Empath Alert!

Wait! Not that picture!

This picture!

I remember an early Star Trek episode that made quite an impression on me: women who were cultivated for their abilities to pick up on men’s fantasies and then become that woman. They were called empaths and were irresistible !” I think I have empath qualities that must be isolated and nipped in the bud. Not that I am worried about becoming a playmate goddess to men I meet--au contraire, I’m in danger of becoming an empath in other personality aspects.
For instance, while waiting in a long line at Best Buys, I couldn’t resist tossing a $4 CD of French music into my cart. I was desperate for music in the Jeep--I can’t listen to the radio because what they call “Christmas” music is that awful cheap chestnuts secular drivel. The Christian stations play versions of carols that sound as if the singers are a cross between the New Mainstreet Singers from “A Mighty Wind” and a gay chorus out of a Mel Brooks movie. So I really wanted some music that was not going to irritate. (Stay with me now--the empath part is coming!)
I put on the CD of French music and enjoyed it. And enjoyed it the third, fourth and fifth times. But then I noticed I was beginning to curl my lower lip down into a pout. After a couple of days I found myself shrugging my shoulders and muttering “absurd” as a reaction to almost everything. Pretty soon I was fighting the urge to take up smoking. That’s when I realized I was going into the empath mode! I wiped off my red lipstick, got out of my tight black sweater and black pants and stopped straightening my hair. You see how easily it happens? But then I noticed Empath Mode had crept in again.

The wrapped in black fashion statement adapted readily to attending the Orthodox Church for so many Christmas liturgies. I dragged out my ugliest heavy black shoes to go with my old black hippie skirt. The shawl from the old days was back in use as a head covering. I was wearing thick black tights that I’d forgotten I had! When I saw all the clergy with their high black Russian hats on, part of me tensed up as I waited for the sound of hoof beats from an approaching Red Army advance party! I really had to talk myself back to reality--I was not in a time warp where the Revolution was beginning and I was not getting ready for a casting call for the prequel to “Nickolas and Alexandra!”

Empaths beware! It sneaks up on you--it is part of the syndrome. Perhaps displaced persons are particularly susceptible. If I don’t watch it I will turn into one of the locals who glories in her gray hair and would rather forego the next Stop the War Rally than get highlights. Thank heavens I caught myself in time. By the way, do these shiny stretch bicycle pants make my butt look big?

Welcome to Northern California--again

I don’t need to click my heels to know I’m not in Kansas--I mean Bakersfield--anymore! I’m accepting that eating wheat grass will be part of my diet--me and Flicka. But tonight I had tears of laughter running down my cheeks at the great difference between the southern and northern halves of this crazy state. We arrived late at church this evening and tried to sneak in quietly. It was not to be. We had both dogs in the back seat with blankets(it’s COLD up here!) and Mr. T turned to make sure they were settled. He forgot he was in the environmentally correct Honda instead of the BIG CARBON FOOTPRINT Jeep and got his butt tangled up in the horn. Hello, folks! Then he came around to open up the car door for me and it was locked. I unlocked it just as he opened it--close, but no cigar. It set off the car alarm! More noise--why did we have to park right in front of the church doors??? He finally got that turned off and we just laid low in the dark for a few moments to let the dust settle. By that time we were very late so Mr. T went ahead to check out if it was a good time to slip in the back of the church unobtrusively. Just as he opened the door of the church some sick nut job set off a stick of dynamite! The explosion was so loud it sent out a pressure wave that almost knocked him across the threshold. Instead of a subtle gesture to come on in, I saw my very tall husband nearly jump out of his skin. I also saw a good-sized white cloud of smoke fill the air just across the street from the church. For those of you chatters who know what LOLPMP means, that’s what it was.
As church let out I overheard odd snippets of conversation--someone is “fencing and studying.” That was the first time I’ve heard ‘fencing’ used without the word illegal in the sentence in about four years. I also saw a grown male chorister wearing knickers and knee socks! Such things were not observed in the entire stay in Bakersfield.
So many other things have caught my attention--a man of some years--at least 90 of them--was taking his daily constitutional. He was also all hooked up to an iPod with speakers in both ears! What a great sight. He was walking at a better clip than I can but his iPod seemed so incongruous with his years. More power to him!

Stranger in a Familiar Land

It is wonderful to be out of the Minnie Winnie and under a real roof. At least when it rains it doesn’t sound as if someone is emptying a bucket of marbles just three feet over your head! And it has rained!!! I’d forgotten the correlation between lots of green and lots of rain. It’s also cold which has caused some forgotten joints to complain. But I will not complain--it is wonderful to be surrounded once more by beauty. The Mojave has its own special beauty that I will always love. But Bakersfield wasn’t the Mojave--I never quite figured out what Bakersfield was but am thankful to be released from that particular brain teaser.

Moving during the week before Christmas is not a good idea. Mr. T decided a tree was needed--never mind that we don’t have anything but what we had in the RV! It’s very impressive that just 5 days before Christmas one is able to buy a noble fir, two boxes of colored glass balls, three strings of lights and some gold ribbon to curl onto the branches for around $30.00 TOTAL!!! I couldn’t find a tree topper anywhere but did snag this odd burgundy feathered “thing.” A little hollowing out with a wooden spoon and we have a unique crown for our tree. Mr. T says it looks more like an ocotillo in full bloom but I think it’s just “too too!”
We are living in a retirement community. That means you have to be at least 50 to live here. It really means that the average age must be around 80. At least it’s a nice ego-boost to be so much younger than almost everyone you meet. Byrdie and Talus get taken to the polo field every day to run with their new homies. It is de rigeur to pick up after one’s dog and this presents a problem: picked up the poop isn’t hard to do but remembering to stop at the exit to the parking lot and deposit the S.O.S. in the garbage can provided can be a real challenge to folks of a “certain age.” And forgetting to make the deposit of the S.O. S. is something to be avoided!!!! It can really make a car unusable. So the locals have devised a wonderful plan--the S.O.S. is placed on the car windshield wiper on the driver’s side. That way it is nearly impossible to forget to stop and MAKE YOUR DEPOSIT. I have taken it up immediately.
The Orthodox Church is having Vespers every evening from now until Christmas. All we have to do is stay awake long enough to get to the church before it starts at 6:30pm! Tomorrow we are promised a land line, basic cable TV and high-speed internet. Dare we hope to join the Real World once again? I CAN’T WAIT!!!!

O come, thou Day-spring from on high,
And cheer us by thy drawing nigh;
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
And death’s dark shadow put to flight.

Birkenstock babushkas

If I had forgotten the huge difference between Bakersfield and Sonoma County I was reminded today in spades. Not one person was wearing jeans in church! We attended Great Vespers last night at the Russian Orthodox Church(OCA) and then Divine Liturgy this morning. The choir at this church is amazing--they sing so beautifully, effortlessly and as a single entity! It is like entering a different and more perfect world. I fall prey to St. Augustine's fear of beautiful music. But eventually I was drawn to the distractions of the other people in the church.

The first group that struck me were the aging boomers who can use the modesty in dress requirements of the
Orthodox church to continue to dress the same way they did while in college in the 60ies--long gathered skirts, shawls, scarf-covered heads and Birkenstocks. Hey--I could do this! I still have most of my college wardrobe anyway. Another group of worshippers are what I call the native Russians--you can tell the women because they have the highest stilettos I've ever seen and are generally dressed as if they can go nightclubbing at the drop of a prayer rope. The most interesting group are the Eritreans--they all take off their shoes before coming into the church and the women wear these long white wraps that go over their heads and over their shoulders. They wander about the church venerating icons and doing prostrations. At one point a young woman came up to the icon stand in front of me, moved the usual icon over to one side, and set out a new icon next to it. Suddenly, there were lines of people waiting to kiss the new icon. How they saw this happen is a mystery since it was nearly standing room only--but I learned not to get between any grandmother and an icon she has her eyes on--you get an elbow in the ribs!

All the women wear skirts and cover their heads. It's actually quite nice and I rather enjoy the different possibilities with head scarves. Since there are no pews, everyone just sits on the floor for the homily--I can say with great certainty that there is no way for any woman over 25 in a skirt to gracefully get up off the floor without assistance. It doesn't look all that great even with a helping hand.
All the candles reminded me of the eco-freaks who were demanding that the Jews light one less candle in the menorah. Give me a break!!!! I think the Russian sternness would wither any idjit who made such a moronic request. Hang the carbon credits! Light a hundred more candles. Each of the 9 choir members had a candle stand with 5 tapers in it to light the music. It was wonderful.
I wanted so much to snap off some photos of everything that was going on during the Liturgy. Somehow I just knew the Russians would not have the same tolerance of bling and glitzy that the Greeks encourage!
Another part of the worship that I especially appreciated was all the men serving the Liturgy. The men did everything. I can't imagine any woman not enjoying the sight of so many men making themselves useful.

We left church before the rush and headed out to meet with our realtor. One of the great driving hazards here is the hoards of skinny-butted, shiny-shorts, intense bicyclers that spread over the bike lanes and into traffic. I suppose they think they are helping save the environment--at least they don’t ride with lit candles--only this one with a lit cigarette.

Finding a house will be a long process I think. Prices continue to fall and no one wants to buy too soon only to watch house value fall below your purchase price. Also, I suspect many of the houses on the market for nearly a year now were taken off at Christmas so they can be re-listed in January as "new" listings. It's a slippery business.

We ended the day with taking the dogs to the polo field to run with their new homies. This is the great meeting point for dog owners. Very quickly you know all the dogs' names but few of the owners. I know that will come later. Byrdie is one of four Labradoodles who frequent the field and poodles are in abundance.

Back in our little RV we are grateful for shelter from the cold and rain outside. It's cramped but it's temporary. I'd forgotten what rain, fog and cold are like. And somehow, Dwight Singing Buck just doesn't sound quite the same.

Only Memories Remain.....

“They” say moving is one of the greatest stressors on “the list.” You won’t get an argument from me. Today began with moving the Minnie back to the old manse. The dogs were ecstatic to get to pee in familiar places!!! The rental car got returned with no hassle--yayee Hertz!!--and now I’m using the RV as my main ride. The oil companies will love me. Unfortunately I discovered that all SIX tires on the Minnie needed replacing. A large part of the day was spent in the waiting area of a tire shop--not a favorite chick haunt by any means. And now, of course, it needs an alignment. The handyman discovered that all our escrow papers and DEED TO THE HOUSE had been Fed-Exed to the empty house and left on the porch--last Friday! Everything needs to be signed, witnessed, notarized and sealed with blood.

Unfortunately with Mr. T in Texas it involves Fed-Exing everything everywhere. To cap off the day, the Jeep ended up requiring a new door so that has been ordered. The great question is whether or not we will actually all be ready to leave Bakersfield FOR THE SECOND TIME on Thursday!! I make no bets.



To make this story even more heart-rending, here is a picture of our Christmas tree this year. $6.00 at the Gottschalk’s sale--sigh. Notice the bottle of local Bako red wine. Thank God for good neighbors who loaned me an extension cord so I can sit at my puter and watch “White Christmas” and spend another night at the no-longer home but not quite past tense either.

I also include a picture of some cute carolers who entertained the seniors at the local Independent Living community. The wee one didn’t have a clue but provided the most entertainment. The rest were a fun girl scout troop who really did cheer up the entire audience. These things can mean a lot--certainly more appreciated by me this year since I have no real Christmas of my own. I’ll just ride along on any Christmas coattails I can.








A text that strikes closer to home than it ever has before:

O come, thou Key of David, come,
And open wide our heavenly home;
Make safe the way that leads on high,
And close the path to misery.

Living a Country Western Song

Homeless. Living in RV Park back on the streets of Bakersfield. The Jeep is in the shop having body work done after high desert wind did serious damage by blowing door into front fender. The lonely train whistle blows every half hour as the long freight trains roll past the RV Park. My man is in Texas and I'm still in Bakersfield. Notice a recurring theme? Now if I can get all this to rhyme and set it to a heartbreak tune I'll have a real hit on my hands. The only part that doesn't match is renting a Ford Taurus from Hertz rather than driving somebody's old pick-em up truck!

I've decided I must have done something really bad that I need to repent of. Otherwise, God wouldn't be letting me spend so much time in Purgatory. But this has led me to a greater understanding of Purgatory: I have reached the place of knowing that I would willingly give up whatever is keeping me here in order to get out of here! If there is any attachment still left, I'm at the point of renouncing whatever it is in order to achieve a greater good--the greatest good!

In any event, I did go to mass this morning. My first try was to go to the small Ukrainian Catholic mission that used to be on Truxton--it was gone. Signs gone. All gone. So much for good intentions! So I went back to the big sale at Gottschalks. Some guilt set in and I headed for a Catholic mass. There I was treated to a "miked" organist who chatted at the congregation while playing the introduction to the opening song--one could not call it a hymn. The homily equated Steven King with John the Baptist. I won't even go there. King was referred to as the 21st century John the Baptist and his commencement speech at Vassar was quoted extensively--Steven King, not John the Baptist. The bottom line was "when you're laying in a ditch with broken glass in your hair, no one takes Mastercard. WOW!!!" The 'WOW' was the priest's comment, not mine. I could have cried.

Upon returning to the RV Park I realized I had a serious math problem: a rental car to return and an RV to move out of the park. One driver and two vehicles. That dog don't hunt!!! Thanks to the help of a dear former neighbor I have made plans to at least keep the vehicles in one place and maybe even get the rental car returned. The Jeep is still in the body shop with no word so far on how the repairs are going.

I remember when I thought life was like a Bach concerto. And all it turned out to be was another verse in a generic Country Western song.

Chapter Endings

I don't think there's an experience quite so graphic for marking off chapters in one's life as moving. When the movers come in like an ant invasion, touching, shifting, packing, boxing up and disposing of everything that makes up one's nest, it's impossible not to feel a part of your life ending. It's the big Control-Enter that gives you the Page Up for the next phase of your life. We have been married 38 years and this is our 15th move. It gets harder, not easier. We are older now and the nest has been through so much. There is more to protect since starting a new nest from scratch is beyond the years or willingness we have at this point.

The accumulation is smack in your face during a move. The boxes and boxes and boxes......and you keep thinking that you had gotten rid of so much of your junk because THIS TIME it was going to be different. You don't need that stuff! Where did it come from??? If I had to name everything I thought was in the boxes--and I could only get back what I could remember having-- I think those items would fill maybe a quarter of the boxes that are on the trucks.

Taking the long road trips in the RV opened my eyes to the freedom of not hauling around a lot of stuff on the journey. It sounds so noble to type that. But in reality, one gets things, one is given things, one uses things once a year, etc. I could open a Santa's Village with just the Christmas decorations alone!!! It will be strange this year--we won't have a Christmas. We will observe Christmas--but we won't DO CHRISTMAS. I wonder if it will matter.

At this stage of our lives more chapters have been written and closed than there are chapters left to write. A good editor could pare this life story down to a few pages--no chapters even needed. Will this book have mattered?




In an empty house you see every nail still in the walls. Every spot on the carpet glares twice its discoloration. Every nick in the wood, every chip in the tile jumps out to the homeowner's eyes. I know--the movers must have done all that dinging. We were far too careful to have ever run a dolly into a white hall wall and left that black skid. That's it--it's all their fault.

I'm reminded once again that a major theme in most lives is that there are far too many good-byes compared to hellos. People go; health goes; scenery changes; concerns unimaginable in your thirties start to be traveling companions in this chapter.









Not much is humorous about a move I suppose. There are no funny stories to tell. I did ask the movers if I happened to bop Mr Toccata a good one would they put him into a big box and put him in storage in San Jose but they didn't find that amusing. Perhaps they've actually moved a body before! Maybe humor is cultural. However, I am happy to report that all the movers speak English and are all legal. That was checked and approved before the first roll of tape was out of the truck!




More will follow. We are now between residences as they say. Back to the desert for a few days to catch our breath then up to the Bay Area and into a KOA until we come up with a plan for the next few months. Now there's a good thought--for the first time in a quarter century we are without a mortgage payment!

Joy in the Desert

It's truly grand to be poking around the Death Valley area with one's RV, one's dogs and one's camera! The day was perfect and there was no schedule to keep. Still laughing over needing to be "downtown" Shoshone for wifi, I stopped to snap these pics of St. John(who else)the Baptist Catholic Church.

Here are some more shots of the amazing terrain outside Tecopa of the mineral flats, the hills, and the waters. Some of the pools here can hit as high as 118o. The muds are considered healing but after reading the warning sign, I opted not to get buck naked next to the road and slather up with mite-ridden mud.

The hills are so dramatic in this area. At times they are a quilt of colors; then the scenery becomes just shades of black and gray that more resembles a moonscape rather than California.

I'm always a sucker to get a picture of a fence, a road or a gate. These were abundant.

The biggest delight of the day was stopping at a new(to me) place just outside of Baker and south of Dumont Dunes. It's Cedar Salt Creek and an actual oasis in the middle of rocky dry desert. Birds filled what cedars were left--the government tree-huggers think the cedars must be evil and destroyed since they were introduced by humans.

Read the sign about leaving a few trees so they can bring joy to the birds! Where do they hire these people??? Wonder if the joyful owl leaves the dead mouse who came to enjoy the water with the same feeling of joy as it was plucked from the desert floor to become owl dinner?

I ended the day before heading back to Holy Resurrection Monastery by stopping in Baker to get one of the world's best strawberry milkshakes at The Mad Greek. "Mad" is the operative word here! The parking lot is filled with RVs, sand toys, big rigs all parked helter skelter. Inside it's total controlled chaos. I counted 9 counter workers just taking and filling orders. They were all yelling Spanish to each other. They had to yell because of all the people and the frantic Greek music blaring over the tinny speakers all through the joint! I got the last 3 spinokopita and was rejoicing in my good luck--but I rejoiced too soon. Byrdie managed to get them out of the bag and wolfed down before I got the RV maneuvered out of the parking lot. BAD DOG!!!

My ten new best friends

November 16, 2007 Friday Tecopa Hot Springs

Morning comes early in the desert. I was up by 7 to take the dogs out. Poor Byrdie has cut the pads on her paws on the salt flats. She is so intent on chasing the ball she doesn’t seem to feel pain. I will have to figure out some type of dog shoes for her.

(The German is out hand cleaning his car--washing of rigs and vehicles isn’t permitted in RV parks so he has a squirt bottle of something and is doing it one spot at a time. When asked why he was washing his car he replied that they’d had a few drops of rain and it had made dusty rain drop marks on the car. Well, duh!! It’s freakin’ Death Valley and there’s dust and the most rain ever seen at one time is 6 drops--guess they all landed on their ride!)
Coffee is served in the common room beginning at 7am--bring your own cup. I opened the door and was immediately greeting with “Good mornings!” and invitations to sit at the women’s table. Introductions were made all around. They seem to know each other and mark their calendars to be at this particular RV park at the same time every year. They have their Thanksgivings and Christmases here. I was invited to spend Christmas here if I wanted but I’d better hurry and get a space because they might already be filled up. The park supplies the turkeys and hams and there’s a sign-up sheet for everything else. When I told them our house had sold and we’d be living in our RV at Christmas one of the women said so matter-of-factly, “We got kids the same way--that’s why we’re here--please join us.” They cut to the heart of the matter so quickly.
I got some good advice during coffee: don’t back up your rig if you’re towing a vehicle! You get in the vehicle and back that up while pulling the rig the way you want to go! This was pure brilliance and I never would have thought of it. I just might get my nerve up one of these days to tow the Jeep.
Doggy advice from new best friends: take Byrdie down the road to the mud baths and let her swim in the water. The water is 118o in places?? Doesn’t bother dogs! The signs say to beware of mud mites but not to worry! The dogs swim, not walk in the mud. Smell like sulphur and mud when they get out? Not to worry! They smell better than when they went in! )
After coffee it was time to “take the waters” for the first time today. I solved the problem of the water making it hard to breathe if I have my chest below the water. I took an empty 2 gallon water container and used it to hold me up. It worked great and the 20 minutes flew by.
Inspired by the Germans I did a load of laundry and thoroughly vacuumed the inside of the RV. It has been so long since I’ve had the energy to do anything that it was actually enjoyable being able to be useful.
I have a busy afternoon lined up: get the washing off the line, “take the waters” again, walk the dogs, and be ready for Happy Hour at 4pm back in the common room! I could get into this routine very quickly. Dr. Dean Adell on TV says that the retirees who do the best both mentally and physically are those who have taken up Rving. I can see why--the people are so nice, there are lots of stories and an exciting pioneer spirit.

A Country/Western Music Confession

brought two new Cds with me on this quick trip: Alison Krauss “A Hundred Miles to Go” and Dwight Yokum’s “Dwight Sings Buck.” Both of these albums are A+ first rate IMHO. I’ve always thought that if one had a basic Country music vocabulary one wouldn’t even need a Bible to know all about life and how to live it. I began to imagine how similar listening to Country music is to going to confession.
How’s the world treatin’ you, Father?
Bless me Father, I think I’ve got a heartache.”
I shot a man in Tulsa just to watch him die.
I caught a south-bound train instead of going to Liturgy.
I committed murder down on music row.
I made fun of a boy named Sue.
Last time I was in Bakersfield I met a man I didn’t know, but I sure didn’t like him.
I tried to go down to the river to pray but instead I thought I’d put a bottle to my head and pull the trigger.
I’ve been singin’ Whiskey Lullaby instead of Amazing Grace.
And finally, Lord, if You’d just close up all the honkytonks, we’d be together again!
That about says it all. It’s been a whiskey-drinkin’, country music listenin’ kind of week.

Taking the Waters

Thursday, November 15, 2007
Tecopa Hot Springs
Run away! Run away! So I did and here I am. The place is Petersen’s Tecopa Palms RV park, resort, private baths and generally wonderful place. I’m just south of Shoshone which is just south of Death Valley--one of the truly beautiful places on the planet. I have no cell phone, no TV and no internet. Can one survive? And what does a person have to do to arrive in this paradise? In my case, it was reaching the breaking point on the stress-o-meter.
Our house went on the market 10 days ago at a ridiculously low asking price. Thanks to greed, incompetence and the general ineptitude of the plicks that run Bakersfield, we are living in the #5 city in the nation for foreclosures. 18 months ago our house would have sold for $200,000 more than we even dared ask in today’s plunging market. We priced our house $30,000 less that the nearest competitive house. After ten days of neurotic cleaning and vacating at the drop of a hat for prospective buyers, we ended up with two offers and one of them was for our full asking price. By the time I knew we had two bidders I couldn’t handle the stress and was in my trusty Jeep heading for the hills. During the two hour trip I got cell phone calls telling me that the house had been sold and that the movers would be there to pack us up in two weeks!!! Egads! We have no place to go! Mr. T has been working up in the Bay Area for several months but I’ve not been able to do any house hunting--thank you Bakersfield lung crud. Our plan is to live in the Minnie Winnie in a campground in the Bay Area and do some fast house-finding. But two weeks?? Not this girl! The choices are get the vapors and take to mah bed or head to the monastery, grab the RV and run away. I choose to run away!
Let me tell you about this area of perfect desert. The hills are purple, rugged and high. The desert is green with blooming greasewood--mesquite to the purists. The colors are magnificent and the scope of the landscape is so huge one really can’t take it all in. It was wonderful to be back in the rig and on the road. This time I have both dogs with me--a definite liability since the poodle hates to travel. But when one is getting out of town, one just grabs a toothbrush, change of underwear and the hooch. No time to book pooches into kennels.
I pulled into Petersen’s around 2:30pm and was greeted by several friendly campers and one of the owners. My neighbor is a German man who has retired in St George, Utah. He also drives a Class C RV and we chatted a bit about our preference for them over the Class As. Then he looked at my Minnie and asked if I had run into a bad bug storm? I’ll be the first to admit the rig needs a bath and that we are probably wearing a representative from every bug family known between here and Wisconsin. I looked over at his rig, sitting there in New RV right-off-the-lot splendor, complete with tire covers, and couldn’t help comparing it to my traveling entomological Exhibit A. I tried to make the excuse that they had wanted $50.00 at the truck carwash in Barstow to clean the rig. He totally agreed that was way too high and he would never pay over $30.00--but then he ruined it by saying he’d never had to wash his RV in five years!!!! But I bet Mrs. German-frau washes it every morning to keep it so pristine. Oh well--ah been sick
The dogs had a great run on the salt flats across the highway and even managed to find a muddy pool and stream to romp through. After they were totally exhausted I had my first soak in the mineral waters. These waters are one of life’s pleasures. The RV park has private pools so one doesn’t have to go publicly naked. After a certain age, one doesn’t want to even see oneself in a communal birthday suit setting! The water was at least 105o and so silky it seemed close to oily. It’s hard to sit in the pool longer than about 20 minutes before it’s too hot. I also get a bit bored. I kept a pen and notebook handy and most of my first soaking session was making lists of all the minutiae that buzz in my brain cells with so much happening.
It’s now evening and I’ve missed the sunset. By the time the dogs were fed and I’d poured a refreshing G&T I’d missed the light. That’s okay--tomorrow is another day. One last nighttime soak in the healing waters and it’s blessed sleep time.

Boomers Botch Up Halloween

Halloween. KIDS! Trick or Treat? Spooky costumes. At least it used to be. Back when we were children. We Boomers, that is. And our parents before us.

But what is different now? A Walgreen's commercial is a perfect example: the bus driver is dressed up like a trauma patient; a man in an elevator is a huge caterpiller; a young woman is a mermaid on a park bench tossing back a burger. Get the picture? They're all adults! Adults co-opting what used to be a kids' holiday.

C'mon Boomers--grow up! You're running out of time. Let's see--the oldest of us have passed the Big Six-Oh. The youngest Boomers are already FORTY-THREE!!! I have an idea--why don't we let the kids--or in many cases, our GRANDCHILDREN, have their little holiday back? And after that, maybe we can start making up for lost time with being the adults we should have been thirty years ago.

So this Halloween go with your children and grandchildren. Take THEIR pictures in THEIR cute little costumes. Leave the pumpkin and ghost manicures for the under 11 set. Forget dressing up like you're still carrying the candy bag door-to-door. You're old enough to buy your own candy if you need your sugar fix. And for crying out loud, stay home!! You're too old to think you're still at an age where it's "groovy" to be walking the streets and going to costume parties. Those are no longer appropriate adult activities.

Shame on NBC

Have you ever finally got to sit down and turn on the TV to watch a "favorite" show? Last night, after House, I turned to NBC (nbc.shows@nbcuni.com )to catch an episode of Special Victims Unit. By the half-hour mark I was steaming so bad I had begun to take names of sponsors and begin googling them to complain. This episode portrayed the United States as the Bad Guys--the worst of all Bad Guys ever!! The antagonists were Americans who had tortured the poor "victims" in Iraq who were terrorists. But was the real-world situation ever given lip service? No way! All the faces on the screen of these supposed "victims" were people who were obviously moslems--or mohammedans as George Washington called them. They were shown as shy, "reflective", randomly selected for torture and abuse by American doctors who were doing their job and enjoying it while in the military. It was such a piece of propaganda Hitler could have been proud. How could the actors have let their names be associated with such drivel? With such lies? And the media wonders why they have no credibility! My only hope is that switchboards all over the country lit up with complaints for littering the airwaves with this junk. As my grandmother was fond of saying, "It's a dirty bird that dirties its own nest!" Here is a copy of the email I sent to NBC along with six of the sponsors I managed to copy down before the show ended.

Today is Tuesday, Oct. 23rd, and I have watched one of my usually favorite shows, Special Victims Unit. I'm half-way through it and have to write and express my distaste at the blatant anti-American storyline. At a time when so much of the media loves to portray us as bad guys and an embarrassment to the free world, I can't stand turning on a fictional TV show that is using Americans as OFFICIAL torturers and murderers is disgusting. Why do you do this? You want to undermine the good we have here in this country? The whole issue of torture is only being tried in the liberal media--the jury is still out. Why don't you show brutal beheadings or the common degradation of women by these Moslem countries? No--you go out of your way to portray them as "good" and "helpless victims". Their religion is portrayed as "noble"--Christians are portrayed as pond scum. I'm really sick of it. Sick of NBC. Sick of all of you. You should be ashamed. And now I write the sponsors. Mucinex; Town House Toppers; Kentucky Fried Chicken; Ziploc bags(Glad products) Lindt chocolate; Hasbro/PlaySkool Toys--rose petal cottage.

Is It Me or Is It THEM??

Why can't things get done right? Why is nearly every transaction screwed up? My chronicles of incompetence continue. Today's story is about Kodak photo developing on-line.

While I was checking in at a KOA on my trip I noticed a very enticing stack of coupons put out by Kodak and appealing to KOA campers. It very prominently promised a FREE 20-print introductory photo album to KOA users who would try the Kodak printing for the first time. Examine the coupon--pretty simple, pretty clear. So, I stuffed it into my purse and didn't fish it out until I got home. "What's to lose," I wondered. Of course I shouldn't have bothered but some small part of my psyche still thinks companies don't lie.

I spent about one hour going through my vacation digital pics and choosing my favorite pictures of all the grandchildren. I thought a nice "Grandma Album" that I didn't have to print out myself would be good. Also, if I liked their work, it would be nice to sometimes get the printing done by mail rather than have to sit at the computer and print out my own shots.

I was a little suspicious when I had to sign up for a Kodak account to access the coupon's value but I'd done such things before. I spent another hour finally getting my 20 files uploaded and then it was check-out time. Sure enough, there was a space for me to enter my "special" code that would cancel out the usual album charge.

Hmmmm--that's odd; the total still read $23.50. Where was my free album? No place to email them with a question. No phone number where you can talk with a real person. At least I'd used Discover creditcard and they are fantastic about disputes.

QUANT. ITEM UNIT PRICE SUBTOTAL---------------------------------------------------------- 20 5 x 7" prints $0.99 $19.80---------------------------------------------------------- Subtotal: $19.80 Tax: $1.24 ------------- Shipping, US Postal Service: $2.49

RECIPIENT TOTAL: $23.53----------------------------------------------------------

Sincerely, KODAK EASYSHARE Gallery

Did you see anything about my coupon discount?? NO--it isn't there!
Now here's where it stands: Kodak MEANT that I would get a $6.00 discount applied towards my next order!!! Check their coupon again. Trust me--the back of it says nothing. Not one place does it say a dollar amount towards subsequent orders! It says FREE PHOTO ALBUM.

I will keep you posted on this issue. Kodak wants me to "refuse shipment" when the photos arrive and send them back. THEN they will credit my Discover card. What miserable cheapskae phonies they are. Did someone say BOYCOTT BABY?????

So, I am now fussing with Kodak pictures as well as Home Depot. Except Home Depot is easy! I've already told the painter to use any brand of paint he wants as long as it's NOT HOME DEPOT!

Future blogs will be about incompetence with Dell computers--although that one is such a huge example of total incompetence and Customer (non) Satisfaction that I will really have to be more succinct in the re-telling of it. Meanwhile--don't buy one!