Postscript to Happy Dance! Happy Dance!

Yeah - sort of like this look, only droolier.  (And yes, Roger, I'm posting you and your wiener on the internet)

Another day, another styrofoam box, another really happy Deci.  When I talked to Mom (and thanked her profusely), she told me that the cheesecake was dessert, and the main course should be arriving today.  And it did...  a lovely, lovely 3 pound piece of marbled beef.  Moose, who initially assumed it was a BarkBox, locked eyes onto the roast like the apex predator he thinks he is, and started producing enough drool to drown a small rodent.  I tried telling him that a) it was still frozen; and b) it was about a quarter of his total body weight, but he kept on insisting that he could take it.  I'm afraid my boy has delusions of grandeur.  Or at least his stomach does.  At any rate, I'll try to get pictures Saturday and let you all know how it is - well, it's beef.  It will be delicious.  But I'll try to get more descriptive. 

Happy Dance! Happy Dance!

I have a confession to make - I watch QVC.  Specifically, I watch In The Kitchen With Dave (heck, I've watched it since it was In The Kitchen With Bob, but that's another story.)  It's a sort of porn for me - kitchen gadgets, food, china, food, cookware, did I mention the food?...  These are a few of my favorite things.  I even have ordered a few things - I love my Systema microwave bowls, they're perfect for leftovers, and the enameled cast iron dutch oven is a wonderful piece of work.  Oh, and the Temptations... I really love my few pieces of Temptations. 

But mostly I just watch and covet. When it comes to the food, there's some serious coveting - I mean, these guys could make Campbell's Soup sound irresistible, and I'm helpless when it comes to caramel apples the size of softballs, or lump crab cakes, or croissants that you finish off in your own oven so they're always hot and fresh and...  well, I say helpless, until I look at the pricing, and I just can't bring myself to push the button.  I can't justify indulging myself to that extent... but boy, can I covet.

So... my birthday is coming up Saturday, and I was a little in the dumps about it (I've never dealt well with birthdays, and now that my Cancerversary is in the same time frame, it's just a blue time of year).  Until...  there was a box on the porch today.  A styrofoam box, the kind with dry ice inside.  Turns out my mother, who knows and shares my obsession, sent me (wait for it) Junior's Cheesecake!  Not just Junior's Cheesecake, but the Red Velvet Cheesecake (everyone who knows me, knows I'm a fool for red velvet cake.)  Dessert for Saturday Night Dinner is set, and I'm suddenly feeling much more cheerful and optimistic. 

I've said this before, but I think this is incontrovertible truth - I have the best mom ever!

That's her on the left - but Grandma was incredible too.  

Penny Foolish, Pound Foolish

I believe in Social Security.  I've paid into it all of my adult life, and even if I had never taken a penny from it, I still feel that it makes sense for the society in general to pay into a pool that helps our seniors and the most vulnerable among us survive.  Not just for moral reasons, but for economic reasons - someone who receives their SS check goes out and purchases goods and services with that check, which bumps up our economy and creates jobs, and workers who contribute to Social Security and so on and so on... 

I believe in Welfare and Unemployment Insurance.  Things happen in life, and people slip down the social ladder.  If they're given a net that helps keep them from falling completely off, they can continue back up the rungs once they've got things more in control.  Again, morality should be enough, but sheer practicality here - it's easier for someone to regain control and become a productive (and tax-paying citizen) if they don't hit bottom and still have things like a bed, a shower, a phone number to give to potential employers. 

On to some of the programs that the current administration is determined to gut...  I believe in subsidized school lunch (and breakfast for that matter.)  Despite what Meathead Mulvaney may feel, no, it is not possible to concentrate on school when you're hungry, and school lunch is actually the most cost effective way to feed mass amounts of people (not to mention an inducement to keep coming to school for kids who may be on the ragged edge.) Money spent on school lunch builds (again) future tax-payers and consumers - the lifeblood of our country.

I believe in Upward Bound - you may never have heard of it, but it's a program that saved my education, where disadvantaged kids (yes, I qualified) can get tutoring help and take summer classes to advance their schooling.  Without Upward Bound, I don't know that I would have graduated high school and have become a (say it with me now...)  tax-paying citizen. 

I believe in Job Corps - for kids who can't attend college (or for whom college just doesn't fit), it's basically government-sponsored VoTech education.  Tongue Point, the Center I attended, is a terrific example - it turns out everything from bakers to qualified seamen to drafters for architects.  Again, takes kids who are on the edge and gives them a useful, employable skill (including classes on how to write a resume, drive a car, basic life lessons), which turns them into (you know it) tax-paying citizens.

This is getting a little long now, so I don't have time to get into things like Meals on Wheels or National Parks or the National Institute for Health, but what do all these programs have in common?  They were started and continue to be championed by people who realize that making our citizens a priority is worthwhile both morally and fiscally.  Someone who has gotten a little help along the way (or a lot of help along the way) will be a contributor to society (trust me- I just did my taxes, I'm definitely a contributor) long after the initial investment you make in them. 

Cancer Survivor?

Just filled out a survey, asking for opinions about the term "Cancer Survivor", used for anyone who has had cancer.  I realized that I really hate that phrase...  I am not a cancer survivor.  I mean, yeah.  I have cancer, and yeah, I'm coming up on 4 years now, when I was initially given 2, and I don't see any real issue with me passing the 5 year mark either.  But I don't feel like a survivor. 

I'm also really conflicted with where I am.  I feel guilty, in a way, because I didn't have to go through the horrors of radiation or chemotherapy like some of my friends.  But I'm also angry that I'm still in limbo after all these years - still harboring this malignant little tumor, still stuck with the bladder control of a woman who is permanently 8 months pregnant.  I know it could be so much worse... and yet, it could be so much better.  I could be NED.  I could be cured.  But no... I'm not a survivor.  I'm... paused.  And so is Roger, and so is my mother.  Feeling like if I step on the wrong crack on the sidewalk, Hank will wake up and I'll be back in the thick of it. 

Most days, I ignore the tightrope beneath me and just keep walking.  But there are times like today, when I get reminded. And I get angry all over again.  Give me an hour or two, and I'll bounce back to realizing how incredibly lucky I am.  But don't call me a survivor.  And don't bring any pink merch into the house for a day or two at least...

J'accuse

I've finally figured it out - ok, it took me 51 years, but I have identified my nemesis.  The entity determined to ruin my life...  Yep.  It's my body.  My mind loves me and wants me to be happy... but my body is a stone cold bitch.

I've suspected it for some time (Hank was one hell of a clue, frankly), but I've been looking back and realizing...  whenever I find something that I really enjoy and could potentially be good at, my body finds a way to mess with me.  Take square dancing (and no, don't you judge me!)  I started square dancing when I was in my teens, and loved everything about it - the frilly clothes, the comradery (you never sit on the sidelines at a square dance - if you can't find a guy to dance with, another girl will be happy to step in and dance with you.  I've been in squares that had 7 girls and one guy who was having the time of his life.)  I loved the math of it - the patterns and the rhythm, all being brought together by a roomful of grinning humanity.  I even loved the music - this was 80s country, back before "shake your money-maker" was an acceptable mating call.  But... my body found a way to screw it up for me.  Every evening, I'd start out the night looking good, looking sharp - and end up a dripping mess.  Every single sweat gland would go into overdrive, to the point where I could have been used to cure the California drought.  Do you know how hard it is to allemande left when the guy you're reaching out to slips off your arm into the next square from the sheer level of perspiration?

Then there's food.  I love food - all kinds, all textures, all flavors.  I enjoyed exploring different cuisines, finding new spots...  and then came Diabetes.  I'm not talking your basic pre-Diabetes.  I'm talking having to stab sharp needles into my stomach before every meal - ok, let's be honest.  The needles aren't the worst.  The worst is having to stick that damned poke-demon into my finger to figure out just how out of whack I am *before* I can stick the needle in.  Yes, I still love food - but the delight in a good meal gets taken down several notches when you have to precisely titrate that meal to avoid going a coma.

Hell, my body has even been trying lately to take reading away from me, with various bones in my hands stiffening up or freezing over or just twinging intermittently just to make it hard to hold a book (or a Kindle.)  But I've got its number now...  I know what my body is doing and I'm going to stop letting it get away with this nonsense. 

Odd Dream...

Grandpa's Domain

I had Hawaiian for dinner last night - that's about the only explanation I can come up with.  Normally, my dreams tend to go into short term memory and then straight out the left ear, but this one was odd enough that certain details stuck.  Part of that was that it featured Grandpa in a very odd role.

I've written about Grandpa before, but just as a general catch-up - he was a rancher.  In fact, he was the proto-rancher - you think of a guy who spends all his time eking out a living from the land and some really stubborn cattle, that's Grandpa.  Incredibly capable at making due and making it work, but not long on manners or affectations. When I see him in my mind's eye, I see him in his Dickie's overalls with a freebie cap of some kind on his head.

At any rate... for some reason, in my dream, the Vegas mafia had managed to establish a casino in Washington (that's Utah, by the way.)  And Grandpa was one of their local stooges - I can't imagine why, but he was working for them.  We were making a delivery at the casino in his car - it was your basic Chevy four door, nothing special - but the way that you made a delivery at this casino was that you would drive up, the valet would take your car, and 30 minutes later, you would get a car back.  You could tell by the car that you received back where you stood with the bosses - if you got your own car back, you did an adequate job.  If you had screwed up somehow, you got back a Yugo.  For some reason, Grandpa must have done an incredible job - he got back this silver Lincoln town car with all the trimmings - but being Grandpa, he went up to the penthouse to give them hell, because he wanted his Chevy back (and of course, dragged me along with him.)  I was really looking forward to the fireworks, but just then, Moose had to stage his normal Tuesday crusade against the garbage truck man at full volume.  Damn it - I was really enjoying spending time with Grandpa again...

Random Pain and Hatred For Cancer Commercials

I had a particularly sucky weekend (yes, that's a technical term).  My right heel suddenly decided (for no reason that I could tell) to develop gout-like symptoms - dull, throbbing pain that sharped into "Ninjas are attacking your foot" territory if I tried to put any weight on it.  I mean - I know from pain, I have arthritis so advanced that I am intimately aware of the various federal regulations on Percoset, but this was the kind of pain that drains everything out of you - to the point where you end up crying when you make it to the bathroom, but then realize you're going to have to go through the whole process again just to get out of there.  A couple of nights where it hurt too badly to sleep because I couldn't find a position where the foot would stop throbbing.  Fortunately, it is clearing up just as suddenly as it occurred - because my body is a sadistic little bitch, but it knows it can only push me so far.

So, the foot is clearing up - and now, I've got stiffness and throbbing in the second and third fingers of my left hand.  What the hell - I'll take that.  All it really affects is my typing speed.  But in the process of surviving the weekend, I've developed a mad hate (I had to push the anger and frustration somewhere) for cancer medication advertisers.  I'm not talking about the snake oil salesmen who claim that they can use grapefruit juice extract instead of chemotherapy - I already condemned those bastards to hell a lot time ago.  And I am totally behind the actual researchers who are trying to fight cancer - they're fighting the good fight and need all the support they can get.  No, I'm talking about the assholes who decided that putting ads on the air for Optivo (or a couple of other meds - not just trying to single anyone out here) was a good use of time and money that could be spent on... say... research and development?  Or making sure that the cancer drugs don't bankrupt someone on their way out of this mortal coil?

 A cancer diagnosis is a peculiarly personal thing - none of us have the same cancer.  But trust me - if you have a potentially life extending (note that these meds aren't saying they'll save your life, just extend it a little) medication, we'll find out about it.  And frankly, it should be from a solid medical source, not from a 90 second ad on Rachel Maddow - I don't need to get my medical clues between yelling at Trump and questioning Congress.  All you're doing here is jacking up the price, which at $150K per initial injection and then $14K per month after that, does not need jacking up.  You're also just reminding those patients who do not fit the very specific criteria for this particular med that no, there's nothing out there for them.  And while it's interesting to listen to the list of side effects (which, by the way, can include your body randomly attacking various organs even after you go off the drug - oh, and death), I would honestly rather sit through Vince and his Sham-Wow commercial for the nine billionth time (and I hate Vince) than ever see your soft-focused jazz-enhanced nonsense ever again.

Happy Birthday

That's Mom on the left- busy with her current obsession

My mother turns 69 today, although you'd never guess it to look at her.  She's got the kind of face that doesn't really change much from 30 to 80, and while I think she's actually (finally!) gotten a couple of gray hairs over the past year or so, it's pretty much still the same gorgeous black it's always been (seriously, Mom - you couldn't pass the hair gene down to your daughter?) 

I wrote recently about persisting - Mom was the one who taught me that.  We were talking once about dealing with work issues (yet another reason I love my mother - some mothers talk about housework and cooking.  My mom gives career advice - from the sharp point of the spear. Well, and cooking.)  She was engaged in some internecine conflict with some colleagues, and I asked how she planned on bringing them over to her side - she said she was going to go for the throat, lock her jaws and hang on until they gave up. That part of the DNA she passed down... 

What else did I get from her?  She gave me a love of books, a love of chocolate, and a love of words for their own sake.  She taught me the value of singing along with the radio - loudly and not always on key, but joyfully nonetheless.  She gave me the knowledge of my own worth - a powerful gift that I wish I could give back to her.  And she taught me the power of family.  She left the family physically, but she never lost that thread that binds, and I'm so glad she found her way back. 

She's my mother, and I'm so incredibly glad that I can reach out and contact her whenever I need her... but she's also my best friend, and it makes me happy that I can reach out just to tell her something silly that I've found that I think she would enjoy. 

Happy birthday, Mom - I sincerely wish you many, many more. 

My Kind of Love

I've been feeling kind of off all weekend (more so than usual), so Monday, when I finally got up, I found an email from Roger letting me know that he was working on stuff he could interrupt if I needed to go to Urgent Care.  Because after 21 1/2 years together, that's love - someone who will take the time to take care of you if you need it (even if he's got stuff to do, damn it!)  He also stopped off at the store on the way home and picked up steaks for dinner tonight - he would have grabbed asparagus as well, but the stems were all kind of woody, and he knew I'd be just as happy with broccodile.

That's the love that I wish for you all, my friends - love that endures, love that remembers, love that cares.  Comfortable love - the kind of love that you can wear pyjamas with (or dress up if you want to).  Sustaining love - love that makes you feel better just being with them.  Roger has always been my cone of calm - when he would pick me up after work, I could feel the tension leave my body just sitting down next to him in the car.  But mostly, trustworthy love - love you know is there for you, whatever life brings.

I try to tell him every day that I love him (or at least show him), but since it's Half-price Candy Eve, and it's tradition, let me try one more time.  Roger, I love you, now and for all time - I even put up with your methane cuddles of love, just for the chance to be with you, because you are the best man I have ever met, and you make me a better woman just to try to keep up with you. 

Ethics, Part II (Or SAEDA? I hardly knew her!)

More on the view of a retired civil servant looking in - pretty sure this is going to be an ongoing series now.

Looking at this weekend's news and shaking my head...  starting with Michael Flynn.  Every year for the past quarter century, in addition to the Ethics briefing I mentioned in my last post, I had to take a special Army course.  There have been a number of names for it (like I said, I took it a lot), but my favorite was SAEDA (that's short for Subversion and Espionage Against the Department of Army) - mostly because I loved having my spy prevention program sound like someone's maiden aunt.  Forget James Bond, we've got Saeda Adams.  Every year, we'd have someone come down from Fort Lewis, and basically tell us not to do *any* of the things that Flynn seems to have done.  Ever.  I mean, I know the guy was a three-star, but he had to have taken these classes - or maybe he got a staffer to do it for him.  But still... either he was incredibly arrogant or incredibly stupid - he was with the DIA, so he had to know that a Russian ambassador - any Russian ambassador on US soil - is going to have their communications tapped.  That's leaving alone all the taking money from a foreign government, palling around with foreign nationals, etc...  Seriously.  Had he been a non-political appointee, his ass would have hit the sidewalk Day 2 of the administration. 

Of course, it's not like his boss understands security either, based on his behavior.  North Korea is testing bombs, and he keeps eating his dinner in the middle of a bunch of complete strangers who just happen to have paid $200K to be able to eat in the same room as him... clearly they're trustworthy (and fiscally prudent) while discussing possible ramifications and responses.  Dude.  Remember all those things you were accusing Hillary of?  Oh, right - that would involve you using your brainpower on something other than your Electoral College win.

Ethics, Schmethics...

I know that people were voting for change and a whole new ethos in Washington, DC when they voted for Trump.  They were looking for someone who was not a politician, who didn't have political experience - it was seen as a good thing that he had never held political office, and he deliberately didn't hire the obvious people - people who actually knew the job, knew what they were getting into.  As a 26+ year veteran of the civil service, it's been interesting watching the results so far - Executive Orders that are so badly written as to be unusable, people meeting in dark rooms because they can't even figure out how to work a light switch, last second "Oh, wait - we need someone in that position... we take back our acceptance of your resignation, can't you stay a while longer" (seriously - Thursday night before the Inauguration, they were begging people to stay)...

But this latest contretemp...  Kellyanne, honey - were you not listening to yourself when you took that oath of office?  You swore to defend the constitution, not Donald or his family (or god knows, Ivanka's merchandise line), but America itself.  And part of that defense means that yes, you're going to have to accept some limitations on your life for the next four years.  Let me give you a few pointers to help you through this (based on having to take an ethics class every single freaking year for the past quarter century):

A.  First of all - this is your Ethics handbook.  Yes, I know it's 90 pages of "no", but that's what you signed up for.  Standards of Ethical Conduct for the Executive Branch
Oh, there's going to be some additional stuff about lobbying - thank your new boss and check  EO 13770, but basically, don't plan on getting another job in your field for about 5 years.

B.  You can't use your office for your own benefit.  Which includes advertising or recommending any product. Pretty basic stuff, there, but seriously - whether it's selling Girl Scout Cookies or blinged out heels that cost way too much for what they're worth - you can't do it.

C.  You're going to have to report your financial business once a year.  Not just your business, your husband's business as well.  Have fun with that - I recommend a good Riesling. 

D.  Back to the whole sucking up to the boss thing - You're not allowed to give them a gift, let alone try to push their daughter's clothing line. 

E.  For the sake of your fellow civil servants - every time you screw up, we have to take another stupid ethics class.  Seriously, I was shocked that we didn't have to take a firearm's safety class when Cheney shot his friend in the face with a shotgun.  Please... read the damn handbook. 

Better Living Through Chemistry

Since it's time to renew my prescription for Duloxetine, I was doing a bit of a self-assessment - trying to figure out if it's helped/how much it's helped, etc...

Depression, for me, has always been a bit of a misnomer.  It doesn't come out as sadness or melancholy - I don't do blue funks, or Victorian vapors.  For me, it's as if some sort of chemical change has happened - it's rarely related to anything actually going on in my life - and out of the blue, everything in the world annoys me.  Noises, especially - the sound of the phone ringing can bring on Hulk-like rage.  Suddenly, someone telling me to have a good day sounds like they're demanding something from me - something I'm unable to give.  My hair scrunchy is too tight, my clothing itches, everything in the world is designed just to get under my skin, and I have to consciously work not to explode in completely unjustified anger. My family refers to it as me going triple dog dare - I don't stop in at any of the normal steps, I just go straight to yelling irrationally at the ComCast customer service person that no, I will not give them my social security number one more time and if they keep asking, I will come through the phone line and strangle them with their headset.

Today, I realized, looking back, that I haven't had one of those days when the black descends on my brain for a while now, which is impressive, considering all the conditions surrounding me.  I've managed to maintain a certain level of optimism despite daily "oh-my-god-what-did-he-do-now" updates from the internet.  My body has continued its downward trend, but I'm living with it, adjusting, recognizing limitations - I rail against them occasionally, but it's more a fact of life rather than doom and gloom.  All in all, I think I finally got the meds right.  We'll see how long it lasts.

Nevertheless, I'm Persisting

Mitch McConnell has inadvertently given me my life motto.  I'm sure it wasn't his intention last night - he was merely trying to get Elizabeth Warren to shut the hell up. But when he uttered those words "She was warned.  She was given an explanation. Nevertheless, she persisted", he managed to sum up so much about a woman's life - any woman's life, but particularly mine.

I've never been one to follow along with the norms.  I've always been a bit... too.  Too big, too loud, too smart for my own good, too likely to ask questions and insist on answers, too unlikely to sit in the corner and be quiet... For example, band.  I didn't play clarinet or flute... or even saxophone.  I went for the trombone.  In every band I was in, all through school, I was the only female trombone player.  I was warned that it wasn't a feminine instrument, I was told that only football players and meatheads played trombone... nevertheless, I persisted.  I got good enough to be second chair in one of the state's best bands, and I took an award at the state competition for my trombone solo (two words you do not imagine hearing in one phrase) of "Send In The Clowns." I was warned, I was given an explanation (a stupid explanation, but an explanation), nevertheless, I persisted and won.

When my job as a purchasing agent was being "professionalized", I was warned that they were heading towards only people with college degrees.  They explained that I would have to go back to school (at 35 or so) and learn how to do the job that I had been doing to 10 years or so (and teaching others how to do for at least half that time).  Nevertheless, I persisted.  I made myself so valuable to the office that they couldn't afford to lose me at the time (and it took two guys to replace me when I left - both of whom had their degrees, by the way.)  I'll take that as a win.

I had been warned all my life that fat women do not get quality men - they explained that I'd have to either lose weight, be alone forever or lower my standards greatly.  Nevertheless, I persisted - I dated a few fun guys, some strange guys, some "lovely, but not for me, guys", and then I met Roger.  Twenty-two years later, I still think I got the best of the deal - the love of my life is still the best man I've ever met - I definitely won.

And then there's Hank.  You know that story - I was warned I had an incurable cancer.  They explained that 50% of the women diagnosed with ULMS die in the first two years, 80% in the first 5. Nevertheless, I'm coming up on 4 years now living with this timebomb - I've persisted, and I've got no plans to stop.

It's not always easy to persist.  You get tired, you get angry, you feel defeated.  But as long as you can get back up and keep going, they haven't won yet. The road is long, hard, and dry, but nevertheless... I persisted.

Brand New Nightmare

Yep - torn out by the root system.  The 8-10 ft wide root system.

Our house is in a part of Portland called Parkrose - for the most part, it's a quiet area, despite being only a couple of miles from the airport and less than a mile from the train tracks.  A lot of that quiet is due to the buffering of the trees in the area - we've got a lot of trees, some of which are 60 to 80 feet tall (one of the advantages to living in a temperate rain forest - there's a lot of greenery.) It makes it feel like its own little world - quiet, arboreal, contemplative...

And then there are days like yesterday.  See, our little neighborhood is also at the western end of the Columbia Gorge, which means that it's windy on the best of days, and on days like yesterday... see that tree in the picture?  Well, that quarter of a tree in the picture?  That's what happens when a tree finally has had it with standing up to 80 MPH gusts, and goes ahead and lies down.  Fortunately, no one was injured, and the houses even mostly survived (some cosmetic damage, but nothing serious).  But this happened less than 4 blocks from me, and it's got me looking around - there are a lot of trees of about that size within falling distance of me right now.  Suddenly, I'm starting to wonder if maybe the loggers had the right idea... 

This Morning's Neighbor Update

We had an ice dump last night - there's about half an inch of ice on the ground, but it doesn't seem to have fazed our local puppy-gang.  They were both at the back door, peering in at us this morning.  Moose, on the other hand, went out to try to either greet them or run them off (could go either way with our boy) - he hit the ice and went skidding, so he decided that coming back in and monitoring Mama's breakfast was a better proposition. 

The spaniel eventually got bored and wandered off, but the lab stayed right there at the glass, watching Roger make breakfast omelets.  I can't blame him for living in hope - Roger does make really good omelets - but eventually cooking was done, and they wandered off back home.  Roger is now figuring out how to fix the fence - not that I mind the company, but when Lili and Daisy get here, we're going to need to be able to batten down the hatches. 

It's Baaaackkk... And Moose Has Lost His Little Mind

He's got his eyes on you!

The dog next door came back for another visit.  I'm not sure why it's so fascinated with our back yard (although it is a nice back yard - lots of trees and bushes to play under.)  For some reason, I'm thinking of her as a she - possibly because she's a spaniel with lovely black and white hair, a bit Farrah Fawcett-y.  She showed up this morning, and Moose went out to greet her - there was a lot of barking, then much mutual butt-sniffing.  I gave her a few pets, and eventually she ran off back home.

But then... she brought her big brother over.  Very big brother - I think he's a lab, but he's a big lab.  Have I ever mentioned Moose's Napoleonic short-dog-syndrome?  This visit didn't go quite as well, although it definitely cemented the friendship between Moose and the spaniel - he's fine with her now, since she's more his size.

Anyway... they have both gone back home for now, but Moose is at his most Teutonic.  He's marching around the house, barking at shadows, certain there's an invasion around every corner.  I can't honestly reassure him here - apparently, we're under attack, but since it's dogs with wagging tails, I'm relatively sanguine.  Moose, however, is not having it.

Reason #89 Why I Can't Run For Office

Besides the whole Rocky Horror cabaret thing, and the naked pictures of me on the internet before everyone had naked pictures on the internet (they were art pics - very tasteful.  Trust me.), and the whole "my body is trying to kill me" thing that cuts into my free-time...

But the latest reason...  I was watching Rachel Maddow tonight (as I often do), and she's covering the Gorsuch nomination. She had Dahlia Lithwick on and the first part of the program was pretty much going into his judicial history (and a bunch of Merrick Garland frustration, covering how much harder it keeps getting to get anyone through the system, starting with Johnson, running through Bork and Thomas, etc...)  but then the last segment on her show was basically "Oh, by the way - did you know who his mother was?" Turns out his mom is Anne Burford, Reagan's head of the EPA for 22 months (and apparently it was a really interesting 22 months - at one point, she had Jacques Cousteau testifying in Congress against the agency's plans.) 

At that point, I realized... I can never run for office.  For one thing, my family history tends to read like a really bad episode of Jerry Springer, but mostly I know the one member of my family that they would manage to dig up.  Trent.  Even though I haven't seen him or talked to him since 1980, right after the Gabrielle Gifford's shooting, they had one of the founders of the Arizona Tea Party on CNN, and surprise!  It's my half-brother.  Gene pools are weird things...

Please tell me you can't see the resemblance

I Guess It's Official

Yep... it's official

I received a surprise package from my old office - the photos from my retirement ceremony back in April.  I teared up a little, but... for the most part, the people that I remember were gone before I was.  If home is where they have to take you in... this isn't home anymore.  But it's still a lovely place to remember. 

Excitement over the weekend

(Initial stage setting - our house has a fenced-in backyard that Moose considers his own personal fiefdom.  Well, his and the birds and the squirrels.  He's shed blood defending it - around here, it's referred to as "the night of the raccoon" and "the night of the raccoon II - this time, it's personal".)

The bush on the left - that's the one that was defiled

  So, we're sitting in our usual spot, Moose mostly snoozing but doing an occasional security check out the glass door in back of us, when suddenly he went into full-on berzerker mode.  Roger looked out as well, and saw that one of the neighborhood dogs had somehow made it into our backyard.  Worse, this cocker spaniel was lifting his leg on one of Moose's bushes!  Well!  Moose was not having this - he was ready to go out and do battle, but saner heads (not to mention heads that had to pay the vet bill last time he was like this) prevailed - Roger grabbed the snarling, struggling little studmuffin and handed him over to me to hold until he calmed down (little whelp headbutted me in the process, which proves how out of control he was), and went out to run the fences.  Turns out the gate had collapsed, so we're going to have fix that before Lili and Daisy get here, as I've been informed that Lili is an escape artist par excellence. 

Now for something completely non-political

For Christmas this year, in addition to Lili (who is recovering well, by the way), Mom gave me a wonderful set of pyjamas. (And before you ask, Joel, I'm not planning on wearing them into a Tesco-like environment any time soon.) 

They're a set of leopard-print silk (or at least silk-like) pyjamas - totally indulgent and I absolutely love them.  Moose, on the other hand... not so much.  First time I wore them, he didn't know what to expect and came romping across the couch, over the couch arm, in for a landing on Mom's "vast tracks of land"... and just kept sliding.  If I hadn't caught him, I believe he was headed for Gresham. 

Now, he's a lot more cautious, but it's still difficult for him to get purchase and get comfortable. He gets there eventually, but it's a lot more work than he's used to. But considering all the times that he's done the testicle tromp on his dad, and the breast boogie on me, Roger and I don't have a lot of sympathy for him.