Life in the Time of COVID-19

Here it is, April 22, 2020. Earth Day.  I have been in self-isolation since March 16 and I'm ready to climb the walls.  I've piddled around and done a little of this and a little of that, but mostly, I have done nothing much at all.  I've watched TV, but that becomes repetitious all too quickly; I've read some books, but I usually fall asleep; and I've taken to having a daily nap with the dogs snuggled up close.  I also have developed the habit of watching CNN and being amazed at the politics of this COVID-19 event.

One of my favorite commentators is Chris Cuomo, who was diagnosed with the virus and lived it out on TV.  He spoke about the constant fever, the extreme constriction in his chest, and his fervent prayers to get through the viral attack.  He did prevail, and he's now fine, but still has some nagging little hangers-on from the experience.  His wife did test positive, but after 14 days of quarantine, she was tested as negative.  So far, no sign of the virus in the children. And he has interesting talking topics and guests on his show, so I watch him every day and see what's going on.

Meanwhile, on the home front, Y quit his job because the employer wanted everyone at work without masks and no social distancing.  He didn't feel safe in that environment, so asked to work at home 3/4-time, going into LA once a week for a check-in.  The management would not agree to that, so Y resigned.  He did apply for, and was approved for, unemployment.  He stays with me, but did pay a month's rent on his LA apartment, giving him some time to decide what he's going to do.  He has been in contact with some potential new employers and has applied for a master's degree program in LA.  Other than that, he cooks--and he's a good cook--but he's messy as all get out!!  He doesn't have the "finish" aspect of cooking down yet, the cleaning up of the mess he makes doing the food prep and distribution.  Often I volunteer to do the dishes so I know they all get done with hot water and dish soap, and are scrubbed clean in the process.  I also clean the stove and the countertops, which Y often overlooks.  We've had some wonderful meals and I really appreciate Y's cooking, so cleaning up the kitchen afterward is a small price to pay for not having to come up with plan and the ingredients to prepare meals.

The dogs love having us both in the house, and we've upped the walk to two a day, which is met with great glee.  It's funny how the dogs have internal clocks and know what time it is during the day.  They come get me when it's time for the walk, or time for our nap, or time for our snack or a meal. The little kids are home next door, so both Sparkle and Cinnamon have to go out and supervise when the kids are in the yard playing, and often that involves barking, which is annoying.  All in all, life is good for the dogs in the neighborhood.

So, life goes on with or without me.  I'm terrified of going outside and being around people, especially those without masks, as I'm 75 years old and have asthma.  If I get the virus, it could be fatal, and I don't want to get the virus.  I have been wearing a mask to walk the dogs even though we seldom see anyone else out when we're out, so probably don't have to wear it. Y goes with us for the walks, which is really nice.  We know all the yards and dogs around our block, and feel quite comfortable in our own little corner of the world.

But believe me, I'm ready to resume some semblance of normalcy.  I want to jump in the car and go down to the post office, the drugstore, the gas station, the grocery store.  I want to feel free to meet my 2 girlfriends for our weekly lunch and a movie.  I just want to feel normal again and not have to worry about the what if's.  As my mother always used to say, this too shall pass, and it will.  We'll always remember the time of the COVID pandemic and where we were and with whom, and how it affected our lives, but we will move on from this to new adventures and events.  Stay safe and stay strong, and this too shall pass.

Powerful Words

When I started using Facebook, I pledged to myself that I would write meaningful, positive, and powerful comments or say nothing at all after I was introduced to the "crap" comments that a lot of users leave.  And the profanity.  And the grossness of the postings. If I don't have something powerful and positive to say, I say nothing. Sometimes I like a posting without adding comments, and other times I just scroll on by, wondering to myself why people put the things on a public forum that they put.

Today, I am reading a book, The Librarian of Auschwitz, written by Antonio Iturbe and translated by Lilit Zekulin Thwaites.  It is based on the true story of Dita Kraus, an Auschwitz prisoner during World War II.  I'm totally engaged in Dita's saga, but it is one of those ponderous stories that has to be read, then put down for thoughtful reflection before continuing with the next chapter.  At the end of Chapter 21, I found a profound bit of writing that really struck me:  "She asks herself, Can you really choose, or do the blows dealt to you by fate change you no matter what, in the same way that the blow of an ax converts a living tree into firewood?"

I paused as my thoughts took off on their own to several moments where fate dealt me some blows that were devastating at the time, but have become part of my life's history.  The one that came immediately to mind was my father's death when I was 17. He was such a rugged, virile man, the father of six children, all but one of whom were into their teen years, and the husband to his life's love, my mother Maria.  Mom was devastated by the loss of her beloved Forrest, and she never fully recovered. She tried to continue to live her life, but she was never the same.  My oldest brothers left home shortly after Dad's death, I went to college, which left two brothers and my only sister still at home.  One of those two brothers left within a year, and my sister and youngest brother were left at home. My mother had to go to work for the first time in her life, and she was not well prepared for the job market. Thankfully, she found a job at the Santa Barbara Public Library and had a long career there.  My youngest brother grew up never knowing his father, and it has had a profound influence on his life. And yes, the blows dealt to us by fate changed us no matter what.

All of this personal history was swirling through my head (and heart), so I decided to post the quotation that had set me to thinking and see if anyone else has had that kind of moment in their lives. My goodness, but the responses I have received are amazing. This quotation struck a cord with almost two dozen people who have shared their own "blows," and how they have influenced their lives. In deciding to write powerful and positive posts on Facebook, I opened a doorway for others to respond in kind and it really means a lot to me.

The Lilac Girls

One of my FB friends suggested I read The Lilac Girls, a novel by Martha Hall Kelly, published in 2017. The recommendation came because I had read another novel about the concentration camps during WWII.  I am not particularly drawn to stories of The Holocaust, but I have found some of the narratives compelling. This is the story of three women brought together by Ravensbruck, a notorious concentration camp for women during WWII. It is the debut novel by Kelly, but it is a well-written, powerful story based in history, a story that is so compelling for the author that she is writing a prequel to the story that takes place during WWI.

The narrative is divided into segments by character, Kasia, Herta, and Caroline, so there are individual segments about one character, and then another character, and then a third.  This technique is used throughout the novel and allows the reader to build a relationship with each of the primary characters.  The narratives begin in 1939 and end in 1959, long after World War II ends, but the story has not.  It is important to read the entire narrative to understand the full circle of the events, which continue into the United States with the character Caroline,  a wealthy patron of the arts and former actress, who establishes a relationship with one survivor of Ravensbruck concentration camp and is able to arrange circumstances to bring full closure to one aspect of the imprisonment experience.


This is a heavy book to read and it takes commitment to read from cover to cover. The story of the women called Rabbits by the Germans, is horrific and hard to experience.  There are no human rights for the women held captive, but the human spirit dominates and allows them to help one another in the worst of all possible situations.

Summer of '69

Summer of ’69 is a novel written by Elin Hilderbrand. Reading the dust cover synopsis, it sounded like a nice summer read; however, actually turning the text page by page is a different experience.  The story is ponderous, the prose is redundant, and the actual plot is quite thin.  I started the novel, lost interest, read a couple of other books, and then returned. Starting over, I expected the story to be better than I remembered, but it isn’t, so I’m done reading at page 300 of the total 418.

The redundant prose is annoying:  “Pick’s eyes, she notices, are Lorraine’s eyes, the frosted blue of sea glass,” followed immediately by “He’s as brown as a berry.”  She says “That’s either wonderful or the saddest thing Kate has ever heard; she can’t decide which."

The ponderous story drags by, sentence by sentence.  “So this is Bitsy Dunscombe fueled by one too many, Kate thinks. She gets ugly—not only her language, but her face as well. Her expression contorts into a hideous mask with narrowed, accusing eyes and twisted lips. If she says anything about Tiger, Kate will slap her or throw a drink in her face. The piano player will stop right in the middle of ‘Try to Remember,’ and the revelers at table 1 will gape first and gossip later, and who could blame them?”

The actual plot is a typical coming-of-age story about a 13-year-old girl who has a crush on an older boy. She is so typical that there’s nothing unique about her, and she certainly isn’t worthy of hanging an entire novel on. So far, the most exciting thing to happen to her is she gets her period and then her first bra, and I’m ¾ of the way through the novel

I simply cannot force myself to finish reading this story at this time. It reminds me of Downton Abbey, a series I dreaded.  I watched several episodes, but never bonded with either the characters or the plot, even though I have friends who were entranced by the series and wouldn’t answer the phone for anyone when Downton Abbey was on.

I’ll pass this book on to someone who will appreciate it and pick up my next read, James Patterson’s The Inn.  I’ll let you know how that goes.

Once Upon a Time in ... Hollywood

If you want to see an excellent film and have any knowledge of or experience with the 1960s, Once Upon a Time in … Hollywood is the film you have been waiting to see. Quentin Tarantino is not one of my favorite directors because the language and the action of his movies are off-putting to me; however, OUTH is his best film to date.  The story is of a washed-up movie star (Leonardo di Caprio) and his stunt double (Brad Pitt) during the 1960s when some really bad movies were made. The acting back then was … stilted… predictable … mediocre, and Di Caprio and Pitt perfectly capture that aspect of the film-making business. When an actor is on the downhill swing, life loses a lot of its luster, which sometimes makes actors take roles they otherwise would refuse, including starring in a series of what were called "spaghetti westerns" back in the day. Di Caprio's acting perfectly captures the desperation of the actor trying to stay afloat in an industry that is all he has ever known, and Pitt has the role of second banana down pat, hitching his future to DiCaprio's success, which leads to his career taking a dive along with DiCaprio's character's career.

Tarantino is the master of detail, and this movie is densely detailed in the sets, in the set dressings, in the costumes, in the dialog, in the automobiles, in the status symbols of the time, and in the feeling of a decade in transition. The 1960s are known for the hippies and the VietNam War and the free love and the cigarette smoking and the see and be seen attitude about life. Tarantino captures all of it in the main story, which is total Hollywood, but he adds a twist that makes the movie totally engaging and captivating.  It's a challenge to reveal just about enough of the plot twist to get a patron to see the movie without giving it away, but suffice it to say that the character of Sharon Tate plays a huge part in the storyline. She is the quintessential 60s woman, with her go-go boots and her really short short skirts, her flowing blonde hair, and her almost naïve approach to life.

Don't back away from this film because it's a Tarantino, nor because it's about the 1960s. It's a story about life and love and longing and the challenge of growing old in a society that prefers youth. I seldom hand out As as I believe that excellence is unusual, rather than common, but I whole-heartedly give Once Upon a Time in … Hollywood an A+.

The Facebook Experience

Several months ago, I decided to use FB on a daily basis to help with my cognition issues.  I get to read posts, respond to those that seem to want a response, and feel connected with other people outside of my four walls.  At first, it was kinda fun, especially when I recognized names from my teaching days. I made it my mission to write positive responses where warranted, like other posts, and ignore some of the more gross posts.

Why, I wondered, do people use such foul language and write such nasty things on a public forum? The cusswords abound even where they aren't necessary. People write about intimate things that I would keep private. They throw verbal stones at anyone who doesn't agree with them, and disparage people who write honest posts about their lives and the challenges they are having just getting through the days.

I was naïve when I made the decision to participate in FB.  I actually thought it would be a positive experience, and, in many instances, it has been.  I've enjoyed hearing from former students and learning about their now lives.  I have been able to see what my family members are doing in their lives without having to write long letters back and forth. I've enjoyed seeing photos of the comings and goings of people I know, but am not friends with present day. But I've been completely turned off by the grossness of perhaps as much as one-third of the content.

Today, I'm thinking about whether I want to continue to visit Facebook or let it go.  Part of me wants to stay connected with former students and family members, but the other part of me wants to let go of the offensive nature of the Facebook experience. I'm taking today off as a think-about day and then will make my decision whether to continue to visit the site or let it go.

Good Neighbors and Fences

Robert Frost once wrote about good neighbors and fences, but his point was in asking who is walling one in and who is walling one out.  If we truly are good neighbors, we don't need a fence.  I have a chainlink fence around my property, including the long side of the property I share with a 3-unit rental. The entire length of the fence is planted with oleanders that serve as a privacy barrier.

My dog trainer is also a botanist (retired), and when she saw the half-dozen young children next door playing in the oleanders, she told them to stay away from the plant because it's poisonous. The kids heard the word "poison" and ran to get their mom, who then engaged in a confrontation with me because I shouldn't have poisoned plants coming through the chain link fence, where the children can touch them and get sick or die.

Yep, we went from zero to sixty in about 5 seconds flat.

I calmed her down and told her the children would have to chew on the leaves/branches to get sick, and she responded with the fact that they are just children and may do that.  She told me I had to take the plants off "her" side of the fence or she would call the police.  I assured her that I would take care of it as quickly as I could, but Nancy told her to tell her children not to play where the plants are. That was like adding fuel to a fire, so I quietly told Nancy to cool it and assured the woman that I would go see my gardener right then and see when he could take care of this issue for me.

I walked down to my gardener's home and left a note for him to call me, which he did.  I explained the issue to him and he shook his head that the woman would have been threatening me. I told him that I needed to have the removal of the oleander as soon as possible, so he set aside today (Monday) to take care of the problem.  He was able to speak to the woman in Spanish and tell her that the plants would not "kill" her children, but she was still freaked out.

Antonio, my gardener, just finished clearing "her" side of the fence, so the oleanders are trimmed back.  We'll keep an eye on it and hope that this satisfies the neighbor.  Antonio will add trimming them to his monthly gardening to-do list, which is fine with me.

The answer to Frost's question about neighbors and fences remains elusive, but cutting back the oleanders is now a part of my being a good neighbor.

Facebook Fail

I don't know what I expected when I made the decision to use Facebook as a vehicle to keep in touch with people in my world, but I'm a bit taken aback by all the posts on my pages from people I may--or may not--know.  I open my Facebook account and there are photos and messages between people I don't even know. I have a long list of people I don't know who want to be my friend, which strikes me oddly: how do they even know I am looking for friends?

All in all, I'm not enthused with my Facebook experience.  I joined a local community group to get information about what's going on in my residential area, and there are word fights going on between the person who started the page and other people who have joined it.  There's profanity, poor spelling, atrocious grammar, and just generally things I'm really not into at this stage of my life.

I keep getting messages on my cellphone about people who want to be my friend on Facebook, but there is no sign of them on Facebook and I have no idea how to "friend" them from my phone. Some of the contacts I'd like to be "friends" with because they are part of my past and I'd love to know what they are doing in the present; other people I don't even know, but it seems that having a person in common means you want to "friend" these strangers.

I am not a big fan of the Facebook experience.  I'm going to give it a try for a solid month before I make any final decisions about whether I'll keep my page or go dark.  If I had to make the call today, I'd say toodle-loo to the world of friends I don't know.

UPDATE: OMG, now my gmail account is filled with FB posts and people!  I didn't know that what shows up on my FB page will also become part of my email experience.  This is too much, too invasive; I don't know if I'll last the month of trying this experiment.

Now Year's Resolution

It's a new year and time to reflect and then refresh one's life.  This year, I came up with 3 wishes for the New Year:  no more online buying; no further contact in any form with Publisher's Clearing House; and contact my children at least once a week, with a corollary, to use Facebook to facilitate that contact.

Of course, in order to use Facebook, I have to "do" Facebook and I have stubbornly resisted that engagement with all the force of will within me.  However, it is time for me to join the 21st Century and not just know that people only contact one another with electronic devices, but they also like to know what you're up to now and then.  Facebook is a media that can facilitate both of those goals.

My son spent an hour on the telephone walking me through the process of getting set up and started, but I'm disappointed that I don't have a page with things unique to me.  I immediately received a lot of other people's thoughts, feelings, and rages, and I'm not sure if I have to respond to those or can ignore them.  I need to put up a picture, but the only photo I have of me that I like is my senior year at Cal Lutheran photo, which I no longer resemble in any way, shape, or form.  I'm old now and wrinkles accent my facial features in ways that are not necessarily charming.  My face, which used to be an elongated oval, is now square, which matches my body that also used to be a lean, mean running machine and is now … squishy.

And when it comes to stimulating conversation with peers, I'm good with "Good girl, Sparkle." and "come here, Cinnamon," followed by lots of ooing and cooing and cuddling.  My life, which used to be an open book into the world, is narrowed to the confines of SoCal as I'm not as confident driving on the freeways as I used to be.  A big trip is across the highway to visit the communities on the west side of I-10, which is also where all the shopping is.  I love going to Costco and spending money there with reckless abandon just because there is nowhere to spend money in my community (other than the grocery store and KMart).

Somehow, I have to turn almost 74 years of life into stimulating, interesting, charming Facebook posts that attract people who know me to visit my page and feel as if they have been enriched by the experience.  We'll see how this happens as the days progress.  Wish me luck?

PS: I did use the college senior photo because that's what I wanted to do.  The rest of the world can simply deal with it.

Doggone Confusing

Headlines can be interesting to read, especially if the reader has no clue what the story is about.  Take this headline from a local newspaper:  LQ couple found dead ID’d; dog safe. What would a reader expect the content of the article to be?

Someone tried to harm a couple’s dog, but the criminal was halted in his/her efforts to kill the dog by the couple, who then died from injuries inflicted during the fight over the dog's life.   Or, a couple was accosted by a criminal, who killed them but left the dog to survive the crime. Or, the couple committed suicide/murder, but didn't kill their beloved dog.   We'll never know what happened, but we know for certain that the dog is safe.

Of course I can fill in the blanks and feel reasonably comfortable with thinking that a couple was killed—somehow, and the dog, which was in the house, was not involved in the … murder, murder/suicide … , and the couple has now been identified by the process that is used to determine who the victims of a violent crime are. It just tickles me not only that the dog became part of the story, but it shares the headline with a double-death report.

Not to mention the "LQ couple" teaser.  Any ideas what that could be?

Back in the day, a good copy editor would rewrite the headline to focus on the death of the victims and omit the dog as not really relevant. What is a copy editor, you may ask?  One who has a reasonable command of the language in which the newspaper is written so s/he can read what is in the paper before it is published, thus avoiding embarrassing and/or confusing and/or just plain incorrect content (copy).

UPDATE: the couple, who lived in La Quinta, were victims of a murder/suicide and the dog was not killed in the commission of the crime.

Charity

Every year, I send checks totaling right at one thousand dollars to various charities, not including donating scholarship funds to my former colleges.  It's not a lot of money, but it's my contribution to organizations that do good for a variety of people who need extra help with their lives. I'm happy to be a small part of the bigger picture, but this year -- well, it feels that I haven't sent enough and need to do more if I read all the "begging" letters in my mailbox.

The holiday season is big for playing on the sympathies of people like me who feel like they should "do something" to help with the problems plaguing our society. My mailbox is flooded with appeals for help from numerous charities/organizations who do what I don't do. I'm not going to walk the streets giving handouts to the homeless, so I donate to charities that do help those people with basic necessities.  I'm not going to work with the doctors without borders who do such a tremendous job of helping those less fortunate than the average American.  Another organization comes to the Coachella Valley twice a year and provides dental services for those who otherwise would not have that option. There are food kitchens open and doing an amazing job of serving food to those who would do without if the kitchens were to close. I give to organizations who are trying to save animal species from extinction; I give to organizations who help those who are on the streets or in situations that are fragile from day-to-day. I support the Wounded Warriors Project, and the list goes on.

For me, writing a check seems … too easy, but it's my little way of saying I support all the people who make it their life's work to help others.  If we all gave, those who do the footwork on a daily basis wouldn't have to wonder where the next dollar is going to come from to keep their charity open and serving those in need. A thousand dollars spread over the course of a year is doable for most people if they really try to make donating a priority in their lives. I can't save the world, but I can help those who dedicate their lives to at least trying to make a difference.

Christmas

Y has to work both Mon and Wed, so we decided to have our Christmas on Sunday.  I had purchased about a dozen gifts for him (mostly clothing) and stacked them around a small ceramic lighted tree I put in the living room.  He was so excited to get to open packages, even though all the items were practical, and holiday paper was flying all over the carpet as he tore into his packages in a flurry of activity.

I had purchased a couple of novelty items, including two Nestles chocolate chip cookie cast iron  "frypans" for us to each make a single cookie, and a set with novelty Christmas mugs, hot chocolate, and S'Mores. It was fun to work together to bake our cookie and fix our hot chocolate (which tasted like sour milk, so we didn't drink it.  Sour milk was my fault as I used some milk in cooking a couple of weeks ago and didn't buy fresh milk for our hot chocolate.)  Y also made toffee to take to his co-workers as well as enough to give to 2 of my desert friends who love it when Y makes toffee because it's so good. Once the cookies were baked, we fixed the leg o'lamb and put it into the oven for our dinner, which also features mashed potatoes and fresh broccoli.

This year, I promised myself I would actually send gifts to my children and their families, so I spent the month of November shopping online and finding gifts that are probably a whole lot more practical than fun.  The postage to send the 2 boxes, one to each recipient, cost me $100, so I quickly remembered why I always send money!  If I had been thinking better, I probably could have had the gifts shipped to their home addresses, but live and learn. Watch out for my newly-acquired experience next year … right?

So, how did it go with me "doing Christmas" for the first time in a long while?  I enjoyed myself a lot. I had fun picking out presents and I really loved the look on Y's face as he opened all his packages. It wasn't the cost as much as it was the joy he shared with me as he admired all of his gifts. The gift he likes best is a toss-up between the 2 long-sleeved sweaters I bought for him and the 2 pairs of lounging pj's.  He's determined that he can wear the loungewear "out" of the house, maybe even with one of the sweaters that I got for him, but I've told him that what he's wearing is definitely pajamas--and he doesn't want to wear his pjs out and about the community!

What did Santa bring me?  The most gorgeous, all-leather, navy blue Coach handbag.  There are small shaped tea rose flowers on both sides of the bag, along with  hand-painted floral detail.  It is the most gorgeous handbag I've ever had and I think it should only be used for dress-up events, but Y told me to use it every day because if anything happens to it, he'll buy me another bag.  He really is a sweetheart who takes very good care of me and my dogs. and I'm glad he's in my life.

Happy Holidays to all of you from G'ma, Y, Cinnamon and Sparkle

Thanksgiving

Fifty years ago, I gave birth to my first child, a girl, on the Monday before Thanksgiving. She came out fully developed and about the size of a child of 2 months. I named her Michilinda as I loved the melodic sound of that name (Michael-linda is how we pronounce it) and it went perfectly with her last name. She was quite alert and tuned-in to her surroundings and I was so thankful for her birth as she had been due at Halloween and decided not to show until T-giving!

Thanksgiving morning, we brought our little baby home to meet her father's parents and brother, John, and enjoy her first holiday feast.  We passed her around from grandma to grandpa to Uncle, then to her daddy and finally to me for a diaper change and a nap.  Once she was settled into her crib, we all gave special thanks for her safe arrival and enjoyed our turkey dinner.

Once Mindy went to college at age 17, I didn't get to see her for T-giving as she was far away enjoying her college years, and then, after receiving her BA degree, she moved to PA and later down the road married her first husband.  I always missed my "little girl," but most especially on her birthday.  I tried as often as I could to be with her on her birthday, but as distance has a way of doing, I couldn't be there every year.

And the years rolled by as they have a way of doing. Mindy gave birth to her son 21 years ago and circumstances allowed me to be with Jack for part of his first 6 months, but then I relocated to accept a job and the distance interfered with our being together.  However, I tried as often as I could to be with Mindy and her family either at T'giving or at Christmas, but it just wasn't the same.

This year, however, I asked Mindy what she wanted for her birthday and she said she just wanted her people with her.  I told her I could make that happen, went online for a plane ticket, and packed my traveling bag. This was the best birthday ever, the big 5-0, and Mindy did it her way. We had a wonderful time together just chilling and then going out and about a bit, even to see one of the biggest "tacky" Christmas tree light displays in Richmond, VA.  Mindy brought me a piece of hummingbird cake, so I was in sugar-rush heaven.  On "the day" Mindy took me and her husband out to a really special dinner that featured good food, good wine, and good fellowship.  I had already given her her gift when she was out here last month, the 50-year ring my children gave me for that milestone birthday, so I didn't wrap any presents and just gifted her with my presence.

I could not have enjoyed anything more than sharing this special milestone with my first-born. This will always be a memory of joy and love for me and I know my daughter feels the same way.

Me Too

My perception of the Me Too movement is that there are far more females putting themselves out as victims of sexual assault than the bandwagon can hold.  If we are to believe the numbers by the rallies they hold and the protests they make, one would be hard-pressed to find a woman who has not been a victim of some sort of sexual assault.

And I don't believe that.

I would ask these protestors how many of them made credible accusations and/or involved law enforcement at the time of the alleged assault. Suddenly coming forward 20-40 years after an alleged assault diminishes its credibility to being a "me too" accusation without merit. It's really easy to jump on a bandwagon these days, making accusations without any credible proof, and these kinds of actions can destroy a person's life.  Public demonstrations bring out people who need public approval of their lives; people who truly are traumatized don't seek the limelight.

Ms. Ford, however, came across as a credible witness in her testimony at the confirmation hearing for Judge Brett Kavanaugh.  She was not hysteric and histrionic, but composed and right on point with her accusations and evidence of sexual assault all those years ago in a school setting.  Yes, she was clearly emotionally engaged in her testimony, and I believe her truth in a way I would not have had she been one of the group at the elevator who accosted Senator Flake and screamed their accusations of sexual assault at him.

Regardless of what the FBI background check affirms, Brett Kavanaugh is finished in his quest for the Supreme Court. His behavior while on the stand at the hearing demonstrates that he is too egocentric and arrogant to be a good Supreme Court jurist. He also has too much dirty laundry hanging off the lines to be at the highest level of jurisprudence, and I doubt he'll even be returned to his current Court position in light of the past week's revelations.

UPDATE:  So, I am wrong.  Kavanaugh is already sworn in as the newest Supreme Court Judge. Let's just hope that his old drinking buddies don't suddenly start talking about the good ole days when they've had a few too many beers.

When is an idea a bad idea?

Is anyone else concerned that The Purge will implant some dangerous ideas into the heads of suggestible individuals who may think that a real “purge” is a good idea and implement it based on what they see on TV?  Today's populace seems to be unable to distinguish between what is fact and what is fiction. Far too many people believe that if they see it on TV or on their phones, it is truth and actionable.  Those who are on the verge between good and evil may not be able to comprehend that "it's just a TV show," and decide to get in on the purge program to right many of what they perceive to be wrongs in their lives.

It takes quite a while for an idea to become a TV reality, so I'm frankly amazed that this concept went through a vetting process, has been produced, and is now awaiting its season premiere. 

Sparkle

This is a months' long story about a stray dog, a beautiful German Shepherd pup that has wandered the neighborhood for at least 6 months. She looked so lonely and emaciated that I finally got her to trust me and come with me to my yard, where I fed her and gave her water. I called the pound 3 times and had them pick her up, but she'd be back out wandering around within a day. I couldn't put any pieces together, so I just kept feeding her and watering her and being friendly.

Fast forward to learning that the next-door neighbors "own" the dog. Their idea of taking care of an animal is to leave her in the yard with a pail 1/4 filled with filthy water -- and no food. The dog kept getting out of her yard and coming over to my home, where she received good, clean water and fresh food. One weekend, the neighbors took off for Mexico and left the dog tied to a post with a dog leash, which is probably 3 feet long.  She quickly wound the leash around the pole and was well and truly stuck: she couldn't get to the pail of filthy water, much less any food.  I tried to look the other way, but that's not who I am, so I went and freed the dog and brought her to my house.

I called the pound and asked them to take the dog away from the neighbors, but when the pound worker came to the house, the neighbors were back from their trip and promised to be better dog owners, so the worker left the dog with them. Sure enough, the next day the dog had escaped from the yard and was at my house for food and water. That was the beginning of what would become several months of me caring for the dog at my house, then returning her to the next-door neighbors when they came to get her. It wasn't ideal, but I didn't know what to do when the pound kept returning Sparkle to her "home."

A woman who works for an animal rescue became involved as she, too, was appalled at the abuse. I told her I had called the pound 3 separate times, but they kept returning the dog to the neighbors and I didn't know what else to do. She said she would take care of the situation, so I thought we were done with watching this beautiful, smart dog be abused.

Nope, she took the dog to the local shelter, where a call was made to the owners to come pick up their dog.

I spent weeks with the dog at my house, and we were working on potty training, but I'm going to be gone for 2 weeks, so I had to "do something" other than keep the dog here while I was gone.  I talked to the animal rescue lady again, and we decided to find her a foster family.  Meanwhile, the dog has been injured by the 2 boys living with her, as they like to pile onto her and wrestle, and they injured her leg in one of their play sessions. I asked the woman owner if she was going to take the dog to the vet to see what happened to the dog's leg and she said yes, but since then all I've heard is that her husband is gone, she has 3 children, and she can't drive.  I offered to take the dog to the vet, but Y had a fit and told me no, this is not my dog and I need to let go of it.

Last night, the dog rescue lady and I were sitting outside with the dog, talking about what to do and how to go about it. When I reached the point of not knowing what to do, I told Nancy that I just had to give this to God and let Him do what's right. About 10 minutes later, the lady from next door came over to us and said that if we wanted to find the dog another home, she was willing to let the dog go.  She realized that her children pose a danger to the dog, and that she isn't taking very good care of her. Nancy said that I must have a direct line to the Big Guy in the Sky to get a response that quickly after putting it in His hands!

There is no end yet, but I'm hoping that Nancy can come through and get the dog a foster family before anything else happens to her.  I've been going next-door and getting Sparkle each day and keeping her with me, but my trip starts next week, so I have to wean her off being at my house.  I thought that Animal Control would at least keep her away from the family, but I guess that's not the way they operate the shelter. I'll be sad to see her leave, but I know she has to find a family to love her and take proper care of her, especially in t he 120-degree heat we've been having in the desert.

Addendum:  I was sitting in the livingroom this morning, watching one of the early talk shows, when I heard barking at the back gate.  I went outside to see what was going on, and there was Sparkle.  I opened the gate, she came into the house, went directly to her bed I made up for her, and hasn't moved in 2 hours. I'm not going to go over to the house and tell them she's here -- and I doubt that they will even wonder where she is.  I just hope that Nancy and I can find her a new home soon.

Drained

I don’t know if I have it in me to knit one more fitted hat and matching fingerless gloves. When I cleaned out the yarn stash, I found a total of 7 skeins of either self-striping or ombre yarn, which is a subtle shading from darkest to lighter. I started with Y, and knit him a black/red striped hat. Didn’t have enough of the yarn to make matching gloves, but that remains in the to-do list as I can easily match either the bright red or the pitch black in a plain yarn hidden in my stash.

Next, I knit for Mindy, bright hot pink that is just for fun. I honestly don’t know why I bought that skein of yarn, but there it was and Mindy has a good sense of humor. Then I knit for Jack, making him primary crayon-color stripes on a black background. Turned out really cute, but I guess I can’t say that about something I made for a college man. Next came Rich, who got the blue ombre set of knit springwear that matches his new blue jacket I didn’t know he has. Then it was John’s turn, with manly brown tones, and, finally, the best of all the colors, the purple ombre yarn, which I finished up today and just have to box and mail to Melissa. Purple is one of my favorite colors, but I don’t wear it as often as I should because I never think to purchase purple.

I really like knitting hats and matching fingerless gloves, but I think I may finally have reached my saturation point: if I never knit another set, it’ll be too soon. However, dammit, I found one more skein of variegated yarn that I had put into the wrong plastic cubby, so when I feel up to it I’ll make that for myself as I’m the only one who doesn’t have a set of hat and fingerless mittens. I think the reason I overlooked this last skein is the color: it’s all bright fluorescent colors that won’t look good on anyone or go with anything! I don’t know how I ended up with it and can’t imagine that I actually bought it, but I’m going to set it out until it shames me into knitting it and getting it out of the reserves.

Yeah, I already know that I’m compulsive/obsessive, but just think of all the nice, warm knit sets that all my favorite family now have. The hats and fingerless gloves are perfect for the transition from winter to spring, so my product will come in handy for a couple more weeks as they all live on the eastern side of the country. Me? I live in the desert and it’s already been into the 90s! Guess there’s no hurry for me to knit up that last obnoxious skein of fluorescent variegated yarn.

Book Boyfriends

I live life vicariously through what I fondly call “trashy romance novels,” but what others in today’s world call “book boyfriends.” I like the complete life cycle captured between the covers of an afternoon’s read – and it always ends well. Usually it’s a boy meets girl, they hop into bed together, then they find out about each other’s real life and have to find a way to either walk away in one piece or live happily ever after.

Lately, I’ve become addicted to Kaylea Cross’s assorted series of stories, most of which revolve around “superman” male characters and strong, forceful, but loving female characters. No matter the challenges to the relationship, they stay strong and come out the other end of adversity with a smile on their faces. The men are often either active military (such as Special Forces); retired military with special skills (such as piloting aircraft or advanced computer skills); or those who work for private contractors without benefit of military training. They most often work as a tightly-knit team, and the concept of teamwork is wound throughout the stories, emphasizing how a strong team can overcome most adversity.

Now the one part of the whole series that I’m not particularly interested in is the sex scenes. Back in the day there were love scenes, but today—it’s straight-up down and dirty sex for page after page after page. Because I like the stories without the sex scenes, I simply page through that part of the book and begin reading again after the sex is finished. It’s a simple fix to a personal preference, and I don’t try to shove my morality down anyone else’s throat. If you like the graphic sex part of the story, read it: I’ll save my reading time for something else.

I gave one of my friends one of the books to read and was shocked at the reaction she had. She literally pointed her finger and accused me in a rather loud voice of polluting her life with a trashy book. When I told her I enjoyed the story, she went straight for the raunchy sex, which is usually just one scene in any detail. I told her she should do what I do and turn the pages until the story is back: simple problem; simple solution. Well, she wasn’t easily placated and warned me not to give her any more of “those books” to read as she was offended by the content of the book I did give her.

You know, life is too short to be so caught up in such childish things. A simple, calmly-delivered “I didn’t like the sex scenes in the book you gave me” would have been fine. After all, we're all entitled to our own opinions.

Now, you'll have to excuse me: I have another Kaylea Cross to read this afternoon.

Pay Attention!

I think it is respectful to stand and pay attention to the playing of the national anthem, whether at an athletic event, a concert, or any public gathering at which the national anthem is played.

I think it is permissible for those who question their loyalty to the United States to protest the playing of the national anthem; however, not if that protest interferes with others' right to honor the nation by standing respectfully during the playing of the anthem. Athletes taking a knee or standing with their arms intertwined is okay, but not talking during the playing of the anthem and/or disrupting the event for other people participating in it.

What I think is not okay is the President of the United States of America trying to dictate what is correct and what is not when it comes to the national anthem. His comments are rude, inappropriate, and unnecessary, and don't add to the discussion of what taking a knee and/or standing with arms intertwined means to the people who are taking that action.

Twitter should delete the President's account as he obviously is using it as a his personal messaging service to the world, and he doesn't think before he tweets. Think "Rocket Man" and then how such a thoughtless remark could literally lead to world war.

Enough is enough and I cannot imagine another 3 years of this. I'm taking a knee on President Trump.

Naked Baby Bath

The one custom I'm not accustomed to is the Naked Baby Bath. Few older residences have what we would call a bathroom, but is often a small facility created in the kitchen so it can hook into the water for the kitchen sink. Most of them have a washbasin and a toilet, with a small, hand-held shower nozzle for a quick wet wash. When the family needs to bathe, usually only once a week or once every other week, they go to a public bath-house. There, mothers wash themselves and their children, scrubbing firmly to remove a week's worth, or two week's worth, of grime. They are quite comfortable with this routine -- and I asked the men and they look forward to it like athletes look forward to the locker room.

I, however, have some body issues right now, including the fact that I am easily 50 pounds overweight and sagging in all the wrong places. Did not matter how many times I declined going to the bath: the routine was set and I was part of it, so off we went. I cannot begin to tell you how uncomfortable I was to remove my clothing in a Chinese bath-house!! It's a very nice facility and quite popular, judging by the number of women enjoying their baths, but all eyes were turned my way. Ugh. I had to suck it up and go with the program as there was no way to say "no, thank you, but I'll pass" with a roomful of women watching my every movement. I did not represent well for American women on this age-old tradition.

First, I showered. This is the first step in removing the grime, but just the start. Next, one relaxes in the whirlpool, which is really nice but would be better not naked. Then came my special treat, called the "naked baby" bath, which means someone else vigorously removes all the dead skin and dirt from one's body, beginning at the toes and ending at the top of the head. The abrasion burned like hell on my really delicate skin that is more so since I'm aging, and it brought tears to my eyes. Of course, having someone else "bathe" me just wasn't comfortable for me, but the sooner I sucked it up, the sooner I could get my clothes back, so I just closed my eyes and went with it.

After I was deemed clean enough, I was given some shorts and a matching top and sent off to the meditation room to wait for the massage-giver to come and give me a massage. It was heavenly having my feet and legs done, and then my back, and I actually felt myself relaxing after the humiliation of the naked baby part of the treatment.

I was quite happy to be back in my own clothes and on my way home after my nice, relaxing spa day. But, when Auntie asked me to go with her to the bath before I left for home, I politely declined. Repeatedly. It's the only time she gave into my wishes the whole time I was living with her and boy! was I ever glad she listened. I don't know if I could have survived another naked baby bath!