December 3, 2020

6:35 p.m.

The other day I called a particular company to cancel a continuing service for my father. The conversation went like this:

Me: My father has passed away. I'd like to cancel this account, since he will no longer require this service.

Them: You wish to cancel?

Me: Yes

Them: The account holder must call to personally cancel this account.

Me: Excuse me? Did you just say my father has to call you himself?

Them: Yes, ma'am.

Me: May I speak with a real person, please?

Them: I am real, ma'am.

Me: No, I would like to speak with a living, breathing person with a heart, please.

Them: Ma'am, I am a living person.

Me: Really? What did I just say to you?

Then: You wish to cancel this account.

Me: Because?

Them: I'm sorry?

Me: You certainly are. Why did I tell you I wanted to cancel?

Them: I don't--I didn't--that is, I don't understand.

Me: The reason I wish to cancel my father's account is because my father is no longer alive.

Them: Oh! Well, I am so sorry to hear that. Of course, we can cancel that right now. Do you have the secret password?

Me: Password?

Them: Yes, your father has a password to access the account. Can you get that, please?

Me: And how would you suggest I do that? Hold a séance?

Them: I'm sorry? 

Me: We've established that, I believe.

Them: What?

Me: I don't have the secret password. It's not like I can call into the next room and ask him. He's not here anymore. Surely there is another way to access the record and get this accomplished. I have the account number right here...

Them: Do you have his social security number?

Me: Yes. Yes, I do. And may I suggest you start with that the next time a deceased person's family member calls to do business with you?

Them: Start with.. what?

So...holy crap, what is wrong with people?

I would like to say that this was an isolated incident, but sadly, it was not. I have had several of these conversations. All these people hear is the word "cancel", and then all their bells and whistles go off--how can we keep this person's business and continue to take his money? 

While we're at it--

Dear Telemarketers:

Please stop calling to speak to my father about his insurance. His auto insurance isn't about to expire.  He doesn't need an extended warranty on a vehicle that is now so old it's considered a classic. It's sitting in the driveway, and he's not going to be driving it again. He isn't on Medicaid. He doesn't need to review his Medicare plan.

It's the Medicare calls that really get me, you know? They paid his final expenses, including that funeral benefit that isn't enough for anyone to so much as pay for coffee at a wake. They know he passed away, damn it. 

My father no longer lives on this level of existence. He has moved on to a higher realm, on where he will never have to worry about any of this again. He is pain free, illness free and if he gets to drive, I am sure he doesn't have to think about insurance plans or the cost of gasoline. He exists on a level high above those petty concerns. 

Telemarketers, on the other hand, exist on a certain low level of hell. And before you get upset that I said that, ask anyone who spends their days being shouted at, cursed out and hung up on if they disagree with me that they're in a living hell. I don't think they will. Sounds like hell to me.

I suppose being in hell makes them cranky, and that leads them to their perverse desire to call me daily on a variety of different numbers to remind me that the warranty on my car is about to expire--this, although I haven't owned a car since about 2004. 

Yeah, I know. I'm being bitchy again. 

Meh. 

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7:23 p.m.

Here's some better news. I got the Christmas decorations up. For me, this is a big deal, since I usually wait until it's nearly too late to bother.

Even better, most of my shopping is accomplished. Mailing... well, it's only the 3rd, so I have hope.

22 days 'til Christmas, folks! Better get a move on! 

 November 28, 2020

2:18 p.m.

I'm not going to gild the lily, pull my punches, wax sentimental or any other of the bull I have been doing all my life. Today, I am going to just say what I'm really thinking, and let the chips fall where they may.

Thanksgiving came and went. This year, it was just a day like most other days, except that I prepared a fancier meal. Mom and I ate alone and waited to hear from our kids by phone or message. We didn't get to see anyone; not our children or grandchildren, not any friends. It was, like all our days, quiet. 

By day's end, Mom did hear from all my siblings. Two of them live in the same town, but due to fear of exposing Mom to anything, they chose to stay home. No one is hurt or angry about the decision; Mom raised no dummies, and she's a smart cookie herself. We all know the risks and choose not to take chances. 

I heard from three kids earlier in the day, one who was sick, one who was bitter, and one who had little to say. At the very last minute I heard from the last, who was rushed and harried. We exchanged the ritual "Happy Thanksgiving" greetings and "I love you" greetings, and left it at that. No one called; it was all text, all the time. 

Thanksgiving is usually my favorite of all the holidays. I enjoy a large gathering of family and friends. I enjoy preparing a huge meal of all the favorites. I love the hustle and bustle of all of us working in my kitchen together. I love the smell of fresh rolls and pies baking on the day before, and the smells of roasting turkey and ham on the big day. 

This year I did bake a pie. I roasted a turkey breast. The house did smell good. And the meal, if I may say so, was delicious. 

What was missing? Family, friends and a feeling of thankfulness. 

Now, I'm not saying we have nothing to be grateful for. We are grateful to have one another. We are grateful that we have enough to eat. We are grateful not to be living in cardboard boxes in some squalid alley.

What I am saying is that I didn't feel much like a celebration was in order this year. 2020 has been a shit show in so many ways. 

There's a part of me that doesn't mind that the day was one of the same-old-thing days-- it was the first major holiday without my father, and for some reason, I think it would have been harder if we were all together. His absence--which is always deeply felt--would have been even more so in the crowd of family members. An empty space next to Mom would have been a stark reminder to us all that he's not here. Eventually, there will come time for a big gathering, and we will have to acknowledge that space, but...

I acknowledge that space every day on a smaller scale, and I wasn't ready for it in a bigger space with more witnesses, so there was was a bit of relief in that respect. I guess. I shed my tears in solitude, and for me, that is always the preference. 

Ugh. What can I say? This was not a good year.  

I have spent 2020 feeling inadequate. In my own estimation, I have not measured up as a daughter, a sister, a mother or a friend. I have wanted to be everywhere at once (I know, not possible) and have felt guilty about being one place while needed in another pretty much every day. It does no good to tell me that I can't do it, and neither can anyone else--I still feel the way I feel. It is what it is. 

There are things I want to say, and I guess since I am currently feeling low and bitchy, I will say them.

Get it together. You're grown-ass people, and you don't have all the time in the world. Fighting and holding grudges is beneath you. You only get one chance, so for crying out loud, get together, duke it out and get on with your lives. Forgiveness is the only key to unlocking the love. I can't fight your battles for you, I can't make your apologies, I can't fix the things you've messed up and I can't put your pieces back together for you. 

If you did it, own it, admit it and apologize. If you're unforgiving--knock it off! This is your only chance to get it right. Start over and do better next time. 

You know who you are. If you don't know--think again. This probably goes for everybody. Everybody. 

I am tired. I am sad. I want this stupid year to knock it the f*&! off. I have had enough of this shit. 

And I doubt that anyone can dispute the fact that there has been more than enough shit to go around.

 Even before the great toilet paper shortage, my mother was sick for over a month with a mysterious cough that we now suspect may have been COVID-19. Although it was a month before the failed joke in the White House ever admitted there was such a thing, it certainly fit the criteria for the virus, and she has since been afflicted with painful, stiff fingers, a reported long term side effect.  

Dad and I waited for our turn with the illness, whatever it was, but we only suffered cold symptoms for a few days, and that was it. 

I went to Denver for less than a week. When I flew in, things were relatively normal. When I flew out, the airport was nearly deserted. My footsteps echoed as I made my way to the concourse for my flight to Wyoming. It was eerie.  

My first trip to the store upon my return revealed an empty aisle where the paper products should have been. No toilet paper, facial tissues or paper towels. No Clorox wipes or hand sanitizer. No hand soap. The world had developed hoarding madness. 

In the meantime, Dad was losing his grip on day-to-day reality. He tried, God bless him. He made plans to enclose and paint the deck when the weather got better. He talked about the upcoming family reunion and hometown reunion planned for the summer. 

He resisted my efforts to get him out of the house, for any reason. He also resisted leaving the kitchen to go to the living room. That kitchen chair became his daytime home. He would sit there with a cup of coffee, listening to music, cleaning and recleaning his telephone screen. He cleaned it so aggressively that he eventually killed the poor thing, because he insisted that he had to use Windex on it. What the heck, though--it was so old it couldn't even be updated any more.

On those rare occasions when I could lure him into the living room, he still enjoyed the westerns and cheered on the horses. Molly was delighted to have him there and sat with him in his chair.   

By May he was having delusions, mostly that Mom and I were in danger. He couldn't look at us, or his eyes might shoot something at us. Laser death rays, I suppose. Sometimes he refused to open his mouth to eat if we were nearby, in case his tooth fillings might poison us. 

I'll give him this--he was always thinking about Mom and me. He believed he was keeping us safe, and it was his most important mission.  

On the day he fell, the delusion was that the contents of a small tin of muscle pain relief ointment might explode and kill us all. Getting it out of the house at any cost was his heroic goal. Well, he got it out, but he was badly hurt when he fell doing it. He broke his leg, wrist and several ribs. He got a concussion. 

(See how inadequate I was? I didn't save him from that fall. I wasn't fast enough to catch him.) 

First he spent some time in the hospital. He was alone; no one could be with him because of COVID-19. Then he went into a nursing home to heal up--alone again. 

We visited through a window, talking on our phones. He didn't understand, because he kept forgetting why he was there, and why we couldn't come inside and why he couldn't come home yet. 

I don't blame the nursing home--they followed all the CDC guidelines and worked diligently to keep Dad safe. But they were not his family. He needed the loving touch of family. A hug. A hand to hold. Someone to share his meals. 

Dad lost faith in going home, I believe. We worked hard to ready the house and planned his homecoming, but he quit eating and drinking and ended up back in the hospital. Then we brought him home on hospice care and lost him in less than two weeks. 

Have you ever seen those "Never have I ever" lists? I crossed a lot of items off that list. I did things I never imagined having to do. I did not like them. 

2020 was a year of firsts. That was the first time I ever saw someone take a last breath. The first time I arranged a funeral. The first time I visited a funeral home, for that matter. The first time I had to say goodbye to someone that close to me. 

Days after the funeral, the basement flooded due to a leaking underground pipe that took several days to locate and repair. Down came one of the two trees Mom planted in the front yard in 1973. Holes were dug in the yard and then the basement, and fans ran for days drying up the wetness. 

That tree was Dad's touchstone when he came home to spend his last days. He could look out the window and see it, and know he was really home at last. Mom and I watched through the window as the workers took it down, bawling our eyes out. 

After that, we dealt with more firsts: the first Anniversary Mom spent without her partner, and her first birthday without him in 63 years. 

On his birthday, the town was hit with a blizzard/hurricane that devastated the area and put the neighbor's tree in the middle of the backyard. It took out some branches from the oak tree Dad was so proud of, along with the fences. 

Dad would not have had a happy birthday this year. So...

This week we did our first Thanksgiving without Dad. We also did it with no other members of the family. Just Mom and me. Such a first, right? 

So, November is almost gone. COVID-19 is raging on worse than ever. Over a quarter of a million people have died as a direct result, and I'm sure thousands more have died indirectly as a result, as well. I can't prove it, but I believe Dad might be here, if not for the mishandling of this pandemic, and he's not the only one who was isolated from the loving attention of his family during a time that should have led to recovery instead of death. Broken hearts; loneliness; loss of connection--it took its toll, and took loved ones before their time. I believe this, even if I can't prove it. 

Christmas is coming, and I am preparing for it in the only way I can--long distance style. I am not happy. I am not thankful. I am sad and pissed off. 

You know what I will be thankful for? I will be thankful when this is over, and we can start looking forward to things again. Things like a meal with family, and a chance to hug each other. 

When will that be? 

Wear your damn masks, will you, please? 

I'm sick of this year. 

Saturday, November 14, 2020

1:00 p.m. 

Once upon a time, I was a kid. It was a long time ago, but sometimes it seems like just yesterday. 

There are things that bring childhood days back to me with some force. 

For example, picture this:

I am nine or ten. There's a new girl in the neighborhood, about the same age. She's an only child, and seems lonely. 

I make friends with her. It seems like the right thing to do; no one else will play with her. 

She seems nice. We ride bikes. We have lunch. 

I notice she seems put out whenever my sisters and brother join in. It seems she wants me all to herself.

I am, for the most part, a loner, and as she gets increasingly clingier, I begin to feel smothered. 

If other friends come around, she pouts and goes home. My friends ask how I can stand her. I ask them to give her a break.

She doesn't know how to share. She doesn't listen. She's spoiled. 

"Well," I say, "she's an only child; she never had to learn. We can help her."

"You help her." The friends leave me to it, letting me know that they're free whenever I come around--without the new girl.

That makes me feel bad. I find myself making excuses for her. It gets tiresome. After a while, it gets downright uncomfortable. But I don't want anyone to be left out. 

Then, one day, the big explosion comes. I am trying to explain something to her--I don't remember what. Whatever it was, the reaction is not a good one. She slams her hands over her ears and starts chanting, "I'm not listening! I'm not listening!" Then she stomps her feet angrily and runs away.

I am stunned. I go to her house. She refuses to see me. Her mother makes excuses for her. I begin to see the problem. 

No boundaries. No rules. No consequences. 

Yes, indeed. Spoiled and pampered and excused. 

I may have continued to try with her--I did feel sorry for her. But the family moved soon afterward and we never made up. 

Or...maybe "made up" isn't properly what we never did. Maybe we just needed to transition from the discomfort of her outburst and go on as if things were better. 

I'm long past nine years old now, and I still wonder if that could have been possible. Even at that age, I understood that when you coddle and enable and excuse certain behaviors, things are going to go badly out of whack. 

My parents raised me right. 

Now--does any of this sound a little too familiar? 

If I recognized this behavior at the age of nine as something NOT COOL, how could I miss the same sort of thing in certain people now that I am a grownup person?

I call this the "It's my ball" syndrome. 

We all knew that kid, too, right? He was the one who owned the ball. Baseball, football, whichever. It didn't matter. "My ball, my rules!" 

Yeah. Meaning, he got six strikes, not three. He got to make the touchdown, even if that meant everyone else just got out of his way and let him run. He got to pitch, even if he couldn't throw the ball all the way to the base. He got to kick the goal. 

It didn't take the rest of us long to decide to pool our money and get our own ball. Who wants to play with a kid like that?

Well, the kid grew up and got old. He got a different ball (golf, anyone?) and he wants to change the rules, or he's not going to play with us.

Again, I say--who wants to play with a kid like that? 

We've come a long way toward pooling our change and getting our own ball. Now we just have to expel the spoiled kid from the playground. He doesn't get six strikes and he can't throw well enough to pitch. He can't kick, and he can't run a touchdown. He needs to get off the field. 

And when he slams his hands over his ears and chants, "I'm not listening! I'm not listening!" someone needs to shove a bar of soap in his mouth and put him in a corner for a time out. No more spoiling and pampering, and no more excuses. 

Time to grow up, pack up your toys and move on, so we can transition and things can have the chance to get better. 

There. I said it. Let the hate begin. 

 October 12, 2020

10:55 a.m.

Happy Indigenous Peoples Day!

I never liked "Columbus Day". It never made sense to me that there was this huge celebration of the so-called discovery of a place where my ancestors had been living for hundreds of years. As I once said to my 2nd grade teacher, Mrs. Fox, if there were people already here, how can they claim discovery?

Her answer was not acceptable, no matter how reasonable she tried to make it seem. The discovery was by "civilized" people, she explained. 

I liked Mrs. Fox, so I kept my smart-ass 7-year-old mouth shut. It never paid to argue with old women who weren't related to you. Well, it didn't pay to argue with the ones who were related, either, but they had to continue to like you, because you were family. 

I wanted Mrs. Fox to keep liking me. She was my teacher, but she was also my friend.

My argument would have been that the people who came to this land were not civilized. They were the savages. They ravaged the land, raped and pillaged and destroyed. 

I haven't acknowledged the day since I was a child, and that was long before I knew I was an actual Native of this land. I had anecdotal knowledge, but it has since been verified by DNA. 

Oddly, I was often that person who held her tongue to avoid arguments that couldn't be won, but the older I get, the less inclined I am to keep my mouth shut.

I like that it has finally been addressed and there's been a name change for the day. I just wish it would be accepted in all circles once and for all. 

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11:34 a.m.

I feel like I should address the five months that passed by since my last post here. 

I have another blog at Penz-O-Paula where I post mostly short fiction stories, and it has kept me occupied and distracted through the most horrible of years. 

Reality in 2020 is worse than the horror stories, worse than the apocalyptic tales. Definitely stranger than fiction. 

Starting in May, it became a nightmare around here. I'm still not ready to talk about it much. Suffice to say that things which were bad enough already were made so VERY much worse by this pandemic, and knowing that things never had to get to this point makes me even more upset than I would have been in normal circumstances.  

I was finishing up a book in the early part of the year, and the manuscript is currently sitting there, curser blinking, waiting for me to get back to it. I will; it might take me a while, though. It was all sort of wrapped up with Dad. We talked a bit about it, and although he never remembered it, when we were in the middle of a talk, he had interesting things to add to it. So...it's hard. But I will finish!

(Now I have to!)

The fiction blog gets a lot of attention these days, because it is easier for me to deal with make-believe than reality. 

At some point, I will catch everyone up on the events of the last few months. There's a lot to unpack. 

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This afternoon we're headed to get Mom's hearing checked. I reckon they will turn up the volume in her hearing aides. 

I should get mine checked. Seriously, though, I only suffer from "selective" hearing. 

However, I am not as good as I used to be about blocking noise out. I have lost my "kids are noisy but not hurt so ignore it" mom filter. Dang. That was dead useful, and now it's broken. I have to restrain myself when I want to say "Shhhhhh! Old lady in the room!" Ha ha!

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It's October, so I have planned to go on a ghost hunt at the local haunted library. I want to see a ghost. My sister doesn't. So this should be FUN!

Trick or Treating will be an interesting prospect this year.

I am so tired of this pandemic. I want to go out and do things. People are, but I have my mother to think about, and I won't risk her health. Besides, my own health history means I am high risk, too. Doggone it. 

I have a lot to say about this subject, but I think I will skip it for now. No more negativity today. 

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Take a minute today to tell people you love them. Wash your hands. Wear your mask. Social Distance.

And have a great day! 

April 28, 2020
5:50 p.m.

How many days have passed by since New Years' Eve 2019? Don't worry, I'm not going to bother with counting them down, because it doesn't really matter. We have almost reached the 5th month of 2020, and I am considering the irony of my hopefulness in starting a new year, when 2019 had been a bit of a bitch.

Now, I rather long for the inane inconveniences of last year, don't you?

Whatever went wrong last year, at least I could visit with family members, take in a movie or go out to dinner. I could go on a trip. I could go to the library.

I have been out of the house once in the past 6 weeks, and that was for groceries. Whoop-dee-doo.

In a few days, I will begin a new decade of life. This strikes me as odd and unbelievable, particularly since it was once my fervid belief that I could never turn 40, and the year 2000 could never come to be. It was an insane notion. Science fiction. Never gonna happen.

But, of course, it did. Since I am currently still alive (to the best of my knowledge, but who can say for sure? Perhaps I am just a figment of my imagination) I did turn 40 and the year 2000 not only happened, but time continued to fly by.

Needless to say, 2020 was another year that seemed obscure and unimaginable to me. Sure, we made it to the 21st century, but how long could it last before we just--poof!--blew it all away?

Now, that question doesn't seem silly at all.

In the past few years, I have come to realize that the planet is populated with increasingly dumber beings. This surprised me. I thought with all the technological advances, people would get smarter. That doesn't seem to be the case.

Instead, I have watched, appalled, as gullibility has multiplied about a hundred-fold. If you spoon-feed the masses false information laced with just enough truth and as much candy-coating as they require to swallow it, people will eat it up by the truckloads.

Now, having said that, if I go no further, I can count on people from all sides of the spectrum to agree with me regarding the people on their opposite sides. Apparently, we all think we're right and everyone else is wrong. We're sane, and everyone else is crazy. We're smart, and everyone else is dumb.

I'm not excluding myself from this; I know I'm right, and sane and smart. So, there!

Enough people know me, know what I believe or don't believe, who I believe or don't believe, and what sort of choices I will make based on those beliefs. Other people don't have a clue, and I'm not going to enlightened or disillusion them of anything on this platform. What I think about things isn't the point of my little rant. My point is that I, myself, am disillusioned to learn that so many people I regarded as intelligent and sane have now proven to be completely off their rockers, and it makes me sad.

I am a consumer of literature, and as a consumer, I have devoured a ton of science and science fiction, a ton of fiction and non-fiction, a ton of conspiracies, spies and intrigue, murders and mysteries and mayhem, true crime and fantastical "perfect" crimes, drama and comedy, fantasy and horror. None of the nearly six decades of drinking in story after story after story prepared me for the dramedy/horror/crime/conspiracy/whatever the hell else that is today's so-called reality.

Honestly, even decades of television didn't prepare me for this. Of course, if there had been a show like The Walking Dead Meets Perry Mason in Peyton Place, I might have had a clue what awaited me in this century.

Do you get it? The Walking Dead is about a pandemic that eventually will turn everyone into a zombie. People rush to self-isolate, all while hoarding food and other products and fighting to the death for gasoline and toilet paper. In the meantime, the government is holding he said/she said and I didn't/he did trials in public, denying that anything is wrong, or that anything is happening, or that anything ever did happen, and Perry Mason points at the guilty party, but no one will believe him. In the meantime, everyone is sleeping with someone else's spouse, diddling the help and the kiddies, and pretending to be higher and mightier than the next guy, all while hoarding all the money and letting the poor fend for themselves, and...

Yeah, I don't want to watch THAT show.

But it's on every day, and we call it THE NEWS.

Ugh.

I think I'll go watch Star Trek and pretend it's 1966.  At least then everything went off the air for a while every night, and we could look forward to men on the moon.

Unless that's not true, either. Or it was really Mars. Or someone besides America got there first.

Sigh.



Author's note: this was previously published over five months ago. Things have certainly not improved since then, and have, in fact, gotten considerably worse. When I update stories, I like to have some sort of resolution. Sorry. 

April 15, 2020
2:23 p.m.

Kaylea and Wade with Tabitha and Rafe

Shayla and Journey

Molly

It's April, and that means it is time to celebrate all the April babies! These are some of mine, and I love them all. Happy April Birthdays!!
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Today would usually be tax day, but due to weird times, today is NOT tax day. Don't worry, it hasn't been cancelled, just postponed. The IRS will be happy to take your money soon.
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In other news, it is snowing. I am ready for this to be over. Sunshine and flowers, hurry up.
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Happy thoughts only. Happy thoughts.

Well, once again, it is the birthday month for all these cuties. Kaylea, Shayla, Journey, Wade and Molly--You are April diamonds. Shine on!


Y'all shine on, too!

April 13, 2020

It's Easter Monday, and ages since my last post.

I have been focusing on fiction this year, mostly because real life has gotten so very strange.

That said, some of the fiction I wrote last year seems like a bit of foreshadowing in these recent days. My book, Starting in the Middle of The End, focuses on a trio of little girls who are caught up in a dangerous situation and eventually moved to an underground hiding place during events that leave the world changed forever. Dystopian stuff, but now a bit weirder to me in light of things going on.

Last winter I wrote a short story featured in my book Scribbles: A Short Story Collection called A Little Cold, where things went a little sideways. It was written and in editing before the current situation hit the news.

Am I weird, or what?

Now, this current situation is something we need to be aware of, and we need to have good and reliable information going forward. I don't feel like we're getting that from the current Administration. Anyone who spends three quarters of each interview making excuses and placing blame and calling people names is not someone I have any faith in.

As I write, I am listening to yet another press conference, and feeling very much like I might puke on my shoes. I have no trust anymore in what is going on in the country.

That said, I have been heartened by the response of Governor Jared Polis in Colorado. I feel that he was much more proactive than many, not including Cuomo in New York, and if everyone had done as they did, things might look better today.

Now they're talking about re-opening the economy. The Thingy announces that he has all the authority over all the states to do this, which is a lie. He says no one needs ventilators, things are doing better, everyone is getting all the ventilators they need.

The lies go on and on.

I feel a need to stay current and that need is in direct opposition to my need to filter the bullshit by turning everything off.

Sigh.

You can maybe see why I haven't posted much real-time commentary lately. It's depressing. Plus, I don't feel like arguing about it.

Hey, I plugged a couple of my books. Go get them and read. Escape for a while. Enjoy.
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Easter happened.

It didn't happen the way it usually does, and that makes me sad. We usually have a nice family dinner with everyone, but yesterday it was just Mom, Dad and me. Homemade soup, biscuits and fresh apple pie. It was delicious.

But, wow. It was lonely not being with everyone.

My reaction? Look at really old Easter photos. 

Ha ha. Check out my terrible fashion sense in that top photo. What on earth was I thinking? I'm sad to report that my fashion choices haven't much improved over the years.

Anyway, Happy Easter to all. 

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My New Year's resolution to write more is a bust, and I'm not going to repeat it here. I will try. I do write another blog, and it features mostly fiction. It's easier for me to cope with make-believe these days. You can read that at Penz-O-Paula. I hope you'll visit and follow me. 

In the meantime, please safe. Make sure you follow those Social Distancing guidelines. Wear a mask when you go out, but stay home as much as possible. Wash your hands. Wash them a lot. Wash them some more. 

January 13, 2020
12:52 p.m.

Birthday shout-outs are in order today. To all these January babies-- Leiah Joyce Sisson, Eliel Ibarra, Valerie Ibarra, Maggie & Xavier Amaya--Happy Birthday!!! Have a wonderful year, and a wonderful everything, and know that I love you!!

Valerie and Sam

Leiah

Jose, Carlitos, and Eliel

Megan, Mariah

Maggie, Santa and Xavier

No doubt there are more January birthdays, but I think I got all of them so far this month. 

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5:55 p.m.

I have this thing about New Years. January feels like the wrong time for me to start a new year. I am not crazy about January. It's cold. It gets dark too early. It's cold. The daylight doesn't last long enough to get anything done. And, damn it, it's cold. 

Now, all my snow loving buddies are going to get me over this. Hey, buddies! Enjoy your ski trip. Don't break anything, have fun, drink some cocoa for me in the lodge. Good on you! January is all yours, with my blessing. 

I don't know who decided that January 1st should mark the beginning of a new year. Why not April 1st, when new growth is happening? Flowers are making their first appearances, trees are showing off new leaves, grass is getting green. That's NEW. In nature, this is about the time for new babies to make their debuts--calves, lambs, foals, deer, bunnies. Nature is smarter than we are--it knows when things are NEW. 

People, now... not too bright, are we, starting over in the dead of winter? That's when the only thing new is the strained back and the sprained ankle we got from shoveling snow and falling on the ice! 

I'm not really dissing January. Well, I am, because...brr! But no. I'm not. I'm dissing January as the beginning of a new year.  How can anything be new when a good portion of nature is actually sound asleep? Can't we start the year when the bears wake up? 

Of course, while Spring makes the most sense to me as the beginning of a new year, there is a part of me that still considers the first day of a new school year the real new year. Of course, I was that rare child who actually loved school and looked forward to day one every year. New grade, new teachers, new classes, new things to learn. Maybe new friends and sometimes even new schools! So exciting! 

As a parent, this was still my new year, getting the kids new clothes, shoes, school supplies. NEW. Starting over. 

January seems like the Wednesday of months, the hump you have to get over on the way to Friday, which I suppose is somewhere around June. 

Yup, I am not a big fan of January. I am currently one great big arthritic ache, and at some point in my life I may have to consider a warmer climate. 

It's cold. 

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I have spent most of the last year here in Wyoming, care taking. I've been trying to figure out the mail schedule, and I have to finally admit that there isn't one. It comes when it comes. I don't like checking the mail in the dark, but mostly that's what happens. The only days it comes early is when I am trying to mail something out. Then, even if I hit the mailbox by 10:00 a.m., the mail has been delivered. It's like someone knows....

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My parents have had the same telephone number since 1966. Every telemarketer in the entire world has it, and I think half of them have called today. Sheesh! 

Remember when our cell numbers were unlisted? I wish they still were. I have gotten so many calls lately. The one I get most is to remind me that the warranty on my car is about to expire.

I haven't owned a car since 2005. I think they're a little late, don't you? 

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Well, I am off! Stay warm, drink something hot, cover up, be cozy! 

Monday, January 6, 2020
5:18 p.m.

Happy New Year!

It's the 12th day of Christmas, and the wise men have finished their journey to the manger to pay their respects to Mary and welcome her son, Jesus, to the world.

In some areas of Mexico, children will fill their shoes with hay or grain for the camels and burros that carried the gifts to the newborn babe.

If you're here in the US, you can take down your Christmas tree.

The way I'm going, that tree might stay up all year. Ha ha. I like it. It's pretty. It's not going to die. It's cheery.
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I have been horrible about keeping this blog going in the past year. When I started it, I wanted it to be filled with family anecdotes and news and good, cheery thoughts.

2019 was not a cheery year.

Oh, I did post about family reunions and travels. We had some good times. We enjoyed our trips, saw pretty sights and spent time with great people, and I was happy to write about those things.

But, since I have been so determined not to write a bummer blog full of complaints and sadness and such, I found I had little to say in 2019.

You know, nothing bad happened directly to me in 2019. I have been housed and fed. I have clean clothes and shoes. I'm good.

But, as a mother, grandmother and daughter, I've experienced peripherally the pain my family has been going through.

Last year saw my daughters go through betrayal, abuse, stalking, robbery and vandalism.

My son has had several health issues.

My grandchildren have had to deal with the consequences of adults' bad choices.

My father is shrinking. I mean it. I feed him up all day, and he keeps losing weight, mostly muscle. He is in one stage or other of dementia, and I feel so helpless because I can't do anything about it.

I admit it. I'm a fixer. Present me with a problem, and I go to work trying to take care of it.

These things have been beyond me. No matter what, I can't change some things, and it really ticks me off.

I can't fix mean people, including but not limited to spouses, who think it's okay to treat my girls like crap. I mean, I could...but it might not be legal. I always said "Hurt my baby, and I will hurt you." Easier said than done. But I will help in all ways possible to get them away from the bullshit and on their feet.

I can't do anything to make my son's health improve faster than it is. And it is improving, so there's that. But it has not been fun knowing he hasn't felt his best.

I can't cure dementia. All I can do is continue to take care of Dad and hope things progress slowly and that he will always know who we are and how much we love him.

So, here I am in the first week of the New Year, bitching about the old one. I want to be hopeful that 2020 will be better, but if this past week is any indication, I'd be wasting my time.

Australia is on fire. Politics and the associated bull has divided our nation, and now we appear to be on the brink of a war that is largely a political ploy. We can't trust anyone; even the so-called Faithful have proven themselves to be seeking riches and attention on earth instead of storing up their riches in heaven.

Socially, we're walking backward. Fewer rights for women. Fewer rights for the disenfranchised. Fewer avenues of help for the poor and hungry.

What has happened?

Okay, so here's the terrible deal. This blog is called MeThinks, and these days, I don't always think positively. I will do my best to be cheery and optimistic, but in the coming year, you might see a few literal bitch-fests.

Feel free to chime in!

Let's try to have a happier new year. Hang in there!