Sunday, September 27, 2009
40 Years & Counting
Forty years ago I graduated from high school and recently I attended the reunion to commemorate that shocking anniversary. Actually I had been looking forward to it and I think that's because I felt I still looked okay--no bags under my eyes, no wrinkles (thanks Mom), some excess poundage but nothing too jiggly. Also I have an interesting job. And I got a lot of mileage out of Jerry's job as the Missouri Film Czar--I mean, how many classmates can say they're in a movie with George Clooney? How interesting to see some of the women much thinner now than we were in high school. They looked like lollipops with stick bodies and big round heads. A few were so botoxed they truly had difficulty moving their lips. But for the most part, the women looked a lot better than the men. And the ones I didn't like in high school, I still didn't like. Some ladies I wasn't friendly with gave me big hugs and kisses. Others I had been looking forward to seeing obviously did not feel that way about me. My old boyfriend Rodger later told me there was one person he wanted nothing to do with--and of course that person ended up at our table. Eileen, my classmate, friend and hostess, said there was one person she didn't want to talk to--who of course sat right next to her. It was amazing to see so many high-school couples still married, to each other. Above all, what was evident was the passage of time and what 40 years can do to people. Most of us are past our prime yet doing our best to make the most of the years we have left. Although I enjoyed the experience, I can honestly say I have attended my last reunion.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Poop Money & Other Dog Tales
When Hans (husband #1) and I first got married we didn't have a lot of money. One day I saw in the local newspaper an ad for dog sitters. Since we had a little dachshund, Joopie, and certainly had room for more pooches, I called the number and talked to Jackie of Pets Are Inn. Jackie, whom we eventually called Wacky Jackie for her somewhat eccentric behavior, drove a Pets Are Inn van around Kirkwood picking up and delivering dogs for clients.
Although we took care of a variety of dogs, our main customers were a sweet little bichon whose name I can't remember, and a big hairy dog named Zia whose breed I can't remember. Joopie seemed to enjoy the occasional company. I think we were paid about $10 a day. Occasionally when a visitor "had an accident" we'd tell Jackie and get a little extra money. "Poop Money" was what we called it and when we got it we'd usually splurge on Chinese carry-out.
One day Wacky Jackie called and asked if we'd be interested in watching the dog of a very special client. I said, Maybe. Who is it? It was Leonard Slatkin, the conductor of the Saint Louis Symphony Orchestra, and his wife, Jackie said. I said, Sure, why not. Jackie said, Well, they want to come meet you and Hans first. I said, What? You told them we're great, shouldn't that be enough? Jackie said, They said they want to meet you and see the house and neighborhood. That was it for me. I told Jackie, Forget it. Nobody is going to judge me to see if I'm good enough to take care of their dog. I don't care who it is. Then Jackie said, I'm so glad you said that, Pam. She thought it was outrageous, too. But she didn't want to deny us the chance to make a little extra money if we really needed it. Which we didn't. Thank goodness.
Although we took care of a variety of dogs, our main customers were a sweet little bichon whose name I can't remember, and a big hairy dog named Zia whose breed I can't remember. Joopie seemed to enjoy the occasional company. I think we were paid about $10 a day. Occasionally when a visitor "had an accident" we'd tell Jackie and get a little extra money. "Poop Money" was what we called it and when we got it we'd usually splurge on Chinese carry-out.
One day Wacky Jackie called and asked if we'd be interested in watching the dog of a very special client. I said, Maybe. Who is it? It was Leonard Slatkin, the conductor of the Saint Louis Symphony Orchestra, and his wife, Jackie said. I said, Sure, why not. Jackie said, Well, they want to come meet you and Hans first. I said, What? You told them we're great, shouldn't that be enough? Jackie said, They said they want to meet you and see the house and neighborhood. That was it for me. I told Jackie, Forget it. Nobody is going to judge me to see if I'm good enough to take care of their dog. I don't care who it is. Then Jackie said, I'm so glad you said that, Pam. She thought it was outrageous, too. But she didn't want to deny us the chance to make a little extra money if we really needed it. Which we didn't. Thank goodness.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
More Bird Trouble
The bird troubles continue at Casa Jones. Now a pair of hawks have moved in and decided to establish a household. I noticed them a few weeks ago. Whenever we'd go outside, we'd hear their crazy screaming. One day as I turned the corner to the patio, they flew off the fence around the propane tank. I thought they were owls--screech owls, of course. A few days later Jerry saw them on the old fencepost in the back yard and realized they were hawks. Usually I see two of them but Jerry has seen three at a time. They hang out in the woods near the house, or on the other side of the lawn in the cedar stand.
Last week as I came down the driveway I saw them sitting at the end of the stone wall. One flew into the trees, the other jumped down to the ground and seemed to be acting as if it were injured. No, it was trying to drag a dead rabbit away! Instead it flew off, too. I felt bad having disrupted their dinner. I know they worked hard for that bunny. Happily Abigail is big enough to not interest them. However, our visiting dachshund Daisy is a tempting little rotundo who may appear to be a tasty treat to the hawks. We'll have to pay close attention next time she comes over.
Living in the wild nature is a great adventure. But I'm just about ready for the hawks to move along.
Last week as I came down the driveway I saw them sitting at the end of the stone wall. One flew into the trees, the other jumped down to the ground and seemed to be acting as if it were injured. No, it was trying to drag a dead rabbit away! Instead it flew off, too. I felt bad having disrupted their dinner. I know they worked hard for that bunny. Happily Abigail is big enough to not interest them. However, our visiting dachshund Daisy is a tempting little rotundo who may appear to be a tasty treat to the hawks. We'll have to pay close attention next time she comes over.
Living in the wild nature is a great adventure. But I'm just about ready for the hawks to move along.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Guadalupe
Our Lady of Guadalupe - Olvera Street, Los Angeles, California
Although I'm Jewish, I'm very fond of Our Lady of Guadalupe. I love the image of her with the full-body halo (depicting the sun), the flowing robes, the folded hands, standing on a crescent moon. The story and imagery are bound up with classical Aztec legends and symbolism--don't most religions have some pagan connections?
The photos were taken on Olvera Street in Los Angeles, one of my favorite places on the planet. It's the oldest street in L.A., a real tourist destination full of shops that mostly sell the same merchandise. So it's a good idea to not buy the first things you see--they'll be cheaper down the street. I bought a t-shirt there with one of Frida Kahlo's bloodier paintings reproduced on it ("The Two Fridas"), as well as a papel picado paper chain that I wish I could find, and other fantastic tchotchkas.
The pictures at the left and center were taken in April and November 2008; they're the same shrine built in a grated window, but the center photo puts it more in context. I call it "Guadalupe and Friends." The photo on the right is from a gorgeous, endless display of Guadalupe statues of varying heights, from about 3 inches up to two feet and more. It's amazing how inexpensive they are. I have a 4" one that cost about $1.50; she's standing on a Corinthian column--perfectly lovely. I'm planning to display 8" x 10"s of these photos in golden frames in my hallway.
I also have a Guadalupe fountain that's a little on the tacky side--okay, it's totally kitsch. I've owned it for about three years but I'm still kind of nervous about it. My Guadalupe wristwatch with diamond chips stopped working recently but I wear it anyway. It's not about time; I can get that off my cellphone.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
An Audience of One
From today's New York Times:
Richard Jalichandra, chief executive of Technorati, said that at any given time there are 7 million to 10 million active blogs on the Internet, but “it’s probably between 50,000 and 100,000 blogs that are generating most of the page views.” He added, “There’s a joke within the blogging community that most blogs have an audience of one.”
The article interviews a few people who started blogs, hoping to get noticed, attract advertisers, land a book deal, star in a movie--but then gave it up due to their dreams not coming true, or because they have moved on to Facebook or Twitter or other pursuits.
But 7-10 million active blogs--that's still a lot of bloggers, mostly with a very limited audience. I can only speak for myself, but I think the number of readers has little to do with it, although the more the merrier. For me, my little blog is a way to practice a certain kind of writing...to clarify and organize my thoughts...to vent about the stupidity around me...to reminisce and to look ahead.
One of these days I'll build up the courage to actually announce my blog to the world. Until then, it's just you and me.
Richard Jalichandra, chief executive of Technorati, said that at any given time there are 7 million to 10 million active blogs on the Internet, but “it’s probably between 50,000 and 100,000 blogs that are generating most of the page views.” He added, “There’s a joke within the blogging community that most blogs have an audience of one.”
The article interviews a few people who started blogs, hoping to get noticed, attract advertisers, land a book deal, star in a movie--but then gave it up due to their dreams not coming true, or because they have moved on to Facebook or Twitter or other pursuits.
But 7-10 million active blogs--that's still a lot of bloggers, mostly with a very limited audience. I can only speak for myself, but I think the number of readers has little to do with it, although the more the merrier. For me, my little blog is a way to practice a certain kind of writing...to clarify and organize my thoughts...to vent about the stupidity around me...to reminisce and to look ahead.
One of these days I'll build up the courage to actually announce my blog to the world. Until then, it's just you and me.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Some Things I Just Don't Give A ---- About
1) Sonia Sotomayor
2) Republican opinions about #1
3) Dick Cheney
4) Dick Cheney's children
5) George Bush
6) Laura Bush
7) Newt
8) Jon & Kate
9) "Octomom" (What a horrible image that conjures up)
10) Spelling Bees
11) Kids with poignant stories who participate in #9
12) "Slumdog Kids"
13) The destruction or salvation of the homes of #11
14) Jay Leno's farewell
15) Susan Boyle
to be continued...
2) Republican opinions about #1
3) Dick Cheney
4) Dick Cheney's children
5) George Bush
6) Laura Bush
7) Newt
8) Jon & Kate
9) "Octomom" (What a horrible image that conjures up)
10) Spelling Bees
11) Kids with poignant stories who participate in #9
12) "Slumdog Kids"
13) The destruction or salvation of the homes of #11
14) Jay Leno's farewell
15) Susan Boyle
to be continued...
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Bird Trouble
When I looked outside this morning I saw a cardinal, a blue jay and a woodpecker dining at my feeder, and a bluebird at the birdbath. But don't let this charming scene fool you. The truth is my family is having trouble with birds. It's not quite like "The Birds," more like "A Few Crazed Birds," but wierd enough.
It started a few weeks ago when my friend and ex-spouse Hans was driving over here--when all of a sudden, he says, a turkey vulture swooped down from the sky, put its claws around the rear-view mirror on the passenger side of his truck, yanked it completely off and flew away. It's a story you could easily doubt, but there's no disputing someone or something--like a deranged turkey vulture--removed the mirror.
Then a couple of days ago my son Max reported when he was walking from the house to his motorcycle, a hummingbird flew straight into his head, then flew away. Happily Max was already wearing his helmet; I hate to think of that long and pointy hummingbird beak anywhere near my son's head otherwise.
Now the last 24 hours a crazed female cardinal has been flinging herself into my bedroom window. The only time she stops is when the dogs or any of us are outdoors. She sits in the crepe myrtle in front of the window, chirps a little, then crashes into the window, while her handsome scarlet husband sings the familiar cardinal song on a nearby branch. Jerry first noticed this scenario yesterday morning and opened the blinds wide to see if there was a nest or baby birds on the ground, but no. There's no reason for this bird's strange behavior. I wonder if she would successfully crash through, how she would like ending up in my bedroom. Would she be delighted by the not-put-away-yet laundry on the chaise, every piece of my 7-piece red luggage stashed in the corner, the tall stack of Jerry's hobby magazines and the layer of dust on everything (after all, we do live on a gravel road)? I think she'd change her behavior instantly if only she knew what was on the other side of glass.
UPDATE 5/18: 48 hours later, the pitiful bird is still at it. Even when we scare her away, she reappears a while later. I'm very tempted to tape a picture of Dick Cheney to the window.
UPDATE 5/20: She's still at it, like clockwork at 5:30 a.m. each morning. I found a bright red Tickle Me Elmo and a scary Mickey Mouse stuffed toy and hung them by their stubby little arms in the windows. Take THAT, dumb bird!
UPDATE 5/21: Jerry decided to get serious about the situation and put big black plastic bags over the windows. Sure enough at 5:30 this morning, we heard the man cardinal's song and then the lady's chirpy call. I laid in bed all tense and waiting for the crashing to start...but it didn't. It seems the garbage bag strategy worked! Hopefully this deranged pair left. Just in case, we'll leave the plastic on the windows a little longer even though it looks pretty wierd.
UPDATE 6/8: Can you believe it? This insane bird is STILL crashing into the window--that is, the smaller middle window between the two large ones that Jerry covered with black garbage bags. Every morning at 5:30 a.m., there they are. First she makes a clicking type noise, he sings his Cardinal theme song, then CRASH. I really don't want to put a garbage bag on the only remaining window that lets the sun in. Isn't nesting season over soon? More for the sake of her tiny bird skull than for my peace of mind, I truly hope so.
It started a few weeks ago when my friend and ex-spouse Hans was driving over here--when all of a sudden, he says, a turkey vulture swooped down from the sky, put its claws around the rear-view mirror on the passenger side of his truck, yanked it completely off and flew away. It's a story you could easily doubt, but there's no disputing someone or something--like a deranged turkey vulture--removed the mirror.
Then a couple of days ago my son Max reported when he was walking from the house to his motorcycle, a hummingbird flew straight into his head, then flew away. Happily Max was already wearing his helmet; I hate to think of that long and pointy hummingbird beak anywhere near my son's head otherwise.
Now the last 24 hours a crazed female cardinal has been flinging herself into my bedroom window. The only time she stops is when the dogs or any of us are outdoors. She sits in the crepe myrtle in front of the window, chirps a little, then crashes into the window, while her handsome scarlet husband sings the familiar cardinal song on a nearby branch. Jerry first noticed this scenario yesterday morning and opened the blinds wide to see if there was a nest or baby birds on the ground, but no. There's no reason for this bird's strange behavior. I wonder if she would successfully crash through, how she would like ending up in my bedroom. Would she be delighted by the not-put-away-yet laundry on the chaise, every piece of my 7-piece red luggage stashed in the corner, the tall stack of Jerry's hobby magazines and the layer of dust on everything (after all, we do live on a gravel road)? I think she'd change her behavior instantly if only she knew what was on the other side of glass.
UPDATE 5/18: 48 hours later, the pitiful bird is still at it. Even when we scare her away, she reappears a while later. I'm very tempted to tape a picture of Dick Cheney to the window.
UPDATE 5/20: She's still at it, like clockwork at 5:30 a.m. each morning. I found a bright red Tickle Me Elmo and a scary Mickey Mouse stuffed toy and hung them by their stubby little arms in the windows. Take THAT, dumb bird!
UPDATE 5/21: Jerry decided to get serious about the situation and put big black plastic bags over the windows. Sure enough at 5:30 this morning, we heard the man cardinal's song and then the lady's chirpy call. I laid in bed all tense and waiting for the crashing to start...but it didn't. It seems the garbage bag strategy worked! Hopefully this deranged pair left. Just in case, we'll leave the plastic on the windows a little longer even though it looks pretty wierd.
UPDATE 6/8: Can you believe it? This insane bird is STILL crashing into the window--that is, the smaller middle window between the two large ones that Jerry covered with black garbage bags. Every morning at 5:30 a.m., there they are. First she makes a clicking type noise, he sings his Cardinal theme song, then CRASH. I really don't want to put a garbage bag on the only remaining window that lets the sun in. Isn't nesting season over soon? More for the sake of her tiny bird skull than for my peace of mind, I truly hope so.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Before, During, After
BEFORE...
DURING...
AFTER...Abigail the Old English Sheepdog is now ready for the hot Central Missouri summer. It always takes a few days to get used to this warm-weather version of her...like having two dogs in one. A lovely girl, fluffy or sheared. After a dramatic life living on two farms, with a man-dog she apparently didn't care for (no puppies), and being threatened with a bullet in the head (for allegedly killing a goat--not typical herder behavior), I'm grateful she landed here with us.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Wild Days
It's getting wild out here...as in wild things and wildflowers. I uncovered this little toad yesterday under a pile of leaves that had accumulated next to the front door all winter. He obliged me by jumping onto an oak leaf to have his picture taken.
Wildflowers are popping up on the edges of our woods. These early examples are just the beginning of the parade of wildflowers that will last through October. Although it's May I haven't seen any May apples. Maybe they're deeper in the woods than I've ventured lately. I love their shiny leaves and the unusual way the delicate white flowers bloom beneath them.
When I lived in Hermann, one of my favorite events was the annual wildflower walk each May at a nearby state park. Whole families would take part in this highly anticipated event, during which we'd see at least two dozen or more species. Several people had been going on the walk for many years; they kept journals in which they noted having seen more than 100 flowers, including some extremely rare ones, over the course of all the walks.
Some of these same people also hunted morels. I suppose morel season has passed now. I never knew about this hysteria-inducing mushroom before I moved to Hermann. We never had morel walks because everyone had his or her own "secret" morel-hunting spot and made a big deal out of it. As a result, over time I found the whole morel business more and more obnoxious. The mushroom tastes okay; finding and preparing it seemed like a lot of bother for something not all that special. But above all, I thought the supposed location of a bunch of mushrooms (which may or may not be the same place every year) was a dumb thing to act all mysterious about.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Why are most commenters in online newspaper forums so nasty, self-important and intolerant?
I am trying very hard to avoid reading the comments in my local newspaper's online forum. You may recall I earlier described the Jefferson City News-Tribune as a fascist rag sheet and that still applies. The same group of posters still lie in wait for anyone whose comment may reveal him or her to be liberal, Democratic, left-leaning or even a moderate Republican--then they pounce and denounce the commenter as a socialist, communist, leftist, pinko or traitor, and those are some of the nicer accusations. Here are some examples from a quick scan of tonight's entries.
* Commenting on a story about some legislators introducing yet another school prayer amendment, a frequent (and ignorant) poster named Boscoe wrote, "I say BRAVO to the legislators! If the heathens don't like it, they can go live somewhere else. Our country started just fine without the Muslims, so we won't miss any of 'em if they leave." Another local lunatic, a very angry and pompous wingnut named Byron W. wrote, "BRAVO!!!!!! It is time to take a stand for Christianity and a stand against secularism. "(Actually I was surprised at the number of rational opinions among the Yay for Christians comments.)
* Here are some comments in a story about those goofy tea parties last week: "The LEFT wing fringe that is now in the Whitehouse is squirming and are worried, don't be fooled by their lies." Here's nutcase Boscoe again: "Yes, the Repubs lack a leader, but that is also true of the Democrats. All they have for leaders right now is a flash-in-the-pan Rock Star, a crazy old hag in the Senate, and the old guy who has all these mysterious deaths and misadventures when they ride in his car. Oh, I forgot about the finger-pointing adulterer and his power-hungry manic wife."And my favorite from the whole thread: "Remember these two, they are trying to create diversions: JANEANE GAROFALO, KEITH OLBERMANN." I was quite amazed by this, that some wingnut even knew about Janeane and Keith. What followed were several comments about her ethnic heritage somehow contributing to her so-called radicalism.
* Byron checks in on health care: " National health care? Just another nail in the coffin of the USA." I wonder why he is such an angry, unhappy grump--oh I remember now--OBAMA WON.
I typically go a few days without reading the comments. But then I'm overcome by an urge to check out the latest ones and get horrified and disgusted and depressed all over again, and swear off the online forum forever, again. I think this affliction must be similar to my Sarah Palin sickness--I can't get enough of that pathetic, deluded woman. Come to think of it, a lot of the News-Tribune posters are big fans of hers. There used to be a lot of PALIN 2012 sign-offs, but not so much lately.
Occasionally I actually post something myself--typically an ultra-liberal, Obama-loving observation designed to agitate the Boscoes and Byrons out there. When they call me a Nazi I know I've succeeded.
The truly remarkable thing I've discovered, however, is that hateful, depraved, frustrated commenters are universal. Visit any online forum at any newspaper in the US and you will find them spewing their ignorance and anger in their local market. Here's a choice nugget from tonight's St. Louis Post-Dispatch forum, regarding the sale of props used in the George Clooney movie that recently wrapped up shooting there: "I guess since his movies are flops, and his totally liberal policies and meddling are coming back to haunt him, his only way to make money is a traveling gift shop."
Insane commenters make up the majority of posters no matter where you find them. I think that's because the forums give them an outlet for their sense of helplessness, a place where they can lash out against "us" without repercussions.
What do you think?
* Commenting on a story about some legislators introducing yet another school prayer amendment, a frequent (and ignorant) poster named Boscoe wrote, "I say BRAVO to the legislators! If the heathens don't like it, they can go live somewhere else. Our country started just fine without the Muslims, so we won't miss any of 'em if they leave." Another local lunatic, a very angry and pompous wingnut named Byron W. wrote, "BRAVO!!!!!! It is time to take a stand for Christianity and a stand against secularism. "(Actually I was surprised at the number of rational opinions among the Yay for Christians comments.)
* Here are some comments in a story about those goofy tea parties last week: "The LEFT wing fringe that is now in the Whitehouse is squirming and are worried, don't be fooled by their lies." Here's nutcase Boscoe again: "Yes, the Repubs lack a leader, but that is also true of the Democrats. All they have for leaders right now is a flash-in-the-pan Rock Star, a crazy old hag in the Senate, and the old guy who has all these mysterious deaths and misadventures when they ride in his car. Oh, I forgot about the finger-pointing adulterer and his power-hungry manic wife."And my favorite from the whole thread: "Remember these two, they are trying to create diversions: JANEANE GAROFALO, KEITH OLBERMANN." I was quite amazed by this, that some wingnut even knew about Janeane and Keith. What followed were several comments about her ethnic heritage somehow contributing to her so-called radicalism.
* Byron checks in on health care: " National health care? Just another nail in the coffin of the USA." I wonder why he is such an angry, unhappy grump--oh I remember now--OBAMA WON.
I typically go a few days without reading the comments. But then I'm overcome by an urge to check out the latest ones and get horrified and disgusted and depressed all over again, and swear off the online forum forever, again. I think this affliction must be similar to my Sarah Palin sickness--I can't get enough of that pathetic, deluded woman. Come to think of it, a lot of the News-Tribune posters are big fans of hers. There used to be a lot of PALIN 2012 sign-offs, but not so much lately.
Occasionally I actually post something myself--typically an ultra-liberal, Obama-loving observation designed to agitate the Boscoes and Byrons out there. When they call me a Nazi I know I've succeeded.
The truly remarkable thing I've discovered, however, is that hateful, depraved, frustrated commenters are universal. Visit any online forum at any newspaper in the US and you will find them spewing their ignorance and anger in their local market. Here's a choice nugget from tonight's St. Louis Post-Dispatch forum, regarding the sale of props used in the George Clooney movie that recently wrapped up shooting there: "I guess since his movies are flops, and his totally liberal policies and meddling are coming back to haunt him, his only way to make money is a traveling gift shop."
Insane commenters make up the majority of posters no matter where you find them. I think that's because the forums give them an outlet for their sense of helplessness, a place where they can lash out against "us" without repercussions.
What do you think?
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Coulda Been a Groupie
Long ago--31 years ago!--I was a big fan of the rock band The Cars. They had a sort of pre-punk sound with a lot of synthesizers. Their hair was styled in a shag and their stage presence was very sharp and stylized, with a black, white and red theme--oh, and green potted palms. The ugliest one, Ric Ocasek, married a gorgeous foreign model and I recently read they are still together. In 1978 The Cars came to St. Louis and performed at the Kiel Opera House. Being a big fan I stood in line for hours to get good seats--maybe 8th row. I asked my friend Missy to go with me and although she was a very conservative young woman, she agreed to come along. Maybe I bribed her. It's funny, I remember what I wore: a white cowl-neck sweater, tan cordoroy jeans and cowboy boots. I was thin then because I didn't eat, I smoked menthol cigarettes instead. The show was fantastic and as Missy and I were leaving a guy in a t-shirt shoved something in my hand and said, "This is from the bass player"--the late, handsome Benjamin Orr. It was an orange fabric square that said BACKSTAGE PASS, plus the name of the band and the date. A backstage pass! From Orr! Oh my goodness. Oh dear. What's a girl to do? I showed Missy and her immediate reaction was, "That's a fake!" followed by, "You're NOT going, are you?" For about 10 seconds I considered telling her, "YES I'm going! Wouldn't you?!" But I knew I never would. There were just so many reasons not to--like it could be dangerous (drugs, alcohol, etc.), I don't know these people, they don't know me, I'm not prepared, I'm scared. The only reason to actually go backstage was to say I did it. So we went home. I felt a little mad at Missy for a while for being such a sourpuss about the whole thing. I tossed the pass on my coffee table and glanced at it occasionally. A few weeks later a friend came by, a DJ at a local rock station. He saw the pass on my table and excitedly asked, "Where did you get that?" I told him someone handed it to me after the Cars show and said it was from the bass player. "Did you go backstage?" he asked. No, I said. It's a fake. "That's no fake," he said. "Don't you know those musicians can play their songs in their sleep. They're checking out girls in the front rows of the audience! Obviously Orr thought you were cute." Then he added, "But he probably sent the same invitation to a lot of other girls too, to make sure someone showed up."
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Something New In My Life
Today I officially welcome something new in my life: pain. Real, hurting, sore, heavy pain, in my right hip. It's been going on for a few weeks, some days worse than others, but always there, deep in my hip, or focused on my knee or calf. My mother, in her last years, was always in pain in one or more parts of her body. And although I sympathized and felt so bad for her, I couldn't truly understand or share it. Mainly I was glad it wasn't me who was wincing with every step, moving slowly and carefully, sitting whenever possible. But now it's my bones that are grinding together, arthritic and unhealthy. My hip will never get better, said the orthopedic surgeon. Sooner or later I'll need a new one. In the meantime I'll try some jazzed up Tylenol and hope the pain recedes enough for me to enjoy my upcoming trip to California. I was hoping to make it at least to early old-age before the aches and pains set in. No such luck.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Trout for Dinner
Yep, that's me and two rainbow trout at Bennett Spring State Park on Monday, March 16. What?! How can you say I'm posing with someone else's fish? I caught those babies myself. In fact, I was the only one of our party of four who caught anything--and not just one trout but two. Don't they look yummy?You may think I'm some sort of skilled fisherperson, but you'd be wrong. These two unfortunate fishies just happened to have bit my baited hook. It's great to feel that tug on the rod, followed by me yelling, Jerry help me! I love Bennett Spring, the glass-clear water, the 1930s dining lodge, the park store (where I bought a Brighton knock-off watch for $9.95 last year). To some people it's surprising that I like to fish. I'm sure surprising is not the word used by certain fishermen at the park, all decked out in their vests and waders and hats, using fancy rods and reels and gourmet bait, when they see an amateur, improperly dressed female, using a $19.95 rod, reel in two trout. The pictured fish are now headless and frozen. I hope to catch a few more soon for a smoked-trout dinner.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
The Strange Days of Selling Real Estate
When Jerry and I bought our house five years ago, I got the bright idea that selling real estate might be a good way to make some extra money. After all, the agents didn't seem to have to work too hard; Jerry actually did most of the follow-up telephoning and negotiating. So I took realtor classes at a Holiday Inn at the Lake of the Ozarks for two weeks, from a teacher who I assume had told the same corn-pone jokes for 100 years. He brought his cute little hound dog puppies to class in a box a couple of times, as well as a sample of an air purifying machine he sold on the side.
I passed the exam, paid about $1000 in license fees and joined a discount real estate company in Jefferson City. My broker was not very popular in the real estate world of JC and in fact had a real inferiority complex about it for which she compensated with a superior attitude. But it was the hey-day of the real estate bubble, even in Jefferson City, and our little renegade brokerage was doing pretty well.
I was quite nervous about my first transaction involving a nice but odd couple. He was in IT at an area university and had one of those Amish-type beards where you don't shave anything, just let it grow like a mane all around your head. She was a former teacher who had no control over her two children. Happily we didn't have to look at too many houses before they found one they liked. It had some sewer problems, nothing major, and the closing went smoothly. I got a nice commission check and thought, that wasn't so bad.
But several subsequent transactions didn't go so smoothly. A guy pulled up to the office in a very expensive Mercedes and wanted to see a condo. You'd think someone who drove a car like that would be legit but no. He said he was a former ski instructor but I wasn't clear what he was actually doing now. He was working with a nice mortgage lender but had yet to be approved. Still, he made on offer on a beautiful condo which the sellers accepted. Time went by and still there was no loan approval. The desperate sellers and their increasingly frantic agent called me constantly. Of course within a few weeks the guy's Mercedes was repossessed and someone saw his stuff piled upon on the sidewalk outside his apartment building. We came to learn his deposit check had bounced--but the bank failed to notify anyone. In the meantime the seller lost a qualified buyer. I learned a big lesson: don't work with incoherent idiots.
An older couple was interested in buying a house in the countryside outside Jefferson City. While I was showing the place to the couple, their daughter and toddler grandson, the woman mentioned a news story she heard that day about the tragic death of a baby whose crib was near a window with blinds and the poor thing strangled in the cords. Just then her grandson wandered near the blinds in the house we were touring and the woman freaked out and screamed, Move him away from there! as if he'd suddenly whip up a little noose and hang himself on the spot.
Another buyer was a guy who was the manager of a fast-food restaurant. I never was sure if the woman and baby he lived with were his wife and daughter. They found a nice house and we wrote up the contract. There were a few pieces of drywall in the garage that the owner intended to use to finish the lower level but hadn't gotten around to it yet. I put in the contract that the sale was to include the drywall for finishing the lower level. The buyer, however, took that to mean the seller should provide all the drywall to finish the project, about $300 worth. This creep called me constantly, asking, What about my drywall. The seller finally--reluctantly and angrily--provided all the drywall and the sale closed. I remember feeling sorry for the woman and baby and wishing I could tell her, Run as far and as fast as you can from this putz.
I had a seller whose wife had died and who imagined the Mafia was after him (in Jefferson City?!). He wanted to get rid of his condo as fast as possible so we listed it for a ridiculously low price. A woman brought over her mother who walked in the door, took a look around, and said, "I am home!" and offered an even lower price than the owner was asking. But he took it. I think that was my easiest sale.
I showed a very cool home to a man and his very annoying, name-dropping wife. I thought she must be some bigshot lawyer or corporate executive with her superior attitude. I felt better when I found out she was "in marketing" for a local car dealership. The home owner was an even bigger name-dropper. She had baked cookies (you know, for that enticing Martha Stewart fresh-baked aroma) and showed no signs of leaving so I could show her house. In fact she led the showing herself. I might as well have disappeared as the two women tried to impress each other with their accomplishments and connections. The seller did confess to me her hot tub had saved her marriage (until she moved to New Mexico a few months later).
A very nice military man had to find a house fast. His fiancee, who was buying the house, was moving to town soon. We found a beautiful home in a nice area, sent pictures and she said Great. She got a loan and everything was going smoothly until the inspection. There was evidence of termites. Traditionally the buyer pays for the termite inspection and treatment but this chick refused to spend the $300. The seller's agent said the seller was already "giving the house away" and didn't have an extra cent. Neither party would budge. Finally I called the buyer and told her she would lose the house and her patient fiance did not want to start over again over $300. She reconsidered and we closed. Six months later I got a call from my broker (I had left by then) that I still owed $300 for the termite treatment; the buyer said I had told her I would pay for it. I said, No I never told her that and anyway the deal closed so leave me alone. Then a notice to pick up a certified letter, sent by my broker, showed up. I told a friend about it and he said, Don't pick it up. Hmmm, I had never thought of that--I thought you were obligated to get those. Another little card came about a second certified letter which I also ignored. I haven't heard another word about it.
My favorite buyers were a lovely Vietnamese girl, her cute hip hop African American boyfriend and their gorgeous baby girl. After a couple of heartbreaks over homes that needed too much work, they finally found a cozy place with a one-acre yard. They were so happy and excited. I always wondered what the middle-aged white neighbors thought.
My farewell to real estate was finding a house for a volatile alcoholic who every Friday would drive four hours to a cabin in southern Missouri in order to drink all weekend, then come back Sunday night. He made a decent offer on a nice older house that was part of an estate but the kids rejected it, holding out for more money. The buyer found another house that needed a lot of work. He moved out of his apartment (not very smart) and fortunately the home owners let him move in and pay rent. He paid for an inspection that revealed problems that would cost more to repair than the sellers wanted to pay. So he had to move out. He told me he lived in his car which didn't surprise me. A couple of months later I got a call from the agent of the sellers of estate house. Was my buyer still interested in their mother's house? It had a new price--exactly what my buyer had originally offered. So we wrote another contract just like the first one, waited a few more weeks for the out-of-town lender to bless the sale and finally closed.
My real estate career lasted about two years. I made a few bucks but looking back I don't think I was very good at it. I wasn't aggressive (hungry/desperate) enough. I was reluctant to insult a home-seller who thought her hideously decorated house looked fabulous. I was stunned by the viciousness of the barracuda-like older female agents who had been selling real estate for decades. I hated wasting beautiful weekend afternoons showing ugly houses to losers. So I was glad when I got an offer to write a beauty catalog. I picked up my final commission check, told my broker adios, packed up my office in about 15 minutes and kissed real estate goodbye.
P.S. One valuable thing I learned from the experience was that you don't really need a real estate agent when you are buying or selling a house. The main service an agent offers is showing your property if you're selling. If you're buying, you can find your own properties online. The paperwork isn't that complicated; the lender can help you with it. So save a few bucks and do it yourself.
I passed the exam, paid about $1000 in license fees and joined a discount real estate company in Jefferson City. My broker was not very popular in the real estate world of JC and in fact had a real inferiority complex about it for which she compensated with a superior attitude. But it was the hey-day of the real estate bubble, even in Jefferson City, and our little renegade brokerage was doing pretty well.
I was quite nervous about my first transaction involving a nice but odd couple. He was in IT at an area university and had one of those Amish-type beards where you don't shave anything, just let it grow like a mane all around your head. She was a former teacher who had no control over her two children. Happily we didn't have to look at too many houses before they found one they liked. It had some sewer problems, nothing major, and the closing went smoothly. I got a nice commission check and thought, that wasn't so bad.
But several subsequent transactions didn't go so smoothly. A guy pulled up to the office in a very expensive Mercedes and wanted to see a condo. You'd think someone who drove a car like that would be legit but no. He said he was a former ski instructor but I wasn't clear what he was actually doing now. He was working with a nice mortgage lender but had yet to be approved. Still, he made on offer on a beautiful condo which the sellers accepted. Time went by and still there was no loan approval. The desperate sellers and their increasingly frantic agent called me constantly. Of course within a few weeks the guy's Mercedes was repossessed and someone saw his stuff piled upon on the sidewalk outside his apartment building. We came to learn his deposit check had bounced--but the bank failed to notify anyone. In the meantime the seller lost a qualified buyer. I learned a big lesson: don't work with incoherent idiots.
An older couple was interested in buying a house in the countryside outside Jefferson City. While I was showing the place to the couple, their daughter and toddler grandson, the woman mentioned a news story she heard that day about the tragic death of a baby whose crib was near a window with blinds and the poor thing strangled in the cords. Just then her grandson wandered near the blinds in the house we were touring and the woman freaked out and screamed, Move him away from there! as if he'd suddenly whip up a little noose and hang himself on the spot.
Another buyer was a guy who was the manager of a fast-food restaurant. I never was sure if the woman and baby he lived with were his wife and daughter. They found a nice house and we wrote up the contract. There were a few pieces of drywall in the garage that the owner intended to use to finish the lower level but hadn't gotten around to it yet. I put in the contract that the sale was to include the drywall for finishing the lower level. The buyer, however, took that to mean the seller should provide all the drywall to finish the project, about $300 worth. This creep called me constantly, asking, What about my drywall. The seller finally--reluctantly and angrily--provided all the drywall and the sale closed. I remember feeling sorry for the woman and baby and wishing I could tell her, Run as far and as fast as you can from this putz.
I had a seller whose wife had died and who imagined the Mafia was after him (in Jefferson City?!). He wanted to get rid of his condo as fast as possible so we listed it for a ridiculously low price. A woman brought over her mother who walked in the door, took a look around, and said, "I am home!" and offered an even lower price than the owner was asking. But he took it. I think that was my easiest sale.
I showed a very cool home to a man and his very annoying, name-dropping wife. I thought she must be some bigshot lawyer or corporate executive with her superior attitude. I felt better when I found out she was "in marketing" for a local car dealership. The home owner was an even bigger name-dropper. She had baked cookies (you know, for that enticing Martha Stewart fresh-baked aroma) and showed no signs of leaving so I could show her house. In fact she led the showing herself. I might as well have disappeared as the two women tried to impress each other with their accomplishments and connections. The seller did confess to me her hot tub had saved her marriage (until she moved to New Mexico a few months later).
A very nice military man had to find a house fast. His fiancee, who was buying the house, was moving to town soon. We found a beautiful home in a nice area, sent pictures and she said Great. She got a loan and everything was going smoothly until the inspection. There was evidence of termites. Traditionally the buyer pays for the termite inspection and treatment but this chick refused to spend the $300. The seller's agent said the seller was already "giving the house away" and didn't have an extra cent. Neither party would budge. Finally I called the buyer and told her she would lose the house and her patient fiance did not want to start over again over $300. She reconsidered and we closed. Six months later I got a call from my broker (I had left by then) that I still owed $300 for the termite treatment; the buyer said I had told her I would pay for it. I said, No I never told her that and anyway the deal closed so leave me alone. Then a notice to pick up a certified letter, sent by my broker, showed up. I told a friend about it and he said, Don't pick it up. Hmmm, I had never thought of that--I thought you were obligated to get those. Another little card came about a second certified letter which I also ignored. I haven't heard another word about it.
My favorite buyers were a lovely Vietnamese girl, her cute hip hop African American boyfriend and their gorgeous baby girl. After a couple of heartbreaks over homes that needed too much work, they finally found a cozy place with a one-acre yard. They were so happy and excited. I always wondered what the middle-aged white neighbors thought.
My farewell to real estate was finding a house for a volatile alcoholic who every Friday would drive four hours to a cabin in southern Missouri in order to drink all weekend, then come back Sunday night. He made a decent offer on a nice older house that was part of an estate but the kids rejected it, holding out for more money. The buyer found another house that needed a lot of work. He moved out of his apartment (not very smart) and fortunately the home owners let him move in and pay rent. He paid for an inspection that revealed problems that would cost more to repair than the sellers wanted to pay. So he had to move out. He told me he lived in his car which didn't surprise me. A couple of months later I got a call from the agent of the sellers of estate house. Was my buyer still interested in their mother's house? It had a new price--exactly what my buyer had originally offered. So we wrote another contract just like the first one, waited a few more weeks for the out-of-town lender to bless the sale and finally closed.
My real estate career lasted about two years. I made a few bucks but looking back I don't think I was very good at it. I wasn't aggressive (hungry/desperate) enough. I was reluctant to insult a home-seller who thought her hideously decorated house looked fabulous. I was stunned by the viciousness of the barracuda-like older female agents who had been selling real estate for decades. I hated wasting beautiful weekend afternoons showing ugly houses to losers. So I was glad when I got an offer to write a beauty catalog. I picked up my final commission check, told my broker adios, packed up my office in about 15 minutes and kissed real estate goodbye.
P.S. One valuable thing I learned from the experience was that you don't really need a real estate agent when you are buying or selling a house. The main service an agent offers is showing your property if you're selling. If you're buying, you can find your own properties online. The paperwork isn't that complicated; the lender can help you with it. So save a few bucks and do it yourself.
Monday, March 9, 2009
The Curse of Eternal Revenge
Someone is causing trouble for somebody near and dear to me so I offered to invoke the Curse of Eternal Revenge. It all began many years ago when Bruce Springsteen came to St. Louis to perform at the long-gone Arena. My roommate Eileen and I were intense fans. Eileen worked in the newsroom at a local TV station. A colleague of hers had a friend of a friend etc etc who could take him and Eileen backstage after the show to meet The Boss. We both assumed I'd tag along, too--surely Bruce would not object to meeting another cute young thang. The big night came and after the show we met up with Eileen's colleague at the assigned rendezvous, a lonely stairwell deep in the bowels of the Arena. We both started to follow him and he said, Wait--only Eileen can come. We both said, What?! What's the difference? He said, I told them I'd bring one person and I don't feel right bringing two. Again we both said, What?! But he was insistent with that kind of attitude only a real asshole possesses. Eileen said she wouldn't go and I said, Don't be insane, go meet The Boss! I put on a happy face but I was enraged. As Eileen disappeared down the stairs with her colleague and as I sat alone on a step somewhere in the Arena for about 20 minutes, the Curse of Eternal Revenge was born. Over time I got over my anger and forgot about the whole episode until a few years later. Eileen's colleague was diagnosed with a horrible disease and had to quit his job. Today he is confined to a wheelchair.
I realized the Curse of Eternal Revenge may have some heavy mojo after another situation really pissed me off. I was rushing back to my downtown St. Louis office around lunchtime and decided to stop at a little deli on Market Street for a carry-out. The place was mobbed and I didn't really have time to study the menu board so I just ordered a chef's salad, figuring that's a safe choice. I paid $6 or $7 and was handed a smallish plastic container with iceberg lettuce, some carrot and cheese shreds and a sorry looking tomato. I said, Wait there must be a mistake, this isn't a chef's salad. The cashier said, Yes it is. I said, I changed my mind. He said, you already paid for it and you're holding up the line. I could tell I was getting the evil eye from everyone behind me so I left. I was so angry when I got to the office I immediately banged out a letter to the manager telling him about his rip-off salad and rude cashier. A few weeks later I realized I had not received an apology or a coupon or anything from the deli. Time to invoke the Curse. I think it was a couple of years later I saw on the news that the deli had been shut down due to a hepatitis outbreak. Several customers were sick and one was in intensive care. He eventually died.
Not long after that I briefly worked for a small advertising agency whose owner was a crook and a liar. He was the type of person who used office postage to send thank-you notes for wedding gifts. Three of us who worked for him bought a lovely orange tree (fertility and all that) for him and his bride (whom he impregnated in the back of a car and lied about the due date to try to qualify for health insurance; it didn't work). Later he asked my co-worker, What kind of cheapass wedding gift is that, a tree? Once he opened a sealed envelope to substitute his name for the art director's on a contest application (which we won and the art director got the credit she deserved; the asshole never said a word about it). I could go on and on but you get the idea. One day I hit my limit and quit but not before invoking the Curse of Eternal Revenge just on general principal. I'm sorry to say this loser's baby was born with a heart defect and had to undergo several surgeries (happily he was okay except for having to endure that idiot as a father).
More recently I worked for a state agency whose upper management was a group of morons. The head of my department was a tall woman who was completely in over her head. She spoke in a whisper and polished her nails during meetings, which she frequently called without warning and which made everyone shiver and shake and hyperventilate. I have to admit she intimidated me at first, until one day she wore short sleeves and I got a look at her hairy man arms. That cured me. Two of her underlings, devout Christian mid-Missouri men in their 30s, shared a cubicle and giggled together all day. One of them was my boss who I just couldn't connect with. He was very critical of my work which was unjustified and frankly, something I wasn't used to. His complaints consisted of nitpicky crap, such as something wasn't strict AP style (although it flowed better) or this should be a comma, not a semi-colon--basically stupid power-tripping BS. I despised him and after one ridiculous meeting over some nonsense I just had to invoke the Curse. Soon after, I was finishing up a project and stayed at work later than usual. I needed something from the office complex across the hall where this guy worked. I was stunned to see his half of the cubicle was empty, although he had been there earlier in the day. I asked a colleague who was working late what was going on. She said he had been escorted off the property that afternoon. To this day no one knows exactly why, but the rumor was he had been surfing porno sites at work.
There's still an active Curse of Eternal Revenge out there. It was invoked against a former colleague who had the capacity to approve advertising in a newspaper I published for a while, which would have been a big help, but for whatever reason she never did. Occasionally I Google her to see if she's alive or dead or whatever. I don't like to waste my Curses and have that mojo floating around aimlessly.
UPDATE 5/10/09: Regarding the final curse, it is still active. The curse-ee is alive and working in a major Midwestern town. I could cancel the curse against her but I don't care to. And so we wait...
I realized the Curse of Eternal Revenge may have some heavy mojo after another situation really pissed me off. I was rushing back to my downtown St. Louis office around lunchtime and decided to stop at a little deli on Market Street for a carry-out. The place was mobbed and I didn't really have time to study the menu board so I just ordered a chef's salad, figuring that's a safe choice. I paid $6 or $7 and was handed a smallish plastic container with iceberg lettuce, some carrot and cheese shreds and a sorry looking tomato. I said, Wait there must be a mistake, this isn't a chef's salad. The cashier said, Yes it is. I said, I changed my mind. He said, you already paid for it and you're holding up the line. I could tell I was getting the evil eye from everyone behind me so I left. I was so angry when I got to the office I immediately banged out a letter to the manager telling him about his rip-off salad and rude cashier. A few weeks later I realized I had not received an apology or a coupon or anything from the deli. Time to invoke the Curse. I think it was a couple of years later I saw on the news that the deli had been shut down due to a hepatitis outbreak. Several customers were sick and one was in intensive care. He eventually died.
Not long after that I briefly worked for a small advertising agency whose owner was a crook and a liar. He was the type of person who used office postage to send thank-you notes for wedding gifts. Three of us who worked for him bought a lovely orange tree (fertility and all that) for him and his bride (whom he impregnated in the back of a car and lied about the due date to try to qualify for health insurance; it didn't work). Later he asked my co-worker, What kind of cheapass wedding gift is that, a tree? Once he opened a sealed envelope to substitute his name for the art director's on a contest application (which we won and the art director got the credit she deserved; the asshole never said a word about it). I could go on and on but you get the idea. One day I hit my limit and quit but not before invoking the Curse of Eternal Revenge just on general principal. I'm sorry to say this loser's baby was born with a heart defect and had to undergo several surgeries (happily he was okay except for having to endure that idiot as a father).
More recently I worked for a state agency whose upper management was a group of morons. The head of my department was a tall woman who was completely in over her head. She spoke in a whisper and polished her nails during meetings, which she frequently called without warning and which made everyone shiver and shake and hyperventilate. I have to admit she intimidated me at first, until one day she wore short sleeves and I got a look at her hairy man arms. That cured me. Two of her underlings, devout Christian mid-Missouri men in their 30s, shared a cubicle and giggled together all day. One of them was my boss who I just couldn't connect with. He was very critical of my work which was unjustified and frankly, something I wasn't used to. His complaints consisted of nitpicky crap, such as something wasn't strict AP style (although it flowed better) or this should be a comma, not a semi-colon--basically stupid power-tripping BS. I despised him and after one ridiculous meeting over some nonsense I just had to invoke the Curse. Soon after, I was finishing up a project and stayed at work later than usual. I needed something from the office complex across the hall where this guy worked. I was stunned to see his half of the cubicle was empty, although he had been there earlier in the day. I asked a colleague who was working late what was going on. She said he had been escorted off the property that afternoon. To this day no one knows exactly why, but the rumor was he had been surfing porno sites at work.
There's still an active Curse of Eternal Revenge out there. It was invoked against a former colleague who had the capacity to approve advertising in a newspaper I published for a while, which would have been a big help, but for whatever reason she never did. Occasionally I Google her to see if she's alive or dead or whatever. I don't like to waste my Curses and have that mojo floating around aimlessly.
UPDATE 5/10/09: Regarding the final curse, it is still active. The curse-ee is alive and working in a major Midwestern town. I could cancel the curse against her but I don't care to. And so we wait...
Friday, March 6, 2009
More Time To Waste
Lately I've noticed I have more time. I'm not doing anything particularly special or useful with it but it's strange and wonderful to have it. I can actually allow myself to relax a little more and watch a movie or wander around outside. This extra time is the result of two losses and one gain. I used to drive two hours to St. Louis every other Tuesday to take my mom to the beauty shop. She had her hair done by Sandy for nearly 40 years (mom was 81 when she died last September). Eleanor had a few wisps of her own hair, the result of relentlessly teasing it throughout the 1970s. I marveled at Sandy's ability to weave a little hairpiece into my mom's sad strands and create a huge bouffant crown of hair. At first I resented those Tuesday command performances but soon I got used to the routine and appreciated being able to schedule appointments, see friends and go shopping. Besides the Tuesdays I was busy with mom's frequent doctor appointments and hospital stays and of course trips to Dierberg's to keep her pantry and refrigerator stocked.
Another loss was my dachshund Frankie, my "special needs" dog who was 99 percent blind and diabetic, which required two daily insulin shots. Somehow Frankie got himself into a routine in which he was served his breakfast at 2 a.m. Most of the time Jerry got up with him but I did my share. We couldn't toss Frankie outside on his own because of his blindness--he occasionally ended up in the pond and once disappeared into the woods for several hours (miraculously Jerry found him sleeping under a tree). Despite his conditions he was fairly self-sufficient but still needed a lot of looking-after. It all caught up with him last August, just before his 14th birthday.
The gain is the election of President Barack Obama. During the campaign I admit I was addicted to political blogs and spent way too much time devouring them. I'd get outraged over Republican nonsense about every 15 minutes. It was very tiring but compelling and I could not stop. Now I visit a few blogs but it's nothing like before. Obama won and even though I don't and won't like everything he does, in most ways I can relax.
Eleanor, Frankie and Barack Obama--thank you for the time. I'll try not to waste too much of it.
Another loss was my dachshund Frankie, my "special needs" dog who was 99 percent blind and diabetic, which required two daily insulin shots. Somehow Frankie got himself into a routine in which he was served his breakfast at 2 a.m. Most of the time Jerry got up with him but I did my share. We couldn't toss Frankie outside on his own because of his blindness--he occasionally ended up in the pond and once disappeared into the woods for several hours (miraculously Jerry found him sleeping under a tree). Despite his conditions he was fairly self-sufficient but still needed a lot of looking-after. It all caught up with him last August, just before his 14th birthday.
The gain is the election of President Barack Obama. During the campaign I admit I was addicted to political blogs and spent way too much time devouring them. I'd get outraged over Republican nonsense about every 15 minutes. It was very tiring but compelling and I could not stop. Now I visit a few blogs but it's nothing like before. Obama won and even though I don't and won't like everything he does, in most ways I can relax.
Eleanor, Frankie and Barack Obama--thank you for the time. I'll try not to waste too much of it.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Spring IS Here
Today it is confirmed: Spring is here. Here's how I know. First, as I as walking to the parking garage after work, I heard birds chattering noisily. Looking up, I saw two tiny birds, one whose beak was stuffed with sticks and leaf stems twice as long as its little self, apparently building a nest in a utility box with wires coming out of it, near the top of a building in the alley. The closest tree, surrounded by a little patch of dried grass, is about 100 feet away on the street. Think about the force of Nature that compels those birds to make that 200-foot round trip dozens or hundreds of times until the nest is just right. How do they know when it's completed? What if it storms or snows in the next few weeks? I'm glad to know they will be there and I'll try to get some photos.
Second, the tree frogs were vociferating loudly as the sun set tonight--always a sure sign that winter is over, or almost.
Second, the tree frogs were vociferating loudly as the sun set tonight--always a sure sign that winter is over, or almost.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
It's My Birthday
Today is my birthday--the traditional time to reflect. I'm feeling a little pressured because a friend is coming over later and the house looks like it has been hit by a tornado--so does Abigail the sheepdog. What I really want to do is grab my camera and get into the woods and take a few pictures of things I saw out there a few days ago--curious rock formations, trees with secret openings, green things starting to pop out of the ground. Maybe in a while I'll take Abigail (and my camera) for a walk, THEN clean her up for company.
Turning 57 is just wierd. It's my first birthday without a mushy birthday card To My Daughter from my mom, carefully selected by her from a big box of all-occasion cards I found in a drawer. She'd want to take me to lunch in St. Louis and charge it on one of her way-too-many credit cards that I wish she had told me about (the pay-up-or-else letters from her creditors have finally stopped coming). Jerry baked a chocolate cake for me, from scratch, and after we go out to dinner at the new round restaurant at the top of the Doubletree Hotel (my choice), we'll come home and light candles and sing Happy Birthday to me. I'm looking forward to it!
Obviously I'm staying home from work today and wishing I could do it more often. I have Classic Soul music on and I'm singing along. There's really nothing to complain about--and I'm not. Except, I guess, I don't like how fast time goes and how hard it is to grab it. I have a lot of memories, and on the other side of that, a lot to look forward to. But how in the world could I be 57 years old?! I feel the same way I've felt for many years. Of course, I don't see that fresh face in the mirror any more. And I do move a little slower. And if I have to get down on my knees or on the floor (to look for something or put something away), it's really, really hard to get up again.
Turning 57 is just wierd. It's my first birthday without a mushy birthday card To My Daughter from my mom, carefully selected by her from a big box of all-occasion cards I found in a drawer. She'd want to take me to lunch in St. Louis and charge it on one of her way-too-many credit cards that I wish she had told me about (the pay-up-or-else letters from her creditors have finally stopped coming). Jerry baked a chocolate cake for me, from scratch, and after we go out to dinner at the new round restaurant at the top of the Doubletree Hotel (my choice), we'll come home and light candles and sing Happy Birthday to me. I'm looking forward to it!
Obviously I'm staying home from work today and wishing I could do it more often. I have Classic Soul music on and I'm singing along. There's really nothing to complain about--and I'm not. Except, I guess, I don't like how fast time goes and how hard it is to grab it. I have a lot of memories, and on the other side of that, a lot to look forward to. But how in the world could I be 57 years old?! I feel the same way I've felt for many years. Of course, I don't see that fresh face in the mirror any more. And I do move a little slower. And if I have to get down on my knees or on the floor (to look for something or put something away), it's really, really hard to get up again.
Monday, March 2, 2009
A Troubling Dream
Do dreams have meaning? If you think they do, tell me about a troubling dream I had a few nights ago. It lasted about five seconds but was so intense it woke me up. In the dream it was totally dark and I was hurtling down through the sky toward the sea. I don't know if I jumped or fell from a plane, or from a ledge, but I knew it was the end and there was nothing I could do about it. I was very mad and distressed--mostly mad. I didn't want this to be happening but I couldn't stop it. I woke up before I hit the water.
I still can recall the feelings of this dream, how upset and helpless I felt. What could it mean? I looked around my life to find some clues. This seems like it must be a classic dream that people have been dreaming for centuries. But how does it apply to me?
I still can recall the feelings of this dream, how upset and helpless I felt. What could it mean? I looked around my life to find some clues. This seems like it must be a classic dream that people have been dreaming for centuries. But how does it apply to me?
The End of ... Something
"If we got a few good licks in
no one's ever gonna know
cause we're going out of business
everything must go."
--Steely Dan
Today the recession caught up with me in the form of the news that a tabloid I wrote for ceased publication. It was a monthly newspaper for and about retirees in Central Missouri--not the most exciting stuff but enough to create a respectable paper. It seemed to have plenty of advertising from nursing homes, medical groups, insurance agencies, home health providers and hearing aid companies.
I wrote about antiques in a column called Then & Again that discussed what something had been used for and its current collectible value. It was an easy $60. In fact, every month when the check would arrive I'd be surprised and glad all over again and take the family out for Chinese.
I'm proud to say in the three-plus years I wrote the column I never covered the same subject twice. My last one was about wrist watches and along the way I also wrote about dog collectibles, Santa Claus stuff, vintage furs, wedding gowns, movie posters, bicycles, road maps, rock band t-shirts, table cloths, sewing patterns, campaign collectibles and much more.
When she sent her farewell email, the editor told me Then & Again had been one of the most popular features in the newspaper. To me that's simply amazing because during the entire time I wrote it, I never heard a single comment from anyone, ever. Not once. Never. So it's the end of something, but apparently nothing anyone will miss. (And unfortunately it's not preserved online.)
no one's ever gonna know
cause we're going out of business
everything must go."
--Steely Dan
Today the recession caught up with me in the form of the news that a tabloid I wrote for ceased publication. It was a monthly newspaper for and about retirees in Central Missouri--not the most exciting stuff but enough to create a respectable paper. It seemed to have plenty of advertising from nursing homes, medical groups, insurance agencies, home health providers and hearing aid companies.
I wrote about antiques in a column called Then & Again that discussed what something had been used for and its current collectible value. It was an easy $60. In fact, every month when the check would arrive I'd be surprised and glad all over again and take the family out for Chinese.
I'm proud to say in the three-plus years I wrote the column I never covered the same subject twice. My last one was about wrist watches and along the way I also wrote about dog collectibles, Santa Claus stuff, vintage furs, wedding gowns, movie posters, bicycles, road maps, rock band t-shirts, table cloths, sewing patterns, campaign collectibles and much more.
When she sent her farewell email, the editor told me Then & Again had been one of the most popular features in the newspaper. To me that's simply amazing because during the entire time I wrote it, I never heard a single comment from anyone, ever. Not once. Never. So it's the end of something, but apparently nothing anyone will miss. (And unfortunately it's not preserved online.)
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Max Was Right
Shame on me for doubting (just a little) my son Max when he told me he heard treefrogs last weekend. I was chastised by a commenter who advised me never to doubt my son. And last night Jerry asked me to come to the back yard with him; after whining and putting on shoes, I stepped outside and stopped--I heard the peepers too. Strolling to the back yard, I could hear them more clearly from across the road. So it's official: Spring is almost here, despite forecasts for snowy rain this weekend. I'm ready.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Spring IS Coming
As soon as the new year begins, I start to think about spring and especially about Santa Monica. I accompany my husband to a trade show there every April, which gives me an excuse throughout the winter to shop for new clothes "for Santa Monica." But right here at home I anticipate certain signs of spring that mean as much to me as the annual California trip--like when the red bud trees sprinkled through the woods around the house light up the scenery with misty touches of pink. I also marvel at birds' nests. In the spring I love to see birds flying around with sticks and leaf stems and pieces of plastic in their beaks. How many trips does it take from the nest to the lawn or patio or woods to create a cozy nest? I took this picture last spring, of an amazing nest inside one of the many O's in the sign for DOWNTOWN BOOK & TOY in Jefferson City. My office is in the same building so I got to see these babies from egg to gone. They made quite a racket. I'd see them sitting on the edge of the nest, a little wobbly, before they took off one day.Above all, when spring's on the way I listen for the tree frogs. That could be my favorite sound in the universe. Last week my son Max told me he heard the tree frogs around See Tal Lake in Hermann, Missouri. It's a little early, but maybe he did. He's tuned in to it, I suppose, because I always made a big deal out of it. But I hope he considers the joyous sounds of these tiny frogs one of the songs of his childhood.
My Sarah Palin Story
More than one blog today has a post about US News magazine's poll asking, "Who'd run the best daycare?"--Michelle Obama, Hillary Clinton, Nancy Pelosi or Sarah Palin? What the hell, as Digby says. I'm sure the writer of this nonsense, and his/her editors, thought it was just howl-arious. I don't have the heart to go to the actual US News website because I'm certain Sarah Palin is "winning," whatever that means.
In the 2008 presidential campaign when John McCain chose Sarah Palin, I truly had some moments of panic. His announcement took all the attention away from the Democratic convention and Obama's awesome acceptance speech. Briefly, it looked like McCain scored a real coup. That was until Sarah Palin opened her mouth, and one scandal after another tumbled out of Alaska and into the national news. Once Katie Couric got hold of Sarah Palin, that was that.
As her appearances turned increasingly nasty and aroused the primitive hatred of blacks among her white fans--and John McCain did and said nothing--I was fearful for Obama and for our nation.
At the height of the hysteria, just before the election, Sarah Palin paid a visit to Jefferson City, Missouri, where I work. She was scheduled to speak in the morning at the Capitol steps. With Matt Blunt in the waning days of his pathetic administration, that was no surprise, although it was "in my face" that this majestic, historic building would be used for something so ugly.
It bothered me that she'd be live, in person, spreading her hideous lies and making her not-so-subtle racist comments precisely one and a half blocks from my office.
I was already agitated as I walked from the parking garage to my office door. Seeing the crowds of mostly older couples and women, the majority dressed in red, white and blue, streaming toward the Capitol, really distressed me. My colleagues invited me to go hear the speech, "just for the heck of it," but I couldn't face the spectacle. I didn't want to hear her, see her, be anywhere near her so I stayed behind and seethed in my office. It upset me enough that she was in my city, on my street, unleashing her un-American nastiness. There are only a couple of times I can recall when I was disturbed like that, experiencing a physical reaction and emotional irrationality: when Bill Clinton was impeached, and when the Supreme Court annointed George Bush.
After a while my colleagues returned and said I didn't miss much. I knew that all along.
In the 2008 presidential campaign when John McCain chose Sarah Palin, I truly had some moments of panic. His announcement took all the attention away from the Democratic convention and Obama's awesome acceptance speech. Briefly, it looked like McCain scored a real coup. That was until Sarah Palin opened her mouth, and one scandal after another tumbled out of Alaska and into the national news. Once Katie Couric got hold of Sarah Palin, that was that.
As her appearances turned increasingly nasty and aroused the primitive hatred of blacks among her white fans--and John McCain did and said nothing--I was fearful for Obama and for our nation.
At the height of the hysteria, just before the election, Sarah Palin paid a visit to Jefferson City, Missouri, where I work. She was scheduled to speak in the morning at the Capitol steps. With Matt Blunt in the waning days of his pathetic administration, that was no surprise, although it was "in my face" that this majestic, historic building would be used for something so ugly.
It bothered me that she'd be live, in person, spreading her hideous lies and making her not-so-subtle racist comments precisely one and a half blocks from my office.
I was already agitated as I walked from the parking garage to my office door. Seeing the crowds of mostly older couples and women, the majority dressed in red, white and blue, streaming toward the Capitol, really distressed me. My colleagues invited me to go hear the speech, "just for the heck of it," but I couldn't face the spectacle. I didn't want to hear her, see her, be anywhere near her so I stayed behind and seethed in my office. It upset me enough that she was in my city, on my street, unleashing her un-American nastiness. There are only a couple of times I can recall when I was disturbed like that, experiencing a physical reaction and emotional irrationality: when Bill Clinton was impeached, and when the Supreme Court annointed George Bush.
After a while my colleagues returned and said I didn't miss much. I knew that all along.
Moral Dilemma #1 (because more are sure to follow)
The local newspaper is a hideous rag but the weekend edition contains coupons which I save and actually use at Schnucks for double the face value up to $1; I really do save money. I also like to browse through the weekly Target flyer (is Isaac Mizrahi on sale?) and Walgreens flyer (Rimmel cosmetics are frequently two-for-one).
This newspaper's editorial stance is as predictable as it is reprehensible--far right-leaning, Republicans-can-do-no-wrong, liberals are communists at best, Nazis at worst. The editorial cartoons are insulting and a lot of the time, simply not fact-based. The recent Obama cartoons typically have a racist undertone. Instead of covering more local news or events, the editors pull wire-service copy about what's happening in Hays, Kansas, or someone's ballpoint pen collection (also located in Kansas).
The online commentary is a horror story. Sometimes I visit there just to see what people are saying and I always end up fleeing in terror. The forums have been taken over by a handful of self-righteous right-wingers who, like the gnome under the bridge, wait for someone to come along who disagrees with their anti-evolutionary, the-Bible-tells-me-so worldview, so they can unleash their rude, uninformed, misspelled and wrongly punctuated accusations. Of course the poor commenter, just trying to express a sane opinion, is urged to leave the city, the state or the God-bless-her USA. It's hard to have a dialogue.
It's the type of newspaper that honors parents with way too many children, regular church-goers.
But what would you expect in a state capital full of big families, churches, politicians and REAL Americans?
So what should I do? I hate supporting this offensive publication. But I enjoy the coupons and ad flyers. How would you solve this daunting Moral Dilemma?
This newspaper's editorial stance is as predictable as it is reprehensible--far right-leaning, Republicans-can-do-no-wrong, liberals are communists at best, Nazis at worst. The editorial cartoons are insulting and a lot of the time, simply not fact-based. The recent Obama cartoons typically have a racist undertone. Instead of covering more local news or events, the editors pull wire-service copy about what's happening in Hays, Kansas, or someone's ballpoint pen collection (also located in Kansas).
The online commentary is a horror story. Sometimes I visit there just to see what people are saying and I always end up fleeing in terror. The forums have been taken over by a handful of self-righteous right-wingers who, like the gnome under the bridge, wait for someone to come along who disagrees with their anti-evolutionary, the-Bible-tells-me-so worldview, so they can unleash their rude, uninformed, misspelled and wrongly punctuated accusations. Of course the poor commenter, just trying to express a sane opinion, is urged to leave the city, the state or the God-bless-her USA. It's hard to have a dialogue.
It's the type of newspaper that honors parents with way too many children, regular church-goers.
But what would you expect in a state capital full of big families, churches, politicians and REAL Americans?
So what should I do? I hate supporting this offensive publication. But I enjoy the coupons and ad flyers. How would you solve this daunting Moral Dilemma?
Friday, February 20, 2009
In the beginning...
...a blog had to be written. Many things had to be said. I'm hoping some of you will read my humble blog and think, "That's exactly (or sort of) how I feel about such-and-such," or at least, "That's interesting." When you become middle-aged it's like reaching a landing on a zig-zagging stairway going up into the clouds. I'm on that landing, looking out below me at the panorama of my life so far. I'm reviewing what I did right, what I did wrong, what I didn't do that I wish I had done, or what I did that I shouldn't have. And oh my, there's a lot to see down there. As I told someone recently, I know I'm getting older because I have so many more memories than I used to--and I know I've forgotten a lot of things too. I have a friend who always says, "Pam, do you remember when we (fill in the blank)?" I always have to say, "Nope, I don't remember that." She's always a little disappointed when that happens. It makes me I wonder if I forgot whatever it was because it wasn't as important to me as it was to her.
Another reason for a blog now is because the election of 2008 is over, Obama won--we won--and I don't feel compelled to read every political blog and analyze every word by every Republican and get all hot and bothered by it. I have a lot more time now as a result. And so I blog!
Another reason for a blog now is because the election of 2008 is over, Obama won--we won--and I don't feel compelled to read every political blog and analyze every word by every Republican and get all hot and bothered by it. I have a lot more time now as a result. And so I blog!
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