The Wall

April 30, 2017April 30, 2017 / skidaz / Leave a comment

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The news runs rampant with stories of building a wall between Mexico and the United States. While the Berlin Wall and the Great Wall of China ultimately did little to prevent infiltration by the “enemy,” the proposed Trump Wall seems to many to be the answer. I find it curious, though, that Canada is not being walled out also. Guess it’s long forgotten that some of the perpetrators of 911 entered that way.

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Yesterday, I was leafing through my ancient English 101 anthology and reread Robert Frost’s Mending Wall. It begins: “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.” In New England, the spring ritual for many landowners was to mend the wall that nature damaged throughout the winter. Though often a laborious task it was a necessary, annual tradition because “Good fences make good neighbors.” Hmm. I find it paradoxical. Nature battles against the wall. Tradition battles against nature to keep us and even countries apart.

When I moved to Phoenix, I was amazed that most houses had walled backyards. Unlike my Ohio upbringing, where I often roamed through three or four backyards to my friend’s house. We neighborhood kids sledded down our neighbors’ hill every winter; we weren’t walled out.

Unfortunately, I’ve met people with walls. Folk devoid of humor and zest. Folk who prefer to remain within their cramped life without friends and a sense of community spirit. Their self-imposed isolationism boggles me.

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True, I live in a walled community; it keeps my dogs off the street. Some of us with small children fence our pools to prevent child drowning. But my ‘hood has not walled out each other. We socialize, work collaboratively together, and even borrow a cup of sugar when the need arises.

Frost asks: “Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it where there are cows? But here there are no cows. Before I built a wall I’d ask to know what I was walling in or walling out.”

Robert Frost penned this poem 103 years ago. Hmm. Our world is no longer a simple fence on a New England acre. What are we mending? Another paradox….

You Saved My Life. No, You Saved Mine

April 24, 2017 / skidaz / Leave a comment

While in my early 20’s, I took a graduate school course in educational philosophy and discovered I was an existentialist–make every decision as if it is your last decision. I embraced that idea, and thus, I never looked back with “would have, could have, or should have.” Further, I don’t suffer from “buyer’s remorse.” Once I make a reasoned decision, I don’t dwell on it. It’s the proverbial water over the dam, regardless of the outcome.

In 1983, I made the biggest decision of my life to date. I gave up my dream job, I forsook my rising political career, I left my family, and I followed my spouse to his fledgling company 2,500 miles across country. Now, my decision was not painless; I found myself far away from friends and my career. Admittedly, for a while, I suffered from depression. I had no job and no friends; my spouse worked 10-12 hours a day. I had no reason to get out of bed until noon. I didn’t shower for days at a time. My dog didn’t care I smelled in our tiny condo, and my spouse was too tired to care.

I slipped further into the depression abyss and wild thoughts danced through my mind. My local Ohio celebrity status was reduced to zero. No one in Scottsdale, Arizona, knew my name. Until….

I ventured to the condo complex pool. A much younger woman than I sat alone among the snowbird, winter visitors. We conversed; Julie, too, had moved from a small town in North Dakota to follow her spouse. She, too, had no friends, nor family. She, too, was a nobody like me.

Julie and I became fast friends; we shared secrets; we shared advice. She nannied for me when my eldest was born. When she and her family moved back to North Dakota 26 years ago, I missed her. I’d often wished we could at least chat about her sub zero weather as I picked lemons.

Last week, Julie and her husband came to Phoenix. When they arrived at my front door, she and I hugged and cried, “Sue, you saved my life.”

“No, Julie, you saved mine.”

Tie game.

Spider in my Ear

April 16, 2017 / skidaz / Leave a comment

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While this comes as no surprise to those who know me well, I’ve proudly raised two very articulate daughters. Oranges don’t fall far from the proverbial orange tree. As an older mother, I had no tolerance for baby talk. Yes, I put up with “Dada,” and “Mama,” but when I spoke to each of them it wasn’t in baby talk. My kids went to the restroom, not the potty. I expected them to rise to some semblance of my vocabulary, not me drop down to theirs.

Of course, as they matured and their vocabulary grew, so did their argumentative skills. Yes, on many occasions, I rued I’d taught them to be so forthright. But my most devastating moment occurred when my youngest was sixteen months old. She had had a very sleepless night, ran a low grade fever, and was so lethargic she didn’t even want to watch Sesame Street. As she laid in my lap, she rubbed her ear. “Does your ear hurt, princess?”

“No. I want juice.”

Juice, it was. But juice didn’t solve the ear problem, as she rubbed her lobe. Stupid Sue. Get up off the sofa and call the pediatrician. She’s running a fever; she has an ear infection.

Thankfully, the office wasn’t jammed with sick kiddos, and we were quickly ushered into an exam room. The group practice doc that day was the “Patch Adams” of the pediatrician group. He danced around the room, swinging his stethoscope, and took my kid’s temperature–a shade past 100 degrees. “I need to look in your ears with my fancy light, cutie pie.”

“No!”

“Cutie pie, this won’t hurt; I promise. What’s wrong with your ear?”

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Emphatic, loud, clear answer: “‘Pider in my ear.”

I was horrified. The doc looked at me like I was an unfit mother. My dreams of winning the Mother of the Year award waltzed away. The diagnosis–ear infection. Cured with an antibiotic. Yet, twenty-six years later, I still don’t know what prompted her response. Suggestions?

Swimming with Spiders

April 10, 2017 / skidaz / Leave a comment

Phoenix summers are not for the faint-hearted. The stifling heat, skin-burning pavement, fiery hot winds are brutal to visitors. As they exit the jetway at Sky Harbor, they quickly realize they’ve arrived in a place Satan vacates in July.

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When my eldest, Annie, was also my only child, I established a summer routine. We’d don our swim suits around 11:00 AM, play in the backyard pool for an hour, change into dry clothes, eat lunch, watch a video, and then she’d toddle off to nap time, while I worked on my dissertation.

Unlike high humidity states, wet towels and swim wear were draped on patio chairs; they dried instantly and were easily accessible for the next pool frolic. On Tuesday morning, I gathered up the swim suits from the patio, pulled up Annie’s suit, and put on my two-piece. (Yes, I realize I never did/have/will cause men to ogle at my body in a two-piece. I simply prefer them to those tight one-piecers that hurt in all the wrong places.) And just like every other morning, we frolicked in the pool.

Fortunately, the bathroom had an outside door from the pool. I helped Annie strip off her wet suit and pull on her shorts and t-shirt. She ran off to find a Barbie doll as I began my disrobe routine.

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When I tossed my wet bra on the floor, I saw it. Right there. In the bra cup. A big bug. On closer examination, not an insect…a spider. And not just any spider. A FEMALE BLACK WIDOW!

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OMG! It appeared to be alive. I swished my bra in the toilet and flushed the arachnid away. Oh, sweet baby Jesus, did I just spend an hour in chlorinated water with a spider on my chest? Am I like the princess and the pea?

Thankfully, I just laughed off this encounter and didn’t bother to research said spider species. Had I knew then, what I know now, I would have died from my own imagination.

Female Black Widows, unlike males or juveniles, have a red hourglass shape on the underside of their abdomens. Unlike males or offspring young, female venom is 15 times more toxic than venom of a prairie rattlesnake! (Be still my heart.) While death from a Black Widow bite is extremely rare, human victims are nauseated, experience muscle aches, and may have difficulty breathing.

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In retrospect, I will never know why Wilhelmina, the Widow, didn’t bite me. Perhaps, she took pity on my flat chest; she saw first-hand I needed to make up with cotton what God had forgotten. Perhaps, she was weary of sweating in the relentless sun, spinning a web, and yearning for a splash in the pool. Or perhaps, she had mated with Wesley the Widow, ate him for breakfast, and wanted to chill.

Regardless of your motivation or lack thereof, I want to belatedly thank you, Wilhelmina, for sparing me of poison, vomit, pain, and gasps.

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Coming next week: Spider in my ear….

How to Catch Flies

April 2, 2017 / skidaz / Leave a comment

Over three years ago, I began to blog with the intent of publishing a book of the most humorous ones. My plan began to unravel this past summer; my mood changed. I found myself engulfed in a humorless world filled with we vs. they. Even though, I’ve experienced the darkest side of life over the past six years, I was ill-prepared for the diabolical firestorm currently overtaking America. My humor was suppressed–buried.

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Admittedly, I didn’t get much sense until about 40 or so years ago. I paid attention to the debacle of the Viet Nam War, Nixon freezing my $6,000 teacher’s salary for two years, and Watergate. Certainly, I found no humor in these events, but I managed. When the Twin Towers fell, I was outraged. Several nights following, I was in a crowded Mexican restaurant. th-3

The waiter had just brought our dinners, when a mariachi band appeared on the balcony above and played God Bless America. Every patron dropped their utensils, rose and sang in unison. Tears ran down my cheeks as I sang; yet I wasn’t overtly sad. The American patriotic spirit didn’t die in New York City; I had hope.

When the presidential election campaigns kicked into high gear this summer, so did the we vs. they mantra. Civility and decorum vanished. Extremism was rampant. Suddenly, it became socially acceptable to mock the disabled, use despicable racist terms, and blame the press for inaccurate reporting. Following the election, the we vs. they went viral. Somewhat cogent folks jumped on this out-of-control roller coaster and without serious thought and consideration demolished long-standing laws with the stroke of a pen. A classic example of throwing the proverbial baby out with the bath water–health care, public education, environmental safeguards. Budgets of long-standing programs, such as the Center for Disease Control, medical research, the arts, and Planned Parenthood were slashed. Further this divisiveness was stoked with “alternative facts,” late night tweeting, erroneous wiretapping claims, and a cloak of darkness on Russian ties.

True, I didn’t get much sense till about 40 years ago, but in those 40 years, I never witnessed the outward hate and derision I see now. In the past few months, I’ve lost long-time friends–not to death–but to their down-right argumentative, combative attitudes. Intelligent, reasonable, civil discourse is fine. Friendly confrontation has its place, but I have no desire to debate with blatant ignorance.

The world has shrunk. Like it or not, we are all citizens of the same planet. We must cooperate, communicate, collaborate, and even compromise. As my grandmother frequently reminded, “You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.” It’s about all of us–not some of us.

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Friday from Hell

March 27, 2017 / skidaz / Leave a comment

When I worked full-time, I rejoiced on TGIF. I reveled in a weekend of fun and foolishness. However, Friday, March 24th was deplorable.

First, I was awakened by the sound of heaving. (One of my dogs, an inherited Heinz, burrows herself every night under the blanket.) I leaped from the bed, threw back the cover, only to witness her vomit a disgusting mess of grass and yellow bile on the sheet and mattress cover. I looked at the clock–5:50 AM. Really?

After sentencing the soiled linens to the washer, I went to make a cup of coffee. Damn! Out of K cups! Remembering my grandmother’s advice to never leave home without donning clean underwear, I got dressed, semi-combed my bed hair, and drove to the Golden Arch’s drive through. “One small cup of coffee, please with cream.

“That will be $1.08 at the first window.”

As I reached in my purse to retrieve the money, I remembered my wallet was on my kitchen table. I scoured the bottom of my purse for errant change–67 cents. Now what? Fortunately, I don’t store my credit cards in may wallet, so I offered the clerk a charge card. Her face was filled with disgust as she swiped my card. I imagined her thinking, “Dumb old broad, driving a nice car, without $1.08 in cash. She must not own a hairbrush either.”

Wait! It gets worse. The mail comes with my credit card bill. I peruse it and quickly realize my account has been compromised. Immediately, I phoned. “Enter your zip code, enter the last four digits of your credit card number. Press one for….Press two…. ” What? I need to talk to someone; no choices dealt with my issues.

Two hours after this mayhem began, I finally talked to Amber, and my compromised card was cancelled. But March Madness didn’t end.

My house phone rang once, then stopped. Again and again. Once. Then, nothing. The house phone screen message, “Line in use.” I can’t deal with this; I destined in end up in the emergency room on a Friday night. I’ll suffer a full-blown heart attack, die on the gurney, while all the drunk, car-accident victims are ushered into ICU. My cell phone quickly connected me to the cable phone service, and Frantesa answered.

Swiftly, my Friday from hell vanished. When I explained my problem, she offered help. “What’s your first name?”

“Sue.”

“Miss Sue, let me reset your modem. Are you physically able to unplug this and that?”

What? I’ve not lost all the cards in my deck…yet. “Certainly.”

“This will take a few moments. Since you said you’re older than me, do you have any words of advice for me?”

What? I’m trying to get my phone fixed. She persisted. “Frantesa, you are 29-years old. Vote. Pay attention to local, state, and national issues.”

“We’re not allowed to discuss politics with customers. Come on, give me some to improve my life.”

What? Now, I’m a shrink? “Frantesa, your goal in life is to be remembered for what you gave, not what you had.”

“Wow, Miss Sue, those are powerful words. I do give, but not enough. I’m sorry I can’t resolve your phone problem. A technician will be by tomorrow morning.”

NEVER in my long history had this cable company scheduled promptly. “By the way, Miss Sue, I flagged your account. You’ll receive a $10 credit, and I will receive an urgent message when your problem is fixed.”

The technician arrived three minutes ahead of schedule Saturday morning and within another five minutes, my phone problem vanished. Even in light of the vitriolic hate currently spread across America, our country is brimming with wonderful people who give, regardless of what they have. Frantesa, thank you.

Dr. Suze Is an Immigrant

March 12, 2017 / skidaz / Leave a comment

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In the past two weeks, I’ve experienced what it is like to be the proverbial stranger in a foreign land. My heart aches for the numerous children that sailed into Ellis Island over a hundred years ago and encountered a new language, culture, and social mores. My heart aches for the numerous children who fled from poverty and Mexican drug cartels. My heart aches for the current refugee children fleeing their homelands in search of safety and security. Most of these children came to American public schools where they not only encountered a new language, but often the feeling of intellectual inadequacy.

I feel their pain. First, it took me a while to learn teenage slang. My daughters were continually using words like rad, meh, and tight, which in my mind were meaningless in context. Then I was forced to learn text talk. I vividly remember receiving a text from one of them–FOFL. What does that mean? And now there’s texting for seniors! Just yesterday, I texted one of my high school friends and asked, “How are you?”

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His reply, “LOL.” Hmm. Why was he laughing out loud? He wasn’t. He was Living On Lipitor! I inquired, “Where are you?”

His reply, “BFF.” Another strange answer, which meant Best Friend’s Funeral in senior speak.

By now, I was crazy and responded, “WTF?” I literally meant what the f@#k!

His reply, “Sue, really? You wet the furniture?”

So as I struggle to learn a new computer and a new printer, I’ve been forced to learn another new language. Bear with me. Someday I may understand what an iCloud is.

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Dr. Suze Says Is Dead

March 6, 2017March 6, 2017 / skidaz / Leave a comment

It’s true. My blog died several weeks ago with the advent of a new computer, and the switch from a pc to Mac has almost killed me off! I’ve spent copious hours reading online manuals and watching tutorials; I swear learned nothing! Even though I thought I could read, listen, and understand English, technological talk renders me illiterate.

It chaps my heinie that simplistic directions of “how-tos” have been so confounded for folk my age. Can you even imagine how difficult it would be to execute a Betty Crocker recipe written in techno-talk?

Open your search engine. Enter the exact name of the recipe.
Click on the button.
When the recipe appears, scroll downward using the arrow key.
Note the ingredients needed. If you need help, press the help icon.
To alter the portion setting, press the space bar by the number of servings needed. If you need 12 servings, press 12 times.
If you enter serving amount incorrectly, press F7 to go back.

Ad infinitum!

I was doubly foolish. I bought a new printer. THE printer created by some genius who delighted in making my life absolutely frustrating and miserable for two weeks. When I finally got it to print, I tried to scan. Of course, there were no directions, except online. I found them and clicked on print, so I could follow them. A message appeared: Do you want to print all 196 pages? WTF? Is this the great American novel?

But my nightmare didn’t stop. The sound bar on my “smart tv” fell silent. The more buttons I pushed, the more online advice I read, just made matters worse. Fortunately, I was somewhat lucid enough to buy another, less sophisticated sound bar that works…as of this moment.

With that being said, please be patient. Dr. Suze Espouses is a work in progress. It takes a long time to teach this old dog.