birth control pills failed, but because I WANTED children. Real children, with minds of their own.

My children did not misbehave in public. They knew better. We taught them to know better with means other than blood, welts, and tears. We occasionally spanked, but it was with a bare hand on a little bottom, and not with a tree branch on fragile little legs or hands. And we didn’t have to spank very much. I hope it was by example that my children learned how to behave. I’m sure Sara will chime in with her version if I’m wrong.  My children turned into adults – interesting, quirky, hilarious, honest, kind, helpful, generous adults.

My children are beautiful.

My children are beautiful.

Children are the most valuable things on the planet. They are ours for such a short time. Why do people use those few years to hurt them, and hit them, and make them bleed? The obedience these people seek can be had by simply loving them, and showing them by example. And, ok, once in a while whomping their little bottoms so they don’t run out into traffic or drink Drano. But if a trained seal is what some people want, I wish they’d just steal one from a zoo and let someone with a kind heart and a working brain and some common sense raise the children.  And then rot in jail for theft of the seal.

Elected officials who serve special interests and big business are stealing from our children.  I place them in the same category as those who physically hurt a child.

Now. Am I conservative or liberal? You tell me. I honestly don’t know.

I don’t care, either. It’s not like a label will make any difference.

 

I’m Eleven Years Old. Old School, That Is.

Posted on by April 25, 2015
2

Mamacita says:  Old school?  Me?  Yes. Eleven years ago, a former student told me that I should start a blog.  “You’ve got such a lot to say about the world,” he said.  “Who cares what I think about the world?” I replied. “Lots of people would,” he said.

blogger

I couldn’t imagine that.  I’m nobody. I wondered if he was right. I guess he was, because I’ve been to conferences all over the country, and spoken to crowds of people, both individually and on panels.  People seem to recognize me even before they see my name tag.  People tell me that such-and-such a post really helped/spoke to them/influenced them, etc.  It’s really, really humbling.  And exciting.  And humbling. Who would have thought it?  Me, with a large readership and people who seemed to like me and take me seriously?  It’s like a dream.  The good kind, that comes true because you never dreamed it would be possible but it really did and you’re in shock and awe and Oz and Wonderland.  And Narnia and Hogwarts.  And the Tardis. And all the people who live in those places.

I’ve met so many wonderful people during this journey.  Some of them are still virtual friends, while I’ve met many face-to-face, but I’ve also learned during these eleven years that online friends can be as real as face-to-face friends.  Sure, there are creeps out there, but no more so than the number of creeps at the mall.

good and bad people online

I’ve learned not to be afraid of the world.  The world is actually pretty awesome, and it’s full of cool things and fantastic people.  Sure, there are fiery volcanic pits and treacherous waterfalls and cockroaches and people who lie, cheat, & steal, but there are also rainbows and sunsets and flowers and people who are good, true friends.  The forever kind.

That I would still be here eleven years after beginning this funky little blog is amazing to me, and yet, it’s also unthinkable to abandon it, as many are abandoning blogging for the shorter Twitter and Facebook.  Oh, I’m on those, too, but this blog saved my soul alive eleven years ago, and it’s done nothing but nourish me ever since. I am so grateful to the internet.  Really, I am.  It’s a world that was always there, but we had no way of accessing it easily.  Now, we can travel anywhere, see anything, contact anyone, and work for a business that’s a thousand miles away, in our pajamas, at midnight.

Thank you, dear readers, for making me feel special.  Eleven years is as an eternity in the internet Hourglassworld, but somehow I don’t feel old when I’m here.  I’m happy when I’m on Scheiss Weekly.  I’m happy reading your comments.  I love visiting YOUR blogs. I love visiting with you on the other social media sites, too, but I don’t think anything could ever completely replace a blog.  In eleven more years, I guess we’ll find out.

Also, I wonder if you really understand the title of this blog.  Scheiss Weekly.  Who speaks German? C’mon.  I tried to get Scheiss Daily, but somebody already owned it.

I was traumatized when I began this blog, and the title reflected that.  I’m fine now, but the title keeps me humble.  And fairly sane, although my children might argue that fact.

Time marches on.  Time flies.  And yet, it really doesn’t.  Time stands still.  We march. With every blink of the eye, yes, and briefer even than that, our lives are moving ever swiftly towards their ends. It’s this middle that we must make the most of.  I am.  I hope you are, too.

Time flies

Here’s to eleven more years.  At a time, anyway. A day at a time, and they add up to years.

I love you all.  Literally.

Morel Mushrooms, Hoosier Style. As If There Were Any Other Way.

Posted on by April 11, 2015
1

Mamacita says:  It’s that time again; the morel mushrooms are back.  That’s right; the snow is finally gone and the semester is almost over and the MOREL MUSHROOMS ARE BACK.

Did I mention that the morel mushrooms are back?

It’s that time again.  The morel mushrooms are here.

THIS is a morel mushroom. Accept no substitutes.

THIS is a morel mushroom. Accept no substitutes.

My kids still speak wistfully of the day they visited their step-great-grandmother Margaret Stobie Crowder (she whom John Dillinger once tried to carjack. . . .) and she shared with them her unbelievable and, naturally, SECRET, morel mushroom patch.

Remember now, Hoosiers do not share this kind of secret with ANYBODY. People who will show a stranger their genital surgery scars will not share a morel mushroom location with their own mothers. Margaret took the kids across her fields and invited them to help themselves to the mushrooms.

They were everywhere. It was like a planted crop. You couldn’t take a step without stepping on morel mushrooms. They were all afraid to move, because around these parts, folks, you just don’t STEP on morel mushrooms if you can help it at all. They’re too valuable!!

How valuable are they? Well, if you can bear to part with yours, you can easily sell them for fifty bucks a pound. But it’s rare to find anyone who would part with them.

They came home fully loaded.

We once went to dinner at a friend’s home, and when we got there, she was preparing morel mushrooms as a last-minute addition to the meal. It seems that the night before, her husband had gone to their secret mushroom patch and had dumped two huge buckets of morels into their kitchen sink. All the guests were flabbergasted; usually, people don’t share their found mushrooms with others, either. To this day, none of us can remember what the main dish was at that meal. All anybody can remember is the mushrooms.

Except for me. Naturally, except for me. I am a freak, for I do not care all that much for morel mushrooms. I enjoy preparing them, but as for eating them. . . . well, let’s just say that everybody wants to sit by me, because I don’t eat mine and am happy to share.

And speaking of preparing them. . . . don’t let anybody tell you to use crushed saltines!!!

The proper Hoosier method is to let the mushrooms soak in salt water overnight*, and the next day, to mix together a little flour and a little cornmeal and a dash of salt, coat each mushroom, and fry in butter for just a few minutes. Remember to turn them.  Don’t let the butter burn.  Don’t overcook.  A few minutes is all they need.

Pan-fried morel mushrooms, Hoosier-style

Pan-fried morel mushrooms, Hoosier-style

Let them cool just enough to tolerate, and turn your crowd loose on them. There will never be enough.

Back in the middle school, my students used to bring breadsacks full of morel mushrooms and sell them to the teachers for twenty dollars apiece. The teachers got morel mushrooms for bargain rates, and the students got cash. It worked out pretty well for both parties concerned. I never bought any from a student; it wasn’t that I didn’t trust them, it was just that, well, I’d seen these same kids try to tell the difference between a noun and a verb all year, and pick wrong every time. There was something about believing that they could tell the difference between a mushroom and a toadstool and pick correctly every time, that just didn’t hit me quite right. I’m sure they knew; outdoor kids know these things. It was just a feeling I had.

This practice would probably be frowned upon today.  It’s too much like a drug deal, except that morel mushrooms were more valuable.

morel mushrooms

As for the finding of them, I am probably the only Hoosier in the history of the state who not only doesn’t like to eat morel mushrooms, but also can’t find them even if they’re right there by the toe of my shoe. I can’t SEE them. I also tend to step on them, which makes me the kid who is picked last for anybody’s mushroom team. Usually, I just stay home and get ready to cook them when they’re brought home, whether I end up with a bowlful or a handful.

But if you live around these parts, around this time of year, around now, anywhere you might go, you won’t be able to escape the morel mushroom stories. In southern Indiana, we’d rather hear about the morel that got away, than about your boring old six-feet-long fish that got away.

And since I don’t care for them myself, that would be the “Queen’s We” that I’m using here.

I love to say that. It sounds so borderline.

P.S.  Morel mushrooms are not the same thing as the big round white puffball mushrooms that grow in formations we here call “fairy rings.”  And be careful when you cook up a puffball; there are all kinds of puffballs and they all look alike.  The ones that grow in fairy rings are usually safe, though.  Usually.  Always check before you bite.

This is a fairy ring. Go ahead and eat it.

This is a fairy ring. Go ahead and eat it.

If you slice a white puffball mushroom in half and it’s solid white inside, it’s probably safe to eat it.  If you slice a white puffball mushroom in half and there is anything other than solid flawless white inside, dispose of it before it kills you.

In fact, when it comes to mushrooms, if you don’t know exactly what you’re doing, it’s safer not to do it.  Let someone else bring mushrooms to you.  Some of them are deadlier than cobras.

And some are the tastiest thing you’ll ever encounter in your life.

Choose wisely.

P.S.  Always leave one puffball in the fairy ring and let it dry.  When it’s completely dry, kick it and let the spores fly.  That’s how you get the fairy ring to come back the next year.  Require your children to take turns being the kicker.  Keep track.  This is an honor.

It’s, like, science or something.

The Fault, Dear Brutus, Is Not In Our Stars, but in Ourselves. . . by Caesar

Posted on by March 15, 2015
Reply

Mamacita quotes from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar: Act 1, scene 2, 15–19

Caesar: Who is it in the press that calls on me?
I hear a tongue shriller than all the music
Cry “Caesar!” Speak; Caesar is turn’d to hear.

Soothsayer: Beware the Ides of March.

Caesar: What man is that?

Brutus: A soothsayer bids you beware the Ides of March.

And what, pray tell, are the Ides of March, that Caesar needed to be warned against them? Should we all beware the Ides of March? What are Ides?

There is no reason for any of us to beware the Ides of March. Or the Ides of September. Or the Ides of February. Etc. Heck, my beautiful daughter was born on the Ides of June.

The Ides of any month are simply the days between the 13th and 15th of any month. These days, we generally appoint the 15th to be the Ides.  The soothsayer (truthspeaker) was merely warning Caesar that something bad was going to happen on March 15. Caesar had already had other warnings – one from his wife, who had had a terrifying nightmare about death in the Senate!

“Alas, my lord, your wisdom is consumed in confidence.  Do not go forth today; call it MY fear that keeps you in the house, and not your own.  We’ll send Mark Antony to the senate-house, and he shall say you are not well today. . . .”

Caesar was very superstitous and took the warning seriously; however, this didn’t prevent him from leaving the house on March 15 anyway and walking out into the public forum.

. . . . where his best friends were waiting for him with daggers, whereupon they jumped him and stabbed him to death. For his own good, and for the good of Rome, they believed.  Much as Judas betrayed Jesus for the good of the nation, because Judas believed Jesus’ claims were flying too high for his own good.

HIstory is full of trusted friends who kill for the good of the nation.

Caesar was just too ambitious, they thought. So, rather than risk his rise to power and popularity, they offed their best friend.

Caesar, Brutus, and Cassius – the three musketeers, the Bobbsey triplets, the inseparable pals. Caesar trusted them; he loved them; they were his friends.The betrayal was as shocking and unexpected as if Hermione had turned on Harry and Ron and stabbed them to death.

"I get it. You choose him!"

“I get it. You choose him!”

Which is why, when Caesar saw who was attacking him, he cried out, in disbelief, “Et tu, Brute?” Which means, simply, “Even you, Brutus?”

Remember how horrified and hurt and disoriented Harry and Hermione were when Ron accused them of being in love with each other, and abandoned them?  That.  There are many ways to stab someone in the back, and sometimes figuratively hurts more than literally.

But Brutus and Cassius, and the others, had realized that their pal Caesar was a little too cocky for Rome’s own good, and when even one’s best friend brags in public that he was as elite and cool as a god, one must do something to protect the nation. Those of us who are heavily into mythology know what always happens to any mortal who flies too high (another mythological reference!) and thinks too much of himself/herself.  It never ends well for the braggart.  Ever.  It’s called “hubris” and it’s the kiss of death.

“Beware the Ides of March.” And now you know what that means, and why Caesar was warned to be careful of that day.

It was, like, you know, cuz the soothsayer somehow knew that Caesar’s BFF, his dearest and most beloved friends, had had enough of his bragging about his coolness and were going to take him down. And they did.

But even when I was a kid and first read that scene, something inside of me SAW the expression on the man’s face when he realized that his best friend in all the world had stabbed him in the back. It was a heartbreaker.

And now you have a perfect example of another expression. Backstabber. Stabbed in the back.

Shakespeare is so awesome; I loved the language even as an elementary student. It’s exactly the same language that you’ll find in the King James Version of the Bible, which I also love.

Perhaps one of you can also answer a question that has puzzled Shakespeare fans for years: Why in the world did the man bequeath his second-best bed to his wife?

I tend to agree with Jane of Lantern Hill, who was of the opinion that “Perhaps she liked it best.”

P.S. Don’t be afraid of the language. Relax, and try to see the poetry and the amazing graphics in Shakespeare’s witty turn of phrase. It’ll knock your socks off, if you let it.

P.P.S.  Just in case you don’t think you know anything at all about Shakespeare or Julius Caesar or unexpected, untimely death, might I remind you of this little gem you may have wept over recently:

fault in our stars, shakespeare, caesar