News or Propaganda?

I remember when Walter Cronkite did the news, we were told what was going on and if there were any opinions, they were obviously presented after the news.

Now the news I hear and read tells me what to think about what I am being told is news.

Like Jack Webb used to say, I’d prefer the facts, “just the facts”, and possibly an occasional picture or recording demonstrating the FACTS.

Otherwise, I feel inundated with propaganda and I no longer feel informed at all.


Cursed With A High IQ

I was cursed with a high IQ. You might think that sounds crazy, but it’s been like living in a foreign country, or worse.
Sometimes when I talk to others, they just look at me with a blank stare and I realize they don’t know what I’m talking about. I change the subject.
Professors and teachers in my past have told me I don’t go into enough detail. Why should I? I assume everyone has the knowledge, or the ability to understand, that I have. Why do I have to belabor almost every point I try to make?
I found out that I had a high IQ when I was in the seventh grade. My alcoholic mother, whom I kept hidden at home, worked for the husband of one of my school teachers. Back then IQ scores were not disclosed . . . only the teachers and school administrators had access to them. They were kept in that dark, secret place known as “Your Permanent Record” which was the boogeyman of education.
But one day that teacher stopped by her husband’s office and it was shortly after the IQ scores came back. She chose to disclose that information to my mother. My mother came home proud as she could be. She didn’t tell me the score, but she raved on and on about how smart I was.
Well, I already knew I sat through boring, grueling explanations of things I’d already understood the first time it was taught. I got in trouble for “talking too much”, but really, why weren’t we moving on? There was only so much boredom and repetition I could take.
I found out the score later that year from another teacher. I was in the next to the highest group of students. Back then you were grouped according to academic performance. Uh, I did mention the alcoholic mother at home, the absent father . . . probably forgot to mention him because, well, out of sight, out of mind, right? But my home life was chaos and I was often the adult taking care of the child . . . when my mother got on one of her binges. But I digress. This other teacher announced to our class that one of us should be in the highest group and she announced what the IQ score was and everyone guessed it belonged to everyone, but me.
I sat there in my hand-me-down clothes with my worn out shoes and often lack of school supplies and listened as they guessed name after name until finally the teacher told them that even if they guessed right, she would not tell them. I sat there stunned and knowing she was talking about me.
But life continued, my mother kept drinking . . . I went to church every time the doors opened and as a result, I turned into a very believing person. The other kids in my Sunday School class didn’t like me. I heard from one of them years later that it wasn’t ME they didn’t like, it was their parents talking about me and comparing them to me and telling them they’d never get up for Sunday School every Sunday and show up like I did. I suppose this was when they were trying to rouse their child from a sound slumber in a clean bed. But this person told me they didn’t dislike me. They just wished I’d quit coming so their parents would quit saying those things to them. Gee, poor babies. If they’d had what I had at home, they’d have gotten up and hurried towards sanity on Sunday mornings as well. The church was across the street. My biggest fear was that my mother would miss me or want me to do something for her and that she would stagger across the street drunk to find me. She never did.
But all this life was lived with this high IQ and for the longest time I could not fathom what my problem relating to others was.
I’m sure my home life, which was atypical at the time, contributed to my lack of connection with others. Everyone else’s parents were married and lived together. But my ability to catch onto some things easily and to not understand why others didn’t, when it was plain as day, made for many frustrating moments. My inability to understand why I couldn’t relate to others like they related to each other troubled me.
Finally one day after I was grown . . . probably when I was in my thirties . . . I thought about that number. I thought about the number that went with normal IQ. I thought about numbers that went with borderline retarded (and I know that’s not the current term, but it was when I was in college), and I thought about the numbers even lower than that. I mentally subtracted the borderline number from the normal IQ number and realized that the difference between my IQ and that of the normal person was an even higher number than that was. I had an “aha!” moment.
But it’s lonely and it’s sad and I get so tired of trying to discuss what is obvious to me and then having the person I’m trying to have a discussion with require all the background info and even worse, when they finally understand what I’m saying, they reject it.
I’ve tried to be like everyone else. I seem to aim too low? I don’t know. I just know I can’t, and I never have fit in.
A high IQ is probably considered a blessing. That isn’t always true.


I know how to multi-task. I also remember my grandmother telling me she could do one thing at a time.

I’ve watched people multi-tasking and they make so many mistakes that I call it “multi (something else, not tasking)”, but I won’t say the word here.

I think most people can do two things at the time, or even 3 or 4 things, but I do not think they are doing all of them well.

Perhaps my grandmother should have said she could only concentrate on one thing at a time. To get something as close to perfect as I can, I have to concentrate. Since I don’t like a mess or a lot of errors, I prefer to do one thing at a time.

There’s a reason you should not text and drive. Both require concentration. So do many of the multi-tasks I see people muddling through.

Is there joy in getting something exactly right any more? There is at my house. How do you even know how well you’ve done something if your mind was divided as you did many other things?

I was a telephone operator for two years a long time ago. We were taught to do several things at the same time. However, those things were all related and we practiced for six weeks before we even tried to do them without heavy supervision.

Juggling many tasks at once is something I don’t enjoy. I see young folks – many of them – rushing through their lives now, and I wonder how they will feel when they wake up at age 60? What will their lives look like to them? Blurs of multi-tasking without taking the time to enjoy things?

I don’t know. I just know my memories are not of doing several things at the time, but of the times I spent in the moment doing one thing and really getting it right.

Gestapo Masquerading as Social Workers

So much concern about 1,475 children of invading parents when Guess what. American Children are taken out of their homes and hidden from their parents as well. Foster Vultures adopt the kids and change their names – first and last names – and American families, who have had their children stolen, are expected to go on and to pay taxes for salaries of the heartless social workers who separate American parents from their own children. Invader’s Children??? Help American Children kidnapped and hidden in America’s Foster Care Gestapo before you give any thought to the disappearance of invader’s children. The invaders want to be like real Americans? Well, now they are.

If It Makes No Sense, It’s Senseless

I made the mistake of going to my regular dentist for a cleaning / checkup appointment this week. I had seen another dentist and the other one I liked better, but he won’t file insurance and wants to be paid and then have the patient file the insurance. Because of my limited income, I went ahead and went back to who used to be my regular dentist.

Last year my regular dentist, Dr. Benjamin Boyles, made me go from mid July until the end of September with no relief (I asked for antibiotics like my previous dentist of over thirty years would give me for an abscess.) Dr. Boyles refused to give me antibiotics and instead gave me a lecture on superbugs. But I went for two and a half months with a painful abscess because the dentist would not help me.  He did suggest that for $200 I could have the abscess drained and it would provide some relief.

I ended up seeing an endodontist – not the one Dr. Boyles referred me to – for a root canal. That was done in late September. Then I went back to Dr. Money Signs in his Eyes Boyles for a build up on that tooth so it can be crowned. I was admonished to have it done within three months. Well, my insurance only pays 35% of the cost of a crown and I could not come up with the rest – especially after Dr. Boyles jacked up the price 30% more. The crown suddenly cost $1300 where it had been priced at $1000 before.

I contacted my old, previous, retired dentist, and I also saw a different dentist who did a free consult and both said I had longer than three months to get a crown. The different (new) dentist could put on a stainless steel crown, but he recommended trying to get the porcelain one and by the way, when I asked, his price was 30% less than Dr. Benjamin Boyle’s cost of a crown.

So, here I am this morning feeling the abscess infection spreading into my right ear. I do wonder why after a cleaning I have this abscess, but before the cleaning, I was feeling well. I have called my primary care doctor and will probably see him for the ear infection that it feels like I’m getting from this sudden abscess in hopes of getting the antibiotics my dentist refuses.

I wonder when my dentist’s child goes to a doctor if he also refuses to let her take antibiotics for any infections because of those superbugs he says he fears?

How Much?

How much do people really care about each other? They claim they do. When someone they say they care about dies, they carry on like it’s the end of their world. Yet if asked, they’ll admit they miss the person’s smile, or their being there, or whatever it was they managed to get from that person, but they never say they miss that person being able to enjoy life again.

People are mostly selfish creatures. What they miss, what their ultimate agendas are . . . mostly are for themselves.

I wish it hadn’t taken me so many years to understand what people truly mean when they say they love you. They love what you do to improve their lives.

When you’re old and have nothing left to give, you find out how people really feel about you.

God Save Me From The Do-Gooders!

I’m still on the neighborhood listserve for an old neighborhood in Durham NC where I lived for a few years. They never cease to amaze me with their rational and their, well, ignorance.

I see them post about leaving their cars unlocked because their neighborhoods are rife with criminals. Their rational is they are keeping their car windows from being busted out by allowing the criminals to enter their car and take whatever they want without having to break a car window. “Remember to leave your car doors unlocked! Save your windows!”

Right now they are fast and furious posting about five newborn baby kittens that one resident found in her basement. Who can take care of them? How often must they be fed.? Everyone is giving advice and the kittens have been moved from the basement to upstairs where the resident who found them can care for them. I read several emails from everyone offering “help”.

I finally couldn’t take it anymore. I wrote “Has anyone thought that if the mother cat could bring the kittens in the basement, that the mother cat can get back to them to tend to them?”

No one has replied, except with more frantic tips about how to take care of the kittens and how yes, they will need feeding, but also their bottoms must be stimulated to cause elimination, but be gentle doing it.

My concern would be how the cat got in the basement with the newborn kittens. If she came in while still pregnant, there’s a hole somewhere that needs plugging, and it may be bigger than the one would be if she had the kittens outside and then brought them in.

My experience with cats has shown that they do not suddenly go into labor and then seek a birthing place. The birthing place is chosen a few days or a week before the kittens are born. That mother cat knows where she left those kittens. There is now a frantic mother cat trying to find her babies. All the while, the “do-gooders” of the neighborhood are trying to figure out how to take care of the babies so they don’t die.


But they don’t listen to me. They never did. It’s one reason I moved. Two attempted breakins was the other reason. I never left my car unlocked and no one broke into it. I kept a Shepherd Guard Dog and both times those attempting to break in went elsewhere. . . and broke in. Just as that mother cat did.

I do wonder what that resident will find next in her basement. She can’t see the forest for the trees (can’t find the entrance for the cat in the basement) because she’s occupying all her energy into taking care of kittens. Maybe she thinks “finding kittens by humans” equals the same thing as “finding kittens by mother cats”?