S-T-R-E-S-S

My very favorite web site is lucianne.com. Lucianne Goldberg is the mother of conservative author, Jonah Goldberg and friend of Linda Tripp who spilled the beans on 'sweet Monica'. Lucianne has a variety of news stories from around the world. They are left, center and right so it gives me balance. There was an article in this mornings listing about 'stress'. That's a very powerful sounding word for only six letters. Maybe it's because one has to tighten the jaw and throat and thrust the tongue with the 'st' sound. Life can become very stressful for me when things begin to pile up. In the old days a couple of screwdrivers, a twelve pack or gin and tonics would temporary help relieve that part of my life but since I've given that stuff up I have to find other outlets. Luciannes' column induces stress quite frequently. e.g. I just read a column written by poverty pimp, Jesse Jackson, in the Chicago Sun Times. I had the urge to send Jesse a shut up note but after reading a few more paragraphs I realized he is more irrelevant that Snoop Dog so I calmed myself down.
All stress is relative to every life situation. The garbage collectors are in front of my house as I write. When I was a youngster they'd have to pick up the metal cans and actually throw the garbage in the truck. Now, our garbage is placed in plastic bins and a hydraulic lift picks up the garbage and puts our waste in the truck. Over time that is a terrific stress reliever.
My sister is staying with us for awhile. She's sort of an invalid until her hip replacement takes place. Rio, her pooch, came with her. Every stinking day that dog has to go out and do it's duty and I have to wait for it to get done. Every day I have to put a bag on my hand and wait for him to do what nature forces it to do. In the Fifties my dog Cocoa would be let out the back door. He'd drop one and when we felt like it, maybe a couple of days later, we'd get a shovel and pick it up. No stress! Rio, on the other hand has a big field behind our place. He has to be on a leash and I have to have this blue plastic bag on my hand to immediately pick up his droppings. Sometimes I stand out there for ten or fifteen minutes waiting for him to perform. Hey! I've got other things to do besides waiting for him to squat on his hind legs.
The point of this entire blog is all stress is in the eye of the beholder.
Two years ago I needed a couple of birthday cards so I sauntered off to my local Hallmark store. I take a good deal of time picking out cards; the perfect card for that special person on their special day. I couldn't find what I wanted in any slot. In trying to seek out guidance I asked the store manager, seated in front of a rack of cards, for her help. Evidently, she didn't hear me so I spoke slightly louder.
A quick look of distress from her told me it wasn't her day. I asked if anything was wrong. "If I have to sort any more cards I'm going to be a basket case," she offered. Stress over greeting cards. It's haunting.
In todays Columbus Dispatch there was a story about a lady, a mother, who was sentenced to eighteen years to life for murdering her daughter. Last Easter Sunday she became upset with her 18-year old child for wearing shorts to dinner, shorts she felt were not lady like. The mother, with gun in hand, ran her daughter down and shot her dead in the driveway. What price stress? A lot of morals in this piece: don't pick up dog poop, don't buy birthday cards, avoid stories about Jesse Jackson and whatever you do don't kill your daughter because she wears skimpy shorts.