I understand the separation of church and state, okay? I get that not everyone embraces the same religion or, in fact, any religion. In my experience, most people who do support religion know where to draw the line with regards to government.
What I'm complaining about today has nothing to do with religion, even though it might look that way on the surface.
An Oklahoma family wanted to donate a stone monument for the Oklahoma State capitol grounds with the Ten Commandments engraved thereon. The legislature voted in favor of accepting it; the governor agreed; the monument was erected.
And a group from Wisconsin is now threatening a lawsuit to get it removed.
The town of Buhler, Kansas, had a cross, among other things representative of their town, on their seal. The same Wisconsin group threatened a lawsuit. The town of less than 1300 residents changed the seal because they couldn't afford to get embroiled in court.
Should the monument have been erected? Should the cross ever have been included in the seal? Not the point.
The point is this: what business is it of the Wisconsin group what we here in Oklahoma and Kansas choose to do? What standing do they have to sue us (or threaten us) on any issue that takes place within our states? They don't live here. They don't work here. They don't pay taxes here.
Oklahomans are perfectly capable of running their own business. We have plenty of residents who can complain and threaten lawsuits just fine, no help needed from outside state lines. If you don't like the way we do things here, go home.
Oh, wait, you aren't here to start with. It's none of your business. Shut up and worry about what's happening in your own town/state, and leave us alone.
Showing posts with label Oklahoma. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Oklahoma. Show all posts
Friday, November 30, 2012
Friday, October 26, 2012
Taming Wild Dogs
From the moment we brought Olivia and Chance into the house, they acted as if they'd been born to such luxury as beds, air conditioning and ice water to drink. They bonded with our other dogs immediately, although Olivia eyed our alpha Jack measuringly every time he walked into the room. She showed no gratitude; the pleasures of being an indoor dog with a steady supply of food and water were hers by right.
Chance showed his gratitude by climbing on our laps every time we sat down and rubbing his face on ours. It was very hard to watch television, because even though he was a puppy, he was a large puppy mixed of three large breeds.
Because our yard isn't fenced, we took the dogs out on leashes to do their business. Getting a walk with lots to investigate and scent along with a potty break makes the house-breaking business easier.
On our first full day with Olivia, Bob took her out midday for a walk around the nearly-five-acre yard. It was August, a hot, lazy, still time in Oklahoma. The sun shines bright enough to make your eyes hurt. It steals the color from the sky. The clouds are too bored to even drift, and the buzzing of insects never stops.
They walked the yard, and Olivia checked out the apple trees, the post oaks, the maples, the crapes. She pounced on leaves and ducked under the low branches of a giant fir, and she paid special attention to the mole tunnels and gopher mounds. Underground in their cool burrows, the moles and gophers were undeterred by the day's exquisite heat.
After her potty break, they walked a little more, across an open part of the yard that was once pasture and still feels like it when you ride the lawn tractor across it. She took a step, just fine, then took another step and collapsed to the ground on her side.
Bob jiggled her leash. "Olivia, come on."
She lay utterly still. No flicker of her eyes, no twitch of her tail, no rise and fall of her ribcage as she breathed.
"Livia!"
Still nothing.
He dropped to his knees in the parched grass, panicked now, calling her name in a louder tone, giving her a shake.
Nothing . . . except the slight sly opening of one eyelid, quickly slammed shut again, and the faint upturn of the corner of her mouth. She was trying very hard not to grin.
He sat back on his feet and, no concern now, said, "Get up, Livia. It's time to go in."
She jumped to her feet, looking around wide-eyed, tongue hanging out her mouth, and headed toward the house, pulling him along, as if to say, "Let's get inside. It's hot out here. What's the hold up?"
She who had scared every other animal on the hilltop had added her new father to the list. Thinking her heart might have stopped just about stopped his.
For the record, she did exactly the same thing the next day. He had exactly the same response.
She learned fast how much power she had.
Because our yard isn't fenced, we took the dogs out on leashes to do their business. Getting a walk with lots to investigate and scent along with a potty break makes the house-breaking business easier.
On our first full day with Olivia, Bob took her out midday for a walk around the nearly-five-acre yard. It was August, a hot, lazy, still time in Oklahoma. The sun shines bright enough to make your eyes hurt. It steals the color from the sky. The clouds are too bored to even drift, and the buzzing of insects never stops.
They walked the yard, and Olivia checked out the apple trees, the post oaks, the maples, the crapes. She pounced on leaves and ducked under the low branches of a giant fir, and she paid special attention to the mole tunnels and gopher mounds. Underground in their cool burrows, the moles and gophers were undeterred by the day's exquisite heat.
After her potty break, they walked a little more, across an open part of the yard that was once pasture and still feels like it when you ride the lawn tractor across it. She took a step, just fine, then took another step and collapsed to the ground on her side.
Bob jiggled her leash. "Olivia, come on."
She lay utterly still. No flicker of her eyes, no twitch of her tail, no rise and fall of her ribcage as she breathed.
"Livia!"
Still nothing.
He dropped to his knees in the parched grass, panicked now, calling her name in a louder tone, giving her a shake.
Nothing . . . except the slight sly opening of one eyelid, quickly slammed shut again, and the faint upturn of the corner of her mouth. She was trying very hard not to grin.
He sat back on his feet and, no concern now, said, "Get up, Livia. It's time to go in."
She jumped to her feet, looking around wide-eyed, tongue hanging out her mouth, and headed toward the house, pulling him along, as if to say, "Let's get inside. It's hot out here. What's the hold up?"
She who had scared every other animal on the hilltop had added her new father to the list. Thinking her heart might have stopped just about stopped his.
For the record, she did exactly the same thing the next day. He had exactly the same response.
She learned fast how much power she had.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Background
Because the margarita series is set in the fictional Tallgrass, Oklahoma, not far from the Tallgrass Prairie, I wanted to have a prairie shot for the background of this site. My husband searched for hours and found the absolute perfect shot. He sent me the website, and I filled out the form to license the photo . . . which came out to about a thousand bucks a year!! Ouch. Instead I went out before the temp hit triple digits and took some pictures of our own "prairie" -- the field on the way to our pond and (ahem) our front yard. This one is the field, with our road curving around on the right. I'll post the front-yard prairie on the photos page. Um, maybe.
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