Tag Archives: life

Free Speech

I recently read an article (Cara Anthony – KFF News) about a young Black man who was shot in the head, operated on, then his family was pressured to donate his organs. On the operating table after being rolled through the hospital corridors on a hero’s walk to celebrate his selfless donation, his neurosurgeon burst in and told the doctors to take him off the table. He was alive, and is today, several years later, is married, a musician with young children. His first-year neurosurgeon, Dr. Zohny, is now working to “quantify consciousness” so that these mistakes are no longer made.

This article shook me to my core, as it could have been me. A year before this young man’s traumatic brain injury, I suffered one myself. After my craniotomy, I remained in a coma for a full month.

During that time I had dreams of jumping upwards from shard to triangular shard of familiar works of art and stained glass to reach a light above. Also of “field trips” to exotic destinations that always ended up at what seemed like my concrete block college dorm room. My mother-in-law was staying with my husband and was at the hospital one day when she saw signs of more than a vegetative state (she’s now a retired RN) as they were giving up on me. The last thing I remember is an empty grey space and my saying to myself “I can’t go now, I have too much shit to do!” I recall those words exactly.

Once awake, there was a long way to go but worst for me is that I had a tracheotomy tube and could not speak. My husband said that the accident forced a Ctrl-Alt-Del of my brain and I had to learn everything all over again. He learned to remove the trach for a few seconds at a time so I could say a few words.

I’d been trapped in my mind for weeks, unable to escape. Then, when I awakened I was learning again what I wanted and needed to say, and was unable to do so.

When Scarlett O’Hara stood up with her fist in the air and said “as God is my witness, I’ll never be hungry again” I’ll never be silent again, no matter what anyone tells me. So go ahead, I’m retired so you can’t fire me or take my Social Security.

We have a huge problem in this country, and we’ve voted for him to be our president twice. The problem? Once elected he failed in every way to fulfill his oather of office. He only represents the half of Americans who voted for him, despises the rest of us and wants us all declared enemies of the State.

I never knew much about Charlie Kirk, only disagreed with the hatred he showed America and Americans that he despised for their gender, color or sexual orientation. His death at the hands of a mentally unstable individual is heinous and my thoughts go out to his wife and family. But his death is not my fault, or that of of Democrats or progressive organizations or the media or late night comics.

Efforts by Donald Trump and MAGA to blame all of us and threaten loss of free speech and funding to voice our discontent over his wackadoodle policies is against our Constitution and laws.

I was born into and will hopefully die in the United States of America, which cherishes free speech and the rule of law. I will not be a second-class citizen because I’m a woman and a senior citizen. I know what it’s like to be stifled inside, unable to get out of my own brain because of too many presciription medications administered to me in the hospital by knowledgeable physicians.

Do you know why I think I was saved, besides my neurosurgeon, his terrific PA Kyle (thanks, Kyle), my husband and his mother? I’m white, and I had excellent private health insurance. My husband recalls sitting in the ER, filling out forms then waiting. Staff was looking for a name to call, muttering no insurance, medicaid…. AETNA! Yep, they called on him first.

There are so many things that Trump has already ruined that will take us years to regain, as it did me and my wonderful brain (thank you, Auntie L, the HS English teacher who taught me words no-one else knew, especially my rehab therapists) and motor skills. But we can do it. Not without the free speech our Constitution guarantees, however.

Donald Trump is the biggest bully we’ll ever know, but he’s a bully, and bullies are by nature cowards. The more we obey in advance his directives, the more he’ll try to get away with. He’s already going to leave the White House billions richer because no-one is enforcing laws on the books keeping him from doing so. We don’t want a dictator or king. We need a president and Congress who remembers that they’re elected by us, we, the people. Dee

Trump’s “Girls”

Our fearless president was supposed to do a “ride-along” with the military on the mean streets of our nation’s capital, Thursday evening. Instead, the White House cooked burgers and they ordered pizza in a local park.

Trump, ever the champion of women’s rights, had a job for two of his best gals. It’s no lie that a picture is worth a thousand words.

Seated “manning” the pizza table, over closed pizza boxes, were a lonely and distractedly bored Jeanine Pirro, D.C.’s newest U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia, and Kristi Noem, yes, ICE Barbie holding her her head in her hands over a pizza box. What a great job!

I hope they had male supervision to make sure no illegal aliens got a free slice. What, did I just hear that JD Vance had his own booth telling women to quit their jobs and go have babies? Nah, just a rumor.

Makes me want to move back to 1971-1973 when I was a tween and my dad worked PR for the nation’s colleges on Dupont Circle. He must’ve been very woke then because we were living in the nation’s second “planned community” that was very forward-thinking at the time.

What a great nation we live in! I’m stuck in Texas with folks who are in denial that in rural communities they’re going to lose their medicare, medicaid, snap and hospitals. Plus smart, poor kids won’t ever be able to borrow money to attend college. My fellow senior volunteers don’t get it and are waiting for AmeriCorps (which Trump tried to abolish and will, eventually) to tell them what to do. I’m figuring it out without them. Why? Because I don’t just sit at the pizza table and wait for people to stop by. Cheers! Look for that photo of Noem and Pirro, it’s priceless. Dee

Executive Orders

I’ve been out of the writing game a bit and one of my favorite news sources is currently unavailable to me. In catching up I ran across a couple of recent executive orders that might be of interest. Executive Orders 2,341,692 and 2,341,695, to be exact.

The White House

Establishing the Advisory Council of “Getting Me The Stuff I Really Want When No One Else Can Do It”

By the authority vested in me as President by the Constitution and the laws of the United States of America, it is hereby ordered:

Section 1. Policy I want a lot of stuff done that no-one seems to be able to do for me. People tell me I already have lots of stuff, like power and immunity and the ability to strongarm nations and companies who give me and my family perks, but only $3.4 billion so far and I want more. I deserve more.

Section 2. Establishment. There is hereby established within the Executive Office of the President said Council on my Stuff to be led by my dear friend and mentor, Roger Stone to include six of his equally politically ruthless colleagues as he deems fit.

Section 3. Functions. The first task of the Council will be to get me a goddamn Noble Peace Prize! Obama got one and I deserve at least six or seven, even I forget how many lasting peace accords I’ve created and nurtured for decades, and I’ve only been here a few months. The Council will advise me what to do (bomb something, threaten allies, whatever it takes); and work behind the scenes doing their magic to get me that prize.

… followed by boilerplate language required by my lawyers….

The second Executive Order is even more interesting, to wit:

By the authority vested in me yada yada yada… increasing the purview of the Advisory Council on Getting Me The Stuff I Really Want When No One Else Can Do It”

Section 1. Policy. I’m sick and tired of all these boring ICE raids and the only reason I really want a cage match in the Rose Garden for our nation’s 250th anniversary is to give Ivanka something to do. Plus, there aren’t enough living people in the USA I trust to do my bidding every second of the day, day in and day out. Chairman (Roger) Stone has proposed and was able to secure dead people to help get me into heaven!

These people are not IN heaven, of course. This Executive Order authorizes Chairman Stone, with the cooperation of Roy Cohn and Lee Atwater, to escape the fires of Hell with a few of their trusted allies, raid the home of St. Peter and get the keys to the Pearly Gates. After this is accomplished, they all will be, upon my authority, transferred to heaven and on call to welcome me when it is my time to join their merry band of thieves.

The Advisory Council will also assure that the axiom “you can’t take it with you” does not apply to Donald J Trump. I want it all, forever.

Caveat: the Advisory Council is only authorized to begin the “Heaven’s Gate” project once I have the Noble Prize in hand.

THE WHITE HOUSE

Dee-Platformed

My Facebook introduction was inauspicious. About 15 years ago my husband had been sent across the country by the national bank he worked for to effect a software merger with a local company. I went with him for a couple of months. He started a Facebook account for me to keep in touch with home.

Right away, a gal at his work had just gotten Facebook too, and she sent notifications of everything she did from the moment she awakened ’til bedtime. I was not impressed. It was annoying and there’s no way I would use it in that fashion. A few years later a couple of college, even high school friends, had found me and sent vacation, family and pet photos. My Canadian family sent event photos occasionally.

I gave it up for years until the Navy Captain who married us died and the only way I could reach his son was by private Facebook message. Years later, about two years ago, I think, I was in touch with him privately again, after his mom died.

Now, I’m temporarily in a small town in Texas keeping busy doing some volunteer work. The town recently lost its only print news, and only gets national news through either Dallas or Oklahoma. One brave soul started a Facebook page to keep residents apprised of local events such as the Saturday Farmers’ Market being cancelled last weekend due to potential rainstorms.

I forgot my sign-on (yahoo or my current one?) and tried a couple of passwords, finally signing on thru Apple ID. They asked me some really strange stuff, like demanding a selfie. Then they said they’d review what I’d sent at their request.

Next thing I get an email saying that my account is permanently disabled because I didn’t follow community standards, moreover I’m not allowed to request “another” review. Huh?

I’m no hacker, just an old lady who likes an old-fashioned blog to share cooking tips and promote democracy through subversive means such as promoting access to voting. And in my volunteer work, my next effort is jump-starting reading with kindergarteners and first graders at the local elementary school, and in my spare time I’ve been caring for a rescue dog for the past several months. On facebook, nothing controversial, ever. More dog photos than anything else, as I recall.

What’s up with Meta? I’m preparing to go through their review procedure, but it requires me to send the offending text with an explanation and apology. What? I couldn’t even get online to read the local news! the only words I wrote were my email address and password. Any ideas? It’s not exactly that I’ve Mark Zuckerberg’s number in my Rolodex, folks. Any ideas would be welcomed. Cheers! Dee

What Did I Do Last Week?

Published regarding what really matters and all the things the Trump administration is doing wrong

Wrote to the city clerk where we married to make sure that if the Republicans pass new voter registration laws I’ll still be able to vote because my birth certificate has a different name than my passport and drivers license

Wrote my senators and congressman urging continued support of RSVP, the Seniors portion of AmeriCorps

Researched grant opportunities, analyzed organizational materials for RSVP

Participated in an “all hands on deck” activity at the ranch, actively helping save the life of a baby calf.

# # #

Let’s see. Most of those tasks were related to the federal government. I don’t work for the federal government! As a matter of fact, I don’t work for anyone! I’m retired.

I’m exhausted just trying to make sure that we don’t get killed in mid-air collisions, die of typhoid or scarlet fever, wake up to our military in our streets arresting us for exercising our first amendment rights, and assuring the continued right of married women who use their husband’s name, to vote.

I didn’t used to have to think about that stuff while booking a flight, exposing myself unwittingly to germs and unvaccinated people, crossing the town square to meet a friend or go to my regular polling place. We shouldn’t HAVE to think about that stuff every day, because that’s why we pay taxes!

I never wanted Donald Trump to occupy every facet of American life yet again, and I certainly didn’t invite Elon Musk to threaten my social security, medicare and overall privacy. Enough is enough!

Oh, Elon, I got in the assignment before midnight tonight, even though I didn’t know where to send it because I’m my own boss!!! Does that mean I get to live another day to face yet another federal crisis? Makes me wish mom and dad were still alive, so I could whine “is it four years yet?” Dee

“169”

Mom! Mom! Oh wow what a day! You wouldn’t believe what happened to me! Oh, hi, Aunts. I guess I’ll have to start at the beginning now. You see, I was in this nice cozy place for ten months until three days ago….

Not that, silly, said one of the Aunts, we all welcomed you to the world last weekend. What happened today?

OK, well Mama was drinking from the pond and I went with her to check it out. I slipped in the mud and then fell through the ice. First of all since I was born it’s been hovering around ten degrees at night and all y’all told me that was cold for Texas, but this ice water was something else!

Next thing I know this alien picks me up and dumps me in the back of something called a green side by side and next thing I knew two aliens were rubbing me dry with towels. They put me in a really warm place inside the nicest barn I’ve ever seen but I was still shivering for hours.

They stuck a tube down my throat with formula, not near as good as milk, Ma. This wolf stepped on me and sniffed me all over, several tmes, then it lay down a few feet away and went to sleep. I couldn’t sleep at all, just trying to get warm.

Later they stuck another tube in me with something they called Gatorade. Something about electrolytes. Then a third alien put a leash on me and took me outdoors to “do business,” whatever that is. Then the old alien hurt my ear and told the other aliens that I was now tagged “169.” That was confusing and it hurt but just for a second. After a while of sniffing around outside, they put me back in the green thing with my feet tied together and dropped me off here. Thanks for the milk, Ma, I’m feeling better already!

I know y’all told me it was a good life here and aliens providing us with grass, hay, and grain all the time but it’s awfully cold. Can I go back inside now, Ma? No? Why not? It was good enough for ten months, why can’t I go back in?

###

This is Dee. Thanks, 169. Not bad for a first post! Keep in touch. All the best to you as you grow and thrive and have baby calves of your own.

What REALLY Matters

It was ten degrees last night. That doesn’t normally happen in Texas. This morning a three day-old calf followed her mama to get water at the nearest pool. The baby calf fell through the ice. Luckily my f-i-l was out feeding this morning, found her, scooped her up and brought her home.

We dried her roughly with towels, placed her on clean “dog” towels that Princess Lulu unconsciously lent, put new towels under and on top of her and surrounded her with hot water bottles. We had juice bottles left over from Sara’s early winter days in her first dog house (a Dewalt tool box, outfitted with old rugs) so filled them with hot water. The baby calf was then fed warm formula, and is still alive an hour later, nestled by the hearth and an incredibly warm fire in the wood stove.

My father-in-law has had forty baby calves from the herd so far this season. Hopefully this little black icicle will make it. She just stopped shivering, which is a good sign, and she doesn’t have diarrhea, which could kill her for lack of fluids. Next up is electrolytes, probably gatorade with a few extra additions like raw egg.

Makes you think twice when a life is at stake. A lot still matters in my life, like whether I’ll get a second year of Social Security (which I use) and Medicare (which I have yet to use, ever). But lately Americans have been focused on the wrong things, especially in our nation’s capitol.

Here’s my prescription:

Instead of grudges, grievance and retribution, work with Congress to reduce. the price of eggs.

Realize that only a small portion of the population is rich, white and male. Stop catering to them exclusively.

Retaliatory tariffs are a recipe for disaster. Joe Biden left us a good economy. Try not to blow it.

Hatred of people who are different in color, gender or religion are not evil by nature is futile, especially in a country of immigrants. Chances are you have a mother and grandmother, see? Plus hating all women is counterproductive. You probably work with a gay person, and have a Black neighbor. They’re all cool, so what’s the problem?

DEI reinforces anti-discrimination laws on the books for generations. The laws haven’t changed, you’d have to ask Congress to do that and you know it’ll never happen. The laws don’t say you have to lease an apartment or give a job to a differently abled person, just that if such a person is qualified for the job or apartment, they’re in the pool to select them on merit. Get a grip and realize that we ARE a multicultural differently-gendered and -abled society.

Reproduction. Get out of our bedrooms. It’s none of your GD business who we sleep with or if and when we decide to have children. Unless it’s rape or sexual harassment, there are criminal laws to deal with that.

Remove unqualified, un-vetted kids and uber nerd Elon Musk from our personal data at the IRS, SSA, DOH and health agencies. invading personal privacy is gonna come back and get you, especially when you use it solely to target perceived personal enemies of Donald Trump and Elon Musk.

If you thought the left was hell-bent on euphemisms and cancel culture, take a look in the mirror and see what the right is doing with the First Amendment. ‘Nuff said.

###

Send your thoughts to Icy The Baby Calf, let’s hope she makes it back to Mama in a day or two and in time provides the ranch with 5-6 babies of her own! Cheers, Dee

Who Am I

A few years back I was in an accident that caused a traumatic brain injury, and a craniotomy. My husband the software guy says my brain hit Ctrl-Alt-Del. Haha. A month later I came out of an interesting coma. Interesting for everyone else because they had to determine my fate, and for me because I had many very interesting life-like dreams.

Those dreams culminated in a drab grey room where I asked myself “is this it?” Is this the end, is this all there is out there? At that point my brain said I couldn’t go now, there was simply too much to do and that was that. I woke up.

My husband says that when I was coming back he began to recognize me when I did particularly “Dee” things. When the nurse tried to pin me in the sheets by tucking them in tightly, I fought to get my feet outside the covers as I always do. He knew right then that I’d be back.

I didn’t get it until a couple of months later in brain rehab. A visiting psychologist laughed at me and called me “the smart one” before he told all the other medical professionals (in earshot) I’d never go home again. Of course that was a challenge and I proved him wrong quickly and decisively. He laughed because one day a fellow patient climbed the five steps intended to teach TMI patients to re-learn stairs. At dinner that afternoon I congratulated him on his effort. Yea!

It took me a while after discharge months later that that moment was the moment I got “me” back. The life of a patient is all me, me, me all the time. How’s my recovery. How many more language exercises. How many flights of stairs. Can I make it to the next handhold, perhaps twenty feet, before collapsing into my wheelchair.

They mocked me because even though I was as bad off as the other patients, I thought of others and was cheering on their recovery as well as my own. I got me back that day and while at the time I couldn’t put my finger on it or put it into words, I knew it and it gave me the will and strength to pass all their damn tests and get out of there and back to my life taking care of my family.

I’ve always cared for those less fortunate, kids who were mocked for being too smart or dumb or ugly or even gay. That caring has always extended to animals, which is why people in all my old neighborhoods still call me “the dog lady.”

I’ve never understood how selfish people can operate on a daily basis, thinking only of themselves and their own needs and desires to the exclusion of all else. And I certainly never thought we’d vote as a nation to hire a sociopathic, malignant narcissist as the president of the United States.

Parents, school, and Mass inculcated me to the “do unto others” philosophy that has driven me my entire life, even in grade school. I’m a senior citizen now with (currently) the right to vote and have my opinion heard. Perhaps the antithesis to the political circus of hatred that is coming into power is the polar opposite. I am considering becoming radical, using kindness as my message.

Most of us are caring, loving people who want government to serve our needs, try to keep grocery and gas prices low and have a working border and immigration policy. We don’t have an urgent need to ruin our constitutional democracy by hurting the majority of our people, the economy, our environment, our children because one person is mad at the world and is hell-bent on hurting everyone who has or may ever hurt him. I’m not a sociopath or a vindictive person by nature or diagnosis. I just want to live my life free from the intrusion of people who have no business being in my business, whether it be who I love, how I vote or how my doctors and I choose to treat my conditions as they arise.

Let’s be kind to each other. Trump has shown time and time again that he’ll push the envelope way too far and when people cry out in unison, he’s proved a bully that retreats at the slightest resistance. So that’s what we’ll have to do. With kindness. This election may have squeaked in an incredibly dangerous and unhinged person but I’m still the same, so are you, so are our families and friends. Let’s just kindly tell the MAGA crowd that we like our rights and our Constitution, thank you. We intend to keep them.

The mean visiting psychologist told me I’d never live at home and I’d certainly never drive again. When I took a driving test the instructor asked my why on earth I needed one. It was as if I’d driven yesterday, and I’m a good driver. Yes! Freedom. The State attorney appointed to fight either my doctors or my husband for my proper care actually forgot about the court hearing. I found out about it, called the lawyer and he stopped by only to find that I offered him freshly-brewed herbal tea and conversation, same as any normal homemaker would do. He immediately cancelled the custody hearing and left us alone.

Kindness. Radical kindness. Pass it on. Dee

Raising Kids

All families are unique, but I’ll just talk about mine, in the vein of “minding my own d*** business.” My parents had two families together. I was born 1 1/2 years before my sister and we grew up best friends/worst enemies (friends most of the time, enemies lasted about five minutes). My brother is seven years younger and the final sister, 11 years younger.

Born in 1958 and 1960, we were raised in my father’s type of strict German/Swiss style. It was a different world back then. I learned to read at five, and taught my sister so she would stop talking and let me read.

As we started school we got an allowance of $.50 per week for our daily/weekly chores. We had to make our beds immediately upon awakening and help set the table/do dishes every day, but every Saturday we took an equal number of slips of paper out of the “job jar” to tell whether we had to dust, vacuum, fold diapers for the little ones, things like that. The worst jobs were “ask Mom” and “ask Dad.” Then, they could make up anything, like help lay 3,000 bricks around the new pool.

The real worst one was when I pulled both “asks” until I learned how to play the game. One week Mom made me weed the garden. Then, sweaty, grimy and out of breath I asked Dad what he needed done. “Hand me that Phillips screwdriver. Now go play.” Whew!

One thing I remember vividly between school and extracurricular activities (violin, piano, ballet, choir) was that we were fined a nickel of that precious allowance every time we called each other a bad name. Names like stupid or idiot or crazy were fined (of course racist or sexist epithets were verboten and never uttered). We just learned other ways of speaking to each other and working together so we didn’t let our spat get to that point. I’m going to venture a guess that a certain ex-president never learned that lesson.

The second generation of kids in our family were born in the late 60’s in a much more laissez-faire environment. There was no job jar, no forced extracurricular activity and no fines for bad words.

One time I returned from college and heard Mom ask my little brother to set the table for dinner. He said “wrongo, Moose Breath!” And she laughed!!! I looked at my dear sister of my generation as we both wondered silently if we were in the right house.

Sadly, my husband and I married late and I was unable to bear children so we didn’t get to punish kids with our separate views on child-rearing. After all, he grew up on a dairy farm. When I asked what he did besides school as a kid all he said to me was “milk cows.” What fun we could have had, though! Just some thoughts early on a Saturday morning. Make sure you’re registered and VOTE! Dee

Why Do We Do This?

We are adamant about picking up our dog’s poop and throwing it away in a sanitary manner in eco-safe bags. People look at us as if we’re crazy, especially if there’s a bit of snow. Why bother? Why? Spring is coming, the snow will melt and there will be tons of poop. We always carry extra bags for an errant dog owner. “Hi, would you like to use this?”

That is what my father did, my brother and I do, and my husband does. Clean up after messes with businesses and non-profit organizations. We pick up the junk everyone else doesn’t look after.

We come in when an organization, big or small, cannot handle day-to-day business anymore. We are the problem solvers, organizers, big thinkers and detail-oriented pro’s. Dad died recently and I didn’t have time to give him the “poop” analogy, but that’s what he did for over 60 years, God rest his soul.

Do clients thank us for this? No. Do they pay us? Sometimes. When an organization does not want change, the entrenched employees will just say no. If the higher-ups agree with them we’re gone and they lose. We go on.

Why do we do this? There is a problem and like a plumbing leak, we want to fix it. We want organizations to be healthy and not leaking like a sieve.

I am retired now but yesterday I contacted the city attorney’s office stating that a new crosswalk sign (no painted crosswalk) they put up last week is not attached correctly and will fly off and kill someone. They hung up on me after 30 seconds. I called the city and they gave me a transaction number which I gave to several interested parties for follow-up. I get things done. We are a neighborhood and all of us live here so why not work together. Teamwork, that’s how it goes.

With arthritis for 30 years I no longer walk about with 100 bags and pick up after every errant dog owner who will not pick dog poop up for him or herself. I can give a helpful suggestion and a bag. What they do with that information is up to them, I’m only a consultant. Cheers! Dee