In Baseball, Oil's Well That Ends Well

Mookie Betts

In the American game of Baseball (always capitalized by those who revere the game), essential oils play an important role. Neatsfoot oil is used to soften up and preserve the leather gloves of catchers and outfielders. Until Hank Aaron made the crewcut stylish for players, the long luxurious locks of Baseball stars was kept in place with a blend of coconut oil and ylang ylang oil. And when the spitball was outlawed in 1920, a number of sly pitchers managed to bend the rules by rubbing their wrists with citrus oil, claiming it helped warm up their hands for pitching. Of course, some of that lubrication found its way onto the ball during the game.

But the most important function of essential oils in Baseball has always been in ministering to the knee joints of players. Baseball is one of the unique sports where players remain stationary for long periods of time, and then suddenly have to sprint like mad to catch a ball or make a home run. This puts tremendous pressure on the joints of the knees, and most players who are forced to retire early do so because they have blown out their knees.

To keep this from happening various players used, and are still using, essential oils rubbed into their knees, before, during, and after each game. Joe DiMaggio used oregano essential oil to lubricate his knees before each game. His teammate Lou Gehrig liked to slather coconut oil mixed with peppermint oil on his knees to such an extent that on hot summer days during a game the opposing team would nickname him “Coconut Cream Pie.” The top players today, like Mookie Betts and Anthony Rizzo, use proprietary blends of essential oils on their knees -- the exact ingredients are a secret, but Sports Illustrated Magazine says they include the essential oils of melaleuca, mint, and eucalyptus.

Are you having trouble with your knees? Talk to your Wellness Advocate today to find out which essential oils are best for the relief of stiff and painful knee joints -- You’ll be stealing second base again before you know it!

Wellness Advocate Amy Snyder

Contact doTERRA Wellness Advocate Amy Snyder at thorshamme84@gmail.com 

NOTICE TO READERS: The information contained in this blog is for educational purposes only. It is not intended to diagnose, prescribe, or treat any emotional or physical condition, illness, or injury. The author, publishers, and distributors of this blog shall have no liability or responsibility to any person or entity with respect to any and all alleged damage, loss, or injury caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this work. This work contains suggested uses of oils based on acceptable dosage amounts recommended by the manufacturer. The author makes no claim to have verified or validated these suggestions. The readers must validate acceptable dosage amounts from the manufacturer before application. The information in this book is in no way intended as a substitute for medical advice. We recommend that all readers obtain medical advice from a licensed healthcare professional before using essential oils for any reason.

The National Comedy Center

Now, in a multimillion-dollar gamble that will test the power of giggles versus geography, the State of New York has invested nearly $10 million in the hopes that it can turn Jamestown — which has no comedy clubs, no velvet ropes and no two-drink minimum — into an A-list tourist destination and a prime example of civic pluck triumphing over chronic malaise.

The draw? A $50 million museum and yuk-yuk Hall of Fame known as the National Comedy Center, featuring an array of artifacts and high-tech exhibits, including — no kidding — holograms of comedians, both dead and alive.

from the NYTimes

The National Comedy Center

Is looking for works to display

The nation’s humorous mindset

That people can look at -- and pay.

I suggest bricks and some mortar

From that wall down on the border.

Or a seat that’s been yanked from an airplane --

Such hilarious things are in order.

How about all of the marbles

That Congress has lost recently?

Or restrooms from down there in Texas,

Where nobody knows where to pee.

Stiletto heels gleaned from the White House.

Organic food that costs a mint.

Anything from California --

It all makes us laugh without stint.

The National Comedy Center

Should capture the soul and the heart

Of America’s countrywide spirit --

Which is either a burp or a fart.

It's Baseball -- Not a Spelling Bee

Red Sox Used Apple Watches to Help Steal Signs Against Yankees  
headline in the NYTimes

The Red Sox and the Yankees know each other’s signals well.

So why should anyone at all be yelling “What the hell?”

All is fair in love and war, and doubleheaders too --

The scruples of a coach are just as straight as a corkscrew.

In baseball cheating fair and square is what it’s all about.

Ev’rybody knows this, from the rookie to the scout.

The game is byzantine and skewed, beloved by the fans --

Skullduggery is part of any manager’s big plans.

So I suggest we send a team or two on tour abroad,

To stump those foreign diplomats by going fraud-to-fraud.

Any coach that’s worth his salt, according to the lore,

Can come up with a scheme to scrap a treaty or a war!

Benito Juarez and Black Pepper Oil

Benito Juarez was the second President of the Mexican Republic, after the overthrow of the military dictator Santa Ana. Deeply beloved by the Mexican people, because of his respect for the law and his Zapotec Native American ancestry, he is famous in America mainly for two things: his support for Abraham Lincoln during the Civil War, and his motto “Respect for the law is the beginning of peace.” That saying is carved above the entryways of hundreds of courthouses in both Mexico and the United States.

Juarez started out as a peasant farmer, but his thirst for learning was insatiable, and by the age of 30 he had worked his way through the University at Oaxaca to become first a lawyer and then a judge. Like his Northern friend Lincoln, he was never without a book, some paper, and a pen to jot down his thoughts and business dealings. But Juarez found the ink in use at the time, made of tallow, vinegar, and lamp black, was extremely runny and messy, leaving unsightly blotches on his starched white shirts and cuffs. So he set about inventing a new type of writing ink that would stay in the bottle yet provide smooth writing with a quill. He came up with a combination of black pepper oil, which was and still is very abundant in Mexico, with lamp black and agave sap. This new ink he called “La tinta de la gente”, or ‘Ink of the people.” It is still in use in parts of southern Mexico today.

Black pepper oil is used today to spice up many different types of food, and in massage therapy. It is also a useful aid in digestive problems and to help prevent airborne infections.

The black pepper plant, native to Mexico

Contact doTERRA Wellness Advocate Amy Snyder at thorshamme84@gmail.com 

NOTICE TO READERS: The information contained in this blog is for educational purposes only. It is not intended to diagnose, prescribe, or treat any emotional or physical condition, illness, or injury. The author, publishers, and distributors of this blog shall have no liability or responsibility to any person or entity with respect to any and all alleged damage, loss, or injury caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this work. This work contains suggested uses of oils based on acceptable dosage amounts recommended by the manufacturer. The author makes no claim to have verified or validated these suggestions. The readers must validate acceptable dosage amounts from the manufacturer before application. The information in this book is in no way intended as a substitute for medical advice. We recommend that all readers obtain medical advice from a licensed healthcare professional before using essential oils for any reason.

Deporting Dreams

Lawmakers and advocates on both sides began to stake out positions Monday for an extended public fight over whether Congress should provide legal status to young undocumented immigrants known as “dreamers” as President Trump is preparing to rescind Obama-era protections for them.

Moderate congressional Republicans, and even some conservatives, suggested that they are open to crafting a legislative deal that could offer permanent legal status to hundreds of thousands of immigrants who have been in the country illegally since they were children. Democrats lambasted Trump for his expected decision and called on the GOP to join them to protect the dreamers. from the Washington Post.

The Department of Dream Suppression,

In consequence of the demand

From pinch-hearts for some hammer action

Is currently scouring the land

For reveries, bubbles, and trances

That young people harbor too long --

Along with ideas that are gentle

And lead to blank verses or song.

It’s hoped that these troublesome people

Will turn themselves in for inspection --

So DDS agents won’t have to

Arrest them for their own protection.

If you see a youth with delusions

Or anyone on a rainbow,

Dial 888 in a hurry

Then head to your cellar below.

Desperate measures are needed

To stem this remarkable tide

Of dreamers who live here in stillness,

And need a departing joyride.

Why This Clown is not a Veteran

My half-brother was a Marine who served three tours in Vietnam. I have a daughter who joined the Air Force for a tour in Germany and Yemen. I currently have a son in the Navy, on a nuclear sub cruising off Korea. I honor all of them for their convictions and their response to our country’s protection.

But I have never been, and never will be, reconciled to our country’s foreign policy that led us into the Vietnam war or the current military actions in Iran and Afghanistan.

And in the summer of 1970 I did two things to protest against what I still believe was an unrighteous use of force by our government: I bought a one way bus ticket to Winnipeg, and I applied to the Ringling Clown College.

When I turned 18 I had registered for the Draft down at the Post Office, as required by law, but I was determined not to be inducted into the Armed Services to play at gangster in Southeast Asia. My adolescent mindset was that I would either flee to Canada to avoid the Draft, or run away to the circus under an assumed name so the Draft Board would never find me -- it worked for Jimmy Stewart in The Greatest Show on Earth, didn’t it? Well, at least for a while . . .

I spent most of that summer at anti-war rallies in Minneapolis -- because I was passionately against the Vietnam war (and because it gave me an excuse not to look for work, and as a way to meet a bevy of young girls.)

My parents and I were barely on speaking terms that summer. On those sticky summer evenings, while Gary Moore chuckled idiotically on CBS, my dad raged and my mother wept when I insisted that I would either have to leave for Canada or run off to the circus and never darken their doorway again. I even bought an English/Canadian dictionary to brush up on my possible new native tongue (honestly, I thought they spoke a different patois up there -- until I realized the ‘dictionary’ was a joke book full of Canuck puns.)

“I’ll report you to the police!” my dad threatened.

“At least look up your great uncles in Quebec, for godsake!” my mother pleaded. “They’ll keep you away from those terrible hippies!”

I remained adamant. I had some money in the bank, which I drew out, and my bus ticket in my pocket, and Uncle Sam could kiss my sweet bippy.

As the air grew crisper in September I was leaning towards the Canada option. I hadn’t heard back from the Ringling Clown College, and frankly didn’t think my chances of getting in were any too good. And I kinda liked the idea of being a lonely exile up in the Land of Ten Thousand Molsons.

Then, as Victorian historians used to write, the hinge of fate swung wide open for me. On the very same day I got my draft number -- an unbelievably high 320 -- and my letter of acceptance to the Clown College down in Florida. With a draft number that high I would never have to worry about being inducted into the Armed Services -- and the bright letterhead featuring clowns and elephants promised me all the wonders of the big top, without the hassle of me having to change my name and always be looking over my shoulder.

I tore up the bus ticket, packed my knapsack with underwear, a toothbrush, and a pair of boy’s culottes (which I immediately ditched when I saw what everyone else was wearing down in Venice.) My older brother Billy drove me to the Greyhound Bus depot on Hennepin Avenue, since my parents refused to believe I was actually leaving, and I went down the Slapstick Road like Dorothy and her pals went down the Yellow Brick Road in a similar fantasy.

I’ve often asked myself since then what my life would have been like had I gone to Canada instead of waiting around. I wouldn’t have met my wife Amy and had 8 wonderful kids with her. Nor had all those years of child support. But most of all, I think of the opportunity I would have missed to generate laughter as a circus clown, first with Ringling and then with a host of other circuses.

Providence, I believe, took me down the right road at the right time to the right place. So praise the Lord, and pass the custard pies!

For the needy shall not alway be forgotten

For the needy shall not alway be forgotten: the expectation of the poor shall not perish for ever.

O God, reach down to touch the strands

Of my cold heart, and break the bands

That suffocate my spirit still --

That place me on a judge’s hill.

Assessing those with less than me

As objects of mine enmity.

Withholding all my widow’s mite --

As if my usury be right.

Make advice I want to give

The poor to die and never live

To haunt me with its brittle taste.

Be prodigal, my heart -- make haste!

Ole Bull's Peppermint Oil

One of the greatest violinists of the nineteenth century was Ole Bull, of Norway. Born in Bergen in 1810, Bull could play the violin by the age of five and was professionally touring by the age of 21. He spent over thirty years on tour around the world, often performing fund raising concerts for Norwegian independence from Sweden, which did not occur until 1905.

Bull toured the United States several times, and bought a large tract of land in Pennsylvania specifically for settlement by his fellow Norwegians. Robert Schumann called him “the greatest of all violinists,” and he was instrumental in encouraging Edvard Grieg to study musical composition while still a boy.

As Bull grew older he found it harder to execute the brilliant pizzicati and trills that audiences demanded of solo violinists -- his fingers began to stiffen up as middle age crept up on him. A doctor in Paris told Bull to rub his hands with peppermint oil an hour before each performance to keep his fingers nimble. He did so, and the problem disappeared. For the rest of his life, Bull carried a small vial of peppermint oil with him on his concert tours. He advised aspiring violinists to keep their fingers agile with regular peppermint oil treatment.

Modern medicine has shown that peppermint oil is useful in fighting the effects of arthritis in the hands, as well as being an excellent mood enhancer for aromatherapy, and a brilliant anti-dyspeptic. If you depend on your hands for a livelihood or for enjoyment with hobbies, make sure you keep some peppermint essential oil with you at all times. Like Ole Bull, you’ll find it comes in very handy!

For further information, and for an absolutely free, no obligation, sample of three of the most commonly used oils, including lemon and lavender, contact Wellness Advocate Amy Snyder at http://bit.ly/2vHgrH6 Please put your name and address in her Comments box.  She has used these superb essential oils for years herself and will be delighted to share her experiences with you in a professional and friendly manner!

NOTICE TO READERS: The information contained in this blog is for educational purposes only. It is not intended to diagnose, prescribe, or treat any emotional or physical condition, illness, or injury. The author, publishers, and distributors of this blog shall have no liability or responsibility to any person or entity with respect to any and all alleged damage, loss, or injury caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this work. This work contains suggested uses of oils based on acceptable dosage amounts recommended by the manufacturer. The author makes no claim to have verified or validated these suggestions. The readers must validate acceptable dosage amounts from the manufacturer before application. The information in this book is in no way intended as a substitute for medical advice. We recommend that all readers obtain medical advice from a licensed healthcare professional before using essential oils for any reason.

Chester Milbanks

Chester Milbanks was a clerk in government employ.

Early in and staying late were all his pride and joy.

He gazed so long upon his screen while wrinkling his brow

He grew a hump and then a squint just like a mild sea cow.

This dedicated servant to the public int’rest dwelt

In a tiny office with a carpet worn to felt.

He cherished ev’ry memo, and he guarded paperclips;

He doted on the words that fell from bureaucratic lips.

A new administration came to town one awful day,

And Chester Milbanks suddenly began to lose his way.

The policies he’d memorized as goodly protocol

Were now condemned -- which filled him with a bitter-tasting gall.

In prior days he knew the kind of red tape to produce.

But now his boss demanded tape the color of dark puce.

His carpet was replaced with bamboo mats, and what is more --

They oiled the hinges on his rusty, trusty office door!

Poor Chester knew not where to turn -- stability was gone.

The certainties of routine were as shorn as White House lawn.

He had not the suppleness or cunning of his boss --

And had no stomach to perform a one-eighty volte-face.

When he was instructed to dispose of memorandum

From the last eight years, he screamed and cried in painful tandem.

Then he ran down hallways as the water coolers shook,

And all vestiges of sanity he finally forsook.

Some say he now roams the streets of Washington D.C.,

With a shopping cart and sleeping bag his company.

Others swear he’s on the beach in Thailand with some girls,

Drinking rotgut arrack while he dives for opaque pearls.

Wherever Chester Milbank is; whatever he may be --

We ought to bow our heads and think of him with charity.

No man is a rubber band, to stretch until he breaks.

The inside of the Beltway harbors nothing but heartaches.

Will Healthcare Premiums Ever Go Down -- Will the Pope Ever Turn LDS?

My premiums for healthcare have grown quickly overnight

Like the beanstalk in Jack’s tale, giving me a fright.

It’s likely I will have to make the choice soon whether I

Eat three times a day or pay insurance rates sky high.

The money that it’s costing me to carry these provisions

Cuts into my budget like some surgical incisions.

Staying healthy’s costing me an arm and leg -- and more.

I’ve got a second job now bagging at the grocery store.

If the private sector keeps on gouging me this way

I’d rather have the government take over any day.

Let insurance companies complain it’s socialism --

Those moneybags refuse to see it through my bankrupt prism!