Author Archives: Lenora Good

You Would Think…

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… since I spend so much time with words—reading them, writing them, listening to them, speaking them (when I have a voice with which to speak)—I’d be fairly conversant in the meanings of them. Well, I am with most of them, but every so often I get to wondering what a particular word means. One I’ve used ever since I learned to speak in moderately coherent sentences, but never really thought of. 

Two words and their usage regarding grave sites or other plots of ground, have puzzled me for some time are ‘holy’ or ‘sacred.’ Why have areas of bones and ash been so designated? Who determines if this plot of land is or isn’t holy? The term, ‘Holy Land’ means something very different to me than it possibly means to you. If you follow one of the Judeo-Christian-Muslim faiths (faiths of The Book), it means the middle east—today’s Israel and Palestine.  If you follow other faiths, that term probably means other countries, other areas, depending on where your god was born, raised, died, and resurrected. To me, it is any piece of land on which I stand and hear the world go hush, hear the holy song, think the holy thoughts, and know the love of all my relations.* Whether that is desert of New Mexico, the coast of Oregon, the Black Hills of the Dakotas, or the Beaufort Sea in the Arctic. It’s me that makes it a holy land for me, wherever I am when the song, the hush, the thoughts come.

So, back to my question, why are grave sites considered holy, or sacred? Who gives them that designation? Well, thanks to Google, I have an answer. Those words are designations that humans give (not gods) to areas to set them apart, to keep them separate, to honor the dead buried in them. They are set apart in that manner to make it clear that mankind designated them holy, not religion.

I wrote a poem a while back, called Holy Lands (not yet published, but making the rounds), and a couple of people in my poetry group had a hard time accepting that term. To them, the holy lands were where their god was born, lived, died, and resurrected. They could accept the term sacred, and we had a pretty good discussion about it. And yes, it was a good discussion, no raised voices, etc. The poem is still called Holy Lands. I’m in a good group, and their input is valued, and I often make their suggested changes to my work. In this case I believe I used all of their suggestions but that one. 

Of course, I now come up with more questions. Below is a photo I took last winter at dawn. I took it from my patio, I heard the song, heard the hush, thought the thoughts, and for a time, I stood in a holy place looking at this holy view. Is my patio holy now? No. But for a moment in time it was. As the Buddhists might say, I was awakened or enlightened at that moment, gazing at the sunrise, the trees, the river. The photo reminds me it happened and can happen again. Awakening or enlightenment is not a once and you’re done happening. It happens and happens again. As the Buddhists also say, “Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.” In other words, life goes on, only awakened you are more in tune with it, the harmony of living on our planet is greater. At least for a while. Because you don’t awake from sleep only once, but every morning, so does enlightenment happen more than once.

*All my relations: Lakota, Mitakuye Oyasin, means All Are Related or All My Relations.

Also, in keeping with today’s subject, I offer another phrase. “Bright eyed and bushy tailed.” Now, where did that one come from? What does it mean? That’s another one I’ve heard, and used, since, well, I could speak. It’s straight out of the fox hunts. A fox whose eyes are dull, whose tail is not groomed and bushy, is not a healthy fox. So, when someone wishes you a good night’s sleep, and that you wake bright eyed and bushy tailed, they are saying they hope you wake well rested and healthy. Who knew?

My Week’s Entertainment:

TV:

Amazon Prime: One of my all-time most favoritest TV shows is Morse. I think I’ve seen them all, some more than once. The other day I realized Amazon Prime has the first six seasons (alas, short seasons of 4 episodes each) of Endeavour. Morse, who never ever used his first name, had one, of course. It was Endeavour. And this series is the prequel to Morse. Endeavour as a young man, just starting out. The cast, the props, etc., are all top drawer. If you haven’t seen it, I heartily recommend it. (I wonder where they found so many actors who still smoke tobacco? Or if those were all fake and CGI? Just watching those smoke-filled rooms, etc., set off my allergies! The wildfires outside didn’t help, either.)

Netflix: 16 episode Korean, good subtitles, It’s Okay Not to be Okay. This was a fun ‘dramedy’ — listed as a Romantic Drama, I found far more laughs in it than drama; however, the drama was intense enough to pull it out of the comedy category. The central protagonists are two brothers, the younger taking care of the older who is on the autism spectrum, and a writer of children’s fairy tales who is, well, hard to like at first, but for good reason. Her mother was a monster, and disappeared when the girl was quite young. The girl wasn’t sure if she was dead or alive. Her mother drove away the one friend the girl had before leaving. The mother of the two boys was killed shortly before the mother left (died?) and the boys took off on their own before the police could separate them and institutionalize the older brother. Sounds pretty grim, doesn’t it? That’s why it’s not a comedy. But it’s full of humor and laughs-out-loud. The older brother is a delight. His world is black or white, and he is honest to a fault—and many laughs. Highly recommended.

Books:

I’m a pretty eclectic reader. I tend to go in streaks and read fiction (prefer happy endings to my escapes) and poetry as my primary choices, but that leaves it wide open. I also read nonfiction, especially essays or biographies. Rather than give you a list of what I’ve read and recommend in the past week, I’ll give you a link to my book blog, Rainy Day Reads. You probably won’t care about all the books, but the list goes back a few years. Prowl around, and if you like some, hit the Follow button and each time I post a new book, you’ll be notified. Or you should be.

Show your love; wear your mask. Show you care for your family, your friends, and your community. Show those nasty old flowers you don’t care for their pollen. And y’all come back next week, same masked time, same masked place. The coffee is always on, the biscotti are home made, and we’ve always got time for a coffee break and a visit. (And, we’ll be socially distanced, so you can remove your mask. 😉

Auntie Lenora

A Bit of This, A Tad of That

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OK, I promised something lighter after the last two, and here we go…

Numero uno.

Do you like the old Grade B (or worser) horror flicks? If so, have I found a site for you. Friday Night Frights on YouTube. Go to the right arrow and start with Episode #1. the first ones are in the five-minute range and are a hoot. The later ones actually have movies. I haven’t made it through the movies. Yet. But here’s the trailer. Full disclosure here, I’m friends with one of sound people who has been training me to do my podcasts. Grab a glassa, a bowl of popcorn, and enjoy.

Number two.

(Hey, I only took the first class of Spanish on DuoTrope!)

I had another poem accepted. Quill and Parchment, an online lit mag that publishes the first of each month. Russian Sage is in the August issue. Please, do stop by, read the magazine, leave a comment. Click on the photo to enter the site, then scroll to enjoy. If you’d like to leave a comment, use the Contact Us form at the bottom of the page.

Nummer drei.

(Yes, I actually lived in Germany for a couple years. Pronunciation: Nummer dry. I can order something to eat that isn’t more difficult than, oh, say, “kraut und wurst” which is really kraut and best, and I can order bier. Boy howdy, can I order bier. I can even sing (??) the bier song— In Munchen steht ein Hofbrauhaus hause, eins, zwei, sofa … I may not spell it correctly, but I’ve had bier there.)

I had an email the other day from some web developer wanting to help me improve my business, and FOR ONLY $500.00 a month, he would do it. Second best laugh I’ve had in a while. I was still getting emails from Team Other asking for my money at that time, but when they got up as high as nine per day, they got sent to Junk. After all, I can only take so much humor in these trying times. Of course, I know the actual Team Other isn’t sending any of these out, which makes them funnier, it’s all done electronically.

Numero quatre.

(French. Isn’t Google wonderful? I haven’t a clue how it’s correctly pronounced. Even with my hearing aids I can’t quite hear it. I also don’t have a clue how to get the accent marks in.)

Big Brother is Alive and Well. Well, maybe that should be clarified as Big Computer is Alive and Well. I sent one of Team Other’s emails to a friend, who in turn sent it on to another friend. Now, neither my friend nor I are on Facebook, though I’ve been thinking about rejoining. So, Other Friend is on Facebook, and as soon as she received the forwarded email, she started being inundated by ads from Team Other. I think I’ll continue to stay off Facebook. That was one of the reasons I left, actually, and don’t think I want to go back on.

Numer piec.

(Polish. I think it’s pronounced Numer pee aitsch. It has two accents I can’t load.)

Here’s a photo I took this past spring—21 Apr 20) of two mule deer, I’m guessing a doe and her yearling calf. The ‘beach’ they are on has been underwater for the last couple months. I’m surprised deer live on the island as people walk their dogs there and let them run free. They are supposed to be leashed while on the island, or in the park.

They look pretty hungry, actually. That was the only time I saw them, though one of my neighbors said she’d seen them several times. 

I love my apartment, and the view. It’s truly never the same from day to day. And when the weather is nice, and the boats and kayaks and paddle boards cavort, it changes by the minute.

Helu ‘eono

(Number six in Hawai’ian.)

A bit of nice news. I subscribe to Atlas Obscura, for Curious People. The definitive guide to the world’s hidden wonders. It’s been free since before I found it. I comes daily, with photos and short articles about anything from old gas stations to Dracula’s castle. Then, they started asking for paid subscriptions, one of the benefits being a rate break on the trips they sponsor. Since I have no intention of taking the trips, and since I can’t afford subscribing right now, I was beginning to feel somewhat guilty keeping my subscription going. And then an email came in stating one of the other benefits of a paid subscription is no ads. As long as I use the free subscription, I get ads, a slightly fuller wallet, and a clear conscious to enjoy. I even asked if I was reading it correctly, and they actually responded and said I read it correctly. If you haven’t checked out Atlas Obscura, please do so. It’s great fun. Unless, of course, you have no curiosity. But, if that’s the case, why are you reading this blog?

Now, wasn’t that an interesting post of bits and pieces? Kinder, gentler than the previous ones? And you may even have learned a thing or two. Isn’t that exciting?

Show your love; wear your mask. Show you care for your family, your friends, and your neighbors. Show those nasty old flowers you don’t care for their pollen. And y’all come back next week, same masked time, same masked place. The coffee is always on, the biscotti are home made, and we’ve always got time for a coffee break and a visit. (And, we’ll be socially distanced, so you can remove your mask. 😉

Auntie Lenora

Free, White, and…Apologetic

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“Since culture is intrinsic, it cannot simply be discounted. If it denies and distorts us, then we must change it … “—Eleanor Wilner, Exchange: Meghan O’Rourke, J. Allyn Rosser & Eleanor Wilner on “Women’s Poetry”

Like many of you, dear and Gentle Readers, I grew up with White Privilege before there even was such a term. It was something that was just there, my culture. The ‘N’ word was commonplace in my house, as well as various and sundry other slurs for people who were classified as ‘different’ than us—different color, different religion, different language—it didn’t matter. And it was normal. For me, for my family, to talk like that.

I was fortunate to attend an elementary school where the student body was quite diverse, and I counted as, and socialized with, friends who were Japanese and Chinese, African, Gypsy, and who knows what else. I think attending that school may have helped in the de-education process of my upbringing.

What really de- or re-educated me was the Women’s Army Corps. I had adulted by the time I enlisted (September 1965) and could legally drink and vote in any state in which I lived and was registered. While standing in the chow line and gossiping with fellow Basic Trainees, I made the remark about being ‘free, white, and twenty-one.’ I’d heard it all my life. I grew up saying it. Nobody ever said anything about it, and to be honest, I never thought about it. Well, one of my neighbors put on her hob-nailed (verbal) boots and proceeded to re-educate me. Right then. Right there. 

I have vague recollections of just looking at her as she proceeded to tromp all over me (she was white, by the way), and when she finished, I continued to just look at her for what seemed like a long time, was probably a few seconds. And only her. I’m not sure I was aware of the other few hundred women in line with us. I looked at her and then said, “You’re right. I’ve been saying it forever, and never thought about it. Thank you for explaining.” She was right. It was a racial slur. I was white, neither my ancestors or I were never owned, I was over twenty-one, and could do whatever I wanted. It was a saying that went back to slave days. I don’t think I’ve said it since. But that’s when I began to pay a tad more attention to what I was saying, the unthinking things I learned from my family. Boy Howdy! There were a bunch. That’s not to say it was an overnight re-education, but it was the start, and I’m still working on it. But I’m better. I think.

For those who are curious, I’m around 80% “white” European, 16% “red” Native American, and 3-5% “black” African. In other words, I’m a person of color. Pale and yellow though I may be. I guarantee you; my family would not be happy taking a DNA test in this day and age. And if you stand me next to most Asians, I am actually as “yellow” or more so. (My family was much more “white” than I.) There’s a good possibility there is some Mongolian and or Turkish blood in me, too.

So why am I telling you all this? Because of Eleanor Wilner’s words, “Since culture is intrinsic, it cannot simply be discounted. If it denies and distorts us, then we must change it…” She was speaking about poets and poetry, and I am a poet, but I think she was also speaking about living in a human society. We are products of our upbringing, our culture, our nurturing. But once we’ve adulted, we have a responsibility to re-examine those values with which we were raised, and those that are good, to keep; those that need tweaking or replacing with something better, we need to tweak or replace. It is not enough to say, “I was raised that way” which is tantamount to saying, “I was just following orders” which has repeatedly been struck down through legal channels several times. You can’t change how you were raised, but you can change how you think and act today. You can’t control the external factors around you, but you can control how you react to them. No matter what your age, you can, and perhaps should, learn new tricks.

See, even an old Pelican can learn to dabble like a Canada goose 😉 Fortunately, he’s dabbling for fish; the geese are searching for salad.

I promise, next week’s post won’t be so serious. Honest. Trust me.

Have a great week. Remember to laugh often and loud, learn a new song—try out for a Zoom choir, dance like you’re the sticks on a huge drum, and be sure to stop by again—same goose time, same goose channel. The coffee’s hot, the biscotti are homemade, and we always have time for a short break. Stay safe, stay healthy, and care for and love one another—because one another is all we’ve really got.

Auntie Lenora

(Love Means) You Never Have To Say You’re Sorry

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Do you remember that song? The movie (Love Story) from whence it came? Personally, I found the song a real turn-off and never watched the movie, or read the book, because of that one phrase. To me, Love for another person means being able to say you’re sorry. If you can’t apologize to someone else, someone you love, it means you’re in love— with yourself, not the other person.

Well. I’m apologizing. Or perhaps I’m explaining. Or a bit of both? (Is there a rationale in here?)

There was a tv series that ran from 2005 – 2012 and I don’t think I missed an episode. I truly enjoyed the cast, the stories (well most of them), and the humor. When I moved back to the Tri Cities, I opted to get an antenna v. cable, and lo & behold The Closer  was running on one of the antenna channels. Every day. Two back to back episodes seven days a week. Yeee Haw!

I’m pleased to say, it has held up well. Too well. Watching one episode a week was considerably different than watching two episodes a night, seven nights a week. Perhaps I’ve been sensitized by Black Lives Matter, which I support, but suddenly, what used to be humorous—the small, southern Brenda Leigh Johnson dealing with big bad guys (of any color)—became all too real. Where it had been humorous watching her set the white boy up to get his come-uppance in a Mexican jail for raping and killing a Mexican girl in LA; where it was pure Karma seeing her send the Mexican drug cartel cop to jail under a false name and knowing there was a ‘hit’ out for that name that he paid for; where it was a gotcha moment when she supported the gang-banger in getting his by his brother gang members; well, all of that was violence at the hands of the police. All of it was taking the law—arrest, trial, sentence—into her own hands. 

It wasn’t funny anymore. She became all the Derek Chauvins, by all the names they go by, she was every cop who ever killed an unarmed man, woman, or child whether deliberately or by mistake, or just because he thought he could get away with it. She was the cop who deprived people of their constitutional rights in the name of justice. 

So, I apologize for touting the show for so long as funny. My eyes did not see, my ears did not hear. I no longer think it’s funny. Yes, old fartesses can learn new things. And I thank Black Lives Matter for helping to open my eyes.

I still dislike that song; however, if you’ve never heard it, or can’t remember it, or want to hear it one more time for your weekly Zoom karaoke class, here it is:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=APMHp9sZyME

And here is the Richland, Washington All Gull Choir singing—Big Gulls Don’t Cry. Unfortunately, I was too far away, and my recording wasn’t all that good, so here’s Fergie singing her own rendition. It’s ok, but not as good as the All Gull Choir. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=agrXgrAgQ0U

Have a great week. Remember to laugh often and loud, sing a new song—try out for a Zoom choir, dance like you’re Fred Astaire or Ginger Rogers in a closed rehearsal, and be sure to stop by again—same gull time, same gull channel. The coffee’s hot, the biscotti are homemade, and we always have time for a short break. Stay safe, stay healthy, and care for and love one another—because one another is all we’ve really got.

Did the Dutch Masters Use Code for Porn?

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Years ago, when I was engaged to a gentleman with an art degree from the Chicago School of Art, I learned a lot of interesting things from him, but the one I remember was when we were looking at prints of the old Dutch Masters, and Tim said, “If there’s a dog in the painting, it’s pornography.”

What???

I’ve never been able to find anything on that topic, but I haven’t really searched all that hard, either. It’s too good a story to have it possibly ruined by actual facts. According to what Tim told me, if there was a dog in the painting, it was a lewd painting. The piano instructor really wasn’t instructing the girl how to play the piano, they were in a brothel and he was sizing her up. Such an innocent painting—a girl at the piano, her tutor beside her. But the dog throws it into a different light. Is he staring at her with a lecherous lilt in his eye? Hmmmmm….

Cats didn’t seem to show up as often in paintings as dogs. My theory is, cats could not be controlled by the men/painters, therefore were unworthy to be immortalized. Also, possibly due to the lack of trainability/controllability, cats at some time or other became associated with evil.

Rembrandt did, however, engrave the Holy Family with a Cat in 1654. I was going to swipe the drawing from the web but got to reading about the 5 small thumbnails drawings that accompany it, and decided to include the link, as it’s pretty interesting, and won’t take long for you to read. With the added benefit that I won’t go to jail for copyright infringement.

https://www.everypainterpaintshimself.com/article/rembrandts_holy_family_with_a_cat_1654

I have a pencil once owned by Shakespeare…

Thanks to the cat it’s so chewed up I can’t tell if it’s 2B or not 2B

Is art what it seems? What/Who makes art qualify as ART?

Several years ago, one of our presidents made a remark about not knowing much about art (true), but he knew the difference between Michelangelo and Mapplethorpe (not really). Actually, there was probably more commonality between the two artists than our then president realized. The primary difference being Mapplethorpe had the advantage of a camera. I’ve often wondered how Michelangelo would take to our modern art media should he come back for a visit. Maybe there is something to reincarnation? Maybe he did come back? Maybe Mapplethorpe was Michelangelo reincarnated?

Here is a link to Michelangelo’s David, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rw4w2A64hOA the video is under 2 minutes, if you don’t watch the ad.

And here is a link to Widewalls, and the copyrighted photograph by Robert Mapplethorpe of Dennis with Flowers, 1983. Same basic subject (nude males), different medium. 

https://www.widewalls.ch/magazine/10-nudes-by-robert-mapplethorpe/dennis-with-flowers-1983

Have a great week. Remember to laugh often and loud, sing a new song, dance like you’re four years old and wearing a Wonder Woman costume or Batman cape, and be sure to stop by again—same bat time, same bat channel. The coffee’s hot, the biscotti are homemade, and we always have time for a short break. Stay safe, stay healthy, and care for and love one another—because one another is all we’ve really got.

An epidemiologist, an ICU doctor, and a scientist all walk into a bar.

Just kidding, they know better.

Shaggy Dogs and Other Less Obvious Consequences of Covid19 Lockdown

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Indeed, this virus lockdown has had some strange consequences. While I am all for wearing masks, and social distancing (well, unless that cute guy in apartment…oh, never mind), I can understand the closing of many businesses; however, there are two that leave me a tad flummoxed. 

  1. Hair stylists/barbers. As a whole, the only other people who are as aware of, and practice assiduously cleanliness and sterile procedures, are medical personnel. At least in my state (Washington), salons have extremely high standards of both and are regularly inspected by the authorities. Screw up and lose your license. And if the stylist wears a mask and doesn’t work if s/he has symptoms, and if clients don’t come in if they have symptoms, it should be fairly safe. 
  2. Pet Groomers. Number one, social distancing can be practiced in the salon between groomers, and when pets are brought in and picked up, social distancing can also be practiced between pet parents and groomers. It is very difficult for many people to shampoo their pets, let alone trim nails, etc. People with ‘fur children’ worry about them, especially when nails grow out and become too long. And long nails are painful for the pets.

Yes, I have a shaggy dog. With bear claws for toenails. He has a special rapport with his groomer he does not have with me. He trusts her to bathe him. He doesn’t trust me for that. He doesn’t like to be put in the sink. He doesn’t like to be wet. He hates the rain whether it comes from Grandfather Sky or the sprinklers where we live. Water, in his opinion, belongs in his bowl and no where else. Especially not on him! 

This is not a shaggy dog. It’s a pelican and a common merganser duck going through a Bad Feather Day. The wind is blowing, and their feathers are ruffled. The temperature, even without wind chill, was below freezing that day.

And if all that isn’t enough to make an old fartess cry, there was a spate of dead crows on I-90 the other day. This old fartess likes crows. A lot. The folks at the Washington State Department of Transportation (WSDOT) became concerned as there were over 450 dead crows in a short space of freeway outside of Ellensburg. Were they poisoned? Had they contracted Covid 19? They collected 450 crow carcasses and took them to the Washington State University Veterinary School for testing. It was determined that 98% of the crows had died by colliding with trucks. Did they not have their usual look-out crow? Some students and a professor went to the area where the crows were collected and after watching more collisions realized that the crows had, indeed posted their look-out crows to call out impending danger. Unfortunately, when the trucks came barreling down the freeway, the lookout crows called out, “Cah, cah.” Not one called out “Truck, truck.”

Hey, if I gotta live with a shaggy dog, so, dammit, do you! Actually, I’m in dire need of a few good shaggy dog stories, please, please, if you have any to spare, send them to me, send them to me, send them to me now. Use the Contact form.

Have a great week. Remember to laugh often and loud, sing a little, dance like you’re four years old and wearing a Batman cape, and be sure to stop by again—same bat time, same bat channel. The coffee’s hot, the biscotti are homemade, and we always have time for a short break. Stay safe, stay healthy, and care for and love one another—because one another is all we’ve really got.

Auntie Lenora

postscripts:

Apologies to Judy Carne for mutilating her line.

Feel free to let me know in the comment section if this was a one-groaner up to a five-groaner shaggy dog story. 

Real Men Wear Masks

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For those who would rather listen than read–

Recorded in the key of snark

I read an article the other day that had me in snickers for a while, and then I got angry, and then I thought to myself, Self, this is worth writing a post about. So here ya go.

Monica Hesse wrote a Perspective piece for the Washington Post which may be paywalled, so I found it via another source and will share that link here.

At first I was dumbfounded, gobsmacked if you prefer, that men actually think wearing a mask makes them less masculine. That was the giggle part. Apparently, it doesn’t take more than a small piece of fabric tied over their faces to emasculate them. Then I got to thinking about life as I’ve lived it, and life as I know it and I got angry.

Now, I’m speaking in generalities, so please don’t get your knickers in a knot, unless the shoe fits, in which case wear the damn shoe and untie your knickers! But for too many years male privilege has been to blame the woman/victim—for anything they don’t want to accept responsibility for. She was raped? Why did she dress that way? Show her hair? Her ankle? Lock her up, save male virtue from itself because the men can’t control it, so they must control her.

Wear a mask? Hey! Real men aren’t afraid of no stinkin’ little virus. YOU wear the damn mask. Remember, the Lone Ranger wore a mask. True, it covered his eyes, not his mouth, but it was a mask. Cowboys wore and wear masks, ie, bandanas, over the lower part of their face. Useful for keeping out dust (and possibly Covid 19) and when they weren’t paid, for robbing the local bank or cattle baron. 

But, but, do they not understand that the mask does not protect the wearer, it protects the other person? Men don’t wear masks because their wife/mother/children/significant others/parents do, so why should they worry? 

I’ll agree, masks aren’t sexy, they chafe, they’re hot, they aren’t really comfortable, but they are a lot less uncomfortable than Covid 19. And public safety should be worth something more than a fragile ego.

And if a mask, a mall piece of fabric, makes a male feel somehow emasculated, I remind him (and you) of the late Eleanor Roosevelt who said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” Substitute the word ‘inferior’ with whatever you need. Making men feel manly in a mask is the man’s problem, and the man’s responsibility to overcome, it is a public-health issue. Period. Punkt! Full stop. Roll credits. Man up!

Many men really do have a problem accepting responsibility for their own actions. That’s why they try to turn women into mommies, so mommy can take the responsibility, kiss it, and make it all better. If your man doesn’t wear a mask, find a new man. One who will wear a mask and show you and the world that he cares for you and your children, that he cares for his neighbors, that he cares. Period. 

Now, I admit, I’m not a fan of Dick Cheney, never have been, but I’m open to changing that fanship, at least in this case. #RealMenWearMasks. Yeeeee-haw! Ride ‘em cowboy! Way to go Mr. Vice President!

Dick Cheney, swiped from Liz Cheney’s tweet

And to all of ‘my’ men who care enough about me, their spouses, the public, and who know what a Real Man is and wear those freaking masks, THANK YOU!!! Any man who doesn’t feel the need to bully others into agreeing with him; any man who when he makes a mistake is willing to admit it, say he’s sorry, and do what he can to rectify the situation; any man who isn’t intimidated by a wee bit of fabric over his nose and mouth; any man who can make me laugh—even Dick Cheney—is a real man and one of ‘my’ men!

Auntie Lenora

Dancing While on Lockdown

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My friend Nonie sent this video to me a month or two ago and I watch it frequently. The dancers are good, but the audience at the end cracks me up each time I watch. We all need something to bring us cheer and happiness, laughs and giggles. So here. Laugh. Giggle. Join the dance. It’s less than a minute long. Indulge! Save it to your desktop and indulge often. It’s necessary. Honest. Trust me.

And I’m still getting emails, about five a day, from Team Other (formally known as Team Opposition). Oh. Em. Gee. They are better than getting a joke a day. Of course, I also get emails that are almost the same from Team Us, so I can’t complain about the one and not the other. Somehow, the ones from Team Other are funny, and Team Us emails are just annoying. Perhaps it’s my warped sense of humor?

The little House Finch outside my patio could care less how many emails I get from anyone, or even if I get any. All he (females are drab, males have color) cares about are the seeds he’s busily harvesting.

My new computer is here, is up, and is working. I wasn’t sure how to get all the stuff from my old computer to my new one; but figured a good place to start would be to use the Quick Start guide that always comes with new computers. Bwahahahaha! Tweren’t none! They assumed (silly Apple people) that if I was smart enough to buy an iMac, I was smart enough to plug it in and turn it on. Eventually, I figured that out. Then there were two pictures that kept alternating. One of the keyboard; the other the mouse. Eventually I realized there is a wee teensy on-off switch and I had to turn them on. Sigh. From there it was relatively painless. Did I have another Mac? Yes. Did I have data I wished to transfer from it to the new one? Oh, yes. Well, then, do this, this, and go have a cuppa. Voila! If directions are there, I’m pretty good at following them ;-). Sometimes. Especially if they are in words. English words.

I do have suggestions for Apple, not that they’re overly excited to reach out to me, or read the emails I’ve sent — 

  1. While the keyboard is stylish, and cute, I can’t use it. Make it so it breaks in half and can be tented (think Gold Touch) and add a ‘right’ delete button as well as a ‘left’ delete button, I would be much happier with it. I tried using the new keyboard and my carpal tunnel started acting up again. The oh-so-stylish magic mouse has also been swapped out for my ‘tower’ mouse. Same reason: tunneling carpals.
  2. ALL the slots for peripherals are in the back, at the bottom. Nothing remains on the side. There are nonApple after-market ‘hubs’ one can buy and fasten to the front or bottom of the iMac for most of the slots, or one that the iMac can stand on, adding an inch or so to the height, that handles jacks, and everything else. Still, when one pays what they pay for a computer, I think one should get a couple of ‘easy’ fixes for free. Especially when I’m the one forking over my retirement check!
  3. They could also preload it with a no-charge commercial-free game of solitaire! 

So, now I have my new one working away, and I hope to get back to podcast recording soon. I really want to go live before the end of June.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date to go dancing. Harharharhar….!!!

Have a great week. Remember to laugh, sing a little, dance like no one is watching and be sure to stop by again—same bat time, same bat channel. The coffee will be made, the biscotti are homemade, and we always have time for a short break. Stay safe, stay healthy, care for, and love one another—because one another is all we’ve really got.

Auntie Lenora

Surveys and the People Who Send Them

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I know, I promised to try not to talk politics, but this was just too funny not to talk about. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima grande.

I received one of the best chuckles ever the other morning when I opened up my email and discovered I had joined “Team Opposition.”

The day before, as I read an article online, an ad appeared wanting to know if I approved/disapproved/or was unsure of a certain politician. I clicked Disapproved. Of course, in order for my vote to count, and they assured me it was veryimportant, and they would welcome my input, yadda yadda yadda, I had to add my email. (I know how to block emails so wasn’t too concerned) and submitted. To be honest, I was surprised they didn’t ask me for money, but then I figured since I disapproved, the algorithms of their site would realize I wouldn’t donate.

The next morning, I received a great email welcoming me to “Team Opposition.” That said Politician is counting on me, and to please add my cell number to the list so I can get said Politician’s PERSONALLY sent updates, etc. Oddly, the home team still didn’t ask for money. And I didn’t volunteer my number.

I hate that they are counting me as part of their team, because I’m not, but then, it may skew their numbers a wee bit if enough of us ‘join’ the team. But they’re good for a laugh. Okay, a chuckle, now and then.

I also really hate all those online and emailed surveys where they try to assure me how important my opinion is, but all they really want is my money. They obviously don’t read their surveys, they merely glean emails, and figure if you responded, you’re on their team. Not!

Sometimes, I think Britain has the right idea. No campaigning until six weeks before the election! Actually, it isn’t sometimes I think this, it’s most every day, every hour I think of politics, I think of this. Think how much real work would get done if we weren’t so immersed in party politics day in and day out. 

A duck swimming in a body of water Description automatically generated

A Pelican Pollster dabbling for important input and greenbacks. Lotsa Greenbacks.

Addendum: A couple days later, I received another one question poll, I answered and was immediately sent to the website. The poor, pitiful, politician looks like he’s going to bawl, and now he really wants my money (I knew he did!), but I’m not donating. Well, not to him, anyway. As I started to close the link, a note popped up telling me I wasn’t through yet, I hadn’t donated any money. Computers are getting too darned smart.

A swan swimming in a body of water Description automatically generated

This is not a Politician. She’s a Pelican. And she’s cold (picture was taken in January 2020). She doesn’t really know about, or care about, Politicians of any ilk. She’s far more interested in finding lunch. She should be interested in politics, as Politicians control whether or not she will have lunch available to find in years to come. And I have no idea of the maleness or femaleness of said bird. I figure it’s only important that the bird knows!

In the meantime…

Are you a poet? Do you like poetry? Do you miss Open Mics? If you answered at least 2 out of 3 of those questions with a Yes, check out Rattle.com.  They are now hosting a dedicated weekly open mic show in addition to their usual livestreamed Rattlecast episodes. This week’s open mic will broadcast live on Sunday at Noon ET /9am PT at https://youtu.be/Zu4b9Hm1r1Y

If you’re interested in sharing a poem that relates directly to current events, published or not, you can join in by Skype (rattlepoetry) or the regular phone. Just contact Tim (Tim Green, Editor, Rattle) either of those ways during the show, and he’ll call back as many people as he can. Details are in the notes on the YouTube page, and he gives out the phone number during the broadcast, but it’s 818-850-7727—and while you’re there, please do click that “subscribe” button. I haven’t joined in yet, but I did take a couple minutes to lurk this past Sunday and plan on participating next week. 

It’s worth marking and remembering, and also worth remembering my favorite quote about poets from the late Robert A. Heinlein, “A poet who reads his verse in public may have other nasty habits.” Oh, yeah….;-)

Hmmm, maybe the pelican pollster is really a pelican poet looking for an open mic??? Do fish write poetry and have open mics??

Have a great week. Remember to laugh, sing a little, dance like no one is watching and be sure to stop by again—same bat time, same bat channel. The coffee will be made, the biscotti are homemade, and we always have time for a short break. Stay safe, stay healthy, and care for and love one another—because one another is all we’ve really got.

Auntie Lenora

What the World Needs Now…

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Oh, this is soooo exciting. Well, to me, at least. I decided to upgrade my free blogsite, and buy a real site, so you have yet one more URL to deal with, but this is it. Honest. Trust me. With many thanks to my friend Barbara, who built the site for me. https://coffeebreakescapes.com is now up and running. She wasn’t able to move the subscriptions from the last blog over to this new URL, so I’d really appreciate you subscribing one more time and following me around on the web. With all the social distancing of the moment, it’s the closest I can get to an in-person hug. And I like hugs. You’ll find this site is new, improved, different, and built by someone who knows what she’s doing—my friend, Barbara. Alas, it’s still the same old me. 

Like my previous blogs, I’ll be discussing a bit of this and a tad of that, and sharing some of my photos, and perchance some of my writings. Now and then something from the news. I’ll keep you up to date on the Podcasts, which I know you’re interested in. I’m hoping to have a Grand Launch Party by the end of the month. You’re all invited. 

Speaking of photos—the blue background visible on a full-screen computer if not your phone, is of the Columbia River taken on one of my walks. The header—flying bird—is a pelican, gliding over the Yakima river where it joins the Columbia. Living on the Columbia I have opportunities to take pictures both from my walks along the river, and from my patio. My apartment looks out on Bateman Island Wildlife Refuge, and earlier this spring, I saw a gossip session out on the flooded sand bar. Photo taken from my patio using a telephoto lens.

Gossip Session
Canada goose, Great Blue Heron, four American White Pelicans
The hump on the pelican indicates it’s breeding season. Both male and female develop them then shed them by the end of the breeding season.

A couple of people have asked why I’m using ‘Auntie’ Lenora in my blog and podcasts. Auntie is a term used to refer to elders by Indigenous cultures (world-wide, actually) whether related or not, and I am after all, part Catawba and African. Though I am an Auntie to several adorable nieces and nephews, now I can be Auntie to you, too, if you’re in the market for a new auntie. Of course, if you don’t want a new auntie, we can be friends. Yes, I’m admitting to being an elder by using the term, but it doesn’t make me feel as old as I probably am and should embrace.

I have spent the last week enjoying an ear worm. (Is that the right phrase? I know it isn’t a Ceti Eel!) At any rate, because of the situation in the outside world, I’ve had a song going through my head, and I don’t mind. Really. In fact, I’m going to share it. It’s from the ‘60s, by Burt Bacharach and there are several recordings of it on YouTube, and I like them all. Here is Jackie DeShannon singing What the World Needs Now Is Love. If you don’t remember it, give a listen. If you’ve never heard it, give a listen. Check out the lyrics and see if you don’t agree with me.

Have a great week. Remember to laugh, sing a little, dance like no one is watching and be sure to stop by again. Same bat time, same bat channel. The coffee will be made, the biscotti are homemade, and we always have time for a short break. Remember to stay safe, stay healthy, and to care for and love one another—because one another is all we’ve really got.