OK, Back To The Politics

I was struck this morning by a thread I was a part of on Facebook...


The Republican Convention had (on the first day) a speech from Patricia Smith, whose son was killed in Benghazi.  She has been fairly adamant that Mrs Clinton was directly responsible for her son's death and has said so in multiple forums, despite her daughter-in-law's disagreement with her on basic facts.  I didn't see Mrs. Clinton attacking her character.  I have, however, seen Mr. Trump spend 4 days now attacking the Khan family for their speech at the Democratic Convention - he attacked them directly (including implying that Mrs Khan didn't speak because she wasn't allowed to, even after Mrs Khan's explanation later that she was too emotionally affected by her son's picture behind her to speak), and has unleashed his surrogates to imply everything from "they're moles for the Muslim brotherhood" to "they're shills for Hillary because they have ties through his law firm".  It's been an ugly, ugly spectacle because Mr Trump was too thin-skinned to accept criticism for his proposed Muslim ban.  I don't want that sort of personality anywhere near the White House. 

Non-political Post

I can't be the only person who blesses the invention of the DVR.  Sure, the ability to time-shift programs is lovely, and I appreciate being able to binge-watch series, but most importantly I can avoid Flo from Progressive.  Well, any obnoxious commercial, really, but especially Flo.

Which is odd - I enjoy good commercials, heck I even watch the "Funniest Commercials Of The Year" shows every time they come up (although I watch them with one hand on the remote, so that I don't have to watch the commercials.  Yes, I know that doesn't make sense.)  The one Subaru commercial with Willie Nelson back-up music, where they're going through and checking off the dog's bucket list?  That one gets me every single time.  I had a long-time crush on the World's Most Interesting Man.  But there are so many ads that are misogynistic, or misandrist, or just plain stupid - seriously, Red's Apple Ale - what is it about a concussion that's supposed to make me want your swill?

Also, as a society, can't we make a rule that you can't do commercials for any physical issue below the neck?  (Used to be waist, but I'm upping my standards.)  No commercials with cartoon plumbing, no medicare supply scams involving adult diapers, nothing that requires a 15 second list of potential side effects - and no ambulance chasing for clients who took the pills that required the side effects list.  

But the worst, the ones that have me grabbing for my remote like a lifeline?  The ASPCA and Humane Society ads - usually with Sara McLachlan as a background.  I love dogs in general and my boy in specific, but these ads aren't celebrating dogs and/or cats.  They're torture porn.  Seriously, puppies in cages, their big eyes looking up at you?  For three freaking minutes?  Just no.  It doesn't make me want to write you a check, it makes me want to call the cops on your photographer.  Same for the ones for human puppies, with the freaking flies - photographers, you're right there.  Give the kid a sandwich! 

Thoughts from watching the RNC and the DNC

For my sins, I ended up watching a lot of both conventions this year - what can I say?  I'm a glutton for punishment. Obviously, I saw lots of differences between the two, but...

The most effective speech I saw from the RNC was Ivanka Trump introducing her father.  She made him human, and she obviously loved him.  I was almost at the point of being willing to consider looking at him.  (Unfortunately, then he came on and started spewing obvious lies and fear.  The crime stats he used were misleading at best and flat wrong in some places.  He didn't offer any concrete facts or plans for what he would do to make sure that crime came to a stop January 20th, 2017 - although he used the line several times.  It just didn't work at all for me.)

I saw several great speeches from the DNC - loved Michelle Obama's speech the first night, and I fell for her obvious affection and pride for her friend, Hillary.  (Considering the fairly vicious fight for the nomination in 2008, the fact that they are now friends makes me impressed with both of their characters.)  Bill's speech on Tuesday was a total love letter, but an effective one - while telling the story of their lives together, he also managed to bring out her relentless activism for the disadvantaged and downtrodden, and brought up things I didn't know about her - and as I might have mentioned, I'm a bit of a politics nerd.  And of course, the passing of the torch by Barack Obama on Wednesday just made my heart lift...

But the bit that really showed me that the democratic party is where I belong, and that I can feel safe with my vote going to Hillary even though I voted for Bernie in the primary, was Khizr Khan's speech, with Ghazala standing with him.  They're the gold star parents of Humayan Khan, and if you didn't see the speech, or the introduction to it, it's so worth going back for.  But while the speech was incredibly effecting (it made me cry, and I think I may have seen a tear or two in Roger's eyes as well), it also pointed out the stark difference between the two conventions.  The reason that the Khans (who were not necessarily Democrats, by the way) were at the convention is because Hillary Clinton had found out about them during one of her listening tours during the primary race, and recognized their sacrifice and their unwavering loyalty to this country, even after they lost their son.  This is the sort of thing that we should be celebrating as a country, in my opinion, and I'm so glad both that she was listening and that they were given a national outlet. 

Recovering from the Weekend

It was a great weekend, but...  I was reminded fairly vividly that I'm not able-bodied.  While the guys were loading up the car with leftovers, I decided that it would be a good idea to go try to get the scooter back out to the road - and I ran out of battery power.  About 10 yards from the road.  Just stuck.  Plus, I had been sitting in the scooter long enough that my knees had locked up, so once Roger did manage to find me, I had a scary couple of minutes where I wasn't sure I was going to be able to get up into the car.  And of course, even though I sat under the trees for most of the time, and I was pretty much fully covered, I still managed to sunburn my face and arms...  Those Twilight twits don't know from sun aversion. 

Anyway...  I'm trying to decide whether I'm becoming agoraphobic, or just realistic.  The world outside truly does seem to be out for me. 

I'm Feeling More Hopeful

I got to spend Saturday at a lovely Portland park (Peninsula Park) watching these two get married, catching up with old friends I haven't seen in way too long, meeting new friends, and enjoying my version of America - people in tuxes, people in running shorts, a utilikilt, a couple of people in BDUs, a guy in a really incredible purple suit with an orange vest, rocking wing tips, all coming together to celebrate life and love. 

There was a pot-luck lunch, little kids running around blowing bubbles, conversations about dogs and dresses and (oddly enough for my crowd) almost no politics... it was a lovely day.  And then, in the gazebo where Daniel and Davey just pledged their vows, there was a lovely young woman, celebrating her quinceanera in a beautiful purple dress that extended into the next zip code, accompanied by a troupe of mariachi... It just doesn't get any more American than that. 

Post-Midnight Meanderings

This... this is his "What are you doing up?  I put you to bed!" look

Scene:  1:45 am body call...

*Clickclickclickclick*
Oh, rats - did I remember to latch the door...
*nudge*  *creak*
No.  No I didn't.
*clickclickclick*
Judgmental stare from the Moose.
"Look, I get to go to the bathroom.  What's more, I'm entitled to be alone when I do so."
Stare.
"Ok, ok... I'm coming..."
*clickclickclick* stand in the bathroom doorway staring until he's sure I'm actually standing up*
*flush*
*clickclickclick* down the hallway, turning his head every fourth step, just to make sure I'm coming.
Sliding into bed carefully, even though I know Roger can sleep through anything, including having a cat land on him from the window ledge.
"Well?  Are you coming?"
Slightly plastic *clickclickclick* up the ramp, followed by a doxie walking up the entire length of my body, waiting for me to lift up the blanket slightly so that he can slip under it, and then stretching out along my back, followed shortly by dueling snores from my two guys.

Flames... Flames on the side of my face...

I hadn't realized how angry I still am at the medical establishment, on behalf of me and every other fat woman on the face of the earth, but mostly on behalf of my mother.

My mom is a special woman in a lot of ways.  She's smart as hell, she's driven, she's devoted to her family, she's got a dry sense of humor... and she's obese and has been for most of her life.  She's been fighting it most of her life as well, with the usual diets and exercise and...  And she gets the same thing that I get, every single time we go into the doctor.  Whatever the issue we have, the answer is always the same - lose some weight.

And here's where I realize that I'm not really mad on behalf of my mother.  Well, I am - the woman is incredibly fit, considering.  She's come through uterine cancer with barely a blip, she walks every day, she does channel walking when she's here in Portland...  she's got healthier habits than most of the 20 year olds that I know.  And yet... she's having oxygen difficulties, to the point where she might be on oxygen permanently.  She told me yesterday that her doctor suggested losing some weight, and I went ballistic.  Overly ballistic (I know, this shocks those of you who know what an even-tempered soul I am.) 

But then I realized... it wasn't her doctor I was mad at.  It was every other doctor that looked at me, and immediately assumed that I just wasn't trying.  Every doctor that I saw when I had the flu who told me that my weight was causing it.  I was mad about the 3 weeks I had to wait to get a CT scan because Kaiser had no idea how to scan someone my size.  I was mad about not being able to get surgery to get this damned tumor out of me - yes, I understand that may have saved my life, but still...  (I wouldn't have been so mad about that part if Mom hadn't gotten the same opinion - come back when you lose 100 lbs - when she was already 150 pounds less than I was.)  I am angry about the medical establishment's assumption that if you are significantly overweight, you are a bad patient risk and can be shuffled off to the side with little consequence.  But mostly, I'm angry at the shame I feel for just inhabiting this body of mine.

Rachel from Credit Card Services has a boyfriend, apparently...

One of the disadvantages of teleworking (and now retirement) is being home during the day, and having to deal with Rachel from Credit Card Services.  I don't know if you've been afflicted with this wench, but...  she always calls from a spoofed phone number, which changes every couple of weeks or so, and she starts off with this computer monologue about how she's calling because she's worried about one of my credit cards (never states which one) and how she can get me a much better deal, yada yada yada.  I've tried everything I can to get rid of her - I'm on the do not call list, I've tried asking to be taken off their list, I've tried asking to speak to their supervisor (they hang up on me at that point, usually), I've even changed my phone number, which usually gets me a couple of months of respite before she finds me again.  She calls once or twice a week, usually when I'm trying to nap or in the bathroom...

She's now been joined by her boyfriend, Peter from Microsoft Computer Services (with a suspiciously thick foreign accent), who calls 2 or 3 times a week (also from a spoofed number) to tell me what a stupid girl I am and how my computer is about to blow up unless I follow his specific instructions.  Mind you, he doesn't have a clue even what operating system I'm running, but...

My home phone is practically unusable now - the only calls I get are from family, these jerks, and polling companies (and the polling companies tend to assume I'm a Republican, for some reason.)  There can't be that many people falling for these scams, can there?  I mean, yes, I'm sure it's a low-overhead operation, but at some point, they've got to run out of suckers - how are they keeping this going?  Where is the money coming from?  And how can I take them out?  I've tried the FCC, but that's pretty much throwing info down a well... 

Very Long Night

It's my own fault.  I shouldn't have bragged about how fireworks don't affect Moose at all...  it was a recipe for disaster.  Especially in my neighborhood, where the fireworks start in June and last until the budget finally runs out sometime next week.  And we're not talking the legal stuff, like pretty fountains or sparklers - we're talking airborne mortars going off until 2 or 3 in the morning.

He was actually doing ok, until last night - but last night, he finally broke.  It's not that he was scared by the loud noises... he was definitely not scared.  Pissed.  He was really pissed, but not scared.  Lots of patrolling, lots of barking his fool head off (I think he may have strained his throat).  He'd give off a flurry of full-throated protection of his mama's lap, finally settle down... and then the idiots would set off another round, starting him up all over again.  I finally know just how to say "Hey, Kids, get off my lawn" in canine...

Random Political Mutterings

No one will be surprised by this, but... I'm a liberal.  I've mentioned this a few times before, but really...  I believe in Government.  More importantly, I believe in the United States Government.  It's my country, and I honestly do feel that it's good-hearted.  However...

I think we lost our way in the past few years.  I think that we got terrified by 9/11, and started down the wrong road completely, and one of the biggest signs of that was our willingness to turn a blind eye to torture.  (And yes, water-boarding is torture, in my mind.)  One of the best parts about the American experiment is our desire to treat everyone equally - we started out seriously shaky in that regard, but we keep getting better and better, more inclusive each generation, but the torture... that was going backwards.  Fortunately, we finally got our collective heads together and turned back around.

But now... one of the two major party nominees is saying that we need to go back there.  That our enemies consider us weak because we're not willing to be as barbaric as ISIS is.  That we need to kill children and families, we need to torture and behead and... I don't know where he means to draw the line, but I know that it's not somewhere I can go.  And the fact that people are willing to listen to this man, follow him, vote for him, scares the hell out of me. 

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.