Disclaimer: Won’t be voting for her…
Her ideology scares me to death, and to think that if her senior citizen running mate won the White House and then, well, she found herself taking the oath of office….she has far less governing experience than either the woman she’s trying to poach votes from, Hilary Clinton, or Obama.
2nd Disclaimer…This *isn’t* about rumor.
Over at Kos, if one swims through and disbelieves the real tinhattery, there is nevertheless a disturbing trend…
There’s some outrage, and then smugness (as if it makes her look stupid.) over Sarah Palin’s choice to raise a child with Down’s Syndrome.
I’ll say it again. Sarah Paulin’s choice.
Hello, feminists? Pro-choice ought to mean pro-even-the-choices-individual-women-might-not-like-it-if-other-women-made.
It is not the responsibility of any woman to scramble madly to prevent *any and all* disabilities.
Diversity isn’t just about race,gender,ethnicity. It’s about different ways of being.
I’m slowly moving from one house to another, with the inevitable sort…
I find two paychecks addressed to my father from his job at the gas station….more than 180 days old, so no way for anyone to cash them.
I find an envelope, not addressed to me, but I examine it.
It has the name of a homeless shelter / AA workshop well known to my father emblazoned on the front.
And a crisp twenty dollar bill in it.
From nearly 15 years ago.
I’m trying to reconstruct his intentions. What he intended to do the day after he died.
One thing, fairly mundane, he probably was going to head out from the halfway house where he lived to cash the second to last check. (I found two, but the second was clearly mailed to the halfway house just before his death, perhaps even the day before.)
Maybe he was going come down on the #3 Detroit Rd. bus to downtown, to eat lunch with me, as he did from time to time back then, and cash the check during his walk down East Ninth Street.
And then, probably that night, since I’d imagine seeing me was difficult for him, he’d head to the AA meeting, with that envelope for some giving back and getting some support.
My attorney father was irreligious. Non-religious. His immediate family, myself and my mother was the place any money that he earned ever went to, before 1970. Before the drinking really had its hooks in him. But that workshop/shelter saved his life, and got him sober enough to work again, when he had not held steady job since his 1986-1990 stint as a night manager at a Burger King.
So, I’ll bet he learned the art of giving back, there at the end of his rope. And the part that’s purely speculative. I don’t think this was the first envelope he’d filled to give back.
It was too neatly tucked in with the paychecks, hidden between them, something his loving, skilled at all issues domestic last girlfriend had never found. This was separate from the box of memorabillia she had given me at the time of his death.
At the time, I donated his beater car to the shelter, having no idea I had that extra twenty, and they were happy to get it, since the recovering guys often found that getting a job was easier with a car than without.
So, I’m going to send the shelter a check for twenty bucks, and thank them for helping my dad. Thank them, because by helping him, they also allowed him to help me with transport, and cleared his head enough to allow him and I to have a decent positive connection, there at the end.
Thanks for the twenty, Dad. Thanks alot. I appreciate it.
from bridgett’s blog:
A. Attached or single? I’m done with seeking attachments. Thank God. No really, I mean it. With my body in the shape it is now, celibacy, something I once thought I could never face, gives me some peace of mind.
B. Best friend? In the 70’s it was Melanie, Tiffany and Peter.
In the eighties it was Peter, Steve, Bridgett. [I loved Brian who was also a good friend and life partner, but our connection was so deep, unmovable, complicated and [from my side after the *** hit the fan ] ambivalent, I don’t know what to call it.}
In the 90’s Peter, Steve and Bridgett. Add in Joanne, [name withheld] and Marta late in the decade.
In the 2000’s Joanne, Peter, Steve Bridgett. That’s all.
. Cake or Pie?: Whole Foods Two Bite Brownies man.
D. Day of choice? Saturday morning resting my tired brain, shoulders, hands ankles…
E. Essential item. This computer.
F. Favorite color? Blue. [duh] Specifically that misty blue/grey often called slate blue.
G. Gummy bears or worms? Christmas M and M’s
H. Hometown? Lyndhurst [Cleveland], Ohio.
I. Favorite indulgence? Vegas, baby.
J. July? July. In Ontario, in a lake, swimming.
K. Kids? None, which bums me out. But I may get an actuall pet next summertime
L. Life isn’t complete without? Books. Music. DVDS. But I’d pitch them all for more face time with family and friends
M. Marriage date[span]? September 5th 1987-January 11. 1993
N. Number of brothers and sisters? One younger brother and one younger sister. Oops, wait they’re my cousins, but cousins in name only. They’re my sibs and I love em.
O. Oranges or Apples? Oranges.
P. Phobias? Bees. Wasps. Hornets. The abject humiliation brought about by a flare up of one of my less socially acceptable impairments.
Q. Quotes? [Lewis Black, about cold cold winters] “…..It’s so cold, I have not been able to hold a single thought in my own head. I go out, and say “You know what I should really…***K ITS COLD!!!”
R. Reasons to smile? Paychecks. Calls from home. Comfortable clothing.
S. Season of choice? Spring, when the sun comes out and tells me that it will get to be fun, living in Denver eventually, and I won’t miss my family back east so much.
T. Tag 5 people: If you feel so moved, go right ahead.
U. Unknown fact about me? Um. Honestly? Each of the people that know me only know part of the story. But if they all sat around together (maybe at my wake?) They’d all find out that there is not a single unknown fact about me.
V. Vegetable? Spinach with some onion, and a bit of vinegar. Heaven.
W. Worst habit? Expecting that the electronic fax machine at my job will work better next time. Stupid of me.
X. X-ray or Ultrasound? Cat scan, darn it. So the fool doctors can’t *miss* cancer for over a year, next time.
Y. Your favorite food? one homemade burger with a dash of A-1 and some grilled onions. and the Citrus adventure salad from the restaurant chain “The Elephant Bar.”
Z. Zodiac sign? Scorpio with Scorpio Rising. And I am a textbook example, for those who put stock in those characteristics. So watch the **** out.
Everyone has endlessly analyzed Senator Obama’s speech, so I’m not going to do that. (Yet)
I’m going to talk about Senator Kennedy.
His was the first speech at the convention that I saw.
Rumor has it that his doctors cautioned him about traveling to Denver and appearing there, to make a speech.
Rumor also has it that he told his doctors what they could do with their suggestion, because he simply felt he had to be there….
And no one who didn’t know he was ill would have guessed exactly what he was fighting, to get all adrenalined up, and roar out his convictions…they might have thought he looked a bit jet lagged, or oxygen deprived, and that his voice was a thin whit less than his clearest best tone.
And when he said…forcefully and without doubt…that he will be there in January 2009 if we have a President Obama…to sign some heath care fixing into law, because heath care is a right, not a privilege….
Dammit I’m crying writing this and it was *five days ago*
Senator, I am not your constituent. But I have fought cancer. And so I’m going to hold you to your word.
I’ll be waiting, excited, even *after* the inaugural….C Span will be must see TV.
When I see you in Winter 2009 putting a splendid new feather in your legislative cap.
Wait. Back up a bit.
Roomate is a tinkerer. They love to watch shows that focus on making machinery “How It’s Made,” “The Works” “American Chopper.”
So, last week, my new manual chair arrived, and when I was sitting in a recliner, roomate decided to tip it back, and examine and spin the small wheels over and over and over….I was remembering a story they told that they dissasembled an entire vacum cleaner as a child ‘just to try and put it all back together.’
“Stop,” I said reasonably. “It’s my chair and you cannot fiddle with it.”
“I’m not fiddling with it, I’m just spinning the wheels”
“You can’t use the chair as project. Stop, please.”
“You could damage-”
Me exasperated, “Not *intentionally* no, but you still might-”
“I’m *NOT* doing anything to it! I’m just *looking at it.”
“Let’s try this another way. How would you feel if you had prosthetic legs, and someone picked them up while you were sitting/laying someplace and they picked them up because they were intricately constructed and they wanted to see how they worked. Unintentionally someone breaks a small piece (but a vital one) and hey presto, you have a repair bill, or have to get a new set altogether.
The chair is my *feet!* How would you feel if some medical student felt your legs were fascinating, removed them in some magically painless way, and started to reverse engineer them?”
I’m not saying I wasn’t over the top. But the grit of the argument has not convinced roomate in any way.
Machines are machines, and are fascinating items to tinker with and fair game in my house. The roomate is careful, and never intends to damage.
I’m an only child and it shows.
My stuff is *my* stuff.