Passing Out

Everybody likes to kvetch about the bad drivers they encounter, no matter where they may live. (Too many of those OTHER people drive like idiots...and, have you noticed, they're everywhere!)

We all have our pet peeve. Mine is tailgaters. I wish them evil when they finally get off my ass and pass me.

But I digress.

I've noticed a syndrome that appears regularly in drivers from the male half of our species. Female drivers...not so much (but, in fairness, occasionally).

I call it the "getting passed by a chick in a Toyota syndrome," but any compact car will apply.

I was taught to drive by my father, who told me "if you're gonna go, then get your butt out there and go." Years later, a cop friend told me I could safely go five miles an hour over the speed limit - that's the range of error of their equipment or something. So I am not a - ahem - timid driver.

I've had a lot of opportunity to observe the behavior caused by this syndrome during my twice-daily, 30-minute commute into downtown and home again.

It happened again this morning. I'm tooling along at +5 mph with the rest of the late rush hour traffic, when I pass some dude who's been dawdling in the right-hand lane. Who immediately speeds up to pull ahead of me.

At this point, it will go one of two ways. Either he'll stay at his new speed - just ahead of me - or he'll doze off again after a few miles. I pass him again, he wakes up, behavior repeats.

I think the suddenly zippy guy might be the smarter of the two. Or maybe the other guy is just stoned.

Either way, my little car and I have obviously threatened their male ego. It's happened enough over the years that I believe it qualifies as a syndrome.

I also have a theory about the ratio of size of vehicle to size of genitalia. But I'll leave that for another day. (Though if you drive a Hummer, honey......)

Nothing New in Illinois

I've always wondered why my home state of Illinois hasn't been lumped with Louisiana and Texas when the on-screen bloviators talk about political corruption. Governor however-you-spell-and-pronounce-his name appears to be just another in a long line of pols caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Now the "Land of Lincoln" is serving as the prime national example of our too-often venal politics.

This is nothing new, boys and girls. There's been a whole series of Illinois governors sent off to do time, but my favorite story involves a former (and long-dead) Illinois secretary of state.

I still remember his name, even though it's been several decades since his posthumous fall from grace: Paul Powell.

Paul was an old fart who died in the arms of his mistress while in the throes of passion (what a way to go, though, huh?) Upon investigation, they found a shoebox in his closet stuffed with thousands and thousands of dollars.

Now that's Illinois politics.

If you'd like to walk down memory lane, the '60's era book Boss by Mike Royko is one of the best reads on Chicago politics and the late Mayor Richard J. (bash those hippies in the head) Daley.

Update: Stray Cat

Despite my internal wailing and gnashing of teeth, the stray cat that showed up at our door a few weeks ago is now becoming a permanent member of the household. To wit:

* The old cat is still pissed, but at least is no longer hiding under the sofa.

* The dog and the little stray have become playmates - the dog likes to give chase, and the new guy enjoys coming out from his various hiding places and attacking the oblivious Labrador.

* Mr. D and I are providing financial support to our local veterinarian. So far: flea treatment, eye treatment, a feline leukemia test (negative), and the piece de resistance: he got his nuts cut Thursday. (He hasn't seemed to mind...) Shots are coming down the road.

This is getting expensive. We're definitely paying for our combined soft-heartedness.

Though we've given him his own moniker, he probably thinks his name is "Shithead," as in "you little shithead, get off that counter." Or the table. Or whatever.

My poor husband woke up the other morning to: "No, kitty, no. NO. NO. NO! Bad kitty. Bad Bad BAD!"

I was innocently cleaning the kitchen at about 5:30 am when I noticed grey fluff all over the pantry. Had he torn up his mouse toy, I thought? But no. The fluff turned out to be feathers. Feathers everywhere. Upon investigation, I find the little shithead with a dead bird almost as big as he is. How delightful - a new toy!

I'm hoping he found the corpse in the woods and that he didn't kill it. (Optimistic, I know. Hunting is something cats do.) I also know that he's getting a collar with the noisiest bell I can find. Maybe a cowbell. That'll keep him from sneaking up on anything, the little shit.

And a great big 'thank you' to Mr. D for coming downstairs and dealing with the carcass in what, for him, was the middle of the night. What a guy.

Spitting Out the Kool-Aid

I was unknowingly understating myself a few weeks ago when I said I was really looking forward to Joe Miller's deposition in the mayor's case. Little did I know.

Now then, boys and girls: after listening to Bill Grady scooping the rest of KC media with his Miller interview, let's summarize what we know:

1. The mayor and his staff violated campaign ethics laws. (Ignorance is not a defense.)

2. The mayor's wife did in fact serve as staff - she set the mayor's schedule and directly influenced policy.

3. The mayor deliberately ordered staff to violate the state's Sunshine Law.

4. The mayor, instead of devoting himself to his full-time job, has been quietly working on our dime to build up his outside consulting business.

5. Gloria needs Lexapro. Or Prozac. Or valium. Something.

I met Joe Miller briefly early on in the mayor's administration. Seemed like an earnest young man who had definitely drunk the Mayor's Kool-Aid. After listening to his interview with Bill Grady, it's obvious the Kool-Aid has soured.

Miller has obviously been greatly disillusioned, and no wonder. What an irony - a former zealous journalist who - a month or so into the so-called Orange Revolution finds himself violating a principle he once held dear: Sunshine and freedom of information.

His publicly-stated reason for resigning was incomplete - privately he was appalled by the violations of state law and the behavior of the mayor's wife. Now he's gone public in a big way. So perhaps we should add the word "integrity" to the earlier descriptor "earnest." (Or maybe this is a convoluted way to promote his next book? God, how DID I become so cynical?)

Note to Chris Koster, incoming attorney-general: surely there's something actionable in all this? A recall takes too much and takes too long - can't you do something on our behalf?

Please make it stop...

The saga of our co-mayors has, for a long while, been highly entertaining in a macabre sort of way.

Now it's just embarrassing.

Kansas Citians are 'beige.' We're 'reserved.' Gloria = "Hillary and Michelle." The co-mayors are under attack by the powers that be because of Funk's new 'vision' for the City. (And that vision would be....what?)

Could you both just SHUT UP???

And how DARE you put yourself in the same category as Senator Clinton and Michelle Obama. Both those women have class, something obviously missing in our 'first lady.' (gag)

SIGH....

I hate Sundays. I think it's a carryover from my school days, when Sundays meant I finally had to buckle down and do my homework, the weekend was almost over and school was dead ahead. Now I'm a grownup (allegedly) and it still means homework (not enough time during the week to get all the crap done I need to) and work is now dead ahead.

Whatever happened to the three-day weekend technology was supposed to bring us - promised all those years ago? And where, by the way, is my jet-pack?

Okay, okay - this is the last day of a four-day weekend and I AM grateful for that. Thanksgiving was bright and sunny - we started off with brunch at a good friend's - but it went downhill from there. My addictive nature struck when we returned home and I spent the rest of that day and the two that followed psychologically chained to my computer, going obsessively back and forth between CNN and Twitter, following the minute-by-minute updates from Mumbai (Bombay for those of you who don't know your geography).

I finally 'get' Twitter - thought it was a giant waste of time and certainly didn't want anyone 'following' me - my life isn't that interesting, for one thing. For another, it's nobody's business but my own.

But as the dreadful news from Mumbai continued, Twitter was way ahead of the conventional news media and I got sucked into the running commentary from people at the several scenes of carnage and craziness. My news junkie gene was way too active...got the turkey in late, which meant Mr. D and I ate our Thanksgiving meal at 9:00 PM. (He was a little fussy that I'd disappeared into the computer....)

The effectiveness of social media was a sidebar story to Mumbai. CNN said:

With more than 6 million members worldwide, an estimated 80 messages, or
"tweets," were being sent to Twitter.com via SMS every five seconds, providing
eyewitness accounts and updates.
Many Twitter users also sent pleas for
blood donors to make their way to specific hospitals in Mumbai where doctors
were faced with low stocks and rising casualties.
Others sent information
about helplines and contact numbers for those who had friends and relatives
caught up in the attacks. Tweeters were also mobilized to help with transcribing
a list of the dead and injured from hospitals.

Interesting to watch social media come of age...

Meanwhile, Black Friday was really dark - one poor guy gets trampled to death by a shopping-mad mob at a Wal-Mart on Long Island while two guys in California shoot it out at a Toys-R-Us. WTF is up with that??? (I'll do my Christmas shopping on-line, thank you very much.)

And on the homefront, I've had a low-level war going on between the old cat and the new one. Introduced them on Friday (finally) and the old black cat HATES the little orange one. No catfights, thankfully, but lots of growling and hissing. (Yes, we've decided to keep the little stray...dammit. But he sure is CUTE.)

Add to that the gray skies, cold, and wet - and I think I'm ready to go back to work tomorrow.

Saturday Morning Yowls

Anybody in the market for a new cat? 'Cuz we've got one - caged in our garage and yowling everytime she/he hears any noises from inside the house.

The black Lab is fascinated, stretched out on the hallway floor with her nose about a foot from the door to the garage. She'd really like to meet whatever's making all that noise. (She wants to be friends...)

The black cat, however, is pissed. What in God's name is going on here, and why is there another cat (sort of) in the house? Unlike the dog, he is as far away from the garage door as he can be, looking at us with baleful eyes, attention riveted by every new yowl.

What to do....

The garage occupant is a long-haired, orange and white cat who suddenly showed up at our front door about 7:30 last night. I thought it was our cat, yelling to get in. (He prefers that doors be opened for him, please - the cat door we installed for him is just too much trouble.)

No idea where this little guy came from - but he/she was thrilled to see us. Serious purring, rubbing of legs, and ecstatic responses to being stroked. A really sweet little cat, probably in the last stages of kittenhood.

It was cold and dark and our visitor was starving so we gave him/her water and food (I know, I know...bad move). We thought about using the dog crate and bringing it inside - but censored that idea. We'd just fed the little thing and it was going to need a litter box.

We didn't want it socializing with our animals, because one of its eyes is red and watery and we don't need any more vet bills. Plus, I was not interested in hosting a cat fight in my living room. So the garage seemed the best alternative. Warmer than the outside and contained. (We live in the woods - also home to foxes and owls and things that could do serious damage to someone or something scared and out of its element. Which this little guy clearly is.)

We're not far from an animal shelter - and have had other critters show up on our doorstep (including the black Lab) dumped by some dirtbag who didn't have the courage to take their unwanted critter to the shelter, just let it loose nearby apparently figuring the kind-hearted souls inside the shelter would take care of it - and they wouldn't have to go through the shame and expense of getting rid of their unwanted animal. (Assholes.)

Maybe the little guy is lost, but I don't think so. Everytime a car went by, the little cat perked up. And every now and then he'd stare out into the darkness and just yell.

Seems abandoned to me. Like I said, we've seen it before.

So now he/she is our problem. And there are some dangerous signs...unbidden thoughts like "I'll take it to the vet tomorrow morning to have its eye looked at." (What about not wanting any vet bills, you dumbass?) "Then maybe we could introduce it to our cat and see how it goes..." (NO NO NO NO NO! What are you THINKING? You don't NEED another cat!) "But it's so cute and scared and cuddly..." (SHUT UP!!!!!!)

That inner conversation basically echoes the dialogue I had with myself when the black Lab showed up. Ten years ago.

So today we'll do our due diligence - check with various lost animal registries, run an ad in The Star (lost pet ads are free - or used to be), maybe put some signs up around the neighborhood. Like I said, it's a sweet little thing and seems to have been well cared for. (Until dumped, anyway....if that's what happened.)

But I'm afraid we may have a new member of the household...(NOOOOOO!!!!!)

UPDATE: It's a he - about 8 months old, the vet says. Not neutered, not microchipped. With fleas (now treated) and a little conjunctivitis in his right eye (we got the eyedrops). He's still in the garage....not yowling so much.

UPDATE #2 - turns out Mr. D. has been having the same inner conversation with himself. "What a sweet cat..." (ARE YOU CRAZY????)

Saturday Morning Funk

So I'm a glutton for punishment. It's a dank, cold, grey and windy morning - currently 32 degrees, for God's sake, with tiny ice pellets on the back porch. Winter is making its debut.

Up before dawn with nothing else to do, I've read the entire 196 pages of the deposition given by former Funkhouser Chief of Staff Ed Wolf in the "Mammygate" lawsuit.

Like I said - a glutton for punishment.

But I'm also fascinated by the goings-on at KCMO's City Hall. Having worked there a hundred years ago, I have been both entertained and appalled by the goings-on since the Funkhousers (deliberate plural) have taken office.

Some observations from my reading:

* Wolf seems only peripherally involved in the day-to-day workings of the office. Lot's of "I didn't know about that" kinds of responses. Even though he states he thought Gloria was a cause of tension in the office, he never spoke to the mayor about it. And, I repeat, he was the Chief of Staff. In title, anyway.

* More: In his deposition, he says he was "stunned" when the Bates allegations came out, that he "did not realize that this kind of communication or tension existed" in the office.

* Apparently, no one expressed their concerns about his wife to the mayor. Not until Joe Miller spoke truth to power and said it out loud: "that Gloria should not be at the office." Miller resigned shortly thereafter.

* Big Brother is alive and well at City Hall. Wolf asked for City phone records to see if Ruth Bates was calling Shawn Pierce. He got the records (which, of course, since it's a piece of City equipment, Wolf's entitled to do.) There were no such calls.

* From his description, the mayor's office sounds like a hellhole for employees. No wonder so many have left...or been driven to tears.

* And, from his description, the mayor is someone who's driven away his best friends and supporters.

What can we next expect? Well, there's the Wall Street Journal article on this whole mess. And, of course, still more depositions.

I'm most looking forward to Joe Miller's....

Power to the People???

The election's over, thank God, and now the hard part starts: governing. So what's next? Who knows?

But I think the Internet and the huge database built by the Obama campaign are going to be key tools in his presidency. If he could mobilize people to send in $5, $10, and $25 donations, how much easier to urge them to contact their legislator on whatever the issue at hand is. (And I'm sure he'll provide them the link to said legislator.)

That database isn't going anywhere. And it won't be gathering mothballs.

His strategic use of technology was key to his campaign. Through it, he built a coalition at a grassroots level, getting ordinary folks involved in a way they hadn't been before. His messaging was disciplined and his tone was (nearly) note-perfect.

Exhibit A: Hillary blew off the caucus states, while Obama quietly mobilized gazillions of people to show up and vote. She stuck to the traditional political playbook. He did not. He won.

Just as the then-immature medium of television made the difference for John Kennedy in 1960, the still-evolving Internet made the diff for Barack Obama.

It'll be interesting to see how he uses the Web to try to fix all that's broken...

Welcome to the 21st century!

The Planet on Obama

I've spent the early morning hours before work trolling foreign newspaper sites, looking at the world's reaction to Obama's historic victory. Most everybody seems pretty happy with us...

"Change Has Come to America" - or some version of that - is the number one headline. Lots of video of US ex-patriots celebrating (or not) in Sydney, Tokyo, the UK, etc. Lots of videos of various world leaders congratulating the President-Elect. Dancing at the Obama family compound in Kenya.

There is a great deal of hope being expressed that the US will reverse its course, tone down the beligerence, and help bring change to the world. There is great admiration for our ability to overcome our racist past and elect an African-American to our country's highest office.

Our democracy once again inspires.

The Times of India is the best illustration of that inspiration. A country divided by caste and religion, a nascent democracy that is ambitious and has been modernizing quickly; but a country burdened with the second-largest population on the planet. They've got a lot of problems, including crazy people willing to blow themselves up. And who do so with some regularity.

My favorite comment was from "Manoj Thomas" in Amsterdam:

"What a moment in history! As an Indian citizen, I can but admire the determination of both candidates to focus on the future of their country..Obama in victory, McCain even in a demoralizing defeat. If only our politicians could take a page from this. While our politicians (and we as Indians) bicker fight to carve up smaller and smaller states and actually try and differentiate between each other based on region, creed, and caste, America with a bitter history of civil strife has come full circle, finally realizing the dream of its founding fathers. It is no wonder that she still draws the best talents and people and more importantly motivates them to excel. If India has to live up to its tru potential, we will need to learn to live with each other peacefully, focussing on our common good, and what really matters to make all Indians prosperous and happy. This has been a peaceful revolution in America, in some ways inspired by Gandhi (Martin Luther King & the Civil Movement). Isnt it ironic that the land of the Mahatma has itself failed to use this powerful channel of transformation and still resorts of violence and hatred as a solution?"

Enough said. Have a great Wednesday.

More from the Ozarks...

The first time I saw this sign...it took me a minute to realize what it was.

At the time, it was closed to the public. (Renovations were underway...) Clinging to the side of one of the town's many hills, the Palace Hotel and Bath House was up a couple blocks from the center of town. On Spring Street, the main drag through what I guess is downtown Eureka.

The original owner/builder wanted it to resemble a European castle. Built of limestone by the same Irish stonemasons who built the Crescent Hotel, the miles of stone retaining walls, and the many other stone structures in town, the Palace opened in 1901. W.C. Fields was its most celebrated client, along with any number of mobsters coming to take the waters.

It was also a bordello in those early years - and the sign outside perfectly advertises the establishment. It's also historic - the first neon sign west of the Mississippi - and may have been crafted by the inventor of neon, a Monsieur George. It was painted by a local signpainter who had the last name of "Golly." He also had a sense of humor - he signed every creation "By Golly." (Which you can still see...) It's especially interesting at night...with the neon shining through the darkness.

On our recent sojourn through the Ozarks, Mr. D and I wound up in Eureka Springs and decided that, if they had a vacancy and it wasn't a million dollars, we'd stay. They did...and we did. A little pricey, but I'd always loved (and laughed at) that sign and wanted to see what the Palace was like inside.

My only disappointment is we didn't encounter the hotel ghost - Rosemary - who allegedly died "in the throes of passion," as the hotel information described. The rooms were lovely (a jacuzzi - more hot water!!!); they served a marvelous breakfast; and the bath house in the basement has been restored and is open for business.

I love old buildings - stayed over the years in several of Eureka's older establishments, including the big old white elephant of a hotel called The Crescent. Which also has a ghost. Which I think I encountered once when staying there alone. But that's another story...

Weekend Rants

* Who in God's name can be undecided in this election? Who are those people? Have they not been paying attention????

There's a clear distinction between the policies, temperament, and attitudes of the two men at the top of the ticket. (I won't even discuss the two VP combatants - one is so woefully unqualified there's simply no question as to who's the better choice.)

Two more days and then it'll be over. At least, I HOPE it will be over. Lawyers are being mobilized everywhere to be on alert Tuesday and THAT is certainly worrisome. (Anybody remember 2000? Oh, what a difference that would have made.)

Please, God, give us a clear outcome on Tuesday night....


* So Funk is now telecommuting, doing his job from his house in order to diminish the separation time from his dearly beloved.

How nice for them both. I telecommute as well - when I can - and find I'm infinitely more productive when I don't have to deal with the phone calls and other interruptions - I don't have to waste time with the whole makeup-dress-for-success ritual, nor do I have to spend an hour in traffic getting to and from work. I have access to my work computer via the Web, so can keep on top of email and dive into any files I need from the job.

I get a helluva lot done working from home. And I enjoy it. I work in my pajamas, get dressed only to walk the dog, can throw dishes in the dishwasher or do other small tasks as I wander around the house thinking about whatever it is I'm working on.

My spouse works at home, too - his studio and shop are at the other end of the house. Not sure what Gloria and Mark do, but we pretty much ignore each other, meeting occasionally in the kitchen as we both head for the coffee pot.

I use my telecommuting time for those projects that need quiet and thought - usually some big writing project I'm having to deal with. But most of the time, I drag myself into the office because I STILL HAVE TO INTERACT WITH PEOPLE. I still have to 'show up.'

The mayor's giving telecommuting a bad name.

And for someone who keeps saying working with the city council is his number one priority, well, it just doesn't jibe. The quote from Terry Riley in the Star was on point: this will give the council more cohesion. (As I've said before, keep looking for 12-1 votes coming out of the Council Chambers on the 26th floor of City Hall.)



* Though I gigged undecideds in the Presidential election a few paragraphs ago, I must admit to waffling myself on the light rail vote.

Con: it costs TONS of money; only goes a short distance; we have so many other needs.

Pro: it could be the starter line for a larger light rail system (that's been the case in most cities elsewhere in the country); it provides jobs at a time when we need them; and its economic benefits (again, if you look at the experience of other cities) usually returns $6 to $7 in economic development for every $1 spent on the light rail line (the development springs up around the light rail stops...).

This is probably going to be one issue I decide as I'm standing at the voting machine.

Either way, after the election, watch Mike Sanders. I expect the Jackson County Executive to grab the transit leadership mantle from the ineffectual mayor of KCMO (Cows? Give me a break.) And a great community NEEDS good transit. (Notice I didn't say light rail - I said TRANSIT. Buses, BRTs, commuter rail - ie over existing railroad tracks - are all a necessary part of any good transit plan.)

A Nana Story for Halloween

Nana moved with us when my father was transferred to Connecticut. A widow, my dad was her only child. I was seven. Our little family was all she really had.

As the oldest of four, I got to stay up later than the rest on those nights Nana babysat. She'd read me poetry from slim and seemingly ancient leather books embossed with gold curlicue lettering. I had regular readings of "The Spider & the Fly;" "The Owl & the Pussycat;" and something with the ominous refrain of "And the goblins'll gitcha if ya don't watch out..."

She'd read me grown-up poems, too, poems by Whitman, Longfellow, Shelley, and Dickinson. But it wasn't all serious stuff - I recall taking particular delight in Robert W. Service's "The Cremation of Sam McGee" and "The Shooting of Dan Magrew."

Later, she'd sit on the edge of my bed and say a night-time prayer with me. We had any number of conversations there in my darkened bedroom. Nana especially liked to talk about her religion.

"I'm a Spiritualist," she'd tell me solemnly. "And we believe in two things.

"We believe in the Golden Rule - 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.'"

I already knew that one from Sunday School.

"And the second thing we believe," Nana continued, "is that you can communicate with the dead."

"Okay, Nana..."

(Needless to say, my religious education has been eclectic.)


Years later, in my mid-20's, I saw a tiny newspaper notice for services at the local Spiritualist Church. On Wednesday nights, they held 'readings.' I liked the sound of that. Something unusual to try and, in a way, paying homage to my grandmother. I wanted to see what it was all about and, who knew, maybe she'd get in touch!

The church was brick and tiny, somewhere off Van Brunt as I recall. One big room, painted sky blue, with a small, raised wooden platfom on one end.

There were three people seated on the platform in old wooden chairs. Two women and a man, each as old as the chairs they were sitting in. They were the readers, and they took turns talking with an individual in the audience, until everyone had been read.

The old man pointed to me and asked, "Does the name Bernie - or Ernie - mean anything to you?"

I told him it didn't.

"Well, he's real close to you." Then he asked me if I knew an Alfred. "He lived on a farm," the old man said.

Nope again.

What a disappointment. I called my parents the next weekend and told them about it, that Nana would have loved it but that there was really nothing there.

My father asked me what the old man had said.

I dismissively told him about "Bernie or Ernie" and he said, "Bernie was my father's real name."

That was a shocker - I'd always been told my grandfather's name was the same as my father's middle name: Burns.

"Okay, then," I said, "is there an Alfred in there somewhere?"

My mother answered in the affirmative. I'd forgotten both the great-uncle and the farm.

I went back to the Spiritualist Church the next Wednesday. The same guy read me but came up with zilch. The week after that, the sweet little old lady with the snow white hair and piercing blue eyes pointed to me and said, "You - the little girl in white. Does the name Hazel mean anything to you?"

Hazel was Nana's name.

She told me Nana was close by, watching and protecting, at peace. That she loved me very much. Then she started patting her chest and asked, "Did Hazel have lung problems?"

A negative on that one. Nana had a lot of problems, but her lungs weren't one of them.

"Well, I just feel like I'm having a hard time breathing," the old woman told me, continuing to pat the front of her housedress.

Two hours later, having a cup of coffee with the friend who'd accompanied me, it hit me.

I was with Nana when she had her fatal heart attack. By that time, we were both babysitting (I'd reached the age where I didn't need - nor did I want - to have a babysitter. I was 12.)

We were watching late night TV in the downstairs family room when she fell over onto the floor. She lay there with her eyes open but glazed, unseeing.

She was trying to breathe, but her breath came in a long, harsh rasp, over and over and over.

That's my last memory of her.

Happy Halloween...

Home Again, Home Again

So...back to reality. And here we are.

A solid week of autumn color, Ozark hills, and hot water.

Accommodations ranged from a tent in the woods to a - gasp - $200 a night hotel/bath house/former bordello (complete with a neon sign outside in the shape of a penis).

What fun.

Took the waters in Hot Springs; did a little shopping in Eureka Springs. Communed with nature and our pillows.

Home again...and grateful for a job with paid vacation. (Hell, grateful - period. I had a long stretch of unemployment once, so I know too well what that feels like...an experience too many are now suffering.)

Like I said, back to reality...

Getting Out of Dodge...

If I can make it through the day, Mr. Demosthenes and I are heading off to another patch of woods: specifically, the Ozarks. More specifically: we're heading for the "sprangs" (that's Arkansan for springs).

We've kept our tax refund in a safe place (buried next to the cluster oak in the woods) and have dithered for months about how to spend it. The Black Hills? North Carolina? What to do?

We've earmarked the money (ooo-bad word) for a vacation. And we're making ourselves spend it on us. (Not our usual inclination - any $$$s usually go into our money pit of a house).

We're overworked, overtired, occasionally overwraught. Battered body and soul. It's time to head for the springs.

Others around the world understand the healing power of the baths. I guess Americans just move too fast.

So tomorrow we're going to pack up the truck and head south. I found a new scenic drive we've not taken before, and we're bringing our equiment to camp along the way.

The ultimate destination: the Arlington Hotel in Hot Springs. We've signed up for two two-day packages, which includes a couple of free baths and massages. (The Bath Department - circa the 20's - is on the 3rd floor. You just get on the elevator in your bathrobe and voila'. You're there.)

We've done this a couple times before and it's WONDERFUL. We usually wind up spending our first couple days either in hot water, eating off the room service menu, or sleeping.

My idea of vacation heaven.

Debate #3

A little bit of new ground broken, but not much. I heard a couple details from both Obama and McCain last night, but again - not much.

I liked what Michael Beschloss said last night on PBS' post-debate analysis: that when a candidate goes on the attack, he is the one most diminished. Especially when his opponent seems cool as the proverbial cucumber in the face of whatever...

I hope that's true. I hope that - whoever wins the election - the rest of us realize what a mess we're in, decide to get over ourselves, and focus on what's really important.

Recommendation: PBS is a welcome refuge from the self-important chatterers on the commercial networks. Their analysis - following the debates and on election night - is thoughtful and balanced. What a relief...

Fall, Falling, Fallen

A cold front's moving through and rain is falling. It's been cloudy all day and now evening is falling, too.

Funny how your sense of smell can trigger strong memories. Tonight - for the first time this season - I smelled fall.

The earthy aroma of fallen leaves and wet dirt.

Sunday Morning Rants

* Is the election over yet????? My God, this is going on FOREVER.

* I wrote a few weeks ago that I thought I'd probably like Gloria Squitiro if I met her outside of City Hall. (I tend to like earthy, outspoken women - being one myself.)

After the incident at KCI, I've changed my mind.

Throwing her weight around, being "snotty and sarcastic" (as the skycap testified), threatening the rage of the mayor's office at two people just doing their jobs, are NOT the kinds of behaviors of which I approve.

And does she remember 9/11? Jeez....

* Is this what the start of the Great Depression felt like for my grandparents? Too bad they're no longer here to share that experience. I could use the advice.

* Screw the finger-pointing. BOTH parties are to blame. The subprime mess started in the Clinton administration with an effort to get those who couldn't really qualify into houses of their own. Then Bush loaded up that program even more. A noble idea - but......

Add to that the GOP anathema toward regulation and, well, here we are.

* Back to the Funkhousers: the mayor has managed to make himself completely irrelevant. Notice the recent spate of 12 to 1 votes? The City Council is obviously moving on without him. All he has left is the bully pulpit and, when your colleagues are ignoring you, YOU DON'T MATTER ANYMORE. Even Deb Hermann and Bill Skaggs - one time allies - have gone over to the other side, voting with the rest of the councilmembers.

What I thought was principle turns out to be massive stubborness.

* And is anybody as scared as I am at the way this election has turned? Whack jobs yelling "Kill him" and "Off with his head" at the latest McCain-Palin rallies...as those two candidates try to turn him into 'the other'?


To hell with it all. I'm going for a walk in the woods and relish in the fact that Mother Nature bats last.

Bumper Snickers

A Leading Cause of Stress is Reality!

Saw that bumper sticker on the back of an old Corolla in the heart - of course - of Midtown. (Now, before you get all twisted, I lived in Midtown for 25 years and loved it. Loved it despite gunshots in the night and the regular sound of sirens and the police helicopter.)

But I digress...

I haven't had a bumper sticker on my car since this one back in the '70's:

Women Belong in the House

And in the Senate

Look how far we've come, ladies! We, too, can have simplistic, uninformed candidates on the national ticket. I'm SO proud...

Since then, I've avoided slapping bumper stickers on my various and sundry automobiles because I didn't want to advertise what I really thought. I am not stupid - I know that other drivers are packing.

But I've mentally collected them over the years. Some of my favorites:

Don't believe anything until it has been officially denied

If ingorance is bliss, why

aren't more people happy?

Well-behaved women

seldom make history

Not all who wander are lost

Just say NO

to negativity

Because they really piss me off:

I brake SUDDENLY

for tailgaters

The one that could get me shot on my way to work (illustrated with the icons mentioned):

When fascism comes to America it will be wrapped in the flag and carrying a cross.

--Sinclair Lewis

And finally - my personal favorite:

Don't make me release the flying monkeys!

I actually BOUGHT that bumper sticker, and have been seriously considering either putting it on my car or, better yet, hanging it over my desk at work.

Debate a Rerun???

McCain voted with Bush 95% of the time. Obama's going to raise your taxes. No, McCain's going to. Obama didn't support the surge. No, McCain blew it by supporting the original (mistaken) Iraq invasion. Etc. etc. etc. heard that all last Thursday - and was hoping for some fresh material in the second debate.

I've got the message points down, boys, could we move onto something NEW? Maybe something RELEVANT? Like the fact that we seem to be going down the economic toilet and - specifically - WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT????

I think copying our Mother Country might be a good idea: in Britain, you're only allowed to campaign for four weeks (or something like that). I know, I know...free speech and all that. Except most of the speech isn't free...it's paid for by special interests with way more money than you or I will ever see.

Everybody says they hate the negative campaigning but guess what, boys and girls: the candidates and their overpaid advisors happily get down into the mud BECAUSE IT WORKS.

And by the time the campaign is over, whoever emerges the victor is covered in the aforementioned mud, and is hated and despised by those whose candidate lost. And the national vitriol continues...

Sad sad sad.

Election Vacation

The remote control is my new best friend.

Irritating campaign commercial? Bloviating TV talker? The 'mute' and 'last' buttons are getting a workout at our house. (Does anyone still remember having to get up and walk across the room in order to change channels and/or the volume?)

I refuse to watch ANYONE'S campaign ads - they're essentially worthless, usually nasty, and absolutely unhelpful. (God luv the mute button.)

Same goes for the angry chatterboxes on the cable news networks. I wish they'd all just shut up. Or maybe we could put them all in timeout and send them to their respective corners to think about their behavior.

I've watched the debates...and will continue to do so, more for the entertainment value than anything else. I know the candidates' positions, though still need to do a little more research into some of the local/state offices and figure out whether to vote for or against light rail.

I urge you to join me on my election vacation. Pick up that remote and feel a real sense of freedom. Of power.

Yes, that sense of freedom and power will be fleeting - how much control do we really have in our lives - but the momentary satisfaction of shutting some asshole up is delightful.

Morning Fog

6:55 a.m.

My brain is full. Or so it seems.

The economy. The election. Gas prices. Hurricane Ike. Whatever. Add to that constant deadlines, the usual work stress, (fill in your life's pressures here).

The adrenaline is pumping all the time and we zoom from one thing to another... to another... to another...

And then a morning like this one happens.

The sun isn't quite up but the eastern sky is bright, glowing through fog that's crept up from the lake on Sandberg's 'little cat feet.'

The landscape is blurred and softened. The woods are quiet. It's 43 degrees outside - too cold for the bugs and frogs to sing, and the birds are still just waking up.

Take a breath.



Then another.




And another...

It's a Question of Leadership

When it comes right down to it, this Presidential election is about leadership. Which man do we best trust to lead us through what will certainly be a tumultuous four years?


The last few weeks of economic craziness have shown us the kind of leadership we can expect. One hot, the other cold. I think it's instructive to look at their leadership style.

McCain announces he's suspending the nasty work of political campaigning to help fix the economy - an act which was the ultimate campaign ploy. He blasts Obama for "phoning it in," when he spent nearly all his time - you guessed it - working the phones. On Monday morning, he and his surrogates claimed victory for the bailout package that subsequently didn't pass.

He was all over the place.

Obama rightly cautioned about injecting the politics of the Presidential campaign into the bailout talks, though I wish he'd had some suggestions on how to solve this mess. Yesterday he suggested raising the level from $100,000 to $250,000 on FDIC-insured bank deposits...a move McCain quickly seconded. But what else to do?

Add to all this McCain's choice of Sarah Palin for vice president...an unwise move at best. God love her, she is just not ready for prime time. Nor is she ready to be a 71-year-old heartbeat away from the presidency.

I like John McCain, admire his courage and commitment to country, his ability to work across party lines. His principled stand against torture was admirable.

But we've had a cowboy in the White House for the last eight years and I don't think we can afford another four. We don't need a Teddy Roosevelt charging into battle; we need a Franklin Roosevelt to get us out of all the various and sundry messes in which we find ourselves.

I want someone who is thoughtful and inspiring. Somebody smarter than me. And somebody who plays it cool rather than running all over the place. McCain's antics this past week smell like desperation.

I can't wait for Thursday's debate....

The Bush Administration Finishes Its Job

Okay, I get it. Unless we bail out the greedy bastards on Wall Street, our economy - and the world's - comes crashing down around us. No loan for me if I needed a new car. No money spitting out when I hit the ATM. If I owned a business, I'd be screwed.

Well, we're screwed anyway.

W now has another accomplishment to add to his legacy. He's managed to totally diminish our political standing in the world thanks to his invasion of Iraq and consequent incompetence in managing that effort. Now he and his fellow GOPers have completely fucked up the US economy, brought the global economy to its knees, and added another $700 billion to the ever-mounting deficit.

At his press avails last week, he looked like a deer in the headlights. The man doesn't have a clue.

Or maybe he does. In my paranoid moments comes the thought that suggests it's all a plot - the Dick Cheney/Newt Gingrich plan to "starve the pig." If there's no revenue coming in, government HAS to shrink.

My Republican friends have - for years - told me how much better we'll be with the GOP in charge because (OMG - we're seeing it at the municipal level too) they're "smart with the money."

So much for that theory.

I understand that we need to "restore confidence" to avoid a meltdown. Like most Americans, I am thoroughly pissed. So now its OUR tax dollars that will have to pay for the overwhelming greed that has been on display. Somebody - LOTS of somebodys - need to go to jail.

In a Funk

We live - just barely - in Kansas City, Missouri (the city's boundary runs through my living room and - yes- that means we pay taxes to two municipalities but only get to vote in one - the one where the house is located: KCMO).

I confess: I voted for Mark Funkhouser.

I thought it was a choice between a really smart man and a really nice one. I've worked in and around City Hall and knew them both. Liked them both. But I figured with all the problems the city faces - crime, huge liabilities taken on during the Barnes administration, the looming gazillion dollar sewer re-do (for the first time, I'm glad we have a septic tank - no sewer fees for us!), the looming light rail plan, the backlog of deferred maintenance, etc. etc. etc. - we needed the smart guy.

Boy, am I disappointed.

You'd think, after 18 years as City Auditor, he'd have figured out how to work City Hall. Ummm.........not so much.

Mayors Cleaver and Barnes knew how to count to seven and they didn't eschew the label 'politician.' When you are elected to political office, you are by definition a politician. And if you want to get anything done at City Hall, you have to get seven votes or it ain't gonna happen. Pissing on/off your colleagues is not a good idea.

The "Drama of the Barefoot Contessa" now playing at 12th & Oak has been wildly entertaining (who could write that kind of stuff???) but, uh, unhelpful. That show needs to close.

I have a feeling that, if I ran into Gloria, I'd probably like her. (I tend to like strong, opinionated, feisty women.)

But enough is enough.


Dear Mark and Gloria,

My, oh, my, what a mess you've made.

I'm sure it's been a rough one-and-a-half years. But hopefully you've learned from past mistakes - like how to do simple background checks on potential Park Board appointees and to not accept free cars.

Since I voted for one of you, I feel entitled to give a little advice prior to Thursday's Council meeting.

Take the high road. (Always a good idea in public and personal relations.) Don't threaten or demean the 12 people you're supposed to be working with. (Remember the number '7.')

In the little time you have left, try to find a compromise. (Difficult to do when you've pissed everybody off, but try anyway...the fine art of compromise is what politicians DO. Half a loaf is better than none.) And if you lose, move on. Swallow the insult and do what we elected you to do.

Gloria, I'm sure you're great, one-on-one, with constituents. You both say that's one of your strengths. So go to all the public meetings you want - outside of City Hall. Represent the mayor all over the place. Personalize your rather austere spouse.

Your role is not that of co-mayor and your place is not the 29th floor. Your intemperate words inside that office have placed the city at risk. Your undefined role has caused confusion and concern among staff and constituents. And a real 'first lady' keeps her shoes on. (Going barefoot in the workplace is just gross. Not to mention highly unprofessional. It's the office of the city's top elected official, for God's sake - show some respect and decorum.)

Usually the people I vote for lose, so it was kinda nice when I picked the winner for a change. Right now I'm regretting that vote.

You've got two-and-a-half years to change my mind. Don't waste it.

Demosthenes

Crystal Beach is Gone

So much for my family's Thanksgiving tradition. Hurricane Ike took care of that.

The house we usually stayed in was right on the water. It's not there anymore.

My family, mostly scattered across Texas, has been getting together nearly every Thanksgiving to celebrate the holiday in a rented beach house in Crystal Beach, Texas. We started that tradition the year after my father died. My mother had always hosted turkey-day at their house, and my siblings and I decided, that first year, that Thanksgiving at the beach would make the holiday much easier for her. It did - and we continued the tradition for another 15 years or so.

Long walks, bonfires on the beach, bocci ball, nieces and nephews laughing and playing, penny poker games at night, investigating tide pools, reading for hours on the porch, always to the soundtrack of crashing waves. November on the Gulf Coast can be iffy - some years it was warm enough to swim; other years demanded mittens, coat, and a wool hat. It was never crowded (though why Texas lets people drive their CARS on the beach is beyond me.)

Some of my happiest memories...

My mother died a few years ago. We had a couple beach Thanksgivings after that, but it wasn't the same. She'd been the center of our little family - and her absence was palpable. So last year, we skipped the beach and had our celebration at my sister's house in Dallas.

This year, we'd decided to try it again - mostly at the insistence of my three nieces, all in their early 20's now, who really missed the traditional family time at the beach. My mom's been gone for four years now, and we figured enough time had passed and it would be okay.

Guess not. It's all just gone.

Crystal Beach wasn't classy - a lot of crappy beach shops selling shells and fish nets, a couple pizza joints, a water slide, you know the drill. The attraction was the water...which was also its undoing.

I'm stunned by the devastation and know that my wistfulness for times past is nothing compared to what the residents of the Texas Gulf Coast are dealing with. MSM attention has gone to the next big thing - but those folks are still in the thick of it.

Canine Harvest

A walk in the woods is very different these days for the dog. Usually she's bounding ahead, stopping occasionally to sniff the ground or raise her head to catch some airborne scent. She's learned not to chase the deer - but, boy, does she want to. She'll sit there quivering, eyes fixated, as she overcomes the innate instinct to give chase.

Now, though, she keeps her head to the ground as we walk, snuffling back and forth, searching for the perfect specimen.

She is on the hunt for her autumnal prize.

She'll sniff, but then pass by, several of the offerings, waiting to find the one she wants. I'm not sure what criteria she has locked inside that Labrador brain, but when she discovers the one she desires, she surreptiously - even guiltily - snatches it up and, mouth slightly agape, starts hurrying towards home.

Only when she's reached the safety of the Oriental rug in the living room will she settle in to devour it...a task which requires no small amount of work.

But she has her treat: the perfect hickory nut. Not for her the green or damaged ones. Nor will she take the easy road and go for the already-shelled nut. She likes hers whole, dark, big, and round.

A word of warning - these can be nature's banana peels. Step on one, and your foot can go rolling right out from under you.

And one more thing: remember to pick up the remnant shards of the extremely hard and thick hickory nut shell left on the rug. If you forget, your bare foot may pay the price.

Fall Equinox and an Explanation

Tomorrow summer supposedly ends, and autumn begins. Though I must say, we haven't had much of a summer here in the Heartland. The air conditioner (sorry KCP&L) wasn't used as much as in past years - and the days seemed to speed by.

I've noticed a few trees beginning to turn. The nights are cool and great for sleeping - windows open and a comforter in use.

"This is the Autumn Equinox, when the fruits of summer are taken inside and made ready." - Danaan Perry

On the seasonal wheel, this is a time of balance, of equal hours of dark and light. My Celtic ancestors celebrated the Equinox as a time of harvest - called Harvest Home or Harvest Thanksgiving or the Feast of Dionysius, among others. Christianity co-opted the holiday, as they did so many others, turning it into Michaelmas.

It was/is a time to give thanks for the gifts of the Creator. And it was a wake-up call that winter was coming...when life recedes into the earth and the world appears dormant or dead. A time for contemplation.

I've had plenty o' time for contemplation - I injured my back the day after my birthday and have spent the last several weeks alternately communing with an ice pack and a heating pad. The best description I have for it is "sledgehammer to the middle back." Thank God for a chiropractor whom I've dubbed 'the miracle worker.'

(Here's where the explanation in the headline comes in: I wrote my first blog entry in Word on Aug. 26, my birthday, but because of the back thing, didn't get the entry posted and the blog going until yesterday. Hence the mismatched dates on my first entry.)

How did I injure myself, you ask? I TURNED MY HEAD. Period. No great exertion. Just turned my head to the side to look at something and felt a pop deep in my middle back. What a pisser...

A friend of mine always asks, "And what's the lesson here?" Hmmmm. I have a birthday that is of a significant number and - wham - the universe debilitates me. As my brother the shrink told me yesterday, "In the last third of your life, you can't be casual about the body you live in."

The seasonal wheel keeps turning...and sometimes it's a bitch.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! (And the XIX Amendment…)

It’s my birthday and we’re giving me a blog as a present.

I’m older, wiser (well, one can hope), and definitely crankier. With the descriptor “little old lady” showing up off there on the horizon, I figure I should start taking advantage now of one of the only advantages of being old: you get to mouth off and people just react with a “Well, you know how she is…”

You also have a lot of stories to tell because you’ve seen a lot: death, chronic illness, menopause, adventures, extended unemployment, incredibly stupid decisions on your part (it’s a wonder you’re still alive!), and even more incredibly stupid decisions on the part of our so-called leadership (from city government on up).

Balancing that out, though, are those moments of sweetness, those moments of clarity when you see beyond the mundane (or monumental amount of) shit with which we all deal.

I like the way Ralph says it: “Evermore in the world is this marvelous balance of beauty and disgust, magnificence and rats.”

Though often disgust and rats seem to have the upper hand…

But then a hummingbird stops by to feed at a bright red zinnia.

Ergo, this blog…



And happy birthday to the XIX Amendment, into law on this date in 19??.

That’s the one giving women the right to vote. So today, in case you didn’t know, is officially Women’s Equality Day AND my birthday. (When I pointed out this synchronicity to my mother, she just nodded and said thoughtfully, “Well, that explains it…”)

Women were jailed and force-fed for our right to vote. Let’s exercise it in November.