What Not to Wear to a Tea Party

Last summer I was invited to a tea party.  By that I mean, tea and crumpets with ladies in frocks and garden hats and not a group of people with teabags hanging from the rims of their hats screaming “Obama is an Arab.”

The Tea Party

The Tea Party circa 1930

I hadn’t been to a tea party since my daughter was three and the teacups held apple juice. My first thought was “goodie, I get to pretend to be a lady again.” You see readers, I spend 90% of my time in baggy clothes and flip-flops and rarely wear jewelry.  My mother describes my fashion IQ as “mid-century homeless.”

Therefore, what to wear was an immediate concern. It would have to be something I already owned (and fit into) because, even when I was very thin, the thought of being watched as I stripped to my panties always freaks me out. So, you could say my unwillingness to bare my butt to hidden security cameras lowered my frock candidates to two, both of which were bought for funerals but worn to any and all special occasions, including weddings.

The next big decision was which piece of jewelry to wear. Oh my, the true test of whether or not you’re a sentimentalist lies in the jewelry you’ve carted all over the country.  I like to think I’m not but below are pieces I haven’t been able to part with so you tell me:

buttonsButtons – from the assortment above you’d think my political inclinations swing wildly but the Nixon, Rockefeller and Bush buttons I inherited from my father.  They’re a reminder of all those arguments we had around the dining room table, many of which resulted in my expulsion to my bedroom sans dessert.  They also remind me of one of the last things Dad ever said to me before his death “Republicans really aren’t nice people.”  I have no idea what prompted him to say that, probably the swift boating of John Kerry. I’m sure Trump would have mortified him.


This cheap plastic pendant was given to me by a sixteen year old boy who lived with his foster parents in a trailer park in Ridgecrest California. All three raced dirt bikes out in the desert at a time when movies like The Wild One depicted motorcyclists as thugs. But they were good people.  They taught me a valuable lesson about rushing to judgement. The pendant always reminds me of a spaghetti dinner, the drive-in movies and what it’s like to be sixteen and forbidden to ride on the back of a motorcycle.


I bought the sun pendant in the Haight Ashbury district of San Francisco.  It always reminds me of following Country Joe and the Fish (who were playing on the back of a flatbed truck) and singing “Well, it’s one, two, three, what are we fighting for.  Don’t ask me, I don’t give a damn, next stop – Vietnam.” I may have to wear it again.

The charm bracelet was from my Aunt Elvira who had no children of her own and used to take us to Disneyland. Until I was about thirty-five, it was my dream to live in FantasyLand.  Guess what – I’m having that same dream all over again.


Whose jewelry drawer doesn’t contain an assortment of oddball keys? You can’t throw them away because one might unlock a diary that’s been hidden in the back of a closet for decades, full of childhood stories you’ve long forgotten.



Other treasures include earrings without mates (they’ll show up), my grandmother’s charm bracelet, the odd pendant or two, and a couple of unpolished garnets.  It might surprise you to know that my jewelry collection is not insured.

Back to my ensemble, I decided that wearing old campaign buttons and just one earring might make me look even kookier than I generally do. They were definitely on the what not to wear to a Tea Party list.  Instead I wore a simple set of hand strung beads and clip on pearl earrings that had belonged to my grandmother.

You may wonder why I’m telling this story now. Well, months ago I predicted Trump would eventually go to war with the Pope not really believing it would ever happen.  Well, it’s beginning and I’m moving to Wonderland to have tea with the Mad Hatter.


Can’t say it any better than Holistic Wayfarer!

A Holistic Journey

rd.com June 2014 rd.com June 2014

Deeply troubled by the reports of violence against the Jews in Europe, Gil Kraus decided to rescue children from the clutches of Nazi Germany. His posh home and successful law practice in Philadelphia were treasures he could let go. Even with two kids, 13 and 9 – and perhaps because of them – he was willing to confront danger for families suffering terror. His wife Eleanor, won over to his vision, prepared affidavits from people who signed on to help support the kids financially. When she was kept from joining him on the voyage to Europe, Gil convinced their friend and children’s pediatrician Dr. Robert Schless to take her place. The men found themselves in Austria which, swept into the Third Reich, saw Jews by the tens of thousands in a panic to flee. At Gil’s urging, Eleanor caught the next ship out across the Atlantic.

rd.com June 2014 rd.com…

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To Quote Mr. Trump: Sad

Aside from a few freelance gigs, when people ask me what my last “real” job was and I answer “process analyst,” they either scratch their heads because they’ve no idea what I’m talking about or they scrunch their faces in disgust because they do.


In the software industry, a process analyst’s main job is to figure out why projects either 1.) spiral over-budget 2.) take months longer than promised, or 3.) produce an end product so full of bugs that customer support runs screaming to the executive boardroom demanding the project manager’s head. If a project is guilty of all three, water-boarding would be a breeze compared to the verbal abuse and humiliation they face from a CEO schooled in the social graces by Donald Trump.


This project manager’s not going to make it out of the room alive!

I didn’t have any training in “process analysis” and was hired primarily because I could write coherently, pull together a reasonable web site and I was too dumb to realize what I was getting myself into.  You see, process analysts are expected to develop checks and balances to make sure projects run on schedule, on budget and as bug free as possible.  And the worst part – we are expected to accomplish this task without armor and weaponry while the executives trot off to conduct business sessions at golf courses. Right!th-2

My first task as a process analyst was to reformat a set of templates used by project teams to gain approval of their plans. Many of them lacked coherent structure which drove the execs crazy. So I tried to make it easy for them to find key projections such as ROI (return on investment) without having to actually read the darned things.  You know how busy and important execs are!


Should really read: “our processes aren’t complicated enough.

After approval, the plans were reviewed at quarterly meetings. The stated objective of these meetings was to see how far off track the teams were and help them back on target. Sounds friendly, doesn’t it? Not really. These meetings required a project manager to either song and dance around issues, point the blame at another group, or beg for more resources.  And they went on for days.  I know because I was required to attend each whip-lashing.

Before a product was released, the project had one last hurdle: the “release readiness review.” At this meeting the results of testing were revealed, deadliest bugs discussed and a decision made: Could marketing put a good spin on the release despite known issues or would they have to come up with a reasonable story for the delay?

I was at one such meeting when the CEO made the following comment to his team of execs.

“I didn’t know you all spoke fluent German.”

There was silence.  They looked around perplexed.  What was he talking about?  Well, readers, on this particular project all the testers were German thus their report to the execs was – you guessed it – in German.

“Perhaps one of you can tell me what this document you’ve all approved actually says. Unlike you I do not speak German.”  Ah, ah, ah.  Quickly the other execs whipped out their finely honed excuse generators. None of them spoke German either.

I’m amazed I lasted as long as I did. It wasn’t easy being the “process police” or witnessing daily evidence of the Peter Principle. But, because it was a multi-national company I enjoyed getting to know people from other cultures and perhaps that’s why I was able to stick it out. Sometimes it’s the people you work with and not the job.

Besides, thanks to my boss (who really should have been running the company) I learned how to bring groups together who are dependent upon each other for success but acted like they were at war (remind you of Capitol Hill perhaps?). On a team the objective should be  to sail across the finish line together and not drive each other off the cliff.thEventually the company was sold and the new owners had their own processes so my group, along with about one third of the company, found ourselves saying good-bye in the parking lot while pathetically holding our boxes of personal items. We were the lucky ones.  I heard from friends who survived the slaughter that the new owners had no process analysts and few development checks and balances.  Eventually everyone escaped.  Except for a few managers. They were the sort of people to have tossed children from lifeboats into the icy water and then bragged about surviving the Titanic.  On January 20th we’ll find out what it’s like to live in a country governed by people who increasingly have no need for process analysts, morality, decency or even checks and balances on their unconstitutional behavior.  To quote Mr. Trump “Sad.”

The Consequences of Fornication

tin hats

img_2509 “Tree” by Connemoira circa 1980

Over Christmas I got an out-of-the-blue email from someone I rarely hear from and have little in common with however he and I have one of those bonds that cannot be explained and will never be broken.  You see,  we knew and loved the same person.  A woman whose crystal heart broke early on, leaving her to unsuccessfully limp through life trying to avoid emotional landmines.   

I met her in the brief moment of innocence allotted her and we bonded over Tolkien and all things Middle Earth. When he met her it was too late, but at first he suited her needs like a Tums would the winner of a hot dog eating contest.  However, gradually she realized you cannot go from a great albeit deadly passion to warm milk and cookies.

Anyway, that was forever ago.  It…

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#ThursdayDoors: The Rent is Due



This door is around the corner from Trump International Hotel in Washington DC.  Its message is ominous, don’t you think?


From Bing images

In case you haven’t heard, Trump bought Washington DC’s Main Post office and converted it into a hotel.


From Bing Images

Built in 1899 the Old Post Office is a 12 minute walk to the Capital. Before Trump decided to run for president, his plan was to make this building into the jewel in his crown.  Every head of state would want to stay in a Trump hotel, don’t you know? Lather in golden bubbles while munching on Trump chocolates and drinking Trump wine.  However early reviews are not glowing:

From the outside, it responds to a growing need, serves an audience, and looks quite grand. But on the inside, it is a complete disaster, mostly empty inside, riddled with nonsense. From Vanity Fair

Of course when he brought the property he was told if he went into office there would be a conflict of interest but I don’t think he thought he would get into office.  Now I’m sure he thinks the rules don’t apply to him.  After all, look at all he’s gotten away with so far.

Here’s a door of a different sort which I pray is never made into a Trump resort or golf course but in this crazy world, who knows?



This is one of the many archways at the outdoor stadium in Arlington Cemetery where Memorial Day tributes to our veterans take place.  I didn’t take too many pictures at Arlington. I always find it such an overwhelming experience that snapping pictures seems wrong.


From Bing Images

Anyway that’s the end of my contributions to Norm Frampton’s addictive #ThursdayDoors event for awhile.  I need to figure out the publishing business I’ve  been ignoring for the last nine months! The rent is due for me; it’s back to work I go.


You are likely to have a new, exciting and sexually passionate relationship. This is a time for new and exciting things, not the routine. This leads to what will happen if you are already in a relationship. Expect the unexpected! Maybe even a baby or news about pregnancy! – Gemini yearly horoscope for 2017 from Sunsigns.org

On New Year’s Day the first thing I did was read my horoscope for the coming year. I don’t know why I bother. Those darn things are never remotely accurate but I keep hoping.  However, this year they really screwed the pooch. The last thing I need in my life is an affair!  I can barely handle one man. horoscope

My husband thinks it’s silly to read horoscopes (he calls them horriblescopes) however he is neither superstitious nor overly imaginative (he’s an Aries, wouldn’t you know). He’s also quick to point out that due to the shifting of the earth’s axis and numerous other “scientific” facts, I was born under the sign of Taurus and not Gemini. He’s wrong, of course. Here’s a description of the typical Gemini (from Serendipity Astro-lovers):

The eyes [of a Gemini] aren’t big, but they are bright and may be blue, gray, hazel or brown in color.

The facial expression is both bright and alive, but subject to change.

I think that describes me to a “T,” don’t you? I have either blue or grey or brown eyes and my facial expressions are alive and change.  Definitive proof that I am indeed a Gemini.

My husband is always trying to prove he’s smarter than I am.  This is because he was born in the Chinese year of the Rooster and they like to strut around with their chests all puffed out bragging.  I’ve forgotten what manner of fowl he is: Metal, Water, Fire or Earth. I was born in the year of the Tiger which means I’m impulsive and fearless but, according to Travel China, definitely not romantic.

“Tigers cannot give sweet love to their partners because they lack a sense of romance.”

So, I guess when that special someone comes along I’ll have to warn him to only expect sex – no sweet love from me.


Well, here we are heading into the year of the Rooster with a man born in the year of the Dog as our president. If you’ve ever lived on a farm, you know dogs don’t always get along with roosters.  But, looking on the bright side, maybe Donald Trump (who’s also a Gemini) will have a passionate love affair and get pregnant!