The new house majority leader John Boehner turns my stomach. The man is going to waste precious time needed to fix the Disunited States economy by trying to undo all the work the current administration has done. The presidents plans are working, but it is just going to take time to undo all the havoc wrought by the Bush Administration on the country and the world.
The Republican's first act was to hold unemployment extensions hostage in favor of extending the Bush tax cuts including for the richest one percent of Americans. This is a typical Republican strategy geared toward creating an entire underclass of impoverished people. These are not the welfare queens held up to engender national disgust, and who actually comprise a miniscule portion of social services. The new untouchables are working families and head of households who who are earning less and less as business continues to send lobbyists to Washington to hold down wages. The Republican are fine with holding down wages. That's good for business.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
January freeze
It's January and the nights are long. We awoke this morning to seven inches of snow in the driveway. Today I filled the bird feeders and fed the rest of the uneaten Christmas mincemeat pies to the birds. Although I never seen them before, I have pigeons at my larder. I suspect they are the poor cousins to my mourning doves, just visiting for the holidays. I set out a crumb feeder, because my seed is expensive and they'll be just as happy with old banana bread. As for the gray squirrels, I'll pick up some corn-cobs next week. They spend a lot of time digging for the kernels and that gives the songbirds a chance at the sunflower seeds. I see deer tracks under the apple trees I use as a feeding station. They are after the fallen apples. They come right into the backyard and dig up each one from under the snow. We never see them, just their tracks. If I knew what time of night they come, I'd get up and look for them out the window. For now, they elude me, like wood sprites you only catch out of the corner of your eye. It's a delight, in a way to know the deer are coming to the yard. We are sitting on the north border of a small common, a triangle of a park with corners marked by the Depot General Store, the Police and Fire Station and our 1876 house. It's next to a deep forested area where they can run raids for apples and then retreat back into the wood. It's a very sleepy bedroom community. The biggest excitement is the horn that sounds when the firetrucks leave the station. I can't see that they have much interest in the birdseed, although it would likely give them some nutrition, if they ate it. The weather has been frigid, the result of an unusual arctic air mass that has stretched its icy veil down to Florida, no doubt sending the orange growers into a panic as they burn fires to keep the trees alive. The winter started early this year, has hit hard and been mighty cold. I'm setting out a little extra for those birds.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Remembering Karen
It was hard not to notice Karen. She was over six feet tall, probably weighed nearly 200 pounds, which for her height didn't look like all that much. She had long, grey hair that fell past her shoulders and which she didn't comb after the first time in the morning.
It was who she was that you really noticed. She worked in inventory control in the back room of a Walmart. She could be seen walking up and down the aisles of the store looking for this or that item of merchandise which would show up on the records as an electronic what-the-heck-is-that, and which the ICS associates would have to go investigate. It was her job.
She came into my department frequently and handed me her Telzon, the device we use to control our inventory, so that I could go search, identify and count the item. Our interactions were friendly, with an occasional joke about the name of a shoe, usually a person's name, and then she would go on her way.
I am short of stature, so when such a large woman comes walking up to you, it's a small event. I'd see her in the back room scanning merchandise into bins or preparing carts to be stocked for the salesfloor. We'd trade jibes and I'd pretend to be someone to fear if she got in my way, which was, on the face of it, ridiculous.
In the break room at lunchtime, she would have people laughing with her direct, no nonsense opinions. She called things as they were. We all liked her.
I would occasionally see her coughing, though. Sometimes her face would turn red. She had asthma and would use an inhaler. During the recent remodel of our store she was troubled by the dust and chemicals and about a month ago she quit her job to go home and take care herself. Yesterday, one of my coworkers met me upon my arrival at work. She told me Karen died. "Her son found her," she said.
There were few details throughout the day, while awaiting my ride home I learned that Karen had multiple health problems and was on medications for different conditions. Her last moments were came from a phone call to a manager. Karen apparently told her son she was tired and was going to bed, and when he went to check on her later in the night, she had passed away.
I cannot imagine what it's like for a son to find his mother dead. I can only guess it must have been excruciating and my compassion is with him.
We have all suffered a loss. The management of my store awaits information on the funeral, and there is talk they'll allow us to go if we wish. Out of respect, I plan to be there.
It's not that I need closure. I'll still see her, walking up and down the aisles or looking over the shoulder of one of her co-workers making sure they do it right. She would still come in to the store even though she wasn't working anymore. So I guess she'll visit us. And she'll be welcome.
It was who she was that you really noticed. She worked in inventory control in the back room of a Walmart. She could be seen walking up and down the aisles of the store looking for this or that item of merchandise which would show up on the records as an electronic what-the-heck-is-that, and which the ICS associates would have to go investigate. It was her job.
She came into my department frequently and handed me her Telzon, the device we use to control our inventory, so that I could go search, identify and count the item. Our interactions were friendly, with an occasional joke about the name of a shoe, usually a person's name, and then she would go on her way.
I am short of stature, so when such a large woman comes walking up to you, it's a small event. I'd see her in the back room scanning merchandise into bins or preparing carts to be stocked for the salesfloor. We'd trade jibes and I'd pretend to be someone to fear if she got in my way, which was, on the face of it, ridiculous.
In the break room at lunchtime, she would have people laughing with her direct, no nonsense opinions. She called things as they were. We all liked her.
I would occasionally see her coughing, though. Sometimes her face would turn red. She had asthma and would use an inhaler. During the recent remodel of our store she was troubled by the dust and chemicals and about a month ago she quit her job to go home and take care herself. Yesterday, one of my coworkers met me upon my arrival at work. She told me Karen died. "Her son found her," she said.
There were few details throughout the day, while awaiting my ride home I learned that Karen had multiple health problems and was on medications for different conditions. Her last moments were came from a phone call to a manager. Karen apparently told her son she was tired and was going to bed, and when he went to check on her later in the night, she had passed away.
I cannot imagine what it's like for a son to find his mother dead. I can only guess it must have been excruciating and my compassion is with him.
We have all suffered a loss. The management of my store awaits information on the funeral, and there is talk they'll allow us to go if we wish. Out of respect, I plan to be there.
It's not that I need closure. I'll still see her, walking up and down the aisles or looking over the shoulder of one of her co-workers making sure they do it right. She would still come in to the store even though she wasn't working anymore. So I guess she'll visit us. And she'll be welcome.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Tired today
Tonight I go to bed early. I'll get up at five a.m., drive to work for 7 a.m., leave at 2 p.m., go to visit my old mum and have dinner, then go back to work at 5 p.m. and stay until midnight. Then I drive home for an hour, sleep a few hours and then go back to work for 6:30 a.m. through 3:30 p.m. It's inventory time.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
March Comes in
I an engaged in a war with squirrels. They've decided that knocking down the bird feeders is the best way to get at the sunflower seeds they crave. Today the weather was warm for February, above freezing. The patches of ground beneath the feeders where the black seed hulls were carelessly dropped by the bird and squirrels caught the sun's warmth and melted the snow. There the earth shows through, but not for long. It's still winter and snow is coming tonight and through tomorrow.
I can see the damage on the branches of the apple trees where the feeders hang. The squirrels are trying to chew through them. This means I'll have to buy feeder posts.
I think of the squirrels as pests and would rather not feed them, but my mother-in-law thinks they have as much a right to the seed as the birds do. She is amused by them and thinks they are clever. I don't agree, but I might find some sort of cheap corn to keep them busy while doing what I can to discourage them from too much of my seed.
I admit they are amusing to watch. One little bugger responded to my throwing bread crumbs over the snow by burrowing across the surface with his front paws, propelling himself with his back legs. When he'd find a tasty crouton, he stopped to eat it.
I'm feeding the birds because my mother feeds them, and in doing so I feel closer to her. My Dad passed away last year, and his passing makes it clearer that she may only be here for several more years. Women in my family live into their 90s and I hope she will too. There's is so much more I want to say, things I hope I told my Dad.
In his failing years He lived back in World War II in the surgical hospital where he did his work in 1943. When I saw him I just let him talk. Now I wear a 1943 steel penny around my neck in remembrance of him. Time is passing. The birds are hungry again. I think I'll pop around the old homestead to see my Mum.
I can see the damage on the branches of the apple trees where the feeders hang. The squirrels are trying to chew through them. This means I'll have to buy feeder posts.
I think of the squirrels as pests and would rather not feed them, but my mother-in-law thinks they have as much a right to the seed as the birds do. She is amused by them and thinks they are clever. I don't agree, but I might find some sort of cheap corn to keep them busy while doing what I can to discourage them from too much of my seed.
I admit they are amusing to watch. One little bugger responded to my throwing bread crumbs over the snow by burrowing across the surface with his front paws, propelling himself with his back legs. When he'd find a tasty crouton, he stopped to eat it.
I'm feeding the birds because my mother feeds them, and in doing so I feel closer to her. My Dad passed away last year, and his passing makes it clearer that she may only be here for several more years. Women in my family live into their 90s and I hope she will too. There's is so much more I want to say, things I hope I told my Dad.
In his failing years He lived back in World War II in the surgical hospital where he did his work in 1943. When I saw him I just let him talk. Now I wear a 1943 steel penny around my neck in remembrance of him. Time is passing. The birds are hungry again. I think I'll pop around the old homestead to see my Mum.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Moments of Awareness
Satori, the Buddhists say, is a state of permanent enlightenment, a complete understanding of the connectedness of all things, that the individual is a part of everything, and indeed, everything is part of the individual. Separateness is a myth, and suddenly one understands there is no individual, it's just impossible. But because I'm attempting to describe this with words those enlightened souls would also agree I'm not there.
And yet we can have glimpses of this ultimate reality, through what the Japanese call Kensho. It's a moment of sudden realization given to ordinary people like you and me, an expanded awareness that comes on unannounced, unbidden, and which leaves us astonished and grasping for words to describe it.
It is the flick of a switch that lights our world, sometimes in the midst of the most mundane tasks. For me it was washing dishes. There I was one day many years ago, performing this necessary daily task, thinking of nothing in particular, when the world lit up. For just a moment, I could see myself alive in the here and now. Within this moment was the rightness of the moment, of my place in things and the knowledge that everything is as it should be. There was an awareness of the universe, of past and present and future, and that these concepts we use to describe time were inadequate and not quite correct, but necessary for my life here in a physical world. Then, just as quickly the switch turns off.
To describe such an experience to another person is impossible, unless it has happened to them. I hadn't thought much about this until one day a co-worker was trying to describe a similar experience. She had previously attempted to tell another co-worker who met her story with a great deal of doubt and teased her a little about it, though good-naturedly. When she told me, I understood.
We aren't on-fire seekers of the essential nature of reality, constant students of enlightenment, obedient children of the gods. She and I are working folk. We each have our beliefs, of course, that guide us in our encounters with others. But you'll most likely find us to be deeply involved in the day to day matters of life, survival, family and friends. We are grandmothers, mothers, daughters, friends, consumers, savers, socialites and sometimes hermits. Until that moment when I heard her anecdote, though, I had seen little else in common with my co-worker. Now I see her as a fellow traveller who, for an instant was on the same journey, although she may have reached that crossroad from a different path. I am grateful that she told me of her experience, because now I hear the Universe whispering patiently once again.
And yet we can have glimpses of this ultimate reality, through what the Japanese call Kensho. It's a moment of sudden realization given to ordinary people like you and me, an expanded awareness that comes on unannounced, unbidden, and which leaves us astonished and grasping for words to describe it.
It is the flick of a switch that lights our world, sometimes in the midst of the most mundane tasks. For me it was washing dishes. There I was one day many years ago, performing this necessary daily task, thinking of nothing in particular, when the world lit up. For just a moment, I could see myself alive in the here and now. Within this moment was the rightness of the moment, of my place in things and the knowledge that everything is as it should be. There was an awareness of the universe, of past and present and future, and that these concepts we use to describe time were inadequate and not quite correct, but necessary for my life here in a physical world. Then, just as quickly the switch turns off.
To describe such an experience to another person is impossible, unless it has happened to them. I hadn't thought much about this until one day a co-worker was trying to describe a similar experience. She had previously attempted to tell another co-worker who met her story with a great deal of doubt and teased her a little about it, though good-naturedly. When she told me, I understood.
We aren't on-fire seekers of the essential nature of reality, constant students of enlightenment, obedient children of the gods. She and I are working folk. We each have our beliefs, of course, that guide us in our encounters with others. But you'll most likely find us to be deeply involved in the day to day matters of life, survival, family and friends. We are grandmothers, mothers, daughters, friends, consumers, savers, socialites and sometimes hermits. Until that moment when I heard her anecdote, though, I had seen little else in common with my co-worker. Now I see her as a fellow traveller who, for an instant was on the same journey, although she may have reached that crossroad from a different path. I am grateful that she told me of her experience, because now I hear the Universe whispering patiently once again.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Oyy! You out there?
I've done it. It's the dawn of a new era. I've put meself on the blogs, and hopefully every day I'll find something to gripe about, or, maybe to talk intelligently about, or poke at.
I am a pagan. The way I see it I agree with Thomas Jefferson, who said, "It does me no harm for my neighbor to say there are twenty gods, or no god." It's a comment on religious tolerance and a mighty one.
Actually I always wanted to be a Viking, but I'm the wrong sex, and I'm less than five feet tall, far too little to wield a broadsword. Maybe I'd succeed better as a Valkyrie, but I've no wings. That's a joke.
I'm an old, burned out journalist, who is still addicted to politics, but hungry for a new expression. I've started this thing to stretch my mental fingers again. I hope to hear from other pagans, some of whom already know me on other websites. Here's a hint: I like pie.
Trolls will be expelled, especially if they eat succulent babies. I'm new to blogging, so it's simple right now, but I'll try to make it interesting.
I am a pagan. The way I see it I agree with Thomas Jefferson, who said, "It does me no harm for my neighbor to say there are twenty gods, or no god." It's a comment on religious tolerance and a mighty one.
Actually I always wanted to be a Viking, but I'm the wrong sex, and I'm less than five feet tall, far too little to wield a broadsword. Maybe I'd succeed better as a Valkyrie, but I've no wings. That's a joke.
I'm an old, burned out journalist, who is still addicted to politics, but hungry for a new expression. I've started this thing to stretch my mental fingers again. I hope to hear from other pagans, some of whom already know me on other websites. Here's a hint: I like pie.
Trolls will be expelled, especially if they eat succulent babies. I'm new to blogging, so it's simple right now, but I'll try to make it interesting.
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