Yesterday, I celebrated a "low-key Christmas" with my older sisters T1 and D and my brother S. The only traces of Christmas were the large wreath hanging from the door at my sisters' home and the 12-inch fake tree next to the television set.
D knitted a hat and scarf for me, but she insisted it wasn't a Christmas gift. Too bad. I consider them Christmas gifts anyway. Both were knitted from marled purple yarn and very warm. I kept my cap on for most of the day, except for dinner.
This Christmas was one of the few where there was no "drama" -- arguments, recriminations, bad memories. Just relaxing on the sectional sofa watching ice skating on TV or listening to Toni Braxton or After 7. No gifts exchanged. Just hanging out.
In my middle age, I realize the best Christmases have little to do with presents and decorations. They usually involve just hanging out with family.
Since I didn't get to see my younger sister T2 and her husband J, I offer thanks for a prized memory from 20 years ago. I was working for a newspaper in Bellingham, Wash. I had spent Thanksgiving with a married couple of copy editors and expected to spend my first Christmas away from my family because I didn't have the money to pay for a round-trip airplane ticket home. T2, who sometimes masquerades as Glinda the Good Witch, gave this Dorothy the ruby slippers -- a round-trip ticket to Oakland, where she and J later picked me up and drove to the Sacramento homestead.
When we arrived on Christmas Eve, Mom was cooking dinner. Because it was so hot in there, she had the front door open but the screen door closed. T2 announced that she and J were here and brought a guest.
I said, "Hi, Mom."
Mom gave me the biggest hug I ever had. "Herb, come in here!" she yelled.
"What?! What?!" Dad yelled as he left his den.
He saw me and also gave me a huge hug.
To this day, that is the best Christmas memory I've ever had. And for that, I am most grateful to T2 and J for giving me and my parents that memory.
Christmas. It's all about love.
Writing Diva
Friday, December 26, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
Recession? Depression? It's All Messin' With My Money!
The issue that induces the most stress for me is money -- that is, the lack of it. And the money mess in which California and this nation find themselves has become personal.
Last month, Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger proposed a one-day-a-month furlough of state workers (Note: I work for a state agency.) and cutting two holidays as part of a list to cut spending. The state now faces a $40 billion (That's right -- billion with a "b.") deficit over the next 18 months. Democratic state lawmakers helped pass a budget bill that would at least make up $18 billion over the past two days, but Ah-nult threatened to veto it, saying the bill didn't have the economic reforms and stimulus package he requested. Damn.
In today's on-line edition of The Sacramento Bee, Ah-nult proposed not only a two-day-a-month furlough, but to cut 10 percent of the state government workforce. I wrote my older sister D if it's time for "Grasshopper" to worry. D, who is the most unflappable person I know, wrote back, "Yes, Grasshopper, it's time to panic." S#*%!
To add salt to my economic wound, the Fairfield-Suisun Transit Agency, which runs my commuter bus service, has proposed a substantial increase to the price of our monthly bus passes. The bus pass I purchase to travel between Vacaville and Sacramento costs $86. If the Fairfield City Council approves the increase, it will go up to $110. That's almost $300 a year! The transportation planner said the fare increase would make up for the state's proposed cut in transit funding that would take effect in January. Sonofab*&¢#!
So, this is my message (actually, rant) to state Republican lawmakers and their cronies who think that raising taxes would hurt the economy.
Look. We California taxpayers are going to pay for services whether it be through taxes or delayed deficit payments or the consequences of budget cuts. You can have well-educated public school students and families that have a financial safety net or you can have more crime, overcrowded prisons, and a less-productive workforce. Your no-new-taxes stance is short-sighted and dangerous to this state. And as far as your intense dislike of state workers, we are not the slackers you portray us to be. We work hard for the money we earn and provide valuable services to this state. Your proposed decimation of the state government workforce is something to be done at California's peril.
To the Legislature and Governor: Fix this! Now! Because y'all are f8¢@*^% with my money!
Writing Diva
Last month, Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger proposed a one-day-a-month furlough of state workers (Note: I work for a state agency.) and cutting two holidays as part of a list to cut spending. The state now faces a $40 billion (That's right -- billion with a "b.") deficit over the next 18 months. Democratic state lawmakers helped pass a budget bill that would at least make up $18 billion over the past two days, but Ah-nult threatened to veto it, saying the bill didn't have the economic reforms and stimulus package he requested. Damn.
In today's on-line edition of The Sacramento Bee, Ah-nult proposed not only a two-day-a-month furlough, but to cut 10 percent of the state government workforce. I wrote my older sister D if it's time for "Grasshopper" to worry. D, who is the most unflappable person I know, wrote back, "Yes, Grasshopper, it's time to panic." S#*%!
To add salt to my economic wound, the Fairfield-Suisun Transit Agency, which runs my commuter bus service, has proposed a substantial increase to the price of our monthly bus passes. The bus pass I purchase to travel between Vacaville and Sacramento costs $86. If the Fairfield City Council approves the increase, it will go up to $110. That's almost $300 a year! The transportation planner said the fare increase would make up for the state's proposed cut in transit funding that would take effect in January. Sonofab*&¢#!
So, this is my message (actually, rant) to state Republican lawmakers and their cronies who think that raising taxes would hurt the economy.
Look. We California taxpayers are going to pay for services whether it be through taxes or delayed deficit payments or the consequences of budget cuts. You can have well-educated public school students and families that have a financial safety net or you can have more crime, overcrowded prisons, and a less-productive workforce. Your no-new-taxes stance is short-sighted and dangerous to this state. And as far as your intense dislike of state workers, we are not the slackers you portray us to be. We work hard for the money we earn and provide valuable services to this state. Your proposed decimation of the state government workforce is something to be done at California's peril.
To the Legislature and Governor: Fix this! Now! Because y'all are f8¢@*^% with my money!
Writing Diva
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
The Writing Diva Moving Service
Open letter to outgoing President George W. Bush
From: Writing Diva
Dear Mr. President (but not for much longer),
As of this writing, you and the Bush family are expected to leave the White House in 54 days and 17 hours. (Oh, I'm sorry. Am I counting?) As a veteran of several moves over the past two years, I am very experienced in packing and transporting household goods and belongings safely from one place to another. (In your case, Crawford, Texas.) So, I would like to offer the services of the Writing Diva Moving Service.
Without having to pay, my company (actually, my siblings, cousins, and interested friends) can have your belongings all packed up and ready to go. We'll even pay for the truck or trucks to move your stuff. We can even offer sedatives for your Scottish terriers Barney and Miss Beazley for the long drive back to the Lone Star State.
All my moving service would request is that you and every vestige of your existence in the White House be completely gone by noon Eastern Standard Time on January 20, 2009. After all, a new tenant and his family are moving in at, say, 12:01 p.m.
Do you need bubble wrap? Foam plastic peanuts? Boxes? I can lend you my hand truck, if you need it.
May I recommend Home Depot for spare boxes?
Just contact me at my Web site, and my service will be more than happy to help.
Just make sure when you leave that the door doesn't hit ya where the Good Lord split ya!
Writing Diva
From: Writing Diva
Dear Mr. President (but not for much longer),
As of this writing, you and the Bush family are expected to leave the White House in 54 days and 17 hours. (Oh, I'm sorry. Am I counting?) As a veteran of several moves over the past two years, I am very experienced in packing and transporting household goods and belongings safely from one place to another. (In your case, Crawford, Texas.) So, I would like to offer the services of the Writing Diva Moving Service.
Without having to pay, my company (actually, my siblings, cousins, and interested friends) can have your belongings all packed up and ready to go. We'll even pay for the truck or trucks to move your stuff. We can even offer sedatives for your Scottish terriers Barney and Miss Beazley for the long drive back to the Lone Star State.
All my moving service would request is that you and every vestige of your existence in the White House be completely gone by noon Eastern Standard Time on January 20, 2009. After all, a new tenant and his family are moving in at, say, 12:01 p.m.
Do you need bubble wrap? Foam plastic peanuts? Boxes? I can lend you my hand truck, if you need it.
May I recommend Home Depot for spare boxes?
Just contact me at my Web site, and my service will be more than happy to help.
Just make sure when you leave that the door doesn't hit ya where the Good Lord split ya!
Writing Diva
Saturday, October 18, 2008
"Separate But Equal" Not Cutting It in 2008
I know I'm going to get in trouble for this entry. It's a no-win situation in a turbulent election year.
It's a ballot measure that has not only divided California, but neighbors in Solano County.
Proposition 8.
The measure can be summed up in these 14 words: "Only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California." (Note: California Attorney General Jerry Brown reworded the proposition to read, in part, "Eliminates the right of same-sex couples to marry.")
The ballot initiative qualified for the November 2008 ballot shortly after the California Supreme Court ruled May 15, 2008, that not allowing domestic partnership and gay and lesbian couples to be called "marriage" violates the California Constitution. A month later, on June 16, 2008, gays and lesbians were allowed to marry legally in this state.
Before I continue, I must fully disclose that I am a Christian. I attend an evangelical church in Solano County. But my belief is that God made gays and lesbians the way they are and that I don't understand why He would not allow two adults of whatever sexual orientation to marry, give birth to (by artificial means) or adopt children, and be in a hospital room with the other spouse. I know what the Bible says. I'm probably going to the eternal fireplace for this.
In my early adulthood I was prejudiced against gays and lesbians. But then, I knew very few personally. In college, I met a guy named Steve who was gay. We became good friends until we graduated. I have an older cousin who is gay who is like an older brother to me. Another friend who was my editor and journalism mentor came out to me 13 years ago. I was honored that he trusted me enough to tell me.
I mention these people because I don't know how I can justify saying, "I can marry because I'm straight, but you can't because you're gay." To me, it makes about as much sense as the oxymoronic "separate but equal" doctrine the U.S. Supreme Court favored by a 7-1 vote in 1896. This decision found that Homer Plessy, who was one-eighth black and seven-eighths white, was guilty of sitting in a railroad car reserved for whites only. In summary, the Court ruled that whites and blacks can have separate facilities as long as they're "equal." It wasn't until the 1954 Brown vs. Board of Education decision that this doctrine would be struck down.
So, when a representative of the Proposition 8 campaign called and tried to convince me that under the initiative gays and lesbians would have the same rights as married heterosexual couples but would not be called "married," I laughed derisively before hanging up.
There are signs on both sides of Alamo Drive in Vacaville that support and oppose Proposition 8. There have been complaints of signs being stolen from both sides of the issue.
Proponents of Proposition 8 say they want to protect marriage. Then let's go a few steps further, shall we? Let's outlaw adultery. In the Bible, Deuteronomy 22:22 states: "If a man is discovered committing adultery, both he and the woman must die. In this way, you will purge Israel of such evil." (New Living Translation) OK, so death may be an extreme punishment for adultery. But prison time? Why not!
The proponents also say that marriage is for raising children. If that's the case, what would be the point of a perimenopausal woman whose biological clock alarm is ringing incessantly getting married? Should I be a "spinster"? Perish the thought!
My cousin's two daughters grew up just fine, as did each daughter's son. No one was "indoctrinated into the gay lifestyle."
Moreover, if Proposition 8 were to pass, what then? Take away children from gay and lesbian couples because they're unfit to be parents? Try that with Melissa Etheridge and her spouse, Tammy Lynn Michaels. Good luck.
Finally, if Proposition 8 supporters are afraid that society is going to crumble if gay marriage is sanctioned, I think, with global warming, famine, mass killings in Darfur, drug trafficking, gang violence, worldwide political corruption, and the worst global economic crisis since the Great Depression, it's a little late now.
OK. Now I'm really going to hell.
Writing Diva
It's a ballot measure that has not only divided California, but neighbors in Solano County.
Proposition 8.
The measure can be summed up in these 14 words: "Only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California." (Note: California Attorney General Jerry Brown reworded the proposition to read, in part, "Eliminates the right of same-sex couples to marry.")
The ballot initiative qualified for the November 2008 ballot shortly after the California Supreme Court ruled May 15, 2008, that not allowing domestic partnership and gay and lesbian couples to be called "marriage" violates the California Constitution. A month later, on June 16, 2008, gays and lesbians were allowed to marry legally in this state.
Before I continue, I must fully disclose that I am a Christian. I attend an evangelical church in Solano County. But my belief is that God made gays and lesbians the way they are and that I don't understand why He would not allow two adults of whatever sexual orientation to marry, give birth to (by artificial means) or adopt children, and be in a hospital room with the other spouse. I know what the Bible says. I'm probably going to the eternal fireplace for this.
In my early adulthood I was prejudiced against gays and lesbians. But then, I knew very few personally. In college, I met a guy named Steve who was gay. We became good friends until we graduated. I have an older cousin who is gay who is like an older brother to me. Another friend who was my editor and journalism mentor came out to me 13 years ago. I was honored that he trusted me enough to tell me.
I mention these people because I don't know how I can justify saying, "I can marry because I'm straight, but you can't because you're gay." To me, it makes about as much sense as the oxymoronic "separate but equal" doctrine the U.S. Supreme Court favored by a 7-1 vote in 1896. This decision found that Homer Plessy, who was one-eighth black and seven-eighths white, was guilty of sitting in a railroad car reserved for whites only. In summary, the Court ruled that whites and blacks can have separate facilities as long as they're "equal." It wasn't until the 1954 Brown vs. Board of Education decision that this doctrine would be struck down.
So, when a representative of the Proposition 8 campaign called and tried to convince me that under the initiative gays and lesbians would have the same rights as married heterosexual couples but would not be called "married," I laughed derisively before hanging up.
There are signs on both sides of Alamo Drive in Vacaville that support and oppose Proposition 8. There have been complaints of signs being stolen from both sides of the issue.
Proponents of Proposition 8 say they want to protect marriage. Then let's go a few steps further, shall we? Let's outlaw adultery. In the Bible, Deuteronomy 22:22 states: "If a man is discovered committing adultery, both he and the woman must die. In this way, you will purge Israel of such evil." (New Living Translation) OK, so death may be an extreme punishment for adultery. But prison time? Why not!
The proponents also say that marriage is for raising children. If that's the case, what would be the point of a perimenopausal woman whose biological clock alarm is ringing incessantly getting married? Should I be a "spinster"? Perish the thought!
My cousin's two daughters grew up just fine, as did each daughter's son. No one was "indoctrinated into the gay lifestyle."
Moreover, if Proposition 8 were to pass, what then? Take away children from gay and lesbian couples because they're unfit to be parents? Try that with Melissa Etheridge and her spouse, Tammy Lynn Michaels. Good luck.
Finally, if Proposition 8 supporters are afraid that society is going to crumble if gay marriage is sanctioned, I think, with global warming, famine, mass killings in Darfur, drug trafficking, gang violence, worldwide political corruption, and the worst global economic crisis since the Great Depression, it's a little late now.
OK. Now I'm really going to hell.
Writing Diva
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Mom's Got Our Back -- And We Have Hers
"Tell Mama all about it
Tell Mama what you need
Tell Mama what you want
And I'll make everything alright."
"Tell Mama," sung by Etta James
Has it really been ten years?
Ten years ago this morning I got a phone call I dreaded but knew was coming.
"Mom died this morning," my older sister said. "You have to come home NOW!"
After a five-year battle with Alzheimer's disease and later an aggressive lung cancer, my mother passed away in her sleep. She was 64.
The last time I saw her was three days before she passed. She was in bed, weak but still recognizing Dad and the kids, even though she couldn't say our names. My younger sister and I were on the bed on both sides. I softly sang Louis Prima's "Jump, Jive and Wail." Mom smiled. Before I left to drive home to Fairfield, I kissed Mom on her forehead and said goodbye.
"Thank you, baby," she said. Those were her last words to me.
There are bits and pieces that stand out in my mind about Mom. There is a black-and-white Polaroid photo of Mom at home in her housecoat surrounded by her six kids. The many records and cassette tapes of her favorite music, from Luther (He needs no last name!) to Sam Cooke, Aretha, the Pattis, Marvin, Billy Ocean. When Dad got saved in the mid-1960s, records and radio music were banned from the house. But Mom made a way. When Dad was at work or at church, Mom would play her records or turn on the radio. She bought me my first record -- "Friendship Train" by Gladys Knight and the Pips.
Her children also inherited her love of dance. Mom could boogie and didn't care who knew it. While cooking dinner or washing dishes, she would play her music while shaking her ample groove thing with that sly smile.
I also remember is Mom coming to rescue us kids when we were in trouble. I had flunked out of college at the end of my freshman year. I was a basket case. Mom took it upon herself to talk to the dean of the college of letters and sciences. She dressed in a navy blazer and skirt with a white ruffled blouse and drove to the university. Three hours later, she said he will let me in if I get at least a 3.5 GPA in the classes I take in the fall. I got a 4.0.
What stands out most was Mom's unconditional love for her children and grandchildren. She would care for her youngest grandson while he was attending elementary school in her neighborhood. She took us adult children in when we needed a place to stay until we could get on her feet.
Shortly after she was diagnosed as being in the early stage of Alzheimer's, she was washing dishes. I told Mom that eventually she would forget who her children are. She looked up from the sink.
"I'll never forget you," she said. "You're my child."
She didn't forget who we were. She kept her promise.
Mom has always had our back. And we'll always have hers.
Writing Diva
Tell Mama what you need
Tell Mama what you want
And I'll make everything alright."
"Tell Mama," sung by Etta James
Has it really been ten years?
Ten years ago this morning I got a phone call I dreaded but knew was coming.
"Mom died this morning," my older sister said. "You have to come home NOW!"
After a five-year battle with Alzheimer's disease and later an aggressive lung cancer, my mother passed away in her sleep. She was 64.
The last time I saw her was three days before she passed. She was in bed, weak but still recognizing Dad and the kids, even though she couldn't say our names. My younger sister and I were on the bed on both sides. I softly sang Louis Prima's "Jump, Jive and Wail." Mom smiled. Before I left to drive home to Fairfield, I kissed Mom on her forehead and said goodbye.
"Thank you, baby," she said. Those were her last words to me.
There are bits and pieces that stand out in my mind about Mom. There is a black-and-white Polaroid photo of Mom at home in her housecoat surrounded by her six kids. The many records and cassette tapes of her favorite music, from Luther (He needs no last name!) to Sam Cooke, Aretha, the Pattis, Marvin, Billy Ocean. When Dad got saved in the mid-1960s, records and radio music were banned from the house. But Mom made a way. When Dad was at work or at church, Mom would play her records or turn on the radio. She bought me my first record -- "Friendship Train" by Gladys Knight and the Pips.
Her children also inherited her love of dance. Mom could boogie and didn't care who knew it. While cooking dinner or washing dishes, she would play her music while shaking her ample groove thing with that sly smile.
I also remember is Mom coming to rescue us kids when we were in trouble. I had flunked out of college at the end of my freshman year. I was a basket case. Mom took it upon herself to talk to the dean of the college of letters and sciences. She dressed in a navy blazer and skirt with a white ruffled blouse and drove to the university. Three hours later, she said he will let me in if I get at least a 3.5 GPA in the classes I take in the fall. I got a 4.0.
What stands out most was Mom's unconditional love for her children and grandchildren. She would care for her youngest grandson while he was attending elementary school in her neighborhood. She took us adult children in when we needed a place to stay until we could get on her feet.
Shortly after she was diagnosed as being in the early stage of Alzheimer's, she was washing dishes. I told Mom that eventually she would forget who her children are. She looked up from the sink.
"I'll never forget you," she said. "You're my child."
She didn't forget who we were. She kept her promise.
Mom has always had our back. And we'll always have hers.
Writing Diva
Monday, September 15, 2008
My big birthday wish
At 11:41 a.m. 49 years ago, I emerged into the world from Mom's womb. I was probably screaming, "Put me back! I was happy in there! Put me back!"
With the way things are in the United States, I'm thinking the same thing. Too bad Mom has moved on to bigger and better things.
I have a list of things I want for my birthday, which I'll have to get at a later date: a "Scrabble" game, an iPod, a new pair of cross-training athletic shoes, and my carpet shampooed.
But what I want most for this birthday is going to have to come from a whole bunch of people -- voters, actually. I want Sen. Barack Obama elected President of the United States.
Yes, it's a tall order. I never said it was easy. I realize I'm asking for a lot. But I want to see history made before I follow Mom into the Great Beyond.
I want to put the brakes on another eight years of failed policies under Shrub (The late Molly Ivins' nickname for President George W. Bush. Ivins also was a Virgo, bless her heart!) I don't want another (at least) four years of W2 with Sen. John "Prickly" McCain as President and that Stepford Wife Sarah Palin as Vice President. I want my colleague who's been deployed to Iraq to come home instead of being "stop-lossed."
I want someone who's ready to work on programs that will help repair this faltering economy, which former Federal Reserve Chairman Alan Greenspan has called a once in a 50- or 100-year event when interviewed on ABC's "This Week with George Stephanopolous."
I want issues and policies to triumph over negativity and innuendo in this Presidential election campaign. I want bipartisanship instead of bickering across the aisle. I want this nation to get its act together and go beyond race and ideology and choose the person best suited to lead this country through the tough times everyone is going through. For me, that person is Barack Obama.
All right, I've said my piece. I'm willing to work to get what I really want. Anything else would be icing on the cake.
Writing Diva
With the way things are in the United States, I'm thinking the same thing. Too bad Mom has moved on to bigger and better things.
I have a list of things I want for my birthday, which I'll have to get at a later date: a "Scrabble" game, an iPod, a new pair of cross-training athletic shoes, and my carpet shampooed.
But what I want most for this birthday is going to have to come from a whole bunch of people -- voters, actually. I want Sen. Barack Obama elected President of the United States.
Yes, it's a tall order. I never said it was easy. I realize I'm asking for a lot. But I want to see history made before I follow Mom into the Great Beyond.
I want to put the brakes on another eight years of failed policies under Shrub (The late Molly Ivins' nickname for President George W. Bush. Ivins also was a Virgo, bless her heart!) I don't want another (at least) four years of W2 with Sen. John "Prickly" McCain as President and that Stepford Wife Sarah Palin as Vice President. I want my colleague who's been deployed to Iraq to come home instead of being "stop-lossed."
I want someone who's ready to work on programs that will help repair this faltering economy, which former Federal Reserve Chairman Alan Greenspan has called a once in a 50- or 100-year event when interviewed on ABC's "This Week with George Stephanopolous."
I want issues and policies to triumph over negativity and innuendo in this Presidential election campaign. I want bipartisanship instead of bickering across the aisle. I want this nation to get its act together and go beyond race and ideology and choose the person best suited to lead this country through the tough times everyone is going through. For me, that person is Barack Obama.
All right, I've said my piece. I'm willing to work to get what I really want. Anything else would be icing on the cake.
Writing Diva
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
The Eurydice Effect
From Wikipedia: In Greek mythology, Eurydice was an oak nymph who was the wife of Orpheus. They loved each other dearly. On their wedding day, Orpheus played songs filled with happiness as his bride danced through a meadow. According to legend, Eurydice stepped on a snake and fell to the ground. The venomous snake had bitten her, leaving Eurydice dead. Distraught, Orpheus played and sang so mournfully that all the nymphs and gods wept. They told him to travel to the Underworld to retrieve her. Orpheus did so, and his music softened the hearts of Hades and Persephone. Hades then allowed Eurydice to return with Orpheus to the world of the living as long as Orpheus walked in front of his wife and not look back until they had both reached the upper world. Orpheus had reached the upper world, but in his anxiety, he broke his promise before Eurydice could emerge from the darkness. Then Eurydice vanished from his sight – forever.
What I call the “Eurydice Effect” is when a person contacts a former lover and the experience leaves the caller in an emotional tailspin. I made the horrible mistake of calling Helmut last night and experienced the Eurydice Effect firsthand.
I don’t know why I felt I had to call Helmut. I had recent dreams about him and wondered if somehow we could be friends. I’m beating myself upside da hed: STUPID! STUPID! STUPID! When Helmut picked up the phone the first time, I said, “This is (Writing Diva).” (As if I’m going to use my real name! Huh!) He said, “Who? Help me out here.” Then I said I had the wrong number and hung up. I believe that was God’s way of saying, “Don’t do this!” But NOOOOO! I decided to call again. I told Helmut I was sorry for the way I treated him at the Solano Christian Singles ‘60s dance. He said it was an uncomfortable situation for both of us. Later he said that he was sorry for not being truthful about the reason we broke up, but he would not elaborate. Then I concluded that he broke up with me for another woman and that the fiasco regarding the Diana Ross concert was his way out without saying anything. Later, he ended the conversation.
I was sick to my stomach. I couldn’t eat. I threw the kitties Tuff-Punk and Diva out of my room, I was so depressed. It was bad enough that he dumped me and left a lot of damage in his wake, but to finally confirm that the breakup wasn’t my fault, after 17 years, hurt and angered me. We can never be friends because a friend would not have done what he did.
The most that I can do the next time I see him is nod and go about my business. Right now, I have to focus on healing because I injured my heart again. Only then can I continue to live and perhaps love again.
Writing Diva
What I call the “Eurydice Effect” is when a person contacts a former lover and the experience leaves the caller in an emotional tailspin. I made the horrible mistake of calling Helmut last night and experienced the Eurydice Effect firsthand.
I don’t know why I felt I had to call Helmut. I had recent dreams about him and wondered if somehow we could be friends. I’m beating myself upside da hed: STUPID! STUPID! STUPID! When Helmut picked up the phone the first time, I said, “This is (Writing Diva).” (As if I’m going to use my real name! Huh!) He said, “Who? Help me out here.” Then I said I had the wrong number and hung up. I believe that was God’s way of saying, “Don’t do this!” But NOOOOO! I decided to call again. I told Helmut I was sorry for the way I treated him at the Solano Christian Singles ‘60s dance. He said it was an uncomfortable situation for both of us. Later he said that he was sorry for not being truthful about the reason we broke up, but he would not elaborate. Then I concluded that he broke up with me for another woman and that the fiasco regarding the Diana Ross concert was his way out without saying anything. Later, he ended the conversation.
I was sick to my stomach. I couldn’t eat. I threw the kitties Tuff-Punk and Diva out of my room, I was so depressed. It was bad enough that he dumped me and left a lot of damage in his wake, but to finally confirm that the breakup wasn’t my fault, after 17 years, hurt and angered me. We can never be friends because a friend would not have done what he did.
The most that I can do the next time I see him is nod and go about my business. Right now, I have to focus on healing because I injured my heart again. Only then can I continue to live and perhaps love again.
Writing Diva
Friday, August 29, 2008
Denver -- A Place Called Hope
"Don't Let Anyone Bring You Down."
-- Minnie Riperton
Over the past four days, I viewed the Democratic National Convention on CNN and C-Span. (I like C-Span better because I can listen to the musical artists and feel as if I'm there instead of having intrusive pundit chatter.) And Sen. Barack Obama, whom I called "President-to-Be Brotherman," delivered.
His 42-minute speech at Mile-High Stadium in Denver hit on the 45th anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I've Got a Dream" speech, the third anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, and the seventh anniversary of the terrorist attack on the United States on September 11. His speech wasn't full of lofty platitudes. He gave it to the people straight, no chaser. This was one of my favorite excerpts:
"But the record's clear: John McCain has voted with George Bush ninety percent of the time. Senator McCain likes to talk about judgment, but really, what does it say about your judgment when you think George Bush has been right more than ninety percent of the time? I don't know about you, but I'm not ready to take a ten percent chance on change."
Ow! That's gotta hurt!
Obama outlined what he would do as president and how certain programs would be paid for. I'm not sure how it's going to work, but I'd rather take my chances on Brotherman than on McCain, who thrives on the politics of fear and division.
I pretty much everything I saw during the week of the convention. Michelle Obama gave an emotional, moving speech about her husband. Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton showed herself to be a class act by asking for a unanimous voice vote for her former rival. And former President Bill Clinton, who will always be considered the "first 'black' president," gave Obama his blessing and passed the Democratic torch.
But I liked one guy, Barney Smith, a Republican from Indiana who worked at an RCA plant until the plant closed in 2004. After 31 years working there, he received 90 days severance pay, and his job was shipped overseas. He now works at a distribution center.
"America can't afford more of the same. We need a president who puts the Barney Smiths before the Smith Barneys," he said.
Rock on, Mr. Smith!
As I write this, I learn that Sen. McCain has chosen Gov. Sarah Palin of Alaska to be his running mate. I think McCain is trying to snag the female vote. He's such a Cheney!
But even when I had to go to work today, I'm smiling. Barack kicked ass and took names last night. And I think there will be more of that in the next two months.
I've got to sign up people to vote!
Writing Diva
-- Minnie Riperton
Over the past four days, I viewed the Democratic National Convention on CNN and C-Span. (I like C-Span better because I can listen to the musical artists and feel as if I'm there instead of having intrusive pundit chatter.) And Sen. Barack Obama, whom I called "President-to-Be Brotherman," delivered.
His 42-minute speech at Mile-High Stadium in Denver hit on the 45th anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I've Got a Dream" speech, the third anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, and the seventh anniversary of the terrorist attack on the United States on September 11. His speech wasn't full of lofty platitudes. He gave it to the people straight, no chaser. This was one of my favorite excerpts:
"But the record's clear: John McCain has voted with George Bush ninety percent of the time. Senator McCain likes to talk about judgment, but really, what does it say about your judgment when you think George Bush has been right more than ninety percent of the time? I don't know about you, but I'm not ready to take a ten percent chance on change."
Ow! That's gotta hurt!
Obama outlined what he would do as president and how certain programs would be paid for. I'm not sure how it's going to work, but I'd rather take my chances on Brotherman than on McCain, who thrives on the politics of fear and division.
I pretty much everything I saw during the week of the convention. Michelle Obama gave an emotional, moving speech about her husband. Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton showed herself to be a class act by asking for a unanimous voice vote for her former rival. And former President Bill Clinton, who will always be considered the "first 'black' president," gave Obama his blessing and passed the Democratic torch.
But I liked one guy, Barney Smith, a Republican from Indiana who worked at an RCA plant until the plant closed in 2004. After 31 years working there, he received 90 days severance pay, and his job was shipped overseas. He now works at a distribution center.
"America can't afford more of the same. We need a president who puts the Barney Smiths before the Smith Barneys," he said.
Rock on, Mr. Smith!
As I write this, I learn that Sen. McCain has chosen Gov. Sarah Palin of Alaska to be his running mate. I think McCain is trying to snag the female vote. He's such a Cheney!
But even when I had to go to work today, I'm smiling. Barack kicked ass and took names last night. And I think there will be more of that in the next two months.
I've got to sign up people to vote!
Writing Diva
Friday, August 22, 2008
Dumped (Though I Deserved It)
The eHarmony suitor who only two weeks ago wrote to me "I want you, only you" is gone.
The gent closed his profile to me yesterday. And I don't blame him.
I think it was the last e-mail I wrote to him. I said that I had attended a luau hosted by a local singles group and had a good time. Then I asked him where he went to school. (I added that I was a UC Davis graduate.)
I asked him that because the e-mails I received from him were so poorly written that at times I couldn't understand what he was saying. One of my must-haves is someone who is as smart, if not smarter than, I am. I know it's elitist. But physical attraction is a small part of a relationship. If I can't discuss things on an intellectual level, that's half the relationship down the tubes.
I was also irritated by his emotional neediness. I realize that some people may call it affection or devotion. But to write every other day when I haven't written anything just to find out if I'm OK was starting to cramp my style.
To be honest, when I saw his closed message and his reason stated "other," I felt a bit stung. It was mostly my pride that was hurt. But later I realized that I deserved it because, at least in my mind, I treated him shabbily.
He deserves better, after having lost his wife and being alone for five years. I'm sure there's a wonderful woman out there for the gent. I know I'm just not that woman.
Be happy, K.
Writing Diva
The gent closed his profile to me yesterday. And I don't blame him.
I think it was the last e-mail I wrote to him. I said that I had attended a luau hosted by a local singles group and had a good time. Then I asked him where he went to school. (I added that I was a UC Davis graduate.)
I asked him that because the e-mails I received from him were so poorly written that at times I couldn't understand what he was saying. One of my must-haves is someone who is as smart, if not smarter than, I am. I know it's elitist. But physical attraction is a small part of a relationship. If I can't discuss things on an intellectual level, that's half the relationship down the tubes.
I was also irritated by his emotional neediness. I realize that some people may call it affection or devotion. But to write every other day when I haven't written anything just to find out if I'm OK was starting to cramp my style.
To be honest, when I saw his closed message and his reason stated "other," I felt a bit stung. It was mostly my pride that was hurt. But later I realized that I deserved it because, at least in my mind, I treated him shabbily.
He deserves better, after having lost his wife and being alone for five years. I'm sure there's a wonderful woman out there for the gent. I know I'm just not that woman.
Be happy, K.
Writing Diva
Friday, August 15, 2008
You're Putting a Rush on Me
In the space of two weeks, my social life has become a bit complicated.
On July 19, I subscribed to a three-month membership in eHarmony, the Web site that features the song "This Will Be" in its television commercials. Well, I have 34 matches, with one who is so interested in me that, as he put it in an e-mail, "I want you, only you."
Which elicited from me the following response: "WTF?"
He's a 57-year-old Caucasian widower from San Francisco who has a 12-year-old son. He sells German car parts and computers. From his e-mails, he can't write to save his own life. I sometimes have problems deciphering his e-missives. He is a Christian (perhaps Catholic, from his mention of consulting his priest) who is serious about finding his soul mate.
Eventually, I'd like to find a soul mate. But I'd like to meet some of my matches first before making any decisions.
Therein lies the problem. We're not in the same place. He seems to think I'm what he's looking for. But at this time my feelings aren't reciprocal. I asked the gent to slow down, to which he agreed.
Also, there is the situation with my "work flirt." A recent newspaper horoscope for Virgo read: "You have undeniable chemistry with someone -- a magnetic attraction that you forget about until you return to the vicinity of this person." Indeed, that's what I have with this colleague. When I showed his photo to a friend, she said, "He's pretty darn hot." Every time I see him, I feel as if I look like Elwood the Chinest crested dog, who once won the Ugliest Dog in the World Contest. He's almost completely hairless except with a tuft of white hair, and his tongue hangs out.
I will meet the e-Harmony gent and give him a chance. At this moment, however, his chances are still slim.
Writing Diva
On July 19, I subscribed to a three-month membership in eHarmony, the Web site that features the song "This Will Be" in its television commercials. Well, I have 34 matches, with one who is so interested in me that, as he put it in an e-mail, "I want you, only you."
Which elicited from me the following response: "WTF?"
He's a 57-year-old Caucasian widower from San Francisco who has a 12-year-old son. He sells German car parts and computers. From his e-mails, he can't write to save his own life. I sometimes have problems deciphering his e-missives. He is a Christian (perhaps Catholic, from his mention of consulting his priest) who is serious about finding his soul mate.
Eventually, I'd like to find a soul mate. But I'd like to meet some of my matches first before making any decisions.
Therein lies the problem. We're not in the same place. He seems to think I'm what he's looking for. But at this time my feelings aren't reciprocal. I asked the gent to slow down, to which he agreed.
Also, there is the situation with my "work flirt." A recent newspaper horoscope for Virgo read: "You have undeniable chemistry with someone -- a magnetic attraction that you forget about until you return to the vicinity of this person." Indeed, that's what I have with this colleague. When I showed his photo to a friend, she said, "He's pretty darn hot." Every time I see him, I feel as if I look like Elwood the Chinest crested dog, who once won the Ugliest Dog in the World Contest. He's almost completely hairless except with a tuft of white hair, and his tongue hangs out.
I will meet the e-Harmony gent and give him a chance. At this moment, however, his chances are still slim.
Writing Diva
Friday, August 1, 2008
Bad governor! No steroids!
"Money's too tight to mention"
-- Simply Red
Yesterday morning, between 11:30 a.m. and noon, California Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger signed an executive order laying off more than 10,000 part-time and temporary state employees and consultants and cutting the pay of more than 200,000 California civil servants to $6.55 an hour. I can tell you that $6.55 isn't enough to buy 7 pounds of Purina Cat Chow at WinCo Foods.
All this happened because the state Legislature has not agreed upon a budget. The Democrats say they've already cut enough and want to raise "revenues." The Republicans have vowed not to raise "taxes." Therefore, both sides are involved in a spitting match, with state workers being spat upon.
In all this budget darkness came a shining light -- Controller John Chiang said that he would not carry out the executive order because there's enough money to keep the state solvent through September. "Ah-nult" said he would take Chiang to court if he had to. So, there may be another legal spitting match. But if Chiang ever decided to run for governor, I'd support him.
I'll be OK, I think. I have long-standing direct-deposit account with the Golden 1 Credit Union, which has offered state workers with accounts opened before June 30 a zero percent loan to cover their paychecks until the budget mess is settled. Other banks may offer their own deals.
I contacted my mortgage company this morning explaining my financial situation. The customer service supervisor I spoke to advised that I call later in the month if the budget situation is still in flux so I could make a payment arrangement until the budget is signed.
But I admit I'm better off than a lot of people who lost their jobs. A single mother who works part-time as an office assistant making $15.98 an hour had just closed on a new house. Now that she's just lost her job, she has to tell her mortgage company that she can't make the first payment on September 1. Now, that's just awful!
I've read posts on newspaper Web sites that portray state workers as lazy whiners. Having worked for the private sector as well as the public one, I've found both sides pretty much the same. Most people work hard for their money. So, I wish the critics would leave us alone and let us provide the services they ask for.
If the Republicans want to cut services, I'd love to know which services they'd like to cut. Would they like to cut my job as an editor? Would they like to cut my older brother's job at DMV? What about my older sister's job at the Board of Equalization? Let the Republicans come up with their own version of the budget so we can get this thing settled.
As for "Ah-nult" and his pathetic apology, "sorry" doesn't pay the mortgage!
Writing Diva
-- Simply Red
Yesterday morning, between 11:30 a.m. and noon, California Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger signed an executive order laying off more than 10,000 part-time and temporary state employees and consultants and cutting the pay of more than 200,000 California civil servants to $6.55 an hour. I can tell you that $6.55 isn't enough to buy 7 pounds of Purina Cat Chow at WinCo Foods.
All this happened because the state Legislature has not agreed upon a budget. The Democrats say they've already cut enough and want to raise "revenues." The Republicans have vowed not to raise "taxes." Therefore, both sides are involved in a spitting match, with state workers being spat upon.
In all this budget darkness came a shining light -- Controller John Chiang said that he would not carry out the executive order because there's enough money to keep the state solvent through September. "Ah-nult" said he would take Chiang to court if he had to. So, there may be another legal spitting match. But if Chiang ever decided to run for governor, I'd support him.
I'll be OK, I think. I have long-standing direct-deposit account with the Golden 1 Credit Union, which has offered state workers with accounts opened before June 30 a zero percent loan to cover their paychecks until the budget mess is settled. Other banks may offer their own deals.
I contacted my mortgage company this morning explaining my financial situation. The customer service supervisor I spoke to advised that I call later in the month if the budget situation is still in flux so I could make a payment arrangement until the budget is signed.
But I admit I'm better off than a lot of people who lost their jobs. A single mother who works part-time as an office assistant making $15.98 an hour had just closed on a new house. Now that she's just lost her job, she has to tell her mortgage company that she can't make the first payment on September 1. Now, that's just awful!
I've read posts on newspaper Web sites that portray state workers as lazy whiners. Having worked for the private sector as well as the public one, I've found both sides pretty much the same. Most people work hard for their money. So, I wish the critics would leave us alone and let us provide the services they ask for.
If the Republicans want to cut services, I'd love to know which services they'd like to cut. Would they like to cut my job as an editor? Would they like to cut my older brother's job at DMV? What about my older sister's job at the Board of Equalization? Let the Republicans come up with their own version of the budget so we can get this thing settled.
As for "Ah-nult" and his pathetic apology, "sorry" doesn't pay the mortgage!
Writing Diva
Friday, July 25, 2008
This Will Be (an Experiment)
I have taken the plunge, sort of. I signed up for a three-month subscription to eHarmony, the (mostly Christian) Web site for singles trying to find their soul mate.
I have plunked down $117 for the privilege of being matched according to my likes, dislikes, personality traits, distance, and so forth. So far, I've been matched with 10 prospects. Five of them have turned me down because of distance, dating outside eHarmony, or "other," which really annoys me.
I have tried eHarmony before, in 2004. I kept getting turned down by prospects for one reason or another. Frustrated, I quit after three months.
But I wasn't happy about my dating situation. So, I decided to at least give eHarmony a try.
I'm not a big fan of dating Web sites. I tried Match.com and met this one guy who lives in Oakland. He was a year or two younger than I and described himself as a self-employed entrepreneur who was selling his home in the North Natomas area of Sacramento to move to the Bay Area to meet more singles. We arranged to meet at the Barnes and Noble bookstore in the Jack London Square area of Oakland. (I was working in San Francisco at the time.)
He described himself as 5'7". When we met, I noticed I could see over his Jheri-curled head. I'm 5'5". This was not a good omen.
The back of his car was stuffed with all sorts of clothes and stuff, as if he were either moving or living out of his car. He wore a sweat suit and an undershirt. For our first meeting! For crying out loud!
We had coffee at the Starbucks inside the Barnes and Noble. He was looking to date me, but I said that I don't know where I would be in a year because (at the time) I was looking for another job. (It was true. I was looking for another job. I ended up working in Sacramento.) When I mentioned that I had a cat, he said, "A kee-at? If we're dating, we'll have to do something about that." Like what? Give Tuff-Punk away? I don't think so! That turned me off immediately.
Shortly after our meeting, I canceled my subscription with Match.com. I was so discouraged by the lack of choices.
As for my signing up with eHarmony, it's an experiment, nothing more. I'm still getting out and doing things, taking classes, and enjoying my hobbies. I just want to see what happens. I do not expect to hear Natalie Cole's "This Will Be" while I'm doing this. I'm just seeing what (or who) is out there.
Writing Diva
I have plunked down $117 for the privilege of being matched according to my likes, dislikes, personality traits, distance, and so forth. So far, I've been matched with 10 prospects. Five of them have turned me down because of distance, dating outside eHarmony, or "other," which really annoys me.
I have tried eHarmony before, in 2004. I kept getting turned down by prospects for one reason or another. Frustrated, I quit after three months.
But I wasn't happy about my dating situation. So, I decided to at least give eHarmony a try.
I'm not a big fan of dating Web sites. I tried Match.com and met this one guy who lives in Oakland. He was a year or two younger than I and described himself as a self-employed entrepreneur who was selling his home in the North Natomas area of Sacramento to move to the Bay Area to meet more singles. We arranged to meet at the Barnes and Noble bookstore in the Jack London Square area of Oakland. (I was working in San Francisco at the time.)
He described himself as 5'7". When we met, I noticed I could see over his Jheri-curled head. I'm 5'5". This was not a good omen.
The back of his car was stuffed with all sorts of clothes and stuff, as if he were either moving or living out of his car. He wore a sweat suit and an undershirt. For our first meeting! For crying out loud!
We had coffee at the Starbucks inside the Barnes and Noble. He was looking to date me, but I said that I don't know where I would be in a year because (at the time) I was looking for another job. (It was true. I was looking for another job. I ended up working in Sacramento.) When I mentioned that I had a cat, he said, "A kee-at? If we're dating, we'll have to do something about that." Like what? Give Tuff-Punk away? I don't think so! That turned me off immediately.
Shortly after our meeting, I canceled my subscription with Match.com. I was so discouraged by the lack of choices.
As for my signing up with eHarmony, it's an experiment, nothing more. I'm still getting out and doing things, taking classes, and enjoying my hobbies. I just want to see what happens. I do not expect to hear Natalie Cole's "This Will Be" while I'm doing this. I'm just seeing what (or who) is out there.
Writing Diva
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Ich bin nicht ein Kuguar (I am NOT a cougar!)
This past Saturday I attended a New Life Church singles potluck hosted at the home of one of the church members. There were 15 people there, including four men and a 4-year-old boy. With lots of food, two rousing rounds of "Guesstures," (a game based on "Charades" using word cards) and a long walk, I had a very good time.
Early in the evening, we discussed older women dating younger men. One of the women there said she knew a man 15 years her junior who is interested in her. (The topic resonated with me because I have a flirtation with a male work colleague who is 17 years my junior.) Then we discussed the term "cougar" -- not the mountain lion, but a single women who dates younger men. I asked, "Why are older women who date younger men called 'cougars'?"
One of the men at the potluck made the gesture of a puma about to pounce.
"But I didn't ask him out, he asked me out," the woman I spoke to protested.
Some of us females there didn't like the term. According to a July 14, 2008, article in the Contra Costa Times, the term, which germinated in the bars of Vancouver, B.C. in 2001, originally referred to a woman in her early 40s pursuing a man in his late 20s, but has come to define any women in a romance with a younger man. And, by definition, cougars are stalk-and-ambush predators.
Why is it that older women dating younger men are called cougars, but older men dating younger women aren't? After all, aren't the older men the ones who ask out the women?
So what are the older men called? "Dirty old men"? "Coots"? "Lechers"?
I think such derogatory labels should be abolished. As long as we're two single adults who like each other and want to get to know each other (Note that I wrote adults.), why should we have labels? OK, maybe one label -- happy.
Writing Diva
Early in the evening, we discussed older women dating younger men. One of the women there said she knew a man 15 years her junior who is interested in her. (The topic resonated with me because I have a flirtation with a male work colleague who is 17 years my junior.) Then we discussed the term "cougar" -- not the mountain lion, but a single women who dates younger men. I asked, "Why are older women who date younger men called 'cougars'?"
One of the men at the potluck made the gesture of a puma about to pounce.
"But I didn't ask him out, he asked me out," the woman I spoke to protested.
Some of us females there didn't like the term. According to a July 14, 2008, article in the Contra Costa Times, the term, which germinated in the bars of Vancouver, B.C. in 2001, originally referred to a woman in her early 40s pursuing a man in his late 20s, but has come to define any women in a romance with a younger man. And, by definition, cougars are stalk-and-ambush predators.
Why is it that older women dating younger men are called cougars, but older men dating younger women aren't? After all, aren't the older men the ones who ask out the women?
So what are the older men called? "Dirty old men"? "Coots"? "Lechers"?
I think such derogatory labels should be abolished. As long as we're two single adults who like each other and want to get to know each other (Note that I wrote adults.), why should we have labels? OK, maybe one label -- happy.
Writing Diva
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Because...it's my money
"...with my mind on my money and my money on my mind."
-- Cordozar Calvin Broadus Jr. (A.K.A. Snoop Dogg)
There are few things I will discuss with people outside of family and close friends. One of those things I'm reluctant to bring up is my money. I've made many mistakes regarding my handling of money, for which I'm still paying. (Talk about irony!) With soaring gasoline and food prices, I'm having to cut some things out of my household budget. I've just canceled my subscriptions to the San Francisco Chronicle and Newsweek. The Chronicle wants $78 for 26 weeks. BAH-HA-HA-HA-HA!
I haven't gone to lunch with my coworkers in recent months because the costs add up -- $5 here, $10 there, $15 in other places. That's money that could go a long way at WinCo Foods, especially with coupons. It's not that I dislike my coworkers. But these days I need every dollar I can get my hands on. I may even have to take a second job in the coming months.
On Thursday, I made the mistake of joining my coworkers for lunch at Vallejo's. Actually, I didn't order lunch, per se. I ordered a lemon-lime soft drink, nothing more. One coworker asked if I was fasting. "No," I replied, tersely. My supervisor asked if I was hungry. I said I had my lunch back at the office. Then the coworker asked if the union had negotiated a cost-of-living raise. (Considering we're represented by the same unit, she could go ask an SEIU Local 1000 representative that question.) Eventually, I became uncomfortable and was about to pay for my drink and return to work. My supervisor said to keep my money since she was paying for lunch.
"You're a cheap date," she said, perhaps half-jokingly.
"Ah, but not easy," I half-jokingly retorted.
I was pretty grumpy on the walk back to the office. How I spend my money is not their business. I don't ask them how they allocate their finances. Lunches like these are under my "entertainment" budget, which has been spent for the month. If they want my company, it shouldn't matter to them whether I eat or drink or just plain hang out.
Maybe I'm calling too much attention to myself. From now on, I'll eat my bag lunch quietly and disappear when they do future group lunches.
Later that day, my frugality (or cheapness, however one wishes to call it) was justified when my air conditioner went out. I'm taking Monday off to get the thing fixed. One-hundred-degree days are coming this week, and I refuse to swelter in my home.
As Bill Cosby said in a commercial for the now-defunct E.F. Hutton: "Because...it's my money."
Writing Diva
-- Cordozar Calvin Broadus Jr. (A.K.A. Snoop Dogg)
There are few things I will discuss with people outside of family and close friends. One of those things I'm reluctant to bring up is my money. I've made many mistakes regarding my handling of money, for which I'm still paying. (Talk about irony!) With soaring gasoline and food prices, I'm having to cut some things out of my household budget. I've just canceled my subscriptions to the San Francisco Chronicle and Newsweek. The Chronicle wants $78 for 26 weeks. BAH-HA-HA-HA-HA!
I haven't gone to lunch with my coworkers in recent months because the costs add up -- $5 here, $10 there, $15 in other places. That's money that could go a long way at WinCo Foods, especially with coupons. It's not that I dislike my coworkers. But these days I need every dollar I can get my hands on. I may even have to take a second job in the coming months.
On Thursday, I made the mistake of joining my coworkers for lunch at Vallejo's. Actually, I didn't order lunch, per se. I ordered a lemon-lime soft drink, nothing more. One coworker asked if I was fasting. "No," I replied, tersely. My supervisor asked if I was hungry. I said I had my lunch back at the office. Then the coworker asked if the union had negotiated a cost-of-living raise. (Considering we're represented by the same unit, she could go ask an SEIU Local 1000 representative that question.) Eventually, I became uncomfortable and was about to pay for my drink and return to work. My supervisor said to keep my money since she was paying for lunch.
"You're a cheap date," she said, perhaps half-jokingly.
"Ah, but not easy," I half-jokingly retorted.
I was pretty grumpy on the walk back to the office. How I spend my money is not their business. I don't ask them how they allocate their finances. Lunches like these are under my "entertainment" budget, which has been spent for the month. If they want my company, it shouldn't matter to them whether I eat or drink or just plain hang out.
Maybe I'm calling too much attention to myself. From now on, I'll eat my bag lunch quietly and disappear when they do future group lunches.
Later that day, my frugality (or cheapness, however one wishes to call it) was justified when my air conditioner went out. I'm taking Monday off to get the thing fixed. One-hundred-degree days are coming this week, and I refuse to swelter in my home.
As Bill Cosby said in a commercial for the now-defunct E.F. Hutton: "Because...it's my money."
Writing Diva
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Distance Makes the Heart Grow…Who Am I Kidding?
I ride a commuter bus between Vacaville and my workplace in Sacramento each day. Late last year I met a woman who became one of my closest friends, A.J. We would sit together and discuss what was happening in our lives and at work.
Yesterday was her birthday. I gave her a humorous card. During our morning chat, she dropped a bombshell – she plans to move to Maryland to live near one of her brothers sometime next year.
I was shocked. Then, during my nap, I grieved a bit. It almost never fails. I get a good friend to hang out with, and she moves away or I move away.
I’ve had the same thing happen repeatedly throughout my life. I moved away from Leona, my sixth-grade friend from Donner Elementary School. We were going to attend Peter Lassen Junior High School together until my parents found a new, bigger home for our family in south Sacramento. Then I made friends with Kathy, who moved to Torrance shortly before I started ninth grade. When I started my journalism career in Bellingham, Wash., in 1989, I made friends with another Carol, who started a week after I did. Partly due to homesickness and harassment by my supervisors, I moved back to Northern California.
During my 1989-1992 stint at the Daily Republic in Fairfield, I made friends with a reporter named Linda, AKA “Red.” After she worked there a year, she moved to Florida, where she eventually met her true love, married, and had a family. Another coworker, this time at the San Ramon Valley Times, became a good friend. Then Estela left the paper and followed her husband back East, where they eventually settled in Texas with their two children.
I call and write to some of my long-distance friends. But it’s difficult. I realize I could visit them, but I don’t have the money to drive, much less fly, to see them. So, e-mail (when available) is the next best thing. Sometimes I’m envious of those who move away. It seems they’re moving on to better things, while I’m stuck in neutral. I try not to feel sorry for myself, but it’s hard.
So, now another friend is moving away. I don’t handle change well. That’s something I’ll have to change. (Ba-da-bump.)
However, I want A.J. to be happy. Life is too short to not try something, to not fulfill one’s potential while on this Earth. I’ll adjust. That’s what change is all about.
Writing Diva
Yesterday was her birthday. I gave her a humorous card. During our morning chat, she dropped a bombshell – she plans to move to Maryland to live near one of her brothers sometime next year.
I was shocked. Then, during my nap, I grieved a bit. It almost never fails. I get a good friend to hang out with, and she moves away or I move away.
I’ve had the same thing happen repeatedly throughout my life. I moved away from Leona, my sixth-grade friend from Donner Elementary School. We were going to attend Peter Lassen Junior High School together until my parents found a new, bigger home for our family in south Sacramento. Then I made friends with Kathy, who moved to Torrance shortly before I started ninth grade. When I started my journalism career in Bellingham, Wash., in 1989, I made friends with another Carol, who started a week after I did. Partly due to homesickness and harassment by my supervisors, I moved back to Northern California.
During my 1989-1992 stint at the Daily Republic in Fairfield, I made friends with a reporter named Linda, AKA “Red.” After she worked there a year, she moved to Florida, where she eventually met her true love, married, and had a family. Another coworker, this time at the San Ramon Valley Times, became a good friend. Then Estela left the paper and followed her husband back East, where they eventually settled in Texas with their two children.
I call and write to some of my long-distance friends. But it’s difficult. I realize I could visit them, but I don’t have the money to drive, much less fly, to see them. So, e-mail (when available) is the next best thing. Sometimes I’m envious of those who move away. It seems they’re moving on to better things, while I’m stuck in neutral. I try not to feel sorry for myself, but it’s hard.
So, now another friend is moving away. I don’t handle change well. That’s something I’ll have to change. (Ba-da-bump.)
However, I want A.J. to be happy. Life is too short to not try something, to not fulfill one’s potential while on this Earth. I’ll adjust. That’s what change is all about.
Writing Diva
Friday, June 6, 2008
Bobby, I Hardly Knew Ye
Anybody here seen my old friend Bobby?
Can you tell me where he's gone?
I thought I saw him walkin' up over the hill,
With Abraham, Martin and John. -- Dick Holler, 1968
I was only 8 years old, but I remember Senator Robert FrancisKennedy’s assassination as if it was, perhaps, a week ago.
It was only two months after the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was killed at the Lorraine Hotel in Memphis, so King’s assassination and funeral were still fresh in my mind. Sen. Kennedy was running for the Democratic nomination for presidentafter President Lyndon B. Johnson declared that he “would not seekanother term as your President.” Kennedy had just won the California Primary and was celebrating at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles.
I began my interest in politics at the age of 8 after I had a talk with Mom and Dad about the 1968 presidential election. I learned the difference between Democrats and Republicans, at least from their pointof view. Republicans didn’t like taxes, big government, or black folk.Democrats believed that government should help people, believed taxes were the way to do it, and at least tolerated black people.
“So, which are we,” I asked Mom. “Democrats or Republicans?”
“We’re Democrats,” Mom replied.
School had just let out for the summer when I was watching the electionreturns for the California Primary. (Oh, I long for the days when ourstate had just one primary – in June!) So, I was allowed to stay uplate to watch TV. I liked the Kennedy family. I remember when Mom told me she cried when President John F. Kennedy was shot in November 1963 in a motorcade in Dallas. I thought the Kennedy era of support for civil rights and hope for a brighter future was over.
But when JFK’s younger brother, former Attorney General and then-New York Senator Bobby Kennedy was running for President, I thought that maybe the Kennedy era could come back to life. And with the California win, Bobby was on his way.
But shortly after midnight on June 5, 1968, that victory was cutviolently short. Sirhan Sirhan, a 24-year-old Palestinian who objectedto RFK’s support of Israel, shot the senator in the head at close range. I was so naïve. I thought maybe doctors could take the bullet out of Kennedy’s head, and he would just be paralyzed. “You’ve got to save him,” I kept saying to the TV set as Iwatched the news.
But it was not to be. Sen. Robert F. Kennedy died of his wound on June 6, 1968. He was 42. When I heard of his death, I moaned, “Oh, no, not again!” I cried while Mom tried comforting me.
So, the nation endured another funeral of someone in which we hadplaced our hopes. I didn’t let RFK’s death deter me from following political issues. But I’ve often wondered what our nation would have been like had he lived.
Although the quote was attributed to George Bernard Shaw, I will close with RFK’s version: “There are those that look at things the way they are, and ask why? I dream of things that never were, and ask why not?”
Writing Diva
Can you tell me where he's gone?
I thought I saw him walkin' up over the hill,
With Abraham, Martin and John. -- Dick Holler, 1968
I was only 8 years old, but I remember Senator Robert FrancisKennedy’s assassination as if it was, perhaps, a week ago.
It was only two months after the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was killed at the Lorraine Hotel in Memphis, so King’s assassination and funeral were still fresh in my mind. Sen. Kennedy was running for the Democratic nomination for presidentafter President Lyndon B. Johnson declared that he “would not seekanother term as your President.” Kennedy had just won the California Primary and was celebrating at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles.
I began my interest in politics at the age of 8 after I had a talk with Mom and Dad about the 1968 presidential election. I learned the difference between Democrats and Republicans, at least from their pointof view. Republicans didn’t like taxes, big government, or black folk.Democrats believed that government should help people, believed taxes were the way to do it, and at least tolerated black people.
“So, which are we,” I asked Mom. “Democrats or Republicans?”
“We’re Democrats,” Mom replied.
School had just let out for the summer when I was watching the electionreturns for the California Primary. (Oh, I long for the days when ourstate had just one primary – in June!) So, I was allowed to stay uplate to watch TV. I liked the Kennedy family. I remember when Mom told me she cried when President John F. Kennedy was shot in November 1963 in a motorcade in Dallas. I thought the Kennedy era of support for civil rights and hope for a brighter future was over.
But when JFK’s younger brother, former Attorney General and then-New York Senator Bobby Kennedy was running for President, I thought that maybe the Kennedy era could come back to life. And with the California win, Bobby was on his way.
But shortly after midnight on June 5, 1968, that victory was cutviolently short. Sirhan Sirhan, a 24-year-old Palestinian who objectedto RFK’s support of Israel, shot the senator in the head at close range. I was so naïve. I thought maybe doctors could take the bullet out of Kennedy’s head, and he would just be paralyzed. “You’ve got to save him,” I kept saying to the TV set as Iwatched the news.
But it was not to be. Sen. Robert F. Kennedy died of his wound on June 6, 1968. He was 42. When I heard of his death, I moaned, “Oh, no, not again!” I cried while Mom tried comforting me.
So, the nation endured another funeral of someone in which we hadplaced our hopes. I didn’t let RFK’s death deter me from following political issues. But I’ve often wondered what our nation would have been like had he lived.
Although the quote was attributed to George Bernard Shaw, I will close with RFK’s version: “There are those that look at things the way they are, and ask why? I dream of things that never were, and ask why not?”
Writing Diva
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Ghost of lovers past
In a way, I did see this coming. I remained in denial until tonight.
I saw one of my former boyfriends, Helmut, again.
First, I don't use real names when it comes to friends, family, even ex-lovers. So, even Helmut is protected. That doesn't mean I like him, though.
A few weeks ago a colleague from Solano Christian Singles, of which I was a core group member, asked me if I would take over hosting an event tonight, April 19, at Trinity Lutheran Church in Fairfield. I was hesitant because I had left the group on New Year's Eve because I wanted more time to focus on my writing. But Tess, who is dedicated to the group and understood my time constraints and frustrations with the group, was the one doing the asking. So, I acquiesced.
The party had a '60s theme. I bought some sodas, Chex Mix, Lil' Smokies, and barbecue sauce. I also bought three 1960s music compilation CDs with me. The games, decorations, sound system, candies, and cake were handled by other core group members. By 6 p.m., the start of the dance, people slowly began to arrive. Shortly after 6 p.m., as I was preparing the orange sherbet/7-Up punch, I heard a familiar basso profundo voice -- Helmut! My heart sank to my stomach. Whatever appetite I had vanished.
But it wasn't as if, in a way, I wasn't warned. For the past several weeks, I've had dreams of seeing Helmut again. We had dated from October 1990 to August 1991. We broke up shortly after a mishap in which I was supposed to meet Helmut at a restaurant before attending a Diana Ross concert at the then-Concord Pavilion. I forgot where I was supposed to meet him. So, I went to the concert, hoping Helmut might have went there to wait for me. He wasn't in front of the gate. So, I watched the concert alone. The next day, we got into a fight on the phone about my forgetting where Helmut was. Feeling cornered and guilty, I hung up on him. He broke up with me soon thereafter. It was ugly.
I saw Helmut twice since the breakup. The first time was at a festival in Oakland around 1994. He was with a female friend when I arrived to sit down to enjoy some jazz. When I saw the two of them, I hurriedly left the park, took the BART train back to Walnut Creek, where I was living, drove home, and cried. The second time was 2001 at a Sade concert, also at the now-Sleep Train Pavilion, where I was writing a review as a freelancer for The Oakland Tribune. Helmut was one of the ushers. I sneered at him whenever he'd pass. But I had never seen him at the Danceasy ballroom in El Cerrito, where I had resumed classes in 2002 and had been going there on and off since. (We had taken ballroom dance classes together, which made some tense moments. He lacked rhythm. I wouldn't follow someone who lacked rhythm.)
So, when he walked him saying "Hello" in that booming bass voice, I wanted to run. But I was in the corner of the church kitchen. And when Delilah had to return to the kitchen to cut the bread for sandwiches, and Helmut offered to help, I felt trapped. Again.
Delilah introduced Helmut and me. At first, I said "Hello" as if I hadn't seen him before. He admitted to Delilah that we had met. I said that we had met at different social functions. I never admitted to her that he was once my lover, the man who said he wanted to marry me someday.
I excused myself to see if my former core group colleague and friend Lisa was coming with the ice. After a couple of minutes, Lisa drove her Civic into the driveway. As I strode up to the car, she rolled down the passenger-side window.
"My ex-boyfriend is here!" I said. "And I can't leave because I'm in charge of this thing! And I can't curse here."
"Go on the sidewalk and get it out there," Lisa said.
I said every curse word I could think of, but quietly so I wouldn't disturb the neighbors across the street. Before we entered, Lisa took my hand and we prayed The Serenity Prayer: "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."
"I pray that prayer a lot," she said.
Then I helped Lisa in with the ice.
During the evening, Helmut would talk with other guests and eventually sat at a table across from Lisa and me. He asked about my life and where I attend church. I didn't want to seem too rude, but I hesitated to say where I worked, at first. He teaches at Vacaville High School, around the corner from where I live. He bought a home in Vallejo. I said I bought a townhome in Vacaville. He occasionally attends the Methodist Church in Napa.
Why the #$%@ did I say what I did, where I worked, or where I worship? I wanted to kick myself.
Then I would go off in the kitchen and have temper tantrums with God. I asked Him why he would bring Helmut into my life now, of all times. And why did He bring Helmut to a place where I can't kick him in the cojones, punch him in the jaw, or crush his instep. And what did Delilah do with that ginsu knife?
During the evening I walked around checking the music that was playing, nibbling some snacks, if only half-heartedly, dancing to some favorite tunes, and sitting with guests chatting. Helmut was his usual charming self to the guests and was being friendly to me. I was in too much shock to take much notice.
Around 7 p.m., he finally left. Before going to his truck, he approached me and said goodbye to me. "Take care of yourself," I said. "You too," he said, patting my shoulder.
I told two other female guests that the guy who left was my ex-boyfriend. I said nothing to Delilah, who seemed to enjoy Helmut's attention. I chose not to mention my previous dating status. I figured that if the two dated, that would be Helmut's story to tell, not mine.
I did have some fun with the few people who were there. About nine people showed up for the dance. But core group members Mike and Delilah took pictures of some of us dancing and clowning around on the digital camera and printed copies for each of us. By the time we finished cleanup, it was 10 p.m. I arrived home at 10:20 p.m.
After I let one cat outside, I began bawling. I remembered all the physical and emotional pain that Helmut caused me. How could we possibly be friends after all he put me through? I can accept that we weren't good for one another, that our relationship was emotionally unhealthy. But the aftereffects were awful.
Maybe I still have some work to do toward forgiving Helmut and moving on with a future relationship.
And wouldn't you know? There was a full moon tonight.
Writing Diva
I saw one of my former boyfriends, Helmut, again.
First, I don't use real names when it comes to friends, family, even ex-lovers. So, even Helmut is protected. That doesn't mean I like him, though.
A few weeks ago a colleague from Solano Christian Singles, of which I was a core group member, asked me if I would take over hosting an event tonight, April 19, at Trinity Lutheran Church in Fairfield. I was hesitant because I had left the group on New Year's Eve because I wanted more time to focus on my writing. But Tess, who is dedicated to the group and understood my time constraints and frustrations with the group, was the one doing the asking. So, I acquiesced.
The party had a '60s theme. I bought some sodas, Chex Mix, Lil' Smokies, and barbecue sauce. I also bought three 1960s music compilation CDs with me. The games, decorations, sound system, candies, and cake were handled by other core group members. By 6 p.m., the start of the dance, people slowly began to arrive. Shortly after 6 p.m., as I was preparing the orange sherbet/7-Up punch, I heard a familiar basso profundo voice -- Helmut! My heart sank to my stomach. Whatever appetite I had vanished.
But it wasn't as if, in a way, I wasn't warned. For the past several weeks, I've had dreams of seeing Helmut again. We had dated from October 1990 to August 1991. We broke up shortly after a mishap in which I was supposed to meet Helmut at a restaurant before attending a Diana Ross concert at the then-Concord Pavilion. I forgot where I was supposed to meet him. So, I went to the concert, hoping Helmut might have went there to wait for me. He wasn't in front of the gate. So, I watched the concert alone. The next day, we got into a fight on the phone about my forgetting where Helmut was. Feeling cornered and guilty, I hung up on him. He broke up with me soon thereafter. It was ugly.
I saw Helmut twice since the breakup. The first time was at a festival in Oakland around 1994. He was with a female friend when I arrived to sit down to enjoy some jazz. When I saw the two of them, I hurriedly left the park, took the BART train back to Walnut Creek, where I was living, drove home, and cried. The second time was 2001 at a Sade concert, also at the now-Sleep Train Pavilion, where I was writing a review as a freelancer for The Oakland Tribune. Helmut was one of the ushers. I sneered at him whenever he'd pass. But I had never seen him at the Danceasy ballroom in El Cerrito, where I had resumed classes in 2002 and had been going there on and off since. (We had taken ballroom dance classes together, which made some tense moments. He lacked rhythm. I wouldn't follow someone who lacked rhythm.)
So, when he walked him saying "Hello" in that booming bass voice, I wanted to run. But I was in the corner of the church kitchen. And when Delilah had to return to the kitchen to cut the bread for sandwiches, and Helmut offered to help, I felt trapped. Again.
Delilah introduced Helmut and me. At first, I said "Hello" as if I hadn't seen him before. He admitted to Delilah that we had met. I said that we had met at different social functions. I never admitted to her that he was once my lover, the man who said he wanted to marry me someday.
I excused myself to see if my former core group colleague and friend Lisa was coming with the ice. After a couple of minutes, Lisa drove her Civic into the driveway. As I strode up to the car, she rolled down the passenger-side window.
"My ex-boyfriend is here!" I said. "And I can't leave because I'm in charge of this thing! And I can't curse here."
"Go on the sidewalk and get it out there," Lisa said.
I said every curse word I could think of, but quietly so I wouldn't disturb the neighbors across the street. Before we entered, Lisa took my hand and we prayed The Serenity Prayer: "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."
"I pray that prayer a lot," she said.
Then I helped Lisa in with the ice.
During the evening, Helmut would talk with other guests and eventually sat at a table across from Lisa and me. He asked about my life and where I attend church. I didn't want to seem too rude, but I hesitated to say where I worked, at first. He teaches at Vacaville High School, around the corner from where I live. He bought a home in Vallejo. I said I bought a townhome in Vacaville. He occasionally attends the Methodist Church in Napa.
Why the #$%@ did I say what I did, where I worked, or where I worship? I wanted to kick myself.
Then I would go off in the kitchen and have temper tantrums with God. I asked Him why he would bring Helmut into my life now, of all times. And why did He bring Helmut to a place where I can't kick him in the cojones, punch him in the jaw, or crush his instep. And what did Delilah do with that ginsu knife?
During the evening I walked around checking the music that was playing, nibbling some snacks, if only half-heartedly, dancing to some favorite tunes, and sitting with guests chatting. Helmut was his usual charming self to the guests and was being friendly to me. I was in too much shock to take much notice.
Around 7 p.m., he finally left. Before going to his truck, he approached me and said goodbye to me. "Take care of yourself," I said. "You too," he said, patting my shoulder.
I told two other female guests that the guy who left was my ex-boyfriend. I said nothing to Delilah, who seemed to enjoy Helmut's attention. I chose not to mention my previous dating status. I figured that if the two dated, that would be Helmut's story to tell, not mine.
I did have some fun with the few people who were there. About nine people showed up for the dance. But core group members Mike and Delilah took pictures of some of us dancing and clowning around on the digital camera and printed copies for each of us. By the time we finished cleanup, it was 10 p.m. I arrived home at 10:20 p.m.
After I let one cat outside, I began bawling. I remembered all the physical and emotional pain that Helmut caused me. How could we possibly be friends after all he put me through? I can accept that we weren't good for one another, that our relationship was emotionally unhealthy. But the aftereffects were awful.
Maybe I still have some work to do toward forgiving Helmut and moving on with a future relationship.
And wouldn't you know? There was a full moon tonight.
Writing Diva
Saturday, March 15, 2008
A (Too) Public Tragedy
Over the past week I've watched the scandal over New York Gov. Elliot Spitzer's hiring of an expensive call girl unfold over the media. Various network and cable news outlets have aired the two press conferences of Spitzer, dragging his wife Silda Wall Spitzer with him, first apologizing for his actions (which he did not detail, probably on his lawyer's advice), then announcing his resignation from the office he assumed in January 2007.
Then The New York Times revealed the name of the 22-year-old woman with whom Spitzer was involved -- Ashley Alexandra Dupré, an aspiring singer. Two days later, she was besieged with offers from Penthouse and Hustler magazines to pose nude.
Spitzer has been the butt (Definitely no pun intended) of jokes on the late night talk shows and will be parodied tonight on Saturday Night Live. The tabloid newspapers and television shows have referred to the outgoing governor as "The Love Gov" and detailed the lurid scandal incessantly.
What the media and "entertainers" seem to forget is that this is a tragedy, albeit a too public one. Because of Spitzer's actions, the crusading attorney general known as the "Sheriff of Wall Street" for his pursuit of corporate corruption, his career is ruined, his marriage is in jeopardy, and his three teenage daughters are probably enduring embarrassment and ridicule in a period of their lives when they should be spared such things.
Yes, I realize the freedom of speech is guaranteed under our nation's First Amendment. I've heard the repeated adage "Sex sells." But I ask the media for restraint at this time. Granted, what Spitzer did was thoughtless and destructive to himself, his family, and New York state. However, the media should also consider his wife and daughters. They didn't ask for this. I'm sure Silda Wall Spitzer didn't ask to be trotted out to play the role of the loving and supporting wife and scrutinized by the media for "standing by her man." Although she and her daughters became (somewhat) public figures when Spitzer ran for public office, they didn't visit the "Emperor's Club V.I.P." They trusted a husband a father to do the right thing. They are innocent victims in all this.
Having said that, I will turn off the TV if I see any coverage, any jokes, any parodies involving the outgoing governor and his call girl, who, from what I've heard from news reports, is stressed out by the media wolf pack. Instead, I will pray that the Spitzer family (yes, even the governor) gets through this trying, hellish time. Peace.
Writing Diva
Then The New York Times revealed the name of the 22-year-old woman with whom Spitzer was involved -- Ashley Alexandra Dupré, an aspiring singer. Two days later, she was besieged with offers from Penthouse and Hustler magazines to pose nude.
Spitzer has been the butt (Definitely no pun intended) of jokes on the late night talk shows and will be parodied tonight on Saturday Night Live. The tabloid newspapers and television shows have referred to the outgoing governor as "The Love Gov" and detailed the lurid scandal incessantly.
What the media and "entertainers" seem to forget is that this is a tragedy, albeit a too public one. Because of Spitzer's actions, the crusading attorney general known as the "Sheriff of Wall Street" for his pursuit of corporate corruption, his career is ruined, his marriage is in jeopardy, and his three teenage daughters are probably enduring embarrassment and ridicule in a period of their lives when they should be spared such things.
Yes, I realize the freedom of speech is guaranteed under our nation's First Amendment. I've heard the repeated adage "Sex sells." But I ask the media for restraint at this time. Granted, what Spitzer did was thoughtless and destructive to himself, his family, and New York state. However, the media should also consider his wife and daughters. They didn't ask for this. I'm sure Silda Wall Spitzer didn't ask to be trotted out to play the role of the loving and supporting wife and scrutinized by the media for "standing by her man." Although she and her daughters became (somewhat) public figures when Spitzer ran for public office, they didn't visit the "Emperor's Club V.I.P." They trusted a husband a father to do the right thing. They are innocent victims in all this.
Having said that, I will turn off the TV if I see any coverage, any jokes, any parodies involving the outgoing governor and his call girl, who, from what I've heard from news reports, is stressed out by the media wolf pack. Instead, I will pray that the Spitzer family (yes, even the governor) gets through this trying, hellish time. Peace.
Writing Diva
Friday, February 29, 2008
Oscar armchair quarterback
I don't think any of the Oscar observers have said it yet, so I will: Oscar skewed young this year. Forget about Oscars for older sentimental favorites like Ruby Dee and Hal Holbrook. (Needless to say, I was disappointed Ruby Dee didn't win.) The (reportedly) relentlessly violent "No Country for Old Men" took home the most Oscars. The song from "Once," "Falling Slowly," beat out the Disney juggernaut and the gospel-influenced "Raise Me Up" from "August Rush." (Nice touch from Jon Stewart offering the female co-writer of "Falling Slowly" to finish her acceptance speech!)
I thought that if Ruby Dee didn't win, Amy Ryan from "Gone, Baby, Gone" would take it. Tilda Swinton from "Michael Clayton" was a huge surprise. (Next time, Tilda, wear something other than a Glad garbage bag.)
Marion Cotillard from "La Vie en Rose" was a wonderful surprise. Too many Oscar observers thought Julie Christie would take it for "Away from Her." But from what I saw of Cotillard's performance as Edith Piaf, she earned it. And she was so refreshing in her acceptance speech.
I'm glad Daniel Day-Lewis won for "There Will Be Blood" and Javier Bardem (¡Qué caliente!) for his portrayal of one of the scariest movie villains in film history in "No Country."
Diablo Cody earned her Oscar for her crackling dialogue in "Juno." I'm not going to ding her for her leopard-print gown. She's glad to be accepted as she is.
Well, that's my take.
Writing Diva
I thought that if Ruby Dee didn't win, Amy Ryan from "Gone, Baby, Gone" would take it. Tilda Swinton from "Michael Clayton" was a huge surprise. (Next time, Tilda, wear something other than a Glad garbage bag.)
Marion Cotillard from "La Vie en Rose" was a wonderful surprise. Too many Oscar observers thought Julie Christie would take it for "Away from Her." But from what I saw of Cotillard's performance as Edith Piaf, she earned it. And she was so refreshing in her acceptance speech.
I'm glad Daniel Day-Lewis won for "There Will Be Blood" and Javier Bardem (¡Qué caliente!) for his portrayal of one of the scariest movie villains in film history in "No Country."
Diablo Cody earned her Oscar for her crackling dialogue in "Juno." I'm not going to ding her for her leopard-print gown. She's glad to be accepted as she is.
Well, that's my take.
Writing Diva
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Holding My Nose at the Polls
Four days ago I cast my vote in the presidential primary for Sen. Barack Obama. My trek to the polls was one of the few times when I didn’t have to hold my nose while casting a ballot.
I have voted in every presidential election, primary and general, since 1980. I believe in the adage, “If you don’t vote, don’t complain.” When I was an idealistic young college student, I thought then-President Jimmy Carter was doing a terrible job with the economy. So, I voted for Sen. Edward Kennedy in the Democratic primary, who lost to Carter. Then I made a big mistake. I switched to the Republican Party briefly so I could vote for U.S. Rep. John Anderson for president in the general election. (He later switched to being an independent. It took months for me to get off the Republican Party’s mailing list.) In the end, actor and former California Gov. Ronald Reagan won, launching eight years of neo-conservative policies.
When President Reagan ran for a second term in 1984, the best the Democratic Party could do was Carter’s former Vice President Walter Mondale. He wasn’t my first choice, but I didn’t want another four years of “Bonzo.” So, I voted for Mondale, holding my nose. Rats! A landslide and four more years of Reagan.
In 1988, I became an independent because I had become a newspaper reporter and didn't want to show any biases should anyone investigate my party affiliation. But Ivoted as a Democrat. I thought maybe there was light at the end of the presidential tunnel. George H.W. Bush was the Republican nominee that year. Whom did the Democrats come up with? A reserved, somewhat wonkish Gov. Michael Dukakis of Massachusetts. (I couldn’t vote in the Democratic presidential primary then because decline-to-state voters in California were not allowed to do so then.) Then his biggest claim to fame was his cousin Olympia Dukakis, who won the Academy Award for best supporting actress that year for the film “Moonstruck.” It didn’t help that an independent political action committee that backed Bush Sr. hurled Willie Horton into the voting public’s consciousness. Dukakis supported a prison furlough program in his state that resulted in the release of convicted murderer William Horton, who committed a rape and assault in Maryland after being freed. The ad the committee aired used a mug shot of Horton, who is African American. The Bush campaign did nothing to repudiate it. Voters overwhelmingly elected Bush Sr. over Dukakis.
In 1992, I thought Bush Sr. would easily get another four-year term until Arkansas Gov. Bill Clinton came on the scene. He was one of the few candidates for whom I purposefully strode to my polling place and cast my vote just before I went to work. I didn’t have a lot of hope back then. (Clinton kept referring to his former hometown of Hope, Ark.) But I felt I had to try to get Bush Sr. out. I was overjoyed when Clinton, along with California’s first elected female senators, Dianne Feinstein and Barbara Boxer, were swept into office.
I walked briskly to my polling place again in 1996 when President Clinton ran against Sen. Robert Dole of Kansas. I thought Dole was a dour conservative who threatened to push back much of the progress made during the Clinton presidency. Had I known that Dole actually has a self-deprecating sense of humor, I might have considered voting for him. (NOT!)
I thought in 2000 maybe the Democratic streak could continue with Clinton’s Vice President Al Gore. He, like Dukakis, seemed stiff and reserved, but I preferred him to the doofus running for president – George W. Bush. (The late Molly Ivins was right to refer to Bush-whacker as “Shrub.”) But having been fed up with Clinton’s peccadilloes (such as his affair with intern Monica Lewinsky while in office), voters came out against Gore. Actually, it was the Republican-packed U.S. Supreme Court that handed the presidency to Bush-whacker.
The former Texas governor who promoted himself as “a uniter, not a divider” was anything but. Backed by a Republican Congress, he pushed for an invasion of Iraq under the guise of the “war on terror” to get rid of dictator Saddam Hussein. From unwise tax cuts to his momentary freezing when he heard about the 9/11 attack of the United States to his neglect of the poor and middle class and people of color, Bush-whacker earned the dubious honor of a song by Green Day – “American Idiot.”
Desperate to get rid of the “Emperor with No Clothes,” I supported then Sen. John Edwards of North Carolina in the Democratic primary because I liked his stance on addressing poverty in this nation. (That year, I was allowed to vote on a Democratic presidential primary ballot for the first time.) Instead, the Democrats ended up with an earnest, yet rather ineffectual Sen. John Kerry of Massachusetts. Again, I held my nose in November 2004 because I didn’t think I could bear another four years of Bush-whacker. This time, Bush-whacker won by about 3 million votes.
This year, the Democratic presidential nominee may be a woman, Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton of New York, or an African American man, Sen. Barack Obama of Illinois. I voted for Obama because I want a president who is not as polarizing as Hillary (She has baggage from her husband Bill’s presidency.) and would be more able to bridge Democrats and Republicans. Whoever becomes the eventual nominee, I won’t have to hold my nose at the polls this November.
Writing Diva
I have voted in every presidential election, primary and general, since 1980. I believe in the adage, “If you don’t vote, don’t complain.” When I was an idealistic young college student, I thought then-President Jimmy Carter was doing a terrible job with the economy. So, I voted for Sen. Edward Kennedy in the Democratic primary, who lost to Carter. Then I made a big mistake. I switched to the Republican Party briefly so I could vote for U.S. Rep. John Anderson for president in the general election. (He later switched to being an independent. It took months for me to get off the Republican Party’s mailing list.) In the end, actor and former California Gov. Ronald Reagan won, launching eight years of neo-conservative policies.
When President Reagan ran for a second term in 1984, the best the Democratic Party could do was Carter’s former Vice President Walter Mondale. He wasn’t my first choice, but I didn’t want another four years of “Bonzo.” So, I voted for Mondale, holding my nose. Rats! A landslide and four more years of Reagan.
In 1988, I became an independent because I had become a newspaper reporter and didn't want to show any biases should anyone investigate my party affiliation. But Ivoted as a Democrat. I thought maybe there was light at the end of the presidential tunnel. George H.W. Bush was the Republican nominee that year. Whom did the Democrats come up with? A reserved, somewhat wonkish Gov. Michael Dukakis of Massachusetts. (I couldn’t vote in the Democratic presidential primary then because decline-to-state voters in California were not allowed to do so then.) Then his biggest claim to fame was his cousin Olympia Dukakis, who won the Academy Award for best supporting actress that year for the film “Moonstruck.” It didn’t help that an independent political action committee that backed Bush Sr. hurled Willie Horton into the voting public’s consciousness. Dukakis supported a prison furlough program in his state that resulted in the release of convicted murderer William Horton, who committed a rape and assault in Maryland after being freed. The ad the committee aired used a mug shot of Horton, who is African American. The Bush campaign did nothing to repudiate it. Voters overwhelmingly elected Bush Sr. over Dukakis.
In 1992, I thought Bush Sr. would easily get another four-year term until Arkansas Gov. Bill Clinton came on the scene. He was one of the few candidates for whom I purposefully strode to my polling place and cast my vote just before I went to work. I didn’t have a lot of hope back then. (Clinton kept referring to his former hometown of Hope, Ark.) But I felt I had to try to get Bush Sr. out. I was overjoyed when Clinton, along with California’s first elected female senators, Dianne Feinstein and Barbara Boxer, were swept into office.
I walked briskly to my polling place again in 1996 when President Clinton ran against Sen. Robert Dole of Kansas. I thought Dole was a dour conservative who threatened to push back much of the progress made during the Clinton presidency. Had I known that Dole actually has a self-deprecating sense of humor, I might have considered voting for him. (NOT!)
I thought in 2000 maybe the Democratic streak could continue with Clinton’s Vice President Al Gore. He, like Dukakis, seemed stiff and reserved, but I preferred him to the doofus running for president – George W. Bush. (The late Molly Ivins was right to refer to Bush-whacker as “Shrub.”) But having been fed up with Clinton’s peccadilloes (such as his affair with intern Monica Lewinsky while in office), voters came out against Gore. Actually, it was the Republican-packed U.S. Supreme Court that handed the presidency to Bush-whacker.
The former Texas governor who promoted himself as “a uniter, not a divider” was anything but. Backed by a Republican Congress, he pushed for an invasion of Iraq under the guise of the “war on terror” to get rid of dictator Saddam Hussein. From unwise tax cuts to his momentary freezing when he heard about the 9/11 attack of the United States to his neglect of the poor and middle class and people of color, Bush-whacker earned the dubious honor of a song by Green Day – “American Idiot.”
Desperate to get rid of the “Emperor with No Clothes,” I supported then Sen. John Edwards of North Carolina in the Democratic primary because I liked his stance on addressing poverty in this nation. (That year, I was allowed to vote on a Democratic presidential primary ballot for the first time.) Instead, the Democrats ended up with an earnest, yet rather ineffectual Sen. John Kerry of Massachusetts. Again, I held my nose in November 2004 because I didn’t think I could bear another four years of Bush-whacker. This time, Bush-whacker won by about 3 million votes.
This year, the Democratic presidential nominee may be a woman, Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton of New York, or an African American man, Sen. Barack Obama of Illinois. I voted for Obama because I want a president who is not as polarizing as Hillary (She has baggage from her husband Bill’s presidency.) and would be more able to bridge Democrats and Republicans. Whoever becomes the eventual nominee, I won’t have to hold my nose at the polls this November.
Writing Diva
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
If Roe Were Overturned – Then What?
Today is the 35th anniversary of the U.S. Supreme Court’s decision on Roe v. Wade. On January 22, 1973, the Supreme Court voted 7-2 to strike down Texas abortion laws, deeming abortion a fundamental right under the U.S. Constitution.
To this day, those for and against abortion have been engaging in a war of words over this deeply divisive issue. NARAL Pro-Choice America states on its Internet site that “while it’s critical to promote policies that help prevent unintended pregnancies and make abortion less necessary, NARAL Pro-Choice America also fights to protect the right to safe, legal abortion.” The National Right-to-Life Committee, founded five months after Roe v. Wade, states on its Web site that its ultimate goal “is to restore legal protection to innocent human life” and that the Supreme Court decision legalizing abortion nationwide “has resulted in nearly 50 million deaths.”
But what if Roe were overturned? What if a woman’s right to an abortion returned to the jurisdiction of each state? According to Wikipedia, several states have passed laws to maintain the legality of abortion if Roe v. Wade is overturned, including California, Connecticut, Hawaii, Maine, Maryland, Nevada, and Washington. Other states, including North Dakota, South Dakota, Louisiana, Texas, and Mississippi, could ban abortions in their jurisdictions.
If, after Roe were overturned, a Constitutional amendment banning abortion were enacted by two-thirds of Congress and two-thirds of the states, I believe many pregnant women seeking abortions would merely go underground, especially if they were raped or face a risky delivery. I think these women would rather take their chances with the law than risk their lives giving birth or having a child of someone who violated them.
And what would be the next “logical” step after that? Banning intercourse outside marriage? Don’t get me wrong. First, I would not have an abortion if I were pregnant because I believe an unborn child is still a life. Second, I am waiting until marriage for sexual intimacy. But not everyone is on the same page on these issues.
So, for both sides, I propose the following:
First, to any person who is “pro-life,” step up to the plate. Tell an unmarried pregnant woman who is considering an abortion that you will adopt her child. You will pay the woman’s prenatal medical expenses through the birth. It shouldn’t matter the race, sex, or physical challenges. If you truly believe in the sanctity of life, offer to take care of that life. (Note: I have a friend who did “step up to the plate.” She adopted her unmarried cousin’s infant daughter when the young woman could not care for her child. My friend’s daughter will celebrate her 16th birthday this year. We may not agree on other political issues, but I give her credit for following her convictions.)
If you’re unable to adopt a child, then help the woman take care of the child by helping pay for child care, medical care, and early childhood education until the woman can do it herself or she marries. Enact needs-based tests, if you think it’s necessary. As for the father, strengthen laws to make him take responsibility financially. Fund community programs that encourage fathers to become more involved in the lives of their children. Stop cutting programs that help families headed by single mothers.
Second, to any person who is “pro-choice,” realize that the “fetus” that the woman may be aborting has a beating heart at 22 days. In my view, that fetus is a life. Abortion should be considered as a last resort, not a birth control option on par with birth control pills, condoms, intrauterine devices, and, best of all, abstinence. Stress other birth control options to young women (even as young as 9 years old) before they become sexually active. Stop cloaking the procedure in such terms as “reproductive health care.” An abortion is terminating a life, although it may not be viable outside the womb. A woman should consider her health and the fetus before taking this life-changing step. And if a woman who undergoes an abortion suffers from guilt or depression, encourage her to seek psychiatric help.
Finally, to both sides of the abortion debate: It’s time to get beyond the decades of rhetoric and work together for the sake of the woman and the unborn child. Peace.
Writing Diva
To this day, those for and against abortion have been engaging in a war of words over this deeply divisive issue. NARAL Pro-Choice America states on its Internet site that “while it’s critical to promote policies that help prevent unintended pregnancies and make abortion less necessary, NARAL Pro-Choice America also fights to protect the right to safe, legal abortion.” The National Right-to-Life Committee, founded five months after Roe v. Wade, states on its Web site that its ultimate goal “is to restore legal protection to innocent human life” and that the Supreme Court decision legalizing abortion nationwide “has resulted in nearly 50 million deaths.”
But what if Roe were overturned? What if a woman’s right to an abortion returned to the jurisdiction of each state? According to Wikipedia, several states have passed laws to maintain the legality of abortion if Roe v. Wade is overturned, including California, Connecticut, Hawaii, Maine, Maryland, Nevada, and Washington. Other states, including North Dakota, South Dakota, Louisiana, Texas, and Mississippi, could ban abortions in their jurisdictions.
If, after Roe were overturned, a Constitutional amendment banning abortion were enacted by two-thirds of Congress and two-thirds of the states, I believe many pregnant women seeking abortions would merely go underground, especially if they were raped or face a risky delivery. I think these women would rather take their chances with the law than risk their lives giving birth or having a child of someone who violated them.
And what would be the next “logical” step after that? Banning intercourse outside marriage? Don’t get me wrong. First, I would not have an abortion if I were pregnant because I believe an unborn child is still a life. Second, I am waiting until marriage for sexual intimacy. But not everyone is on the same page on these issues.
So, for both sides, I propose the following:
First, to any person who is “pro-life,” step up to the plate. Tell an unmarried pregnant woman who is considering an abortion that you will adopt her child. You will pay the woman’s prenatal medical expenses through the birth. It shouldn’t matter the race, sex, or physical challenges. If you truly believe in the sanctity of life, offer to take care of that life. (Note: I have a friend who did “step up to the plate.” She adopted her unmarried cousin’s infant daughter when the young woman could not care for her child. My friend’s daughter will celebrate her 16th birthday this year. We may not agree on other political issues, but I give her credit for following her convictions.)
If you’re unable to adopt a child, then help the woman take care of the child by helping pay for child care, medical care, and early childhood education until the woman can do it herself or she marries. Enact needs-based tests, if you think it’s necessary. As for the father, strengthen laws to make him take responsibility financially. Fund community programs that encourage fathers to become more involved in the lives of their children. Stop cutting programs that help families headed by single mothers.
Second, to any person who is “pro-choice,” realize that the “fetus” that the woman may be aborting has a beating heart at 22 days. In my view, that fetus is a life. Abortion should be considered as a last resort, not a birth control option on par with birth control pills, condoms, intrauterine devices, and, best of all, abstinence. Stress other birth control options to young women (even as young as 9 years old) before they become sexually active. Stop cloaking the procedure in such terms as “reproductive health care.” An abortion is terminating a life, although it may not be viable outside the womb. A woman should consider her health and the fetus before taking this life-changing step. And if a woman who undergoes an abortion suffers from guilt or depression, encourage her to seek psychiatric help.
Finally, to both sides of the abortion debate: It’s time to get beyond the decades of rhetoric and work together for the sake of the woman and the unborn child. Peace.
Writing Diva
Friday, January 18, 2008
Faith and politics, like oil and water, don't mix
There is an often used saying that one never discusses religion and politics in mixed company. I don’t discuss my politics with my church friends, and I rarely discuss my faith in a political environment or with non-Christians, unless they ask me about my faith.
I was prompted to write this entry after receiving an e-mail from a fellow worshiper at my church. She wrote me and several others asking that we support former Arkansas Gov. Mike Huckabee for president because he’s an evangelical Christian, a former pastor, and a conservative. Now, I like the e-mail’s author and her family. But I questioned her sending the e-mail and disagreed with her message. I thought it inappropriate.
As I said, I don’t discuss politics with my church friends. I became an independent (or, in California, “decline to state”) voter in 1988 once I became a journalist because I didn’t want to display bias in my reporting or my politics. However, my political leanings are liberal. I attend an evangelical church and have accepted Jesus Christ but do not consider myself “born again,” merely struggling with my Christian walk. I came to my present church from an Episcopal church (another topic for another time). But I am not, nor will I ever be, a Republican. Moreover, I rarely vote Republican. I disagree with many planks of the Republican platform and believe the party has much to do to reach out to African-Americans and the working poor.
If someone asks me whom I’m supporting in the presidential primary, I will reply, “Barack Obama.” I agree with his positions on global climate change, the economy, the war (fiasco) in Iraq, education, affordable housing, investment in nonprofit organizations. My faith and my politics are separate, as our country’s founders intended. I bristle at the thought of either my church, my union, or whatever organization to which I belong telling me how to vote.
I was prompted to write this entry after receiving an e-mail from a fellow worshiper at my church. She wrote me and several others asking that we support former Arkansas Gov. Mike Huckabee for president because he’s an evangelical Christian, a former pastor, and a conservative. Now, I like the e-mail’s author and her family. But I questioned her sending the e-mail and disagreed with her message. I thought it inappropriate.
As I said, I don’t discuss politics with my church friends. I became an independent (or, in California, “decline to state”) voter in 1988 once I became a journalist because I didn’t want to display bias in my reporting or my politics. However, my political leanings are liberal. I attend an evangelical church and have accepted Jesus Christ but do not consider myself “born again,” merely struggling with my Christian walk. I came to my present church from an Episcopal church (another topic for another time). But I am not, nor will I ever be, a Republican. Moreover, I rarely vote Republican. I disagree with many planks of the Republican platform and believe the party has much to do to reach out to African-Americans and the working poor.
If someone asks me whom I’m supporting in the presidential primary, I will reply, “Barack Obama.” I agree with his positions on global climate change, the economy, the war (fiasco) in Iraq, education, affordable housing, investment in nonprofit organizations. My faith and my politics are separate, as our country’s founders intended. I bristle at the thought of either my church, my union, or whatever organization to which I belong telling me how to vote.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Beginnings
Well, this is my first time composing a blog. My younger sister T2 started her own and urged me to start one. I've been writing for 42 years. But now this is a new venue for me.
Let's see how it goes.
Writing Diva
Let's see how it goes.
Writing Diva
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