A Single Life

Oscar Nods Plus a Pleasant Surprise

2012-01-24T09:39:00.000-08:00

My closest friends know that I am an Oscar geek. I could tell you when was the last time there was a tie in an acting category was in 1968 with Barbra Streisand and Katharine Hepburn. Streisand won for "Funny Girl," while Hepburn took home the third of her four Oscars for "The Lion in Winter."

Today, I am giving myself a pat on the back. The newspaper critics kept predicting the usual suspects for best actor: George Clooney for "The Descendants," Brad Pitt for "Moneyball," Jean Dujardin for"The Artist," Leonardo DiCaprio for "J. Edgar," Ryan Gosling for "The Ides of March." Well, I kept saying, "Don't rule out Gary Oldman for 'Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy.'"

Hah! I was right!

Oldman, who is in the newest series of Batman movies as Chief Gordon, was nominated for his first Oscar for his role as George Smiley, along with an unknown Mexican actor named Demian Bichir for "A Better Life," which I hadn't heard of. Oldman has also been a character actor in the Harry Potter series. I heard of him when he was in "Sid and Nancy" about doomed rock star Sid Vicious and his girlfriend Nancy Spungeon. He was so overdue for an Oscar nod.

Unfortunately, making room for Oldman and Bichir meant that Leo got skipped (again!), along with Gosling. Michael Fassbender, who played a sex addict in "Shame," also got overlooked. Oh, well.

I wish that there could be a tie between Meryl Streep in "The Iron Lady" and Viola Davis in "The Help." Both received kudos for their performances. But if Oscar is true to form, Davis may get it because "The Help" was nominated for best picture and "The Iron Lady" wasn't. However, I would love to see Streep get one more Oscar to tie with Jack Nicholson and the late Walter Brennan. Come on, let's have a tie! The two acted together in "Doubt," and Streep was up for best actress and Davis for best supporting actress. As Streep said to Davis during the Golden Globes, "You're my girl." Yeah, a tie!

Surprise snubs from best actress: Tilda Swinton, she of the tornado hair and garbage bag dress, for "We Need to Talk About Kevin," and Charlize Theron for "Young Adult." Maybe Tilda could stay home on Oscar night.

As for best supporting actor, the Motion Picture Academy may as well wrap up a statuette for Christopher Plummer for "Beginners." His closest competition is Max Von Sydow for "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close." Both have their second nomination and, yes, both are old (82). I would have liked to have seen Albert Brooks nominated for "Drive."

Both Octavia Spencer and Jessica Chastain are nominated for best supporting actress in "The Help." But I think the wild card in this category isn't Berenice Bejo for "The Artist," but Melissa McCarthy for "Bridesmaids." What could happen is that Spencer and Chastain cancel each other out, making room for McCarthy to take it.

The best song category was harsh. No Madonna for her song from "W.E." No Mary J. Blige for her song from "The Help." Only two songs nominated, one from "The Muppets." (I forgot the other one.) Harsh!

As for the movies, the only one of the nine I saw was "The Help." I have some catching up to do. I think "The Descendants" will take it, based on current awards. I was very surprised that part two of the last Harry Potter wasn't nominated for best picture, just some technical awards. The Screen Actors Guild awards on Sunday night may make the Oscar predictions clearer.

The lead story from the Los Angeles Times has more information.

Writing Diva (and Oscar Geek)

(Less Than) Six Degrees of Separation

2011-12-11T00:58:00.001-08:00

I have spent the last 21 years living in the Bay Area, 16 of them in Solano County. During my years in Fairfield and Vacaville, I've learned that upper Solano County is a close-knit community. I learned how close-knit it is during a soiree I attended last evening.

A friend from my old church, E, invited me to her home for a holiday party. We sang together in the church choir. I went with another friend from the same church. (We attend different churches now). When we arrived, we saw a couple arrive. The husband, T, was a coworker from a newspaper I worked for in the early 1990s. The wife, D, is a friend and former attendee of the same church.

An hour into the party, a woman arrives. When we meet, I learn that she, C, worked at the newspaper during the early 1990s, where T and yours truly worked. When her fiance R arrived, it was a classmate from my college days. We graduated in 1983. C and E work for the same employer.

OK, this sounds like one would need a scorecard to keep up. My somewhat convoluted example explains how our web of relationships works. The degrees of separation among Solano County residents is small. So, the next person I meet in Solano County may be a friend of a colleague of boss or whatever. Mind boggling, huh?

Writing Diva

Friends Don’t Let Furry Friends Fly in Cargo

2011-11-08T14:12:00.000-08:00

Family and close friends know that I love animals. I am a “cat mom” of two felines. So, when I read that a cat who had been lost for 61 days and later found had to be euthanized, I wept.

For more than two months I had followed on Facebook the saga of Jack the cat, a 7-year-old café-au-lait-colored Norwegian Forest cat traveling with his “brother” Barry in the cargo hold of an American Airlines plane. On Sunday night, November 6, Jack’s extensive skin wounds were too difficult to treat, and the feline had to be put to sleep.

More than 25,000 fans read about the ordeal of Jack and his “mom” Karen Pascoe, who was moving from New York to California for a new job. After Pascoe checked Jack and Barry in to American Airlines as cargo on August 25, Jack escaped the carrier’s baggage center at John F. Kennedy Airport in New York. Hurricane Irene reached the northeastern states, causing travel chaos.

Pascoe’s sister Mary Beth Melchior created a Facebook page “Jack the Cat is Lost in AA Baggage at JFK,” which eventually earned more than 25,000 followers. “Friends of Jack” searched the American Airlines terminal searching for Jack but finding other homeless cats. The searchers then found “forever homes” for those felines.

On October 25, two months after he disappeared, Jack fell through a ceiling tile in the customs area at JFK’s Terminal 8, according to the Los Angeles Times. He was taken to a veterinarian in Queens to be treated for malnutrition.

After his condition improved a bit, Jack took a turn for the worse and had to be removed from his suffering.

Some of the Facebook page followers want a law where a global positioning system (GPS) device would be on every animal that travels in cargo. After I initially supported it, I changed my mind after a post from my sister Black Woman Blogging. Furry family members should not travel in cargo. They are treated like luggage and stored with them. As BWB said, “No one can hear your pet scream.”

If I had to travel with my cats Tuffy and Diva, I would rather drive and find pet-friendly lodging than subject them to the indignity and danger of flying in cargo. I have a somewhat “psychic” relationship with my cats, where I can “hear” them crying if they’re in trouble or pain.

The Fort Worth Star-Telegram quoted the Bureau of Transportation Statistics, which stated domestic airlines reported 39 pet deaths, 13 pet injuries, and 5 lost pets in 2010. The newspaper quoted American spokesman Tim Smith, who said the carrier hired a pet detective and searched many times at the airport over the two months.

There are options for animal lovers who need to transport their pets cross country. There is a company based in Delray Beach, Fla., called Pet Airways. Instead of flying in the cargo hold, pets travel in the main cabin with a pet attendant on board caring for them during their journey. Although the service hasn’t reached Northern California yet, Pet Airways serves eight airports, including Los Angeles. If it comes to San Francisco, it’s on like Donkey Kong!

There have to be a better ways for our furry friends to travel with us and not be treated like luggage. I pray that Jack’s journey across the Rainbow Bridge won’t be for naught.

Writing Diva

The Soundtrack of Our Lives

2011-10-25T16:53:00.000-07:00

When I read yesterday that entertainment diva Jennifer Lopez broke down in tears during a recent performance that included reenactments of her love life, I could relate.

I consider myself musically oriented. I learned to play piano when I was 6. (I’ll have to pick it up again.) I love almost all kinds of music except most country and rap. I have 649 songs on my iPod Touch so far, spanning the 1960s to Coldplay’s “Fix You.”

Most important, songs play a major part of my life. I can tell you what song was playing during a certain event.

For example, I danced my first slow dance at a chaperoned high school party to “As” by Stevie Wonder. To the strains of Chaka Khan’s “I’m Every Woman,” I studied mass communications at UC Davis while working as a reporter for the campus radio station. While waiting in line to get my bachelor’s degree, some of my fellow graduates sang Queen’s “We Are the Champions.” Swing Out Sister’s “Breakout” came out when I was enrolled in a journalism boot camp that launched my 12-year career. On a road trip to Monterey, I blasted Gwen Stefani’s “What You Waiting For?”

Not all the memories were pleasant. In the mid-1970s, I had junior high school classmates sing that awful “Brother Louie” by Stories. I was once dumped while Gloria Estefan’s “Don’t Wanna Lose You” played in the background.

But all those songs are as much a part of me as the books I’ve read, the places I’ve traveled, and the experiences I’ve had. To some people, they’re just songs. To me, they’re the soundtrack of my life.

However, I don’t have a theme song, yet. My brother H2 the Lionhearted has one – “You’re Still a Young Man” by Tower of Power. (Don’t ask why.) I wouldn’t be surprised if it were played at his funeral.

Maybe I should adopt Natalie Bedingfield’s “Unwritten.” After all, I’m a writer. And much of my life has yet to be written.

Which songs are on your life soundtrack?

Writing Diva

R.I.P, AMC

2011-09-23T15:04:00.000-07:00

After more than 41 years, the ABC daytime drama “All My Children” aired its last television episode today. Needless to say, I’m sad and pissed. (Sorry for the language.)

I haven’t seen the final episode yet. I’m waiting until I get home to watch it. I’ll have a box of facial tissues nearby. I used some tissues for the salute to the Hubbard family on Monday.

Although the venerable soap is supposed to be reborn on the Internet sometime next year, for me, it won’t be the same. “All My Children” wasn’t just a soap that aired five days a week. It fostered gathering places for people to watch, such as college dorms, corporate lunchrooms, sports bars (Yes!), and homes with big-screen TVs. People talked about the antics of Erica Kane and how it took 19 nominations for her portrayer Susan Lucci to win a Daytime Emmy Award as best actress. There would be a collective “AWWW!” at each cliffhanger. Viewers followed the love stories of supercouples Cliff Warner and Nina Cortlandt, Greg Nelson and Jenny Gardner, Tad Martin and Dixie Cooney, Jesse Hubbard and Angie Baxter, and even Adam Chandler and Brooke English. There were characters we loved to hate, such as the powerful Palmer Cortlandt and Adam Chandler, snob Phoebe Tyler Wallingford, pimp Billy Clyde Tuggle, and egomaniacal Dr. David Hayward.

I began watching “Chillin’,” as I call it, in 1972. (Yes, again I’m dating myself.) While in school, I would watch on holidays and during the summer. While attending UC Davis, I spent my unoccupied noon hour watching the show in the basement Games Room of the Memorial Union. I would ask someone what I missed, and I would help someone else catch up. Student viewers would work on their papers and study while watching Tad Martin messing with Liza and Marian Colby, daughter and mother, respectively. The Games Room viewers were a community.

When I entered the working world after college, I didn’t have much time to catch up on my soaps. I depended on Soap Opera Digest and weekly recaps in newspapers. When I worked as a reporter for a Fairfield newspaper, I would try to watch AMC with my coworkers in the conference room during my lunch break.

When I read in April that “Chillin’” was being canceled with my other favorite soap “One Life to Live” in favor of a cooking show called “The Chew” and a lifestyle talk show called “The Revolution” (Wasn’t that the name of one of Prince’s backup bands?), I was livid. I believed the soaps would last forever. But with CBS soaps “The Guiding Light” and “As the World Turns” canceled due to low ratings, I was kidding myself.

Prospect Park, a television, film and music production company, will air the two soaps online. But not all the actors are on board for the Internet version of AMC. Debbi Morgan, the Emmy-winning actress who played Dr. Angela Hubbard, will jump to “The Young and the Restless,” while J.R. Chandler’s portrayer, Emmy-winner Jacob Young, will return to “The Bold and the Beautiful” as Rick Forrester. Others, including Rebecca Budig (Greenlee Smythe) and Emmy winner Michael E. Knight (Tad Martin) opted not to return and will move to other projects. And Susan Lucci has turned down an offer from Prospect Park to resurrect Erica Kane. I don’t expect it will be the AMC that I’ve watched for four decades.

So, I wish the “All My Children” I’ve watched and loved farewell. And to Brian Frons, the president of ABC Daytime who ordered the cancellations: I have a bag of used cat litter with your name on it.

Writing Diva

Reclaiming September 11

2011-09-10T22:13:00.000-07:00

If you are reading this on Sunday, you know this is the tenth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks that claimed nearly 3,000 lives on United States soil and changed this nation forever.

It is also my nephew Dom's 29th birthday.

September 11, 2001, cast an ominous shadow on what was supposed to be a great day for my younger nephew. The young father was at work at Starbucks when he got word of the hijackings and the planes that hit the World Trade Center towers, the Pentagon, and a field in Pennsylvania. What birthday wishes Dom received were an afterthought as our nation was caught in anger, fear, and bewilderment about our future.

So, to my nephew, who is celebrating his 29th birthday with his wife and four sons, long before there was the tragedy, there was the joy of your coming into the world. When I held you for the first time, you were quiet, absorbing your new surroundings. You have grown into a wise, responsible young man. You are the closest thing to a son I will ever have, and I am so proud of you, not just as a nephew, but as a person.

Yes, we all have to be vigilant these days. But we have to reclaim our lives. And I'm glad you reclaimed your special day -- your birthday. Your parents, uncle, aunts, grandfather, and the rest of your family have your back.

So, Dom, happy birthday. (Your gift is coming.)

Writing Diva

Humbled by a Squirrel Hole

2011-08-16T11:11:00.000-07:00

I consider myself a pretty active person. I workout twice a week. I walk everyday, taking long strides. I once hiked Mount Diablo and Mount Tamalpais in my late 30s and early 40s.

I never broke a bone in my body. Until Friday.

I was done in by a squirrel hole in Sacramento's Miller Park.

I was going to my agency picnic there. After I parked, I was walking with my camp chair and bag lunch to the picnic site when my right foot caught on something. I fell on the heels of my hands and my knees.

Some of my coworkers came to help me to my feet and carry my stuff. I looked down to see a hole covered by dried grass and leaves.

When I arrived at the picnic site, my right foot swelled to the size of Sasquatch. My boss got me a bag of ice to put on my foot. I didn't stay long at the picnic. I went home after maybe two hours.

Yesterday I went to Kaiser Medical Center in Walnut Creek to make sure no bones were broken. After my right foot received X-rays, my attending physician announced that I had a broken bone in my right foot and had to have a splint.

Long story short, I have a splint covered in bandages and a pair of crutches. Walking with crutches is counterintuitive. I have to put my weight on my hands, so the first few go-rounds were difficult.

Luckily (?), I am on vacation this week. I hadn't planned on going anywhere, and my injury ensured that I am staying put. I will spend this week cleaning and reading.

I prize my independence and living in Solano County. But during times when I injure myself or am ill, living solo can be, well, trying. Would I give up living here? Nah!

Writing Diva

The Debt Ceiling Agreement: Honey Badger Doesn’t Give a $#!+

2011-08-01T11:13:00.000-07:00

This is what I get for having great expectations for the President of the United States: My hopes for change in this country dashed like a glass vase blithely nudged off a 10-story building.

As Paul Krugman of The New York Times wrote today, President Barack Obama surrendered to the House Republicans on the debt ceiling. According to the Times, the tentative agreement, which should go to a vote anytime now, calls for an estimated $2.1 trillion in spending cuts over 10 years, as well as a new Congressional committee to recommend a deficit-reduction proposal by Thanksgiving and a two-step increase in the debt ceiling.

By not including any closing of tax loopholes for large corporations and the wealthy, Obama, in my humble opinion, capitulated to House Speaker John Boehner (if his name were mispronounced, it would sound like a porn star moniker) and the Tea Party. Even if this bipartisan committee met to hammer out a proposal, half of its members would be Republicans who, more likely than not, signed a no-tax pledge drafted by Grover Norquist of the Americans for Tax Reform.

So, this is a short open letter to President Obama:

Mr. President, you needed to channel some honey badger.

I imagine an eyebrow rising as you say, “Excuse me?”

You haven’t seen the honey badger video narrated by some guy named Randall? The message is that the honey badger doesn’t give a $#!+ about its opponents, whether they be black cobras, bees, jackals, even crocodiles. The honey badger is crazy enough to attack and eat them. It can get stung by bees or bitten by poisonous snakes, but like a Timex, it keeps on ticking.

Sometimes the only way to deal with crazy people is to act crazy. I realize that as a Harvard-educated former constitutional law professor, that might be a stretch for you. But these are crazy times, and you’re dealing with unyielding ideologues who refuse to see the big picture. You had your chance to unilaterally raise the debt ceiling, citing the 14th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution. But you insisted that was not on the table. That should have been your trump card, but noooo!

I know you had to save the country from defaulting on its debts. However, as you said, the process was messy, and the result unpalatable. I don’t see change happening in your first term, and, frankly, as much as I still support you, you will be lucky to get a second term. Just sayin’.

P.S.: Next time, try channeling some honey badger.

Writing Diva

Amy Winehouse and My Moment of Clarity

2011-07-26T11:23:00.000-07:00

“Every form of addiction is bad, no matter whether the narcotic be alcohol or morphine or idealism.” – Carl Gustav Jung

The untimely death of 27-year-old British soul singer Amy Winehouse served as my wakeup call.

When Winehouse passed away in her north London apartment on Saturday, she joined an exclusive but unenvied club of “27 Forever,” whose members include Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix and Nirvana’s Kurt Cobain. Of these deaths, Winehouse’s affected me most. I have her album “Back to Black” on my iPod. I admired her world-weary voice and her lyrical moxie. For her slight frame, she was someone you didn’t want to pick a fight with.

But her death wasn’t unexpected. Her family and outside observers noted it was a matter of time before the five-time Grammy winner met her fate. Some speculated that her breakup with her latest boyfriend Reg Traviss prompted her final spiral.

I’m not a therapist, but someone who has struggled with emotional issues. In my view, an addiction is like gasoline that needs only a match to start a conflagration. That match can be depression, low self-esteem, or abuse, among others.

On Monday I came to a point where I admitted that I need help with dealing with some of my issues. I will admit to one of them – spending. I believed that as long as I was earning a decent wage, I had the right to buy whatever I wanted. When I went through a breakup with an emotionally abusive boyfriend, I bought a 1.7 fl. oz White Linen eau de parfum spray and a diamond and emerald 14 karat gold ring. I justified the purchases by saying that I was in pain and needed these things to feel better. They merely made my finances worse.

I realize that I can’t keep living this self-destructive lifestyle. I’m part of a family, a workplace, a community, a group of friends, a church. They need me, and I need them. So, I’m getting help to get my act together.

My prayers go out to the Winehouse family, friends, and other fans. But I thank Amy Winehouse for giving me the slap upside da hed that I needed – even if she didn’t mean to.

Writing Diva

The Mission Is Clear: Starting a Business

2011-07-06T09:59:00.000-07:00

I’m a business owner.

It’s almost surreal seeing the reality in print. I launched my editing business Mission: Clarity two months ago. Actually, I began laying the foundation for the business last year by purchasing the Web domain www.missionclarity.com, buying some business cards, and fishing for clients. The business became official when I filed for a home business permit in May with the city of Vacaville.

I decided to start an editing business after enduring a year and a half of furloughs. When California Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger imposed furloughs on 237,000 state employees in February 2009, the action amounted to a 14 percent pay cut. With a new contract for the 95,000 workers under the SEIU Local 1000 union ratified in November 2010, I have 5 percent of my pay taken out toward my government pension and one unpaid day a month, amounting to an 8 percent decrease. Also, with some legislators and activists calling for “pension reform,” that is, a cut in my future retirement pay, I realized that I needed another income source. I have a friend in Texas named “E” who not only teaches at a public school but runs a cake-making catering business. Noting her example, I’ve concluded that it’s silly in this sluggish economy to depend on just a 40-hour-a-week job to keep one’s head above water. After all, I’m not one of the hundreds of California state workers earning six figures.

My sister, Black Woman Blogging, thought of the name Mission: Clarity and discovered through an online search that the URL wasn’t taken yet. She has been my biggest supporter of this effort.

The business moniker Mission: Clarity fits because my goal is to make prose, whether in reports, brochures, manuscripts, or periodicals, concise and clear to the lay reader. I have been doing this for 5 years for a California state agency and 12 years as a newspaper staff writer. I believe there is a need in Solano County for someone who can look at copy and make it cleaner and, if necessary, grammatically correct.

Mission: Clarity will be my lifelong project. Because I’m the only one invested in this business, I’m not worried about failure. I would rather try and fail than do nothing. Doing nothing would be my biggest regret, and it’s not an option.

So, friends, please check out Mission: Clarity on Facebook and Twitter, where I will dispense grammar and usage advice. When my website is complete, I will let you know. And thank you in advance for your support.

Writing Diva

Justice Served

2011-06-10T10:28:00.000-07:00

Nearly four years ago, Oakland Post editor Chauncey Bailey died walking on his way to work.

Yesterday, an Oakland jury convicted the former leader of Your Black Muslim Bakery of murder for ordering Bailey’s assassination, according to the Contra Costa Times.

Yusuf Bey IV, 25, was also convicted of ordering the murder of Bailey and two other men in summer 2007. The jury also convicted Bey’s codefendant, Antoine Mackey, of two counts of first degree murder for the killings of Bailey and Michael Wills, 36, according to the San Francisco Chronicle. The jury split on a third count against Mackey involving the slaying of Odell Roberson Jr., 31. Both face life terms in prison without the possibility of parole when they are sentenced July 8.

Before his death, Bailey was working on a series of critical articles on Your Black Muslim Bakery. Confessed triggerman Devaunghdre Broussard reached a plea bargain with prosecutors and testified against Bey.

I write this entry for two reasons. First, my younger sister and I knew Chauncey Bailey. He served with me on the board of the Bay Area Black Journalists’ Association, a chapter of the National Association of Black Journalists. My sister knew him socially when she lived in Oakland. We were shocked and saddened upon hearing about his assassination.

Second, Bailey was a fellow journalist. I also knew him when he worked for The Oakland Tribune, a sister publication to The Daily Review of Hayward, where I worked. Bailey was the first journalist killed on U.S. soil since 1976 when Don Bolles of The Arizona Republic was murdered in a car bombing by criminal gambling interests.

But the reporting that Bailey started continued. A coalition of journalists knows as The Chauncey Bailey Project cast a spotlight on the close relationship between the bakery and top Oakland elected officials who for decades continued to give active support to the Beys despite evidence of their well-know criminal dealings, the Times reported. The journalists discovered problems with the police investigation and found new evidence that kept the heat on authorities.

Trial prosecutor Melissa Krum said the verdicts send the message that “the First Amendment is not going to be murdered by murdering journalists. You cannot kill the man and expect the message to be killed.”

Wendy Ashley-Johnson, a cousin of Bailey’s, echoed that sentiment. “Journalists have a job to do, and they should not be squashed in what they do.”

So true.

Writing Diva

Caught up in the Rapture

2011-05-18T15:03:00.000-07:00

This entry may be my last. If at least some of us disappear suddenly from planet Earth this Saturday, it has been nice knowing my family and friends.

May 21 is supposed to be Judgment Day, when Jesus gathers his Christian followers into the heavens, leaving behind nonbelievers, according Harold Camping, president of Family Radio. According to the San Francisco Chronicle, Camping calculates May 21 as the big day because allegedly it’s exactly 7,000 years from the date of the Noah’s Ark flood. Camping estimates that 200 million people worldwide will disappear into the heavens. The other 7 billion humans are SOL. (I’ll use the clean translation: So outta luck.) The rest may die in a massive global earthquake. (What? The 9.0 magnitude temblor in Japan wasn’t the Big One?)

Rapture watchers have pointed to signs such as the mysterious mass deaths of birds; fish dying by the thousands in Southern California waters; huge earthquakes in China, Japan, and Haiti; floods in the Midwest; the Gulf of Mexico oil spill; and global climate change.

While I follow Jesus, I don’t believe the rapture is going to happen Saturday for two reasons. First, I’ve been through this before. In 1972 a Jehovah’s Witness friend warned me to prepare for the Second Coming that year. As a naïve eight-grader whose father is a Pentecostal Christian, I not only believed my friend, I spread the news to other schoolmates. When the Second Coming didn’t come, I lost credibility with my friends. One of them broke off our friendship.

Second, I tend to agree with Mark 13:32-33 in the Bible: “No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Be on guard! Be alert! You do not know when that time will come.” (New International Version) So, if neither the angels nor Jesus Christ knows when the rapture will occur, how would a mere mortal know? After all, the Bible is not The Da Vinci Code.

But, to be safe, I will make copies of my house keys and drop them off with my siblings before Saturday so my two cats can be fed and kept safe. Although I follow Jesus, I don’t presume to believe I will be gathered up by him. Nor do I presume that my siblings and friends will die in a massive earthquake. I just hope to be ready if it happens.

Writing Diva

A Mother's Gifts

2011-05-07T15:04:00.000-07:00

This entry offers no suggestions for what to get your mom for Mother's Day. (If you haven't bought anything yet, why are you reading this entry? Get out there and find something!) Today I'm writing about gifts that a mother leaves her children after she leaves this world.

My mom passed away almost 13 years ago. I can safely say it was the saddest day of my siblings' and my life. For a while none of us wanted to celebrate Mother's Day after her death. After all, what was the point? Mom wasn't with us anymore.

Then my sisters launched a new tradition. My sisters and I go to the cemetery to put flowers on Mom's "eternal condo" and on the graves of our maternal aunts and maternal grandmother. Then we go out to brunch to catch up on each other's lives and remember Mom and our departed relatives.

In the years after Mom's passing, I realized that she hasn't really gone away. She left each of us sisters with a "gift" -- Mom's characteristics revealed in each child.

My older sister T1 loves children, just as Mom did. T1 also has a generous heart and is the one who most frequently contacts our relatives, especially Mom's side of the family. And, despite her earlier protestations, she inhered Mom's cooking gene. She loves to cook, and she prepares great dishes and a carrot cake that reminds me of Mom's. (Who knew?) But don't mess with T1. She packs a punch!

T2, my younger sister, inherited Mom's eyes and no-nonsense way of taking care of business. Friends and family have learned the hard way not to tell her about their problems. She refuses to be a sounding board; she wants to be the solution. I remember in Mom's final days she was hospitalized and not getting the attention we believed she deserved. T2 got on the phone to Kaiser's doctors and told them that she had no qualms about going to court to make sure Mom was taken care of. One messes with T2 at one's own risk.

However, T2 has a soft side, too. She is a loving wife to her husband J and is a nurturing mother figure to her nephews and nieces. She and her husband want to adopt a child or two. I think she would make a great mother, the way Mom was.

The sister I think channels Mom most, though, is D. She also inherited Mom's eyes and nose and is serious. But D has a silly side, too. She can pinch you surreptitiously and then say, "What?" Both D and Mom have a mischievous side.

D is also sensitive like Mom and doesn't take a lot of crap. Also like Mom, D rarely cries in public. D is good with money, fastidious with clothes and neat in housework, and is the most self-sufficient person I know.

As for yours truly, I've been told I look like Mom. I'm highly sensitive. But I don't see as much of a resemblance in characteristics. I'm not as neat as she is, I can barely cook, I'm not that good with children, and I'm shy. I could only hope to be like Mom.

To those of you whose mothers are still with you, wish them a Happy Mother's Day. And for those whose mothers are no longer with them, remember the gifts she gave you. Those memories will make you smile.

Writing Diva

Retirement? What’s That?

2011-04-26T14:54:00.000-07:00

Earlier this month I argued with a fellow Sacramento Bee commenter about his contention that Baby Boomers (I’m one.) should retire early to allow younger people to assume their jobs. I responded that I can’t retire because my state pension is being threatened.

Then I read a Los Angeles Times article about a USC Dornsife/Times poll stating that California voters support a cap on pensions for current and future public employees and a later age for collecting them. I raised my hands in frustration. It’s bad enough that Republican state lawmakers want to cut my benefits in exchange for a balanced budget.

I have been an employee of the State of California for 10 years. I joined a state agency in March 2001 after working 12 years in newspaper journalism. I left journalism because increasingly I had to choose between eating and going to work. (I had a coworker ask me how I kept so slim. I replied, "Stress.") I left journalism before newspapers started losing money to the Internet (that is, search engines for articles and Craig’s List for ads). I saw many of my friends and former colleagues either take a buyout or get laid off.

I have been an information officer/editor for my present state agency for five years. I like my job and intend to retire when I turn 67. My retirement age would give me 25 years of state service at 2.5 percent of salary. God willing, I would also earn Social Security along with my individual retirement account and my 401K.

Even when I retire, if I’m still healthy, I plan to work. I hope to work for a media company as an editor, as a typist, or even as a greeter at Wal-Mart. I will retire only when I am physically or mentally incapable of working.

My message to those “young’uns,” as my southern father would call post-Baby Boomers, is, God willing, I’m not going anywhere. Retirement isn’t as it was in my parents’ generation where they could travel around the United States and didn’t have to worry about their next paycheck. If I were a squirrel, I got my nut. Get your own!

Writing Diva

America! Stop Gawking!

2011-03-02T15:05:00.000-08:00

In a two-week span I’ve seen what I call human train wrecks on the small screen making outbursts that would embarrass people if they were made by their family members. I’m not sure what bothers me most – that the media is taking advantage of these people or that we’re watching and won’t look away.

I must start with Ashley Sullivan, a 26-year-old “American Idol” contestant who drew viewers into her roller coaster life. She would go into an emotional high when she performed well and would dive into an abyss of insecurity when the pressure proved too much. She got the boot before the top 24 semifinalists were chosen.

An “Idol” cameraman followed Sullivan when she tied the knot with her boyfriend Paul Suraiva during the Las Vegas auditions. A writer for the Entertainment Weekly website made snide remarks about the singer possibly killing her groom. I believe she may be bipolar and not taking medication. I felt sheepish for watching her story and feeling pity for her.

Another train wreck who is more famous (or infamous, take your pick) than Ashley Sullivan is Charlie Sheen, the star of the highly rated CBS sitcom “Two and a Half Men.” Sheen, who had checked himself into a rehab facility after a violent hotel room incident with a porn star, left the facility, went to the Bahamas with two blond “goddesses,” and bit the hand that fed him, “Men” creator and producer Chuck Lorre. Then Sheen made the rounds of the news shows and spewed nonsense about “winning” and “tiger blood” and “Adonis DNA.” Luckily, his estranged wife Brooke Mueller had enough common sense to have her 2-year-old twin sons removed from Sheen’s home.

So far, Sheen has been on ABC, NBC, and CNN. (I’ve lost count.) He’s also been the butt of late-night talk show hosts. I worry about the two women living with him because Sheen is still a drug addict with a violent temper. I don’t see his situation ending well unless he gets help, which I don’t see him doing in the near future.

I’m going to do my part by turning off my TV whenever I see such nonsense. I don’t have the schadenfreude or the stomach for any of this.

Writing Diva

Buh-Bye, 2010. Don't Let the Door Hit You on the Way Out

2010-12-31T20:06:00.000-08:00

From the title, it's safe to say that I'm not shedding any tears over the departure of 2010. This year was a chastening one, from the three-day-a-month furloughs for California state government employees to the death of two cousins (brothers) to the theft of my car hood.

It wasn't all bad, though. I went to a convention this summer in San Diego. I sang in two choral groups -- the Tony Baldwin Chorale and the Solano Chamber Society, which performed the "Messiah." My mammogram was clear. I saw friends I haven't seen in years (my fault!). And I reaffirmed that some of my best friends are like sisters, and my siblings are among my best friends.

This year taught me hard lessons about tightening my belt and that many state workers have a second gig. I'm starting mine in January -- an editing business focusing on college papers and resumes, then branching out. I have to have more than one source of income to survive these days.

Money permitting, I'm returning to ballroom dancing and more singles activities. I want to have a life in addition to work, church, and visiting my family.

And I will continue writing until I can't form a sentence or my fingers stop working.

May 2011 be much better to everyone than this year.

Writing Diva

Why I'm Not Putting up a Christmas Tree

2010-12-15T10:16:00.001-08:00

Readers, before you accuse me of having a "Bah! Humbug!" attitude toward this holiday season, please know that I love Christmas.

It's just that I won't put up a Christmas tree.

That's not to say I've never put up a tree. When I lived in Walnut Creek in the mid-1990s, I put up live Christmas trees. Usually the tree was no more than 5 feet high because I lived alone and had to bring it home by myself. I made the tree my own, with glass ornaments and ornaments of the early 1960s Barbie, teddy bears, and Disney's versions of Winnie the Pooh and Tigger. I decorated the tree with miniature colored lights and a tinsel garland. The tree was in a corner of my dining area near the window where others could see it.

When I adopted my first cat Tuff-Punk in 2004, I realized that putting up a Christmas tree was no longer an option. He would bat the ornaments and try to remove the tinsel garland with his teeth. Moreover, he would try to eat the Douglas fir needles. I resigned myself to putting a wreath on my door and letting that be the end of it.

Three years ago, I bought an 18-inch fake tree that looks like a reject from "A Charlie Brown Christmas." But I was proud of having a tree and put it on my piano. I was happy -- until my other cat, Diva, climbed atop the piano and knocked the tree over. She thought knocking over my holiday decoration was a game. Sighing, I put the tree back in the upstairs storage area I call the "Shag Room." (More on that in a future post.)

The new "Simon's Cat" cartoon (http://www.simonscat.com/santaclaws.html) prompted me to write this entry. I remind myself that Christmas isn't always about decorations. It's about the birth of Christ and the love of friends and family, even if your family includes furry friends.

Writing Diva

A Mean Trick

2010-10-29T08:15:00.000-07:00

I was going to write about going out and voting between now and Tuesday. However, a thief or more made other plans.

I got off my commuter bus at a Vacaville park-and-ride parking lot and walked to my car. I was tired and thought, "Three days gone, two to go."

When I arrived at my car, there was no hood. That's right, no hood.

At first, I didn't think it was my car. But it was a red 1995 Honda Civic. My stuff was still in there. The Club anti-theft device was still on the steering wheel.

For a moment I stood there in shock. Then, I got in the car to see if it would start. Thank goodness, it did. Then I called the police to report the theft of my hood. Five minutes later, I drove home.

Also thank goodness it wasn't raining hard, otherwise I think my engine would have been damaged.

I have been on the phone the past two days with my auto insurance company about the theft. The earliest that a claims adjuster would be out to see my car is in six days. In the meantime, I have to rent a car, which I'm claiming for reimbursement with my insurance company.

Oh, if you buy auto insurance based on how much it costs, you know the adage: You get what you pay for.

I just hope to keep my car running for another two years until I can get another used Honda. As for the losers who stole my hood: Karma is a witch, and she will kick your butts, cackling as she does it!

Writing Diva

Tough Guy vs. the Vet

2010-09-21T13:22:00.000-07:00

In the spectrum of bad experiences, taking a cat to the veterinarian ranks between getting a traffic ticket and getting a root canal, sans anesthesia.

I take full responsibility for what happened to my obese orange tabby Tough Guy. Over the past weekend, he ate some overgrown plants that were poisonous to cats. (I have since cut them back. I plan to get rid of them entirely this weekend.) He vomited twice and had trouble using the litter box. After one try at doing his business, he let out a sustained, painful “MEEEOOOOW!” That was when I decided he had to go to Sunset Animal Clinic in Suisun City.

I went to work yesterday morning, thinking I didn’t have enough money to take Tough Guy until I received a check from my IRA account on Wednesday. When I called the clinic, the receptionist advised that I take the cat in and assured me that the clinic would accept a post-dated check. So, I left shortly after lunch and drove home to pick up Tough Guy.

The sad part was that when I arrived home, Tough Guy appeared to be normal and was purring. I shoved him inside his carrier and left my other cat, Dame Jessye, home alone.

I have no air conditioning in my 1995 Honda Civic. So, Tough Guy would cry and pant like an overheated dog. He also peed in the carrier, which made matters worse.

When I arrived at Sunset Animal Clinic, all the examination rooms were filled, and there were other pets and their humans waiting their turn. One was a German shepherd that was getting his ears taped. Another was a 5-lb., 7-oz. Chihuahua with her burly, tattooed caregiver. A young woman came with a blanket-lined shoebox and a six-week-old black kitten with an eye infection. I believe that animal clinics and hospitals are recession-proof. I thought the clinic needed to expand to accommodate the demand.

Fifteen minutes after our arrival, an animal technician took Tough Guy and the carrier into a back room I wasn’t allowed to enter. Another 10 minutes passed before the technician came out and told me that Tough Guy had peed in the carrier and had trouble urinating for a glucose test to see if he was diabetic. So, they had to keep him for a few hours. I went home.

The only other time I left Tough Guy was when I took him to a groomer for a flea dip a few years ago. I swore I could hear him meowing while I was getting my hair washed at a styling salon around the corner. When I picked him up, he was silent and furious.

When I arrived at home, I changed into a t-shirt and sweat pants and cried on my bed, with Dame Jessye next to me. I felt that I had failed as a cat mom. I tried getting Tough Guy to eat less, but not hard enough. I wondered how I would inject a needle into my feline friend when I can’t stand the sight of needles.

At 8 p.m., I called the clinic, and the receptionist said I could pick up Tough Guy. He was eating turkey baby food and would have to eat it for five days. When I arrived, I waited with another young woman who brought in her Rottweiler named Kid. He looked like he weighed at least 100 pounds.

Finally, I spoke to the veterinarian Dr. Wolfe. She said, “Tough Guy’s not diabetic – yet.”

She instructed me to put Tough Guy on a diet of wet cat food because the dry cat food is full of carbs, to which he is sensitive. Also, he would have to be weighed every two weeks for the next six months to gauge his weight loss. Right now, he weighs 20 pounds. One could use Tough Guy to do arm curls or as a medicine ball, not that he would appreciate it.

The drive home was quiet. Tough Guy was unusually silent. When we got home, I let him out of his carrier, and he walked down the hall, sat, and proceeded to groom himself almost as if nothing had happened. Almost.

As I told my sister D last night, the experience was what Oprah Winfrey would call the “brick upside my head.” We’re all going on a diet.

Writing Diva

Hell on Earth

2010-09-10T21:39:00.001-07:00

Over the past 28 hours I've been watching the coverage of the natural gas explosion and fire that destroyed a San Bruno, California, neighborhood. A 30-inch natural gas main apparently ruptured, and the ensuing explosion destroyed 37 homes and badly damaged 8 others. Four people died and others were injured, some burned badly.

Two of the people who died worked at the California Public Utilities Commission in San Francisco, where I worked from 2001 until 2005. Jacqueline Greig and her 13-year-old daughter Janessa were killed in the blast. Jacqueline Greig worked in the commission's Division of Ratepayer Advocates and was listed as a member of the natural gas committee of the National Association of State Utility Consumer Advocates, according to the San Francisco Chronicle. Greig had worked at the CPUC for 21 years.

The scenes on television were horrific. One house was completely engulfed in the early evening. By nightfall, more homes were burning. I felt sad for the homeowners and their families, as well as the city of San Bruno.

I also had a bit of schadenfreude regarding Pacific Gas and Electric Company. There were reports that neighbors had smelled gas and contacted the utility. PG&E officials reportedly said they were looking into their call records.

Two years ago there was a similar explosion that destroyed one home and damaged another in Rancho Cordova. One man was killed, and his daughter and granddaughter were injured. The natural gas pipeline involved was only two inches wide.

Earlier this year PG&E lost a multimillion-dollar election campaign that it funded to make it harder for communities to form their own electric and natural gas utility districts. Now this conflagration in San Bruno.

I'm sorry for the families in that affected neighborhood. And right now it sucks to be PG&E.

Writing Diva

State Worker Ping Pong

2010-08-12T11:33:00.000-07:00

Yesterday a colleague who is retiring tomorrow commented on the ongoing furlough fights between California Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger and the unions representing most of the 240,000 state employees. He said that it felt like he was in a ping pong match.

Couldn’t have said it better myself.

Frankly, I’m tired of the Governor using state workers as pawns in the legislative budget battle. California has gone 43 days without a budget. So far, there have been reports that the governor and the California Legislature are three-quarters of the way toward a budget. Democrats and Republicans are still haggling over the $4 billion in proposed tax revenues to fill the $19 billion gap in the 2010-2011 budget.

Two weeks ago, when state Controller John Chiang announced that the state would run out of money by October, Schwarzenegger reinstated furloughs after affected state workers endured them for 18 months. Our July paycheck was the first time since February 2009 that we received full pay. Our newest round of furloughs was to start the second Friday in August.

The unions filed a request with the Alameda County Superior Court to block the latest furloughs. On Monday night, Alameda County Superior Court Judge Steven A. Brick sided with the workers and ordered a temporary restraining order on the furloughs. Typical Arnold, he filed an appeal with the First District Court of Appeal in San Francisco, stating that Brick’s TRO “will exacerbate the ongoing fiscal and cash crisis in California and will correspondingly harm the state and the public.” Yeah, right.

Sorry for the cliché, but I’ve gone through an emotional (not to mention financial) roller coaster with these furloughs. I wish that the Governor and Legislature would get its act together and figure out something. I just want to know how much, if any, money I’ll be taking home each month for how long.

(Blogger’s Note: I just learned that we have to report to work tomorrow. The colleague just said a four-letter word. Couldn’t have said it better myself.)

Emmy Gets It Right

2010-07-08T12:45:00.000-07:00

The 2010 Prime Time Emmy nominations gave me, well, “Glee”-ful. (Sorry for the very bad pun, readers.)

In recent years I would grouse about how some of my favorite shows were left in the dust, like “Friday Night Lights.” Not this year. “Glee,” one of my favorite comedies, danced away with 19 nominations, the most of any series this year. “Lost,” my favorite drama of all time, earned 12 nominations for its final season, including nods for Matthew Fox (Finally!) as lead actor and Terry O’Quinn and 2009 winner Michael Emerson for supporting actor. “Modern Family,” another comedy fave, got 14 nominations, including three supporting actor and two supporting actress nods. Even “Friday Night Lights” scored acting nods for its leads Kyle Chandler and Connie Britton. Yahoo!

But the most delicious news was the now-defunct “The Tonight Show with Conan O’Brien” earning four nominations, including one for best variety series, while “The Tonight Show with Jay Leno” earned nothing, nichts, nada! And NBC, which made the boneheaded decision to reinstate Jay Leno, is airing the Emmys on August 29. I would watch the Emmys for the schadenfreude alone.

So, here are the rest of my hits and some misses for this year:

“The Good Wife,” a CBS series about a wife who returns to practicing law after her attorney general husband is involved in a sex scandal, earned nominations for its lead Julianna Margulies and supporting actresses Christine Baranski and Archie Panjabi. Two guest actors, Tony winner Alan Cumming and Dylan Baker, earned nods as well. It’s an intelligent, well-written and acted show. Hit.

“Glee” received nods for best comedy series, lead actor (Matthew Morrison), lead actress (Lea Michele), supporting actress (Jane Lynch, who totally earned it), and guest actor (Neil Patrick Harris.) But I was pleasantly surprised about nominations for Chris Colfer (Kurt) for supporting actor and Mike O’Malley (Kurt’s father Burt) for guest actor. Their scenes together are funny and touching. Hit.

“Mad Men” got 17 nominations, including those for leads Jon Hamm and January Jones, supporting actor John Slattery, and supporting actresses Elisabeth Moss and Christina Hendricks. Robert Morse received a guest actor nomination for his portrayal of the senior partner of Sterling Cooper Advertising. Hit.

Where were Sandra Oh and Chandra Wilson from “Grey’s Anatomy”? Their performances, especially in the finale, were stellar. Miss.

Vampire drama “True Blood” earned its first nomination for best drama. Maybe the Emmy voters are opening themselves up to new experiences. Hit.

No Morena Baccarin, the leader of the aliens from “V”? Miss.

Discovery’s “Deadliest Catch” won nominations, including one for best nonfiction series, in the aftermath of fishing boat Capt. Phil Harris’s death from a stroke. Hit.

No love for “Law and Order” after 19 seasons? Miss.

Overall, I’m happy with this year’s picks. Guess I’ll be in front of the set next month.

Writing Diva

This Month in Bad P.R.

2010-06-22T12:56:00.000-07:00

As a former newspaper reporter and a current editor/public affairs professional, I was astounded by the number of public relations disasters I read in the news this month. I don’t know whether to shake my head in pity or slap the offenders upside the head.

The king of P.R. stupidity for this month, if not for 2010, is Tony Hayward, CEO for British Petroleum, or BP. (It should also stand for “Bad Press.” But I digress.) His string of gaffes should be included in every college textbook on crisis communications strategy as an example of what not to do. Newsweek listed some of Hayward’s mistakes, including:

His May 14 attempt to persuade The Guardian that “the Gulf of Mexico is a very big ocean. The amount of oil and dispersant we are putting into it is tiny in relation to the total water volume.”
His inept attempt to play the sympathy card on the “Today” show on May 30 when he said that “there’s no one who wants this over more than I do. I would like my life back.” (Indeed, so would the 11 workers killed in the Deepwater Horizon explosion, the other BP workers, the fishers, the sea creatures, and anyone else affected by the biggest environmental disaster in U.S. history.)
After being relieved of being the point man for the BP oil spill, his watching a yacht race over the past weekend in Great Britain. Perception, Tony, perception!

Then there was the “slip in translation” by BP’s chairman Carl-Henric Svanberg last week when speaking to reporters after meeting with President Obama. The New York Times reported Svanberg, who is Swedish, said, “People say that large oil companies don’t care about the small people. But we care. We care about the small people.” I can understand that English is not Svanberg’s native tongue, but that comment rubbed salt onto the open wounds of Gulf Coast residents.

Note to BP: Please stop while you’re behind.

Enough of my BP rant. I also have some advice for California Attorney General and Democratic gubernatorial candidate Jerry Brown: Please don’t speak to strangers while you’re jogging. Talking to a KCBS radio reporter, Brown compared Republican opponent Meg Whitman’s advertising blitz to the propaganda of World War II Nazi official Joseph Goebbels. The term “Nazi” is culturally and racially charged and should be used sparingly. I guess it’s hard to think logically and jog at the same time.

I will finish this blog entry with Gen. Stanley McChrystal, who openly criticized the Obama Administration in a Rolling Stone article being released this week. In “The Runaway General,” Obama’s top commander in Afghanistan found the president “uncomfortable and intimidated” in a Pentagon meeting with McChrystal and other generals. McChrystal and his aides also bad-mouthed Vice President Joe Biden, special envoy Richard C. Holbrooke, and Ambassador Karl Eikenberry.

According to the magazine’s editor Eric Bates, the conversations were on the record, although some were “not for attribution.” What McChrystal learned the hard way is that journalists are sharks. When they smell blood, they attack. They’ll take whatever we can get. Everything said is fair game.

President Obama has summoned McChrystal for a White House meeting on Wednesday. I guess we know whose ass is getting kicked.

Writing Diva

I'll Never Be "Lost" Again

2010-05-21T18:49:00.000-07:00

I'm a Lostie.

There! I've written it. I'm a huge fan of the ABC television show "Lost." And I'm spending this "Lost Weekend" watching the pilot episode that started my addiction on Saturday and being weaned off it with the Sunday finale.

After 121 episodes, I will have to undergo "Lost" withdrawal. I have watched the series since its stellar debut on September 22, 2004. With the riveting, harrowing plane crash and its aftermath on a mysterious island, I was hooked. To my recollection, I have missed only seven episodes in six seasons.

What drew me to the series was the island. When character Charlie Pace asked, "Where are we?", I imagine other Losties asked the same question Charlie and I did. Then more questions came: What was the monster that killed the airplane's pilot? Why were children being taken? Who are The Others? Where did the ship the Black Rock come from? What is the Dharma Initiative? Who are Jacob and the Man in Black? And, what's up with that polar bear on a tropical island?

There were endless discussions of faith vs. reason, fate vs. free will, quantum physics, time travel, good vs. evil, mistakes and redemption. Executive producers Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse would throw in all sorts of cultural and philosophical touchstones in books and character names, such as John Locke, Jack Shephard, Rousseau, Charlotte Staples (C.S.) Lewis, Desmond David Hume, and Richard Alpert (the birth name of spiritual teacher Ram Dass), The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, Watership Down, A Brief History of Time, Catch-22, The Chosen, Flowers for Algernon (one of my favorites), and The Bible, among many others.

But what kept me watching "Lost" these six seasons were the characters. There were the contentious interactions between Dr. Jack Shephard, a man of science, and John Locke, a man who had faith in the island. James "Sawyer" Ford, a con-man protecting his tender loving heart. Jin and Sun Kwon, the married Korean couple that went through separations before finally finding one another, only to die together. Kate Austen, a fugitive murderer whose heart was caught between Jack and Sawyer. Hugo "Hurley" Reyes, the lottery winner and comic relief who, in my opinion, is the heart of the show. Sayid Jarrah, the Iraqi soldier seeking love and redemption. Benjamin Linus, the "leader" of The Others who has used people and is being used by the Man in Black. (Or is he?) Finally, Desmond Hume, the time traveler who is the key to the island and has his "constant" in his love, Penelope Widmore.

"Lost" is an action drama that challenged me to think. I would have weekly day-after-Lost discussions with a coworker about the episode and what we liked and didn't like about it. The music by Emmy- and Academy Award-winner Michael Giacchino suited every scene and was memorable. And the scenery, which was shot on the north side of Oahu, Hawaii, was breathtaking.

So, when I sit down Sunday night to watch the 2-1/2-hour finale, I will have a box of tissues and a glass of chardonnay to toast what I will call my favorite television show of all time. Namaste, "Lost."

Writing Diva

Keep on Keeping On

2010-05-03T09:10:00.000-07:00

All that fretting was for naught, at least for now.

My online suitor "S" sent me a text at 8:38 a.m. yesterday while I was in church. He wrote that his son's dog was recently fixed and was wearing an Elizabethan collar. Since his son had to work yesterday and S couldn't leave the dog unattended with the unwieldy collar, he had to stay home with the dog.

I sent a text reply asking that he let me know if he wants to reschedule. I haven't received a text from him since.

I found the timing of his text "interesting." I'm a little disappointed considering I was wearing a ruby red sundress for our meeting. But angry? Not so much.

I have so much on my plate right now that I can't really think about whether S will reschedule. I admit I'm a bit stung, but I'll get over it. With starting my business, researching my family roots, and getting out more, I won't have much time to brood.

Writing Diva

Carrot Cake Good. Icing Better

2010-05-01T15:29:00.000-07:00

I'm returning to writing what my blog is supposed to be about -- my life as a single person.

For about a year I have subscribed to a free dating website called "Plenty of Fish." I had received inquiries from some men, but none had panned out.

Until 10 days ago.

Actually, this gentleman, whom I will call "S," first wrote several months ago. He is a 53-year-old divorced man who lives in Oakley, Contra Costa County. I liked his photo and what he wrote about himself in his profile. And he wrote me first.

We had been corresponding via e-mail through the website until he told me what he did for a living. He sells tobacco products. He doesn't smoke or chew tobacco. He just sells the stuff.

I came to a halt. I'm not a big fan of tobacco because my mother, who smoked for 52 years, died of lung cancer when she was 64. Moreover, I believe I contracted asthma as a result of my being exposed to secondhand smoke. So, I told S that his occupation bothered me and why it did. He stopped writing. I regretted saying what I did and missed his e-mails. But I had resigned myself to being single.

Then, out of the blue, he sends me an e-mail 10 days ago asking if I remembered him. I responded that I did and that I regretted sharing my concerns about his occupation. So, he asked if we could try again. I agreed.

We're meeting tomorrow (Sunday) at a burger joint in Rio Vista after I leave church. Oh, he doesn't attend church but said he doesn't "hold it against me" that I do.

The sentiment would be OK if it weren't for the fact that my faith may be what sabotages any chance of a relationship. The Bible teaches that Christians should not be "unequally yoked" with those who don't believe in God and Jesus Christ. While I don't expect him to be a Christian, I expect any man I date to respect my faith and values. If he doesn't, I have to move on.

I'm no goody two-shoes, far from it. My life was complicated before I recommitted myself to Christ. I'm struggling, but I want to keep my life on this path.

The other concern I have is that I'm at a good place in my life. I have my own home, two cats I love, a wonderful family of my father, stepmother, siblings, nieces and nephews, great-nephews and great-nieces, and a large network of relatives, my friends, and my church family. I have a good job that pays well and great, witty coworkers. And I'm steady in my faith. In other words, my life could be compared to a delicious carrot cake made by my sister T1. In addition to flour and sugar, there are carrots, pineapple chunks, walnuts, vanilla, and other ingredients. I don't have my cream cheese frosting, yet. But that's OK.

A loving, committed relationship with a man would be that icing. But I don't want a man with issues that I can't handle. Once I dated a bipolar man who cheated on me with another woman and got her pregnant. Another man who teaches high school has problems with alcohol. In other words, I seem to draw what a friend calls "men with negative issues." Having a man with bad issues in my life would be like having old sour cream on my cake -- not a good thing. Yuck!

I can live without having a man in my life. But it would be icing. So, I'm taking a chance when I meet S tomorrow. If it doesn't work out, that's OK. I'm going to a Cinco de Mayo dance next Saturday night. I'm working on my books and my family history. I'm meeting with friends and family. I have a wonderful cake. But I wouldn't mind some cream cheese frosting.

Writing Diva

“This Is What Change Looks Like”

2010-03-22T08:40:00.000-07:00

I spent most of Sunday afternoon watching a program that was as twisted as ABC’s “Lost,” as dramatic as Fox’s “24,” and sometimes as funny as a good episode of NBC’s “Saturday Night Live.”

It was the U.S. House of Representatives debate over the health care reform bill on C-Span.

There was fighting. There was yelling. There were cheers and jeers. But in the nail-biting climax, H.R. 3962 passed 219 to 212 without a Republican voting for it. Moreover, 34 Democrats voted against it. But that’s OK. The beginning of health care reform passed with three votes to spare.

Presidents since Theodore Roosevelt have tried to reform health care in the United States. One of the most famous attempts was by President Bill “Big Dog” Clinton and then-First Lady (now Secretary of State) Hillary Rodham Clinton. Not one succeeded, even when they tried.

Until March 21, 2010. Somewhere President Barack Obama is saying with a smile to himself, “How ya like me now?”

As of this entry, the bill awaits President Obama’s signature.

But getting the bill to the President’s desk was a process that can be compared to making sausage – downright ugly. To get six conservative Democrats to approve the bill, Obama offered to issue an executive order clarifying the ban on federal funding of abortion. According to The Washington Post, Obama will issue the order after the bill is signed.

From what I’ve heard, the Democrats have offered various compromises to the Republicans to get health care reform passed. But there wasn’t a Republican who would support the bill, saying that it was “big government” and that it cost too much for taxpayers. The Los Angeles Times quoted Rep. James E. Clyburn (D-South Carolina) as saying, “This is the Civil Rights Act of the 21st century.”

The measure allocates about $1 trillion (Yes, that’s “trillion” with a “T.”) over the next decade to expanding insurance coverage, with major changes coming in 2014, The Post reported. Individuals will pay fines for refusing to buy insurance, and employers with more than 50 workers that do not provide coverage also face fines.

The smaller changes that will take place in six months include permitting adult children to stay on their parents’ policies until they turn 26, and children with medical conditions will not be denied coverage.

Unfortunately, this battle is not over. Republicans, stung by the Democratic victory, will take their case to the people during this election year. There may be Democratic representatives and senators who face losing their seats this fall. But I’ll still go to the polls supporting Senator Barbara Boxer and Rep. George Miller, D-Martinez.

When President Obama said, “This is what change looks like,” I thought, “This is the change I voted for. Get used to it!”

Writing Diva

The Academy Awards -- My "Super Bowl"

2010-03-07T12:17:00.000-08:00

OK, it's been two months since I've posted an entry. I may discuss later why I haven't been writing.

Today's topic is what Joy Behar of ABC's "The View" described as "the gay Super Bowl" --the Academy Awards.

For me, the Oscars have been my big bowl game. As a movie buff and Oscar geek of my family, I look forward to this more than I do Christmas. The day after the Oscar announcements, I try to see every movie nominated for an Oscar. I haven't been as attentive this year, though. So far, I've seen "Precious," "Coraline," and "Julie and Julia," the latter I saw Friday night. (I give the movie a "B." I give best actress nominee Meryl Streep's performance an "A-."

I've been watching the Oscars for 40 years. (Again, I'm dating myself.) I fell head over heels for perennial best supporting/best leading actor nominee Al Pacino ("The Godfather," "Serpico," The Godfather Part II," and "Dog Day Afternoon," to name a few). Each time he was robbed, I tell ya, robbed! It wasn't until he won his best actor Oscar for "Scent of a Woman" that I was satisfied. I know it was more for his body of work than for that particular performance. Works for me, though.

Like life, the Oscars have had their ups and downs for me. I was thrilled when Louis Gossett Jr. became the first African-American actor to win best supporting actor for "An Officer and a Gentleman." I whooped and hollered when Whoopi Goldberg won best supporting actress for "Ghost," one of my favorite movies. The biggest night, though was when Halle Berry became the first African-American woman to win the best actress Oscar for her role in "Monster's Ball." Her win was quickly followed by Denzel Washington garnering his second Oscar, this time for best actor, for "Training Day." (He also won several years earlier for his supporting role in "Glory.") I was watching with two of my older sisters, and we gave a loud, collective "Whoa!"

On the other hand, I thought the great Ruby Dee was robbed of her supporting actress Oscar in 2007 for "American Gangster." Tilda Swinton came out of nowhere to win that year for "Michael Clayton." (And she wore a dress that looked like a dark plastic garbage bag. But I digress.) The year before Eddie Murphy was the front-runner going into the 2006 Oscars but was beaten by ... himself. He approved the release of the really bad movie "Norbit" weeks before the Oscar telecast. He lost to Alan Arkin for "Little Miss Sunshine."

This year, unless a tsunami washes away the Kodak Theater, Mo'Nique is a lock for best supporting actress for "Precious." (She was a monster in her role as Mary, Precious's mother.)
Christoph Waltz is expected to get his Oscar for best supporting actor for "Inglourious Basterds." (Correct spelling) Jeff Bridges may edge George Clooney as best actor for "Crazy Heart." But the real tossup will be for best actress between the aforementioned Streep and Sandra Bullock, who earned her first Oscar nomination for her role in "The Blind Side."

(Note: I'm typing with a cat [Diva] in my lap.)

Best picture is going to be a tossup, too, between "Avatar" and "The Hurt Locker."

Anyway, time for me to go to my sisters' and bug them to death about Oscar.

Writing Diva

Hang Together or Hang Separately?

2010-01-05T13:17:00.000-08:00

When I heard Thursday night that an Alameda County Superior Court judge sided with SEIU Local 1000 and other California state employee unions against the imposed three-day-a-month furloughs, I was at first overjoyed and hopeful for 2010. Judge Frank Roesch ruled that Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger’s decision to furlough about 200,000 state employees, regardless of whether they were paid through the general fund or special funds, was legally flawed. To which I said, “Duh!”

Then reality settled in. The state faces a $21 billion deficit and growing. Tomorrow the Governor makes his last State of the State address, and I expect the other shoe to drop – layoffs for state employees.

I admit that at first I selfishly thought, “Let him do layoffs. I have nine years with the state and I’m in a special fund agency.” Then I remembered I have friends who work for general fund agencies who don’t have as many years of state service as I do. I also have family members who work for the state who may be affected. A prime example is my sister, Black Woman Blogging (http://www.blackwomanblogging.blogspot.com). She is an attorney for a general fund state agency who has been furloughed, as I have been. She and her husband, an attorney for a federal agency, bought their first home together in November 2008. I don’t want them to lose their home and go through more financial struggles.

Last night on KTXL Fox 40 in Sacramento, reporter Rick Boone interviewed Antonio Mitchell, a 19-year state employee. Mitchell looked directly into the camera and told his union SEIU Local 1000, “If you’re listening, union reps, save everyone’s jobs. I think it’s better for us to take the 15 percent (pay cut) than for some to lose their jobs. That’s a no-win situation. I think everyone everybody can share in the pain.”

Mitchell has a valid point. The superior court judge’s ruling and the subsequent appeals are a train wreck waiting to happen. If SEIU Local 1000 wants to help its membership, it should take a poll of its members asking if we should stop the war and take furloughs over firings. If the unions truly represent us, the leadership should listen to us.

I will side with Mr. Mitchell and ask SEIU Local 1000 to stop. As Benjamin Franklin said, “We must hang together, gentlemen,…else, we shall most assuredly hang separately.”

Writing Diva

The Writing Diva’s Guide to Coping With the Loss of a Parent

2009-12-02T11:56:00.000-08:00

My friend E joined a club that is a sad one to join – those who have lost a parent.

Her mother, whom I called “Mrs. C,” passed away on November 18 from an infection following surgery to repair a torn ligament in her knee. She was 63.

Mr. and Mrs. C had been married 40 years and raised five children – two daughters, three sons. E is the oldest. Her sister Em is the youngest. I visited E at her parents’ house yesterday, and she and her siblings were struggling with the loss after Mrs. C’s funeral on November 28.

“It’s like my life has gone topsy turvy,” she said over dinner.

Having lost my mother 11 years ago, I completely understand. I told her that one doesn’t get over the loss of a parent. One learns to live with it.

The difference between my loss and theirs is that, other than her torn knee ligament, Mrs. C was very healthy. Last year she gave a party for her retirement and was joking, laughing, being the perfect hostess. Her favorite sayings included “Did you eat?” “Here, eat this.” She tended to the needs of her family and friends.

Her family, friends, and I had envisioned Mrs. C living into her late 80s or 90s. She was very active. She had owned her own business and spearheaded a fundraising drive to build a church in the province of Ilolio in the Philippines.

After conferring with my siblings, here are some suggestions for E and her family to get through these trying times.

Take it one day at a time.
Lean on each other. Share memories of your mother. Remember, it’s OK to laugh. (Hey, Mrs. C was a funny lady.) Be with family and friends.

If you get angry and need to let it out physically, walk, run, play tennis, swim, hit a punching bag, give a pillow a beatdown. Just let it out.

If you feel depressed, seek counseling. If the counselor prescribes antidepressants, consider taking them. From personal experience, they got me going again.

There are plenty of books on losing a parent. (E, I’m sending you one, so you don’t have to buy one if you don’t have to.)

Take up a cause that was dear to your mother. Since Mrs. C was helping raise money for the church in the village of Passi, take up her cross and carry it. Also, let people know where they can send their contributions in your mother’s memory.

Finally, be available, physically and emotionally, for your father, Mr. C. He lost the love of his life. Do what you can to give him comfort and a sense of purpose.

That’s all I can think of right now. Your mother will always be a part of you. You may channel her mannerisms, her courage, her work ethic, her love of music. And you can take comfort in those things until she sees you again.

Writing Diva

Facebook | Carol Robinson

2009-11-27T19:46:00.000-08:00

Facebook Carol Robinson

More Facebook Rules for Single People

2009-11-10T16:22:00.000-08:00

I just deleted someone I dated from my life for the second time. This time the deletion was via Facebook.

I made the stoopid mistake of befriending someone I used to date via Facebook. In a moment of weakness and loneliness, I sought him out and sent him an e-mail saying "Hi." He, in turn, send me an e-mail saying he wouldn't mind being a Facebook friend. So, I befriended him.

What the $*@! was I thinking?!

I had dated the guy 21 years ago before I joined a journalism program and went to my first journalism job in Bellingham, Wash. Eleven months later when I interviewed for a newspaper job in Northern California, I went to see him and wanted to pick up where we left off. But there was no place to pick up. He uttered those "six words" no lovesick adult wants to hear: "I'm not in love with you."

The plane ride from Sacramento to Seattle and the flight from Seattle to Bellingham were the longest I've ever spent. Even when I flew from Oakland to Miami with a sinus infection, that flight wasn't as long as those.

Anyway, once I signed up for Facebook in February, I became curious about whatever became of the guy. He was indeed on Facebook. It wasn't until a month ago when I sent my e-mail and he responded.

This week he announced on Facebook that he is in a relationship with this trim, petite, beautiful brunette. (He proudly posted the picture. She looked like Sacramento "arm candy.") I mentally kicked myself for befriending him. After 21 years and an involvement that had nothing to do with love on his part, what was the point of being his friend?

I asked a coworker if the guy would know immediately if he'd know that I removed him from my list of friends. When the coworker said, "No," I logged into my Facebook account, found the guy's photo, and clicked the X. When the prompt asked if I was sure I wanted to delete him, I clicked "Proceed." Buh-bye.

I read Facebook's rules and regulations as well as a commonly used list posted by a blogger. I want to add the following: "Unless you are on very good terms with your ex-significant other, do not look him or her up on Facebook. Also, do not befriend him or her on Facebook. It is not worth your dignity."

Writing Diva

Halloween as History Lesson

2009-10-26T13:15:00.000-07:00

This is my first day back at work after a weeklong vacation. I expected at least 1,500 e-mails when I logged on to my work computer this morning. But a message from my boss made my jaw drop.

Every year my colleagues at the state agency at which I work dress up for Halloween and compete in a chili cookoff. This year my boss suggested that we dress up in 1950s style, a la “Happy Days.” The women would wear poodle skirts and sweaters with pony tails. The men would wear pompadours, duck tails, leather jackets, and jeans.

After closing my mouth, my first thought was, “HELL NO!”

I sent copies of the e-mail to my siblings. My older brother advised that I “just say no.” Indeed, I am doing just that.

My older sister T1 was blunter. She said the ‘50s “were not great for black people.”

That is true. The 1950s were a bleak period of African-American history. Jim Crow was thriving. Emmett Till, a young black teen, was brutally murdered in August 1955 for allegedly whistling at a white woman in Mississippi. Four months later on December 1, 1955, Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat at the front of the “colored section” to a white passenger. Her arrest prompted Montgomery, Alabama’s, black community to launch a successful yearlong bus boycott. Montgomery’s buses were desegregated on December 21, 1956.

Although U.S. Supreme Court declared racial desegregation in schools was unconstitutional in the Brown vs. Board of Education, Topeka, Kan., decision in May 1954, the memo must not have reached Arkansas state officials, who tried to block nine high school students from entering Central High School in Little Rock in 1957.

Racial injustices were not limited to the South. In California, there were hundreds of communities that had covenants, conditions, and restrictions (CC&Rs) excluding African-Americans, Jews, Hindus, Eastern Europeans, and Asian-Americans from living in those neighborhoods. I learned San Lorenzo had such CC&Rs when I was a reporter for a San Francisco Bay Area newspaper. Stephen Maganini of The Sacramento Bee wrote a September 12, 2005, article about an Assembly Bill that addressed such racist language in past CC&Rs. Arden Park in North Sacramento had such restrictions.

I realize my boss is trying to raise morale, as my younger sister T2 suggested, by having us all dress up. However, having a Halloween costume theme based on the “Happy Daze” of the 1950s is racially and historically offensive. And I will have no part in it.

My idea was to wear a purple SEIU Local 1000 t-shirt and a pair of distressed (read: holey) jeans and come to work as I am – a disgruntled state worker. Under the circumstances of furloughs and job cuts, I think a disgruntled state worker is scarier than Freddy Krueger or Jason from “Friday the 13th.”

Writing Diva

The Official Story

2009-10-22T10:50:00.000-07:00

“You can’t handle the truth!”
Jack Nicholson as Col. Nathan Jessep in “A Few Good Men”

At this writing I am supposed to be packing my things for a two-night church women’s retreat at Northstar-at-Tahoe. But I’m not going after all.
The “official story” I gave my prospective roommate and another attendee is that I’m cramping badly from my period. It’s true, I have cramps. But an 800-mg. dose of Motrin would have shot it down easily.
The real story is that I have had problems arranging a ride to the retreat. I have called people, sent e-mails, put out feelers. My 1995 Honda Civic broke down three years ago just three-quarters of a mile short of the Squaw Valley exit. Conchita, as I call my coche, will not make the trip, even with an oil change.
When I opened an e-mail from an attendee who is driving my roommate to the retreat saying that there may not be room for me, I saw one word: hassle. The word “hassle” is the equivalent of waving a red cape in front of a bull. When I travel, I plan carefully to avoid as much hassle as possible. So, upon reading her e-mail, I said to myself, “¡Ya basta!” I’m not scrambling to find a way to Northstar-at-Tahoe. It’s humiliating to have to ask people for help, in this case, a ride. It’s not worth my peace of mind.
Yes, I’m out $92 for the room, which is a bargain at a beautiful resort. But it’s a lesson to me to have all my ducks in a row before going anywhere. I must depend on myself.
But back to the topic at hand. I tell lies of a sort. Yes, I am having cramps from a menstrual period I haven’t had in more than eight months. Again, that is the “official story.” If I choose not to do something, I will tell people I don’t know well “a truth.” But it’s not necessarily the reason why I’m not doing something. That reason is “the truth.”
For example, I am a volunteer with an organization related to my work. I work closely with an insensitive, overbearing, micromanaging woman. I take registrations for the organization’s monthly programs. But I don’t attend the programs. The “official story” is that I have a lot of work to do at the office, which is true. The “real story” is that I can’t stand working with that woman and if I’m left alone with her, I may do something that would have my attorney sister representing me before a judge and jury. The real story would hurt the woman’s feelings and jeopardize my working relationship with the organization’s board members. So, I stick to the official story.
I tell my siblings, youngest nephew, and close friends the “real story.” I feel comfortable with them, and they can handle it, especially if I say it gently. But those outside that circle get the “official story.” I know, it’s not what Jesus would want. But not many people, as Col. Jessep said, can truly handle the truth.
Writing Diva

Not Just Another Day

2009-09-30T11:41:00.000-07:00

I tried to make it through September 30, 2009, as if it were another workday. I got dressed and fed myself and my cats as usual. I took the commuter bus to work in Sacramento. I had a stack of technical and policy reports to edit. I got my paycheck today and declined to contribute to the state’s United Way campaign because of the furloughs cutting into my pay.

Then my sister Black Woman Blogging sent me and the siblings her blog entry about the 11th anniversary of Mom’s passing.

With apologies to my Christian friends – DAMMIT!

The reminder was like pulling off a scab to reveal a fresh, unguarded wound. One would think that after 11 years it wouldn’t hurt. Correction: One would not be thinking, period. It still hurts. And I don’t know when it will stop hurting.

(P.S. to Black Woman Blogging: I’m not angry. You’re right to express your feelings in writing on this day. I’m just mad at the circumstances.)

My mother had Alzheimer’s disease, but it was the lung cancer that eventually took her life. She didn’t have the ability to communicate her pain and concern for her health. When she fell asleep the night of September 29, she didn’t wake up the next day. That devastated Dad and eventually the rest of us.

I think for me what hurts most is that there were things I wanted to tell her about my life but couldn’t. I wanted to explain why, 20 years ago, I was tearful and upset when Dad and she drove me to Sacramento International Airport for the return flight to Bellingham, Wash., where I worked my first job as a newspaper reporter. (I was dumped by a man who told me, with brutal honesty, “I’m not in love with you.”) I wanted to confide in her about my health problems, but the Alzheimer’s wouldn’t allow her to understand to keep my confidence. I wanted to tell her how sorry I was about the times when I was snappish with her. I wanted to tell her that I finally sought chemical and therapeutic treatment for my depression. Finally, I wanted to tell her I found a job in state government that suits my talents as a writer and editor.

But on the Sunday before she passed, I sang to her and told her, “I love you.” She responded, “Thank you, baby.”

She understood. Maybe that’s enough.

In closing, when Mom passed, there was a star in the eastern night sky that I hadn’t seen before. The night before the funeral, I had followed that star in my car all the way to Folsom before I returned to Sacramento. To me, that was Mom. And to this day, whenever I see that star, I say, “Good night, Mom.”

Writing Diva

Singleness Is Not Failure

2009-09-19T22:02:00.000-07:00

After I turned "fiddy" earlier this week, I reflected on my life as a single woman and pondered the question if I have failed at life because I never married or had children.

I came close to marriage with one man 18 years ago. Thankfully, it didn't work out. He is a high school teacher, as he was when I dated him, with the same problems today that he had during our brief 10-month relationship.

Sometimes when I attend a singles function, I get asked by dance partners why I never married. It's a difficult question to answer in the length of a song. I made many mistakes in my dating choices, prompted mostly by my lack of self-esteem. My intuition was on target about the men I dated. The problem was, I was so desperate for companionship that I didn't listen.

Once I was in a tempestuous relationship with a man who, I discovered later, had a criminal record. Say it with me now: EEEWWWW!

I won't go into the rest of my dating failures. I find them too embarrassing to put into print. I will say that they were life lessons, for better or for worse.

My sister, Black Woman Blogging (http://www.blackwomanblogging.blogspot.com), helped put things into perspective. I should enjoy being single, she said. The grass isn't always greener on the other side.

I am free to be myself. I can listen to whatever music I choose without having someone comment on how "white"or how "urban" it is. I can sleep in on weekends if I choose. I can have two cats as my companions without someone complaining about allergies or cat hair. (One day, when I get a house with a backyard lawn, I would like a beagle, too.)

Most of all, I can appreciate men quietly without having a boyfriend, fiance, or husband give me a jealous look.

One of the good things about being African-American and my age is that I have my mother's genes. In other words, I really don't look my age. I have some gray hairs, but most of my hair is black. (Thank you, Mom!) I get a mix of wrinkles and pimples. (Maybe they should be called "pinkles"!) And I'm still somewhat slim. (Thanks, T1, for the 5-pound weights! Now I'm getting First Lady Michelle Obama's arms!)

I may find someone. I may not. But I intend to live in the moment and enjoy the good things in life and pursue my dreams with whatever time I have left.

So, I haven't failed "life" by being single. The lessons are ongoing.

Writing Diva

50

2009-09-15T10:23:00.000-07:00

"I like to kick, stretch, AND kick! I'm 50! Fifty years old!"

Sally O'Malley (as portrayed by Molly Shannon, "Saturday Night Live." See http://www.hulu.com/watch/1504/saturday-night-live-sally-omalley)

I have no problem with sharing my age. Today, my mother Claudia "Deena" Buford Robinson gave birth to me at 11:41 a.m. PDT 50 years ago at Sacramento County Hospital, now UC Davis Medical Center. Besides, my sister, Black Woman Blogging (http://www.blackwomanblogging.blogspot.com) already gave away my age. Thanks, BWB.

My puzzle is defining what 50 is. I don't feel whatever 50 feels like. I may have a little bit of a camel hump. (No camel toes, though, thank goodness! If you need to know what "camel toes" are, watch the Hulu.com video.) But I walk every day, use weights three times a week, and perform sit-ups on my bed twice a week. I look pretty good for my age.

I read in the April 2008 issue of More magazine about second acts. I had considered a second act of starting my own editing and writing business. But now I'm actually planning it because of the three-day furloughs that Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger imposed on California state workers, myself included. I can't allow the political drama at the state Capitol to affect my plans for the next stage of my life.

As Helen Reddy sang in "I Am Woman," whatever wisdom I gained was born of pain. I don't think I would want to be young again. I didn't know as much and I was too trusting. I'm more discerning in whom I trust and I treasure the life knowledge I've earned.

I'm glad to be starting my 51st year. As my older sister "D" would say, it beats the alternative.

Writing Diva

Building a Church on “Sacred Ground”?

2009-08-26T13:12:00.000-07:00

New Life Church, which has been meeting in a school gym, a school multipurpose room, and a warehouse for its 11-year history, is going forward with plans to build its facility on five acres in rural Vacaville.

But getting the OK wasn’t easy. There was a conflict between Christian and Native American faiths. Each side strongly defended its position and beliefs. And while our church won, it wasn’t pretty.

I was one of about 25 people from New Life who attended the Vacaville City Council meeting Tuesday night to provide silent support of the project, a two-story church with a parking lot and septic system on a parcel bordered by Cherry Glen and Rivera roads just southwest of downtown Vacaville. Local resident Roberto Valdez appealed the Vacaville Planning Commission’s granting of a conditional use permit to build on the site, contending that construction would unearth remains of Native Americans possibly buried there.

Since its inception, New Life had been meeting at Fairfield High School and Laurel Creek Elementary School in Fairfield, where it currently has two services. New Life’s Warehouse, also in Fairfield, hosts two youth-oriented services. In April 2008 church officials announced to the congregation that we purchased five acres off Cherry Glen Road and have an option to buy an adjacent six-acre site. Since then, we’ve worshiped on the site three times, at least to my recollection.

Before we entered the council chamber, Associate Pastor Brad Stanhope told us that the appellant and his supporters were not the enemy.

Before Valdez spoke, Wounded Knee, a Vallejo resident and a member of the Mi-Wuk tribe, pleaded with the city council not to allow the church to build on the land, which once had a restaurant, hotel, and bar until the 1960s.

“How can you build a church on a (Native American) sacred ground?” he asked.

Interim Community Development Director Maureen Carson said the site had been surveyed for any signs of a burial ground. The Native American Heritage Council was contacted, and it concluded that the acreage had no known burial sites. To appease Councilmembers Ron Rowlett and Pauline Clancy, the church agreed to recruit a Native American volunteer to monitor construction in the early stages. While the councilmembers sympathized with Valdez and his supporters, the Planning Commission was thorough in reviewing the conditional use permit application and environmental documents.

After the city council denied the appeal unanimously, some New Life members applauded. I was not happy about that. For one thing, clapping when two sides are passionate about this contentious issue is in poor taste. Second, the appeal pitted two faiths against each other. I found it very humbling.

Frankly, I don’t think Valdez is finished with his fight to keep the land undisturbed. I will feel better once the doors of our new church open for the first time.

Writing Diva

The Post-Racial Bus

2009-08-17T13:21:00.000-07:00

Most weekdays I ride a commuter bus to work. The bus starts in Fairfield, picks up passengers in Vacaville and Dixon, and travels to downtown Sacramento, where it makes six stops before returning nonstop to Fairfield.

I drive my car to the Davis Street Park-and-Ride lot in Vacaville and take the bus from there. I know most of my fellow commuters by sight, some by name. We’re a varied group – different ages, races, backgrounds going to work or school. I have made two friends from riding the commuter bus.

This morning there was a disruption. A young African-American man with a backpack boarded the bus in Vacaville with about 15 of us. The Monday bus tends to fill up quickly. When the young man, who, I assume, is a college student, went to the back of the bus, he spread out his backpack on the seat next to him. One of the regular commuters, a man of East Indian descent, attempted to sit by the young man, who allegedly said, “You don’t want to sit next to a black man.” (I got this secondhand from another regular passenger, who heard the conversation.) The commuter sat next to me until his stop. The young man eventually apologized before he got off at his stop.

I found the episode a bit surreal. On December 1, 1955, an African-American woman named Rosa Parks refused to go to the back of the bus, where blacks were ordered to sit. Instead, she sat at the front in the white section and was arrested for taking a seat.

After an event that sparked the Civil Rights Movement and gave us some of the rights all people enjoy today, I find it rather annoying for the young man to deny another commuter a seat, either because he wanted that space to himself or he had a chip on his shoulder.

So, I have a message for the young passenger: Grow up! It’s 2009, for crying out loud! For one thing, the transit district rules state that you cannot save a seat. Second, it’s inappropriate to cause such a ruckus on public transportation. If you don’t want anyone to sit next to you, drive yourself to school or work.

If you choose to take public transportation, leave your problems and racial hang-ups off the bus.

Writing Diva

Strike That!

2009-08-03T09:47:00.000-07:00

What's done is done.

The Service International Employees Union Local 1000, which represents about 95,000 California civil servants, has voted to take job actions up to and including a strike.

Borrowing a page from President Obama's book, I think the vote, announced Saturday, was the stupidest thing SEIU Local 1000 has ever done.

The vote was 74 percent “yes” to 26 percent “no.” I was among those who voted “no.” My sister T1 voted “HELL NO!” SEIU officials did not release how many members cast ballots.

To my knowledge, state workers have never voted to go on strike before. There is a clause in our contracts that prohibit walking off the job in protest. However, SEIU Local 1000 officials assert, “The state cannot discipline anyone who participates in a legal and protected job action or strike. As an added protection, Local 1000 will ensure that any resolution includes an amnesty clause – a provision guaranteeing that members who participate in a strike will be protected from discipline or adverse administrative action by the state.”

On the question of whether it’s legal for state employees to strike, SEIU Local 1000 states, “In a case brought before the California Supreme Court by SEIU in 1985, the court held that strikes by public employees are legal in California. In its ruling, the court said only strikes that are expressly forbidden by law or that threaten the public health or safety are illegal. Since the 1985 ruling, there have been scores of legal strikes by workers in cities, counties, and school districts throughout California.

On the other side, the Schwarzenegger administration, as represented by the state Department of Personnel Administration Personnel Board, declares that state employees have no right to strike. The SPB Web site states that any employee who participates in a strike “will be regarded as absent without Leave (AWOL) and will not be paid for any day in which they participate in a strike or job action.” Moreover, “employees who participate in a strike or other job action may be subject to disciplinary or other appropriate administrative action.”

“The state will dock their pay and take disciplinary actions,” said Lynelle Jolley, spokeswoman for the DPA in an interview with The Sacramento Bee. “They will lose money – or worse.”

Well, Ms. Jolley, we’ve already lost money – about 14 percent of our paycheck since July 1. Although I’m not at my tipping point (that is, having to sell my home), other people have reached and gone beyond it. I imagine the state workers who voted to authorize a strike concluded that they have little or nothing left to lose.

The reason why I voted against the strike comes in an acronym – PATCO.

I remember the August 1981 walkout of the Professional Air Traffic Controllers Organization. The trade union’s members wanted better pay, better working conditions, and a 32-hour work week. President Ronald Reagan ordered the air traffic controllers back to work, citing safety concerns. When only 1,300 of the almost 13,000 employees returned to their posts, Reagan carried out his threat and fired the remainder who stayed on strike.

Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger is a lame-duck governor with nothing less to lose except his improved standing with the Republican Party. I believe he has no qualms about having those of us on strike fired. He has no sympathy for state workers, erroneously stating that the average state worker earns $60,000 a year. That’s utter nonsense! Most state workers earn way below that. To flex his political muscle, I strongly believe he will fire us.

Don’t get me wrong. I support the union. I was even a union steward in SEIU Local 1000. But this is little more than a pissing match between SEIU Local 1000 President Yvonne Walker and Gov. Schwarzenegger, with the union members being peed upon. We will be the real losers.

So, in response to SEIU Local 1000’s “Count on Me” job actions, count me out.

Writing Diva

Remembering “Uncle Walter”

2009-07-20T13:29:00.001-07:00

A frequent dinner guest in my family’s household passed away Friday.

Walter Cronkite, the CBS television journalist for whom the term “anchorman” was coined, died at the age of 92. He was the anchor of the CBS Evening News from 1962 to 1981, an era that took my family from the assassinations of President John F. Kennedy, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and Sen. Robert F. Kennedy, to the Vietnam War, the first moon landing, and Watergate.

Cronkite told the story straight, showing no liberal or conservative bias, collecting all the facts before airing the piece. He was an avuncular man whom my parents would depend on if they wanted their news as simple as round steak, mashed potatoes and gravy.

In the 1960s and early ‘70s, my siblings and I served as the remote control for the family television. While cooking dinner, Mom would say, “Go turn on Walter.” Not the “CBS Evening News.” Not “Walter Cronkite.” Just “Walter.” As we ate dinner, we would watch battle scenes in Vietnam, civil rights marches, even the Beatles while “Walter” explained everything like a grandfather sitting in his favorite chair smoking a pipe and telling a story.

Cronkite rarely used jargon in his stories. He also rarely showed emotion. There were two instances I remember when his veneer of objectivity cracked slightly. The first happened on November 22, 1963, when he announced from the news wires that President Kennedy died from an assassin’s bullet in Dallas. The second was when the Apollo 11 lunar module landed on the moon. His “Oh, boy!” spoke volumes even when he later said he was “speechless.”

Cronkite also seldom gave his opinion, which is an unspoken rule among journalists. But when he did a short commentary in 1968 about the stalemate that was the Vietnam War after his visit to the war zone, his 30-second piece caused shock waves in the White House. President Lyndon B. Johnson reportedly said, “If I’ve lost Cronkite, I’ve lost middle America.”

I was embarking on my own journalism career while working in the news department of UC Davis radio station KDVS in 1981 when Cronkite put down the mike for the last time. I was sad that he was stepping down from the CBS Evening News. But even the “Most Trusted Man in America” needed a break.

Cronkite set the standard by which many journalists, including myself, strived to achieve. And these days, news coverage is so fragmented that unbiased journalism is hard to come by. Yet I’m glad Cronkite was there to guide us through the turbulent times with as steady a hand as he steered his sailboat. Rest in peace, Uncle Walter.

Writing Diva

Hard Choices

2009-07-01T14:30:00.000-07:00

Just three hours ago Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger signed an executive order mandating three furlough days a month for California state employees. Starting July 10, most state offices will be closed the first, second, and third Friday of each month.

By my calculation, three furlough days a month will cost me 14.3 percent of my paycheck -- $689 a month before taxes. This is really going to hurt.

My boss sent out an e-mail reminding us that at least we have a job and thanking us for keeping our heads above the turmoil that has been brewing over the past several months.

Now, can she talk to my mortgage banker about approving a loan modification to lower my monthly mortgage payments?

I will be making some hard choices this month, including:

Cancelling my health club membership. I had rejoined Solano Athletic Club in January after a disastrous stint with 24-Hour Fitness. Now I'll have to exercise on my own.
Reducing my cable subscription to limited basic. I was going to do that earlier this year, but the customer service representative persuaded me to stick to expanded basic for $38.40 a month, including taxes. I'm afraid I'll have to return to $16 a month, including taxes.
Ordering no more magazine subscriptions of any kind, not even my writing magazines, until these furloughs end, supposedly on June 30, 2010.
Getting a job working Friday through Sunday, except for the fourth and fifth Friday of each month. Considering the tight economy, that will be difficult, but not impossible.
Applying for a loan modification with my mortgage banker. I'll explain the situation and send all the required documents and a copy of the Governor's press release. Hey, it's worth a shot.

I'm already shopping at WinCo Foods, driving less, clipping coupons, limiting my entertainment, suspending contributions to my IRA, and cutting back on my church offerings. But it could be worse. I could be unemployed without a roof over my head for me and my two cats.

It's time for me to batten down the hatches.

Sigh....

Writing Diva

Michael Joseph Jackson -- 1958-2009

2009-06-26T09:04:00.000-07:00

It's still sinking in that Michael Jackson is gone. "Gone Too Soon," as he sang.

His music, with the Jackson Five and as a solo artist, was part of my family's soundtrack. When we were little, we saw the Jackson Five for the first time in 1969 on "The Ed Sullivan Show," followed by an appearance on "Hollywood Palace." (Only baby boomers and older would have seen these shows. Sorry, younger folk.) My sisters and I would go to our cousin's house down the street in the Oak Park area of Sacramento to rave over the Jackson Five's debut album. Their hits came in quick succession -- "I Want You Back," "ABC," "The Love You Save," "Mama's Pearl," "I'll Be There."

When we moved from Oak Park to South Sacramento in April 1971, the song "Never Can Say Goodbye" was on the radio in Mom's black Oldsmobile. My siblings and I were saying goodbye to our friends from Oak Park and saying hello to a new life in the suburbs.

My high school friends did the bump and the robot to the Jackson Five's "Dancing Machine." In 1978, when I was at UC Davis, Michael struck out on his own (for the second time) with "Off the Wall." When I would spend nights into the early morning studying, I would dance to "Working Day and Night" to keep myself awake.

When "Off the Wall" came out, that time was the best Michael ever looked. He was lanky with a perfect button nose and milk chocolate skin.

But it was "Thriller" that shot Michael into the stratosphere. It seemed everyone had a copy of the album. When MTV began showing "Beat It," I think that's when blacks began saying, "I want my MTV."

During the 1983 television special "Motown 25," he showed how much of a showman he was. When he sang "Billie Jean" and performed his famous moonwalk, I was in awe. I thought he was on par with Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire.

Yes, there were the tabloid tidbits -- the vitiligo, the makeup, the allegations of child molestation, his unorthodox fascination with children, his marriages, his young children being shielded from view. There were times when I'd shake my head. But it was like having an odd relative whom you loved anyway.

He was on his way to making a comeback when he went into cardiac arrest and died. It was a comeback that will never come.

May God rest your soul, Michael Jackson.

Embracing Singleness

2009-06-25T09:34:00.001-07:00

My sister, Black Woman Blogging (http://www.blackwomanblogging.blogspot.com), slapped me upside the head yesterday and brought me to my senses about my single status. The grass isn't always greener on the other side.

In my previous post I was doing the wailing and gnashing of teeth regarding my not being in a relationship, especially as I approach 50. (Or, as I call it, "fiddy.") I was especially envious of BWB and her marriage to BMNB (Black Man Not Blogging). The two are best friends who married each other.

But not all is as it seems, BWB said. There are occasional disagreements, division of household labor and cooking (She gets the cooking.), arranging schedules and finances so they can travel together, checking with each other on their whereabouts, and, in old age, changing a spouse's "poopy diaper." (Not something to look forward to.)

As a single woman, BWB pointed out, I can go where I please, buy what I please, and not worry about joint finances or schedules. I have been squandering my singleness on feeling sorry for myself. As Tim Gunn from "Project Runway" would say, I should "make it work."

So, as I write this, I have a new attitude toward singleness. I probably wouldn't have been able to attend National Association of Black Journalists conventions if I had been married. And I love traveling. But, most of all, I like the freedom of being single. I attend dances and other single events, go to movies, ride my bicycle, and shoot photos without worrying about what my husband would think.

This is not to disparage marriage. There are pluses and minuses in both marriage and singleness. But I'm learning to be happy where I am.

Thank you, BWB.

Writing Diva

My Relationship With Me

2009-06-20T21:12:00.000-07:00

Over the past couple of weeks, I've been in a funk about my relationship status, or, shall I say, a lack thereof. I've seen friends and former loves in happy romances, leading me to feel sorry for myself. I came close to doing something I promised myself I wouldn't do -- contact a psychic. I haven't and, God willing, don't plan to.

I prayed for several days asking God for some guidance. That guidance came from, of all places, the movie "Sex and the City." The film, based on the successful HBO television series, followed the adventures of writer Carrie Bradshaw and her friends, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda. Samantha had a previous bout with breast cancer and was juggling a relationship with her younger boyfriend. She came to the conclusion, when breaking up with Smith, that she needed to focus on a relationship with herself.

My "significant other" would push me out to enjoy life by going to dances, going bicycle riding, exercising, seeing movies, decorating the home, and spending time with friends and family. Whether I have a relationship with a man is pretty much up to God. I may be destined for lifelong singleness, but it's not a death sentence. In fact, singleness may be my way of living life to the fullest.

Writing Diva

What Kind of California Do You Want?

2009-05-22T08:56:00.000-07:00

What kind of world do you want?
Think anything
Let's start at the start
Build a masterpiece
Be careful what you wish for
History starts now
John Ondrasik, Five for Fighting, "World"

To paraphrase the first sentence of the Rev. Rick Warren's best-selling book The Purpose-Driven Life, it's not about you -- the California taxpayer fed up with politics as usual in Sacramento.

It's not about me, either. This blogger is a California civil servant who fears for her job, paycheck, and home.

It's about this state -- California.

Although turnout for the May 19 special election for six state budget-related propositions was reportedly at a low of 23 percent, voters resoundingly thrashed all but one -- a proposition that bans any raises for the Governor, Legislature, and other top state officials if the general fund is expected to end the fiscal year with a deficit.

Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger interpreted the results thus, according to The Sacramento Bee: "I think the message was clear from the people: Go all out and make those cuts and live within your means."

OK, then. It's time for all California voters to make some hard choices. Therefore, I suggest the following:

California legislators should send a questionnaire each fall to all state voters asking them which services they would like to keep or cut, such as law enforcement, fire protection, prisons, education, health care, home health services, education, and the like. Ask voters if they would be willing to pay for these services and how much they're willing to shell out.
Legislators (both state senators and assembly members) should host (at least) four "town hall" meetings in their districts between January 10 and June 1, including one meeting on a weeknight and one on a Saturday in different communities. They should present the results of the questionnaire and discuss options and legal constraints with those voters who attend. Then the legislators should vote according to what their constituents want, not according to lobbyists' positions or anyone's contributions.
Voters must make time to keep up with issues of import to them and the positions their legislators take on all statewide matters. I also suggest that there be a four-year (at least) moratorium on citizen-drafted state initiatives to allow legislators to do their jobs. Also, Californians should consider whether some state laws based on propositions be put on hold or abolished, such as Proposition 98, which guarantees a portion of the general fund for education, or, (Horrors!) Proposition 13, approved in 1978, which freezes the tax-assessed value of properties at the time of purchase with a 2 percent cap on annual assessment increases.

Voters must also realize that some programs are federally mandated, such as the Department of Motor Vehicles and health care for (yes) illegal immigrants.

I realize that I'm asking voters to do a lot of homework. News flash: Being an informed citizen and making decisions that affect your household and the state of California aren't a piece of cake. Deal with it!

Again, ask yourselves: What kind of California do you want? What kind of California do you want to leave to your descendants?

Get to work.

Writing Diva

Mommie Dearest

2009-04-14T13:28:00.000-07:00

A bit of clarification is warranted regarding the title of today's entry. The title doesn't pertain to the late Joan Crawford, but to the suspect in the Sandra Cantú murder case, which had a bigger twist and WTF moments than an episode of the television series "24."

Over the past three weeks people throughout California have been enthralled by the case of 8-year-old Sandra Cantú of Tracy, who disappeared March 27 after a surveillance camera recorded her skipping away from her residence in a mobile home park. Locals volunteered to search for the bubbly little girl. More than a week ago law enforcement authorities found the girl's body crammed into a suitcase and dumped into a retaining pond.

Early Saturday (April 11) morning, a suspect had been arrested and booked on suspicion of kidnap and murder. But the "monster" wasn't a man.

It was a woman. The mother of one of Sandra's playmates. A Sunday school teacher.

Tracy police say Melissa Chantel Huckaby, 28, is the only suspect in the case. Shortly after she reported her suitcase missing, police grilled Huckaby for five hours before she reportedly indicated that she deliberately killed the little girl.

The case was the talk of the J.C. Penney Salon where I had my hair relaxed Saturday. I was stunned to hear that the suspect is a woman.

I fully expected someone like Richard Allen Davis, who was convicted of kidnapping, raping, and murdering 12-year-old Polly Klaas of Petaluma in November 1993. I thought it would be someone like Curtis Dean Anderson, who did the same to Xiana Fairchild of Vallejo in December 1999.

But a woman who taught Bible study at her grandfather's nearby church? The mother of Sandra's 5-year-old playmate?

What is the world coming to?

Youngsters, including my 8-year-old and 5-year-old great-nephews, are taught about "Stranger Danger," to never go with strangers, to scream for help, to fight off attackers. But what do you teach about mothers, fathers, neighbors you know?

I remember when I was in sixth grade, my father drove me to my friend's house so I could work on a social science report with her. He stayed at the house chatting with my friend's mom until I was done. He believed that his children should not spend a lot of time at other people's homes.

It's a sad day when parents have to be suspicious of other parents.

Writing Diva

Still Makes Me Wanna Holla

2009-04-01T14:45:00.000-07:00

April 1, 1984, was one of those dates when you know what you were doing when something momentous happened – the way dates like November 22, 1963, or April 4, 1968, make an indelible mark in our collective psyche.

April 1, 1984, was when the “Prince of Soul,” Marvin Gaye, died. An argument between his parents in which Marvin intervened ended when the Rev. Marvin Gay Sr. shot and killed his son a day before his 45th birthday.

I was listening to the radio when I heard the news. I called my older sister T1 at work and told her the news.

“April Fool, right?” T1 joked.

“Not this time,” I said somberly. When I referred to my older sister by her middle name instead of a nickname, I was being serious.

Marvin was special to T1 not just because of his music and his good looks. They share the same birthday, April 2. (My siblings and I would call T1 the “After Fool” because she missed being an April Fool by a day.)

My family grew up listening to Motown, Aretha, the Isley Brothers, Luther, and others. Mom and my sisters just loooved Marvin. In the early 1960s, he was clean-shaven wearing a sports jacket and turtleneck, looking fine. When he sang his duets with spunky-cute Tammi Terrell, they looked as if they could be the perfect couple. I still prefer their version of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” to Diana Ross’s bombastic rendition.

When Tammi Terrell died at 24 of a malignant brain tumor in 1970, Marvin went into seclusion. When he emerged, he was bearded and introspective, more concerned about the world around him. His 1971 concept album “What’s Going On” reflected one of many changes Gaye would undergo in his personal and professional life. The single became Rolling Stone’s fourth greatest single of all time.

Gaye’s version of “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” was recorded before Gladys Knight and the Pips did theirs. But the latter version was released first and reached number two on the U.S. pop charts. Although Motown founder Berry Gordy was adamant that Gaye’s “Grapevine” not be released, the radio disc jockeys heard the cut and started playing it until Gordy relented. The version, with its French horn opening that heralded a darker, more defiant attitude than Gladys’s version, shot to number one, where it stayed for seven weeks.

When the sensual “Let’s Get It On” album came out in 1973, I was appalled. I thought he went from ecologist to just plain horndog. As I matured, I realized that it was just a side of Marvin that the public hadn’t seen. The album also features my favorite Marvin song “Distant Lover,” a theme for a long-ago, long-distance romance.

Despite the hits, Marvin hadn’t received a Grammy until 1983 – for “Sexual Healing.” I admit, when the song first came out, I thought he was a howling horndog just begging for some. “Bay-beee, I’m hot just like an oveeeen, I need your loveeeng, and bay-beeee, I can’t hold it much longer, it’s getting stronger and stronger…”

I remember when Marvin came onstage at the Grammy Awards to accept his gramophone for male R&B performance, the audience gave him a standing ovation, for which he looked humbled and grateful.

I often wonder what more he could have done had he lived to see his 45th birthday – and many more after that.

Rest in peace, Marvin.

Writing Diva

Whither Newspapers?

2009-03-24T15:21:00.000-07:00

Eight years after I left newspaper journalism to “join the dark side,” as my former journalist colleagues put it, and become an information officer for a California government agency, I still miss pounding the pavement and pressing phone buttons hunting for a story to fill a slowly shrinking news hole. These days, with newspaper layoffs, pay cuts, furloughs, and newspaper shutdowns or conversions to Web sites, I realize I can’t return to newspapers even if I wanted to.

Over the past several weeks, the Rocky Mountain News folded after nearly 150 years. Last year, according to National Public Radio, it cost its parent company E.W. Scripps Co. $16 million in losses. The Seattle Post-Intelligencer went completely digital and shut down its print edition after 146 years. The Ann Arbor News will stop its presses in July after 174 years and be replaced by a Web-focused community news operation, according to the Associated Press.

The San Francisco Chronicle was perilously close to shutting its doors after losing $1 million or more a week for the past several years. On March 7, members of the Chronicle's unit of the California Media Workers Guild agreed to job and benefit cuts required by management, the San Francisco Business Times reported. The job concessions included cuts regardless of seniority.

There have been layoffs at newspapers nationwide, including The Sacramento Bee, the San Diego Union-Tribune (which Copley Newspapers, its parent company, sold last week), the Los Angeles Times, the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, The Buffalo News, just to name a few. Gannett Newspapers and MediaNews Group have ordered furloughs for their employees.

The recession is a big factor in newspapers losing money, especially with steep drops in advertising revenue and stores like Circuit City and Mervyns closing their doors. I believe another factor is that newspapers didn't consider their information to be valuable enough to charge Internet users. The Wall Street Journal, for example, requires that its Web site users subscribe to its newspaper. San Francisco-based media analyst Alan D. Mutter wrote in the Los Angeles Times that the WSJ claims more than 1 million paid subscribers to its Web site "(b)y aggregating an audience of business people willing and able to pay to view its content."

The Daily Republic of Fairfield, California, also requires that its Web site visitors subscribe. About 21,000 Solano County residents are willing to pay to find out what's happening in their neighborhood. Online ads help, but information should not be free.

My stance may offend Internet users who have been accustomed to getting their news gratis. I don't know if newspaper companies charge Google for their news. If they don't, they should. If newspapers want to survive, newspaper owners have to get out of the mindset that the horse has left the barn and start charging for content. The horse is still in the barn, but is considering making a run for it.

Writing Diva

Throwing in the Towel

2009-02-26T13:06:00.000-08:00

This is an open letter to my friends and family and readers of this blog about a middle-aged single woman living in Vacaville, California.

I'm throwing in the towel. I have decided not to marry.

As some of you may know, I have not had a "significant other" in a decade. I've had friends try to fix me up with single men. I've attended so many singles function I've lost count. I recently had an account with eHarmony, only to have six of my matches get the boot from the on-line dating service for unknown reasons (probably because they're on-line dating scammers) and countless other matches reject me for "other" reasons.

It doesn't mean that I won't attend events to meet other single people or that I would close to door to dating. But frankly I don't think I will meet Mr. Right and I don't want to be with a Mr. Right Now. I've made foolish mistakes in seeking a life partner, and I'm getting tired of doing that.

I'm tired of spending money on on-line dating services. Also, although I've been advised to have my friends introduce me to someone, most of my friends don't know the type of man I want.

Before writing this entry, I read an obituary in the Los Angeles Times about Marie Barbare Edwards, a psychologist who helped pioneer a "singles pride" movement in the 1970s through her book The Challenge of Being Single. She died December 31 two days shy of her 90th birthday. Edwards declared that not everyone is destined to march through life as half of a "Noah's Ark twosome." Maybe I'm not, either.

So, to any of you who asks, "Why aren't you married?" kindly back off. If I meet someone, fine. If not, that's fine, too. My life is carrot cake. Frosting (or a mate) is optional.

Writing Diva

A Quiet, No-Drama Christmas

2008-12-26T10:08:00.000-08:00

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

Recession? Depression? It's All Messin' With My Money!

2008-12-19T11:34:00.000-08:00

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

The Writing Diva Moving Service

2008-11-26T15:47:00.000-08:00

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

"Separate But Equal" Not Cutting It in 2008

2008-10-18T15:01:00.000-07:00

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

Mom's Got Our Back -- And We Have Hers

2008-09-30T07:48:00.000-07:00

"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

My big birthday wish

2008-09-15T09:16:00.000-07:00

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

The Eurydice Effect

2008-09-10T08:55:00.000-07:00

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

Denver -- A Place Called Hope

2008-08-29T13:37:00.000-07:00

"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

Dumped (Though I Deserved It)

2008-08-22T20:03:00.000-07:00

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

You're Putting a Rush on Me

2008-08-15T15:04:00.000-07:00

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

Bad governor! No steroids!

2008-08-01T10:40:00.000-07:00

"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

This Will Be (an Experiment)

2008-07-25T10:41:00.000-07:00

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

Ich bin nicht ein Kuguar (I am NOT a cougar!)

2008-07-15T13:05:00.000-07:00

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

Because...it's my money

2008-07-05T22:31:00.000-07:00

"...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

Distance Makes the Heart Grow…Who Am I Kidding?

2008-06-25T13:10:00.000-07:00

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

Bobby, I Hardly Knew Ye

2008-06-06T19:48:00.000-07:00

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

Ghost of lovers past

2008-04-19T22:58:00.000-07:00

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

A (Too) Public Tragedy

2008-03-15T02:54:00.000-07:00

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

Oscar armchair quarterback

2008-02-29T18:56:00.000-08:00

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

Holding My Nose at the Polls

2008-02-09T19:41:00.000-08:00

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

If Roe Were Overturned – Then What?

2008-01-22T19:31:00.000-08:00

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

Faith and politics, like oil and water, don't mix

2008-01-18T19:29:00.000-08:00

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.

Beginnings

2008-01-16T18:59:00.000-08:00

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