Memorial Day - May 31st

It seems inappropriate to wish anyone a "happy" Memorial Day. It does provide a time away from work, though, and that's what most people appreciate most. I'd be willing to bet that most don't think past the barbecue grill to remember the people who gave up their lives in service to our country. Whether one believes a war is just or not, the people who served made sacrifices that none of the rest of us can ever really understand.

That being said, both of my grandfathers and my dad saw service in wartime, and they were no more averse to hot dogs and hamburgers on a long weekend than anyone else.

There will be no barbecue for me today. After wandering zombie-like through yesterday, a solid night's sleep was welcome. If I allow it, the energy can be summoned to accomplish at least three chores, one of which has been hanging like the sword of Damocles for a long time. Time to cut the rope and get it over with, already.

More later when I can report any progress made...

Saturday, Saturday, Saturday night's all right...

Yes. Elton John. The only artist whose greatest hits were not sung at the karaoke bar(s) last night.

Went on a pub crawl last night for the first time in...well, enough years that I can't remember how long. My girl friend and I wanted to go someplace different for a change. We wind up in the same bar & grill every weekend because friends of ours do karaoke shows there several nights a week. As comfortable as we feel there, we needed a Pappy's-free Saturday.

So, off we went in search of a bar that had a band and dancing. You'd think that would be easy to find. Well, no. It isn't on the Saturday night your home town NBA team is playing a critical game in the Western Conference series. Or so I learned.

The first place was one I used to frequent with a different group of friends. There was indeed a band, but it was one of the worst I've heard that had the gall to request payment at the end of the night. They're called Going Nowhere Fast, and boy, they aren't kidding. Good luck fellas. Time to go back to the garage to practice.

We had dinner there because they have a decent kitchen for a B&G, and each nursed a drink through the first set before we lit out in search of happier climes. There was no Plan B, so we sat in the car in the parking lot wracking our brains to remember where there might be another place that would suit.

I remembered a place another group of friends and I used to go to. We didn't even go in after a quick cruise through the parking lot. My friend said, "Oh Honey. Look at all the little bitty cars, OH! and there's a Scion. I bet the place is full of skater kids." And by golly, she was right. All those boys in baggy shorts, black t-shirts with band logos on them, and dark ball caps standing in clumps out in front while smoking proved to me that my friend can read a bar parking lot better than anyone I've ever known. She is a bar parking lot savant. I will never doubt her ability again.

Third place was a dive she'd mentioned before in humorous context. The bar is tiny, so it doesn't take a lot of bikers to fill it to a condition of extreme coziness. Last night, I learned that a lot of biker dudes are cleaner, and smell better than you'd think. And these were not weekend warriors, either. These were men (and a few women!) who looked like they could be quite dangerous in the right (wrong?) circumstances. When they weren't ignoring us (there were a couple of off-duty strippers wiggling around) the people were quite nice to us. Okay, so, two or three drinks there.

Bar number four was a place I have visited occasionally for the past 15 years or so. A different friend hosts karaoke there on Sunday nights. We held hope that they might have a band. We were wrong. More karaoke. What the hell. The bartenders were eye candy and the other customers were friendly and funny. Our own karaoke Cheers.

We stayed there from around 10:30 to closing at 2 a.m. I got to sing two songs. Next stop: Waffle House. Yes. I ate a waffle at 2 a.m. Deja vu, Man. While we chatted and ate, there was a little voice in the back of my head whispering, "1978. It's 1978 again."

At some break in the conversation I looked up at the clock and said, "Oh crap! It's 3:30 in the morning!" She said, "Noooo." I said, "Yesssss." For some reason, she didn't believe me, so had to turn around in the booth and look a the clock herself. "Dayum! It is!" Why did she doubt me? She does parking lots; I do clocks. My clockage should never be doubted.

We hustled out to the car and headed for her home. It was "Talk Night" though, so we sat in the parking lot for another 45 minutes or so, pouring our hearts out to one another--more. When I looked at my watch, it was 4:30. See? Still good with telling time. Okay, Honey. Time to go home. You go in, I'll go home. I was dead sober after all the eating and talking, so no problem driving home except that it was FOUR THIRTY IN THE MORNING. Staying awake was the challenge. Good thing it's only ten minutes away.

By the time I crawled into bed, it was five, and then it took just a little while to fall asleep with the TV on. Why my right eye cracked open at 9:30 is still a mystery, but there I was. I'm a middle-aged woman. Once I'm up, I'm up.

So here I sit writing more than an hour later, wondering if an afternoon nap is a possibility. My body knows how long it's been since I last did this, and it isn't 1978 anymore.

Memorial Day Weekend

If my Nana was still alive, she'd be 104 years old tomorrow. That doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, but just occurred to me when I looked at the calendar.

Mom would have been 75 today, if she'd lived. I'm almost the age she was when she died.

Which reminds me...Aunt Phyllis will be 79 on the 9th of June. Better get a card ready to mail...she never checks her email.

Old Ladies

Grandma Lee has fallen on her backside twice in the last two days. The nursing home calls me each time to notify me officially, and to let me know "there's no injury--she's okay." Well, yes and no.

She's bruised her tailbone badly, and is clearly in pain from that. The nurse said if it was broken she'd be in a lot more pain. Okay, that's good news, anyway.

This comes because she is so cussed ornery that she won't believe she is impaired enough to need help to get to the bathroom or dress herself. They've tried putting an alarm on the seat of her wheelchair to alert them if she gets up. She figured out how to remove it without setting it off, and finds new hiding places every time it is found and reattached.

Orneriness comes to her naturally; she probably hatched that way. I believe she is having more mini strokes. When she started "taking a seat" at the last place, it eventually proved to be because of TIAs. The last one was big enough to cause serious and unmistakable deficit. That's what landed her in the hospital, and then in this place for skilled nursing care.

I've known her so long I can tell she's slipping mentally again. She called twice on Friday to tell me what had happened, and used the exact same wording each time. The only reason I knew for sure they were two separate calls, aside from the noted time of each, was a bit of additional information at the end of the second one. Clearly, she didn't recall that she'd made the first only an hour before.

Repetition is nothing new. That's been going on for a long time. That's what happens when you live in a shared room, seeing the same people every day, with nothing new happening from one day to the next. I'd repeat myself, too. There's only so much fodder for conversation there.

This is different, though. She's less "there", more confused. It's gone from forgetting names to forgetting where she is and how long she's been there. She moved in the first week of March, and told someone the other day that "it's been just over a year." Maybe it feels that way, but this a very different place from the last one. I have to keep reeling her back into the now.

There's gentle sweetness; like staying with her roommate when the other ladies invited her to join them in the activities room. She said, "You know, she's not well at all. She wakes up in pain in the middle of the night. Someone has to stay here to make sure she gets help if she needs it."

Then, there is anger and agitation. She chafes at what she calls "confinement". Some people irritate her beyond all reason. I suggest she just stay away from them, but even the sound of their voices makes her angry. I hope she doesn't use a fork to poke at the guy who rolls up and down the hallway like she did to the fellow who looked in the door of her room on the other ward.

She becomes aggressive through fear. Life has taught her the best defense is a good offense. That's one lesson she'll take to her grave.

Never Can Say Goodbye

I actually passed on  going to a retirement send-off for a man I used to work for at my company. He's a nice guy, and it's sad to see him go...but...It was more about timing than anything else.

When something begins in the downtown area around four, and goes until six, you either have to pop in and pop out again really quickly, or hunker down with a drink and some food until rush hour is over. Given that it was held at a Mexican restaurant, and I'm trying to take off the 15 lbs gained over the past year, it seemed best to extend my regrets. Two hours drinking margaritas and chowing down on mini chimichangas would undo all the efforts (and SELF DENIAL!) of the past weeks.

Apologies will be extended. If it had been held under a ramada in a park with some beer, a bucket of chicken and some salad, it would have worked out better for me. And it's all about me, right?

Always, and don't you forget it.

How 'bout you?

Did you ever have one of those days when you didn't want to see anyone, talk to anyone, be around anyone?

Yeah. Me, too.

Stress Effects

Combined anxiety attacks and fatigue; they're feeding on each other.

There are so many changes and so much uncertainty going on in too many facets of my life. Five out of seven is too high a ratio for sanity. Once upon a time, I could surf this stuff. Now I have to fight the riptide constantly to stay afloat.

Analogy and metaphor session is over.

Maybe it's time for a good cry in bed.

Whoosh!

The weather man promised wind today, and he wasn't kidding. The forecast called for gusts up to 40 mph, and I can believe that.

While I headed back home from Goodyear on the freeway, the dust blew across the road so I couldn't see the stripes on the pavement. The next moment, that cleared and then there were leaves and sticks flying at the car. I tried to stay as far away from the tractor-trailers as possible. They were swaying like ships in a high sea.

and furthermore...

The more I think about this SB 1070 crap here in Arizona, the angrier I get.

Again, we get the reputation of being the greatest bigots in the country (remember the Martin Luther King, Jr. Day debacle?). I hate that the yahoos promulgating this assholery become the face of this state in the eyes of the rest of the country.

I was finally getting over being embarrassed to admit being American to others from around the world because of what W and his pack started back in 2003. What's that? You say we didn't start that? Well, I'd like to remind you that those weren't Iraqi fighter planes that hit the WTC on September 11th. We could have dealt with our uppity puppet ruler another time, and spent our money and young lives aiming at a more realistic target--the country(ies) that harbor(ed) Osama Bin Laden and his Taliban confreres.

Okay, so we're stuck now. Stuck good, for seven years so far. And, the guy who wants to get us out of there is catching crap for trying to juggle all the balls thrown in the air as ol' George beat feet out of the White House. POTUS has made some missteps, but I believe he's working in good faith; not to line the pockets of his cronies.

I'll get back to that...

Back at the ranch, Russell Pearce and his ilk are using the opportunity afforded by the lack of Federal border enforcement (which didn't start on Obama's watch, by the way) to get rid of anyone in the "Not Us" Club in the name of states' rights. Wasn't that argument used when fomenting the Civil War? You like the idea of being stopped and asked for proof of your legal status on the street at any time by any officer of the law? No? Oh come on...it'll help make sure the ones who don't belong will be purged. That's not too much trouble, is it? Man, this is starting to remind me of something...happened about, oh, 70 years ago? In a country in Europe?

What is it about brown people, especially ones who speak another language, that so sets some people off? The rednecks (that's Arizona mavericks to y'all) in the state legislature refer to them as "illegals", and sometimes "illegal ALIENS". Not "undocumented workers", and certainly not people. They aren't the only such warmhearted individuals in our fair state, either. Somebody had to vote for them...and Joe Arpaio, but don't get me started on that.

Look, I know they broke the law by sneaking in and getting crappy jobs so they could send money home to their families (undocumented workers, not the idiots in the State House). They live their lives in fear that they will be found out and shipped back, leaving behind whatever life they've managed to build here. I'm not talking about drug dealers with big nasty guns. Those are baaaad people, just like the home-grown variety, and I have no use for them. I also won't go into whatever laws I might have broken in my life, on the grounds that it might incriminate me. Wait...we still have the Bill of Rights, right? Just checking to make sure I can still take the fifth.

They are PEOPLE. People of undocumented status, to be sure; but PEOPLE. They are not some faceless mob who came here en masse to take over our country. There are good people and bad people, and I believe the former outnumber the latter, but that's just me. I also happen to believe that the ratio of bad people to good people holds true in just about any population.

The argument that they take jobs away from real Americans seems ludicrous to me. I don't see undocumented workers at computer terminals in my office, or installing cable TV. I see them cleaning bathrooms, and washing cars, and carrying leaf blowers around. You want those jobs, more power to ya. Work as hard as they do for as little pay as they do, and then tell me how much you want those jobs.

I know people who are in the country without green cards. They are people. They have families,  they mow their own lawns when they aren't mowing other people's lawns. They pay their bills in cash. Many have false papers so they can get a job and cash their paycheck. Taxes are withheld from their pay, if they are on the books, and they never file for a refund because they are afraid they'll get caught. They'll never collect Social Security or Medicare, even though they pay for it.

Mostly, their kids were born here. They are American kids. They don't know any other life. They don't know that their parents fear being discovered and sent back to where they came from because it means not just losing all their material possessions. It means their American children will be taken from their homes and sent with their parents to a country they've never known, or put in the care of some relative or friend while Mom and Dad go back and try to figure out another way to be with them.

I have a co-worker whom I usually consider a friend. He goes off on how "they" take advantage of the health system, clogging emergency rooms and costing the rest of us money. According to him, they are the cause of most of the increased health care costs in this country. Never mind the fat pharmaceutical companies and doctors who own a piece of the radiology lab or hospital they refer you to. Forget the false storefront Medicare fraud operations. No. It's the fault of the "illegals" who cheated by coming here and having children (AMERICAN CHILDREN!) and trying to keep those children healthy while not getting themselves kicked out of the country. UGH. He laughs as he says, "I say kill 'em all, and let God sort 'em out." I am dumbfounded. I talk to him, try to get him to imagine himself in their shoes. He'll grant me a little ground sometimes, but when it comes down to it, all he wants is for them to get out.

I tell you what; I lived across the courtyard from a woman with four children. The oldest sold drugs out the back of their (rented) condo, in the carport. The little girls entertained themselves by tearing out landscaping and pulling down Christmas lights.

This woman always had her hair and acrylic nails just so. She wore more gold necklaces at one time than I own. Her kids were on the free lunch program at school, and she had a HUD housing subsidy, food stamps, and government money. Her son the drug dealer was the only one in the house who worked at anything. You know what? She must be okay, because she was born and raised here in the US of A. I wonder what her mother did for a living.

So anyway, back to the embarrassment part...I write or talk to someone in another part of the country, and they say, "Oh. You're from Arizona? Oooooh..." I'm right back in 1992 when the previous set of yahoos didn't think it was appropriate to set aside a day to honor a man who made a tremendous change in the way this country treated its citizens and did its business. Arizonans just don't like to be told what to do by the rest of the country, by golly, right or wrong. Our legislators will stand and fight over our right to be stupid, fight tooth and claw. Until after the next election, that is; when they can't bend over fast enough to make sure the hotel and convention business doesn't dry up due to boycotts by organizations in other parts of the country.

You know what? I've had enough for tonight. I'm tired of being angry at, and ashamed of, the people who are supposed to represent me. Most of them don't. I just want you to know that. There are a few goodhearted souls fighting the good fight here. They get outvoted and beaten down a lot, but they hang in there.

Finally, I want you to know I'm not interested in a debate with anyone. This is my place to write, and I can vent if I want to. If you want to argue your opposing views, do it politely or go do it in your own back yard.  Please remember to turn off the lights when you go.

May Day!

Where's my pole around which to dance?!

No! Not that pole! The one with the flowers and pretty ribbons!

It should be lovely here on this first day of May. Sunny, 72F right now at 11 a.m. It's forecast to reach 80 by mid-afternoon. I realize for some of my friends here, that is summer weather. However, for us it is the last flush of Spring. We've already had a couple of days where the temperature topped 90, and should be back there by Tuesday of next week.

This day can't decide if it wants me to lazily enjoy the weather, or to go great guns on what might be our last cool Saturday until November. Some days I win, sometimes inertia does.

There's a lot of dust and fuzz and other nastiness around the house that keeps trying to catch me eye. I'm very good at ignoring it, though. Witness the dust rhinos huddled behind the couch.

I believe I'll consider my options over another cup of coffee.