"You Used to Be So Normal"

I have a confession.

I voted Republican pretty much exclusively till about ten years ago.

My family was working class middle class Lutheran class Midwesterners settled into a mid-sized town squished between Milwaukee and Chicago and perched precariously on the shores of Lake Michigan.

So here's what I was taught-

-Work hard and you'll be rewarded. At least well enough to keep your family fed and clothed and housed. Which is all you should expect- just that is enough to say daily prayers of thanksgiving for and anything more is frankly a burden most people can't handle.

-Pray sincerely and you'll be rewarded. There's a special place in Heaven for good people who attend church, tithe without fudging and kick a little something into the (socially approved) charity of your choice for extra bonus Angel Points.

-Listen to your teachers and get good grades in school, for therein lies the path to success, to contentment, to a life every bit as good as your parents' and grandparents' lives. A 9-2-5 taxable employment, a mortgage, a marriage, 2.5 perfect children.

Anyone not following the above rules and steps and who succeeded anyway was unusual, and anyone not following the above rules and steps and did not attain the (implied) promised rewards was doing it wrong. Hadn't tried hard enough. Needed to (cue music)...

... pick themselves up, dust themselves off and start all over again.

It's what the Republicans believed, so I voted Republican, as did my parents and their parents before them.

Then things got sorta wonky.

Despite following all the rules (I had employment, church, a marriage, a mortgage, and the appropriate number of children) everything fell apart.

My marriage ended. My church looked at me sideways. I had a hard time on my own keeping the house...and the children.

What the hell?

Surely I had done something wrong so I...

...picked myself up, dusted myself off and started all over again. In Texas.

I worked damn hard- two full time jobs- one day job and one night job. I bought a house and found a (tremendously fabulous) husband. We had a baby.

I did not find a new church. Though I had no quarrel with God, I was kinda miffed at the church for abandoning me. That was the first paver on the path to being a non-conservative.

But still I voted Republican.

Then Ward got sick.

He had insurance through his job- a job he'd held for well over five years and had never missed a day of work. Ward's cancer took a fair amount of time to take care of- several surgeries and hospitalizations and all of it painful, awful, exhausting, disfiguring. The man never took a minute to recover. We drove to the cancer hospital the day before surgery (or 2 days before if pre-op appointments were needed), he had surgery, was discharged from the hospital, we'd drive home the next day and the day after THAT? Back at his desk at 8am.

He worked through six weeks of radiation.

He worked through it all not because he loved his job- frankly he didn't. He hated his job and it was killing his soul to be there. I'd watch him go off every day and my heart would break seeing his shoulders stoop a little bit each step he took to the car. He worked because it was the right thing to do...and he needed the insurance.

It ended up not mattering.

He got fired (sorry- "downsized") because the company was going in another direction and for losing a lot of work time "to this cancer-thing".

COBRA was hideously expensive- it would have taken his entire salary just to pay for it, except he didn't HAVE a salary anymore. The high-risk pool wouldn't take him till he was ineligible for COBRA and had used it. He was without insurance. And with cancer, heart disease, and diabetes.

The next scheduled scans we were told had to be paid for in advance, in cash, no exceptions. No matter that he'd had insurance up to that point. No matter that he'd been approved for Social Security Disability that would take effect a few months hence. No matter he was already a patient. We were told that if we couldn't afford the scans, we could wait till the SSD kicked in and that "He probably won't die before then".

Said the little girl in the business office with no medical experience.

I started looking hard at those around us. ALL those around us. Alot of them what I would've considered "slackers" in my younger years.

People losing their homes, their jobs, their everything due to illness, due to the economy, due to circumstance beyond control.

And it had nothing to do with how hard they worked, or how fervently they prayed.

Shit Just Happened.

The whole "work hard/pray harder/be rewarded" ideology turned out to be a house of cards, a smoke screen, fallacy and fairy tale.

I couldn't stomach the discourse anymore. Because I knew better. I had seen the Truth, and it was bitter.

Here's the thing.

You'd think it would be claw yer eyeballs out scary to know that all of the by-the-book-rules that form the foundation of conservative society are hogwash, but it's really not.

After the initial "HOLY SHIT WHAT DO WE HOLD ON TO NOW???" moment it's crystal clear.

We hold on to each other. Help each other. Care for each other. Respect each other.

Whether they "look" like they "deserve" helping or not.

Because the truth of the matter is it's not OUR place to judge. It's our place as card carrying members of the Human Race to care for each other.

Not tell each other what to do, how to live, what to think, how to vote, what can be done with your own personal body, how much care you or your loved ones have EARNED according to some bullshit manual or doctrine- part of being human is the acceptance and respect of the Free Will of others and compassion for their distress for Yea Verily all of us will at sometime or other be so distressed...or worse.

I stopped being a black/white right/wrong conservative not because I couldn't play by the rules I grew up with, but because I realized that the only way to "win" using those rules is to be lucky. Literal Dumb Luck. Merit had exactly zero to do with it.

I became a tree-hugging bleeding heart liberal not because I go through life wearing rose-colored glasses and wearing flowers in my hair, but because I don't. I see injustice and I hear intolerance and my hair is gray and my soul weeps.

Life is hard. Shit happens willy nilly and without warning or reason.

And though we may FEEL more secure holding onto false truths and bogus rules, we'll BE more secure once we realize that the only safety net consists of...each other.

A Tale of Two Gizmos

I don't do product reviews.

Not for any altruistic or moral reason, mostly because I don't use a lot of gadgets, tools and whatnot.

We're ridiculously low-tech and I don't use any girlie-type items- no curling irons, hair dryers, or even makeup other than mascara and lip gloss.

In the kitchen I don't employ dishwasher, garbage disposal, automatic ice maker or blender, but I DO loves me my coffee pot, bread maker, electric knife (to slice aforementioned bread) and the little hand mixer my first husband's grandmother gave us for a wedding present...32 years ago.

I'm not allowed to use most power tools. An unfair but probably wise rule.

That's not exactly true. I'm not allowed to use ANY power tools. Or use a ladder with more than 2 steps without close adult supervision.

My POINT is that generally speaking, I don't have cause to rate most "As Seen On TV" type items...

...until now.

When we built this house we were undecided as to what to do about the floor. So we did what we generally do. We did nothing. The house is on a cement slab and we told the concrete guy that until we knew for sure how we were going to finish the floor we were leaving it nekkid, so he put a very nice finish on it. We then sealed it with low-gloss garage floor sealer.

It looks fabulous.

With all the different natural surfaces (all wood walls,ceilings and trim- aspen, pine, cedar) and the vibrant colors and patterns of the Stuff of Our Lives, the varying but muted shades and whorls of gray pull it together calmly and without fanfare.

So we love it.

But how to clean it? I hate hate HATE any of the floor cleaners- they all leave some sorta filmy-to-sticky layer and smell like hospitals. On the other hand, we need to keep it as clean as possible.

Enter the Shark.



You've seen 'em on TV. I know you have. Uses just tap water, super-heats the water and steams the dickens outta the germs on yer floors.

And I love it.

I read the reviews, good and bad, decided the good outweighed the bad but purchased it locally...just in case.

So here's the skinny on the Shark.

I sweep the floors to get all the big chunks, because unlike a mop, the Shark won't catch up stray stuff unless it's dust. I use a cup of water to do the entire 1,498 sq. ft. and it takes me less than 30 minutes.

It takes 30 seconds to heat up and start steaming. It's gloriously silent except for the gentle hiss of the steam hitting the floor.

It dries instantly, leaving the floor warm and shiny smoothy clean.

The re-usable pad gets tossed in the washer and cleans up fabulously.

So for the cost of the Shark you have the whole system- no special cleaners or disposable pads to re-stock. As long as you have access to a cup of water and a live plug, yer good to clean.

My personal rating of the Shark? Five Flippers Up. (Get it? Cuz it's named for a big fish...)

Still floating on the euphoric cloud of gizmo success, when I saw THIS at Home Depot, I had to have it-



Frog Tape.

Oh, sure it was roughly three times more expensive than the generic beige masking tape, but LOOKIT THIS STUFF!!!

I had 11 (eleven) doors to paint last week. 'Course they each have 2 sides, so that's...carry the 2, add a zero...a shitload of doors.

Took over 2 rolls of Frog Tape to secure the areas.

Read the directions. Taped, painted, waited and peeled.

A fair amount of the paint from the surface came up with the tape. A fair amount of the neighboring surface had bleed-through paint adhered to it.

So I thought "Hmmm...maybe I peeled too soon. I'll wait an additional 12 hours before taking the rest off".

(See two paragraphs up and add- a fair amount of the Frog Tape did not come off at all without extreme tenacity accompanied by liberal cussing.)

I was very disappointed in the Frog Tape. Very. Disappointed.

My personal rating for Frog Tape? Five flippers down. (Get it? Cuz it's named for an amphibian with little flipper-feet...)

So there you have it, fellow consumers- my completely politically and religiously benign opinion of infomercial household gizmos...

...As Seen On TV.

The Place For News

The interwebs are a wonderful thing.

Anyone with access to them can find out everything, everywhere, anytime. Check, verify, double-check, cross-reference and pretty much wring the truth out of any fact thrown down, gauntlet-style in front of them with the admonishment of "There! What do you think of THAT? Do you believe that shit?"

Well, no. I don't. Not generally.

If something sounds too wrong, too unbelievable, too shocking for words, it generally is. Except when it isn't.

And the place to get "the Real Deal" in the world is not the news. Or at least not one place in the World of News.

Because here's the thing.

Anytime you hear the news, read the news, see the news, there are these snippets of stuff in the side columns, between the stories, bracketing the sound bytes.

It's called advertisements, and it's all extremely spendy. So spendy that only huge corporations and organizations can afford it. They get huge by promoting their own self-interests and the various media pays their bills by promoting the advertisers, who will not pay for advertisements in a venue that makes them look redundant, or evil, or stupid.

That venue would be called "reality".

Don't get me wrong- we do watch programs that either claim to be news, or seem to have people commenting on the news that sound...not insane.

But if I want to know more, the interwebs lets me.

What's REALLY going on in the Middle East? There are real people writing, photographing, journaling it- now.

IS the labor protest in Wisconsin violent and messy? Lets look at the photos and videos and listen to the real teachers who are right there. We actually had this discussion at the dinner table- the polar opposite media devoured by different people in our family were showing wildly differing reports, but I stand firm and will believe my friend of over 30 years who's a teacher in Wisconsin, and who is THERE.

What DOES "Socialized Health Care" perform like? There are real people (a huge shit-load of 'em, actually) who live with it and will be happy to tell you it's more than OK- it totally Rocks.

We learned to listen to the real people when stuff started happening to US in our health care system. It stunned me that folks I know and see every day looked at me like I was lying to them when I would say, fer instance "Ward doesn't have insurance right now and we have to come up with several thousand dollars for his next scans". They'd look at me like I'd sprouted tentacles and say "What are you talking about? This is America- just walk into the hospital and they will take care of you."

Well, ya. That's what the talking heads say. The same talking heads that tell us on Good Morning America that spending $500 for the Ultimate Little Black Dress is a steal.

I guess all the years of schooling and working for others has made us sponges. Oh, and also stupid. Any old shit can be spouted out there and believed if it's spouted with enough conviction and to a large enough audience- no matter what reality looks like.

How can the governor of Texas stand up and say "Texas is doing great! WE can't run a deficit budget, why should our US Government be allowed to?" and be met with cheers and within literal seconds appear on another channel saying that we need to tighten our belts here in Texas due to budget constraints and close over 1,000 schools and lay off over 50,000 educational employees and be met with nods and agreement?

How can people scream for less government intervention in their lives and then holler that "We need to make damn sure we can tell all women what they can and cannot do with their own bodies".


How can people be so against socialized medicine and then scream "No one better touch my medicare!"?

How can the Founding Fathers' insistence of "NO official religion- but freedom FROM religion" mean that the Ten Commandments be posted in government buildings and "In God We Trust" printed on our money?

How can all that not seem ridiculously non-linear to even the most bullheaded narrow-minded person?

The Place For News is not in a news studio, or "on assignment".

News, Corporations, Governments, Banks, Insurance Companies, Organized Religions- all made up. All pretend. Mostly bullshit.

The News is Us. Every one of us knows what's going on if we unstick our eyeballs from the TV screen and look around- see what's happening in OUR house to OUR finances and OUR health and OUR freedoms- then multiply that by a gabazillion other real people around the world- people who are all connected now by the interwebs.

Let's talk to each other. Not those pretend "grass roots patriots" meetings financed by the big businesses, or anything else with any type of Sponsor.

Yanno how when you see someone on the street, at work, in the store and the automatic greeting is "How are you?"

Steal 30 minutes every day away from the talking heads who are paid to say what they do and paid even more if they do it sincerely while shedding a few tears and gnashing a few teeth- and ask the ordinary small people around you "How are you?" and then listen to the answers. Five minutes at at time. Six people.

Be patient- most people will spout what they've been told to believe at first. Gently insist on "How are you...REALLY?"

I believe with all my heart that our collective ordinary small agendas are remarkably similar even though we're being told, warned, screamed at that they're not.

Because the only way for the Bullshit Pretend Monsters to stay in power is to keep us all afraid of each other.

"Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain"...

Wow. Has It Only Been Six Months?

Today, March 21, 2011 marks six months from groundbreaking on our house.

The house that had been planned for years, literally drawn from scratch on graph paper and worked...and worked...and worked on till it was just right, just right for our favorite things and the space we all needed and dreamed of- not too big, in fact 1/3 smaller than our other house, but perfect for our uses, for our family. That house.

Considering how long we waited for it, the actual build went at lightening speed. Most "normal" houses take at least six months from start to moving in and we moved in on January 4th- just a tad over the three month mark.

And here we are.

The funny thing is I saw this place in my mind's eye for so long, and during such stressful times, that now when we're really here I have to pinch myself because I find myself thinking "Yes- this is just how the bathroom will look," and "Yes- this is the view I'll have out the window while I'm doing the dishes".

Because while I'm thinking those things I really AM in the bathroom and I really AM doing the dishes.

And as "at home" as we were in the old house- we loved the old house and had been there over 15 years- this house, this home, this place feels like we've always been here, our things have always been here in a fit that could only be possible by having been planned and built by us...for us.

Though we planned the house- didn't pick a plan, but specifically planned it just for us, we had it built. So all the hard stuff was done for us (with my supervision every. inch. of. the. way.) and we've been doing the finish work. All of the tile work, some of the staining and painting, sealing the floor, and the rock fireplace being the biggest of our projects...so far.

The tile was fun because it's all discontinued patterns and colors that have been collected over the course of about 3 years from the flooring place near where I work.


I'd never done rock work before, but I love rocks, and have a fair eye for balance and pattern. So I started with a big fireplace insert mounted on a platform and 4 yards of Oklahoma River Rock unceremoniously dumped outside the door.


Since I'm going for a free-form "Hey look- they they built the house around this rock pile ...no, wait- it's a fireplace" sorta effect I figured the more random and haphazard (read: Natural looking) the better.



It didn't take me too long to learn the Number One rule about this type of endeavor.

The rock must choose where it wants to sit.

*I* may think I have chosen the perfect rock for a spot, but if I place the rock and it tips off, no amount of mortar will hold it there, and even if I manage to perch it there against its will, it won't look right, and will actually weaken the integrity of all the rocks above and around it.

So I learned that I need to have on hand a variety of rocks- ones I'm pretty sure will work, and ones that look only slightly acceptable. More often than not, it's the latter rock that sets perfectly.

As I worked today, two things went through my head.

"Damn. Rocks are heavy."

and

"Setting rocks is akin to what we endured on our voyage Home".

Because it was difficult, sweat-inducing and sometimes dropped on our toes and turned the toenails purple?

Well ya. There is THAT.

But more than that,once we found this land, we wanted to build our house. NOW. Time after time we were delayed- finances, illness, fate, everything conspired time after time against us- even though we thought the time was right (mainly because we wanted it to be).

Here's what the delays allowed us- they allowed us to experience this place, this sliver of Earth and learn where and when the sun shines throughout the year, where and when the breeze blows, and exactly how to site the house to take advantage of those very important things.

They allowed us to re-think our original plan- a slightly modified stock plan that was bigger and more than one story- and make it...smaller and better and ours alone.

And once everything was in order- not just when WE wanted everything to be in order- the rocks set themselves quietly and firmly and almost without fanfare...

And here we are.

Full Moon Resolution

Lately I've been seeing a person I really don't like.

An impatient, petty, suspicious person who thinks badly of others without reason, she taints everyone around her with her toxic attitude.

She's in my mirror, the Bitch.

I hate when that happens.

Right or wrong, the atmosphere of the entire household- mine, yours, everyone's- depends on how Mom is acting and reacting to life around her.

That old joke "If Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy" isn't just good for yuks and giggles- it's true.

Tonight we have "SuperMoon" coming up over the trees. Right now, this very minute, and it's glorious.

Ward and Alec have gathered firewood around the fire pit and we put out the camp chairs.

I've got the Smores Staging Area all set to go, and Joe's waiting for the word and he'll hike the 50 ft from his house to ours to enjoy the SuperMoon Celebration.

I have so much to be thankful for. My family is healthy, and smart, and funny, and so very dear. We're Home, for real and for true.

I promise this night, the night of the SuperMoon, that I'll take care every day- take CARE every day to think before I speak, and to be kind and patient.

To hug more and frown less.

To honestly praise more and snark less.

To assume no ill intent from those around me, no matter what they do or say that inadvertently "hits me the wrong way".

To cherish more- not just when I wake up and before dozing off to sleep at night as I give thanks for another 24 hours with my amazing family in this amazing place, but

all day long.

To SHOW it and SAY it and LIVE it. All day long.

Because 150% of the time, those around me are doing their best to do their best.

Because 150% of the time, those around me love me no matter how damn unlovable I'm being.

And they deserve better.

Sometimes, You Just Gotta Back Off and Bake Something...

The world is going straight to hell in a handbasket and there's no denying it.

I can't get my head around most of it for the threat of my head exploding and making a terrible mess.

So much horror. So much stupidity. So much...

And I can't even formulate a coherent article from the scattered shards of disjointed frustration in my brain, so here's what I needed to do.

Breathe.

Look.

It's currently 79 degrees and sunny here in East Texas.

Directly outside my window 3 chickadees are fluttering in the pines. I can't hear traffic. I can't see another house. I'm Home. My family is here, too- and safe.

Sometimes the act of doing something mundane, ordinary, and normal is an extreme act of defiance in the face of freakish abnormality.

So I bake.

And I share.

I share the baked goods with my family and the recipe with ya'll.

And yes, I cheat and use a bread maker. If that's the worst thing you can say about me, I'll wear that with pride.

Peace in your families and in your homes. Never take a minute for granted.

Sweet Potato Bread

1 cup milk
1 large egg plus enough water to make 2/3 cup
3 tbsp butter
1 tsp salt
2 tbsp brown sugar
4 cups unbleached white flour
2/3 cup mashed cooked sweet potato
1 1/4 tsp yeast

add all ingredients to machine and set to "white bread" cycle.

His Brother's Keeper

I recently had lunch with my adopted son- two days before he left to take a job overseas for at least six months.

We were talking about Alec, and Jordan kiddingly said something along the lines of "That kid's gonna need a lot of therapy".

Since he was 2, Alec has seen his dad be rearranged and rebuilt from the cancer and graft replacements Ward's needed. We've spent obscene amounts of time in the bowels of the cancer hospital, which is not something most kids have to deal with.

We home school, not because we seek to shelter him from the evils of the world, but because there's no way the confines of a school can teach him all the world has to offer. I have two photographs from a few years ago- the first was taken in Audubon Park in New Orleans, reasonably close to the mouth of the Mississippi River. The second one was taken 6 weeks later in Minnesota where you can hop across a tiny creek- the beginning of the self-same river. Public school field trips to the fire station sort of pale in comparison...

He's been to 26 of the 50 states...so far. One benefit of spending so much time in Houston (at the hospital) has been our proximity to many of the finest museums in the country.

Although we didn't plan on cancer, home schooling has meant that I don't have to choose between leaving Alec here with friends so he doesn't miss school, or dropping Ward on the curb of the hospital. We pack up school and just go.

We don't have blood relations close to us, so have knit together a family that's proven even stronger than blood, and outwardly even stranger than fiction.

Were he in school, he'd only associate with children his own age all day every day, but he's with all ages in tae kwon do and art class, and adults in the hospital and here at home. He's comfortable in every situation, from asking pertinent questions of a museum curator to ordering at a good (read "the food is not in styrofoam boxes") restaurant to finding his way through the miles and mazes of MD Anderson Cancer Hospital to maneuvering our farm in the dark by moonlight on his bike.

When asked about the all-important "socialization" that being in school would provide, the indignity of having to ask permission to pee, the indoctrination of conditioning to react to bells and alarms and not questioning authority, dealing with bullies on the playground, jockeying for position in the jungle of monocultural social clique bullshit I'd laugh, but it's not funny. All I can say is considering what he's faced with grace and bravery, and the maturity and compassion he possesses, I think he'll do roughly 700% better in life than any of the mean little bastards pushing smaller children around for fun when the teacher's back is turned.

Were we in church, we'd be surrounded by people fundamentally the same (pun intended). But we're not. He's been exposed to all types of religion and beliefs and is forming his own opinions on how the Universe works and his place in it.

Among our adopted family members are people of all races, political ideologies, ages, religions, sexual orientations and tax brackets.

And here's the thing.

They all share one very important trait.

Every last one of them cares. They care for their friends and they care for their family. At one time or another they've every one of them been there for us and cared for us, as we strive to do for them.

Every last one of them has shown our son what it is to be human, and good, and decent.

If our son has learned not to be part of his peer group, or part of his church group, or even part of his race or parents' political leanings group, but to look first to the inside of a person- the literal "content of their character", then my contention is not that he'll need therapy because of his raising

but he'll be one of the lucky few of us who doesn't.



Be safe, Jordan- we love you.