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Wednesday, January 17, 2018

Lovely week detoured

I had a breakfast engagement this morning, with a friend. She had a one p.m. appointment, so we not only settled on 9:30 for breakfast, I set my alarm for 7:30.  My feet encountered cat, who waited impatiently for his spot in the agenda. Mr. Cat amuses me. He knew his bowl was empty; he knows nothing happens to the bowl until the tall person is dressed. Why doesn’t he leave some bits to the side and not have an empty bowl? Why can’t he sit by the bowl and wait? It’s not like I even have coffee before cat.

Lynn’s husband called at eight, so setting the alarm was a smart move. Lynn was sick all night and would not be at breakfast. Not good, and may she be well, soon. Another friend in town had a cold I last knew had taken possession of her chest. I have to stop and see her today, be sure she’s wearing wool socks and the cold is better.

This week, commencing with the snow days last Thursday and Friday, has been full of teen age girls occupying half the house and all of Laura’s bedroom. Meredith was long term; her mom is out of town on a business trip, until tonight. Mom is in for a surprise. Meredith tagged along for shopping, and looks over Laura’s shoulder at the cooking, but I doubt she’ll engage with those back at home.

Meredith also tagged along to the Venture Crew meeting last night. She left with a completed membership application for her mother to sign. In her defense, she was recruited on coming through the door. Crew wants three more members to rise in the qualifications standards. Don’t ask, I haven’t a clue. Some other adult with children drives Laura to half the meetings. The last I knew, they were practicing knots and building outdoor shelters in the basement of the Methodist church.

The operative word is shelter. Note, tent is not mentioned.

Last night the members discussed February elections (Laura volunteered to be secretary), and began reviewing requirements for this weekend’s Polar Bear camp out. “Meredith, I am so sorry,” I said to the teenage guest by me, with a sheaf of paperwork in her hand. “No, it’s OK. I love this stuff!”

I did know Polar Bear weekend was approaching, as if waking to sub zero every morning for a month were not enough. I checked Weather Channel yesterday, to see how miserable the weather might be and wonder if Laura’s enthusiasm might dwindle, after these several months of preparation.

Saturday and Sunday, forty degrees. Go figure.

From the Washington Post this morning: The 2018 election season kicked off Tuesday with an upset in rural Wisconsin, where Democrats flipped a state Senate seat that had been held by Republicans since the start of the century. 

Just one foot in front of the other. I think of Paul Ryon's pile of post cards on the end of his drive, and smile.

Sunday, January 14, 2018

Living dissatisfied

This has been a rough and tumble year for this country. My life has settled into a comfortable routine that includes disseminating my political opinions at most opportunities. It’s nice to have a “grown up” conversation with a friend, or someone I recognize as a “dissenter”.

It’s satisfying to throw a politically disturbing thought into a group, friends, acquaintances or strangers. It’s over the top to foment heresy among the opposition. But then, my opportunities to drive my car up a twisting township road in an ice storm are limited. It’s about maintaining “the edge”, as well as potentially replacing weeds with crops in new minds.

The latest statement from the projection artist Robin Bell, and his mobile projector, is the Sunday headline. Shithole, emblazoned across the front of Trump’s DC hotel for profit. The dichotomy emphasizes Bell’s subsequent projection, “We are all responsible to stand up and end white supremacy.” A strongest average citizen sentiment this past week  is, Shitholians will be at the polls in November.

Descriptors of the worst presidents of all time include corrupt, inept, oblivious, irresponsible, criminal, ignorant. That last, GW, is not two decades old, and I thought the worst of my lifetime. That just was the wake up call. Ignorance is our crime, as is civil irresponsibility, complacency, silence.

Living dissatisfied is not a big job, not consuming. Mine resembles carrying a handout in a breast pocket and using it if opportunity arises. Except, I carry issues and opinions. My arena is the place I see the most people, the gym. Trump is a big help; he makes it easy for me to keep up a conversation.

My former trainer, now a certified cardiopulmonary rehab specialist at a different Cleveland Clinic facility, is a former Republican. I did have the advantage of her undivided attention for an hour a week for the last two years. Had I tried the same tactic with my late brother, for instance, he would have left the room. Pick your battles. After the November general election my trainer flashed her I Voted sticker, grinned, and said “You would be proud of me.” ‘Nuff said.

Another ground is right here in my trailer park. I have neighbors. I see people at the mailboxes, in the office. I am more than happy to give an explanation of health care changes if the opportunity presents. That’s coals to Newcastle here, however. The object is instilling the importance of voting, especially by mail. It all starts with registration.

Jen Hoffman has a lengthy gratitude list this week. It will keep me busy. I may even borrow Laura’s sparkle pens. Resist.

Saturday, January 13, 2018

Another snow storm

It snowed and snowed and snowed all night. Company came and went, for we have plans to keep.

Some almost slept on the sofa, warm, and drying out. Some did sleep, stayed all night.

I woke to a text from Kay: Any suggestions on thawing the frozen door to the mail box? I replied with Emma’s hot rice in a sock.  Think, we could live in Hawaii and not need that tip.

I sent out the advance this morning, my Rangers, with snow shovels and brushes, to get us on the road. Laura was glad of the help, and Meredith just liked shoveling snow. We went out to lay in supplies for the rest of the long weekend.

Tomorrow there will be Victoria, too.  We are going to see Lady Day, then find a new restaurant for dinner. Then more teen age screams and laughter from the other end.

Wandering the grocery while  the girls shopped. This display is amazing. I cannot imagine my mother buying a pickled egg she could make at home. But the peaches! As a three year old, I would be made to repack every jar. Peaches spiral up the jar, round side facing. Everyone knows that! On the other hand, when did you last see a glass quart jar of canned peaches?

Checking out.

Leave a car for fifteen minutes, to go in and shop!

A stand of pampas grass we pass. Snowy feathers.

Out throwing snowballs.