I'm LaRae's Daughter, and I Approve This Message.

I saw possibly the hundredth iteration (today) of "Why isn't Hillary more likable?" on my Facebook feed today, and it made me want to scream.  It also made me think about why it is that I've always liked Hillary - felt like she was a kindred spirit, etc..

You see, I grew up with Hillary.  Or rather, a woman who I suspect is a lot like Hillary - my mom.  And when I say "grew up with", I'm being almost literal - Mom was just barely 17 when she had me, so we sort of raised each other at times.  I could write a book about how freaking incredible my mother is - at some point, I'm sure I will - but back to the Hillary similarities.

Mom was a project manager - still is.  You want stuff done, you go to my mom.  She knows how to listen, to bring people together, to use the right person with the right skills and to keep them on track.  Sound like Hillary?  But you can't be a candy-ass if you're a project manager... you have to keep things going, and you have to be smart - and let people know that you're smart.  You have to stand out - and for a woman, that means you're going to have to get in people's faces at times.  It's not something that's necessarily going to make people like you - people don't like being prodded - but it's going to make people respect you (and want to be on your team again.)  There's a reason why most people who worked with Hillary have endorsed her - same with Mom, people who worked with her wanted to work with her again because she got shit done and she made them look good. 

Mom cares, too... almost too much at times, so she won't let it show if she doesn't know you.  She's had to be strong for a long time - being a single mother in the 60s and 70s wasn't easy (especially when you've got a daughter who is also a strong, smart little wench.)  But if there are hard decisions to be made...  that strength comes through.  If you're on a ventilator, you want my mother making the decision as to whether or not to pull the plug - and I personally want someone like her to be the one making the decision on whether or not to push the button.  Someone who cares, who knows the implications and has thought through all the possibilities...  and who will cry later, because for now, stuff has to get done.

Mom was never June Cleaver - well, she might have tried, briefly, back in Salmon, but it was always bad drag.  Kind of like how Hillary tried briefly with the cookie recipe, but we all knew she had better things to do with her time.  And I'm not saying that June isn't wonderful - I've got a couple of aunts that I love that could give June a run for her money - but June isn't what our country needs right now.  We need someone who can get us back on the right direction, someone who can bring people together and make them do the right thing - we need a project manager.  And since Mom is busy with the goat ranch, we need Hillary. 

Arlington Photos

Lately, a meme has been showing up in my newsfeed, with a picture of Arlington superimposed with "This is why you stand for the National Anthem." 

No.  No, this is why you properly fund the VA.  This is why you make sure that veterans are not left homeless in the streets.  This is why you work your damnedest to elect people who will both fulfill our promises to those left, and who will work their hardest to make sure that we don't have useless wars in the future.  This is why you honor their service, by working to make sure that we have a country that lives up to the promise that they sacrificed for. 

And sometimes, that means that you point out flaws you might see - to ensure a more perfect union.  That freedom that they sacrified for?  It means we have rights, and responsibilities.  You do what you can - you vote, you discuss, you protest.  Peaceful protest to try to better our country?  That's one of the more patriotic things you can do, in my opinion, especially when it's accompanied by good works (for example, donating the first million of your paycheck to help out your community).  And you listen.  When someone else is protesting, trying to tell you that there's a problem here that needs solving, you listen to what they say and process it before shouting them down. 

Political: How His Mind Works

Look, I think that it was a pretty pre-school move for the Clinton camp to invite Mark Cuban to sit in the front row of the first debate. Admittedly, it was a wily move - bring in someone who has been needling Mr Trump in the press, saying that he's not a true billionaire, claiming he's a bad businessman, hope that the sight of him rattles Mr Trump enough to throw him off guard.  But still, petty.  For anyone else I can think of on that level, it wouldn't work - the distraction would be planned for and ignored.  But...

Mr. Trump's reaction?  Retaliation, of course... but not to bring in someone who has confronted Secretary Clinton on her job, or her own personal flaws.  No, he immediately went to Gennifer Flowers - someone that President Clinton had sex with back in the early 90s.  His estimation of what will rattle Secretary Clinton, what will throw her off her game the most, is a reminder of a flaw in her husband?  He honestly thinks that a woman who has survived everything that's been thrown at her for the past 30 years is going to be thrown off her stride by some meaningless bimbo? 

I'm getting really tired of our society (or at least certain segments of it) assuming that every woman's self-image revolves around her man, and nothing but her man.  Stop underestimating us...

Bonus post for the day: Roger and Moose

Subtle.  My boy is always subtle. 

I finished off my dinner pretty quickly, so Moose immediately moved over to the couch to try to mooch off his daddy.  He was sitting there with his pleading eyes focused firmly on his dad's fork until:  

I just asked Roger if I could have a bite of his gnocchi.  He had just forked up a bite, so he just handed me the fork so that I could have a taste.  As I was handing the fork back to him, Moose gave me a *look* - somewhere between disbelief, anger, and sheer betrayal... 

It's a good thing that Roger already set him a little bit aside on the plate, or I don't think I could sleep easily tonight.  As it is, I may need to make sure that my shoes are moved above the high tide mark.

In A Lyrical Mood

My mind works in mysterious ways.  For example, I remember almost nothing of my personal past - it just isn't there (or maybe it's blocked), unless someone else reminds me or I've written it down somewhere. (Yet another reason for my memory well posts - if I do get reminded of something, it's good to write it down and freeze it in my memory.)  However, if you're talking sheer trivia, I'm your girl.  There's a reason why no one will play Trivial Pursuit with me - last time I played, my friends insisted we play the drunken version (take a drink every time you answer a question right, down a shot each time you get a wedge).  They thought it would give them an advantage, since I am not a heavy drinker.  Wiped the board with them...  see, some people are mad drunks, some people are happy drunks... I'm an exact drunk.  The drunker I get, the more precise I get.  Like I said, my mind works in mysterious ways.

Anyway - the point of today's digression...  my mind is also lyrical flypaper.  Any song that I've ever heard more than a couple of times is stuck up there - not necessarily correctly, depends on how I heard it, but it's stuck there.  (For the longest time, I swore that the words were "High up on the mountaintop, a badger chased a squirrel", but anyway...)  And at odd moments, my brain will just throw up a song to the top of the list, and it WON'T GO AWAY!!!  It's like having my own personal soundtrack.  Sometimes, it's not so bad - yesterday's was "You Give Love A Bad Name", and Bon Jovi has always been one of my guilty pleasures - but today.  Today, my brain keeps repeating this obscure waltz tune from 1895 (yes, that's right - 1895) - And The Band Played On.  "Casey would waltz with a strawberry blonde and the band played on.  He'd glide cross the floor with the girl he adored and the band played on.  But his brain was so loaded he nearly exploded, the poor girl would shake with alarm.  He'd never leave the girl with the strawberry curl and the band played on."  No idea where I heard it originally, no clue why it popped up today, and no idea what the hell that third sentence could possibly refer to...  but with any luck, it's going to turn out to be viral transmission, and I will be able to pass it off to one of you guys and get back to "Shot to the heart, and you're to blame!"

Describing Yourself In Three Fictional Characters

The Original Mouthy Broad

Penelope from Criminal Minds - my last boss said that she thought of me as Penelope because I was always the helpful voice on the other end of the phone line

And of course, Victoria - feminine, but willing to do what needs to be done

Ok, so it's an idealized version of me - but they did say fictional.

Blood Sugar (no) Sex Magick

Blood Sugar Monitor - Mine is named Twoey, after Audrey II

My body has become a finicky little wench - I checked my blood sugar last night before dinner, and it was way too high (like 398 too high).  So, I compensated by upping my regular insulin, because I'm really trying to get my A1C down.

Then... spent about an hour last night in bed, dealing with cramps up and down my legs, and when I finally got up and checked my blood sugar, it was at 56.  (Normally is 80 to 120, but personally, I start feeling woozy if I drop below 100).   So I had a quarter of a piece of naan to bring me back up quickly (quick carb) and 6 chocolate covered hazelnuts (fat for long-acting glucose because I didn't want to crash again - because if I was going to feel bad, I was going to compensate with something I like, damn it.) At any rate... we are talking somewhere in the region of 30 carbs, total... wake up this morning, and I'm at 256.

I have absolutely  no idea what the hell to do at this point, other than scream at Twoey and call her a liar...

God, I Hate Rachel From Credit Card Service's Boyfriend Chuck

First off, the jerk is persistent.  He's been calling me two or three times a week for the past 6  months or so, even though every time he calls, I tell him that I know this is a scam, and that I'm on the National Do Not Call list.

Second - why the hell would I ever listen to someone who starts off our "relationship" with a lie (spoofed phone numbers?)  They keep changing the phone number, so I can't block them, and it's always something "official" looking on the caller ID, but you know if you try to call the number back, it doesn't exist.

Third - you have an Indian accent so thick that I would suspect you were an extra in Slumdog Millionaire (except, let's face it, you're no actor.)  Don't try to tell me your name is really Chuck, or Ed, or Bob, or whatever stereotypically American name you've chosen to use today - while I really don't want to establish a relationship with you, again, I hate being lied to.  And could you change up the script a little?

Fourth - ok, we've established that I hate you, I will never listen to the lies you are spewing, you're not getting any money from me, etc... Why the hell do you keep calling me?  And, more importantly, how the hell do you know to call 15 minutes into my vital, life-sustaining, sanity-maintaining nap?  I'm tempted to become a Wiccan just so that I can turn to the dark side and curse not only you, but your entire bloodline.

Ok... good to get that off my chest. 

Our Patch of Wilderness

I love our backyard - it's not what you would expect to find in the middle of the city, but it suits us well.  No lawn - just wild and free.  The birds in our neighborhood also love it, though.  Mostly because of the service - Roger makes sure to keep the bird feeders topped up with seed, thistle, juice for the hummingbirds...  it's a full service bird bar.

They get stroppy when he's working overtime and he doesn't have time to keep up the catering, though - like this morning, he was sitting out on the porch, grabbing a smoke, and one of them popped up on the fence and stared him down - essentially saying "Well?  Seed?"  Still better than when they send kamikazes to strafe the sliding glass doors, though - every once in a while, we hear a thud just to remind us (and send Moose into a tizzy...)

Slip Sliding Away

Skip's the one on the left

Well, I am definitely awake this morning.  I went to let the Moose Monster out for his morning constitutional, accidentally stepped on his wet pee-pad, and came perilously close to going ass over teakettle when it slipped on me. 

The thing is - if I go down, it's going to take the five hunky firefighters featured in my previous blog post to get me back up.  My knees are arthritic enough that I can't even put pressure on them (no, it's not just an excuse to get out of kneeling down to pray or scrubbing the floor - I firmly believe God hears me from any position, and as for scrubbing floors - there's a reason why I chose to be a career girl.).  I didn't have my phone with me when it happened, but even if I did - the front door is locked.  How are Rocky, Ricky, Reggie, Reynard and Skip supposed to get in to help me?  I need to have a better plan, and I think I need to invest in one of those stupid "alert" buttons.  Or we just need to give in to Mom's urging and move on out to the Basin. 

Frankly, the Basin is looking better and better.  For one thing, I should have been there yesterday for Daisy's passing.  I hate the fact that Mom had to take her home alone...  But for another, less sentimental reason - traffic in Portland sucks.  Hell, Saturday morning heading down to Champoeg, the Banfield was down to 15 MPH if that...  I'm a city girl, but Portland has gotten too big for me.  I'll miss my friends and family here, but it would be nice to know that I'm not going to be spending the best part of every day alone.

RIP, Daisy May Adams Reynolds Adams...

Wind in her hair... 

Giving Roger a good talking to

Going after Hank for me...

 

Just got off the phone with Mom - We knew this was coming, Daisy has been losing her sight and getting confused for a while now, but when Mom took her to the vet today, the vet gave her the news that Daisy is completely blind and that the pressure from the glaucoma was hurting her.  She'd lost two pounds (which, I know, doesn't sound like much, but when you're only 6 or 7 pounds to begin with...)  I wish I could have been there - it's such a hard thing to have to do alone, but Mom has always been there to do the hard thing when her children needed it.  Daisy Mae came into our lives as a rescue - another family member had adopted her, but it didn't work out, and so we ended up with one of the most loving little girls ever - and one of the most opinionated.  

At one point, while Mom was packing up at my place to head back to Utah, Daisy decided that she really wasn't up for a car trip, and she would rather be a city girl for a bit, and hid out in the back yard until she had made her decision known to everyone - she was staying with her sister and Moose for a bit.  She did bring unpredictability into our lives as well - she took any open door as an invitation to explore, but she did always come back home (eventually) - more quickly if you opened the car door and invited her for a little ride. She really loved her little rides.  Rest in peace, my little girl - I'll write more later, when I can see through these tears.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Realization

I realized today that I've been putting up with way too much from my body.  Between the cancer and the diabetes and the depression and the arthritis... my reaction to Hillary Clinton being diagnosed with pneumonia is not the typical "Oh, my god, will she be able to continue on..." that seems to be clogging the airways. 

Nope.  My reaction was "Oh.  Just pneumonia?  She'll be fine - give her a Gatorade and a nap and send her after Putin."  Yes, I know... pneumonia was the thing that took out Jim Henson, but... Hillary's a woman.  We deal with mystery blood on a regular basis - it's going to take more than an over-educated cough to bring her down. 

(Yes, I know, I'm sounding flippant here - I'm secretly terrified because I fear for my country, not to mention my retirement, if Trump somehow wins, but nevertheless...  Get well soon, Hillary.  Please!)

Obligatory Medical Update (Feel Free to Skip)

Met with Dr Wang yesterday - discussed my ongoing depression and pain issues.  She suggested perhaps trying a different anti-depressant that might also help with some of the nerve pain problems (Cymbalta?), so we're going to give that a try, and I'm going to be working on getting my A1C back under control - I know, I've got to start checking my blood sugar 4 times a day and trying to figure out what's causing these weird swings and highs (my current A1C was 10.4 - way not good...)  So... that's the goal for the next three months.  That, and trying to work on the agoraphobia - I need to get out at least once a week. 

Getting Gas

(Just a side note -  the minute I started writing this, Moose immediately splayed himself in front of the keyboard like Miss March, demanding my undivided attention.  I don't know how he knows when it's time to be a pain, but he nails the mark, every single time.)

We had to go face my doctor today (somedays, it feels like I've been called over to the principal's office), and driving along the route, I noticed something really odd.  At the NW corner of 101st and Sandy, there's a Shell gas station that had unleaded for $2.65 a gallon.  At the NE corner of that same intersection, there's a Leather's (local gas company) that's $2.21 a gallon.  Ok, I know you're willing to pay a little for the name, but seriously... .44 cents a gallon?  Even odder, there's another Shell station not half a block down the road that's $2.69 a gallon - and they had people waiting in line. 

It's not just the Leather's either - there was an Arco along the way that was just across the street from a 76 station - again, we're talking $2.23 vs 2.55.  Admittedly, Arco is kind of the Pabst Blue Ribbon of gas stations (don't even get me started on Astro - that's the Hamms of gas stations), but still, if we're talking over $4 per fill-up, I might be willing to go ahead and lower my car's intestinal expectations (except that we always fill up at CostCo, where it's generally around $2.20 anyway).  But I just don't get the thinking here.  Why on earth would you pay that extra $4 a fill-up?  Oh, well...