Days of my Life #34

My dogs are tired. Canine dogs. At least two of three of them are, tired. One of them, my cuddly Chocolate Lab Mocha, is at least 10 years old, has got nasty back, hips and probably ankles or knees and she’s got other problems too like several lipomas and a recurring ear infection which is treated daily after having spent beaucoups bucks on nada relief at the vets. Thank goddess she is not blind, but I’m sure that’s coming in due order. She follows me everywhere unless she’s sleeping too soundly in which case I tiptoe about to give her a few extra winks, only waking her when food is ready. She rarely hears the other pups which is pretty amazing. I should’ve called her Freeway since she was getting on the Freeway when I found her. It’s been a mutual love fest since.

Then there’s Porter, a black lab mixed with some other good ole dawg. He’s getting on in years too, probably twelve of the Barkiest years I’d say. As I said he’s getting older and isn’t the spry pup he was when I visited daughter in Austin back in 2009 and he jumped in my lap, shivering, for the duration of July 4th fireworks outside. This dog still barks, loudly and incessantly at passers by on bikes, skateboards, foot, stroller, scooter and definitely at the mailman, varied delivery driver plus stranger and friend alike. He’s also not a particularly discriminating barker. He’s sweet, relatively tolerant of our newest addition, Zappa, as in my ole buddy Frank, (another story) a now ten week old puppy, except when the pipsqueak wants to nibble at his ears.

Zappa, aka Chewy, when he’s gnawing on anything his little sharp as tacks teeth can get ahold of, including grandson’s ear (ouch), cords, remotes, you name it and yes we have loads of trip worthy toys for the jaws of destruction. His other nom de P.U. is Pisher or Shithead or anything that comes to mind when we are not wanting him to pee or poop on the floor just after he has been outside for a damn hour rolling in the grass! Zap does not mind thunder or lightning and is only tired after a long walk which has entailed darting in between the two other dogs and humans, testing our attempts to make him repeatedly heel, driving the older dogs to both distraction and ultimately exhaustion, played fetch with all of us, destroyed numerous potted plants and had a snack. Phew!

I suppose my other dogs are tired as well. My feet that is. We walked not particularly far today but it was the stopping and going and picking up poop and pulling the rotten sweet potato out of porter’s mouth, Yuck, avoiding the dead toads on the road, tripping over Zappa who was either chewing on a stick or chasing balls of fallen Spanish moss and being yanked away from them, me landing ankle-twistingly off a curb (thankfully only temporarily injured – I think), and almost needing to carry sixty pound Mocha three blocks. Uurgh!

I’ve now got my feet up as I write. Daughter is resting elsewhere and all three dogs are peacefully snoozing, the littlest next to me in the chair. I think I’ll join them all. Have a wonderful whatever. Zzzz

Tune in.

Days of my Life #33

Hi. I’m back. I’ve been away on my dream vacation, where, You are asking? In my dreams, of course. Several days ago I checked out of the hum drum of my “pandemic pandemonium is this really my reality”? And checked into “dream a little dream of me as my formerly adorable svelte thirty or forty something self gallivanting around with a handsome, yet rugged, sensitive but strong, definitely not gay lover”. We hit the beaches, the mountains, my castle in the south of France, his keep in the flowing hills of Och wira wira near the cliffs of some Moor of this, baby. We avoided the big cities because why go there? It was three glorious days of sex, sex and more sex plus delicious food and gut-busting laughter. A holiday only I could’ve imagined, and boy did I.

Life, in my dreams was exciting, actually downright invigorating and extremely satisfying but unfortunately for me I had to return because I had a cancellation policy that expired at noon today and I could hardly afford the exorbitant emotional fees had I foolishly deigned to be late.

So here I honestly and truly am, sitting with three dogs- two old, one a whipper snapper, at my feet, as I ask you, because I’m expecting you to know, when can I go there again?

Now don’t get me wrong, or do, it’s your choice. My life, compared to many others is pretty damn good, and for this I am eternally grateful. I have a daughter with whom I live, who is probably as smart if not smarter than I, easy to get along with, funny or maybe she just tolerates my humor, and is a master baker (my waistline is proof). My grandson, with whom I also live, keeps me on my toes. And while I am surprisingly quite adept at predicting weather, fashion, and the crazy shit that this administration pulls out of its ass, I cannot ever figure out what the kid is going to do next, thus I am constantly challenged, which is quite good for my age addled brain. All this and we have a big roof over our heads, comfortable beds, food in the fridge and are friendly with our neighbors. No real complaints, or rather nothing worthy of kvetching about.

The metaphoric grass is, however, greener in my dreams…and I wonder why oh why can I get no satisfaction…in reality. But in saying that I totally understand that this is the dilemma of so many people now faced with the simplicity of being home, constantly at home, having zoom sessions with bored compatriots with the only excitement being when Netflix, Hulu or Amazon announces a new movie release or the curbside shopper substitutes triple chocolate extra fattening ice cream for the boring single chocolate keto crap you ordered and you finish it off in one evening, enjoying every fucking calorie, cellulite be damned.

Yes, I’ve been making fun about those of us who are blessed with such limited problems, but the joke stops here, because I’ve been forced to awaken to the understanding we, who are the fortunate ones, have the responsibility to help those of our friends, family, neighbors who can’t even dream of a getaway from the reality of being, sick, or unemployed, or being further indebted, evicted or homeless, or being at risk of being killed by hateful bigots.

It’s time we all woke up to make a better world, and while it might temporarily be easier to check into fantasy village, eventually we’re gonna have to wake up and deal with the real mess before us. As to what you can do…I’ll leave that up to you.

Tune in.

Days of my Life #31

I blame it all on a fucking cricket. It’s hiding under our dishwasher, behind the cabinets. It has been rubbing its legs, repeatedly, noisily, infuriatingly, making an infernal racket for over two nights now. All this to attract a mate. Geez, the things one does to get laid. Anyway, now, for these two plus days, I have felt like the walking dead and that is my reason for not writing. Isn’t that a better excuse than my dog ate my homework?

I know I must’ve slept a teensy bit since I opened my eyes and have remembered a tidbit of a dream I think I just had. I was in a law office which led to the backstage of a theater and the wings. I believe I was an actress whose lead role was the mother of a handsome (aren’t they all? No? Well this one was. Sigh.) philanderer. I entered at stage right, walked over deliberately and told my “son” how ashamed I was of his behavior, exited stage left, then got lost outside the building and the rest of the dream spiraled into some other story but all with me trying desperately to return to the stage to deliver my next line. There was always some distraction preventing my ability to find the wings. I guess I got fired. I vaguely remember somehow telling the director I was led the wrong way by a fellow actor, though for all I know I blamed it on the damn cricket…he’s a great scapegoat.

See, even I, a person with relatively excellent intentions, even in my dreams, can blame someone else for my own lack of attention or other foibles. Just imagine those with evil intent. What? You can’t think of at least one? Okay. Okay. I know I can… and I can bet they don’t have crickets messing with their head through the night that can innocently take the blame because they’ve got at least one human who can be their whipping boy/girl/s.

In my brief, though intense study of scapegoats, the type and level of same are relative to the nastiness of those who mete out their punishment. Just for the hell of it, I invite you to briefly follow me along the narrow and winding path through Man’s history of narrow mindedness in making others responsible for their misdeeds, lies and general meaniness!

I introduce you to the eons old ritual of sacrificing an actual goat to signify the casting out of evil and sin, employed by a whole slew of cultures as a means to keep their communities “good” and wealthy, devoid of the negative, avoiding responsibilities or whatever they deemed so. Yep, this silly custom was the go-to by those gosh darn ancient Greeks, Syrians, Christians, Sumerians and you guessed it Jews. Not your group of peeps? Hmmm. Think again. There were many more and varied peoples who, throughout the ages have employed similar practices, but we needn’t go back that far to look.

Have you actually thought we’ve evolved since then? Ha. Nope. Well, maybe we’ve devolved cause we’re no longer killing a poor innocent goat…to atone for our collective sins. From the simple school bully badgering an innocent classmate to murderous ICE thugs sexually accosting dehumanized innocent child refugees.

Are you uncomfortable yet? Now, I invite you to regard further into human history..shall we peek into the famously historical scapegoating of Jews, Armenians, Gypsies, homosexuals etc, in Europe, because most rational thinking, intelligent, humane people know about that and are further abhorred.

Modern scapegoats have included just about every immigrant and refugee group. Are we able to take off our rose colored latest style “Denial Ray-bans” to peer ever so closely at our most recent scapegoats…both individual and groups of people (those who in worst case are victims of severe persecution and genocide).? Come on. Let’s be brave.

I’m not going to go into depth, but I am imagining you’re getting a tad squirmy..so I’ll just close With this thought. As we recoil at the effects of the mutation of a virus, we ought not cast our blame on the Chinese. Are they so obviously to blame? Maybe instead of focusing across the world at the Chinese we could take a look at our factory farms since those places are hotbeds of uncleanliness, disease and overcrowding. A virus knows no culture except perhaps that in a Petri dish.

Our unesteemed “leader” has himself made a practice of pointing his tiny finger at everyone but himself for EVERY issue he chooses not to take responsibility. There have been so many events, he has just about run out of people to blame. Uh oh. I’ve made yet another scapegoat. I wonder if I could send him my cricket.

Tune in.

Days of my Life #30

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Yo. Yo. Yo. Whatsup folks? Thought I’d try a more youthful, hip approach today. Whatyathink?

I felt the need to be more or less different in my writing today, but so far, try as I might, it ain’t working for me. Maybe that’s because I’m puzzling over a situation, yes the same old pandemic has me in a spell and i feel like hell…and so round and round I go, into my mask I blow, the plague makes me weepy even though I’m so sleepy. Gonna bake some bread, knock me in the head cause that old pandemic maybe gonna strike me dead. Mea culpa, while I am borrowing from “that ole Black Magic” it must be my Poetic crisis.

An old friend just posted a link to a controversial pandemic related video made by another mutual friend/acquaintance. Having seen it, “snopesed”, and googled a bit more, It’s now got me scratching my head like I’ve got a case of dandruff that is head and shoulders above and below what we’ve all been worried about.

What did I do next, as a corona-co-dependent-shut-in? I sent copies of the video to some (6) close friends to get their opinions. I’ve heard from one, maybe two. While the jury is still out, I thought I’d muse about it, well not exactly “it”, cause I’m not finding “it” at all amusing and probably not going to divulge the title since I’m choosing to come to my own conclusions and feel you might wish to do the same.

Now you’re probably asking “how can I possibly come to my own conclusions if I don’t even know the title of the fiLm?” There in lies the rub, but You’ve probably been sent a copy or seen it posted on FB – you may already even know it’s name, have seen it and you’re either unfriending me, having a meltdown, calling me names, pouring a shot of tequila or choosing to do your own due diligence. Whatever.

I think what the film has made me do is really studiously evaluate how I perceive not only the media but people’s reactions, both emotional and intellectual, and to commence doing more in-depth research than I’ve ever done, which is saying a lot. Geez.

I’m in the “should I go or should I stay” mode. My quarantine quandary is exemplified by my jumping up every 15 minutes to grab a snack, go for a pee, gulp the entire contents of a humongous glass of water/tea/icy something or other and then dive back into the bedlam of researching that which makes me increasingly more uncomfortable. Masochism is the nam3 of this girl’s game, or so it would seem.

Well what the heck am I uncomfortable about? 1.who do I trust? 2. why do I trust them? 3. am I being gullible 4. Is it safe for me to do this research? 5. am I being paranoid? 6. What can I do with my findings?

Obviously I have seen way too many mysteries and whodonits in my life, so #4 is “maybe” and #5 is probably “yes, conditionally. Consequently #6 is as yet to be determined. How does one wipe their hard drive, anyway? Admittedly I am no techie. But back to the gist of this missive.

Since I began writing this (yesterday), I ultimately realized I’ve spent way too much time thinking about how I’ve been affected by, and here I go numbering things again:

#1powerful people #2 media #3 viruses #4 escape.

Actually, this #4 is what I wanted to do ever since I saw that dog gone film when my reptilian brain jumped into high freak out and I immediately began scouring the internet for places to where I might vacate ASAP, (drugs and alcohol don’t work for me, what can I say) like a remote island that is not on the list of being swallowed up by rising waters due to climate change (unfortunately nowhere on this poor earth). Need I say it’s pretty depressing?

And no wonder. I truly believe the grand design of the deplorable (adjective), repulsive (adjective), infuriating (adjective) motherfuckers/(noun,plural) is to confound, deceive, infect, poison, terrify, anger and depress, simultaneously, the lot of us. They are doing a really good (but in a very bad way) job of it.

I’m going back to jonesing on travel. Think I’ll write Elon to see if he is considering doing layaway on a SpaceX trip to Mars.

Tune in.