A Feline Life -- Diva Las Vegas Robinson

The photo above is how I chose to remember my "furry adopted daughter" of 16 years, Diva Las Vegas Robinson. After a bout with an aggressive cancer that left her emaciated, I had her put to sleep on Halloween. The cat whose sursurration sounded like the lower register of a piano purred until she fell asleep in my arms for the last time.

I hadn't planned to adopt her on a rainy Ground Hog Day in 2008. My other cat, Tuffy (A.K.A. Tuff-Punk), and I moved into a Vacaville townhouse, and I thought he would want a feline friend. (The "fluffy, not fat" orange tabby dispelled that notion. Oh, well.) I went to a pet adoption event held by the Solano Friends of Animals in the Pet Food Express store in Benicia. The cat I had wanted to adopt, a female black American shorthair named Tashi, had already been adopted. I looked at other cats in their cages reaching out their paws in hopes of finding their permanent homes. One black-and-white tuxedo cat cowered in her cage with her wide jade eyes. When one of the pet rescue group's volunteers opened the cage and placed the cat named "Demi" in my arms, the feline felt limp. It was then that I decided to take her home.

When I walked in the door with a new cat carrier with the new cat, Tuffy yowled in protest and hissed at the interloper. I decided to drive back to Benicia in the storm and return "Demi." When I walked to the pet rescuers, one of them sent me back home with an admonition borrowed from "Project Runway's" Tim Gunn: "Make it work!"

I drove back to Vacaville, "Demi" meowing the entire return trip. When I entered, I went into the spare bedroom and opened the carrier door. "Demi" emerged from her temporary refuge, stretched, and head-butted and rubbed against me, purring loudly the entire time. Unfortunately, I had to keep her in the room, to which she loudly objected. Her cried prompted me to rename her "Diva" because she sounded like a demanding opera star. 

Tuffy was not only unamused, but unforgiving. He hissed at her for weeks, hoping she would go away. Eventually, he adjusted to her presence.

As Diva adjusted to her new "furever" home, she became more loving with me and assertive with Tuffy, standing her ground when he would hiss at her. We settled into this rhythm until August 2013, when I had to have Tuffy put to sleep after a bout with kidney failure. A week later, I adopted another orange tabby, Lady Marmalade, who also bullied Diva. But Diva proved resilient, sometimes using her secret weapon -- her long claws. She was more a lover, not a fighter, though.

We moved twice since Marmie's adoption, first into a three-bedroom rental home in south Vacaville and into my current two-bedroom halfplex in Sacramento's Pocket-Greenhaven neighborhood. Both had adjusted to the moves. 

Diva walked with confidence, which prompted me to add her middle name "Las Vegas" because she strutted like a showgirl with her front legs almost crossing each other and her tail in the air. She claimed my office chair as hers, along with a box filled with my bed linens for sleeping.

Earlier this year, Diva had a urinary tract infection, which a veterinarian treated with amoxicillin and ibuprofen for the pain. I didn't really think there was anything terribly wrong with her when she would sleep longer and eat less. Early in October, when I felt her ribs and hipbones, I contacted the vet for a regular appointment that was supposed to be the day before Thanksgiving.

Diva became weaker, and I relayed the information to my younger sister, who advised me to call the vet again for an emergency appointment. At first, I hesitated because I didn't want to put Diva to sleep yet. However, I didn't want her to suffer either. So, I called the veterinarian, and the advice nurse urged me to take Diva to the emergency room.

After an examination and blood text, a vet came into the examination room where I was awaiting word on my "Baby Grr." He told me that her white blood cell count was elevating and he believed she had cancer from the rapid weight loss. (She dropped nearly half her body weight to 6.6 pounds, her weight when I adopted her as a kitten.) He nixed my idea for taking Diva home, saying she would suffer. So, I reluctantly agreed to euthanasia.

I was taken into a room with two leather couches. Later, a veterinary technician dressed in a cat costume arrived with Diva wrapped in a fluffy pink blanket with a port sticking out from her front right paw. She gave us time alone for me to say goodbye. I told Diva that I loved her to the moon and back and I'm sorry I had failed her. I whispered that I was honored to have been her cat mom. Later, the vet entered, connected the port to a tube that had the "forever sedative," and put Diva to sleep.

I arrived home with an empty cat carrier, went into my bedroom, and cried myself to sleep with Lady Marmalade beside me. 

Today, it's just the two of us. I am in a monthly pet loss support group and reading a book on pet loss grief. I'm trying to live my life with as much normalcy as possible, given the circumstances. I think Diva would have wanted it that way.

Diva had outlasted any pet I had either as a member of my family or alone. If I were to go to Heaven, I would hope to awake in a field with Diva resting on my shoulder and Tuffy and Marmie at my sides.

Diva, I will always love you.💓

Writing Diva

"United" We Fall

"The United States of America" is a misnomer.

I posit that the United States has been divided over one issue or another since its founding. Slavery, racism, availability of birth control, interracial marriage, unequal treatment of women, homelessness, LGBTQ rights, COVID-19 policies, and the widening income gaps are among the many fault lines crossing this nation's landscape. One of the deepest, widest fissures is abortion.

In 1973, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled 7-2 in Roe v. Wade that the U.S. Constitution protects a pregnant woman's freedom to end her pregnancy without excessive government intervention.

Yesterday (May 2, 2022), Politico published a draft of the proposed Dobbs v. Jackson Women's Health Organization decision. The case addresses the constitutionality of a 2018 Mississippi law that bans abortion after 15 weeks. Associate Justice Samuel Alito drafted the majority opinion stating that Roe must be overruled. Four other associate justices -- Clarence Thomas, Neil Gorsuch, Brett Kavanaugh, and Amy Coney Barrett -- sided with Alito. Justices Stephen Breyer, Sonia Sotomayor, and Elena Kagan are dissenting. It's unknown how Chief Justice John Roberts will vote.

"The Constitution makes no reference to abortion, and no such right is implicitly protected by any constitutional provision, including the one on which the defenders of Roe ... now chiefly rely -- the Due Process Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment," Alito wrote. 

The leak of the 98-page draft decision was a first. Chief Justice Roberts vowed to investigate the source of the leak. What I find interesting is the timing of the leak -- before the midterm primary elections.

Should the draft decision become official, abortion law will be left to the states. Thirteen states have "trigger laws" in place that would ban abortions immediately. Twenty-three in all could outlaw the practice. The United States would become a hodgepodge of areas allowing or prohibiting abortion. 

My stance on the issue is that, had I become pregnant, whether in or out of wedlock, I would have had the child because I believe the child is a life. But that's my belief. It is not my place to force my belief on anyone, especially on a woman of childbearing age making the agonizing decision whether to give birth.

For people who want to unite this nation, I fear that horse has left the barn. With discord over COVID-19 mask and vaccine policies, race relations, LGBTQ rights, and abortion, I'm afraid I will see this country implode during my lifetime. 

Allow Me to Reintroduce Myself

After a year and a half absence, this blog is back. I wouldn't say it's "better than ever," but this writer has grown a bit.

When I started this blog in 2008, I was nearing 50, single, and the pet parent of two cats. The latter two descriptions still apply, but I'm in my early 60s. 

The biggest difference is that I'm writing for an audience of one -- me. If you come along for the ride, you're more than welcome.

So, a few things about me. Don't say I didn't warn you!

• As you can see from my latest photo, I'm an African American woman. I'm a fifth-generation Californian whose late father migrated here from the Jim Crow South. (I call my siblings and myself "Southern by proxy.") Although I was born and raised in Sacramento, I spent nearly half of my life in the San Francisco Bay Area (Walnut Creek, Fairfield, and Vacaville) and a year in Bellingham, Washington.
• I live in a simple halfplex in an established Sacramento neighborhood with home prices ranging from the $400,000s to more than a million dollars. I don't want or need a big house. 🏡 My halfplex is a fixer-upper, but I love it. Like me, my home is a work in progress. (In a future entry, I will write about how I ended up with this house.)
  
• My Christian faith anchors my emotional and mental well-being. However, my path in following Jesus is rough, and I fall down often. My biggest flaw is that I have the mouth of a longshoreman. I take responsibility for it. If I were to explain how I got such a foul mouth with which I struggle, working in a newsroom for 12 years contributed a great deal.
• Speaking of my faith, I don't proselytize. If you ever want to know my "testimony," I will sit with you and tell you. My Christian beliefs align mostly with those of pastor John Pavlovitz, who writes a blog title "Stuff That Needs to Be Said" and wrote the book If God Is Love, Don't Be a Jerk. 
• Jumping to politics, my views are left-centrist. I believe strongly in contributing to a social net for the disadvantaged. But there has to be accountability in how all tax money is spent. And I believe that corporations and millionaires on up should pay their fair share in taxes. Close those loopholes! 
• Finally, I love animals. I have two cats and hope to adopt a rescue dog someday. In the meantime, Lady Marmalade is my "attack cat." 🐈

I'm going to try to submit my entries weekly. Thank you for coming along for the ride.

Writing Diva

Voting Shouldn't Be Hard

During this 2020 general election, I've been reading messages to "vote as if your life depended on it -- because it does."

Last week I delivered my completed ballot to a Sacramento County Elections ballot box in my neighborhood supermarket. Yesterday, I received an email from the Sacramento County Elections Department stating that it had received my ballot and it would be counted.

Since voting in my first election in 1978, I have missed only two elections. I don't take casting my ballot for granted. My paternal grandmother paid her property taxes on time in the Jim Crow South to maintain her right to vote. My family would go to the polling place together to perform their civic duty. Even when I was living in northwest Washington state during a presidential election year, I voted absentee on a California ballot.

While I was glad to see that my ballot reached the intended destination, I was dismayed when I read reports of people in Georgia waiting up to 10 hours to get inside their polling places to vote.  

Texas has limited the number of places to drop off absentee ballots to one per county. One would think that government officials would encourage more voting, not less.

Unfortunately, voter suppression has been part of U.S. elections since the era of Reconstruction in the mid-1800s. Some powerful people within and outside government don't want to hear the voices of people of color, women, and members of the LGBTQ community. They know the vote is the most powerful weapon we have. Why else would the powers that be work so hard to suppress the vote?

After this election is over and the dust settles (God willing), I would like to donate to or volunteer with a voting rights organization. I believe people should have more voting options besides having to drive long distances to a polling place or waiting 10 hours or more to cast a ballot.

 The late U.S. Congressman John Lewis said, "The vote is the most powerful nonviolent tool we have." 

Don't waste it.

Writing Diva

"Because ... It's MY Money!"

At this writing, I am five years and nine days away from retirement. I mention this because I’m concerned that the recently approved federal tax reform plan will eventually use my hard-earned Social Security and Medicare earnings (That’s right, earnings!) to help pay for the tax cuts to corporations, millionaires, and billionaires.

My response to such a monstrous move cannot be printed in a family publication.

 

If I were to delay my retirement until I turned 66 years old and 10 months, I would take home $2,181 per month before taxes. In addition to my Social Security earnings and my state government pension, I have a 401K account in the low five figures and a small IRA.

Although there are ongoing threats to my pension, this post focuses on the danger facing Social Security and Medicare. The $1.5 trillion tax bill approved by Congress provides a tax cut to working families that expires after 2025. Corporations win a permanent tax cut from 35 percent to 21 percent.

Because the tax bill will increase the national debt by $1.5 trillion over 10 years, something must be done to address the shortfall. Senator Marco Rubio (R-Florida) proposed two things: "We have to generate economic growth which generates revenue, while reducing spending. That will mean instituting structural changes to Social Security and Medicare for the future."

So, I'm inferring that cuts in both programs go toward paying down the deficit from (partially) tax cuts to corporations and rich people.

Again, my response cannot be printed in a family publication.

I have worked for 35 years for the private then public sectors, enduring incompetent and bullying bosses along the way. I have a little more than five years from the finish line. I want my prize: low-cost health care and my retirement funds, which include my full Social Security allocation.

Because of this Trojan horse of a law, I will work in 2018 to get people elected who oppose this legislative mess. Why? As a famous comedian said as a tag line for a commercial for a defunct investment company, "It's my money!"

Writing Diva

Breaking the Ice (Or How I Became the Writing Diva!)

The following is from a speech I prepared for a speakers' group at my workplace. Enjoy!

My name is Carol Evonne Robinson, and I’m a word nerd.

I know it sounds like an introduction for a 12-step group. Let me tell you how I became a word nerd!

Reading and writing have been a part of my life since I was 3, and I’m glad to use my passion for prose in my position as chief editor for the California Energy Commission.

My love for the written word began when my father, an offset feeder for what is now the Office of State Publishing, would bring home imperfect textbooks for my six siblings and me to read. From a geography textbook about South America, I would practice words like “Brazil,” “river,” and “country.” I began writing at 6 years old, not just my name and address, but stories about imaginary places and real happenings on my street in Oak Park.

Although I attended UC Davis with the intention of going to medical school to become an obstetrician-gynecologist, science and math didn’t come easily to me. But writing always had. I worked as a news reporter for the campus radio station, one of three jobs I held while carrying a full course load. Writing and airing stories about events on and off campus gave me a rush.

Five years after graduation, I became a reporter for a small newspaper in Bellingham, Washington, then a small town 90 miles north of Seattle along Interstate 5. After a year there, I worked for small papers in Northern California, closer to home.

What I learned from my 12-year stint in newspapers is that people wanted news they could understand without the jargon they didn’t. At first, I would write the way city and county government officials wrote and spoke because it sounded “official.” But my city editors taught me that readers wanted to know what was happening and how it would affect them.

Of my 16-plus years working for the State of California, I spent 12 here at the Energy Commission. When I took the writing test my soon-to-be supervisors gave, it was supposed to take an hour. After taking the test and checking my results, I saw that I had finished in a half-hour.

When I edit, I have one character flaw – I curse under my breath. I’m not patient regarding terms like “in order” or “make contact with.” I bite my lip when I see needless capitalization. When it comes to working with prose, I’m a cross between ChloeO’Brien from the TV series “24” and Academy Award-, Emmy-, Grammy-, and Tony-winning actress Whoopi Goldberg. In other words, I do not suffer fools gladly – that is, I have no patience for nonsense, in print or in person. (Your fault, Dad!) So, when you see my edits, please don’t take it personally.

One of the most influential pieces I’ve read is an essay by George Orwell – “Politics and the English Language.” He also wrote Animal Farm and 1984. The essay focuses on the use of verbose, unclear language to hide the truth rather than express it. I consider editing reports for plain language to be a mission. Although energy scientists, economists, and analysts may know what the reports communicate, regular people who read at a ninth-grade level often don’t. I enjoy what I do because my position combines my writing skills with public service.

To conclude, I’d like to think that when I retire, I will write my own book and read the 250 books in my collection. From toddler to elder, I remain a word nerd.

My Mom, the Superhero

Last night, I was making dinner after a long day at work editing a 469-page report due in two business days. After dinner, I made four dozen Toll House® cookies for a coworker’s birthday. In the meantime, I washed dishes, folded clothes, and prepared for work the next day. When I finally got to bed at 11:15 p.m., I fell asleep immediately.

This morning, on the eve of the 19^th anniversary of my mother’s passing, I awoke with an epiphany: Claudia “Deena” Buford Robinson was a superhero. If I could, I’d call her “Wonder Woman” because I wonder how she did it all.

During her entire adult life, Mom raised seven children – five daughters and two sons – and an occasionally obtuse husband. (Still love you, Dad!) She worked for the California Department of Motor Vehicles headquarters in Sacramento, rising through the ranks from clerk to supervisor before retiring. In addition to taking care of the house (and rounding up the “herd of cats” to help), she handled the household finances, took us children shopping for clothes, and attended school events in the evening after she had worked the entire day.

Furthermore, she still had time to listen to our problems, play with us, and sing and dance with us.

However, she did not tolerate disobedience or talking back from us. The James Brown song “Papa Don’t Take No Mess” easily applied to Mama. She admonished us not to do anything that would land us in jail because she would not visit. Because of my parents’ steadfast goal of raising good citizens, the four older siblings are retired from government and university positions, and the three younger ones, including this writer, are working toward that gold watch.

My mother endured tough times, but she also persevered, with grace and humor. Frankly, when I was a teen, I thought sometimes I didn’t want to be like her because I wanted more out of life than what she had. I realize now that there’s no way I could step into her size 7 pumps and do what she did without losing my mind or energy.

So, here’s to you, Mom – a true superhero. I know in my heart that Heaven made room for you.

Writing Diva

Standing at the Crossroads

On the way home from my vacation last week to Bellingham, Washington, I was waiting at the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport for my flight back to Sacramento, California. A white woman sat next to me and checked her phone. Shortly thereafter, she poked me in my left arm with her right elbow.

"Ow!" I said loudly.

She got up and walked away without uttering an apology.

Granted, what she did wasn't a hate crime. But I couldn't help but wonder if she would have been contrite had I been white.

Although I have friends and family of different races, I've learned to keep my distance from strangers and acquaintances I've perceived to be racist. I've had the "N" word hurled at me several times in my life, and I've called the person on using the epithet. But, for the most part, I've kept my distance, and those who don't like people of color or other faiths have stayed away from me.

I predict I will have an encounter with racists sooner rather than later.

On August 17, I plan to attend a candlelight vigil in Fairfield addressing the violence after a white supremacist march August 11 and 12 in Charlottesville, Virginia. I will stand quietly with my candle and not call anyone names or start fights. I will do my best to keep out of harm's way. But I feel I must make my presence known.

Now that the 45th President of the United States has blamed both white supremacist marchers and what he calls "alt-left" (There is no such thing!) counterprotesters for the violence that resulted in the death of a local woman and injuries to 19 other people, I'm more on guard. I concluded that he was racist when he announced his candidacy by labeling undocumented Mexican immigrants as "killers" and "rapists." I was appalled when he was elected. (No, I refuse to use his name.)

Today's entry isn't long. Just know this: I'm woke, and I'm done.

Writing Diva

Talking About the Walk

I'm back. I'm not going anywhere. And as the former USA Today columnist the Rev. Barbara Reynolds wrote, "No, I won't shut up."

I am one of millions of people nationwide and around the world distressed by the election of Donald J. Trump as president of the United States. (From now on, he will be referred to as "Cheeto." He will not have "president" before his name.) I still believe that he lacks the temperament to run this republic and that the country may slide into fascism comparable to Germany in the early 1930s.

Shortly after the presidential election, I saw a Facebook post inviting people to the Women's March in Washington, D.C. Although I couldn't attend, there were satellite marches throughout the nation and around the world, including a march and rally at the State Capitol in Sacramento. I attended that march Saturday.

When I drove over the Tower Bridge onto Capitol Mall, I was amazed to view a sea of people from 7th Street east to the West Steps of the Capitol. It took about 20 minutes to find parking, but I lucked out by finding precious spaces at the SEIU Local 1000 headquarters at 13th and S streets. I walked about a mile to the West Steps, where I stayed, took pictures, and talked to people. (I wore a hot pink hoodie underneath my black pea coat.) I stayed about an hour before my head began to hurt. Then I decided to visit my older sisters in Elk Grove.

My older sister D answered the door as she was talking to my sister T2 on the phone, who was preparing a presentation on getting a job in state government. T1 had just returned from the store. We watched coverage of marches worldwide on CNN and MSNBC. Later, my older brother H2 arrived.

While I was proud to be part of history, I felt gratified to watch it with my siblings.

P.S.: I will be writing my blog at least once a month. At first, I didn't have much to say. Now, no one can shut me up.

Writing Diva

Friday the 13th – Not Just Any Other Day

“Triskaidekaphobia – fear of the number 13” – http://www.merriam-webster.com.

I don’t fear Friday the 13^th as much as I’ve learned to respect it.

On Friday, May 13, 1988, a letter arrived in the mail that drastically changed my life.

The letter from the San Francisco Bay Area-based Institute for Journalism Education (IJE, now the Maynard Institute for JournalismEducation) informed me that I was invited to an interview at the UC Berkeley School of Journalism, where the institute was hosting a 13-week “journalism boot camp” for aspiring newspaper journalists. A career door finally opened after struggling in dead-end clerical positions five years after I graduated from the University of California, Davis.

That year, I was a secretary-typist for a consulting firm in north Sacramento. In my spare time, I was attending classes at Cosumnes River College in south Sacramento to qualify for internships I later earned at two local television stations – KCRA-TV 3, the NBC affiliate, and KTXL 40, the local affiliate for the new Fox network. I was also writing articles for the Sacramento Observer weekly newspaper, hoping to get some clips for my portfolio.

In the winter of 1988, I had applied to IJE’s Summer Program for Minority Journalists, which takes only 10 people annually out of hundreds of applicants. When I received the rejection letter in March, I figured I would apply to California State University, Sacramento, and work toward my master’s degree in journalism and see if I could get into the field that way. (I’m a big believer in having a Plan B, Plan C, Plan D … you get the idea.)

I arrived home to my South Natomas apartment at the end of a mind-numbing week of work with my bunch of mail from my mailbox. Then I saw the letter from IJE. “What could they possibly want?” I thought. “I was already rejected.”

When I opened the letter and read the contents, my jaw dropped and my eyes filled with tears.

The letter read that I was being invited to a writing test and interview with IJE at the UC Berkeley School of Journalism. I would interview with Jeff Rivers for one of the last few slots. Director Ira J. Hadnot signed the letter.

I was floored. Then I realized what entering the program would mean – 13 weeks in the Bay Area, followed by working for a year with a newspaper that, more likely than not, would be outside California, the home I had known since birth. A mix of excitement and fear prevented me from sleeping well that night.

Long story short, I not only got into the program, I completed it and went to work for The Bellingham Herald, a small newspaper in northwest Washington state then owned by Gannett. (McClatchy now owns the Herald.) I spent 11 months there before returning to California to work for the Daily Republic in Fairfield.

Some people have asked if I regret having been a newspaper reporter. I usually reply, “Never.”

Bad things do happy on Friday the 13^th, but so do good things. I’ve learned that it’s not just any other day. Who knows what will happen today?

Writing Diva

The Year the Music Died

During the past five months, music lovers have experienced the loss of several authors to what I call “the soundtracks of our lives.” Natalie Cole (who died on New Year’s Eve); David Bowie; Maurice White of Earth, Wind, and Fire; Glenn Frey of the Eagles; Nicholas Caldwell of the Whispers; Dan Hicks; Gayle McCormick, the lead singer of Smith who belted a rocking rendition of “Baby, It’s You”; Sir George Martin, record producer for the Beatles; Merle Haggard; Prince; Billy Paul (“Me and Mrs. Jones”). This year, 2016, has seen the passing of what appears to be more famous artists than in previous years.

Maybe it appears that way because we Baby Boomers grew up listening to the music of these artists. For me, the deaths of these musicians make me think of my mortality.

The recent untimely death of Prince, 57, stunned me most. He is only three years and three months older than I, so he’s a contemporary. Twenty of his songs are on my iPod, and I have his “Musicology” CD at home. When my sister Black Woman Blogging and I heard that Prince was going to perform two shows in Oakland, we wanted to get tickets. But, with any Prince performance, it sold out as soon as the concerts were announced.

I thought that we would be able to see Prince another time. That was not to be.

What saddens me is that the artists of the soundtracks of our lives are passing away. These passings remind us that we, too, have limited time on this Earth. (By the way, I believe that each of us has a soundtrack. We have to listen for it.) All I can do is cherish the music these gifted musicians left behind and live in such in such a way that we leave behind our gifts for others to enjoy.

I still feel wistful over the passage of time and the passing of these artists. But I’ll go forward.

Writing Diva

Done With Gun Violence

I doubt that my blog post will have much focus today. To my readers, I ask for your patience.

Last night, around the time nine parishioners of an African-Methodist-Episcopal church in Charleston, South Carolina, were shot to death, I was having dinner with members of my church’s small group at a local Panera restaurant. We laughed, broke bread, and prayed for one another. Normally, we would’ve met at the church that evening studying the Bible, praying for one another, and praising God.

People should feel safe at church to worship and pray. For this reason, I am stunned and angry to hear of the mass shooting yesterday evening at Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church. Nine people died, including a state senator who was the church pastor, the Rev. Clementa Pinckney. A young Caucasian man allegedly sat in the pews for about an hour before opening fire on the praying group. He allegedly said told a parishioner during a break in the violence, “I have to do it. You rape our women and you’re taking over our country. And you have to go.”

Law enforcement authorities arrested Dylann Storm Roof this morning in Shelby, North Carolina. They are investigating this massacre as a white-on-blacks hate crime. Frankly, I’m surprised the suspect didn’t kill himself when he was confronted.

This violence has to stop. I realize that it’s a hackneyed phrase, but I use it out of frustration. President Barack Obama, in remarks made today at the White House, was also frustrated and saddened by the news of this latest mass shooting during his term. Among those killings were the 2012 shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, that killed 26 people, 20 of them children, and another 2012 shooting, this time in a Sikh temple in suburban Milwaukee that took the lives of five men and a woman.

“But let’s be clear: At some point, we as a country will have to reckon with the fact that this type of mass violence does not happen in other advanced countries,” a somber Obama told reporters with Vice President Joe Biden standing silently next to him. “It doesn’t happen in other places with this kind of frequency. And it is in our power to do something about it. I say that recognizing the politics in this town foreclose a lot of those avenues right now. But it would be wrong for us not to acknowledge it. And at some point, it’s going to be important for the American people to come to grips with it, and for us to be able to shift how we think about the issue of gun violence collectively.”

Whatever the solution is, it isn’t arming clergy and parishioners. It definitely isn’t having armed guards at the doors of houses of worship. Furthermore, the idea of churches, synagogues, mosques, and temples locked to the public with security guards to buzz them in seems antithetical with beliefs that doors should be open to those who wish to worship.

So, dear readers, if you have suggestions on how to deal with gun violence in general and mass shootings in particular without arming everybody (including children) and closing gathering places, please let me know. As author and talk show host Tavis Smiley wrote in USA Today, “What kind of nation do we want to be? Who are we, really?”

Indeed.

Writing Diva

Fleeing the Titanic: Short-Selling the “Money Pit”

This entry of “A Single Life” is the hardest I’ve had to write so far. I’m not proud of the financial choices I’ve made. However, if my experience can serve as a cautionary tale to someone reading this, I truly hope I’ve helped.

After having owned my two-bedroom, one-bathroom townhome for slightly more than eight years, I’ve thrown in the towel. I’m short-selling it. I do it reluctantly because I can no longer continue to pay a total of $2,400 in mortgage payment and monthly homeowners’ association dues. I should not be paying this much for a two-bedroom townhouse in a north Vacaville complex with renters making up half the residents.

I hadn’t planned to buy a home in 2006. However, a fatal shooting next door to my rental home in Fairfield prompted me to move. But I did so in fear, and I shouldn’t have. (I will try to limit my “should’ve, could’ve, and would’ve” statements in this entry.) I wanted to find a place that would allow me to keep my cat, Tuffy. So, after calling several mortgage brokers, one told me that I could buy a home without a down payment. In hindsight, I file this exchange under “If something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.”

So, armed with a Fannie Mae loan, I searched in Fairfield, Vacaville, and Elk Grove until my broker steered me to the north Vacaville townhouse I call home. The 40-year, 10-years-interest-only mortgage was for the full asking price of the home – about $299,000.

Two years later, shortly after the start of the Great Recession, the value of my home plummeted to $80,000. I, along with millions of other homeowners, learned a new economic term: “underwater mortgage,” in which the mortgage amount is more than the value of the home.

In 2011, I refinanced the mortgage through the federal Home Affordability Refinance Program, or HARP, hoping to lower my monthly payments. While I received a lower interest rate, the new mortgage lender added the principal and interest, so I ended up paying nearly $100 more each month.

Late last year, the Solano County Assessor-Recorder’s Office assessed my property at $150,000. While the increased value was encouraging, the last straw came when I received my annual escrow statement. Because of an increase in the property tax and insurance, my mortgage payment went up by $150 to $1,920. Add the $280 in HOA dues, that’s $2,400 a month. (The plurality of the dues goes toward water for the lush community lawn. During a drought, even.) The increased in my mortgage payment ate into my groceries budget. I was miserable and decided to look into selling my home.

I contacted a friend of a friend from church to find out what my options are. He turned out to be a local Realtor. After discussing the pros and cons of keeping the home, I signed papers allowing him to show my home.

What the Realtor neglected to mention is that, in addition to taking still pictures of my home, he videotaped the inside of my messy home and posted it onto You Tube. Had I known that my messy house would be on the Internet, I would’ve told him, “No!” But what’s done is done.

Long story short, we received four offers and accepted one from a young couple with a toddler daughter. Now it’s up to my mortgage lender to approve the short sale. Once the approval goes through, escrow should take between 30 and 45 days, my Realtor said. In the meantime, I am searching for a pet-friendly home, preferably a house over an apartment, because I have a piano and two cats.

Right now, I’m soured on the American Dream of owning a home. I will focus on paying my bills and boosting my retirement contributions. Maybe someday I will own a home. But next time, I will put some skin in the game.

Writing Diva

Hey, Academy, How About More Color and More Women?

The following is an open letter to the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences:

 Greetings, Academy voters,

After viewing your nominations for the 87^th annual Academy Awards®, I thought, “These choices could be a topic of Saturday Night Live’s ‘REALLY?!! With Seth and Amy.’” For example:

• You nominated “Selma” for best picture and best original song (kudos to John Legend and Lonnie “Common” Lynn for “Glory”) but did not give nods to lead actor David Oyelowo, who gave a towering performance as Martin Luther King Jr., or Bradford Young for cinematography, or, most glaring, Ava DuVernay for best director. You could’ve made history by nominating DuVernay, who would’ve been the first African-American woman earning a best director nomination and only the fifth woman. REALLY?! How about director Angelina Jolie for "Unbroken"? (Regarding Oyelowo, whose name you should learn to pronounce since he’ll be back, I get that you made room for Bradley Cooper in “American Sniper.” But this is his third consecutive nomination. Make room for someone else!)
• I agree with four of the five leading actress nominees. You might as well engrave Julianne Moore’s statue now for "Still Alice" since she’s way overdue. But I’m scratching my head over your nomination of Marion Cotillard for “Two Days, One Night,” which hasn’t even been released in the Sacramento area, over Jennifer Aniston’s performance in “Cake.” (Sigh.) REALLY?!
• Regarding the roster of nominated animated films, I am thrilled to see “How to Train Your Dragon 2” in the pack. But why not “The Lego Movie” too? REALLY?!
• I’m not going to fault Glen Campbell’s nomination for best original song for “I’m Not Gonna Miss You,” although I have yet to see his film debut in the Sacramento area. But I believe that his song may be the dark horse in this category. However, couldn’t you have made room for Lorde’s “Yellow Flicker Beat” from “The Hunger Games – Mockingjay Part 1” as a nod to younger viewers? REALLY?!
• Finally, I am glad that you invited (best supporting actor nominee) Barkhad Abdi, (best supporting actress winner) Lupita Nyong’o, cinematographer Masanobu Takayanagi, costume designer William Change Suk Ping, and director Gina Price-Bythewood to join your august body last year. How about adding some more women and people of color since the Academy is 94 percent white and 76 percent men? REALLY?!

I’m done with my annual nominations rant. Let’s see how things turn out on February 22.

Writing Diva

You Get What You Need

I want to thank readers of the previous blog entry “Long Walk to Financial Freedom: Cutting the Cable Cord” for your support and comments. Since that entry, I bought a digital antenna for my television for $21 at Target. I get nine channels, including KCRA 3 (Sacramento NBC affiliate,), KOVR 13 (Sacramento CBS affiliate), KUVS (Sacramento Univision affiliate; hey, I need to improve my Spanish comprehension!), and KMAX (Sacramento CW affiliate).

No ABC shows? Maybe KXTV News 10 in Sacramento doesn’t offer a digital channel. If that’s the case, BOO!

Furthermore, I’m putting my DVD player to good use. I started checking out DVDs from my library, including “Lost: The Final Season,” “TheBig C: First Season,” and “Person of Interest: First Season.” I was surprised to find so many current titles at my local library. This could work!

I can’t use Roku because it requires an Internet connection, which I gave up with my television cable connection. I will wait about six months before I restore my Internet connection. In the meantime, I use the computer at, where else, the local library.

I still miss watching television that doesn’t break up because of bad reception from my antenna. But I’ve heard that a budget reflects one’s priorities. My biggest priority is getting myself out of debt.

I may not get what I want in terms of programming. But I have what I need. Oh, and my library has Seasons 1 through 3 of "Game of Thrones!"

Writing Diva

Long Walk to Financial Freedom: Cutting the Cable Cord

(Note: This entry is the first of an occasional series on getting myself debt-free.)

Hello, my name is Writing Diva, and I need to get my financial house in order.

I hit rock bottom earlier this month when I prepared my household budget and realized that to live within my budget, I would have to forfeit food. Not happening.

One might wonder how I arrived at this nadir. Regardless of the salary cuts I have endured as a California state employee from 2009 through 2012, I am responsible for how I handle my finances. I neglected to ask myself repeatedly the basic question, “Can I afford it?” (I should have asked myself that same question in late 2006 when I bought my townhouse shortly before the housing bubble burst. But that’s a topic for another entry.)

My credit card payments couldn’t be cut. I could pay on time but only the minimum amount. As for my electricity/gas bill with Pacific Gas and Electric Company, I could cut my electricity usage, including air conditioning.

But the deepest cut came through my cable bill. On April 19, I canceled my television and Internet services. I still have my landline phone because I couldn’t bear to give up my phone number, which is easy for most people to remember. However, I will shop for a cheaper phone service.

Cutting cable was difficult. Every time I would try to cut my cable bill, my provider Comcast would either cut 10 percent from my bill or offer another slate of channels in addition to limited basic. I would watch my shows (“Scandal,” “Grimm,” “Mad Men,” “The Good Wife”) without complaint.

On April 19, however, I said, “Enough.” I unplugged the set-top box and took it to the Comcast store in Fairfield and canceled my television and Internet access.

When I left the store, I felt proud of myself until I arrived home. Silence. Nothing to turn on. No “Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon.” No PBS, which meant farewell to “Downton Abbey” and “Nature.”

I think I’ve went only a handful of days in my life without the blaring of a television set nearby. I admit my life is so pathetic that I sometimes plan my days around what’s on the tube.

I read a historical romance that had an unexpectedly poor payoff. I’ve been searching for a part-time job online through the county library computers.

I expect to get a break in August when two loans are paid off and I receive a small (2 percent) raise in pay. But the walk just started.

Writing Diva

2014 Oscar Nominations: An Embarrassment of Riches

Like an eager child on Christmas morning, I got up and turned on CNN at 5:37 a.m. today to watch this year’s Academy Award nominations. After Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences President Cheryl Boone Isaacs and actor Chris Hemsworth finished announcing the nominees in the major categories, I noticed several surprises and major snubs.

Two big ones: No Tom Hanks for best actor in “Captain Phillips.” (What?) No love for indie “Fruitvale Station.” (Boo!)

OK, here are some of the major categories with surprises and snubs:

Picture: “12 Years a Slave,” “American Hustle,” “Captain Phillips,” “Dallas Buyers Club,” “Gravity,” “Her,” “Nebraska,” “Philomena,” and “The Wolf of Wall Street.”

Surprise: “The Wolf of Wall Street” getting in because it’s such a divisive film. Although the American Film Institute named it one of the top 10 films of 2013, audiences rated by CinemaScore gave “Wolf” a “C” grade.

Snubs: A sour note for “Inside Llewyn Davis.” “Blue Jasmine,” director/writer Woody Allen’s take on “A Streetcar Named Desire,” was also left out, as were “Lee Daniels’ The Butler” and “Saving Mr. Banks.”

Leading Actor: Christian Bale, “American Hustle”; Bruce Dern, “Nebraska”; Chiwetel Ejiofor, “12 Years a Slave”; Matthew McConaughey, “Dallas Buyers Club”; Leonardo DiCaprio, “The Wolf of Wall Street.”

Surprise: DiCaprio, who won the Golden Globe for best actor in a comedy or musical.

Snubs: In one of the most competitive leading actor races in years, there were bound to be egregious exceptions. The last time Hanks received an Oscar acting nod was in 2000 for “Castaway.” Robert Redford, whose last acting nod was for best actor in 1973’s “The Sting.” He performed most of his own stunts in “All Is Lost.” Joaquin Phoenix, whose character had a love affair with a computer operating system in “Her.” Idris Elba, who portrayed antiapartheid leader and South African President Nelson Mandela in “Mandela:Long Walk to Freedom.” Up-and-comer Michael B. Jordan, who played the ill-fated Oscar Grant in “Fruitvale Station.” Forest Whitaker, who gave a subdued but strong performance as Cecil Gaines in “Lee Daniels’ The Butler.”

Leading Actress: Amy Adams, “American Hustle”; Cate Blanchett, “Blue Jasmine”; Dame Judi Dench, “Philomena”; Meryl Streep, “August: Osage County”; Sandra Bullock, “Gravity.”

Surprise: Although critics were split over “August,” hey, she’s Meryl Freaking Streep! She has earned her 18^th record acting nomination.

Snubs: To make room for Streep, Emma Thompson’s portrayal of cantankerous author P.L. Travers in Disney’s “Saving Mr. Banks” was overlooked.

Supporting Actor: Barkhad Abdi, “Captain Phillips”; Bradley Cooper, “American Hustle”; Michael Fassbender, “12 Years a Slave”; Jonah Hill, “The Wolf of Wall Street”; Jared Leto, “Dallas Buyers Club.”

Surprise: Two, actually – Cooper and Hill.

Snubs: It would have been nice to honor the late James Gandolfini for “Enough Said,” whose gentle character closely matches his real-life persona. Also left out: Daniel Brühl for Ron Howard’s “Rush” and “Saturday Night Live” alum Will Forte for “Nebraska.”

Supporting Actress: Sally Hawkins, “Blue Jasmine”; Jennifer Lawrence, “American Hustle”; Lupita Nyong’o, “12 Years a Slave”; Julia Roberts, “August: Osage County”; June Squibb, “Nebraska.”

Surprise: Hawkins, who wasn’t nominated for this year’s Screen Actors Guild awards.

Snub: Oprah Winfrey of “Lee Daniels’ The Butler,” who was nominated for a SAG award.

Director: Alfonso Cuarón, “Gravity”; Steve McQueen, “12 Years a Slave”; Alexander Payne, “Nebraska”; David O. Russell, “American Hustle,” Martin Scorsese, “The Wolf of Wall Street.”

Surprise: Actually, none.

Snub: The problem with having up to 10 best picture nominees is that not all the directors can be nominated. No Paul Greengrass for “Captain Phillips.” No Spike Jonze for “Her.”

Animated Feature Film: “The Croods,” “Despicable Me 2,” “Ernest & Celestine,” “Frozen,” “TheWind Rises.”

Surprise: I hadn’t heard of “Ernest & Celestine,” the story of a destitute bear who befriends an orphan mouse, until today. The film is in French.

Snub: “Monsters University,” one of the few instances that a Pixar animated feature was left in the cold.

Documentary: “The Act of Killing,” “Cutie and the Boxer,” “Dirty Wars,” “The Square,” “20 Feet From Stardom” (Yay!)

Surprise: Can’t say because I’m unfamiliar with the first four films.

Snub: No “Blackfish”?! The documentary about the capture of killer whales for amusement parks was both heartbreaking and chilling. I saw the trailer and was enraged.

The 86^th Academy Awards, hosted by Ellen DeGeneres, will be held March 2 at the Dolby Theatre in Hollywood.