What is fair? What is false?

 

source

There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden 

that will not be known.

Luke 12:2

 

Now, more than many other decades, we have a real dispute of things that were once obvious and clearly defined.  Now?  

 

We are in the era of dispute and roaring. So many issues, but this one can and will get nasty. 

 

Can a woman  actually become a man.? 

 

No, no matter how totally involved in the grueling mutilation of the body. Cutting off breast, removing vaginas, taking hormone drugs cannot change a woman into a man.  No testicles and penis ? Defining characteristics of a man are hard to deny.

 

 

Can a man become a woman?

 

 If you are a man and wish to be a woman,experiencing same grueling mutilation of the body, and scores of drugs to suppress hormones? Castration is the ultimate goal to assume being a female. Think about it

 

Can a man compete in women's sports?

 

For the past few years, the answer is yes, he can.  The news has shown the dispute and arguments around  the country has two groups:  those who say that a man has hormones with bodily strength and is  bigger are demanding that this must be forbidden.  

 

A law passed in Congress should settle this, one would think. The liberal elements are firmly rejecting this federal law.  More info on this can be found at msn try to block Senators-block-legislation. Supreme Court Justice Kendra Jackson Brown voted against it. 

 

Schools in blue states are fighting to keep transgenderism in the 2-12 schools. That means a lot things we don't want to happen. 

 

During the congressional confirmation hearing Brown was asked what is a woman. Her answer was "It depends on the situation". She refused to answer any more on that.

 

After the SCOTUS made their ruling, what was the reaction? The conservative side were pleased, saw this as a victory. The liberal side has criticized this intensely. The vote was 341 to 88 votes.

Truth is immutable.

 

No matter if a man wants to become a woman,

or if a woman wants to become a man.

it cannot happen.  The chromosomes determine this.  

 

Truth will out. 

 

 

First Date

It begins so early, when a boy and girl meet.  Their eyes connect, hormones rise to the top, and tuh-duh!  It all goes from there.

Grandson Benjamin and unknown floozy

But, must it start so early?  When both are still in diapers/nappies?  When running without falling is an accomplishment?  When words are understood by the parents, and few other people?

I guess it does.

The First Kiss

A girl dreams about her first kiss.  The moment hormones appear, she begins imagining that very special first kiss. 

I was no different.  Mainly I wondered about the mechanics of the kiss.  Am I supposed to hold my breath?  What if I sneeze?  Is the kiss straight on, or does one person have to angle the head slightly?  I mean, the nose can get in the way.  So many logistical questions, and I had no answer. 

So the day came: the day of my first kiss.

It was almost 45 years ago to this very day, October 28.  In 1967, I would soon be 15 years old, and as yet un-kissed. 

My brothers were going hunting, so our Uncle Leo drove from the city to our farm with his son, my cousin Preston.  They were going hunting, a manly thing that all the men in my family seemed to enjoy.

I had not seen Preston since the previous Christmas.  He was my age, younger by weeks.  Something had happened in those months since Christmas.  

 Preston was tall and had shoulders.   

He now shaved because he had obvious manly stubble.  When he smiled at me, his eyes twinkled in a way never noticed before.   

Handsome—that’s the word.  Preston was now handsome.

He had not seen me either.  Apparently I had also changed somewhat.  Things had settled in the right places and my face was that of a young lady.   

When I laughed or smiled, Preston glowed and beamed back at me. 

I watched as the men sauntered to the mud-splattered pick-ups, their shotguns in the worn cases tucked under their arms.  The way they carried the guns, so casual and confident, stirred something primal within me.

As they hoisted themselves up into the pick-up, Preston turned his head and smiled, just enough to let me know that he knew I was watching.  

 Sigh.  Be still my beating heart.

Soon they returned, a boisterous band of successful hunters.  They had gone into the wild, hunted for the good of the tribe, and returned with meat for the table.  

 The guttural roars of triumph and the jesting about missed shots brought us womenfolk outdoors to welcome the menfolk back from their foray into the forest.

I made a bee-line to Preston, breathless and eager.  Why, I didn’t know.  This was all new to me.  With pride, Preston held up his rucksack, declaring his skill as a provider.  “Come on over here, and I’ll show you.” 

We walked a few feet to the barn yard, by the stone wall.  Preston opened the rucksack, and pulled out one of his kills.  

This is not Preston, but a photo that captures the thrill of the moment.

It was a squirrel, a brown squirrel.   “One shot, I got him in one shot,” Preston told me as I gingerly touched the soft fur.  “Wanta help me skin ‘im?”  he said as he laid the dead squirrel on the stone wall.

Romance was in the air that day, let me tell you.

I did not cry or gasp in horror.  No, this was the farm, after all.  Although feminine, I was made of farm-tough stuff.

With his handy well-used hunting knife, I watched as Preston began the initial cuts.  It was clear to me that he was experienced, he knew what he was doing.

Then he leaned over and kissed me.  Just like that.  Kiss. 

We both giggled, and I believe I blushed. 

While we felt the glow of new kissing, Preston instructed me on how to separate the fur skin from the red muscles of the squirrel.  How to ease the pelt over the little squirrel paws without tearing the pelt. 

It was magic.  I don’t know how else to describe my first kiss, except to say I have never been kissed like that before or since.  

 Magic. 

 Many thanks to Arlee Bird for his leadership!

If you are curious about recipes for squirrel entrees, this appears to be a great site! Bon Appetit!

p.s.  My mother cooked up squirrel the next day for dinner. She soaked the meat in brine for 24 hours.  Rinsed it and par-boiled it in seasoned water.  Then dredged it in flour and seasonings.  She browned the meat in an iron skillet; covered the skillet, lowered the heat, and let it braise until tender.   Can't remember how it tasted.  I was still in a state of kissing euphoria.

Y is for...

One would think that a girl living on a farm, surrounded with procreating animals followed later by animals giving birth would have a down-to-earth understanding of sex and how things work.  I believe that is what normally should happen.  However, on my father’s farm, my sister and I were kept away from all the “action”.  Why, I don’t know.  I think the whole sex thing embarrassed my dad, and he preferred that animals copulating remain a mystery.

Words fail me.

Even so, there are hormones that won’t be denied.  While I didn’t comprehend the how and where of sex, I sure understood that I wanted to know.  There was something that went beyond just smiling and gazing at the boys, but I just didn’t have a clue what that was.  I knew that when Dr. Kildare was on TV, both my mother and I sat down and paid attention to every word he said.  While I was in this beginning stage of yearning for that unspoken action, I watched “The Ten Commandments” on television. 

No, it wasn’t Charleton Heston who pulled me in through the television screen.  It was Yul Brynner.  

I can not explain it to you, but something about the intensity of his eyes, the seductive prowling walk, the powerful exotic voice, and the commanding dominating presence…the way his hands reached for the woman, and how his mouth devoured…whew, is it hot in here or is it just me??

Yes, my King!  Whatever you say!

Since those beginning yearning/lustful stirrings, I obsessed on all things-Yul Brynner.  Any movie that had his name in the credits, any newspaper or magazine cutting, or even other bald headed men (except for Telly Savalas), I was hooked.  This obsession continued throughout my life, I confess.

In 1975, when I was eight months pregnant with our first child, my husband and I went to see Yul Brynner (sigh) performing in “The Odyssey” in Los Angeles.  All during the performance, while having Braxton-Hicks contractions, I kept my eyes glued on him.

Years later, in October 1984, we sat in orchestra row 5, seats D and E, where we watched a matinee performance of “The King and I” in Hollywood.  We were sooo close to the stage; I could make out every detail of his face, the ripple of muscles in his arms, the…oh, my.  Turn on the fan, somebody.

The Magnificent Seven

Even though Yul Brynner died on October 10, 1985, and I am a grandmother, I still watch his movies and sigh at the enigmatic sexual power he possessed.  I wonder if all people have an iconic figure that is integral in the coming of age awareness which happens with hormones.   Hmmm…I will ask around…
Thanks to the A-Z Blogfest team, who have bravely taken on the month of April!  Go to the link below to check out other blogs!
http://tossingitout.blogspot.com