Thanks to my dentist brother, I no longer need my two front teeth.  Mine are porcelain and hopefully will last until the day I depart.  No, I not going to comment on the current political climate.  After all, it’s the most wonderful time of the year.  Who wants to engage in that drama?

I want All children to have:

• A bed, clean clothes, and enough to eat
• A free, public education of quality and opportunity
• Access to higher education, whether it be career tech or university
• To be judged by the content of their character, not their color, language, nor disability
• To live without fear

Now if that’s not enough, my personal Santa list is:

• Nothing I can’t wear, use, nor eat.  I’m in no need of dust collectors.  In fact, a case of paper towels or toilet paper would be great, as would a Christmas card or a phone call. (Please no fruitcake.)
• For all of my friends and family to make a charitable donation to those in need.  Be creative: animal shelters greatly appreciate your ragged towels and blankets; donate your unused canned goods to a food bank; give a beggar a McDonald’s gift card.  Donate used books, toys, clothing, etc. to a shelter.  Every public school in America is in need of something–pencils, paper, crayons, books.  Figure it out.
• Remember our animal friends.  Feed the birds, adopt a puppy, kitten, or a goldfish.
• Spread the spirit.  You don’t have to be a millionaire to help those less fortunate.

As I was driving home today, the radio DJ said: I LOVE this time of year because people are so kind and nice. May you embrace the most wonderful time of the year.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Since I no longer go over the river and through the snow to my grandparents’ farm, I hosted a very small feast.  And yes, I was left with a mound of leftovers, even though each of my guests took home a “to-go” box.  In fact, I’m eating a turkey sandwich, as I blog.

At 4:15 AM Friday morning, my cell phone blared an emergency alert: Tornado warning. Seek shelter.  For the next hour, I watched the bizarre tornado event blow through my casa.  True limbs flew,  thunder rolled, rain pelted the skylights. Thankfully, by mid-morning, the storm abated, and I was left with broken tree limbs, a filthy patio, and a filthier pool, replete with two floating patio chairs.  My outdoor Christmas lights were askew, and I was grateful I had not put up the inflatable.

The wind remained, and this transplanted Arizonan found it far too cold to work outside.  Yet, I did manage to retrieve the floating chairs.  I slept well knowing my pool cleaning system would work its magic and deliver a pristine pool by Saturday morning.

Saturday morning.  Time to go clean up the leaves and limbs.  Oops, I’ll check the pool.  WTF?  Still trashed.  Lord, I had all new equipment installed 8 years ago.  I checked, I troubleshot, I threw breakers–all to same result: system failure.  My pool guy came within three hours, “Sue, condolences.  Both your pump and motor are dead.”

Dead?  Irreparable?  “Sorry, Sue.  This equipment has been discontinued by the manufacturer given its many problems.”

“How much will this cost?” I asked.

“$1,500 minimum.”

Hmm.  I get $44.00 a month Social Security. (Long story)

“Hopefully, I can get the new system in by Wednesday.  Certainly, before Christmas.”

“Ok. Do it.”  In the past eight years of my new life, I’ve always bought a special, Christmas present for myself; however, rarely do I splurge to $1,000+ on myself…until now.

As a parent, aunt, and great aunt, I’ve sat on the sidelines and watched.  No, not just the athletes on the field, but their parents.  I never cease to be amazed by the behavior of adults at a Little League, Pop Warner, etc. game.  Really?  Yelling at the coaches, referees, and umpires–but worse, many of them scream at their child who drops a pass or fails to catch a fly ball.

Last night, I was at my ‘hood bar and grille for weekly trivia.  I’ve been a regular for about two years and have met so many nice folk.  The prizes are “bar bucks:” $25, 15, and 10.  Certainly,  not my motivator, I just go to have fun and the food is fabulous.  Unfortunately, last night I witnessed obnoxious and over-the-top rude behavior.

Now, as in any game, there are rules.  The DJ doesn’t dictate the number of team members; she just wants everyone to have fun and abide by the rules of no cell phone usage, and time limit per question.  Fair rules I think.  Late in the game, with 3 questions remaining, both my team and another turned in our answers after the buzzer.  Hey!  I get it, our answer (which was wrong, by the way) was not accepted as was the other team’s answer.  I KNOW the rules.

Eruption!  A member of the other team began screaming the f-word at the DJ.  Not ONE of his teammates tried to shut him down. At first, the DJ was calm, but the f bombs continued to drop, as her four-year-old witnessed.  By now, the remaining teams were saying, “Cool it” “Sit down” “Stop!”

Then, our very tearful, shaken DJ closed her computer and announced: The game is over.

I remain stunned, saddened, and mystified by this disturbing incident.  After all, it’s just a game.

As some of you know, my mother turned 95 on October 1.  When each of her grandchildren phoned with birthday greetings, she told them: I just wish we could all be together again. An event that hasn’t occurred in 7 or 8 years!

Her wish was magnified this past week, when numerous touch-and-go health issues arose.  In fact, all we could do is pray, and thankfully, given the miracle of medicine our mom/grandma is healing.  All of us found this situation so anchoring that we decided to grant her wish.  On Boxing Day, (December 26), we will come from Pennsylvania, North Carolina, South Carolina, Arizona, and California to Houston and celebrate the joys of family and the true essence of the holiday spirit.

I don’t know how many of you have enrolled in your local Next Door Neighbor site, but on the advice of my youngest I did.  Given my ‘hood, I’ve over 1,300 neighbors.  In my greater area, I’ve more than 20,000.

This is a most curious web site: people post items for sale, recommendations for restaurants, landscapers, handy men, and even contractors.  Need your pool cleaned? Call—. A car tuneup? Hairdresser? A house or a car?  Thankfully, political opinions are taken down immediately.

Neighbors also post instances of criminal activity, which brings me to the reason for this blog.  Thanks to video cameras on October 31st, there were a vast number of robberies in my ‘hood.  Video indicate the perp was the same 25-30 year-old dude.  He targeted lighted, decorated front doors, as many folk just left bowls filled with treats outside for the goblins.  But the Halloween Grinch stole the entire bowl full!  And to add insult to injury, had the audacity to sell both the candy and the holiday containers the next day–about 2 miles from his crime zone.

Frankly, I’m confounded.  What kind of jerk would do this?  The same kind of guy who injects Swedish Fish with THC, needles, or slivers of wood?  The same kind of guy who subscribes to the mantra:  If I can steal it, it’s mine?  

I far too old to understand why folk behave in this manner.  WTF?

 

First, don’t get your knickers in a knot.  I adore my two, highly successful daughters.  They bring joy and happiness to my life.  But my years of child-rearing are far behind me.  Thus, with the adoption of my newest puppy, I share my thoughts.

Dogs have attributes humans don’t have. They love unconditionally.  When I arise from bed, I look like a bag lady, with my messy hair and half-awake eyes.  Yet, they gaze adoringly at me.  When I walk down the driveway to get the mail or make a quick trip to the grocery store, they greet me, as though I’ve been gone for months.  As I write this blog, they all lie at my feet.  My kids never did that.

Secondly, my dogs are not divas.  They’ve never asked for my credit card to buy trendy shoes or purses.  Nor do my dogs want Michael Kors, Kate Spade, Mark Jacobs, Louis V. clothing and accessories. They’ve never asked for a ride to cheer practice or tennis lessons.  They never asked for a ride to the mall or for money.  (Once, my eldest called when she was in college requesting money.  Whoa! She got a monthly allowance, so I phoned and asked why she needed money.  Her answer: You don’t know how expensive it is to eat out In California!  True, I rarely ate out.).  My dogs are fine with their non-designer kibble.

 

My dogs don’t talk back;  they know I’m the alpha. None of them have ever called me a name, yelled at me, nor called into question my opinions or advice.  They willingly follow my leadership,  And I’m most grateful, they didn’t go through puberty, nor endure the petty girl spats and lack of dates with dreamy, Joe Jock.

So in my golden years, I’m living the dream with my six companions, who adore me–in spite of my flaws and warts.  Seriously, my life couldn’t be more wonderful…in the company of dogs.

 

 

• General Mattis’ performance at a New York benefit dinner where he humorously took down the President with such one liner’s as: I earned my spurs on the battlefield while Trump earned his spurs from a letter from a doctor, made me curious about the former Secretary of Defense.  Mattis wrote a letter of resignation, which questioned the President’s policies. However, the President’s spin was: You’re fired.

My curiosity was peaked. Who is this General Mattis? A college graduate from Central Washington University who rose through the ranks of the Marine Corps during the Gulf War, War in Afghanistan, Iraq War, and the two battles of Fallujah.  He’s described as intellectual, urbane, and polished.  (A DC rarity).  He trained all of his Marines in cultural sensitivity to Mid-Eastern ways.  In fact, as his troops were monitoring Iraqi protests, he insisted they give Iraqi citizens bottles of ice water–hard to throw a rock at someone’s who’s given you a cold drink on a 120-degree day.

According to some who served with him, he forsook his plush quarters and spent nights in the trenches with his men.  (Hmm. No comment.) Further, General Mattis, a bachelor, is described as a devout Catholic and chooses not to talk about it.

Finally, he advocates for international foreign policy.  He’s stated that his own troops have been affected by climate change, not to mention the ravages of terrorist groups, whom prey on innocent citizens.

America has had 12 Generals elected President from Washington through Eisenhower, so this is not a new idea.  Yet, let us pause to imagine a culturally-sensitive, humble, urbane, intellectual President. Could he heal our fractured America?  Unless, you can sell me on someone else, I’m voting Mattis in 2020! (I just wish I had enough money to convince others.)

• 

I realize it’s been a number of weeks since I blogged.  No, thankfully, I’ve not been ill.  Just too busy doing “must dos.”

My eldest just moved from Phoenix to Aiken, SC for a new position.  Was it traumatic or dramatic? Of course, I’d spent over two years being back in her life.  Now, both of my girls reside east of the Mississippi, and I’ve no family here.

I cried and felt sorry for myself…alone again.  (Except for my dogs, whom adore me.)  My recovery came last night.  I recalled a phone conversation with my maternal grandmother.  “Grandma, I can hardly believe, my youngest is going to kindergarten; it makes me weep.  I’ll no longer have a baby.”

She retorted, “Sue, that’s silly and stupid. Just be glad she has sense enough to go to school.”

And so it is with parenting.  As a parent, my sole responsibility is to raise morally and ethically good citizens, whom contribute to the proverbial greater good.  Who are educated and empathetic to those in need.  Who care more about the plight of others, who are not insular, who never give up in adversity.  Just like the larva, who leaves the cocoon and morphs into a beautiful butterfly, my job is to set my kids free!

Besides, my kids probably are delighted to have escaped their cantankerous, crazy mom.

 

 

 

I suspect like many of my readers,  our adult children moved out and moved on. Certainly, was my case, but they left behind lots of stuff from their childhood.  My youngest was an avid Beanie Baby collector; so much so, we had to scour the airport shops and every toy store both in Phoenix and wherever we traveled.  At the time, Beanie Babies were a bigger craze than Tickle Me Elmo or Furbies.

Today, Beanie Babies are worthless, unless you have the original Princess Diana, the McDonald’s international bears, Peace the Bear, Iggy the Iguana, Gobbles the Turkey, Patti the Platypus, Snort the Red Bull, and Claude the Crab.  If you can find a buyer, these have the potential of earning you upwards to $50,000! But again, the rest of the collection is practically worthless.

Last week I saw a Facebook post about someone who donated her kid’s Beanies to the school librarian.  In turn, the librarian created adoption tags for each; however, no student would qualify to adopt, unless he/ she agreed to read to the pet 20 minutes a day. A brilliant idea to motivate our social media-indoctrinated kids.

With permission of my daughter, I donated 40 or so to our neighborhood school, media specialist–the adoption took off like a monsoon.  The children were so jazzed about not only adopting, but about pledging to read to their pets.  Thus, before purging your house of unwanted stuffed animals, talk to an elementary school librarian/media specialist.  Let’s work together to make our kids thoughtful readers, not internet junkies.

When I undertook writing my second novel in which DNA played an integral role, I was boggled by its science.  True, science never has been my strongest suit; I was mystified.  What did all these fancy schmancy terms mean to a schlep like me?  Thus, I had only one choice: test my DNA.

While there are a number of commercial kits available, I chose the one with the highest consumer-star rating.  Thankfully, I’d read the instructions prior; I knew the protocol.  Several days later, I massaged my saliva glands.  I spit in the bottle.  WTH? Not enough.  Massage, massage, spit.  Still not enough. (Perhaps this is how cows feel when they’re asked to fill the gallon jar.)  I milked my saliva until the spit container was full.  Dropped it in the envelope and mailed it off.

Now, I was fairly sure I wouldn’t encounter any surprises about my heritage, even though I had to agree I understood at the onset, highly personal ancestral information might be discovered.  When the results came, they confirmed: 99.6% northwestern European; Neanderthal ancestry; descendent of Ava, a prehistoric woman from northern Scotland over 4,000 years ago; 2,013 second, third, fourth, and fifth cousins in the company’s current, data base–105 in California, 70 in Texas, etc.  In fact, I’m most certain I’ve a second cousin in Tennessee I’ve never met.

My personal health profile was thankfully worry free.  After reviewing my personal trait profile,  6 were not me, e.g less likely to experience motion sickness. (One cruise was enough for me.) However, the remaining 27 traits were indeed accurate, e.g. likely no cleft chin, nor unibrow.

Spit. Who knew my spit could reveal such interesting facts?

(NOTE: New novel coming this fall: Secret of Lake Brier set in the fictional, steel town of Lewiston, Ohio.  Many of my Ohio readers will absolutely know Lake Brier.)