Ya know, to write about all the tragic and outrageous events that continue to occur by the minute it seems, is a full time job.
On January 21st, I meant to write about the injustice of Jon Burge’s sentencing, how it was nothing in comparison to the 50+ years (collectively) of the men he and his “brothers” tortured into confessions. I wanted to write about how his cell for the next four years would be nothing like losing years in solitary confinement on death row. However, it was a tiny victory was, and Alice Kim in Dancing the Dialectic explains that far better than I.
Less than a week later, injustice boiled over when Chicago’s “police pension board narrowly ruled that the former commander's conviction – for lying about the torture of dozens of men – was not related to his job as a police officer.” Chicago taxpayers will continue to pay Burge $3000 monthly for the rest of his life for being an unapologetic torturer. Additionally, we pay his legal fees (and he certainly didn’t have a public defender), and his medical expenses. While Chicago residents are hungry and unemployed without sufficient health care coverage, we pay for a violent criminal to live a comfortable life. I wanted to write about how many Americans complain about the cost of prisons, and the “soft” life of inmates. Obviously, they have no real knowledge of prison life; however, even the most ignorant can’t possibly believe that inmates are receiving the “Burge” treatment. Where is their outrage here?
I wanted to write about how this blindness relates to the same indignation over abuse of animals while every 9 seconds a woman is abused by her husband. A commenter on the article about Michael Vick wanting a dog stated that he should never have another dog as long as he lives. Maybe, if we held that same standard for abusers of women, the statistics would decline. If a man knew that he could never have another female companion as long as he lived, he MIGHT think twice. Maybe.
I wanted to write about all of this then, comes the story of the Tampa, FL mother who killed her two children because they were “mouthy”. This is a yet another heartbreaking situation. No one wants to hear about children being hurt. However, like the Virginia Tech shooter, the Arizona shooter, and so many others, there were warning signs, and no one wanted to get involved. Our society refuses to admit that our neighbors’ issues are our own until the neighbors’ issues slap them in the face, and then—HANG THEM.
This morning came another story of bullying. In PA, six boys chased and repeatedly beat, then hung a fellow student on an iron-spiked fence, all video-taped by one of the bully’s. Heartbreaking, especially since this happened on a public street in an urban area. No one heard this boys’ screams and cries for help? Come on!
So many tragedies, and so many injustices—it’s overwhelming to gather thoughts sensibly and convey them concisely. That’s why you have it all jumbled together—it’s how my mind and emotions are every day.
Tuesday, February 01, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
Lincoln's Challenge Academy
Tomorrow my grandson leaves for Lincoln’s Challenge Academy in Rantoul, IL. He just turned 16, the same age as his uncle when he attended Lincoln’s Challenge ‘Program’ in 1993. Lincoln’s Challenge was a brand new pilot program ran by the National Guard in 1993. The National Guard still operates it and 39 states now have a Challenge Program however, under a slightly different format. I’m still not sure they have all the quirks worked out.
The idea is that with a structured, disciplined program teens will learn focus and self-discipline while acquiring a GED and life skills. Today, the offer ACT and SAT assistance and testing as well. In 1993, when I was very much a militarized, commercialistic robot, I thought this was a terrific idea for young men (Lincoln’s Challenge did, and still does, accept young women). Today, I’m a bit more skeptical but I can only advise in the current situation. More than anything, it’s a way to remove teens from their non-productive and possibly dangerous environment and give them a look at something different.
My problem with the current Lincoln’s Challenge Academy is the same problem I had with Lincoln’s Challenge Program eight years earlier—the mentor portion. The program provided the mentors in the beginning. Unfortunately, the adverting for mentors in the inner cities of Chicago and Rockford wasn't the same as the downstate communities. Consequently, most of the young men and women from some of the toughest neighborhoods in Chicago and Rockford were plopped right back where they came from without any follow-up. They received ideas of their possibilities without any support or direction to reach their potential. They spent five months building a future and came out with a pocket full of dreams and $2500.
Many fell right back in where they had left off. I remember writing a letter to Governor Edgar pleading and demanding that the inner city kids, my son one, have the same chance for success as the downstate youth. I explained that if the young men and women were self-motivated and disciplined enough to follow the right path without a mentor, they wouldn’t have needed Lincoln’s Challenge in the first place. All to no avail. My son was in prison within two years, as were many others.
Today, Lincoln’s Challenge requires the teens to find their own mentor prior to even being accepted in the program. How hard is it to understand that if the youth had mentors already the program would be inconsequential? Being somewhat of a social justice activist in the past several years, I’m reaching out for my grandson to men in that arena, however, it’s a lot to ask. Hopefully, someone will respond and he will emerge from this taxpayer sinkhole with better prospects and support than my son, who by the way is a fine, working father himself now.
I’m writing this also as a call to the men in our communities. Take a moment for the young men and women in your neighborhoods. How can you help them help themselves? How can you step out and reach them without waiting for them to ask? Many of the youth in our cities don’t think they need help, don’t think there’s anything wrong or that they are helpless. Even if you don't believe in the military approach, this IS a program doing SOMETHING for our youth. Take a minute and look at the Lincoln’s Challenge Academy’s website and think about being a mentor, think about contributing a bit of your time to our future, because that’s exactly what these youth are—the future of America. What will it look like?
The idea is that with a structured, disciplined program teens will learn focus and self-discipline while acquiring a GED and life skills. Today, the offer ACT and SAT assistance and testing as well. In 1993, when I was very much a militarized, commercialistic robot, I thought this was a terrific idea for young men (Lincoln’s Challenge did, and still does, accept young women). Today, I’m a bit more skeptical but I can only advise in the current situation. More than anything, it’s a way to remove teens from their non-productive and possibly dangerous environment and give them a look at something different.
My problem with the current Lincoln’s Challenge Academy is the same problem I had with Lincoln’s Challenge Program eight years earlier—the mentor portion. The program provided the mentors in the beginning. Unfortunately, the adverting for mentors in the inner cities of Chicago and Rockford wasn't the same as the downstate communities. Consequently, most of the young men and women from some of the toughest neighborhoods in Chicago and Rockford were plopped right back where they came from without any follow-up. They received ideas of their possibilities without any support or direction to reach their potential. They spent five months building a future and came out with a pocket full of dreams and $2500.
Many fell right back in where they had left off. I remember writing a letter to Governor Edgar pleading and demanding that the inner city kids, my son one, have the same chance for success as the downstate youth. I explained that if the young men and women were self-motivated and disciplined enough to follow the right path without a mentor, they wouldn’t have needed Lincoln’s Challenge in the first place. All to no avail. My son was in prison within two years, as were many others.
Today, Lincoln’s Challenge requires the teens to find their own mentor prior to even being accepted in the program. How hard is it to understand that if the youth had mentors already the program would be inconsequential? Being somewhat of a social justice activist in the past several years, I’m reaching out for my grandson to men in that arena, however, it’s a lot to ask. Hopefully, someone will respond and he will emerge from this taxpayer sinkhole with better prospects and support than my son, who by the way is a fine, working father himself now.
I’m writing this also as a call to the men in our communities. Take a moment for the young men and women in your neighborhoods. How can you help them help themselves? How can you step out and reach them without waiting for them to ask? Many of the youth in our cities don’t think they need help, don’t think there’s anything wrong or that they are helpless. Even if you don't believe in the military approach, this IS a program doing SOMETHING for our youth. Take a minute and look at the Lincoln’s Challenge Academy’s website and think about being a mentor, think about contributing a bit of your time to our future, because that’s exactly what these youth are—the future of America. What will it look like?
Saturday, January 08, 2011
My name is Donna and I'm a PC
Thursday night I bought a new laptop, and I suppose this could be considered my first. I'm a PC girl. Have been since 1992 when I first started using them. Back in 2006, a friend was thinking of buying her first ever computer and asked if I would help her choose. Of course, she'd asked everyone else she talked to as well. One day she came to me with the decision to buy a Mac laptop and ask that I go with her to help pick which one. I knew nothing about Mac's but was happy to go along. I'd heard Mac's were the industry standard for anyone who did graphic design—which I dabble in, along with the web design that pays for my writing habit—so I didn't mind getting a closer look. The trip to the brilliant glass Michigan Ave. Apple store resulted in a $3000 impulse buy of a MacBook Pro.
I hated that machine from day one. Over the past four years, I've realized I probably had a lemon since many of my friends have Mac's and absolutely swear by them. I had not one day of peace or operating smoothness with that laptop. Keyboard keys popped off and the track pad went berserk within two months of the purchase. The five hour battery NEVER lasted more than three, even after replacing it TWICE. The disc drive went out one month after the 3-year extended warranty. Upgrading to Snow Leopard so CLEAR mobile internet would work made the entire Adobe Suite inoperable. These things happen, however, in my opinion, they SHOULDN'T happen with a $3000 piece of machinery which is touted as the best.
There was not one single document created on that machine that was opened on a PC and stayed in the same format it was created—little boxes where all the apostrophe's or quotations were supposed to be. Many out there may say it was more likely operator error and I tend to agree. However, no matter how many times this operator attempted to work it out, it didn't happen.
It's probably fairly clear now why I say that the new Toshiba Portege can be considered my first laptop. I am ecstatic with it. I downsized from a huge 17” screen to a mere 13”, which I can actually carry around all day without back and knee damage. It has all the power required to run the graphics and web authoring software. It has an 8 hour battery that I'm currently testing. So far, we're at four hours. It has built-in WiMax, so when CLEAR has 4g everywhere, I'm all ready to go. Right now, I'm in the woods of central Wisconsin using my CLEAR 4gPlus which operates on 3g when 4g isn't available. It's coming though, and me and my new, first real laptop are set.
My name is Donna and I'm a HAPPY PC!!!
I hated that machine from day one. Over the past four years, I've realized I probably had a lemon since many of my friends have Mac's and absolutely swear by them. I had not one day of peace or operating smoothness with that laptop. Keyboard keys popped off and the track pad went berserk within two months of the purchase. The five hour battery NEVER lasted more than three, even after replacing it TWICE. The disc drive went out one month after the 3-year extended warranty. Upgrading to Snow Leopard so CLEAR mobile internet would work made the entire Adobe Suite inoperable. These things happen, however, in my opinion, they SHOULDN'T happen with a $3000 piece of machinery which is touted as the best.
There was not one single document created on that machine that was opened on a PC and stayed in the same format it was created—little boxes where all the apostrophe's or quotations were supposed to be. Many out there may say it was more likely operator error and I tend to agree. However, no matter how many times this operator attempted to work it out, it didn't happen.
It's probably fairly clear now why I say that the new Toshiba Portege can be considered my first laptop. I am ecstatic with it. I downsized from a huge 17” screen to a mere 13”, which I can actually carry around all day without back and knee damage. It has all the power required to run the graphics and web authoring software. It has an 8 hour battery that I'm currently testing. So far, we're at four hours. It has built-in WiMax, so when CLEAR has 4g everywhere, I'm all ready to go. Right now, I'm in the woods of central Wisconsin using my CLEAR 4gPlus which operates on 3g when 4g isn't available. It's coming though, and me and my new, first real laptop are set.
My name is Donna and I'm a HAPPY PC!!!
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
The Universal Kick-in-the-Butt Jumpstart, December 15, 2010, Day 167-Nomad Existence
As noted in previous entries, I am purposely homeless to assist forward movement, which was to teach abroad. In 167 days, I purchased my passport, completed TEFL certification, vacationed, and researched teaching abroad job boards. I’ve been stuck, until the universe decided on the kick-in-the-butt-jumpstart.
It’s said, when making dramatic lifestyle changes, for example, quitting smoking, you should tell people for support. I’m not sure the benefit is support. I think it’s accountability. The more people you tell, the more hold you accountable. The actual benefit to accomplishment of your goal is vanity and embarrassment. This only works if many people are involved. As a smoker, I’ve told a few, repeatedly, that I was quitting. When I started again, it was simply an “oh well” when confronted.
I’ve not read The Secret. I don’t believe that merely thinking of something will manifest it in my life. Every season I change my computers wallpaper to a Western North Carolina scene, where I hope to retire (soon), establishing a constant visual reminder of my dream. I’m not any closer to the reality. Action is the key, coupled with a large amount of accountability (read: vanity).
Since June 2010, I’ve told everyone “I will be somewhere” by January. I’m still homeless in Kenosha. Activity has flourished in the past two weeks. I’ve applied for jobs in Taiwan, Costa Rica, Italy, and Germany; housesitting positions in the Smoky Mountains, Wyoming and Australia; installed Skype so I can tutor online. I’m writing daily, and have even submitted. What happened? Vanity!
In July, I relinquished one of my workshop leader positions with the Neighborhood Writing Alliance (NWA), and this month, I relinquished the other. I’ve been with them eight years, starting as a writer. I acquired the first workshop when our facilitator retired, the other after campaigning for an offenders or ex-offenders group, resulting in a unique one at St. Leonard’s House. Additionally, I perform most of NWA’s tech stuff: website maintenance, the monthly newsletter, weekly update to workshop leaders, and most recently, development of Every Person Is a Philosopher Blog. I am fairly well known around the organization. So, when they dedicated the annual holiday party to me on December 15th, day 167 of my nomad existence, sending me off with poems, reminisces, warm wishes and hugs from people all over the city of Chicago, I felt the drop-back-and-punt-type kick in the butt from the universe.
Hence, the flurry of activity to make the future actually happen. When asked what I’d done with all the well wishes from that tearful send off, what will I say? Nothing? I’ve done nothing? I’ve done nothing with several opportunities, but my vanity won’t allow me to be that embarrassed.
Whether I teach abroad, volunteer and live in a National Forest, visit writer’s retreats, or do that North Carolina retirement thing, I’m moving forward thanks to that reliable universal-kick-in-the-butt jumpstart. Thank you!
It’s said, when making dramatic lifestyle changes, for example, quitting smoking, you should tell people for support. I’m not sure the benefit is support. I think it’s accountability. The more people you tell, the more hold you accountable. The actual benefit to accomplishment of your goal is vanity and embarrassment. This only works if many people are involved. As a smoker, I’ve told a few, repeatedly, that I was quitting. When I started again, it was simply an “oh well” when confronted.
I’ve not read The Secret. I don’t believe that merely thinking of something will manifest it in my life. Every season I change my computers wallpaper to a Western North Carolina scene, where I hope to retire (soon), establishing a constant visual reminder of my dream. I’m not any closer to the reality. Action is the key, coupled with a large amount of accountability (read: vanity).
Since June 2010, I’ve told everyone “I will be somewhere” by January. I’m still homeless in Kenosha. Activity has flourished in the past two weeks. I’ve applied for jobs in Taiwan, Costa Rica, Italy, and Germany; housesitting positions in the Smoky Mountains, Wyoming and Australia; installed Skype so I can tutor online. I’m writing daily, and have even submitted. What happened? Vanity!
In July, I relinquished one of my workshop leader positions with the Neighborhood Writing Alliance (NWA), and this month, I relinquished the other. I’ve been with them eight years, starting as a writer. I acquired the first workshop when our facilitator retired, the other after campaigning for an offenders or ex-offenders group, resulting in a unique one at St. Leonard’s House. Additionally, I perform most of NWA’s tech stuff: website maintenance, the monthly newsletter, weekly update to workshop leaders, and most recently, development of Every Person Is a Philosopher Blog. I am fairly well known around the organization. So, when they dedicated the annual holiday party to me on December 15th, day 167 of my nomad existence, sending me off with poems, reminisces, warm wishes and hugs from people all over the city of Chicago, I felt the drop-back-and-punt-type kick in the butt from the universe.
Hence, the flurry of activity to make the future actually happen. When asked what I’d done with all the well wishes from that tearful send off, what will I say? Nothing? I’ve done nothing? I’ve done nothing with several opportunities, but my vanity won’t allow me to be that embarrassed.
Whether I teach abroad, volunteer and live in a National Forest, visit writer’s retreats, or do that North Carolina retirement thing, I’m moving forward thanks to that reliable universal-kick-in-the-butt jumpstart. Thank you!
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Silently Screaming Fear
I WANT to go. It’s my last chance to navigate my planet. My last chance to be carefree, and that silently screaming companion fear—for that’s what it is, fear and lack of discipline—holds me, binds me to self. Do what you need to do so you can do what you want to do. Easier by far to scribble the words. Pen to paper has power yet, movement is more powerful still.
The golden brightness of autumn signals folding in, wrapping up, secure against the cruelties of winter. Psychologically, I draw the swathe tighter and snuggle deep into the smothering safety.
The golden brightness of autumn signals folding in, wrapping up, secure against the cruelties of winter. Psychologically, I draw the swathe tighter and snuggle deep into the smothering safety.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
What a Difference a Day Makes
Today is a fiery, passionate red optimism. Yesterday was the cold, angry gray of despair. Why? It's the same room, in the same house that sits in the same yard in the same town. The same sun shines through the same window and I perform the same tasks. Yet, today's vision is eagle-eyed, whereas yesterday's was that of a fearful mouse.
I slept in the same bed with the same two cats curled close, warm and purring. I woke to the same people, child readying for work, grandchildren for school. Today, I enjoy the embrace while yesterday I prayed for distance. The deer-in-the-headlight terror replaced with a romping desire. Blue skies with streaks of red and brown drifting through instead of a perception of overcast, brooding storm clouds.
What a difference a day makes when we have the strength to wait, to persevere, to know that change is imminent, even when impossibility strangles. Lessons I learn daily, each moment of each day. Even when I've been tko'd, tomorrow is another day.
I slept in the same bed with the same two cats curled close, warm and purring. I woke to the same people, child readying for work, grandchildren for school. Today, I enjoy the embrace while yesterday I prayed for distance. The deer-in-the-headlight terror replaced with a romping desire. Blue skies with streaks of red and brown drifting through instead of a perception of overcast, brooding storm clouds.
What a difference a day makes when we have the strength to wait, to persevere, to know that change is imminent, even when impossibility strangles. Lessons I learn daily, each moment of each day. Even when I've been tko'd, tomorrow is another day.
Friday, October 08, 2010
Day 67 – Nomadic Existence – What Constitutes Crazy?
Kenosha, WI would not be my final destination of choice. Whether on the south side which is constant activity or this north side that is mock suburbia. When and if I decide to ‘settle’ down, it will definitely be in a rural setting that is real, not imagined. And, it will be with a vehicle. Lately, I’ve been feeling like a suburban soccer mom without the mini-van. I’ve NEVER been much of a suburbanite. We (the suburban females and I) don’t quite see eye to eye on much. For that matter, I suppose I don’t I have much in common with the males either. One of the current things we differ on is what constitutes crazy.
We’ve been in this house 60 days. Since school started in early September, I’ve been walking to the end of the block to get my 5-year-old grandson off the school bus. As with any other state, if the taxpayers pick up the bill, jobs take triple time. Consequently, our road has been closed since the first day of school so the child cannot be dropped off in front of his house like all the others. Thankfully, the weather has been good for walking—and standing on corners.
That’s what I do every afternoon—stand on the corner and wait for the bus. “Some” people have waved, some said hello, one struck up a courteous conversation. Other than that, most drive by, walk by, or peek through their curtains with suspicious looks as to why a woman is standing on the corner. Everyday they give these looks. You’d think that by now they’d know why. I think now though they have a different, more sinister reason for peeking.
A couple of weeks ago a woman came out as I was walking back with the kid. She not only said hello to me but to the child as well, and asked him if he wanted to see chickens. Possibly, if his mother didn’t have a friend who lived on a farm, this may have interested him, but he’s seen chickens up close and personal before, so it was no big deal. It was however, a big deal to me. I LIKE the idea of self-sufficiency and locally grown. I was extremely surprised that she had a chicken coop in the middle of a sub-division.
She informed me that they’ve given her a hard time and tried to ticket her, but her father built the house years before and she is one of a few that are not part of the city and are still county. She has three huge lots, one that the house sits on, one that is a beautifully landscaped yard with wrought iron benches under trees and one that is wildflowers and brush. This last one she is constantly working in and which hides her garden and chicken coop from view of the street.
She’s taken to meeting us everyday and walking down the street with us. She asks the kid what he learned in school and we talk about wars, government policies, people and religious beliefs. Our landlord asked my daughter why her mother is ‘hanging’ with the crazy woman. The few people, who did speak to me on passing, now turn their heads and don’t even acknowledge my presence.
There is another empty lot next to hers that she was thinking of buying until they gave her a ticket for planting wildflowers and told her to “not put anymore garbage there.” The lot is ‘legally’ not wide enough to build so it sits empty. I made mention that it would be a terrific place for a community garden rather than waste the land. She said, “No way. That’ll never happen. This is NOT a community.”
So, if my ‘neighbors’ think that crazy constitutes having chickens to supply your personal eggs instead of buying commercial eggs that have salmonella, I don’t agree. If they think that planting wildflowers is “garbage,” I don’t agree. If they think making friends with the new folks on the block is crazy I don’t agree. My idea of crazy is hiding behind your curtains peering or driving by staring at a woman who is waiting for a school bus. My idea of crazy is not embracing differences. My idea of crazy is having preconceived notions and leaving no room for growth. Not a woman who hand-writes letters at dawn and gives one to that new neighbor saying how refreshing it is to meet someone who talks honestly, and that it has made her days better.
Now really, does that sound crazy to you??
We’ve been in this house 60 days. Since school started in early September, I’ve been walking to the end of the block to get my 5-year-old grandson off the school bus. As with any other state, if the taxpayers pick up the bill, jobs take triple time. Consequently, our road has been closed since the first day of school so the child cannot be dropped off in front of his house like all the others. Thankfully, the weather has been good for walking—and standing on corners.
That’s what I do every afternoon—stand on the corner and wait for the bus. “Some” people have waved, some said hello, one struck up a courteous conversation. Other than that, most drive by, walk by, or peek through their curtains with suspicious looks as to why a woman is standing on the corner. Everyday they give these looks. You’d think that by now they’d know why. I think now though they have a different, more sinister reason for peeking.
A couple of weeks ago a woman came out as I was walking back with the kid. She not only said hello to me but to the child as well, and asked him if he wanted to see chickens. Possibly, if his mother didn’t have a friend who lived on a farm, this may have interested him, but he’s seen chickens up close and personal before, so it was no big deal. It was however, a big deal to me. I LIKE the idea of self-sufficiency and locally grown. I was extremely surprised that she had a chicken coop in the middle of a sub-division.
She informed me that they’ve given her a hard time and tried to ticket her, but her father built the house years before and she is one of a few that are not part of the city and are still county. She has three huge lots, one that the house sits on, one that is a beautifully landscaped yard with wrought iron benches under trees and one that is wildflowers and brush. This last one she is constantly working in and which hides her garden and chicken coop from view of the street.
She’s taken to meeting us everyday and walking down the street with us. She asks the kid what he learned in school and we talk about wars, government policies, people and religious beliefs. Our landlord asked my daughter why her mother is ‘hanging’ with the crazy woman. The few people, who did speak to me on passing, now turn their heads and don’t even acknowledge my presence.
There is another empty lot next to hers that she was thinking of buying until they gave her a ticket for planting wildflowers and told her to “not put anymore garbage there.” The lot is ‘legally’ not wide enough to build so it sits empty. I made mention that it would be a terrific place for a community garden rather than waste the land. She said, “No way. That’ll never happen. This is NOT a community.”
So, if my ‘neighbors’ think that crazy constitutes having chickens to supply your personal eggs instead of buying commercial eggs that have salmonella, I don’t agree. If they think that planting wildflowers is “garbage,” I don’t agree. If they think making friends with the new folks on the block is crazy I don’t agree. My idea of crazy is hiding behind your curtains peering or driving by staring at a woman who is waiting for a school bus. My idea of crazy is not embracing differences. My idea of crazy is having preconceived notions and leaving no room for growth. Not a woman who hand-writes letters at dawn and gives one to that new neighbor saying how refreshing it is to meet someone who talks honestly, and that it has made her days better.
Now really, does that sound crazy to you??
Wednesday, September 08, 2010
Teaching Abroad
OK, so here was the reasoning for becoming a nomad (read: homeless). I would then be able to pay for the TEFL certification and go teach abroad where I could make enough to save and come back to settle (read: retire), with 'maybe' a part-time teaching job, but mostly, just writing.
Researching again before I hand over the money, I find that ONLY Asia will I actually MAKE money. Seems everywhere else, oh, except UAE, I will only break even.
Now, to regroup, rethink and obviously, PUNT!!
Researching again before I hand over the money, I find that ONLY Asia will I actually MAKE money. Seems everywhere else, oh, except UAE, I will only break even.
Now, to regroup, rethink and obviously, PUNT!!
Day 41-Nomad Existence
Back from the travels to central Wisconsin, back from the travels to the Boundary Waters of Minnesota, back from being a guest of wilderness to being a guest of my daughter in southeastern Wisconsin. Back to dreaming of traveling again--soon. Back to commutes into the big city Chicago and wondering why. I sit snuggled beneath my comforter, beneath school and work preparation activities, beneath with Lola and Rocky on either side. We enjoy the beneath. Later, I will sit beneath the rolling clouds and frisky breeze to waggle my fingertips and knead the inspiration more. Rocky and Lola will chase flies and chomp on luscious cattails.
The last steps have sounded overhead and the last door has slammed. Silence above beckons to us dwellers of the beneath, announcing that all is clear for emergence. Yet, none moves, only purrs and taps on the keyboard. All is well.
The last steps have sounded overhead and the last door has slammed. Silence above beckons to us dwellers of the beneath, announcing that all is clear for emergence. Yet, none moves, only purrs and taps on the keyboard. All is well.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Day 49 - August 18, 2010 - Bear Island Lake
Today is Wednesday, on Monday I had "The One That Got Away" in wind gusts of 25 mph in a small 16 footer. Well, it's the same 16 footer on the same Bear Island Lake with the same driver--my friends mostly silent but occasionally dryly humorous husband. The sun was shining as we trolled back and forth and back and forth. At least the wind wasn't blowing my line under the boat, into the motor and onto his back--sufficiently hooking my first catch of the season.
I caught a few more of those 'average' fellows that I spared from the hot skillet. And then, this one came along:
A small, 1 1/4 pound, large-mouth bass. According to my expert guide, this WAS a keeper because it was the largest large-mouth he'd seen in Bear Island Lake. He caught plenty of small-mouth, a few walleye and a couple northern's, but I caught the large-mouth. Imagine THAT!! Has no correlation to my own big mouth AT ALL!!
The day was nice, but of course I'd forgotten the camera so can't show you (right now) a view of the north woods surrounding a rippling lake, but it is divine.
We'd been out some 3 hrs, went back for lunch and I managed to get in and out and back in the boat all under my own power, which is pretty good considering I'm not a petite woman (anymore). After another hour on the water, sitting on a pad on a wooden bench, my back was screaming at me through the nerves in my neck and head. My escort was considerate enough to take me back without complaint.
We arrived at the dock and he asked if I needed help to which I replied, "let's see." I proceeded to attempt one foot, then the other foot, then stood on the seat, pointed a foot (any foot) at the dock and fell face first. Without missing a beat or cracking a smile, he said," Circle one, yes or no. You're beginning to hurt my eyes."
I grabbed hold of the extended hand and CLIMBED onto the pier.
"I wanted to do it myself. I used to be able to," I said to his back as he threw "OK" over his shoulder and proceeded on. OK, as in, yeah sure.
I did used to, honest!
I caught a few more of those 'average' fellows that I spared from the hot skillet. And then, this one came along:
The day was nice, but of course I'd forgotten the camera so can't show you (right now) a view of the north woods surrounding a rippling lake, but it is divine.
We'd been out some 3 hrs, went back for lunch and I managed to get in and out and back in the boat all under my own power, which is pretty good considering I'm not a petite woman (anymore). After another hour on the water, sitting on a pad on a wooden bench, my back was screaming at me through the nerves in my neck and head. My escort was considerate enough to take me back without complaint.
We arrived at the dock and he asked if I needed help to which I replied, "let's see." I proceeded to attempt one foot, then the other foot, then stood on the seat, pointed a foot (any foot) at the dock and fell face first. Without missing a beat or cracking a smile, he said," Circle one, yes or no. You're beginning to hurt my eyes."
I grabbed hold of the extended hand and CLIMBED onto the pier.
"I wanted to do it myself. I used to be able to," I said to his back as he threw "OK" over his shoulder and proceeded on. OK, as in, yeah sure.
I did used to, honest!
Day 48 - August 17, 2010
Sitting in the middle of a blocked off street with tons of townfolk (wondering where all the young people are) watching and listening to The Boundary Water Boys playing on The Front Porch. We were singing "Will the Circle Be Unbroken" (by and by lord, by and by), testifying with raised, waving hands that were washed with Goat Milk Soap, sending scents of cedar and licorice wafting through the crowd.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Day 44
August 13, 2010, Day 44-Learned many things today, that Ho-Chunks have Mexican stand-offs over parking spaces—as does the rest of the United States. I’m German and I did. My friend is Swedish and she was there. Here we were, in the parking lot of what is called Wally World in Wisconsin Dells—Wal-Mart. The skies had opened and the gods were obviously draining their pool (or at least I hope it was a pool), and we had just spent a minute or two waiting for an elderly man to pull out of a space. He was parked in a space going the wrong way—a totally EASY spot to pull right into if you are going the other way in the other row—you’ve seen those spots. He pulls out, we pull in and we are ¾ of the way into the space and in turns a pickup. We both stopped and stared at each other through the sheet of water running down both windshields, and there we sat. No one rolled down the windows and yelled. No one performed vulgar sign language. We just looked at each other. Of course, I was saying to my friend to continue to pull into the space, which of course, she didn’t do. We just sat as others around us ran between the downpours, raced shopping carts and made happy dry purchases inside. Finally, he backed out and took another spot while we pulled in and waited for the clouds to part just a bit. He walked by, asked us if, “What the fuck, don’t you know how to drive?” and kept walking. We eventually made it to the interior of Wal-Mart where my friend said she saw him, where I said I was looking for him, and neither met ever again. Probably a good thing.
There are other things I learned today about preparation of dead bodies, but I think I’ll save that for a piece of writing. That definitely deserves its own spot.
Beginnings of nomad existence
Beginnings of nomad existence
On July 29, 2010, I made a move for the rest of my life. For the first time in 40 years I am without a home of my own. I have become a nomad to save money to follow my dream. In September I will begin TEFL certification and in January 2011, at 54 years of age, I will leave the United States of America for the first time. I plan to begin in Eastern Europe with a 6-month contract, and then see where it leads. So far it has been an interesting, exciting and challenging experience with cheers and support from great friends and family. While I go forward, I had hoped to keep a daily update here, to find the time and space to write, but I’ve been so caught up in the actually living that I’ve been lax in my writing duties. So I’ll begin at the beginning and hopefully I’ll get you to where I am today, sitting on a screened deck amidst the tops of tall pines and birch listening only to the rustle.
June 29, 2010-a momentous day for a sternly independent woman who has been self-sufficient since the age of 14. She steps into the abyss with faith and belief that she will be supported and sustained as she has supported and sustained others. Not taken care of but cared ‘for’ by her chosen circle, by new acquaintances, by a nurturing universe and most importantly, for the first time, by herself.
August 4, 2010, Day 35 – 7:30am
The rains thundered a rushing river upon my miniature polka dot umbrella
The winds roared and thrashed the sopping sundress around my jittery ankles
Small lakes overflowed at curbs and doorsteps in torrential laughter at my $100 bleeding sandals.
My voluptuous girth extended beyond the colorful polka dots creating a rain barrel derriere, pink underlings peeking through saturated white.
Continued Day 35 - 8am of my personally created nomad/homeless existence that has shown me the unexpected, unanticipated kindness, support and generosity of friends, old and new. The journey has become a worthwhile adventure with directions and destinations aplenty. I can do this or I can do that; I can go here or I can go there. So the rain or snow or tropical heat wave that blankets my parade slows it not. Excitement for life and future bubbles at my lips, twitching and tweaking into happy smiles; taps into my happy feet going forward for no one but me, extending my hand along the way and being welcomed by other extended hands.
August 6, 2010, Day 37 – The morning Metra from Kenosha to Chicago is full of adventure seekers from an uncomplicated small town rural setting to the proverbial big city lights. Children flush with questions of expectation and wonder, parents eagerly creating memories; suits plugged in, tuned out to life; finger licking, tooth-sucking lunch of cold chicken for breakfast, all flying through the landscape, retracing, reinventing ancestral/historical/fantastical travels of the iron horse.
Without a bed or home of my own and the view through these middle-aged eyes is of the wonder of a missed and lost childhood, a second childhood, an innocence regained with knowledge that enhances the experience.
I asked for feedback to go forward, feedback to make me a better facilitator, teacher, person. I asked for feedback to carry me on to the mext pinnacle. I was given a treasure chest with a feather lock.
There is more to come to get us caught up to August 17th, Day 48. Stay tuned, I will get there.
On July 29, 2010, I made a move for the rest of my life. For the first time in 40 years I am without a home of my own. I have become a nomad to save money to follow my dream. In September I will begin TEFL certification and in January 2011, at 54 years of age, I will leave the United States of America for the first time. I plan to begin in Eastern Europe with a 6-month contract, and then see where it leads. So far it has been an interesting, exciting and challenging experience with cheers and support from great friends and family. While I go forward, I had hoped to keep a daily update here, to find the time and space to write, but I’ve been so caught up in the actually living that I’ve been lax in my writing duties. So I’ll begin at the beginning and hopefully I’ll get you to where I am today, sitting on a screened deck amidst the tops of tall pines and birch listening only to the rustle.
June 29, 2010-a momentous day for a sternly independent woman who has been self-sufficient since the age of 14. She steps into the abyss with faith and belief that she will be supported and sustained as she has supported and sustained others. Not taken care of but cared ‘for’ by her chosen circle, by new acquaintances, by a nurturing universe and most importantly, for the first time, by herself.
August 4, 2010, Day 35 – 7:30am
The rains thundered a rushing river upon my miniature polka dot umbrella
The winds roared and thrashed the sopping sundress around my jittery ankles
Small lakes overflowed at curbs and doorsteps in torrential laughter at my $100 bleeding sandals.
My voluptuous girth extended beyond the colorful polka dots creating a rain barrel derriere, pink underlings peeking through saturated white.
Continued Day 35 - 8am of my personally created nomad/homeless existence that has shown me the unexpected, unanticipated kindness, support and generosity of friends, old and new. The journey has become a worthwhile adventure with directions and destinations aplenty. I can do this or I can do that; I can go here or I can go there. So the rain or snow or tropical heat wave that blankets my parade slows it not. Excitement for life and future bubbles at my lips, twitching and tweaking into happy smiles; taps into my happy feet going forward for no one but me, extending my hand along the way and being welcomed by other extended hands.
August 6, 2010, Day 37 – The morning Metra from Kenosha to Chicago is full of adventure seekers from an uncomplicated small town rural setting to the proverbial big city lights. Children flush with questions of expectation and wonder, parents eagerly creating memories; suits plugged in, tuned out to life; finger licking, tooth-sucking lunch of cold chicken for breakfast, all flying through the landscape, retracing, reinventing ancestral/historical/fantastical travels of the iron horse.
Without a bed or home of my own and the view through these middle-aged eyes is of the wonder of a missed and lost childhood, a second childhood, an innocence regained with knowledge that enhances the experience.
I asked for feedback to go forward, feedback to make me a better facilitator, teacher, person. I asked for feedback to carry me on to the mext pinnacle. I was given a treasure chest with a feather lock.
There is more to come to get us caught up to August 17th, Day 48. Stay tuned, I will get there.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Stupid cost of health care
Everyone should quit smoking, right? Smoking is one of the leading causes for many illnesses, particularly lung cancer (the most frequent cause of cancer death), COPD, Atherosclerosis; and they have linked smoking to osteoporosis, thyroid diseases, peptic ulcers, and the list just goes on. Smoking contributes significantly to the high cost of medical care because, so the story goes, so many smokers are uninsured (the POOR with their bad lifestyle decisions that everyone else is paying for).
The cost to diagnosis and treat lung cancer is astronomical. Lung cancer is fatal in 88% of patients. Per the EPA:
Treatment Period Incremental Cancer Treatment Cost
Initial (3 months) $26,042
Maintenance (per year) $11,325
Terminal (6 months) $30,112
(Based on Baker et al., 1989, with comorbidity charges from Baker et al., 1991.)
1984 to 1996 is 2.14; Bureau of Labor Statistics.) Average Per Patient Costs for the Three Periods of Treatment for Lung Cancer in 1996 dollars. Costs adjusted for inflation using the Medical Care component of the Consumer Price Index (CPI-U) 1996:1984 = 2.14 (Bureau of Labor)
I'm getting to a point here, bear with me.
Since most lung cancer patients die within the first year, we'll use this total figure as one years cost--$67,479--give or take a few dollars depending upon where in the year they die.
OK, let's look at helping those poor sops make better lifestyle decisions. QUIT SMOKING! That's the ticket out of this medical and financial nightmare for both the individual and the government run insurance (Medicaid & Medicare). The government WILL incur the medical costs if the individual is uninsured. They WILL treat the individual and provide medical care. This is a good thing, for some it's a complaint.
Well, the cost to help them quit smoking, to purchase the prescription drug Chantix (which arguably has it's own issues, but has helped MANY quit--particularly this writer); a month's supply of Chantix is $184.00. Those poor sops can't afford $184 out of pocket. Now, you may ask how they can afford to buy the cigarettes and I contend (from experience) that the $5, $6, even $8 for a pack of cigarettes is MUCH easier to come by in any given moment than a lump sum of $184.00.
Here's the question: Why don't insurance companies pay for Chantix? Why would Medicare STOP paying for a patients prescription of Chantix? Is it too simple for all those educated heads to calculate that $67K is far MORE than $1100 (the cost for the maximum of 6 months use of Chantix)? Even if we, the poor sop here, break it down for them-compare apples to apples, 6 months to 6 months-I still think $34K is MORE than $1100, isn't it??? I know I'm not good with math, but I do have a calculator, and I know I'm not near as educated, but really, isn't $34K more than $1100???
Here's your tax dollars at work. Don't complain about the poor sop who is costing soooo much because of her bad lifestyle choices. Complain because the stupidity of Medicare, Medicaid AND insurance companies, would RATHER pay for the cancer than the cessation.
The cost to diagnosis and treat lung cancer is astronomical. Lung cancer is fatal in 88% of patients. Per the EPA:
Treatment Period Incremental Cancer Treatment Cost
Initial (3 months) $26,042
Maintenance (per year) $11,325
Terminal (6 months) $30,112
(Based on Baker et al., 1989, with comorbidity charges from Baker et al., 1991.)
1984 to 1996 is 2.14; Bureau of Labor Statistics.) Average Per Patient Costs for the Three Periods of Treatment for Lung Cancer in 1996 dollars. Costs adjusted for inflation using the Medical Care component of the Consumer Price Index (CPI-U) 1996:1984 = 2.14 (Bureau of Labor)
I'm getting to a point here, bear with me.
Since most lung cancer patients die within the first year, we'll use this total figure as one years cost--$67,479--give or take a few dollars depending upon where in the year they die.
OK, let's look at helping those poor sops make better lifestyle decisions. QUIT SMOKING! That's the ticket out of this medical and financial nightmare for both the individual and the government run insurance (Medicaid & Medicare). The government WILL incur the medical costs if the individual is uninsured. They WILL treat the individual and provide medical care. This is a good thing, for some it's a complaint.
Well, the cost to help them quit smoking, to purchase the prescription drug Chantix (which arguably has it's own issues, but has helped MANY quit--particularly this writer); a month's supply of Chantix is $184.00. Those poor sops can't afford $184 out of pocket. Now, you may ask how they can afford to buy the cigarettes and I contend (from experience) that the $5, $6, even $8 for a pack of cigarettes is MUCH easier to come by in any given moment than a lump sum of $184.00.
Here's the question: Why don't insurance companies pay for Chantix? Why would Medicare STOP paying for a patients prescription of Chantix? Is it too simple for all those educated heads to calculate that $67K is far MORE than $1100 (the cost for the maximum of 6 months use of Chantix)? Even if we, the poor sop here, break it down for them-compare apples to apples, 6 months to 6 months-I still think $34K is MORE than $1100, isn't it??? I know I'm not good with math, but I do have a calculator, and I know I'm not near as educated, but really, isn't $34K more than $1100???
Here's your tax dollars at work. Don't complain about the poor sop who is costing soooo much because of her bad lifestyle choices. Complain because the stupidity of Medicare, Medicaid AND insurance companies, would RATHER pay for the cancer than the cessation.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Illinois Considers Banning Blunts
this is the most outrageous use of time and money that i've seen in quite awhile. we're going to make these cigars drug paraphernalia as are "rolling papers and water bongs."
when was the last time you were unable to buy rolling papers? and for that matter, my corner store sells water bongs under the name of 'hookahs.'
the only thing this does is make more laws to have young poor people jailed under. what police officer is stopping a person walking down the street in Lake Forest and searching them for 'drug paraphernalia?' do we honestly believe they don't have it? smoking weed is the most widely performed illegal drug action by ALL regardless of socio-economic, religious, racial, gender, or any other classification named. why not realize this and stop wasting our tax dollars on more ridiculous legislation aimed only at a particular population?
so many issues of homelessness, hunger, domestic abuse and we waste energy on trivialities.
when was the last time you were unable to buy rolling papers? and for that matter, my corner store sells water bongs under the name of 'hookahs.'
the only thing this does is make more laws to have young poor people jailed under. what police officer is stopping a person walking down the street in Lake Forest and searching them for 'drug paraphernalia?' do we honestly believe they don't have it? smoking weed is the most widely performed illegal drug action by ALL regardless of socio-economic, religious, racial, gender, or any other classification named. why not realize this and stop wasting our tax dollars on more ridiculous legislation aimed only at a particular population?
so many issues of homelessness, hunger, domestic abuse and we waste energy on trivialities.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Ideas and Inspirations
Saturday, Aug. 22nd, I went to see 'Julie and Julia.' What a heartwarming and lighthearted story it was. It got me thinking about the cookbook I began last year for my daughters and daughter-in-law. As it turns out, the daughter-in-law would probably use it to pick up dog poop, but I know my daughters would love all their favorite dishes all together. I had included little anecdotes about the dish, how it became a family favorite and whatever little twists I incorporated into the recipes. It also included whimsical and mouth-watering pictures. I had decided to call it "Nana's Cucina." Not that I'm Italian, I'm German, with a rumor of Cherokee, but my first husband was Italian and the grandkids call me Nana, so it seemed right. And it also seems right to continue the cookbook, and maybe publish it as an ebook or maybe send it to a publisher for these hard economic times, since most of the recipes are good, old fashioned stock. Thanks to Julie and Julia. We never know where our inspiration comes from.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Obama and the Sears Tower Gift Shop
now i voted for him and i think he's doing the best he can with what he was left, but do we really need a lifesize cardboard stand-up of him? and for $30? where would you put this?
Monday, June 15, 2009
still ranting
i wonder if it's only me as a parent who is hushed, not informed and generally just dismissed?
hushed: no matter what i say on any topic, i am accused of fighting, arguing or just being mean. now, if i heard this from other people instead of JUST my adult children, i might look at some grain of truth and work towards rectifying it. however, it is ONLY the 'kids.' for example: my grandson graduated from 8th grade last week (can we hear a YAYYY!). unfortunately, he was suspended from the remainder of the school year two days before the end. he was allowed to attend the ceremony but it was stipulated that he be escorted by the parents. we arrived and off he went. when 3/4 of the kids had filed into the auditorium, i told my daughter she probably should have 'escorted' him to where he needed to be to make sure there were no problems. my other daughter exploded, saying she was not coming with us for the days celebration if we were going to fight. was that comment a fight? it was an opinion, a statement, which i feel, at my age, i am damn well entitled to speak.
uninformed: the graduates mother and me both live in illinois, he finished in kenosha because they'd lived there. being the green urbanite that i am, i don't drive, which is no problem, the metra goes to kenosha. but, my wonderful daughter says her girlfriend is going so she will drive. great. they pick me up at 8:30 am in a vehicle that legally holds five but currently has six, with me seven. was i told this? no! was i given the 'choice' to go this route? no! was it too late to make other arrangements? YES! i was hence kidnapped and as the day went on, held hostage.
uninformed #2: for WEEKS i'd been asking what the celebration plans were, all to no avail. no one knew anything. the night before i said to go to foodlife at water tower for lunch and then take the kids to sears tower. my other daughter who lives in kenosha was 'supposed' to be driving back because her son was going to stay with me for the week. i said i would foot the bill for sears tower and pay for the graduates lunch. the graduate was excited. did anyone say no, we aren't going to do that? NO! did anyone give any other suggestions? NO! i get to kenosha in my kidnapped capacity to find that my other daughter is NOT driving back (which meant i had to come back in the overfull kidnap vehicle), and that we were going to lunch at golden corral. did anyone tell me this? yes, the friend who drove, she knew all along. so you see, not only kidnapped, but held hostage. i obviously don't have the capacity to make my own choices.
dismissed: "we're going to golden corral and then if you want the kids for the weekend you can take them." go or come or stand in the middle of hickville usa dressed for downtown chicago. did i have a choice? NO! the next train didn't leave for 2 1/2 hours. kidnapped! hostage!
hushed, uninformed and dismissed!!!
now, we ARE fighting!
hushed: no matter what i say on any topic, i am accused of fighting, arguing or just being mean. now, if i heard this from other people instead of JUST my adult children, i might look at some grain of truth and work towards rectifying it. however, it is ONLY the 'kids.' for example: my grandson graduated from 8th grade last week (can we hear a YAYYY!). unfortunately, he was suspended from the remainder of the school year two days before the end. he was allowed to attend the ceremony but it was stipulated that he be escorted by the parents. we arrived and off he went. when 3/4 of the kids had filed into the auditorium, i told my daughter she probably should have 'escorted' him to where he needed to be to make sure there were no problems. my other daughter exploded, saying she was not coming with us for the days celebration if we were going to fight. was that comment a fight? it was an opinion, a statement, which i feel, at my age, i am damn well entitled to speak.
uninformed: the graduates mother and me both live in illinois, he finished in kenosha because they'd lived there. being the green urbanite that i am, i don't drive, which is no problem, the metra goes to kenosha. but, my wonderful daughter says her girlfriend is going so she will drive. great. they pick me up at 8:30 am in a vehicle that legally holds five but currently has six, with me seven. was i told this? no! was i given the 'choice' to go this route? no! was it too late to make other arrangements? YES! i was hence kidnapped and as the day went on, held hostage.
uninformed #2: for WEEKS i'd been asking what the celebration plans were, all to no avail. no one knew anything. the night before i said to go to foodlife at water tower for lunch and then take the kids to sears tower. my other daughter who lives in kenosha was 'supposed' to be driving back because her son was going to stay with me for the week. i said i would foot the bill for sears tower and pay for the graduates lunch. the graduate was excited. did anyone say no, we aren't going to do that? NO! did anyone give any other suggestions? NO! i get to kenosha in my kidnapped capacity to find that my other daughter is NOT driving back (which meant i had to come back in the overfull kidnap vehicle), and that we were going to lunch at golden corral. did anyone tell me this? yes, the friend who drove, she knew all along. so you see, not only kidnapped, but held hostage. i obviously don't have the capacity to make my own choices.
dismissed: "we're going to golden corral and then if you want the kids for the weekend you can take them." go or come or stand in the middle of hickville usa dressed for downtown chicago. did i have a choice? NO! the next train didn't leave for 2 1/2 hours. kidnapped! hostage!
hushed, uninformed and dismissed!!!
now, we ARE fighting!
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Estranged Parents #2
well, now the son who hasn't talked to me for two months; who allowed the mother of his children (not even his wife) to talk to me as though i were some hood-rat on the street; who, at 33 years of age, has blamed me for the miserable life he has chosen for himself now wants to "follow me on twitter." i don't even have a cell phone. we were both in the same room just yesterday. he didn't seem to want to "follow" me then. no, i'll not open myself to more abuse. it is too painful.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Estranged Parents
i found a new site and blog. "When Parents Hurt" is also a book. I was too self-conscious to add to the blog, yet i'll write it here, hmm. i did order the book though. maybe there'll be some insight and how to make the pain stop; how to make the flight feeling to go away; how to finally have a life of my own outside of my adult children and grandchildren.
i do what i have always done, retreat and write. with the invention of blogging however, maybe there are others out there who will read and support. hopefully not condemn--i do quite a sufficient job of that myself.
i know this is all vague but i suppose that's best for me. lately, i've learned to follow my gut instinct to not do or go when i just don't feel it's a good idea. i wish i would've followed that instinct today.
being an estranged parent and going directly into the lion's den is like an addict visiting a crack house or an alcoholic spending an afternoon in a bar. what was i thinking? obviously not. so several hours later i'm in my nightgown while the sun shines, and trying to restrain the tears even though there's no one to see. maybe, off to poetry will help.
i do what i have always done, retreat and write. with the invention of blogging however, maybe there are others out there who will read and support. hopefully not condemn--i do quite a sufficient job of that myself.
i know this is all vague but i suppose that's best for me. lately, i've learned to follow my gut instinct to not do or go when i just don't feel it's a good idea. i wish i would've followed that instinct today.
being an estranged parent and going directly into the lion's den is like an addict visiting a crack house or an alcoholic spending an afternoon in a bar. what was i thinking? obviously not. so several hours later i'm in my nightgown while the sun shines, and trying to restrain the tears even though there's no one to see. maybe, off to poetry will help.
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