With great thanks to all those who wished us well yesterday, we move forward into a new week that seems bound to substitute cacophony for content. Yes, a father pardoned a son. For all the screams and howls, the pedantic protests are superfluous. Empty rhetoric carries no consequence. There is no power in a 100-day agenda, either. Rules must still be followed. There is no penalty for time taken. Media desperate for eye-catching headlines stoke fear where there is no danger.
Take a moment. Breathe. We’ve wound our emotions so tightly that we’re ruining the things that should bring pleasure. People have gotten hurt. Fines are being levied. If the loss of a game adversely affects one’s life, does not the consequence belong to you, not the team? Media encourages putting money at risk, but your hands place the bet. The money you lose profits those already rich. Better we watch the games in silence than bring ourselves to hatred and poverty.
Worry gets us nowhere. Already, natural elements fight against the empty threats of a blithering fool. Tree workers with chainsaws are more dangerous to your grandparents than most political threats. Snow threatens more lives than do meaningless embassy appointments. Most of us choose the content our eyes see. If we choose to linger among the purveyors of fear then we create for ourselves an environment of concern. Can we not peruse information elsewhere? Are there no books that need to be read? Solutions are seldom found on a web page.
December offers too many alternatives to fear. Art installations are almost everywhere this time of year. Whose heart is not buoyed by spending time with pieces of beauty? Networks do their best to shove elements of peace and goodwill at us whether we observe a holiday or not. After spending more than $10 billion on Friday, Shoppers are likely to set another record today. Need support? Here, buy this bra. If all you do is sit at home and worry, there is no one to blame for your angst but yourself.
Even as we look toward the new year, perhaps the best response to all the drama is to take an art class. It may well add another seven years to your life. At least, Jane Fonda thinks so. Yesterday’s video is included for your benefit.
Getting older doesn’t mean dreams age, either. Thinking one is 18 again, attending a prom that never happened, fortunate that the vomit wasn’t real, and neither was the rejection, shows how flexible our minds can be.
Although, thinking I’m being kissed passes from joy to disappointment when I wake and find that it is only Solaris nibbling at my face, wanting food.
There are reasons to smile today. Look away from your screen and you may find them.
64th BIRTHDAY EDITION
Today is my birthday, Happy Birthday to ME! I see no reason to be quiet; I fought hard to get this far. Others did not make it. Some survived but not as well. Two years of chemo have slowed my pace and limited my actions, but I am still here. I am still fighting for my existence and that of the rest of the world. There is no reason to not rejoice, nor is there a reason for you to not join me. Grab a piece of pie and some coffee.
Fourteen years have passed since this day was so cold. This year, I am safe, warm, and loved. Whether I am well might be a matter of intense conversation but at this moment, I am surrounded by the animals that love me and trust me enough to sleep without worry. Children sleep in adjacent rooms, their only concern being that I not wake them before the sun rises. My mug is full of hot coffee. Choices for food are substantial. We are blessed with reasons to be happy and obligated by the universe to celebrate this trip around the sun.
Today, there will be music. Today, there will be laughter. Today, I set the course for the coming journey. I don’t worry about the weather for I have endured its trials before. Winds blow, rain and snow fall, and they let no one deter their path. Yet, there is no reason to be deterred. What has passed prepares us for what is to come. We move forward with determination and a smile, or at least a wry grin. There are still cards in my deck that I have not shown. I will not set my rudder to retreat.
Do not attempt to plant your flag on my soil for I am not defeated. I may not win on every battlefield, but you embarrass yourself if you think I am conquered. Plant your flags on your own houses so that we might know and avoid your foolishness. I am not obligated to tolerate willful ignorance. I am not subjugated by your loud rhetoric. There is no reason for me to listen to or be distracted by that which holds nothing good for humanity. Today, I refuse to accept the negative energy of contrary bigots and criminal apologists.
Not everyone gets the opportunities I am given. My privilege requires that stand for those who are injured by the stupidity and blindness of those who cannot see beyond the horizon of their own ignorance. Today has a history of taking a seat when told to stand, holding firm when told to move. The rights of humanity are not subject to political dogma or religious opinion. We walked with those different from us long before empty-minded leaders created the quarrel. Those who stand in the way of our progress are trampled under the boots of history.
Today, I read so that tomorrow I might speak. Today, I learn so that tomorrow I might teach. Yet, what shall I read and what shall I learn? Wisdom is found in the struggle of others for even death is not the victor that it claims to be. What if this is the last day I feel as good as I do now? Inevitably, there is someday in the future when I will not awaken. Yet, I do not let the fear of that day keep me from living this moment and doing with it what brings me joy and understanding. Today, I am in control of me. Today, I am powerful. Today, I am strong.
Perhaps, today, I will visit a bookstore. Perhaps, today, I will watch football. Perhaps, today, I will take a nap when I please. Perhaps, today, you will join me; if not here, then there. Participation options include but are not limited to Venmo: @C_I_Letbetter and CashApp: $ciletbetter. Or, perhaps, today, you will bring me coffee and a biscuit along with your smile. Bring the joy that lives inside you. Celebrate with me.
Today is MY birthday. Happy Birthday to me!
What good does it do to run from here to there as though life were nothing more than a race to see who dies first, or dies best? One may travel the world and still see nothing. Music may surround you and still you hear no tune. Days at the gym without any strength, weeks full of books without gaining any knowledge, years full of life with all motion and no substance, yet all we want is more of the nothing we already have.
Heated seats as we watch a movie, food delivered to my chair, immersed in sound that’s overwhelming, what is the story we’re seeing there? The lines between good and evil are blurred, titles mean nothing, those in power remain abusive, and trust is betrayed without remorse. ‘Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain,’ even if he can dance.
Twenty-five days of “What will you give me?” Those who have everything still demand more. There is no love in financial peril. All that is accumulated amounts to dust. No one needs boxes of brightly-colored paper when sitting alone in a quiet room. Give me your time, your presence, your conversation, and the sound of your voice. Please give me your nakedness, the touch of your hands, the embrace of your arms, and the kiss of your lips. Nothing that can be packaged in a box is as valuable as your presence.
Perhaps you grow tired of me sitting and staring. I don’t always remember the stories I once told. I struggle to find words to speak from all the noise in my head. I read something, once, but its wisdom eludes me. How convenient it would be if I could just blame the cold.
Saturday is here for sports and casual matters free our minds from the drudgery of existence. Wilfully inflicted pain of a few becomes the pleasure embraced by many. Score six points for the distraction and add an extra one for the entertainment. We too eagerly await the stretcher that removes the bodies of the fallen.
We invest in the romance of others when there is no feeling in the lives we own. If the matters of your heart were made public fodder, would the content spur jealousy among others? Perhaps some might respond in horror, and many would misunderstand and misinterpret your intentions. Perhaps the screen is best left blank.
Still, the cat watches out the window at birds it cannot reach.
Breathe. Cough. Chilled air jolts our lungs back to the reality that plagued us before and haunts us again. We realize that past follies were of little pleasure. Bank accounts are tighter. Confidence is narrow. Shortages loom on the horizon—brows furrow. A deep sigh breaks the silence while the children are nestled, all snug in their beds. Uncertain visions dance in our heads.
Ours is not a new experience. Science uncovers today the remnants of someone’s yesterday. We know nothing about what they had, what they wanted, whether they were happy. We only know that they were. Our existence is the same. Who can tell if we got along, gave the best presents, or cooked the most food when we are laid in graves? Does not one set of bones look like another?
Governments flex their power, anxious to send someone else’s children to war. Why should we listen? If governments can replace a house with a crater, then can we not also replace them with a void? Do not forget the power of your own will. You control the path on which your feet walk. The bad intentions of others are not the pavement on which you are obligated to trod.
From ancient realms of infinity, we did not request life. Breath was not our pursuit. Once it was ours, however, all others lost control. Should I decide I am happy, there are no flames in hell that can wrest what I have placed in my soul. Should I find for myself contentment, no angels from your heaven can force my immigration. My heart is not governed by anything outside of my chest.
Now is the time to pour wine. Soon enough this body becomes the clay that forms the cup from which another drinks. Do not waste time saying prayers for there is no mosque, temple, or cathedral that is more than a fairy tale. Instead, give yourself fully to love. Let your desire for peace be the force behind your steps. Scream ‘I LOVE YOU!’ in the face of hate and see if it is not consumed by its own rage.
Do not ignore those who would befriend you. Can another heart control where you place your love? Enemies dissolve before us when we take their hands with compassion. Those who step with you soon enough crush the army that marches against you. A lover’s sigh of happiness topples towers of hate.
The path from fear to love is but a single breath.
THANKSGIVING EDITION
Welcome to a day designed to give thanks for… something. Everyone’s list should be different. You know the mountains you’ve climbed, the dangers you’ve faced, and the audacious ridiculousness you’ve had to endure. Some of you trot through today, others wobble, and me, I’m going to sleep. We did our turkey yesterday. I cooked all f’n day by myself. The results?
If you’re having trouble finding something for which to be thankful, let me make a few suggestions:
- You woke up
- I woke up
- The food you eat today probably won’t kill you immediately
- You didn’t have to broker a cease-fire to make it to today’s dinner
- You’re not marching through Manhattan in the rain being chased by a massive balloon
- There’s not a cat in your shower
- You live in the same universe as ME
And now that we’re done with the whole turkey thing, you know what comes next? Let me give you a couple of hints.
TAKE THE FUCKING HINT!
MY BIRTHDAY IS SUNDAY!
I have expectations. Don’t disappoint me.
Without the wind, the morning doesn’t feel quite so cold. My gloves stay in my pocket. The dogs feel no rush to get back inside. The whine of jets carrying holiday passengers sounds as though we live at the airport. Without the wind, 36 degrees doesn’t chill the bones. Wearing my heaviest coat seems excessive. Leaves look as though they’re glued to the ground. No one else is moving around. The world seems to be on vacation, without the wind.
“Snow coming,” warns the alert at the bottom of my monitor.
Do you believe in cease-fires? Toys from Santa may be the safer bet. As families gather under the guise of giving thanks, one wonders who will be the first to fill their mouths with unkind words rather than turkey and mashed potatoes. Some families require signing contracts before admission is given. One spouse threatens the other not to disturb the peace. The air is tense as conversation struggles. Football unites us better than familial bonds.
“You’re not invited,” sounds too much like “No one wants you.”
Simple drinks work the best. Can there be too many pies? What do you mean you don’t like leftovers? Fragrances carried on warm air from a hot oven stir automatic responses in our brains. There aren’t enough chairs for the table that doesn’t exist. Sit in the shadows. Chew quietly. Did we think this year would be any different? Don’t give your table scraps to the dog. Clean your plate and no one asks any questions.
“I need a nap” is holiday code for “I’m tired of dealing with these people.”
We’ll celebrate today so that others can celebrate tomorrow. Take out yesterday’s trash so that there’s room for today’s. Are we being thankful for the abundance or showing off our excess? Don’t wash the turkey. Wear gloves when handling the food. The meal will be ready around 4:00. Try to be awake.
It’s only Wednesday.
Wind from the North fuels my anxiety about changing weather patterns that will leave us cold and dampen the holiday’s pleasures. Are we prepared to shiver and shake as we prepare our turkey and the desserts that we bake? Do we need a feast at all? As a nation, we’ve become so obese that paying for weight loss is now in the country’s best interest. The turkey is fine, but the potatoes and casseroles are not. Already, we plan for excess, making sure to mend our ‘fat pants’ after sutures burst at their last outing.
Perhaps we would do well to honor the day with less. Such suggestions are treated as though they are treason. Today, I plan for more pies than we need, more food than we can consume, and more dishes than anyone wants to wash. Tomorrow, we cook for one feast is not enough. There will be two, though not everyone participates in the second. We’ll stream the parades and the football between bites of stuffing and yams. Then, we’ll sleep.
First, we must have the party before the feast. The child who does not like having his picture taken turns 16 today. The wild little boy who liked to play on the roof of the house has become the young man who plays the violin, creates new worlds for his friends, and sings in Japanese while playing a game. His math skills are exemplary. He would find a better way to organize the air if asked. There are no leftovers when he cooks. For all the days he tested our patience, he has repaid us with smiles and sarcasm, compassion and comedy, thoughtfulness and thoroughness. We may not be giving him a perfect world, but he is determined to bend this world to his will. Happy Birthday, G!
I’ve looked all around me, the news and the headlines, and found nothing that necessarily inspires me to be inspiring. Too many people are busy being disappointing. There are no genuinely new revelations here. Companies run by old white people who inherited their wealth still behave like slave owners. No one is surprised and their profits continue unhindered. The best thing we do is reduce the number of children introduced into this mess we have created. Those who spare innocent lives by not creating them in the first place may be those who have the most gratefulness in their lives.
When war yields diseases that we do not understand and are unable to cure, perhaps it’s time we just stop everything. No more bombing, no more feasts, no more domination, no more parties. No one has any excuse. Those who only exist so that they may hate others have no reason to celebrate. Why would we include them in our revelry? Those whose religion gives them a reason to hate have no prayer of achieving forgiveness. What are we expecting?
If this country was indeed founded on the sinful smugness of spiritual superiority then what is the basis for our thanks? Are we thankful for the genocide we inflicted on indigenous peoples? Are we thankful that our economy continues to keep people enslaved? Are we thankful that we’ve given hate a political party all its own?
Perhaps, when all is done, we should be thankful that history is not likely to remember us at all. This time, this age exists as nothing more than an embarrassment to humanity, a bad story that those ten generations removed will have no reason to remember.
Our only hope is to replace hate with love.
One turkey dinner is not enough.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words… Words will cause fear, incite panic, fuel anger, spread divisiveness, and create a breeding ground for disease that consumes one’s own body. Guns may cause some to freeze, others to seek shelter, but words… Words cause us to hide inside ourselves where no one can find us. Words cause us to retreat from life, pull away from friends and family, take remote jobs, and turn off all external communications. Words cause us to become stranded within ourselves at the very time the world needs us the most.
Over the weekend, I passed the second anniversary of filling my body with this radioactive poison called chemotherapy. Three months and fifteen days of this “treatment” remain. Every morning, I have taken these four monstrous pills. Every day, they seek to save my life by ruining it. I am a recluse within my recovery.
The warning on the bottle requires gloves to be worn. The poison can be spread. I remain for all intents and purposes, radioactive. With time, my body has adapted to this condition. So now, as we contemplate a life without poison, we wonder how my body will respond. Will I return to my previous activities or will my body long for a return of the poison? So many people chose the poison this month.
With no children going to school this week, there was no reason for anyone to set an alarm. Pets, accustomed to a specific schedule, do not understand the concept of ‘sleeping in.’ I woke to find dog shit in front of my door, a clear message that I had failed to meet their most basic needs in a timely manner. A chorus arose from the cats demanding to be fed and given fresh water. Their communication skills are considered primitive by some, but yet, do they not ensure that they get what they want? I fold my arms in front of me and Solaris immediately fills them with his presence, quite sure that my intention was to stop typing and hold him. Hamilton also requests to join the cuddle, but his size exceeds my lap space.
The beginning of the holiday season beckons millions to leave their homes and spend time with loved ones. Perils await. Not all airports are welcoming. A denial of service on the part of some may result in the loss of service to others. Inhospitable weather still looms large for much of the nation. Getting where one wants to go may be easier than leaving. More than emotions may cause one to stay. Cheaters are not welcome, though there are always those who try. Travel makes us weary, uncooperative, and stubborn. Making sure one packs plenty of grace in their carry-on eases the pain.
While some plan for great revelry, there are many others who struggle with how to buy groceries for less than $100, and others who sit alone, unknown, thankful for a bowl of instant soup. Not everyone is welcome at the table. Not everyone who has a seat deserves it. Many seats are empty this year. Many chairs are filled with new faces. Food may not feel welcome for the one who has never seen such outlandish displays. Compassion is the appetizer to giving thanks.
Still, there are words that pursue us. We don’t need to hear the consonants to feel their sting. We know they exist on the lips of those who deny our humanity, who have labeled us ‘sinners,’ and dare to pray for our souls while selling their own. They hope that we’ll feel small, that we’ll hide away in some corner, or perhaps leave and pretend we are not all one people, one bond, one personhood.
“Bless your little pea-pickin’ heart,” is the response I choose to combat hatred this season. Words needn’t be combative. What comes out of your mouth is as important as what goes into your ears. We needn’t apologize for being, but neither should we be so quick to point out the inhumanity of others. Leave the faults of others to eat away at their own souls. Pass the rolls with fervor for bread does well at filling the mouths of those who should not speak. Justice is a desert that fills everyone’s plate equally.
Words dance merrily through my head wearing spiked high heels so that I feel every stomp of their jig. I fear the day that the words stop, that I no longer hear nor speak, that my eyes cease to see the pictures, for that is the day I can no longer tell you that I love you.
Or that I need more coffee.
This Sunday is Charles’ birthday. Venmo: @C_I_Letbetter CashApp: $ciletbetter
The words of a long-dead Persian poet, one who disliked growing Islam as much as you might dislike growing Evangelicalism, reads today with all the poignancy of a morning newspaper. “Your hand can seize today, but not tomorrow; and thoughts of your tomorrow are nothing but desire. Don’t waste this breath, if your heart isn’t crazy, since “the rest of your life” won’t last forever.” Omar Khayyám wrote in quatrains long before any Brit picked up a pen. Yet, his writings are not taught in high school, when they might do the most good. They distrust both religion and government. They embrace math and science. One might think that the agenda would change over the course of 1,500 years or so, yet, here we are having the same conversations.
Jeneen Interlandi wrote earlier this week “We tire very quickly of being told that everything is on fire.” Those who are not dodging bullets care less about senseless wars as stupidity has trouble finding an ending point. Sick people are more likely to trust a life-saving vaccine while the well debate its efficacy. Those with the least grow angry at those with the most.
This is the week that launches many into a flurry of holiday activities. Over the next 35 days, more than 300 celebrations fueled by faith and tradition occur. Does this bring us joy? The chance for snow on Thanksgiving Day is increasing for Indiana. Washing your Thanksgiving turkey could spread germs. Using black plastic kitchen tools exposes you to toxins. Science shows giving thanks has been part of human survival. Yet, many already dread conversations that no one has started.
Can one ‘seize the day’ and still ‘pick your battles?’ If we choose the actions for today that make a difference for today, do we not keep ourselves in a perpetual fervor? Have we only succeeded on days where we managed to put out the fires that threatened… someone, somewhere? Why do we think that wishing a happy birthday to a growing child is any less important than the cost of hosting their party?
Alice is gone. Her restaurant closed long ago. Chuck is gone. His ‘love connections’ were often fantasies. Do we mourn their passing or do we express outrage at the fact that, in this day and age, women are still being burned for the accusation of witchcraft? Exactly which part of the day is it we’re supposed to seize?
Drink your coffee. There are those who claim that instant coffee has gotten a lot better. Don’t believe them. Instant gratification can never match the flavor we earn by grinding the beans and savoring each temperature-controlled drip. If only the rest of the day was as easy to grasp as the handle on a coffee mug; perhaps then seizing days might bring us more joy.
But we’d rather worry about tomorrow because those concerns only involve words, not actions. Seizing the day requires us to do something. Sure, some may be seen as gathering kindling, but we cannot fight a blaze that has not yet been lit. A poorly planned fire may well put itself out before we’ve unfurled a hose. Our fears give credit to the undeserving for actions they’ve yet to take.
Fear and trembling seize nothing but rob us of the joy found in what is happening right now. Let the at-risk person know you love them, invite them to your dinner, and give them space to feel welcome in your house and among your company. Grandiose speeches are not what save lives. We must take people by the hand and lead them to safety when it matters. It is the steps we take more than the words we say that change the world.
There are times when we best seize the day by staying in bed and giving ourselves rest.
Where do we go from here? One of the struggles we all face is that we don’t always get to determine what happens next. We are more frequently pushed across thresholds than we are carried across joyfully. Even when an invitation seems like a good idea at the time, once we’re involved we discover that we’re trapped, unable to go back. Neither do we all share identical experiences through the same time portal. One shuts down an office while another prepares for new life. We may look through the same window yet see different pictures. Is what happens to us next a good thing or will another 350,831 of us die?
Who am I to judge the guilt or innocence of another? Someone must, for there can be no justice without judgment. Am I impartial enough to hold another’s fate in my hands? We may never know, for once again, my service has been declined. What I do know is that justice, no matter how measured, is a highly opinionated beast. Are courts best suited to determine when one begins thinking and acting like an adult? Are schools best suited for religious indoctrination? A country run by criminals has little care for justice.
I look across the bed at the dogs sprawled out, sleeping; they are warm and well-fed. They are not aware of changes until they happen. A differently flavored treat is still a treat. Water outside apparently tastes the same as water inside. They are not bothered by incongruities or worried by idle threats. They do not care what I might cook next week nor how many presents I give next month. Neither do they look at my dwindling account balance and worry whether they’ll be fed. Their food has already been purchased. The dogs sleep blissfully unaware of my angst.
We have transitioned into being a country that champions criminals more than heroes. Perhaps that explains the election outcome. Our desire to see an underdog win outstrips our need for justice. We care less for the number of bodies left in their wake when we have already convinced ourselves that, on one level or another, they deserved to die. Knowing that the wizard has no real power does not keep him from being revered in Oz.
Stubbornly, I dig in my heels. There are thresholds I do not want to cross. Yet, how can I hold your hand if we do not step together? I cannot help those in danger if I’m left standing behind a closed door. I walk into the future not because I care for my own but because I care for those around me. The adventures we face are different than those behind us, but together, we both survive.
I have met my minimum word count. There’s coffee on the other side of the door. This threshold I walk through without hesitation.
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Friday Morning Update: 11/22/24
November 22, 2024
Rain washes away the snow, leaving only a hint of the momentary wonderland that existed across the yard. An old song suggests, “Forget your troubles, come on, get happy; You better chase all your cares away.” But there is no rain that washes away the pain of cancer or removes the struggle to breathe. No river removes the stain of poor decisions. We struggle to find words, any words, that might communicate the density of the cloud over our mind. None of the pictures I’ve ever taken portray such chaos as that which consumes my being. Temptation urges me to give up, go to bed, and sleep until the world is better, but the world only declines the invitation to improve.
Drama capped Tipper’s trip to Purdue. The bus driver was ready to leave at one time, the guides were expecting to leave later, and their final departure was too late to return to school on time. Waiting parents were upset. Students were frustrated by the apparent incompetency of adults. Who will tell them that too many of the issues they face in high school continue to plague them into adulthood? Is this all they will remember of the trip? No one was left behind. No child was endangered. Everyone returned home. The lesson is to acknowledge the mistakes and move forward.
Trouble makes for an interesting conversation. Anger pushes passion into our speech. We use our words to make trivial issues matter. In the blizzard of emotion, we lose sight of reality. I am not dying today. Control over tomorrow is still mine. Whatever complicates my life is but a nuisance to my existence. Politicians make imaginary threats to pique my fears, but can I choose not to be afraid?
Words fall empty when there is no genuine power behind them. I fuel my own life, such as it may be. Attempts to diminish my existence are folly. The feet in my boots are still mine; I control my path and the steps I take. If I need assistance I request it, but the denial of that request does not keep me from moving forward. When I cannot walk, I will crawl. The day I can no longer crawl, I will employ a mobility device. Frequent naps do not hinder my progress. I choose to move forward, and the world will adjust accordingly.
Warrants may be issued. Threats can be made. Weapons might be aimed. Still, when darkness falls at the end of the day, do we not ask ourselves what has changed? I might question whether I could make a difference, but when I cannot, I accept no blame for the outcome. I am not required to follow a leader I did not choose and do not trust. My loyalty lies not with those who do not know my name, but with those I love, those whose care and existence matter to my sense of humanity. I can protect what matters without ceding an ounce of power to any despot.
Sixty-one years ago, a president was assassinated. Who shot who matters little. The consequences of those actions cannot be changed. Lives taken, no matter where, are not returned. We cannot change what someone else chooses to do after the act is done. A moment that has passed immediately becomes part of a history from which we are obligated to learn. We must answer the questions of how we might stop the bombs from falling and the bullets from being fired. Yet, we cannot change the conscience of those whose minds are committed to evil.
Our choice is to follow paths that magnify our own power. M.I.T. offers free tuition to help a new generation stand on their feet. In California, a 17-year-old woman became the youngest person to pass that state’s bar exam. US overdose deaths have dropped, even though no one is exactly sure why. Better paths exist, though perhaps not lit by neon signs. We choose to find those paths. We choose to make our world better.
The fogginess that clouds my mind and leaves me staring at this page does not prevent me from refilling my coffee cup, giving belly rubs to a dog, or cuddling a cat. My bank account may be empty, but there is enough food to feed the family. Each step may be taken with trepidation, yet do I not still walk? I will eat the food that I prepare. I will take the medicines and endure the poison. My day will continue. Naps shall be my fortress of solitude.
Forward is the path I choose.
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Thursday Morning Update: 11/21/24
November 21, 2024
Watch the snowfall, the glimmer of tiny flakes reflected in the street lights and headlights of passing cars. Shiver as a northerly wind caresses the one tract of skin left bare while the rest of your body attempts to snuggle deeper inside a heavy coat. Even the dogs do not linger here. This first hint of the coming winter reveals how accustomed we’ve become to our planet’s warming temperatures. Like the proverbial frogs in slowly-heated water, we prefer that which leads to our demise. A snow shovel sits ready and waiting; it will see no action today, possibly not all season.
Tipper “borrowed” her mom’s heavy coat as she slipped out the back door. On a school excursion, she would visit Purdue University for her first glimpse of college life. Her mind goes back and forth in an argument with herself over whether she needs post-secondary education. Already tired of classrooms, she ponders a possible life as an artist. Surely, one doesn’t need a diploma to sell a banana for $6.2 million. But then, how long might the market for bananas taped to walls remain so bullish?
G does not harbor such fantasies. His mind struggles with the various choices that take advantage of his creativity and genius. Last night he bemoaned the imagined frustrations of a fashion designer interrupted. Today, he takes on the media world in a video interview. Perhaps tomorrow he’ll be nominated for a cabinet position. He is as well qualified as any of the others awaiting confirmation. Nothing is outside his grasp. Yet, so many choices create a different problem for his ADHD mind. He feels no rush in making a decision. There is still time to explore.
Kat struggles still with the limitations imposed by diminished breathing ability. She does not want the kids burdened with the knowledge of how close she came to no longer being present in this world. She powers on through the exhaustion. Her sleep does not last long. Both cold and hot, her body struggles to regulate temperature. Cats long to snuggle but their weight diminishes her breathing capability even more. G asked whether her lungs would ever recover their full capabilities. She had no certain answer to give him, only that time would move slowly as she inches back to her normal routine.
More poison arrives today. Only three more deliveries remain. Who knows my future after chemo? Will my energy return? Will my mind clear? Will I stand without falling? I sit here struggling to grasp at words that slip through my mind like water through a sieve. What were we discussing? Did I have anything important to say? Minutes pass into hours and I don’t recall my last thought. My coffee grows cold as it sits in the mug; I forget the most routine part of my day.
Kat asked last night if I am planning to visit the boys over the holidays. Her question caught me by surprise. No doubt, seeing the boys would be a wonderful treat. Two years have passed since I last saw Zach, Meg, and Ren. Three years without seeing Ben. Yet, I struggle to cover expenses until the end of every month. The lowest round-trip airfare is $542 plus taxes and fees. Lodging would be another $50 per night. Factor a reasonable amount for additional expenses and the total exceeds more than an entire month’s budget. My body cannot handle a long road trip; even from here to Chicago is too much. Train service to Chattanooga doesn’t exist. There is no choo-choo there. The idea has been planted, however, and a dream has begun to sprout. I fear that disappointment is the only yield.
I cannot tell if snow is still falling. With daylight, the delicate flakes become almost invisible. The thermometer warns of conditions below freezing. The dogs wait for me to return to bed.
Meanwhile, the universe asks, what is Google without Chrome? Does Jaguar still make cars? Does Campbell’s still make soup? What’s to become of MSNBC without NBC? What is rhetoric without meaning?
Solaris gently places his paws on my chest. He, too, wants me to return to bed. Still, there is food that must be eaten and meds that must be swallowed.
Will I remember to drink my coffee?
What, then, shall we make of today if it comes to us bearing nothing but trouble, sacks full of heartache, luggage with nothing but wrinkled misery? Do we confine ourselves to the pinhole vision of old men and bitter women teetering on the cusp of death, or do we dig for them their graves so that we might gleefully push them in and cover their decay with dirt? Is there any good found while cowering in fear? Rather, let us take to the feeble a battle they are unable to fight; for the noise they make is the sound of broken swords, clanging meaninglessly in scabbards fastened loosely around protruding waists.
I’m finding little use this morning in attempting to recount for yet another day the perils of my health conditions. Rain is in the offing for this morning and colder temperatures follow behind that. Even if I weren’t on chemo and my head wasn’t screaming this would still not be a day likely to etch itself into my memories for any good or pleasurable reason. Brief respite is given by those familiars who look on silently, rubbing a nuzzle against my hand, not conscious of the aid they provide. My shirt, pulled fresh from my closet this morning, is already covered with hair that is not mine, making me a walking allergen.
G came home from school excited about a D&D campaign he is planning for his friends to enjoy come January. His dreams are lofty and to achieve them I’ve recommended the works of Huxley and Asimov so that he needn’t reinvent what has already been so beautifully created. Alas, those volumes that were once on my shelves are no more. I am continually mystified at how pages filled with ink can disappear into some special ether that consumes nothing but that which I most urgently desire to read.
Tipper gleefully announced her intention to spend Black Friday in the company of her boyfriend. Their intent is to visit a Hot Topic at one of the remaining malls in the area. They are employing a strategy that assumes waiting until the afternoon when more eager shoppers have exhausted themselves, will provide them with greater access. He has promised to buy her whatever it is that she desires. I am hopeful that what she desires is on sale.
Familial lives change around me without my interference. I am of little use to any of them except as a source to share their syncopated excitements. As they grow into their own experiences I am freed to spend my time on other goals if only my body would consummate the intentions of my mind.
Perhaps the news of the day should worry me more. Does a television doctor threaten the health and wellness of my future? Will one steeped in the art of frivolous deception steer education into a mythological abyss? Can the assemblage of a privileged few threaten the humanity of those our ancestors embraced? Malfeasance has a short life and its demise is hastened with the raising of our voices. Are the streets not ours? The wind carries our objections and determination in gigabyte packages to audiences whose faces we never see. Political pyramids topple from the vibrations of marching feet today as surely as did the mythical walls of Jericho yield to the stomping and shouting of homeless nomads in antiquity. Even under perceived threat, our lives, your lives, are more powerful than the heated words of a company whose foundation is pretense.
All prayers are meaningless when there is no deity to hear them. No deity ever conceived gives an ear to the desires of hate. My love for you is infinitely stronger than imagined characters formed by willful ignorance. Your love for each other, open and unapologetic, demolishes the fear-fueled diatribes of those who clutch pearls in the shadow of a temple, a mosque, or a cross. Stand up. Clothe yourselves in flags of your own making. Set foot to the demolition of abhorrent attitudes and loathsome schemes.
Who can stop a nation whose will is to love as one loves without boundary or exclusion? One cannot make a mortar of hate. What is formed of execration crumbles like dust. Stand up. Blow your horns and stomp your feet with pride and defiance. The graves waiting to be filled will not hold you but the corpses of those whose faces turn orange as they scream into the winter wind.
Stand the fuck up. No one has put your feet in cement. The visions of threats are nothing more than a mirage. Your voice cannot be silenced. Your humanity cannot be defeated. If love does conquer all then all shall fall before you. Stand. Move. Yell. Scream. Defeat.
And do not bother to lay a wreath at the grave of hate.
Venmo: @C_I_Letbetter CashApp: $ciletbetter
Funny how I can sit down at the desk first thing of the morning and think of all the things I’m going to get done, but by the time I’ve read through the news, my brain switches to, “We need to lie back down.” Anything that needs to be done outside needs to happen today, while the temperatures are near 70. Thursday’s high is 38, which will feel even colder if it snows. Seasonal temps are upon us for the rest of the week. It’s time to get ready.
Hopefully, today will be better than yesterday. I struggled to stay upright for as little as an hour and ended up spending most of the day in bed. At one point, I thought I was hearing voices again, but it turned out to just be the program that Kat was watching. I did finally get through to the neurologist’s office but the soonest they can get me in is January 29. I’m on a waiting list should a cancellation open a spot before then. The insurance company, however, still hasn’t called back. I’m not surprised.
The big news for this week, month, and year is that my oldest, Zach, finally got around to asking his girlfriend, Meg, to marry him! We knew this moment was coming, we just didn’t know when. Of course, she said yes! This brings about an exciting new season in all of our lives. No, they’ve not set a date yet, but I expect that to be coming soon. I stop now and remember that precious little tow-headed boy I once carried on my shoulders. I couldn’t be more excited!
By the way, I still have two more adult boys living with their mom. Please, feel free to take them off her hands. They’re nice guys, and perhaps that’s part of the problem. Nice guys still have a problem getting noticed because, as much as anything, they don’t want to bother anyone. Well, that and they spend an inordinate amount of time playing video games. Blame their grandparents for that. I never wanted them to get started.
Kat was finally able to see her PCP yesterday. The news is cautious. He told her that she would likely have difficulty breathing for months. That means everyone is going to have to be patient with her. Even with a schedule of only taking two clients a day, she comes home thoroughly exhausted and often falls asleep before she’s had time to eat dinner. Stress over the cumulative holidays and birthdays doesn’t help, either. She discovered yesterday that she and the kids will be doing two Thanksgivings. We’ll have ours early, probably Wednesday depending on how she and I feel next week. I think we have everything we need from a food perspective.
Paying the bills coming due is another matter. Everything hits all at once here at the end of the month and I don’t know when my check will arrive. Kat’s still waiting for a check she deposited last week to clear. I know I have nearly $200 in bills coming out before the first of the month. The way holidays hit the calendar this year, I may not get paid until December 2 or 3. We greatly appreciate the help we’ve had so far. If anyone else wants to contribute, my Venmo is @C_I_Letbetter and CashApp is $ciletbetter.
Today would have been my father’s 95th birthday. I’ve mentioned in previous years how disappointed he would be in world events. As I was combing through local news this morning, I saw this headline: ‘I have fallen short’ | Indiana Sen. Taylor addresses sexual harassment allegations. I was reminded of Poppa’s response to a tearful Jimmy Swaggart apologizing for a cheating scandal. “You can fool people all you want, but you can’t fool God.” I miss his balanced wisdom. In his honor, there will be ice cream today.
With winter rapidly approaching, it’s not surprising to see escalations rising in Russia and Ukraine. In the short time since I sat down here, Ukraine has apparently fired six US-made missiles into Russia. On Russia’s side, Putin has signed a new nuclear doctrine, lowering the bar for the conditions allowing the use of nuclear weapons. What might be more terrifying, though, is that Russia has increased production of radiation-resistant mobile bomb shelters. Why would they do that if they weren’t planning on needing them? Winters are notoriously difficult in both countries, so don’t be surprised to see them making aggressive maneuvers before the end of the year.
Lebanon and Hezbollah have approved the draft of a cease-fire agreement, but it’s unclear yet whether Israel will go along. So far, Netanyahu has been ferociously against such moves, firmly stating that there would be no rest until their goals are met. Knowing that he has staunch allies in the coming Republican administration is likely to bolster the Prime Minister’s defiance. Meanwhile, aid has been stripped from 100 trucks carrying food into Gaza. Looters are to blame. This is further proof that war brings out the worst of humanity. They are like cockroaches crawling out from under cracks in the molding.
There is so much more we could discuss, but I’m feeling the pressure from this damn headache closing in quickly. Among things worth noting, a Judge struck down Wyoming abortion laws, including an explicit ban on pills to end pregnancy while Orders for Morning-After Pills and Abortion Pills Rose After Trump’s Election. The NYC priest who allowed Sabrina Carpenter to shoot a music video in the church was further stripped of duties. Oh, and part of the roof at AT&T Stadium collapsed last night, foreshadowing another Cowboys loss.
I apologize for not having more stamina. The persistence of this headache has worn me down.
If only more coffee could be enough to solve all the problems.
We are running on fumes and coffee grounds this morning as I’m trying to keep my eyes open after what might have been two hours of sleep last night if it’s all stitched together. Kat didn’t fare much better. Making matters all the more frustrating were the animals that woke us 30 minutes earlier than normal. I took the dogs outside and even the neighbor’s rooster was being annoyingly loud. I might say that I’m looking forward to going back to sleep, but I can’t. I have to try to get an appointment with the neurologist and wait for the insurance company to call back. I’m relatively certain that neither of those things will happen on a schedule I find satisfactory.
Should I buy milk or pay the bills? I can do one or the other but not both. If you feel inclined to help, my Venmo is @C_I_Letbetter, and CashApp is $ciletbetter. No obligation. I know this is a tight time of the year for everyone’s budget.
Spirit Airlines filed for bankruptcy this morning. I know how they feel.
The Russia/Ukraine war is about to get nastier. After 1,000 days of this mess, people on both sides of the ever-moving lines are sick and tired of the whole thing.
45 pro-democracy activists face sentencing in Hong Kong. When having a different political opinion becomes a crime, is anyone safe?
Trump’s Pentagon pick paid woman after sex assault allegation but denies wrongdoing. No third-party vetting was done. Standard FBI background checks were skipped. Were you expecting anything different from a racist, rapist felon?
Air pollution in Delhi is fifty times the safe limit. Meanwhile, the US looks to gut clean air laws. Please, make it all make sense.
One cruise line is offering a four-year escape for those who want it. I suppose that’s fine for those who have the cash to pay for four years of living in advance. Most of us are just trying to pay for our next meal.
Today is the anniversary of the 1978 Jonestown Massacre, and now we can understand why. Remember, Jim Jones got his start right here in Indy.
Hurricane season isn’t over. Why would it be with such an abundance of hot air over Florida?
Black, Hispanic, and LGBTQIA+ people are getting threatening texts again. Don’t expect it to stop. This is a new reality and we’ve no choice but to stand up to this racism. Neo-Nazis marched on Columbus, OH over the weekend as well. Sure, “officials” condemned the action, but who the fuck approved that permit? When are we going to put these idiots in the ground? Are we going to wait and let them shoot first? Bad idea.
Tickets for European sex parties are on the rise by as much as 500 percent. Disclaimer, we’re members of one of the organizing entities mentioned in the article. Politics isn’t the only reason these events are popular.
The NY Times says social media is veering to the right. This is a fixable problem. Be loud. Be proud. Ban the trolls.
We’ve got rain moving in overnight and a decent chance of snow by Thursday. If you thought you were miserable this morning, just wait, it gets worse.
Water and gas service returned just before noon yesterday. Once everyone had pooped, the kids each retreated to their respective rooms and I barely saw either of them the rest of the day. I went to bed and died until time for the Penn St/Purdue game. I made it to halftime, barely. I mean, once Morrissette caught a would-be touchdown out of bounds because he was confused by the home-field paint job, the game was pretty much over. Here’s the clip:
After that, I put frozen chicken enchiladas in the oven for dinner and struggled to stay awake until they were done. I was in bed by 7:30. Solaris climbed onto my shoulder and there he stayed for the duration of the night.
G was the only one who seemed to have any life in him yesterday. The boy actually made his own coffee so that he could stay awake playing games. I know this because there were still a couple of cups’ worth left in the pot this morning. Hey, it was Saturday. There’s no reason for him to be up early today. The kid’s entitled to some fun.
I wish I could adequately explain how horrifyingly painful this headache is. The neurologist told me years ago that I don’t have migraines, but rather cluster headaches. I know how those feel and this isn’t that. I wish it were. I know how to treat cluster headaches. Nothing seems to be working. OTC meds are useless. Changes in diet (within the narrow range in which that is possible) have yielded no results. I cry through the night. I’d scream if I thought it would do any good. Taking the dogs outside is a dangerous proposition for fear that I might get too dizzy and fall. I dare not leave my phone behind, ever.
I want to say “thank you” to those who sent a bit of help yesterday. Unfortunately, I must repeat the request. My details are, Venmo: @C_I_Letbetter, and CashApp: $ciletbetter. Kat only has Venmo: @Katherine-Franson85.
Two weeks from today I turn 64. I don’t feel like celebrating at the moment. Perhaps I will by then. I’m definitely not doing a photoshoot this year (iykyk). But with G’s birthday and Thanksgiving the week before and end-of-the-month bills, can we afford to do anything at all? I’m not sure we can. The holidays are looking incredibly lean.
I don’t feel like typing anymore this morning. I’m sorry.
Critical Help Needed
We have no gas. We have no water. That means we have no heat and the toilet can’t be flushed. Citizens Utility says they’ll have service restored sometime today, but we have no idea exactly when. I’m working on the dregs of leftover coffee from yesterday. The temperature inside the house is at 64 and continues to fall. At least we have power. A problem at a substation caused approximately 36,000 people in Northeast Indy to lose power yesterday. AES says that all power has been restored, but this is the second time this week the city has been hit with a major outage.
Instinct says to abandon the house until the utilities are restored. We can’t do that for a couple of reasons. First, someone has to be here when the gas is turned back on. They have to make sure things don’t go boom. Second, we can’t afford to leave. We can’t afford anything. I secured a gallon of milk and a bag of cat food before everything went sideways yesterday. I hope that’s enough to see us through the end of the month because there’s absolutely nothing left. Never mind that G’s 16th birthday is the 26th and Thanksgiving is two days later. We have to work with what we have.
If you want to help, and I seriously feel bad about asking, our request is that you send any help through either Venmo or CashApp. Please do not use Zelle as that could impact my social security. My Venmo is @C_I_Letbetter and CashApp is $ciletbetter. Kat’s Venmo is @Katherine-Franson85. Any amount of assistance is appreciated.
Yesterday was a zoo even before the utility outage. My doctor’s office called shortly after 8:00 and asked if I was still having problems with the headache. Of course, I was, as I still am today. But instead of the referral to Neurology I had requested, I was told to go to the hospital. Now. So, we went to the hospital, dashing any hopes Kat might have had for a quiet morning. Fortunately, the waiting area was empty when we arrived allowing me to be seen quickly. They drew blood and ordered a CT scan. I could have told them the results without going to all the trouble. The CT scan showed no signs of hemorrhage, injury, or tumor. The bloodwork was all completely normal. Three and a half hours, plus drive time and considerable expense were wasted to make the insurance company happy.
We got home just in time for Kat to down a couple of slices of leftover pieces before heading to the salon. I waited for the milk and cat food, then went to bed not having any idea that our utilities were already out.
Then, the insurance company finally called. No, this wasn’t the call I had requested last week. This was a call that was supposed to happen in July. The representative was horrified when I explained my situation, contacted her supervisor, and promised that a case manager would call “within 24 hours.” Naturally, by this time it was after 2:00 on a Friday afternoon. We both acknowledged that it would likely be Monday before I would get a call. We’ll see if anything happens.
Fortunately, Kat’s sternly worded email to Eskanazi Health had more impact. She now has an appointment with her PCP on Monday. She had a rough night with a couple of serious bouts of coughing. She and Tipper both were up eating at 3:30 AM. We’re hopeful that her visit with the doctor will shed some light on whether she’s making progress or not, and give her some assistance with the pain.
Meanwhile, my head still hurts like crazy. I’m keeping the room relatively dark to keep it from getting any worse. Nothing OTC helps and Tylenol is rough on the kidneys. My kidneys are already fighting for life because of the chemo and diabetes. There’s no point taking anything else that might compromise them, especially when it’s not going to work. I did finally get the referral to Neurology, but when I called, the automated system asked for an extension. I don’t know anyone’s extension, so I hit 0. That resulted in another recording saying that the “network operator” was not available. The next message said that the backup operator was not available. Please call back. No chance to leave a message for anyone. Perhaps they took the afternoon off. I’ll have to try again on Monday.
Could things get worse? Oh yeah, they always can. Weather forecasts for next week show temperatures plummeting on Wednesday and a possible chance for the first snow of the season on Thursday. Back when people in this region measured snow in feet, not inches, they understood how to drive on the white stuff. It’s been 13 years since we’ve seen that significant of snowfall, however. In the interim, a whole generation of new drivers have gotten their licenses without knowing how to drive on snow and ice. They don’t respect the elements and end up endangering the lives of everyone.
Perhaps it is a good thing I don’t fly. A bullet struck a Southwest jet preparing to take off from Dallas Love Field headed for Indy last night. No one was hurt, but the plane did have to return to the gate and was taken out of service. I’ve not heard whether a replacement was found last night or not. As of this morning, there isn’t an update as to where the bullet might have originated and whether the passenger craft was a target or not. I expect this kind of news from Haiti, where the airport has had to close due to gang violence. Such an event here is extremely unusual.
No, I did not attempt to watch the much-hyped game of patty-cake between a greasy influencer and an elderly champion. We canceled our Netflix subscription a couple of years ago when the price kept going up every time we got a new bill. Even if we had the service, which suffered from an overload of people who slowed down their lives to watch the train wreck, I still wouldn’t have tuned in. I find events such as this to be debased and gratuitous, appealing to the lowest and least desirable of human traits. Yes, I’m definitely looking down at those who watched.
Meanwhile, The daughters of Malcolm X sued the CIA, FBI, and NYPD over his assassination. There’s no way this doesn’t get nasty. The fact that the FBI and CIA kept extensive files on black leaders they considered “potentially troublesome” is widely known at this point. That most, if not all, of the persons involved in the 1965 assassination are likely dead by now, only complicates matters. Conjecture isn’t admissible in court. Written documents are, and if the daughters have enough of those documents, from whatever sources, an FBI gutted by a vengeful president could take a serious hit. Buy your popcorn now.
All week long, scientists at every level and in every field have been wringing their hands over coming changes to various organizations tasked with the research that keeps us all healthy. There are conflicts of interest with everyone who’s been nominated thus far. We can only guess whether they’ll all pass the rigors of Senate approval, but the president-elect has threatened retribution if they don’t. You might want to buy an extra box of that popcorn.
This is where we’re at this morning. Everything in my body says it’s time for a nap, but I don’t dare just in case Citizen’s decides to show up. My head is screaming at me. I know it’s Saturday and there’s no question that the outcome of the IU/Ohio State game will reshape the college football landscape, but something’s going to have to improve before I can handle watching any of the games.
And I’m now out of coffee. Please, help.
Video Edition
The page-shifting problem that drove me nuts yesterday has yet to be resolved, making typing out anything of length almost nauseating. I have no idea, nor do I know how to check, whether this is a WordPress issue or a theme issue. Depending on when you view this, you may see a different theme as I try to figure out the problem. Ugh.
Kat and I are both waiting to hear back from our doctors. The difference is that I’m already having a conversation with my PCP’s nurse as we try to figure out what’s going on with the hallucinations. Kat, on the other hand, has been trying for two weeks to get her PCP’s office to give her a follow-up appointment as required by the hospital. Yesterday, a receptionist at her PCP’s office told her she would, “Just have to wait until her December 18 telephone appointment.” Uhm, she needs blood tests to make sure the blood thinners are working correctly. HOW THE FUCKING HELL DO YOU DO BLOOD TESTS OVER THE FUCKING PHONE?
By the way, it’s probably worth mentioning that my PCP is with Community Health Network, while Kat’s is with Eskanazi Health Services. Make of that what you will.
The kids were doing okay. G was happily singing both in and out of the shower this morning. Tipper, however, burned her hand when the bowl of potato soup she was having for breakfast (don’t ask) spilled over. That’s a helluva way for anyone to start their morning.
Since this page-shifting thing won’t stop, I’m going to rely on videos to cover most of the news, starting with Stephen Colbert’s take on the dangerous and ridiculous cabinet appointments made yesterday.
Then, who saw this coming?
Too bad North American indigenous tribes don’t have better representation in Congress. Perhaps then we could pull off something like this:
What more do you need to know? Nothing immediately jumps to mind. Oh, but if you want to have that Fried Chicken Thanksgiving we mentioned yesterday, here’s the video for that.
Life is strange right now and I’m not going to pretend that I have any answers. I’m deeply concerned about everything at this point. Grocery prices are not going to go down. Gas prices are almost certainly going back up. Energy costs are going up.
I may start hoarding coffee, just to be safe.
At 10:51 AM yesterday, I was awakened from my nap by the sound of the backdoor opening and shutting. I heard Tipper call me by name, “Charles!” three times. While the kids do get home early on Wednesdays, this was too early. So, I called back, “Tipp? Is that you?” There was no answer.
Concerned, I tossed Solaris from my shoulder (where he sleeps when I’m in bed), and headed for the kitchen, still calling, “Tipp? Is that you?” But there was no one there. There was no indication that anyone had ever been there. The door was shut (thank goodness). The gate between the kitchen and living room was shut. Fat Guy hopped onto the back of the couch and meowed for attention.
Worried that this might be one of those unexplained psychic connections, I sent Tipper a text. Sure, she was in school and she’s not supposed to have her phone in school, but her teachers allow it. I had to ask, “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Why?” she responded.
“I thought I heard you call my name,” I said.
“I’m at school LOL,” was her response.
Well, fuck. After 18 months without them, I’m back to having auditory hallucinations again. Only this time, the cause almost certainly is not the chemo meds. I messaged my oncologist’s nurse practitioner, who suggested contacting my neurologist. I called the neurology office and they said I need a new referral because of the change in insurance. By now, it was 5:15 and the doctor’s office was closed. Requesting the referral was number one on my list of things to do this morning.
I don’t need this added complication in my life right now. Yet, here it is, fucking things up, causing me to question reality. There haven’t been any visual hallucinations, but who the fuck knows what today will bring?
Rain fell throughout the night. More will fall this morning. Medication hasn’t been enough to touch the pain. The animals pushed in close, three cats, two dogs, to prevent me from rolling around all over the bed.
Making matters worse, my editing screen keeps shifting back and forth to the right two pixels as I type. WordPress had a major update yesterday, so I’m assuming that is to blame. The faster I type, the faster the shift, making it a visual frustration. Yes, I tried closing the browser and opening a new one. That didn’t help. So, this entry is going to be considerably shorter than normal.
The kids are fine. Kat’s resting.
Republicans now have control of both houses of Congress, but don’t think that it’s going to be the rubber stamp the Felon wanted. They chose a moderate as Senate leader, and at least one Senator has said that Matt Gaetz’s nomination as Attorney General is DOA. This could get interesting. One news story this morning claims that insiders are already creating a list of Pentagon officials they want fired, presumably to remove any obstacles to illegally using US troops against American citizens. There is a flurry underway to cement the Felon’s authority within the first 100 days of the administration. (Please forgive the lack of links to the stories, but with this infernal shifting it’s impossible to pull off.)
The NYTimes is suggesting friend chicken for Thanksgiving. Seriously. It’s a sizeable argument.
I’m sorry, I need WordPress to fix this shifting problem. My head is about to explode. Maybe we’ll have better luck tomorrow.
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Wednesday Morning Update: 11/13/24
November 13, 2024
There is a lot to consider this morning. I chose Willie Nelson’s ‘Stardust’ album to serenade me this morning, and the words of “September Song” seem all too fitting, “Oh, it’s a long long while/From May to December/But the days grow short/When you reach September/When the autumn weather/Turns leaves to flame/One hasn’t got time/For the waiting game/Oh, the days dwindle down/To a precious few
September, November/And these few precious days/I’ll spend with you.”
I’m not sure where to start. Kat had yesterday off and spent it resting up at Brandon’s, away from the cats. I miss having her here, but again, she’s doing what’s best for her. We don’t talk about how close we came to losing her. She has to put herself first. That’s not going to change in the foreseeable future. Her clients have been understanding and supportive. She’s off again today, the only “appointment” being taking G to violin lessons this afternoon. I’ll make potato soup for dinner, which I hope at least feels good going down. The time with her is precious.
G came home from school yesterday determined to be impressive, and he was. Without a pattern, he made an absolutely lovely scarf for a friend, using a soft fabric with a Southwestern design. He measured carefully, sewed magnificently, and finished it off beautifully. I never thought of G as a fashion designer until recently, but if he wants I’m sure he could pull it off with fantastic results.
On the other hand, Tipper came in from school, ate a bowl of cereal, and then retreated to her room, leaving only to use the bathroom. Something is going wrong, but she’s not talking. That is, she’s not talking to me. I have a feeling she’s talking to someone, I’m just not sure that person is giving her the best advice. I have no idea what the appropriate response should be. Each morning, as she leaves early for the bus stop, I tell her that we love her. I wonder on mornings like this if those words fall on deaf ears.
The tightness in my chest won’t go away. Don’t worry, it’s just anxiety. There’s no immediate danger. The pill I take for anxiety is huge, so I doubt that I should ask for anything stronger; it might leave me comatose. There’s little comfort, though. My bones ache terribly. The chemo and changes in the weather work together to make sure the pain never goes away. The fog in my head seems particularly strong this morning.
I have to contact the insurance company today. When I sent them a message last Wednesday, I was told that a case manager would call me within 48 hours. That call never came. I gave them some grace since it was a “holiday” weekend for some. Still, no call. I need to be in an Assisted Living facility so that Kat can address structural issues in the house. I also think that having a nurse handy 24/7 isn’t a bad thing. I’m afraid to take a shower because there’s no one here to even call for help if I fall. I find it interesting that United Healthcare, which is the insurance to which I’m assigned, is trying to buy Amedisys, a large home health company. The Justice Department and four states’ Attorneys General filed an antitrust lawsuit against the insurance giant yesterday in an attempt to stop the deal. How the fuck am I supposed to trust a company knowing full well that they’re far more interested in controlling healthcare and taking the profit than they are concerned over my or anyone else’s legitimate health needs?
I just went to the kitchen to refill my coffee mug, and friends, I don’t feel well. Sitting back down helps, but I’m struggling to stay conscious. Alerts from the bank are constantly reminding me how broke I am. I look at G’s birthday on the 26th and Thanksgiving the day after and wonder how in the world I’m supposed to pull off a major birthday celebration one day and the whole turkey, dressing, and pie thing the next. I’m not asking Kat for help. All we need from her is for her to stay alive. That’s it. I have to do everything else myself. I don’t mind doing it, either, I just don’t know at this juncture how I’m going to do it. I don’t know how I’m going to fix lunch, either. I’m trying to get it together, but my body is fighting back pretty damn hard.
Looking at the news this morning is not helping. A fucking Faux News anchor is the felon’s choice for Defense Secretary. That’s right, let’s put a complete novice in charge of the world’s most powerful military. Please, someone fucking explain to me how that makes a lick of sense. The Pentagon’s most senior officials are right to be concerned. For that matter, every country in the world should be concerned.
Then, the felon went and nominated South Dakota Gov. Kristi Noem as Secretary of Homeland Security. This is the same bitch that put down her dog for no good reason. South Dakota’s indigenous tribes won’t let her even set foot on any of their lands. Noem’s daughter got preferential treatment while applying for her Real Estate license, an application that was initially turned down. There is so much corruption following this bitch that it’s going to take an extra moving van just to transport all her conspiracies to D.C.
The nomination that simultaneously scares me and makes my blood boil is Mike Huckabee as Ambassador to Isreal. Why? The former Arkansas governor has long called himself a Zionist, but he’s really a pre-millennialist Southern Baptist convinced that a war with Isreal at the forefront will bring about Armageddon and the mythical Rapture of believers. Ambassadors normally don’t have all that much influence. In fact, it’s generally considered a cushy do-nothing job. Huckabee won’t be content to just sit in some office, though. He’ll be in Netanyahu’s ear, putting money in Israel’s pocket, and pushing for greater war. This idiot cannot be trusted.
Finally, there’s the appointment of fucking Elon Musk and Vivek Ramaswamy to head a new “advisory” Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE). While this new agency is not an actual government agency with any authority, their whole purpose is to dismantle everything these two idiots consider “Bureaucracy.” Say goodbye to safety regulations, environmental controls, OSHA, and all the things that the government does to protect us from the ruthless and careless greed of corporations. How will this work? Easy. DOGE advises Congress to make changes. The felon’s stooges, Mike Johnson as speaker, and Rick Scott as the Senate’s GOP leader, then turn that advice into legislation that the Republican-controlled Congress passes without question, and the felon then signs it into law. Just that quickly, all our protections are gone.
What can be done to stop this madness? On one hand, Democratic Governors are banding together to stop the felon’s changes from taking effect. Don’t dismiss this effort. Since most of the changes the felon wants to make are implemented at the state level, Governors have the power to “just say no.” The ACLU and other organizations are gearing up to file lawsuits against offending laws as well.
However, Trans people are experiencing a mental health crisis, overwhelming call centers, as they fear that the felon will make good on his threat to roll back protections for the Trans community. We don’t know the extent to which this unhinged administration might attack the broader LGBTQIA+ community as well. No one feels safe.
Justice will take a hit as Jack Smith plans to step down from the Special Counsel’s office before the inauguration. The felon complained all through the second half of his first administration that he didn’t think the Special Counsel’s office was legitimate. Don’t be surprised when he attempts to completely eliminate the office, making it damn near impossible to investigate any government official over any wrongdoing.
To everyone who has said that our fears about the felon’s second administration were premature and unfounded, fuck you. The felon isn’t even trying to hide what he’s planning. He’s proud of his efforts to destroy the country. This is pure Fascism 2025. 52% of you have learned absolutely nothing over the past 90 years. Don’t expect me to cry for you when you are affected by this nonsense just as much as the rest of us.
Meanwhile, John Krasinski was named People magazine’s 2024 Sexiest Man Alive, Thailand’s baby pygmy hippo Moo Deng has an official song released in 4 languages, and the escaped monkeys apparently like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Oh, don’t forget that Robotaxis are now open to anyone who wants a driverless ride in Los Angeles. I can’t think of a more terrifying city to have cars zipping around without a driver. Also, you’re spending too much time on the toilet.
I’ve listened to both sides of four albums while typing this update. Okay, I did stop a few times to sing along. The dogs don’t seem to mind. Barry Manilow is pushing us toward the end. I feel worse now than I did when I started. I need to force some food down my throat and take my meds.
If my coffee cup is empty, you’ll know I died.
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Tuesday Morning Update: 11/12/24
November 12, 2024
This Tuesday morning starts with a pretty decent frost outside. When I took the dogs out at 5:45, the air temperature was 36 degrees (Fahrenheit), cold enough to don gloves and remind myself that a hat is never a bad idea. Some of the neighbors’ trees are completely bare while ours still stubbornly holds on, waiting for a sub-freezing frost. This is the type of November I remember, the kind that makes me comfortable as the heater kicks on, reminding me of how privileged I am to not be out chopping wood. I’m not good at chopping wood. We would surely freeze to death if we relied on such.
Neither child said anything about school yesterday beyond, “It was okay.” We all remember those days when it seemed as though we weren’t learning anything, don’t we? Yet, at least for some of us, more information leaked into our brains than we realized. I’m assuming the same still happens on even the most boring of days.
Being a Girl Dad is still baffling me, though. Tipper came in, barely spoke, and then disappeared for the rest of the day. I didn’t see her again until this morning. She was dressed and on her way out the door, fifteen minutes earlier than necessary, when I stopped her and reminded her that we love her. The result was an eye roll and a half-hearted, “Love you, too,” as she headed for the door. I worry that there’s an eating disorder at play, but I have no way yet of proving it. The fridge is full of leftovers so the kids were free to choose whatever they wanted for dinner. I’m not sure Tipper ever came out of her room. Everything I read tells me this is a difficult and tumultuous time for teenage girls, but I’m not getting any usable advice. I love this child more than she can imagine. And I worry.
Kat did go to the salon for a little while. She took clients that weren’t especially difficult, and even that proved taxing. By the time she got back home, everything about her demeanor showed complete exhaustion. She’ll take today off, thankfully. I worry about Kat more than I do Tipper. She pushes herself too hard. She’s done that since she was 16. I don’t think she knows how to exist without pushing herself hard. I’m trusting that she’s listening more carefully to her body right now,
Fuck. An alert from my bank just informed me that an annual renewal I’d forgotten just came out. $104, gone, just like that, leaving a deficit of -$28. I can probably move things around and cover this one, but there are still $96 and $45 bills that can’t be avoided coming up before my check hits. Fortunately, the fridge and freezer are full of food. We’re doing okay there. The utilities are caught up. G’s birthday is this month, though, and the holidays are looking quite lean. Something else to worry about.
There’s a guest opinion piece in this morning’s New York Times with the title, “If You’re Sure How the Next Four Years Will Play Out, I Promise: You’re Wrong.” The author’s primary thesis is that we cannot predict the future with all its twists and turns. We all have to admit that he’s correct in such a statement. However, the issue I would take is that there are markers that indicate what is most likely to happen next. Those markers are what fuel our worries about the future. We’re not just guessing in the dark.
What are some of those markers? Let’s start with California Gov. Gavin Newsom will spend part of the week in DC as he tries to Trump-proof state policies. Gov. Newsom remembers the issues California faced the last time this felon was president. He’s rushing to see if there is any protection to be found in federal law. The problem is that any “help” the state receives now is most likely to be rolled back quickly by the new administration. They did this last time and there’s no reason to believe that it won’t happen again.
Round 2 in the Trump-vs-Mexico matchup looks ominous for Mexico. Relationships with our Southern neighbor didn’t go well under the first administration. This time around, however, Mexico has a new leftist president, The felon doesn’t have a good record when it comes to dealing with people who are too progressive for his taste. Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum has proven to be a tough, stand-your-ground stalwart, especially as she moved to completely upset that country’s court system. With the felon’s promise of mass deportations, the two leaders are likely to bump heads early and the outcome is not likely to be pretty.
Next up: Economics. A headline in this morning’s Times reads Europe Braces for Trump: ‘Worst Economic Nightmare Has Come True’. Think this is just fear-mongering? Already this morning, Global shares mostly declined, shrugging off Wall Street’s rally. Don’t trust what you see happening on Wall Street at the moment. The increases there are fueled by promises of tax breaks for the rich. The rest of the world, however, is not so enthused. The felon’s promises of severe tariffs, for which US citizens ultimately pay, thus setting off another round of inflation, have the rest of the world concerned about a global financial meltdown, similar to what we saw in 2008, thanks to Bush’s failed economic policies. Again, this could happen quite quickly once numbnuts is in office. Economies are global.
Then, there’s the immigration issue. Again, referencing this morning’s Times, which seems to have a better handle on domestic issues than other sources at the moment, Michelle Goldberg warns “If You Thought Trump Wasn’t Serious, Look at His First Appointments.” She points toward the same issues brought up in another article, “Trump Hires Show His Intent To Carry Out Immigration Crackdown.” What it all comes down to is Tom Holman and Stephen Miller, both of whom have a deep-seated hatred for immigrants. Holman has already said that “No one’s off the table in the next administration,” and yesterday confirmed that workplace raids would resume. Miller has said that Trump would cancel the temporary protected status of thousands of Afghans who fled here after the Taliban’s takeover. This is also the jackass who is in favor of using the National Guard to arrest migrants en masse. Want to see our national economy crumble? Take away all immigrants. The effect will be immediate.
With markers like that, how can we not worry? And to make matters worse, Sen. Elizabeth Warren is warning that the presidential transition team “is already breaking the law.” Sen. Warren would know because she wrote the applicable law! If there were any sign of the incoming corruption, this is it, written in neon and flashing brightly against a dark sky.
So, while we may not be able to accurately predict the exact events of the coming administration, we can predict the effects of those events and it is not going to be good. Even the people who voted for him, many thinking that his campaign rhetoric was hyperbole, are going to suffer. There’s no escaping the negative results of his plans. Our only hope is that the idiot suffers a heart attack or stroke that renders him ‘unable to fulfill the duties of his office.’ Perhaps a President Vance would gut current appointments and replace them with a more moderate selection. Or not. Again, we can’t see the future.
Not everything in the world is negative. I’m thrilled to report that 13 monkeys are still on the loose in South Carolina. Researchers have only been able to capture the majority because they were still in groups. The remaining escapees are more likely to be venturing out on their own. I wish them (the monkeys) the best.
Beyoncé and her legacy will be the subject of a new course at Yale. Of course, to take the class you have to actually be admitted as a student to Yale. Good luck with that. Still, the fact that the class exists is enough to rile right-wing nut jobs and that makes me happy.
Oh, this is fun: The UK has a deer problem. The current estimated deer population now tops two million. That’s a problem for a relatively small island nation. Complicating matters is that gun ownership in the country is extremely rare and difficult to obtain. While the government’s “solution” is to try and convince the people who eat the most bland food in the world that venison is good, no one has said who’s going to actually hunt down all those deer. Trust me, once a few are killed, the rest will go into hiding.
Oh, the big news locally is the conviction of Richard Allen on all counts related to the murders of two teenage girls. This conviction has taken forever as both the prosecution and defense have fucked around with evidence and judges for too many years before ever going to trial. Will there be an appeal? Oh yeah. Allen’s wife was heard saying on her way out of the courthouse, “This is far from over.” With all the pre-trial stupidity that went on, there’s plenty of likely ground for it to be overturned, and if that happens the prosecution is almost certain to appeal the appeal. I’ll probably be dead before a final verdict is ever reached.
Saks Fifth Avenue’s holiday light display in Manhattan is changing up this season. One of the seasonal thrills of living in New York this time of year, besides the big tree at Rockefeller Center, is “window shopping” the holidays at Manhattan’s biggest stores. Saks is celebrating its 100th anniversary by lighting the whole building, not just the windows. Unfortunately, my broke ass can’t be there to take pictures. Perhaps someone (looking at you, Joe Lombardo), can slip over and take some photos for us. I’m sure it is a marvelous sight to behold.
Is that enough to distract us from the horrors that are about to unfold? Momentarily, perhaps, but reality still lingers in the back of our minds no matter how much colorful joy we try to put upfront. For now, I’ll eat breakfast and take my meds like a good boy, then probably take a nap because that’s what I do best now. I slept from 10:00 AM until 4:00 PM yesterday. I even missed my 2:00 alarm. I don’t enjoy this cancerous existence at all.
But hey, the coffee’s hot.
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Monday Morning Update: 11/11/24
November 11, 2024
Sunday wasn’t a bad day, as things go. I felt decent enough to finally finish Tony’s pictures. It only took me three weeks, which isn’t a record but is still embarrassing. I’d say I can relax now, but there are still pictures from my last trip with Jen that I’ve not yet touched. This puts me in the position of having to ask myself if I’m as ready for a comeback as I thought I was. The answer, most likely, is no. I may never be ready for a complete comeback, which makes me incredibly sad.
Fortunately, G was here to keep my spirits up. He was in a fantastic mood yesterday, joking around, actually being nice to his sister, and talking up a storm. His frequent visits to my room kept me on my toes as his conversations always require me to completely stop what I’m doing and listen carefully to what he is saying. If he can get a zinger in about how old I am, he doesn’t miss it. At the same time, he’ll swing on a tree branch and laugh just like he did when he was six. It’s impossible to be down when you’ve got someone who can consistently make you laugh.
Kat came home and spent the night. As far as I can tell, she seems to have slept well. Her difficulty breathing is still obvious, though. I don’t know what her plans are for today, but I hope they include plenty of time for her to sit or lie down and recover. Kat tends to push herself; something she’s always had to do. Breaking that habit, and giving herself the space and time to fully recover is not easy for her. She wants to be up, taking care of things, moving around, and working. Right now, though, she needs to not do any of those things.
I tried watching the Colts game but turned it off and took a nap after Flacco threw two interceptions in the first quarter. That was enough to tell me that they were going to lose. I have a difficult time believing that there’s not a better QB sitting around somewhere in the NFL universe. And while Coach Stenchen is apologetic, I think Kenny Moore II, who caught an interception in the second half, is more in touch with what’s actually happening with the team. This is what he said in the locker room after the game:
“I don’t think everybody is working as hard as possible, and obviously it’s showing. I’m not the type to sugarcoat it, honestly. I don’t think the urgency is there. I don’t think the details are there. I don’t think the effort is there, and I don’t see everything correlating from meetings to practice to the games, and it shows. We have to look ourselves in the mirror and ask ourselves how bad we want it.”
“The thing that’s frustrating is we’re letting things leak into another week. To go out and make the same mistakes over and over—that’s what drives me insane as a player and individually. We are in November and I don’t see us making that jump from September to November. I’m seeing the same things. We just have to start addressing it and not sugarcoat or beat around the bush. I think that’s what we are lacking and year-to-year it’s the same thing.”
Holy shit. I hope Stenchen ponders on Moore’s words a bit this morning. I understand that there was some booing going on during yesterday’s game. We can’t let that get started here. Chicago fans are booing the Bears. Jets fans are being merciless when the team plays at home. We don’t need to be like them, but the Colts need to step the fuck up and show us they’re worth those million-dollar salaries.
There were some other really tight games yesterday. The Chiefs, in all honesty, should have lost yesterday’s game against the Broncos. Blocking that last-minute field goal saved their ass, but the fact remains that Kansas City played a lousy game. The same applies to the Lions as kicker Jake Bates made a 52-yard field goal at the last second to win the game against the Texans. Again, they should have lost. QB Jared Goff threw five interceptions! You don’t deserve to win when you’re playing that sloppily. Russell Wilson’s TD pass to Mike Williams lifted the Steelers over the Commanders 28-27, but the young Commanders were arguably the better team. This time next year, I expect it to be Washington who’s running roughshod over the division.
I’m not seeing a lot of news this morning that’s worth talking about. 25 of the Escaped Monkeys of 43 were Captured in South Carolina. And, somewhat hilariously, Mattel Mistakenly Listed A Porn Site on the Packaging for ‘Wicked’ Dolls. Oops!
What’s important is that today is Armistice/Veterans Day, one of the most increasingly forgotten holidays on the calendar. I came across an opinion piece by Vietnam vet Frank Lennon in the Providence Journal. The article is behind a paywall that’s difficult for anyone outside of Rhode Island to justify. So, let me quote a significant portion of that article for you here.
While looking up the 1924 Armistice Day information, I came across another event from that year that was pivotal in the history of how we treated our veterans. It was the passage of legislation providing Bonuses to WWI veterans.
After the euphoria of our victory in World War I died down, many veterans went through hard times. Most were disillusioned, because our government, and society at large, left them to fend for themselves. Adequate health care was beyond the reach of many, especially for “shell shock” – what we call PTSD today. Others found it difficult to find a job.
These problems were exacerbated by the Great Depression at the end of the 1920s. The already high unemployment rates among veterans increased. Vets competed for the few available jobs with civilian workers – many of whom had done very well during the way – while “our boys” got by on the pittance that Uncle Same paid them.
In 1924, Congress tried to redress some of this disparity through the World War Adjusted Compensation Act. It gave bonuses to all enlisted personnel who had served during wartime, with the amount based on each individual’s service time. There was an additional payment for overseas service.
The catch was that these bonuses were paid in the form of certificates, not cash. They functioned like insurance policies, and although they did accrue interest, veterans could not redeem them until 1945.
Rendered desperate by the Depression, veterans asked Congress to modify the law to allow the certificates to be cashed out immediately, when the need was most dire.
In May 1932, WWI veterans organized a march on Washington. At least 20,000 (and perhaps as many as 40,000) veterans, their families and supporters set up camps and occupied buildings in various locations in Washington. The largest camp was a shantytown on the Anacostia Flats across from the Navy Yard. They called themselves the BEF – “Bonus Expeditionary Forces,” a play on AEF, the banner under which most of them had fought during the war.
On July 28, 1932, the attorney general ordered their eviction. Washington police fired at the protesters, killing two veterans. President Herbert Hoover then ordered the Army to clear the campsites and move the protesters across the Anacostia River.
The troops advanced with Tanks, fixed bayonets and tear gas.
You might be surprised to know that Gen. Douglas MacArthur led the troops in this confrontation, along with his aide, Maj. Dwight D. Eisenhower. The commander of the tank contingent was Maj. George S. Patton.
Despite specific orders from Hoover not to cross the bridge, MacArthur pressed on to the camp on the far side. (Perhaps a harbinger of things to come?)
The camp still held about 10,000 people. Tanks and tear gas drove out the Bonus Amer marchers, their wives and their children. Their shelters and belongings were burned. Injured civilians overwhelmed D.C.’s hospitals.
Chillingly, the Army deemed the exercise to be a success. The Bonus Army was gone.
The press saw it differently. The Washington Daily News called it “a pitiful spectacle” to see “the mightiest government in the world chasing unarmed men, women, and children with Army tanks. If the Army must be called out to make war on unarmed citizens, this is no longer America.”
And we thought being spit upon was as bad as it could get?
Throughout the 1930s, the strength of our military reached frighteningly low levels, and little if any emphasis was placed on veterans issues.
Then Pearl Harbor happened, and all of a sudden the military became important again. After the war ended, we could not do enough for our veterans. The GI Bill ensured that post-WWI problems would not be repeated. In the late 1940s and early 1950s, respect for veterans reached an all-time high.
Unfortunately, it took another all-in world war to make that happen.
…
About 25 years ago, Ge. Bernard Rogers, former Army chief of staff, made a very interesting point about the unique nature of military service in our society.
“A doctor contributes to his patients; a priest to the members of his parish; a lawyer contributes to his clients; a politician to his constituents. But those privileged to wear our nation’s uniforms belong to a profession in which every member, every day, makes a contribution – no matter how small – to every citizen of this great land.”
Those are words we should take to heart on this Veterans Day.
I concur. And as I consider how the president-elect is setting up his administration, with emphasis on “rounding up” immigrants and “making the country great,” I fear we will see repeats of Hoover’s disastrous orders. If MacArthur, Eisenhower, and Patton weren’t strong enough to stand up to illegal presidential orders, do we dare think that anyone in today’s Pentagon would respond any differently?
This is why I worry. This is why I am committed to being a safe person, a reliable resource, for anyone being assaulted by any portion of our government or the ridiculous laws it may pass.
Pass me that coffee pot. I need a refill.
Please read quietly this morning. The kids are still asleep, and after all the activity they had yesterday, I’m sure they need it. I enjoyed listening to them interact with each other without fighting. Their conversations with friends were frequently hilarious. Neither teen has any filter when talking to their friends. Try cheating in a game? You’re gonna get called out. Heaven forbid you do something wrong while playing on their team! Curses are going to fly, especially if you’re playing with Tipper. There were times when it was difficult to pay attention to the football games because the kids were being too entertaining.
G has taken on the heavy task of helping me get my heavy leather duster back in shape for this winter. I’ve not worn it in several years. There are tears in the lining, one on the left shoulder, and all the buttons are missing. The shell was also pretty dirty. I took care of removing all the cat vomit from the shell and he went to work. I gave him a specific set of leather tools and thread to work with. His hand-stitching is absolutely remarkable! The replacement buttons came early this morning. There is still one place that needs a full leather patch, but I don’t have the funds for that at the moment. Fortunately, we still have a while before the snow starts to fly. But seriously, what G is doing with his sewing is seriously impressive!
Kat spent the day chilling and I’m sure she’ll do the same today. Don’t expect that to change too much. She hasn’t said yet whether she will try taking a couple of clients tomorrow. Please, don’t push. We all would much rather she take her time and come back healthy. Pulmonary embolism isn’t something from which one just bounces back. Please, give her space to heal.
You already know what I was doing yesterday. I’m going to miss college football when the season’s over. Yeah, the playoff games sort of extend the season, and then, there are all the bowl games that don’t mean a helluva lot anymore. I don’t have much faith in the playoff committee, though, in selecting the best teams, and there are so many bowl games scattered from mid-December to mid-January that one has to ask the question: why?
IU faced its biggest test yet, defeating Michigan 20-15. Everything the team does from this point forward sets a new record for the program. They still have a couple of rough games to go, and that final game against Purdue is always unpredictable, despite how much Purdue has been disappointing this season. By the way, Purdue embarrassed themselves again, losing at Ohio State, 0-45.
The Florida Gators should have just stayed home. They’re down to starting their third-string QB and it seems that much of the rest of their starters are out with injuries. As a result, Texas ran all over them, 49-17. That score fails to tell just how dominant Texas was. The score was 35-0 at halftime. The entire second-string squad played the second half. Arch Manning was able to run up the score easily, getting in some good play time that will help next year. This Texas program will be one to fear for several seasons.
There were a couple of significant upsets this week. Georgia got caught with their eyes shut and lost to Ole Miss, 28-17. Will that be enough to pull Georgia from playoff contention? Possibly, but there’s another opening on the playoff sheet as Miami lost to Georgia Tech, 28-23. That almost certainly pulls Miami from the playoff brackets. With three weeks left in the season, everything comes down to who makes the fewest mistakes and keeps their starters healthy.
You know that myth about deaths happening in threes? It’s not true, but deaths do often happen in multiples. This morning’s list includes:
- Bobby Allison, NASCAR Hall of Famer and 3-time Daytona 500 winner, who was 86
- Actor Tony Todd, known for his role in the movie ‘Candyman’ and other films, was 69
- Judith Jamison, transcendent dancer, and artistic director of the Alvin Ailey Company, died at 81
- Longtime Blazers and NBC broadcaster Brian Wheeler died at 62
- Linda LaFlamme Dies at 85; Her ‘White Bird’ Reflected a Hippie Fantasy
- Trevor Sorbie, Creator of the Dorothy Hamill ‘Wedge’ Cut, Dies at 75
I suppose one could make the argument that there are two sets of three, but c’mon, anyone who’s been around the industry will tell you that myth is false.
There are a few other tidbits of news. The Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree arrived in New York City, pushing the holiday season on everyone whether they want it or not. If you’re even slightly at risk of stroke, you’ll want to know that there are new guidelines for preventing them. Be sure I’m paying extra close attention to that one. There’s also 8 Factors That Can Raise Your Heart Disease Risk. Don’t let these stories slide. Your life could depend on them.
The kids are both awake now, but still being quiet. The dogs have been out, all the animals are fed, and most everyone has settled back down for a morning nap. The rain that moved in overnight is supposed to continue through mid-afternoon. I’ll eat breakfast, take meds, and then probably pass out.
As Sundays go, this one almost feels normal. We know it isn’t, though. Behind the scenes, there are people planning mass immigrant deportations and the elimination of funding for offshore wind energy, among other things. The threats that we’ve talked about all week are still there. We just never know when they might be put into action. My level of trust in anyone is extremely low at this point.
As long as there’s coffee, we’ll survive. If that ever runs out, just go ahead and shoot me.
Look at this morning’s picture. Normally, they don’t have much, if anything, to do with whatever I’m talking about. This morning is different. I’ve decided to do something controversial and wear a safety pin. Not a small one, mind you. I ordered the largest one I could find. I’m not hiding it under a collar, either. It’s right there on the front of my shirt where everyone can see it. Yeah, I’m aware of all the backlash. If you doubt my solidarity with women, immigrants, and the entire LGBBTQIA+ community, try me. I may be small and weak, but goddammit, the head of my cane alone is enough of a weapon to render someone senseless and I’m not the least bit afraid to use it. You won’t be the first time I’ve had to stand up for someone. I have five of these huge pins because I have a bad habit of losing things. I’ll wear them until I know that everyone is safe.
There may be further additions and changes to my attire and attitude as well. I am beyond disturbed that at least four of the people closest to me are now at high risk, not only from the coming policies of a deranged and horrible president but more likely from those who put him there. Policies don’t hurt nearly as many people as do actions and we’ve already seen those actions in place. The Orange Felon isn’t going to show up at my daughter’s school and directly threaten her safety. Students indoctrinated by his rhetoric may, though. We’re fortunate that our kids go to schools that protect them against aggressive behavior. There’s still the bus ride there and back, though. No one’s protecting them there. If I have to start riding the damn bus to keep them safe, I will.
Of course, there’s also the danger that I’m apparently losing my fucking mind. My dreams have been unusually lucid of late, but they went over the top this morning around 2:30 when a dream was interrupted by what I thought was a young woman standing at the side of my bed. She had shoulder-length brown hair, was wearing a simple dark blue dress, and smiled as she said, “Hello.” That’s what caused me to sit straight up in bed. I heard her. I rubbed my eyes and she was gone. I looked around the room, Both dogs were still sound asleep. Cats had draped themselves here and there, none of them appearing to be disturbed. But, I heard her! Her voice was pleasantly sweet, just loud enough to wake me from my dream. Since when does a dream wake one from another dream? Am I hallucinating again? I thought we had cured that problem by changing chemo meds two years ago. I really don’t want to return to a state where I can’t trust what I think I’m seeing. I closed my eyes and immediately went back to sleep. Who does that?
Then, because once a day is tainted it stays that way, as I was sitting down to read this morning’s news, I heard a horrifying crash coming from the kitchen. I knew before I left my chair that the cats had knocked something off the counter. What I didn’t expect was the complete explosion of porcelain across the entire kitchen floor and even into the living room. Fortunately, I was still wearing boots from having taken the dogs out earlier. I grabbed the broom and dustpan and started sweeping. I’ve warned the kids that I’m still not sure I got all the little pieces of porcelain.
As I sat back down in my chair, Hamilton, who is the closest thing I have to an emotional support animal, started pawing at my arm. I assumed he wanted some attention and pets. Typically, I can pet him for a couple of minutes and he’s cool. Not this morning. I started petting him and he put his paws on my shoulder and pulled. Not expecting this behavior, I was rather slow in getting the message. He wanted me to lie down and he didn’t stop pestering me until I gave in. I lay next to him on the bed and checked the health monitors on my watch. My oxygen was below 90 and my heart rate was 137. I stayed put and cuddled with Ham until the numbers were better. This is why we’re running late this morning.
Kat didn’t have a good day yesterday, either. Her original plan had been to take G to his shadow day, then he would join her at the salon. They never made it to the salon. After dropping off G, Kat went to her mom’s and slept on her couch until it was time to pick him up. Then, they came home, and she chilled in her big chair until Tipper got home. I don’t know if she’s going to even try going to the salon today. I’m hoping she just goes on up to Fishers and stays there for the weekend. Her recovery is going to go slowly and I don’t want anyone rushing her.
Amidst all this, I must say that the kids are doing well. They were both up before I was this morning. They’re each busy doing their own thing. I have projects for both of them later in the day, but they can have the morning to themselves. They’ve definitely earned it.
Saturday morning is normally my science catch-up time and there’s a lot to read this morning, most of it concerned about continued funding. One of the top stories this morning is How much power do Trump and Kennedy have to reshape health agencies? Throughout the campaign, scientists have sounded the alarm that science funding and agencies are at risk. Of course, no one listened. Why would the people who deny climate change and question the validity of vaccines suddenly start paying attention to what the scientists are saying? [sarcasm]. Supposedly, Kennedy is vetting the resumes of those who might head various health and science concerns. That could definitely shape the future of those agencies. However, there’s no shortage of concern that the National Institute of Health is in for a major shakeup.
However, the new Republican administration isn’t the only threat to the science world. Russia has postponed three major science projects. In Greece, warming water temperatures completely wiped out this year’s mussel harvest. In fact, over the course of the week, I’ve seen reports of cutbacks of various kinds on every continent except Antarctica. As nationalism and right-wing fanaticism grow across the world, so does distrust and dismissal of established science.
This is concerning for any number of reasons. For example, there’s considerable concern that infections of H5N1, or “cow flu,” are going undetected. What are the odds of the world having another pandemic during the next four years? Much tighter than anyone cares to admit on the record. Best advice: wash your hands frequently and keep those masks close.
Health isn’t the only concern, though. In Botswana, there’s research actively taking place that may show that the whole fucking continent of Africa is about to split. The repercussions of such an event would change everything from tidal flows to the movement of the jet stream around the world. Entire weather patterns would be affected. And there’s not a damn thing anyone can do to stop it from happening.
Look, I can’t predict the future any more than anyone else. We’ve all seen the plan this administration has for us, though. The number of people it puts at risk is horrifying. These aren’t just abstract numbers on a page. These policies affect real people, you and your neighbors, and millions of lives are going to be destroyed if we don’t act. This isn’t the time to be a pacifist. Loving your neighbor doesn’t stop them from being an asshole. From where I sit, we have no choice but to be unusually aggressive in our response to everything this new administration does.
As I’ve been typing, I’ve been listening to an old Deutsche Grammophon recording of Vladimir Horowitz at the piano. His complete mastery and domination over even the most tender and careful of pieces is precisely the kind of mood we need to foster right now. No note gets away, nothing skipped.
Hamilton is pawing at me again. I need to eat breakfast and take my meds. I’m not well. I’m not strong. But you are always safe here.
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Tuesday Morning Update:12/03/24
A lot of snow is not required for lives to be endangered. Temperatures keep us huddled next to anything or anyone who is warm. Apologies were necessary as staples ordered while the sun was shining had to be delivered in negative conditions. Questions linger this morning with the possibility that buses will not deliver the kids to school on time.
While sitting in a waiting room, my coat and hat still in place, a man approached, distracted by my appearance. Standing before me, he said, “I just wanted to get a good look at you.” He took a seat nearby and continued. “Your look, it’s … what’s the word… ‘legendary?’ No, more like… ‘iconic.’ That’s it, you’re totally iconic.” A nurse called his name as I questioned the man’s mental condition. What are the motives behind compliments to strangers? Politics have taught us to question the subtext of the most simple and generous statements. Kind words are approached with suspicion. Our level of trust in fellow humans grows thin.
Actions speak volumes above words. Where one goes, what one does, shows more than character. What is one’s purpose? What motivates a soul to put their interests above others? Words can be a distraction. Actions tell no lies. Threats of what one might do are empty. Look instead at the steps they take, the people they hold close, and the rules they break. Do not stand so close as to become a victim of the shrapnel from other people’s lives.
Still, the words we choose are a reflection of our society. ‘Brain rot’ has become something more than a medical issue. Such language threatens to become a tool of racism. Vocabularies such as demure, slop, dynamic pricing, romantasy, and lore shape the context of who we are, the values we hold, and how one perceives their world. I question whether we weigh the weight of our words before we speak. Even when we fling terms and threats around with no regard, they can still cause damage when they land.
So many thoughts are filling my brain, yet few are worth the pain of typing. Time passes. Whether the page is made of paper or pixels, I still stare at the blankness and question how to fill it. Sometimes life is the same. How one chooses to fill the blank pages of their lives reveals their reality and the flaws of their mortality.
Sitting on my desk is a book I’ve yet to start that ultimately deals with the reality of the author’s death. I pick it up, open the cover, and then return it to the place on my desk from where it beckons to be read. Do I want to open myself to this conversation? Will pondering mortality shape my future reality?
There are cats demanding petting. There are meds waiting to be taken. There are naps hoping to be embraced. I do not care if the snow melts. I am here. I am warm. I do not long to wander.
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