Really creepy

December 17, 2017

My childhood friend, Marcy, disappeared off the radar. No one knew where she was after she took her mother from Florida, went to New Orleans, and ended up on the North Shore of Chicago where we grew up. She touched base with friends from her Highland Park days. Her mother stroked out and died .

It turns out that Marcy died last August in the Denver area. I didn’t even know she was in the state. My friend, Michael L., said the Arapahoe County coroner said the death was of natural causes. She was 65.

Fast forward to yesterday. There was an email on Marcy’s address. Anonymous, but the person, who of course said she was not Marcy, said she was handling the estate. She had read our letters over the last two years, and seemed gleeful that I stopped all communication with Marcy, and took her off my FB account.

I wrote back and asked, “Who is this?” We went back and forth with the writer getting more vitriolic about Marcy with each letter. I said I would not communicate without knowing who this was.

Then I got a FB note from Michael W., another childhood classmate. He said the writer was her sister, and was spewing hate to all Marcy’s friends. The sister and brother are over ten years older than Marcy was, but Marcy was stuck taking care of her elderly parents who were in their 90’s. Her mom died at 98.

I don’t know who put the fun in this dysfunctional family, but leave me out of it. I’m sorry Marcy had a hard life after being the most popular girl in school, but I remember us being good friends at Braeside School. I’d play at her house after school. She lived right across the street from Braeside Elementary.

We are taught to forgive those who do bad things to others. I’ll never know the truth about what happened, but that happens. There is only one person in the world I do not and never will forgive. Marcy’s sister, I forgive you, but leave me the hell alone.


John McCain, American

December 15, 2017

I wanted to write this while the good gentleman from Arizona is still alive. Unfortunately,  the clock is ticking for Senator John McCain. He has glioblastoma multiforme, the deadliest of all brain cancers. No matter how long he stays with us, the tumor will take him in the end. Sooner rather than later, I think. It’s the same cancer Senator Ted Kennedy died from, and also Beau Biden, son of the former vice president, Joe Biden.

When that sicko now inhabiting the eighteen acres on Pennsylvania Avenue was campaigning, he said McCain was not a hero because he got captured. He “liked” people who didn’t get captured. He didn’t like McCain because he was captured and suffered five years of torture? Is that how people should judge others, and “like” them or not like them based on their success or failure?

John McCain has served his country. Period. He is a role model for all who want a life in the fishbowl inside the Beltway. I wanted to write this before, not after his time is finished. Don’t be afraid, John, go easy and be reunited with those you loved here on Earth.

 


Oh nooooooooooo!

December 13, 2017

Flash back to the summer of 1975 or 76. My sister was home visiting, and I was in graduate school at Northwestern and living with Mom. The way our rooms were situated was that mine was over the garage, and hers up the landing and to the right. But our windows were very close by. It was hot and humid,  so our windows were wide open.

I was watching a new show, Saturday Night Live. They had a sketch that was so funny, I was laughing so hard tears flowed down my face, and I rolled around in bed. I couldn’t be silent, even though everyone was asleep. I screamed in laughter. Really.

Margo came into my room and asked what was so funny. All I could do was point at the TV. It was a new character made of clay,  with a high pitched voice dressed in one outfit. It was Mr. Bill. Mr. Bill always talked in the falsetto voice to an unseen Mr. Hands. Bad things always happened to Mr. Bill. If he had a sprained wrist, a drunken orthopedic surgeon would cut off his arm. An O shaped mouth would scream, “Oh no……..” Every time Mr. Bill was on, something sadistic happened to him and his clay body.

I became obsessed with Mr. Bill. He had a dog made of yellow clay who suffered similar fates. When I was a first year vet student, we had a Halloween party in costume. My classmate, Anna, and I put on “Mr. Bill goes to Anatomy Lab.” He said he was a dog lover, and had a wonderful dog. A voice would always sing “Here comes Mr. Bill’s dog.” In our sketch, Anna sang it to perfection. When Mr. Bill told the audience it was a racing greyhound, the dogs we used to use for dissection, the whole room cracked up.  They knew what would transpire. “Oh noooooo!”

When I first starting using Chewy.com, they had a perfect Mr. Bill dog toy. Instead of squeaking, it screamed, “Oh no………….” I kept the toy for me, and ordered another for Ivy. She soon became obsessed with Mr. Bill. I can be far away in the house and hear a muffled “Oh noooooooooo” Ivy knows the toy by name, and will go look for him when asked. She tries to take him outside, which I won’t let her do, so when I open the door, she lets me take his white hand, and goes out.

When I mention that Ivy’s favorite toy is Mr. Bill, Millennials look at me with blank stares. They have no idea who he is. Go to YouTube, kids, and laugh your guts out.

Oh no……………..

 


The Last Republicans

December 13, 2017

I just started reading the Last Republicans, the story of the relationship between presidents 41 and 43 written by Mark. K Updegrove. It’s a warm biography of a father-son relationship where love is the dominant emotion.

I liked George H.W. Bush as vice-president, then as president. He has a stellar pedigree, both in family ties and the political arena. My favorite memory of him is vomiting on the Prime Minister of Japan.

George W. Bush I thought was the worst president in history, other than James Buchanan, who couldn’t keep the United States together. Political skills aside, I would put W. on my list of people I’d like to sit down with and visit with for awhile. He gave a college graduation speech poking fun at himself telling the gathering that here in front of them is an example that a C student can become President of the United States. Classic.

Both men are very emotional and sentimental, and cry at the drop of a hat. I’m only at the very beginning of a long book, so I cannot be more informative, other than from the other books about the Bushes I’ve read.

Take the title of this book. It’s fabulous for this day and age, when we have a president who spends 4-8 hours a day watching TV, doesn’t read briefing memos, communicates by Twitter and its limited number of characters, can’t stay on the Tel-a-Prompter, lies like a rug, and, I think, hasn’t looked at our Constitution since high school if then. When a staffer was discussing the 25th amendment, Donald Trump actually said, “What’s that one?” It’s what is going to send you back to your own businesses, cheating people, hiding money, and not paying bills, or possibly a stay at Club Fed. For a guy who demands twice a day memos on how good he is at his job, he reminds me of the emperor and his new clothes.

The Trump administration is a joke on the American people, most of whom did not vote for him. I watch the news shows around suppertime, as they are mostly dinner theater. I am personally enjoying the idiocy of the leader of the free world, and laugh hysterically whenever I see a picture of his butt when he plays golf or tennis. I am confident the country will recover once Donald Trump and Mike Pence (homosexuality can be cured) are gone.

So, The Last Republicans is a warm reminder that in a subtle way, by the very nature of it’s title, this book slams the current “Republican” sitting on his fat ass in the oval office. We have five living former presidents, and the current Mr. Limpet. That would make a fine portrait. If asked, I doubt the Bushes, or at least George H.R. Bush would comply.

 


Which is it? I need some help with this one.

December 11, 2017

In my book, Drinking From the Trough,  in the Epilogue I mention Ivy. But how do you write her breed? She is a Goldendoodle.

But what is the correct way to write the breed (doodles are not really breeds recognized by the AKC, they are expensive mutts and well worth it).

Goldendoodle

Golden Doodle

Golden doodle

goldendoodle

golden doodle

What, already? I’ve seen breeders write the name several different ways in the same paragraph.

Remember that obnoxious comic who would say, “My name is Raymond W. Johnson.You can call me Ray, you can call me J, you can call me RJ, you can call me Ray Jay.” Remember that guy? Well that’s what I think of. I remembered how much that guy would annoy me while I was watching TV.

Who’s on first. Who’s on second. No, what’s on second. Get the idea?

Any help would be appreciated.

Goldendoodles-the Abbott and Costello of the dog world.


My dog is in love with a couch!

December 11, 2017

I sit here writing, and watch Ivy lying full out on my uncle’s old couch made new by expensive reupholstering two years ago.

Gone are the days of the fluffy doodle jumping up to watch TV sitting on my lap or next to me in the recliner.

My huskies were never allowed on furniture because they shed a lot. But my Goldendoodle does not, and they are not like huskies, who can be alone  for a long time. Doodles won’t spend hours out in the dog pen. They do their business to come back to their humans.

But my Ivy abandoning me for a couch?

I initially trained her to get on beds gently for her therapy dog training (put off by the fractured hip). Now, she just jumps on the couch like she owns it. I guess she does. I do have her sit and call for her to jump on the bed.

I was getting used to TV with a dog comforter. Cowboy Joe does that as he did before we got Ivy.

Happy Holidays!


A movie and a recliner…

December 3, 2017

It’s time for my second recheck after my stay at the Shangri La Hilton for 5 days. I’m only supposed to put 15# on the leg with crutches, but you know, I’ve been bad. Bad Mary. But the leg feels pretty good. A few steps is OK. I wouldn’t use the stairs without help. Experimenting is OK if done carefully. Going too hard and fast is just plain stupid.

With the last hip fx, it was horribly painful. This one has been pretty good because it was not displaced. No pain meds except while in the hospital and here at home for the first week. My pain meds were Oxycodone-yep, the one that has gotten so much publicity of late. My doctor told me once that if you take it for real pain, you don’t get addicted. When I broke my R hip in ’04, it was so painful that the trauma surgeon had me on two tabs every four hours. Now that’s a lot. Did I come out of that as an addict? No. I just stopped when the pain was minimal. As an athlete in HS and college, and afterward, I can tell you I have never been stoned or high. I did hallucinate during the first hip fx, as I had the pump with morphine in it. I hallucinated, but didn’t know what it was.

For the L hip, I was surprised and angry that the hospital sent me home with only a week’s worth of Oxy. One pill every six hours. I was expecting horrid pain. The pain was so minimal compared to the other hip, that I got along just fine with the dosage-one tab every six hours. I renewed it once, but have only taken one pill of the second bottle.

Now that I’m mobile, driving, doing errands, and getting the mail (in the car!), when I have a busy day, I’m beat by 3pm. I eat lunch, put in a movie watched a million times, and snooze. Life is good.

Wednesday, I have an appt. with the dr. is in the morning. I’ll bring my Kindle as he often runs two and a half hours behind.At one, my usual appt. with my writing coach, Judy. Then that evening, we have our double-November/December park board meeting. I know the next day will be a movie and the recliner. One’s body has a way of telling you, “Enough”! Time to heal. The only thing I have is shlepping my currently fuzzy pup to the spa.

Thursday will be my movie and recliner day.