tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60415430903583601872024-03-14T01:36:06.080-07:00What makes you think I have cats?True stories, horoscopes, and the occasional advice column.Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.comBlogger527125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-89962299239777091412024-03-01T11:28:00.000-08:002024-03-01T11:28:35.803-08:00I'm excited to report that the author Celeste Ng has selected m<a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2015/03/01/style/bringing-a-daughter-back-from-the-brink-with-poems.html?unlocked_article_code=1.ZU0.Mez-.rlsBuQQjLw0T&smid=url-share">y modern love essay</a> to read for the Modern Love podcast next week. Such an honor! It will air on March 6 on the Modern Love Podcast
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEb70SEXP6k3G92yD_N8-SSb7G6pMC_5A2VyFF76Phk3yAiTSYsAFko8sTj5DaWnYoeSEKb99h9YE4DN3E1T6azOBKCE5fvtQ9nfgSZ2saIP-l5wseueQOsWntQYtOUQODOCK5SOWPVAQZd-JLNUAHVx06Lhh7G7EavDcnWWCEioJJNNYRya5xODoltLZ-/s1218/Screenshot%202024-03-01%20at%2011.28.06%E2%80%AFAM.png" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="1218" data-original-width="990" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEb70SEXP6k3G92yD_N8-SSb7G6pMC_5A2VyFF76Phk3yAiTSYsAFko8sTj5DaWnYoeSEKb99h9YE4DN3E1T6azOBKCE5fvtQ9nfgSZ2saIP-l5wseueQOsWntQYtOUQODOCK5SOWPVAQZd-JLNUAHVx06Lhh7G7EavDcnWWCEioJJNNYRya5xODoltLZ-/s320/Screenshot%202024-03-01%20at%2011.28.06%E2%80%AFAM.png"/></a></div>Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-48732915180221256182024-02-14T19:40:00.000-08:002024-02-14T19:40:45.359-08:00SaladThe other day I was in QFC getting stuff for salad because, well, I guess that’s what we’re supposed to eat for longevity. (Side bar: I’m not all in on longevity as a goal – but I’ll aim for it half-heartedly until something better comes along.). Anyway, there was this older-than-me woman who looked kind of grumpy, but not like she was always grumpy like the one lady in the FG. More like a nice lady, temporarily stricken by irritability, which I can totally relate to. I wanted to hear her back story, so I kept very mildly getting in her way and then saying, “oh, I’m sorry, am I in your way?” (I guess that’s kind of weird now that I type it out. I wasn’t trying be passive aggressive or provoking but it seemed like the best way to strike up a conversation. (I know, I could probably just say hi but I was feeling a little shy.) Anyway, after three or four of these she actually looked at me and I asked if she was doing okay and she said, in a very tired voice, that she wished there were a better selection of organic produce. I concurred, and then asked my real question, which is, “Do you have any thoughts on what should I have for dinner tonight?” Because she seemed like someone who would know. She had a list and a plan and maybe I could just draft on her organization. But she just looked at me and said, “You could have pizza. Get it delivered right to your house.” I thanked her and then tried to avoid her for the rest of shopping time. I’m not sure why I’m posting about this little tiny thing.<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG40Ov2nbAQJe9QBwVxL8Rfa7V4ilw_s5FauBr_c0ToHj_17XamhkCkuzZ1DauBDspZV9Q-f8Ud51d1MO8foKRJSXreFEfMSGehGSXiOcNr-6FFgACJEOBbD_Hv6duc3iE63XI9KvbkRin4YTGNACeYWiC_5nEgBgpG-NyxN6VtHn20kMuHz0q1i_w8uZc/s890/Screenshot%202024-02-14%20at%207.37.26%E2%80%AFPM.png" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; clear: left; float: left;"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="890" data-original-width="710" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG40Ov2nbAQJe9QBwVxL8Rfa7V4ilw_s5FauBr_c0ToHj_17XamhkCkuzZ1DauBDspZV9Q-f8Ud51d1MO8foKRJSXreFEfMSGehGSXiOcNr-6FFgACJEOBbD_Hv6duc3iE63XI9KvbkRin4YTGNACeYWiC_5nEgBgpG-NyxN6VtHn20kMuHz0q1i_w8uZc/s320/Screenshot%202024-02-14%20at%207.37.26%E2%80%AFPM.png"/></a></div>Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-47559257604386701002023-10-14T15:24:00.004-07:002023-10-14T15:24:45.352-07:00<p> </p><h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 22px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0.75em 0px 0px; position: relative;">Horoscopes: The Babies Are Coming Edition</h3><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-2508614230485278700" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 620px;"><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK7mquC8uoZIbdcuuDwQ7QMVeJFmVtsFZaui1QUDkCpmsGGjlovg-qAH3hYZBa2IMCdc2utORdAGt-8tw7uD4tpOsjZm3V3MNxeMPJuwtFEsK4KXRlR8PZa6JoGqSIsf5G5o1jfldUUWaR/s1600/IMG_3458.JPG" style="clear: left; color: #1177cc; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK7mquC8uoZIbdcuuDwQ7QMVeJFmVtsFZaui1QUDkCpmsGGjlovg-qAH3hYZBa2IMCdc2utORdAGt-8tw7uD4tpOsjZm3V3MNxeMPJuwtFEsK4KXRlR8PZa6JoGqSIsf5G5o1jfldUUWaR/w178-h178/IMG_3458.JPG" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 1px solid rgb(238, 238, 238); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1) 1px 1px 5px; padding: 5px; position: relative;" width="178" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"><b>Pisces (2/19 – 3/20)</b>: It turns out I've run out of excuses to not write horoscopes. The pandemic, coronamalaise, blah blah blah. In the meantime, while I wasn't writing horoscopes, I also wasn't writing a book. I tried though! It was supposed to be a story about a woman living alone with her dog in a pandemic. Lotta world-building goes into that, let me tell you. The goal was to write a smart, funny literary book about ... yeah, that's where I'm stuck. not a lot happens. We'll see if I can get past it via the horoscopes. Astrological sign by sign, buddy. Pisces, see if you can get back to something you want to do.</span><br /><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9hoKnn-I-ZEn59lIhzMFeEtj32TmZzYbC2-pJQ7Q7v0F6YD0Y6JHZqcrwZFr5qJ3cg54B2oRHIAeXHn-GF14zDyR3C-HYPFaPxIlHYv-jbEPenL_HBdCI46tiTlVMXPnPfkueB3EJbmi4DePhVGcG7vodv42iFq2px_xMBIvrHA3evGXib5kwuXX1OmHL" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img data-original-height="1148" data-original-width="910" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9hoKnn-I-ZEn59lIhzMFeEtj32TmZzYbC2-pJQ7Q7v0F6YD0Y6JHZqcrwZFr5qJ3cg54B2oRHIAeXHn-GF14zDyR3C-HYPFaPxIlHYv-jbEPenL_HBdCI46tiTlVMXPnPfkueB3EJbmi4DePhVGcG7vodv42iFq2px_xMBIvrHA3evGXib5kwuXX1OmHL=w158-h200" width="158" /></a></div><b>Aries (3/21 - 4/19)</b>: I've been living like a traveling salesman for wetlands lately, driving a lot, spending nights in cheap motels, waking up in one horse towns, peddling my wetland boundary trick, singing King of the Road in the car. It's a little like being a rock star without the fans, roadies, and blow. Anyway, what I've learned is that a lot of down and out people live in motels these days. What strikes me, over and over, is the kindness of the desk clerks. "Sure, Gunner, I'll put you down for a few more days. Would you like to stay thru Saturday?," she says as she offers him a packet of microwave popcorn. "This is on us." And you can tell Gunner isn't really going anywhere for a long long time. Aries, be that kind of kind. Be the kind of kind where people are struck by it.</span><br /><b style="text-align: center;"><br /></b><b style="text-align: center;">Taurus (4/20 – 5/20)</b><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: center;">: Writing a book is probably not the best plan if you have the attention span of a very small insect. But what do we actually know about their attention spans? Could it be that they are watching us, thinking, jeez, all it takes is one little fly-by and these giant meat treats lose their focus! Mosquitoes are the leading cause of death for humans, and yet they are so very small. You could put dozens inside one tiny basket. Taurus, strong like bull, see if you can make out a horoscope out of that. </span><br /><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"><b style="text-align: center;">Gemini (5/21 - 6/21):</b><span style="text-align: center;"> We should all h</span>ave a solid opinion about time travel. Do you think it's impossible to travel back to a time before you were born for physical reasons, <i>or</i> because it's a paradox? Do you believe in the kind of time travel where the word "yet" is key? As in, no time traveler has prevented the holocaust <i>yet. </i>(Though, of course, there may be other atrocities that were prevented; we just don't know about them.) And so on. Be able to defend your position, if needed. (And Gemini, if you go time traveling without me, <i>leave a note</i>!<i>)</i></span></span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-2508614230485278700" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 620px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><br /></i><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFGJGglzXhkzCf3I93b6QCMGN5Ovk14rh4hjVZmcDbEG0GNmO9ChSAO0Xpg-3YMf5Tq8uh6vfcQLMuL5l3a54uH1M5vkqGXkYtm5mKXbHdYciuK8HM-mgb-zdfPH7-jk-3Tg637K8syhdSqArkP2Rk7pbygKIV4-hHwsMonyhxkJ1gOYjTxf8iScWn-6jX/s892/Screenshot%202023-10-14%20at%203.13.36%20PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="858" data-original-width="892" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFGJGglzXhkzCf3I93b6QCMGN5Ovk14rh4hjVZmcDbEG0GNmO9ChSAO0Xpg-3YMf5Tq8uh6vfcQLMuL5l3a54uH1M5vkqGXkYtm5mKXbHdYciuK8HM-mgb-zdfPH7-jk-3Tg637K8syhdSqArkP2Rk7pbygKIV4-hHwsMonyhxkJ1gOYjTxf8iScWn-6jX/w180-h173/Screenshot%202023-10-14%20at%203.13.36%20PM.png" width="180" /></a></div><br />Cancer (6/22 – 7/21)</b>: </span>I spend a lot of time making string. I know. We already have a lot of string already in the world, enough to tie ourselves in knots and then some. But something compels me to do this like a tree turning color or a fish swimming around in a bowl or, more hopefully, making its way upstream. String out of wool, string out of silk, string out of grass and cattail and dandelion stems. As we say around here (and when I say "we", I mean the dog and I), the wheel has already been invented, why not use it to make string? I don't know why we say that. It's messy here, with reeds and grass and fleece and things all over the place, but I guess that's the way of it. Cancer, see if you can untangle a horoscope from that. </span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-2508614230485278700" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 620px;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-family: arial;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-2508614230485278700" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 620px;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Leo (7/23 – 8/22)</b>: Have I mentioned my obsession with tiny baskets? They aren't very good craftsmanship-wise, but I do like them and one day I'll make a tiny hat for each basket. In the mean time, if you need a very small begging bowl, you know where to come. Leo, you will have no need for a begging bowl this week. It will literally be a bowl of cherries! Just like they say.</span><br /></span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-2508614230485278700" itemprop="description articleBody" style="line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 620px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):</b> Have you stopped to appreciate the simple delight of drinking a big glass of cold water? During the pandemic I started drinking s<span style="color: #0c343d;">parkling water in cans because it was fun to have something happen. Peel b</span>ack a tab, hear that noise that I don't know how to spell, and then, glug glug glug. Bubbles! Who put all the bubbles in that can? A minor miracle. But, if you don't finish it all up right away, and you come back later to drink, it's disappointing. It tastes like water that's been stored in a can. All of the bubbles have been freed like so many hostages, making me realize that they don't really like living in a can. And can we blame them? So I'm mostly back to delicious tap water. But I play <a href="https://youtu.be/Ev_YEyVwRzk?si=f9JnPAc4zHW8Pk3T">this video </a>when I drink it. Virgo, just play the video, even if you're not thirsty, and be grateful for this watery planet that offers drinks. Free the bubbles!</span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-2508614230485278700" itemprop="description articleBody" style="line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 620px;"><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Libra (9/23 – 10/22)</b>: Each day that a child is born is a holy day, we say. (Each sock is a holy sock too, but that's a different matter.) The babies are arriving, each one as perfect as can be. These brand new swaddled fresh people, little ones who can't begin to know what they're in for, sleep peacefully. Later, they'll know love, loss, fear, excitement, dread, boredom, joy, grief, uncertainty, confidence, the satisfaction of learning a skill, the contentment of old friends, the sparkle of new friends, the adoration of a dog, the magic of an eclipse. They'll ponder the Big Questions, and they'll notice that some days are good, some not so much. They'll grapple with the observation that humans can unleash unbearable cruelty on one another, and can also be exquisitely tender and thoughtful, here on the planet. They'll learn that they can cry at a movie where the underdog wins, or at a beautiful piece of prose. They'll have a favorite song, and build forts and sand castles. At this perfect moment, the little babies don't even need legs because their people will carry them wherever they need to go. They're surrounded by the adoration of parents and others who have loved them well before they were born, and will love them madly forever and ever, come what may. These new parents will spend sleepless nights feeding, worrying, wondering how it's all going to go, comforting their children when they're afraid of the dark or bees or riding the school bus, reminding their offspring to get off the computer and go outside. They'll wonder how their parenting is going: if should they do this or that, if they were too firm or too lax, too distracted or too involved. They'll teach them all the things, like to write thank you notes and try hard, and take good care of people and things, and they'll encourage them to discover what they care about and then pursue it with passion. It's a tall order. May the road rise up to meet you, new parents. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21)</b>: If the pandemic has taught us anything at all, it is: NEVER run out of toilet paper, olive oil, coffee or half and half. We don't know what's ahead -- while we're worrying about a tsunami, an earthquake happens. While we're anxious about democracy being taken out by a bunch of rich thugs, a meteor hits. And so on. So I guess we're supposed t let go of trying to control everything and enjoy each moment. The moments, my dear Scorp, are better with coffee and half and half. Do what you can.<br /><br /><b>Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):</b> Did you hear about the fossilized footprints they found, <i><b>23,000 years old</b>, </i>in New Mexico? Oh my word. That's a game changer. Stay tuned. Sag, have a great week, and keep bringing the magic!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg6wCY6eyXUISTESToR7GZ97WoX9T_zv40hTmQ7HupiziMUpJs7R_8Z3OSaIEo7sBZBVt9Ae74D5Gvsz38ynfXhCTHVVLa7CDZNKrkOHTqNwS-haguML5vIECIPDT4jfHCUppLC4bJndMSneds3VT0TsZwiF5bQeL0arQrwG23fbjisHXQPVOtPcW_quRf_" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="848" data-original-width="914" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg6wCY6eyXUISTESToR7GZ97WoX9T_zv40hTmQ7HupiziMUpJs7R_8Z3OSaIEo7sBZBVt9Ae74D5Gvsz38ynfXhCTHVVLa7CDZNKrkOHTqNwS-haguML5vIECIPDT4jfHCUppLC4bJndMSneds3VT0TsZwiF5bQeL0arQrwG23fbjisHXQPVOtPcW_quRf_" width="259" /></a></div><br /></span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-2508614230485278700" itemprop="description articleBody" style="line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 620px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-2508614230485278700" itemprop="description articleBody" style="line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 620px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtxLbfVHqnbrStm3nHc8c6nmUJpReZk42LewkV0aupjyrzHgniIPkNB0dOeerZVWOG70spq164nGKmHWf-mE4_3SwO8C3xMW16N5LxTwHzSzzM8tJonSnkI3FIxA96jRtele5QUafPbTIZ_qyGtZJKZWPxQ__Un9eGbzpz-C-Bwe5dvNKaa1X_wzE4y2JQ" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="890" data-original-width="872" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtxLbfVHqnbrStm3nHc8c6nmUJpReZk42LewkV0aupjyrzHgniIPkNB0dOeerZVWOG70spq164nGKmHWf-mE4_3SwO8C3xMW16N5LxTwHzSzzM8tJonSnkI3FIxA96jRtele5QUafPbTIZ_qyGtZJKZWPxQ__Un9eGbzpz-C-Bwe5dvNKaa1X_wzE4y2JQ" width="235" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Capricorn (12/22 - 1/19)</b>: I cleaned my laundry room yesterday (side note: do you see why the book is, well, not the page turner we were hoping for? Um, hello, page 1: I'm home alone cleaning! Page 2. yup.). Anyway, cleaning happens once in a million years, and this time I even pushed the big laundry machines around so I could get the dust and whatnot from under the washer and dryer. Guess what? I found a rebate check from my insurance company from almost a year ago for $260! (A plot! A very tiny plot.) Who woulda known I<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;"> was sitting on that kind of riches? I immediately called my boss and retired. Oh, turns out I am the boss, so I hung up. It was hard to tell who was hanging up on who. Anyway, if you believe in that sort of thing, you'd posit that this is the universe's way of encouraging me to clean things up a bit. Will do, Universe. Capricorn, you too! Clean, find money, retire! Easy peasy.</span></span></span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 620px;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18)</b><span style="font-weight: bold;">:</span> Never swerve for revenge, as William Stafford said. Let people who disappoint go without a fuss. They're doing the best they can with the tools they have, and it won't serve you to retaliate in any wa</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">y.</span></span></div>Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-48612209199912497462021-09-12T10:01:00.013-07:002021-09-12T11:14:41.814-07:00The Money Laundering Edition<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij5zsMOCsYmQeqm6_mVrLnz8IQ_EyOVgon2o2bymaqVb1ldonPFij_7djyXSEGKQLEVyJX5Oq030CGii9BmiuM-V8y7mMfv_1uVdb7q1VC_AbE27ZtlU5OZ_yUMryS4x5Di8MY1zey03up/s990/Screen+Shot+2021-09-12+at+10.15.01+AM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="694" data-original-width="990" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij5zsMOCsYmQeqm6_mVrLnz8IQ_EyOVgon2o2bymaqVb1ldonPFij_7djyXSEGKQLEVyJX5Oq030CGii9BmiuM-V8y7mMfv_1uVdb7q1VC_AbE27ZtlU5OZ_yUMryS4x5Di8MY1zey03up/s320/Screen+Shot+2021-09-12+at+10.15.01+AM.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />I haven’t been writing much because, well, who’s going to play the Freecell? Right?</span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span>How do you get all of the cards in the proper piles if you’re writing?</span></span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><span>That’s one thing I've done: won a fuck-ton of free cell games.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>That’s what I have to show for the pandemic so far.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>All of the time spent home alone for the past year and a half when I could have been creating, or cleaning, or Making Good Use of My Time, I don’t.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I stare at the abyss, which is very close, and play another round of Freecell.</span></span></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">But I’d like to write more, I really would.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <span style="font-size: 12px;"> </span></span></span></div><p class="p2" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yesterday, I went on a walk with a dear friend and all of our dogs. The dogs ran off to find the river, duh.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But access to the river in that location was a steep unstable sandy slope, and we know about steep slopes.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It’s easy to go down, hard to get back, exactly like the abyss, which is why we try to keep a safe distance. <span style="font-size: 12px;"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">We could hear the dogs splashing and playing, and then the two younger spry dogs scampered back to us but my beautiful middle-aged girl with arthritis was stuck, and I had to go down the slope and push her a little bit by the haunches, and pull her a bit by the scruff of the neck.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: verdana;"> Luckily, </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">someone who had come before me had driven a long piece of rebar into the bank and tied a rope to it, so it wasn't that thing of oh, now two people (well, one person and one dog who thinks she's a person) are stuck down there.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Whomever installed the rebar is Making Good Use of Their Time, that’s for sure.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">And it made me think like there should be more metaphorical and figurative rebar stakes attached to ropes surrounding the abysses of all types so you can explore a little bit without getting stuck.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">We really don’t want to be pushed back up by the haunches. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The second interesting thing that happened on our walk is that we came upon a woman walking alone, taking photographs of the beautiful day, and we started chatting.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She had some interesting new information, like, did we know that the pupil of a goats eye is rectangular?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> (No! Didn't know that.). </span>And we wandered from there to viviparous snakes and so on, which was quite pleasant and interesting, and made me think I could ask some of my questions. <span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-size: 12px;"> </span></span></div><p class="p2" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I have the same questions all of the time, and mostly I can’t even remember the questions, but here they are. Things I should understand but don’t. </span></div><ol class="ol1"><li class="li1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Heat pumps.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Really?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>You attach a box-shaped thing to your house and suddenly, without pipes or ducts, your house is heated and cooled and your bills go down and you save the planet.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Does that even make sense?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I might be a heat-pump denier.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>And no one really understands them.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Ask anyone.</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Mining for bitcoin.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I’ve had brief moments of clarity where I get it, why and how vast networks of computers are mining for block chains, which are just series of numbers (why don't they call them that?) that translate into wealth. If you think about this for very long, it just seems ridiculous. I may also be a bitcoin denier.</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Money laundering.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I understand the concept: someone has illegally obtained money, and they need to bring it into the normal banking system without drawing attention.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But I get fuzzy on the details of how it works and when I really try to act it out with my fisher price toys and a tiny suitcase full of fake cash, I am unable to do so. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></li></ol><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Anyway, back to our walk.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Here was this woman who seemed to know a lot of stuff about snakes and goats, so I asked if it was appropriate to ask my questions.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The two people I was with both looked at me like I was a little bit off, but I’m used to that and forged ahead.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Do either of you know how money laundering works?”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And, like a tiny miracle, the woman who knew about goat’s eyes and live snake birth was prepared for my question as if she had been standing there with a little power point in her pocket, ready to explain money laundering to random passersby.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“Yes.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It takes three steps.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>First, you actually put the money in the wash so it looks a little older.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Then, put it into a business…. (this is the part where I always get confused because really, how do you get the money back? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvn5wUHEzCAHhgcZBChh8rhZxugWGrqWXwzhGPDAMEutSjPMLNORqj4yGmBl9xUvQrCqIdV8MRYBy1BojfURykTsAQWwf9qIAOuyiIRKZm9If_Rlsr4kkTG35jYddmrpmI9RmjgrysB69m/s942/Screen+Shot+2021-09-12+at+9.54.27+AM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="942" data-original-width="550" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvn5wUHEzCAHhgcZBChh8rhZxugWGrqWXwzhGPDAMEutSjPMLNORqj4yGmBl9xUvQrCqIdV8MRYBy1BojfURykTsAQWwf9qIAOuyiIRKZm9If_Rlsr4kkTG35jYddmrpmI9RmjgrysB69m/w117-h200/Screen+Shot+2021-09-12+at+9.54.27+AM.png" width="117" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Here’s how it goes when I act it out:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The little fisher price guy with blue overalls, the one doing the crimes, has a miniature satchel full of drug money.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We’ll call that the suitcase money.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>(By the way, feel free to act this out at home.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>There’s no shame in that.). He buys a restaurant with regular money because he can’t use the suitcase money.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>His main problem in life, besides that there are a bunch of shady people trying to kill him, is that spending the suitcase money could land him in jail.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But now he can spend suitcase money on the restaurant.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>So, if you’re playing along at home, take your blue overalls guy and have him hand a few thousand dollars from the satchel to the guy wearing the chef’s hat.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Chef hat guy will redesign the menu and boss the people in the kitchen around.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Now, overalls guy is out the regular money that he bought the restaurant with, plus the suitcase money he gave to chef’s hat guy.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK71eg8vxFqSuPHi8xmu6VrnAN4peSypoRhQmclvXXXB8K2vBok7mM7O22LrNPi9R9S0RxklVXw7fbg_f0z-GZebU_QLLNY73H4gUCTSBD5jmT0YHWKxk4oYqBC2cbV1gI_PxqCkMQkMDn/s784/Screen+Shot+2021-09-12+at+9.55.34+AM.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="734" data-original-width="784" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK71eg8vxFqSuPHi8xmu6VrnAN4peSypoRhQmclvXXXB8K2vBok7mM7O22LrNPi9R9S0RxklVXw7fbg_f0z-GZebU_QLLNY73H4gUCTSBD5jmT0YHWKxk4oYqBC2cbV1gI_PxqCkMQkMDn/w200-h188/Screen+Shot+2021-09-12+at+9.55.34+AM.png" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDHn2fNEukwKB5zUK2mj3PT055A1oJwAQtJVRHY2U2gWapCUVNmm7w1kXYlnwAJOMbbELGy759UwDiSe00V-s4mcy5tikV6kW3JWEQBfg2PBQsZH34-S-ckOp_uXx7tcg3sfP67gDvq0Nr/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDHn2fNEukwKB5zUK2mj3PT055A1oJwAQtJVRHY2U2gWapCUVNmm7w1kXYlnwAJOMbbELGy759UwDiSe00V-s4mcy5tikV6kW3JWEQBfg2PBQsZH34-S-ckOp_uXx7tcg3sfP67gDvq0Nr/" width="180" /></a></span>But overalls guy can write in his tiny little ledger that he spent a few thousand dollars in business expenses, so that money is now legit in the system. I guess that's good? But he doesn't have the money anymore. He does have some business expenses so his taxes are reduced, but jeez, that seems like a complicated way.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He has laundered a tiny fraction of the money in the suitcase, but he also owns a needy restaurant full of people who are sending their chicken back because it’s too cooked or too raw, or they didn’t know there would be a sprig of parsley near it, or they thought the salad would come first, and the dishwasher called in sick, and the servers don't want to tip the bartender, and the chef is wearing sandals so you got written up by<br /> the Health Department, and so on. This is where I start thinking it would be easier to just do the regular job that the overalls guy is supposed to do. </span><p></p></div></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Anyway, everyone had to leave just as she was starting to explain the confusing part about money laundering, so I still don't really know how it works, but I will count this encounter as a minor miracle.</span></div>Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-74031604719945435562021-08-16T08:00:00.002-07:002021-08-16T08:00:18.026-07:00Apocalypse<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><br /><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It’s been bleak lately.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Covid deaths are up <span class="s1" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">+1,357</span><span class="s2" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">% in King County over the past 2 weeks.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Pointless</span> deaths.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It’s been smoky and sweltering and boring and maddening a little scary to think that this is pretty much how the future will be.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Masks and diseases and wildfires and heat waves and pollution keeping us inside and selfish people not rowing along with the rest of us.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Rowing backwards.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But we do what we do, we carry on, but with high irritability. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaxeJnOgXPQb6DVZrXVuEEjKO0XGKJgAePunb0RNI1FSlGd6TxTquSRMhdOsK1nHwR6SSfwC6h0lf_RUskCop1IHx5byOzFRhyhQ4JZKm4ZgOCI4x15KGutit3hnEIqMs9-hHp1ppIMVTH/s2048/IMG_1343.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaxeJnOgXPQb6DVZrXVuEEjKO0XGKJgAePunb0RNI1FSlGd6TxTquSRMhdOsK1nHwR6SSfwC6h0lf_RUskCop1IHx5byOzFRhyhQ4JZKm4ZgOCI4x15KGutit3hnEIqMs9-hHp1ppIMVTH/w320-h240/IMG_1343.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Last week, I thought I’d go to Costco, which has morphed, surprisingly, from a dreaded giant warehouse where I’d get lost and spend too much money, to a fun outing.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>This switch happened early in the pandemic when we weren’t supposed to go anywhere.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Of course, we could still shop for food.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Costco was like a free pass to get out of the house.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Anyway, during this miserable week where it’s been too hot to keep the windows closed and too smokey to open them, I remembered about Costco.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Air conditioning! Food!<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Diversion!<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>So I went and it was disappointingly annoying, probably due to my own high irritability but quite possibly due to all the obstructionists who spread themselves out in the aisles, talking to one another and blocking traffic and generally being oblivious.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Families, large extended families forming blockades in each aisle.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But then I noticed that on the far side of the store they were offering samples again! A sign of better days! The olden days, when you could walk through a store and snack on things you didn’t really want but they were FREE!<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>So I decided that yes, I’d take off my mask when I got there and have a little snack.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>This carried me through the whole miserable part with the aisle-blockers and the Search for Washcloths and so on.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Eventually, I would get a little treat.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Ok, I finally get there and guess what they were handing out?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The nice lady in the hair net had little portion cups full of mayonnaise.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Not even a cracker with them.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Straight up mayo.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We made all of this effort to live through the pandemic only to get a dollop of room temperature mayo?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Is this my best life, I wondered? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">So I tried to remember the things that always interest me even when I’m feeling lazy, sweltering in place alone with the windows closed and a panting dog.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Twins separated at birth, Jimmy Hoffa (does it seem like it’s been a while since someone’s NJ backyard was excavated to look for a body?) and, my all time fave, D.B. Cooper. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Here’s my recommendation, people:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>DB Cooper! There are thousands of people who are truly obsessed, and spend so much time thinking about it, sharing theories and new information.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>They know stuff.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Like, one thing they know is that in the 1970’s, the door on a boeing airplane wouldn’t open if the plane was pressurized.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Or maybe depressurized.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I don’t recall.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>And they know what diatoms would normally colonize a pile of money near the Columbia River, and what shape their imprint on the bills would be, and how to find the list of serial numbers of the bills that DB was given, and so much more. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>This sweet obsessive curiosity that harkens back to a better time, a time when conspiracy theorists were eccentric and harmless, and worried about aliens and sought out bigfoot.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>They didn’t try to mess with elections or the health of their communities.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Anyway, my recommendation is DB Cooper.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-70288514481328286332021-06-12T19:23:00.008-07:002021-06-13T06:35:27.442-07:00Horoscopes: The Dan'l Broom Edition<span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></b></span><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></b></span></blockquote><span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv-bUOc2Gd6PH3HncQSz7HkPriiTujbYVoYB9gtvMkGApF6tYLSaYLD-V1kZ873xkaBxwVTN192xo8EA7-szA9RWwVOxuSr_z_MMB-Yle5kruv3AVuFWM2WS5bbtsoELBs3G9nycxKWVB-/s2048/IMG_0682.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv-bUOc2Gd6PH3HncQSz7HkPriiTujbYVoYB9gtvMkGApF6tYLSaYLD-V1kZ873xkaBxwVTN192xo8EA7-szA9RWwVOxuSr_z_MMB-Yle5kruv3AVuFWM2WS5bbtsoELBs3G9nycxKWVB-/s320/IMG_0682.jpeg" /></a></div><b></b><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Aries (3/21 - 4/19)</span></b>: Well, Aries, it's been a while. Remember that time I said I was going to write a blog post every day and I did it for one day in a row? Do you get to call it "in a row" when it happens once? Why of course you do! All rules are off now. It's all the wild wild west, wear your white shoes any old time, drink gin for breakfast from the bathtub. That's how it's going now. Enjoy.</span><span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif"><b><br /></b></span><span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif"><br /></span><b style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Taurus (4/20 – 5/20)</span></b><span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">:</span> I keep wondering why I don't have more time. Right? We're mostly staying at home, and everyone stopped commuting and forgot both how and why to talk to random people. And the world is opening up a little bit, like a ferris wheel that's slowing creaking along, loading one car at a time before getting up to full speed. I say that like I know the first thing about ferris wheels, which I don't, because I've never been on one due to, well, fear. I know some ferris wheel history, though. Chicago. HH Holmes. Anyway, two reasons why I don't have more time: 1) The Warden, which is what I call the dog who bosses me around all day. She says when we get up (early), and when we go walking (a lot), and when we eat (whenever she thinks of it.). 2) Sleeping. I go to bed so early that I sleep for a while and wake up and it's still daylight which is super confusing (am I a man dreaming I am a butterfly who took a nap? Or a woman who ran out of steam on the day too early, while it was still in full swing?). Taurus, use your time better than I do. </span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif"><b style="text-align: center;">Gemini (5/21 - 6/21):</b><span style="text-align: center;"><span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif"> Will Matt Gaetz ever go to jail? The particular brand of man who believes women and (eww) children were put on the planet for his pleasure, blocks minimum wage, thinks people in economic hardship should pull themselves up by their bootstrap (or possibly the g-string) and just work harder, is so maddening. We need a<span style="font-family: inherit;"> sign that justice will be back soon, Gemini. Oh, and happy birthday!! En</span>joy your time here on this planet as if you were living your very best life. </span></span></span><br />
<b style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;"><br /></b><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cancer (6/22 – 7/21)</span></b><span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif">: </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-offset-key="so5v-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true">I've spent a while today researching how to dust, of all things. Dusting seems pointless, like sweeping the beach. You move it around a little bit and it comes right back. But my house is starting to look a bit like </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="so5v-1-0">Miss</span></span><span data-offset-key="so5v-2-0" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true"> Havisham lives here, so I thought I'd see if there's a cure. Cancer, it turns out that are a lot of people worried about dust! They test methods and supplies and blog about it, and compare prices of dusting options. I read a post by a woman who compared the cost of various products -- there are disposable rags on a stick that you buy that move the dust. Anyway, you probably knew that, Cancer, but here's something that shocked me: she based her calculations on dusting <i>once a week! </i>I've lived here for 30 years and I think I've dusted twice -- it just didn't take. Cancer, don't worry about the dust. It's one more thing that The Oppressors have come up with to make women feel bad about themselves. (I haven't yet found a man blogging about the dust situation, but correct me if I'm wrong on this.) Dust, hair, belly fat, wrinkles. They're part of our best life. Do you wonder why your rising sign is <i>so</i> different from your sun sign? Yeah, I don't know anything about that. These are fake horoscopes. I just know dust.</span></span><br /></span>
<span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif"><b><br />Leo (7/23 – 8/22)</b>: After reading up on dusting, I went to a few stores and they didn't have what I sought.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht8ruZTuGAIComebJez51AAu1OBNUujddeaRNj_cqZ1LJl3qkYqedWtsEmW_qJvkOieR6AOjj9KQR5cFS3vFVVzguF9gPTtBgPpN_Ntuuj0_3uawpkkX1_UVFvBT-N9cydqjq6nybqzXeL/s2048/IMG_0674.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht8ruZTuGAIComebJez51AAu1OBNUujddeaRNj_cqZ1LJl3qkYqedWtsEmW_qJvkOieR6AOjj9KQR5cFS3vFVVzguF9gPTtBgPpN_Ntuuj0_3uawpkkX1_UVFvBT-N9cydqjq6nybqzXeL/s2048/IMG_0674.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBfxRun3uBrm2vNsfVc2jTBKchhf3ugvyfKDrUpJFtTSAyhNtMq9Pyr89lYSnk8fPiQTZdkZpps8bsZMTRzYZaYs316RVJvfLA69fx-RbfrYRzN8O489P8rF8m1czDmpxU4f5kpHVm7KGW/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1154" data-original-width="1152" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBfxRun3uBrm2vNsfVc2jTBKchhf3ugvyfKDrUpJFtTSAyhNtMq9Pyr89lYSnk8fPiQTZdkZpps8bsZMTRzYZaYs316RVJvfLA69fx-RbfrYRzN8O489P8rF8m1czDmpxU4f5kpHVm7KGW/" width="240" /></a></div></div>(Because now Miss Havisham emerges from the spider webs as some kind of dusting expert. I've done the research, as the anti-vax folks say, when what they mean is they saw a video posted by someone who has been on the couch wearing flame-retardant pj's for a year.) What I really want is a little outfit for my broom, something that the broom (whom I call Dan'l as in Daniel Broom) could slip on once a decade and dance around on the ceiling. After that frivolity, Dan'l would take off the skirt and go back to being a staid little broom again. But R. told me it would be worrisome if I, the woman who doesn't dust, started sewing clothes for Dan'l. (I didn't tell R. that the broom has a name for obvious reasons.). Leo, what's the point of all this dusting talk? I'm not sure. But if you see me under the bridge selling handmade pants for brooms, you know what to do.</span></div><div><span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif"></span><span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif"><b>Virgo (8/23 – 9/22)</b>: Does clicking the box that says, "I'm not a robot" actually prove it? I'm not a robotics expert but does it seem strange that we can send robots to Mars to take photos but we can't teach them to click the little box? It may be that robots are programmed to tell the truth. Their trainer is all, "CLICK THE BOX ALREADY!" And the robot is hovering, paw near the box, but pulls back. "I cannot tell a lie. I <i>am</i> a robot." Virgo, I don't think you can tell a lie either, which is such a good thing. May we all be so full of justice.</span><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Libra (9/23 – 10/22): </span></b><span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAI4sCiFIx-Ak5j4Oe_qqLXF46pKeTcbRxpQKOC1FZxdZRK5EqjKDP5ey1-foWixwro7M8dnpaYunBDx_OiV1ph6GNn5qfqUF2aLYHeCe2qMXqszp6SVHGQ2MFk5XalRb9w2KLULrHuvdh/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1025" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAI4sCiFIx-Ak5j4Oe_qqLXF46pKeTcbRxpQKOC1FZxdZRK5EqjKDP5ey1-foWixwro7M8dnpaYunBDx_OiV1ph6GNn5qfqUF2aLYHeCe2qMXqszp6SVHGQ2MFk5XalRb9w2KLULrHuvdh/w196-h147/F79DF1B3-C5AF-40EC-AF23-F9DE1D93FB7B_1_105_c.jpeg" width="196" /></a></div>Well, it's almost time for the post-pandemic retrospective, to see what we did. Here's what I did: walked my dog a million times, cooked a bunch for myself (until the point when I devolved into making one kind of food for both the dog and I). Oh, you want the recipe? Throw ground turkey, rice, and any vegetables you can find into a pot with water. Boil for a while. Dish out the contents into two bowls, one for you, one for the dog. Eat with a spoon while she eats with her face. One vat will last a week at the pace of two meals a day for both of you. For fancy, form into a patty and fry it up in a pan. </span></span></span><br />
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<span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif" style="text-align: center;"><b style="text-align: center;">Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):</b><span style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSIfKd9sHmymEl7Gh4f5peWJqLVtWUskPH-aqwOD_ibP-JYcGm3KYyEWSr5KWO4NdFDYVfHZ9IL15sSLlTT0GQptOb7pnQMxjvtjtxfUOb-E7VE1x61oxLIDW9o4xRj0HkHbfKoFCflPVj/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSIfKd9sHmymEl7Gh4f5peWJqLVtWUskPH-aqwOD_ibP-JYcGm3KYyEWSr5KWO4NdFDYVfHZ9IL15sSLlTT0GQptOb7pnQMxjvtjtxfUOb-E7VE1x61oxLIDW9o4xRj0HkHbfKoFCflPVj/" width="320" /></a></div>Also, during the pandemic, I started answering my telephone and even initiating phone calls. And I wept most days, sometimes because I miss my sisters, sometimes because I think about the people who died horrible gasping deaths alone in a hospital, sometimes because I realize I may outlive some of my loved ones, and sometimes because I'm just tired of it all. Tired of eating the dog food and cooking and walking the dog and all the things. And sometimes because I'm thinking about the mothers I know who have lost children in the past few years, and it's unbearable to consider. And sometimes because I'm worried about the lack of news literacy in this country, where people can be so mislead by people who are, well, trying to be misleading. Scorpio, even when Venus is in Mercury and the moon is in the dusty house, keep being straight-forward. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif" style="text-align: center;"><b>Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21)</b>:<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Also, I tried to develop one new habit. I tried to learn not to be a sponge-leaver. I was going to emerge from the pandemic as someone who always wrings out the sponge and puts it on the edge of the sink. Just like dusting, it didn't take. I was also going to do the Swedish Death Cleaning but got kind of hung up on some technicalities. Is it the thought that counts, Sag? Let's hope so. Keep thinking good thoughts, this week and all the weeks.</span></span></div><div>
<span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif" style="text-align: center;"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif" style="text-align: center;"></span><b style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">Capricorn (12/22 - 1/19): </b><span style="font-family: inherit;">There doesn’t seem to be a way to break through the wall of misinformation.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> You might say something to an anti-vaxxer like, </span>“Have you noticed that the number of cases, and more importantly, the death rate, has been falling dramatically since people started getting vaccinated?”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>And you get back, “well, the death rate wasn’t even accurate to begin with, that was just the liberal media calling everyone dead who was actually fine, and meanwhile the dead people were votoing. ”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Or something equally deranged, and you can see that there’s not a worthwhile discussion ahead. </span></div><div><span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif"><b><br />Aquarius (1/20-2/18): </b></span><span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif"> Here's an idea, Aquarius: <span style="font-family: inherit;">Each time an anti-vaxxer mentions doing anything, say, “Uh, have you done the research?”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Like, oh, you're driving across a bridge? You're buying food from a store? You're flying on an airplane? Etc. Would that be a way to gently point out that we are all on this planet together, each of us with something special to contribute, and we need to trust one another in order to make it all work, and we need to be trustworthy and there's no possible way to do all of the research, and it's a pretty huge slap in the face to the actual experts. Just as you wouldn't barge into the cockpit and start telling the pilot what to do because you saw a video, you probably want to treat the doctors who will someday be fighting for you life, with a little more respect. Be an ambassador! Treat each of the humans as if you were going to need their kidney one day. Set it up so that they'll be delighted to give it. </span></span></span></div><div><span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif"><b><br />Pisces (2/19 – 3/20)</b>: </span>Here in Duvall the anti-vaxxers carry signs that say, "Our children are not ferrets." Which seems like an easy thing to agree with, because I don't know anyone who's children are ferrets. Maybe we need more protests like that, to establish common ground. "Pie is delicious!" or "Nap when you're tired!" Stuff like that. Unless of course, Pisces, your children <i>are </i>ferrets....</div><div><span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif"><br /></span></div></div>Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-30675324460946050322021-03-10T17:31:00.002-08:002021-03-10T17:31:19.090-08:00March 10<p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, .SFNSText-Regular, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1mjUVi-CtQcyLCdqDC8PEh04X9a5eE9pV_5Twd9CY5r20uWJoeotUDgpzb-codyUtqKg-mAYQ7qzJTinaIU_icU_-PW9hP_IsHoTxkrYk00B2jYJM3-IAV-atkaCWBHlzW46rkxJbZjhi/s2048/IMG_0287.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1mjUVi-CtQcyLCdqDC8PEh04X9a5eE9pV_5Twd9CY5r20uWJoeotUDgpzb-codyUtqKg-mAYQ7qzJTinaIU_icU_-PW9hP_IsHoTxkrYk00B2jYJM3-IAV-atkaCWBHlzW46rkxJbZjhi/w300-h400/IMG_0287.jpeg" width="300" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />There are two events that I order my week around: Wednesday is garbage day, and on Friday, at 5:00, I have a Manhattan with two cherries and quietly toast the passing of another week alone with my dog. All the other days are the same. I got super excited today because I could just tell that it was one of the special days. And just now, at 4:30, I realized that it's only garbage day.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh74EnfC740xp1-Mgm54EUj4n0qjx8S2QK5shOX5PYKTgT9Nd7l0_iCNcMSbrQBlD71WRzArDzag_bHUz5qndEFN_LzOHAg5VLawHQpQvkZ9sZQ5qkS2VdofOkVnuwU4sn7HZBtnyhMMqP4/s2048/IMG_0301.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1455" data-original-width="2048" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh74EnfC740xp1-Mgm54EUj4n0qjx8S2QK5shOX5PYKTgT9Nd7l0_iCNcMSbrQBlD71WRzArDzag_bHUz5qndEFN_LzOHAg5VLawHQpQvkZ9sZQ5qkS2VdofOkVnuwU4sn7HZBtnyhMMqP4/w200-h142/IMG_0301.jpeg" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">But guess what? Crocuses! I have am growing the world's tiniest crocus flower; it is so magical that I've been watching to see if a miniature person might be nearby, because I think it is possible that a leak into an alternate miniature universe in the middle of the earth is right here in my garden. </span><p></p><p><br /></p>Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-33634934161171224642021-03-08T10:52:00.007-08:002021-03-08T10:52:00.133-08:00March 8<p> Ok, here's the whining:</p><p>It bugs me when you finally do one thing from your list, an extra thing that's not the cooking or the dishes or the laundry or the bill paying or the actual job that keeps us in kibbles and high-speed internet. Maybe, for example, you order wetland boots from the internet, for example, and that seems reasonable because you're a wetland biologist and have been wearing leaky boots for a year, boots that you've repaired a few times but they keep leaking, probably because of the bunion. And yes, we do call the bunion Paul. Paul is hard on the boots. </p><p>Anyway, you order the boots and they're the exact same brand and size, but they arrive and they're tiny. And Paul looks at them and laughs, HAR HAR HAR no way are we going to fit into that boot. </p><p>So the chore that you checked off now becomes three more chores: figure out how to return, return, verify that they got there and the charge was reversed, order again. And it's like that all over the place. You sweep and then drop crumbs. You call to cancel the land line and it takes an hour on hold and then they won't let you cancel. And on and on until the days, the long rainy days are filled up with this stuff. And that's why we wear leaky boots and pay $90 a month for a land line so that the spam calls can interrupt my naps.</p><p>And here's the good thing.</p><p>Spring is coming. Indian plum is flowering down in the valley; not up here yet but soon. Crocuses are popping up. I know, spring, such a cliched thing. But truly. It is a pretty good thing, when the earth spins and tilts and things get a little bit warmer and little bit flowery and full of babies.</p><p><br /></p>Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-3417438579872138362021-03-07T10:20:00.007-08:002021-03-07T12:59:51.478-08:00March 7<p> Ok, I'm going to try to write about one thing each day. Maybe it will be a good thing, that's the plan. But maybe it will be whiny and irritable because that's often the truth.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaVzPJTYJ4B7intOXthND6PF5_A50I8rivPBtjL7oE3PoqRY1ZrlucGqGYKmzLszuKpaFtriTY18kjhvFweZHhmDRbWuRYAwL1764x1pXPO6ma7B80MPQAcgo-j0m1BXJAHJHB2jkMscJJ/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaVzPJTYJ4B7intOXthND6PF5_A50I8rivPBtjL7oE3PoqRY1ZrlucGqGYKmzLszuKpaFtriTY18kjhvFweZHhmDRbWuRYAwL1764x1pXPO6ma7B80MPQAcgo-j0m1BXJAHJHB2jkMscJJ/" width="180" /></a></div><p></p><p>I haven't been writing because the days have a flat sameness. I used to enjoy writing about the quirky people in the world, people who's lives might cross mine briefly, and something about it would make me laugh or think or learn something new, but a few things are different. One is, I used to sort of think I was sort of funny on occasion, and I thought that because people would laugh. Without people, it's a little hard to tell. I made <a href="https://youtu.be/dLn9qPM3CuI">this video</a> a month ago and I movied it to a few friends (movie is a verb now, that happened in 2020), and they thought it was funny and I was kind of surprised. Funny? Is that still a thing? The dog never laughs. I say something that might be a little funny and I look to my dog for confirmation, and she always says, "Look, can't you see that I'm resting on the couch? If it's not about going for a walk or eating, I'm not particularly interested." </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBcnHnHgh2We-EkMVghfyKkheeZjpyuO-Bb0jW7WoX5NQzNRsPOWxHlBZRbY35sBCGrd2cSQ9_igHxTDHkqh45jeXLHCvb61YEQmhgr1VqNn4vdcu5jVEnJrNkG6W_tdAV6SdVZgTcIL2s/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBcnHnHgh2We-EkMVghfyKkheeZjpyuO-Bb0jW7WoX5NQzNRsPOWxHlBZRbY35sBCGrd2cSQ9_igHxTDHkqh45jeXLHCvb61YEQmhgr1VqNn4vdcu5jVEnJrNkG6W_tdAV6SdVZgTcIL2s/" width="180" /></a></div><p></p><p>It seems that for the past few years, there's been a dark cloud of doom around here, where people I love lose their favorite things. They lose their children and their spouses and their health and their beloved pets. Even the pets. It's how the world goes, and especially with pets, we usually outlive them, especially if we have fish or gerbils. I guess if we want our pets to outlive us we should go for the tortoise.</p><p>Anyway. I'm going to try to write every day (please don't hold me to that. I'm very sketchy and unreliable.) And include at least one positive thing.</p><p>1. What is the deal with "cancel culture"? I've been trying to understand what it is and I think it's this: if someone behaves like a racist asshole, people don't want to hang out with them. And if the racist asshole wasn't a friend, but is a corporation, people are like, hey, I think I'll spend my money elsewhere, and not give it to the racist asshole. Do I have that right? Why does that even have a name? Isn't it just how things work?</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">2. And for the positive thing, moss. Because it's beautiful, and it's everywhere, and it was the first plant. It takes more carbon out of the air than all the trees, and most especially I love the way it grows on big-leaf maple trees in the winter.</p></blockquote><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-59966166048705583502020-11-09T10:09:00.004-08:002020-11-09T10:09:46.627-08:00We can forgive, but I'm not about to forget.<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5drUG8_8ZBvwm52_LBMT6edtAn6aHLV-fWLDWShuUU6lJwBp1z4f17OsF6OswzNUHIFMBRriFgFTKe5xErKNns58zQ29zbBr90FklAqpL-f3sHmyoKrApivOGunuzcnWluJm_qvK55o6D/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="1410" data-original-width="1334" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5drUG8_8ZBvwm52_LBMT6edtAn6aHLV-fWLDWShuUU6lJwBp1z4f17OsF6OswzNUHIFMBRriFgFTKe5xErKNns58zQ29zbBr90FklAqpL-f3sHmyoKrApivOGunuzcnWluJm_qvK55o6D/w303-h320/Screen+Shot+2020-11-09+at+10.07.34+AM.png" title="Moonrise over Radicchio" width="303" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">We are hearing calls to forgive and move on together as a nation.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Most of us would like nothing better than to have a united, functional nation that can address difficult, complex problems the way adults do: by studying and discussing and relying on experts, and trying our best, and correcting course as new information arrives.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">I’m going to work on forgiving trump voters for the harm they’ve caused to the nation and the world, but I’m not going to forget.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">I’m not going to forget that weeks after a tape was released showing trump boasting about grabbing women by the genitals, you voted for him.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">You stood by him when he separated children from their parents and put them in cages.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">You stood by him when he mocked a reporter for a disability.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">You stood by him when he called soldiers who gave their lives for this country, “losers”, and asked what’s in it for them.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">You stood by him when he mocked people for wearing masks. You participated in spreading false information. participated in the falsehood that the Coronavirus isn’t a deadly disease. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">You stood by him when he lied, over and over.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>You were silent or complicit when his administration shoehorned a supreme court justice in, while voting was already underway, though you agreed with Mitch McConnell that it wasn’t appropriate to even consider allowing Obama to fill a vacancy on supreme court 18 months before an election.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>You cheered when he called the racists in Charlottesville “good people”.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>You shared lies, claiming that our sacred election process is a fraud. You stood by when he had mass, mask-less rallies in defiance of medical experts and local officials who work hard to save lives.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>You made immigrants, people of color, and many others feel unsafe by endorsing or staying silent in the face of hateful rhetoric.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>You lauded Trump, a man who paid hush money to porn stars so they would be silent about his use of prostitutes while his wife was pregnant, as a family man.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Meanwhile, you attacked us as “liberal snowflakes” on social media, and answered our legitimate questions about these and the myriad of other fraudulent and disgusting behaviors with red herrings, like Hillary’s e-mails or Hunter Biden or cries of, “but socialism!” and any number of accusations.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>You were not kind to us. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It seems that your biggest fear is that Biden will raise taxes. As if adjusting the way revenue that the country runs on, by increasing the share paid by the wealthiest among us, is a bad thing. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">You forsook the traditional news sources and decided to believe unbelievable things, like there’s a cabal of Satanist pedophiles trying to take down trump.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Think about it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Are vast conspiracies, where lots of people secretly coordinate secretly, realistic?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Have you ever tried to have a surprise party?</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I will work hard to forgive you, because we all deserve second and third and even 500<sup>th</sup> chances, but you have lost my respect.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Maybe you can earn it back, we’ll see.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>You’ll have to put in effort though.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We’ve all done things that we regret, because we acted carelessly, or ignorantly.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We learn and we grow.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But the mark of decency is to own it, apologize, and explain what happened.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We all want to know: why did you endorse the cruel acts?</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I believe we can move on together as a nation, because that’s what grownups do.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We understand that we’re all living on this tiny planet together, and we can politely stare at the ceiling or chat about the weather.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Beyond that, I will bring soup if I hear you’re sick.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>If your children are suffering, I will do what I can.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I will try to be decent; I will try to model decency.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But I cannot unsee what I’ve seen. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-2794917598924805132020-09-16T11:34:00.001-07:002020-09-16T11:34:51.558-07:00Explaining the afterlife to my dog...<p> The other day, my dog asked me what happens when we die. Gulp.</p><p><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3F22t04xvoNf3-OHUyem3zZJUMHDP8SL7pe4Nq1Z3te6oUO3yhsBNY36KFBC8Xs35Sre8ZD9MFYD-NqYAnMd1SoEwoCSJXV0bIpt8sVvSnPCOcxkoAIgNlrTfhhO2bLgYBUCvqfkJY2gz/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3F22t04xvoNf3-OHUyem3zZJUMHDP8SL7pe4Nq1Z3te6oUO3yhsBNY36KFBC8Xs35Sre8ZD9MFYD-NqYAnMd1SoEwoCSJXV0bIpt8sVvSnPCOcxkoAIgNlrTfhhO2bLgYBUCvqfkJY2gz/" width="180" /></a></div><br />I<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> look at Jasmine and think dammit. I didn't think dogs knew about mortality, which is why they're so cheery all of the time. But maybe she knew all along, or maybe she found a note or the body of a hiker in the bushes that tipped her off. At any rate, here we are. She knows.</span></span><p></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">"Oh Jazzy, you aren't going to die for a long time. You take good care of yourself, and eat the kibbles and go on so many walks every day and tend to your relationships and take a lot of naps, and you wear your mask when we go out and you try not to drink too much."</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); color: #1a1a1a; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 11px;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">She stares at me and I realize she won't be placated like a four year old. She is six, after all. If it weren't for the Coronavirus, she would be in first grade. Instead, she's "homeschooled". I put that in quotes because it's mostly home and very little school.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); color: #1a1a1a; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 11px;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">How much should I tell her about death right now? She's isolated from her peers for the most part, which is hard. Her job as a lab assistant has slowed way down. But on the other hand, truth is always a good plan. So I dive in.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); color: #1a1a1a; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 11px;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">"No one actually knows for certain what happens when we die," I begin. "It's something that so far, can't be determined using the scientific method, so people just pick what they think happens and believe that. Some people believe we go to heaven (UP) or hell (down), based on how we behave in this world. Up is for the good creatures, and down is for the bad ones. </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); color: #1a1a1a; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 11px;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Some people, like me, believe that we die and most of it ends. There's no re-uniting with the puppies that were taken away from you when you were practically a puppy yourself, etc. Your heart stops beating, you stop breathing, and soon, stillness takes over and your mind quiets and that's it. The end. Your family either incinerates you and sprinkles ashes in beautiful places (or, in my dad's case, you live in a can in a suitcase in the basement storage locker of a retirement community; I'm not sure why that is but I guess that's how we do it in my family), or they bury you, or set you up with a mushroom suit, and what was once you is gone. </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); color: #1a1a1a; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 11px;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Some people, especially those who make movies, believe that when you die, you hover around near where you died or near the people you loved or hated, and <i>almost</i> communicate with them. You can sort of drop things and make noise and watch while your person falls in love with a living creature, and so on, but you aren't nearly as effective as you were when you were alive. Like, in your case, if you died and I got another dog, maybe the other dog would sense your presence and growl inexplicably. Eventually, in a good movie, you move on and rest on a pillow in heaven and the new dog takes your place.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); color: #1a1a1a; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 11px;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">One area that remains a question mark for me is what happens to the brain waves and creative force. I'm not sure how much I even believe in that, but I know there is uniqueness to each being, something that sets each one of us apart. Like you, for example, have that towel fetish. When you go into a house, you beeline for any towel you can find and grab it in your teeth and roll in it until someone asks you to stop. What happens to that impulse? Is it floating around out there, waiting to land on another creature?. All of that tail-wagging, all of that towel-grabbing. Where does it go? Does it live on in the hearts and minds of your loved ones? Will I become a person who honors you by stripping off my clothes, heading for the bathroom, and rolling in the towels when I go visiting, in much the same way that people make grandma's sheet cake? Or is that impulse magically transported into a being that's about to be born, who arrives on earth with some hazy memories of your life?</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); color: #1a1a1a; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 11px;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">We may never know, Jasmine. In the meantime, enjoy your days. Keep wagging. Oh, and if I go first, and we're home alone for a week before anyone notices, please try not to eat my face right off the bat. </span></span></p>Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-60927772778974375572020-09-14T11:32:00.004-07:002020-09-14T11:35:00.047-07:00Finding Your Voice in Pandemic Times<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9GzJVHQyeZgInKLvz7rDUQzYRtj2A8uImGYbVqtiwlHwKZWcqzY9zJYNvgK7OZLrqN720XN-T-YuSyCmY0mujY_74DspiGDlVBbm_ENrN4UnPH4flHtLjn4vRs9_o3Rlqx96te84VWo-Y/s2048/IMG_0982.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9GzJVHQyeZgInKLvz7rDUQzYRtj2A8uImGYbVqtiwlHwKZWcqzY9zJYNvgK7OZLrqN720XN-T-YuSyCmY0mujY_74DspiGDlVBbm_ENrN4UnPH4flHtLjn4vRs9_o3Rlqx96te84VWo-Y/s320/IMG_0982.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Well, my friends, <p></p><p>Here we still are, in the pandemic, no end in sight. </p><p>I would like to offer this:</p><p>A writing workshop. Most of us don’t need help with our writing; we just need encouragement and inspiration to write.</p><p>Someone said that teachers tend to offer what they need, and this is what I need. I need someone to gently remind me to sit down each day and write, even if it’s just for a few minutes.</p><p>I need someone to say, “STOP refreshing the covid death numbers. Stop checking the news. Just write, and here’s what to write about.” I need that because I know that when I write, I feel better and can think more clearly. And with practice, I know I’ll become a better writer. And who knows, I might write something along the way that helps someone else feel better or understand something, or laugh out loud.</p><p>I’m not a great writer, or a particularly dedicated one, but I do believe in writing in the way we believe in our unshakeable things: humans are basically good; art matters; we should do our best to live each day filled with hope; writing can change lives. That’s what I believe. </p><p>I wrote <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2015/03/01/style/bringing-a-daughter-back-from-the-brink-with-poems.html">one thing</a> once that got published, about my then-teen age daughter’s struggle with finding her way toward adulthood, and how scary and disorienting it was to be her mother at that time, and how much I loved her and wanted the best but, as they say, the die had been cast. She was her own person and I could merely stand on the sidelines and cheer her on in the ways I knew. All I could think of was to put a poem in her shoe each morning. It felt helpful to write about it, even the scary parts. And now, five years after that was published, I still get occasional notes from people who are watching their own teens struggle, thanking me for offering a tiny candle on their path. To think that words and stories can do that. They can provide comfort or inspiration, to ourselves, to others. That’s what we all need now. </p><p>Life is challenging and different now; the water temperature is changing quickly, and its helpful to write about it. And I believe that everyone is a writer. Everyone has a story to tell, an idea to share, grief to process, a silver lining to discover. </p><p><a href="https://youtu.be/R5PaqkupXHw">Here is a sample</a>.</p><p><b>Dates</b>: October 5 – November 7</p><p><b>What</b>: </p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Daily prompts available each day, October 5 – November 7; </li><li>Zoom meetings, October 11, 18, 25, and November 1, 4 – 5:30 (Sunday afternoons)</li><li>Each person enrolled in the class will create a final essay to share at an online reading on November 7 at 7:00 PST. (Time will be adjusted if needed to accommodate needs of participants)</li><li>Optional critique of essay drafts</li><li>Final reading!</li><li>Laughter, fun, writing!</li></ul><p></p><p><a href="https://betsy-s-school-c9cb.thinkific.com/courses/finding-your-voice-in-pandemic-times">Sign up here</a>:</p><div><br /></div>Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-44553455462966746862020-04-22T20:15:00.001-07:002020-04-22T20:15:17.309-07:00Dear Future, Are you out there?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv9WSZ2pBBKcprKH0bR9sW59yAwcvAeqKff1kEZs33mayxss85tGbWmSW5PWBwOatnCw1MM65g-s_fq0zE61ZdBD0T6K0O8iRMuHKCjB6rVymj2tQt_fbijVouPCflai2A5iEtf5abEtAm/s1600/Photo+Dec+16%252C+3+33+15+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv9WSZ2pBBKcprKH0bR9sW59yAwcvAeqKff1kEZs33mayxss85tGbWmSW5PWBwOatnCw1MM65g-s_fq0zE61ZdBD0T6K0O8iRMuHKCjB6rVymj2tQt_fbijVouPCflai2A5iEtf5abEtAm/s320/Photo+Dec+16%252C+3+33+15+PM.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I wrote a little thing for the local historical society about how it is now. A letter to the future! Yay, there's a future out there!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Anyway, read it <a href="https://medium.com/@betsyjm/dear-future-people-b5a8ddbb2314">here</a> if you like</span>.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I hope you're all staying safe out there.</span>Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-53106636506589696492020-03-23T08:25:00.002-07:002020-03-23T08:25:17.710-07:00Advice Column<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hi Everyone,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hope you're all doing okay out there. Also, with her extra time, my dog has started an advice column. Feel free to write with any problems you might have. (No medical questions or political diatribes though. She doesn't have any expertise in that stuff.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Stay well.</span><br />
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<br />Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-79346993442404628672020-02-22T13:58:00.000-08:002020-02-22T16:37:34.815-08:00Trying to understand the bernie supporter<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Please help me understand the cult of Bernie Sanders. First, let me say that I’ll gladly vote for him if he becomes the nominee. But these are some things that trouble and confuse me:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">1. It feels like the Bernie culture is a little rabid, you’re either a supporter or an idiot and lacking either ideals or information. I don't like conversations that goes that way.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I consider myself a lefty/progressive, if that’s the term for people who believe that the role of government should be to help to level the playing field, create opportunity and fairness for people born into less privilege than some of us, protect natural resources, take care of the weakest among us, work to solve some of the most challenging problems of the day, offer a framework for civilized debate, and maintain an unbiased, fair legal system. If that's what left is, yeah, count me in. I want to pay taxes to support all of that. (I don't want to pay taxes for the stupid new fire station that cut all the trees down but that's not the topic, people!). But I don’t understand the Bernie Culture -- supporters imply that he is the only path, in the manner of other religions or cults.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">2. The Bernie fans seem to be -- and please know that I’m not trying to lob accusations, but merely to understand – almost as blind to his weaknesses as the trump supporters are blind to trump. (I'm not saying their weaknesses are measured on the same scale -- one's a corrupt narcissist out for his own gain, and Bernie is none of those things. But Bernie is not the messiah.). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">While I hear debate and discourse about other candidates, there seems to be a closed-mindedness by Bernie fans. If you aren't for him, you're wrong. In particular, the question, “but is he electable?” seems to be taken as an indicator of lack of integrity on the part of the asker. "Of course he’s not going to get elected if you’re too chicken to vote for him!" </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But I think its a valid question. There is a monster in the white house, and we need to throw everything we’ve got at getting him out, and be strategic about it. Sometimes, when you’re sick you get to be a purist and use sleep and natural remedies to get well, but sometimes you need chemotherapy or surgery. Those aren’t anyone’s first choice, but when you’re fighting something awful, you don’t always get to do it in the most pure way. Is that wrong? Is someone who could capture the vote of people in Florida and Pennsylvania, who's not a corrupt self-serving monster, so bad? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">3. I’m a fan of most of the positions that Bernie supports. I’d love to see health care for all; I’d love to see more equality in the distribution of wealth. I don't understand why those positions are considered radical left. But, his positions </span><i style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">are</i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> seen as a huge swing, way over to the left from the center mark, and my instinct is that putting him in the White House won't heal the country, and that's what we need now. We need someone who seems normal and in charge and can help restore order. I think there is more than one candidate who could do that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I get anxious and horrified and feel disenfranchised when the pendulum has swung so far to the right – and I don’t think electing someone who will create that kind of anxiety on the other side is the way to move forward. We have a disrupter in the white house now – someone who’s positions are extreme, someone who wants to tear it all down, someone who has an us/them view of the world. It’s not helping, and I tend to think the white house isn’t the place for disrupters. Disrupters are important and do a lot of good (or bad!) in the world, and create movements that push the dial. And I get it, we on the left see the anxiety on the right as misplaced. No one is really coming for anyone's guns or jobs, healthcare for all would help everyone, blah blah blah. But if someone enters the white house who is viewed by the majority of Americans as not representing their beliefs, will he be able to get anything done? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">4. Is an 80 year old white man with heart disease really the best candidate? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">5. Is this McGovern all over again? My sisters and I had a lemonade/brownie stand and sent the money to McGovern; I think it was $11 or maybe $14. Nixon loved having McGovern as an opponent. Trump would love having Bernie as an opponent. If I were to do it again, I wouldn't pair brownies with lemonade, but that's besides the point.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">6. Is it heresy to ask these questions?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ok, I'm listening. I have a few weeks before I mail my ballot. Bernie will likely win Washington no matter how I vote, but still....</span></div>
Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-21421574304714144542020-01-18T11:18:00.002-08:002020-01-18T11:30:27.076-08:00Two Things: Good versus evil, and What's for Dinner<b><u>Two things:</u></b><br />
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1. Does it feel to anyone else like there's this giant, obvious struggle in the world of good versus evil, and it feels like evil could very well win, and we're all just sitting here, holding our breath, covering our eyes and trying not to weep? I mean, seriously, if you need Alan Dershowitz as your attorney, it's pretty much like saying, I'm guilty AF and I'm going to get off scot-free because I have money.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghD5Jw19DerwtSBbhXJLe-0Sal9-74uLcw9QZ-cgWJVymaUDWq0LXQp7oc4qApFl0PsjAK1BGgL4cXLV46vUldPvCHJUA3V9xXfa2f92oNcVdG2_3smk6CH7htCbwrpBArySTluIGwf4V2/s1600/IMG_3156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghD5Jw19DerwtSBbhXJLe-0Sal9-74uLcw9QZ-cgWJVymaUDWq0LXQp7oc4qApFl0PsjAK1BGgL4cXLV46vUldPvCHJUA3V9xXfa2f92oNcVdG2_3smk6CH7htCbwrpBArySTluIGwf4V2/s320/IMG_3156.JPG" width="240" /></a>2. I saw a recipe for roasted chicken in the NYT the other day, and the pre-ramble to the recipe said,<br />
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"My guess? It’s all anyone in your set will be talking about in coming days. I think you’ll want to make it tonight, or on some evening very soon. Go to!"</blockquote>
That seemed really strange to me. Like, since when does the NYT say, "Go to!"? And I haven't heard anyone talking about the chicken, except here I am, talking about it. But I did make it last night, and it was pretty good. Let me know if you hear any chatter about the chicken. It seems plausible that this is code for something.<br />
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<br />Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-53750910711960624382020-01-13T11:50:00.002-08:002020-01-13T12:11:25.745-08:00NYR<br />
I did so well with my NY resolution last year that I thought I'd try it again this year. I know we're already partway through the year and you're supposed to figure these things out in a drunken moment of optimism on NYE, when you think you're gonna be and do all these things that probably won't pan out, like be healthier and get more exercise and clean up all the time, and make your bed the instant you get out of it, and keep good records of everything filed away in an orderly fashion and keep up on all the paperwork. Even if the government sends you a notice that you're supposed to get a cat, you promptly fill out the forms and do it. (I don't think that's a real thing but I'm not really sure how people decide to get cats -- there must be some notification from someone?)<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJNEu81noFKUKXgTsUlf2s5jZerueGQb7sfFwQbgksQUkHnEB24GHyAh-A6scpkgYXm1Oq-S4lv56fsnuI5Oq_J6ll3PsWy8nQ1ycpPU-skiMsy8qZ9ID7uKzmrZwT9fxct7q-6LQdw6UX/s1600/IMG_8939.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1294" data-original-width="1600" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJNEu81noFKUKXgTsUlf2s5jZerueGQb7sfFwQbgksQUkHnEB24GHyAh-A6scpkgYXm1Oq-S4lv56fsnuI5Oq_J6ll3PsWy8nQ1ycpPU-skiMsy8qZ9ID7uKzmrZwT9fxct7q-6LQdw6UX/s320/IMG_8939.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
Anyway. I've been trying to come up with a resolution that's realistic, but will actually make my life better, and it finally came to me.<br />
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I am going to have a favorite coffee mug again. I've had favorites in the past, but they eventually break or chip and I'm forced to move on. It's a quiet grief. You don't tell people, 'Um, I live alone and I had this favorite coffee cup, and we used to spend mornings together, and it's gone, and I miss it.' You say that and people are all in for getting you a cat.<br />
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A few months ago I noticed that I was down to just a couple of mugs, so I went and bought a bunch at Value Village. None of them were ideal but they don't have any slogans or dumb jokes on them, and they aren't chipped, and they're all the proper shape to hold 12 ounces. And yesterday, as I pulled the cobalt blue mug out of the dish drainer, I had that happy feeling, like oh yay, I get you today! So I think I can do this. I think I can get attached to another mug, and miss it a little on it's days off, and be super happy when I get to use it, the way you do.<br />
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Happy snow day, everyone.<br />
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<br />Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-46780682954265853962020-01-02T08:57:00.001-08:002020-01-02T08:57:25.270-08:00New Year, New PossibilitiesLast year I made a New Year's resolution to watch more t.v. I know, that sounds like I'm all fancy like my dog, Jasmine Cavendish-Palmer, and am too busy doing righteous important things to watch t.v., but that isn't the case at all. I waste more time than the average human playing Sudoku and solitaire and such, and clicking links of headlines that I only read for a few paragraphs, and so on. TV-watching is an upgrade in so many ways, but mostly it is better because it allows me to also knit because it's hands-free. Knitting, on its own, is kind of boring -- you need a companion who talks (not just one who sheds), or a tv show. The other thing about increasing my tv is that I could understand more conversations and references and even be able to contribute a little. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNFpADUI0TRtkKF4J3RCWjZnNd7xHVj7tzs10cGh2vL_H2iBCM5hgfOGTw7wn6jD_2xQkFwM4oRLbAONERPOvEKGTXn31yJjKLr6k6rPFzyon_-ssrbZENdTlmEOjH0-TZFotthCJgu7MX/s1600/Screen+Shot+2020-01-02+at+8.49.54+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="982" data-original-width="1600" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNFpADUI0TRtkKF4J3RCWjZnNd7xHVj7tzs10cGh2vL_H2iBCM5hgfOGTw7wn6jD_2xQkFwM4oRLbAONERPOvEKGTXn31yJjKLr6k6rPFzyon_-ssrbZENdTlmEOjH0-TZFotthCJgu7MX/s320/Screen+Shot+2020-01-02+at+8.49.54+AM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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So, I resolved to watch more tv, and lo and behold, I did it! Go me! I watched Mrs. Maisel and Grace & Frankie and I'm starting to watch Gray's Anatomy. I even watched a few episodes of Trailer Park Boys which I find hilarious, but I watched one with R. and he kept looking at me and saying, really? You like this? And I knit more than I have since college. <br />
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So I thought I'd resolve to write a little more in 2020. Which doesn't take much. More than almost nothing is just a tiny bit. Aim low, I always say. Anything worth doing is worth doing poorly. <br />
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It's hard to write lately, because the big dark cloud of Trump, who may be ruler til the end of time if he gets his way. He's a cruel stupid man who cares little about anyone else and does all that ramblefuckery that's embarrasing and terrifying. And climate change. It's all big and dark, and my little world has been a bit dark lately too, and mostly I try to write towards the light -- take what's happening, and turn it around and around until I can love it, and then write about that. And it's hard to do that right now.<br />
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So I'm starting this second day of 2020 with a little diatribe about cleaning. I just learned this thing about cleaning, like, last week, which is that you can't just do it once. You have to be ON it all the time. Over and over, day in, day out, you have to clean. It's like breathing -- you can't just stop for a few days or you die. And you also have to be fussy and careful as you go along, and try not to spill and always eat at the table and don't let the dog on the couch. And even still, you have to CLEAN all the freaking time, and a lot of it is vacuuming which is loud and scary because one false move and you could suck up something important, something you care way more about than having a clean house, and then you either have to be all zen about it and say goodbye to that thing, and act as if having that special thing sucked up was meant to be, and there's a lesson in there somewhere. Or you have to root around in the horrible bag of really tight dust. How does the dust get so tight inside the vacuum? I mean, it's like, insulation but really, really horrible. (It's been so long since I've written that I had to think about commas just then. Where do they go when there are two "reallys"?). Or sometimes the vacuum grabs a tiny end of yarn and in less than a second, an entire knitting project is sucked up, unraveled and wrapped around that roller thing. Grr.<br />
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The second thing I'd like to say is that I'm offering a service of sending you your New Year's resolutions <i>in the mail</i> in about April. Wouldn't that be grand? I keep telling people about it, and saying how I achieved my goal of watching more tv, and people look away and no one so far has taken me up on it. But it's a solid offer. <br />
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Anyway, Happy New Year to everyone. May this year bring some brightness and joy to all.<br />
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<br />Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-17010538814208148312019-11-21T13:55:00.003-08:002019-11-21T13:55:18.420-08:00More talking to the dog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-59926500842766494112019-10-07T20:26:00.004-07:002019-10-07T20:26:43.081-07:00Talking to the dog. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've been trying to explain what's going on in the world to my dog. She is very patient with me.Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-28268054951170263902019-08-15T12:27:00.002-07:002019-08-15T16:27:11.228-07:0090% of the internet is dog videos. I made that up.Two videos, depending on your mood.<br />
1. <a href="https://youtu.be/ceR0Aqf14Vo">Talking about Moscow Mitch</a>. Because the news is more palatable when you are watching a dog froclicking. Plus, a few chin exercises. Because, well, Mitch.<br />
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2. Talking to <a href="https://youtu.be/4GBMmTWqCNw">my dog about our relationship</a><br />
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Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-63600943459411095032019-07-16T12:17:00.003-07:002019-07-16T12:28:28.258-07:00Lights for Liberty and more<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMYlWDjHpHXZxLYq_1CIxr4QUiObxgG2-naHVKXTt2zkOVqNYt9q1I2q188DiNfgdoBJNnXYfv53-8_IPBAxHYLQrx83qNlXWSB34vuMBlXCFujvPlT2IfBbwr0zVI0LPb2tEx6v-yx7Lp/s1600/C3E4AB06-84A9-4B4A-9268-729666713724.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMYlWDjHpHXZxLYq_1CIxr4QUiObxgG2-naHVKXTt2zkOVqNYt9q1I2q188DiNfgdoBJNnXYfv53-8_IPBAxHYLQrx83qNlXWSB34vuMBlXCFujvPlT2IfBbwr0zVI0LPb2tEx6v-yx7Lp/s320/C3E4AB06-84A9-4B4A-9268-729666713724.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="text-align: start;">I went to a small vigil that was part of the Lights for Liberty the other day. We met at the fire pit and the lovely Chantel talked about the humanitarian crisis at the border with passion and compassion in a way that made it real and was both terrifying and also oddly comforting. She taught us a song that we sang a bazillion times and I already forgot it. (If you want to hear the song, you can watch the video of my dog listening to it. Nothing happens. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I didn’t video the people, which would have been more interesting, because that would have been creepy.) </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;">I spent a lot of the vigil crying because I get choked up when I’m with a group of people who all care about the same thing, that isn’t about everyone’s own micro-drama self-absorbed stuff. Especially when there's singing.</span></div>
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We walked up to Main Street and stopped right next to a little family that was sitting on a bench eating ice cream. They looked mildly uncomfortable but stayed, probably because it's one of the best benches in town for sitting. (I said “for sitting” because there are other benches that have pretty art on them, but aren’t so great for sitting.) Maybe they stayed because they thought it would seem weird if they left, like leaving to eat ice cream in peace means you’re good with torturing children at the border. So they licked their drippy ice cream while we sang for a while, and we lit our candles and were quiet for a few minutes. Nothing really changes by having a vigil like this. There’s still a whole lot of torture going on, but it felt right to be with neighbors who care about the horrors on the border. <br />
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We snuffed our candles out and as I walked back to my car, my friend L. caught up with me. She’s in the venn diagram of my life; our circles have overlapped for 20 years but we don’t live in the exact same circle. That’s one thing I love about living in a small town, by the way -- , but that’s a different matter. <br />
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I happened to have a few beers in my car so I suggested that we go sit at the river with a beer to watch the darkness arrive. It was one of those magical coincidences where something good comes together without planning. The evening was beautiful and the sky was just beginning to turn cobalt blue, the way it does just before the day completely disappears. Large bats were flying around, and we’d just had this moving experience together, trying to do something good for the world, even though we both knew it was insignificant. But at least we didn’t feel quite so complicit. We opened our cans of Bottom Cutter because I drink from cans now, and it turned out to be pretty yummy. Just as we started chatting, a guy walks up and sits down three feet from us. To be clear, it's approaching dark there's not another soul around, and there are 40 acres of park and miles and miles of river to sit by, and he chooses to sit three feet from us. <br />
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My first thought was GRRR. Why do you need to sit here? Do you even notice your male privilege? A woman sure as hell couldn't walk up to two guys sitting on the beach at late dusk and ask to join them, at least not without risk. They would likely assume the woman was hitting on them sexually, and their response would be related to whether they were pro or con on the idea of sex with her. It would either be laughable or they would have that high five energy that guys get when they think they’re about to score. But as a woman in my late 50’s, I don't need to worry or wonder if anyone's hitting on me, because those days are long gone. I have new freedom of movement. So I'm 75 percent thinking about all of that, and 25 percent curious about who this guy is and why he's at the beach. He’s 30 something, and drinking red wine directly from the bottle, which is becoming fairly rare in my circles. He tells us that he has a job that starts in a few days and he plans to sit at the river and drink until then. He bought 12 bottles of wine because it was cheaper by the dozen. <br />
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I follow L’s lead, and decide to quiet my 75 percent pissed off response, and wait to see how this unfolds. I’m curious, but also, I’ve just come from an event that’s about welcoming the down trodden, and being inclusive, and treating all humans with dignity. A guy drinking alone directly from a bottle could probably use a little dignity. Or at least a glass. <br />
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And I’m prepared for the usual “blah blah let’s all listen to me talk about me, shall we?” that’s typical of the sort of guy who crashes your party, but he opens with, “so, what would be in your emergency kit?” Which is a good topic. L. says a harmonica, and he pulls one out of his pocket. He says a candle, and, having just come from a candlelight vigil, we pull candles out of our pockets. <br />
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We talk about the high points of our respective weeks, and his was something about witnessing a little fight that some birds were having on his father’s property. And L’s was also about some Swainsons thrushes whispering to each other. Who knew the birds whisper? Do you need an inside voice if you’re a bird? My high point was about a bee that I saw last Tuesday at the hardware store, and went back to visit every day. Bombus vosnesenskii. I saw her on a Tuesday and couldn’t stop thinking about how pretty she was, so I went back to visit her every day. <br />
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I ended the evening more on the 45% irritated, 55%” that was kind of an interesting diversion from my regular life”. Somehow, this encounter with a random lonely guy at the beach lives in the same bucket of heartbreak as the people stuck in cages at the border. I can’t quite articulate it yet but it feels like there’s a bucket of pain in the world and everyone’s trying to do what they can to cope.<br />
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Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-24950156800600816012019-07-01T08:09:00.004-07:002019-07-01T10:54:09.984-07:00Surviving the Apocalypse: Yay Boom Boom!<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="2l5nl" data-offset-key="d9553-0-0">
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<ol><br /><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Someone posted a thing on FB about how to desensitize your puppy to fireworks noises. The gist is that everytime your dog alarms to the sound of explosives, you give them a treat and say "YAY, BOOM BOOM!" Eventually, what was initially terrifying becomes drool worthy.<br /><br />If the world is going to hell in a bucket, let's enjoy it, eh? Yay Boom Boom! So, here's a step by step guide to the apocalypse. </span><br />
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Start the evening with news on, faintly, so that you can't quite hear the words. When you hear trump boasting about his greatness, which you're tuned into the way a mouse is tuned into cats, take a shot of your favorite elixir and say, "Yay, boom boom!" Whisky is always a good choice, but seeing as its summer, you could choose gin. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Gradually, turn up the volume a little bit. Keep doing shots and saying "Yay, boom boom!" Start with inane stupid things, like, "Remember two things. Number one, we're going to be saying Christmas again. And number two, I said I was going to give you a Christmas present." Really reward yourself for not reacting with a lot of "YAY BOOM BOOM's" and shots.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As you get better at this, keep turning the volume up and actually face the screen. Remember, you've gotta reinforce yourself. A lot. (I learned that when I was reading up on how to create a flea circus. Favorite quote, "you gotta reinforce them.")</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">If you hear that voice or see a headline and have any negative feeling at all, like tension in the pit of your stomach, a feeling of foreshortened future, or you notice tears streaming down your face, you may be trying to do the steps too quickly. Be sure to give yourself a big pat on the back and a lot of YAY BOOM BOOMs, and of course, a little more whisky. (Or, if you're a dog, maybe just cut up bits of hot dog.) Use a really happy squealy voice when you say "Yay! Boom Boom!" </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Go back up to watching with the volume off, or listening with your face averted if it doesn't seem to be working. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Continue in this manner, increasing the volume, and even seeking out some of the more provoking audio, like the pussy-grabbing comments, or, "She's not my type." </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">After a while, you'll hear trump talk about Iran and think, Yay, Boom Boom! He hugs Kim Jong-un? Yay, Boom Boom! Kids in dirty diapers in cages at the border? Another shot, another happy squealy "Yay Boom Boom!"</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">If this seems too hard, start with one of the lesser criminals. Do the yay boom boom thing when you consider Manafort getting put in a cushier jail, or Kushner's security clearance, or anything at all about KellyAnn Conway. Work your way up to The Donald. (See? I typed that pet name without choking!)</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">By following these simple steps, you can take something that used to be terrifying and feel all YAY! Boom Boom! about it. Good luck, everyone. Let me know how it goes.<br /><br /><br /></span></div>
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</style>Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-75522378628742547542019-06-23T11:10:00.003-07:002019-06-23T11:14:48.132-07:00The Elements<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>Fire: (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius)</b>: </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">The world continues to go to hell in a bucket, and yet we row. We are in the middle of the stormy ocean in a small leaky boat, and all we've got is the choice between being consumed with dread, or rowing. Let's row, shall we Aries? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">I think the hardest thing about right now is that I don't know for sure what rowing looks like. Should I call someone? Write a postcard? March in the streets? Make a video of me explaining the state of the world to my dog? </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Yu5nzVwsZh7JJGdxn9YRv3lAhO1dKvBY1ffyoEce-37_4cSUpOx1URGBa5uChNmavDBu2BW9jDKMmC6As_PLVvG5e_k6x0E79dn0sFg3d2bF0S60Cas_4l9j5BPdHwpj4Mwb7M-Uuv39/s1600/IMG_6838.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Yu5nzVwsZh7JJGdxn9YRv3lAhO1dKvBY1ffyoEce-37_4cSUpOx1URGBa5uChNmavDBu2BW9jDKMmC6As_PLVvG5e_k6x0E79dn0sFg3d2bF0S60Cas_4l9j5BPdHwpj4Mwb7M-Uuv39/s200/IMG_6838.jpg" width="150" /></a><b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: center;">Water (Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces)</b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; text-align: center;">: I've become so highly distractible that my to do lists now need to be broken down into minute detail. "Clean left ear with q-tip". Etc. I keep having to refer back, oh, where was I? Oh, left ear. Finish that up. Because the internet, Taurus. It has everything you can think of. What's that plant? Does facial serum actually do anything for you? Has Nancy Pelosi moved toward impeachment yet? Weather tomorrow? What products are they putting CBD in these days? What's the zoning on that property I'm curious about? Is there any news on the KT boundary research? And did I dream that thing about scientists severing a cat's ear and using it as a telephone while the cat was alive? (No, that was <a href="https://blogs.princeton.edu/mudd/2017/04/the-cat-telephone/">true</a>!)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And the days go on this way. I pruned a pretty shrub just a tiny bit, and the twigs sparked so much joy that it only seemed right that I should pop down to the live edge place and look through their scrap pile and get a piece of wood to put it on. I could make it into a little tree! (Is that rowing? Um...). So I get a scrap of wood and sand it and polish it with oil. And then I think, what's a little tree without paper mache fishes hanging from the branches? And after several days of this, I end up with a twig stuck to a block of wood with what look like goldfish crackers on it. They type of art project that your preschooler might bring home. And I watch it for a while but realize that the fish seem so, well, like a fish out of water. The might be happier in a bowl, so you make a little bowl out of twigs and homemade paper. I have no illusions that I'm doing anything worthwhile, but I've gotten attached to the little fishies and they have joined the clutter that is my life. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxPrxuNb2JEpSWSut5X3RT06F2-MNNv11kzVSrKfEn8bl0aPMnnvC0ROT8GtdUdfIt4o7SgVebSmdxWobv01w4c75uPUl-OnhZz_UjxR8mYqvj0Kq2yz8cL39aOFxNnq_RFgcXFCZY3Snd/s1600/IMG_6844+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxPrxuNb2JEpSWSut5X3RT06F2-MNNv11kzVSrKfEn8bl0aPMnnvC0ROT8GtdUdfIt4o7SgVebSmdxWobv01w4c75uPUl-OnhZz_UjxR8mYqvj0Kq2yz8cL39aOFxNnq_RFgcXFCZY3Snd/s320/IMG_6844+%25281%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a><b style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif; text-align: center;">Air (Gemini, Libra, Aquarius):</b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> I found an old notebook, the kind that sat on the counter for a while and you'd write notes to your kids on, and I'm sort of a notebook hoarder. It was during the time when I was a single mom, and drove every day through the horrible traffic to get to my job where people would yell at me about taking their property, and then racing home to drive kids around and make dinner and do laundry and get ready to do it all again. (Cue the violins). Anyway, I spent a lot of time in my car, thinking, and one little bit of joy I managed is that I cooked up an imaginary wife who did stuff for me. She would pick up ingredients at the store and tidy the house while I was at work, and she'd plan summer vacations for us, the kind where we'd be prepared with a plan and everything we need, including food in a pretty basket, and she kept everything in order and got back to people promptly with the permission slips. She made the appointments and dusted the house on a schedule. It was all rather lovely except for that it was only in my head, which I suppose is mental illness but that surprises none of you. I just found these notes and I'm not sure if I ever straightened it with my kids, so for the record, there was no wife.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></span><b style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">Earth (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn)</b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">: I have been going to the Sultan Dropbox a lot lately, which is the official name for the dump where you toss worn out stuff that doesn't spark joy into a pit in the earth, never to be seen again. There's another dump that's called the Houghton Transfer Station, but I don't go there. Houghton is busy and fast, and you drive into a giant building that's so big you kind of forget there's an outside. Everyone seems to be a pro and can back up their truck smoothly right up to the edge of the pit, and the planet is thick with the noise of backing up vehicles beep beep beep until you don't care if you back up a little bit too far because you want to jump into the pit yourself. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But the Sultan Dropbox is outside, next to the river and a pretty little cemetery where there are a story graves with sad tales, and a bunch of really old stones with faint willow branches etched into them. There's a nice older woman who greets you when you arrive at the dropbox and assesses your load. She asks a few questions and it's always $20, and you have all the time and space in the world to back up towards the pit, and it's easy because you can still see the sky and there are usually only one or two other trucks there, and they put orange cones like, 5 feet away from the pit so you can hardly get close enough. The other people always seem thoughtful, maybe even a little ceremonial about tossing their stuff away, like they wonder if they're doing the right thing. I find myself watching them, men wearing gloves with shiny pickups, tossing the bones of former lives away. Last week, a man was throwing a bunch of glass bricks into the hole. "Oh, those are cool," I blurted out, before I realized that there's probably some protocol, some rule about keeping your eyes on your own pile of garbage. But he said yeah, kind of wistfully, and kept tossing them. Another man was throwing away this big thing, I don't know what it was but I kind of wanted it. I think if you were having a big party and needed a big thing, this would be it. Maybe you'd put beverages in it, or I dunno, it was on wheels, and it was shiny, and had a lid. Seemed useful. But I said nothing, because I think that's probably a rule. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041543090358360187.post-57317790680714851572018-12-24T10:53:00.001-08:002018-12-24T10:58:49.393-08:00Fa la la<br />
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I was thinking about this post from the archives as I reflect on just how little I celebrate Christmas, and what a welcome change that is. It's taken a few years for all of the obligations to melt away, and I'm just left with the core of goodness -- a meal with my kids, a walk with my dog, and a few moments here and there with loved ones.<br />
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Twenty five years ago, I was creating a handmade tree skirt for the Christmas tree, and making all manner of baked goods to give out to people who were probably watching their diet, and shopping to procure the mound of gifts that everyone expected to be under the tree. Now, I do none of that. I haven't purchased a gift, decorated, or baked, and I'm grateful that my kids understand that this isn't about being a grinch, but rather, trying to take better care of myself and the planet than I have in the past, and being able to really enjoy the magic of this season: time together, glimpses of sun on the dark days, the bright full moon, and crisp mornings in the woods.<br />
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Much love to everyone. And if you're a mother putting on a Christmas show for everyone else, my hat is off to you. Be kind to yourself.<br />
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Many of the mothers are on the edge today, the brink of Christmas. There is still a mountain of chores to do. It's time to take a breath and enjoy the season, but instead of a breath, it's a sharp inhale, more like a sob. <br />
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It's with these women that I've had the most fun, talking, crying, laughing, admitting the toll of the season. This, I've discovered, is what matters.<br />
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Yesterday, I cracked. I snapped at my kids, went into a giant tirade about how they should help me more, be more considerate, how Christmas isn't fun at all for me. I was in a huge rage that I couldn't squelch. it started slowly, over several days. By yesterday afternoon, I said, hey, I need a nap. I'm at the edge of my rope. I'm going to lie down for an hour. But as soon as I began to doze off, loud metal music started to blare through the house at top volume. I laid there for a few minutes, hoping there had been a mistake, they didn't mean to make it quite so loud, hoping that someone would correct this. But it continued. I got up, realizing that my tiny window for a nap had just disappeared.<br />
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That's when I cracked, and started a passive aggressive tirade that began like this:<br />
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"Children, would it be considerate or inconsiderate to blare music when someone who has just claimed to be at the edge of her rope is trying to sleep?" I was sobbing as I said it, though, an emotional wad of angel hair pasta -- fragile and tangled in such a way that unravelling things would definitely involved breaking strands.<br />
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I don't know if my kids would call this my most memorable losing it moment. I think if we held an election, they'd probably vote for the time that we were back-to-school shopping in Target on a gorgeous August day, and I suddenly got so repulsed by us walking around in that horrible store throwing plastic things in our cart amidst that smell of food and people in polyester sweating, not good sweat but nervous indoor sweat, with that garish fluorescent lighting making it look like nuclear winter in the middle of August. I felt like we were in the fast consumer part of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PirH8PADDgQ">Koyaanisqatsi</a>, and it was urgent that we get out of there right away. Every cell in my body was screaming FLIGHT! FLIGHT! I felt a ridiculous urgency, as if survival of the species depended on me, right then, to put a stop to all of this shopping. We abandoned our half full cart, and left, to my kids' dismay. We drove home with nothing, wasting half a day, and I made us all go swimming in the lake. I think they'd vote for that as my most memorable losing it episode, and I'd be outnumbered, but I'd still vote for the pre-Christmas nap sobbing incident.<br />
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Fortunately, the story doesn't end there. I pulled myself together, we all apologized, blah blah blah. But the damage was done, and I was embarrassed and sorry that I allowed myself to get to such a place.<br />
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But I take perverse comfort in this: all of the other mothers are also losing it. I got a phone call from a friend, crying. She's upset at the same things that are bugging me. Another friend stops by and starts to cry as she thinks about how little help she's received in preparing for the holiday. As another mother drops her son off to play with mine, and I see her tear-stained face. She asks, "are you always calm, or do you yell at your kids around the holidays?"<br />
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At any rate, I don't feel so frazzled around this time of year anymore, but I think there is some collective tenderness out there, especially in these northern dark places. Be good to yourselves, my friends. Enjoy your people.Betsy MacWhinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14196224762137517300noreply@blogger.com3