Out of the Woods

Addiction

2009-10-24T05:08:00.004-05:00

I'm an addict. But then, I think most everyone else is as well.

It's 5:00 in the morning and I've been up since three. I think 3:00 AM is the darkest hour, the dark of night coupled with a darkness of spirit. The world is quiet and it seems you're the only one awake in it. (Which was scary as hell when I was a little girl of six or seven - suffering insomnia even then.)

Most of my addictions are benign, thankfully - work, computer, work, television, work, books, work. (Being a workaholic does have benefits - you get a lot done and you make your boss happy.)

I first realized my addictive nature during a lengthy and stressful period of unemployment. I spent 22 months on the dole during three years in the early '90's. (Fired twice by the same guy. To follow through on the adage - shame on me.)

To get away from the knot of fear in my stomach, I read books. I didn't just read them, I consumed them in giant gulps. (I read Jane Eyre one day and Wuthering Heights the next and wondered why I got eyestrain.) I'd finish one book and, as I closed it, would panic if there wasn't another to immediately pick up.

I much preferred being in 1800's England to 1990's Kansas City. The librarian got to know me by name.

Once I got a job, the desperation to read abated. I once again had my favorite addiction - work! There was always plenty to do - and it was so much better to skate on the surface than to drop into reality.

I find myself skating on the surface again, spending hours playing stupid computer games, watching mindless television, and smoking too much.

And THAT is my non-benign addiction. The one I really know is bad for me, but I do it anyway.

Dammit.

Courage

2009-09-27T08:01:00.003-05:00

We took my youngest sister to the airport yesterday and now she's back at home in Fort Worth, Texas. We'd spent the last 10 days or so together - the longest stretch of time since I don't know when.

My sister is epileptic and her seizures aren't controlled. Her memory is virtually non-existent, she wears two hearing aids but often doesn't seem to be tracking. She has emphysema and got quickly winded as we walked together. She's lived in an assisted living center for the past 12 years. As one of the youngest residents, her friends continue to die on her.

The hand life has dealt her sucks big-time.

She makes the best of it, or tries to.

She's been befriended by the staff, and helps the activities director by making copies and other simple tasks. She gets a $10 per month deduction on her rent in return, and is very proud of her contribution to both the facility and to the cost of her care. She calls bingo twice a week and was president of the Residents Council for five years. She's recently started seeing a therapist.

And this week she rode a horse. While I was at work downtown, my good friend and neighbor took my sister to visit her horse. Beforehand, my sister told me, "Maybe I'll get to ride it! I mean, why not? I'm 53. I've never ridden a horse and when am I going to get the chance again?"

She loved it, though the horse was big and scary. An abused show horse who is known to be temperamental. She was scared, but she told me, "What the heck?" And it went beautifully.

I wish I'd been there, but Mr. D captured it on camera.

Oh, Just Grow Up...

2009-09-10T06:42:00.004-05:00

Disgust is the best way to describe my feelings about this fading political summer. At least the health care reform debate is moving back into the halls of Congress and away from the frenzy of various town hall meetings.

Not that I expect much better from our representatives in Congress. Prime example: the performance of South Carolina Congressman Joe Wilson. His apopletic shout of "You're a liar" during the President's address showed how much civility we can expect in the coming weeks.

All this sound and fury - signifying nothing.

Meanwhile, 47 million Americans are without health insurance. Other millions with pre-existing conditions are afraid of losing their jobs - or moving on - because of the fear of losing their health insurance. And then there are those who suddenly find themselves without insurance, their policy cancelled because of some fine print.

That's what happened with my mother. At the age of 60, her insurance was suddenly cancelled. The insurance company said the benign breast cyst she'd had in her 30's was too much of a risk. If she wanted insurance - and she did, desperately, widowed, alone, and scared to death of catastrophic expenses eating into her savings - she had to pay $1500 a month. In 1989 dollars. Luckily, she was able to afford it - but was greatly relieved when she hit 65 and Medicare kicked in.

Meanwhile, we've got the most expensive health care system in the world - but don't have the results to show for it. The system is broken and it's (literally) killing us.

Meanwhile, our politicians and pundits bloviate - and nothing happens. Sound and fury.

We need a national mother. (Sorry, mine's no longer available - but she would've been great.) We need someone to tell the politicians - and the rest of us - to be quiet, go to our respective corners, and to sit and think about what all this incivility - on both sides - is doing to our national culture and character.

Can't we all just shut up? Quit the ad hominem attacks, stop demonizing those with whom we disagree, and try to figure this out?

I'm sick of all the yelling. Sound and fury...

Good Morning, Government!

2009-09-10T05:04:00.002-05:00

I stole the following from a comment on the Huffington Post; the comment was in reaction to the Republican jeering of the President during his health care reform speech:

This morning I was awakened by my alarm clock powered by electricity generated by the public power utility regulated by the U.S. Department of Energy.

I then took a shower in the clean water provided by a municipal water utility.

After that, I turned on the TV to one of the FCC-regulated channels to see what the National Weather Service of the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration determined the weather was going to be, using satellites designed, built, and launched by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration.

I watched this while eating my breakfast of U.S. Department of Agriculture-inspected food and taking the drugs which have been determined as safe by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration.

At the appropriate time, as regulated by the U.S. Congress and kept accurate by the National Institute of Standards and Technology and the U.S. Naval Observatory, I get into my National Highway Traffic Safety Administration-approved automobile and set out to work on the roads build by the local, state, and federal Departments of Transportation, possibly stopping to purchase additional fuel of a quality level determined by the Environmental Protection Agency, using legal tender issued by the Federal Reserve Bank.

Have a great day.

I'm HOW old???

2009-08-26T07:13:00.002-05:00

The dawn of my 60th birthday has yet to break, but it's already been eventful. Had to break up a cat fight in the dark of 5 a.m. (The senior cat escaped indoors, but the junior cat took up a guardian perch on the railing of the back porch. He's a tough little shit - he was the one doing the fighting.)

Then I had a good cry, missing my longtime friend. She would have been all over this occasion, and I would have returned the favor next year.

She died in March and I guess I'm still not over it.

The tear fest was immediately followed by a 'happy birthday' call from my Dallas sister. From sadness to joy in three seconds flat.

I'm taking the day off.

Thank You!

2009-08-08T07:03:00.004-05:00

At my brother's house, when my nieces were little, the dinnertime prayer/blessing was a round of 'thank you's' to anybody and anything that had something to do with the meal before us.

"Thank you, farmer." "Thank you, truck who took the food." "Thank you, grocery store." All stated sincerely in sweet little girl voices.

It did sometimes seem like a contest as to who could come up with the newest - and most creative - subject for gratitude. "Thank you, checkout lady...." "Thank you, company that made the bags..."

"Thank you, sunshine, for helping the plants grow." "Thank you, rain, for giving them water to drink."

A lovely anecdote to remember as this morning's sunlight touches the tops of the trees.

So thank you...for another day. (Even though there's a heat advisory and I plan to spend it looking at the world through glass today.)

Thank you, person who came up with air conditioning!

Slugs Need Love, Too

2009-07-28T06:57:00.005-05:00

This grossed me out. I hate slugs - but I guess it's as the title suggests:

The act of slug love requires the two to swing suspended on some kind of filament - you see a glimpse of it at the top of the photo.

Then that blue stuff is secreted...and then sucked back in.

Like I said...kinda gross.

Every Bug Has Its Day

2009-07-19T05:54:00.005-05:00

We didn't have fireworks on the Fourth of July - we had fireflies.

It's been a good year for lightning bugs. For some reason - the wet weather perhaps? - there were a lot of them. I say 'were,' because the bloom is over. Just a few stragglers blinking in the night.

Fireflies aren't flies - they're actually a type of beetle. Kansas is the western edge of their habitat. They're an eastern bug - lightning bugs are a rarity on the west coast.

Their glow comes from a chemical reaction in light-producing organs in the firefly's abdomen. They're quite efficient at producing light: nearly 100 percent of their light is given off as light. An electric light bulb, by contrast, gives off 10 percent light while the other 90 percent is heat.

Each species of firefly has a specific flash pattern. Males use it to catch the fancy of females in the area and a quick flash communication between the two ensues as they prepare to get it on. The bioluminescence is also thought to be a warning to other predators: "don't eat me, I taste really bad."

Their life span is about two months. Which made me wonder: if, as Einstein said, time is relative, does time slow down for a firefly? Do they cram a lot of living in that short period? There was certainly a lot of sex happening out in the woods on the Fourth of July.....

Nature's light show.

Moon Suit

2009-06-26T19:10:00.006-05:00

As the photo below indicates, the bugs are out in full force now. I hold my walking stick in front of me as I hike the trails; if I don't, I get a faceful of spiderweb.

The chiggers and ticks, however, are the worst.

Funny how one's idealized image of something often bumps up against cold, hard reality. When my husband and I first puchased the acreage for our house, I loved the idea of living in the middle of a forest.

On the morning of our wedding anniversary, a month or so after we'd bought the land, we decided to take some lawn chairs, croissants, and the makings for mimosas and watch the sun come up. We spent the morning in a little clearing and it was lovely - even though neither of us had realized it's a little hard to see the sunrise when you're surrounded by trees.

I started to itch a little later in the day. Upon investigation, I discovered I had approximately 250 chigger bites; Mr. D had 3. We counted.

I spent the next two weeks trying everything: bleach baths, nail polish, calomine lotion, anything that promised relief from the itching. Nothing helped, until a pharmacist recommended Benadryl (duh!) and the topical application of Absorbine Jr. Muscle Liniment in the roll-on bottle. Had to be the roll-on, she said, though it wasn't indicated on the label as an itch reliever. (It is now.)

That was the first breakthrough. The second is what Mr. D calls my 'moon suit": pants, socks, shirt, bandanna, and hat - all treated with some anti-bug chemical that lasts through 25 washings. And it works. I no longer have to spray myself with Deep Woods Off (the best, but made me want to shower as soon as I could.) The moon suit hangs on a peg by the back door, ready for me whenever I feel the urge.

It's hot, though that's a small price to pay to be chigger- and tick-free.

Putting it in context

2009-06-20T13:00:00.004-05:00

I'm sitting inside feeling whiny about the heat...and the rain. Hard week at work. Cruising the Web 'cuz I don't have anything better to do, and then I come across this post on the BBC:

Today is a different day. I and my friends may never return home. We want the world to at least picture our being killed on streets to help democracy in iran and save the world. Pray for us.
Farshid, Tehran, Iran

Meanwhile, from the live Iran blog on Huffington Post:

12:26 PM ET -- Mousavi martyrdom. A message on Mousavi's official Facebook page "confirms he is on the streets and has 'washed in readiness to be martyred,'" a Persian speaker emails.

Suddenly, my alleged problems seem a little puny...

'Scuse me. I gotta go watch CNN now.

Annie Lennox is singing in my head

2009-06-15T07:51:00.003-05:00

It's raining this morning....again.

Sports?

2009-05-30T09:52:00.004-05:00

I hate to sit in the heat and just sweat. It's infinitely worse when you're sitting, packed like a proverbial sardine, amongst other overheated, sweaty bodies. Plus, one of my meds warns to 'avoid prolonged exposure to the sun.' I've learned the truth of that warning - once a lifeguard who never used sunscreen, I can now feel my skin burning within 5 minutes of being in the sun.

So why in God's name am I going to spend three hours sitting in 90 degree heat - probably receiving the aforementioned 'prolonged exposure' - crammed into the uncomfortable bleachers at the 3 + 2 field at Shawnee Mission Park?

Because young DW - my adopted nephew - is playing in the state baseball finals.

And he's good. Scored two runs, a couple RBIs, and played a wicked first base in last night's first round game.

I've gotten to know some of his teammates, too, so their victory last night felt more personal. I've watched those boys rally around DW, providing him great support in the months since his mother - my friend MJ - died.

His teammates loved her, too, you see. She opened her house - and her heart - to all of them. She was the person they'd talk to when they couldn't (or wouldn't) talk to their own parents. A sympathetic and funny woman, she was the adult friend who could help them see things more clearly.

Those boys grieved, too, lined up in a pew at her funeral.

And when the Shawnee Mission West Vikings take the field at 12:30 this afternoon, each of the boys will be taking MJ with them. Her initials are on their wristbands and their helmets. Fans in the stands will be wearing "All the Way with MJ" T-shirts. I've got mine on now. (The sunscreen will come later.)

I was never particularly athletic, and I went to school pre-Title 9, so there was never an opportunity to be part of a high school team. I'd never understood - or even thought about - what that experience brings to a young athlete: discipline, focus, working together for something larger than yourself.

Most of all, the camaraderie. And the love.

A love that has helped sustain a grieving teenager during his time of loss and pain.

So I'll be in the bleachers this afternoon, sweating like a pig and cheering the team on. Rooting for MJ's Team.

From the Ground Up

2009-05-16T19:57:00.005-05:00

The wildflowers continue - each one taller than the next. As spring arrives, the mosses green up, violets and May apples appear, and life begins again. From the ground up.

Wild Sweet William and Squaw Weed are blooming in the woods now. They're both about a foot and a half tall. The Squaw Weed has the yellow flowers; the Sweet William is blue. As the season progresses, new and taller plants will come into bloom.

Missouri wildflowers, though some label it "Texas" Squaw Weed.

If you're interested in wildflowers, a really delightful site is the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center at UT Austin. For wildflowers specific to our area, visit the Missouri Wildflower Guide.

Wild Sweet William is also called blue phlox, and grows in woodlands and along creeks. Squaw weed is also called ragwort or golden ragwort.

Please note proper wildflower behavior: no picking. Let the flowers go to seed so there will be more next year.

A Sound of Spring

2009-05-03T06:16:00.007-05:00

He's back. No, not the invading raccoon that kept sneaking in through the cat door. (That guy's been relocated to a new home somewhere along the Blue River...) It's the summer tanager - a shy red bird that I usually only hear, not see.

His song is quite distinctive (he's a warbler) and I heard him for the first time last night. He comes back every spring and spends his summers in one of our oak trees. From a distance, he looks like a cardinal but doesn't have the crest.

Like many in the animal kingdom, the male of the species is the one decked out in color. The female summer tanager is more subdued in her appearance.

It makes me happy to know they're back, to have this little bit of normalcy in the middle of the chaos that seems to be my life right now. Welcome back, you guys!

Transformation

2009-05-02T06:58:00.005-05:00

The new green of the woods is taking my breath away. Every morning this week, there's been a point when the light is returning and I suddenly look up from my computer surprised once again by the color outside my window.

For months, the trees have been skeletal against the sky. Brown and gray have been the order of the day, the only color an occasional flash of red from one of the cardinals stalking the feeders.

But now the green is filling in the blanks. The oaks and the hickories are sporting small leaves of that intense yellow-green you only see this time of year.

In a few weeks, the color will deepen into the rich green of summer. Mr. D and I call it "the green wall." In the wintertime, you can see deep into the forest; you can easily see the contours of the land as it rises behind us. Not so once the fullness of summer comes.

The first green of spring is almost imperceptible. Walking the late winter landscape several weeks ago, I kept seeing green out of the corner of my eye, but when I looked in that direction - nothing.

I finally realized I had to look closer: the green in my peripheral vision was lichen on the trunks of the trees. So subtle I almost missed it.

Nothing subtle about Mother Nature now. The physical transformation of the landscape is well underway as she blatantly displays her beauty.

No wonder our ancestors celebrated this time of year for its promise of new life.

May Day, May Apples

2009-05-01T06:03:00.010-05:00

The first day of May - and it's a soggy one. Feels like it's been raining for weeks.

But the May Apples are out in force - standing like beach umbrellas in colonies all over the forest. Their life is short - in a week or two, one small and lovely white flower will appear underneath the parasol of leaves. That flower morphs into a pulpy, yellow berry (the 'apple') and then they fade and die back for another year.

The May Apple is also known as the Devil's apple, hog apple, Indian apple, umbrella plant, wild lemon, or American mandrake. Native Americans would gather the plant's rhizomes, dry them, grind them to a powder, and then use the powder as a laxative or to get rid of intestinal worms, or as a poultice for skin problems. Don't try this remedy at home, though - the rhizome is the most poisonous part of the plant and you really need to know what you're doing with it. (The FDA rates the use of this plant as "unsafe.")

No wonder all those deer out there leave them alone.

In modern times, the plant is used as a base in some anti-cancer drugs. The berries are the only non-poisonous part of the plant, but I've never even once considered a May apple pie...we just look at them.

The May Apple (or Mayapple) is an Eastern plant - Kansas City is about as far west as they grow. They colonize big areas of the forest through those long, underground rhizomes. There will be a big patch one year, gone the next, but then another colony will have popped up somewhere else.

A nice surprise as you're walking in the woods.

Glimmers of Stage 5

2009-04-25T06:30:00.004-05:00

It's 6:30 on a Saturday morning. I've been up for two hours and have spent that time mostly laughing.

Laughter is good (an obvious statement). I've heard it referred to as "internal jogging," but my favorite description is enclosed in this quote: "Laughter is God's hand on the shoulder of a troubled world."

Waking up at 4:30 isn't unusual for me - I spent years jumping out of bed to get to work by 5 am and my biological clock is still stuck in that sleep pattern. Now, however, I get to savor the early mornings. No more hitting the snooze button till the last possible minute and then hauling ass into my clothes and out the door.

So what have I been doing this morning? Watching funny videos on YouTube; giggling at despair.com; and laughing at captioned pictures of cats and dogs.

God, I needed that.

My world view has been bleak since the death of my best friend, now just a month ago. I've grieved for her and worried over her two teenagers - legally adults but so lost right now. Two motherless children living alone in a suburban house, angry, defiant, and, unfortunately, self-medicating. The house has become Party Central, full of underage drinkers and smokers (and I'm not referring to tobacco).

And here I stand, helpless and unable to control anything about this situation, a reality that slams right into the 'high dominance' I score on all those behavioral tests. I'm also angry at their mother - my friend - for some of her parenting skills, which makes me even more pissed off because she's dead and I want to grieve for her, not be angry.

A couple weeks ago, I printed off a copy of something called "The 7 Stages of Grief."
Stage 1 - Shock and denial
Stage 2 - Pain and guilt
Stage 3 - Anger and bargaining
Stage 4 - Depression, reflection, loneliness
Stage 5 - The Upward Turn
Stage 6 - Reconstruction and working through
Stage 7 - Acceptance and hope

I've been deep into Stage 4 these last few weeks, with occasional dips into shock and anger. In Stage 4, "you finally realize the true magnitude of your loss, and it depresses you." It's described as a time of isolation and despair.

No kidding...

Daylight's come now. The world outside my windows is that beautiful shade of springtime green, dotted with daffodils, violets, and grape hyacinth. After the late snowfall in March and the cold, blustery days of April, spring has finally taken hold.

I've been getting glimpses of Stage 5 - the Upward Turn - these last few days, when life becomes calmer and more organized; when depression finally begins to lift a little.

A reflection of what's happening on the other side of the glass. This morning's laughter felt healing.

Meanwhile, I realize the Universe has been slapping me upside the head, once again, trying to drive home the lesson that, when it comes right down to it, I have absolutely no control. Over anything, really.

My very wise sister-in-law, who has dealt with her own teenagers, told me to "just pour love on them."

That I can do. But letting go of the worry I have for them isn't so easy.

Especially when they're being stupid.

She Had a Dream

2009-04-16T06:04:00.006-05:00

I found, along with about 9 million other people, a video that I've watched now...oh, maybe a half dozen times, something I rarely do. Perhaps it's because I'm a little raw from grieving, but watching this clip from Britain's (original) version of American Idol was really moving.

If this video doesn't affect you, you have a heart of stone.

Enjoy.

Yeah, I know I'm probably being manipulated by cynical TV producers - but I don't care.

Out of Pocket, Out of Sorts

2009-04-10T18:05:00.009-05:00

As my Texas family says, I've been "out of pocket" for a while. Missing in action. Gone.

My best friend of 36 years died a little over two weeks ago. Came home from a trip to Mexico and was dead in 24 hours of a virulent strain of bacterial meningitis.

I suddenly find myself the de facto guardian of her two teenage children. They're both over 18, so the fact that my friend had appointed me guardian in case of just this such eventuality means diddly-squat. But that doesn't remove the sense of responsibility. An 18 and 19 year old living alone in a house in the 'burbs doesn't leave me feeling comfortable. The 18 year old is a senior in high school and doesn't even know how to do his own laundry, though insists he's an adult now and will be making his own decisions thank you very much.

The 19 year old spent 2 years in rehab - which, from her condition during the week between her mother's death and funeral service, hasn't worked. She's turning it around, thank God, stepping up to the plate, keeping the house going, meeting with lawyers and bankers as they try to figure out her mom's estate and the trust set up for them. The decisions are theirs; I can't tell them what to do, I can only (hopefully) influence and guide. I fear for both of them.

In the meantime, I have a hole in my heart, missing my friend.

I think I have it together, but the evidence belies it: I've lost my cell phone a half dozen times in the last two weeks; lost my car keys twice; even lost my damn car in a parking lot; made a gigantically stupid error at work; got lost going to my friend's house (where I've visited a gazillion times); lost my train of thought at inopportune moments; in short, I'm a mess.

The universe is telling me to take some time off.

My friend Mary Jo, at a campground outside Jackson Hole. We sure had us some fun...

2009-04-09T19:14:00.003-05:00

This made me laugh. I have a black cat and I can relate.

But there's fear underneath the laughter - fear of the darkness, fear of uncertainty, fear of the unexpected and of things that go bump in the night.

Blood at The Star

2009-03-17T05:58:00.003-05:00

The lengthy list of editorial staff fired yesterday by the Star is available for public viewing. Also the list of folks forced to go part-time, with consequent cuts in pay and benefits.

The list can be found on a great media blog - Bottomline Communications.

My question: why do I have to go to an independent Internet blog to find out who's been canned? Why didn't The Star publish that list itself? And is it true there's been a witch hunt at 18th & Grand as the powers-that-be try to figure out who's been e-mailing the info to the rest of the world?

How cock-eyed is that? This bastion of the First Amendment, which regularly extols transparency while shaking its finger at those they believe to be opaque, is pulling the same crap.

And don't tell me this is a personnel issue. I got fired once and The Star wrote about it. It's a regular subject in the pages of our newspaper - except, it appears, when it's the newspaper itself doing the lopping of heads.

The Star article announcing my humiliation to the world, by the way, did a lot for my then-state of mind. Made me crawl in a little deeper into the black hole of worthlessness and "What the fuck do I do NOW?"

So I know firsthand what these folks are going through. Add to it the fact that the newsrooms in which they have worked are slowly being squeezed dry and the vehicle in which they have plied their profession is disappearing fast.

Not only are they thrown into the biggest unemployment pool in decades, they also have to watch something they love die.

That sucks.

And don't even get me started on what this means for local news coverage...

Neil Young Still Has It

2009-03-15T08:24:00.010-05:00

Premiered on the Huffington Post. The best part is his dog Carl.

See it HERE.

From the beginning, never a sell-out. And some of the best music ever.

At Least It Fell on Saturday

2009-02-28T09:19:00.002-06:00

The annual tug-of-war between springtime and winter is on. A time when the first hopes of spring are dashed upon KC's meteorological rocks.

Mother Nature has been toying with us. Fooled me. Fooled my daffodils. We've both started poking our heads out, misled by warm temperatures and sunshine. I thought I'd be spending the weekend cleaning up the yard, visions in my head of spring bulbs and getting my fingers in the dirt.

Said dirt is now covered by four inches and the snow continues to fall.

But it sure is beautiful.

It's also a gift, in that it forces you to stay indoors. Can't run the errands you planned, things get cancelled, you can't clean up the yard...

And - bonus - it's a Saturday which means no struggle to get to work and back.

So you light a fire and a few candles against the cold, and think about starting a pot of soup. Chicken with white bean, maybe.

Don't Believe Anybody - Except Maybe This Guy

2009-02-21T07:33:00.004-06:00

This is dedicated to those with their heads in the sand who don't think we're in - as I described it in my earlier post - an economic shitstorm. And to those who don't think this is all that serious.

I heard Tom Hoenig speak a couple weeks ago. He's the head of the Kansas City Federal Reserve Bank, and is one of the guys who helps decide the Fed's economic policy. He was also one of the few on the Fed Board who worried about the housing bubble back when everyone else dismissed it. The guy is smart.

He started his speech something like this: "I have nothing good to tell you...except there IS a future." (Rueful laughter from the audience.)

He was pretty somber. Though KC escaped it for awhile, we're now smack dab in the middle of what everyone else is going through, he said. The symptoms are everywhere, with the rising unemployment rate a major concern.

One of the big problems, it appears, is us. We've stopped buying stuff. We're cutting back. And because consumers are a HUGE percentage of the economy, we're REALLY in the tank.

This is gonna take awhile. Hoenig said that with the combination of the economic stimulus plan and the Fed's easing of monetary policy, he hoped we'd see slow, steady growth by the third or fourth quarter. Emphasis on "slow."

That's his best guess. But keep your fingers crossed, boys and girls, because nobody really knows.

Don't Believe Anybody

2009-02-20T05:52:00.005-06:00

The news is pissing me off again. I'm back to just skimming headlines and I'm boycotting the cable bloviators.

All this talk talk talk, rant rant rant about Obama's economic stimulus plan and the automakers rescue and the mortgage rescue plan is irrelevant.

Why?

BECAUSE NOBODY REALLY KNOWS HOW TO GET US OUT OF THIS MESS. They're all just guessing.

Put five economists in a room and you'll get six different opinions. This shitstorm we find ourselves in is unlike anything we've experienced before, so anybody speaking with certainty is an out-and-out liar.

BECAUSE NOBODY REALLY KNOWS...

A quote from FDR during the height of the Depression seems appropriate. We need to do something, he said, and if that doesn't work, we need to do something else.

BUT NOBODY REALLY KNOWS WHAT TO DO.

Thank God there's finally someone in the White House who is obviously a whole lot smarter than I am. Who's pragmatic and not an idealogue. And who is trying to create a culture of bipartisanship and collaboration. (Good luck with THAT one...)

All us little folks can do is keep our fingers crossed while whistling in the dark.

He's baaa-aack

2009-02-19T04:25:00.003-06:00

God dammit.

Rocky's back. Raccoons have a range of 18 miles (I find out only AFTER we'd released him 4 miles away). It's either Rocky...or one of his friends. But it's been a week and a half since we caught him - plenty 'o' time for him to walk the four miles and return to his territory. If that's what happened.

Couldn't sleep this morning, so finally got up about 3:45. Went down to the kitchen to make some coffee, the cats following closely because when I get up they know canned cat food (the good stuff!) is one of the first things on my agenda.

As the three of us rounded the corner into the kitchen, we heard it. The cat door slamming shut. We all tiptoed into the pantry and heard it again - something was trying to get in. The hair on all three of us was standing on end.

I yelled something profound like "get the fuck out of here" and ran to bang on the wall over the cat door. We heard him scuttling down the pantry stairs and he was gone into the darkness.

Shit.

And where was our ace guard dog through all this?

Upstairs asleep. A lotta help she is....

Rocky Update

2009-02-08T19:21:00.029-06:00

I Googled 'raccoons' and found out they're solitary creatures (phew - maybe our home invader was traveling solo). They also don't have babies till at least April, so moving him/her miles away didn't leave any raccoon babies motherless (another worry...)

Raccoons are distantly related to bears, as well as dogs and cats. They are omnivorous and nocturnal, a mammal native to North America and Central America. They particularly love marshmallows (!) - one link suggested using marshmallows as bait (we used canned cat food), although they'll eat almost anything.

Compost piles and bird feeders are special attractions (we have both). According to one source, the intelligence and dexterity of a raccoon is such that it can pick an avocado from a tree, aim, and throw it at a barking dog. Door knobs that can be turned -- without locks -- are no obstacle for a raccoon to open. Some raccoons seem to possess enough natural intelligence to follow the action events of what they see portrayed on television.

Dexterity is their middle name: they can open purses, unlocked doors, zippers, and can even remove shoelaces from a pair of shoes.

Raccoons are one of the few native mammals that have not been restricted to increasingly smaller areas of natural habitat by urban development. They've adapted - cut down a forest and they'll move to your chimney, attic, a culvert, or whatever.

Ours has now been moved and, boy, was he glad to get out of that trap.

Who's That Knocking on My Door? Part II

2009-02-08T07:44:00.015-06:00

A couple weeks ago, something other than my cats tried to get through the cat door - but backed off when it heard my voice. Scared the crap out of me.

I kinda forgot about it, but then we noticed the giant dog food bag kept winding up on the floor of the pantry/laundry room/mudroom. A corner of the bag had been chewed open. There was also a lot more mud than usual tracked around in the mudroom as well.

Cue all those 'funniest home videos' showing critters coming stealthily through a cat door at night.

We knew we had a home invader, but weren't sure what.

We started closing the pantry door at night to keep the dog and cats out of the pantry and whatever was invading in. Mr. D baited a live trap we have (you acquire those kinds of things living in the woods), put it in the pantry and waited. Three nights passed unsuccessfully. (Unsuccessful for us - but we could tell our home invader was still invading.)

So, last night, we tried a new tack. We plugged the cat door and put the trap (with a tantalizing heap of canned cat food) on the porch just outside the pantry door, next to the cat door.

This morning - success! Rocky Raccoon is inside the trap and will soon be transported to some woods far away from ours. I kinda feel sorry for the little guy, but not sorry enough to keep letting him inside to feast on whatever he can find.

I hope he doesn't have any friends. Do raccoons travel in packs?

And I'm rethinking the cat door......

Winter's a Bitch, But...

2009-02-01T08:39:00.015-06:00

...it sure can be beautiful.

Photos by Mr. D.

Rants from a too-long too-cold week

2009-01-29T19:51:00.006-06:00

* Okay, I'm done with winter. A ubiquitous opinion, I know, and I am stating the obvious. At least the sun was out today.

* Gov. Blago is now ex-governor. Thankfully. As a native of the great state that bills itself as the "Land of Lincoln," I would like our local newsreaders on both radio and television to make note of the following: it is pronounced ILL-inois, NOT ELL-inois. (And I do love to hear you try to say "Blagojevich.")

* I'm sick to death of egos. I witnessed - and was unable to do anything about - a pissing contest today between two people whose egos were in overdrive. There was a third person involved - the one caught in the rainfall of urea. These two so-called adults were really pissing on each other, but from a distance, with #3 in a position of trying to accomodate both and catching the spray. Some people really need to get over themselves.

* On the other hand, I'm feeling really good about the goings-on in Washington. Well, not in Washington as a whole - just in the White H0use. (Congress - at least on the House side - continues to act like children - Democrats and Republicans alike. We'll see how the Senate behaves on the economic stimulus bill.)

I know it's fashionable to be cynical; disdainful is cool. (I've often been both myself - and probably will be again.) But I've been reading a lot of history lately about the start of this messed-up country in which we reside - biographies of Ben Franklin and Alexander Hamilton the two latest - and it's amazing we survived. (The Articles of Confederation almost did us in long before the Civil War.) It's been a dysfunctional journey, to be sure, but look at those 200+ years of (often painfully slow) progress, then look around at the rest of the world, and you realize the truth of Winston Churchill's words:

It has been said that democracy is the worst form of government

(pause)

except all the others that have been tried.

So to those of you who looked down your nose at those of us misting up at the Obama inauguration: up yours.

Nana Redux

2009-01-26T20:05:00.007-06:00

Nana, as I’ve mentioned before, was our ‘woo-woo’ grandmother. She was proud of being a co-founder of the Cleveland congregation of the Spiritualist Church which, she carefully and regularly explained to me, believed in two things: the Golden Rule and communication with the dead.

Nana lived with us from 1956 to 1963. I was 12 when she died.

My earliest memory of her is of the tea parties she hosted for me. She lived in an apartment over a drug store and had a seemingly vast collection of teacups, teapots, and all the necessary paraphernalia for serving tea. Her whole apartment was a collection: glass globe lamps, plush velvety couches you could sink into, doilies on everything, and gleaming wood everywhere, both furniture and floors.

She’d let me choose the teacup I wanted. Usually I went for the bling: a shiny gold cup and saucer with a mother-of-pearl interior. The gold was finely filigreed and the inside of the cup glowed in an opalescent rainbow of colors. I thought it was beautiful.

Every now and then, I’d select one of her tiniest cups, maybe twice the size of a thimble. She had several with raised dragons flying around the cup and saucer. I liked those, too, even though they required constant refilling. Nana didn’t mind.

Actually, Nana never seemed to mind anything. A truly gentle soul and one of the most Christian women I’ve known. She quietly lived the Golden Rule, though she wasn’t above stretching the truth.

Born sometime in the 1890’s - she lied about her age and I’m not certain – she had to quit school in the eighth grade to go to work and help support her family. Her father had left them.

When she told me stories of that time in her life, her father was never mentioned. Instead, I heard about her setting pins in a two-lane bowling alley or playing the piano and organ in the silent movie theatres.

When the “talkies” came along, she needed a new source of income and decided to go into real estate. There was one big problem, though: the state of Ohio required real estate agents to have a high school diploma. So Nana told them she’d graduated from a high school that had burned to the ground. The fire, of course, had taken any records with it. (No computers in those days, boys and girls.)

By the time I came into the picture, she’d built her own real estate agency. I remember visiting her at her office in downtown Cleveland’s Arcade Building. It was a magical place – Cleveland’s first skyscraper (all of nine stories) built in 1890. It was a ‘50’s version of a shopping mall: you entered a five-story atrium covered by glass and metal, connecting the two nine story towers. There were shops and an area with lots of games to play – I remember pinball and bowling.

Nana’s office was a little boring in comparison. At least to a five year old…

Nana at work - circa 1955

Old, Fat, Naked Women for Peace

2009-01-24T08:36:00.007-06:00

Background:

July 14, 2002

ESCRAVOS, Nigeria (AP) -- Unarmed village women holding 700 ChevronTexaco workers inside a southeast Nigeria oil terminal let 200 of the men go Sunday but threatened a traditional and powerful shaming gesture if the others try to leave -- removing their own clothes.

"Our weapon is our nakedness," said Helen Odeworitse, a representative for the villagers in the extraordinary week-old protest for jobs, electricity and development in Nigeria's oil-rich Niger Delta.

Most Nigerian tribes consider unwanted displays of nudity by wives, mothers or grandmothers as an extremely damning protest measure that can inspire a collective source of shame for those at whom the action is directed.

About 600 women from two nearby communities are holding ChevronTexaco's giant Escravos terminal. They range in age from 30 to 90 -- with the core group being married women aged 40 or older.

The women want the oil giant to hire their sons and use some of the region's oil riches to develop their remote and run-down villages -- most of which lack even electricity. The people in the Niger Delta are among the poorest in Nigeria, despite living on the oil-rich land.

ChevronTexaco officials have refused to identify the trapped workers, but an employee at the plant said Wednesday they included Americans, Britons and Canadians as well as Nigerians.

Both sides took a break Sunday from their often heated negotiations. They were to meet again Monday, Odeworitse said.

July 16, 2002:

Women protesters who have besieged an oil terminal in southern Nigeria for more than a week say they have reached a deal with the refinery owners to end their blockade.

One of the protest leaders, Anunu Uwawah, told the Associated Press (AP) news agency: "It is settled. We stay today, but once the paper is signed, we will leave."

She said the firm - Chevron Nigeria - had satisfied the women's demands by agreeing to hire more than two dozen villagers and build schools, water systems and other amenities.

My cousin Paula sent me the following - a little dated now that Bush is gone - but funny nonetheless:

Who's That Knocking on My Door?

2009-01-23T20:43:00.007-06:00

So this morning about 5:30 I'm grabbing a cup of coffee in the kitchen when the little cat comes scurrying through the cat door in the laundry room, whips around, fur slightly raised, and gives one of those intense cat stares at the opening he's just come through.

I figure it's the old cat. I hear the cat door open, then swing shut, then nothing.

I go to the laundry room door, switch on the outside light, open it to the cold - nothing.

Just to be sure, I look in my office and there's the old black cat sound asleep in the basket next to my computer.

What the hell was trying to get into my house????

I live in the woods. A childhood in various suburbs, most of my adulthood in Midtown, and now a house Mr. D and I built ourselves in the middle of a small forest at the edge of KCMO. I am a city girl, and I've enjoyed the sightings of deer, fox, wild turkeys, raccoons, etc. that we've seen over the years.

They are not, however, allowed inside the house. And now I'm thinking of all those "funniest" home videos showing raccoons coming through a cat door in the middle of the night to feast on cat and dog food.

Shit.

Outer Darkness

2009-01-23T07:18:00.005-06:00

I ask myself every year about this time: why don't I live in San Diego?

Winter can be fun for awhile: it's new and it's the holidays. You don't so much mind the snow (though the traffic is often a bitch) because everything looks like a Currier & Ives.

Once New Year's is over, however, reality returns: cold, dark, snow, ice, and wind that cuts to the proverbial bone.

One of my favorite meditation books is based on the seasons of nature. A phrase I particularly like: "Outer darkness calls for nourishment within."

A time to take our cue from the world around us. A time to slow down and hunker down. A time to reflect, to go within.

But I think I'm also gonna go to Florida.

Now What Happens?

2009-01-21T05:59:00.008-06:00

* I liked this move on his first day: Obama authorizes a bunch of new regulations providing, as he put it, light to the dark corners of Washington. Transparency is a good thing.

* And - just to be safe - Chief Justice John Roberts re-adminsters the Presidential oath of office again. Since he messed up yesterday, and since the Constitution specifies the language, he and Mr. Obama did it again today. This is apparently not the first time this has happened: Chester Arthur (????) and Calvin Coolidge both re-oathed.

* I'm hearing/reading lots of comments to the effect of "what was with that hat???" Yes, the chapeau worn by the Queen of Soul was somewhat bizarre to us white women who think of hats as more utilitarian than statement. Aretha was wearing a "church hat," the kind of flamboyant hat chronicled in the book and exhibit, "Crowns: Portraits of Black Women in Church Hats." This video from some local TV station in Virginia explains it best.

Warning: turn your sound down. The video starts up suddenly with a commercial that will blast you out of your seat.

Inauguration Day Arrives...

2009-01-19T17:48:00.009-06:00

...and my overwhelming emotion is one of relief.

Relief that the clueless bozo at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is movin' on out.

Relief that we won't be subject any longer to the arrogance and hubris demonstrated by the Bush administration.

Relief that maybe - just maybe - I can hold my head up when I go beyond the borders of my country.

Not that I'm expecting miracles. But it is a moment to be proud and hopeful.

So pride and hope are in there, too, along with relief and great satisfaction that the Bush II era is over.

Relative warmth

2009-01-18T13:11:00.014-06:00

Left church and didn't bother putting my coat on. Checked the thermometer when I got home: 43 degrees. A veritable heat wave!

What would bring out the winter coats and gloves in September feels like spring after the cold spell we've just had. It's all relative...

Driving home, I listened to "A Prairie Home Companion" and heard Garrison Keillor express a thought I've often had about winter: "Mother Nature is telling you that you don't belong here."

Instead of acting like the nomads we are and moving our tents south for the winter, he said, we've built these permanent structures (infrastructure if you will) that Mother Nature does her best to destroy. (Anyone who's lived without electricity for days in the cold, dark depths of winter knows what I'm talking about.)

Granted, Keillor is talking about a fictional town in frozen-for-months Minnesota. It's not as bad here - we get the (relatively) balmy breaks now and then, like the one we're experiencing today.

But if I ruled the world, nobody would have to venture out when Mother Nature turned on us. (Unless, of course, you were essential - firefighters, medics, snowplow operators, etc.) The rest of us would stay inside our permanent tents and watch the weather channel.

Bird Buffet

2009-01-16T18:13:00.010-06:00

Picked a good day to work from home. I knew I'd be suffering from round 2 of a root canal (think punch in the mouth) and this morning turned out to be one in which to avoid driving. Especially on I-35, thanks to a 10-car pile-up that shut the interstate down completely.

Driving on slickness scares the bejeesus out of me (think white knuckles and sick to the stomach). Thank God and the Internet for telecommuting.

The snowfall brought out the birds - finches, juncoes, titmice, and a flock of cardinals, bright spots of red, the only color in the landscape. The feeders were busy - easier than foraging in this weather. It was an all-day show...

We've set up a buffet for the birds: thistle for the finches and chickadees; suet for the woodpeckers; sunflower seeds for the cardinals. And today the cardinals were out in force.

Though territorial during mating season, they tend to flock together in winter. They especially love sunflower seeds and peanuts, and prefer a "hopper" style feeder, as shown above. It's apparently easier on their little feet.

The experts say cardinals are monogamous during breeding season, but, from my observation, they seem to be paired up year-round. Mating behavior involves the male feeding the female.

My kind of guy: faithful, and he feeds you.

Winter

2009-01-14T18:23:00.008-06:00

It's 14 degrees and the thermometer is dropping fast. Winds are gusty and from the northwest. The weather service is predicting wind chills of -15 overnight.

Good to be safe and warm inside my house; good to have heat and electricity; good to have a pot of chili simmering on the stove.

And good to have a job to help pay for it all.

I'm counting my blessings tonight.

On the Dole

2009-01-11T06:40:00.008-06:00

Unemployment numbers came out the other day, evidence that it's just as grim out there as they're saying it is: 524,000 jobs lost in December for a total loss in 2008 of 2.6 million jobs - the highest since 1945.

Every day brings a new story about layoffs - or pending layoffs. I know good, talented people who are suddenly finding themselves without gainful employment in a job market that absolutely sucks. They're putting a brave face on it, but I know exactly how they're feeling.

I was let go several years ago, and spent the next 13 months on the dole. It was the worst 13 months of my life. (If I'd known there'd be a happy ending once those months had passed, I could have treated it like a really extended vacation and relaxed and enjoyed the time off. But it didn't work out that way.)

It was hell. Not only was I out of work, but there was absolutely nothing available in KC in my then-chosen profession. It was move to another market or do something else. But do what???

So, for too long, I did nothing (or just enough to keep the unemployment checks coming). I've always liked to read, but during that period I was addicted, reading constantly, panicking as I closed one book if another wasn't near at hand. (I read Jane Eyre one day and Wuthering Heights the next, for example, and managed to give myself a bad case of eyestrain. But I still kept reading. Better to be in 19th century England than 20th century Kansas City.)

My self-esteem was non-existent. My savings slowly evaporated. But then, something shifted and I came out of hiding. I began investigating some new possibilities and cobbling together a variety of part-time things - freelance writing, teaching a couple classes at UMKC, and some other stuff. Got a little money coming in when - at the 13 month mark - a job offer materialized in left field and started me down a new path.

So if you find yourself in a similar position, here's the best advice I can offer:

Remember, you are not your job. We're such a work-obsessed society, defining ourselves and others by what job we do and what position we hold...

Get over it. You've lost a job. You haven't lost your identity, your good and bad qualities, your history. Yes, you've had a sucker punch to the gut, your world is entirely different, and you haven't a clue what to do next. But you haven't been diminished.

Shrug your shoulders and do what you need to do - which includes wailing and gnashing of teeth if you feel like it. Loss of a job is like a death, and expect to go through all the usual stages, from denial to anger to eventual acceptance. Do all that the advisers advise: network, reach out, go to support groups, whatever.

Now's not the time to hole up like I did.

Passing Out

2008-12-15T19:45:00.014-06:00

Everybody likes to kvetch about the bad drivers they encounter, no matter where they may live. (Too many of those OTHER people drive like idiots...and, have you noticed, they're everywhere!)

We all have our pet peeve. Mine is tailgaters. I wish them evil when they finally get off my ass and pass me.

But I digress.

I've noticed a syndrome that appears regularly in drivers from the male half of our species. Female drivers...not so much (but, in fairness, occasionally).

I call it the "getting passed by a chick in a Toyota syndrome," but any compact car will apply.

I was taught to drive by my father, who told me "if you're gonna go, then get your butt out there and go." Years later, a cop friend told me I could safely go five miles an hour over the speed limit - that's the range of error of their equipment or something. So I am not a - ahem - timid driver.

I've had a lot of opportunity to observe the behavior caused by this syndrome during my twice-daily, 30-minute commute into downtown and home again.

It happened again this morning. I'm tooling along at +5 mph with the rest of the late rush hour traffic, when I pass some dude who's been dawdling in the right-hand lane. Who immediately speeds up to pull ahead of me.

At this point, it will go one of two ways. Either he'll stay at his new speed - just ahead of me - or he'll doze off again after a few miles. I pass him again, he wakes up, behavior repeats.

I think the suddenly zippy guy might be the smarter of the two. Or maybe the other guy is just stoned.

Either way, my little car and I have obviously threatened their male ego. It's happened enough over the years that I believe it qualifies as a syndrome.

I also have a theory about the ratio of size of vehicle to size of genitalia. But I'll leave that for another day. (Though if you drive a Hummer, honey......)

Nothing New in Illinois

2008-12-13T06:53:00.007-06:00

I've always wondered why my home state of Illinois hasn't been lumped with Louisiana and Texas when the on-screen bloviators talk about political corruption. Governor however-you-spell-and-pronounce-his name appears to be just another in a long line of pols caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Now the "Land of Lincoln" is serving as the prime national example of our too-often venal politics.

This is nothing new, boys and girls. There's been a whole series of Illinois governors sent off to do time, but my favorite story involves a former (and long-dead) Illinois secretary of state.

I still remember his name, even though it's been several decades since his posthumous fall from grace: Paul Powell.

Paul was an old fart who died in the arms of his mistress while in the throes of passion (what a way to go, though, huh?) Upon investigation, they found a shoebox in his closet stuffed with thousands and thousands of dollars.

Now that's Illinois politics.

If you'd like to walk down memory lane, the '60's era book Boss by Mike Royko is one of the best reads on Chicago politics and the late Mayor Richard J. (bash those hippies in the head) Daley.

Update: Stray Cat

2008-12-13T06:11:00.006-06:00

Despite my internal wailing and gnashing of teeth, the stray cat that showed up at our door a few weeks ago is now becoming a permanent member of the household. To wit:

* The old cat is still pissed, but at least is no longer hiding under the sofa.

* The dog and the little stray have become playmates - the dog likes to give chase, and the new guy enjoys coming out from his various hiding places and attacking the oblivious Labrador.

* Mr. D and I are providing financial support to our local veterinarian. So far: flea treatment, eye treatment, a feline leukemia test (negative), and the piece de resistance: he got his nuts cut Thursday. (He hasn't seemed to mind...) Shots are coming down the road.

This is getting expensive. We're definitely paying for our combined soft-heartedness.

Though we've given him his own moniker, he probably thinks his name is "Shithead," as in "you little shithead, get off that counter." Or the table. Or whatever.

My poor husband woke up the other morning to: "No, kitty, no. NO. NO. NO! Bad kitty. Bad Bad BAD!"

I was innocently cleaning the kitchen at about 5:30 am when I noticed grey fluff all over the pantry. Had he torn up his mouse toy, I thought? But no. The fluff turned out to be feathers. Feathers everywhere. Upon investigation, I find the little shithead with a dead bird almost as big as he is. How delightful - a new toy!

I'm hoping he found the corpse in the woods and that he didn't kill it. (Optimistic, I know. Hunting is something cats do.) I also know that he's getting a collar with the noisiest bell I can find. Maybe a cowbell. That'll keep him from sneaking up on anything, the little shit.

And a great big 'thank you' to Mr. D for coming downstairs and dealing with the carcass in what, for him, was the middle of the night. What a guy.

Spitting Out the Kool-Aid

2008-12-10T05:35:00.011-06:00

I was unknowingly understating myself a few weeks ago when I said I was really looking forward to Joe Miller's deposition in the mayor's case. Little did I know.

Now then, boys and girls: after listening to Bill Grady scooping the rest of KC media with his Miller interview, let's summarize what we know:

1. The mayor and his staff violated campaign ethics laws. (Ignorance is not a defense.)

2. The mayor's wife did in fact serve as staff - she set the mayor's schedule and directly influenced policy.

3. The mayor deliberately ordered staff to violate the state's Sunshine Law.

4. The mayor, instead of devoting himself to his full-time job, has been quietly working on our dime to build up his outside consulting business.

5. Gloria needs Lexapro. Or Prozac. Or valium. Something.

I met Joe Miller briefly early on in the mayor's administration. Seemed like an earnest young man who had definitely drunk the Mayor's Kool-Aid. After listening to his interview with Bill Grady, it's obvious the Kool-Aid has soured.

Miller has obviously been greatly disillusioned, and no wonder. What an irony - a former zealous journalist who - a month or so into the so-called Orange Revolution finds himself violating a principle he once held dear: Sunshine and freedom of information.

His publicly-stated reason for resigning was incomplete - privately he was appalled by the violations of state law and the behavior of the mayor's wife. Now he's gone public in a big way. So perhaps we should add the word "integrity" to the earlier descriptor "earnest." (Or maybe this is a convoluted way to promote his next book? God, how DID I become so cynical?)

Note to Chris Koster, incoming attorney-general: surely there's something actionable in all this? A recall takes too much and takes too long - can't you do something on our behalf?

Please make it stop...

2008-12-03T06:41:00.002-06:00

The saga of our co-mayors has, for a long while, been highly entertaining in a macabre sort of way.

Now it's just embarrassing.

Kansas Citians are 'beige.' We're 'reserved.' Gloria = "Hillary and Michelle." The co-mayors are under attack by the powers that be because of Funk's new 'vision' for the City. (And that vision would be....what?)

Could you both just SHUT UP???

And how DARE you put yourself in the same category as Senator Clinton and Michelle Obama. Both those women have class, something obviously missing in our 'first lady.' (gag)

SIGH....

2008-11-30T05:58:00.015-06:00

I hate Sundays. I think it's a carryover from my school days, when Sundays meant I finally had to buckle down and do my homework, the weekend was almost over and school was dead ahead. Now I'm a grownup (allegedly) and it still means homework (not enough time during the week to get all the crap done I need to) and work is now dead ahead.

Whatever happened to the three-day weekend technology was supposed to bring us - promised all those years ago? And where, by the way, is my jet-pack?

Okay, okay - this is the last day of a four-day weekend and I AM grateful for that. Thanksgiving was bright and sunny - we started off with brunch at a good friend's - but it went downhill from there. My addictive nature struck when we returned home and I spent the rest of that day and the two that followed psychologically chained to my computer, going obsessively back and forth between CNN and Twitter, following the minute-by-minute updates from Mumbai (Bombay for those of you who don't know your geography).

I finally 'get' Twitter - thought it was a giant waste of time and certainly didn't want anyone 'following' me - my life isn't that interesting, for one thing. For another, it's nobody's business but my own.

But as the dreadful news from Mumbai continued, Twitter was way ahead of the conventional news media and I got sucked into the running commentary from people at the several scenes of carnage and craziness. My news junkie gene was way too active...got the turkey in late, which meant Mr. D and I ate our Thanksgiving meal at 9:00 PM. (He was a little fussy that I'd disappeared into the computer....)

The effectiveness of social media was a sidebar story to Mumbai. CNN said:

With more than 6 million members worldwide, an estimated 80 messages, or
"tweets," were being sent to Twitter.com via SMS every five seconds, providing
eyewitness accounts and updates.
Many Twitter users also sent pleas for
blood donors to make their way to specific hospitals in Mumbai where doctors
were faced with low stocks and rising casualties.
Others sent information
about helplines and contact numbers for those who had friends and relatives
caught up in the attacks. Tweeters were also mobilized to help with transcribing
a list of the dead and injured from hospitals.

Interesting to watch social media come of age...

Meanwhile, Black Friday was really dark - one poor guy gets trampled to death by a shopping-mad mob at a Wal-Mart on Long Island while two guys in California shoot it out at a Toys-R-Us. WTF is up with that??? (I'll do my Christmas shopping on-line, thank you very much.)

And on the homefront, I've had a low-level war going on between the old cat and the new one. Introduced them on Friday (finally) and the old black cat HATES the little orange one. No catfights, thankfully, but lots of growling and hissing. (Yes, we've decided to keep the little stray...dammit. But he sure is CUTE.)

Add to that the gray skies, cold, and wet - and I think I'm ready to go back to work tomorrow.

Saturday Morning Yowls

2008-11-22T05:47:00.013-06:00

Anybody in the market for a new cat? 'Cuz we've got one - caged in our garage and yowling everytime she/he hears any noises from inside the house.

The black Lab is fascinated, stretched out on the hallway floor with her nose about a foot from the door to the garage. She'd really like to meet whatever's making all that noise. (She wants to be friends...)

The black cat, however, is pissed. What in God's name is going on here, and why is there another cat (sort of) in the house? Unlike the dog, he is as far away from the garage door as he can be, looking at us with baleful eyes, attention riveted by every new yowl.

What to do....

The garage occupant is a long-haired, orange and white cat who suddenly showed up at our front door about 7:30 last night. I thought it was our cat, yelling to get in. (He prefers that doors be opened for him, please - the cat door we installed for him is just too much trouble.)

No idea where this little guy came from - but he/she was thrilled to see us. Serious purring, rubbing of legs, and ecstatic responses to being stroked. A really sweet little cat, probably in the last stages of kittenhood.

It was cold and dark and our visitor was starving so we gave him/her water and food (I know, I know...bad move). We thought about using the dog crate and bringing it inside - but censored that idea. We'd just fed the little thing and it was going to need a litter box.

We didn't want it socializing with our animals, because one of its eyes is red and watery and we don't need any more vet bills. Plus, I was not interested in hosting a cat fight in my living room. So the garage seemed the best alternative. Warmer than the outside and contained. (We live in the woods - also home to foxes and owls and things that could do serious damage to someone or something scared and out of its element. Which this little guy clearly is.)

We're not far from an animal shelter - and have had other critters show up on our doorstep (including the black Lab) dumped by some dirtbag who didn't have the courage to take their unwanted critter to the shelter, just let it loose nearby apparently figuring the kind-hearted souls inside the shelter would take care of it - and they wouldn't have to go through the shame and expense of getting rid of their unwanted animal. (Assholes.)

Maybe the little guy is lost, but I don't think so. Everytime a car went by, the little cat perked up. And every now and then he'd stare out into the darkness and just yell.

Seems abandoned to me. Like I said, we've seen it before.

So now he/she is our problem. And there are some dangerous signs...unbidden thoughts like "I'll take it to the vet tomorrow morning to have its eye looked at." (What about not wanting any vet bills, you dumbass?) "Then maybe we could introduce it to our cat and see how it goes..." (NO NO NO NO NO! What are you THINKING? You don't NEED another cat!) "But it's so cute and scared and cuddly..." (SHUT UP!!!!!!)

That inner conversation basically echoes the dialogue I had with myself when the black Lab showed up. Ten years ago.

So today we'll do our due diligence - check with various lost animal registries, run an ad in The Star (lost pet ads are free - or used to be), maybe put some signs up around the neighborhood. Like I said, it's a sweet little thing and seems to have been well cared for. (Until dumped, anyway....if that's what happened.)

But I'm afraid we may have a new member of the household...(NOOOOOO!!!!!)

UPDATE: It's a he - about 8 months old, the vet says. Not neutered, not microchipped. With fleas (now treated) and a little conjunctivitis in his right eye (we got the eyedrops). He's still in the garage....not yowling so much.

UPDATE #2 - turns out Mr. D. has been having the same inner conversation with himself. "What a sweet cat..." (ARE YOU CRAZY????)

Saturday Morning Funk

2008-11-15T08:31:00.004-06:00

So I'm a glutton for punishment. It's a dank, cold, grey and windy morning - currently 32 degrees, for God's sake, with tiny ice pellets on the back porch. Winter is making its debut.

Up before dawn with nothing else to do, I've read the entire 196 pages of the deposition given by former Funkhouser Chief of Staff Ed Wolf in the "Mammygate" lawsuit.

Like I said - a glutton for punishment.

But I'm also fascinated by the goings-on at KCMO's City Hall. Having worked there a hundred years ago, I have been both entertained and appalled by the goings-on since the Funkhousers (deliberate plural) have taken office.

Some observations from my reading:

* Wolf seems only peripherally involved in the day-to-day workings of the office. Lot's of "I didn't know about that" kinds of responses. Even though he states he thought Gloria was a cause of tension in the office, he never spoke to the mayor about it. And, I repeat, he was the Chief of Staff. In title, anyway.

* More: In his deposition, he says he was "stunned" when the Bates allegations came out, that he "did not realize that this kind of communication or tension existed" in the office.

* Apparently, no one expressed their concerns about his wife to the mayor. Not until Joe Miller spoke truth to power and said it out loud: "that Gloria should not be at the office." Miller resigned shortly thereafter.

* Big Brother is alive and well at City Hall. Wolf asked for City phone records to see if Ruth Bates was calling Shawn Pierce. He got the records (which, of course, since it's a piece of City equipment, Wolf's entitled to do.) There were no such calls.

* From his description, the mayor's office sounds like a hellhole for employees. No wonder so many have left...or been driven to tears.

* And, from his description, the mayor is someone who's driven away his best friends and supporters.

What can we next expect? Well, there's the Wall Street Journal article on this whole mess. And, of course, still more depositions.

I'm most looking forward to Joe Miller's....

Power to the People???

2008-11-06T06:34:00.005-06:00

The election's over, thank God, and now the hard part starts: governing. So what's next? Who knows?

But I think the Internet and the huge database built by the Obama campaign are going to be key tools in his presidency. If he could mobilize people to send in $5, $10, and $25 donations, how much easier to urge them to contact their legislator on whatever the issue at hand is. (And I'm sure he'll provide them the link to said legislator.)

That database isn't going anywhere. And it won't be gathering mothballs.

His strategic use of technology was key to his campaign. Through it, he built a coalition at a grassroots level, getting ordinary folks involved in a way they hadn't been before. His messaging was disciplined and his tone was (nearly) note-perfect.

Exhibit A: Hillary blew off the caucus states, while Obama quietly mobilized gazillions of people to show up and vote. She stuck to the traditional political playbook. He did not. He won.

Just as the then-immature medium of television made the difference for John Kennedy in 1960, the still-evolving Internet made the diff for Barack Obama.

It'll be interesting to see how he uses the Web to try to fix all that's broken...

Welcome to the 21st century!

The Planet on Obama

2008-11-05T07:21:00.004-06:00

I've spent the early morning hours before work trolling foreign newspaper sites, looking at the world's reaction to Obama's historic victory. Most everybody seems pretty happy with us...

"Change Has Come to America" - or some version of that - is the number one headline. Lots of video of US ex-patriots celebrating (or not) in Sydney, Tokyo, the UK, etc. Lots of videos of various world leaders congratulating the President-Elect. Dancing at the Obama family compound in Kenya.

There is a great deal of hope being expressed that the US will reverse its course, tone down the beligerence, and help bring change to the world. There is great admiration for our ability to overcome our racist past and elect an African-American to our country's highest office.

Our democracy once again inspires.

The Times of India is the best illustration of that inspiration. A country divided by caste and religion, a nascent democracy that is ambitious and has been modernizing quickly; but a country burdened with the second-largest population on the planet. They've got a lot of problems, including crazy people willing to blow themselves up. And who do so with some regularity.

My favorite comment was from "Manoj Thomas" in Amsterdam:

"What a moment in history! As an Indian citizen, I can but admire the determination of both candidates to focus on the future of their country..Obama in victory, McCain even in a demoralizing defeat. If only our politicians could take a page from this. While our politicians (and we as Indians) bicker fight to carve up smaller and smaller states and actually try and differentiate between each other based on region, creed, and caste, America with a bitter history of civil strife has come full circle, finally realizing the dream of its founding fathers. It is no wonder that she still draws the best talents and people and more importantly motivates them to excel. If India has to live up to its tru potential, we will need to learn to live with each other peacefully, focussing on our common good, and what really matters to make all Indians prosperous and happy. This has been a peaceful revolution in America, in some ways inspired by Gandhi (Martin Luther King & the Civil Movement). Isnt it ironic that the land of the Mahatma has itself failed to use this powerful channel of transformation and still resorts of violence and hatred as a solution?"

Enough said. Have a great Wednesday.

More from the Ozarks...

2008-11-01T19:15:00.016-05:00

The first time I saw this sign...it took me a minute to realize what it was.

At the time, it was closed to the public. (Renovations were underway...) Clinging to the side of one of the town's many hills, the Palace Hotel and Bath House was up a couple blocks from the center of town. On Spring Street, the main drag through what I guess is downtown Eureka.

The original owner/builder wanted it to resemble a European castle. Built of limestone by the same Irish stonemasons who built the Crescent Hotel, the miles of stone retaining walls, and the many other stone structures in town, the Palace opened in 1901. W.C. Fields was its most celebrated client, along with any number of mobsters coming to take the waters.

It was also a bordello in those early years - and the sign outside perfectly advertises the establishment. It's also historic - the first neon sign west of the Mississippi - and may have been crafted by the inventor of neon, a Monsieur George. It was painted by a local signpainter who had the last name of "Golly." He also had a sense of humor - he signed every creation "By Golly." (Which you can still see...) It's especially interesting at night...with the neon shining through the darkness.

On our recent sojourn through the Ozarks, Mr. D and I wound up in Eureka Springs and decided that, if they had a vacancy and it wasn't a million dollars, we'd stay. They did...and we did. A little pricey, but I'd always loved (and laughed at) that sign and wanted to see what the Palace was like inside.

My only disappointment is we didn't encounter the hotel ghost - Rosemary - who allegedly died "in the throes of passion," as the hotel information described. The rooms were lovely (a jacuzzi - more hot water!!!); they served a marvelous breakfast; and the bath house in the basement has been restored and is open for business.

I love old buildings - stayed over the years in several of Eureka's older establishments, including the big old white elephant of a hotel called The Crescent. Which also has a ghost. Which I think I encountered once when staying there alone. But that's another story...

Weekend Rants

2008-11-01T09:12:00.008-05:00

* Who in God's name can be undecided in this election? Who are those people? Have they not been paying attention????

There's a clear distinction between the policies, temperament, and attitudes of the two men at the top of the ticket. (I won't even discuss the two VP combatants - one is so woefully unqualified there's simply no question as to who's the better choice.)

Two more days and then it'll be over. At least, I HOPE it will be over. Lawyers are being mobilized everywhere to be on alert Tuesday and THAT is certainly worrisome. (Anybody remember 2000? Oh, what a difference that would have made.)

Please, God, give us a clear outcome on Tuesday night....

* So Funk is now telecommuting, doing his job from his house in order to diminish the separation time from his dearly beloved.

How nice for them both. I telecommute as well - when I can - and find I'm infinitely more productive when I don't have to deal with the phone calls and other interruptions - I don't have to waste time with the whole makeup-dress-for-success ritual, nor do I have to spend an hour in traffic getting to and from work. I have access to my work computer via the Web, so can keep on top of email and dive into any files I need from the job.

I get a helluva lot done working from home. And I enjoy it. I work in my pajamas, get dressed only to walk the dog, can throw dishes in the dishwasher or do other small tasks as I wander around the house thinking about whatever it is I'm working on.

My spouse works at home, too - his studio and shop are at the other end of the house. Not sure what Gloria and Mark do, but we pretty much ignore each other, meeting occasionally in the kitchen as we both head for the coffee pot.

I use my telecommuting time for those projects that need quiet and thought - usually some big writing project I'm having to deal with. But most of the time, I drag myself into the office because I STILL HAVE TO INTERACT WITH PEOPLE. I still have to 'show up.'

The mayor's giving telecommuting a bad name.

And for someone who keeps saying working with the city council is his number one priority, well, it just doesn't jibe. The quote from Terry Riley in the Star was on point: this will give the council more cohesion. (As I've said before, keep looking for 12-1 votes coming out of the Council Chambers on the 26th floor of City Hall.)

* Though I gigged undecideds in the Presidential election a few paragraphs ago, I must admit to waffling myself on the light rail vote.

Con: it costs TONS of money; only goes a short distance; we have so many other needs.

Pro: it could be the starter line for a larger light rail system (that's been the case in most cities elsewhere in the country); it provides jobs at a time when we need them; and its economic benefits (again, if you look at the experience of other cities) usually returns $6 to $7 in economic development for every $1 spent on the light rail line (the development springs up around the light rail stops...).

This is probably going to be one issue I decide as I'm standing at the voting machine.

Either way, after the election, watch Mike Sanders. I expect the Jackson County Executive to grab the transit leadership mantle from the ineffectual mayor of KCMO (Cows? Give me a break.) And a great community NEEDS good transit. (Notice I didn't say light rail - I said TRANSIT. Buses, BRTs, commuter rail - ie over existing railroad tracks - are all a necessary part of any good transit plan.)

A Nana Story for Halloween

2008-10-31T18:33:00.009-05:00

Nana moved with us when my father was transferred to Connecticut. A widow, my dad was her only child. I was seven. Our little family was all she really had.

As the oldest of four, I got to stay up later than the rest on those nights Nana babysat. She'd read me poetry from slim and seemingly ancient leather books embossed with gold curlicue lettering. I had regular readings of "The Spider & the Fly;" "The Owl & the Pussycat;" and something with the ominous refrain of "And the goblins'll gitcha if ya don't watch out..."

She'd read me grown-up poems, too, poems by Whitman, Longfellow, Shelley, and Dickinson. But it wasn't all serious stuff - I recall taking particular delight in Robert W. Service's "The Cremation of Sam McGee" and "The Shooting of Dan Magrew."

Later, she'd sit on the edge of my bed and say a night-time prayer with me. We had any number of conversations there in my darkened bedroom. Nana especially liked to talk about her religion.

"I'm a Spiritualist," she'd tell me solemnly. "And we believe in two things.

"We believe in the Golden Rule - 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.'"

I already knew that one from Sunday School.

"And the second thing we believe," Nana continued, "is that you can communicate with the dead."

"Okay, Nana..."

(Needless to say, my religious education has been eclectic.)

Years later, in my mid-20's, I saw a tiny newspaper notice for services at the local Spiritualist Church. On Wednesday nights, they held 'readings.' I liked the sound of that. Something unusual to try and, in a way, paying homage to my grandmother. I wanted to see what it was all about and, who knew, maybe she'd get in touch!

The church was brick and tiny, somewhere off Van Brunt as I recall. One big room, painted sky blue, with a small, raised wooden platfom on one end.

There were three people seated on the platform in old wooden chairs. Two women and a man, each as old as the chairs they were sitting in. They were the readers, and they took turns talking with an individual in the audience, until everyone had been read.

The old man pointed to me and asked, "Does the name Bernie - or Ernie - mean anything to you?"

I told him it didn't.

"Well, he's real close to you." Then he asked me if I knew an Alfred. "He lived on a farm," the old man said.

Nope again.

What a disappointment. I called my parents the next weekend and told them about it, that Nana would have loved it but that there was really nothing there.

My father asked me what the old man had said.

I dismissively told him about "Bernie or Ernie" and he said, "Bernie was my father's real name."

That was a shocker - I'd always been told my grandfather's name was the same as my father's middle name: Burns.

"Okay, then," I said, "is there an Alfred in there somewhere?"

My mother answered in the affirmative. I'd forgotten both the great-uncle and the farm.

I went back to the Spiritualist Church the next Wednesday. The same guy read me but came up with zilch. The week after that, the sweet little old lady with the snow white hair and piercing blue eyes pointed to me and said, "You - the little girl in white. Does the name Hazel mean anything to you?"

Hazel was Nana's name.

She told me Nana was close by, watching and protecting, at peace. That she loved me very much. Then she started patting her chest and asked, "Did Hazel have lung problems?"

A negative on that one. Nana had a lot of problems, but her lungs weren't one of them.

"Well, I just feel like I'm having a hard time breathing," the old woman told me, continuing to pat the front of her housedress.

Two hours later, having a cup of coffee with the friend who'd accompanied me, it hit me.

I was with Nana when she had her fatal heart attack. By that time, we were both babysitting (I'd reached the age where I didn't need - nor did I want - to have a babysitter. I was 12.)

We were watching late night TV in the downstairs family room when she fell over onto the floor. She lay there with her eyes open but glazed, unseeing.

She was trying to breathe, but her breath came in a long, harsh rasp, over and over and over.

That's my last memory of her.

Happy Halloween...

Home Again, Home Again

2008-10-29T19:48:00.007-05:00

So...back to reality. And here we are.

A solid week of autumn color, Ozark hills, and hot water.

Accommodations ranged from a tent in the woods to a - gasp - $200 a night hotel/bath house/former bordello (complete with a neon sign outside in the shape of a penis).

What fun.

Took the waters in Hot Springs; did a little shopping in Eureka Springs. Communed with nature and our pillows.

Home again...and grateful for a job with paid vacation. (Hell, grateful - period. I had a long stretch of unemployment once, so I know too well what that feels like...an experience too many are now suffering.)

Like I said, back to reality...

Getting Out of Dodge...

2008-10-17T07:30:00.003-05:00

If I can make it through the day, Mr. Demosthenes and I are heading off to another patch of woods: specifically, the Ozarks. More specifically: we're heading for the "sprangs" (that's Arkansan for springs).

We've kept our tax refund in a safe place (buried next to the cluster oak in the woods) and have dithered for months about how to spend it. The Black Hills? North Carolina? What to do?

We've earmarked the money (ooo-bad word) for a vacation. And we're making ourselves spend it on us. (Not our usual inclination - any $$$s usually go into our money pit of a house).

We're overworked, overtired, occasionally overwraught. Battered body and soul. It's time to head for the springs.

Others around the world understand the healing power of the baths. I guess Americans just move too fast.

So tomorrow we're going to pack up the truck and head south. I found a new scenic drive we've not taken before, and we're bringing our equiment to camp along the way.

The ultimate destination: the Arlington Hotel in Hot Springs. We've signed up for two two-day packages, which includes a couple of free baths and massages. (The Bath Department - circa the 20's - is on the 3rd floor. You just get on the elevator in your bathrobe and voila'. You're there.)

We've done this a couple times before and it's WONDERFUL. We usually wind up spending our first couple days either in hot water, eating off the room service menu, or sleeping.

My idea of vacation heaven.

Debate #3

2008-10-16T06:38:00.002-05:00

A little bit of new ground broken, but not much. I heard a couple details from both Obama and McCain last night, but again - not much.

I liked what Michael Beschloss said last night on PBS' post-debate analysis: that when a candidate goes on the attack, he is the one most diminished. Especially when his opponent seems cool as the proverbial cucumber in the face of whatever...

I hope that's true. I hope that - whoever wins the election - the rest of us realize what a mess we're in, decide to get over ourselves, and focus on what's really important.

Recommendation: PBS is a welcome refuge from the self-important chatterers on the commercial networks. Their analysis - following the debates and on election night - is thoughtful and balanced. What a relief...

Fall, Falling, Fallen

2008-10-13T18:45:00.000-05:00

A cold front's moving through and rain is falling. It's been cloudy all day and now evening is falling, too.

Funny how your sense of smell can trigger strong memories. Tonight - for the first time this season - I smelled fall.

The earthy aroma of fallen leaves and wet dirt.

Sunday Morning Rants

2008-10-12T06:49:00.002-05:00

* Is the election over yet????? My God, this is going on FOREVER.

* I wrote a few weeks ago that I thought I'd probably like Gloria Squitiro if I met her outside of City Hall. (I tend to like earthy, outspoken women - being one myself.)

After the incident at KCI, I've changed my mind.

Throwing her weight around, being "snotty and sarcastic" (as the skycap testified), threatening the rage of the mayor's office at two people just doing their jobs, are NOT the kinds of behaviors of which I approve.

And does she remember 9/11? Jeez....

* Is this what the start of the Great Depression felt like for my grandparents? Too bad they're no longer here to share that experience. I could use the advice.

* Screw the finger-pointing. BOTH parties are to blame. The subprime mess started in the Clinton administration with an effort to get those who couldn't really qualify into houses of their own. Then Bush loaded up that program even more. A noble idea - but......

Add to that the GOP anathema toward regulation and, well, here we are.

* Back to the Funkhousers: the mayor has managed to make himself completely irrelevant. Notice the recent spate of 12 to 1 votes? The City Council is obviously moving on without him. All he has left is the bully pulpit and, when your colleagues are ignoring you, YOU DON'T MATTER ANYMORE. Even Deb Hermann and Bill Skaggs - one time allies - have gone over to the other side, voting with the rest of the councilmembers.

What I thought was principle turns out to be massive stubborness.

* And is anybody as scared as I am at the way this election has turned? Whack jobs yelling "Kill him" and "Off with his head" at the latest McCain-Palin rallies...as those two candidates try to turn him into 'the other'?

To hell with it all. I'm going for a walk in the woods and relish in the fact that Mother Nature bats last.

Bumper Snickers

2008-10-11T06:41:00.000-05:00

A Leading Cause of Stress is Reality!

Saw that bumper sticker on the back of an old Corolla in the heart - of course - of Midtown. (Now, before you get all twisted, I lived in Midtown for 25 years and loved it. Loved it despite gunshots in the night and the regular sound of sirens and the police helicopter.)

But I digress...

I haven't had a bumper sticker on my car since this one back in the '70's:

Women Belong in the House

And in the Senate

Look how far we've come, ladies! We, too, can have simplistic, uninformed candidates on the national ticket. I'm SO proud...

Since then, I've avoided slapping bumper stickers on my various and sundry automobiles because I didn't want to advertise what I really thought. I am not stupid - I know that other drivers are packing.

But I've mentally collected them over the years. Some of my favorites:

Don't believe anything until it has been officially denied

If ingorance is bliss, why

aren't more people happy?

Well-behaved women

seldom make history

Not all who wander are lost

Just say NO

to negativity

Because they really piss me off:

I brake SUDDENLY

for tailgaters

The one that could get me shot on my way to work (illustrated with the icons mentioned):

When fascism comes to America it will be wrapped in the flag and carrying a cross.

--Sinclair Lewis

And finally - my personal favorite:

Don't make me release the flying monkeys!

I actually BOUGHT that bumper sticker, and have been seriously considering either putting it on my car or, better yet, hanging it over my desk at work.

Debate a Rerun???

2008-10-08T05:28:00.000-05:00

McCain voted with Bush 95% of the time. Obama's going to raise your taxes. No, McCain's going to. Obama didn't support the surge. No, McCain blew it by supporting the original (mistaken) Iraq invasion. Etc. etc. etc. heard that all last Thursday - and was hoping for some fresh material in the second debate.

I've got the message points down, boys, could we move onto something NEW? Maybe something RELEVANT? Like the fact that we seem to be going down the economic toilet and - specifically - WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT????

I think copying our Mother Country might be a good idea: in Britain, you're only allowed to campaign for four weeks (or something like that). I know, I know...free speech and all that. Except most of the speech isn't free...it's paid for by special interests with way more money than you or I will ever see.

Everybody says they hate the negative campaigning but guess what, boys and girls: the candidates and their overpaid advisors happily get down into the mud BECAUSE IT WORKS.

And by the time the campaign is over, whoever emerges the victor is covered in the aforementioned mud, and is hated and despised by those whose candidate lost. And the national vitriol continues...

Sad sad sad.

Election Vacation

2008-10-04T08:31:00.000-05:00

The remote control is my new best friend.

Irritating campaign commercial? Bloviating TV talker? The 'mute' and 'last' buttons are getting a workout at our house. (Does anyone still remember having to get up and walk across the room in order to change channels and/or the volume?)

I refuse to watch ANYONE'S campaign ads - they're essentially worthless, usually nasty, and absolutely unhelpful. (God luv the mute button.)

Same goes for the angry chatterboxes on the cable news networks. I wish they'd all just shut up. Or maybe we could put them all in timeout and send them to their respective corners to think about their behavior.

I've watched the debates...and will continue to do so, more for the entertainment value than anything else. I know the candidates' positions, though still need to do a little more research into some of the local/state offices and figure out whether to vote for or against light rail.

I urge you to join me on my election vacation. Pick up that remote and feel a real sense of freedom. Of power.

Yes, that sense of freedom and power will be fleeting - how much control do we really have in our lives - but the momentary satisfaction of shutting some asshole up is delightful.

Morning Fog

2008-10-02T07:20:00.000-05:00

6:55 a.m.

My brain is full. Or so it seems.

The economy. The election. Gas prices. Hurricane Ike. Whatever. Add to that constant deadlines, the usual work stress, (fill in your life's pressures here).

The adrenaline is pumping all the time and we zoom from one thing to another... to another... to another...

And then a morning like this one happens.

The sun isn't quite up but the eastern sky is bright, glowing through fog that's crept up from the lake on Sandberg's 'little cat feet.'

The landscape is blurred and softened. The woods are quiet. It's 43 degrees outside - too cold for the bugs and frogs to sing, and the birds are still just waking up.

Take a breath.

Then another.

And another...

It's a Question of Leadership

2008-09-30T06:54:00.000-05:00

When it comes right down to it, this Presidential election is about leadership. Which man do we best trust to lead us through what will certainly be a tumultuous four years?

The last few weeks of economic craziness have shown us the kind of leadership we can expect. One hot, the other cold. I think it's instructive to look at their leadership style.

McCain announces he's suspending the nasty work of political campaigning to help fix the economy - an act which was the ultimate campaign ploy. He blasts Obama for "phoning it in," when he spent nearly all his time - you guessed it - working the phones. On Monday morning, he and his surrogates claimed victory for the bailout package that subsequently didn't pass.

He was all over the place.

Obama rightly cautioned about injecting the politics of the Presidential campaign into the bailout talks, though I wish he'd had some suggestions on how to solve this mess. Yesterday he suggested raising the level from $100,000 to $250,000 on FDIC-insured bank deposits...a move McCain quickly seconded. But what else to do?

Add to all this McCain's choice of Sarah Palin for vice president...an unwise move at best. God love her, she is just not ready for prime time. Nor is she ready to be a 71-year-old heartbeat away from the presidency.

I like John McCain, admire his courage and commitment to country, his ability to work across party lines. His principled stand against torture was admirable.

But we've had a cowboy in the White House for the last eight years and I don't think we can afford another four. We don't need a Teddy Roosevelt charging into battle; we need a Franklin Roosevelt to get us out of all the various and sundry messes in which we find ourselves.

I want someone who is thoughtful and inspiring. Somebody smarter than me. And somebody who plays it cool rather than running all over the place. McCain's antics this past week smell like desperation.

I can't wait for Thursday's debate....

The Bush Administration Finishes Its Job

2008-09-29T05:51:00.000-05:00

Okay, I get it. Unless we bail out the greedy bastards on Wall Street, our economy - and the world's - comes crashing down around us. No loan for me if I needed a new car. No money spitting out when I hit the ATM. If I owned a business, I'd be screwed.

Well, we're screwed anyway.

W now has another accomplishment to add to his legacy. He's managed to totally diminish our political standing in the world thanks to his invasion of Iraq and consequent incompetence in managing that effort. Now he and his fellow GOPers have completely fucked up the US economy, brought the global economy to its knees, and added another $700 billion to the ever-mounting deficit.

At his press avails last week, he looked like a deer in the headlights. The man doesn't have a clue.

Or maybe he does. In my paranoid moments comes the thought that suggests it's all a plot - the Dick Cheney/Newt Gingrich plan to "starve the pig." If there's no revenue coming in, government HAS to shrink.

My Republican friends have - for years - told me how much better we'll be with the GOP in charge because (OMG - we're seeing it at the municipal level too) they're "smart with the money."

So much for that theory.

I understand that we need to "restore confidence" to avoid a meltdown. Like most Americans, I am thoroughly pissed. So now its OUR tax dollars that will have to pay for the overwhelming greed that has been on display. Somebody - LOTS of somebodys - need to go to jail.

In a Funk

2008-09-23T05:35:00.000-05:00

We live - just barely - in Kansas City, Missouri (the city's boundary runs through my living room and - yes- that means we pay taxes to two municipalities but only get to vote in one - the one where the house is located: KCMO).

I confess: I voted for Mark Funkhouser.

I thought it was a choice between a really smart man and a really nice one. I've worked in and around City Hall and knew them both. Liked them both. But I figured with all the problems the city faces - crime, huge liabilities taken on during the Barnes administration, the looming gazillion dollar sewer re-do (for the first time, I'm glad we have a septic tank - no sewer fees for us!), the looming light rail plan, the backlog of deferred maintenance, etc. etc. etc. - we needed the smart guy.

Boy, am I disappointed.

You'd think, after 18 years as City Auditor, he'd have figured out how to work City Hall. Ummm.........not so much.

Mayors Cleaver and Barnes knew how to count to seven and they didn't eschew the label 'politician.' When you are elected to political office, you are by definition a politician. And if you want to get anything done at City Hall, you have to get seven votes or it ain't gonna happen. Pissing on/off your colleagues is not a good idea.

The "Drama of the Barefoot Contessa" now playing at 12th & Oak has been wildly entertaining (who could write that kind of stuff???) but, uh, unhelpful. That show needs to close.

I have a feeling that, if I ran into Gloria, I'd probably like her. (I tend to like strong, opinionated, feisty women.)

But enough is enough.

Dear Mark and Gloria,

My, oh, my, what a mess you've made.

I'm sure it's been a rough one-and-a-half years. But hopefully you've learned from past mistakes - like how to do simple background checks on potential Park Board appointees and to not accept free cars.

Since I voted for one of you, I feel entitled to give a little advice prior to Thursday's Council meeting.

Take the high road. (Always a good idea in public and personal relations.) Don't threaten or demean the 12 people you're supposed to be working with. (Remember the number '7.')

In the little time you have left, try to find a compromise. (Difficult to do when you've pissed everybody off, but try anyway...the fine art of compromise is what politicians DO. Half a loaf is better than none.) And if you lose, move on. Swallow the insult and do what we elected you to do.

Gloria, I'm sure you're great, one-on-one, with constituents. You both say that's one of your strengths. So go to all the public meetings you want - outside of City Hall. Represent the mayor all over the place. Personalize your rather austere spouse.

Your role is not that of co-mayor and your place is not the 29th floor. Your intemperate words inside that office have placed the city at risk. Your undefined role has caused confusion and concern among staff and constituents. And a real 'first lady' keeps her shoes on. (Going barefoot in the workplace is just gross. Not to mention highly unprofessional. It's the office of the city's top elected official, for God's sake - show some respect and decorum.)

Usually the people I vote for lose, so it was kinda nice when I picked the winner for a change. Right now I'm regretting that vote.

You've got two-and-a-half years to change my mind. Don't waste it.

Demosthenes

Crystal Beach is Gone

2008-09-21T11:05:00.000-05:00

So much for my family's Thanksgiving tradition. Hurricane Ike took care of that.

The house we usually stayed in was right on the water. It's not there anymore.

My family, mostly scattered across Texas, has been getting together nearly every Thanksgiving to celebrate the holiday in a rented beach house in Crystal Beach, Texas. We started that tradition the year after my father died. My mother had always hosted turkey-day at their house, and my siblings and I decided, that first year, that Thanksgiving at the beach would make the holiday much easier for her. It did - and we continued the tradition for another 15 years or so.

Long walks, bonfires on the beach, bocci ball, nieces and nephews laughing and playing, penny poker games at night, investigating tide pools, reading for hours on the porch, always to the soundtrack of crashing waves. November on the Gulf Coast can be iffy - some years it was warm enough to swim; other years demanded mittens, coat, and a wool hat. It was never crowded (though why Texas lets people drive their CARS on the beach is beyond me.)

Some of my happiest memories...

My mother died a few years ago. We had a couple beach Thanksgivings after that, but it wasn't the same. She'd been the center of our little family - and her absence was palpable. So last year, we skipped the beach and had our celebration at my sister's house in Dallas.

This year, we'd decided to try it again - mostly at the insistence of my three nieces, all in their early 20's now, who really missed the traditional family time at the beach. My mom's been gone for four years now, and we figured enough time had passed and it would be okay.

Guess not. It's all just gone.

Crystal Beach wasn't classy - a lot of crappy beach shops selling shells and fish nets, a couple pizza joints, a water slide, you know the drill. The attraction was the water...which was also its undoing.

I'm stunned by the devastation and know that my wistfulness for times past is nothing compared to what the residents of the Texas Gulf Coast are dealing with. MSM attention has gone to the next big thing - but those folks are still in the thick of it.

Canine Harvest

2008-09-21T10:52:00.000-05:00

A walk in the woods is very different these days for the dog. Usually she's bounding ahead, stopping occasionally to sniff the ground or raise her head to catch some airborne scent. She's learned not to chase the deer - but, boy, does she want to. She'll sit there quivering, eyes fixated, as she overcomes the innate instinct to give chase.

Now, though, she keeps her head to the ground as we walk, snuffling back and forth, searching for the perfect specimen.

She is on the hunt for her autumnal prize.

She'll sniff, but then pass by, several of the offerings, waiting to find the one she wants. I'm not sure what criteria she has locked inside that Labrador brain, but when she discovers the one she desires, she surreptiously - even guiltily - snatches it up and, mouth slightly agape, starts hurrying towards home.

Only when she's reached the safety of the Oriental rug in the living room will she settle in to devour it...a task which requires no small amount of work.

But she has her treat: the perfect hickory nut. Not for her the green or damaged ones. Nor will she take the easy road and go for the already-shelled nut. She likes hers whole, dark, big, and round.

A word of warning - these can be nature's banana peels. Step on one, and your foot can go rolling right out from under you.

And one more thing: remember to pick up the remnant shards of the extremely hard and thick hickory nut shell left on the rug. If you forget, your bare foot may pay the price.

Fall Equinox and an Explanation

2008-09-21T07:14:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow summer supposedly ends, and autumn begins. Though I must say, we haven't had much of a summer here in the Heartland. The air conditioner (sorry KCP&L) wasn't used as much as in past years - and the days seemed to speed by.

I've noticed a few trees beginning to turn. The nights are cool and great for sleeping - windows open and a comforter in use.

"This is the Autumn Equinox, when the fruits of summer are taken inside and made ready." - Danaan Perry

On the seasonal wheel, this is a time of balance, of equal hours of dark and light. My Celtic ancestors celebrated the Equinox as a time of harvest - called Harvest Home or Harvest Thanksgiving or the Feast of Dionysius, among others. Christianity co-opted the holiday, as they did so many others, turning it into Michaelmas.

It was/is a time to give thanks for the gifts of the Creator. And it was a wake-up call that winter was coming...when life recedes into the earth and the world appears dormant or dead. A time for contemplation.

I've had plenty o' time for contemplation - I injured my back the day after my birthday and have spent the last several weeks alternately communing with an ice pack and a heating pad. The best description I have for it is "sledgehammer to the middle back." Thank God for a chiropractor whom I've dubbed 'the miracle worker.'

(Here's where the explanation in the headline comes in: I wrote my first blog entry in Word on Aug. 26, my birthday, but because of the back thing, didn't get the entry posted and the blog going until yesterday. Hence the mismatched dates on my first entry.)

How did I injure myself, you ask? I TURNED MY HEAD. Period. No great exertion. Just turned my head to the side to look at something and felt a pop deep in my middle back. What a pisser...

A friend of mine always asks, "And what's the lesson here?" Hmmmm. I have a birthday that is of a significant number and - wham - the universe debilitates me. As my brother the shrink told me yesterday, "In the last third of your life, you can't be casual about the body you live in."

The seasonal wheel keeps turning...and sometimes it's a bitch.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! (And the XIX Amendment…)

2008-09-20T17:37:00.000-05:00

It’s my birthday and we’re giving me a blog as a present.

I’m older, wiser (well, one can hope), and definitely crankier. With the descriptor “little old lady” showing up off there on the horizon, I figure I should start taking advantage now of one of the only advantages of being old: you get to mouth off and people just react with a “Well, you know how she is…”

You also have a lot of stories to tell because you’ve seen a lot: death, chronic illness, menopause, adventures, extended unemployment, incredibly stupid decisions on your part (it’s a wonder you’re still alive!), and even more incredibly stupid decisions on the part of our so-called leadership (from city government on up).

Balancing that out, though, are those moments of sweetness, those moments of clarity when you see beyond the mundane (or monumental amount of) shit with which we all deal.

I like the way Ralph says it: “Evermore in the world is this marvelous balance of beauty and disgust, magnificence and rats.”

Though often disgust and rats seem to have the upper hand…

But then a hummingbird stops by to feed at a bright red zinnia.

Ergo, this blog…

And happy birthday to the XIX Amendment, into law on this date in 19??.

That’s the one giving women the right to vote. So today, in case you didn’t know, is officially Women’s Equality Day AND my birthday. (When I pointed out this synchronicity to my mother, she just nodded and said thoughtfully, “Well, that explains it…”)

Women were jailed and force-fed for our right to vote. Let’s exercise it in November.