Weather in the Tries. Gonna be more hot than not. But the nights will cool some. Mostly in the mid-high 80s with a couple forays into the 90s. The nights will be, mostly, mid 50s with a couple forays into the 60s. I think it’s summer, yes?
Funny thing, this thing called grief. It’s been almost two weeks since Thomas died. I’ve lost people I’ve loved before him—parents, friends. I’m a reader, ya know? Except for reading War Dances, by Sherman Alexie, to Thomas I haven’t read a book in weeks, probably months. I can’t concentrate long enough to hold the plot in my wee tiny brain. I watch the news. I don’t have to pay attention, it’s just there.
I’ll try to get a review written and posted about War Dances, but in the meantime, get thee to a bookstore and get a copy. It’s a collection of very well written stories (fiction) and poetry. Highly recommend the book.
Housemate Dan woke me the other morning at the ungodly hour of 6am to inform me he’d called 9-1-1 to take him to the hospital. I brought him home after about 3 days. I don’t hurt, but I don’t not hurt. Does that make sense?
For years, I ended every night with a text to Thomas. Every morning was an email and as he lost the ability to easily read them, texts, and then texts to both Thomas and Sheryl so she could read them to him. Of course, when I was there, I didn’t do either. But I’m home now, and it feels very, very odd not to be able to text/email him. It’s hard trying to sleep when my routine is upset. I would read a bit, then send him a text. Now I’m not reading, nor sending him a text.
I think I’m mostly through with the crying, but I find myself sitting and staring at nothing. It turns out the meds I’m on for my neuropathy is also known as Elavil—an anti-depressant. Which explains why I put on wait since starting them. Today, I’ll start looking for a support group for hospice caregivers.
I learned a long time ago that when something happens and you grieve, GRIEVE. If you put it off, for whatever reason, Grief will wait in the back room of your brain/heart for a while. And when you think you got away without grieving, it strikes, at the most inopportune time. So I’m grieving. But it’s different than any I’ve gone through before. I’m not crying so much, but I’m sitting and staring. At something. Sammy must remind me to feed him and to take him for a walk. But he’s great at snuggling and letting me know I may be a bit absent minded, but I’m still his Person of Choice 😉
I did find one thing to read, that was pretty interesting. The full 49-page Indictment of the OP. I won’t ‘fess up to the amount of time it took to read it, how often I started over, etc. IF you haven’t read it, I strongly urge you to read it. It’s written in English instead of Legalese, and is pretty interesting, no matter which side of the aisle you prefer.
As grieving as I am, I’m still laughing. It’s weird, really. So feel free to send me jokes and funny things.
I took this shot of Thomas last August.
And this is wy I don’t dust. It could be Thomas. Or Tashiko. Or Mom or Daddy. Or…
Having yourself a great week, and I’ll see you next Monday, same Bat Time, same Bat Channel.
This was scheduled to go out a tad after midnight, and this morning my computer tells me the schedule was missed. Probably a good thing. I had a typo in the paragraph above that I missed in the proof cycle. I wished everyone a “…great wee,..” and though I wish you all that, too, I really am wishing you a great week. sigh.
In Memoriam Thomas Leo “Walks Easy” Hubbard 15 June 1938 — 30 May 2023 Aho!
I came home Thursday after having the great honor to be with my EBOC (elder brother of choice) the last weeks and months of his life. We had a lot in common, we are both part Native American, though neither of us is registered with our Tribe. We both have Native names, Thomas Walks Easy and Lenora Rain Dancing Feet—we both took our names, they hold great meaning for both of us, but no Tribe bestowed them. We are both writers, he was a musician and I’m a listener. We are both artistic—he sketched people, made cartoons, was a silver-smith—I love silver jewelry, I quilt, I sometimes paint, I take way too many photos. He was very generous with his help, advice, his being.
Thomas was diagnosed with ALS about the time we met each other, five or so years ago. It takes a lot of energy to die, and we decided to become siblings of choice rather than enter into a romantic relationship. That’s not to say we didn’t love each other, but it was a sibling sort of love. And it was an honor to be with him, and his partner, Sheryl.
And, of course, because he’s my brother, I agreed to be his Literary Executrix. When I’m through crying, I’ll get to work. He’s got lots of stuff to print, sort, submit, etc.
I’m of the idea that the more we love, the more we hurt. There are a lot of people out there hurting now, who truly loved that man.
If you, or someone you know and love is facing the end of life, I heartily recommend your local Hospice. They were so good not just to Thomas, but to his caregivers, too. He was able to stay in his home until the end, and did not have to go into a new and different space, with new and strange people.
He spent the last several months wearing either nightshirts or tee’s with the back sliced up to the neckband so he was comfortable, but we were able to get him dressed for his last day, and we turned his bed so he could see the back yard without having to turn his head. His caregiver, Mikeshia, got him dressed in his favorite “pineapple” shirt and a pair of slacks.
This is Sheryl, sharing something humorous with Thomas. Probably many of the comments from his last Facebook post that morning. By bedtime Tuesday, I believe Sheryl told me there were over 70 comments in response.
These are “Bonus Sons,”–Sheryl’s two boys, who brought a very good bottle of Rye for us to toast the successful downing of the pre-meds (anti-nausea and tranquilizer). We told stories, shared many laughs, for the intervening hour before the final meds. Sheryl is sitting the chair, and Keshia is standing in the background.
And here he is sporting his pineapple shirt and drinking his toast of rye. He couldn’t lift his hands to hold a drink, so he had to drink everything through a straw–coffee, water, juice, beer, wine, soda, Rye.
I put my phone on the pillow next to his head, and this is the view he had. The bouquet of wildflowers on the right was from one of his great friends, Anna, and the roses from one of his caregivers, Kini. On the table is the bottle of Rye, and a few of his coffeehouse napkin drawings.
Keshia, his primary caregiver. He had three, not counting Sheryl and me–Keshia, Kini, and Abike. They were all super, and so caring and patient (and not just with Thomas, but also with me!) and loving.
These are more of his napkin art. The bottle of Rye on the left, and a quilt I made and gave Thomas shortly after we met. And I just received this from one of his friends: “Half the sketches Thomas drew in his later years were studies of himself. In moods of mild pleasure, curiosity, anger, bafflement. He wasn’t a moody sort, and didn’t use a mirror, or catch his reflection in the coffee shop window, didn’t need either one. The inner reflection of the felt life got to be plenty by then.” –Paul Hunter
Sheryl took this picture of Thomas, with me in the corner. I held his left hand after he took the final meds, and stroked his arm until the end. They say that people in a coma can hear others speak, so I thought maybe he would feel the human warmth of touch as he walked that final path, and know he was not alone for the whole journey.
After he died, we all went out and cut a flower from Sheryl’s Garden to place on him. When the guys from the Funeral home came, they left the blanket, but took the flowers, and instead of putting him in a black body bag for our last goodbye, they covered him in a soft blue and white quilt.
And here I am surrounded by Keshia and Sheryl. They helped me pack up Big Red, and I came home.
Thomas said he wanted to die when he finished the first draft of his memoir. And that’s what he did. As Frank Sinatra sang, he did it his way. He gave away all his belongings, his woulda’s, coulda’s, shoulda’s, art, everything at 2:55 Tuesday afternoon. He gave away all the pains and hurts and frustrations at 2:55 Tuesday afternoon. He gave away his memoir, to me, to finish with Sheryl’s help.
I am especially thankful that we have Death with Dignity in our state. I know not everyone wants to take advantage of it, and they don’t need to do so, but Thomas was so tired of the constant pain, of being totally dependent on someone else—ear itch? call someone to scratch it. Nose itch? back itch? Want a sip of coffee? Call someone to hold it for you. Eat? Yeah. His legs were useless, his arms were useless, the muscles of his core were gone, so were his back and neck muscles (do you have any idea how much a head weighs when it’s full of skull, brain, words, etc.?) If he needed to type, he had to dictate, and his facial muscles were beginning to go, and the computer didn’t always understand him, and then he’d get frustrated. It’s good the computer didn’t understand what he was saying as he yelled at it.
MedPage Today has an interesting article—Dying With Dignity: A Look at the Advantages of the Medicare Hospice Benefit—the program is both cost-effective and compassionate. I strongly suggest you read it if you have any questions about Death With Dignity.
Thank you for your patience with your Old Auntie, while she was gone. It’s good to be home, though there is more than a little pain involved. One of the super nice, wonderful things, is some time ago, my Ol’ Same gifted me with some very nice soap and a travel tin. I used them both on this trip. Thank you, Ol’ Same. You and your gift brought many smiles.
Somehow, one of Thomas’s tee shirts ended up in my suitcase. It’s bright red, short sleeved, and has a pocket. I’m told he loved this shirt and liked to wear it on Tuesdays (the day he died). No one has confessed they put it in my suitcase, but I’ve worn it all day for a couple of days. Like having a Thomas Hug all day long. Maybe his ghost put it there?
Walk Easy, my brother. Sing and dance live and laugh, run and play now that you can, with our Ancestors. Walk Easy, my beloved elder brother.
Only one day in the 80s this coming week. The rest are in the 70s, and the lows are dropping to 43, with most in mid 40s and two at 50. The sun will be shining every day, though Friday will be partly cloudy. Or partly sunny, depending on how you like it.
One Podcast Two Conversations
I seldom listen to podcasts or books on tape, but come December, when I join the gym and will be doing a lot of walking on the treadmill, I think I’ll learn to like them. At any rate, my Cousin sent an email some time ago, asking me what my thoughts were on language and thinking. Specifically, I believe he asked if I thought our thinking was limited by language. I didn’t really have a clue. Although I know people who speak more than one language think about a lot of things differently that I, a one language person, think. So my simplistic answer was yes, I think our language limits our thinking.
Anyhow, Cousin sent me this podcast, one of the series by Hidden Brain. The first was a little longer than the second. Lera Boroditsky is the a cognitive scientist and studies how the structure of the languages we speak can change the way we see the world. The second conversation is with linguist and author John McWhorter, who shares how languages evolve, and why we’re sometimes resistant to those changes.
I read Fifty Words for Rain by Asha Lemmie. I was feeling a deep sadness, not sure why, but decided to use it to spend a lazy day and read. I read the book in one day. I’ll try to get the review up in the next day or two, I’m still not sure how I think about it. It’s a tragedy that would due the Bard proud, I think, but I couldn’t put it down. I kept hoping for the HEA, but it didn’t come. I do hope there is a sequel, that closes some of the open doors, but not sure I can buy and read it. If you’re the king of person who can feel better reading about other people’s problems that are worse than yours, you’ll love it. That ain’t me, Babe, no, no, no, that ain’t me. Babe. (HEA Happy Ever After)
Love and Honor came yesterday, and I just watched it again. I am so happy to now have the entire samurai trilogy. Alas, I haven’t watched any more episodes of The Extraordinary Attorney Woo. I hope to get back to it this week. But, in my defense, I have worked on a couple of poems and have started a short story. I’m trying to keep it under 1000 words, but I may have to up it to something like 2500.
So there it is, my week. Incredible sadness for no known reason, and incredible joy at my new movie. The joy always wins so this nothing to worry about. How can I stay sad when I’ve got this adorable dog to keep me smiling?
Sammy wishes you a great week, and one without those terrible awful Zombie leaves that charge over the parking lot and sidewalks looking for dog brains to eat. Ewwww. Who’d want to eat dog brains? And I wish you a fantastically wonderful week where you accomplish everything you want to accomplish, go to bed every night with a smile on your face, and wake every morning with the same.
Any day you wake and are looking down at the grass is a good day!
Weather in the Tries: Mostly sunny days, one day up to 86, the lowest to 75. Nights will be high 40s to low 50s. More sunny days than cloudy ones. Now, I ask you, can it get any better?
Healthing.
As many of you know, I have neuropathy in my feet and legs. Primarily in my feets. Finally found a wonder drug that helps, and I seldom have a problem any more. With the neuropathy. But, for the past few years when walking I would more often that really appreciated, have my right leg feel like it was being filled with molten lava. The leg first felt tight, like it was swelling (it wasn’t) and then the lava came. Made for shorter walks. I’d make it home, grab a book, get more or less horizontal with my foot up, and I’d be fine. Usually about that fast.
The podiatrist said it was a nerve issue and if it got too bad, he’d send me to a neurologist or orthopedic surgeon and whichever I chose would probably send me to physical therapy first then talk about surgery. On my spine? Uh, I don’t think so. So, I thought about it, and had an appointment with my regular doctor, and told her what the other doctor said, and she said she’d send me to PT. I think I appreciate it. I tell Housemate I am dying. He says no, I am healthing. What does he know? My quads feel like they’ve been made out of jello. Lime jello at that, and everybody knows I hate lime jello. My knees feel like they’re made of lemon-lime jello. Barely a half step better than lime jello.
The PT has me doing exercises. I’m doing them. Most of them. Being an almost octogenarian and trying to do exercises is not as easy as it used to be! However, they must be doing some good, as yesterday when I got the mail, there was a package in our box for a neighbor on the 2d floor of a different building. Sammy and I took it upstairs. Sammy had NO problem with the stairs (he’s considerably younger than I am, and has four legs), and I had far less problem than usual! But when I got down on the floor a bit ago to do one of the exercises, I could not get up. Blessings upon Housemate! He got behind me and lifted me. This healthing is somewhat painful, and a lot of hard work but if I can get built up to walking long distances in a year, I’ll consider it worth the while. But it is asking a heck of a lot from an old lady.
(And, yes, I know where to find sympathy—in the dictionary between sh*t and syphilis!)
Photos of the Week:
Like I had energy to walk the dog AND take pictures? OK, here’s a couple from days gone by. The yellow flower is a Prickly Pear I took on the side of a road back in 2007 when Kay and I toured the country, and the other is fog on the Columbia River.
Watched four movies this week. Ashes of Time Redux, Lars and the Real Girl, Twilight Samurai, and The Hidden Blade. If anyone knows where I can buy (for a reasonable amount) a copy of Love and Honor, the third in the Samurai movies by Yoji Yamada, please let me know.
My good friend Dixie recommended a K-Drama series she thought I might like, The Extraordinary Attorney Woo. She has a photographic memory and knows how to use it. She has some other issues, to. She is the first autistic person appointed to the Bar and, admittedly, I know very little about autism, so don’t know if she’s playing it “correctly” or not but I’m enjoying it tremendously. Thank you, GF Dixie 😉
I think LA Law was the first time they actually had an actor with Down’s Syndrome play a character with DS, and his girlfriend also had DS, and I believe she, too, had DS in real life. I don’t think the star of Attorney Woo is autistic, but she’s doing a good job, I think, of portraying it. What I like is the fact that this is the third K-Drama I’ve seen where one of the main characters is somewhere on the spectrum, and they are a part of the ‘real world’ and not portrayed as undesirable, or unwanted, or victims needing rescue.
And that’s it for this week. No Earworm, no Quotes.
However, I truly wish to tell you about a new way to eat ice cream. Put ice cream in the bowl. Add chocolate sauce. Still with me? Okay, next grab your jar of Chili Crisp (Housemate and I like Fly By Jing), stir with a fork, and take a fork full of the crisp and dribble on the chocolate sauce. Oh, yummmmmmm.
Have a great week. If you can’t stay out of trouble, for heaven’s sake, don’t get caught! And don’t forget to find out where your nearest Middle Eastern bakery is, and give them some of your business. And if you want some cookies that aren’t all that sweet, try the sesame cookies or the date biscuits. Yummmmm. Every country has their own styles, and I think it’s safe to say that every area/city/town has their own way of baking and cooking, too.
Oh, my goodness gracious. We’re headed back to triple digits Today and Tues, then 99 to 97 for the rest of the week. Can you spell H-O-T? But I can’t complain–for a couple of reasons: 1. nobody cares and 2. it’s my choice to live here 😉
I read this article the other day and it got me to thinking, again, of an old idea of mine.
We have nine, possibly ten (one source says the US Merchant Marine is, another says not. Who knows? Above my pay grade) uniformed services in the US. The Army, Navy, Marines, Air Force, Coast Guard, Space Force, and National Guard under the Department of Defense. The US Public Health Service Commissioned Corps, the NASA Commissioned Officer Corps, and, I think, the US Merchant Marine. Remember that the next time you attend trivia night at your local watering hole. But don’t bet money on the Merchant Marines. They may well not be considered part of the Uniformed Services. Things change; I’m old.
I understand why we no longer have the draft, and I agree. However, I’ve long thought all citizens should put some time in for their country—”ask not what your country can do for you—ask, what you can do for your country.” From President John Fitzgerald Kennedy’s Inaugural Address, January 20, 1961 (it’s a short address, give it a read through).
Are you a pacifist, who would rather die than fight, great! No, seriously, great. It’s easier to fight than turn the other cheek. There are jobs for you, too. When I was stationed in Germany during the Viet Nam era, I worked with several young men who were registered Conscientious Objectors. They were all Medics. And some of the bravest young men I’ve ever had the honor of meeting. You can still do something for your country—save lives. I’d like to see the Public Health Service expanded so those who have reasons to not join the military can still put their time in for their country at the same pay scale and rank structure as the military.
Also, while in Germany, I learned that in the French Army (at that time, who knows what they do now) there was no such thing as a “4F” classification. If a young man wasn’t able to do anything but sit on a stool in the kitchen and peel potatoes for two years, then he sat on a stool in the kitchen and peeled potatoes for two years to help feed the rest of the troops. Got bone spurs on your feet? Sit on that stool and peel spuds!
Would I like to see the draft reinstated? No. Well, I don’t think so, and yet… I would like to see something like the draft, but not as we used to have it. (Figuring that one out is also above my pay grade.) I think everyone should put in a minimum of two years for their country. Don’t want to join the military or the Merchant Marine? Join the Public Health Service. If you qualify for a commission, such as a RN, MD, DDS, etc., good on you. If you don’t qualify for that, go in as ‘enlisted’ and become a medic, technician, etc. Go where sent and expect to be sent to areas where there are few if any medical personnel. Help in ORs and ERs, inner cities and rural. While we’re at it, let’s set up some “free” college programs, payback in time. Four-year RN degree? Five years of service in Public Health afterward. (I think that’s the pay-back required of the military academies but won’t swear to that one.)
A final quote from the same inaugural speech by President Kennedy:
“If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich.” Maybe a few of our so-called politicians should read and cogitage this, eh?
Another article just came across my screen from MedPageToday that says Americans Have No Right to Healthcare—It’s high time we change that. Indeed, it is! Click here for the article. It’s not long, and is in readable English, not Medicalese. And if you think Americans are entitled to health care as a right, contact your congresspeople, and if they disagree with you, vote the suckers out in November.
Photos of the Week:
Our apartments buildings each have a large, open entry with individual doors off the large hall. Housemate and I came home the other afternoon and these 6 ducks came out of our entry. I have no idea what they were doing, but they looked guilty as sin! Yes, there are 6 ducks, the first one is black and almost at the water. He looks more like a shadow than a duck.I think this is a Muscovy duck, she’s really quite dark, almost black with a striking white head with red eye patch. Anyhow, she’s sitting on a nest. I haven’t seen how many eggs are in it, but I’m concerned that the babies won’t be big enough to fly south this winter. Perhaps the hoax, aka climate change, has her biological clock mucked up?
Books: Remember, if I finish a book, I review and post it to http://lenoragood.blogspot.com.
I’m in a fiction kinda mind these days. Am reading Six Gun Tarot, the first in a series by R. S. Belcher. Not sure how to classify it—cowboy noir fantasy weird twisted? It starts off in 1869 in Golgotha, Nevada. A friend gave me a bundle of ebooks, and book four of the series was in it. I started the book, and decided I wanted to read the series in order. I don’t usually have a problem coming into the middle of a series, and didn’t have a problem with this one, but the universe was enough different, I wanted in at the beginning, Six Gun Tarot. I’m about 1/3 of the way through and thoroughly enjoying it. So far it gets a strong recommendation. Here is an excerpt from GraphicAudio.
Earworm: some of JFKs likes in modern music taken from Return to Camelot
“The ignorance of one voter in a democracy impairs the security of all.” – John F. Kennedy
“Do not pray for easy lives, pray to be stronger men.” – John F. Kennedy
“The greater our knowledge increases the more our ignorance unfolds.” – John F. Kennedy
Sammy Brave Dog says he isn’t too sure of my likes in music. I found an hour plus concert of The HU. Sammy says he’s really glad I wear my new head set so he doesn’t have to listen. I think Housemate is probably happy I have new headset, too. It’s a gamer’s headset, and really pretty good but I can’t move the mic and when I talk on it, I can’t hear myself speak. It’s a weird sensation, but people at the other end of the phone or zoom meeting have no problem, so I guess I am talking 😉 Oh, and on the front of each ear piece is a long thread light that changes colors and reflects on the outer edge of my glasses lenses. Kinda neat. My new mouse also has a light, but it doesn’t change colors and is nice to find it in a hurry. (It sits on a pull out keyboard drawer in a shadow.)
A lot of people worry about eating the “wrong” food. Well-funded campaigns have spent years convincing you that some foods are good, some are bad, and some are downright evil.
It doesn’t have to be that way. Relax and Enjoy Your Food uses science and a little common sense to take away all that anxiety, and save you some money to boot. Once you let go of some ideas, it all gets simpler. There are no superfoods, no junk foods, and there aren’t even any health foods. There is just food, all of which provides some combination of the same seven basic things that all food does. That’s why the most specific advice you can get is to eat a variety of foods, mostly plants, not too much or too little. That’s it.
The diet and wellness industries, along with the supplement industry, have deep pockets and ill intent. Their primary victims are women, but everybody gets caught up in their web. After reading this book you’ll be able to leave all that behind, eat a healthy diet, even reach and maintain a healthy weight. In short, you’ll be able to relax and enjoy your food.
As of 26 Sep 20, 204,499 Americans have died from Covid19. At 5 seconds to intone each name, and maybe ring a bell, it would take 11 days, 20 hours, 1 minute, 35 seconds to read and tally our loss. At least half would still be alive if people cared about their neighbors and wore masks and the CDC had not been politicized.
…Ruth Bader Ginsburg (aka the Notorious RBG) has died. Age, 87. You all know that. I was too upset to write anything last week, so I’ll write it now, a week after her death. She was, truly, all those things, and she will be sorely missed. Her death may, at this time, bring about the beginning of the end of our country as we know it.
This is an opinion piece. But, what the heck, it’s my blog, so I can write my opinion. (You may counter in the comment section.)
It didn’t take long for the Unholy Swamp Triune to come out and say that they don’t give a rat’s hind end what the American people want, they’re hell-bent-for-leather to name and confirm, a new Supreme before the election. And she’s going to be a “Right to Lifer.” Rules and precedent be damned! Almost three out of four Americans support a woman’s right to control her body. They Unholy Ones don’t. They want to go back in time to the wonderful fiction of Father Knows Best that only existed on television, not in actuality.
And therein lies my angst. Oh, not that they will cheat, that’s a given, but how they have perverted the term “Pro Life/Right to Life.” For the sake of this discussion, I am going to make Right to Life and Pro-Life mean the same thing. These people, all good members of their faith, are NOT Pro Life. They are Pro Birth and Anti-Woman. They want to take all rights away from women, especially where her reproductive life is concerned, because they don’t think women are intelligent enough to think things through. You know, hormones rage and emotions swing, and they have power given by their patriarchal god to rule women and by their god, they’re gonna! After all, if they can keep women pregnant and at home, they won’t take a job from another testosterone poisoned male. And it’s easier to blame a woman than keep their trousers zipped.
I won’t go so far as to say NONE of these Right to Lifers are, but I’ve only met one, and that was years ago, and she put her money where her mouth was! She went to her lawyer, paid to have the papers drawn up, then went to the abortion clinic, talked to the manager in charge, explained what she wanted, and received permission to wait inside and talk to the women seeking treatment. She explained who she was and said if they would carry the baby to term, she would pay all pre-natal costs, delivery costs, etc., and adopt the baby. She showed them the papers, and letters of recommendation that she would make a good mother. She didn’t have any takers, but no one complained to management about her being there. She never adopted (she was single and at that time single women adopting was frowned upon, after all, a baby needs a daddy) but she did take in teens as a foster mother.
Now, I’m Pro Choice or, if you prefer, Pro Life. To me, they are the same thing. Yes, really. The same. I know women who have had abortions, and none chose that option lightly. There were medical reasons, financial reasons, real and solid reasons. Because they had a medical procedure in a safe and sterile environment, many went on to later raise, love, and care for healthy families.
They took care of themselves. They were Pro Life. They made a difficult decision and have lived with it. But they still live. I don’t know any who had an abortion because they got ‘knocked up’ at an inconvenient time.
My mini quilt, Walking the Red Road. (It really is square, the caera wonked it.)
Ladies and Gentlemen, if you don’t want an abortion, then by all means, don’t have one! If your god says it’s wrong to have an abortion, then don’t have one. But the face of your god is not the face of every other woman’s god. And this is NOT a religious country, it is a secular country founded to remain secular with a separation between Church and State. Remember, the world cannot support our current population, and add into that Climate Change, rising seas, and wildfires….
If you are going to vote as a Right to Lifer, then, please, vote for all that entails—good pre- and post-natal care for the mother, good medical and dental coverage for the child until an adult, enough money to have the necessities of life—shelter, food, clothing, education, etc, for that child until s/he is an adult. Don’t say you’re Pro Life when you really only want the woman to have the baby and you don’t care to help out after. That’s not Pro Life. That’s Pro Birth.
Again, I say, if you don’t want an abortion, please, I beg you, don’t have one! But don’t try to force your morality on others, for one day you may be judged by your morality as lived and thought and held in your heart, and you may not like it. One day, these words may appear on your wall, Mene, mene tekel upharsin.
Entertainment:
TCM: I have long said I’d go with any cable company that would let me choose 10 channels and charge me appropriately — Spectrum did. I now have, among other channels, Turner Classic Movies, and on Saturday night I turned it on just as the credits finished for The Red Shoes. The movie came out in 1948, I probably saw it sometime between 1950-1955. It ranked right up there with An Affair to Remember and The Quiet Man in my all-time most loved movies. I’ve seen the latter two several times, sometimes whole movies, usually bits, parts, and pieces. Saturday is the first time I remember seeing The Red Shoes in a reaaaalllllly long time—like since the first time I saw it. Yes, it’s a romantic drama, and I loved it even more now, as an adult, than I did as a kid of 10 or so. I remembered my favorite part, if not exactly the words, the intent. He: Why do you dance? She: Why do you live? I also remember sitting in the theater when it ended thinking that I was a big girl and big girls don’t cry. Well, I didn’t sob out loud. Do I get points for that? Saturday, I sat on my couch and decided it’s perfectly fine for an old Auntie to cry/sniff/sob/tear. I did laugh at the two white males discussing the ending after the end. It’s probably a good thing I wasn’t in the studio, or one might be walking funny now. He thought she was somehow weak. Both of them missed what, to me, was so blatantly obvious—she felt pressured to choose between the love of her life, her husband and the love of her living, dancing. It was obvious to the men, of course, that she should choose between marriage and family or singledom and career. How dare she want both? Why, that was/is a privilege reserved for men. /meow/ Not a HEA movie, but, if you get the chance to see it, well worth the 2 hours 13 minutes of your time to watch it. Some absolutely gorgeous ballet! It’s available to rent on Amazon Prime.
Amazon Prime:
IMDB has free (with commercials) tv series. I started watching the old Banacek series, again. Loved that show. We’ll see if it holds up.
Books:
For any books I may have finished and reviewed and mayhaps a bit of snark, see Rainy Day Reads Who? Me? Snark? Bwahahahaha!
CORRECTION: Last week I said I had Wyrds by Weld Champneys on my bed to read, I hang my head in unabashed shame, the title is Wirds, and it has now moved to my bedside table to be read randomly just before I turn out the light. A delightful book of poetic humor, review is on my site above.
Wearing a mask is a proven method to help slow down the spread of Covid19. Please, wear your mask. And wear it properly—keep it over your nose! Your Auntie and your Granny appreciate your thoughtfulness. However, when you come next week for a fresh cuppa and homemade biscotti, we’ll be properly socially distanced so you may remove your mask at that time. Honest. Trust me.
Notorious RBG, We Miss You!
Auntie Lenora
The “Red Road” is a metaphor for living a spiritual way of life. Oglala Sioux medicine man and holy man, Black Elk, spoke of the all the people on the red road as being one interconnected circle of people that made a sacred hoop. Only you can walk your journey, but many are on the road. https://www.spirithorsenation.org/the-red-road
If you enjoyed this post, please consider sharing with others.
I recently read an article in the Washington Post by Karin Brulliard, that dog-walking may be hazardous for seniors. The study didn’t suggest any reasons but did note the numbers of seniors who are injured, often with broken bones, has risen remarkably. According to the article, and a new study by University of Pennsylvania researchers (co-authored by Dr. Jaimo Ahn) the numbers of broken bones increased “…from 1,671 in 2004 to 4,396 in 2017…” The article went on to state that the reason is unclear, though they do mention that the number of us old farts and fartesses has increased, and we tend to be more active than our predecessors.
People over 65 who fracture hips have a “20 to 30 percent chance of dying within a year” which is higher than having a mild heart attack or mild cancer.
The photo accompanying the article shows a gentleman out walking his dog after an overnight snowfall, with icy sidewalks. I don’t think the higher number can solely be blamed on winter. Though the slickery ice and slush certainly don’t help, and probably contribute highly to the study; however, I think it might be related to something else.
I’ve noticed women often wrap the leash about their hand or wrist versus holding it in their hand. If they do not have superb control, especially voice control, over the dog, and the dog sees a squirrel, or another dog, and bolts, the walker goes down. I had a neighbor who might have been five feet tall, and perchance weighed ninety pounds soaking wet and wearing a wet wool coat, and probably in her seventies at the time, who walked her daughter’s big dog. I don’t remember the breed, but a good eighty pounds, and a sweet dog. Also, he was a dog who didn’t always listen to or process commands. I walked my small dog one day, and Big Dog charged, pulling Granny. I told her to drop the leash, and she couldn’t. It was wrapped around her wrist so she wouldn’t let go of it. Her panic at the situation didn’t help. The dog picked up on that and was sure my wee dog was going to attack.
It all worked out in this case, but I’ve since noticed other people, usually women though not all, who do the same thing. They stick their hand through the loop, and then wrap the leash to get a tight hold on it. Now, if they fall, they would report to the doctor they were “just walking the dog” and he pulled me. I’m willing to bet a fresh batch of biscotti that the doc never asks, “How were you holding the leash? Exactly what happened?”
So, why would someone wrap a leash around their hand or wrist? I can think of a few reasons. Two that jump out at me are if they have neuropathy in their hands, their hands may be numb or too painful to hold something, and wrapping lets them know they know they have a good hold on the leash. Or they may have arthritis in their hands and need to wrap the leash, so they don’t drop it because it’s too painful, or impossible, to wrap fingers around it.
Do I ever wrap the leash around my hand? I try not to. Sometimes I need to short leash my dog, and I hold it, folded, in my hand. I’m considerably bigger and heavier than Sammy Brave Dog, by about 10 times. Should I ever take my sister’s eighty-pound Rottweiler for a walk, I would be certain not to wrap that leash. Quick release is important. I might not let go of the leash, adding my weight to act as a break if he was going after a child, but that would be an option and a pretty fast thought on my part. Then, again, if that child was doing something to make the dog want to go after it, I might drop it (Not!). My little Sammy has caught me when I wasn’t paying attention and was mid-step into a zag, when he jerked to zig. Usually, he’s the one to stop and smell the grass, but every so often, I want to stop and take a photo—he is not as patient with me as I am with him. I’ve been pulled off balance more than once by him, and at my age, well, this old fartess ain’t lookin’ for any more broken bones! I now pay better attention, and don’t wrap the leash.
This is not a dog. This is a coyote. A wild coyote. I named her Mercy for Mercedes Thompson Hauptmann, a human-coyote shapeshifter by our very own local author, Patricia Briggs. I am not stupid enough to put a collar and leash on a coyote, whether real or fiction. I will, however, photograph one if given the opportunity. This photo was taken from a car, out the window, while we were leaving Yellowstone National Park. She patiently sat on the side of the road until we finished with the cameras and drove on, then we saw her in the mirrors as she went up the hill to what we assume were her pups. Note, she had been to the river to drink and eat. You can see the blood on her muzzle if you look close enough.
Entertainment:
Netflix:
Can you believe I haven’t watched a single show on either Netflix? However, I did get my Roku streaming stick and because Spectrum finally made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, I now get 10 channels of my choice, so I have been watching news, etc. that I couldn’t get before. I admit, Friday’s was pretty sad to watch, what with the passing of our beloved RBG. It was too soon. I wasn’t ready.
Amazon Prime:
The Scalphunters, 1968 movie starring Burt Lancaster, Shelley Winters, Telly Savalas, and Ossie Davis. I wasn’t sure I wanted to watch this since I know what scalp hunters were, but that is a pretty good cast, so I decided to give it a go. The music was fun, the credits were fun, and it started out fun and I laughed out loud several times through it. Lancaster plays a fur trapper, friendly with (perhaps related to?) the Kiowa. Davis is a slave of the Kiowa. The Kiowa steal Lancaster’s furs and supplies (including booze) and give him Davis. Lancaster doesn’t want him. Lancaster and Davis follow the Kowa to wait until they are drunk and retrieve the packhorse and furs. In the meantime, Savalas and his group of scalp hunters show up, kill the Indians and steal the packhorse and away we go for round two. Shelly Winters, long one of my faves, is marvelous. The ending was good. and, yes, it’s a Western, so of course there are fistfights. And just because it’s a fun fact to know, I’ll pass it along—not all who were scalped died. It depended a lot on how the scalp was taken. If an axe was used, death from a crushed skull was probable, if the scalp was lifted and a “clean” knife used, the person actually stood a good chance of surviving, if he got help and no infection. I had a cousin who was scalped in one of the Indian wars in the Ohio Valley. He survived and lived several more years to die an old man in bed.I\ I assume it was his bed, but I don’t know.
Books:
I just looked at my bed and have 6 books on it I am reading, and a puppy dog who is keeping it warm for me. Not the books, the bed. He doesn’t like books. The books are: Wyrds by Weld Champneys, Willow Springs anthology, Chrysanthemum 2020 Literary Anthology, Before Our Eyes by Eleanor Wilnor, The Vagina Bible by Jen Gunter, MD, and RAGE by Bob Woodword. See, I told you I am an eclectic reader. For any books I may have finished and reviewed and mayhaps a bit of snark, see Rainy Day Reads Who? Me? Snark? Bwahahahaha!
Wearing a mask is a proven method to help slow down the spread of Covid19. Please, wear your mask. And wear it properly—keep it over your nose! Your Auntie and your Granny appreciate your thoughtfulness. However, when you come next week for a fresh cuppa and homemade biscotti, we’ll be properly socially distanced so you may remove your mask at that time. Honest. Trust me.
