No, it wasn't the gun

that killed those innocent people in Texas. It was the person behind the gun.
I think we all know that.  However to use that as an argument for gun ownership is ridiculous. 
Recently I was startled by the daughter of a late friend showing pictures of her daughter, barely in her teens, with a gun in her hands. Father and daughter had been out shooting.
This family are devout Christians. I have no doubt at all they do their best to live by Christian principles and that they do their utmost to support their family, their neighbours and the wider community. Still, they go shooting.
After a little while I came to the conclusion that it is part of the culture, a gun culture. That "right" to "bear arms" is part of their lives. 
For me there is a vast difference between killing just enough to eat or otherwise survive and killing for the "fun" of it.  I will eat meat but we eat very little of it and, if it was not for the Senior Cat, I would quite happily go without it. 
But, other people see this differently. They see it as a "sport" and a "challenge".  It really is part of their lifestyle and their culture.
And that is what is going to be so hard to change.  
I think, indeed know, that I am fortunate to live in a country where no such "right" exists. That doesn't mean that we won't ever have a mass shooting or that people don't get killed by guns. For us though the difference is that a mass shooting brought about increased gun control and when a mass shooting occurs in the United States and we hear about it then the vast majority of us believe our gun laws are good - and could perhaps even be more stringent. 
And yes, the latest appalling and terrifying act of mass murder in the United States was almost certainly a mental health issue as well. The sad thing is that here the individual would have found it impossible to legally own a gun and much harder to obtain one illegally. 
How do you change a belief that gun ownership is a right? It's an enormous responsibility.

Good news doesn't sell

apparently.
I have noticed this before. Unless it is a story about your favourite football team having won the premiership then people don't want to know. 
Add a few negatives to the mix, an orphan and a disability in this case, and people seem to be even less interested. I suppose I should know enough psychology to expect that but it still disappoints me.
There was a lovely human interest story on the front page of the Sunday paper yesterday.
I remembered the young man. He was abandoned in a shoe box at an orphanage in Vietnam. He was born without fully developed arms and legs. His jaw was fused together and his mouth was so badly deformed he couldn't feed properly. Nobody, or so it seemed, wanted him. 
One person did. He was brought to this state and then, extraordinarily, a couple adopted him. They adopted all his problems too - the initial months in hospital and the years of medical treatment.
If the picture alone was anything to go by he has repaid others for their kindness in spades. His smile and that of his physically perfect young daughter said far more than any number of words.
I was briefly in our local library yesterday afternoon and I heard someone say to someone else, "That was a dreadful picture on the front page. They shouldn't put that sort of thing there. The kids found it upsetting."
And then someone else said, "Yes, it's wrong."
      "Should leave that sort of thing alone," another person added.
After Saturday afternoon I wasn't willing to risk another confrontation. I didn't have the energy.
So I just said quietly as I passed, "It's a wonderful picture, full of love." 
I went around into the first aisle and heard,
     "She is weird."
I think I'll stay weird if it means I care about that sort of thing.

I lost my temper yesterday

I didn't mean to do it. It's the second time in a month I have lost my temper, both times at the same venue.
It is time I stopped going to the group. 
I tried to do the right thing, indeed I did what I was advised to do. 
Yesterday I was descended on by two members of the group who refused to accept that I was doing the right thing. I felt threatened, so threatened I felt frightened. I should just have slunk off silently but instead I lashed out. I suppose it is what we cats do when backed into a virtual corner. Unable to reach my belongings and go quietly I had no choice but to endure some very public humiliation.
Yes, it's my fault. I should just have kept my mouth shut and my miaous to myself. I did keep my paws and claws to myself but I thought one of the two was going to not just verbally but physically assault me.
I then argued with someone else as I was collecting my things, someone I have very much liked and respected, the person who asked me to join the group many years ago. That's made matters worse.
I've never been in this sort of situation before. I am still feeling frightened by what happened.
I've apologised to everyone involved because, whatever might have happened and whoever was at fault, I could have behaved differently.
It doesn't make me feel any better. I am just feeling miserable. I just wish one of them would come and knock on the door. I'd ask her if she wanted me to put the kettle on. 
I hate arguing with anyone. 

The National Broadband Network

has, rightly, come in for a great deal of criticism. This household is one which is suffering from the consequences of a series of political decisions, union demands, technical ineptness, and more. All have combined to give Downunder a network which is less efficient than some much less developed countries. 
And the internet service providers, the companies which are supposed to provide the connections to the network, are of course about making a profit. They are not interested in solving problems for the technically inexpert like myself. Their "help desks" are staffed by technicians who don't know how to speak Plain English to people who need some help. They are not sympathetic towards people who don't know where to instantly find the icon they are talking about or....well, I am sure you understand.
And, I am a cat. I have clumsy paws. I cannot manage to do these things quickly or easily even when I am not under stress. So, a technician I  trust is coming today. 
He went through a few things with me yesterday. He was slow and patient. He told me things like, "In the bottom right hand corner there will now be X icon.  Right. Click on that." 
The only thing he doubted was when we did a "speed test". My download speed on this supposedly super fast new broadband network was 44kbps. I told him this.
     "No Cat you must be looking in the wrong place."
I told him I wasn't and explained what I was looking at.
There was a moment of silence and then  he said, "Unbelievable."
He told me to save it. He told me how to take a "screen shot" so he could actually see it, refer back to it perhaps. I did this.
I have done two more of these tests since then. They aren't much better, although this morning's test did manage to go over the magic megabyte - about one twenty-fifth of what it apparently should be.
For me the speed hasn't mattered too much because I am normally downloading documents, uploading documents and doing some searching. I don't play video games or watch movies. 
But, this isn't the service I have been paying for. I haven't been paying for the continuous drop outs either, or the constant need to "reconnect" to the wifi signal. And I understand that the ISP staff are quite able to do their own speed tests. Even without that they have known for months that I have been a frustrated cat. 
What is more I have now been told that the information I earlier supplied them with was enough for them to at least partially solve the problem - without any input from me.
There may be further growls to the management.

Non-combat personnel

and humanitarian workers are the glue which hold a lot of fragile fabric together in conflict zones.
I don't know a lot about the official non-combat personnel in the armed services. They presumably get given orders to go and do things and then get on with it.  I do know several non-combat personnel but it isn't the sort of thing we talk about. We are much more likely to talk about something positive - knitting perhaps?
I do know, if only through mail, email and other non-contact means, a lot of other humanitarian workers. Their work is often very dangerous.
Some of them have not survived. The first person I knew who did not survive was someone very close to me. He knew the dangers but went in to help anyway. I'll never forget his father phoning me and saying, 
       "Cat, have you got someone who can be with you? I have some very, very bad news, the worst." 
If it was bad for me I still can't comprehend what it must have been like for his parents. They both died early and I am certain it was part stress at losing their only child.
Each year at school we were told the story of "Simpson and his donkey" - the supposed story of John Simpson Kirkpatrick, the stretcher bear at Gallipoli in World War I. The story we were told was not quite the truth but it served to tell us that non-combat personnel were also present and were also courageous people. 
Since then I have known, one way or another, many other stories of those who have died trying to do good in the violence around them or through an accident caused by the conditions they were working under. It isn't always something you hear about. Sometimes it gets into the local media, even a state newspaper, but often nothing is said.
It is for that reason I have spent some time in the past month making some poppies and turning them into books with the help of outsize paper clips. It is the anniversary of my friend's death tomorrow. I have made poppies for remembrance and turned them into paper clips to acknowledge those who attempt to hold us together under the worst of circumstances.

"I'm not allowed to do that,"

the small voice told me. He looked embarrassed too.
As well he might.
I was minding a just turned five year old for an hour while his mother was at the dentist. His grandmother had another appointment and I was asked to fill in at the last moment.
This household is I suppose prepared for small children. There is plenty of craft material, books, a few toys. 
Of course children of that age often bring something with them. This child had not brought anything. 
He can't read yet and books seem to have a limited appeal for him. He's not allowed to look at them alone at home "because he might tear the pages and we want to keep them nice".
Oh, right. Most of our books for younger children look well used. They have been well used.
I printed off a couple of colouring pages. That went well. He's neat and careful. It took quite a while. He told me about what he was doing but in a hesitant sort of way.
The next problem was scissors. One colouring page had a cut out you can put on an ice cream stick and turn into a puppet. I gave him a pair of "safe" small scissors. He shook his head. He isn't allowed to do that either. We did it together.
Granny arrived to pick him up a bit later. She admired his puppet and sent him to get in his car seat in her car.
    "How much of that did he do?"
I told her and asked about the scissors. She raised her eyes and stared at the sky for a moment and then said,
     "He starts school next year and I am worried sick. He's not allowed to do this...he's not allowed to do that...I've told (his mother) that being able to turn the pages of a book and use a pair of scissors are absolute basics. She wouldn't let him go to a playgroup or anywhere else. Now she is talking about home-schooling him because...well you can guess. When they were living in Jakarta he was almost never allowed to go anywhere and they had servants so everything was done for him. He can't even completely dress himself."
This is her daughter-in-law or I suspect the riot act would be read.  Her children were into everything.
    "I just hope she won't take that stick away from him. She will probably worry he will poke his eyes out with it."
A normal five year old should be able to use a pair of blunt pointed scissors. I handed them over to Granny and said,
    "Whatever his mother thinks he needs to learn to use them before he goes to school."
Interfering?Yes - but the consequences of not being able to do some of those things are much worse. 
School will be a shock.
I'll try and buy some more scissors today.

"It's my favourite mug,"

is something I suspect everyone has heard. 
I was given another mug yesterday. The good friend who gave it to me knows I am fond of cats and this one had cats on it. It is lovely - not just because of the cats but because my paw finds the handle comfortable, something far from true of all mugs.
My breakfast mug was given to me by Middle Cat. There is a picture of a cat on it as well - a cat holding a computer "mouse".  I never use it at other times. It is rather large.
The Senior Cat's breakfast mug has a picture of his eldest great-grandchild on it  - then aged about four. He also has an "outside" mug given to him by our friend H... which says, "Real men like cats."
We have other "cat" mugs - and other mugs.
I thought of these this morning as I was looking through the paper. There was yet another article on some of the very strange research grants that universities have been given - for things like the demise of Chinese artisan tailors during the cultural revolution and the changing circuits of travelling movie theatres in Downunder.  They remind me of the grant once given to see whether trees provided shade. 
Read a little further of course and those acquiring the grants have tried to argue that such things have value or present day significance - like the one on 19thC Spiritualism which claims that it will help  us understand present day religious dynamics. Mmm... maybe.
But what about some research into coffee mugs? I am sure it would be valuable who is using what mug, when and how they use it.