There's a cartoon that has made its way around the Internet which reports men, who invented football, didn't invent the helmet until 100 years later.
Nearly thirty years ago, the National Football League acknowledged there is a link between football players - prone to concussions in the brutal sport - and subsequent brain damage.
According to the PBS news show Frontline, the NFLs decision was based on indisputable scientific proof of chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) in players who played decades ago such as Mike Webster. More recently Junior Seau, another NFL player who killed himself, has CTE present in his brain.
Troy Aikman's brain damage due to concussions was well known and discussed 20 years ago. And Joe Namath announced his personal connection to football and brain damage on an interview set to air this Super Bowl Sunday.
Since its acknowledgment in Webster's disability claim in the 1970s, the NFL, probably considering the potential loss of future players and money, money, money, reversed its decision and have declared since then it will acknowledge the connection when there is proof  in studies it commissions through millions of dollars in research money it will provide, (and with conclusions it agrees with).The NFL puts out a players' pamphlet that denies any connection to football, concussions and brain damage, according to Frontline.
What is the missing part?? Why can't men in charge be truthful and logical when it comes to protecting human beings who were suffering from ignorance? The NFLs stand is close to the Death Race movie where the convicts are expendable.
Where is the public demanding the sport become more safe? Talk about the elephant in the room! Football leagues for children are only reporting a 10 percent decline in the past 15 years!
Because their brains are still growing, players under age 25 have so much more room in the skull to get their brains, literally, rattled.
Ignoring things does not make them go away.


And, I realize this is self-serving, and a little hypocritical, but Go Broncos!

Boston bound

Boston bound!

In two weeks, my life is going to change. Being an Aquarian, I love change! Massachusetts will be the 18^th state I’ve lived in by mid-July, and there is going to be some intense self-work that I will be involved in during the first 3 months.

I am a U.S. Navy (Journalist 1981-1986) veteran and entering a residential PTSD/sexual trauma unit at the Veterans Affairs hospital in Brockton, Mass.

I am in my 50s now and believe divine intervention is taking me to a place that I hadn’t heard of until a couple of months ago.  It is a holistic-based facility that caters to women, and I was lucky to get into the program.

For years I’ve stuffed down feelings about a molestation from the time I was three to five-years-old, and have subsequently been raped four times that I readily remember. Mine was not a “normal” life.

I grew up in a abusive household with a father who terrorized us, and a mother who was intent on making her own way – no matter who it was who got in her way.

They did the best they could with the information they had at the time.

But it wasn’t good enough for children who depended on them for love, comfort, a “soft place to fall,” like Dr. Phil says.

So it is up to me to make my own happiness, and I have been floundering at that for at least seven years by now. I need help and I am going to get it.

Be careful what you ask for ...

Be careful what you ask for…

For the past week, I’ve been caught in a whirlwind of door-to-door begging. I was a canvasser and wouldn’t have made my constantly rising “quota” to save my life and instead of being fired I quit.

Now, this was not an easy decision for me. My parents said work the last day anyway. Its $54 a day for traversing local neighborhoods in 105-degree heat and asking them to support something they had never heard of until I showed up, clipboard in hand to ask them for their hard-earned money.

It was horrible, to say the least! We’ve had 100-plus days of heat and I was walking from noon to 9 p.m. Brutal work, I tell ya.

The bosses were fresh-out-of-college 20 somethings, (ready to change the world). Cynicism was not part of their perky, upbeat, urban-dictionary-found vocabulary. It was sickening.

In addition, if you did not meet an almost-unattainable quota within three days, you were ousted.

The nonprofit, grassroots organization is raising money for itself to spread the word about the importance of the American Jobs Act, introduced by President Barack Obama in his second year of the four-year term. It was immediately knocked out of contention by the Republican-led House of Representatives and committees are tearing it apart trying to salvage aspects of the legislation.

The intent is good. In a nutshell, if the greedy 1 percent of our population, who hold 98 percent of the wealth would be taxed an additional penny (yes, 1 cent), it would garner $80 billion to pay for the American Jobs Act. The stalemate in Congress since President Obama took office is that Republicans, the Grand Old Party, have vowed to vote No on every single piece of legislation the President has brought before them. The GOP has kept its vow.

Maybe the job is not meant for middle-age, old-time Hippies who still want to save the country. It’s a young person’s job and unfortunately the employee base in my hometown of Pueblo, Colo., (home of the Consumer Guide) is made up of middle age, laid-off, vulnerable and desperate people.  In my first week, all three of us hired were out of a job because we could not meet the quota set by people who had never heard of Pueblo, let alone studied its demographics before.

Regardless, I am happy with my decision. And I hope the best for ColoradoFairShare.org.

Life is pending

For the 23 million of us unemployed these days, our lives are just pending…waiting for our resumes to be acknowledged, waiting for that job to come through, waiting for the next check, the next lead, the next glimmer of hope.

I, myself, am bored to death. In fact, in February, after rounding the corner of my four year out of gainful employment, I tried to kill myself. And those haunting words that things would be better off if I was dead are always on my mind.

What a stressful way to live! Only 5 percent of my thousands of resumes have been acknowledged.

My unemployment of $53 a week stopped last month. It doesn’t sound like much. But until you go through life without $53 a week can you understand.

I truly believe ageism is at fault here. The same jobs my 18-year-old nephew gets are jobs I’ve applied to days before! I’ve actually been told by one call center that the interview process would be stopped because of my age.

“We wouldn’t want to train someone like you,” the interviewer said. “Once you find a job in your field you will leave, (true). That’s why we prefer applicants in their 20s.”

The gall. The humiliation. The actualization that I have hit my 51 year, and am now unemployable. I’ve worked since I was 15 years old. Serving in the U.S. Navy as a journalist on a sub tender, and joining civilian papers for the next 30 years, I am a dependable employee.

My life is pending, and I am sick of it.

Something bigger than me

After being camping (using a sleeping bag), you appreciate little things you take for granted, such as mixing your own cereal after a three-star weekend that provided your meals, lodging and amenities such as a spectacular mountain view.

I spent a weekend at Camp Jackson, Colorado with a group of strangers who became my friends. Confidentiality aside we were a motley crew and mix of diverse backgrounds but mostly poor, all veterans, some homeless, (some choose to be).

Back in reality after a supernatural experience that taught us all many things. Back to my awesome mountain view, watching a storm come in, I feel bless to have been part of something that became much bigger than me.

My heart ached and opened this weekend. My self-doubt somehow wiped away. The course, “The Four Agreements” is simple, but complex – and a tool for living life to its fullest as a happy person. What a concept!

I’m glad to be home. It’s bittersweet. I am lonely, but happy I met new friends. I no longer smell like it, but I wish I had a fire pit outdoors with cool breezes and sparks flying and a water dragon appearing after a long story in fellowship.

It was hard climbing the mountains to get to your cabin, or hiking along a ridge that showed the Coloradoan splendor below. The schedule was not too structured and when we were participating in the program that included tips on different sorts of meditation, we were getting to know each other.

The people I met may become my life-long friends, and we all are blessed to have been part of the weekend getaway. It’s over, but I wish it weren’t.

Being broke is no joke

Unemployed for the past year, my savings are gone. I’ve moved back in with my mother. I am living on $44 a week on unemployment, which has been shut off for two weeks until my federal emergency unemployment comes through. It could be a month or two before it starts again. Unemployment, which I have paid into since I started working at 15 years old, is my only source of income.

I live on food stamps. Two hundred dollars a month is my saving grace – along with food baskets from the Salvation Army every three months. It’s illegal, but last week I had to sell $40 worth of food stamp groceries for cash in order to get gas for my car.

Being unemployed is boring. After you apply at every restaurant, shop and business within a 30 mile radius you reapply again.  

I believe my age (50ish) is playing some part in the neglect my full resume garners so far. I’ve redone my resume so many times so it adheres to the job requirements, and even that specialization has not helped a bit. Not a nibble. Not one call.

I volunteered for a while – to network, connect with my community, and help out others less fortunate – but without gas I can’t even do that anymore.

Before I was unemployed, I would frequently take weekend road trips all over the state but being broke stopped the trips and many other things you think you can’t live without, until you do have to live without.  

I shaved my head and am saving on haircuts this year. While I have never indulged in a manicure, now it is getting rough to do it myself because I can’t afford luxuries such as polish remover, et al.

Even eating out would be a thrill. Getting out of the house to have someone else cook a great meal for you – wow! What a concept. (First thing I will do when I get a paycheck.)

People judge you on what you do, and when you do nothing, some people make you feel like nothing. Being broke is a humiliating, humbling, numbing, and horrible existence.

It sucks to date

Being 50ish means to a lot of Baby Boomers my age they have to step back into the dating arena if they want to get laid or have any chance of a later-age romance.  The pull to be part of a relationship again is far too strong for some and is dormant in others. But as we age, we start thinking of what out later years will be like, especially if we are alone.

We want to have companionship but the road to finding a suitable significant other is fraught with a lot of those frogs we have to kiss until we find our prince. Online dating is the new ‘bar scene.’

While l exchange a (tame) photo with my potential online suitors, I save the personal information for someone who may be more than one-time date.  I don’t swap phone numbers, text, and tweet or engage in much small-talk or long discussions for that matter.  Until I meet the person will I decide how much I want to divulge about me, personally.

So, getting to that first date is a somewhat simple matter.  We arrange a meeting in a public place. I first ask to see their ID/drivers’ license to ensure he is who he said he was; and the date is off and running.

For me, I usually know within the first 15 minutes on whether the date is suitable for me.  If we met for coffee or a drink, I can get out after that first or second cup without much damage done if the suitor is not my cup of tea, pun intended.

However, if we click, we can continue to dinner or a club to watch live local music. (There is nothing like live local music! Better to attend with someone, too.)

I had such a date last night. While the date was very nice, handsome and employed (always a bonus), he seemed better suited for a girlfriend of mine. She happened to be performing in a club in town. With him in tow, we saw her show, and they exchanged numbers. 

I am turning into a serial dater but until I do find that someone for me, it does suck to be dating. In my smallish-town, the men my age look much older than I do; and the younger ones are usually too young for me. If he doesn’t know who Red Skelton is, he is too young for me. It is curious how fast that comedian can change a romance.