Life and Love

Tell me why we should vote Trump in 2020

Teri Carter's Library

* August 14 OpEd *

Tell me why you support Donald Trump. Tell me why we should vote for him again in 2020. What’s your pitch?

Is it the economy, the tax cuts? Because I know lots of teachers with second jobs, and I’ve heard many a pastor say money is the root of all evil.

Is it his support of farmers? Because his ill-advised tariffs are destroying farmers. According to a July 25 Bloomberg report, “American farm income dropped 16% last year to $63 billion, about half the level it was as recently as 2013.”

Is it the most popular GOP talking points? Because Democrats don’t want open borders, there is no such thing as aborting a baby in the ninth month, and we don’t want your guns.

So, what’s left? Socialism?

President Trump has approved $16 billion in aid to farmers (on top of $12 billion last year)…

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Life and Love

Thank you, men!

Teri Carter's Library

img_4527 The Kentucky House Floor, January 2017

May 22, 2019 Edition

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Let’s face it, ladies. It’s time we say a big, old thank you to men.

In recent weeks, a number of male-dominated state legislatures have passed bills regulating a woman’s right to end a pregnancy: Kentucky, Utah, Mississippi, Ohio, Arkansas, Georgia, Missouri, and Alabama.

In a 25-6 vote in Alabama, 25 men passed a bill that would give doctors who perform an abortion 99 years, or life, in prison. And if you’re a girl or woman who’s been the victim of rape or incest, too bad, no exceptions, no matter if you’re 12 or 25.

The men have spoken, and you will carry that fetus—your rapist’s, your father’s, your uncle’s—to term, and by golly you’ll be thankful they made you do it.

This is what we’ve expected all along, is it not? Consider the language we use: She wanted it…

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Life and Love, Lifestyle, Love, Motherhood

My Mother, Myself

Celebrating my mother today, Scottye Hall. A little bit June Cleaver, a little bit Betty Draper. I love this woman more than I can ever express in words and I’m so thankful that she still gives me her “mom-isms” that keep me on track.  From times when Paris is burning, her “Everything will be alright” answer, to if I’m hurt, cut, bleeding, it’s her classic “Just put some lotion on it.” When my mom sewed my clothes, they were always special pieces that I wore till threads. She respected my love of lace, tulle, floral prints, and twirly dresses. She always made me pretty. When my mom baked a cake, it was the most glorious and delicious creation. Everything was made from scratch and our kitchen always lingered in sugary, caramel aromas. I knew early on she had a direct line to Jesus because she could whip up a fantastic feast with a loaf and some fishes. My mom knew me well. She designed and created my bedroom with pink and white polka dots, a pink and white gingham skirted dressing table with an eyelet lace stool top made out of a pizza tin, and a whisky barrel that made my room smell deliciously oaky and sweet. She is a great designer and very creative. Somehow my mom taught me to be independent without stripping away the traditional values we live by. I love her so much. Things fly out of my mouth that sound just like her. When I bring this to her attention, my mom just rolls her eyes. I think she knows she did her job well. Our running joke that I ask her almost daily, “Am I good daughter?” She says, “YES, you are a WONDERFUL daughter! Am I a good mother?” I say, “YES, you are the BEST mommy, momma, mom, mother in the WORLD!” Then we both crack up laughing! She is my mother. She is me and I am her.

Creative Writing, Creativity, Life and Love

Book sniffing note: Slanguage, by Bernard Share

I spray my favorite books with my perfume so that I blend with the scent of a good book, especially my old second hand books I’ve bought from street vendors. The smell of a book is so important! 

Sesquiotica

Look, I don’t think I’m weird about this. I really don’t. I think lots of you sniff your books. And probably other people’s too.

The way books smell matters. The cheap hard white academic institutional paper of tenure books and reheated dissertations has a smell that tells you from the beginning that you will learn a firehose-blast of trivialities and you will not admit to enjoying it too much. My undated Hodder & Stoughton edition of The Ruba’iya’t of Omar Khayyam has just a memory of a smell of storytime from thick soft volumes, while my copy of Elementary Particles by David Griffiths has an inexplicable faint whiff of black pepper. For a long time, every issue of National Geographic had a tangy smart pong that was the closest thing I’d ever found to the taste left by a large bug (perhaps a bee) that slammed into the back…

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