Happy Thanksgivikng

I watched a story on the PBS News Hour the other night about US school teachers being educated on the true origins of our Thanksgiving Day holiday.   I feel confused and amazed that I, along with most other non-Indian Americans, have a very skewed idea about Thanksgiving, and that the misinformation continues to this day in public elementary schools.

So I did some research, and I learned some new information.  I'll let you do your own research if you want to, because the information is vast and it is out there, and I encourage you to see it for yourself.

The Thanksgiving Story is the story of the victor, as are most history stories.  It makes us all feel good about our origins -- unless you are a member of an Indigenous Tribe.  For them, it is a day of mourning.  It was the beginning of the end for our original inhabitants.  An end that began with English traders in the early 1600s kidnapping indigenous people and taking them to Europe to sell as slaves.  The first slaves in "America."  Before we even were America.

I'm not sorry if this bursts your myth bubble about this national holiday.  I'm not saying don't gather with your family and friends and have 'the feast.'  I'm saying, give a moment to the injured in this story, to the enslaved, to the murdered.  Understand how our country really operated to seize control of land that wasn't theirs.  It's okay.  As descendents, we are blameless in the original sin, but we do have an opportunity to see it, acknowledge it, and pay respect to the First Peoples of this land.

Now go eat your turkey and be thankful for all that you have in this life.  And have a heart for your native brothers and sisters. 

Monday Musings

(notice the speed here)

My delightful weekend with daughter and her family ended badly, as I was stuck on the dreaded and predictably impassable Hwy 17 in the Santa Cruz mountains for 2 hours yesterday afternoon.  The storms have been hammering the mountains and brought down power lines along the road.  And now, today, there is a large rock and mud slide exactly where we were stranded yesterday.  Knowing those mountains the way I do, I was wondering (while trapped on that ribbon of highway) what could we possibly do if the rocks and mud came down while we were sitting there?  We'd be toast.  From the video I saw this morning (California CHP), one van was toast.  My son in law drives that road to work.  As do thousands of others each day.  I can't imagine how long it will take to clear this slide, but there aren't any alternative routes for most commuters.  During the Loma Prieta earthquake, rock slides blocked the highway for a long time.  We were cut off, and relied on helicopters to get supplies in.

So I laughed when my husband suggested they 'fix that road.'  They've been fixing it since 1940.  They will be fixing it until hell freezes over, and perhaps after.

 Though ending badly, the weekend was special -- my daughter's 29th birthday, and the next day her baby shower for child #2, a girl.  The kids have great friends, many from childhood, and it's always fun to catch up and see what they are doing.  There were many many babies there.  More babies in one room than at any time since I was in a group for new moms!  These kids are gettin' busy with the family thing.  

It's exciting to see them at this stage in their lives, starting out, as it were, the world their oyster.  I'm too tired to envy it, I'm just glad I got through it.  More power to them.

When I finally got home last night, I took a  hot shower and opened the box my sister sent.  I knew it had come, and I was very excited because it contained 5 pussy hats for the Women's March.  How sweet of  her to knit them for my friends and me.  Generous.  Loving.  I will carry her with me at the march.

It's fast approaching, and I am flying out soon.  Doing my preparation and homework to ensure a smooth experience.  I'm marching with a group of Wellesley women, how cool is that?  Why, you ask?  Why would a  true blue Banana Slug do that?  Because that's who I'm  hangin' with, that's why.

Each passing day of this presidential transition just increases my need to march against this fakakta regime.  The Cheeto's tweets today about Meryl Streep are just the latest, daily, unrelentingly stupid things this moron says. 

And that's Monday for you.

Monday Musings

In an extraordinary burst of energy, I spent the entire day organizing 'stuff.'  Almost as if I were ready to drop a baby any day, or caught up in spring cleaning fervor (if only it were spring).  Every molecule in my body was screaming for order.  It must be the general air of disorder that is reflected in social media and 'journalism.'  My husband would probably prefer I not view 'the news' at all.  It drives us crazy and there's not anything we can do about the myriad predicaments we see.

Without order, the human race would not have survived. We have few natural defenses, and our ability to organize has allowed us the opportunity to create safety and stability for ourselves.  And so, the spices are now all accessible and in easy reach.  It was a simple joy last night to cook and have spices right there.  These little magnetic tin boxes are just the thing to sooth frayed nerves. No more frantic digging in the cupboard while working over a hot stove.  Peace and stability restored.

Next up: the pantry.  I moved the heavy items from the top shelf to the bottom.  Makes sense, yes?  I have been experiencing a bum arm for a few weeks and each time I reach for the gin bottled water, I pull something in my shoulder.  Ouch.  Of course, the gin bottled water takes care of the pain.

And the labels?  Yes, well, that is so I (and my husband) can remember where things go, after a few drinks of gin bottled water.

I tackled the freezer, where the martini glasses meat and frozen veg live.  I won't bother with a photo, it was just a necessity.   Turns out, we can eat from the freezer for weeks now.  We shall BUY NO MORE MEAT for weeks!

Last, but certainly not least, a small corner space of storage in the garage.  This is where I off-load the 9 of ten Pyrex dishes and the 16 out 15 non-stick fry pans (some day I will need them, really). And the paper goods.  Learning my lesson from the pantry (we do live in earthquake country) I put all the heavy stuff on the bottom after cleaning the shelves.  Paper goods up top.  No more spider webs and dust bunnies clinging to the plastic packaging on the toilet paper. 

Seemingly simple, the tasks of the day completely wore me out.  I slept like a log.  No gin bottled water for me last night.

I'd like to thank news coverage of Donald Trump, African refugees, gun violence, ISIS, and the latest emails from Hillary for driving my efforts.  Next time my home gets well out of order again, I'll pry my eyelids open and watch what we call "news and information" until the need for order kicks in again.

Monday Musings (on Dr. King)

Prescient:

The war in Vietnam is but a symptom of a far deeper malady within the American spirit, and if we ignore this sobering reality, we will find ourselves organizing "clergy and laymen concerned" committees for the next generation. They will be concerned about Guatemala and Peru. They will be concerned about Thailand and Cambodia. They will be concerned about Mozambique and South Africa. We will be marching for these and a dozen other names and attending rallies without end unless there is a significant and profound change in American life and policy.   -- Martin Luther King, Jr.

What will it take, I often wonder, to produce a significant and profound change in American life and policy?  When will we move from soul-sucking, life denying and murderous ideology into a more compassionate, enlightened understanding that if we lift each other up instead of crushing one another, we will all reap great rewards?  Heaven here on earth?  We don't need to make it complicated; it's as simple as truly treating each other as our kin.  Doing unto others...

If there is to be peace in the world,
There must be peace in the nations.

If there is to be peace in the nations,
There must be peace in the cities.

If there is to be peace in the cities,
There must be peace between neighbors.

If there is to be peace between neighbors,
There must be peace in the home.

If there is to be peace in the home,
There must be peace in the heart.

— Lao Tzu (570-490 B.C.)

We have been struggling with this for as long as we have been on the planet.  Perhaps it is not in our nature to truly practice peace.  For many however, throughout the ages, it is a dream and a desire deep within us.

Thank you, Dr. King.  Thank you, and a thousand deep bows.

Monday Musings

With this new year comes a new health insurance plan and new doctors.  After trying Kaiser for a year, I'm going back to my group that has served me well for all of my adult life.  Kaiser's rates were half what I was paying, so I thought I'd try it.  For me, it was a most unwieldy system which didn't make it easy to access care and or prescriptions.  It took them almost a year to get my ID card corrected.  I felt stymied every time I needed to access care.

The adage "you get what you pay for" is true in this case.  Perhaps for a casual and infrequent user, this system may work.  But for someone who needs care for a chronic condition, it was a pain in the arse.  (That's another chronic condition, but I digress.)

I am also interfacing with the US Passport apparatus, and let me tell  you, that is another PIA.  What with a name change, and required legal documentation of name change, and impending deadlines for upcoming travel, I am about to pull my hair out.  (Though if I did that I would no longer look like my passport photo, and that could be a whole other wrinkle.)

I am coming to the conclusion I need a secretary, an assistant, a helper.  Someone to keep my affairs in order.  Someone to remind me that I have deadlines to be met, bills to pay, taxes to file.  As a retired person, I have lost all those administrative skills I once possessed.  Now the daily requirements are simply vexing.  Various bureaucracies I must interact with make my head explode.  The idea of retreating to a yurt in the woods (or my backyard) is becoming more and more attractive.

This is what heaven looks like to me.  

Armistice Day, Veterans Day

 

In Flanders Fields

John McCrae

 

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row, 
That mark our place, and in the sky, 
The larks, still bravely singing, fly, 
Scarce heard amid the guns below. 

We are the dead; short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, 
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields. 

Take up our quarrel with the foe! 
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high! 
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

I have issues with the American Veteran's Day. I do appreciate the service

of those who the load in the U.S. Armed Forces.  I do.  I just hate the 

wheels of war, the tools of death and destruction, the idiots who are old 

and send the promising future to be slaughtered.  This fellow wrote 

a good column on it. 

If someone has served honorably in the military, I thank them for their service. 

Device of Delusion

Recently, a Facebook friend said he is taking the summer completely off from electronics. Then I saw this video. Much food for thought.

Sweet Caroline

I am the same age as Caroline Kennedy Schlossberg.  On that terrible day 50 years ago, we were let out of school early to go home and be with our families.  I didn't quite grasp it, being all of 6, but I do remember entering the house with my older sister, and seeing both my mother and father in front of the television.  Dad being home in the late morning was quite the oddity.  Something big must be going on.  The fear emanating from the adults in my home and neighborhood set me on edge.  There we were, as a nation, teetering on the precipice.  Looking back, I'm glad I was only 6 and still cocooned in my innocence. 

In this tragedy, I have always identified with Caroline the most.  As young girls we looked very similar.  We were the same age.  My 6 year old self was glued to her image on television and in magazines, participating in the funeral services of her father.  Her daddy was gone, never to return.  I couldn't imagine what that felt like.  My daddy was here, solidly in charge of home and family.

If you lived in the United States, you couldn't help but keep up with the Kennedy family in the years following JFK's assassination.  Caroline remained (it seemed so) wholesome, strong and forward-thinking.  She was judicious about her public speaking, and always the diplomat.  It seems fitting indeed that she is now our nation's ambassador to Japan.  I know that these kinds of jobs get awarded to big campaign contributors, but in this case, I am very pleased with her appointment.  It will be interesting to watch her work across the Pacific, especially what with the world-wide implications of the Fukushima radiation leaks.

How strange it is, 50 years later, to recall this day.  The hard-bound magazine, American Heritage, came out with a book documenting the days and hours leading to his death.  Full of color photographs, it is a graphic depiction of the horror, and I referred to it regularly when growing up.  The meaning of it all began it sink in as I grew older. 

The conspiracy theories, Oswald's CIA and Russian connections, the killing of Oswald, the national frenzy and fear:  through it all, I see a quiet little girl in her proper suit, kneeling at her father's coffin, reaching out with her hand to touch him one last time.