Myra Kanter

January 4, 2018

The storm raging the East coast and a FB comment from a law professor prompted me to this memory.

When I was at Highland Park High School, at the end of the semesters we had a final exam schedule. You only came to school when you had a final. There was a special bus schedule. If you left the building, you could not come back in.

At the end of my first semester, the final exam schedule was fixed for January (this is before Fort Collins, and hurrying to finish the semester with the college students to get out early.) It also happened to be the time of the Great Blizzard of 1967.

Myra Kanter, a school friend who was a genius, finished her final, and went out to the bus area. With the snow and wind swirling around her and seeing no busses, Myra realized she missed the bus. She tried to get back inside, because the next bus was in an hour. School officials would not let her in.

First, imagine a Chicago blizzard. Then imagine a skinny genius with the sweet temperament actually standing in the raging snow looking through the door at the guard watching her suffer. There were no cell phones to call her mom, and even if she wanted to use a phone, she wasn’t going to be let in.

I have never forgotten that. It’s one of those memories I have stuffed in my brain. My friend, Linda, always says to me, “How do you remember things like that”? I don’t know, but I do.

Stay out of the northeast for a few days, Myra.

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, ┬áthe 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.


Keep it in your pants, famous idiots!

December 1, 2017

I’ve been following the sordid actions of both TV personalities, and public servants. My thought is is kind of like the burglar who isn’t sorry he stole, but he’s so sorry he got caught.

The TV personalities are really stupid and sick. Matt Lauer had the perfect job, a $100M estate, and a good reputation. Since Judge Roy Moore is a senatorial candidate giving the deep south a worse reputation than it already has, women have been coming forward, every male is at risk, even the innocent ones. Lauer is not out on his ass, will probably lose his amassed money paying off his victims, and wish he hadn’t installed that door lock that closed when he pressed a button on his desk.

Then there are our public servants. Moore banned from shopping malls for stalking teenage girls? Trying to arrange dates with 15-year olds? A well-respected MN senator caught with stupid pictures taken on a USO tour when the woman was asleep? Anthony Weiner, you don’t want to know. It’s unfortunate, but my paternal grandmother’s maiden name was Weiner.

Bottom line, you sleaze bags, Keep it in your pants. We don’t want to see you. We do want to see the Chief Executive with the small hands and oversized ties get busted. With Michael Flynn’s admission of his crime(s), it is only a matter of time. While you are waiting, why don’t you read our Constitution. It’s a pretty good read.

Urine in the office

November 28, 2017

I went into my office yesterday to get something my writing coach, Judy, needed. I shooed the brothers, Cowboy Joe and Frank, out of the office. I type in my chair, so I don’t have to crutch back and forth.

This morning, I got up to let the dog out, and I heard frantic meowing upstairs. Matthew had gotten stuck in the office. I close the door because I don’t want the cats in there. Bad idea.

Of course, Matthew, 16, can’t go all night without urinating. He has chronic renal failure, and gallons of stinky cat urine is a part of it.

You can imagine the smell. You can understand I couldn’t go in because I was in stocking feet. Somewhere in there is a pile of kitty turds, I’m sure. Since I can’t vacuum or anything, I took a can of Resolve carpet cleaner, stood at the doorway, and sprayed the entire carpet. Poor Kayla, she has no idea of what she is in for next Monday, my biweekly cleaning day.

Thank you notes

November 22, 2017

I enjoy Jimmy Fallon’s Friday Thank You Notes on the Tonight Show. I’d like to offer some of my own.

0-means nobody stepped up. Other digits reflect on how many. $ means I paid money.

++++ means extra thanks.

To my friend and Lyft driver, +++++ You were to take me to my first dr. visit after the hospital, but got a gig to drive to DIA. That’s how it works. I started driving again because of that. You also did some chores for me. $ ++++

To the friends that kept Ivy at their home for 10 days. $$$$++++

To the cards I got. 3

To the visitors who came to the hospital. 1 plus my Rabbi and his baby.

To the visitors who came to the house. 0

For the flowers I received. 0

For the stuffed frog and chicken soup. 9, but really 2. J & E They added in the relatives in CA and AZ, but it was from them. Same as when Earl died.

To the woman who walks Ivy every day, $ ++++

To the man who fed the cats and changed the litter. ++++

To the mother and son who filled my fridge. 0 ++++

To my new next door neighbors who went to Safeway and Trader Joe’s (comfort food). $++++

To people who called and checked up on me. 3

To Dr. Kindsfater, joint replacement specialist, who really had my back during the pre-op time. You told me what should be done. You called, and visited. When Doogie came to tell me he was going to replace my hip, first I’d heard of that. I became a snarling, shrieking maniac in pre-op. Dr. K stepped in on his cell and told Doogie what to do, saying if the screws failed, he would replace the hip. BTW, hip replacements are not a big deal not in technique but in fact, you just have to follow the hip rules. I asked Dr. K to please take over management of my case because we have a 12-year history, and he said yes. He sent his PAs over every morning. When Doogie’s PA showed up the day after surgery, I kicked her smarmy ass out of the room.

That’s enough. I was talking to my friend, Linda, of sixty years, and she read me the riot act about the above. She said just because I step up to help, that doesn’t mean others will reciprocate. She is right, but I’m still stewing about it. Gotta put my big girl pants on and do what Earl always said, “Get it done and move on.” Am I still going to help others, you bet. People at their worst need help, even if it is just sitting quietly with them.

Trash Day

November 13, 2017

Well, Ivy the Golden doodle went out earlier at 5 this morning to pee. Usually, I go outside to watch her at night, then she sleeps in. I can’t do that right now, as I am on crutches. I assume she has peed.

So, an hour later, after sleeping outside until 6am, Ivy barked once to come in. She is a good dog about this, and my new neighbors are pleased. Ivy knows that when she comes in in the morning, it is time for snoozing on the bed with me and the cats. She loves Matthew, my tough guy, 16, and he really likes her kisses. He will jump on the bed if Ivy is there. I adore sleeping with Ivy on the bed, but I don’t trust her for all night because she chomps up pens and pencils. She sleeps in her crate. Besides, the bed is for the cats at night.

The rest of the day, no animals are allowed in the master. One time, Matt woofed up such a potent hairball as to take the finish off one of my mother’s old dressers. Because the cats also leave prodigious vomit on the bedspread and sheets, that the door is closed all day.

I was awake, the earliest since my accident at dog school on the 27th, so we all got up. I let Ivy out, and stumped around getting my breakkie. I never appreciated having an island before. I can just push stuff around. The best kitchen I had in the best house I had was in Lubbock, Texas, and it was a galley kitchen with tons of storage space.

I’m trying to do the “homework” my editor, Judy, gave me. She is out of town, so we won’t have our weekly meeting this week. She said to read my publisher’s book, Green-light Your Book by Brooke Warner of She Writes Press. Very good and informational book.

I started to get tired and snoozed a little. What do you know, Ivy went ballistic. Lovely little dog, big bark; still pees submissively when people come whom she doesn’t know. Waiting for her to outgrow that. Today is trash day, and also recycle day. I heard the recycle truck, which comes in the morning, and stumped downstairs thanks to Ivy’s keen watchfulness for trash trucks.

First, I put the little trash can out. On crutches, this is problematic. You take the bad leg’s foot, and make fit it so the container can roll. Hang on because it’s downhill, and try to advance the crutches without killing yourself. Next, do the large recycle can. My neighbor next door did this for me last week, but now that I can put a little (15%) weight on my surgicated hip, I tried it. Phyllis saw me fumbling around and asked if this was all my trash. I said all but what is in the kitchen trash can. She took care of it, and I was so proud of myself-I put in a new trash bag.

Phillis and Sharon are going to Trader Joe’s, and I gave them a list for me. Mostly comfort food. Sharon went to Safeway for me yesterday, and I gave her a check made out to Safeway with my signature. A blank check. Also gave her my Safeway card. Safeway didn’t like it, so this time, I’ll just pay her back. I did drive to my dr. appt. last Thursday, because I hadn’t used any pain medicine. But hauling groceries is whole another thing.