One day not long ago, my friend Liz invited me to go on a walk with her to see “the houses that are falling down.” Who could resist such an invitation? Especially since we’ve had very few sunny days lately.
The falling down houses are in the oldest and most exclusive part of town, near a man made lake with no beaches, no swimming and no fishing. Just one lonely turtle that Liz has made friends with. The pond is next to a a country club that has not modernized in 100 years and admits only legacy clients (the descendants of the charter members). Still it’s not pleasant to see even rich people’s homes teetering on the sides of saturated hills. I couldn’t bring myself to take pictures.
Liz’s favorite door belongs to a Spanish style home much closer to downtown than the falling down houses. This door is actually a gate. The property is surrounded by a high adobe wall and it’s right on a busy street so this is the only picture I was able to get (I was actually standing in the street, dodging speeding luxury cars – ah, the lengths we go to to get our ThursdayDoors!). I tried to find out more of the history of the place but couldn’t. I can only imagine.
Like so many people, I’ve given up trying to understand the MAGA movement. Apparently DT is still the president and Biden is a puppet being controlled by Obama who lives in the basement of the White House with his gay lover, Micheal. And if you don’t believe that’s the truth than you lack critical thinking skills and have been brainwashed by the Jesus-hating, baby-killing woke leftist Satanist Democrats. Okay.
From the SF Chronicle – Joel Pett
A few days ago I watched the 2016 movie “Denial” which was about a libel trial in England. A writer, who’d made a name for himself by becoming a prominent Holocaust denier, sued a Holocaust scholar for calling him a liar. In England the burden of proof in a libel case is on the defendant and so the scholar’s legal team had to prove that the gas chambers did exist and that the Nazis knew exactly what they were doing. Further, they had to prove that the writer knew he was spreading false claims but did so for personal gain.
It’s an excellent movie with a message pertinent to today. Too many politicians are saying things they know to be false for personal gain. For example, today a GOP congresswoman claimed the US House of Representatives passed a budget bill funding “pre-birth abortions.” Does she really believe that a doctor will murder a newborn baby simply because the mother asks him to?
I wish the AMA would sue the idiot but I doubt that will happen.
I’ve been fortunate to have known many survivors of the Holocaust. Many were children who lost their entire families. Many came to this country to stay with a relative they hardly knew. Some became conservative Republicans and others become liberal Democrats. But they are all disappearing. Few remain to be doubted and threatened by the deniers. Few remain to defend their truth.
The Holocaust was never a political issue but the MAGAs are the party of DENIAL. They deny the 2020 election results, they deny the insurrection happened or that it was provoked by DT. They deny climate change even though most of them live in states that are frequently impacted by that change. They deny that vaccines work. They deny that a world wide pandemic happened. Perhaps cruelest of all, they deny that Jesus Christ was the son of penniless and probably dirty refugees. I don’t know where the heck they think he came from. Probably some golden palace DT built in a former life.
I’ve been getting prepaid cremation offers since I was in my early forties. At that time I had no extra money sitting around with which to secure the “peace of mind” of knowing that my “remains would not be a burden” to my loved ones. However, had I been truly budget conscious I would have skimped and saved and grabbed up one of those suckers. Cremation costs have quadrupled since the 1990s. I could have locked in a $700 no frills trip to the crematorium!
Mourning Doves in a dying smoke tree.
But, is it really a good idea to prepay for cremation services decades before the main event? Sure, someone will save a bundle but it won’t be you! Besides, who’s to say there won’t be a newer more efficient method of body vaporization by the time you kick the buckle?
Imagine this scenario:
May 5, 2030
Funeral Director to the daughter of the deceased: Sorry for your loss, Bridey
Bridey: Well, she was one hundred and thirty years old. Thank goodness she prepaid for her cremation. Otherwise I don’t know how we’d —“
Funeral Director: Thank you for bringing in the original receipt. Heavens! It’s been decades since we dealt in paper.
Bridey: Mother never did trust the “internets” as she called them.
FD: I’m sure you realize that bio-disposal technology has greatly evolved since the 1990s. A process that used to take several hours, and meant you had to wait at least day for the processed remains of your loved one, now takes mere seconds! That means you could walk out of here with your mother’s ashes in less than an hour! Of course —
Bridey: You want more money.
FD: Nitey Time Mortuaries will stand by our original commitment but we phased out our old equipment years ago and so, if you choose not to upgrade, we will have to transport your mother’s remains to Reno Auto Wrecking for processing.
Bridey: Reno Auto Wrecking?
FD: Yes, they bought the old machines for parts but I believe they still have one intact crematorium which they use for … well you probably don’t want to know. Didn’t your mother once worked there?
Bridey: Yes she was their bookkeeper but —
FD: I’m sure they’d treat her remains with dignity and respect. However, we are prepared to give you a huge discount on our newer services because she was one of our legacy customers….”
Bridey: Yeah, I bet you are.
Despite my snark, the few times I’ve dealt with funeral directors they’ve been wonderful. But knowing my kids, they’ll have my remains composted into a cubic foot of nutrient rich soil for a quick and dirty green burial. It’s fine with me I just don’t wanna to know the process! I’m sure it involves all sorts of creepy crawlies. I mean, it must, right? If I understand the composting process, my body will basically become a cubic foot of worm poop. Well, who knows? I may have started out that way.
Now onto those daily offers to learn the “humorous, inspiring and practical” side of downsizing for my ultimate transition to the Life Plan Community of HumanGood. I can’t imagine anything humorous about throwing out grandma’s treasures. Obviously I’ve got a long way to go.
For the seeing impaired, on a cool and rainy day a decidedly furry kitty curls into a ball to enjoy the sun’s brief appearance. May you all find that one spot of warmth to enjoy until the rain finally goes away!
When the Sunday paper arrives, Joel grabs the funnies and I grab a section called“Insight” which includes commentaries, political endorsements, puzzles and “Life Tributes” (which, I guess, is a nicer way of saying “Obituaries”) I’m at the age where I do run into a name I recognize every now and then but more often I run into the names of people I wish I’d known.
For example, a writer by the N. Scott Momaday died last month. His name didn’t ring any bells and it should have. I mean, among his many honors he did win the Pulitzer Prize for his debut novelHouse Made of Dawn.
The title of this blog is from Momaday’s poem If I could ascend.
Something like a leaf lies here within me;/ it wavers almost not at all,/ and there is no light to see it by/ that it withers upon a black field./ If it could ascend the thousand years into my mouth,/I would make a word of it at last,/ and I would speak it into the silence of the sun.
And so I have another author to discover.
Besides Dr. Momaday, the world lost Simone whose “greatest legacy was the people she raised who are kind, caring and productive.” And the world lost Court Appointed Special Advocate, Artie, who was “quick witted and playful and adored children.” And Dolly whose “door was always open. Dolly’s kitchen was always open. Dolly’s heart was always open.” And Jim, whose “unconventional teaching tactics and personal touch inspired students to read with insight and write with purpose.” There are many more wonderful folks but I will end with Julio whose “generosity was boundless, helping all those that he met each day” and Lee who “loved to say he was swimming in a sea of friends and what a sea it was.” Ah, swimming in a sea of friends. Just that phrase tells you a lot about someone, doesn’t it?
I have a confession to make: I am not as old as Joe Biden nor that other guy. But I stuttered as a child and had to endure speech therapy for years. Nevertheless, I still stumble over words … all the friggin’ time. When I’m tired I sound drunk. When I leave messages on people’s answering machines I sound drunk. And, given the fact that my mother was from Massachusetts, I say things like “take out the gobbage” and “woofs” instead of “wolves.” I also have math dyslexia and cannot write down a phone number properly. So I don’t judge people by how they speak or their occasional lapses in memory. Remember, the guy below was only 54 when he was elected president.
But my biggest problem has always been what they call “word retrieval difficulties.” Thus, my language is peppered with zingers like: “Bring me the whatchamacallit.” And “Dr. What’s His Name told me to use the thingamajig to take my … ah … what’sitcalled?” It’s not age related and it’s not getting any worse (or better) with age. It certainly hasn’t tampered me in anyway. I’ve managed to teach classes and give a speech once or twice without sounding like an idiot (or so I was told).
My husband, who is also not quite Biden’s age, has a mind like a computer. Or so I thought until … the other day he asked me to bring him the Stander On’er Thinger.
The Stander On’er Thinger otherwise known as a Stepper On’er Thingie
Well, I guess he won’t be running for president.
My garden dragon otherwise known as a What the Heck is it?
Nothing is more beautiful or frightening than an incoming storm.
Or several. Here in Northern California we are expecting another atmospheric river. The next time you hear from me, I might have gills.
“The open doors of small shops and taverns gaped wearily out at God’s world, like many hungry jaws.” From Chameleon
Meanwhile, closer to the ground, signs of Spring. Whenever the weather is as gloomy and grey as it has been, I’m drawn … once again and forever more to … Anton Chekhov. I’ve had a crush on him since I was a teenager … before the Beatles, before the Stones, there was Chekhov.
Anton Chekhov (1860-1904) was not only one of Russia’s most celebrated authors, he was also a doctor and a humanitarian. The misery he often wrote about, he’d seen first hand.
“This poor, foolish queer creature, whom I loved the more warmly the more ragged and dirty his smart summer overcoat became, had come to Moscow, five months before, to look for a job as copying-clerk.” From Oysters
“It seems to me that in the presence of Anton Pavlovich everyone felt an unconscious desire to be simpler, more truthful, more himself ... ” Maxim Gorky, after visiting Chekhov in his dying days
I’ve read that in Russia he is still most famous for the “comics” (100 word articles written under strict deadlines for newspaper). They’ve been described as “uninspired sneers at the weaknesses and follies of mankind,” “a sanctuary of every kind of vulgarity and bad taste,” “trivial buffoonery,” “lacking the normal gift of nonsense,” and finally, “unworthy of translation.” Ouch! But hey, we all have to start somewhere.
Are you drawn to read about long dead Russian authors on dark and dreary days? Or am I strange?
“Any idiot can face a crisis; it’s the day to day living that knocks you out.” Anton Chekhov
Saying nothing in particular 