Category Archives: Good Food

Betty’s Daughter.

Christian fundamentalism, dreams, faith, family history, Good Food, healing, human behavior, love, memorials, psychology, relationships, religious belief, sociology, tributes, Uncategorized, WWII,

Mum always had her back to us.

This wasn’t deliberate. She was just always busy doing something.

Whether the dishes, the laundry, the floor sweeping, the yard tending, the endless sewing……this was a woman who valued staying on task, until the work was done.

Or, at least, this was how we came to understand her.

In the weeks leading the swift decline from the glioblastoma which took her life, I would modify that conclusion.

Mum had always been a dreamer. A child of the Great Depression, she loved imagining what life would be like outside of the constraints of the reality dealt to her. And, she would indulge these fantasies, with her hands to the plow.

Reaching the end of her life so abruptly, the diagnosis roaring in a rush after vague symptoms not observed by anyone but Dad (whose comprehension of their import were never translated), I imagined that everything Mum had figured she would eventually do would now come sharply into the focus of regret. There was clearly no more time left, to go to France or England. Time would soon be replaced by eternity, and the scope of a state minus any literal framework seemed far removed from anything she could grasp with the view she had learned to accept as vastly finite. Far more appealing to simply ride out on the wings of unrealized dreams.

Like my mother before me, I stood at the kitchen sink this morning, scrubbing away at the countertop beneath the strainer tray, getting down to the stuck on grit neglected for so many months. As I worked, I could see and feel her, doing the very same. Even on Mother’s Day, Mum would gather the bones of her arthritic body, rise up out of bed, the Sunday dinner already prepared the night before, get dressed, wake the rest of us, place the beef roast in the oven, and scurry us all off in the car to Morning Worship, Dad walking alone the two and a half blocks to our mutual destination. Upon our return, the cards and potted plant gifted to her following dinner she would – after a brief, precious nap – resume her work, scrubbing the sink, wiping the stove of its drippings.

On Mother’s Day, to our mother being acknowledged was secondary; she, head of her own household, embodying both commitment and self sacrifice, had already determined that this day, like every other, was her own to spend exactly as she deemed important. And, that she did, to the glory of God, until her final breath and beyond.

Back to work.

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Copyright 5/14/23 Ruth Ann Scanzillo. All rights those of the author, Betty’s Daughter, whose name appears above this line. Please, share via blog link, exclusively and, if you quote, please cite the source. Thank you. Happy Mother’s Day, Mothers!

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There Is Fire In Our Crowded Theater, by Adam Gaertner.

addiction, arts education, CANCER TREATMENTS AND CURES, civic commentary, coronavirus, education, Good Food, grief, healing, health and wellness, medicine, notice, political commentary, psychology, public education, scientific theory, social commentary, sociology, the power grid, thoughts, travelogues, truth, Uncategorized, vacation destinations, , , ,

EXCERPTED from his substack article:

The primary concern is unburned vinyl chloride. The uncontrolled, open-air fire is very highly unlikely to have burned even a majority of it: whilst it is flammable, like any other fire it requires oxygen, and there were no accelerants in the crash. The cars leaked for days before they were set on fire, and holes were made in the tankers: that is plenty of time for vast quantities to have seeped into the ground and surrounding water, which has been confirmed thus far to have contaminated the Ohio River, and will very likely be confirmed to have entered the Mississippi. The intense heat and lack of oxygen at ground zero means that the majority of the vinyl chloride, which boils at 8°F, is highly likely to have been lofted into the air unburned, and is currently being rained down again everywhere from Canada to NY to Kentucky.

It’s Not Just The Wind

The fact that acid rain has been reported as far north as Ontario, and as far south as Kentucky, constitutes something of a confirmation of another worst-case scenario: the chemical, which was leached into soil, rivers and groundwater, is evaporating and raining down again, far outside the area which could have possibly been reached by the winds, which are blowing east-northeast. Vinyl chloride takes months to denature when dissolved into water or leached into soil.

Paulsboro train derailment, chemical spill caused health problems in half of residents, DOH reports - nj.com

A much smaller spill in 2012 in NJ. They managed to avoid setting that one on fire.

The Ohio and Mississippi River basins permeate most of the eastern side of the country. There is a smaller area covered by the Tennessee River basin around Georgia; while the contaminated water may or may not directly reach those areas, the prevailing winds are still likely to push the chemical to the east, even that far south. Southern FL might be lucky enough to escape the devastation, but I would not be waiting around to see.

Vinyl chloride is toxic in extremely tiny amounts. Specifically, the metabolite chloroethylene oxide binds to guanine in our DNA, completely and thoroughly destroying any affected DNA. It only takes the tiniest of exposures to be practically guaranteed severe cancers, particularly sarcoma of the liver, which is where that most toxic metabolite is first produced. Untold quantities of dioxin have also been produced: if vinyl chloride is the silver medalist of carcinogenicity, dioxin is the gold, and it is far more persistent in the environment than even the vinyl chloride.

A gigantic bonfire of millions of gallons of vinyl chloride is the single worst chemical and environmental disaster imaginable. If the entirety of Lake Michigan had magically turned into VX gas – a rapidly lethal World War II nerve agent – it still wouldn’t be anywhere near this bad.

Furthermore, there is mounting, albeit strongly circumstantial evidence, that this may have been a deliberate attack after all.

A Deliberate Chemical Weapons Attack?

Image

Video on Twitter

Green water has been reported in East Palestine. Let’s review the chemicals released and produced by burning, and the colors they will turn water upon mixing:

  • Vinyl Chloride (VC): Colorless water (primary product) and colorless to light yellow water (combustion product – hydrogen chloride)
  • Ethylene Glycol Monobutyl Ether (EGMBE): Colorless water (primary product) and clear to pale yellow water (combustion product – acrolein)
  • Ethylhexyl Acrylate (EHAA): Colorless water (primary product) and clear, colorless to cloudy water (combustion product – formaldehyde)
  • Isobutylene (i-C4H8): Colorless water (primary product) and clear, colorless water (combustion product – formaldehyde)
  • Butyl Acrylates: Colorless water (primary product) and clear, colorless to cloudy water (combustion product – formaldehyde)

None of these products produce bright green water. How could bright green water possibly have been formed?

3082 is the label for nickel oxide. Fifteen tanker trucks labelled 3082 were seen heading to East Palestine on the 15th of February, and the next day, there was reporting on residents’ bright green tap water. Nickel oxide – up to 150,000 gallons of it, given the capacities of the tanker trucks – produces nickel chloride when it is mixed with vinyl chloride, at atmospheric temperature and pressure, which certainly does turn water green. Nickel chloride is also extremely toxic and carcinogenic, and dissolves in water much more readily than vinyl chloride: if that is indeed what took place, which is not yet confirmed, but seems likely, then it’s that much worse.

Why, for the love of God, would anybody mix fifteen tanker trucks of nickel oxide into the spill? It is not a fire suppressant or dry powder agent like sodium bicarbonate. It is used as a flame retardant in small amounts for plastic mixtures (of which vinyl chloride is a precursor, to PVC), but absolutely not for anything approaching this scale.

Poisoning half the country and destroying a majority of America’s farmland would be a great reason.

Netflix released a movie in December (“White Noise”), playing out precisely what’s taken place here, down to being filmed in the very same town, East Palestine, in which it occurred.

The CDC also “updated” the data on vinyl chloride in late January, before the crash, and after 17 years untouched.

The EPA has also been very obviously falsifying air and water tests, and let’s not forget the reporter that was arrested for trying to investigate.

The conspiracy theorists are 60-nil these days, so I think Hanlon’s Razor is inverted until further notice. There’s no coincidences anymore.

Also notable is Deagel’s 100 million population prediction. This is the first event that could conceivably reach that number in the allotted time, by 2025; with 250 million people east of the Mississippi River, and the untold devastation knocking on to affect the rest of the country, this could easily do that.

Deagel Makes Mysterious Changes To 2025 Population Forecast For America As Bill Gates Launches 'Grand Challenge': The 'Holy Grail Of Influenza Research' And 'Bridging The Valley Of Death' | Algora Blog

The Perceptor.

addiction, drama, Good Food, healing, human behavior, love, psychology, relationships, scientific theory, sociology, Uncategorized, , , , , , , , , , , ,

Little Henry loved dinosaurs.

He loved them so much that, during his cello lessons, he named the four cello strings Carnotaurus, Gigantosaurus, Dilophosaurous, and Ankylosaurus.

She was somewhat of a raptor, herself. Gliding across all she surveyed, her enormous wing span covered just about everything and everybody visible below. By virtue of her fantastic size, she could see alot.

Childhood fantasy was a wonderful tool, enhancing the learning process by stimulating affective arousal and a host of synaptic responses the brain engages to receive, sort, and retrieve information. The problem emerged when adults got lost in its grandeur.

Nearly three weeks ago, she’d paid a surprise visit to her beloved. He had never been keen on these unsolicited appearances, telling her so in no uncertain terms; but, afflicted with not only a vividly overactive imagination she was also obsessive compulsive and, well, sometimes, found herself merely a passenger in the vehicle driving her behavior.

Such was the case on that evening when, ringing the doorbell, she stood on the front landing awaiting entry into his livingroom. By the time he did appear she could already tell that he’d chosen his own preferred mode of escape, having reached a state bordering on surly. But, still polite, he did let her in and stood, sluggish and squinting, as she strode into the kitchen to see how he’d spent his last eight hours.

No beer cans, anywhere; how deftly they’d been hidden. But, now, a homemade flatbread pizza slice left on the stone, one large unrecognizable bowl, emptied of what looked like guacamole and, as referenced in a previous recounting, a single recipe card – pristine and alone and bearing completely unfamiliar handwriting – on the opposite counter.

She moved back toward the livingroom, asking for the whereabouts of the ivermectin stash; this anti-parasitic had recently been found to prevent red blood cell aggregation, and might they….he had no idea where he’d put it. Okay. She would search, herself.

Re-emerging from the bathroom, she caught him stuffing something under the sofa cushion and then, spying her, dramatically smoothing its surface.

The pair of black workout pants discovered there would become the subject of her fixation, therewith. She would challenge him with their size, seemingly too narrow for his muscle bound legs. She would ask him to put them on; he would refuse. She would leave – declaring him a liar, a cheat, a thief, and God knew what else. And, he would laugh.

Down the steps of the front porch she’d fly, raptor wings flapping ominously all the way home. Predictably, gathering her huddle of equally willing grand jurists, they’d pronounce him precisely as described: liar, cheat, you know the tune, with the finality of a flock of buzzards circling over the county landfill. By the time they’d reach their verdict, he’d be toast.

Enter the Creator of all living, the Almighty Omnipresent and Omniscient. One perspective; one overriding view.

God would take her pea brain, fraught with its own traumas, and remold its perceptions. Within ten days, she would be graced with not one, but three pairs of black workout pants, at least one of them appearing to relax after the wearing and, most critical to the cause, a wooden box filled with recipe cards. Most relevant there were several, among those clearly bearing his illegible penmanship, which had been written by the same, unknown scribe who had produced the salad recipe used that fateful night.

While he may have been visited by the mistress demon who haunted all addictions, there had been no stranger in that house sharing in his misery. There was only albeit inebriated he – and then his addicted, raptoriously soaring above reality to snatch up the residual bones in her ancient, creaking beak and reconstruct a definitive archeological find out of the whole scenario for an eagerly awaiting army of self-appointed anthropologists.

Little Henry was progressing. He’d been growing, too. His legs were now too long for the prototype cello, and he’d moved far beyond the four strings toward completing his first song. Would that all would evolve beyond perceptions of a given delusion to wrench free of the dinosaurs lying wait to capture that final hope for psychic and emotional survival.

After all, there was really only One all-knowing.

And, that One had created the dinosaurs, too.

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Copyright 2/2/23 Ruth Ann Scanzillo. All rights those of the author, whose story it is and whose name appears above this line. No copying, in whole or part or by translation, permitted; sharing only via blog link, exclusively, and that not by RSS. Write the script for your own story. Thanks.

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