I bet you ride a BMW motorcycle. All the cool CA chicks ride Bmers.

All the hot gals here in AZ ride Ducattis.

I'm an old Bmer guy from away back.

You are a warrior female with orange dreadlocks. I believe, my dear, that you are a Celt. Your people favour axes.

Hey that  was me flirting with you. You be warrior female. I be warrior male. You are pretty and you are pretty dangerous. Me like.

 LOL! They tell me my temperment is a result of my Cherokee great grandmother, my French blood, and the splash of German and -- you guessed it -- Celtic. But.. I'll tell you that it comes from my mother, who grew up dirt poor in Texas. She actively taught me to question, for as long as I could remember.

She was once more than a little annoyed with me, due to the visit from the FBI and Secret Service in relation to a letter writing campaign to the war criminals, Bush and Cheney. During our conversation, I gently reminded her who it was that sent me to school with questionaires marked in her neat hand writing "NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS". I reminded her who pressed me with the question "How do you know it is true?" when we'd discussed what my 4th grade teacher taught that day, until we reached my explanation that it was in the textbook, so it must be true. To which she responded "That doesn't make it true," going on to explain about writer's perspectives and the need to read multiple sources and think for myself.

By the end of the conversation, she acknowledged what she always knew. I think because she taught me to. I fight because she taught me to. I do what I do because she did what she did so well.

Thanks, Oyate, for taking the time to read and comment.