A Short Break From Impeachment

It’s not what I expected to see when I looked out the bathroom window this morning. Ending a week ago we had four days of rain, totaling just over an inch. It could have been more, was in other places, but spread out that way, it was just what the yard needed. So when I looked out, I was checking for how the plants were blooming.

Rain makes a major difference, particularly after this summer’s “nonsoon”. It’s a name they came up with to describe the lack of rain in what is our rainy season here. The ocotillos have now leafed out, transforming spiny grey branches to glorious green, expectations of flowers to come. Our desert willow is forming flower buds, the San Marcos hibiscus is blooming yellow, and our orange bells - both orange and red varieties - have gone from looking for a grave to being well leafed out and popping into bloom again. The thorn tree is more visible, going from bare green branches to  a fuzzy silhouette of 1/8” leaves everywhere. Still waiting on the palo blanco, however, to show signs of life.

It was the sage I was looking for. When we purchased it, I envisioned a delightful purple clump for its corner when it bloomed. Unfortunately, what was selected turned out to be a white flowering variety. I’m still disappointed. But twice, now, it has burst into the nearest thing to a snowstorm I care to get anymore. It was almost there last night, so I wanted to check it this morning before hopping into the shower. My bathroom window looks right out on it and the orange bells.

The sage was glorious! I almost forgave it for not being purple. But my attention was quickly drawn to movement in the yard. Shhhhhhhhh! Gambel quail were scurrying directly towards me, first two, then a couple more, then more still. The stopped right under the largest and closest of the orange bells.

I had already checked the ground for the abundance of dropped bell-shaped blossoms that had been scattered under it for the last two days. Having seen the quail scarf them up before, starting at the narrow point and working their beaks, one side then the other,  “walking” them down the length of the flower, I was ready for a repeat. Today, however, the ground was bare of dropped blossoms. The quail had finally discovered and cleaned up the recent abundance of food.

So what were these birds doing here? Almost holding my breath so as not to startle them away, I watched as they spread out under the bush and started jumping - jumping! - up about 18” to pluck the lowest blossoms off their branches for a quail’s breakfast snack. Some other kind of bird I haven’t identified yet, grey, slimmer of body and longer of tail, hopped right up into the branches, maneuvering itself around the various perches to locate even higher blossoms.

I had a morning commitment, and couldn’t keep watching, so hopped into the shower as quietly as possible, as if that wouldn’t still scare the birds away. None were left when I emerged. A quick check of the sage showed an apparent lack of desire for any white blossoms, so I tend to feel vindicated in my color prejudice, at least for the other 358 days of the year when it’s less than spectacular. But I’ll keep an eye on the orange bells, looking for the quail’s morning feeding.

New Math?

In all the news about Imelda, from breathless, concerned, compassionate, from featuring heroes rescuing idiots, neighbors helping neighbors, strangers helping strangers, somewhere in there the coverage always devolves into the ridiculous. Stereotypically, that involves folks standing out in the worst of hurricaine weather just to "get the shot." One wonders whether they actually believe we've all never seen big waves, downed trees, or missing roofs, or they think it's the only reason the eyeballs turn their way: catastrophic rubbernecking.

Much of the coverage is valuable, showing the where and the how bad of the situation. We the watchers can glean an idea of how safe out loved ones are - or not - or even whether travel plans should be adjusted. It's useful for those evaluating how desirable certain locations might be for living in, plus what adaptations might better reduce damage for those who continue to live there.

One commentary stood out in all that. The last really bad hurricaine blew through there three years ago. Its flooding was listed as a one-in-a-hundred-year event. This time with similar flooding they had to reclassify it as a one-in-a-thousand-year event.

(Pause for head scratch.)

Hmmm, maybe they just didn't explain it well. How are they going to list the next one when they keep repeating without being within even a couple degrees of magnitude of a thousand years? Do they really think the next one won't happen for that long? Granted, we won't be around long enough to know how many more breeze in to create that level of flooding and other damage in the next 1,000 years, but hey, we're around now paying enough attention to notice they still ain't talking about climate change!

Another Guest Post from Richard Rosa

First, though, Steve's back procedure is going very well. Pain levels have dropped from steady 7s - 9s down to 0s - 2s. Hooray!!!!

A few ideas on the subject of making America truly great again:

I'm going to start by saying something controversial; America was great in the 60's. That is not to say that everything was great then but we were at a cusp. One similar to the cusp that founded out nation, one of revolution. 

It was a time when activism and changing the status quo defined us. A time when we challenged ourselves as a nation to do things that had never been done before. Enacting civil rights, expanding women's rights, challenging ourselves to go where no one had gone before and stepping foot on the moon. 

We have taken leaps for humankind since then but we have been taking steps back recently as well. The challenges are now coming from those segments who embrace the status quo of the 60's instead of those who rose to defy it. The concept of change now means regression back to the ideas that were fought against in the first place. 

The revolution to progress our society into true equality has become a dystopian revolution of supression. The advances our country made are under assault.

The spirit of activism that defined the 60's and even the early 70"s needs to be reignited in a way that can take us through the current crisis. The 60's gave our nation political will. The early 70's showed us how to use that will to remove from power those who would abuse their position. 

Let's take a lesson from history and build that political will again.

Waiting...

Today was Steve's' trial / surgery for his pain interrupter. My role was driving, giving support, and... waiting.

I'd tell you that it started with in the appropriately named waiting room. That'd be a lie. It started at 2:45 AM, waiting to see if I could get back to sleep until it was 5 AM, when we'd actually scheduled for me to get up for the morning routine before leaving. When I couldn't, it meant quietly waiting while the others slept until 5AM to take my thyroid pill, waiting another 20 minutes plus before having something to eat with my coffee and pills, watching a speck of TV while waiting for it to be time to leave the house.

We didn't do so good with that bit, heading out nearly half an hour early. The doors wouldn't even be unlocked for half an hour, and the drive was less than 5 minutes. It did give us time to appreciate the colors It's still 3-digit high temperatures here. It also provided a chance to relax.

There wasn't much waiting between checking in and Steve getting called back. His was the first procedure of the day. I was told to expect him to be out around 8 AM, and yes, I had to stay put, not even go to the car for a few to counteract the deep chill of the waiting room. (I always under-dress for those places.) Instead I was offered a blanket. Gratefully accepted.

I'd brought my kindle to pass the time, but discovered the book I was into is one of those best taken in small doses to avoid sleeping through it. Tough to read that way. My brain tends to go off in other directions and I find myself abruptly awake wondering how much of what just happened was actually written by the author. Generally very little.

Giving up on the kindle, I switched to people watching. People tended to show up in couples, and I tried to guess which of the two was here for a procedure and which was the designated driver. Sometimes I was right. It's not always the decrepit one. Walkers are a dead giveaway, though.

About 15 minutes before I expected Steve to be done, a young woman hustles in wheeling a large case and apologizing to those manning the desk for being late. She had thought she was scheduled for afternoon. I had a sneaking suspicion I was going to hear what I did, shortly. She was the tech which Steve's procedure was waiting on. Oops.

I also quickly learned that his Doc had started with another patient who didn't need her services. Quite understandable. Steve just might be done in another hour... or so. Would I like another blanket? Again gratefully accepted.

After the "or so" I was called back in to the recovery area to have the explanations of what he needed, since he was still high from the anesthetic: which things he could and couldn't do, where to find the phone number if things went wrong, like a certain little red button getting pushed. It was also explained to me that it would take about two days for this procedure to take effect. It's kind of like an antibiotic, needing to build up to a certain level before change is noticed. But rather than being able to front-load the current like they front-load medications, it just takes the body that long to notice it's working.

So now it's Steve who's doing the waiting.

So She Doesn't Remember?

Defenders of Justice Kavanaugh, aka Justice Beer, are latching on to this as a defense against the latest revelations by a classmate of witnessing another incident of assault at a party years ago. The first incident was dismissed in his confirmation hearings for alleged lack of information. I say "alleged" because multiple witnesses of his behavior have come forward - then and now - to complain about being "unable to reach" the proper persons in the FBI with their witnessing such behavior.

Unfortunately for Kavanaugh, it's back in the news. Some of those voices have found another outlet that'll listen. And publish. Same kind of behavior. Same kinds of dismissal by Republicans. With the Assaulter-In-Chief in the White House, and a Supreme Court now loaded against women's reproductive - and other, like voting - rights, their lack of incentive to explore this issue is obvious.

Let's look at this so-called defense against the latest reveal. "She doesn't remember." How important is that?

1: Others do remember.
2: It was a college party. Heavy drinking was involved on the part of at least some of those in attendance. There is a possibility of blackout on her part. Note blackout drunk doesn't mean unconscious, just inability to form/retrieve memories. Note it also doesn't imply any kind of consent to having somebody's penis shoved into your hand - or as it's described, having your body moved by others into that position.
3: It's also possible that the person in question does remember. And doesn't want to be involved, whether from misplaced shame, unwillingness to be forced to recall all the details of the assault, unwillingness to go public with any of it. It takes a special kind of courage to follow through on an assault charge.
4: We have at this point only her friends' word for what she may or may not remember. What I tell my friends may not always be the absolute and complete truth, or the same thing I would have to swear to under oath, especially when I feel shame.

So what's the balance here? Multiple reports of repeated assaults of the part of Kavanaugh from witnesses and other victims? Or denials by participants ("alleged") and victims?

I know where I stand. You?