Danni's Blog

Ok, so the Socialist in DC have at least acknowledged that the Health Care reform movement is about Health Insurance and not necessarily Health Care. So let’s stop arguing about the fact that nobody has any problem getting the health care they need.

Yes, there are needed improvements in health care – nothing and nobody are perfect. Fortunately we live in the greatest country on earth (not for long, if certain people have their way) that is creative, industrious, and ingenious, and they’re working on that. Medical breakthroughs really are occurring every day!

Yes, the health insurance industry needs improvement. But, the last I checked, health insurance wasn’t an inalienable right. And socialized medicine is NOT the answer. It has proven a mistake everywhere it has been practiced.

Here are some suggested steps to take (many already being sought by the GOP – the supposed party of “no” – but being thwarted by the Socialist Party otherwise known as Democrats):

First, hold people accountable for their own health. It’s a fact that those who take better care of themselves have fewer health problems, thus have lower health care costs. While some things cannot be averted (accidents, genetic diseases, and some cancers), it’s up to each person to determine the best course of care and payment options for themselves. There are other alternatives to socialization.

Second, reward healthy behaviors, but do NOT punish unhealthy behavior. For instance, smoking is an addiction, so instead of punishing smokers, reward those who quit and/or don’t smoke. Research work-place wellness programs that have proven effective for ideas.

Third, the insurance industry itself is rife with fraud & abuse. That’s one of the reasons it costs so much!

Fourth, tort reform can go a LONG way to reduce costs across the board!

Fifth, how about reforming the insurance industry such that individual/family plans are viable options. That’s the biggest problem with health insurance. Currently, people are slaves to their jobs just for the health benefits packages. How about insurance companies offering group plans for individuals that are independent of employers/companies, but also affordable?

Lastly, how about a “Thanks, but no thanks” option? Many don’t want nor need insurance (so let’s stop raving about the number of people without it). Many in the medical industry are already moving toward a fee-only type of service. This is because in most cases, simple preventive medical care (annual check ups & such) are still much less expensive than insurance premiums!

I’ll say it again: Health Insurance is not an inalienable right! It is not the government’s (tax payers’) job to provide it!

Hey, yall!

We rescued a box turtle from the middle of the road July 4th weekend. She had a “bump-not-really-a-crack” in her shell, so although we managed not to run over her, someone else must have bumped her. Our little girl wanted to keep it & hubby said we could IF she would eat.

We kept her in a wagon in the garage for a week to make sure she was eating & pooping & she was.

The next weekend, we built her an outside pen where she can get sun & shade, provided a pool of water (one of those plastic trays you sit under your potted plants – which gets cleaned out twice per day), provided a “hidey space,” etc.

She’s been fine until the past few days. Now she stays in her hidey hole (covered with leaves & grass) & won’t come out. Hasn’t eaten even the blueberries (which she LOVES). She looked at me this morning & she looked dry, which confirmed my suspicion that she’s not getting in her pool, either.

My suspicions are:

1. She’s reacting to the unseasonably cool weather we’re having. We live just South of Atlanta, and lately the mornings have been pretty cool, even the afternoons not as hot as would be normal for us. Maybe she thinks she should get ready for hibernation? But she’s not digging, just hiding under the leaves & grass clippings.
2. She’s laying eggs. I hope not, because I know the ground is hard (red Georgia clay under a an inch of top soil), so she couldn’t have dug deep enough to lay & cover them properly.

Should I just reach in & take her out of her hidey hole – where she obviously feels comfortable – and sit her in her pool? Should I just spray a little water in there to give her some moisture?  What do you think could be going on and should I be concerned?

I’m currently on Twitter as danni63. Some of you already know me by that ID on instant messenger programs, but it’s not very creative, is it? Besides one of the first rules you learn about Twitter is to use your real name.

Unfortunately that’s proving to be a delimma.

You see, I started acting back in the early 90’s, then started working online in 1997. Everyone who knew me back then, knew me as Dannielle Wood. Everyone who knew me personally, knew as Danni. That’s how I knew myself. When I got married in 2002, I needed those who already knew me to still be able to identify me, so I just added my married name to the end. I’m still Danni, but my legal name, thus my formal identity, is Dannielle Wood Hixson.

But “DannielleWoodHixson” is too long to use as a Twitter ID. So is “DannielleWHixson.” Here’s what does fit and what my thoughts are about each:

• “DannielleWood” – my original, initially marketed name. That’s why my website is “danniellewood.com.” But my husband is very proud of his last name. “We have our own town, you know.” Yes, he’s a direct descendant of The Hixson of Hixson, Tennessee. Even though he wouldn’t say so, he’d be awfully hurt if I didn’t use his name. Well… if & when he finds out, he would say something. Not much – just enough that I’d know it bothers him. If it’s possible to avoid that conversation, I’d rather not have it.
• “DannielleHixson” – only family knows me as Dannielle Hixson. Maybe my current customers and prospects have picked up on the “Hixson” added to all my emails & websites.
• “DanniHixson” – if you call my home and ask for Danni, you’re gonna get “which one?” My husband is Danny, too.
• “DanniWood” – Yeah, that’s who I was for the first 39 years of my life, and most people know me as either Dannielle or Danni Wood… But there’s that leaving off my husband’s name again, and it’s not who I am “legally.”
• “DanniWoodHixson” – I like it best, mostly because I’ve been Danni all my life and it’s more my own identity – how I know myself. But EVERYONE else, just about it, knows me as Dannielle! And there’s that “Hixson” added to the end… “Who’s that?”

ALL that said, there’s this little voice in the back of my head that says, “Get over yourself! You’re not ‘famous’ enough to worry about the name you market, much less how people get to know you on Twitter! Who cares who you are legally? Besides, if you use Danni, that’s how you originally wanted to market yourself anyway, so you get back to your original identity!” (Yes, I couldn’t use Danni, my own name, because that domain was already taken for a porn site. I was furious about my name being misused!) So, there is that part of me that thinks that what ever I use is irrelevant – I can even keep danni63 and it wouldn’t matter.

I can’t decide for myself, so I’ve decided I’m gonna let everyone else choose. Leave your comments below – even if you have other ideas. The choice that gets the most votes wins.

Let the voting begin!

Here’s a story you’ve probably seen before. I think it’s worthy of posting here because it serves as an example of so many qualities I’ve noticed are disappearing in our culture. Diligence (according to good ol’ Webster: perseverance and care in work; hard work done carefully), living and teaching by example, integrity. My parents and grandparents lived by an honor code that is not found in today’s generations. Today people tend to live as if there are no consequences. They expect the government to save them from their bad decisions.

Yes, I’m pointing the finger at myself, too. Although I don’t think ANY one is going to save me from my bad decisions, I do tend to forget that my actions have consequences not just for me, but for my family as well.

When times are tough, are we diligent in our actions? They do speak louder than words…

The Pickle Jar

The pickle jar as far back as I can remember sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents’ bedroom. When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar.

As a small boy I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the jar. They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty.  Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled.

I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar and admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate’s treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window.  When the jar was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to the bank.

Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production.  Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck.

Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would look at me hopefully.  “Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill, son You’re going to do better than me.  This old mill town’s not going to hold you back.”

Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin proudly, “These are for my son’s college fund. He’ll never work at the mill all his life like me.”

We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice cream cone.  I always got chocolate.  Dad always got vanilla.  When the clerk at the ice cream parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the few coins nestled in his palm.  “When we get home, we’ll start filling the jar again.”

He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar.  As they rattled around with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other.  “You’ll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters,” he said. “But you’ll get there. I’ll see to that.”

No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued to doggedly drop his coins into the jar.  Even the summer when Dad got laid off from the mill, and Mama had to serve dried beans several times a week, not a single dime was taken from the jar.

To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me, pouring catsup over my beans to make them more palatable,  he became more determined than ever to make a way out for me.  “When you finish college, Son,” he told me, his eyes glistening, “You’ll never have to eat beans again – unless you want to.”

The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone.  It had served its purpose and had been removed.

A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had always stood.  My dad was a man of few words, and never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance, and faith. The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done.

When I married, I told my wife Susan about the significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my life as a boy.  In my mind, it defined, more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me.

The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we spent the holiday with my parents.  After dinner, Mom and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first grandchild. Jessica began to whimper softly, and Susan took her from Dad’s arms. “She probably needs to be changed,” she said, carrying the baby into my parents’ bedroom to diaper her. When Susan came back into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes.

She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and leading me into the room. “Look,” she said softly, her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser. To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with coins.  I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins…  With a gamut of emotions choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar.  I looked up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt. Neither one of us could speak.

This truly touched my heart.  I know it has yours as well. Sometimes we are so busy adding up our troubles that we forget to count our blessings.

Never underestimate the power of your actions.  With one small gesture you can change a person’s life, for better or for worse.

God puts us all in each other’s lives to impact one another in some way. Look for Good in others.

The best and most beautiful things cannot be seen or touched – they must be felt with the heart ~ Helen Keller

-      Happy moments, praise God.

-      Difficult moments, seek God.

-      Quiet moments, worship God.

-      Painful moments, trust God.

-      Every moment, thank God.

I often dream that I’m flying. Sometimes I have excellent control as I float through the air. Sometimes I’m fearful of falling and barely keep from hitting the ground. But I’m never going this fast…

wingsuit base jumping from Ali on Vimeo.