Goodbye, Jim

I found out from old office mates that Jim Russell passed away this week.  He was a sweet man, one of those "glue of the office" kind of guys.  If you needed your monitor replaced, or if something wasn't quite working, he was always willing to help.  He also was always smiling - not sure why or how he managed that, but...

I was going to say that I'm going to miss him, but his death really brought home to me the fact that I'm retired.  That Contracting is no longer my home away from home.  Hearing second hand something that monumental...  thank God for Facebook is all I can say.  But I feel sort of... not lonely, exactly.  Just alone.  Without a tribe.  Fortunately, it was just one of my tribes.  Time to go out and find another one, I guess.

But at any rate... Goodbye, Jim.  May you have peace and freedom and never lose your smile.

Serendipity

www.mistyksnow.com

I was reading the news this morning, and saw the article about Misty Snow being nominated as the Democrat for the Utah Senate seat held by Mike Lee.  She's the first major party transgender candidate for Senate - incredibly proud of my home state (although it being Utah, I suspect her chances are not good - but then again, Snow is an old-family Mormon name which could get her a few more votes.) 

Anyway, I was telling Daniel about it, and the phone rang - he of course piped up with "That's Utah calling..."  And it was.  Mom and Sherri checking in, wanting to know what size bed he has (I suspect I can guess what his wedding gift is going to be...) 

It amazes me sometimes how things have changed, just in my lifetime - both in the world and even just in my family.  When I was born, I suspect that the majority of people in Utah (heck, in America) wouldn't have a clue what transgender even was, and it's certainly not something that would ever be talked about.  We still have a long way to go... but it's heartening how far we've come.

And while I'm at it - Vote Misty! 

Frustration (Again)

I'm in the process of applying for disability, based on a number of things (mostly Hank and my heart issues, but there's all the other contributing factors - you all know...) and decided to get a lawyer to help me through the process.  When I met with Dick Sly (I know - great name for a lawyer, right?), he warned me up front that Kaiser would not be helpful, but I had no idea just how unhelpful they were going to be.

I mean, I knew that it was going to be hard to get them to write anything up for me - their foot-dragging was a good reason why I decided to just go ahead, take early retirement, and then apply.  But I just got a letter from Oregon Human Services saying that they can't even get Kaiser to respond to a request for records.  I mean... I've been with Kaiser for over 20 years - they've got all my freaking records, I signed the damned waivers... what else am I supposed to do? 

Anyway - getting the letter threw me into a funk, which got me thinking about depression, which then got me thinking about unproductive anger, which has got me even more depressed.  I'm about ready to throw in the towel, but damn it - I have been paying into the system for 30 years.  Why is this so freaking hard?

Attention Dungeon Master

Apparently, I screwed up royally when I built this character - I thought shoving all my character points into Intelligence and Charisma was a good idea, but thinking back, maybe I should have put a few points into Constitution.  I mean, so far I've been lucky, but...

Making my saving roll vs the ULMS monster - that was great.  However, I don't know how long I'm going to be able to keep up my rolling streak, and one bad roll could be the end of this campaign.  So, is there any chance I could get a rebuild?  I'm not looking for a Monty Haul campaign, just one that's a tad less... well, painful.

Moose has a fan club

My boy in one of his "not so fierce" moments

Because our house was apparently built on an ancient ant burial ground or something, we have to have a quarterly "pest" service.  The guy comes out, checks out the rat traps around the outside of the house, sprays some anti-ant stuff, makes sure Moose's nemesis (the damn raccoons) aren't making a resurgence, etc... Oh, the joys of being a home-owner.

Anyway, today was the day - the guy shows up, knocks on the door, and Moose proceeds to go insane defending the house (as usual).  When I go to the door, the guy mentions that he was here a couple of years ago, and the minute he pulled up to the house and heard the full-throated welcome, he remembered Moose (yep, he even knew the name.)  Apparently, Moose has a rep with Halt.  And Delivered Dish, and the UPS guy, and Fed-Ex... let's just say his bark is legendary.

Thoughts On Orlando, Sort Of

I am not trying to co-opt the grief the actual survivors and their friends and family are feeling, by any means.  I mean, hell, as a straight, white, married female in my fifties from just about as far as you can get from Florida, I really have no business commenting on this tragedy.  Which is probably why I messed up so badly when I tried to talk about it.  But then again...

I have this friend.  Not really a friend, so much as family - I jokingly refer to him as my emergency back-up gay husband.  I think my mom loves him as much as I do - and I know that my family in Utah has accepted him as one of their own (he's Muncle Daniel.)  He lived with me and Roger for several years, until recently when the stars finally collided right and he fell in love with a really great guy.  They're getting married next month, and I'm so incredibly happy for him - but now my heart aches for him as well.  This terrific guy is scared now.  He's thinking about getting a gun for self-protection, and I can not say he's wrong to feel this way.  He lives every single day of his life with this little nugget of fear just because he's gay and our society has not been kind to gay people for most of his life.  So something like Orlando happens, and he's reminded, yet again, that the world is dangerous.  And I'm reminded, yet again, that my family is in danger. 

So, I'm angry.  Not that my anger is going to do anything, but I can't just be quiet about this anymore.  And it feels to me like a big part of the tragedies lately has been assault weapons - people who have a grudge against the world being able to do a lot more damage before they get taken down.  But my trying to say anything just gets drowned out in a sea of dogma.  Hell, I posted a link quoting some doctors saying how much more difficult it was to deal with wounds from assault weapons than it was to deal with the typical Saturday night special, and even that ended up somehow with a fight about how the Second Amendment should be absolute, how could I possibly suggest otherwise, oh, and by the way, Hillary needs to go to jail.  I've got people so busy correcting me over the capacity of a Sig (apparently it's 30 rounds, not 50) that they're never going to look at whether or not we really need to have military grade weaponry in the hands of civilians in the first place.  We're not talking from the same universal facts, let alone a reasonable range of opinions - and I know they felt the same about me.  So... I retreated from the battlefield, bloody but unbowed.  I don't know what we can do to fix this...  but I really hate arguing about it when I know people aren't listening. 

Revenge Against The Moose

You know I love my boy, but this morning, starting about 5:00, he started in with the licking.  Licking whatever he could reach, softly whining, pushing me out of bed - I've tried explaining the concept of retirement to him, but he's not having it.  If he's awake, Mom must be awake.  So, this isn't going to be one of those complimentary posts...

Moose was already a teenager when we got him through our slightly shady Utah connections (he was smuggled across the state line by Mom and Sherri from a Utah rescue when the Portland based doxie rescue was found to have some seriously unreasonable requirements.)  Some of his personality traits and habits were already formed.  Most things weren't so bad, but I found one particular personality trait that's just (frankly) embarrassing to his hippy liberal mom - my son is a classist.  In fact, at first I was worried that he was a racist, but turns out that he's perfectly fine with people of color - as long as they aren't homeless people of color.  But when we're driving along, he is perfectly fine, happy to be riding, until he sees someone with a sign along the highway, or pushing a cart along the street, and then he goes absolutely insane with the barking.  It's as if he finds it to be a personal affront that they are allowed on *his* street.  Fortunately, he's a homebody, so we don't take him driving much...

The world is too much with me today

Or perhaps it's just that I'm too much with the world.  I am seeing anger and frustration and fear on the face of my family - and I can't fix it.  Much as I want, I can not do anything to make the world a less frightening place - not even use my words, which is the only weapon I really have left. 

I try to see the good in the world, but I don't know if that really helps any.  A thousand acts of kindness can be drowned out by one horrifying incident.

I would work for gun control, but let's face it.  This specific incident was not because of insufficient gun control, but because an asshole used a gun to mow down his fellow human beings.  Concentrating on the gun aspect just gives us a reason to fight each other and ignore the underlying reasons why it happened, not how it happened.

I would fight for better mental health services, but I don't think that would have helped either.  This man probably didn't think of himself as sick, just angry.  Wrong, so wrong, but angry.  Why he felt that his anger was worth more than other human being's lives is something that should be explored, but again, it won't help at this point. 

I just can't see a way past this... and the more I think of it, the more depressed I become.  So I think it's time to retreat until my soul develops scab tissue, and I can be part of the world again.

Ok, I'm a Sexist

In at least one particular instance, at least...  I've been dealing with various iterations of OB/GYNs since Hank showed up, and I've realized that when it comes to my female bits doctor, I want someone of my own gender.

It's not from modesty - after all, I was part of the Rocky Horror caberet, and once you've changed clothing in a fire escape with 20 other assorted (really, really assorted) people, you really don't care that much about who is looking at your unclothed body.  (The whole experience also kind of broke me of the whole Playboy Centerfold comparison guilt - no one looks like that.  Ever.) 

It's mostly just that I want a doctor who actually knows what menstrual cramps feel like.  Someone who can understand that when I say "pain", I don't mean stubbed my toe - I'm talking writhing, fainting, body being turned inside out.  I know, guys get the whole vulnerable bits on the outside that are subject to being whacked, but the pain from that doesn't last for 4 days at a time.  So give me someone who knows...

Game Night

Watching a special last night on Carol Burnett, I saw a skit with The Family playing a game of Sorry.  While it was entertaining, I couldn't help looking at it and thinking "Amateurs!  You're only drawing metaphorical blood - my family, on the other hand..."

To say the women of my family are competitive is an understatement.  We grow up playing cards, starting with Spoons and Go Fish, moving on to Spades and Garbage, with an occasional foray into Canasta. If you've never played Spoons, it's essentially musical chairs with cards and kitchen spoons.  Once a player gets 4 of a kind and lays it down, everyone grabs for a spoon - last one out is eliminated.  Blood has been drawn before - literal blood (Cassidy should not have been foolish enough to try for my spoon). 

We've also been known to play full contact Pictionary - never go up against my mom and Aunt Sherri.  The sister pair bond is strong with those two - Sherri can draw a straight line and my mom will yell out Monday Night Football (which was, of course, correct.)  Trying to avoid the high fives and back slapping is the hardest part of the game. 

But the true Adams family game has always been Rook.  For non-Mormons reading this - it's a trick taking game that uses a special deck.  We all learned to play from Grandma and Grandpa - well, we learned to play from Grandma, and we learned how to occasionally cheat from Grandpa.  They had a group that they would play with every week, and no camping trip was ever complete without a dogeared pack of Rook cards.

But now that the 21st century is firmly in place, I don't play cards anymore - unless...  The final prep for any visit from my mom is clearing off the table and unearthing the scorecards.  Some family traditions are worth keeping.

Dog Days of Summer

Hot Dog On A Hot Tub

Fuck climate change - it's definitely global warming here in Portland.  Today's high of 97 was 15 degrees hotter than the normal temperature for this time of year, and 6 degrees warmer than the previous recorded high.  That, and they say it's going to be worse tomorrow.

I could tell it was hot because of the suspicious silence around our neighborhood.  I live at the top of a little cul de sac, and all of my neighbors have dogs, and all of the dogs have definite opinions.  Opinions that they are normally willing to express at full volume during the day.  Today, however, was canine-vocal free until just about 15 minutes ago, when Moose went back out and started a debate with Roady next door.  Frankly, I thought he was trying to keep up our family's side - with Daisy heading back home, someone needs to keep him in his place.  Normally, the fluffy one is the instigator, but Moose can keep up his end of the conversation when necessary. 

Since it's still 93 out there, it was a short conversation, but still... he got his point across.