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.

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).


Golden Doodle

Golden doodle


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!

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.