Hooray for everyone!

I'll probably piss a few people off, here... but what the hell.  What has happened to our society? We seem to be raising a population of wimps! This "feel good", "everybody wins" crap has just gone too far.  I mean, boosting self esteem in kids is great, but at what cost? Can anyone really feel good about themselves, when they are rewarded for nothing?

When I was a kid, we competed for a spot on the team. 200 kids tried out, the best 25 made the team. Play a game? The team with the highest score wins. Play Monopoly? Somebody wins.. Spelling bee? Someone wins. We had band competitions, drill teams, chess clubs, you name it.  We didn't just show up. We wanted to win!

I guess I'd been in the dark for a while. I don't know when everything changed. Now that I have kids, I see it. when my oldest was 6, she started playing soccer. Her team sucked! That year, and the 2 years following, they'd have a big party at the end of the season. And there it was. From the best players to the crappiest, everyone was the same. Everyone got a trophy. Seriously. The kids that really tried and made real effort received no further recognition than the kids who showed up once in a while, and put little to no effort into the sport. Yay for everyone!
Bullshit.

I'm not saying, that at a very young age, we should tell our kids that winning is the only option. But certainly, there's nothing wrong with them setting goals. If we reward kids for just "showing up", what motivation is there to do any better? So, let's have the cheerleaders yell "Rah, rah, ree, mediocrity! Rah rah rass, I'm a lazy ass".  And now a days, that cheer leader can be some uncoordinated toad, because now,  everyone that wants to be a cheerleader, is. When I was in high school, those girls competed to make that squad! Only the best made it.  Jebus, at 53 years old, I'm pretty sure I could jump higher than half the girls on the local squad. 

So, now I get started on sports teams. What the hell is going on? Seriously... EVERYONE makes the team?!  I know, people will argue "at least they're out there trying". I get that. But what the hell?  This obsession with making everyone "feel good" is not preparing them for life. If you don't even have to try, what's the point?  If I wanted to make the team, I knew I had to practice. There were some damn good athletes in my town. If I wanted a spot on the team, I'd better work my ass off, and give it my all! And when our team played a game, we knew they kept score! Why? Some body's gonna win, and somebody's gonna loose. Call me crazy, but loosing was never an option! People will argue "Winning isn't everything, so long as they're having fun". well, I'm here to tell you, winning is a hell of a lot more fun than loosing! Being a winner is as much a mind set as it is skill and hard work.A while back, a coach I used to work with told me "I never go into a game expecting to win". I just about crapped my pants. It's no wonder she's a lousy coach, and the team consistently looses. 

I grew up in a time, and thankfully in a town, where winning was the goal. Colton High kicked ass in just about every sport, guys and gals. We worked hard be CA state champions! Our Marching band kicked ass, our drill team, our Drama kids... hell, our school newspaper was #1 in the nation.  No kid in that school ever set out to be mediocre.  That was just not acceptable.

This isn't about sports, people... it's about life. Life is a competition!  How many kids get out of college, and can't get a job? It amazes me that so many think they simply have to apply, or worse, the perfect job will somehow find them. They have no idea how to compete in the job market. Hello... you have to convince these employers that you are the best! You have to stand up and fight! When you make everything easy for kids, how will they ever learn to try?  If you want to succeed in life, you have to win!  You must rise to every challenge, and fight for every inch of ground! How many parents have adult children living with them, and somehow think this is okay? A temporary set back? maybe, but it should never be a choice. Making it okay for kids to be mediocre is no less a disservice than buying booze for an alcoholic. Expect more from them, and maybe they'll surprise you and start trying.

  

Brotherly Love

Growing up in a large family can be crazy. Ours was certainly no exception.  In just shy of an 11 year span, my folks brought 7 kids into the world. Yes, we were Catholic.  I am the baby.  My brother Dennis, a year ahead of me in school and 18 months senior, was my best friend. I miss him more than I can even begin to express. 

Taking a line from Forrest Gump, Dennis and I were "like peas and carrots".  As kids, he was the one sibling who didn't tease me, beat me up, or generally make my life shitty.  We shared a love of  baseball, fishing, hiking, and sardine sandwiches. We were both very good artists, spending hours at the kitchen table together, drawing. We Loved the same TV shows; The Rifleman, The three stooges, Dragnet, Adam-12, and Monty Python movies.  Once, hiking in the local "sand Hills", we were sure we had discovered Noah's Ark. 

So often, it felt like Dennis and I against the world. We, the "babies" of the brood, seemingly were always "picked on" by the older siblings. My brother Pat was a pretty big kid, and could be a real bully at times.  Mom and Dad both worked, so things often got pretty bad, with the lack of adult supervision. Pat made a regular habit of pounding the crap out of Dennis and I. He usually started on Dennis, but I'd jump to his defense, and take a few punches for it.  Several years ago, my orthopedic surgeon looked at my ex-rays and expressed concern that I apparently  had 9 broken ribs, apparently all breaks from childhood. That illustrates the level of physicality in our "fights". Dennis had his Jaw dislocated once. I pounded the crap out of Pat, and actually gave him a bloody nose. Pat came at me and Dennis broke a lamp over his head. That's just how it was. We always had each other's back.  

In high school Dennis and I became involved in the Police Explorers, something of a Junior Police cadet program.  We both wanted to be cops. Now at that time, women in Police work were pretty much limited to office and custodial positions. Dennis actually hated the idea of women being "real cops", but he always supported me. "You're the exception" he'd say, "you can kick someone's ass, when you need to".  I could. Thank you, Pat, for the "fight club" training. We eventually did become cops, very close to the same time.  Another thing we shared. Only other cops know what that bond is, among us. For Dennis and I, it was double.

Over the years Dennis and I remained very close. We both went through divorces within a year of each other. I moved back to So. Cal for 18 months, and we hung out together, most every week end. We pissed and moaned about our exes, cried on each other's shoulders, and called each other out on our shit. We met our future spouses at about the same time, and later marred within a month of each other. We always seemed to be in sinc. I moved 1200 miles away, but we always talked, and Dennis and his wife most often took vacations here, and stayed with me. His Son and my oldest daughter are 2 months separate in age. Peas and Carrots.

Although I had virtually nothing in common with Dennis' new wife (except our names), I tried very hard to bond with her, and become friends. She's something of a "ding bat". Short, fickle, sissy-like. Crazy ass emotions, and totally not prepared for the direct banter of the "Casey family". She often expressed to me "shock" at things my Mother, or siblings would say or do.  Honestly, it was clear this woman came from a household of females. A fart would shock the hell out of her!  Hello... my family ate beans for dinner every  Saturday. The fart contests  capped off the evening.  Every week or so, Kathy Ann (Dennis' wife) would call me and complain about my family. She hated my Mom, my sisters, and especially my brother, Pat. I listened and sympathized with her plight, while trying to explain it all, and minimize her offense. Nothing I said ever made a difference. Rant after rant about my Mom, I finally told her I did not want to hear any more. I had no idea I'd ignited a bomb.

So much transpired over the next year or so, it would take weeks to write down. In spite of what I heard, I tried to stay out of it. I lived so far away, and had a sense of insulation by distance. But something came up, between me and another family member, who was living with me. It was our issue to resolve, and best left that way. But oddly, Dennis' wife, from 1200 miles away, injected herself in the middle of it.  My efforts to speak to her resulted in the *80 treatment (blocked call). She preferred to email, wherein she could rant and spew all things she "assumed" were going on, and what a horrible person I was, and always had been. I was offered no chance of rebuttal, but by this time it  had become pretty clear to me that this woman was not playing with a full deck. I'd never said a negative thing to her, or about her up to this point. But she made it very clear, I was now her enemy. 

Through this, my brother Dennis sat silent. I mean, seriously, he is a very intelligent man. He had to see what a whack job his wife was. She had, for all intents, cut him off from most of his family, by way of her irrational offense. Surely, Dennis would  steer her to a sensible direction. I tried calling him. No reponse. I tried several times. Kathy Ann sent me an email, directing me to leave Dennis alone. I was no longer his sister, and would he "not be permitted" to ever speak to me again. Nor, would I be allowed to speak to my nephew (from his first marriage), or their adopted son.  In spite of my attempts through other family members, so it has been. My sister in law did a few other things after that, that I can't even speak of. It just served to validate her "Crazy".

I have not spoken to my brother in nearly 5 years. Word has been passed that I love him, and miss him. My phone is on and my door is open. I've sent birthday cards, Christmas cards, received nothing.  I miss my brother more than anything. As with the passing of my father, I can not pick up the phone and "shoot the shit" with him. We cannot laugh and share the joys and frustrations of parenthood. He won't visit, and eat Oysters off the Bar B Que with me, go fishing, or just sit and drink a beer. Yet, he's not dead. I think it would be easier, if he was. Somehow, this would make more sense. I honestly have no idea what I ever did, or said to his wife, to bring on this isolation. I sometimes wonder what might happen, if I were to see him (and her) again. My Mom is 94. Sooner or later, our family will gather again. I'm not sure how I'll react to them, when I'm there. Should I beat the crap out of her, or him?  

We can do it!

I got started a little late in the kid department. Many of my friends are grandparents, while I have a 15 and two 12 year olds. Three girls. At my age it can be exhausting. The idea of raising them to be three happy, confident and successful women scares the crap out of me. What I embrace, is that my girls seemingly have no sense of boundaries, as to what they can do, or what they can become, as women. They recognize limits only to the extent of their potential, and not their gender. They don't hear "you can't do that, you're a girl". Bravo!

Growing up in the 60's and 70's, we girls heard that crap all the time.  Even from our parents. God, how I hated those words. If I'd been allowed to curse, I'm sure I would have told the nay-sayers to go  f*ck themselves. Instead, I chose to do so, in my actions. Perhaps it's the stubborn Irish blood in me. Tell me I can't, and I will. 

Being the youngest of seven kids, with 3 brothers and 3 sisters, I'm not sure what made me different from my sisters. Perhaps it was the pecking order. Those closest in age to me were 2 boys. My brother Dennis, 18 months older than me, was my best friend. We played ball together, hiked through the sand hills, built forts, played Batman and Robin, Bonnie and Clyde. I even sewed "manly clothes" for my Ken doll, so he would play Barbies with me. He was a boy, me a girl, but we were the same. Matched book ends.  We never fought, unlike the relationships with other siblings. I went to every one of his ball games, and he came to mine. Dennis never told me I couldn't do something because I was a girl. If he had, I probably would have punched him. 

I did enjoy doing "girly" things. I did needle crafts and learned to sew at a very young age. I was actually making quite a bit of money (for a kid), with my sewing, by the time I was 10. I also liked to build things. With the limited tools my Dad had on hand, I made doll houses, furniture. I even learned to fix bicycles. By default, I suppose. If I wanted a bike, I had to fix the broken down bike that had belonged to one of my older siblings. I ended up doing repairs for friends and neighborhood kids, earning a quarter or 50 cents for my work. I never quite understood why their parents were surprised that "a girl" could do that. Why not?

After shedding the burden of 10 months on crutches, at age 14, I applied for a job at a local market. I wanted to be a "Box boy" (what we now refer to as a "courtesy clerk"). The store owner told me I couldn't be one, because I was a girl. We made a deal. I'd work for free, for a week. If I could do the job, he'd hire me. According to my school counselor, I was the first girl on record, within the state of California, that had been issued a work permit, for the position of "box boy".  The asshole store owner did remind me how generous he was in giving me the job, by paying me 50% less than what the boys made. I did get more work hours than the boys, though. Hmmm... I wonder why? I worked my ass off.

Later in High school, my brother Dennis and I took up an interest in the local Police Explorers organization.  We had decided then, that we both wanted to be cops. A lot of people were amused by my ambition. Girls can't be cops... but they do make good dispatchers, and records clerks. I later went to work for the local Police department, under their CETA, officer training program. I worked uniformed patrol, they paid me 20% of what the guys made, and I couldn't carry a gun. Yep. Driving a black and white, wearing a cop uniform, with a badge, responding to calls, even got shot at a couple of times. But, I couldn't have a gun. When prop 13 passed in California, the CETA program was cut. Probably the best thing that ever happened to me. I later joined the Orange County Sheriff's department (as a deputy Sheriff), where I did get a gun, and continued in a law enforcement career, in various capacities, for 23 years.

In 1989, I took, what I thought was a 6 month leave of absence from my Job as a DA's investigator. I came to Port Townsend, WA, to attend the Northwest School of Wooden Boat Building.  I'd always loved working with wood, and had accumulated a few shop tools over the past several years. I'd made a few pieces of furniture, with self-taught skills. The Boat school sounded like a great way to learn and broaden my skills. Geeze, if you can build boats, you can build anything, I thought! 

I found myself in Port Townsend. Heaven on Earth. There as no way in hell, I could ever go back to Southern California. This was (is) home. I excelled at the boat school, and then went to work for a luxury yacht builder, at the local boat yard. Here I was again... The first woman, among "manly men", building boats. Most of the guys were really cool with me being there. A couple of them were assholes. But, I got to work with incredibly skilled craftsmen, learned skills that I never would have imagined, and built interior furnishings and cabinets for yachts in the $65 to $170 MILLION dollar price range! 

Because of the toxic environment, and my bad back, I eventually left the Boat shop, and applied for a job with the local Sheriff's office, as their Crime Prevention Officer. Welcome to Hooterville!  As per the qualifications listed in the employment ad, I was apparently the only "qualified" candidate in the running, and eventually the board of county commissioners "made" the sheriff hire me. He told me it was under protest. That he did not want to hire a woman, and certainly not one from California. This stupid hillbilly sheriff had never worked a day of police work in his life (elected). And he was judging me. When I got my first paycheck, it was half what was stated in the employment flyer. He told me he wasn't gonna pay a cunt what he paid his men. I had to file a grievance with the union to get my pay, but after it finally came through, six months later, he told me he was going to have to let me go. Adios, jackass... I'd just accepted a job with the State liquor board. 

In the last 24 years, I've learned many more traditionally "man skills". I had my general contractor's license for a while, but mostly did cabinet work, kitchen and bath remodels, built a couple of decks. I taught myself to do plumbing and electrical, lay flooring, refinish flooring, to tile work, every facet of finish carpentry, and much more. I love working with my hands. I've also made a butt load of money making high-end custom furniture. I am limited, now, probably due to age, because of my history of orthopedic injuries and the resulting arthritis. I often push myself beyond the point of pain, to get a project done. But, it's a "good pain". Pain from hard work, somehow seems worth it. 

The lesson I carried with me, is this; never let anyone (even your own mind) tell you, that you can't do something, simply by grounds of your gender! And never let anyone tell you that you should do something because of it! Do what you want to, learn something new. Don't limit yourself to traditional "gender roles". This is 2013! Mom's... don't let your daughters settle for for being a "cheerleader". Be the person others cheer for! Get out there, find your potential! 

Daddy's Girl

October has always been my favorite time of year. Fall colors, crisp air, and baseball.  Though, now the joys of October baseball  are plagued with a sense of sadness. I miss my Dad.  It has been 13 seasons since his passing. This would be an exciting year for him. His beloved Red Sox in the series, and the Dodgers' respectable finish.  In the last couple of weeks, I found myself instinctively  reaching for the phone. I had to call Dad and talk about the game, the plays, the "Yahoo" moments, and the disappointments. Then the emptiness sets in. He won't answer. I won't here "Hi, Honey... great game", ever again.

Dad was my baseball hero. Though his professional career ended in the minors, he did have some great moments. He pitched.  'Had a consistent strike out record against Joe Di Magio, among other greats. He threw and batted from both sides. He taught me how to throw, and hit, but mostly how to be part of a team.

When I sit outside in my yard, on a warm summer's day, I close my eyes. I hear Vin Scully calling the Dodger game. His voice speaks of Kofax, Driesdale, Mays, Garvey, Lopes and Cey.  The sun warms my body, and the memories warm my heart. I see Dad in his lounger, shirt off, beer in hand.  I remember evenings at the kitchen table. Me, in my nightgown  embroidered with "Daddy's girl". Sitting on his lap, enjoying a sip of  his beer. Singing the  Dodger's pre-game theme song; "It's a beautiful day for a ballgame...". Life was perfect at that moment.

I played softball from age 8, through High school. I guess I was a decent player, always made the all-star team, and was lucky enough to be on teams that consistently finished first. I made great friends through softball, and in the other sports most of us played in High school. We kicked ass, virtually every one's.  Our biggest accomplishment was not the League and state championships we won, but the intense bond we still have, 35 years later. For that, I am truly blessed. For that, I thank my Dad. For his love of sports, and my love of him, which influenced  my desire to play ball. To be part of something bigger than myself... a team

Somehow, everything that I am is connected to Baseball. I adored my father. He loved baseball,   I loved baseball. He played baseball, so I played softball (although I would have preferred other). Because I played softball,  I played other sports. I played sports and I made great  friends. With that, I learned how to be a good  friend. But more than anything, I learned what it means to be a "team player". I learned how far I could push myself, having the support of my friends. How much we could accomplish, working together. The sky's the limit. This attitude has carried me well beyond the boundaries of sport. Nothing in life is easy. Challenge should be embraced, and taken head on. Learn every day, improve every day, set goals, and keep your eye on the prize.

I love you, Dad. Not a day passes without you coming to mind. You are my hero. Thank you for everything you've done, and your influence continues to do for me.

Why am I not in the nut house?

The past couple of years have been pretty hectic.  My marriage of 22 years (a relationship of 25) has ended in divorce. Finalized just 2 weeks ago. I never thought I would find myself here, but I know for sure, that this is the best place I can be.  It's been years since I felt the kind of love a woman should have for her husband. But, we got along alright, and we have 3 girls to raise. I've never been a quitter, and was prepared to wade through the mud of mediocrity until that job was done. If my spouse has done just one thing right since our marriage began, it was  finding the balls to file for divorce. "Free at last, free at last! Thank God, almighty, I'm free at last"!.

Last month, my attorney asked me "How the hell did you stay married to that idiot for so long"? Good question. Glenn is not a bad person, but he is a social moron most of the time. I made excuses for his odd behavior, blaming his asshole parents for sending him away at the age of 10, because they didn't want to deal with his learning disabilities. He lived separated from a normal "family life" until graduating from high school. A while back, one of my twins (age 12) was diagnosed with Aspergers' syndrome (Autism). I remember reading through her psychologist's report. It described her father to a T.  It all made perfect sense. And I  realized his tendency to act like an asshole  most of the time, was really not my fault. Whew! What a relief! When you're raised catholic, you subconsciously blame every bad thing that happens on yourself.  Glenn perpetuated this thinking, by also blaming me.

So, how did the relationship last 25 years? Familiarity. Glenn is my mother. Deep down, both are good, loving people. That's what I hang on to. But, both are very good at playing the role of victim, and making you some how feel responsible for their misery.  I can't recall a single time that my mother paid me a compliment. Yet, looking back, I was a pretty amazing kid. I was a good artist, a great seamstress, a very good student, an accomplished athlete. I did my chores, didn't back talk,  I never got into trouble. ('Got the belt once for spilling paint on my bedroom rug).  I got my first job at age 14... just 2 weeks after I shedding the crutches I'd been stuck with for 10 months (hip injury). Yet, I clearly recall my motivation for that job. To earn my own way. To never hear again from my mother, about the burden of raising 7 children. How much I cost every month, every day.  Basically, what a general pain in the ass it was to have me around. This impression of my Mom, real or not, drove me out of the house at age 17, with the determination to succeed, and never, ever go back.

This misguided battle for independence has served me well, most of the time. But, in retrospect, it has also made me an easy target for "users".  Glenn used me to stabilize his wanderlust. I assumed the "responsible role", holding a steady job, with benefits. Always able to provide everything we needed. He changed careers, hobbies, dreams, did what ever pleased him.  My stubborn desire for independence has not been limited to finances, but to other "needs". I've never wanted to "need" anyone. So, I learned how to do things, usually by teaching myself. I went to the NW school of wooden boat building, and worked as a joiner, building interiors on mega million $ yachts. That helped to perfect my wood working skills. I've built cabinets and custom furniture. I gutted bathrooms, and taught myself how to do copper plumbing, tile, fixtures, electrical, framing. I've built decks, landscaped huge yards, you name it. Most of this I learned, in spite of Glenn's extensive experience in the construction trades. I learned to do it, because he wouldn't. I hate having to rely on someone else to do something. At the same time, I've always resented the idea that because I can do, I should. So, I learned to resent Glenn. He never did anything I wanted him to do, nor anything that needed to be done.  It pissed me off.  I was my own worst enemy, for having learned. I did everything! The yard, the house, the kids, the money... everything! He did what he wanted. This drove me fucking crazy!

I assume that everyone who grew up with a serious involvement in team sports, knows what it means to have someone's back. Certainly, those of us in Law enforcement know how important that is.  That is a sense, so deeply set in my conscience,  I tend to forget not everyone has it.  I have you, I've got this, I'm looking out for you. More so, do NOT ever mess with the people I care about! The defense and care of those close to me, is primal.  It's how a momma bear  is with her cubs. Glenn didn't get that. He never had my back.  I made a big mistake a few years back, and stood up for him on an issue he was very angry about. I backed him up, in spite of my disagreement with it. He was my husband... I had to. I led the charge, to confront the issue that bothered him so much. And when I did, he ran away, left me swinging in the breeze. I'm left there, taking the fall out, and the heart breaking consequences of my decision to support him. He jumped ship. I've never been able to forgive him for that.  In retrospect, I know I should not have taken up his cause. It was a serious lesson for me. Oh, I still find myself sticking my neck out for people, only to get a good whack on the head for it. But, I take solace in knowing that I still have a few people in my life, who would drop everything, and be there for me, if I ever conjure up the guts to ask for help. The asking is extremely difficult for me.

I love my friends. Those of us who have been friends through thick and thin, in difficult times and joyous. We've been living our lives, separated by miles, but never in heart.

Bustin' my cherry...

So, here it is... my first attempt at a blog.  I suppose I have the usual misgivings about this process. What's the point?... does any one really give a shit?... Will I make a fool of myself? Blah, blah, blah. I figure this is a good way to share, rant, whine, praise and generally bullshit. Good therapy.

About me. I'm just shy of my 54th birthday. The youngest of 7 kids, growing up in a suburb of Los Angeles. I have three sisters, three brothers. I've always been closer to my brothers than my sisters, always shared more in common with the boys. I was a Tom-boy jock in high school  (lettered in 4 sports) and played for an NCAA Div 1 Championship team in college. I became a cop when I was just 20 years old. Now, here's the BIG surprise.... I am not a lesbian! It always pisses me off when people assume that athletic or strong willed women are carpet munchers. Blech!   I'm tall, athletic build, decent looking, and I can pull off a sexy tramp look, if I want to. Usually, I'm offended by that type of behavior and hope that we can move past that. But, I'm not so naive that I don't see the point in using that angle, when necessary.

I'm recently divorced from a 23 year marriage. I have three girls, 15 (my athlete and super student), and I have 12 year old twins with crazy-ass developmental disorders. They drive me to drink, occasionally .

I'm at a loss on how to further describe "me". Somewhere in my childhood, I felt the need to prove myself, in so many ways. An athlete,  (so my Dad would notice me),  independent (so my Mom wouldn't bitch about me being a burden),   Tough, (so my brothers would not beat me up), respectful, (so that I wouldn't be like my oldest sister).  Wow... sounds like a shit load of baggage! But, not really. What it did do, was help to make me a strong, self motivated, determined and confident woman. But not so perfect, that I miss a day with out some amount of self-loathing. Thanks to my German-Catholic mother, who still today (at 94 years old) has a way of making me feel guilty for having been born.  In spite of that, the Irish side of my Dad's influence is usually able to kick those thoughts in the ass.  Now... I need a shot of Jameson!

I retired from Law Enforcement in 2003, after nearly 25 years in the biz. I've spent a lot of energy trying not to loose sight of who was before I got into that testosterone based career. I got into it because I knew I could do the job. Before they made concessions and let the wimps in. Hell, I grew up fighting with my brothers. I was a scraper. I was an athlete, a team player. a righter of wrongs. I went into Police work with a naive outlook. Often, I realize that's a pretty stupid way to think, but it's that which still drives me.

I am my father's daughter. I speak up, when others keep their mouths shut. Not so much for myself, but for those who live in fear of speaking up. It gets me in trouble now and then, but what the hell. I try to be respectful, but only to the point that I (or my friends) are being respected.  You throw a ball of crap at me, you should know that I batted over 700 in softball.  My Dad taught me how to place a ball exactly where I want it. Literally and figuratively. Pow!

So, what should I blog about? Start with my crazy ass family. The cancer within is my oldest sister, a sociopath. I do owe her this... 11 years older than me. She lived as my example of what not to be. The drama that goes along with large families. The amazing and wonderful friends I have, and those who proved not so much. Fond memories of my childhood friends, playing team sports, and the life lessons learned from that. A wonderful life in The Pacific Northwest, appreciated so much after leaving the bowels of southern California 24 years ago.  Lessons for other women on how not to set limits on yourself. I've found that I really can do just about anything I set my mind to. Outside of any strength limitations, we can do anything! How about some great beers! and great recipes to go with them! How to build furniture, remodel your own kitchen, sew anything. I can be Handyman and Suzy homemaker. Any woman can.

Does anyone really give a rat's ass?