Gray Goose Watch

Two Reasons I Haven't Been Posting

2008-09-14T10:27:00.001-07:00

It's amazing just how much time and energy small animals consume. And sooooo worth every bit.

They seem to be getting along fairly well.

Blue Christmas

2007-12-28T19:26:00.000-08:00

My friend Marge died during the night of December 23. I found out on December 24, as we were driving to my inlaws' house for dinner. Gotta say, Marge's timing sucked. Sure do miss her, though.

Update

2007-12-20T08:39:00.001-08:00

He's not going over the mountains to visit family after all. Yay! One less thing to be cranky about. Ho ho ho.

Bah. And Furthermore, Humbug

2007-12-19T19:31:00.000-08:00

I just want the season to be over and done with. I know, it's not what I'm supposed to say this time of year, but there you go.

I found out last weekend that my friend of over 20 years has lung cancer and is preparing to die. She's 93 and says she's not going to pursue treatment, has had enough and is "ready to go." Whatever that means. She might be ready, but I am not. I'm intrigued by people's reactions when I tell them this news. Once they hear she's 93, it's no longer sad news. More along the lines of, "Oh well, long life, she's old, whatever." What people don't know is that her sister (the nun) lived to be 101. Many people in her family passed the 100 mark. When I moved back here, spending time with her was one of the big, big perks motivating me. Now I'm thinking about which black thing I'll wear to the funeral. Which isn't far in the future.

My spouse is about to leave for a trip across The Mountains to visit relatives. The weather reports call for one to two FEET of snow on the pass. I'm really, really not happy about this. I worry. It's my hobby.

While I have for the past nine years gotten the week between Christmas and New Years Day off free and clear, no vacation time eaten up, THIS year I get how much time off? Oh yes, the 25th. AND, we're closing the office at 3PM on the 24th. I'm a little underwhelmed and damn, these crankypants are pinching me.

Because of family obligations, I might not get to spend any part of Christmas with my best friends in the whole world, the people who sent me telepathic messages to Come Home for the past nine years. This makes me incredibly sad.

So there you have it. I'd love to make some stuff up about the beauty of the season and the glow of the lights, but honestly I'll just be glad when it's all over and I'm back at my desk on the 26th. Nevertheless, I wish YOU a happy holiday, whatever form that might take, and offer this annual ritual offering as my gift to you. The music of my people! Enjoy!

'Tis the Season

2007-12-07T20:05:00.001-08:00

...to share this fabulous photo given to me by a dear friend last year.

Why I didn't get those reports done yesterday

2007-12-02T10:32:00.000-08:00

I intended to work for as many hours as I could yesterday afternoon. After I'd been in the office about an hour, the snow started falling -- blowing, really -- HARD. I got home as fast as I could and it's a good thing I did. The hill up to our place was too slippery to drive a couple of hours later. When I got home the wonderful spouse had a fire going. We found a sappy John Travolta movie on TV and watched it and the snow falling from the comfy, comfy couch. Mmm. So much better than overtime.

Grateful

2007-11-25T10:41:00.000-08:00

Like frog, I managed to get sick over the holiday, my only four-day period off work since I can't remember when. It's just a cold, but it's preventing me from having the hours and hours of fun I fantasized about for many weeks before the holiday. The real thing: never as good as the fantasy.

Before I took to the couch, however, there was a fabulous dinner at the niece-in-law's amazing house. I did a good share of the cooking, which I liked because it kept me from having to make any more small talk than I already had, and because niece's kitchen has the most ass-kicking view I've ever seen while slaving over a hot stove. Like this, only with a lot more water:

Friday morning, I got up early to go to the holiday parade downtown with my best friend and her partner. It was incredibly fun. Marching bands! Floats made entirely of balloons! It was a gorgeous day, sunny and cold. While I was waiting in line for a chai tea at the Big Corporate Coffee Cafe (the original!), my best friend sneaked up behind me, threw her arms around me and squeezed hard. She said, "I'm so glad you came home!" and gave me a big, sloppy kiss on the cheek.

Me, too. So incredibly glad I came home.

Two Months? Surely You Jest

2007-10-11T19:37:00.000-07:00

Yes I know it's been a really really long time since I logged on. I apologize if you've been checking here and finding nothing new. I've just been so incredibly busy I can't even describe it without having a little panic mixed with Sudden Onset Sleepiness Syndrome. So here it is by the numbers.

Days here: 75
Workdays shorter than 10 hours: 0 (exclusive of weekends)
Saturdays worked: 4-5
Dinners with friends: 3, maybe 4
Beers with best colleague/friend: 6 (3 different occasions!)
Dinners at the best veg restaurant ever: 2
Hours with inlaws: More than 20 (not consecutive)
Weeks of unpacking it took to unpack it all: Unknown (Check back in a month.)
Spats: 2, both minor and short
Rainy days: Fewer than we expected -- possibly 8-10
Hours spent consulting manual for fancy-schmancy heating system: At least 1
Days in new house before bedroom curtains installed: 78 (I hope)
Weeks with functioning cable hook-up: 0
Calls to cable company: Lost count weeks ago
New interns trained so far: 2
Interns yet to train: 1
Threats to quit by woman who applied for my job: At least 10
Times I missed the old place/old job: 0

Ch-ch-ch-changes

2007-08-02T08:43:00.000-07:00

We've arrived and I've started my new job. Over half our stuff is still in boxes. We won't have internet (or! cable! or! phone!) until sometime next week. We saw a bunny in our front yard yesterday morning. We have no curtains for the bedroom yet so for now I'm waking up with the sun.

It's good to be home.

Age: The (Bigot's) Final Frontier

2007-07-22T18:24:00.001-07:00

So I'm over at one of my favorite blogs today when I read this quote from the blogger's husband:

"I cannot wait, I cannot wait," says my husband, "until the last Baby Boomer is dead."

Somebody commented:

Wow. Steve sounds like a real asshole. As a boomer at the tail end of the demographic, I vow to live to 110 just to annoy him.

To which the blogger replied:

Oh, go take a Geritol...

So let me see if I've got this right. Substitute "Boomer" with "African American" or "woman" or "lesbian" or "person under 20" and it's all effed up. But people of my age cohort are cool to wish dead? Okay. Got it.

Good thing the younger generation will never be of this age so they'll be free from experiencing this kind of bigotry. Oh, wait...

Transitioning

2007-07-21T08:03:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went to my two grocery stores for (probably) the last time. I've been doing my Friday afternoon grocery shopping at these two stores since I moved here almost nine years ago. I was nostalgic as I walked the aisles of my co-op. I'm going to miss it. I didn't know it was possible to be so attached to a market. This one's special, though. Worker-owned, wholly meat-free, prone to radical political acts I usually support. They close for Pride every year. The workers recently voted to close for Caesar Chavez's birtday in exchange for staying open on Thanksgiving. I think workers are required to have at least three tattoos. I love that place.

My friend and favorite checker was there -- hooray! We had a nice talk and said our good-byes, promising to stay in touch. Then a friend I haven't seen in ages showed up and we had a chance to talk and say good-bye, too. It was all very sweet.

My second stop on Fridays has always been the Safeway store near my house. It's in a complex with a post office, my bank and the drycleaner I've been going to nearly all these years. I stopped by the drycleaner to say good-bye and thanks to the woman who owns the shop. She's sweet. She has two adorable kids I've watched grow up as they spend afternoons and summer vacations in the shop. They have a new puppy. I saw pictures of the puppy months before it came to live with their family and I know all about its obedience training and temperament. And its "very sharp teeth."

I've worked in service and retail jobs in the past and I never liked it when regular customers with whom I'd developed relationships would just disappear. It tended to make me worry. I think that's why I wanted to say good-bye to people I've been doing business with for all these years. I also wanted to thank them.

Next stop, Safeway. I wanted to say good-bye to Sue, who used to be in charge of the flower department at the front of the store, but who is now an assistant manager. I'd never been in the store's office before, so I had to do some searching. In the process, I saw the employees' break room (bleak!) and the back of the dairy section (clean!). Finally I found the office and Sue was there. I said, "Clean up in the women's restroom!" I couldn't help myself. We laughed. I told her I'm moving away, she said the news made her very sad. She asked for details, like what work I'd be doing, how my husband feels about the move, when we're leaving. She said she'll miss me. I told her I'll miss her, too, and told her I always liked coming into her store, because of her. She said she was going to start crying, and then she did. And then I did. Just a little. We hugged and I got out of there fast, because if I didn't I knew I'd be blubbering all over her office.

Then I stopped at the fish counter and bought supper. The fish guy wished me good luck and told me he'd miss me. "You've been such an excellent customer."

The afternoon sent me back in time to that period in my relationship with this town when I was so often lonely and alienated. I wasn't making friends and in fact my usual ways of making friends were proving completely ineffective. To make matters worse, I worked alone practically all of the time. I remember crying while I said to my husband, "I just want somebody to go to lunch with once in a while. Is that really too much to ask??" There was something about this city -- so big, so hostile -- that hurt my feelings in a deep way. I was often deeply homesick.

Having people like Sue be friendly to me and talk to me about themselves, ask me some questions about myself -- it mattered a lot. It kept me from complete desolation more than once. I can never tell them what it meant to me and what it still means that they broke the social rule of this place to reach out to me. But I appreciate it and never will I take such kindness for granted again.

I'm also taking away an important reminder about the seeds of kindness. We really can never, ever know the effect of our actions. We might think speaking kindly to a stranger is a small thing and we might forget about it moments after it happens. But to that person? It might be the one bright spot in an otherwise miserable week. It really could, in a city like this one, be the only kindness that person experiences that day. Or week.

As I was picking out my corn for supper, a woman came by to sweep up. As she swept, I said, "This corn sure makes a mess, doesn't it?" She looked me right in the eye and said nothing. Earlier that day at the co-op, I had a similar experience. A brief comment meant to connect, to bring a smile, was met with a cold stare and a slight step away. Yesterday, those interactions made me chuckle. Earlier, they could bring me to tears. Krupskaya talks about city manners. I wish someone had given me a course in city manners about nine years ago.

I'm just not going to miss this place.

I'm It!

2007-07-20T16:42:00.000-07:00

I've been tagged by Amanda AND frog. And I'm supposed to tag eight other people, only like bomb, pretty much every blogger I know has already been tagged. So screw that part. Heh.

The rules:

1. Let others know who tagged you.
2. Players start with 8 random facts about themselves.
3. Those who are tagged should post these rules and their 8 random facts.
4. Players should tag 8 other people and notify them they have been tagged.

My eight random facts:
1. I played clarinet from 4th grade through high school. I was in the concert band and marching band and in the latter wore a ridiculously tall fuzzy hat with a chin strap.
2. I've been to Dillingham, AK but I never worked in the fishing industry.
3. Falafel gives me heartburn every time I eat it but I will never stop eating it.
4. I was taller than my mother by the time I was in 5th grade.
5. I took seven years to complete my BA.
6. I have a water garden, which is like a pond in a container.
7. I've met Sean Penn, Phil Donohue and Bill Harris (of Bill and Emily Harris).
8. I attempted to sneak out my bedroom window once to protest Nixon's arrival at the airport in my town. It was in the '70s and I was probably 13 or 14. My dad busted me before I got halfway out.

There you go. More than you wanted or needed to know!

Moving at the Speed of Molasses

2007-07-01T07:57:00.000-07:00

I'd really love to be one of those people whose reaction to stress is a burst a manic energy -- the ones who immediately buckle down and clean (and possibly paint!) the entire house when the stress hits. I'm the other kind. I respond to intense stress by turning into a deer in the headlights. My coping style is neither fight nor flight. It's more like sit here motionless, pretending to be invisible, and hope the threat leaves on its own. I've spent more than a few hours immobilized by anxiety lately. This, it turns out, does not get the packing done. Nor the sorting of belongings headed for the thrift store. Nor the other 10,000 things that have to be completed before we move at the end of the month.

I'm trying to remember to take action. Even if the action's small. Maybe I could build momentum. You never know.

Yesterday I scored big-time. A couple about 10 minutes away advertised their barely-used moving boxes on Craigslist. I was the first to arrive and drove away with the car full of boxes. Yay!

I'm so distracted it's getting ridiculous. I'm forgetting things. Simple things. Things I can't believe I'm forgetting. I forgot my clothes in the laundry room, twice. Then later in the bathroom, I'm ready to change tampons, I pull out the first one and looky there! Another string! Evidently I'd forgotten to take one out before putting another one in. I guess I should be glad there were only two.

I would say "Maybe you need to slow down," only I'm barely moving as it is. Maybe I should pay closer attention? You think?

Next Chapter

2007-06-22T19:45:00.000-07:00

Got the job. Moving up yonder. Stressed, not sleeping through the night. Excited, breathless, filled with dread and apprehension. Imagining the best, imagining the worst. Planning. It's what I do.

I've started breaking the news to people. Some are sad, some are handling it "better" than others, but really, for those who are sad, there's little I can do.

Should I apologize to them for following my heart?

Adrenaline Withdrawal

2007-06-17T18:58:00.000-07:00

Back from up yonder. The interview went well, I think. I was interviewed by four incredibly strong women and managed to give good answers (I think!), on about five hours of sleep. I visited many friends and hardly remembered to breathe. I'm exhausted.

They asked me about my availability for training.

They're hoping to make a hiring decision by Wednesday.

Breaking Up: Hard to Do

2007-06-12T19:03:00.000-07:00

I'm not telling my current employer about the job interview or even that I'm thinking of leaving town. I feel that's the best policy, in general. Suppose I end up not getting a job up yonder for a few months? And it drags on. And on... It wouldn't leave me in a particularly good position to negotiate whatever I might want to negotiate. When I tell them I'm leaving them for a better job. When they break down and cry and beg me to stay.

Unfortunately, I'm terrible at keeping secrets. It's possible I'll break down and tell somebody or let something slip at any moment. Stay tuned!

I've calmed down considerably tonight. I'm not exactly sure why. Could be the nice calming herbal tea, the foot rub, yoga class, or maybe I've just worn my brain out. It's exhausting, all the planning and worrying. Exhausting!

I feel I should be studying up on the particulars of this job but doing that makes me anxious. So either I'll suck it up and study, or wing it and hope for the best.

This is so exciting.

Jitters

2007-06-09T07:45:00.000-07:00

It turns out the job up yonder wasn't filled -- they had another position and it was that one they were holding interviews for. I know this because they called me on Thursday to set up an interview. I'm flying up there Thursday for a Friday interview. I'm working at keeping my anxiety under control and not always succeeding. It's a big deal, especially since getting the job would mean a major move. Also, this job is definitely more career-path than my present job, which means I'd have to care about it a lot more. It will require a great deal more of me. Not just in terms of time and focus, but also commitment and energy. I don't have the same energy I did when I worked there in the last century. I was a lot younger then.

This weekend I need to shop for an interview suit. Last time I did that was... Let's see... 1995. What is it the young people are wearing to job interviews nowadays?

Or, Not

2007-06-02T08:53:00.000-07:00

Driving home yesterday on one of our famous narrow, steep and winding streets, I pull over to let a car coming from the opposite direction through. As soon as I do so, guy behind me tries to pass me, thus blocking the other person entirely. A stand-off ensues. I look around to give the guy the stinkeye, he gives me the finger.

This, I will not miss.

Slow to Adapt

2007-06-01T13:00:00.001-07:00

Now that we're seriously talking about leaving this place, I realize there are some things I never adjusted to. And now it looks like I might not, ever. Getting really good corn, canteloupe and strawberries in May, for example. A little bit wrong. Too early. But oh, so good. Maybe it's one thing I'll miss about this place. If we ever leave. Which, who knows, maybe we will. Or maybe we won't.

Nothing to See Here

2007-05-30T19:01:00.000-07:00

I'm in limbo. I can't make a frickin' decision about anything: Where to live, what job I want, when to make a hair appointment -- none of the important life issues! The "pro/con" exercise doesn't work about where to live, because how can I balance "Be near my best friend" against "Possibly keep earning a living wage"? "Having health insurance" against "Those big-assed evergreens lining the freeway"? See? It just doesn't work.

I was asked to take on a new responsibility at my meditation center. I tried to beg off, saying I'm not sure how much longer I'll even live here. The asker gave me a month to let him know. Not helpful! It's something I think I'd enjoy doing, and it needs doing, but sheesh. Already so many things to consider in making this decision.

I'm just not a very good decider. It's a family trait. I once knew my family to take over two hours to decide where to eat dinner and then they still didn't pick a restaurant -- more like a part of town and "we'll decide once we get there." How did we not starve to death?

I'm thinking of setting up a few sessions with a career counselor. I'm just that stumped. Now how do I decide which one to see??

Bummer

2007-05-23T18:57:00.000-07:00

So that job up yonder? Didn't get it. I heard from a friend that "they've already had one round of interviews" and I think that since I didn't get a call or anything, I didn't get in. Which bruised my ego terribly. I used to be pretty hot stuff in that work culture. Now? Stale as last week's bread.

Now that this job isn't hanging out there, I need to strategize and come up with The Plan. I want so much in my midlife career, and yet I'm not sure what I want. I've actually never been this ambivalent about my job future. Rudderlessness does not suit me. No sir, not one bit.

Helpful hint: Warm Kettle Korn appears to be a curative. Might want to stock up if you're job-hunting. Or enjoying midlife. Get the big bag if you're doing both.

Know Thyself

2007-05-17T09:49:00.000-07:00

Thanks to frog, I have some new information about myself. The test is here; here are my results:

Your Brain Usage Profile:
Auditory : 40%
Visual : 60%
Left : 64%
Right : 35%

gosling, you are somewhat left-hemisphere dominant and show a preference for visual learning, although not extreme in either characteristic. You probably tend to do most things in moderation, but not always.

Your left-hemisphere dominance implies that your learning style is organized and structured, detail oriented and logical. Your visual preference, though, has you seeking stimulation and multiple data. Such an outlook can overwhelm structure and logic and create an almost continuous state of uncertainty and agitation [What have I been trying to tell you?!]. You may well suffer a feeling of continually trying to "catch up" with yourself [and thus be exhausted all the damned time -- too exhausted to blog, really].

Your tendency to be organized and logical and attend to details is reasonably well-established which should afford you success regardless of your chosen field of endeavor. You can "size up" situations and take in information rapidly. However, you must then subject that data to being classified and organized which causes you to "lose touch" with the immediacy of the problem.

Your logical and methodical nature hamper you in this regard though in the long run it may work to your advantage since you "learn from experience" [absolute proof this test is bogus] and can go through the process more rapidly on subsequent occasions.

You remain predominantly functional in your orientation and practical. Abstraction and theory are secondary to application. In keeping with this, you focus on details until they manifest themselves in a unique pattern and only then work with the "larger whole." [In other words, you are the world's biggest nitpicker and blind to the "big picture" -- surprise!]

With regards to your career choices, you have a mentality that would be good as a scientist, coach, athlete, design consultant, or an engineering technician [none of which you are trained for and let's face it, you're not getting any younger, Coach]. You can "see where you want to go" and even be able to "tell yourself," but find that you are "fighting yourself" at the darndest times [like, most of the darned time].

I Know You Miss Me

2007-05-15T19:01:00.000-07:00

Yeah, yeah, I know. It's been ages. Maybe this will entertain you while you continue to wait. Or, not.

Synchronicity, Man

2007-04-10T11:53:00.000-07:00

I found out about a job opening in our hometown, the city we'd love more than anything to return to. It's a management job at the place where I used to work. The money's not bad and I'm certainly qualified to do the work. Knowing this brings up about 10,000 issues, all having to do with the unpredictability of the future. I lost considerable sleep last night ruminating and panicking about the possibility of returning "home."

When I'm faced with big life decisions like this, I like to gather as much data as possible before taking any action. So I called an old friend of mine up yonder. She and I used to work together in the place that has the job opening. We haven't spoken in a long, long time. Definitely over two years. As soon as she heard my voice on the phone she said, "Oh! I just had a dream about you last night!"

These little clues from the universe? A little spooky. Also a little annoying, though I can't say exactly why.

Vegan Sunday Dinner, Easter Edition

2007-04-08T21:21:00.000-07:00

Sundays require comfort food. Simple as that. This week I tried the recipe for vegan "meatloaf" from the latest Vegetarian Times. I've been searching for the perfect loaf recipe for ages and this one comes pretty darned close to perfection. Other loaf recipes can be found at the Magic Loaf Studio, of course. Lots of delicious Sunday dinners have come from Jennifer's site. Tonight's was little salty, maybe. Possibly from the soy crumbles, which are pretty high in salt. But still very delicious. The leftovers will make great sandwiches. With the loaf we each had a generous serving of garlic mashed potatoes and Golden Gravy (I always add some sliced mushrooms to the recipe), and steamed broccoli. For dessert there were vegan brownies, the recipe for which can be found here. They've become a big favorite around here. Unfortunately no picture, because those brownies had to be eaten while they were still warm and taking a picture? Would have delayed the eating.

Ineffective

2007-03-28T19:48:00.000-07:00

How to send someone with an anxiety disorder completely around the bend: Tell this person, "The thing you fear most you will create."

Free Parking

2007-03-26T11:08:00.000-07:00

The Chronicle has a story today about the rampant cheating that goes on with parking placards in California. Apparently, not everyone with a blue free parking permit has a legitimate disability! IMAGINE! In a city widely known for its lack of parking, people are cheating. One in 16 California residents has a parking placard. What this means is that people with actual disabilities that impair mobility can't get parking when they need it. Further, because everybody in my town knows there are huge numbers of cheaters, we subject people with disabilities to a level of scrutiny (and mistrust) they frankly do not need or deserve. What a mess. From the article:

But last year, the DMV -- after its annual check of state death records -- canceled 25,352 permits after determining that the people to whom they were issued had died. Caregivers or relatives of the deceased are supposed to surrender placards.

"Annual check"?? Supposedly cities in California are stepping up enforcement. Sadly (but predictably) it was the hit to parking meter revenue that got the bureaucrats off their fannies, not concern for people with disabilities.

I think I'd like my next career to be Placard Enforcer. I wonder if they give you a badge. What do you think of a TV show based on this fantasy career? Maybe "CSI: Parking Enforcement" or "Law and Order: Cheater Unit."

Vegan Sunday Dinner, March 25

2007-03-25T20:32:00.000-07:00

It was misty and cool today. The kind of day that's perfect for staying inside, drinking tea and reading. A day that called for comfort food. I made a veggie pot pie with whole wheat crust. I wish I could give you a recipe, but it was a little-of-this, little-of-that deal. Lots of crimini mushrooms, carrots, potato, onion, garlic, celery, broccoli, gravy (with mushroom broth, tamari, miso, nutritional yeast, a little corn starch, stuff...). It was good. On the side, some roasted fennel. The co-op had some gorgeous fennel AND beautiful spring red onions this week -- who could resist? I roasted them together with a little balsamic, olive oil, brown sugar and salt. Yummy.

For dessert there was an improvised apple-raisin upside-down cake. I used a basic vegan cake recipe on top of thinly sliced apples, raisins, a little vegan margarine, brown sugar, cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg, with about a tablespoon of maple syrup. It was good but needs a little tinkering to achieve dessert perfection. A mug of ginger tea topped it off nicely on this chilly evening.

Excuse Me?

2007-03-23T09:40:00.000-07:00

I've been dreaming lately of moving to Eugene, where houses are still relatively cheap, the political climate suits us and we'd be closer to family (but not TOO close). Most importantly we'd be back in our beloved Northwest. So occasionally I take little breaks during the day to look at house ads and sigh. This one, however? Thanks but no thanks. I like my privacy in the bathroom.

Compassion of the Easy Kind

2007-03-19T19:17:00.000-07:00

Today my homeless friend Mr. Shirthead Man (whose nickname gives you a clue about his headgear of choice) stopped me on my way out of the BART tunnel. He told me somebody had stolen his shoes while he was sleeping on the street. He asked me for money. He never asks unless he really needs it -- he knows I'll give him money when I have some to spare. He sells this paper for money and he's one of the hardest working homeless guys I know. He was in his stocking feet. After a brief conversation about the lack of respect shown by young people nowadays, and some reminiscing about kinder, gentler times on the San Francisco streets, I gave him some money and wished him well.

Halfway to my office, it dawned on me I could have asked him his size, walked a few blocks to Goodwill and bought him a new pair of shoes. This is what I would have done for any other friend in such dire need. What, I wondered, stopped me from thinking of this while I was talking to Mr. Shirthead Man? I imagined him walking to Goodwill in his socks.

Do I just go around dispensing compassion in amounts I think are appropriate, like some kind of goody-goody demi-god? Waiting for the gratitude? Am I afraid that giving too much away will leave me without enough for somebody else later? Am I fearful of being taken advantage of? Or do I really do what needs doing? I wish I had acted better. I hope I have another chance.

New Template! Oops!

2007-03-18T10:29:00.000-07:00

I'm not entirely sure I love the new look. Feel free to comment. Also, did you know that when Blogger tells you "Your old template will be completely lost when you click the button below" they actually MEAN it? And that means you'll lose all your LINKS? And you'll have to spend about an hour reassembling them and then doing it all over again because you don't like their placement?? Did you? Well, now you do.

If I forgot to link you and you want to be linked, or if I never linked you before and you've been wondering why, let me know and I'll put you over there on that list.

No Sunday Dinner feature this week. We're going out (after a trip to Costco! WOOHOO!). Dinner will therefore look something like this:

Followed by something with vegetables.

Joy of Joys! Liz Returns!

2007-03-16T09:55:00.000-07:00

I've been missing (and worrying about) a favorite blogger of mine for months and months, ever since she got cancer and quit her blog at Granny Vibe. Turns out, she's been blogging since November! And nobody told me! You can find Liz's new home here. She rocks.

The Bush Administration Cares About Aging (Laughter)

2007-03-15T18:04:00.000-07:00

The Summit on Global Aging (which I realize sounds like the aging of the planet but in fact has to do with the aging of people on the planet) convened today. Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice made brief remarks which you can read here. Here's my favorite part:

I am pleased to have this opportunity to speak to you at today’s Summit on Global Aging. The event has served to sharpen two key points in all of our minds. First, despite our best efforts to ignore it, none of us are getting any younger and I want to thank everybody for reminding me of that. (Laughter.)

In other words, "HA! HA HA! I'm at a big important conference on aging! Telling funny funny jokes about getting older! While representing an administration that is working day and night to decimate medical and economic safety nets for aging Americans and those with disabilities! I slay me!"

Yeah. Haha.

Wacky

2007-03-15T17:54:00.001-07:00

Thanks to Em for this fun! My first try (with another picture) netted too many men (including Elton John and Elvis Costello). I like this one better.

My Netflix Queue Doesn't Look So Bad After All

2007-03-14T14:53:00.000-07:00

When compared to The Worst of the Worst, in fact, it looks pretty darned good!

Okay, I might have seen a couple of the worst 100. Maybe even three. Thing is, they were awful. I can't really be expected to remember them all.

Sunday Dinner Again

2007-03-12T19:22:00.000-07:00

Yeah, yeah, I know. But we were supposed to have this dinner last night. Instead, we went to the movies and then had dinner at one of my favorite Chinese places. I had General Tso's (faux) Chicken. And veggie potstickers. So good.

Anyhow, I had these ingredients on hand and the bean sprouts weren't getting any younger, so I figured I'd just switch days. Big mistake. I made "Brooklyn Pad Thai" from the recipe of a friend's secret girlfriend. Very complicated and time-consuming for a weeknight dinner. Also? Too may pots and pans and dishes. Which makes The Dishmeister a teeny bit cranky. The meal was okay, not great. Too much vinegar and red pepper for my taste. Maybe in Brooklyn they make their Pad Thai differently? What do New Yorkers know from Thai food, anyway? It's probably not something I'll make again -- at least not without some tinkering.

Looks pretty though, doesn't it?

What I Did Last Week

2007-03-11T11:34:00.000-07:00

I knew somebody was going to be sorry once I learned how to download photos to the blog. Looks like "somebody" is, well, you. Avert your eyes if you're squeamish. Or if unshaven legs give you the heebie jeebies.

Here's my leg all bandaged up:

Here's my leg two days later after the bandages came off (shortly before I waited an hour and a half at the surgeon's office for my follow-up appointment!):

Moral: Stop crossing your legs, get plenty of exercise, keep a healthy weight and if you have a family history of varicose veins, watch those legs and find a good vascular surgeon. Just in case none of that other stuff works.

Sunday Dinner

2007-03-04T19:20:00.000-08:00

Since some people refuse to food-blog, I see it's up to me to pick up the slack. Tonight's dinner emphasized the comfort food. (Because I'm having a teensy "procedure" tomorrow, about which you should not worry. Seriously.) There was honey-mustard tempeh (Deborah Madison) and braised collard greens (ditto), together with mashed mixed root vegetables, the idea for which was planted as a seed by the lovely Bomboniera! Weeks ago! Germinating away in my brain until tonight. I used Yukon Gold taters, turnips, celery root and parsnips, with a little garlic and onion for flavor. And of course some non-dairy "milk" and "butter," salt and pepper. So, so delish.

Dessert was this great cake, which is easy-peasy and which makes use of over-ripe bananas. It's vegan, too! You can get the recipe here, but don't be fooled -- that should read "3/4 TEASPOON," not "3/4 CUP," vanilla. And I always use a cup of white and 2/3 cup whole wheat flour. To offset the cup of sugar. Or something. Be sure to serve it warm with a nice cold glass of soy or almond milk. Yum.

I don't claim the label "vegan" because honestly, I haven't earned it. I eat fish once a week, I eat (and love, guiltily) honey, I wear leather. I don't have the patience to research every wine label to see if they are or are not animal-friendly. I am too busy drinking the wine! If a splash of milk makes it into my morning tea, I don't toss it out. I do avoid dairy, however. I stopped eating meat (except for the aforementioned fish) over two years ago and (mostly) quit dairy last summer. I'm down about 20 pounds, my energy and health are amazing, and bonus! The spouse's cholesterol levels are down to a level that finally stopped his family doc from threatening him with meds at his annual check-ups! Woot! Hey. I think he just went into the kitchen for a second piece of that cake...

Know Your Elders

2007-03-03T08:11:00.000-08:00

Very interesting set of quizzes, over at Senior Journal. Sixteen of them, actually. So you might want to save the link for a day when you have some time to kill, because you'll want to take them all. Maybe Monday. At work.

One true-false question in particular jumped out at me: "Most old workers cannot work as effectively as younger workers." This reminds me I haven't provided any updates on the spouse's age and disability discrimination case against his very very bad former employers. It's still pending, though a settlement might be close. He's being offered something far less than what is fair, but he's tired and we're both ready to move on. The latest offer structures the pay-out as wages -- meaning all employee withholding, FICA and etc. will be deducted. This is just another example of the ways these guys screw with him. This employer, by the way, is a nonprofit. In the health care field. We have a question in to his attorney regarding my responsibilities vis a vis the "non-disclosure agreement" the spouse is being asked to sign. If I am not bound by it, watch this space for sordid details! (Maybe I'm kidding. Am I kidding? Not really sure.)

If you think age discrimination on the job can't happen to you, think again. After this happened to the spouse, we heard multiple stories of shocking and blatant discrimination of older workers. As we boomers move into the 60+ category, look for this kind of discrimination to be commonplace. Simply put, younger workers are cheaper. It's all about the bottom line, after all.

Very Important Case

2007-03-02T12:45:00.000-08:00

Read about it here.

From the story:

Sally Herriot likes where she lives and doesn't want to move.

At 88, Herriot uses a walker, needs help getting dressed and is having problems with her eyes. Still, she knows what she wants. She regularly attends the San Francisco Opera, reads the Economist and says that with the help of her own round-the-clock aides, she has everything she needs in her one-bedroom Palo Alto apartment.

But Channing House, the retirement home where Herriot lives, disagrees, and officials there have told Herriot she must move from her spacious apartment into a much smaller, assisted-living unit at the home where they believe she will be better served by a trained nursing staff.

Herriot is fighting back.
*snip*
Herriot says she's not planning to go anywhere soon.
"I wish we could sweep it under the rug, but we can't. They would love us to say, 'I give up,' " she said. "It'll be harder than that." Turning to her son, she asks him: "Can you envision me saying, 'I give up?' "

Couple-o' Three Things

2007-03-02T09:58:00.000-08:00

1. Dear Bike Rider on Valencia Street: If you are going to ride alongside parked cars, at night, in the rain, having a bike light would be good. Also the wearing of not-black clothes. Calling me the c-word for opening my car door when I couldn't see you? Shows me you have a very unhappy life. You probably always wonder why people treat you so badly. You are unaware of your part in human interactions. (Hint: It's 50% if two of you are involved in the interaction.) Good luck in anger management class. You make me a teeny bit sorry I didn't actually hit you with the car door. Maybe I'll see you in anger management class.

2. Mark Morford can tell you exactly what's been going on at our house. Minus the porn. Good grief. I am in the process of driving every single person I know crazy with my indecision and materialistic ambivalence. Help. Me.

3. HAPPY BIRTHDAY FROG!!! May it be a year of love, peace and every kind of fulfillment.

Happy New Year!

2007-02-18T22:37:00.000-08:00

Updates

2007-02-05T18:16:00.000-08:00

Stuff I told you about here has changed. Well, some of it has. Molly Ivins remains dead, as do my uncle and neighbor. At least death is permanent. Or is it?

My best friend's suspicious "masses" of the breast and armpit turned out to be calcification or something -- at any rate, nothing to worry about. She has to go back in a year for another mammogram and that's it.

Her mom is doing incredibly well, despite dementia and the resulting confusion. She thinks she's in elementary school, evidently. Crazy thing is, she's a lot happier (friend: "She LOVED school!") and is even participating in group activities at the nursing home, which she never did in the assisted living facility where she used to live. Happiness is good, even if it's based on faulty thinking. Isn't it?

Friend's cat with kidney failure has rallied and is now eating, playing with the other cat in the house and walking around with his tail in the air. We've recently heard of cats living a year or more after this diagnosis. Hope has been restored (at least temporarily).

Over the weekend I attended a class. On Sunday we were asked to participate in an exercise about impermance and our tendency to avoid the difficult feelings associated with impermanence: Each of us was invited to sit in a chair facing the group of 30 or so and state our name and our parents' names and then announce out loud that we will die. As in, "I am Sarah, my father was Bill and my mother is Martha. I will die." It was a profound and moving experience and one I'll be thinking about for a long, long time.

Man Code, Cracked

2007-02-03T07:10:00.000-08:00

This article has me all heated up this morning. In it, Chronicle columnist C. W. Nevius explains why our mayor's sexual decisions represent a breach in the "Man Code." The article is part of the larger annoying media package on this story, which focuses on the "betrayal" by Newsom of his relationship with the husband of his lover. Rarely do we hear that in fact his lover was an employee (his appointment secretary) and that possibly such relationships are, at best, really poor choices and demonstrative of some incredibly bad (and not very mayoral) decision-making, and at worst, sexual harassment. From the article:

It seems that what is at work here is another case in which women are from Venus and men are from the mysterious, dark side of the moon.

"There is a code that men live by," says family therapist Tracey Gersten, a woman. "Women may not know about it, or they may pooh-pooh it, but it is very real. I think if you put a group of men in a room, they'd have no trouble putting a man code together."

"The betrayal is the big thing," said Colin Hussey, 44, who was among those who wrote me. "Good God, this is your loyal ally. It is that sense of honor. It's like the samurai or even the mafia."

Baffled, without a Tracey Gersten (woman!) around to ask for help, I asked Mr. Spouse what all this means. He swaggered a little and did his best to imitate a Regular Guy™.

"It's like this: We men have to be able to trust that our property isn't going to be defiled when we loan it out for other purposes."

It's so helpful, having a translator around the house.

Impermanence Abounds

2007-01-31T09:16:00.000-08:00

The evidence:

My uncle (Mom's brother) died of pneumonia and its complications about a month ago.
My best friend had a "possible heart attack" in December and now has suspicious things on her breast and in her armpit that required an MRI on Monday (results due today).
Same friend's mother recently took a bad fall that caused head injuries. She's in a nursing home and no longer recognizes her kids. She can't get out of bed or feed herself without assistance any more. She's in her 80s.
My mother-in-law (89) is up in Washington seeing a specialist for diabetes-related vein and foot problems that will likely result in amputation of her foot and possibly part of her leg.
The guy who manages my building at work -- a sweet guy and good friend -- just went through some very invasive tests for possible prostate cancer. Results soon.
My friend's 13 year-old cat was just diagnosed with kidney cancer and isn't expected to live more than a month.
An online friend's dad died suddenly and unexpectedly. I'm not sure of his age, but my pal is only in her mid-30s.
I just this morning found out that one of our nearest neighbors died of liver cancer in November. He was only 56.
All the stuff involving jobs, bodies and cars we've been going through since August.

There's no escaping it: Nothing whatsoever is permanent. I accept that. The reminders really suck though.

Edited to add: And now Molly Ivins is dead. How I'll miss her amazing work and incredible humor. Like I said earlier today, the reminders suck.

Sex Through the Ages

2007-01-28T11:11:00.000-08:00

I had a conversation with my friend Pat the other day that's been stuck in my head. She was telling me about a running joke she has with her friend Maddy. Pat's 76 (shh, don't tell her I told you); Maddy's in her 80s. Both women are straight. Evidently Maddy's doctor asked her if she "has a gentleman friend." Which both women understood was really a question about whether or not Maddie's still sexually active. Maddy laughed and told her doctor, "Oh heavens NO! I wouldn't want any man who'd have me!" This story cracks them up, Maddy and Pat. Pat tells me, "You'll see what's funny about it when you get older. I mean, really! Imagine! If someone wanted a wrinkled up old woman who looks like ME? What kind of pervert would he be? YUCK!"

I guess if you're lucky enough to be in a long-term relationship at that age, sex makes sense and is acceptable. But starting a new relationship with a man? That carries the implication the man must have something wrong with him, what with being attracted to women of a certain age. Not just something wrong -- something profoundly wrong that makes him completely unacceptable as a mate.

Good grief. This is where it the fetishizing of youth leads? I didn't realize.

My 100th Post

2007-01-28T11:08:00.001-08:00

We got a new car. It's a Subaru. It's blue.

You know how, when you buy a new car, you worry about that first scratch? Well, we didn't have to worry long. I took us out of our misery. The first day. Pulling out of the garage. Whew -- that's a relief.

Mark Your Calendar!

2007-01-25T15:40:00.000-08:00

I've talked about the Mountain Meadows Massacre here before. Turns out there's a movie! Coming out in May! Which will surely infuriate the Mormon brethren and make them curse the Word of Wisdom because a nice shot of hooch sure would take the edge off!

Read all about it here. From the article:

Jon Voight, Dean Cain and Terence Stamp are set to upset Mormons across America by revisiting the religion's darkest day in a controversial new film. "September Dawn" recalls the Mountain Meadows Massacre in 1857 when a group of Mormons, disguised as Paiute Indians, slaughtered all but 17 small children on a wagon train on its way to California.

The official website! The trailer! (And how much do I love Movie Guy's voiceover? So much.)

Another site describes the film as "A love story set against the 19th century massacre of a wagon train of settlers in Utah at the hands of a renegade Mormon group." Love story. Set against a massacre. Something for everybody!

Here's a fun fact: Dean Cain plays Brigham Young in this film. He also played Scott Peterson in the made-for-TV movie, "The Perfect Husband: The Laci Peterson Story." I don't know why I find this fascinating, I just do.

Jon Voight! Lolita Davidovich! I'm so excited, I can't sit still. "September Dawn." May. I'm there.

Stuff I've Been Meaning to Tell You

2007-01-25T15:21:00.000-08:00

We spent the year-end holidays with Mother, even staying in one of the "guest apartments" in her complex. This gave us an amazing and reassuring view of life inside Assisted Living and before the week was out Mr. Spouse was suggesting we might enjoy spending our retirement there. This from the guy who once compared Mom's facility to prison.
One side effect of living among the elders for an extended period seems to be a shift in fashion sense. At least that's what my sister told me when she caught me checking out the rack of velour "jogging suits" at Dillard's.
I went to Memphis a couple of weeks ago for a conference and there I met some amazing women, one of whom I've known (in an online kind of way) for years. It was a big highlight of an otherwise depressing and infuriating trip. She's not only awesome, she's pregnant. You should go over and congratulate her.
Mr. Spouse was rear-ended last weekend, and our little green car is totaled. I bought this car after an accident I had in 1996. I was hit by a Mack® truck and dragged down I-5 at 55 miles per hour during rush hour, in the rain. I came out of it without a scratch. Mr. Spouse was similarly injury-free after being hit by a drunk driver (at 10AM!) going full speed. Both crashed cars were Subarus. Our new car will also be a Subaru. Gotta love safety.

The accident makes me think we're living under some kind of cloud or something. As in, enough already. First his shoulder injuries and surgery. Then, his being fired (illegally, with much actionable discrimination). Now, this. If bad luck does come in threes, we're good to go. Cross your fingers for us. Please?

You Thought I Was Kidding?

2006-12-20T16:24:00.000-08:00

...about Mormons being baptized on behalf of dead Jews (and the rest of us)? Oh no. I'd never kid about something that disrespectful and gruesome. Ever.

From the article:

In life, Nazi hunter Simon Wiesenthal was among the most famous Jews of the 20th century. In death, he wound up on a list of people eligible to be posthumously baptised as Mormons so they could enter heaven.

Third Post Today! Caffeine-Free! I Swear!

2006-12-19T21:35:00.000-08:00

I got tagged by Bomboniera! She rocks. In spite of the tagging. Heh.

The instructions:
1. Find the nearest book.
2. Turn to page 123.
3. Go to the fifth sentence on the page.
4. Copy out the next three sentences and post to your blog.
5. Name the book and the author, and tag three more folks.

"Usually we don't want to work with aggressive people because we feel they will not give us an easy time. They are a threat to our unbodhisattvalike mentality of looking for pleasure and security. And when we encounter somebody who wrongs us, we harbor tremendous resentment and refuse to forgive him."

The Heart of the Buddha, by Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche

I tag frog, attrice and Trudi.

Sitemeter Rocks My World, Again

2006-12-19T21:23:00.000-08:00

I come in #9 for a search using: "silly goose Christmas frog." This tickles me so much!

Also, several people ended up here by searching for "yule bread." Let me again share the easy-peasy bread machine recipe I found last year, in case you're one of them: Thanks, Erik the Red! It's yummy -- I promise -- and your Scandinavian relatives won't even know it came from a machine.

One person found their way here by searching for "bowel movement fainting spell." I hope with all my heart you're okay and you found some information you could use. Think about seeing a medical-type person, please?

Holly Jolly

2006-12-19T21:07:00.000-08:00

Because it just wouldn't be the holidays without the traditional Christmas link. Best served with some of these:

And a nice cup of this:

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Because Evidently I Can't Resist Crowds

2006-12-11T16:32:00.000-08:00

I do some baking around the holidays and give the treats away. The only person I still buy a Christmas gift for is my mom. Because I wanted to do a little more giving this year, I went searching for folks who might like gifts. I found these and these and went shopping for them over the weekend. It was fun! If you have a little left over this year, I doubt you'll find people more appreciative. These folks have practically nothing (notice the blanket drive here -- how can people living in the richest country in the world be without blankets in winter?!). If you don't have time to shop, they are also happy to take money. Season's greetings to all.

Mrs. Scrooge

2006-12-01T12:42:00.000-08:00

Because somebody in the household goes all nutty when music about The Baby Jesus is played, I get my Christmas music fix at work. My current favorite sources:

KDFC, Bay Area
Pandora
Frog's Pandora

Ho ho ho!

"What About Me?"

2006-11-29T15:00:00.000-08:00

Go here. See an incredibly cool teacher.

When we are confused about the source of happiness, we start to blame the world for our dissatisfaction, expecting it to make us happy. Then we act in ways that bring more confusion and chaos into our life. When our mind is busy and discursive, thinking uncontrollably, we are engaging in a bad habit. We are stirring up the mud of jealousy, anger, and pride. Then the mind has no choice but to become familiar with the language of negativity and develop it further.

When desire or anger takes our mind and says, “You're coming with me,” we become paupers. The pauper wakes up each morning with the thought “What about me? Will I get what I want today?” This meditation resonates through our day like a heartbeat. We think, “Will this food make me happy?” “Will this movie make me happy?” “Will this person make me happy?” “Will this new sweater make me happy?” “What about me?” becomes the motivating force of our activity.

--Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche (longer excerpt here)

Overheard at the Gym

2006-11-27T19:42:00.000-08:00

In the dressing room, the day before Thanksgiving:

"I always make sure we plan some kind of physical activity when we get together with my siblings, like a long bike ride. The endorphins seem to help. It's like dogs -- you wear them out and hope they don't misbehave. Maybe they'll still pee and poop on the rug, but maybe they won't chew up the furniture."

Julia Sweeney Explains Mormonism

2006-11-15T14:55:00.000-08:00

Here.

It's as silly as it sounds. Really.

Wow

2006-10-22T17:09:00.000-07:00

Turn your back for a minute (or possibly two months) and the spammers start to creep in. Here's an excerpt from a now-deleted comment. It's just too good not to share.

CASUAL SEX WILL CLAIM YOU OUT!!! It masculinizes women (as does hip hop), makes them cold and deadens them, and prevents them from achieving a depth of love necessary for many women to ascend.

Women have a special voice that speaks to them, a voice that illustrates a potential depth of love that makes them the favored gender, and enaging in casual sex will cause that voice to fade until she no longer speaks.

Also ever since the 50s they have celebrated the "bad boy", and women have sought out bad boys for sex, dirtying them up in the eyes of the elders and corrupting many men in the process, setting the men on the wrong path for life.

Muslims teach people the correct way to live in regard to women (among other things)::they cover up their women's bodies and prohibit the use of cosmetics.
Men ARE the inferior (disfavored) half and when women wear promiscuous dress the gods will push men into impure (promiscuous) thoughts.

The "stereotype" society ridiculed is true::women CAN corrupt men by how they dress. Because men are easily corruptable. This is a technique they used to eliminate many of the institutions the gods blessed us with, matchmaking being one of them.

Given that I personally have both sought out "bad boys" and contributed to men's corruption by my dress, I'm thinking this guy's a prophet...

Best Dinner of the Week

2006-08-20T09:40:00.000-07:00

For Attrice!

Since virtually every damned body is blogging about food, I figured I might as well use my favorite pastime as fodder, too. And, Attrice told me to. Reason enough.

In chat one day, the subject of faux tuna salad came up. I used Attrice's description as a jump-off point for the best meal of the week (with nods to Jenniferschmoo for the original thought seed!). The results far exceeded my expectations! Some quantities are approximate -- use your judgement and personal preference for the best results.

Yummy Faux Fish Patties
Makes about 12 2" patties

2-3 tbl. hijiki, depending upon your preference for "fishy" flavor
2 tbl. soy sauce or tamari
1 can (14-1/2 oz.) garbanzo beans, drained
1 cup bread crumbs
3 tbl. each of finely chopped onion, celery, red pepper and fresh parsley
1 egg or equivalent substitute, lightly beaten
1 tbl. lemon juice
1-2 tbl. mayo (preferably Vegenaise!) -- enough to moisten
1/4 cup canola oil

Cover the hijiki with boiling water and soak for 15 minutes; strain and rinse, then put in small saucepan with the soy sauce and about a cup of water. Heat to a boil, reduce heat and simmer 15 minutes. Drain, cool and mince.

Mash the beans to a coarse mash. Add half the bread crumbs and the rest of the ingredients. Place the remaining 1/2 cup bread crumbs in a flat bowl or on a plate. Using a wooden spoon or your hands (better!) mix the bean mixture thoroughly. Form small patties (about 2-3" across).

Heat oil in a skillet on medium-high. Coat each patty with bread crumbs and place in the skillet. Cook until lightly browned.

Serve with tartar sauce (mayonnaise, dill relish, parsley + chopped green onion).

I served sweet potato oven fries seasoned with soy sauce, garlic and ginger on the side. It was delicious and the leftovers were fantastic.

It's the Quality, Not the Quantity

2006-08-17T16:03:00.000-07:00

I seem to have broken my old record for consecutive days of not-posting. Go, me! If you're one of the handful of folks who check here hoping for updates, I'm sorry. But I do admire your tenacity and optimism!

Big Things have happened in the last month, many having something to do with aging!

1. My mother turned 82. I sent her a gift, a vibrator! (I can't wait to see the traffic jam at the entrance to this blog when I hit "publish"!)

Here's why she got that gift: When we cleaned out her house, before she moved to assisted living, my sister J and I came across Mom's old vibrator. She'd had that thing since long before I was born. She said she used it for her back. She has scoliosis and also an old shoulder injury. She's also not the most sex-positive woman of her generation, so I always thought it was very possible she did actually use it for back and shoulder pain.

Still, J and I were a little creeped out by that old thing. Looking back, I know we were mostly creeped out by the thought of an old woman enjoying any kind of sex. I've given that a lot of thought in the past two years (not too much! Just enough! I've already done therapy, thanks!) and I think I'm pretty much over the creepedoutedness.

She's mentioned it a few times since the move, along with everything else we threw away ("My old Kodak camera! What happened to that?! There were still pictures in there, I think!") So when I was trying to figure out what to get her this year, that thing popped into my head. Possibly the idea was planted subliminally. So I got her the nearest approximation made in the 21st century.

She thanked me for it with her usual charm and social grace: "Thank you for your package." So, maybe she loves it, maybe she hates it. But now she has a vibrator again.

2. I had a birthday and turned 48. This was a nice birthday. I took the day off work, went out for a lavish supper (with champagne!) and saw A Chorus Line. The joy of the day, however, was somewhat eclipsed by

3. We found out my husband needs shoulder replacement surgery, as soon as possible, and

4. He was fired from his job two days after notifying his employer of this fact. After ten years and excellent reviews. The written notice from his boss said he was being terminated "without cause" (which it turns out is perfectly legal in our state! Yay at-will employment!).

About a year ago his boss asked him when he planned to retire. He said, "In August 2007." Since then things have gone downhill. Readers, store this in your long-term memory: NEVER DISCLOSE YOUR PLANS TO LEAVE A JOB UNTIL YOU'RE HALFWAY OUT THE DOOR WITH YOUR POCKETS FULL OF PILFERED OFFICE SUPPLIES!

5. We've been talking to a lawyer about #4. That's all I'll say about that. Except that I like her very much and she had traces of chocolate on her face the first time we met with her.

I promise not to wait over a month to post again! I do! And next time I will post only good news. I hope.

Update on Pat

2006-07-12T21:00:00.000-07:00

Erin reminded me (here) that I haven't shared the latest news on Pat! First I did as Mom suggested and took her some nice soup. Actually, chili. Which I had to lie about to get her to accept: "Pat! Please help me! I was expecting guests, made a ton of chili, freezer's full and husband's about to go on a business trip. Won't you please take some??" Most parts of that were true! So, not really lying. Entirely. And she took the chili, and ate it. For which I was grateful. I sneaked in some cornbread too. What's chili without cornbread?

Then through some very strong arm-twisting, I talked her into letting me order groceries for her online. Just once! If it doesn't work we never have to do it again! I promise! It worked like a charm and the food came exactly as promised. Except they forgot her six-pack of Negro Modelo, but she got over that pretty quickly. Hooray! She spent the next couple of weeks cooking and eating to her heart's content. And here's the best part: Today we placed her second order. For about $200 worth of groceries. I couldn't be more thrilled and she's obviously feeling better. Sometimes stuff works out. Sometimes the stubborn prevail.

Inlaws: Gotta Love 'Em

2006-07-10T19:10:00.000-07:00

Last week we took a trip Up North to visit the family of my husband's birth. They are an interesting crew. "Interesting" being, as you know, one of those words that can disguise one's true feelings. Or not. You won't catch me telling you.

We ate, we swam, we watched gigantic explosions over the water in a very fancy boat that belongs to his niece. This niece is doing quite well, if the boat and very fancy house with the pool are any indication. She has a personal psychic. Seriously. The psychic is on her payroll. So Niece is telling us both about what the psychic's been saying about Niece's life situation. Turns out psychic believes there's a vortex to another dimension in Niece's fabulous (and fabulously mortgaged) new home. This vortex can apparently be a Good Vortex or a Bad Vortex, depending upon a whole bunch of factors I neither understand nor want to try to remember. Right now, it's bad. It's causing chaos and unhappiness in Niece's home life.

Then Mr. Gosling asks (and this is a perfect example of why I love the hell out of this guy), "So. How much will she charge you to get this vortex out of your house?"

We can't stop laughing about that question. I'm going to say "vortex" to him right now and watch him try to keep from peeing himself.

Dark Times

2006-06-28T20:19:00.000-07:00

How can our hearts be unbroken?

Disabled Homeless Man Who Was Set Afire in Spokane Dies

At this time of intense international anxiety, when the world is trapped in a spiral of hatred and fear, it is natural that extreme violence of all forms should erupt. It is also in the nature of beings that dark times such as these should give rise to profound wisdom and compassion.
-Richard Reoch, President of Shambhala International

Mom's Advice

2006-06-18T17:15:00.000-07:00

I have a friend, Pat, who's 76. Don't tell her I told you. She has a disability that makes it difficult for her to get around well and her vision's failing. Not fast, thank goodness -- she's still able to drive. She lives alone in an apartment here in the big urban center she's lived in all her life.

Pat's been ill for over a month. She had a kind of flu virus that turned into a more serious sinus and lung infection of some kind. She didn't tell anyone how sick she really was. When I called her a couple of weeks ago, she said she'd rather die than go on living like this. A series of phone calls got her a prescription for antibiotics and now she seems to be on the mend, slowly.

Through all this, I've offered help in a number of ways. While she did let me pick up her prescriptions, she refused to let me buy her groceries. "Do not bring me groceries or I swear I won't let you help me again!" I did anyway, but I knew I was taking a big risk. I always know I'm walking a fine line with Pat and I find it nerve-wracking: How far do I push her? Do I ignore what she says and do what I think is best? That's something I try to avoid, loving self-determination as I do. Do I follow her instructions and let her possibly go hungry and/or let medical problems worsen? It's a no-win, really.

This is just Pat's way: She refuses ALL offers of help and pretends things are a lot better than they actually are. I think it's partly a generational thing. People of her age, especially women, seem to believe it's impolite to allow others to help, even when the need is dire. But when nobody cares enough to ignore them -- to take care of them even when they say they need no help, they feel hurt.

So today I asked my mom's advice. I explained the situation, how Pat won't let me take her groceries, tells me everything's fine when it isn't, and so on. I asked, "What would YOU do, Mom?"

"Well, I think I'd take her some nice soup."

So there you go.

Writing Under Pressure

2006-05-31T16:23:00.000-07:00

A pal of mine added me to her blogroll today and that makes me think I should put something new up here in case any of her readers show up. If you came here via Tishie's LJ: HI!!

I paid a florist in my hometown to put Memorial Day flowers on the graves of my dad, grandparents and my cousin Linda, a baby who died when she was only a few days old. I did it last year, too. Taking care of Memorial Day was one of the biggest and last reasons Mom had for staying put in her old place. Every year she put together potted plants and took them out to the cemetery, kept them watered, and took them home after a week or so. She didn't want to leave those grave markers uncovered by moving away. Paying somebody to put flowers out makes me feel like a good daughter. It lets my mom relax about the holiday and it forces me to reflect on those missing relatives. Of course, none of us lives in that town any more so for all I know the florist pockets the money and leaves the graves empty. I doubt it. It's a small town.

Tagged!

2006-05-25T14:19:00.000-07:00

I've been tagged by frog. The rules:
- You must post with six weird facts or habits about yourself. These cannot be used against you later on :)
- At the bottom name the six people you will tag next.
- Leave them a comment to let them know they've been tagged.

1. I grind my teeth at night and have done so since I was small. Because of this, all my incisors are squared-off. I have broken and/or worn out multiple night guards from the grinding. I also broke a tooth once in my sleep.

2. I've met Sean Penn.

3. I recently met someone named Brook Trout.

4. I have a weird sympathetic nerve thing that causes the inside of my left cheek to tingle when the inside of my left elbow is touched. Yes, I know that one's especially weird.

5. I was "saved" twice at vacation Bible school as a kid. Once for a small New Testament, once for lemon drops. My eternal soul was apparently very cheap.

6. I once shared a house with four men, none of whom were relatives.

I'm not tagging anyone now but I reserve the right to do so at a later time, any time, without warning. Mwah, ha, ha.

The Irony

2006-05-24T15:06:00.000-07:00

I recently read Choosing Civility. Why? Because my mentor and stalk-object (though she doesn't know it) recommended it. Now I recommend it to you. In fact, I recommend you buy 100 copies and distribute them to strangers who seem to need its simple, straightforward advice for getting along in society. That guy who honks at you when the light changes? Needs a book. That woman who talks on her cell at the restaurant? Book. Book, book, book. Everybody needs it.

So I'm reading along in this book, which I borrowed from the library, when what do I notice? Handwriting! A person who borrowed it before me had WRITTEN IN THE BOOK. Underlining, comments, exclamations. Writing in a library book! I hope this book-mangler was helped by the contents. Who could need them more?

Post-Mother's Day Debrief

2006-05-15T19:14:00.000-07:00

Mom got her card and flowers. She thanked me for the flowers, not the card. Since she can't really read any more, and her memory's not what it used to be either, I joked with my sister J that she should just pull out last year's card every year and read it to Mom. She'd never know. I crack myself up.

I was wished "Happy Mother's Day" by three different people (who don't know me) yesterday. These days I just say "Thank you" and move along. It does bother me that strangers assume I'm a mother based on my sex and age. Motherhood's the default choice in our culture. I need to get over that. Because it doesn't look like it's changing any time soon.

On the other hand, Mr. Gosling was also told "Happy Mother's Day" once yesterday. So maybe change is a-coming after all.

Frog always has something outstanding to say about Mother's Day and this year's no exception.

All Beings Our Mothers

2006-05-13T19:30:00.000-07:00

In Buddhism, a practice recommended for increasing compassion and raising bodhichitta (literally, "awakened mind") is recalling that all sentient beings were our mother, our friend, our child at some point in limitless time. Whether one believes in reincarnation or not, this practice can move one to act compassionately.

I was reminded of this practice when I had the great good fortune of hearing a talk by His Eminence Terton Namkha Drimed Rabjam Rinpoche last night. He was clear and firm: "Every being without exception has been your mother, your father, your child."

I've struggled with this practice at various times -- not surprising, given the nature of my relationship with my mother. Thinking of this or that person as my mother in some past existence hasn't always aroused compassion.

It's been suggested that those of us who struggle with the practice might do well to focus on the caregiving we did receive. Even the worst mothers (or other caregivers) fed us, got up in the night when we cried and diapered us, literally wiping our butts. Maybe, like my mother, they made us birthday cakes every year. They struggled in childbirth so that we might enjoy this moment right now. Focusing on even the smallest kindness shown by a caregiver has the potential to increase our compassion if we imagine every being showed us such kindness at some time.

One of my earliest memories is of Mom rocking me to sleep, singing. Everyone else was in bed, so clearly it was late at night. Still, she sang. I remember well the comfort of the embrace, her patting me on my little back as she rocked and sang. She might have missed a lot of opportunities to be a "good" mother later on, but that night she was kind and nurturing. Thank you, all my mothers, for this kindness. May it be returned to you 1,000 times over.

Terminal Grumpiness

2006-05-11T12:54:00.000-07:00

Last weekend when I called Mom she said she thought it might have been the assisted living staff calling. They call her once a day to check on her: "How are you doing today?" I didn't realize they did that, though Mom's been living there for two years. I said I thought it was nice.

"I don't think it's very nice sometimes!"

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes they call too early and I have to get out of bed to answer the phone!"

This is the way my mother communicates. Always. About everything. It's like she's in a race to get the the worst, most awful thing about the topic as quickly as possible. This time, it only took her two sentences to get to What I Don't Like. That's pretty good.

A couple of weeks ago we were talking about my grandmother, Mom's mother-in-law. This woman wasn't perfect, but she did an awful lot for us. I adored her. She used to have my sisters and me stay overnight at her house, which gave our very depressed mother some precious relief. If we were sick and needed to stay home from school, it was her house we stayed at. She and my grandfather helped my folks out when times were hard, though they didn't have a lot themselves. Still, the only thing Mom seems to remember about Gram is a harsh exchange they had when my father was ill for a year, over 50 years ago.

It's a way of communicating and relating to the world that I'm trying to unlearn, well into the middle of my life. Always focusing on the negative, complaining, criticizing, tearing down. On one hand, it's a way of bonding with people: "Isn't it awful? Oh, YOU think it's awful TOO?" Misery really does love company. On the other hand, it communicates the hopelessness of our inner world. It encourages others to see the clouds with us. It penalizes the happy. It places a burden on those around us. That's what growing up around this kind of talk did for me. To be happy -- genuinely joyful -- was seen as an affront. This is what can happen when depressed people parent, I think. The exuberance of a child becomes an insult. It feels threatening for the joyful child and the depressed parent. Children learn to adapt to the family status quo and hide their natural curiosity and enthusiasm for living. Eventually, they may adapt so well they stop feeling any wonder at all.

It's too late for Mother, I'm afraid. It's probably too late for my sisters. But it's not too late for me.

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.

By Mary Oliver

T-Minus Five Days and Counting

2006-05-09T14:17:00.000-07:00

I ordered some flowers for Mother's Day yesterday. For Mom. She can't see well and her sense of smell has always been severely limited so I wonder why I'm sending her flowers. She doesn't need or want any clothes, nightgowns, slippers, soaps or perfume. She has candy left over from Christmas and Easter still, so she doesn't need treats. There just aren't many options. But sending nothing would send her into a tailspin of grief and "What Did I Do To Deserve This?" (I know this because I was late with her gift one year.) So flowers it is. My oldest sister J thought it would be a good idea, because she's not sending Mom flowers and she's sure neither of the other sisters will, and "She should have flowers for Mother's Day." So she'll have them. They won't make her happy or help her feel loved, especially, but they will remind her she has children who think of her. And they'll tell the other residents and staff of the assisted living facility that Mom's cared for. That seems to be enough.

Long Time Gone

2006-04-02T12:10:00.000-07:00

Some people have implied that five weeks between blog posts is extreme. Maybe they're right. Maybe they'll regret nudging me if they read this one.

Yesterday marked the 26th anniversary of my dad's death. The thing about a profound loss is, no anniversary is the same as the one before. They're unpredictable. Some years I've barely thought about it -- just a sweet memory on April 1, a smile, a sigh. Other years I've practically taken to my bed because the grief overwhelmed me. This year was something in the middle.

Wednesday night at my Rosen bodywork session, my dear bodyworker asked me "How do you feel about death?" Good grief! How could she know she was tapping the raging waters of April 1?! The grief of years came pouring out. I think Ms. Bodyworker grabs a few extra boxes of tissues when she sees my name on her calendar. I'm a crier.

The grief of 2006 seems to be as much (or more) about the loss of family as the loss of my dad. After all, he's been dead for over half my life now. I've lived without him for longer than I lived with him. He died when I was only 21. The family we had before his death -- visits, phone calls, celebrations -- began to disintegrate the year he died. Now that both of his sisters are also dead, there's essentially no family there. We're a bunch of cousins, sisters and brothers (and one mother) who very rarely see each other, virtually never call and for the most part are not connected to each other's lives. It used to be so different. That's the thing I miss this year.

I've also been thinking a lot about the year that followed Dad's death. At 21, I had no idea how to handle such a huge loss. I was completely unprepared. And no one was available to guide me through it. Or if they were, I didn't find them. Instead I took refuge in the things that were at hand: Alcohol and men who were completely wrong for me. It worked for a while, in some ways. I was distracted enough to keep moving through my brand new adulthood without needing too much from anyone. That's a pattern I wish I hadn't established back then and one it's taken a lot of years to begin to unlearn.

Aspirations

2006-02-22T10:41:00.000-08:00

When I talked to Mother over the weekend, she told me about her Valentine's Day. She got my package (and thanked me!). She got a box of homemade peanut brittle from L, who had promised it for Christmas but delivered a couple of months late, as usual. I refrained from making any comment even remotely nasty. You may begin heaping praise for my amazing self control.

Then I brought up the same subject I bring up every year: "Remember when Dad used to buy each of us our own heart-shaped box of chocolates and a card every Valentine's Day?" Her answer this year was the same as every year: "No." My dad put some care and thought into giving "his girls" a special Valentine's Day every single year. But Mother can't remember it. She can, however, remember every nasty comment made to her by her mother-in-law and every argument she and Dad ever had about his mother.

Please don't let me be that at 81. Please let me forget the arguments and bitterness. Let me remember the chocolates on Valentine's Day and smile.

Valentines

2006-02-14T10:09:00.000-08:00

This is just about the sweetest Valentine's Day story ever. If you have something cranky to say about it, shut up. Seriously. Today's the day for cynics and curmudgeons to have a little down time.

Around the nursing home, the couple are known as "the lovebirds." The two hold hands like teenagers and stare into each other's eyes. He leans in to tell her a joke and she smiles. Whenever Carl says 'I love you,' Joan pulls out a little stone. Inscribed are the words 'I love you more.'

*sigh*

Look! Over There! Something Shiny!

2006-02-09T10:23:00.000-08:00

So yes, I suck at this blogging thing. I know that. I own that. I have some really good excuses but they would all sound so very very boring if I typed them. So in a blatant attempt to distract you from your impatience with me (all six or seven of you who actually check here every week for something new), let me offer my new stalking object. If this woman lived a little closer I'd be camping out in my car in front of her house trying to work up the courage to ask her out for coffee. Or something. Read her! Now! Go! There's nothing to see here!

Freeze Frame

2006-01-06T09:57:00.000-08:00

Mr. A and I were sick as sick could be over the holidays with two viruses back-to-back, which meant we hardly left the apartment for ten days. We watched a lot of DVDs and trash TV (okay, I watched the trash alone -- Mr. A is so much more evolved) and went through FOUR! boxes of Kleenex. Oh. And ate candy, including an entire tin of Williams Sonoma Peppermint Cremes, which I'd happily take a case of in exchange for my immortal soul. Hear that, Prince of Darkness?? Also a bag of these, which were big news to me when I dragged my mucus-ful self to the grocery store for some soy milk and found a huge table of half-price Christmas candy! All the chocolate seems to have helped -- we're well enough to be back at work. Where there is NO CHOCOLATE.

About halfway through the time off, I felt well enough to obsess over my complete failure to do anything with a giant box of family photos I took home with me when we moved Mom out of her house a year and a half ago. These include ancient pictures of long-dead relatives and not a few pictures of people nobody in our family recognizes. When we were dividing up Mom's stuff, my oldest sister J decided that "Somebody with a scanner should take them all and make electronic copies for everybody!" Evidently I was insane at that moment because I volunteered. The very full banker's box has been sitting in the closet of our spare bedroom ever since. The guilt grew.

I thought about simply scanning the photos and making everybody in the family a CD. Then I thought about putting together some kind of database that would help people identify those in the photos. Then I thought about putting up a website that could incorporate all the genealogy my Mormon family has done with all the photos. Then I stumbled upon Tribal Pages. I've downloaded all the genealogical data I have and over 100 photos so far. There are a couple of problems with the templates on Tribal Pages but overall I recommend their site for this kind of thing.

Looking at (and Photoshopping) these pictures has been an amazing experience. Looking into the eyes of my relatives, without needing to talk or interact with them, has been profound. I see my mother's face as a young woman -- on her graduation day, on her wedding day, with my sisters when they were small -- and I see a woman I've never known personally. She looks happy. I see there are no pictures of my mother and me together until my wedding pictures from 1984. I see my grandparents as a young married couple, Grandmother looking like a vamp in her fashionable coat and Grandpa looking like some kind of playboy in his fedora. I see my dad's hard life on the North Dakota farm during the Depression. I see my sisters as small girls, at Christmas, at Easter, dressed up and looking with love at whoever was taking the picture (probably my father). These photographs are mesmerizing. They hold secrets I can't fully comprehend or communicate. They offer a lesson in impermanence, seeing members of my family grow and age, then disappear. I look into the eyes of my little-girl self and wonder, "What are you thinking? What's making you smile? What's worrying you? What do you love right now?" And sometimes, she answers.

Because I want to protect the privacy of family members (and because I don't want the internet to have a list of our mothers' "maiden" names and our birthdates), I'm not publishing the link to our site here. If you're a friend and would like to see the site, e-mail me.

Nice? Or Just Tired?

2005-12-23T22:09:00.000-08:00

You Were Nice This Year!

You're an uber-perfect person who is on the top of Santa's list.
You probably didn't even *think* any naughty thoughts this year.
Unless you're a Mormon, you've probably been a little too good.
Is that extra candy cane worth being a sweetheart for 365 days straight?

Were You Naughty or Nice This Year?

The Tradition! It Lives!

2005-12-22T13:54:00.000-08:00

For the second year running, I share with you a traditional holiday song of my people.

Happy Whatever!

Quiz! Test Your Skills!

2005-12-19T13:27:00.000-08:00

Do you speak Passive-Aggressive? Can you decode secret covert messages? Try this! Below are excerpts from an e-mail I got from my sister, J. See if you can tell what she really means.

1. Just wanted to remind you that K was in Phoenix for her radiation this past week. A full five days of it.

2. F [J's partner] has started his stint with the part-time job again. The guy who took his place left, so they recruited him back. The new-new guy will be there mid-January. So it's a nice break -- for both of us!

3. I'm having ham for Christmas. We can do a turkey breast for New Year's if we want. K [her daughter, who will be visiting from out of town] requested ham.

4. I need to go to the UPS store to mail the children's Christmas gifts. I tried to go in yesterday but their computers were down so they couldn't retrieve the address and I didn't know the zip code. I'm sure they have a zip code book, but then again, they are just kids in there and I don't trust that they would get it right.

5. Mommy has a dr appt next week but it's just a routine thing. We finally got the pills that you called about while you were here. I had to call the dr three more times before they got it right. Mommy had to go about 3 days without it, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

Okay! What's she really saying? Feel free to use the comments feature! Answers are below, but NO FAIR PEEKING! I mean it!

********
Answers:

1. I know you haven't bothered to call her, you lazy girl. I called her. I'm the oldest and most responsible. I have to do everything.

2. Having this guy underfoot every damned day is going to drive me insane, I swear to god. I thought I wanted him to retire but I was wrong! I admit it! WRONG!

3. I always give my kids what they ask for and I resent it. But she asked for ham, I'll fix ham, and maybe one day *sigh* I'll get that turkey I dream of.

4. Nobody but me can get things right. I don't trust anybody but myself.

5. See #4. Nice try, calling the doctor for a prescription refill, but you blew it and it took me three more calls to set it right. She went without her meds for three days! Luckily she's still alive! Thanks for nothing!

Give yourself one point for each correct answer.

If you scored... Then you...

0 Came from a healthy family. Congratulations!
1-2 Might be a mental health professional
3-4 Might be related to me
5 Are me! How long have you been in therapy?

Together at Last: Aging and Death Penalty

2005-12-17T10:32:00.000-08:00

I don't blog here about criminal justice or the death penalty, though they are issues with which I'm deeply involved. It's hard to tie them to what I see as the focus of this blog: Aging, particularly of my own mother, and my family's varied and crazy reactions to it. And oh yeah, my bitter war against Mormons.

But today's headlines provide a chance to bring the death penalty into the mix:

SAN FRANCISCO
Stay of Execution Denied for Ailing Man
Judge says decisions affecting clemency bid up to governor
Cicero Estrella, Chronicle Staff Writer
December 17, 2005

A federal judge in San Francisco rejected a stay of execution Friday for a 75-year-old man who is scheduled to be executed next month at San Quentin State Prison.

Clarence Ray Allen had asked for the stay so he could be treated for a number of ailments, which would help him prepare for a clemency petition with Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger, said his attorney Michael Satris.

In his federal lawsuit, Allen said laser eye surgery would allow him to participate in tests that would determine if he suffers from organic brain damage. His lawyers say Allen is legally blind.

In addition, Satris said, Allen needs more time to consult with his lawyers on his clemency petition. Allen has been unavailable because he's been moved from prison to prison since suffering a heart attack Sept. 2, Satris said.

In his decision, U.S. District Judge Jeffrey White said Schwarzenegger should be the one to decide if Allen's ill health could be a factor in his bid for clemency.

"There is no question that plaintiff is old and infirm," White wrote. "These factors may be factors to be considered in a bid for clemency. But it is not for this federal court to intrude on the prerogatives of the state executive to determine what information he requires in deciding whether to have mercy on a condemned prisoner."

Satris said, "We're disappointed with the decision, but we're still exploring our options and figuring out the best way to proceed."

Allen, who suffers from coronary artery disease and diabetes, was sentenced to death for hiring a hit man to kill three people in Fresno in 1980 while he was in prison for another murder.

He is scheduled to die by lethal injection Jan. 17, the day after his 76th birthday.

I recently left an online community of feminists I've been a part of (in one form or another) for over six years. I did this after yet another death penalty discussion became an attempt to help death penalty supporters feel better about themselves. This offended me. Deeply.

I oppose the death penalty in all circumstances. The state should not be in the business of killing, period. It has (I believe) an obligation -- a social contract -- to provide for the safety of its citizens. Executing them violates this contract.

It was as if someone had started a discussion on the merits of molesting children in certain, special circumstances. Or how certain forms of genocide are okay if genocide's used carefully. For me, the death penalty is morally wrong and utterly indefensible. This is a position it took years to form -- I grew up a few miles from my home state's death row and have friends who are survivors of violent crime. Now it's as if, having had the veil of misinformation and the retributive rhetoric of the Right stripped away, I cannot go back to the not-seeing. Ever.

So my state, having just killed Stanley Tookie Williams, is gearing up to kill a 75 year-old man who can neither see nor walk unassisted. He is no longer a threat to anyone and is not, it could be argued, the same man who went to prison all those years ago. Killing him will serve no purpose in public safety terms. The only possible explanation for this act is that it makes us "feel better." We feel "justice" has been served. "Victims" will have "closure." Hogwash. Another person will die. At the hands of my state. This time, he's old and feeble and not a celebrity like Tookie was. I doubt Jessie Jackson or Joan Baez will show up the night of his execution. He'll be just as dead as Tookie when it's over though.

And let's be careful about justifications that start with Allen's age or disability (as in, "What does it matter? He's almost dead anyway."). That's a slippery slope no one with a commitment to fairness for the elderly and people with disabilities wants to set foot on. Placing a higher value on the lives of younger, more "able-bodied" than the lives of the older and those with disabilities? We really don't want to go there. Do we?

If you want to hear from some victims who believe killing more people doesn't bring "closure," you should visit Murder Victims' Families for Reconciliation. From their website:

Since the U.S. reinstated the death penalty in 1976, over 40 countries have abolished it. In December 1998, the European Parliament called for immediate and global abolition of the death penalty, with special notice to the U.S. to abandon it. Abolition is a condition for acceptance into the Council of Europe, leading countries such as Russia and Turkey to abolish the death penalty. Recently, South Africa, Canada, France and Germany have all ruled against extraditing prisoners to the U.S. if death sentences would be sought. The World Court, in a unanimous decision reached on February 5, 2003, ruled that the U.S. must delay the execution of three Mexican citizens while it investigates the cases of all 51 Mexicans on death row in the U.S. The Mexican government asserts that the U.S. has violated the Vienna Convention by not informing its citizens that they have the right to contact their consulate when arrested. The death penalty has long been a source of tension between the U.S. and countries that oppose capital punishment.

I live in a country and a state that consider killing effective social policy. Soon an elderly man with multiple disabilities will be put to death in an effort to reduce violent crime. It's enough to drive a person crazy. Or out of the country.

Don't You Dare Call Her "Feisty"

2005-12-16T09:51:00.000-08:00

I've found a new role model:

WASHINGTON, Dec. 16 /U.S. Newswire/ -- Flora "Grandma" Green, national spokeswoman for the Seniors Coalition, led a band of freezing senior citizens, furious over the recent spike in natural gas prices attributable to manipulation of the natural gas futures markets, on an information picket of the Goldman, Sachs and Company -- one of the largest investment and trading firms in the country.

"We're here to protest the billions -- Oh, yes, I said BILLIONS -- of dollars they are doling out to their employees, while seniors across America are not going to be able to afford to heat their homes thanks to the manipulation of the natural gas futures trading markets by companies like Goldman Sachs," Green said. "We are all outraged that seniors are literally freezing to death this winter while Goldman Sachs and others are pocketing billions directly attributable to profits they garnered from their Scrooge-like manipulation of the natural gas futures markets."

...

"I don't think this is a lot to ask," Green said, "particularly when the likes of Goldman Sachs are literally breaking our backs by driving up the costs of natural gas in order to rake in the big bucks. You tell me, is it fair to tell our nation's most vulnerable seniors on fixed incomes to freeze this winter so a bunch of high-profile traders can buy their Christmas trinkets from Neiman-Marcus instead of Target? I don't think so."

I don't think so either, Grandma. Read more about it here. And also here.

"Closed" Sign on Limbo's Door

2005-12-14T12:43:00.000-08:00

How can this be? Nicholas von Hoffman writes in The Nation that "...some thirty Roman Catholic theologians from around the world ... have been meeting in secret and have, if the report is correct, decided to put the kibosh on the place."

No more limbo! Apparently the current pope is made uncomfortable by the thought of all those unbaptized babies hanging around up there. It's unclear what will officially happen to them but von Hoffman has an idea!

This is where the Mormons come in and save the Pope's bacon. Mormons can baptize dead people. They do it all the time. They have vast databases groaning with the names of the departed, whom the members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints usher out of limbo and into heaven by what is called "proxy baptism." Some Jews have objected to having the Mormons pull sneak baptisms on their ancestors, and the Mormons, displaying a sensitivity they are not known for, have said they won't do it any more.

So the only remaining question is, Are there enough Mormons ready, willing and able to proxy-baptize all those millions of Roman Catholic babies?

Nick, there are. There really are. And there's a good chance most of those Catholic babies have already been baptized into the One True Church. Relax. We're all Mormons when we die.

Keep Working! For Free!

2005-12-08T12:17:00.000-08:00

Corporation for National and Community Service to Launch Multi-Year Volunteer Recruitment Campaign at White House Conference on Aging

From the news release:

This January the first of America's 77 million baby boomers will turn 60. As they reach retirement age and have more free time, this generation will have a unique opportunity to change the world, much like they did in their formative years. But how do you convince 77 million Americans to get involved?

At the White House Conference on Aging (WHCoA), the Corporation for National and Community Service will unveil a multi-year public service advertising campaign aimed at recruiting America's baby boomers to volunteer. PSAs will begin running in January 2006 and feature a series of English and Spanish version television, radio, and print ads profiling baby boomers of different backgrounds. Boomers share their stories of how community service changed their lives and invite their peers to join them in making a difference.

Boomer experts will join White House Conference on Aging and Corporation officials to unveil the new campaign. New research about boomers and volunteering and the health benefits of volunteering will be released.

Great! If only those retirees would get up off their tired old asses and do some free work! Because lord knows they're not worth anything otherwise!

Don't get me wrong -- I'm pro-volunteerism. I volunteer. I've been volunteering since I was a "Blue Striper" (like a Candy Striper, but with more flattering uniforms) when I was in junior high school. I believe in the social value of volunteerism and believe it can transform the lives of the volunteers. That said, this "campaign" seems to miss an important point: Seniors already volunteer. A lot.

According to Independent Sector:

[A]lmost 44 percent of all people 55 and over volunteer at least once a year; over 36 percent reported that they had volunteered within the past month. These older volunteers give on average 4.4 hours per week to the causes they support. The 26.4 million senior volunteers gave approximately 5.6 billion hours of their time — a value of $77.2 billion to nonprofit organizations and other causes in this country.

Billions! Over 77 of them! Nearly half of people over 55 are already volunteering! So what's the campaign about, really?

With ongoing cutbacks in the nonprofit world, there is clearly a need for volunteers. Jobs that once were held by paid staff are now increasingly done by unpaid volunteers. These jobs include caring for the disabled, reading to children, holding babies in hospital neo-natal units. Important stuff. And without a major shift in cultural priorities, it's unlikely government money will again start flowing freely toward charities.

The Corporation for National and Community Service has four programs: Senior Corps, AmeriCorps, Learn and Serve America and the Citizen Corps (analyzed here in 2002 by Bill Berkowitz). From their website:

Grants administered through Senior Corps provide funding for three special programs:

Foster Grandparents connects volunteers age 60 and over with children and young people with exceptional needs.

The Senior Companion Program brings together volunteers age 60 and over with adults in their community who have difficulty with the simple tasks of day-to-day living.

RSVP offers "one stop shopping" for all volunteers 55 and over who want to find challenging, rewarding, and significant service opportunities in their local communities.

Okay. Grants? So these programs don't pay the senior volunteers but they're getting grants? Oh and by the way, the Corporation receives substantial federal funding. (And coincidentally was voted by U.S. News and World Report a "Best Place to Work in the Federal Government 2005"!) So let me see if I get this. The Federal government pays nonprofits to administer programs that hire seniors as volunteers to work for nothing. I love America! Don't you? And how am I not a full-blown Libertarian by now?

(The nice folks at Americorps, by the way, are "partners" in the Bush administration's initiative, the USA Freedom Corps. So much to say about the Freedom Corps, so little time...)

Okay. So where was I? Right. The Feds are paying for a big fat, very expensive ad campaign to get retired seniors to volunteer when they're already volunteering at rates that far outshine any other demographic. What's next? The Initiative to Get Seniors to Vote?

In case you're wondering what other issues will be explored at the conference, here's a list of resolutions. If that list looks to you as if it was put together by CEOs of our nation's largest banks, then you are possibly as cynical as I am.

Long-Term Care

2005-12-07T09:42:00.000-08:00

The Motley Fool had some good information yesterday on long-term care. Ignore their advice at your peril! It amazes me how much denial Americans indulge in regarding their inevitable decline. Then I remember I denied my ass off, when I was younger. It's what we do.

From the article:

Only about 4% (or 1 in 25) of the elderly reside in a nursing home at any point in time. Nevertheless ... one out of five people aged 65 and older has self-care or mobility limitations, while one out of nine has cognitive/mental limitations. ...

83% of people who need long-term help live in the community, and more than three-fourths who do so rely on unpaid assistance from family, friends, or volunteers. Only 8% rely solely on paid help. Even two out of three of those who require assistance with three or more activities of daily living (ADLs) rely exclusively on unpaid help. Family, friends, and volunteers, then, provide the bulk of assistance to those who receive long-term care outside of nursing homes, and they do so largely at no charge.

The author goes on to say that long-term care insurance may provide a cushion for those of us unlucky enough to need assistance and not have the free care family or friends can provide.

What I take from this is that I need to start being a lot more charming if I expect to cultivate friendships with younger (healthier, stronger) people who might be inclined to drop in once in a while to take out my trash or shovel my walk. I will start working on hilarious and heartwarming stories of The Old Days right away.

Impermanence

2005-12-06T09:57:00.000-08:00

Only those who are fortunate enough to find their life slipping away, have any hope of finding it.

Reginald A. Ray

Our Bodies, Our Mothers' Bodies

2005-12-05T19:01:00.000-08:00

While we were visiting Mom over Thanksgiving my sister J (the one who, with the assisted living home staff, looks after her) was out of town visiting her son. Before she left I asked J if there were any chores she wanted me to do for Mom. She asked me to help Mom with her shower. Mom's had a few tumbles in the bathroom so J now hangs out and helps her on shower days, just to be safe.

Seeing my mother naked and vulnerable changed me in ways I still haven't fully integrated. Helping her step into her Depends, putting on her powder and lotion, helping her pick out clothes, seeing the way her body has changed since the last time I saw her nude 15 years ago or so -- I've relived the experience every day since. I feel a new softness toward her and also sadness. This woman who was once so harsh and angry -- who has caused me to feel such fear in my life -- is now frail and weak. And she trusts me to help her shower and dress. In her most vulnerable state, she let me help her. And I did help her. Not without strong feelings and some serious internal conflict, but I helped.

It's miraculous, really.

Giving Thanks, Asking for More

2005-12-02T12:01:00.000-08:00

I spent Thanksgiving with Mom at the assisted living facility. We (my husband and I) had taken her out to dinner the night before and she seemed to want to stay in for the big day. She said dinner was delicious last Thanksgiving.

It wasn't delicious this year, but it was okay. Watching Mom eat is extremely difficult. She has struggled since she first started having symptoms of MS over 20 years ago. She had to learn to eat with her left hand, though she was right-handed all her life. She still tends to be a little clumsy. Now macular degeneration makes it hard for her to see very well. It means if she's eating light-colored food on a white plate, she can't see it. So she basically moves her fork around the plate until it comes into contact with something and then she tries to get it to her mouth. Eating food that needs to be cut with a knife is a major ordeal. It's a wholly inefficient system of eating and her impeccable table manners are getting in her way. Her favorite food now is sandwiches. I didn't understand why until a senior friend laid it out for me: "It's acceptable to pick sandwiches UP and eat them with your hands. You can't do that with a pork chop!" So, sandwiches. Lunch and dinner, sandwiches. Until we took her out to a restaurant. And until Thanksgiving.

Saying she's shy about asking for help would be a huge understatement. She's always been an independent woman, even after MS slowed her down. After my dad died, she barely missed a beat -- she started driving herself and/or flying alone all over the country to visit her kids and other relatives. She maintained her house until a year and a half ago. She raised four strong daughters. Tough old girl, that one. Can you imagine her at this point in her life having to ask someone to cut her meat for her? Unthinkable. My sisters and I do it without being asked. We just bulldoze our way through: "Mom, I'm going to cut this up for you because it looks like it needs it." She doesn't like it but goes along. When we're not there? She either eats a sandwich or chases food around on her plate. Rarely does she ask the staff of the facility to help her out by cutting her food.

The facility dining room has a procedure for ordering meals that wins no awards for accessibility: Residents each get a menu (12-point font) on which they're required to circle the items they want and fill out their name and room number. MY MOTHER CAN'T SEE. Fortunately, one of her table-mates usually helps her out. I met this woman at lunch the day after Thanksgiving. She's about ten years older than my mother and, you'll pardon the expression, "a pistol." Thank goodness for her.

On Thanksgiving, there was a buffet set out with all the traditional dishes. I saw a lot of residents using walkers and I know Mother isn't the only one who can't see well. I asked her what those people are supposed to do with a buffet. "Oh, they [the staff] will help you if you ask them." Then I saw a woman walk by balancing her plate in one hand while trying to use her walker with the other.

See, these people aren't used to asking for help. They're of a generation (and a culture) that says asking for help is a sign of weakness. Self-sufficiency! That's the ticket! They're not likely to ask for help, even under the most dire circumstances. (My mother once fell on the bathroom floor and still did not use her buzzer to alert staff. It just didn't occur to her.)

I understand the staff is busy, and tired, and so underpaid it makes me ashamed to look them in the eye sometimes (because COME ON, they're taking care of our elders!!). Just a little bit more attention, a little more in the way of resources, could do so much to allow these old folks to live more comfortably and keep their dignity intact. Just a little.

Those of us who are younger than my mother need to learn to ask for what we want. We need to put all our years of activism and complaining about our government to good use when our time comes to depend upon others for care. Speak up! If you can't ask for help now, start practicing. Just once a week, ask somebody to get something for you even if you could get it yourself. Ask a younger person to help you. Practice until you're comfortable. You will need these skills later, I promise you. If you already have these skills, teach others -- especially women -- how to do it. Tell them I told you to. Tell them you're preparing them for old age.

L, the Closing Arguments

2005-11-16T15:57:00.000-08:00

The thing is, L is good and evil. She's caused me more pain than just about anyone in my life so far and she's also given me joy. She's sucked the life out of me in long, long, LONG conversations in which she complained about every aspect of her life (past and present) and criticized virtually everyone she knew for hours, literally. She has also made me laugh so hard I cried. Many times.

When I graduated from my masters program, she flew across the country to attend commencement. She called me on my (first) wedding day, a wedding that was 3,000 miles from home, to share the day and tell me she loved me. She and I shared secrets for many years. Most of the really big secrets I wouldn't tell her because she can't be trusted to keep them. The juicy ones especially.

She helped create a lot of conflict between my mother and me. I now see it was about jealousy and competition for Mom's limited love. At the time I thought she had my best interests at heart. I once cut ties with my mother for over a year, due in part to L's encouragement.

I'm really not sure what changed or if anything did. I know that we can't be friends now. I know that she's incredibly angry, and has severe emotional problems that may have nothing to do with me. I know she's talking about me behind my back because she has never met anyone she didn't do that to. Ever.

I don't miss her, really. I try to rouse feelings of missing but I can't. The memories of the good times are tainted by the sharp, painful memories of the bad times. Really bad times.

Because I know she can't be assertive or honest about her feelings, it's possible I'll never know what changed or why she's so unhappy. That's actually okay with me.

When we were young L and I fought. A lot. My dad used to tell us, "You girls shouldn't fight -- when you grow up all you'll remember is the figthing." Which has turned out to be a little bit true. The fights usually went like this: L (who's seven years older, remember) would egg me on and get me going. Or I'd annoy her in the way only a kid sister can do. No matter who started the fight, when L had enough she would burst into tears and run to her room, slam the door, and fling herself onto her bed where she would cry until an adult (usually my dad) came in to check on her. When my dad found her, and heard her side of the story ("It's ALL HER FAULT!"), he'd find me and make me go in and apologize, without hearing my side of the story. Her words were sufficient evidence for indictment and conviction. Sentence: Apology. Sometimes I simply said, "I'm sorry." When I felt I'd been seriously wronged I said, "Dad said to say I'm sorry." I don't remember L ever apologizing to me. Not once in all these years. For anything.

We haven't spoken since last summer. I blocked her e-mail address. There will be no Christmas card this year, at least not from me. I'm freeing myself of her hurtful, toxic influence, a little bit at a time. This time there will be no apology from me.

In Defense of L, Part V

2005-11-10T13:35:00.000-08:00

L has four daughters. They're now 13 to 20-something. I held each one as a newborn. L was always happy to let me be close to her girls and she shared a lot about her pregnancies, deliveries and child-raising experiences with me. I think I was usually the second or third person she (or her husband) called after the babies came. The girls and I were pretty close when we lived near each other. L's family would always come over to my place Christmas Eve for our open houses and having those kids around always made the holidays more fun. For years I had their school pictures on my refrigerator. I had kids in my life for many years thanks to L.

In Defense of L, Part IV

2005-11-09T10:54:00.000-08:00

When my dad died I was 21. In the year that followed, I made a lot of crazy decisions. One of those was to quit my relatively secure, well-paying job and go back to school to finish my degree. I didn't plan very well and ended up very, very poor as a student. Poor to the point of having no heat and going hungry sometimes. L knew how things were for me. When I'd go out to visit her, she always sent me home with a bag of groceries. Like a huge container of oatmeal and other staples, along with homemade baked goods. She and her family didn't have much in those days either but she always sent me home with food. She also told my mom I didn't have any heat, which caused Mom to send me a check. L never made me feel small or weak for being poor. She just did what she could to help. More than once the food she gave me was the only food in my cupboard. I'll always be grateful for that help.

In Defense of L, Part III

2005-11-07T16:21:00.000-08:00

When I was in my 20s I worked for a big hospital/HMO in their mental health department. One day a co-worker went a little crazy and started telling everyone's secrets during a staff meeting. She shared something I had told her in confidence a year or two earlier. I fell apart. I left work and didn't go back for two days. I couldn't stop crying and had an IBS episode like no other before it. During this time, L called and I told her the whole story. She told me to come out to her place a little before lunch and we'd go for a picnic. One of her kids was still at home so the three of us took a lunch L packed (including egg salad sandwiches, the best comfort food sandwich EVER) and headed for a local park. We went for a long walk, with the little one in a stroller, and talked. Then we ate our lunch. It healed me.

A year or two later, I got a dog from the shelter. She was an excellent dog, if a little neurotic. One evening she got loose and wouldn't come back when I called her. Eventually she did come back, with a tiny dead kitten in her mouth. I screamed. The dog dropped the kitten. I started crying and couldn't stop. Leaving the baby cat outside, I dragged the dog (now completely freaking out because she evidently thought she'd done a good thing) into the house. I called L, sobbing uncontrollably. I didn't have a clue what to do. She told me I had to go around to the neighbors and try to figure out who owned the kitten. She told me to call animal control if I couldn't find the owner. She calmly walked me through all the steps I needed to take and promised to call back later to check on me. Somehow I managed to visit some of my neighbors (oh and did I mention I was new to the neighborhood? And sobbing uncontrollably? I wonder why the neighbors avoided me...). Eventually I found the kitten's owner, a pretty "eccentric" old guy who had dozens of feral cats and kittens all over his property. I called animal control and left a message. Then I called L and cried some more. She was soothing and maternal and didn't laugh at me even once. Tempting as that might have been.

In Defense of L, Part II

2005-11-01T11:26:00.000-08:00

L threw me the only birthday party I ever had for non-family members. When I turned 10 (and she was 17) we invited a few of my girlfriends over for an afternoon cake-and-punch party. Neither of us really knew what we were doing, but she gave it her best shot. There was cake and punch and sitting around in a circle on the patio, talking. I don't think we knew there should be other activities. After my guests left, L cooked dinner for me and the rest of the family. She burned the chicken. I was mad at her for that. Thinking about that still stings. If we ever speak again I'll tell her I'm sorry for being an ungrateful brat.

In Defense of L, Part I

2005-10-31T14:15:00.000-08:00

Long time coming, this one. Sorry about that.

My parents never told us a thing about sex. Under pressure, Mom told me the basics of menstruation, but nothing whatsoever about sex. This was completely the norm at that time. My sister L decided I needed to know more than she'd been told. One night she took me for a drive in the family car. I was probably nine or 10; she'd have been 16 or 17. She asked me what I knew about sex and if I had any questions. I remember telling her I already knew (which of course wasn't completely accurate) because my friends from school told me. She said I should always feel free to ask her if I had questions. She told me she wished Mom and Dad had told her more. She told me she'd basically been forced into her first sexual encounter and didn't want that to happen to me.

The Case Against L, Part V

2005-09-15T10:10:00.000-07:00

For most of my life, most often when I was small, my sister L has told this story: "When I found out Mom was pregnant, I prayed that Heavenly Father would give me a baby sister. After you came, I prayed he'd take you back."
Then she laughs.

The Case Against L, Part IV

2005-09-08T14:52:00.000-07:00

I had three interactions with L around the time of my wedding seven years ago this month. She flew out from Michigan for the wedding and to visit family. I saw her first when she came to my apartment the day before the wedding. She asked to see my wedding ring, so I showed her. She asked, "Did you try it on with the engagement ring? A lot of people don't think of that." I told her I'd tried them on together. She had nothing else to say.

L and my other two sisters helped set up for the reception the day of the wedding (for which I was extremely grateful because I was a basket case). During the wedding, I didn't see much of L. I was busy trying to visit with all the guests and dancing. When a polka came on, I went over to ask L to dance with a friend and me since I knew she knows the polka. L turned ugly: "I don't know how to polka!" I tried to cajole her, to cheer her up. She was having none of it. Yelling now, she repeated, "I DON'T KNOW HOW!"

The day after the wedding, my new groom and I hosted a brunch at a nice waterfront restaurant. There were traffic problems getting out to the restaurant as there was road work underway. We didn't know about it before the brunch and neither did our guests. Some of us were late. L was especially late. When she arrived, red-faced and clearly mad as hell, she headed straight for me and yelled, "Thanks for telling me about the construction!"

The Case Against L, Part III

2005-09-07T14:19:00.000-07:00

L is seven years older than I am. My parents never paid for a babysitter. L looked after me when my parents weren't around. Since she resented me from birth, this created problems, sometimes. She has a tendency to be cruel. Here are Exhibits A and B:

One year L took me trick-or-treating. I was probably six or seven years old (which would make her 13 or 14). She'd stand on the sidewalk while I went up to each house to collect my loot. We started to pass one house that was completely dark. She told me to go up and ring the doorbell. I said I didn't want to. She made me go. I rang the doorbell. No answer. I started to walk away. She said, "Ring it again!" I rang again, reluctantly. She might have insisted a third time; I can't remember for sure. Eventually a very old, very sad looking woman answered the door. "I'm sorry dear, but we don't have any candy. We're very poor." L could hardly keep herself from laughing. Once we got past the house, she was hysterical. Until I told her to stop a few years ago, L called me every Halloween to tell the story and laugh again. Every year.

When I was a teenager I had knee problems. A few times I was in a full toe-to-thigh plaster cast. I had to use crutches. Once day when I was in a cast, L and I were walking into her apartment. She picked up something -- I'm not sure what it was, maybe a small fuzzy toy -- and threw it at me while saying, "Look out! It's a dead rat!" I tried to run out of the way. In a cast, it was hard. I freaked out. L laughed until she cried. She still laughs when she tells this story. It's a story she loves to tell.

The Case Against L, Part II

2005-09-06T11:56:00.000-07:00

For as long as I can remember, L has had a mental list of the things from Mother's house she wanted "When Mom dies." It was common for her to begin sentences to our mom, "When you die, I want..." She said this with a smile, but it was a smile that failed to mask serious intent.

Before we all went to Mother's house to help Mom move out, L said, "I really don't want anything. It's just STUFF." She did say she wanted a small hand-printed note from our dad that Mom had framed on her bedroom wall.

When she and her family arrived, L made a bee-line for the garage, where sale items were being sorted and priced. She and her kids pawed through the goods for about half an hour before even going into the house to greet Mother.

Here's some of what was in L's car when she drove away from Mother's house last summer:

* Mother's silver
* A lace tablecloth made by our great-grandmother (the only one)
* Mom's small stereo system (which my sister K had explicitly asked for earlier)
* So much other stuff that her husband complained they wouldn't have room to sit in the van on the way home

The Case Against L, the Prequel

2005-09-04T15:02:00.000-07:00

A couple of months before we all went "home" to get Mom's house ready to sell, I called my sister L. It was May. I know because it was around her birthday. We talked about plans for the week together and at some point she said their family car was going to need repairs before they could make the trip. She said she was thinking of asking Mom for the money, since "she's helped K out so many times in the past."

I told her it never hurts to ask.

Months went by, and nothing was said about the car repairs.

A short time before we were all scheduled to travel, L sent an e-mail to all of us, saying she didn't think they'd be able to make the trip, as their car suddenly needed repairs and they couldn't afford to have them done.

At some point she asked our oldest sister J if she thought Mom would be willing to pay for the repairs, which would cost at least $2000. This is not an amount Mom's accustomed to giving anybody but her church. It was the same amount L told me she'd need for repairs when I spoke to her in May. Now she was pretending as if the car had suddenly gone bad without warning, hoping Mom would step in and pay up.

I don't remember how it all came down, but at some point I asked L if this was the same repair she talked about in May. Around that same time, J talked to Mom who said $2000 was more than she was comfortable paying.

Within a few days, L and her husband found the money for the repairs! They were on their way.

The Case Against L, Part I

2005-09-04T14:16:00.000-07:00

I'm ready to talk about it.

Last summer my sisters and I went to our hometown to help my mom move out of her house and into an assisted living facility in Arizona. This included clearing everything out of her house, cleaning and fixing and painting, and holding a garage sale. Closing down the house she'd lived in since 1967. We knew it would be a huge job, requiring long, difficult days. We also hosted an 80th birthday party for Mother which seemed a good chance for her to say goodbye to all her friends before she moved away forever.

My oldest sister (J) more or less put me in charge of organizing all of this, including arranging the sale of Mom's house and all that entails. I gladly agreed, because J has been the sole provider of personal care for Mom and she handled all the assisted living arrangements. It seemed fair.

Our other two sisters (K and L) were given the plan.

K arrived the same day J and I did, a week ahead of our deadline for having Mom moved. She brought her fabulous husband along, a guy who likes nothing better than laying Visqueen down in a dirty smelly crawlspace and rewiring old light fixtures! They're both hard workers and they worked their guts out, often working into the night after the rest of us had gone to our motels exhausted.

My cousin D, who lived near Mom, came every day to help us. She did some of the most physical, dirty work, including landscaping (for which she has an amazing gift). J and I call her "the fifth sister." She's done an awful lot to help Mom and us through all these transitions.

L arrived three days after the rest of us. She and her family had driven from Michigan, a trip that took several days. When they arrived we all went out to greet them. When I put my arms around L, she kept her arms folded and turned her head away. She headed for the garage, where all the sale items were being organized and priced. She started looking through everything there.

Later I asked my other sisters and cousin if they'd gotten hugs or kisses. They had not. At least I knew I wasn't the only one.

The rest of us continued working to get Mother's house ready for the realtor and inspector. It was about 100 degrees outside. L? She sat inside the air conditioned house eating Doritos and talking to Mom.

On Wednesday, she did the same. Her husband and one of her four kids helped us with our projects. At some point, someone asked me if I thought we should put Mom's dining table out for the garage sale the next day. I said I thought we should, since nobody was really using it and it stood a better chance of being sold the longer it was out. A short while later, I overheard L whispering to J (because they were only standing FIVE FEET AWAY), "I don't know WHY she wants to move that dining set outside!"

I said, "I'M RIGHT HERE. I CAN ACTUALLY HEAR YOU." On my way out the door, I said, "If you have something to say to me, you need to tell ME." Then I went back to work.

L then did what she's been doing for as long as I can remember: She went into her room and flung herself down on the bed, crying. This went on for the remainder of the day. My cousin D went in to see how she was doing. L told her the story just about like I've told it here, except at the end she said, "The first seven years of my life were fine. Then SHE came along." And started weeping again.

For the next two days, L wouldn't make eye contact with me or speak with me. On one of those evenings, the four of us daughters got together to divide up Mom's most precious things, the ones that weren't going to the garage sale but would stay in the family. These included a lace tablecloth made by my great-grandmother, a quilt, some jewelry and a million other odds and ends. L sat with her arms folded, eyes red from crying, saying almost nothing throughout the evening. When my husband returned from a trip to another part of the state to visit his family, he greeted L and her husband warmly. L didn't speak to him.

The stress between us had an effect on everyone. At one point J became so frustrated she burst into tears and told me, "I wish L would just take her shitty attitude and GO HOME!"

Eventually, L decided to start speaking to me again. She came out to the garage sale where I was working. She started talking about something trivial, maybe something that we were selling. I was overjoyed that she was speaking to me again. I put my arms around her and hugged tight. Again, she acted as if she didn't notice she was being hugged, but just kept on talking.

The week went on. The garage sale was a success, the party was sweet and everybody worked from sun-up to sun-down making it all happen. Except, of course, L.

After everyone was back home and in their routines, I got an e-mail from L asking what the status was on the sale of Mom's house. I'd gotten a note earlier, with a similar tone: chatty, friendly. I answered her questions, but then I told her I didn't understand why she was acting as if nothing had happened between us. I told her she had spoiled for me what would probably be the last time I'd be with all my sisters and their families until Mom's funeral. I told her I was angry about her failing to help us with all the work that had to be done. I told her she needed to let go of her disappointment at my being born 40-plus years ago. I honestly believed that by being honest we could get to the heart of the problem and possibly work it out.

I was wrong. She shot back another e-mail telling me she was shocked at my behavior and calling me, basically, a drama queen who ruins every family gathering. We haven't spoken since then.