I’m not ancient, but I was born in scary times. I remember the nightmares I had after the “duck and cover” drills that would not have saved my elementary school friends from an atomic bomb.
I remember the President getting assassinated and watching his funeral on black-and-white television. I liked the white horses.
I remember Walter Cronkite solemnly reciting war casualties and my parents’ friends crying over their young sons forced to be in that war.
You wonder why I’m a pacifist?
I remember some years of hope, when I thought people were getting less racist, women were getting the same rights as men, and my gay friends were able to come out of the closet.
I was on a plane when the 9/11 horrors happened.
I noticed when Vladimir Putin was elected and quickly became dictator. It reminded of a time before my birth when a candidate in Germany stirred up the disaffected and angry populace to win his race, then immediately put his opponents in concentration camps. Then came the immigrants, the gays, the non-Christians.
I hope I won’t remember a time when history repeats itself. Again. More scary times.
We’ll see. Two weeks from now a choice will be made. Pray for peace and that cool heads prevail.
You thought I was such a peaceful, nonviolent person. I am, or I try to be. But I have my limits. Pantry moths have always pushed my limits, and lately they have made the Hermits’ Rest much less restful.
They sure can reproduce! AI prompt: create a romantic image of pantry moths.
We always have a few pantry moths, because they come in with food. We try to seal or put in the fridge things we know they love, but we mess up. I’m just not great at cleaning every square inch of pantry, and some containers I think are airtight turn out otherwise. Sigh. There’s a reason, says the Wikipedia article on Indian meal moths:
The larvae of this species have the ability to bite through plastic and cardboard so even sealed containers may be infested.
Oh. Turns out my nemesis is not from India. There’s something called Indian meal. I didn’t know that, either. It loves grains, nuts, flour, bread and cloth. No wonder moths showed up in the bedroom closet..
Grrr.
The issue is that some dog food bag that Lee bought had a lot of moths in it. And they bred like crazy. We’d be watching television with moths distracting us. I’d go to bed and have to slap moths attracted to my phone. They were in the shower. And the toilet (at least those were dead). They were everywhere. Yuck.
My friend Pamela told me about a product that worked for her, but I kept forgetting to order it. Last week I finally remembered. Every day I told the family the moth death was coming. Yes, I wanted to kill. Not very Buddhist of me.
Great name, huh. Notice I bought a bunch of them. Amazon Prime Deal Days!
But I’m willing to give up a bit of karma to live a home life with only an occasional pantry moth. I opened the box and set out the traps. Apparently, sexy moth pheromones immediately began wafting around the pantry, kitchen, living room…and everywhere.
Five minutes after setting the trap out.
Interesting fact: the sexy traps only attract male moths. But without the males, they can’t breed. The literature said that we’d still see some females and new ones after the last eggs hatch, but soon we’d be ok.
24 hours later.
The results have been better than I expected. I don’t see a flutter of moths every time I walk into a room. The bathroom mirror has zero resting moths. The television is watchable (unless Dallas Cowboys are playing).
Moth free TV.
This is only in 24 hours! Dear readers, if you have even an average pantry moth problem, clean the cabinets then order Dr. Killigan’s. He also has a product for the evil moths that eat wool, say, your handmade socks and the yarn to make them. I have experience with these, too. I bought a few of these murder by smell devices, just in case the ones upstairs are that kind.
Thank you, pheromones.
I really didn’t expect such as improvement so quickly. I’ve only seen a couple of moths today. What a relief. I’m a killer, I know. But I’m pretty sure there are plenty of others out there, probably in another bag of dog food.
I have no idea what that AI bag is supposed to say.
Driving home from the state park was a depressing reminder of how divided our country is today. Sometimes being a sensitive person makes me too vulnerable to attack ads, negativity, and the spread of misinformation. And when people I care about are sharing the worst misinformation, it’s too much.*
Cheerful Cardinal dude.
So I was thinking that I can’t control what’s on television and other media, but there are things in my sphere that I can control. So I’m taking a vacation from my Facebook feed. I’ll miss some good news and other personal developments that happen, but I’ll get less agitated.
Maybe honey locust leaves are like gummies for birds. He seemed really mellow. Maybe I need gummies. No! Drugs/herbs are not the solution, ha ha.
I have other ways to keep in touch! I’m sharing the blog posts on my ranch Facebook page, and dog and horse updates on their pages. And people can comment on the blog or email me. Just ask.
They need more than 197 followers. Of course, I haven’t been posting there since I got so busy.
But, I’m not an influencer. I may be an asocial media influencer at that. It will not be a big deal to go away for a while. I just finally hit the point where the benefits of connection no longer outweigh the negativity and hostility from people who mean well.
Fiona agrees that she’s pretty dull, especially when no one posts on her page. I’m guilty.
Other news? Goldie’s biopsy report finally came in. Indeed she had or has osteosarcoma. The best news is that it’s not a highly aggressive or in a one. I guess it’s the least bad kind of a bad thing.
Supervising her domain.
She started licking and messing with her leg where her old hotspot and IV were. So we covered it last night. The vet I talked to today said it needs to able to breathe, so it’s off now and I replaced it with a sock. It’s one that was really tight on me, but is probably too big. We will keep trying.
We have another shirt on her, too. She can lick her incision. Ugh.
I’m okay! I just don’t want to be hammered with partisan politics, name calling, and intimidation for a while. Self care rules, y’all.
Cindy and Cathy take care of each other and rarely argue. Well, as far as I can tell.
Oh yeah: take care of yourselves, Florida friends!
*some great friends I disagree with are sharing factual information that makes me think. I appreciate those perspectives.
Honestly, I’m ready for my current mood to move on. I know I need to feel my feelings but I’m tired of displacing my anger at one part of life and imposing it on other parts. I need to quit being needlessly annoyed.
I’m as irritated as a cat being bathed. Photo from Pexels.
I truly got annoyed at slow drivers on my way home from working at the Round Rock office today. I got annoyed at the dentist for taking every insurance option earth except mine. I got annoyed at people who post blatantly ignorant political crap on social media. Now, none of those things are in my sphere of influence, except I know when I pick my insurance options this year, I’ll check (just can’t fix it right now).
I looked all professional today, though.
And I’ll still annoyingly jittery and forgetful. I dropped things repeatedly at my desk and hit my head twice on overhead cabinets. Then I left my purse with my car keys in it and had to go back in before I left. I’m having a doozy of a nervous episode. I’d be happy to move forward from that, too.
I just can’t force myself to be happy. I can nudge, though. Photo from Pexels.
Even when you know perfectly well that your worries and anxiety will pass, going through them isn’t fun. I even researched places to flee to this evening. That shows how pessimistic I am about the near future. It doesn’t help that the recent hurricane showed how easily a cashless economy breaks down. I never have cash.
Rambling. Did you want a Goldie update instead? She still felt bad through the morning, but then got to feeling better. Her back leg had gotten hurt by standing up awkwardly, but resting helped.
I’m better now!
When I got home she was watching the guys try to fix the front door, and when she got up to go inside, she was wagging her tail and looking bright eyed again. We were all relieved. It was good to have a bright spot in the day (of course, chickens and horses lifted my spirits).
The tail is back!She is moving slowly but more smoothly She got on the couch normally. She’d missed her cushions. Snooze time.
Let’s see what shining highlights appear tomorrow.
Whew. Today I exhibited more patience than I knew I had, and finally triumphed over the maze of confusion known as AT&T/Direct TV customer support. I win.
I also deserve a certificate
My actual reward is a glass of lemonade. I deserve it, too.
Refreshing, though everything makes me choke since I was sick.
You see, last week our DirectTV stopped working. I called to get repairs scheduled, because Lee is easily annoyed with service providers. I believed I had it scheduled for today.
I was as relaxed as Penney in her cool, freshly dug hole, guarded by the Giant Shedding Machine.
In the meantime, we joined the modern world, and hooked the Apple TV up so we could watch television on it. Well, except that DirectTV and Disney are quarreling again, so we had to watch ABC on the antenna.
Aaron Rogers, shown in antenna TV, expresses my frustration.
Over the weekend we used streaming, which we’d been avoiding due to our rural bandwidth issues. It feels so modern to watch football on Peacock and Tulsa King on Paramount +. Kathleen will be very proud of us.
Then came today. No repair person showed. So, I dialed the number someone had left in a text. It was a magic number. It let me actually get help and service. In a mere 2.5 hours I got all my telecommunications needs met. It was a LONG 2.5 hours.
I should have napped like Goldie.
First I talked to a nice woman who determined that no repair person came because there is ONE technician in our area (Waco) and they got injured last week. Apparently they tried calling me but it came up as Spam Risk so I didn’t answer, and they didn’t leave messages. Grr. DirectTV is looking for a substitute, but as of now, I have no prospect of getting the dish realigned.
What a load of bull. Wait, that’s a cow.
Next, I talked to a billing guy. He was hard to understand, but tried to figure out my bill and my two different accounts. What he accomplished was to get money taken off our bill since we have no satellite. He was also able to tell me what phone numbers were associated with our account. Holy cow, there were eight. Four phones, a hotspot, two watches, and a “device” of some kind. That was unsatisfactory. I now understood why Lee said the phone bill was so high. That had to change. But billing guy couldn’t do that.
Beautiful Mabel approves. She grew a mane!
That fellow successfully transferred me to a very nice young woman who works for the mobility department, which is extra separate from the television department, the billing department, and the internet department. This woman and I spent at least an hour straightening things out. The bill is now halved, with fewer gigs on the RV hotspot, only phones for me and my children (yes, even the uncommunicative one), and no watches. We determined they don’t need to have their own numbers. I’d been trying to get these things cancelled for months, but the “helpful” app wouldn’t let me get to my phone info.
Modern life is hard.
But I’m stubborn and persistent as a Fiona.
I did enjoy talking to the agent about camping, Native American history, and the weird weather lately. That’s what happens when you’re kind to the people on the phone. She worked hard to fix my account, too.
However, she could not help with my final issue, which was to get the wifi setup cancelled on the Red House, since we aren’t renting it out anymore. That was a different department. So she transferred me and because the system only wanted to give me a call back on my landline from when I lived in Round Rock, I had to wait on hold.
Waiting, like all these Scissortails are.
That’s okay, I spent 15 minutes weeding nut grass in the pool flower bed. This made the next customer support lady laugh when I told her I had to crawl out of the flower bed to find my account number. But by gosh, she was able to cancel that account! All I have to do is return the equipment. Ugh.
I’m #1
Still, I did it! I finally got the right people to help me, didn’t get disconnected, and didn’t lose my cool. This is a true sign of modern competency.
What, like “very unique” or something? I find this question difficult, because it didn’t ask for a word that’s used too often, but rather for a word too many people use. In this case, I’m going to suggest “woke” as a word the wrong people are using for inappropriate reasons. People try to use this positive word as an insult and it doesn’t come across well outside their in-group.
Hi. I’m woke AF. Hmm, maybe too many people use “AF” after everything.
That’s not unique, of course. Humans have been changing words with positive connotations to negative ones for centuries. There are many articles on how neutral words have become negative words pertaining to women (like spinster, once a person who spun). As well, people have been misappropriating words from one group and using it in odd new ways for a long time, like white folks trying to be gangsta.
I do believe I’m not gangsta. This is fine. Other people can be if it’s fun for them.
If there’s one thing my misspent youth as a linguist taught me, though, is that languages constantly change, and that words mean what the speaker thinks they mean and the listener interprets them as. So who am I to say something is used “wrong?”
Each of us birds means “chirp” different.
I think I’m allowed to be triggered by some words being used in new ways. I don’t like “Nazi” being applied haphazardly. No, I’m not a grammar Nazi and never was a breastfeeding one either. That offends me. I was hoping our society was beyond that kind of thinking, though apparently it isn’t. Sigh.
I’ve got my raptor friends looking out for totalitarian wannabes.
Warning: if you call me woke I’m going to take it as a compliment. I’d rather be open to new ideas, kind, loving, and peaceful than angry and fearful of anyone different from myself.
On the home front the horses finally got to see the dentist today, after a series of mishaps on previously scheduled dates. I’m very pleased that the delay caused no issues and that everyone is doing well for their age and physiology.
Getting their teeth floated, then sleeping off the drugs.
Everyone was very well behaved, too. The best part was seeing the surprise on the dentist’s face when she saw Mabel. At first she thought I had a different horse! She kept exclaiming that Mabel now has a butt! That you can’t see her spine anymore! Her eyes are big and kind! Yep, she’s improved a lot. It feels so good to realize I’ve helped her become a beautiful, happy animal.
Eh. I just can’t do today. I spent some time today watching the Olympics that are in Paris. That’s in France, a country in Europe. Many Americans, me included, have ancestors from there. France has a long history, including a revolution where a red, white and blue flag got waved around.
This is French. It’s what they fought for, liberty, eat, and brotherhood. From Pexel.
You knew this, right? The French are famous for wine, cheese, fashion, and long loaves of bread. They are not famous for fried potatoes.
Wine and cheese. From Pexel.
I was baffled to wake up this morning to find people I know very upset with the Opening Ceremonies, admittedly a confusing extravaganza of Frenchness, and saying it was a Satanic ritual sent out to corrupt them. Do people think their little American demographic is so important that another country would forfeit their chance to highlight their culture in favor of upsetting people on the other side of the world?
Are they on shrooms? (The hallucinatory kind, not ones that look like nipples.
Yow. Now I know some folks don’t think it worth their time to learn about places outside of where they live. They have other stuff to think about. I get it. My head is full of bird calls, so it’s running out of space, too.
My head is also full of yarn. I’ve been crocheting something.
But gee whiz, the world isn’t out to get you, your interpretation of a deity, or your beloved future leader, who today promised you’ll only have to vote once more, so that duty can be crossed off the list.
I’m the spider in this scenario.
Surprise: All those other nations out there all think THEY are the most important one, and only care about you if you try to pick a fight. So France wrote an Olympic Opening Ceremony that they felt represented themselves, their history, and their culture. It might confuse non-French people, but rather than assume the worst and invent conspiracy theories. another option would be to try to learn something about France.
That French bread is a baguette. That’s French for long loaf of bread. from Pexel.
You might still think the French are weird, but that’s okay; they also think we’re weird.
I doubt anyone who reads this needs education about France or believes Satanic forces control the Olympic organizers. And, since I’m me, I must point out that we’re all entitled to our beliefs, rational or not. So you be you. I get to be me.
Have we met? If we have, you probably know I’m not a fan of organized religion. It seems like whenever some spiritual leader comes along, followers start twisting their teachings around to justify their agendas. I’ll stop there and let the reader come up with their own examples. It’s not hard to do.
No illustrations go with this blog so enjoy some bugs.
I’ve tried, of course. I always liked church as a kid because there was singing. In harmony. I liked that. The inconsistency of the teachings? Not so much.
Enjoy cute dogs
I have tried a couple of other paths, but each started trying to say “my doctrine is better than yours” (even Wicca/neopaganism) and I got disinterested in any organized activity. Even Buddhists can start telling you how you should and shouldn’t practice. Fine for those people. Not for me. And the songs for both groups aren’t much fun.
Enjoy more hardy flowers.
I did stick with UnitarIan Universalism for a long time. The music was excellent and I got to be in a folk group, a choir, and a rock band. But power struggles, infighting, and most of all, the oppressive political correctness mandates got to be too much for me. I got to where I was afraid to speak, because someone would give me a lecture on how I triggered them, used last week’s correct labels, or missed a pronoun. (Note that I do my best to keep up and love everyone in all the trigger-prone communities). I’m just old and slow even as I try to learn (this statement will lead to a lecture on how I COULD do better if I tried, so I’m a sucky ally).
Enjoy the cutest toad
Anyway, my first point is that no matter who you think is the Best Spiritual Leader, I probably respect them and their teachings. My own path draws a lot from the Buddha, Jesus (his actual sayings), and Starhawk. But it’s mine, and I don’t expect you to follow it. I still respect other wise teachings as well. I will say I’m not fond of Mao or Lenin. I’m allowed. Right now at least.
Enjoy my smaller, but repaired, chicken pen.
And here’s my second point. People say things, sometimes in public, that reflect their spiritual path, philosophy, or culture. Sometimes we will agree with them; sometimes we will disagree. But it’s very important to let people say what they have to say. Heck, it tells you whose businesses to support, what sports teams to follow, or who to vote for.
Do not enjoy this large Queen fire ant that flies. Check those mandibles out.
Lately there’s been a lot of commentary about people who express opinions in public that don’t match those of their audiences. Examples include the football player who waxed on about women and motherhood, and Richard Dreyfus, who seems to have said sexist and racist things to an audience that didn’t come to hear that talk.
Enjoy a turtle on a branch
How should we handle this kind of thing? Well we sure don’t want to go censoring them. That can easily get turned around to where the other side feels censored because THEIR beliefs offend others(aside from the fact that I do censor myself often in my current political setting).
Enjoy my coffee mug from today. I’m running out of things to enjoy.
Nope. These people should say what they want to say, and then deal with the consequences. People will walk out of the venue, which is fine. Or they may no longer buy their products. But the speakers still get to talk.
Enjoy my creepily flesh-colored nails. Only flesh colored for white people, of course.
And those of us with different views also get to talk, even if we can’t be quite woke enough.
I worry that having uncommon beliefs, spiritual or otherwise, may be grounds for punishment in the future if we aren’t careful. Let’s treat those we disagree with the way we hope they’d treat us if we spoke out. We can respect their right to speak, but not be forced to listen.
Ah. Flowers to enjoy.
Sigh. Here’s a dream. Wouldn’t it be cool if everyone felt comfortable flying flags with our favorite candidate’s name on it?
I just finished reading Knife, by Salman Rushdie. In case you never heard of him, he’s a novelist who dared poke fun at a religious figurehead and had a fatwah put out in him. That means someone pretty humorless wanted him dead.
Knife, and some future reading material.
Regardless of the merits of his writing or his attempts at humor or anything like that, it had to be hard living with bodyguards 24/7 and always wondering when the assassin would show up. That’s the opposite of freedom to me, maybe worse than being imprisoned. In prison you know where all the murderers are.
Tiny Calf says she’s gonna hide in the grass.
He eventually got to where he didn’t worry about being attacked anymore, but then he was. The book is his way of getting his processing done. I guess since he gets paid to write, he decided to publish his memories and their effects on him rather than writing in a journal, or blogging like us other self-absorbed people.
By the end, though, I think Rushdie comes out free. He’s free to live the rest of his life without dwelling on what happened, his attacker’s motivation, or looking over his shoulder constantly. He’s faced death and knows what it’s like.
It’s probably not true, but birds always seem free.
That’s freedom: being able to live without worrying that someone or some institution is out to kill you, confine you, or strip you of your rights. In this case, I’m not free anymore. I’m no longer confident that women can be free in this country.
I digress as usual. As for the book, it was okay. There were some genuinely funny parts, and I give Rushdie credit for doing his best to be introspective, but he comes across (to me) as someone who has a great need to prove how smart he is. He extensively quotes from world literature when I swear he could just say what he meant rather than forcing the reader to remember every book they ever read (IF they happened to be literature majors) and draw the proper inferences from it.
Parts of the book bugged me.
I felt like there was going to be an essay test at the end.
He also quotes himself, or his novels, repeatedly. Is he trying to sell books? I didn’t end up dying to read any of them, which is good, since I have some good ones queued up already, thanks in part to kind people who keep handing me books.
I don’t use enough polysyllabic words or quote enough European fiction to even want to quote myself.
Now, I do feel for the guy. He went through a lot, lost vision in one eye, and has a permanent droopy mouth. He does seem pretty chipper for someone less than two years after nearly dying. He sure made Jon Stewart laugh when he interviewed him.
So, freedom is not a buzzword for me. It’s the ability to live in your society with a reasonable about of agency and feeling safe among your community members.
I always disagreed that butterflies were free. They are little mating and egg-laying instinct-driven beings. Pretty, though.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll be less dour. But here’s an example of why I’m that way: I didn’t share the link to yesterday’s blog about what public figure I dislike most on Facebook out of concern that it might put a target on my back. So, freedom? Not so much.
You may be surprised, but my answer to this is the Governor of Texas. While he isn’t a pathological liar like my second choice, he seems to be on a deliberate course to disenfranchise every resident of this state who isn’t a wealthy white man. Shudder.
The Hermits' Rest 