Sunday, December 23, 2018
So this is Christmas?
It hasn't felt very "Christmassy" this year.
Maybe it's the rain. This has been the rainiest year on record for our area. We've had cold rain, warm rain, flooding rain, misty rain, blowing rain, pounding rain, monsoon rain. Snow is what makes me want to play Christmas music, bake cookies, and write Christmas cards. Not rain.
I got a few Christmas cards written. I feel sort of guilty because the cards I received are from people who did not make my list this year. Honestly, I apologize. I don't really have a list, I just write 'em as I go along, usually alphabetically through my address book. Until I just stop.
My dog has been sick. Really sick. She has dementia. Most of the time, she has no idea who I am. She bites me if I try to cuddle her or simply pick her up. I can't let her outside to do her business because she runs away and gets lost. Then I have to trudge through the mud to rescue her. I now put her on a retractable leash and stay outside with her as long as I can stand it in the rain. She runs all over the yard, and then comes inside to do her business. I haven't decorated this year, but I have spot cleaned my carpet over and over again.
I did not make the arrangements to have lunch with two teacher friends I have lunched with every December for at least twenty years. How did that happen?????
Television usually gets me feelin' the season. But not this year. Today I was hoping to watch classic Christmas movies all afternoon. After all, it is the Saturday before Christmas. Nothing! No Scrooge, no Natalie Wood discovering Santa, no George Bailey teaching ZuZu about angels, bells, and wings. Nothing except repeated repeats of the generic Hallmark holiday movie.
Even the commercials are disappointing. Where are the heart-rending service people coming home to surprise their families who are drinking their morning coffee? Where are the young couples and their angelic children decorating their curmudgeonly neighbor's house with the goodies they bought at Target or some place like that? Where are the singing and dancing chunky women from last year's uplifting Big Lots commercials? It's like businesses are afraid to make a big deal out of Christmas for some reason. Not all businesses though. If we were to believe the ads this year, everybody is getting a car or two for the holidays.
I have to admit, I rarely get invited to Christmas parties. So the dearth of dress up events doesn't surprise me. But heck, I haven't even seen a lot of pictures on Facebook of all the parties I didn't get invited to. Are you all not partying this year? Thank goodness for my trivia team; at least I had the chance to wear my new-to-me ugly Christmas sweater to our last competition. We came in first. I must admit that felt like Christmas after our losing season.
In a couple of days I'll be at my sister's place. She has decorated her house, put up a tree, and baked my mother's snowball cookies for me. We'll do our traditional Christmas Eve dinner and a movie at the theater. There will be a full house of people I like on Tuesday and then again on Wednesday. My nieces are a lot of fun, and shopping for them was easy. Reba wanted gummy bears and maraschino cherries. Billie texted me the link to the shirt she wanted. Easy peasy. I'll get to meet their new cat. Yes, they have a third cat because, hey, you can never have enough pets. Hopefully, I'll be able to blame some of Trixie's accidents on one of her two dogs or even on one of the three cats. I will enjoy reading their Christmas cards and not feeling guilty because none of those people expected a card from me. I'll eat turkey and my mom's twice-baked potatoes. Yum! Christmas food....Hey, I'm starting to cheer up!
Happy HOLIDAYS to all of you!! Best wishes for a healthy and blessed new year!! And may the Mueller investigation make 2019 a year to celebrate!
Tuesday, November 20, 2018
Casual Chic
I have two sets of relatives. My father's side lives in Toledo, Ohio. They are all either dead or in jail. I know because I paid some internet site $20 to let me look up their arrest records. We haven't seen them since childhood. My mother's side lives in Philadelphia, so we see them a little more often. They are the wealthy side of the family. My cousins are big-time lawyers and very important in their fields. I know because they attended a garden party in London hosted by Her Majesty the Queen and her son. (Prince Charles and my cousin made small talk about their similar-in-age sons.) My cousins' sons are also highly educated and very successful. The younger son is CEO of his own clothing company. And he's the reason for this blog. We were invited to a party to congratulate him and his wife-to-be, a well-known actress/singer whose first name rhymes with the Spanish word for day and who shares the second part of her name with a much beloved First Lady. I can't wait to see the relatives again and meet my famous cousin-to-be, but there is a dress code for this event and I don't know if I can meet it.
Casual chic. What the hell does that mean? I know what it means for those who travel in my cousins' circle. Expensive pants, most likely jeans. Fancy and very expensive blouse or sweater of some kind. Maybe a very expensive jacket. The kinds of clothes my cousin sells where one piece of casual chic costs anywhere between $200 - $1000+. All of this is topped off by high heels, preferably the kind with bright red soles. The impression given by a casual chic outfit should be expensive, slim, fashionable, slim, carefree, slim. Yes, that's casual chic for the Philadelphia crowd, but what about me?
I mostly shop the clearance racks. I look at the price before I decide to try something on. Then I look above the rack to see if there's a sign indicating a further discount. I've purchased some very nice pieces that way. In fact, I found a number of things in my closet that I considered wearing to the party. I have a beautiful gold blouse with a mandarin collar. I love it and wear it on special occasions. In fact, I've worn it for the past fifteen years of special occasions. I have it on in the picture for this blog. I have a few other beautiful seldom worn blouses that might have fit the bill if they weren't between ten and twenty years old. I recognized that I would need something new for this event. But what? My clothing style is "small town teacher." Most of you are familiar with that style; recognizing it helps you pick the teachers out of the crowd. That can be a fun game to play while people watching. But I digress; today I went shopping.
At my favorite store for finding something chichi and elegant, I was beyond disappointed. They've gone the casual route, but not the casual chic route. I did find some pants, and that's a major achievement for me since I am only 5' tall and probably about as round as I am tall. I treated myself to a sweater with cardinals decorating it, and I paid full price (oh what a spendthrift desperation turns me into). I debated a particular blouse for the evening event. I couldn't tell if it was pretty on me or something pretty a ninety year old would wear. It was on sale, so I bought it of course. I'll ask my niece what she thinks of it. She's brutally honest about my ugly clothes.
Deciding to step up my game, I went to Macy's. I tried on all the sale items that might have worked. They didn't. Then I found it, a 2-piece shell and jacket the color of birch trees in the sparkling snow. It too was on sale, $160 reduced to $xxx. I can't remember the last time I spent that kind of money on a shirt. So I scoured the store, determined to find something spectacular for 2/3 the cost. I learned that spectacular doesn't come at 2/3 the cost and I was lucky to have found what I did. For fifteen minutes, I debated buying it because not only was it too expensive, but it had shoulder pads. (I had nixed anything in my closet with shoulder pads as giving away their time period, the days of TV's Dynasty.) Here was something brand new and it had those damn shoulder pads. I bought it. I will take them out and hopefully not destroy the lines of the jacket. And while I won't be a 2018 version of the girls from Sex in the City, I'm hoping I'll be chic enough not to look like the county bumpkin I am.
I doubt we'll be invited to the wedding. That will be a Hollywood extravaganza filling a few pages in People magazine. The stress to find something to wear in People magazine would probably require me to hire a stylist. And that is definitely not in my clothing budget.
Casual chic. What the hell does that mean? I know what it means for those who travel in my cousins' circle. Expensive pants, most likely jeans. Fancy and very expensive blouse or sweater of some kind. Maybe a very expensive jacket. The kinds of clothes my cousin sells where one piece of casual chic costs anywhere between $200 - $1000+. All of this is topped off by high heels, preferably the kind with bright red soles. The impression given by a casual chic outfit should be expensive, slim, fashionable, slim, carefree, slim. Yes, that's casual chic for the Philadelphia crowd, but what about me?
I mostly shop the clearance racks. I look at the price before I decide to try something on. Then I look above the rack to see if there's a sign indicating a further discount. I've purchased some very nice pieces that way. In fact, I found a number of things in my closet that I considered wearing to the party. I have a beautiful gold blouse with a mandarin collar. I love it and wear it on special occasions. In fact, I've worn it for the past fifteen years of special occasions. I have it on in the picture for this blog. I have a few other beautiful seldom worn blouses that might have fit the bill if they weren't between ten and twenty years old. I recognized that I would need something new for this event. But what? My clothing style is "small town teacher." Most of you are familiar with that style; recognizing it helps you pick the teachers out of the crowd. That can be a fun game to play while people watching. But I digress; today I went shopping.
At my favorite store for finding something chichi and elegant, I was beyond disappointed. They've gone the casual route, but not the casual chic route. I did find some pants, and that's a major achievement for me since I am only 5' tall and probably about as round as I am tall. I treated myself to a sweater with cardinals decorating it, and I paid full price (oh what a spendthrift desperation turns me into). I debated a particular blouse for the evening event. I couldn't tell if it was pretty on me or something pretty a ninety year old would wear. It was on sale, so I bought it of course. I'll ask my niece what she thinks of it. She's brutally honest about my ugly clothes.
Deciding to step up my game, I went to Macy's. I tried on all the sale items that might have worked. They didn't. Then I found it, a 2-piece shell and jacket the color of birch trees in the sparkling snow. It too was on sale, $160 reduced to $xxx. I can't remember the last time I spent that kind of money on a shirt. So I scoured the store, determined to find something spectacular for 2/3 the cost. I learned that spectacular doesn't come at 2/3 the cost and I was lucky to have found what I did. For fifteen minutes, I debated buying it because not only was it too expensive, but it had shoulder pads. (I had nixed anything in my closet with shoulder pads as giving away their time period, the days of TV's Dynasty.) Here was something brand new and it had those damn shoulder pads. I bought it. I will take them out and hopefully not destroy the lines of the jacket. And while I won't be a 2018 version of the girls from Sex in the City, I'm hoping I'll be chic enough not to look like the county bumpkin I am.
I doubt we'll be invited to the wedding. That will be a Hollywood extravaganza filling a few pages in People magazine. The stress to find something to wear in People magazine would probably require me to hire a stylist. And that is definitely not in my clothing budget.
Monday, November 12, 2018
My Old Dog
When my little Lucy Dogge died, I didn't ever think I could have another dog. The pain of putting her down was agonizing. However, three months later I adopted Trixie. We've had a wonderful fifteen years together, but I am girding myself for the inevitable. My old girl is just that, old.
She's had quite a few health scares. One night she got drunk on my airline sized liquor samples. Back in the old days, you were given (for free) more booze than you could drink. So, I would bring them home to drink later. Later never happened, and Trixie had a one-dog party during a PTA night. Then I had a night of running her outside every time I heard that earping sound. Another time, her love of anything peppermint caused her to devour my dental floss. The first time it happened, I got home (from another PTA night) to hear her choking. Just in time, I was able to pull the floss out of her. It was similar to how a magician pulls a string of handkerchiefs from his pocket. I thought that line of floss would never end! Since neither of us learned our lesson the first time, Trixie once again had access to my dental floss. This time she ate it, container and all, resulting in surgery and thousands of dollars in medical bills. Since then she's had Cushings disease diagnosed and she also lives with congestive heart failure. Neither of those conditions seemed to slow her down, but old age is a different story.
Dogs get skinny when they get old. Trixie eats, and she eats well. I buy her a roasted chicken once a week. But, she doesn't put on an ounce. My girl should weigh between twenty and twenty-two pounds; she barely weighs in at thirteen. Getting her groomed turns her into a walking skeleton. She is arthritic and those old bones hurt her. When she shows me her pain, I give her the pain pills the vet has provided. They bring her relief. I hope.
She seems to have dementia. I have actually watched her walk into a corner and be unable to turn herself around. She will sit motionless and stare into the hall at nothing. Well, nothing that I can see. She will pace endlessly until eventually she settles down, only to get up and pace some more. It is annoying. It is unnerving. But it is really heartbreaking when I go to pick her up, and she is confused as to who I am. She tries to bite me. She struggles to escape my hug. She is confused. She winces when I approach her to pet her head. I think that's because she can't see. Or hear. I hope it's not because her head hurts.
She sleeps in the bed snuggled up to me. I've had to put pillows in the gap between my bed and the wall because she falls off and can't get herself out of there. And she cries when she falls, so the pillows soften the blow. I think she takes up more of the bed than I do, but she hasn't fallen lately. In the morning, I've started carrying her outside as soon as she wakes up because the old girl doesn't always find her way to the door in time.
I am no longer able to board her. She's so frail, the confusion could/would kill her. So Trixie and I will be spending Thanksgiving together here in Maryland while the rest of the family goes to the Poconos. I'm sure she'll enjoy some turkey (or cashew butter and jelly) as much as she does her chicken.
Yes, she's old, 105 in human years. But, she still gets excited when I come in the back door. I could be gone for as long as it takes to get the mail, and she greets me as if I'm returning from a long journey. She knows when I'm yelling at the television, and she sits at my feet to calm me down. She actually jumps for joy because she loves me that much, well, me or the morsel of food in my hand. Nobody else loves me that much. She still has spurts of energy when she runs across the lawn like a puppy. She's still happy to greet visitors to the house. Yes, she's still happy. Lucy taught me how to be a loving mom when the pup is no longer happy. The day's coming, I know that. But it's not today. And I know that too.
Saturday, October 20, 2018
an electric blanket memory
It's Autumn. It's getting cold. It's time to put the electric blanket on the bed. And it's time to remember a little story that still makes me laugh when I think of it.
Many, many years ago, I worked as a teacher's aide at a wonderful middle school in Glen Rock, PA. The teacher was my friend Glenda Penigar, and we worked as reading instructors. I loved working at that school, with those kids, and with that amazing faculty.
Glenda and I did a lot of functional reading lessons with the kids. One day we were teaching the kids to read catalogs and order merchandise. Part of their lesson was to order gifts for friends, family, and their teachers. Then they had to total up their costs and correctly complete the order form. To exercise their writing skills, they needed to explain why they selected the particular gifts for each person. Glenda and I were gifted many household appliances. But, I remember how one of the boys ordered an electric blanket for me. His reasoning? He decided that since Miss Snyder was all alone she needed something to snuggle up with and keep her warm at night.
So, as I put my electric blanket on my bed, I remember that story from 40+ years ago. And I chuckle. I can see the kid's face, but I can't remember his name.
This is a teacher's life. Kids stay with us forever. They warm our hearts as well as electric blankets warm our bodies.
Many, many years ago, I worked as a teacher's aide at a wonderful middle school in Glen Rock, PA. The teacher was my friend Glenda Penigar, and we worked as reading instructors. I loved working at that school, with those kids, and with that amazing faculty.
Glenda and I did a lot of functional reading lessons with the kids. One day we were teaching the kids to read catalogs and order merchandise. Part of their lesson was to order gifts for friends, family, and their teachers. Then they had to total up their costs and correctly complete the order form. To exercise their writing skills, they needed to explain why they selected the particular gifts for each person. Glenda and I were gifted many household appliances. But, I remember how one of the boys ordered an electric blanket for me. His reasoning? He decided that since Miss Snyder was all alone she needed something to snuggle up with and keep her warm at night.
So, as I put my electric blanket on my bed, I remember that story from 40+ years ago. And I chuckle. I can see the kid's face, but I can't remember his name.
This is a teacher's life. Kids stay with us forever. They warm our hearts as well as electric blankets warm our bodies.
Tuesday, October 16, 2018
Why I'll Probably Be Single the Rest of My Damn Life
Today I had the urge to buy an air pressure gauge. My tires have sounded kind of squeaky lately, and after researching how to use one on YouTube, I decided it was time to buy one.
I took a run to the neighborhood Wally World, and headed to the automotive department. There I saw the gauges hanging from hooks way over my head. I was able to swat one down, but the one I wanted to compare it to, eluded me.
And then there he was. A nice man helping me out. He was around my age, full head of silvery hair, built on the stocky (ok, really stocky) side, nicely dressed, neat and clean, all of his teeth, no MAGA hat, and no wedding ring. Just my type.
So, I compared the two gauges. When I turned to rehang the one I didn't want, Mr. Nice Guy was still there. He was chucking a little and said he waited because I might need help again. I smiled and as I thanked him, I gently touched his arm. He did not recoil, in fact he smiled even bigger. I took off.
It wasn't until I was driving home that I realized he had been flirting with me.
Now a normal person would have known what to do. A normal person might have said something like, Do you always come here to rescue short women in distress? or Now, let's hope I know how to use this thing or Do you hire out? I have a lightbulb at home I'm too short to change or even, and maybe most importantly I'll bet your wife really appreciates your help around the house. But no, I just turned and ran.
And that is why I will probably forever remain single. If there really is a man out there for me, he's going to have to hit me on the head with a club and drag me off into the sunset by my hair.
I took a run to the neighborhood Wally World, and headed to the automotive department. There I saw the gauges hanging from hooks way over my head. I was able to swat one down, but the one I wanted to compare it to, eluded me.
And then there he was. A nice man helping me out. He was around my age, full head of silvery hair, built on the stocky (ok, really stocky) side, nicely dressed, neat and clean, all of his teeth, no MAGA hat, and no wedding ring. Just my type.
So, I compared the two gauges. When I turned to rehang the one I didn't want, Mr. Nice Guy was still there. He was chucking a little and said he waited because I might need help again. I smiled and as I thanked him, I gently touched his arm. He did not recoil, in fact he smiled even bigger. I took off.
It wasn't until I was driving home that I realized he had been flirting with me.
Now a normal person would have known what to do. A normal person might have said something like, Do you always come here to rescue short women in distress? or Now, let's hope I know how to use this thing or Do you hire out? I have a lightbulb at home I'm too short to change or even, and maybe most importantly I'll bet your wife really appreciates your help around the house. But no, I just turned and ran.
And that is why I will probably forever remain single. If there really is a man out there for me, he's going to have to hit me on the head with a club and drag me off into the sunset by my hair.
Tuesday, September 25, 2018
Boys will be boys...like hell
We are living in confusing times. Our country's president is an accused rapist, a philanderer, and a man who believes that if you're famous enough and rich enough you can grab whomever you want whenever you want. His nominee for Supreme Court justice has been accused of attempted rape and is trying to make the country believe he has a calendar from his high school years that proves he wasn't at said party; and even if he was, he was a virgin all through high school and college. Everybody's television father was just branded a dangerous sex offender and at eighty-one, he's going to jail for drugging and raping one woman. His conviction feels like vindication to the sixty other accusers whom either his lawyers or the statute of limitations discouraged from pursuing him for the same crime. A college swimmer raped an unconscious woman at a dumpster and the judge felt regretful for giving him a six month jail sentence because it could ruin his life. Need I continue?
The women coming forward are brave. Many have waited years to speak up. More have continued to hide their shame at the expense of their mental and physical health. They know they won't be believed. Women know they will be skewered for turning allegations into court cases. People, specifically men, with far more money and power than those women will ever have, will virtually rape them again. Their characters, their pasts, their mere existences will be shredded in the courts and the quasi-courts of Facebook.
Facebook people make me sick. People who worship a president who has bragged about forcing himself on women but ignore his acts because they believe he has been cleansed of his sins, are some of the worst. People blaming women for going to parties, accepting invitations for a nightcap, wearing provocative clothing run a close second. People sharing memes discrediting the seriousness of the #MeToo movement meet with a 'Block this User' from me. A woman of my generation gave me a ration of FB crap when she claimed that young women need to keep their knees together and I shot back that young men need to stop trying to pry them apart.
I joined a sorority in college and went to a lot of parties. I met a lot of guys at these parties, and most of them were pretty drunk by the end of the night. I heard all kinds of stories about what was going on in the bedrooms, but I rarely had trouble making "no" clear to the few who pushed my boundaries. My sense of self preservation has always been strong. Frat parties could be fun times to explore drinking, dancing, kissing, and more kissing, and well, more. Until we went to a party at a neighboring university.
The frat arranged for a car to bring us over; the driver was a really nice guy. I thought. Upon entering the house, there were a few stairs that led to a long hallway that led to the party room and the beer. Lining both sides of the hallway were leering brothers who laughed and groped us as they forced us to slowly walk single file down the hall. I don't mean unwanted arms around the shoulders, I mean hands on my crotch, my butt, and my breasts. I was furious and demanded the driver return me (the other women weren't upset) to my dorm. And that really nice guy laughed and said no. So, I told my friends I was leaving and I would hitchhike home. (Well, it was the seventies.) Grudgingly they left with me, and we weren't too far from the frat house when a bunch of guys exited a dark parked car and started towards us. Now, I was terrified. We ran into a neighborhood bar and called somebody's boyfriend to come get us. My sorority friends were furious with me. Me. Not the guys who grabbed us or the strangers who threatened us. Me. I will never forget the boyfriend. He was mad as hell, but not at us for dragging him out there. He was furious at the frat guys. It was then, and only then, that the women I was with finally understood that we had been mistreated.
We had a many talks after that. Most of these girls had partied there before and gone through the gauntlet. It was no big deal because, after all, boys will be boys and they do stuff like that. Nobody had been hurt. And then one woman spoke up and described how she'd been trapped in one of the bedrooms at a previous party. How scared she was. How the guy blocked her from leaving the room. She didn't tell anybody because he passed out and she was able to escape, "unharmed." So, she just avoided him at other parties. That was her solution. The fraternity wrote a letter of apology to our sorority. I don't remember what the others did, but I never went back.
Women think they need to be nice, to be polite. What women really need to be is smart. They need to be taught that nobody has the right to touch them inappropriately, no matter how "nice" or drunk/harmless he appears to be. They need to be taught that their "no" is as important as his "oh please baby, it's your fault I'm all worked up." They need to be taught to watch their drinks carefully, and not accept anything that wasn't opened in their presence. They need to be taught that their sexuality is every bit as raging as his, and they are entitled to enjoy it. Enjoy it, not submit to it or lose control of it to one bigger and more powerful. They should feel satisfied, not shamed. Men need to be taught and raised to understand what is acceptable "flirting" and what is unacceptable behavior, no matter what their gonads may be telling them. Men need to understand that many women are beginning to tell, even if it takes them twenty years. If they are truly good guys, then they will have nothing to worry about.
We are living in confusing times, no doubt about it. We are living with issues as old as humanity. However, we are strong. We are educated. We are women, hear us roar. For we have begun screaming, and we will not stop until you listen. Until you hear us. Until respect is mutual, a given. Not something fought for in the courts.
Our country elected a person who was recorded bragging about his exploits with women: You know I'm automatically attracted to beautiful -- I just start kissing them. It's like a magnet. Just kiss. I don't even wait. And when you're a star they let you do it. You can do anything... Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything.
Oh no you can't.
The women coming forward are brave. Many have waited years to speak up. More have continued to hide their shame at the expense of their mental and physical health. They know they won't be believed. Women know they will be skewered for turning allegations into court cases. People, specifically men, with far more money and power than those women will ever have, will virtually rape them again. Their characters, their pasts, their mere existences will be shredded in the courts and the quasi-courts of Facebook.
Facebook people make me sick. People who worship a president who has bragged about forcing himself on women but ignore his acts because they believe he has been cleansed of his sins, are some of the worst. People blaming women for going to parties, accepting invitations for a nightcap, wearing provocative clothing run a close second. People sharing memes discrediting the seriousness of the #MeToo movement meet with a 'Block this User' from me. A woman of my generation gave me a ration of FB crap when she claimed that young women need to keep their knees together and I shot back that young men need to stop trying to pry them apart.
I joined a sorority in college and went to a lot of parties. I met a lot of guys at these parties, and most of them were pretty drunk by the end of the night. I heard all kinds of stories about what was going on in the bedrooms, but I rarely had trouble making "no" clear to the few who pushed my boundaries. My sense of self preservation has always been strong. Frat parties could be fun times to explore drinking, dancing, kissing, and more kissing, and well, more. Until we went to a party at a neighboring university.
The frat arranged for a car to bring us over; the driver was a really nice guy. I thought. Upon entering the house, there were a few stairs that led to a long hallway that led to the party room and the beer. Lining both sides of the hallway were leering brothers who laughed and groped us as they forced us to slowly walk single file down the hall. I don't mean unwanted arms around the shoulders, I mean hands on my crotch, my butt, and my breasts. I was furious and demanded the driver return me (the other women weren't upset) to my dorm. And that really nice guy laughed and said no. So, I told my friends I was leaving and I would hitchhike home. (Well, it was the seventies.) Grudgingly they left with me, and we weren't too far from the frat house when a bunch of guys exited a dark parked car and started towards us. Now, I was terrified. We ran into a neighborhood bar and called somebody's boyfriend to come get us. My sorority friends were furious with me. Me. Not the guys who grabbed us or the strangers who threatened us. Me. I will never forget the boyfriend. He was mad as hell, but not at us for dragging him out there. He was furious at the frat guys. It was then, and only then, that the women I was with finally understood that we had been mistreated.
We had a many talks after that. Most of these girls had partied there before and gone through the gauntlet. It was no big deal because, after all, boys will be boys and they do stuff like that. Nobody had been hurt. And then one woman spoke up and described how she'd been trapped in one of the bedrooms at a previous party. How scared she was. How the guy blocked her from leaving the room. She didn't tell anybody because he passed out and she was able to escape, "unharmed." So, she just avoided him at other parties. That was her solution. The fraternity wrote a letter of apology to our sorority. I don't remember what the others did, but I never went back.
Women think they need to be nice, to be polite. What women really need to be is smart. They need to be taught that nobody has the right to touch them inappropriately, no matter how "nice" or drunk/harmless he appears to be. They need to be taught that their "no" is as important as his "oh please baby, it's your fault I'm all worked up." They need to be taught to watch their drinks carefully, and not accept anything that wasn't opened in their presence. They need to be taught that their sexuality is every bit as raging as his, and they are entitled to enjoy it. Enjoy it, not submit to it or lose control of it to one bigger and more powerful. They should feel satisfied, not shamed. Men need to be taught and raised to understand what is acceptable "flirting" and what is unacceptable behavior, no matter what their gonads may be telling them. Men need to understand that many women are beginning to tell, even if it takes them twenty years. If they are truly good guys, then they will have nothing to worry about.
We are living in confusing times, no doubt about it. We are living with issues as old as humanity. However, we are strong. We are educated. We are women, hear us roar. For we have begun screaming, and we will not stop until you listen. Until you hear us. Until respect is mutual, a given. Not something fought for in the courts.
Our country elected a person who was recorded bragging about his exploits with women: You know I'm automatically attracted to beautiful -- I just start kissing them. It's like a magnet. Just kiss. I don't even wait. And when you're a star they let you do it. You can do anything... Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything.
Oh no you can't.
Sunday, March 25, 2018
Clearing Space
I think I'm a borderline hoarder. This afternoon I was determined to clear out my office so I'd have space for my new hobby, painting. What a joke. My old hobbies fill the room with things I find difficult to dispose of.
Reading is my lifelong favorite hobby. I love to read. But I own more books than I will ever read in my lifetime. How did that happen, you ask. I used to visit my library so often that the staff became my friends. They'd invite me to their holiday parties. I'd take classes, do dinners, and hit the happy hours with these dear friends. But the books eventually made me crazy. I'd lose them. I'd damage them. I'd keep them too long. So, I decided to collect books I didn't have to worry about returning. Because I spent my Saturdays yardsaling, my office soon filled up with books. I was happy, but eventually I felt overwhelmed. Then I discovered Paperbackswap.com.
Paperbackswap.com (or PBS as we insiders call it) seemed like the answer to a prayer. You send books out and get books in return. I figured I could get rid of a slew of books and make other book lovers very happy. Yes, I got rid of a few books. But then I won fifty credits and that was the beginning of more books coming in than going out. My mail carrier saw how much I loved receiving books, so she began leaving me bags of books. I have shelves or piles of books in every room of my tiny house. I have multiple copies of books because I can't remember which books I already own. I'm smothered with books. Then I discovered The Book Thing of Baltimore.
The Book Thing is a warehouse of free books. You can take as many as you want. You can donate as many as you want. This seemed like the answer to a prayer. So I painfully filled two big bags with as many books as I dared part with. And I brought home a trunk load of new ones. Fail. After today's clear out, I have three big bags of books to donate. But do I dare take a trip to Baltimore? It's very difficult for a bibliophile to deny herself free books. Every beautiful cover promises an escape to a world far more interesting than mine. I get excited just thinking about all the books to be read. I need to get rid of the three bags I filled today. And soon because I don't want to dip back into the bags and convince myself that maybe I should keep just this one. Until I have a solution, where can I store them? In the office I guess. Sigh.
I made jewelry for a while. There was a lot of stuff to buy for that hobby. I bought tons of beads and fixings at my yard sales from all the other jewelry makers who had given up. I have containers to separate my beads. A light to view them as I put the pieces together. Tools to connect said jewels to the wires. Then I had cataract surgery. I can no longer see the small work the way I used to when I could take off my glasses and bring the wires and fixings up almost to my eyelashes. So I stopped making jewelry. But I have boxes of great stuff if I want to start up again. Sigh.
I have fallen in love with painting. It is relaxing. It is therapy. It is fun. A few trips to Michael's and I have canvasses, watercolor paints, acrylic paints, brushes, frames, palettes. Where to keep everything? Where to set up my easel to paint? I managed to clear the desk in my office. I cleared a couple shelves for the paining supplies. But it's kind of hard to get into the office now since all the stuff I don't know what to do with is sitting on the floor waiting for me to throw it out or find it a new nook.
I am one person. I live in a three bedroom house. They are three very small bedrooms, but three rooms never-the-less. How in the world have I filled it up? Once I get some more paintings done, where will I hang them? How do you minimalists do it?
Reading is my lifelong favorite hobby. I love to read. But I own more books than I will ever read in my lifetime. How did that happen, you ask. I used to visit my library so often that the staff became my friends. They'd invite me to their holiday parties. I'd take classes, do dinners, and hit the happy hours with these dear friends. But the books eventually made me crazy. I'd lose them. I'd damage them. I'd keep them too long. So, I decided to collect books I didn't have to worry about returning. Because I spent my Saturdays yardsaling, my office soon filled up with books. I was happy, but eventually I felt overwhelmed. Then I discovered Paperbackswap.com.
Paperbackswap.com (or PBS as we insiders call it) seemed like the answer to a prayer. You send books out and get books in return. I figured I could get rid of a slew of books and make other book lovers very happy. Yes, I got rid of a few books. But then I won fifty credits and that was the beginning of more books coming in than going out. My mail carrier saw how much I loved receiving books, so she began leaving me bags of books. I have shelves or piles of books in every room of my tiny house. I have multiple copies of books because I can't remember which books I already own. I'm smothered with books. Then I discovered The Book Thing of Baltimore.
The Book Thing is a warehouse of free books. You can take as many as you want. You can donate as many as you want. This seemed like the answer to a prayer. So I painfully filled two big bags with as many books as I dared part with. And I brought home a trunk load of new ones. Fail. After today's clear out, I have three big bags of books to donate. But do I dare take a trip to Baltimore? It's very difficult for a bibliophile to deny herself free books. Every beautiful cover promises an escape to a world far more interesting than mine. I get excited just thinking about all the books to be read. I need to get rid of the three bags I filled today. And soon because I don't want to dip back into the bags and convince myself that maybe I should keep just this one. Until I have a solution, where can I store them? In the office I guess. Sigh.
I made jewelry for a while. There was a lot of stuff to buy for that hobby. I bought tons of beads and fixings at my yard sales from all the other jewelry makers who had given up. I have containers to separate my beads. A light to view them as I put the pieces together. Tools to connect said jewels to the wires. Then I had cataract surgery. I can no longer see the small work the way I used to when I could take off my glasses and bring the wires and fixings up almost to my eyelashes. So I stopped making jewelry. But I have boxes of great stuff if I want to start up again. Sigh.
I have fallen in love with painting. It is relaxing. It is therapy. It is fun. A few trips to Michael's and I have canvasses, watercolor paints, acrylic paints, brushes, frames, palettes. Where to keep everything? Where to set up my easel to paint? I managed to clear the desk in my office. I cleared a couple shelves for the paining supplies. But it's kind of hard to get into the office now since all the stuff I don't know what to do with is sitting on the floor waiting for me to throw it out or find it a new nook.
I am one person. I live in a three bedroom house. They are three very small bedrooms, but three rooms never-the-less. How in the world have I filled it up? Once I get some more paintings done, where will I hang them? How do you minimalists do it?
Tuesday, January 30, 2018
the trump blog
It has been a year since donald trump took over the White House. It has been a year that I've posted snippets on Facebook, but never really sat down and wrote about the buffoon in office. Yes, I said buffoon. So now that you know how this piece is going to go, read with an open mind. I do not know how anybody that follows the news can still support that fraud. Believe me, I have tried to understand because I am gobbsmacked by his supporters. But, I can't buy any of it.
People say they support trump because the economy is good. I need to question that. Yes, the stock market is booming. But how many of his small town supporters even benefit from the market? My economy is not booming. Gas prices are steadily rising. Health care and insurance, out of sight! Have you been in a grocery store lately? Prices have skyrocketed! Garages have instituted payment plans for car repairs. Everybody I know is in shock over their recent heating bill. My real life economy is not prospering. Everything I pay for is increasing dramatically. My income, though, is frozen. That's the reality of my economy. Thanks for nothing donald.
Abortion is a big, big issue with most of his Christian supporters. It's been a year; have you seen him focus seriously on stopping abortion? No! What Republicans are proud of, are their efforts to defund Planned Parenthood. What idiots! Contrary to popular propaganda, Planned Parenthood is not "94% abortions." (Sen. Orin Hatch) The actual statistic is 3% of their services involve abortions. Unwanted pregnancies are not going away. And Christian tsk-tsking is not going to stop women from taking unsafe measures to end these pregnancies. I personally know a number of women who are vehemently anti-abortion; however, they conveniently forget that they had safe abortions when they felt they had no other choice. Defunding Planned Parenthood means denying health care to poor women. But, that is no surprise as trump supporters seem determined to deny the poor any government services. This link will take you to a Washington Post article exposing the myths behind Planned Parenthood. Copy and paste to read this truthful piece.
https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/five-myths-about-planned-parenthood/2011/04/14/AFogj1iD_story.html?utm_term=.0c48d06305aa
And speaking of morals, abortions, sex and so on, who can accept the fact that we have a president whose immorality is a matter of pride to him? How are the same Christians supporting him as the anti-abortion president content to ignore his documented immoral behaviors? He has bragged of assaulting women because he's so rich and powerful he can do whatever he wants. This is documented! He has cheated on his marriages. Stories abound of his perverted carryings on with prostitutes. He has been accused of molesting minors. This is the president of our country! Political careers have been ruined by stories of far less evil behavior, yet he remains unscathed. This is what you want representing our country? This is the role model you want for the youth of our country? That kind of behavior leads me to wonder just how anti-abortion old 45 really is. Just saying....
trump supporters try to tell me he is not a racist bigot. He was raised in the home of a member of the KKK. Family values being what they are, it is easy to see what has made him what he is. He wants to build a ridiculous wall to keep out "those dangerous hombres," the Mexicans. Yet, he opens the doors of Maralago to white Russian women who want their anchor babies born in the USA. He strives to make our citizens fear Muslims, persuading his supporters they are all terrorists. He convinces his supporters that dark people are dangerous people. Yet, he remains rather quiet about white men who shoot blindly into music concert crowds or drive cars into predominantly anti-trump protest marches. His attitude is everything. He is a racist, and his obvious racism encourages a violence that we haven't seen in a long time in our country. I have confronted trump supporters about his racism and their support of him. They are indignant! They refuse to denounce his racist acts. They become furious with me! How dare I imply they are racist! Yeah, how dare I?
The lies! Google trump+lies and there are pages of listings documenting the trash that spews from his lips. He has admitted to telling lies, and then laughing about it as if his words were a silly prank. He's on video telling his lies. However, he'll complain to the people he is being maligned by "fake news." He answers any questions about his traitorous behavior with the two words, fake news. His admirers believe him. The news is biased against him. The news lies. Granted, one must be discerning as to what constitutes the news, but if CNN is good enough for the world, it is good enough for me. One of the techniques Hitler used to bring about his regime was to discredit the people seeking to stop him, the news reporters. Holocaust survivors are still here to witness to their experiences, and they will parallel trump's disregard for the law, his attempts to discredit the media, and his fear mongering to Hitler's rise to power. Santayana has said, "Those who cannot remember the past are doomed to repeat it." As I watch ICE shred families, I remember history. I remember Nazi Germany. I am frightened for America.
I have barely touched the surface of my dislike and distrust of the faux president of our country. His tumultuous attempts at a cabinet. His universal dislike among other leaders of the world. Except Russia. Russia!! His rantings and ravings voiced in the vocabulary of an elementary school child. As I debate whether-or-not to suffer through the blowhard's State of the Union Address, I remember how many people I know who thought they were doing the right thing by putting a non-politician in office in the first place. Some have come around and see the damage he is doing. Others brag that he is shaking things up and he is just what America needs. Think about such logic. Would you want an inexperienced non-teacher educating your children? How about someone who learned everything he could about medicine from "Grey's Anatomy." Would you feel confident with that person treating your cancer? Experience is important! Yet, we have given our country over to a habitual golfer who lies about his education, who has bankrupted many of his businesses, who has cheated on wives, contractors, and anyone else in his way, who tweets like a scorned teenager, who ignores the Constitution, who throws temper tantrums, and who embarrasses this country on a daily basis.
If you still support donald trump, I don't get you. I just don't get you. If you support 45 by starting any sentence with, "But Hillary..." I don't want to hear it. She is not the face of America, so don't go there. Don't tell me we have to agree to disagree, because I don't have to do any such thing. I will not be silenced in my attempts to wake up America. On this day, the day of the State of the Union Address, I challenge you to actually think for yourself, research the daily stories, and don't just sit back in blissful ignorance. We are in dangerous times, and we can't make America great by being blind to lies, hate, racism, the NRA, big business greed, and so on and sadly, so on.
People say they support trump because the economy is good. I need to question that. Yes, the stock market is booming. But how many of his small town supporters even benefit from the market? My economy is not booming. Gas prices are steadily rising. Health care and insurance, out of sight! Have you been in a grocery store lately? Prices have skyrocketed! Garages have instituted payment plans for car repairs. Everybody I know is in shock over their recent heating bill. My real life economy is not prospering. Everything I pay for is increasing dramatically. My income, though, is frozen. That's the reality of my economy. Thanks for nothing donald.
Abortion is a big, big issue with most of his Christian supporters. It's been a year; have you seen him focus seriously on stopping abortion? No! What Republicans are proud of, are their efforts to defund Planned Parenthood. What idiots! Contrary to popular propaganda, Planned Parenthood is not "94% abortions." (Sen. Orin Hatch) The actual statistic is 3% of their services involve abortions. Unwanted pregnancies are not going away. And Christian tsk-tsking is not going to stop women from taking unsafe measures to end these pregnancies. I personally know a number of women who are vehemently anti-abortion; however, they conveniently forget that they had safe abortions when they felt they had no other choice. Defunding Planned Parenthood means denying health care to poor women. But, that is no surprise as trump supporters seem determined to deny the poor any government services. This link will take you to a Washington Post article exposing the myths behind Planned Parenthood. Copy and paste to read this truthful piece.
https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/five-myths-about-planned-parenthood/2011/04/14/AFogj1iD_story.html?utm_term=.0c48d06305aa
And speaking of morals, abortions, sex and so on, who can accept the fact that we have a president whose immorality is a matter of pride to him? How are the same Christians supporting him as the anti-abortion president content to ignore his documented immoral behaviors? He has bragged of assaulting women because he's so rich and powerful he can do whatever he wants. This is documented! He has cheated on his marriages. Stories abound of his perverted carryings on with prostitutes. He has been accused of molesting minors. This is the president of our country! Political careers have been ruined by stories of far less evil behavior, yet he remains unscathed. This is what you want representing our country? This is the role model you want for the youth of our country? That kind of behavior leads me to wonder just how anti-abortion old 45 really is. Just saying....
trump supporters try to tell me he is not a racist bigot. He was raised in the home of a member of the KKK. Family values being what they are, it is easy to see what has made him what he is. He wants to build a ridiculous wall to keep out "those dangerous hombres," the Mexicans. Yet, he opens the doors of Maralago to white Russian women who want their anchor babies born in the USA. He strives to make our citizens fear Muslims, persuading his supporters they are all terrorists. He convinces his supporters that dark people are dangerous people. Yet, he remains rather quiet about white men who shoot blindly into music concert crowds or drive cars into predominantly anti-trump protest marches. His attitude is everything. He is a racist, and his obvious racism encourages a violence that we haven't seen in a long time in our country. I have confronted trump supporters about his racism and their support of him. They are indignant! They refuse to denounce his racist acts. They become furious with me! How dare I imply they are racist! Yeah, how dare I?
The lies! Google trump+lies and there are pages of listings documenting the trash that spews from his lips. He has admitted to telling lies, and then laughing about it as if his words were a silly prank. He's on video telling his lies. However, he'll complain to the people he is being maligned by "fake news." He answers any questions about his traitorous behavior with the two words, fake news. His admirers believe him. The news is biased against him. The news lies. Granted, one must be discerning as to what constitutes the news, but if CNN is good enough for the world, it is good enough for me. One of the techniques Hitler used to bring about his regime was to discredit the people seeking to stop him, the news reporters. Holocaust survivors are still here to witness to their experiences, and they will parallel trump's disregard for the law, his attempts to discredit the media, and his fear mongering to Hitler's rise to power. Santayana has said, "Those who cannot remember the past are doomed to repeat it." As I watch ICE shred families, I remember history. I remember Nazi Germany. I am frightened for America.
I have barely touched the surface of my dislike and distrust of the faux president of our country. His tumultuous attempts at a cabinet. His universal dislike among other leaders of the world. Except Russia. Russia!! His rantings and ravings voiced in the vocabulary of an elementary school child. As I debate whether-or-not to suffer through the blowhard's State of the Union Address, I remember how many people I know who thought they were doing the right thing by putting a non-politician in office in the first place. Some have come around and see the damage he is doing. Others brag that he is shaking things up and he is just what America needs. Think about such logic. Would you want an inexperienced non-teacher educating your children? How about someone who learned everything he could about medicine from "Grey's Anatomy." Would you feel confident with that person treating your cancer? Experience is important! Yet, we have given our country over to a habitual golfer who lies about his education, who has bankrupted many of his businesses, who has cheated on wives, contractors, and anyone else in his way, who tweets like a scorned teenager, who ignores the Constitution, who throws temper tantrums, and who embarrasses this country on a daily basis.
If you still support donald trump, I don't get you. I just don't get you. If you support 45 by starting any sentence with, "But Hillary..." I don't want to hear it. She is not the face of America, so don't go there. Don't tell me we have to agree to disagree, because I don't have to do any such thing. I will not be silenced in my attempts to wake up America. On this day, the day of the State of the Union Address, I challenge you to actually think for yourself, research the daily stories, and don't just sit back in blissful ignorance. We are in dangerous times, and we can't make America great by being blind to lies, hate, racism, the NRA, big business greed, and so on and sadly, so on.
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