How things have changed

 It’s 2026. I became a grandmother in late 2024. She showed up early, and gave us a fright. I am eternally grateful that she came through it like a champ. She is almost 18 months and running all over Japan with Liz and Alex. Bless them for the daily pictures and videos that were the joy of my mother’s days. Unfortunately we lost Mom 12 days ago. She’d been on hospice care for over a year and only the last week or so had been rough. She was 94 and ready to go, so it’s hard to begrudge her the final rest…but.  There’s a hole in our day, where what we do for her is missing. Life has changed. It’ll be awhile before I stop thinking in terms of what she would think of something that happened. 

The world knows that she was the second to last surviving Munchkin, and she danced in Our Gang. I enjoyed the tangential connection to Hollywood, drama kid that I once was. I used to tell her that she cheated me out of a tell-all because she was a great Mom. 

Anyway, miss you Mom. I hope you’re dancing with Daddy somewhere. Happy 77th anniversary yesterday. 

Onward to life. Onward in Grammy-dom. 

Happy New Year, 2024.

 Most believe that we start off with a clean slate, each year on January 1st. I wonder what all this year will bring.

I do know that we all will attend Corinne and Bryan’s wedding at the end April. I got tickets for the Ren Faire for me, Mom, and Sharon. We’ll attend the Faire sometime in April. 

If good fortune holds, Liz and Alex may become parents in 2024. Fingers crossed. I had long ago let go of the possibility of being a grandparent. However, it is what they truly want, and I am happy to look forward to it. Life will change. You never know what unforeseen things will change your life. I am hopeful that the previously unforeseen things will all be good in 2024. 

Mom is still with us, at 92, and we gathered to celebrate at a birthday dinner in December. I’m grateful to still have her, as I know that not all are so lucky. I hope she will meet her second great child. I hope to live 2 or 3 decades more, so that my grandchild will know me. I still can’t believe that I’ll be one year shy of 70, in March. 

To unforeseen things that are good. Cheers!

Moving On.

 Ed’s house is sold, and the court date to finally end probate is/was today. A document shredding event is finally being put on again by my Thrivent chapter, along with a food drive for the local charitable food pantry, on Saturday. I am boxing and bagging up my own long accumulated  shredding, as well as the last of what I had left from Ed’s. The estate sale/clean up people took care of a lot, but I had stuff to hang on to for a bit, and some to go through. I am, at last, to be released from having custody of it. 

I have pulled everything from the garage and my den, and am checking to make sure there’s nothing of consequence. Lots of old docs of no use, but that shouldn’t be thrown into a recycling bin. One box was of letters and Christmas cards from friends and family, going back to 1970. Mostly nothing major, but still a time capsule of what used to be.  I found out a couple of things I either hadn’t known or had forgotten. He was a conscientious objector, which I’m pretty sure I didn’t know. A number of letters from old high school friends, off at college. Cards from some people I knew back in the beginning of our life together, their friendships with me long past, casualties of our divorce.   A number of letters from his “Gram” (his mother’s mother), then already long a widow, and now long gone.  She sent him money, when his family went through a hard financial time. I remember her as a force of nature, but didn’t really know how much she had helped. 

I had forgotten that he and Mike Flint cleaned office buildings at night while he went to Santa Ana college. Then he went to work for the IRS, and was slowly going to school at night to complete his degree, but never did. He did all right for himself, retiring early, and with an excellent pension. 

I found the docs from when we were looking at buying a historic home for renovation and moving to Anaheim’s Heritage Square, which I had forgotten about. I’m glad we didn’t get it. It would probably still be unimproved, as his house was. 

Anyway, I’m ready to not be custodian of his memories. Day after tomorrow, the bulk of them go. 

Bon voyage. 

My heritage.

 Every time I watch, as I am tonight, Finding Your Roots on PBS, I am reminded of the nearly 1/4 of my DNA that I am not fully informed on. 

Sometime back, when I got my DNA tested , I discovered that 21-24% of it is Ashkenazi Jewish. I thought at first that it might be in my German background in my mother’s side, but we tested her, and it is not. My brother tests the same as I do, so it is in my father’s side. DNA family in my fathers mothers side shows none, so it would have to be his father, my paternal grandfather.  He separated from my grandmother in my father’s infant or toddlerhood, and, according to my father, told his mother that he did not want to see him. My father wrote him off, and never met him as far as we know. His mother married his stepfather when he was 6, and my father went by his last name until he joined the Navy at 16, when his birth certificate reflected his birth father’s name. 

I have a fairly extensive family tree on his birth father’s last name. However, none of them reflect linked dna to that last name. His parents married when she was already pregnant, him having been born 7 months after they went to the Santa Ana Courthouse and lied about her age. She was 16 and he was 20, but the license says that she was 18. Their mothers were friends, my GG Elizabeth and Olive Worley Haynes.  They obviously married to make my father legitimate, and they separated very soon after his birth.  Until the DNA results, it didn’t occur to me that my father’s biological father might not be the man in his birth certificate. 

It took a long time to find dna relatives on that side who were closely enough related to provide any kind of clue  I found second cousins to me who were half siblings to each other (a pair of full sisters, and their half brother).   Their shared father was estranged from them, too.  They did not grow up with his name, either. Eventually one of the sisters was able to give me her father’s mother’s maiden name.  This led me to a Jewish family of Russian origin (Brill) from NY, who had one son move out to So Cal and raise sons.  One of them may well be my father’s biological father.  

More convoluted than that is the fact that my father’s own paternal grandfather may not be as advertised, based on DNA breadcrumbs that relate me to a Poole family.  My GG and her daughter, my grandmother, parted from their children’s named fathers very early, and no one seems to have had contact with them again. All this came to my knowledge long after anyone who might have any of them died.  My father is 20 years gone, and was the only child of an only child.  My mother knows what he told her, and what he believed to be true.  The only thing that bugs me about disavowing my Haynes paternal line is that the only pics we have of his named father shows a strong resemblance. Curiouser and curiouser.  

I can only guess at what my father’s opinion might have been of these discoveries. He might have discounted them, it might have reconciled him to his “father’s” abandonment.  

The search continues. I may yet find Haynes distant cousins, who knows.  We are certainly legally Hayneses, whether or not we are biologically related to the ones named in our original tree.  

In every true sense, we are Hayneses, because of the family my parents built.  They married 6 months into college, he was 21 and she was 17.  He had been out of his parent’s house since he was 16, getting his mother to sign off on his joining the Navy.  His mother had been in a tuberculosis sanitarium for nearly two years, and he had enough of his stepfather. Mom had been a child dancer and actor, quit to help her mother recover from a breakdown, graduating early from high school, entering college at 16.  Neither had a typical childhood, and they made a family between them, raising the three of us in the San Fernando Valley in the 50s-70s.  They raised three decent self sufficient kids, and were happy with how we turned out.  

I remain fascinated by my dna questions and mysteries, but know that my core family is who I’ve always known they were.  

Almost time to say goodbye.

 Ed’s house is clean, renovated, ready for sale. It is an enormous relief to walk though it, especially if you’ve been there from the start. It’s been 11 months since he died, 11 months since I went over to have the locks changed. This last weekend was the second of two Open Houses. It’s actually very nice. It’s sad that he never got to enjoy the house in this state. 

I hope it will sell before we hit a year. Who knew how long it would be? I’m glad I didn’t. At least we are on this side of it.  I hope that when it sells, he will Rest In Peace, and the new owners will bring it life, a new soul. 

The mail has been forwarded to Liz, and hopefully with no more to the house. Soon enough my duties will be done. I’ll likely go by and tell the house/him goodbye. Jen came out for Mom’s birthday dinner and had a good look around the house. It helped her with closure, a bit of relief. 

Goodbye Ed. Rest well. 

Life goes on.

 I last wrote of my ex husband’ s death and his nightmare of a hoarder house. Progress is being made.My youngest is being appointed executor, and they have hired an experienced team to clean out, hold estate sales, rehab and sell the home. I go by periodically for mail and to have a look see and keep the girls informed. The first of multiple estate sales at the house this past weekend. So much stuff. A lot of it of decent value. China, Playmobile sets, you name it. And people were buying it. I hope their kids won’t have to get rid of it, one day. The girls will come see the house once it’s empty, painted and ready for sale. For the closure, for the peace. 

The cleanup team found a packet of b and w pics, which were from a Christmas when my ex was 3. Per the girls’ wishes, I just sent them off to my former mother-in-law.  Poor woman has lived to see the death of two of her three sons. My eldest had me send scans of the pics to her before I put it in the mail. She commented that it made her sad that such a cute little kid, whom she felt she closely resembled, could have grown up to be such a s*t  I understand  that feeling  I am sometimes struck by how sad it is that the man who died in that house was so far removed from the man I married. 

I’m glad to go to the house, to save the girls from leaving their work and lives to watch over things. It is, however, exhausting. I think the house is a drain on my energy, from the sheer enormity of the mess it’s been. And , as I said, for the pathetic life led there, at the end. I do it for the girls, and so,  as a mom, I worry less.  I hope he rests in peace. I hope we all find it. 

I had no idea.

 I came here to note my ex-husband’s passing, which was a week ago Sunday, barely ten days ago. Actually he likely died the day before, but 10 days ago is when he was found. Found during a welfare check called in by my eldest daughter, after his neighbors found me, looking for her. After his only living brother had reached out to her because my ex had not shown up where expected. 

He was found in a horrifying packed house that would make most hoarders shudder. He had lived there for  over 25 years, alone since our daughters went away to college and never looked back. They had long since lived with only me, since they were old enough to take a stand. 

Over the 15 years we were married he was a pack rat, and had packed our garage with his purchases. When he finally moved out, I set a deadline before I would empty it. He slowly filled the house he eventually bought, which became merely dysfunctional in my daughters’ middle school years. In the last decade and half it became derelict warehouse, full of some things of value, as well a mind-numbing nightmare of of piles of paper, non-functional appliances, nearly 2000 square feet that obscured windows, a barely discernible path from one room to another. He apparently ate and slept in a couple dozen of those square feet. A nightmare for my girls to try to address, from thousands of miles away, with my help. 

What I didn’t realize, since I don’t post here all that often, is that my last post was about him. About my realization regarding his anger at not being able to control me. Well, I guess he showed us. He went down the rabbit hole and didn’t come out until he died. I hadn’t spoken to him since 2015, but met his neighbors when I went to secure the house for the girls. They were fond of him, as he had evolved into the sociable eccentric outside of his house. They tried to help him, but no one was allowed in his house, and he wouldn’t let anyone help him. 

He had clearly descended into madness. He had a great pension, and did not lack for money. He just wouldn’t/couldn’t clean it up. He kept collecting and crammed it in to his house, a garage that collapsed, two non operational cars on the property. 

In the end, he exerted control by not letting go of anything, until there was no room to move, nothing functioning, and he died among his “stuff.”  

My poor daughters are left quite literally with his mess to clean up.  It will take months to get it remedied and the house sold. 

His neighbors were relieved when I showed up to help secure the property, begin the process on their behalf. They were glad to find out that sane people were going to address the blight on the block. My ex had to die for them to get some relief. 

It is both angering and pathetic. If he hadn’t left so much damage in his wake, if he was a stranger to me, it might have saddened me. 

As it is, it is a bit haunting. The man I married over 40 years ago died well before my ex husband did. 

When I wrote my prior post, in Sept of 2021, I had no idea I would be writing of his death within months. 

I am glad I had that clarity, then. It helps me better understand what is almost incomprehensible. 

Realizing a couple of things.

 I came here to say what I had realized about my former husband, whom I usually spend zero time in any given week thinking about, having divorced him over a quarter of a century ago.  

I was distracted by that last two posts I made, which were 3 and 2 years ago. One was about my doctor, who is now leaving the practice.  The other was about my retirement, which had just begun. The good news is that I’m quite used to it now, having been assured by my financial lady that I will not run out of money. I miss bringing in new money, but am glad I was so diligent about saving for my retirement, which came sooner than expected. 

So, what I came here to note. I am reading Alan Cumming’s book Not My Father’s Son.  It is, in large part, about his father’s abusive ways. Somewhere along the way I realized that my ex was angry and emotionally abusive with and to those whom he thought could do nothing about it. He was a weak person, with no well of empathy or caring to draw upon. His father (actually his stepfather since he was three, although he did not know until he was 18, and never met his biological father) felt no kinship with him, and displayed primarily contempt for his wife, my former mother-in-law.  He led her to believe she had no choice but to stay with him. She believed him, but exacted her passive-aggressive bride price in her constant victimhood. She was not nurturing, and her son continued his stepfather’s contempt. 

He became toxic once there were any challenges or demands.  He resented me as his family resented each other.  Once I realized what I was modeling for my daughters, I divorced him. He was emotionally abusive to them until they were able to distance themselves.  I didn’t recognize it as weakness until now. He struck out at whomever he thought had no choice  Once we all exercised our choices, he had no power left.  Fortunately, my daughters (although he did some damage) are strong, and whole.  We won.  

The Doctor I wrote about.

 The doctor I wrote about in 2018, whom I was none to fond of, continued to be less than nurturing.  I kept swearing I was going to change, but never quite got to it, prior to the pandemic. I managed to get done what I mostly needed, but ran into a billing problem for annual blood tests because of a lack of diagnostic codes on the work request. I had to call back and forth between Medicare, the lab billing people, and my doctor’s office at length over weeks, and was not amused by the lack of substantive response from the office. I swore I would change doctors as soon as the billing was settled. Then I had mammograms that led to ultrasounds, which led to biopsies. Fortunately that all came out fine, and I waited to make sure the billing was not a problem. That finally happened, and I went in for a visit to get my refills and then look into switching. She was remarkably warm and fuzzy and seems on top of her game, which I found slightly confusing. Then I got the letter this week that she was leaving the practice. Of course she is. No wonder she was so cheery. So, now we will see whom I am offered. Fun times. 

Welcome to my retirement.

Welcome to the first official day of my retirement .

The good news is that the severance and last check came in, in a timely manner, and a small pension kicked in today. So I am feeling a lot safer, financially. Certainly for several months.

I am waiting for the retiree and COBRA medical papers to come, so that can commence.  I got the most out of my FSA, with a little room left for straggling bills.

I am still pending a sit down with my financial advisor lady, to map out a long range plan. I don’t think I am quite ready for a  permanent vacation, but I have some time I can take to rest and to plan. I have been offered free career counseling, which I will pull the trigger on, come October.  I also have possibilities of picking up some part time underwriting work from home, from friends who have gone elsewhere.

I will miss being so valued by my team.  However, my team was partly disassembled by the jobs eliminations, mine and one of my fellow RMs, and, to my shock, my now former boss. They wanted the head of  our credit/underwriting take on his duties, with no upgrades, and she also gave notice.  They will backfill and patch the team support together, and I am hoping it will go reasonably well,  but it will not be the same. So there are  blessings in the way things came down for me.

I am not entirely certain what the next year or so will look like, but I know I will come out OK.

Onward.

Loyalty as a lost quality o

So. After nearly 24 years with the same company and division, my position has been eliminated. It seems I have become a luxury. At 64, it a tough age to be looking for a new job. It’s an awkward age, really. Old to be looking for work, and young to retire. I was going to hang in other 2, 2.5 years.  I had a plan, a good one.  But my massive employer that touts itself as inclusive, caring, careful of the environment, with all its concern about the employee experience needed to cut some costs. So I, and the oldest person in the department , and all our seniority, are out.

They’ve offered a severance package, which I can accept ( and receive if I behave myself) , so, after my remaining 30 days, I can take it and go find work, and extend my medical coverage at my own expense.  So, I am likely to survive. 

It is, however, daunting to think that nearly a quarter of a century of loyalty, hard work, and being able to roll with changes, I am out. I have been evicted from my work home, so to speak. In 30 days. No time to have a wake, to mourn, little time to figure out how to land. 

They are dangling a more junior position, at less salary, a commute away, as a possible opportunity. It would mean working without interruption, and not have to go through looking for work.  

There are a lot of hoops to jump through to get to the severance, extending medical, etc, and the above might be an easy way out. And I would be good at the new position, as described.  But. I am tired. I have been waiting for my coming vacation, and need it.  It sounds really good to rest for a couple of months and then figure it out. If only I could have waited 2 more years.  Make plans and God laughs. 

I would like peace of mind. Taking less pay with no severance isn’t all that appealing. And who knows when they would cut jobs again.  

In any case, I will get good advice and figure it out. I just really didn’t want things to change so abruptly.  I was in need of a rest, but thought it would be when I was ready. 

Ah well, the best plans of meeces and men. 

Doctor as caretaker

My medical group has been letting me down lately. I had established a comfortable relationship with my primary care physician, and my understanding of how things work with my HMO was good and workable.  She laughed at my jokes, she kept an eye on my general health, all that. If I needed something, I knew how to get through to her assistant in her office, I got my prescriptions renewed when I needed them.

Then a couple of things happened .  She became semi retired, whatever that means in the medical world, a couple of years ago. She only came in two days a week, and appointments were weeks if not months out.  I saw her PA, a lovely young lady named Jennifer .  I could get in when I needed to, things got done. Another change is that you could no longer get through directly to an office.  You had to go through a call center , leave a message , maybe hear back. Most of my prescriptions were written by my primary care doc.  Renewals meant having to time the request to land on her desk during the two days she was in, or wait a week. Too many miscommunications with my pharmacy. I scheduled my annual physical with her PA Jennifer. Had it, got my orders for a mammogram and for blood tests and all that, some of the refills I needed, with instructions to have any called to her. Great, right?

Then, when I went to renew one that I had no more refills on , and the pharmacy called me to say that they had been informed that my PA was no longer with the group, and no doctor there would do any renewals unless they had seen me. Mind you, this is after going to this group for decades. So, I made an appt., which they called and changed because the Dr I was scheduled to see decided to go to a conference the week I was scheduled. They kindly squeezed me in at the end of a day. The day I was supposed to go they called to see if I wanted to come in early. Unfortunately I work for a living. When I got there, the assistant asked me about all my prescriptions, and history and all.  Then the Dr came in and asked me all the same...after asking me why I was there.  The real answer was , “ because you made me”. In any case, she reviewed my prescriptions, asked who and why they were prescribed, had to ask me if I had been seen recently and if I got all my blood work done, and how it turned out. Not encouraging. She explained that she tried to review some stuff before she saw me, but that she had four new patients today....in the end, pretty much got the renewals with refills I needed., though the ones that they did electronically, they sent to the wrong pharmacy, which threw the Dr for a loop as she had a meeting to get to , and I was her last appt. I got written ones for two, and the others will be righted tomorrow.  I called the wrong pharmacy, myself and cancelled, which they appreciated. She wouldn’t refill one because she doesn’t trust compounding pharmacies, so we will try her substitute and see how it goes. She really thinks I should drop hormones and get on with my aging  

So mission mostly accomplished, but I am not feeling like I found a home, so to speak. I will likely look around to see if I can find a new medical group. One of the things that also changed was my medical coverage is now PPO, vs HMO. That gives me more latitude on how to proceed.

We shall see. It would be nice to feel you can rely on your doctor to know you and work with you. Darn that Jennifer the friendly PA, who moved to SF.

My latest letter to the editor.

Got published again today

It is award season, and I nominate Carl Cannon for “ best continuing attempted defense of Trump while looking for someone else to point a finger at.”  

Cannon is tireless in his ongoing campaign to defend with faint condemnation any despicable act or comment or tweet by our President .  His formula to date has been to offhandedly mention the offense, then launch into an enumeration of sins, both real and imagined, of anyone in the opposition. 

I present for your consideration his column on January 21st.   In a week full of vital issues and true offenses in word and deed by our President , Cannon spent most of his column defending him by attacking Dick Durban’s credibility as the source of disclosing Trump despicable language about less fortunate countries.  About halfway through the column he conceded that “Donald Trump has greater credibility issues than Durbin, not to mention his own trove of racially insensitive remarks, and even dumber historical references.  So, the President is not easily defended.”  Yet, Cannon, guided by the old adage that the best defense is a good offense, continues his “what- aboutism” defense by going after Durbin, Schumer, and anyone else he could dig up.  Diversion tactics.  

Cannon, in essence, buried the lead by asking , 3/4 of the way through the column, whether it is time to slow immigration.  He admits that it is hard to imagine a less productive way to start the conversation than Trump’s “outhouse “ remarks, as Trump 

“apparently did.” Apparently did. After spending the majority of his column questioning the credibility of those who accused Trump of this remark? Yet, having said this, he took those to task who criticized Trump’s utterly unacceptable language and attitude, by saying it only served to win elections, not effect policy change. So, it is the criticism of such language and bull-headed obstructionist tactics that is the issue, not a garbage-spewing self-obsessed head of state who, though famous for touting his deal- making, throws a monkey wrench in the works of any potential negotiation by his blustering outbursts?  Good to know.  

Elise Power

Garden Grove, CA 

714-534-3769 

Sent from my iPad

A lump of coal

My latest letter to the OC Register, in regard to the recently passed tax reform bill:


It would appear that Carl Cannon took Christmas Eve off from his column. I presume this because it appeared to have been ghost written by the current Administration. Like the Trump White House and most Republican leaders, it perpetuates the myth that the benefit of the new tax bill for middle class Americans will be proved by their 2018 paychecks. Seeing more take-home pay due to lower withholding does not prove anything except a lower withholding tax table. The true proof of the impact to a tax payer’s bottom line will come when they see how they are affected by all the changes to allowable deductions, for those who itemize ( which are many more than the public would be led to believe).  Once all the newly removed or reduced deductions are applied, and compared to the increased standard deduction, the standard deduction may prove the better choice, although it may well be less than prior years’ itemized deductions.  Thus, adjusted gross income may end up being higher than they were taxed on before, sharply reducing or eliminating any of the much touted benefit. 

This will be proved out when 2018 taxes are filed in 2019, conveniently after the 2018 elections. 

In addition, the reduced personal rates expire after yet another election, so all can expect their taxes to go up,  no matter what the possible current benefit. The corporate reductions remain in perpetuity, which remains the gift that keeps on giving.  

The lump of coal in the stocking of the American public will become even more evident, once legislators whose duplicity will not be found out until after the 2018 elections, begin to balance the newly deepened deficit  on the back of those who likely need it most.  The poor, the ill, the elderly. 

Happy New Year, America. 

Elise Power
Garden Grove, CA
714 534 3769 




Sent from my iPad

Harvey W and sexual predators.

So, Harvey Weinstein has been brought up short about his long history of sexual aggression with women that fell under his purview. The old “ casting couch” stories that have been pervasive for years have a face.  As the legions of women speak out, he humbly asks forgiveness for being an old dinosaurs operating under the “ old rules” and being a man of the 60’s. And off he scurries to “rehab” to get better.  Old rules? Rehab? For using his power to come at women sexually?  It’s not an addiction, Cupcake. It is being a predator.  (I was thrilled to hear Emma Thompson say it after I thought it)

Years and years of men saying “ you’ll never work in this town again” to get what they wanted from woman, or doing their best to blackball them if they didn’t get what they were after.

I am lucky that I have had no more than the inappropriate flirtation come my way from male superiors, and well back in my early career.  But I do recall the skepticism I received when I once reported a phone call late at at night on an out of town training trip from a male supervisor.(This is at least 25 years ago, at a bank that I don’t think even exists anymore)  He called me at 1:30am to ask me how I was enjoying the training, and what I thought of it.  He didn’t propose anything, but he sounded drunk and who  calls at 1:30 to ask your thoughts? I told him I needed to get to bed and we hung up. He called me later in the morning to profusely apologize for calling at such an inappropriate hour and that he hadn’t realized how late it was when he called and looked for my ressurance that I wasn’t upset.  I later mentioned it to a female ops manager and our male manager at the time. They both looked at me with an arched eyebrow, and asked “ why would he do that, and why are you telling me this .”  I told them I didn’t know what he wanted, and I was telling them because it made me uncomfortable and that I thought someone besides me should know. They dropped the matter like hot potato, and looked at me sidelong thereafter, as if I had hoped to gain some political capital from the story.

I left that bank  for other career reasons soon thereafter, but that acting male manager nodded when I told him and said “ it’s for the best.”  I couldn’t help but feel that he was happy to see the back of me.  I later found out that the (married) male supervisor who had called me that night had been involved in a long term affair with another woman in the Bank , who had once worked directly under him. It came to light when he died suddenly of a heart attack , and she, upon hearing of it, collapsed in a sobbing hysterical heap, and had to be driven home. As I heard it told, it was an “ open” secret.  Yet my story of a late night call was met with suspicion as to my motive.

I hope we get to a point where women do not have to fear rejection, ridicule or suspicion or accusations of hidden agenda when they tell their stories.

The accusers of Bills Cosby and O Reilly are labeled attention seekers and as looking for a big payday and for their 15 minutes  of fame.  This country elected a man who spoke of forcing his attentions on young woman due to his power, who continues to dismiss the recorded conversation as “locker room talk,” as if that makes it better.  To boast of the power to do such a thing speaks of the character of a man.

Harvey used his power with impunity for decades, and has finally come to grief. We can only hope that the balance of power is tilting the other way.

I have no F's left to give, today.

I have run out of "fks" and the patience that goes with them today, for stupid thoughtless tone deaf people. This includes whiners on Facebook and the current occupant of the Oval Office.

Whiners on FB complaining about the woman judges on The Voice for being "trashy" (Miley Cyrus) and "too loud and full of herself" (Jennifer Hudson) .  Yes, we must remind  women folk to be demure and hush up and know their place, just like Adam and Blake do. (Which they don’t) Women are always too loud  or too forceful or too something when they act too much " like a man"

Our precious president, who has taken his outrage to his panting followers in ego-stoking rallies and on Twitter, with regard to black players who kneel during the Anthem.  He wants the "SOB's" fired for disrespecting the flag. Other have taken up the cry and suggest that these rich players who have never served have no right to comment on the freedoms fought for by veterans. Anybody else hear the irony in the face of the oversized infant who never served or earned his own seed money in his life?  Let's just set aside the fact that many a veteran spoke up in favor of the players right  to peacefully protest, as being part of the very rights they fought for.

If one more person says Love it or Leave it, I am going smack someone upside the head and suggest they observe other American's rights or find a place where they think they can dictate in what manner another can "properly"express their patriotism.

And, if I may be so bold, allow me to suggest to Mr Trump that he take all of the time he has spent on his infantile and inflammatory and divisive tweets and rallies and use it to figure out a way to send supplies to Puerto Rico, which he seems to have forgotten is part of the US.  They are still waiting for our delivery of supplies and desperately needed water via FEMA, because "For Texas and Florida you can send trucks, and Puerto Rico is an island in the ocean, ... a really big ocean". Did I miss the part of the story in which everything that has  been sent to Texas and Florida was all by truck?  Do we not have planes that fly across water? Mark Cuban got a plane there.  Other planes have landed there.  Were we going to paddle the supplies across in a canoe?

I do not know the actual IQ of Donald Trump. But he regularly says spectacularly stupid things. Is he really that clueless?  Tone deaf? Thoughtless?  Or just doesn't give a good God damn?

You pick one.  None is the lesser of evils.

Letters to the editor and other thoughts

I realized that I had not posted in here, in a while, and opened her up and took a look.
I guess that I have been too busy " replying" to FB posts, or commenting on them, as well as writing my marginally infamous letters to the editor of the Orange County Register.  Below is my latest effort, though I don't know if this one will be printed. It is after the terrible damage and death that Hurricanes Harvey and Irma has wrought upon Texas, Florida, and the Caribbean.

As I understood  him, Summers was eager to dispel the economic myth that disasters were good for the economy. Fair enough.

Yet, he stood in favor of price gouging during such a disaster, as a fair and useful practice in a free market. Apparently his definition of a "free market" includes those who have lost everything risking being priced out of essentials like the gasoline needed to escape, or food and water to sustain life when all provisions they had are gone.  A short version of this might be said to read, "If you can afford it, you can survive."

Or more succinctly, as Marie Antoinette was said to have replied when told the peasants had no bread, " then let them eat cake."

This second one is my answer to the Register editorial team asking if Trump was right to pardon the truly infamous , and without morals, Sheriff Joe Arpaio. (This one got published) 

In a word , no. He was not. 

He was within his legal rights, but skirted every convention, courtesy, practice and control ever put in place regarding pardons. 

Pardon requests are usually submitted to the pardon office of the Dept of Justice which screens them and researches them, usually after a minimum waiting period of 5 yrs.  Usually the convicted person has served time, and expressed remorse.

Trump issued his pardon prior to sentencing, thus all but negating the conviction unilaterally. He made clear in his speech in Arizona the day prior that he thought the sheriff was just doing his job, and that violation of the court order (forbidding him and his officers from racially profiling Latinos) was no issue to him. He made it clear he was taking care of his good friend Joe, whom he thought should have not been convicted. His disregard for the court order, ( and for the rights of the people being profiled as possible illegal immigrants) and issuing of the pardon even before sentencing, sent a message of arrogance and disrespect.  And the former sheriff made it clear he had no remorse, and may even run for office again.  

The blatant disregard for the rule of law was palpable on both their parts.  It was not merely "somewhat unorthodox" timing, as you blandly put it.  

Trump has made clear that he will do what he wants, when he wants, no matter the appearance or consequences.  And also, apparently, no matter what the court has ruled. His supporters can only hope that the next person he sets free has not done something to compromise their own personal rights.  

Sad, mad, tired.

I am tired. Tired for a number of reasons. Tired of being angry at the despicable twit of a man and the people who elected him President   It is, however, inescapable. Every day he bleats or tweets some new chunk of narcissistic and self serving crap, and signs (with a showman's flourish) yet another executive order to undo years of progress on so many fronts. Tired of being the only person of the loyal opposition reading my local newspaper full of letters of ignorance and smug condemnation of all things left of center. Writing my furious ( and often published ) letters to the editor when I just can't let something go by.

And in my fury of the state of things, I say and do ( like I always have), whatever I can to keep fighting against prejudice and ignorance.

And exhausted at the thought that the monsters have ( for the moment) won, and have encouraged the worst of our society to feel free to say out loud what they have thought.

And then saddened, even defeated, when comments are made, in print, on Facebook, on TV, to the effect of "who the hell do you think YOU are?" Or " thanks so much, its about time, where ya been”, or "what do you know about it, with all your privilege?"  Well, I am pretty sure I have been right here, saying the same things I always have, supporting the same people I always have.  I am pretty sure this isn't a bandwagon that I haven't been on before.   And, as I responded to someone, although I haven't had to deal with it all my life,  nor from the inside, I still hope to be a help to the work.

Part of the fight ( for reproductive rights) is very much mine.  As old as I am, I also have dealt with my fair share of sexist crap. However, my life has never been in danger for who I am. And I get through my day to day life without being seen as a threat to life and limb or the very fabric of society.

But I care, and hate injustice and prejudice and will keep saying so.  No matter what it looks like to either side, or how late they think I am to the party.

So now what do we do?

49% of this fair country (my own uncle included) just elected the single most despicable candidate I have ever had the misfortune to see in a race. Smug, sexist, racist, entitled, privileged, morally bankrupt...actually bankrupt-several times. Dismissive, arrogant and full of crap. Lies about what he has said , even when it is on video.  Crass, inciting, careless. Willing to say absolutely anything to score a point.  And unrepentant when caught. It is all a plot, it is all rigged.

And then he won. He is going to be our next president. Or as my girls say "not my President ".

To get elected he promised to turn back the clock on LGBT rights, on women's rights, on basic human rights for people coming to this country.  He is going to "take America back". From whom, for whom? From minorites, women, foreign born , to "give it back" to middle class white people? About whom our President elect gives not a tinker's dam. He didn't when he did business with them. They were little people he could bully into taking less than they were owed. He didn't  care about the participants in his beauty pageants, whom he treated as property..

A name calling petulant child who tweets like spoiled brat at3am. This is who half of the country has elected.  Why? Because he is different. Not a politician,  not politically correct. Another way to say, rude, crude, insulting and has no idea what the hell he is doing. But hey he is a boss.  He will just sweep in and give orders.  Like a bull in a China shop.

Just what we need to meet wth world powers. Just what we need in negotiations.

And just who we need to appoint a Supreme Court judge.

So desperate for change are millions of my fellow citizens that they would elect a ham sandwich. And they did.

I don't know what to title this one.

It is beyond my ability to truly wrap my mind around the sense of outrage that has arisen against people who dare to express their own outrage at injustice or unfair treatment, or , more especially, systemic inequality.

Black Lives Matter rose up over the sheer fact that a young black man is several times more likely than a white one to die in traffic stop. In what may appear to be a stand off, it is shoot first, ask questions later.  A black man selling cds illegally dies for " resisting" , a white man who murders in cold blood is taken alive.  A thousand different examples. The policeman says they had reason to believe the person had a gun. There was no gun, but they " believed " there was one.  Thousands of daily examples of men stopped for being black in the wrong neighborhoods. It happens every day, and someone had enough. Black Lives Matter. Because they didn't say the unspoken " too" or the words , " just as much as white ones",  the critics could not wait to say that ALL Lives Matter.  Well of course they do, Einstein.  That is the point. They all SHOULD, but it is obvious that in many cases black lives  matter less than others.  The idea was, in essence, how dare these people declare themselves ( more ) significant?  If only they would behave, these things wouldn't happen. Uh HUH.

Likewise, a rising up of women in their outrage in the despicable treatment of women as objects for their use by Trump, and men like him, gave rise to the reaction, that , well why didn't they say so before?  Seriously?  In a world and a Presidential race where a crude, insulting, angry, arrogant jerk who makes fun of the disabled, catagorizes women by their looks,  has bragged he can do what he wants because he is a star, and threatens to sue anyone who speaks against him, and claims media bias, while his female opponent is told to smile more, be less practiced and polished, made fun of for her laugh and her pantsuits, is called "nasty"  when she answers back, are we supposed to believe that this is not still a male centric society ?

I do not know a single woman who has not experienced some form of sexism, if not out and out sexual assault. In my early career, I was asked why I should receive a requested transfer since I was engaged to be married, and would probably get pregnant and quit?  At a later job, when told that my ambition was to be in Marketing, the HR guy laughed and said all those people were downtown, and that they were all men. Two later female  bosses felt the need to be tough and heartless, because " you had to be a man in a man's world".  And the examples go on and on, well into the present day. The casual cat calls in the street, the comments on their bodies, the unwanted attention on public transportation, the " smile, sweetheart, be nice" the comments on appearance that is fair game for female, never for males. Women who call out their aggressor are accused of being attention-seeking, trying to cause trouble, character assassination.

Trump is dismissive and insulting about women, yet claims that " no one respects women more " than he does. How he does not spontaneously combust when he says that? Or hit by a celestial lightening strike. His bragging about what being" a star" allowed him to get away with spoke volumes about his attitude toward women.  Anyone who dismisses it as "just talk" misses the point.  Women are not playthings, nor are they property to be disrespected in such a manner.

All this to say, that, in response to the growing legion of women coming forward, many ask why now? Why not then?  And, the response that makes me want to throw things, that the world is turning on men . "These women" are conducting a war on men, are ganging up on the poor darlings.

Ahem, pointing out that being white and being male  ( and being rich in many cases) gives one protection and, more often than not, advantage, in this world, is not waging war with those with the advantage. Nor is decrying unfair or downright criminal behavior  "publicity seeking".

The coming forward of women to support the stories that his own taped words outlined ( and later tried to claim was just " locker room talk") is not a conspiracy.  And Selma Hayek's, who has nothing to gain by it, coming forward to describe her own experience, is not a attention-seeking behavior. Why now? Because it is being  denied now, and because it needs saying now. And because woman are feeling safe enough to come forward now.

In America, in this time, it should not need be said that our black citizens ( criminal or suspects or innocent) should have the same odds of survival as whites citizens.  It should not need be said that women's bodies are their own, and back the hell off.   But as long as it still happening  ( which it is, no matter how deeply you bury your head in the sand)  we will keep making noise, and refuse to take it any more. Just because it doesn't happen in your life, doesn't mean it isn't out there.  It isn't war on those it doesn't happen to, it is war on those who do it.