Walk it Off

 My wonderful son is EIGHTEEN, despite my efforts to keep him tiny and cherished. I can remember him chasing cats around the kitchen in his walker, and changing his diapers, and holding him when he was scared.  We had such wonderful conversations when I drove him to and from school with him securely strapped into a car seat.  We would talk about God and the whole world.  Now he actually drives himself to school while I say a silent prayer that he gets there safely.  

When I was that age, I didn't see myself as an adult.  I moved into my college dorm without a care in the world, thinking that college was just high school, part two.  Mom and Dad were there to take care of any emergencies that popped up. The first time I ever got sick while in college, I called my Dad. Any time I got sick, I talked to my dad, because he would say, "Meh, it's nothing, walk it off," and I knew that I would survive.  Except that is not what my Dad said this time.  

"What do you want me to do about it?  I'm a few thousand miles away." 

And I remember thinking a bad word, because Dad, in his infinite wisdom, was right.  That did not solve my dilemma, however. My stomach really hurt, and not in the way a stomachache has you laying on the couch sipping Sprite and eating crackers while watching soap operas.  This was actual pain, knives poking into my gut repeatedly. Never happened to me before, so I freaked, of course.

My anxiety immediately went to the conclusion that I was going to die.  

I eventually realized that there was a clinic on campus, and I walked there, slowly, in the dark. I saw a person at the clinic that may have been a doctor, but maybe not.  This person looked at my pale, tearstained face, listened to my tale of woe, gave me a prescription for what was probably Prilosec, and sent me home.  No emergency room visit.  I was fine the next day.   I probably could have just walked it off, but I was eighteen.  

So now my boy has been having stomach issues, but I am right here to share the wisdom of my Dad, and the OTC Prilosec.  And my son did indeed go walking, and his stomach stopped hurting.  There's a lesson in there somewhere, maybe about problem solving or pausing for a breath before freaking out.  I'll let my child figure it out.

Walk it off.  

Well, this has been a year

 Wow, I blinked and it's JUNE.  

I still want to punch most of the Trump administration.  However, in my efforts to become a better human, I've started praying for those idiots.  I cannot think of people more in need of mercy, and that's what followers of Christ are supposed to do, be merciful.  It has been a tumultuous journey, with many rants to myself in my office at work.  It doesn't say that you have to love your neighbor but only if they are white and agree with you.  It just says that you're supposed to love your neighbor, and it's implied that that means everyone.  So I am making an attempt at being a better person.  They don't have AA for this sort of thing, but they should.

My dad still has dementia, but he's past the "make random comments at pretty girls" and the "wander off and fall asleep on the neighbors' bench" phase.  He doesn't move much at all from his spot on the couch.  He sleeps.  He is still a firm "no" on moving into a nursing home, and according to my mother, Dad is able to get himself up and to the bathroom, dress himself, and feed himself. He knows that he drinks an Ensure every morning with his coffee. He only wants to eat sweets, but his blood sugar is good.  Let him eat whatever he wants, I say.  I kind of envy him that.  When I visit, my dad calls me "Angel" and "Beautiful" so many times, and then I ask him who I am.  He has to think about it for a minute, but so far he knows that I am his daughter and he can say my name.   

And my son graduated from high school.  The valedictorian played a prank on us, sending us a QR code which was that Rick Astley video.  Yes, she rickrolled us.  What has been interesting to me is how many people do not know what that means!  I don't know how we can have any sort of culture war if nobody knows our culture. Everyone should know who Lawrence Welk and Milton Berle were, if only so you get the references, and the jokes. Anyway, now I have this man-boy in my house with nothing to do until college starts. It's weird. I have asked him about getting a job, but he just cleans the house and fixes us dinner. Like I said, weird.

And yes, this is NOT AI. This is an actual person writing this! Very neurodivergent!

Books That I've Been Reading From the TV

I will admit that I do not like to read books that have anything to do with my job.  I also do not like to watch television shows or movies about schools.  As far as I am concerned, I am off the clock, and I'll think about work when I am back.  I suppose it is the equivalent of a doctor reading a novel about doctors.  I don't imagine surgeons reading about other surgeon's surgeries as written by Michael Crichton.  One needs a break and I will not apologize for it. I read and enjoy my forays in to other worlds that are not school-related, and everyone is much happier for it.

So I like to read silly books, supernatural cooks, mystery books, and even books about The Gray Man, a mercenary who saves the world and gets paid very well to do so.  I first became aware of Mark Greaney when his novel became a movie on Netflix or Amazon, and then I found out there were a series of books. Heaven!  I love series, because then I get to spend extra time with the characters I love and hate.  I read the first book of a Game of Thrones and was so angry I actually threw the book down and did not pick it up again until my husband mentioned it.  I am also reading books from Department Q, which was a Netflix show that my husband and I watched all of the episodes in two days. When old folks are willing to sit for long periods of time and deal with stiff bones and popping joints, it must be a good show.  And if you enjoy mysteries with a comedic vibe, you will adore Carl, the main character.  

I've enjoyed all of the Black Dagger Brotherhood series, by J.R. Ward.  The Anita Blake series has also been distracting, although I wish that she talked about guns less.  It's not the guns, its the pages and pages of guns and knives, etc., but the main character is admirable and I like her tough approach to her world, which involves raising the dead.  Charlaine Harris had had a few books that were interesting as ell, like the True Blood series.

So a good mix of fun and mystery to calm me down at the end of the day and let me have a little fun while I unwind.  There is nothing wrong with that.  When need to stop being Judgy McJudgerson when I comes to books, and just let others read what they want.  Let us be.  Banning books is stupid, and it makes the person who is told to pull the books look like a complete butt.  On the other hand, it feels good these days, to be a little subversice/ 

The Cat Daycare

 

We have feral cats in our backyard.  They hang out and leave dead lizards and mice on the doorstep. Being a scientific sort, I dutifully assign each cat a name and note their coloring, etc.  We currently have Otto, NotOtto, and Mr. Fluffikins visiting frequently, with Marmalade and Sissy(my husband named that one) living in the bushes in the corner of the yard. The neighbors across the street have raccoons living in their backyard, so I am okay with cats.

Recently, Sissy had a litter of kittens. Two adorable tiny kittens.  I tried to make sure that Sissy had food and water, and we occasionally tried to check on the babies.  Except that mother cats move their babies often in the wild, to keep them safe. Also, it's difficult to have family bonding time when a large human is poking around because "they're so cute!" and he wants a picture. Completely understandable.  

We did not see the babies for several days, but I wasn't worried. Sissy knew what she was doing.  I drove to work for a few hours, then drove to my oncology appointment.  I then drove to New Braunfels to pick up my son, and we drove home, through the beginnings of rush hour traffic. 

Imagine my horror when we got out of the car and heard VERY LOUD mewing coming from my engine. Go on, imagine it.  I'll wait.  Did you picture me, panicking in the front yard, trying to locate the bar that unhooks the hood of the car?  It took Zane and I almost FIVE whole minutes to get the hood open, because we were both so hysterical. We even called my husband, who was on his way home, to ask him how to open the hood, so then he was also hysterical, only on the phone.  Zane and I finally got the hood up and discovered a tiny kitten wiggling about underneath the hot engine. We were frantic about rescuing the kitten(s)?  We only saw the one baby, and had no idea where the other one might be.  Larry came home and we talked him into removing the bottom part of my car so we could get the kitten out.  We got the baby out, and he seemed to be okay, so I took him into the backyard and handed him to Sissy. 

"What the heck did you do that for?" Larry had dreams of kitten fatherhood, but I thought it best for the baby to be fed by its mother. Sissy sniffed a moment, grabbed her kitten and took off for the bushes.  We searched underneath my car, but alas, the other kitten was gone.  It likely rolled out of my car at some point.  I felt guilty about this, but at least we saved one of the babies. Larry, Zane and I had a family moment of feeling good about reuniting mother and son.  

Until the next day when I got out of my car at the end of the day, and the kitten was right back where we found it the day before!  I waited for Larry and Zane to get home, then we extricated the kitten from my engine.  We were confused now.  What should we do?  Larry decided that he wanted to keep the kitten, who was sound asleep in Larry's arms. I was less sure.  On the one hand, the best place for a baby cat is with his mom.  On the other hand, why is this mama cat using my car as a daycare?  So we let the kitten sleep in our house all night.  The next morning I made an executive decision and gave the kitten back to Sissy.  My understanding is that kittens need to eat every two or three hours, and there would be no one at home to feed it.  Larry was upset, but he understood.  

At the end of the day, I came home, sans engine cats; we checked before I left home.  Larry and Zane get home about 30 minutes after me. He suddenly "had a feeling", and opened up my hood.  THE KITTEN was there again! Sissy had decided that my engine was the perfect daycare: warm, dry, and easily defendable from unauthorized visitors.  However, I cannot tell my boss that I have to stay home on account of cat in my engine. Does that count as carpooling? I gave up after that, and drove my mother-in law's jalopy to work for two weeks until we were sure that the danger of cat babysitting was passed.  

We named the kitten Lucky.   

My Dad Has Dementia

It is time for school to begin.  My husband and I, at our different employment areas, are back preparing to open the doors to students this week.  My son is preparing to take his driver test so he can drive himself to school his senior year. (When did that happen? I need to lie down a moment.)

But my father has dementia.  It's an affliction that older people get. The brain starts to focus on activities such as walking and not so much on remembering. My dad was born a few days after Pearl Harbor, was in Vietnam, left the military after 28 years and worked in the medical field for almost twenty more years before he finally hung up his white coat.  He said that his intention was to pester my mother. He has achieved that goal.  They are both in their 80s, but my mother has her bowling teams, and she has her errands to run, and the house to clean, and laundry, etc. What she has been doing her entire life. Her routine, now that she does not have children in the house, has been a well-oiled machine with nary a hiccup, just how she likes it.   

My dad does not have a bowling league. He does not have errands to run. He just sits. He did try to clean the house to help my mom, but he didn't complete the task correctly and was shooed away. As I said, my mom has a routine.  My father did like to complete woodworking tasks, such as creating bookshelves and entertainment centers made of Oak that will survive a nuclear explosion and put your back out if you try to move it. But when he had his heart valve replaced, that all seemed to go away due to the long recovery.  All that equipment sits now, covered with dust and a few deceased wasps. My dad used to like to work in his garden and spent a lot of time outside, but now he "falls down out there". He says that he is watering every day, but the condition of the plants tells the story.

My dad used to pick up my son from school.  He would get into his humongous Ford 350 truck, roll down his windows and play old-timey country music very loud while in the car pool lane, because he enjoyed annoying people (his words).  Then he started to get lost while driving, so he was only allowed to drive around the block and secretly buy beer for homeless people.  My mother wanted to know why my dad didn't buy food for them, but he said that it was his money, so she let it slide.  Except when my dad was talked into driving one of those homeless people to his house over by Mission Concepcion, and he didn't know how to get back home. My brother "borrowed" Nelly the truck, and it sits in his driveway now.  My mother drives both of them.  For now.   

What my dad LOVES to do right now is talk to people. When we go out to eat on Sundays, my dad stops at every table to say hi and to tell a joke or two.  Most individuals are gracious and accommodating while my father tells one of the two jokes he remembers, and stands there while they try to make small talk in return.  Both of his jokes are slightly off color, so there's always a chance that someone will be offended.  My father is no longer allowed in one of the local libraries, for example, to my mother's horror. When I try to get him to move along so we can sit down, he gets irritated with me and tells everyone that I am "no fun".  I agree with him.  It is no fun chasing your dad around like he's a toddler who has wandered into the kitchen and wants the treat of someone's attention.  And he won't remember any of it ten minutes later. 

It has been hard watching my dad.  The guy I used to go to for answers about everything (because he was Dad, and dads know everything) doesn't remember my name. He doesn't remember a lot of names.  He does remember that I am his daughter, and that will have to do for now.  We could all wear nametags or buy shirts with our names on them, but given the number of people in the family and their fashion preferences, there might be a brawl. Fortunately we all live close to one another. My brother has started to come over more to visit my parents, and we have spent time over there during the summer talking, sitting, and walking with my dad so my mom can go to church and have a little respite.  They've installed cameras and alarms, so that my mom knows when my dad decides that he is going for a walk and leaves the house.  And we have spoken to my mom about options for her to consider, such as hiring a caregiver to help her.  She's the decision-maker now.  

Chickens Will Come Home to Roost

I finally got my doctorate.  

I wish that I could tell you that it was easy.  Certainly some aspects were simply a matter of taking the coursework and completing the assignments.  That part was pretty cut and dry, rinse and repeat. No, the difficult part was the writing of the document.  I consider myself a pretty decent writer, and I write educational evaluation reports almost every day.  The writing wasn't an issue, it was the review of my writing by other people that was hard.  What was perfectly clear and easily understandable to me was not that way to other people.  That part was humbling and stressful and yes, I did want to just give up several times because I was also working a full time job and taking care of my family.  

But I did not quit, and now I am done.  

Of course, now I have to pay back my student loans, like a good citizen. I don't mind this--I took out the loans, I will pay it back.  I did apply for the forgiveness program, since I have spent all of my work life working in public schools, and we will see if that goes through.  Right now, nothing is happening, because there are idiots who just automatically sue every time someone might get a fair deal somewhere.  I don't understand it, since it costs the states a ton of money to sue the federal government, and it costs the federal government a ton of money to fight the suit, and in the end the only people who get paid are the lawyers.  The bottom line is that I am in student loan limbo until all of that gets solved. Chickens will come home to roost, after all, so the government gets paid.  

But I have my doctorate, and that's a good thing.  

How are all of you?

Get Ready to Get Older

 Yes, it's 2024.  I keep having to remind myself, which is funny, considering that I don't write checks these days.  Yes, I am still working on my doctorate, but the end zone is in sight.  Turns out that writing a doctoral thesis is more time consuming than previously thought.  

But enough about me.  

My parents are getting older.  They're still spry, but they're slower these days.  My mother-in-law, on the other hand, has not been so good. She spent about a month in the hospital with pneumonia, and long story short, she can no longer take care of herself.  Or her dog. Luckily, a friend was able to find a new home for the dog.  

This was unexpected, to say the least, and I have learned all sorts of new information. Mother-in-law wasn't always able to make decisions for herself, yet decisions had to be made.  It would have been nice if plans had been made for this type of situation, but they weren't.  That does not mean that someone my age cannot sit down and plan for them.  

First of all, who has power of attorney for you?  This is a very important document; it give permission for another person to make decisions for you when you are unconscious or otherwise incapacitated.  It can be a document that is notarized, or it can be something you scrawl on the back of a takeout menu.  The person with POA can be your spouse or another relative, and should ideally be aware of your wishes on a variety of topics, such as organ donation.  

Next, what happens if you can no longer live independently?  Some individuals choose to stay at home with a 24/7 caregiver, but let's be realistic, that will eat through the money pretty quickly.  If you need to live in a nursing home, and you expect Medicare to pay for it, then you may want to talk to a lawyer or accountant and get everything set up BEFORE you get to that point.  The latest trend here is group homes for seniors.  Four elderly folk living in an actual home with a caregiver who lives in the home and cooks, cleans, hands out medications, etc.  

Third, do you have a DNR?  This is a document that says that you do not want any efforts made to resuscitate you should your heart stop.  Do. Not. Resuscitate. Think about this one carefully, because sometimes the efforts to pull a person back from death can be worse.  Talk to a physician about it, if you need to.  Definitely make sure that you talk to your loved ones, so there's no brawls at the bedside.  

Then, do you have a will?  There are websites, books, etc., to help you with the language needed to write out your final wishes.  If you want to donate your coin collection to the Smithsonian, this is where you put that. My husband had all sorts of issues when his uncle passed because there was no will and all of these unknown relatives showed up when it came time to sell the house. Don't do that to your family.

Finally, funeral plans.   It is not morbid to think about this part of death.  It does not hurt to look online.  At least then you will have an idea about costs and other information to help you decide.  There are people out there who will take advantage of your family when they are grieving your passing; help them out by making a few decisions for them.  

Planning out these events while you are healthy will make sure that your wishes are clearly outlined and your family knows what you want in the event that you are no longer able to tell them.  Things happen when you get older.  Plan ahead.

2022: The Year That Ran Away Very Fast

 I woke up the other morning and realized that it is about to be 2022.  Then I really woke up, because it is about to be 2023.  Say that to yourself.  I'll wait. 

What happened to 2022? It seems as though we just began this year, and it is already over?  I was going to do the usual, lose a bunch of weight and finish up my doctorate, finally clean my house, and travel the world.  I was going to craft my little heart out, relax more, and be ridiculously happy.  

Only none of those things happened.  Instead, I slugged my way through a year that felt rushed, like there was a bouncer behind the curtain saying "Move along" over and over.  Events that happened in January 2022 feel like they happened at least three years ago.  Maybe it was that the pandemic seemed to be finished (it is not) or that life was getting back to some semblance of normal.  Maybe it was the medication my doctor prescribed me for sleep (maybe?).  Maybe the world just began to move at its former pace, but no one got the memo or we just put our fingers in our ears.  Stuff happened, but it mostly did not register, because more stuff happened.  

I got moved to a high school for the first time since 1994.  I love it, of course, but it is a bit more fast paced now.  Of course, there have been a number of security changes since the tragedy in Uvalde.  I will get upset about that, but mostly angry.  I firmly believe that if you kill something, you eat it.  That is an established rule in our family. I think that this should be the rule of law in Texas.  You get convicted of shooting someone?  Here is your fork and a bib.  I think that this would at least make a person pause before committing murder.   Nobody needs these assault rifles in civilian life. 

We found a kitten with a lot of health problems, who did not live very long. I had never seen a cat have a seizure before, so it was a shock to see the little precious go flying out of my husband's arms all the way over the coffee table.  She was beautiful, and we named her Galadriel, but she succumbed to her illness after six happy months with us. It was a family decision. The vet we took her to allowed all of us to be in the room, and Larry got to hold her.  I still miss that spunky kitty, and every other animal that has passed over the rainbow bridge. 

My son started HIGH SCHOOL. I am still not over that.  HIGH SCHOOL.  He is enjoying himself, and informed me that he wants to get his drivers license when he turns 16.  "But you just GOT to HIGH SCHOOL!!!"  I told him, and then went into my room and cried in secret, as you do.  Meanwhile, my boy is heading toward six feet while eating every item of food in the house.  Typical boy.  I am trying to let him make some decisions for himself, even if in my head I am explaining why his decision is not a good decision. The boy needs to find out for himself, and there is only one way that happens. I was a dork in high school, too.  

We finally watched Yellowstone.  By the end of the first episode, I turned to Larry and said, "Sopranos of the West." He agreed.  Kevin Costner's character is Tony Soprano, that guy Rip is his consigliere, etc.  The reservation people are a rival gang.  All the dudes with the brand are made men.  No sin to move a classic show like the Sopranos into Montana and call it something new, but they should have been more honest about it. 

World Cup was very exciting--I picked Argentina to win, but since I am bad at gambling, I forgot to sign up or did not sign up correctly. But almost every game was a nail biter!  Congratulations to Argentina for their heroic play. You can go ahead and brag until 2026.  Messi and I share a birthday, so I take just a tiny bit of pride in his win.  A teeny-tiny bit. I am so happy for him, and he deserves all of the accolades he gets. 

And Donald Trump is still an idiot who deserves some slapping, and it looks like he might actually get it.  I would volunteer.  Maybe like that scene in Airplane!, we can have a line of citizens ready to slap waiting outside the courthouse. 

Happy New Year!  May 2023 slow down enough so that you can enjoy it!  

Are the 80s back?

I feel as though the 1980s are repeating themselves, what with Russia acting the fool and trying to bully the rest of the world.  War, particularly the nuclear kind, was one of the main topics of conversation when I was in high school, right next to what Mr. Stant was teaching in senior English. The entire era of the 80s was all about the bombs dropping, end of the world, so party hard NOW.  Russia's at it again, it seems, and now my son is talking about Ukraine with his friends.  More horrible decision appear to be heading our way, mostly in the form of higher gas prices.  

Then I thought about all of the actual horrible decisions I made in the 1980s, including spiral perms and college Trash Can Punch. For the unenlightened, you buy a clean trash can and pour ALL of the alcohol in there, and throw in some Kool-aid for flavor.  If I remember correctly, the concoction tastes like nuclear waste of some sort.  The hangovers were ridiculously painful, and we all swore that we would NEVER drink that stuff again, just beer.  That promise was never kept, because generally the punch was free and the beer was not.  College was a time of frugality, after all.  

Other aspects of the 80s appear to be showing up in stores, such as the Little House on the Prairie dresses.  The show was all right, and maybe I had ONE dress that might have qualified as prairie-wear, but I looked as though I were dressed in a sack wearing it. Actually, I think the dress was made by Gunny Sak, so that makes sense. Not in the least bit attractive.  And what is with all the long hair with a middle part?  Is there some strange, poorly dressed cult out there that I don't know about?  Not that there's anything wrong with that, I suppose.  I just find it odd that women who are coming in to their own would enjoy looking like every other woman. 

Thankfully, Cabbage Patch kids have NOT made a comeback. 

My point is that maybe the 80s are better off in the past. It wasn't a horrible time, but I cringe now thinking about the decisions I made with my hair (like an accidental mullet), my fashion sense, and my social life.  It was a darn good thing that there was no such thing as a smart phone back then.  Perhaps everyone could just repeat the trends that were popular 100 years ago, instead of the 80s?  How about if we repeat the trends of the 1920s.  The Jazz Age, short haircuts, flappers, those cute little dresses with the fringe and the adorable hats?  Those were the bee's knees!  

  

 

  

Porn Alert

We were in Walmart looking for the drinks we usually offer to bring for the annual Thanksgiving hullabaloo. Just the usual beer, wine, soda, and tea.  That means that Zane and I take our time and look around, since Dad isn't prodding us to hurry up before we spend more money.  

"Mom!! Come quick! There's PORN!!!"

Really, what do YOU hear about while shopping with your kid? 

My first thought regarded the idea of porn in a Walmart as completely ridiculous, before I remembered the vibrators I had just seen in the pharmacy section.  

That thought made me approach Zane cautiously, so as to respond appropriately.  It doesn't do to completely freak out in front of a teenager; that is the entertainment that keeps on giving for years.  

And indeed, there was porn.  The word was right there on the cover of the magazine, there for all kids who can read to see.  It was actually right at the four- to six-year old eye level.  I'd just walked right past it, because the sexualization of guns in America gives me hives.  

But Zane did.  And he wanted to know about the porn.  Which wasn't really porn, just a word on the cover of a magazine designed to make the reader buy the magazine and take it home to peruse in the privacy of their own home.  The word 'porn' is like the bell Pavlov used to get his dogs to salivate, particularly people who don't understand that they are being played.  So my son and I had a lively discussion about propaganda and advertising and classical conditioning, and how they all play a role in capitalism.  

I'll probably get a phone call from the school on Monday.  I am actually looking forward to explaining the entire situation.

Also, dear Walmart, where I tend to shop often because you are less than a mile from my house, Please put all the gun magazines ABOVE waist level, so the babies are not exposed to such violent content.  Thank you.

Be a Kindness...Ninja

 I was all for the "Pay it Forward" movement.  The idea that if someone did something for you, you did something for someone else, like pay for their Starbucks, is lovely.  My son and I had fun secretly paying for the pizza ordered by the car behind us at Little Ceasar's one afternoon.  I still enjoy doing that on occasion, but I've been a little disconcerted by the impression that kindness is a transaction.  An exchange of goods or services.  A crying student in my office who says, "But I was nice to him!"   

I can see where the confusion came in, especially with all the pandemic isolation and political anger.  Kindness, however,  is not a transaction.  It never has been. Kindness is an act of love.  Love of people.  Someone in need, and you help.  Someone in pain, and you comfort.  When you love someone, even your neighbor who likes to blare their music at the crack of dawn, it's unconditional.  It's not about what they can do for you; it's about what you can do for them.  When you give a blanket to a homeless person, it's an act of love.  If you expect that homeless person to follow you about singing your praises, that's a transaction.   

Back when dinosaurs walked the earth and electricity wasn't  even a thing, kindness was how you created a community. People in a group would come together to help each other.  That is simply what they did.  No agenda, no transactional conversation, just...kindness.  Neighbors would arrive from all over the area to help a farmer build a barn, and their wives and children would ride along to help  It meant a lot for a farmer to take a day off of working their own fields to help build a barn.  

Over the past two years, people have forgotten that they are part of a community.  Part of a neighborhood.  Part of a church. Part of a team.  We have been isolated for so long that we began to focus on a "what is in it for me?" view of the world.  Transactional.  This behavior was encouraged by the anger and rage of the adults, and we all bear some responsibility for that when it comes to our children.  I have had many conversations with my own child about this topic; he needed a reminder to be kind to everyone, even if they weren't kind back.  

I decided that kindness isn't a transaction; it's a ninja.   Ninjas do not expect anyone to give them anything back; mostly because they were assassins, but let's turn a negative into a positive.  Be a ninja, who steps in quietly, makes another person feel loved, and then is gone, without any expectation of reward or adoration.  Be a kindness ninja.  

You can wear the fancy ninja outfit, if you want.  

Booster Shot Random

Yes, I had a booster shot.  No. I did not turn into a zombie and run amok among the populace.  I got my shot, and except for some "I got punched in the shoulder" aches and pains, all was well.  I didn't even feel sickly.  From the shot, anyway.  

I usually feel sickly most days right now.  The stress gets me.  I seem to absorb the stress of others, too, while I am at it. They feel better, I go home upset. I find that I am clenching my teeth way more at work, so I don't say what I really want to say.  I have more in common with Roy Kent on Ted Lasso than is probably healthy, but that is what is going on in my head most days.  I may be smiling at you, but in my head there are chairs being tossed.  

My child has gone through FOUR pairs of shoes since August.  He has also taken to kicking a soccer ball against the wall at odd times.  Like when his father and I are watching a show that he specifically asked to watch.  That is pretty odd.  It's like he wants us to yell at him or something, just to check in.  I can't blame him too much. When I was a kid I gauged parental feelings by how freaked out they were.  Nobody freaking out equals everything is cool.  The one time in my life that I completely lost my mind was when my dad said the words, "I think we should go to the emergency room."  

My son is in a PowerPoint Ministry.  Yes, the boy is sitting in a tiny, sweaty room in front of a computer during the Mass, and he pushes buttons so everyone knows what prayer we are on, or the words to whatever song we are supposed to be singing.  You see, they removed all of the missals, and all of the song books from the church because of cooties, but people still need to follow along.  Snoozing in church was never allowed, even if you were a kid.  Except if you were a screaming baby--then EVERYONE wants that kid to fall asleep.  NOW.  But my teen seems to like to be in charge of the computer.  He understands computers, at least, even if he doesn't understand girls yet.  

Does anyone else have the ridiculous urge to find whatever baby is screaming on the other side of Walmart and help them so they stop crying?  I am certainly not one of those who would just let a baby cry, but there are those sorts out there.  I just never saw a point.  It's a baby--they don't know your reasons from a hole in the ground.  They just know that nobody is helping them, and that is just sad.  Not even a year old, and people are letting you down.  That is probably why there is so much anger out there now--somebody just left a baby crying for no good reason.      

Okay, that is it.  But I want you to do something for me.  I want you to look at yourself in the mirror and tell yourself something nice about your self to your self.  Nobody else has to know.  For example, I will occasionally tell my self that I have nice calves.  It's just a little thing, but it makes me feel better to be kind to myself.  Now you try it.  

The Fine Art of Ghost Hunting

October is the spooky month, when the first report cards are sent home to terrify parents.  The temperatures are dropping into comfortable-almost-chilly.  And ghost hunting becomes the local past time, at least until it becomes too cold.  Too cold for the people, I mean.  Not the ghosts.  I imagine that ghosts are beyond being irritated by mere temperatures.  

"I feel sorry for famous ghosts," my son says.  When he mentioned that, I had to agree. I watch a lot of ghost hunting shows. Ghost hunters are all over the place, demanding that Lizzie Borden "speak" or Wyatt Earp "turn on this flashlight" if he wants everyone to leave.  Of course, no one ever actually leaves when a ghost says to leave.  Why bother to ask?  

I understand that people want to know about ghosts. I understand that somebody needs to capture the next big video of a ghost on camera.  I believe that there are things that happen that I can't explain, but I'm not going to say that there is no explanation. But with ghost hunting, as in all things, there's a right way, and a very wrong way.  

1. Be respectful.  A very wise man once said that if you come before the king, you best come correct.  That is true with ghosts.  Most of these spirits are way older than the people "hunting" them.  In their day, young whippersnappers were supposed to respect their elders.  No sassing.  Some of these ghosts that people are looking for were noblemen, and they don't care whether you believe in the monarchy.  They expect to be treated as they were when they were alive, and they aren't going to spend the energy to appear to a bunch of disrespectful youngsters running amok in their house.  

2.  Speak their language.  Hey, did you know that Germans who lived in Munich in the 1800s did not speak English?  Yes.  They spoke German.  Yet here I am, watching these ghost hunting shows, and these guys are speaking English where English is not the language of the household.  Even Ghost Adventures, where Zak has mentioned that he understands Spanish, does not have anyone asking questions in Spanish, only English.  How can you coax a Spanish ghost out of hiding and onto camera?  Speak Spanish to them!  Otherwise they will just say, "Oh it's that crazy gringa again!" and go back to whatever ghosts do to pass the time.  Also, because it's Dia de las Muertas soon, wouldn't it make sense to build an ofrenda with all the treats so the unattached ghosts have somewhere to feel loved?  Or is that just me?  

3. DO.NOT. POKE. THE. GHOSTS.  Seriously. If you want to see a ghost, great, there's no reason to be a jerk about it. You don't have to be submissive, but aggressive is never a good idea when hunting things that you can't see.  Emphasis on not being able to see what you are taunting.  The attempt is made to provoke a reaction, I get it.  However, since there's no way of actually knowing WHAT is in the room with you, why would anyone do that? You THINK it's a ghost, but it could be an interdimensional being who has had enough of your nonsense.  Also, haven't you seen ANY horror films?  The one who taunts, the one who rolls their eyes, is usually dead pretty quickly.  Don't be that person. 

4. Ghosts were people, not circus animals.  Don't show up at their house expecting to see an episode of Ghost Ninjas.  "Hey, if you're a ghost, go over and smack Shane upside the head, then go into the kitchen and make me some cookies."  See number 1 above.  Unless the ghost is of Julia Child, she's not about your cookie obsession.  What would ghost cookies taste like, anyway?  I guess they would be no calorie, but likely tasteless, but you would have to sit there and eat EVERY SINGLE ONE of those cookies, because Julia Child doesn't suffer fools.  If she makes you some cookies, you WILL eat them and love them.  

The main point of ghost hunting is to hang out with your weird friends and see what is out there in the dark.  More power to all of you, I would be terrible at it.  Newbies, perhaps read this post before you head to the Island of the Dolls in Mexico, and behave accordingly.  Good hunting.

Back to School We Go--Mask Up

My tiny baby, my precious, IS IN THE EIGHTH GRADE.  I am trying not to freak out about it, but it is difficult, because HE IS IN THE EIGHTH GRADE.  In my head he is still little, even though he is about to hit 5'9".  We have had to take all of his school pants back and get new ones, and I don't know if these new ones will make it to October.  Zane is growing so fast that his bones actually hurt.  At least that is what he tells me.  Often.  Teenagers like to complain, apparently. Who knew?

He starts school Monday, and it will be face-to-face.  Zane insisted on getting the vaccine immediately when it was approved for his age group.  He hasn't been back to school in person since March of 2020.  He's going to have masks in his back pack, and the class he will be in is small.  He seems to be more mature about the entire event than his parents.  

I have been at work since July, but the kids start on Monday.  I am not sure what my district was planning to do once the covid numbers began rising in Bexar County, but the Mayor of San Antonio and the County Judge got a temporary restraining order against the Governor of Texas in order to implement a mask mandate for the area.  As of now, masks are required at schools.    

Masks save lives. That is a fact that has been verified by research. No more arguing about that, no more conspiracy theories about that.   

I confess that I am not a huge fan of masks.  In the heat, I feel like I can't breathe sometimes, and it freaks me out.  But I keep my mask on, because it is the right thing to do.  I get tired of all the idiots who are hollering about their 'freedoms' and particularly all of these hateful and angry people who come to school board meetings to scream and threaten people who just want their children to be safe.  

That is it.  

Parents just want their children to be safe. I want my child to be safe. My neighbors want their children to be safe.  My brother wants his child to be safe. Most parents want their children to be safe.  That is to be commended, not jeered.  And school is supposed to be a safe place.  How does that happen if a school cannot even take steps to protect their students because a governor is trying to impress a tiny minority of idiots who just want to scream at people?  Why is this such a hot button issue in the first place?  Knock it off, you guys.    

 

It is Cold. Texas Cold.

Today, Texas is cold.  Not the kind of cold you are thinking of...COLD.  North Pole cold.  Polar bear cold.  There is ice on my car that has been there for TWO days. And it's not just here--the entire state is freezing. The coast is even closed.  Hear that?  THE GULF OF MEXICO IS CLOSED.  

Good times.

It hasn't made it above 32 in the past three days, and that never happens here in San Antonio.  I don't remember this kind of weather happening here since...1985.  That winter we got a foot plus of snow, and since there wasn't a snow plow in sight, the entire city shut down.  The northern portions of Texas are used to such events, so THEY have actual snowplows. San Antonio generally never gets below freezing more than a day or two every winter, and never for long.  

My husband is excited about the idea of snow.  My son is excited about the idea of snow.  Me, not so much. It's really difficult to love snow when you've had to shovel it, or constantly scrape ice of your car. Oh, it is pretty to look at, transforming a landscape that looks relatively dull in the winter to a magical, pristine wonderland.  Everything looks clean, at least until the dog gets out there, the kids have snow fights, and the exhaust from cars takes over.  

I'll take pictures of the event, mostly from my warm house.  I will get plenty of exercise running to "see" Larry and Zane play in the snow.  I may go outside. 

Maybe not.      

Not Today, Satan

Lately I've taken to haunting the local Dollar Trees.  My reason?  Cheap crafts, of course!  Where else can I find so many items that I can take home and look at while they collect dust?  Just kidding--what else can a Covid-confined chica like myself do while remaining inside and solitary for 90% of her weekend? Get crafty! I've been watching YouTube videos, and I'm dangerous. At the Dollar Tree, I can fill my basket full of stickers, delightful wooden shapes, yarn, and random crazy stuff, safe in the knowledge that I will spend no more than fifty bucks, at the most.  I've been sneaking over there at least once a week. I don't always buy stuff, but it is fun to look around.  

This afternoon found me with a little time, and off to the Dollar Tree I went.  I walked in and headed straight for some shadow boxes placed on an endcap.  As I turned the corner to walk the aisle, I noticed music playing.  That's nice, I thought. Then I realized that I was hearing the theme song from the movie The Exorcist.  

What?

I looked around, because even though it was only a movie, something scary could pop right up.  It was a ringtone on someone's phone. Whew!  It was only a coincidence, my hitting the craft aisle to that tune.  Or WAS it?  Just in case, I said a few Hail Marys and held onto my St. Benedict medal a minute.  No way was Satan, or whatever that demon in the Exorcist was called, going to keep me from duly enjoying my crafts.  No sir.  I picked up some cool stuff and headed home.  Look what I made! 

Do NOT Use Genocide As An Argument

I was very disappointed to learn that actress Gina Carana was fired from The Mandalorian.  I enjoy watching strong female characters.  But I saw it coming. You can't tweet that Republicans are being treated like Jews in the Holocaust and not expect a significant response.  Ms. Carano crossed the line.  Even if her point was valid, it was negated by her use of one of history's most horrible events to make her point.  

People seem to keep forgetting that there are rules for arguing a point. This rule is: Never, ever use genocide to make your point.  Whatever that point might be, nobody wants to hear it when you throw genocide into the mix.   The Holocaust, Armenia, Rwanda, etc., are such heinous events, so abhorrent to our sense of humanity, that they should only be spoken of in hushed tones of reverence, not tossed into common discourse.  

It is already considered trite to compare someone to Hitler in political discourse, and most people tend to laugh at the unfortunate soul who heads in that direction.  Genocide is different.  Nobody should laugh at genocide, or treat it lightly.  These events were the worst moments of our collective existence, and no human should forget that.  People who do forget should be publicly shamed, but since she's a celebrity, Gina Carana will likely get a pass. 

We can do better. 

Just Another Tricky Day

Sometimes, it is hard to get out of bed.  Sometimes I just don't want to get out of bed, of course, especially on cold mornings.  Other times, I would rather go back to sleep and dream of Adam Driver.  But the paycheck beckons.   I don't go back to sleep, but I grumble about it all the way through the second cup.  Adulting is hard.

Nowadays, this is completely about the pandemic.  I am generally an adaptable sort, but all this has been too much for my brain.  From the time I wake up, reality has shifted in so many little ways. Events have been cancelled. I worry.  Other events have not been cancelled. I worry. People don't wear masks. I worry. People are ridiculously rude when you ask them to put on a mask. I worry.  People I know test positive.  I worry.   Did I accidentally touch that door with my hands?  I worry, and I wash my hands.  

All that on TOP of all of the other stuff that I have to think about, such as how many pairs of shoes is my child going to outgrow in the next month, or whether I remembered to fill up the dog's water bowl.  Whether I have any appointments today.  Which students need to be pulled for evaluation, and is the giant sneeze guard still in the conference room so everyone is protected?  Wait--I am wearing pants, right? 

I thought that I was losing my faculties, but then I read an article that essentially said that this...is...normal. Normal as in, we are in a time of major stress.  In times of major stress, the brain tends to drop the ball. Often.  And then forgets that it even held a ball.  There was a ball?

The point is that our brains are doing the best we can, just like we are.  We can get upset about it, check ourselves in for an MRI, but at the end of the day we are in the middle of a ridiculously annoying pandemic that nobody really has any control over.  I am going to try and focus on what I can control, like wearing pants. 

Pants are good.  

The Times Are Finally Changing

I have always been very outspoken about the way men treat women in this world.   It was of great interest to see and hear the "#MeToo" tag grabbing the attention of the popular culture back in the day. Practically every single woman I know has one of these stories, and some of those stories are just horrifying.  Most of them made me angry. In this day and age, old men think that their behavior is okay, because they are men.   

Times have changed.  

Women have been told to look pretty and smile, with the "or else" remaining unsaid.  We are patronized, from the tone of voice to the occasional pat on the head.  We are grabbed at, pulled at, and sometimes we are surrounded. My life has been one of harassment and abuse, just like every other woman out there.  I  had to deal with catcalls, invitations to "party", and demands that I smile.  To paraphrase Oprah in The Color Purple, "a girl child ain't safe in a world full of men." 

Times have changed.

I grew up paying attention to everything, because things could become unsafe way too fast, and I am an anxious person.  My teenage years and college were full of boys and men constantly telling me to "smile". Or complaining because I was smarter than they were, which just wasn't "attractive".  Having to play "dumb" around men because it hurt their feelings when a girl corrected them in public left a bad taste in my mouth.   When I finally got out of school and entered my chosen career, the superintendent of my school district made up a funny-not funny nickname for me and announced it at a district-wide meeting.  I was expected to just smile and get over every little comment, every little pat on the head. If I would have made a big deal about it, I knew that I would not have had a job. 

That was just the way it was. Except now it is not.

None of what was happening is pretty, or even decent.  If men ever experienced a fraction of what their wives, mother, sisters, and daughters have to go through daily, in some cases, they would lay down and die. Women do not lay down and die, however. We are, at our core, survivors. 

Now, maybe we can thrive. I have seen shoots of female greatness sprouting in the fields where we live, and I am inspired. All women can look to Vice President Kamala Harris for inspiration. Or Amanda Gorman. Or our mothers, who brought us into the world. Or our daughters, who will carry us into the future. 

Things I Have Learned

A comfy couch makes it impossible to stay mad. 

Family is not just about blood.  It is about love. 

When you walk barefoot on the grass, a blade can get stuck in the bottom of your foot.  

Food can bridge many gaps, except a broken heart. 

Kittens are extremely food motivated.

Resistance to evil is never futile.  

Never stop fighting for what you believe is right.

Everyone needs someone to hold their hand, sometimes. 

Be in your own skin, not someone else's. It looks better on you.

There are poisonous caterpillars in the world, but they still become butterflies.

Squirrels are fast learners. 

We all arrive at our destination with the help of others.  

 

What are some things that you have learned?