Spouse-Splaining

Happy weekend! Ours started off with a bang. A lesson for my husband. At issue was the concept of “routine.” He asked for something different for breakfast. OK, I can deal with that. Then he went for Lulu’s new “Chuckit” to go to the park instead of of her morning constitutional.

One man: One special weekend breakfast.

One herding dog: Changing routine for one day to incorporate fun new toy.

To understand why it becomes a conundrum is to know the mind of both the husband and the herder. For the husband it’s easy to know that during the week, things are rushed and one cannot have a perfect omelet, a rasher of bacon and English muffins every day. For a herder, one fun thing, done once becomes routine. Routine is sacred. She always gets the same breakfast, dinner and four walks per day. Routine. Treats are extra and usually earned. Easy life for all.

Introducing Chuckit is a no-no, and to demonstrate so, I went to the nth degree. OK, dear. How about when it’s ten below zero outside, you need layers and scarf and hat and gloves and boots and her winter coat and she brings you Chuckit, saying “It’s routine, Daddy!” Oh, he finally got it.

Lulu got her routine walk, he got his special breakfast. Crisis averted, now we can get back to the weekend. Enjoy yours. Dee

Little Things

Grief is a strange thing. It affects everyone differently, and I’ll not go into my most recent experience. Whew! You say. People say it’s the little things you remember that mean the most.

My father traveled a lot for work, when I was growing up, and later upon retirement for leisure. Weeks before he passed we were supposed to go, en famille, on a cruise down the Rhine and visit his parents birthplaces in Germany and Switzerland. We didn’t get there. But he did travel the world and always brought back something from the countries he visited.

When he started going to Florence, Italy regularly the gifts changed. At first in the fall, he’d always bring back the olio novello, the newest, first pressing of the olives. Now, if I wanted, I could order it online but this was back in the day, and it was special as it came from him. As he got older, he traveled lighter, and didn’t like the thought of a bottle of olive oil breaking in his suitcase.

He started on Ferragamo scarves. Impressive silk scarves with a hint of whimsy that I loved. Then he changed to little boxes. I have them all over the house now. Made of metal, wood or paper, they echo the ambiance of the places from whence they came. That is to say, they didn’t come from airport gift shops! That would be my husband, and because of my rule of nothing breakable, nothing collectible so he gets me a refrigerator magnet from anywhere he goes. Tomorrow when Lulu (the dog) and I go pick him up at the airport, I’m sure he’ll show up with a magnet in the shape of the Alamo!

But I digress. In the middle of my kitchen peninsula, I’ve a cheap plastic timer. It’s an Italian in a chef’s toque. It’s the silliest gift Dad ever gave me, but I see it every day and it brings back fond memories.

I don’t know where they got the idea, but our parents picked a themed Christmas ornament for each kid, every year, then when we moved out of the house, we had enough ornaments and memories to start a tree of our own. It’s similar with travel gifts and photos. They last a lifetime and mean so much to the recipient. Just a thought. Happy Spring! There’s a cruise ship that tours the Great Lakes and it’s pulling into port just now to start the season. Gotta plant the herbs outside and get a tomato plant – I’m not growing from seed this year. Dee

Service Days and Breakfast Ballets

Yesterday was a perfect day, sunny and warm, no vestiges of snow or the mud it left behind. We entered the park and there was a two year-old girl on the swings calling “Doggie! Doggie!” None of Lulu’s canine friends were there so we went over and the two spent some time together with treats and tricks.We also stopped by to say hello to a couple of college girls with a blanket and blow-up sofa getting some sun while they studied.

Afterwards we walked home past the rehab center/old folks home and there were several patients outside enjoying the weather. We said hello and chatted a bit. Lulu may just have a therapy dog inside her, as soon as she calms down a bit. She enjoys making people happy, and it’s good to have a day like this when it’s not all about chasing another dog or another ball, just making the day of one other person a little brighter!

In the morning I have my routine, I move from area to area in the kitchen taking care of Lulu, my husband, and, finally, me. The usual for both, frozen raw and a bit of quality kibble for Lu, scrambled eggs and toast for the human. The worst is when my husband is standing there over me, or, heaven forbid, wants to “help.” As I measure out our vitamins and prescriptions, I look out at the lake and plan the day. The familiar steps are a science that has evolved into art. No wasted movement as I go between counters and sink and dishwasher. The “kids” fed, I turn to my breakfast and hope that I’ll have time to eat it before the next chore beckons.

Snippets from a day in the life… Cheers! Dee

Progress

Dad was the first kid in his family to go to college. He attended, then worked for a small college that was part of a large university system thus was able to parlay his baccalaureate degree into a doctorate and celebrated career. Mom graduated with honors from high school, met Dad and moved to the States where she had a Green Card for fifty years.

The minute Mom got pregnant with me, her life was stuck, unchangeable, so my parents went on and had three more kids. Mom said I could only aspire to her life. Dad said I could be anything I wanted to be. Nam and ERA came around and I went to college and though I was slated to get married two weeks after graduation, I gave back the ring less than three weeks after it was placed on my finger because I knew I wanted to try to make it on my own, move away from home, get a good job, so I did. Why? Because those avenues were now open to me.

Mom and I started college and finished the same year. She was Summa Cum Laude, I only made Deans List. She became a paralegal then a CPA and even after she retired, she volunteered doing taxes for seniors. Now I’m told I’m entering my “golden years” so, of course, Social Security and Medicare are gonna go broke in the foreseeable future and my generation’s daughters and grandchildren no longer have the opportunities that we did in the 70’s and 80’s.

Did I mention I grew up proud to be an American, and a big fan of democracy, open government and personal privacy? I worked for all of that, for many years, only to have a fraction of dissatisfied Americans try to unilaterally create an autocracy that hates everyone but white males. It hates immigrants like my mother, and my grandparents. It hates education. It says it’s for freedom but only for the privileged few.

I never thought I would hear white “christian” men speak so ill publicly of their mothers, wives and daughters. Are we merely a shell for their seed, to die for a fetus inside us because doctors are afraid to operate? Yesterday the “abortion pill” was literally erased by one man in one court in nowheresville, Texas. That means rich women will still be able to get abortions, while poor women will suffer.

Texas abortion bounty-hunters? How is Idaho to police family vacations? Pull them over, make sure they’re a family, search the vehicle to make sure neither mother nor daughter are pregnant? Walk the line straight, ma’am, while peeing in this cup.

If mifepristone is outlawed, how about suing to eliminate scalpels from being used for any surgery? Sorry, sir, you’ll never be in the Olympics because I can only use this stone knife that was created before the Bronze Age and it’s not small enough to do the micro-surgery you need to walk again.

I trust the FDA to vet drugs and vaccines that I’ve used for nearly 65 years. They do a pretty darn good job of it, regardless of what one Texas judge thinks. And as to standing to sue in court, saying that women are too ashamed to speak for themselves and need men to argue on their behalf is ridiculous. I know of what I speak, survivor of a traumatic brain injury with a court representative to speak for me? No way. I had the lawyer over, made him a cup of tea, assured him I could take care of myself and he cancelled the court hearing right then and there. We’re women. People with brains. God created us equal.

Certain of the people who want to change the USA to an autocracy don’t want women to work, or vote. Poor little dears, it’s too much for their delicate nature, to deal with real work and politics instead of meatloaf and cookies. You know what politics is? In a summer job at age 21, I had a crew of five drivers to take artists and lecturers to the airport, 90 minutes away. My father’s cousin was visiting, and was a bit of a misogynist and guess what lecturer was also going to the airport? Betty Friedan. Yes, I put them together. He deserved it.

Women, especially suburban women, need to heed the call to not go back to the 1950’s. At the very least, vote. Womens’ lives depend upon it. Voting rights, women’s rights, now is the time to move forward and assure us the multicultural democracy our founders envisioned. And when you hear inevitable conspiracy theories, consider who is promoting them and what they gain by doing so.

Wisconsin is taking back its Supreme Court, but gerrymandering has an unconscionable hold on its legislature and there are already rumors of impeaching the new justice before she even takes office. Tennessee is a call to action if ever there was one. Young people need to stand up on that one. Before the book banners threaten teachers to no longer teach about how democracies work, it’s time to teach our children how to be upstanding citizens and fight for liberty for all. Life for mothers with with untenable pregnancies. And for the right to pursue our futures through an education that makes us think, rather than spout back what we’re told to think. We all have work to do! Dee

With Or Without Duo

Apologies, U2, to have appropriated the name of your song. 1,020 days ago I took up language study. With Duo. Two reasons: a traumatic brain injury led me to languages and crosswords as a way to affirmatively heal from my accident and simultaneously prevent premature aging; and COVID took hold that month and we were all confined to barracks for the foreseeable future so why not?

My education up to college was all public education, despite the fact that when I was young my mother was a staunch Catholic and brought up in parochial schools. To her credit, she checked out the schools and found that the public schools in the village we were raised in were better. Then in middle school, we moved south of the Mason-Dixon line and I still was in public education but it was worse.

Ninth grade, I started French. Most kids took Spanish, and my best friend learned German, but I needed the language of the United Nations, the language of diplomacy, according to my parents! I took two years of French, which was so bad that when we moved back to New York State to begin my Junior year, I had to start over, so took French I and II through high school.

Fast-forwarding decades later, I decided to take Italian and chose Duo because I could learn at my own pace and it was nearly free.Nearly three years later, I’m still learning. I learned all five levels of Italian and felt able to be a tourist and order in a restaurant. But I could do that before Duo. I love Italian, so I started on French. Why? To learn how Europeans think about language.

Now I’m getting somewhere. After I finish all the French levels, considerably more comprehensive than Duo’s Italian program, I’m going back to ace Italian. Then perhaps Greek, once I learn the alphabet.

Before traveling to Europe, I always learned the basics such as good morning, good afternoon, hello, goodbye, please and thank you, excuse me and where is the bathroom. Also menus.

I’ve a theory that has proved out for me, at least. Northern languages and people are colder, like their weather and their food choices. They do not suffer fools, and language newbies, kindly. The further south one goes, the weather and people and languages grow more tolerant. I love Italian, and yes, I have been made fun of by speaking French in Paris, but then Parisians are not known for their tolerance of strangers.

Say please and thank you in Greek, in Athens, and the shop owner/restaurateur is delighted! One day, nearly forty years ago, my sister and I went to a tobacco shop in Athens to buy my father a cigar because I was flying home the next day. We had a long conversation with the shop owner, a woman, and aside from the requisite please and thanks we never uttered a word, except to laugh heartily. I said I wanted a cigar, she asked why two girls were taking up smoking, no, it’s for Dad! It was so much fun!

Same with my last night’s dinner in Athens. We walked in early (I had a flight out at the crack of dawn) and nearly walked out. The owner asked us to come back, and luckily we did, as he regaled us with a multi-course meal with beverage for each that was fantastic! In the end, we learned so much about what real Greeks eat (my sister insisted on spaghetti bolognese every day no matter the country) and the bill came to $7.50 apiece. We though the price outrageous, but then again my sister was upset that I used all the $25 my parents gave her for my 25th birthday for a “nice” hotel and that meal.

As to Duo, I’d like a more immersive experience, but I’ve learned a lot of the rules of the road, plus some vocabulary and I’d feel comfortable going to France, Italy, or even Greece. I’ll stick with it but know that if one tries, it goes to some length in erasing the negative impression of American tourists who always demand “Speak English!”

Whenever I order spanakopita or moussaka at the taverna nearby, I say please and thank you in Greek and the owner is delighted. His staff doesn’t understand, as they’re from Ecuador. Don’t worry, my husband took immersive Espanol in hopes of bringing his business to South and Central America one day. Learn a language, do a crossword puzzle and challenge your brain! Cheers! Dee

PIB’s and Gwyneth Paltrow

Oh, I can imagine Park City UT all a-twitter these days, what with a movie star and a rich doctor in court over a Deer Valley ski incident. It’s “mud season” there now, what normal people call Spring. Post-ski, pre-summer activities. Luckily when I lived there, mud season was when the Greater Sandhill Cranes came to the Preserve to mate, guard their eggs and raise their colts before flying back to New Mexico in the Fall. Now THAT was fun to watch!

Sundance Film Festival came every year. We called the famous visitors PIB’s, People In Black. Most often, at the grocery store, we’d run into SPIB’s, the Slaves of People In Black. They were easy to spot, with a shopping cart blocking the aisle so no locals could do their regular grocery shopping, going through every jar of jam until they hopefully came upon the esoteric fruit their boss craved. Their hauteur knew no bounds. How dare we mere mortals even get near them while they were accommodating their masters’ wishes.

One year I thought it’d be nice to volunteer for Sundance so I put in my application, having worked my way through college at Chautauqua Institution (where Salman Rushdie was nearly fatally attacked last year), a lecture and performing arts venue. A month later, I got a job. I would be standing out in the freezing, snowy weather keeping film-goers in lines until 2 a.m. Nope. Not I. I explained that I was older and have arthritis so can’t be standing out in the cold all night throughout the Festival.

So they gave me a better job. Indoors. Yea! Verifiying credentials. I was to be the person to tell fake press that their credentials were invalid and to go to the end of the line for tickets like everyone else. A volunteer job to deny entry to the big ticket event! Wow. Alas, I couldn’t take it as my husband’s company laid off a third of its tech force and we moved away.

Sundance is a big deal there, but it’s brief, as is this crazy ski injury of the century trial, but life goes on. It’s usually pretty normal, and I even learned to love mud season! Cheers! Dee

My (Still) Funny Valentine

“For a strange pizza, it’s not that bad” was last night’s faint praise from my husband, for my pizza. I made him a separate one, crust included, with his favorite ingredients.

He’s a creature of habit and likes tomato sauce, mozzarella, mushrooms, peppers and pepperoni. Mine was different, with sliced pears, Gorgonzola dolce and a drizzle of pomegranate molasses, topped with lightly dressed arugula out of the oven.

As a longtime cook, professionally trained in French cookery, I try to widen his “meat and potatoes” vision of edible food. His reaction to my moussaka? Good but it has eggplant in it, ick. Roast chicken with a balsamic glaze? This has bones and skin! Steak and baked potatoes? Can we have it for Thanksgiving? And Christmas?

Not to mention that I can’t even cook fish or have a tuna sandwich because he’s deathly allergic. So I try. I do enjoy his reactions, however.

In a grilling phase about ten years ago my butcher gave me a great recipe for a marinade with rosemary and maple syrup. I put it on nearly everything until my husband had enough.

He does tell everyone that I’m a great cook and that even if a new creation isn’t spectacular, he says that it’s the best most cooks could hope to achieve and that by my third time it’ll be great! Gotta love him for that. Happy Valentines Day! Dee

I Am Spartacus

Hello, normal people who care about the security of the Social Security we’ve paid into our entire adult lives! I’ve an idea. Let’s all go to Congress to see Mr. Jordan’s and Mr. Comer’s offices and offer them our laptops. It’ll be our own “I am Spartacus” moment, we can take a group photo of us and our laptops and post it to whatever service we use and be done with it.

Until then, I offer the mundane contents of my MacBook, iPad and iPhone. Who knows what I have on each, I’m neater in real life than in my virtual one:

Here goes;

  1. the only nude photos I have are of the dog (see above), partly because she’s only forced to wear a winter coat when it’s less than ten degrees outside. It’s clothing optional, including collar, indoors and she chooses nudity.
  2. evidence since COVID began in March, 2022 of attempts to learn two foreign languages. Ici, je parle français, et qui parlo italiano. Pas bien. Non parlo bene. Posso ordinare una bistecca alla fiorentina in un ristorante. Basta.
  3. fifteen years of a cooking blog that, at times, waxes nostalgic or turns quite political.
  4. lots of old emails and a couple of old voicemail messages from my parents, who are gone now.
  5. current bill pay spreadsheet
  6. lots of photos, mainly of the dog and flowers, a few of my husband in a hospital bed awakening from several surgeries, so I could show his mother he made it!
  7. miscellaneous work files, letters and stories
  8. audio and kindle books, some for fun, some work or political, and the complete works of Jane Austen
  9. crossword puzzles, which I do, along with language study to keep my brain functioning as I age

I do not have any classified documents or plans to overthrow anything, especially the government. My legal name is my legal name, changed only through marriage with. documentation thereof. Open book. I am Spartacus.

What’s on your laptop? Tell the Congressional Oversight and Insurrection Committees. I’m sure they’re dying to know what voters are concerned about. Cheers! Dee

hjeriod

What’s In a Name?

Permit me to expand on the theme of the state of women in the US of A. I was forty when I met my husband. After leaving home at age 17, the only roommates I had were in college and for a few years thereafter so I was used to being on my own and making my own decisions. Where to live, what to eat for dinner, whether to adopt yet another rescue animal (I hear you, I never had more than three at a time).

Two weeks ago, we celebrated twenty years of marriage. I’ve no beef on this issue with my husband and am thrilled to have met him by chance and married my best friend of all time. But everything changed around me. When he “popped the question” I said yes. We decided together to elope, that week. Returning from our weekend honeymoon, I asked if I should keep my name. He was devastated.

Deciding to take his name I had to change everything from bank accounts to, well, everything. I felt for the first time that I was losing myself. I insisted, whenever we moved, to have certain utilities in my name and some in his. All our cars, residences, and things we had to register are jointly owned. Our business is equally held, even though I don’t work in it, except as an unpaid advisor. We’re still working out wills and end-of-life decision paperwork, but know what we want in that regard.

Two weeks ago I scraped the passenger side of my car coming up a narrow ramp in the grocery store I’ve driven by hundreds of times without incident. Oops. I drove home, assessed the damage and told my husband, then filed a claim with our insurance company. No, I did not call the police as I lightly scraped a concrete bollard designed for that purpose that had been scraped thousands of times by other cars making my same error.

The insurance adjuster called and asked for my husband. You can talk to me, I said. It’s my car and I was in the accident. Next time the insurance company called they asked me how my husband was. I said fine. He wasn’t in the car. I was. Me and the dog. Finally I think it’s straightened out. We’ll find out soon, as my husband will be out of town on business when the car is fixed and who knows if they expect him to drop off the car and get the rental, et al.

I can understand health rules and HIPAA constraints, but if banks, insurance companies and businesses in general refuse to deal with “just the wife” we’re in trouble as a country. That’s why I believe that all these questions concerning a woman’s right to choose what to do with her own body have little to do with abortion, but about the state’s desire to control women.

It took until the 1960’s for a woman to be able to open a bank account in her own name. I did so shortly after that was a possibility, and I don’t want to go back. I love being Mrs. X, but I am a person in my own right. Once my legitimacy as a person is questioned, it makes it easier for those who would have control of my life, to get it.

Think about that next time the mechanic calls and asks for your husband to discuss the repairs to your car. When we recently moved, the electric company told me our address doesn’t exist. It took two days to work it out (it included a hyphen no-one knew about) but in our household that’s my job, doing the bills, so I dealt with it.

When I got in an accident a few years ago and was in a long-term coma, my husband became my legal guardian. Finally home from the hospital, a lawyer called for a court hearing that had been scheduled for a few days hence, unbeknownst to us. My husband was out of town on business. They had to speak with my husband about his wife’s continued care and whether the State would become her guardian. My guardian. The lawyer came to visit, pronounced me sane and able to care for myself, and the court hearing was cancelled. It was the most consequential day of my life, and I handled the situation, without my husband. He was proud of me. As a matter of fact, I believe he handed me back bill-paying duties that day. C’est la vie!

Be your own person. Stand up for your rights, and don’t mess with the rights of others. That’s my motto. Cheers! Dee

First They Came

“First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out – Because I was not a Socialist. Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out – Because I was not a Trade Unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out – Because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me – and there was no one left to speak for me.” – Martin Niemöller

Recently, they first came for the Muslims. Then Black and Brown people were trying to take our jobs. Doctors wanted to take away our “freedom” by reminding us to maintain distance and wear masks to keep from dying from a worldwide pandemic. Specialists in every area of expertise are not to be believed because they’re Elites. Anyone who has empathy for anyone else is Woke and therefore unwelcome. Gays do not belong. And heaven forbid that the four transgender youths in the entire state of Utah want to play a sport. Girls in Florida who want to join a high school sport must now submit their menstrual history.

Women are the new “others.” It’s hard to believe that the majority of the population is considered “Them,” to be feared and controlled at all costs. Last year’s Dobbs decision has made the pro-life, anti-women movement go to any length to control a woman’s reproductive future. A decision that was once between a woman and her doctor is now game for neighbors who want to spy and collect $10,000 if a woman is suspected of wanting an abortion. A woman who wants a baby desperately has a miscarriage and cannot get appropriate medical care in the aftermath. And is probably reported by her neighbor for the 10K!

State legislatures want to ban a woman from traveling across state lines if it means she may have an abortion while out-of-state. Because of legal confusion, sick pregnant women whose lives might be lost must become septic before a necessary abortion can be performed. Exceptions to the abortion bans don’t matter because pro-lifers don’t care about rape, incest or life of the mother. The LIFE of the mother. Just kill her, she doesn’t matter. We only want what’s inside. We’re talking about respect for human life, here, people. In a few days, a radical judge might ban the abortion drug that’s been safe and legal for twenty years, causing an immediate national ban on abortion.

Women, wake up! Some conservatives don’t want us to work, or even be able to vote. They and the courts want to ban conception and in vitro fertilization. If we are merely a vessel for the unborn, we are not humans, or citizens, of this country. Soon when we marry we’ll have to forfeit all our property to our husbands, and not even be able to have a checking account or be able to buy a house. Those don’t sound like the “good old days” to me.

Lest we forget, a society in which women are forced to bear children (13th Amendment, anyone, which bars involuntary servitude) they could also be sterilized if that is the state’s will. You don’t deserve to have a child. You’re too [insert poor, Black, whatever here] to have a child. Only White babies will be born to White heterosexual married couples who use no birth control. Read any Margaret Atwood lately?

It really bothers me that the people who want to force women to carry children care nothing for that child once it is extant. No food, housing, educational opportunities? No problem. She shouldn’t have gotten herself (!) pregnant in the first place.

What Mr. Niemöller tells us is also from the Bible, we know it as “do unto others.” Everybody’s different. Like snowflakes, I say. Everyone should be cherished for who they are and what they bring to our shared world. Our country is one of immigrants, a melting pot, and provides equal opportunity for all. At least in theory, hopefully learning to be so in practice. These efforts to brand people as different and thus to be feared is a losing proposition for a nation of the people, for the people, and for freedom of choice.

Don’t ban books. I grew up in a tiny village, all white. My aunt was an English teacher so I spent a lot of time at the library. I learned to read early and learned about the Jewish experience at age eight from The Diary of Anne Frank. Biographies of Harriet Tubman, Maria Tallchief (principal ballerina) and Rosa Parks expanded my horizons. People seen as “different” and ridiculed by others always knew I’d stick up for them. One gal thanked me twenty years later for helping her brother, who was gay. No-one knew it at the time (except him, probably) but he was different and picked on by his classmates so I’d walk to school with him.

Open your mind and heart and learn about others and their experiences. You’ll realize there’s no “us” and “them,” it’s all we. We’re all human. Take some time and figure out who wants us to hate others and what’s in it for them. For media, it’s viewership and ad revenue. Also, our politics have become so negative and thus have become corrosive to our culture. We can change that. We hire politicians to listen to our wants and needs. Right now as I near retirement age I care about womens’ and voting rights, the economy, Social Security and Medicare. I pay my representatives to care about those things, not whether a gay neighbor has moved in with his fiancé (btw they’re great) or my college-age cousin wants to take an African-American Studies course that mentions CRT.

We’re a great nation. Living in the past is not the answer. It’s a shared future and that is ours to shape. Let’s do it with thought, wisdom and knowledge of history. Cheers! Dee