It’s Over

Luckily there is no more to be said by candidates Clinton and Trump, listed alphabetically.

In 1971, there was an infamous ad made that is still at the top of my list. It was Coca-Cola’s “I’d like to buy the world a Coke.” Inspirational.

Another favorite is Mean Joe Greene’s tossing a Coke Classic to a kid in the players’ tunnel, saying “hey kid, catch.” I’ve nothing to do with the company or their ad agency but these ads stick in my mind as positive reinforcements and I must disclose that I did love Tab and now have an occasional Diet Coke. When I was in politics we had early morning committee meetings and I didn’t drink coffee. I learned to put my DC in a mug I brought from home. They thought it was coffee….

In about an hour I’m about to walk to our local polling place and cast my vote. No, I will not tell you how I am going to vote. I can tell you that our nation needs a leader.

This election season, being in government (retired) for years, I’ve learned a few things. I hate negative ads, as they demean the candidate who makes them, not the one they accuse. Calling an opponent fat or dumpy does not instill confidence in a voter who wants leadership.

It also calls into question whether either candidate, if elected, can unite us, the people, in a civil manner after such vitriol and tell us again, what was their plan for us, the voters and people who depend on them to defend our interests in health care and social security and world peace. In my mind when they started attacking each other they forgot about us.

I’m so glad it’s over and I just need to place the “I’ve Voted” sticker on my jacket to remind other folks walking, jogging, taking care of their dogs, shopping at the grocery store, to do so as well. I don’t care for whom they vote, just that they do. Young people, get out there! This is your future and you’re the most apathetic generation to date. Vote!

This election season has been particularly harmful for me. I had a tumor that was benign and have been fighting our health insurance company. My father and his companion both have cancer and I’m flying out there this week to help take care of them.

I do not need nor wish to see negative campaign ads. The nation wants to know your ideas, not schoolyard slams. These ads demean the Office of the President of the United States of America.

For the past 18 months, not only do I not watch the ads, I don’t watch the news. I scan through newspapers on paper and online but I will not be bombarded by television that is so negative it turns my stomach.

Here’s one solution. Netflix is only about $10 per month. Amazon Prime is under $100 per year and you get free two-day shipping. When you settle in for the evening before what I call the “last chance” dog walk, choose a documentary, any film genre and watch without ads.

Let’s let them fight each other and judge on merit. That is what I will do this morning. Then I’ll take the dog for an interview to see if she can stay in town this weekend while I deal with cancer on the upbeat. To leadership and unity. As President Truman said, the buck stops here. Dee

Catholic School

This is college. Homework one night was for the entire class to see a documentary rumored about something concerning hookers and the love canal.

Of course students were asking why we were assigned, in a history class, in a Catholic college, to see such a film. Of course they secretly wanted to see it.

I lived in the area (not the immediate area) at the time and was well aware of the Hooker Chemical Company’s illegal disposal and covering and lies and deception regarding hazardous waste. As I was underage I only heard it on the news or newspapers and certainly was not working for them nor did my family have anything to do with that industry.

The planned community near Niagara Falls, NY was sited on landfill that held the toxic waste. After covering it over, Hooker sold it to the school district for $1, to build School 99. People died. I believe it is still a Superfund site.

I probably told a few friends before the class assignment. Everyone else thought it would be a lurid film that would not be shown in that place. I wanted them to see it, without knowing what it was about, so they could know what these people were going through.

The news around Buffalo was saturated with this story, perhaps still the largest environmental disaster in US history. Sadly, Dee

Making Hay

This past weekend my husband and I began watching the new Netflix series, The Crown, about Elizabeth II.

He was interested and enjoyed it. After one episode, he mentioned an error. The royal stables were shown and in them there were large hay bales.

He said that first, small bales are usually used for horses, also that in the 1930’s they wouldn’t have used large bales. Why? Because to move a large bale one needs a front-end loader and they weren’t invented yet.

I believe him. His father has had a dairy for many years, and for the past decade or so a cattle ranch. He grows and cuts his own hay and prefers round bales. Whenever we visit I see him go out with the front-end loader with a round bale (when they’re wrapped in white plastic for outdoor storage they’re called marshmallows). That is something I would not have known.

For pointing out the film’s error, I congratulated him on having a good eye. I look at the film and evolving characters and how they dress according to maturity and status. One thing that’s bugging me is that ER wears one, two or three strands of pearls. Why? I only have one strand. Is there a significance to this?

Hay bales are one benefit of being married to a rancher’s son. Oh, he used to ride a cow, as a child, named Free. He has fond memories of that. He doesn’t have fond memories of playing in the hay barn (I love that hay barn) because owls in the rafters, and their owlets, would attack and poop on their heads! Cheers! Dee

Choices

Our dog Zoe is not welcome where we’re going. I’ve yet to find a place to take her where I can visit.

She is quite old and very spry for her age. She can even scare a squirrel, but will never catch one. She sleeps on our bed and two of her own, has not been in a crate in at least ten years although she has three. She doesn’t chew our shoes or pee on the carpet.

Even if she is sound asleep on our bed at four in the morning and I get up, she gets up and follows me, as I am food wench and morning walker.

I may or may not have choices. No way she gets a cage and fenced run. She needs her pack and her pack will not be here for a few days. I said she’s getting old. I’m driving 1,500 miles with her for Thanksgiving to meet my husband and his family. She cleans the floor from our three-day cooking marathon. Ooh, she dropped a couple of crumbs!

Open facility may be an option with time-outs for her for sleep. I’d rather she be in a home with a family and perhaps other dogs/cats for companionship.

Yes, our vet gave me recommendations for lodging. My seal of approval is that she doesn’t jump up on me while picking up, and just walks out to my car. If she is not desperate to see us, she had a good time and wants to come home but enjoyed her stay.

Do you know how difficult that situation is to find? She has to go through interviews this week. She has passed temperament tests in five cities but must go through another. She passed in a local establishment but they lied to me twice about keeping her in a cage. She is too old and, my brother said shortly after she was born, “needy” for that. She wants her pack. We are her pack.

I’ve worked with dogs and cats much of my life, as a volunteer in shelters and spay/neuter clinics. I am interviewing them more than they are interviewing me. My first dog raised my second cat for a year, same bed. Dogs used to come and call on Mick and he’d wrestle with our neighbor’s dogs or they’d run away from home to see him through the window and I’d get a call. Is he there? Hold on. Yep. I’ll keep him ’til you get here.

A lot of places demand training. Zoe knows what to do from Pup 101, even hand signals from me, and sometimes chooses not to do what is asked of her. I want this old girl cared for and given time to sleep, as she does not do so with other dogs. She forgets to sleep, eliminate, even drink water. She’s grandma, taking care of everyone else.

I’m going away for a long weekend and give this much attention to the old girl who left our bed and is a few feet away from me on one of her beds that gives her a view that will not allow me to go anywhere without her knowledge. All hail the herders. Dee

Scent Memories?

Lemon oil and meatballs. Oil from the new/old desk and spaghetti and meatballs, which my husband wanted to eat last night. No, we did not cook meatballs in lemon oil, there are competing scents from nourishing my husband, and the same for furniture. These nuns had great stuff!

I’m up already but he has to get up at 5:30 to get to the airport to go away on business again. I take the dog out and make him breakfast before he takes a car to the airport in about an hour.

Zoe loves “routine.” She also loves that there are no suitcases involved, only a hefty backpack with two laptops and sundry items. I may pad in cleaner tissues for his glasses. Right now I’ve three minutes to do some dishes.

Sounds like it’s raining out there. Zoe, our dear old dog, hates being involuntarily wet. Oh, the desk is so pretty. I can’t get you a photo until the sun rises. It may not today but I’m not good with the iPhone and its new OS. Perhaps my camera can get it. What beautiful wood it is. Cheers! Dee

Happy Birthday

to me.

What does 100 years mean to me? Something I’d like to attain. We’ve a quilt hanging,of flowers that was sewn by a great, great grandmother on my husband’s side.

I’ve an English oak gateleg table we’re moving tomorrow, just to another room to be a neat, nice desk for my husband.

The new Nunnery Desk, will be the “altar to food” in the living room. That table is packed up and awaiting sustenance in the form of oil that restores wood. So is my other table I bought over 20 years ago.

Both are about 100 years old, so is the quilt. My father started painting at age 80. I’ve framed three of his personal paintings and one dancer charcoal from a student he bought for me at a school showing many years ago.

What is the fascination with things 100 years-old? I’m getting furniture restoration tips from my mother-in-law, an expert. Quality of making the furniture and art is key. Dovetail joints. Thoughts and families and trees and paint (in a painting, I love oils or watercolors, but prefer wood in furniture look like itself) make a difference.

I prefer a newer home because older ones have low ceilings and a kitchen I cannot cook in, and one substandard bathroom to serve several bedrooms. We live small. My husband is tall. A high ceiling makes him feel more comfortable, as does a view.

This morning I’ll re-condition the old oak table/desk and we’ll move them to their spaces. A photo and thank-you will be given to the donors of the teacher’s desk from a local church.

My husband worked hard for this walking a refrigerator dolley up the street, just because I wanted this desk so much. Thank you, dearest love, for making this gift possible. Dee

 

I Can’t Hear You

My husband is home two days per week. Today we have a monumental challenge I’ll tell you about, perhaps even a photo, after this endeavor is accomplished around noon. It is one piece of furniture and something we (at least I) will treasure. My husband said no, then that if I wanted something that bad he’d be OK with it.

I told folks I was getting food and flowers for my husband, who comes into town on weekends. He’s sound asleep right now, with our dog. They said it must be a challenge to a marriage to be alone most of the time.

He’s in our bathroom shaving. I’m talking. He says “I can’t hear you dear, I’m shaving.”

I say “I’m not talking to you, honey, I’m talking to the dog.” Yes, I talk to the dog all week. That’s the way it is in Dee-Land. Stay out of my kitchen, Zoe! You just got your dinner and you’re not going to get ours. Dee

Corn

A couple of years ago a dear person left our employ. Another took his place. I gave J a corn pudding with chorizo and mushrooms. He called it a quiche, but it had no pastry.

His replacement thought J had gone so ate the last piece, not good. Since then the new regular has helped me out a few times. I used to make him my version of a corn custard. Then it became a corn quiche but I didn’t make the pastry so he didn’t like it as much. Yes, beggars can be ornery.

This time I made him a corn bread pudding with jalapeno cornbread, corn, cheese, chorizo and duxelles. I made a little one for him, and a bigger one for His Better Half. He got a kick out of that labeling and so will his wife. It was his last day of work here. Zoe and I will miss him.

Perhaps he needs someone to steal a slice and I’ll have the right “new guy!” We’ll see. Dee

“Marginals”

That is what they were called. I considered myself a policy person, so had nothing to do with un-electing folks on the other side of the aisle, only helping those on our side with legislation.

Here are a few stories, simplest first. Our committee was huge, pre-computer, and a grab-bag. Veterans, Native Americans, cable TV, privacy, ethics (!), reapportionment, civil and human rights, discrimination due to actual or perceived sexual orientation, crime victim rights (Son of Sam), displaying the flag, fire and building codes and you name it, I got it.

I’ve always come up with my best solutions around 3:00 a.m. Here are a few.

One “marginal” legislator had a constituent who wanted to sell a plot of land. At the end of Session both parties agreed on land sales, but that didn’t stop the opposition from bogging it down in Committee. I had three rules on this. Call the top lawyer from the department and ask is this land for sale? Do you wish to sell it? And is the surveyor’s report correct. Yea all around, it goes on my agenda.

Come meeting day there was a fight. Don’t worry, I had my Diet Coke in my coffee cup. My chairman was not winning so I asked to step in and said to the opposition that I could explain the surveyor’s report. The chair yielded and I spent about fifteen seconds looking at the bill. Then I declared that it was “four pages.” Everyone laughed, we won on a party line vote. I broke the tiredness (especially mine) and tensions.

Another “marginal” came to me because a 12 year-old wanted to participate in Revolutionary War re-enactments with his father. The legislator was very upset that I could not do this immediately. I researched it thoroughly and the problem is that if the constituent’s son was allowed to spend weekends with dad on the “battlefield” he would be eligible to be conscripted into the National Guard and sent overseas, at war.

There was no way I was going to let this kiddo go to war. It took three weeks to pass this piece of legislation. I was stymied, the legislator was hounding me and complaining to my superiors. At 3:00 in the morning I had an idea. I got up and dressed and walked to the office. I re-wrote an entire section of the Uniform Code for Military Justice, for this boy.

I sat next to the legislator for floor debate. It passed. My office mate and I had gone to the toy store at lunch to get gifts for his kids. I bought a tin soldier and gave it to the legislator after passage of “his” bill.

Now, politics. I helped a “marginal” get elected and he stayed in his post for 30 years. Election night was crazy. Everyone was in the other room socializing and wondering about results. I was in back with the phone and chalk board (yes, the old days) alone.

A call came in for the candidate. His potential boss, and after I kindly asked who was calling I knew his name and title. I sent someone for the candidate and said to come immediately. I asked the caller if he wanted numbers from specific districts while he waited a moment. Instead he asked how I knew him. I said, sir, you don’t know me.

He asked my name and said “Of course, I’d recognize you anywhere, you have your Daddy’s eyes.” That’s a politician. When the newly-elected legislator got on the phone with his boss I shooed out the volunteer, left and shut the door. Five minutes later he addressed the crowd. He won! Dee

 

 

Language, Thought, Wisdom

I was always told I’d be a teacher.  No, I’ve never been a school teacher but have many educators that have taught me language, thought and wisdom. Yes, I am a teacher in other ways.

When I was a little kid I had to look at a dictionary when I used the “loo” and say and spell a word, say it was a noun and use it in a sentence.

My dear neighbor G, a genius, taught me psychoses and other words. My favorite has always been fear of the number thirteen. Look it up.

Between my family and neighbors I was blessed with an education my school could never provide. The good Fathers blessed me with rounding out that education with art and history.

I read The Diary of Anne Frank and Death Be Not Proud when I was seven and taught my little sister how to read. Reading is not all of it, when put together by mentors, mine are mostly gone now, you learn how to think.

Thinking, learning, pasting things together in one’s mind may lead to a body of knowledge. That may lead to wisdom and perhaps, vision. My father is a visionary. He is an optimist, as is his eldest daughter. Dee