Monday Musings

Christopher Columbus is still fucking with us.  Case in point:  U.S. Post Offices are closed today!

I took a drive over to the picturesque town of Winters this morning to pick up a couple of battery operated fans that were unavailable anywhere else in the tri-county area.  I got the last two in stock.  It was a beautiful drive through the countryside, so as of yet, Columbus hadn't pissed me off.  In fact, I didn't even remember today was "his."  I took the fans over to the podunk post office and - screw me - even though the sign said they opened at 10:00 a.m. and it was 10 minutes after, they were locked up tight.  Another would-be customer arrived and bitterly complained that this place was wholly unreliable.  "A little too small town, if you ask me." he says.  So I headed over to Steady Eddy's to grab a good cup of coffee.  The joint was packed - real watering hole in small town America.  Coffee in hand, I settled back into the car and headed back to Davis to go to the main post office.

When I arrived, the usually packed parking lot was decidedly empty but for two cars.  Didn't think twice, except I did remark, "This must be my lucky day!"  My ignorance astounds even me.  I triumphantly entered the edifice only to discover the lobby locked up and dark.  Another customer shared my dismay.  Then, a guy picking up from his box informs us that it's Columbus Day.  Wh.....at?

Unacceptable!  All I want to do is mail these fans to a friend in San Juan, Puerto Rico.  Battery operated, don't you know?  And, by the way, there are signs up in our P.O. saying "Post Offices in US Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico are open and functioning!"  Tell that to my friend in San Juan.  No mail delivery in two weeks.  More government bull poopy.

So, Chris, FUCK YOU.  Especially for the genocide.  But also for the post office closures. 

Perplexing Life

I am of the age where I am sandwiched between an adult child with health issues, and an ailing 80 yo mom who is declining rather rapidly after 15 ears with Parkinson's (PD).  I'm essentially helpless (aren't we all?) to fix their problems, and I know it.  But, dammit, I want to.  It's terribly frustrating.  And then there are my own health issues which become aggravated by stress.  How convenient.

I just finished reading Nora Ephron's I Feel Bad About My Neck. A hilarious read, more so because she speaks the truth of the shock and awe of aging.

At 58, I consider myself a young elderly person. If the fates allow, I may have another 20 or 25 years of reasonably good living ahead of me.  Do you do these kinds of calculations? Gawd I hope I'm not the only one.  I think, often, of doing exercise to help me stay strong. Do I do it? Nope. What kind of nonsense is this?! It is utter nonsense, that's what it is.  Is this denial or run of the mill sloth? Does it matter?

I do keep to a healthy diet for the most part. My guts are changing, and it's difficult to know if it is diabetic in nature or normal aging. When I do a little research I see that my symptoms are very mild and intermittent for a diabetic cause. So maybe this run of the mill indigestion and irregularity.  Maybe it's the early stages of neuropathy of the nerves that control digestion.  Isn't that a lovely thought?  I'm waiting anxiously for some advancement in stem cell research which will allow my pancreas to function normally again.  Which is one reason I want to stay healthy.

You know, there may be nothing so boring as listening to someone rag on about their health issues.  My deepest apologies, dear reader.  To end on an upbeat note, a friend sent information on Eva Saulitis, an Alaskan writer, who died recently of cancer.  Eva's out loud and honest account of her last weeks and days are an inspiration.  How to live fully while dying.  And isn't that what it's all about?  It could be said that we are all dying.  At the very least it can be said that we all will die.

It could be said that people in Washington, D.C. are hating 24 inches of snow right now.  And they probably are.  But cheer up, good people of the District, you still have electrical power.  For now.

Fukushima and Dog Food

The latest from Bill Moyers on what we need to know about the Fukushima Power Plant problems.  Now, I'll admit, I passed on some bogus information this week on Facebook about the level of contamination in fish on America's west coast due to radiation from the broken power plant.  Clare Kines kindly linked me to Snopes, which I usually check on this sort of thing.  Thank you, Clare.  But that is not to say that there are not serious serious problems with the leakage from the plant, and the possibility of more leakage in the future.  I think the scariest part of the story for me is:

"The Earthquake Research Institute at the University of Tokyo said earlier this year that there’s a 70 percent chance a 7.0-magnitude or higher quake will strike Tokyo, near Fukushima, by 2016. Should the fourth reactor collapse, Suzuki said, it would be “bye bye Japan,” and “everybody on the west coast of North America should evacuate. Now if that isn’t terrifying, I don’t know what is.”

 Meanwhile, in the thriving burg of Sacramento, I spend my day researching homemade raw dog food and purchasing vitamin/mineral and fish oil supplements.  Feels a bit like fiddling when Rome is burning.  However, my little pooch has grown very very picky about her food, and will not eat much of the store bought variety.  I switched her to white rice (brown is too much for their digestive systems) and ground turkey which she loves.  Gobbles it up.  So, I decided to do a little research and by golly, there are all kinds of recipes out there for raw and cooked food for dogs.  Yes, Virginia, dogs did eat meat before commercial dog food was developed about 1860.  And, oh my, but there is a lot of frothing at the mouth when it comes to advocating various diets for dogs.  Just like foodnazis, there are dogfoodnazis.  Brown v. white rice, veg or no veg, raw or cooked, bones or not.  Shoot.  I'm picking the simpliest (ground raw meat, cooked white rice, hard boiled eggs -shells included- mashed and adding the tiniest amount of nutritional supplements for vitamins/minerals, probiotics etc.)  I kind of feel like those super conscientious moms who made all their own baby food for their little sprouts.  I did a little of that, but was not opposed to popping open a jar of Gerber when needed.

The world may be going to hell in a hand-basket, but while it does, my little buddy is going to eat well.  And I hope it will benefit her health as much as all the pundits say it will.  She is my little miracle*, after all. 

 *A warm living being that adores you and wants to be with you at all times.  A being that will lick your face and make you feel like the most wonderful person on the planet.  A being that radiates JOY.

The Antidote to Co-Dependency

Gawd but I love her.  I've been doing a lot of reading and soul searching around my co-dependency issues.  I know, I know, the term gets bandied about like nobodies business.  But do you really understand what it defines?  Look it up.  It's the root of all addictive behaviors.  We all have it.  It's about healthy boundaries, self respect and self love.

I've been reading Melody Beattie's book "Codependent's Guide to the 12 Steps."  So many revelations in there.  But I am having terrible struggles with the whole God concept.  The 12 steps allow one to define God in whatever way makes sense to them.  But then they emphasize a personal God to whom you can had over your burdens.  See?  That makes no sense to me.  The closest I can get to a concept of God is the collective universe, all the sentient beings who have ever lived.  But I seriously doubt they have a personal interest in my well-being.  Nor should they.  They're doing their thing, they are done with this earthly journey.

I found this image on Facebook this morning and it dovetailed perfectly with the reading I did last night. It's humorous, and absolutely spot on.

Moved

Moving.  Is there anything more horrific?  Even with my relatively few items and a very small household, moving was an ordeal.  And I was very organized.  Things are coming together, but I won't have internet service until next Thursday.  I'm at the folks' right now which is why I can post at all.

The day after my move, I had a speaking engagement in the morning.  I'm a motivational speaker for Stop Stigma Sacramento and I spoke to two classes of 9th grade students.  They were engaged and had lots of questions.  I loved it.

The next day I had a morning photo field trip at the Sacramento Zoo.  The subject was "Humor."  Here's my humor shot:

Though, I like this one, too.  My teacher preferred the first one, though he understood why the second one is funny. Other students took much more hilarious photos.  Oh well.  More power to 'em.

My teacher has also sold me, literally, on the Fujfilm X-E1 camera, which is on mega sale right now at B&H in NYC.  It's an expensive camera, but I've seen what it can do and I'm impressed.  And it is light-weight.  Google it if you're interested.  It's a mirror-less digital camera, with excellent lenses and amazing resolution -- you can enlarge digital images to very large sizes without losing quality.  That's been a problem so far for me with my Cannon Rebel XL.  Anything larger than an 8x10 doesn't look good.  It's a big investment, but it's the logical choice in my continuing adventure with photography.

So, whew, I'm exhausted from moving, but I'm uber happy about it all.  And I'm loving my photo class.  And I'm dating a wonderful woman.  And I spent a lot of money on kitchen equipment -- I left everything with my ex. 

Except my Kitchen Aid mixer. 

Over my dead body.

Gas me Once, Shame on you, Gas me Twice....

Yeegads...laughing gas again!  I went to have my permanent crown installed yesterday, and I'm such a big baby that they gave me gas for that procedure.  Well, truth be told, they did have to poke me several places to put gum numbing pain killer in my jaw, and it hurt like bloody hell, so I'm glad I  had the gas.

And the laughing gas is a gift that just keeps on giving.  There was James Taylor again, singing several songs in the course of my visit.  He is the 'easy listening' go-to guy, apparently.

I probably wasn't fit to drive home, but being high like I was, I was sure I was okay behind the wheel.  No driving mishaps, but upon getting home, I napped.  And napped.  And slept.  Right through dinner time.  So heavy...you are getting sleepy...very sleepy.  I couldn't shake it, so I gave in.  What choice did I have?

Woke up at midnight and watched a recorded episode of Breaking Bad.  That show really really got dark.  Last time I watched I said to myself, "no more."  It was too gruesome.  But in my haze last night, I watched 75 minutes.  Walt needs to hurry up and die.

This morning, finally, I feel as if I have a clear head.  Or as clear as it's gonna get.  Whew.

Zen and the Art of Dentistry

Nothing quite like Monday morning dental procedures.  Imagine inhaling the wonderful gas that makes one's mind and body float to the happy place, and listening to this:

That was me, this morning. I was so stoned, I kicked my shoes off for the full relaxed effect. I was having a tooth prepped for a temporary crown, to be replaced in 2 weeks my a permanent one. I'm laughing to myself because I was feeling traumatized -- when injecting one of the Novocaine shots, the dentist directly hit a nerve and the entire right side of my body came off the chair. OHMYGAWD OMYGAWD OMYGAWD. Yet another First World problem, for sure. But this was my mouth, my pain, and by gawd I was not happy. Even with all that happy gas I was inhaling. I was thinking, hey, in my grandparent's day, a lot of people had all their teeth pulled and dentures installed when they were my age. So I know I'm in good shape. Until the Novocaine wears off. Then I think I'm going to feel the pain. Oh, oh, here comes another "oldie" In my gas haze, I'm really listening to the words and they sound profound. I'm thinking, these lyrics came from a deep and vulnerable place. The song was operating on two levels: a pop song and a deeply human experience. "I've overcome the blow. I learned to take it well. I only wish my words could convince myself." Fucking love sucks.  Until it doesn't.  Then it's mighty lovely.  Until it isn't.

These are the things running through my brain while the noise of the drill, the smell of ground teeth are filling my senses.  Then I find myself chanting (in my head) the medicine Buddha mantra:

Tayata
Om Bekandze Bekandze
Maha Bekandze
Radza Samudgate Soha

The mantra means:

May the many sentient beings
who are sick,
quickly be freed from sickness.
And may all the sicknesses of beings
Never arise again.

Good Lord, I am all over the map.  Just as if I were practicing meditation, I continue to remind myself to concentrate on my breath (and all that wonderful gas that I'm inhaling).  And the mantra keeps repeating itself.  And then James Taylor is singing, and then Billy Joel.  And the dentist is saying, "Please relax your tongue." And I don't even know where my tongue is.  How do you relax something that you are not even physically aware of?

With the procedure complete and oxygen pumped into my lungs, my head is clearing and I am returning to the world.  Gotta admit that there were some ecstatic mental moments in the past hour and half.  All because my brain chemicals were altered.  I used to pay a lot of money for that.  Oh wait.  I still do.  I wrote a hefty check for my dental experience, and murmured to Angel (yes, Angel) "In reality, you ought to be paying me for what I just went through."  She hears that a lot.