Whimsy

I think I've figured it out.

Beads are often a part of the jewelry I make. These days they tend to be 3mm or 4mm beads, fairly small. They are a variety of metals, stones, crystal, and just lately I've discovered seed beads. Once I learned, since the latter aren't sold in mm sizes, that  15/1 translates to impossibly small to work with, and 6/0 means workable with some work - appropriate that, what? - I have been able to add those to my supply and incorporate them into my design plans.

Colors and combinations are all over the place. Solid opaques (ho hum), transparent single colors, iridescent coated colors with silver cores for brightness, all have one thing in common around here. All of them can hide successfully on the multi-color rug in front of the TV where I do most of my work. I know this because all varieties are successful at slipping out of my fingers or off the surface they are poured out onto before they get picked up.

I have moved furniture, changed lighting so sparkles and shadows emerge differently from the background. I have picked up pieces of lint, blanket fuzz, cellophane, foil bits, crumbs, and whatever else might be scattered over that rug. I have tried to pick up pieces of the pattern of the rug itself. With all that, each night I go to bed secure in the illusion that all spilled beads have been picked back up and put away.

Nearly every morning, I return to my chair, and at some point my movements reveal the location of yet another bead (or more) that I can swear wasn't there last night. Surely even if I hadn't seen it I would have stepped on it while traveling barefoot on my many treks to the kitchen, bathroom, garbage can, or bedroom. Or just chasing those beads I can locate.

But no.

I've given that recurring puzzle some thought. One explanation suggests itself.

Cockroaches.

I know a certain number of them inhabit the house. We never see them during the 9 months we live here. However, every fall when we return, one will be upside down on the floor somewhere. Experience shows me this does not guarantee it will be dead, though prolonged inversion does produce death. Once flipped back, any remaining bit of life allows it to scurry away unless one had first covered it with a tissue and given it a hearty scrunch. Followed of course by a flush.

We also return to a certain amount of roach trails, aka dried shit squirts, along window ledges and other locations somewhat less palatable. Since they get washed away, and never reappear until the following fall, we could almost delude ourselves that our presence inspires them to flee outside until we leave again. I just don't believe it. Lack of evidence is not evidence.

Now we may have some proof they haven't gone. Having seen the requisite one per year, I can attest that they are large enough down here to be responsible for solving the bead mystery. I will forever imagine that once the lights go off, out they come for a rollicking game of bead soccer or some such entertainment. They emerge with whatever beads got overlooked, but returning humans give so little warning that beads are dropped in their scurry to hide.

I just haven't figured out what they use for their goals yet.

"Run, You Clever Boy, And Remember"

Thank you, BBCA. Most sincerely, thanks.

For those of you who have been long term fans of the series, I don't have to reference the title quote. A series of individual episodes ended with it, before tying it all up with a big bow and sending the show off in a new direction. Or, ahem, dimension.

I was a hit and miss fan of sorts over the years. Too many episodes missed, too many needing the continuity of previous and future episodes to string them together into a whole which made sense. But I was given a great gift over the holidays. It all makes sense now, and makes me care to keep watching, rather than just sometimes when it's convenient and/or I'm otherwise bored.

The gift? a "Doctor Who" marathon, stretching from X-mas eve to New Years day. While they weren't presented in exact order, by the time they all appeared in my DVR program list they were sorted into sequence. I'm guessing there were about 80 of them, not an exact count because I started watching those presented first, then deleting while the others accumulated. However, they were watched in such a close time frame that the pieces connected. Stuff started to make sense. With even the most hazy hindsight from years of maybe-watching, I knew when a chance comment was really important, a brief encounter turned into a regular character for a season or more.

That's no mean feat.

While not all episodes were included in the marathon, they always included the beginning and ending of each main character as well as several episodes to fill out their personalities and relationships. If a species was going to reappear some years later, their introduction was also filled in so we knew why they were friends or not.

If you've missed me lately, that's where I've been, glued to the set and tying it into a whole. In this case, the whole is way much bigger than the sum of its parts, for each part is much bigger for taking meaning from the whole.  (Yeah, I can see you scratching your head there.)

I still have this season's episodes to review. I did watch them all when presented, but now have the background to color in around the edges. I don't expect to waste my time in review. I'm also so close to the end now that I'm starting take time to prune the freeze kill from the back yard branches, design new jewelry, organize a few more things in the house, take pictures, and work it all in around Steve's medical appointments. And no, he still hasn't seen the right Doc to properly treat his back pain, though we do have an actual name for it finally: spinal stenosis.

But even when the TV is off, I haven't left the show. I seem to be dreaming new plots for Dr. Who. Maybe that's the real way the TARDIS travels.

If (Blank), Then Only Criminals....

You've heard the stupid rationale. "If you pass laws banning (some kinds of) guns, then only criminals will own guns. It's said with the full confidence that the speaker has just made a meaningful point, and thus nobody will ever even think of banning whatever kind of guns are under discussion. It almost seems to make sense.

Let's apply that same logic to other undesired acts:
If you pass laws against graffiti, only criminals will paint graffiti.
If you pass laws against stealing, only criminals will steal.
If you pass laws against speeding or driving drunk, only criminals will speed or drive drunk.
If you pass laws against murder, only criminals will murder.

If you pass laws, you change nothing except turning lawful folks into criminals. Right? Isn't that the so-called logic? And if we follow that thread to the conclusion that those who spew that idiocy wish us to, we shouldn't make any of those other things illegal either. The law itself does more harm than good.

My brain hurts.

I hope yours does too. Because my heart hurts.

And I can only hope yours does too.

Wringing Out The Old Year

I wish!

There is so much about this last year I'd like to wring out of existence, not to  mention out of this next year. I won't deal with politics here since there is way too much to cover without writing a couple of books, and these postings tend to get long enough. Besides, I'd get too pissed off to hold on to any semblance of coherency. Or get to sleep tonight.

I'll stick to events closer to home. I'll likely still get pissed off, but with no chance of making a difference, the target of that anger becomes much more diffuse. Somehow that makes a difference in how much I fume myself into insomnia. No difference, don't be fooled, in how much I still care.

Let's start with justice. I personally know two people currently behind bars. One, simplifying the issues behind it, is for the crime of poverty. The original offense was enough to get into legal trouble, but that didn't lead to incarceration. What turned the key was the crime of poverty: if you can't afford the fine, behind bars you go. Another person has more than paid the debt to society by most any reasonable standard, but laws which could be more justly changed, not being popular issues, keep that door locked as well. Enough poverty to prevent hiring of a lawyer who actually is competent is a contributing factor there as well.

The other broad topic is poor health in people I care about. It's not that simple, however. I find myself furious and frustrated in the level and quality of healthcare available, even when it appears to be provided and mostly paid for.

Let's start with a "young" friend of mine. "Young" in this case means early 40's. She has been fighting MRSA for perhaps a dozen years by now. It has cost her two surgeries to remove pieces of a foot, has prevented her having a functional and pain-free ankle even after two bone graft surgeries, and has now invaded her jaw. They are beginning to discuss surgery options to her face now, with who knows what results. What makes me angriest is how antibiotics have (not so well) been administered. Her primary care doc has been the same over this period, so has no excuse for being unfamiliar with her MRSA history. Yet each time another infection got under way, it was treated with the typical 10-day program of mild broad spectrum antibiotics followed by a pause, and reassessment only after symptoms flared up again in a few days. Then followed a repeat of the same, finally followed by the good stuff, which managed to knock out the overt symptoms. Testing to identify the MRSA didn't occur until partway through the 2nd course, though her history alone should have made that a top-of-the-list suspect after the first time. The result of all this is that the MRSA found itself a spot in her body to tuck away until next time it got the opportunity to strike. Each recurrence seems to have produced a hardier strain to attack her, the logical result of chronic under-treatment.

I wonder what they can do this time with surgery, since they normally don't operate while a fever rages, but they need to remove infected bone to get rid of the most recent pocket of infection.

The other medical situation causing rage against a medical team revolves around Steve. Those who keep in touch are aware that his back has been plaguing him for weeks now. He has had problems in the lumbar region every few years, usually lasting a few days and fixable by lying on the floor in a certain position. We thought when this time started, it would follow the same pattern. It's been over a month now, gained him a higher strength prescription for pain medication and one for muscle relaxant. Despite medications he's dealing with intractable severe pain without relief. Sleep is scarce. Activity is limited to the point where he won't go out on his scooter because there are little bumps in the surface over which he travels. His card clubs, one of the  main recreational/social parts of his life, simply don't happen. He is getting severe cabin fever, since his main travel is to the doctor about a mile away. He moves from his lift chair to bed and back, not to mark wake/sleep cycles, but just to change position enough so something else hurts, and hopefully not as much for a bit. On the 1 to 10 pain scale, 5 is a good hour, and 9 more constant.

So, the anger? It took about 2 weeks for an x-ray. Indeterminate. A shot into his hip yielded pain relief... for two days. Another two weeks wait yielded an MRI. One more week got an interpretation of it. Two lumbar vertebrae are growing, both together and into the cord. (Is it an improvement to get the affirmation that it's not just in your head?) One possible cause is rheumatoid arthritis, and a blood sample was drawn. Two referrals were to be made, one to follow up, if the blood test is positive, on treatment for what is an autoimmune condition. The other was to be with a spinal orthopedic expert, who might expertly administer pain injections into the spinal column, or perhaps offer a surgical option.

I talk about referrals needing to be made. That's about insurance rules. The specialists, or even the x-rays and MRIs, need to be ordered by the primary physician. They also need to be to one of the medical clinics that accept the insurance he carries. We left the office that day confident that those would be made.

That was over two weeks ago now. You know where this is leading. We were shocked about why. When the next Monday rolled around with nothing heard about his referrals, he called in to his Doc. Maybe a little reminder of how badly he needed to get treatment would push the right buttons. Instead, the answering service informed him that the entire office had closed for two weeks for their holiday break. Try the ER, good-bye. Nobody had bothered to mention this when we were in the office getting his test results and treatment plan options.

Steve opted not to hit the Er, but tough it out if at all possible. Rather than take medications only when the pain was at its absolute worst, not wanting to risk either habituation or addiction, he is dosing himself in the meantime with whatever either medication allows, alternating them rather than overlapping them. His body is still getting to the point where it can ignore either one of them.

Wednesday the clinic reopens. With no appointment, I've promised to drive Steve over so he can demand as much attention from the staff as needed to get those referrals then and there. I even offered to help, quite willing to let the other waiting patients know of the inadequate level of care offered there.

Enough is way too much. I'm almost looking forward to it. 2018 needs to be history.

Dear Ashley...

Dear Ashley,

I've been thinking about something for several months now, and decided I wanted to share it with you, for a variety of reasons. First, of course, is that it is a response to an event where Steve and I were enjoying your family's generous hospitality, and I need to let you know, along with anybody you want to share this with, how much we value those occasions. Dinners around your family's table are lively ones, as well as loving ones, and those are good things.

We bring home with us the stories and laughter of those memories, and one night in particular is engraved in our memories. No, it's not the result of Steve throwing out the punch line of his story just as Ryan had taken a big swallow of his drink, with results one should expect. Rather, it is about a question you asked and what led from that. As I recall, the family had one shower out of service, awaiting some plumbing, leaving one for the entire family. You were trying to plan your activities so the timing of your shower would be optimal for you. One of the considerations concerned odors. Your question was an inquiry as to who would stink the worst, your dad or your uncle.

The best part of what followed, for the two of us, is remembering how red your dad's head got, all the way to the crown, visible through his short hair. Yes, we still remind each other. And laugh.

Of course, your parent's immediate response was reacting to their embarrassment by scolding you. Parents do that. I have another niece, when younger than you, who asked an embarrassing question in the presence of company. Her parents reacted the same way. A simple sentence would have answered her question, but she got scolded instead. That still bothers me, and the opportunity has long passed to revisit the incident. But your question was similar in its way, and when you got scolded, I felt the need to help you feel less embarrassed by answering with some actual information to help you understand the topic. I perhaps got a bit too didactic, but I hope you understand how the concept of "nose-blindness" works to answer that question for you.

So my next reason for this is to hope you don't let anybody discourage you from asking questions. It's how we learn, how we explore our world, how we gain tools to function and navigate through our lives. You might chose differently about when and to whom you ask your questions, but never stop asking.

My third reason goes back to my being didactic. I find myself wanting to answer your question more completely than two minutes at the dinner table would allow. So, with your permission, here is the bigger answer.

Brains adapt. They have / develop selective attention. What is important gets noticed. What's familiar and safe doesn't. It's part of our evolution. It's what keeps us alive, individually and as a species.

If you haven't yet, you soon will encounter the concept of the food chain. It's pictured as a vertical ranking, where the bottom species are the ones who get eaten, and the top ones do the eating. Usually the person telling you about the food chain will also tell you that human beings are at the top of it. We can kill and eat anything.

That appears to make sense, without much examination. It makes just as much sense as believing the sun revolves around this planet. It's what we see, lacking more information. But both are incomplete. Yes, we are in the food chain. We're just not only doing the eating. From the time we first evolved, there were a whole lot of other critters vying to eat us.

There were really really large hungry cats. The sabertooths may be gone now, but their smaller cousins would still find us a tasty meal, and even house cats will use their former owners as a source of food if they are trapped with the body as their only sustenance.  (Yuck, right?) Wolves, the same way, on down through their domesticated cousins when the situation requires it. It's not just the big toothy things that want to eat us. Think, say, rats. Or insects. Bacteria and viruses. Point is, we smugly superior humans are smack dab in the middle of the food chain. And apparently yummy.

That's why we need brains that notice what's different. It might be that motion in the grass telling us something dangerous is trying to sneak up on us. It could be the whine of a mosquito, the grunt, howl or bark of an approaching predator. Perhaps the war cry of the neighboring tribe or the vibration of the herd of horses they are riding in on. In more modern society, it's that car suddenly entering the corner of our visual field, the smell of gas, the beep from our cell phone, the squeal of brakes. Something is different and that's when our brains pay attention.

For the same reasons, the familiar gets labeled as safe and gets ignored. We literally stop seeing the dirt in the house, at least until it's time we're told to clean or we want to impress visitors. Driving, we see the signs for where we need to turn and not those for all the other intersections we pass. When I first drove, I couldn't hold a conversation or even listen to the radio at the same time because everything was new. Now much of it gets done on automatic pilot, barring those changes which signal something needing my attention. Like, all those other idiots out there, or the local attack deer out to kill your car.

There was a perfume I absolutely adored from my first whiff. I wore it every day. Now my nose refuses to acknowledge it at all, a really big disappointment to me. Take your favorite foods, and notice how, with repeated bites, the flavor lessens until you find yourself eating it just because you know it's something you love rather than being able to taste that it is. That first lick off the ice cream cone is always sweeter than the last.

The way our brains work keep us safe, mostly. But there's more to the world. Let's just use that awareness and take a minute occasionally, pause, look around, and appreciate the beauty, the love, all the wonderful things our brains think we don't need to notice any more.

And keep asking questions!

Love,
Aunt Heather

A Gift Of Family

A family member has begun a tradition for us, one we treasure more each year she does it. It's a calendar. Not only is it practical, with large enough spaces to write appointments and things like recycling reminders in for any given day, but it's a family treasure.

It's not just pictures of the two of them and their kids. It's everybody else in the family and their kids. She selects from not only her extended family, spreading out from Steve's heritage, but coordinates with mine to make it complete. It's pictures of Steve and me with grandkids, extended groups, individual people's photo treasures. Each month is a new selection of photos, a new spectrum of events. They are set in parks and living rooms, day cares, yards, even a sidewalk where Daddy walks his two youngest kids safely to their destination. They cover holidays, birthdays, parties, and just-because. They range from dressed up and posed to candid and goofy.

Each calendar is a treasure of who all of us were the previous year. And yes, we're collecting a stack of them to page through for future years. Not only can we see what each of our two lives were like that year, but peek in on the lives of those we were apart from as they grew each year. And each calendar is a gift of the thoughtfulness and time given to create this priceless archive, this archive of love.

Thank you, Krystal.

'Tis The Season Of Smiles And Good Horns

Tis the season, folks. Just maybe not exactly how you thought.

Twice a month, on the 1st and 3rd Saturday mornings of the month, you'll find me at the SW corner of 99th and Bell, holding up a sign saying "Honk For Peace". There will be a group of us, many of whom have joined Grandmothers For Peace. A couple of us are in the Men's Auxiliary, that being less unwieldy than forming/joining a separate group called Grandfathers For Peace.

I tend not to talk about it. I know from experience it's not always well received. I've been challenged with "Why?" in a tone that suggests I might have just admitted robbing banks to support  my retirement. (Note for the curious: I haven't. Robbed nor admitted.) Part of the answer is because I can. I was too young to demonstrate during the Civil Rights Protests, however much I supported them. For decades I was too busy or unwilling to join a host of others, and find I really hate trying to find parking in Phoenix proper where most current ones are held. And let's not forget my general ability to walk or stand for long periods expected of those who join in. This, however, I can do. 

You can't miss us. Part of that might be the noise from honking vehicles that pass. Part of it is the group, spread along next to the sidewalk, mostly sitting in lawn chairs: we are grandparents after all.  Signs are scattered all over our corner, and one regular member holds up on a pole a flag which has replaced the field of stars with a peace sign.

Yes, it's a legal US flag. That's one of the many things I've learned during the two years I've been one of the demonstrators.

I've also learned a bit about others in the group. One is a world-traveling concert pianist, able to join us only seldom. One brings bagpipes occasionally. One has to leave early for regularly scheduled mah jongg and has been unable to join us for brunch after demonstrating  until  recently when we adjusted our hours. One is bi-polar, another died during her return to her home state of Colorado last year, one is on chemo. Three have served on the management board of a non-profit, two work at a food shelf, one has held political office. Some stay year-round, others head to cooler parts come summer, same as I do. Stay or just winter here, some come from Sun City, some from Sun City West. We arrive in cars or golf carts. I'm even sorting out which names belong with which faces... sort of.

I've learned which commercial vehicles will or won't generally honk, as well as just how painfully loud some of those horns can be. But hey, we asked. I also see how many more supporters we have who'll wave and smile, but are too shy to actually honk. Or maybe, this being Arizona after all, are reluctant for their neighbors to know they support our cause. Some just wait until the light changes before they honk as if nobody will then realize exactly who honked because they're too busy driving. Others are so enthusiastic that we worry about them as they smile, wave, honk and  text all while passing by. We wish those all our best... including enough funds to pay their tickets should any cops be nearby.

Because I've also learned how many folks react negatively to our demonstrations. There are the ones who steal a glance our way from several cars back, then resolutely look straight ahead as they pass the intersection. Some go a step further, giving us a little scowl. Maybe even a big one. I have to wonder, while seeing them change from neutral observers of the world they pass, to active disapproval of us, just what it is they object to. And why? Do they think we don't support our military and by demonstrating are showing our disapproval of their glorious war service? Those folks almost never stop to ask us if we support our troops or not, and I doubt whether they can parse out the difference between supporting them but not supporting how they are  misused. (Another whole posting for later.)

Some folks are more overt in their disapproval,  using their short stop at the light to roll down their windows for commentary. A few do not hesitate to express their faith ... that we are going straight to hell. That Christ hates us. That they know one of a variety of ways to competently vocalize what awful people we are, especially when they can't discern that the ambient road noise as traffic starts up again effectively covers up every bit of what they are communicating except their tone of voice. Most of them are content to just wave as they pass by,  not understanding that it takes more than a single raised finger to show their support and encouragement.

Really, though, who actually supports war over peace?

Who?

Regardless of their reactions, we smile and wave, some of us with full open hands, some with the two-finger "V" peace symbol, at everyone who passes. The talking among ourselves we save for the gaps in traffic, due to the noise levels. That makes for some interesting conversations.

If we ignore for a bit the occupants, and just note the vehicles, there is still plenty to learn. There are changing patterns in how busy traffic is, or who moves over for emergency vehicles, or who can't signal a turn or wait for a gap to pull into traffic. Some seasons there are various items attached to show support for sport teams. This season, the most popular decorations seem to be antlers arising from back windows. Having heretofore only seen those from the back, I thought they were cute but didn't give them much thought. Facing them head-on this morning, I got the full effect when I also spotted the little furry red "nose" attached to the hoods of the cars sporting antlers. Who knew there were so many Rudolphs hanging around the area? And why are the all grounded? Shouldn't they be working on their stamina right now?

On this last protest day before the big Holidays, the mood is much more friendly than usual. 'Tis truly the season of smiles and good horns!