1...,2...,3....GO!

That's how I feel today. Self-questioning yet anxious to write. I like to write in a style that is somewhat light but not irrelevant, funny but not boorish, incisive but not preachy.

So, how do I best engage my readers when I've been newly diagnosed with Stage IV Metastasis? I've been puzzling and puzzling over it but today I say, 1, 2, 3, GO!!

So, yes, the bad thing happened last October. Twenty-three years ago, I was diagnosed and treated at Stage I, and most certainly figured I was clear forever. And was led to believe I was clear forever. But NOooooo. I've since learned that it's common for this thing to rear up and bite viciously again, many years later. Believe me, expletives have been abounding in our house over the past year. I'm learning to be quite creative with them.

Stage IV Mets is a different animal completely. It is terminal. Drugs and their side effects are part of your life forever. (I say "you" but of course I mean "me"). For some folks, that "terminal" lasts for many years. Others die after a couple of years. There's no way to know which club you'll be in. That big old anvil is always hanging inches from your head, following you everywhere. You can't just say, "OK, OK, I'll stop chasing that dang roadrunner!" 

And for my precious readers here, I like to write in a style that is truthful but sparing the blood and guts. No talk of needles, invasive procedures, body parts spurting things. (I save that for my specialized FB groups 😅). 

OK, so the news is out. Auntie PC revealed. Please join me on my new adventure. 

Confederate Nostalgia, or Call to Violence?

I am happy to see the current push to remove, or provide context to, Confederate monuments.* It was always an issue I treaded carefully.

I grew up in Richmond, Virginia and lived there for 11 years in the 1960s to 1970s. Since I wasn’t born there, and in fact, moved there from solid Yankee country, I always felt like a visitor and reacted to the many monuments, Confederate memorabilia and symbols as I would a tourist to another country. I felt I needed to respect their history as an outsider would, and not interject my philosophy or beliefs on their precious ideology. Plus, it was clear that the south was annihilated by the Civil War and I felt no need to ram their loss further down their throats.

Like a tourist, I admired the monuments on Monument Avenue (Jefferson Davis, Robert E. Lee, Jeb Stuart, etc.) as a depiction of bygone eras. It was just history. It was quaint.

Through the years, the furor grew over the unseemly glorification of the Old South portrayed by these symbols. However, I still felt conflicted by the drive to remove Confederate monuments.

After all, the history of our country is rooted in its enslavement and subjugation of others to benefit the well-heeled. That legacy continues today. Many, if not all, of our country’s historic heroes and business tycoons were guilty of being slaveowners; being hostile to women, children and minorities; and exploiting workers’ safety for higher profits.

It seemed hypocritical to pick on the South, when the entire country is guilty of advancing on the backs of others. Are we trying to re-make our history by removing symbols that are deeply offensive to ourselves and others? Are we trying to white-wash who we really are? 

The debate has appeared to reach an apex with the recent violence in Charlottesville. But in truth, the violence has always been there, simmering just below the surface in people who desperately want to hold onto "how things used to be." Who want to "keep blacks in their place." 

In Charlottesville, an earnest white girl was killed. Her fresh white face has stared back at us in newscasts and media feeds. Now, everyone has leaped into the fray. White supremacists have killed one of their "own". The violence is too close to home to overlook.

Still, I don't believe that the push to remove Confederate symbols is white-washing. Or a trendy, feel-good measure. Charlottesville has shown us that the fervor to keep Confederate symbols is driven by people who want to reverse history. They want segregation to return. They believe they are racially superior.

I’ve been heartened by seeing many southerners lambast those hateful symbols of their past and protest for their removal. They have learned that clinging to Confederate ideals is not patriotism. It’s racism. It’s glorifying a history of treason and enslavement. If they have grown beyond that, then so can all of us.

*I can only hope that the monuments are not replaced with Pokemon kiosks.

The REAL Reason for Child Obesity!

I was reading an article in a nostalgia magazine (National Trust for Historic Preservation) about road trips that families took in the '60s and '70s and how everyone has a story about staying in one of the many roadside motels during that time.

I can still smell the hot summery chlorine of the pool and feel the rough patches of warm cement under my toes. I could swim and splash and dive in a pool for hours, until my shoulders turned pink and my fingers wrinkled. You could also sit by the pool and wave at passing convertibles along the 2-way highway, or do the elbow pump at semis to get them to blast their horns. And they always would. (I still have a fondness for truckers even today).

So then I got to thinking about riding in the car itself. My brother and I would roughhouse and tumble and tease each other and play "see it" games and laugh and shout until Mom and/or Dad said, "Enough. You're bothering your Mother/Father." To their immense credit, I don't remember them shushing us all that much, but I'm sure they snapped a time or two.

And then it hit me: Kids are obese nowadays because they are rigidly pressed in car seats or belts, from the second of leaving utero, disallowing them from any significant movement whatsoever. They perch, poor things, strait-jacketed like Hannibal Lecter--maybe the regs require muzzles too?

Gad.

It seems that kids are physically restrained and forbidden from developing an iota of muscle tone until the first soccer whistle blows.

By then, it's too late.

Of course, I can't recommend eliminating all of the car safety features that we have now. Cars used to be steel fortresses, able to withstand taps and nudges with nary a scratch to show. Anything less than an 18-wheeler barreling down full speed toward you, would barely evoke a sigh out of the old Olds. Cars now are made of little more than corrugated cardboard with a little plastic thrown in for looks. And folks drive like they're batty, unfocused, preoccupied---and slamming into things willy-nilly.

So the li'l fellers must remain entombed.

OK, I didn't say I had a solution for the obesity, just the reason. Every Eureka moment can't make me Archimedes.

I know! Wrap hand and leg weights around 'em and have 'em do reps while they're packed in the car. Just be sure to remove the weights before the kids jump in the pool.

O_o

Post-election advice

OK, I’ve finally emerged from howling and pounding in my padded room. And I’ve got something to say.

Get a job.

That’s what the “abandoned, disenfranchised” white working class has been saying to the homeless and the urban poor for decades. Now, that’s what the rest of us say to you.

We know many of you eased by for years, melding plastic pieces together, cutting nubbies off tires, made a good living, bought a house, put your kids through college, had a pension. Was able to work stoned and/or drunk.

Those days are over. O-V-E-R. 

You need to move and/or learn a new trade. I suggest Tech. Every day I read about thousands of jobs available in the Seattle area alone. 50,000, 60,000—all up for grabs. Can’t fill ‘em.  

We’ve all had to move or otherwise adjust to advancing technology in our jobs: I’ve had to learn about databases, document management software, programming, wordprocessing, spreadsheets, HTML.

I loved the old IBM Selectric typewriter, but as it was gradually replaced, I didn’t huddle under my desk, with tears streaming and chin quivering in protest until all the icky computer thingies went by the wayside. 

My entire family has adjusted to changing job requirements. 

Dad—every time he got a promotion, we needed to move. (Pennsylvania, Maryland, Virginia).

Brother—he moved to an area where he could learn and use computer skills. (Michigan from Virginia).

Husband—moved from Air Force station in San Bernardino to LA for job. No one moves to LA because they want to live there. He later moved to Seattle for additional job promotion. 

Me—moved to urban areas (Philadelphia, Seattle) for better job prospects and living conditions. 

You can too, believe me.

If you have a smartphone, laptop or desktop and/or can configure your TV--smart or not-- then you’re on your way to qualifying for a tech job. 

Go, go go.

Now, let’s talk about the election results. 

The “winners” in this election are the brattiest sore winners I’ve ever seen. Screaming on airplanes; scrawling swastikas on walls and cupcakes; harassing people of color, Muslims, LGBTs. Peppering social media posts, even now, with “lock her up.”  And blasting Hillary supporters with links and links and links from dubious sullen sources. Pumping themselves up over their legitimized hatred of everything good and decent. I’ve never seen a group of people who are so gleeful that they can now, with complete impunity, engage in their innate mistrust and disrespect of everything different from their small, comfortable world.

It’s like they aced a test they failed to study for and instead cheated on. Like they realized they were undercharged on a restaurant bill but it’s the Waiter’s fault and by gum they’re not going to report it. It’s that glorious feeling of getting away with something. Stealing from the cookie jar. Cheating on a mate. Date raping. They got away with it! Woo hoo!

No gratitude. No hope. All vengeful and snide and “we told you so”. 

I’ve never heard anything close to, “I’m glad he won because he makes me feel happy and makes me feel I can be a better person. I’m glad he won because he’s a great role model.”

Anyone?

Massage!

I had a massage today. Oh, Lordy me, put a dollar in the bucket, doesn't it feel wonderful?!

For thousands of years, men and women have suffered pain and discomfort related to anything from overexertion (chasing mastodons or racing marathons) to bad eating habits (grub worms & gruel or double whoppers & ding dongs). Add the stress of day-to-day living, (and certain T.V. shows) and one is left miserably plagued by sore muscles, fatigue, and general malaise.

For years, medical experts from Hippocrates to modern day physicians have used therapeutic massage to relieve those aches and pains. And with good reason: IT FEELS AWESOME!!

I needed to loosen up the mire that collects after months of walking long distances. Not all at once, of course, that would lead me somewhere near Fargo, and I know no one there. Walking is the major exercise I do anymore. I used to dance, skate and bike ride to the point where I panted heavily and collapsed in a dizzying, sweaty, but gleeful pile of endorphins. I can’t do that any more. Instead, I can dance, skate and bike ride to the point of, “Oh, that’s nice, let’s go see grandma.” 

I miss that endorphin load. 

My massage therapist, let’s call her Vladimir (sorry, J, artistic license-you know I think you’re magical and quite lovely), sends me traveling along Gothic byways and steamy beaches, jogging with Arabians (the horses, I’m thinking, but who knows?), howling at the moon, lightly stepping across a pebbly stream….

And cringing in barely-contained agony. 

Vladimir works on my knotted muscles like she’s trying to mold Mount Rainier to fit in a matchbox.

So, I’m lying there, dimly-lit room, comfy massage table, dainty trickling music—-with an open-mouthed silent scream, as if surrendering to the entire crush of mankind.

But, oh, does it ever feel good. It is good.

Afterward, I’m bounding out of there, 15 years younger. 

Endorphins! I can’t wait to go back.

I'll take those egg yolks, please

Yesterday, hubby and I walked (4,890 steps, thank you very much) to Panera for breakfast, and I noticed on the menu that they still offered an egg-white sandwich. For heaven's sake, isn't that craze over? Hasn't the pendulum swung way over to the side of reasonableness where egg yolks, butter and dairy products are again acceptable? Yessiree, I believe it has.

 In the meantime, what happened to all those egg yolks? I've never seen a food establishment offer an all-egg-yolk anything. 

Isn't the yolk really the only part of the egg that's yummy? Who looks at that glutinous, snotty glob of white and think, "Drool city, I'm gonna dive right into that ASAP?"  It's only the yolk that makes the white palatable. You don't dip a piece of toast into egg white. You don't make deviled eggs with egg white. And Hollandaise with egg white?  You'd end up with something better suited for, uh, the boudoir.

That got me thinking about all of the various food dictates over the years. Once, I calculated that if one ate all of the daily magic food recommendations: blueberries, miso, fava beans, quinoa, goji berries, chia seeds, steel cut oats, sprouted grain bread, avocado, nuts, kefir, yams, coconut oil, etc., etc., one would consume approximately10,000 calories a day. 

A walk of 4,890 steps, even round trip, wouldn't touch that caloric hippo. 

So, at Panera yesterday, hubby had a toasted sesame bagel with peanut butter and I had the egg and cheese breakfast sandwich.  

And we shared a muffie.  

If you feel uncomfortable, it's someone's fault

Political correctness is stretching into higher and higher levels of absurdity. The latest big bad wolf to dare chomp on the precious consciousness of mankind (and womankind) is . . . college reading material.  

"Trigger warnings" are now issued before assigning such radical books as The Great Gatsby (drinking and caterwauling make non-drinkers and non-caterwaulers feel inadequate); Catch 22 (soldiers portrayed as depressed and non-heroic undermine the very sanctity of society),  and Dr. Susan Love's Bre__st Book. (For obvious reasons, ooh).

This bothers me. I suppose not to the level of pointing fingers or losing sleep or giving me nightmares or being lawsuit material. It makes me feel like we’re headed toward a reverse Darwinism. Let the weakest, dumbest, most sensitive, least capable humans run the world. (I know some would say that’s already happening.)

Others defend the practice saying that if we’re always attentively attuned to the slightest possibility of offense to anyone at all times, we will become a kinder, gentler nation. Looks pretty good on paper, doesn’t it?

I don’t think so. 

There will always be someone willing to push the limit. There will always be someone who, if their current anxiety is acknowledged and stroked and dutifully tsk’ed tsk’ed, will find something even more ludicrous to declare to be offended by. If they’re shredded by hearing a swear word or by reading about a bitchy woman, their next step will be cowering at a walk light that suddenly turns. “I was all ready to go, and BOOM, the light changed. I am so upset and discombobulated and insecure and I’m afraid to take ANOTHER STEP. EVER. What other changes will confront me?!! I shouldn’t have to suffer so.”

I don’t think “trigger warnings” do anything to promote strength, confidence and well-adjustment. If we’re not trying to encourage those fine attributes, what exactly are we encouraging?