A Sudden Death

Debra, her husband Art, me and my husband Mitch, years ago.

I found out yesterday that my best friend, who I have written about numerous times in this very blog, was killed in a car accident eight days earlier. She lives far away and her family was busy falling apart in grief and who could blame them, so we did not get a call until yesterday. So for eight days I thought she was alive and having a fun vacation in a place with no cell service which is why she never texted me back, but really the reason is she was dead.

Debra is not a person who should be dead. Dozens of people counted on her for so many important things that now will never get done by anyone; she was special. People write things on her Facebook page as if she can read it. If only that were true. So many people are sad: her kids, grandkids and husband, nieces and nephews and in-laws, and many friends. She cut a wide swath.

In my life there will be no getting over it, no filling in the gaping hole she left. I'm too old to meet a new best friend and know them for 24 years and grow old together -- I'm already old. So far all I have been able to do is nothing -- and wonder why she died and Vladimir Putin is alive. God works in mysterious ways.

If you say "nigger" in the forest, can anyone hear it?

Surely one of the stupidest "advancements" of the human race is the practice of saying "the N-word" instead of "nigger." If it means the same thing, why is it better, or even acceptable? I am betting that some people who are reading this post are SHOCKED that I dared to write "nigger," as if by doing so I have declared that slavery is a good thing, black people are no better than dogs, I wave the Confederate flag and have a wardrobe of hooded white sheets hanging in my closet.

Last April, a white Cincinnati police officer angrily shouted "the N-word" in the privacy of her patrol car after a black man in a crowd of people flipped her the middle finger, essentially saying to her, "Fuck you!" She was pissed off that the crowd was blocking traffic. Following a months-long investigation, and God knows what that entailed and why it took three months, she is now off the streets and siting behind a desk awaiting further punishment for her private little outburst caught on her body camera. 

The city's mayor said, "Black Cincinnatians deserve to feel safe knowing they will be treated with mutual respect." Sounds to me that's exactly how that guy who flipped the bird was treated by the officer. In her own defense, the 14-year veteran  cop claimed she is not against black people and that this was "a mental episode" due to stress and overwork. In other words, she would rather be seen as mentally disturbed than as someone who says "nigger" in private.

I wonder, if you say "nigger" in the forest, does anyone hear it?

The Dallas M-words

One of the Dallas Cowboys

The owner of the Dallas Cowboys had to apologize yesterday for using a normal word that has now been turned into a slur by the  woke dimwits who are constantly on guard for anything offensive. Jerry Jones said midget, which is now properly called the M-word. Yes, really, that's what you have to say in 2022.

Apparently saying "little person" is the preferable term and is not offensive to those of short stature, although personally if I were an M-word myself I would rather be called a midget than a little person, which brings to mind either a toddler not worth listening to or a miserly, unintelligent sort who never picks up the bar tab.

As for the word "cowboy," it seems explicitly sexist! Shouldn't it be the Dallas Cowpersons, or at the very least the Dallas Cowmen? Are they all little boys on that team, or is it a team of adult M-words?

J-word C-word, life is hard enough without looking for a slur under every rock. Why are most people such A-words?

Coming Out

My passport photo.

Years ago I came out to my family as a feline. They accepted it graciously and started giving me lots of treats. My husband continued to let me sleep in the bed with him, and I was allowed to go in and out of the house whenever I wanted. We started having more fish for dinner. My son gave me a bird feeder as a gift so I could watch all the birdies outside the window. Things were fine, except for a nagging feeling that I was not really expressing my true self!  I was actually putting on an act so I could fit in with society. I realized that deep down, I am not a cat but a flower. This explains why most of my paintings are of flowers; many are self-portraits and others are portraits of my floral ancestors.

I haven't told my family yet as I think this news will be harder for them to accept. Fortunately I am a perennial so my death will not come at the end of this season. I will simply lie dormant all winter, which they are used to seeing me do already.

As flowers do not speak, my lack of conversation will be an adjustment for everyone who knows me, but perhaps they will just think I have lost my mind or are depressed, two things that are quite reasonable to assume about me. Honestly, I don't care what people think since I am a flower. All I need is water and sunshine, although not bright sun -- I prefer indirect -- and only for about six hours a day.

My new name is Dahlia and my new pronoun is "it." Just let me live in a nice spot with plenty of water nearby and leave me alone.

Almost Everyone is Welcome

I recently went out to dinner at one of those very woke restaurants I usually avoid, but the dinner was to celebrate my husband's birthday and he is supremely awake. This restaurant is so woke that before you even enter they want you to know, so they posted this sign the front door:

But wait! It says nothing about all ages, or all heights or all weights! What about a short, fat old lady? Is she welcome? Or a skinny old man? Could someone too tall get in? How about poor people? They like to eat too. Or the homeless? The mentally ill? How about the hideously ugly, like maybe someone who had been disfigured in a fire, or even on 9/11?

I was so disgusted at the blatant lack of generosity towards all the underprivileged people I could hardly eat my expensive little plates filled with unfamiliar foods in strange combinations. I sure hope they fix that sign soon to include everyone.

Goodbye to Butterflies

According to the International Union for the Conservation of Nature, the monarch butterfly is two steps away from becoming extinct. This news was delivered in an article in today's Wall Street Journal, in a tone quite dire.

I'm not sure how I should react. If I'm honest, I don't care a whit. It means nothing to me. I have never been a fan of butterflies, they being nothing more than insects in fancy outfits. Not like those people who are obsessed with them enough to catch them and kill them and pin them on satin and keep them filed away in drawers. No, those people really love them. I, on the other hand, have always let them alone to fly free.

Oh well, time marches on. I'm much more upset about the extinction of some other things, like:

Writing in cursive 

Calling people on the phone

Getting birthday cards in the mail

Having an attendant fill your tank at the gas station, and wash your windshields too

Double features at the movies

Having a human answer when you call a doctor's office

Respecting our leaders

Dressing up to go to the theater

Being served dinner on an airplane, and getting a pillow and blanket too

Flirting with the opposite sex

An opposite sex

I'd Rather Be Old and Thin Than Fat and Young

77

85

76

34

24

27

36

82

24

 

Empty Lives

In what way has your life been impacted by the recent marriage of Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez? Unless you live in Hollywood and know the pair personally, I'm betting not all. Yet still we are bombarded with photos and stories about the event, like it matters. This morning I read a headline that said "they both cried at the wedding." OMG! Well, that bit of news changed everything for me -- I had planned to have scrambled eggs for breakfast but after reading that I opted for toast with hummus, and really I couldn't even finish it, I was so moved.

Celebrity worship is a religion in America. I am not a follower, but I have known many people who are. I remember when years ago, Prince Charles and Diana were married and several friends of mine -- all of them gay males by the way which is an odd and interesting note -- assembled in the middle of the night (because of the time difference between the US and Britain) to "attend" the wedding. The host, who was my boss at the time, threw a fancy black-tie party from which they all watched the proceedings and toasted the newlyweds with champagne. I was unable to attend as I was busy sleeping and lacked interest. But to Tom and his friends it was a major big deal that had been planned weeks in advance. 

The internet has only made things worse, with every little thing said or done by anyone who has ever appeared on TV or in a movie reported on like something monumentally important to us all. It's sad and depressing to realize how empty people's own lives must be when they gossip and think about total strangers, often leaving their own friends and families unheralded.

A Male Woman of the Year?

While I really enjoy living and dearly want to continue doing it, the state of the world is so abysmal that I'll be okay when it's time for me to move on. One thing that has me shaking my head in disbelief is the nomination of Lia Thomas, the male swimmer claiming to be female, for the 2022 NCAA (National Collegiate Athletic Association) Woman of the Year Award. 

Even if the 22-year-old Thomas had somehow magically achieved such an impossible transformation -- ovaries, uterus and all -- he/she has lived as a woman for only one year of his/her life. Admit it -- anyone can swim but it takes more than a year to become a nurturing, intuitive, sensitive being who can walk in high heels, do her own nails, make a bed the right way, find all the things on a grocery list, write a timely thank-you note and correctly load a dishwasher so the blades don't break things that are too big to be on the bottom or too delicate to be in there at all, like those $35 wine glasses she got as a wedding gift. 

Come on, Lia-- man up and admit you are not qualified.

  

"I'm Pregnant, Boo-hoo"

I've been reading, from a variety of sources, that people consider abortion "the most pressing issue facing our country." Really? So women having unprotected sex and getting pregnant, which by the way is what sex is for, and not wanting the baby is what's ruining America? I can think of so many other problems that are much bigger, like the price of gas, the cost of goods, empty store shelves and an impending recession. And then there's this:

Deaths by alcohol, drugs and suicide are on the increase. (186,763 people ended their lives in 2020.)

Deranged teenagers amassing weapons and then shooting at random crowds of people, in churches, theaters, grocery stores and schools. (There have been more than 300 mass shootings so far in 2022.)

The number of Americans relying on antidepressants to endure just being alive. (15.5 million have been taking them for five years or more.)

The number of homeless people sleeping outdoors in all sorts of weather, with no access to clean water or food, defecating on the streets of our major cities and adding nothing of value to our society. (In 2022, over 500,000 Americans are homeless.)

The rise in mental illness among our citizens. (Nearly 50 million in 2022.)

Youngsters deciding at an early age, before they know anything about anything, that the doctors "made a mistake." (300,000 teens in the U.S. currently identify as transgender.)

Aging people spending billions on plastic surgery to tighten their sagging skin and appear younger, despite the fact that their insides are getting older every day and they will still die. (More than 15 million cosmetic surgeries are performed annually in America.)

African American youth killing one another and an occasional passer-by on the streets of some of our biggest cities. (340 killed so far in Chicago this year.)

So hey, I'm sorry you got pregnant, honey. Go get an abortion somewhere -- it's legal in half the country. And be glad you have a roof over your head and food to eat and nobody's shooting at you.

Human Sexuality for Dummies

I just found out that I am a sapiosexual! This means I am only able to become attracted to people who are intelligent. I always knew I was different, starting in high school when I became obsessed with our class valedictorian, a nerd with big ears. Now I understand why. Since I'm married and in the middle of my 70s this information is of little use anymore, but it's great to finally have a name for what I am. 

I learned this in an article online about demisexuals. These are people who can only become attracted to someone after forming an emotional bond with them. (They used to be called "nice girls.") At first I thought I might be one of those, but then I remembered that one-night stand with a construction worker and realized it couldn't be. 

Actually, for most of my life I've considered myself an ordinary heterosexual, but with so many new varieties, I figured I'd do some research. (I'd hate to get this wrong in case someone asks.) Turns out I may be a little bit of both, making me a demi-demisexual quasi-sapiosexual.

I wonder if there's a Pride Day for that.

Taco Jill

It's a known fact that Joe Biden is a sad mess. But until now, who knew his wife was too? Recently Dr. Jill told a group of Latinos that they are "as unique as the breakfast tacos here in San Antonio."  That's just plain dumb, since she limited them to one city; what about everywhere else?. Meanwhile, everyone can agree that breakfast tacos are pretty much all alike no matter where you get them.

I checked around and found virtually the identical recipe on many foodie websites. It's not as if you make some with melted chocolate and others with hamburger meat and still others with pastrami and mustard or Snickers bars or corn chips or yogurt or peaches or lamb chops or blueberry jam or peanut butter. Instead, you can bet the farm that your breakfast taco will consist of the ingredients listed below, except maybe if someone got creative and added some avocado. (See photo.)

BREAKFAST TACOS RECIPE

Cook chopped onion, bell pepper and other crisp veggies. 

Add crumbled sausage, bits of bacon or ham.

Add a fried egg.

Cook a flour tortilla.

Sprinkle grated cheese and tomato salsa on top.

Fold over.

Now if you are talking cookies -- well, that's diverse. 

Film Review: FAREWELL TO ADVENTURE

Bob Shepton at the helm of his beloved sailboat.

A 28-minute documentary that might be hard to find but I'm betting it's out there somewhere (try Vimeo.com), Farewell to Adventure was screened last weekend at a local art house we frequent. I consider myself lucky to have seen it. It tells the poignant story of a Scottish adventurer named Bob Shepton, who at 85 is forced to sell his beloved sailboat in order to pay for his wife's nursing home. Wow, talk about the gift of the magi! ("The Gift of the Magi", short story by O. Henry written in 1905, if you haven't read it by now, do so.) For someone who admits to being "addicted to adventure," this stage of his life is especially hard for him.

The film also bluntly illustrates the inescapable realities of aging, so if you are planning to get old or already have, there's a lot to learn here. Despite being a married father of five, Shepton has spent huge chunks of his life sailing around the world to foreign ports of incredible beauty, some of which are shown here in stunning color and sharp cinematography. Now in his dotage, his adventures have been whittled down to the final few local outings on his sailboat or cooking meals for his wife Kate, who has Alzheimer's, in their small cottage.

Old family photographs show Kate and Bob at various stages throughout their marriage, shocking us with how much they have changed over the years. If you live so long, it will happen to you too so it's best to take a hard look and get ready for it. Shepton offers valuable advice on healthy aging, and the most important one is to keep moving! Once his boat is gone and he is landlocked, hiking into the nearby mountains remains his one adventurous outlet, although it's obviously tough for him. But still he keeps going.

You will fall in love with Bob and come away determined to make the most of every minute of life you have left. I'd say that's a great takeaway from any film.

Crazy Trans People

Here's part of a letter to the editor printed in today's New York Times:

"I needed tampons the day I got my double mastectomy. When I made the choice to exert my bodily autonomy and get lifesaving care as a trans person, I also needed reproductive care for menstruation. Why? Because I am not a woman and I still have a uterus. My uterus does not care if I am trans. My uterus does not care if you are scared or confused about its existence." 

The letter was signed "Henry." 

Well Henry, I have some news for you: You are a woman. You can lop off your breasts but you are still a woman. You can call yourself Henry but you are still a woman. If you menstruate, you are still a woman. Forget the reproductive care, you need psychiatric care -- a ton of it, and quick. And don't ask your uterus what it thinks, just do it.

All the Bad News Fit to Print

Sunday is the day we get the New York Times. We buy it for the magazine crossword puzzle and usually I don't look at anything else, but today I decided to leaf through the other pages in hopes of finding a story that wasn't biased against Republicans since I am one I guess. (I'm not a Democrat, certainly, but I don't fit the ridiculous picture of Republicans that has been painted by the media: I don't own a gun or a pickup truck. I am in favor of abortion, although well before the child says its first word. I love gays, at least I love a few of them, and I don't give a damn what transgenders do.) 

Anyway, one of the things I read in the Times today is that "Roughly one in three American adults have  criminal records." I found that to be a staggering statistic! Who knew? Now I'm afraid to go outside.

Speaking of which, something else I read was a long and tortuous article about a woman living with her partner who suffers from PTSD after being beaten up for no reason by a group of thugs. It was a very depressing story which I read in its entirety and definitely wished I hadn't.

On the front page and continuing on two more full pages inside, an article about a 15-year-old girl who was sexually abused by her 45-year-old ROTC instructor in high school stretched the limits of belief. The alleged assaults went on for months, and she never told anyone. Why not? And why did I need to know this? Below that, also on the front page, was an article about how Joe Biden is old and frail and the Democrats are worried. Hmmm, that's an odd story to print in the Biden Bible. What are they planning?

The war in Ukraine continues and in fact Putin says we ain't seen nuthin' yet. Remind me to just do the crossword puzzle in the future.

What Are Your Nouns?

Everyone is all caught up with their pronouns, like that's the most important thing in life suddenly. But what about nouns? They are the real deal, way more important than pronouns. Without them there would be nothing to talk about. Although I like pretty much all of them, below are my preferred nouns:

Cat

Toast

Pasta

Museum

Flower

Puzzle

Diet

Philosophy

Baby

Policeman 

It's All Bad News, But Have A Nice Day!

I have decided to become an isolationist. This is an act of self-preservation, as I don't want to end up hanging myself from a doorknob or shooting myself in the head or loading my pockets with rocks and drowning myself in the Casco Bay, the easiest method of all since I live close by and could walk to it in 15 minutes. 

Instead I want to enjoy that glorious first cup of coffee and listen to the songbirds in my yard and watch them pecking at the seeds in the feeder under the watchful eye of my fluffy, adorable cat who knows that hurting one of them would spell the end of his cushy life in our home.

And so to that end I must carefully curate what information enters my brain. To avert disaster I must avoid the Internet, the TV, newspapers and of course talk radio, all of which I currently employ and which bring me a steady stream of depressing, dastardly and ultimately debilitating news. For example, just in the last few days:

James Caan died at the age of 82 after battling an illness. ("Look what they did to my boy!") One of my favorite actors, I was saddened upon hearing the news and spent the rest of the day in a funk, ultimately taking a fall on my front steps when my foot exited my sandal. Now I'm not blaming Jimmy, understand, but my weakened emotional state played a part since this is the first time I have fallen since 2016 when I was out walking a few weeks after my hip surgery.

Shinzo Abe, former Japanese Prime Minister, was killed by a crazy. See, they have them in Japan too, where the gun laws are so tough the assassin had to make his own.

Boris Johnson was ousted as British Prime Minister for having too much personality. Illustrating that, he said in his departing announcement, "Them's the breaks."

This week the National Education Association proposed replacing the word "mother"with "birthing person."  These morons are in charge of what is taught to our children. No wonder so many kids are so twisted that when they finally escape the cold, hard grip of forced education, they go out and buy weapons and shoot up a school. 

A new, even worse strain of COVID has been detected. This one defies vaccination, is highly contagious, and can be contracted over and over again. All help appears futile.

And don't forget the war in Ukraine, the Russian despot, and the old man in the White House.

Have a nice day!

The One Where Everyone Was White

I guess the one where Ross got too tan doesn't count.

So now the producer of "Friends," the popular 90's sitcom, is donating $4 million to somewhere, God knows where, to make up for the show not being diverse enough since the six main characters were all white. She says she's "embarrassed."

I'm embarrassed that she's embarrassed. How much of this nonsense can we stand?

Our Very Modern Dilemma

As a member of the Woodstock Generation I understand that I am super cool, very smart, and wise in the ways the world; we all are. But lately I have been noticing that I am totally out of touch with the current zeitgeist. Like many things, this is both good and bad. 

It's good because until now I have been blissfully ignorant of the waste of time and talent rampant among the younger generations. I spend very little time online, visit almost no websites and thus have no idea what they are doing all day besides listening to music and playing video games. I write my blog, check my email and see what my son has posted, then I'm outta there. Playing Words With Friends, which I truly consider to be good for my brain and a way to stave off Alzheimer's, is an exception.

But there's another one. I post photographs on my Instagram page that usually garner a few "likes". Lately my account has been flooded with videos, called "Reels," which I watch with mouth agape: Who are these idiots and why do I want to see them do anything? It's scary and often quite embarrassing, especially the fat ones dancing badly and the ladies applying face make-up, as if we don't already know how.

As happens when you venture down a bad road once too often, I got stuck in a rut and started watching one particular guy on Instagram who cracked me up. He posts videos of himself talking to his French bulldog, and I'm a sucker for that breed. Anyway, I started following his account just to see him and his dog argue; they are so funny! And the guy is so talented and witty, I wondered if he is a famous comic. So I googled his name and found out that it's different from the name shown on his account. Turns out he isn't the clever one at all -- he is simply lip-synching the comedy routines of a true stand-up comic. 

With some research I saw that many other people are lip-synching the very same vocal material, only with pairing it with different faces and situations. WTF? So today I googled "lip-synch for Reels" and found dozens of tutorials on how to do it! And dozens more on how to make a great Reel or TikTok video. This is how our young people are spending time now. 

As for why it's bad: This might explain why many disturbed young men are arming up and shooting at random groups of people. Life has become an empty, fake, photoshopped joke where dinosaurs like me  are still running things because we are the last of our species still in possession of functioning brains, even when they don't function that well. (Joe Biden, Maxine Waters)

Can She Really Be Next in Line?

I was still a little groggy having just gotten up and had only a few sips of coffee, so when I opened my computer to a headline that read, "We need to end this horror!" above a photograph of Kamala Harris, I thought to myself, finally we can all agree-- she's simply got to go. Then I read the story and saw that they were just quoting her about the fireworks parade shooting in Chicago. 

What a disappointment.

Craziness at the Post Office

I went to our little South Freeport post office to pick up a package that had been delivered there. The guy ahead of me was hoping to mail a package, but apparently it was not to be. Our regular postmistress was out sick and so a sub was behind the counter. 

The guy wanted to pay with a credit card, which is always done there, but the acting clerk didn't know how to use the charge machine. WTF? She told the guy he would have to go get cash and come back, explaining, "I don't really work here. I haven't been inside a retail postal establishment for at least a year."

Alarmed, I asked, "So what are you doing here? Who are you?"

"Oh, I am an employee of the US Post Office, just not a clerk. I'm a supervisor."

I asked, "So does that mean you are above a postal clerk?"

"Yes."

The Terror of Neighborhood Thugs

I was enjoying a second cup of coffee with my breakfast and appreciating the serenity of our lovely backyard woods when suddenly an ungodly shrieking pierced the silence, rudely interrupting my reverie. It was a woman in the neighborhood frantically shouting out the names of her two dogs who were circling our yard like hounds on a fox hunt. With a sinking feeling, I knew my cat was involved. Lurch was outside, enjoying the sunshine and nibbling on dandelions when these two monsters, a black lab and a golden retriever, spotted him and decided to nibble on him. 

While the pitiable cries of their hapless owner went completely unheeded ("STOP!", "COME!", "NO!"), after about five minutes the dogs accepted defeat when Lurch ran into a patch of bramble they were too big to enter. As suddenly as they had arrived the three trespassers took off without so much as an apology, leaving me to worry if my 14-year-old cat had suffered a heart attack from fright and lay dead somewhere in the thicket. I took an extra lorazepam.

Two hours later Lurch came home, covered in dirt and debris and pissed off to high Heaven. "Damn those thugs," he snorted in kitty talk. "Doesn't that woman know about leashes?" Explaining that she was a Democrat and thus feels above the law, I gave him a handful of treats and brought him up to speed on our local leash laws. While somewhat lax, they do specifically forbid the horrors he had just undergone:

"In public places, you must keep your dog 'under control'. Generally, this means close to you and ideally on a lead. If they're not on a lead, they need to be under control in another way, such as paying attention to your voice commands."

Scheduling Death

2022 Mercedes: $80,900 is fine if you die before the first payment.

It's very annoying, not to say inconvenient, not knowing when you will die. For example, my husband and I were planning a trip to Israel for this coming October into November to which I had grudgingly agreed. But finally I blurted out my true feelings: I simply survive all the rest of the year for the exquisite joys of October and November in Maine! Israel is hot then! Why would I sacrifice two weeks of glorious, crisp, spring-in-your-step, cozy sweater cold weather for extra hot weather? What if it's my last autumn? 

Mitch saw my point and said we could go next March or April when the weather is not great here in Maine. (It's called Mud Season.) I agreed. But then he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to me but I knew what he meant, "What if we don't make it?" OMG, the man is three weeks shy of 65 and is already thinking he could die before the year is out. 

Of course, the truth is we could both die today. I could die before I finish this post. If that happens, those expensive bed linens I ordered yesterday that are scheduled to arrive in a week would be a complete waste of money. And last night at The Gelato Fiasco I would have ordered a larger size instead of the paltry "kiddie treat" that was over in a flash. 

If we all knew the date and time of our death we could be much wiser about all our decisions. Like if I have only a month left I would go out today and buy a Jaguar, or maybe that Mercedes I saw on the road yesterday. (It was stunning.) Certainly everyone would benefit from such information. 

At the very least we could all use a "due date" like they give to expectant mothers. I guess we could call it a "past due" date. Anyway, you get the idea.