rant – Page 7 – The Hermits' Rest

What to Do When You Don’t Know What to Do?

I don’t know what to do or say or think about the divided society I live in. I’ve been trying to hold it together and feeling isolated and more and more defeated. I had such bad nightmares last night that I knocked a glass of water over. What a mess. Things are a mess.

Hint about why I’m sad. I love children.

I know I’m not alone. I am grateful for a supportive network of friends. I’m grateful for people with different perspectives who are willing to talk to me. But there’s so little I can do to help make a safer society (where we don’t worry about all the things we’re concerned about from all sides). The Texas Legislature has no interest in my thoughts. I’m not a huge lobby.

I think all the people I know feel powerless, like someone else is making decisions. We just blame different factions. Everyone is frustrated. The world feels like a scary pile of poop. I can’t change that. Even venting among friends only goes so far.

I wish I could just be a bird, or a scarlet pimpernel.

So, I clean things. Poopy things. Thankfully, a vacuum cleaner for the RV arrived. I took out my frustrations on mouse turds. (And dirt; there were only a few turds.)

That helped. But I needed to clean more. So I shoveled all the horse poop out of the trailer. I hope that doesn’t make me sick. It did involve hay, after all.

I didn’t have to clean the shed. Someone had already weed-eated what the horses had missed. My tack room helps me feel better.

I wasn’t done cleaning. The tack room doesn’t have much of a mouse problem right now, but there are “fly specks” on my stuff. Or were. I cleaned all that, too. Then I got out my good old buddy the label maker!

I have some new horse supplements and will need feeding help soon, so new labels had to be made. I felt so organized and productive. And I’m control. At least I can control my dang horse stuff, and I even feel safe in my little room.

I actually do feel a little better just by making my little part of the world cleaner and happier. And I guess that’s the lesson I needed to remind myself of. I can do what I can do. I can clean things (no wonder I like grooming the horses).

These guys helped by picking up hoof trimmings.

And now I can think about ways to help others. I’ve send some funds to recent tornado victims. I can contribute to organizations I agree with, and I CAN contact elected officials and remind them they’re human and are supposed to serve humans, not institutions. I guess.

I’m weird

What is one word that describes you?

This question made me smile. I’ve felt weird my whole life. I made up a club called the Weird Happys (sic.) in middle school and invited all my interesting, smart, non-traditional friends to join.

I’m a weird donkey who escaped after dinner.

I’ve always been weird, non-standard and rather off center. That’s never been a problem except when I wanted someone I found fascinating and atypical to be my friend, but it turned out I wasn’t their kind of weird. Trying to fit in NEVER has worked. I eventually wear out my welcome and am shown the door. Like:

My previous job
My church (was informed I no longer fit their demographic because I liked small, community oriented congregations)
The animal welfare group I helped found (those of you who know, know why)
La Leche League (turns out I’m not a good cult candidate)
The yarn shop friends where I used to teach knitting and crochet (some individuals are still friendly, though)
My book group (they ghosted me!)
My marriage to my kids’ dad
Etc.

I felt bad about these things at the time, but now I realize I don’t need to put my weirdness where it bothers others. I have choices, and it’s better to be true to myself than to try to fit in.

These guys just deal with my weirdness because they have no choice. Awww.

Anyway, my word is weird, and I’m happy now. I’ll enjoy the communities I have now while I can, and move on gracefully when it becomes apparent that I’m not a good fit.

I’ll be as graceful as blue-eyed grass, which appeared this week.

But hey, I still feel accepted by most people in my Master Naturalist group (I don’t expect them to all love me, just to work together). And I’m doing okay in the little horse community I’ve found myself in, thanks to us all loving horses! That’s plenty of folks to be weird around.

I am glad folks accept that I get frustrated when I can’t ID a plant.

Plus, my hobbies and family keep me happy and centered. I can be a Weird Happy!

What Exactly Constitutes “News?”

This has been rolling around in my mind for a few months. I’m somewhat rant-y and quite a lot confused about this. I’m totally cognizant of the fact (oops, another word whose definition is migrating faster than is usual for words to change) that there is a wide blurred space between news and entertainment. Combined with the blurry lines between facts and truth, there’s a giant mud pit of bewildering word slime that keeps presenting itself to me.

Is this ladybug DEAD? Who killed it? Is this news?

The problem is that I really miss the times when reputable sources produced clearly labeled descriptions of things going on in the world (news) and smart people’s comments in these news items (editorial opinions).

Dogs getting along? We must sensationalize this now. What are they thinking? Why aren’t they growling?

I’m generalizing, of course. I’m aware that even in the times when I was young, information was presented from a certain viewpoint. I didn’t take high school journalism, but Anita did, and she told me this. And I’m quite aware that the viewpoint was well educated white guys. But the network news, Time, Newsweek, and most newspapers generally talked about the same “news” from different and interesting angles. I enjoyed learning from these sources to put together my own opinions.

Today, though, I can’t figure out why I’m supposed to care how a professional athlete’s bowel movements came out. But there it was, in my “newsfeed.” Who the heck cares about this? Why?

I made the mistake of perusing the “Facebook News” recently. There was so much clickbait that I got a little queasy from it. And gushing newsflashes about minor celebrities sneezing or burping. Or so it seemed. And did I mention gore? Endless reports of stupid people being horrible.

The few actual pieces of news from serious sources tended to be behind paywalls. Sigh. I finally bit the bullet and subscribed to the New York Times. At least it’s got stuff in it about news I find important, like wars against small countries and insane political events (well, that’s mostly in the Austin Anerican Statesman, where the list of anti-trans pro-censorship bills keeps me queasy). Or science news.

Really. Who are these people and why would I care?

I just resent that I have to dig through layers and layers of drivel and nonsense to find information that matters to non celebrities and fans thereof. I’d prefer to have these two genres separated. And labeled. I’m not against fun and celebrity worship. I’d just like it to get out of my face.

Well. I rambled. Now it’s time to get ready for tornadoes that are heading this way. Texas. Extremes!!

American Rural Health Care, You Stink

I have spent the past two days trying to get a chest x-ray, you know, because my chest is full of fluid and probably horrible fungal growth. I am concerned, you see. I am beginning to see why people just use the emergency room as their primary healthcare provider, because trying to AVOID such things and not go into debt over a cough is a pain (in my chest and brain).

So, I went to the nice little clinic in my home town that is not affiliated with the corporate mega-system I am not fond of. They said yep, my lungs are rattling and wheezing, so I needed a chest x-ray to help diagnose. I also got blood work, after two tries, because Worker A probably had never drawn blood out of a living human and left my arm looking like this:

Worker B then arrived and took the four endless vials of blood out of the other arm. Sigh. I won’t know if I have the fungal infection or other issue until the lab results come in. So, merrily I cough along.

Merrily coughing at sunset, when normally I’d be horsing around

I was so short of breath yesterday that I didn’t dare try to groom the horses or ride them, though I did sit and look at them while they ate, then spent a long time just hanging out with Apache and massaging his poll (top of head), since he asked for it.

The others were busy scarfing up leftovers

Anyway, of course the nice little clinic doesn’t have its own radiology department, so I consented to go to the only place in town that has a machine, which is operated by the company I am not fond of. When I arrived with my paperwork in hand, they informed me that their x-ray machine is broken. I could go to another town to another of their facilities, but I declined.

Goldie backed me up. She doesn’t like crowded scary places, either.

This started me on a health care odyssey to get an x-ray elsewhere. By noon today, I’d made six phone calls, left numerous messages, got many corrected phone numbers, and lost my patience. Usually I’m a fairly patient patient, but I didn’t feel very well, as I soldiered along recording myself talk and pausing to breathe a lot.

Let’s take a break and enjoy all the henbit that’s blooming right now. It will get mowed soon, so I’m enjoying it while I can.

Finally, after I’d gotten irritated enough to get in the car and drive back to the clinic to try to talk to someone in person, they called to say they’d faxed my orders to a place that was associated with my OLD doctors in Austin. Soon they actually called and said it had gotten through.

Did I make it to Temple, Texas in record time? Of course not. I got behind a very strange-looking semi-truck that plodded along at 60 in 70 mph zones, trailing up to twelve cars. Thankfully, they pulled over at a turn and let us all go free.

I thanked my lucky stars, as well as the moon, Jupiter, and Venus.

The place I went was clean, spacious, and NOT crowded. though a little hard to find. The facility did please me. How long did the x-ray take after spending 20 minutes filling out paperwork? I’d say 65 seconds. Now, let’s see if I get any results from all the testing and perhaps get treatment. That would be nice. I just do NOT want to get sick enough to go to a hospital. I really don’t like hospitals and all their germs.

I just wish we had our old local hospital back, where you could get an x-ray and labs, and get looked at quickly. However, it’s now the county office building. Rural health care in the US is sad. I can’t imagine how it would have been if I didn’t have insurance.

I promise happier news in the next post.

Wish I Could Crawl in People’s Heads (Briefly)

I spend way too much of the time that I’m reading the news, perusing social media, and watching folks around me saying, “Hmm.”

You should be out looking for me, the Bluebird of Happiness.

I’m a person, far as I can tell. But I feel so different from humans I observe. It’s not new; I’ve felt out of place among humanity most of my life. What feels different to me these days is that I’m having more and more trouble empathizing with people and being able to see where they get their viewpoints. (I realize I’m not alone here!)

For example, I watched the annual State of the Union Address last night, as did many Americans. Some parts of the speech affected my business, some affected the rights of my friends and family, some seemed spot on, while others seemed exaggerated or slanted. I observe political events from my personal perspective, naturally, and I’m aware that my background, upbringing, education, and privilege affect my perceptions. I don’t expect others to feel the same as me.

I’ll mock you if you keep this up much longer, Suna

Still, I found myself inexplicably surprised to read how people I know reacted to the speech. The range was from being thrilled and buoyed up to being angry and derisive. Now, I’ve gone on and on about how I believe we are living in two different countries within one geographic space. But sometimes the extent of the divide shocks me.

It made me want to dive into the water and not come back up (thanks, anhinga)

I really would like to briefly crawl inside the minds of some of the people I know, so I could see how they came to be a member of the country I don’t live in. I’m convinced they have different truths and facts than I do, and I would love to jump in and learn them, without having to watch certain television networks.

At least I have a nice place to watch my chosen network (HGTV)

When I’ve tried to talk to people, I get one of two reactions: some declare that they just “know” things in their gut and feel them, facts or no facts; others are able to point to evidence for their beliefs, which tends to be things that people in my country don’t learn about. The latter group help me a lot, but I’m still baffled and hate to be that way.

We all see the same sun as it sets, just from different physical and mental places

Here’s where I draw a little comfort. There have been times throughout the history of human cultures where people with very different mindsets have coexisted for long periods of time. They are able to work together, trade with each other, and keep each other safe, all while practicing very different spiritual and political beliefs. I know this has been true. I want this here.

Why can’t we all just get along and let a rainbow be a rainbow?
(Ha ha – I’m aware that folks who say that are made fun of all the time)

I also have seen how easily these times of peace and coexistence can blow up. Look at the former Yugoslavia, India and Pakistan, Hitler’s reign, Israel, the US in the 1860s… this is what I fear. We are equally divided in this country. I just hope the reasonable majority on both sides keeps us at peace.

On a happier note, I enjoyed yesterday. There was the perfect balance of hard work, exercise, and relaxation. There’s a lot to be said about watching container ships (which are shaped like giant floating bricks), crab boats, kites, and dogs out the window as I ponder project lifecycles. Plus, the birds did not disappoint me, either. Those cedar waxwings are having a great feast on the little fruits of the palmettos.

Plus, Lee made it back to the ranch safely and I found out I’ll have some fun visitors for the next few days. I won’t be meditating solemnly and thinking deep thoughts in the condo alone! I’ll get to do things and meet new people. All I’ll say is that my guests are regular blog readers, who I hope are ready to drive over here and not reading my nonsense.

Back to my regularly scheduled search for beauty among the harsh reality of life. This is a statue at the new park nearby.

Bizarro World

When I was young, I read comic books as much as I could. I loved the Superman family (especially Supergirl and the Legion of Superheroes). Sometimes the writers seemed to run out of ideas and published some really dumb concepts. Bizarro Superman, from Bizarro World was one of those concepts, but always good for a laugh.

Things in Bizarro World were recognizable but just not quite right. It confused both the Bizarros and the “real” world. (I feel as if BW might not go over as well today, though apparently the tradition still lives.)

Bizarre? No, good. Grass is growing on our new little hill and a flock of killdeer has taken over the bank.

In conversation with…well…with everyone I’ve communicated with about our lives, I’ve heard tale after tale of how life has just gotten strange recently. More than one person has said, “I feel like I live in a different world,” or words to that effect.

I’m right there with them. Things have happened in the past few years that have made my world unfamiliar. Recent elections. What the heck? People mass shooting each other so often it’s become commonplace. I don’t get it. People shooting up infrastructure that supports innocent families and businesses because…why?

That’s just the big picture. People are getting weird sicknesses. Families are falling apart no matter how hard they try. My generation is trying to figure out how to support elders who spent all their money but expect…stuff. I’m pessimistic about the future.

Bizarro World.

Honestly, I’m so glad I have dogs and horses and they are still acting like dogs and horses. I need something consistent and not weirdly out of left field.

I just feel like the world is so odd and unpredictable that I don’t want to make much effort. So I got my 2022 snow globe that says “love is love.” And some tree candles. No real tree, just a few decorations. Many say “peace,” which seems bizarrely impossible these days.

How about you? Are you in a ball of pessimism like me? What’s bizarre in your life? What helps you keep it together? Sunsets? Full moons. Here are some, anyway.

Sunset, moon, horses — see if you can find the moon in the horse photos.

How Not to Deliver a Fridge

I’m hard to annoy lately. Most times I just let stuff go after a minute. But dang, it’s so irritating to watch people making mistake after mistake and not being able to stop it. But I do now have a little refrigerator in the tack room!

So, Lowes finally told me I could have the one I wanted if black was ok. Of course. Who cares? They were to deliver it today. I was concerned, since we got another welcome inch of rain, so it’s wet here.

They called after the rain stopped and I went out to direct them to the little red barn. The truck showed up, and to my surprise they drove down the driveway about as fast as you’d drive down a paved road. I was concerned, but got them to stop. I told them to turn right at the tractor and go to the red barn.

Zoom! They didn’t spin out, but they turned wide and went through the deep puddles, leaving fine ruts. I watched, assuming they’d go to the end of the drive and stop.

Instead, they suddenly veered left until they got to the back of the barn, veered left again, slammed on the brakes, then gunned the engine to back it up perpendicular to the barn. Uh. Okay. Just give me a fridge.

I went to open the doors, which now work right since my son and I shimmed the stairs with a rock. I turned around and there was a dude carrying the fridge in his arms. They didn’t need a dolly. They could have stopped at the end of the driveway. the dude proceeded to dump it on the floor and started to leave.

I asked if he was going to open it. That surprised him, but he did it. After taking a bunch of pictures (not sure why) the driver made me sign for the delivery with a bright pink pen. No problem. I set myself to plugging my new buddy in and rearranging stuff.

It blends in. Yes all my ribbons are on the desk. I keep forgetting to bring string to hang them on.

I finished pulling all the tape off the doors and realized I could still hear the delivery truck. I went out. Shoot. For reasons only known to Hot Rod Harry, the driver, he’d backed up to over by the chickens, slammed on the brakes (I heard it) and tried to rush out.

Yep. They were stuck. ON OUR SEPTIC FIELD. They were trying to use our fence poles for traction. I said to just stop. I’d get help. Hot Rod got out and took more pictures.

The tractor pulled them out after they received a bit of a cursing out for driving so wrong for the conditions and not paying any attention to where they were. Hot Rod took MORE photos.

We concluded they were city folks. No one drives fast on wet ground, especially on someone else’s property. I hope the photos can prove why he was late to wherever he was in such a hurry to go.

Time for a deep breath and send kind thoughts to those guys. Hope they made it home.

I think they caused damage more than the refrigerator is worth. Oh well. I have tiny ice cubes making in my tiny freezer and sparkling water cooling off.

My Decorating Style is “Dated.” So What?

I got myself in a bit of a tizzy last night while I was randomly clicking on “news” items in my Facebook feed. I landed on a clickbait article about how to achieve the very important goal of not having your home look like your grandmother’s home. According to the author, this is a horrible thing that must be avoided at all costs by following their wise decorating advice.

I have a wall clock. Those are ridiculous, says the clickbait writer. I think they meant those ones Joanna Gaines used to put on every house she did. My wooden owl clock from Germany makes me happy.

I scrolled down the numbered list (because numbered lists get more clicks) while ignoring the same ad for a watch that repeated every paragraph or so. As I did, I saw most of my decorating choices on the list. I am woefully dated. My house looks like someone’s grandmother’s house.

Fake flowers. Ick. We are told to buy real ones and throw them out. Who has that much money? I enjoy my obviously fake flowers. You can look away.

Wait. My grandmother, at least one of them, had really cool decorating taste. She had all this excellent Stickley furniture, a really cool art deco kitchen, and all kinds of fascinating collections of objects. I’d be happy to have a house that looks like hers.

Decorative plates that aren’t for eating off of? Ridiculous. How about empty wine bottles? That wasn’t on the list, but I bet it’s bad, just like pictures of chickens painted by the guy who tiled your floor or bronze baseball gloves that were once your father’s real one.

Wait. My house does look like hers. I have some of her furniture and much of her art. The rest was Mom’s. Mom was an artist. She had taste, even if she DID choose “Early American” as her style.

The clickbait person hated wallpaper. They haven’t read all the lates magazines who declared wallpaper to be back in just in time for everyone who’d wallpapered their homes in the 80s and 90s had removed it all. This is tasteful 2000-era wallpaper.

All these exhortations to get rid of anything that was popular in a decade prior to the current one strike me as mass consumerism at its worst. Throw away those perfectly functional kitchen cabinets! They are oak or cherry! Those are bad, outdated woods! Ick! Right. So all those poor trees live their lives in vain and how other trees have to give up their lives so barely used kitchen items can be replaced.

They railed about putting fake plants up on the shelf above the cabinets. I can’t argue with that. They are dusty. And ugh, look at those cherry cabinets! (They are REAL cherry wood and custom made – not getting rid of them)

And ooh, you can’t have the wrong color granite! Go dig up another mountain and get today’s color. Those beautiful rocks from the 1990s must go!

The article talked about Precious Moments figurines as being unfashionable. I am not fond of them either, but if you like them, keep them. Not everyone will like all my horse figurines.

I’m really glad that a movement toward sustainable decorating is starting to emerge. People are realizing that if the things in their home still do their job, they don’t have to go away.

Crochet. It is true, doilies collect dust. I happen to like pansies.

And at the same time, not everyone has to be “modern” and non-grandmotherly. I’m old enough to be a grandmother, so if I want a doily, dammit, I can have one. (Here’s a secret: modern furnishings were popular with many of your grandmothers – your grandmother or great grandmother might have had mid-century modern during the middle of the previous century.)

More doilies? At least I made this in the 70s and it’s bright orange.

So, I’m sticking with my cherry wood finishes. I like reddish wood. And I like natural stone, which is often brown or tan. So what? And I proudly display my mother’s collection of hand-painted floral plates right alongside the ones I bought for myself. I like them. And I decorated my house for ME, not whoever determines what’s “in” this month.

Rocks, wood, brown things, clutter. So what? I’m happy.

Please keep what pleases you in your own house and don’t throw away your stuff just because someone tells you it’s not cool (or whatever the current word for cool is; I’ve used that word since 1964). And don’t hide your needlepoint. I just want to stab whoever said to hide it and not display it with a blunt tapestry needle, even though I’m a nonviolent pacifist. Flower lover. Hippie. Maximalist.

I love my needlepoints, even with cherry wood frames.

I’m glad I got that off my chest. I’m now going to go hide in my distinctly non-modern tack room and not read any articles full of ads that are written just to get people to buy stuff. Trends. Ugh.

No, Not Me, a Clone

Oh friends. I have a wee vent. I’d like to have a lot of words with whoever came up with those “clever” clones of Instagram accounts that show up in the Messenger app with people’s names and photos and say brilliant stuff like, “Hello hope you are doing?” (today’s) or “Hello, how are you doing today?” All these things do are waste the time of the cloned person, because they have to repeatedly let people know that no, it’s not them, it’s some bot.

No, that is not me at right (or below, if you’re reading on the phone). Do you need to check with me to be sure? Nope, not at all. Just look at it.

Is that how my name normally looks? Nope.
Is it from a Facebook account? Nope. (I only message from there.)
Does it have any posts or followers? Nope. (My actual Instagram has my name spelled normally and has a bunch of posts and followers.)
Does it say “New Instagram account?” Yep.

If the answers you get match these answers, then you don’t need to let me (or whoever has “messaged” you) know about it. There’s nothing they can do.

What you can do is block and report the account.

See this message I got back in July from “Anne Hutten?” I knew it wasn’t from her. Name spelled wrong, 0 posts and 0 followers, new Instagram account, and the typical message. I looked at the bottom of the screen. I clicked Block. If I had clicked Report, I would have told them that she was pretending to be Anne and answered a few questions. The message would have disappeared. I was just lazy and didn’t do it, which is good, so I can show you the example.

How can you prevent this?

You can’t, sad to say. These bots just go grab people’s pictures and mess with their names to make a fake account. I’m not even sure what they do if you respond. I could only find endless sets of instructions to report and block the accounts.

I’m to the point where it takes me a few seconds to block and report, then go on my merry way. When I get cloned, I end up spending a lot of time saying that’s not me and giving instructions to people who are trying to help me out by letting me know something I can’t do anything about.

I guess enough people fall for these things and let the cloned account ask for money that it makes it worthwhile for them. That means they’ll keep cloning. So, let’s not panic, just go on with our lives.

Now, if someone hacks your account, it’s a different story. That’s when someone takes your legit account over. That is something you need to report to Facebook, Instagram, or whoever, and work with them to take care of the problem.

I searched Facebook for me. Looks like I’m safe. Haylee Sue Ann seems to be a real person.

To find out if there are extra people pretending to be you, by the way, you can simply search Facebook or Instagram and see if there are “fake you” people out there. (Don’t report actual people with the same name as you – it’s a big world out there!)

Oops, in addition to the Haylee person, there’s a fake Instagram me. They have been reported!

OK, hope that helped. Here’s a quiz. Review the images below and see if you think they are fake or real.

Note that THIS one is a fake Facebook account, not Instagram.

Oh yes, I wanted to assure you that I do have an Instagram account that’s legit. Some people even look at it! I have no urge to be an Influencer of Insta-famous, so I am perfectly happy with my numbers.

Hasta luego.

Life. Challenging. Frustrating.

Drew agrees. He had to learn hard lessons today. Look at him kicking up dust and swishing.

I hope whoever deals with me and my family and their challenges and frustrations will be firm but patient and kind, like Tarrin is with a confused and annoyed horse.

Love to you, readers.