Because somebody set fire to several ballot drop off boxes in California and because there are rumors of fake and tampered ballot boxes, I decided that it was worth the one-hour roundtrip drive to the Registrar of Voters office to have the peace of mind that my vote would be counted in this most important election year.
They had created a drive-through drop off at the Registrar’s location. It was so easy and there was no line, just a steady stream of cars. The nice lady confirmed that my signature was correct and that I had dated it, said thank you to me, and sent me on my way with the “I Voted” sticker.
Now I can check online to make sure that the barcode was read, and I’ve done our most important civic duty.
I believe this is the most important election of our lifetime. I’m beyond shocked at the racism and misogyny and targeted hatred that’s been uncovered these last four years.
In my opinion, it will take a lifetime to scour their systemic toxicity and re-educate certain sectors of our country about things I thought we all learned decades ago.
Here’s just a couple of the major things that piss me off.
Black lives matter. We can’t continue to allow this systematic murder of people simply based upon the color of their skin. It’s INSANE.
NEVER EVER strip babies and children from their parents and put them in cages because they were looking to escape violence. This is beyond disgusting. Those poor children.
Women have the RIGHT to choose what happens to our bodies. No one else. NO ONE.
Trust Dr. Fauci.
Stop killing animals to profit from their habitats.
Climate change is real.
There are many more issues, but for me, these are intrinsically the basis of what I fight for. Also, NEVER EVER again allow a failed reality TV show narcissist to run for office and cheat the system. EVER.
We all know Hillary won the popular vote. That’s why an overwhelming turnout this year is the antidote we need.
As I’m sure a lot of us have been doing lately, I’ve been contemplating Blogger or some other blogging platform because in all seriousness, the Block Editor SUCKS. I’ve tried to surmount my initial criticism of it and learn how it operates (an old dog learning new tricks) but it’s still REALLY not user friendly. Anyway, here’s a very interesting and intelligent post regarding the pros and cons of Blogger.
Some of you probably know of bloggers who left their blog on WordPress to set up a new blog on Blogger.
And, some of you are also aware of the fact, that some of the bloggers on WordPress are thinking about going over to Blogger.
A lot of the older folks (and some of the younger people too) disliked WordPress’s decision to replace the Classic Editor with the Block Editor (That caused them to consider the option of blogging over on Blogger).
For the record, I am not going to discourage anyone from creating a blog over on Blogger because they are within their rights to do so.
However, they should do some research on Blogger (Especially if they have never been on that blogging platform before).
One of the greatest mistakes that any blogger can make is jumping blindly into something that they know nothing of; which in this…
I saw an abundance of crows; not sure why, but quite a few of them joined me today.
This sign was posted a few blocks away; not a very nice person! I hope she’s caught and the dog is found unharmed.
When I got to the beach, I was astonished to observe how many people were walking so close to each other in public and absolutely defied the “Wear a Mask” order.
I encountered no one during my walk but I wore a mask when I crossed the street to stop at the restroom. I observed many non-compliant people huddled together on the seawall and sidewalk, pretty much 90% were NOT wearing masks, so I turned right around and went home. My own mask didn’t seem like enough protection and I didn’t feel like yelling at them.
They are not being good neighbors or visitors to our city.
The County of San Diego requires face coverings to be worn anywhere in public where you could come within 6 feet of someone you don’t live with. Face coverings should be worn in addition to, not instead of, all of the other health precautions.
At last, a couple photos of early morning surf before I walked back.
I originally posted this in 2017 but it seems relevant now more than ever, especially in the aftermath of Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg’s untimely death and what that means to the Supreme Court and our messed up country, so I freshened it up a bit for 2020. When I first posted this, I also posted on another site and received some angry comments so I guess it touched a few nerves, fired up some triggers; oh well. Don’t shoot the messenger.
I had never heard the word– Wetiko— until a couple years ago and now it’s cropping up everywhere since it’s on my radar.
From my Google search:
The term Wetiko is a Cree term (windigo in Ojibway, wintiko in Powhatan) which, to quote Forbes, refers to “an evil person or spirit who terrorizes other creatures by means of terrible evil acts.”[ii] Wetikos are the human instruments for the transpersonal ‘spirit of evil’ to terrorize the world.
There seems to be a collective query rising up from the huddled masses of humanity who search for answers to everything from Trump to climate change, deadly natural disasters to senseless murders, and a pervasive lack of empathy and compassion.
Is there an epidemic of broken, undeveloped frontal lobes, of dysfunctional, maladjusted, deteriorating, and infected amygdalas?
Narcissism and Cluster B psychopathy run rampant in our culture, feeding on those who still have that innate ability to feel empathy and compassion, who possess a real soul and a kind spirit.
Those dark and toxic parasitic Wetiko entities are cannibalistic, predatory, soul-LESS, selfish, and hostile: a cancer of the soul; a shapeshifter.
“Just as viruses or malware infect a computer and program it to self-destruct, Wetiko programs the human biocomputer to think and behave in self-destructive ways.
Covertly operating through the unconscious blind spots in the human psyche, Wetiko renders people oblivious to their own madness, compelling them to act against their own best interests.
People under its thrall can, like someone in the throes of an addiction or in a state of trauma, unwittingly create the very problem they are trying to resolve, clinging desperately to the thing that is torturing and destroying them.
People taken over by Wetiko are suffering from an autoimmune disease of the psyche. In autoimmune deficiency syndrome, the immune system of the organism perversely attacks the very life it is trying to protect. In trying to live, it destroys life, ultimately destroying even itself. In the same way, once Wetiko has insinuated itself into a living entity, it acts like a perverted antibody, treating the wholesome parts of the system as cancerous tumors to be exterminated.
This problem is being collectively acted out on the world stage. Humans are destroying the biosphere of the planet upon which we all depend for our survival.
Wetiko is at the bottom of the seemingly never-ending destruction we are wreaking on this biosphere. One example is the destruction of the Amazonian rainforest, the lungs of the planet. Another example is the terminator seeds that are genetically engineered not to reproduce a second generation, forcing farmers to buy new seeds and making life impossible for many poor farmers. If the planet were seen as an organism, and people seen as cells in this organism, it would be as if these cells had become cancerous or parasitic and had turned on the healthy cells, destroying the very organism of which they themselves were a part.
Our species appears to be enacting a mass ritual suicide on a global scale. Paul Levy “Dispelling Wetiko: Breaking the Curse of Evil” Quest 102.4 (Fall 2014): pg. 146-151.
Also from Paul Levy…Wetiko disease is an expression of the convincing illusion of the separate self gone wild. Bewitched by the intrinsic projective tendencies of their own mind, full-blown Wetikos are unconsciously doing the very thing they are reacting to while simultaneously accusing other people of doing it.
Projecting the shadow onto others, they will accuse others of projecting the shadow onto them. To use an extreme, but prototypical example, it is like someone screaming that you’re killing them as they kill you.
If their insanity is reflected back to them, they think it is the mirror that is insane. Suffering from a form of psychic blindness that believes itself to be sightedness, full-blown Wetikos project out their own unconscious blindness and imagine that others, instead of themselves, are the ones who are not seeing.
Governed by the insane, self-perpetuating logic of fear and paranoia, those taken over by the disease fear that if they don’t attack and rule over others, they are in danger of being attacked and ruled over themselves.
In their convoluted, upside-down, flawless illogic, Wetikos’ act to their own projections in the world as if they objectively exist and are other than themselves, thinking that they themselves have nothing to do with creating that to which they are reacting.
In Wetiko disease, the psyche takes the ‘terror’ that haunts it from within, and in its attempt to master it, unwittingly becomes taken over by it, thus becoming an instrument of terror in the world.
We have then become the thing we most feared, ‘creatures of the European nightmare world,’ as we psychologically terrorize ourselves, as well as terrorizing the world at large.
Because full-blown Wetikos are soul murderers who continually recreate the ongoing process of killing their own soul, they are reflexively compelled to do this to others; for what the soul does to itself, it can’t help but do to others.
In a perverse inversion of the golden rule, instead of treating others how they would like to be treated, Wetikos do unto others what was done unto them. The Wetiko is simply a living link in a timeless, vampiric lineage of abuse.
Full-blown Wetikos induce and dream up others to experience what it is like to be the part of themselves which they have split off from and denied, and are thus not able to consciously experience – the part of themselves that has been abused and vampirized. In playing this out, Wetikos are transmitting and transferring their own depraved state of inner deadness to others in a perverse form of trying to deal with their own suffering.
Paradoxically, Wetikos both try to destroy others’ light, as it reminds them of what they’ve killed in themselves, while simultaneously trying to appropriate the light for themselves.
The disease itself is now demanding that we pay attention to it, or it will kill us.”
“An eye for an eye only makes the whole world blind”. – Ghandi
Native American author and philosopher Jack Forbes further adds:
“This disease, this Wetiko (cannibal) psychosis, is the greatest epidemic sickness known to man.” We, as a species, are in the midst of a massive psychic epidemic, a virulent collective psychosis that has been brewing in the cauldron of humanity’s psyche from the beginning of time.
Like a fractal, Wetiko operates on multiple dimensions simultaneously — intra-personally (within individuals), inter-personally (between ourselves), as well as collectively (as a species). “Cannibalism,” in Forbes’s words, “is the consuming of another’s life for one’s own private purpose or profit.”
I don’t read much science fiction…I’m a chicklit girl, but my research about Wetiko led me to this article about the (deceased) sci-fi author, Phillip K. Dick (you might know him as the author of Bladerunner.)
This isn’t the post I had planned for Saturday but we have all heard the devastating news.
On Rosh Hashanah, Ruth Bader Ginsberg, Supreme Court Justice, died at the age of 87 from metastatic pancreatic cancer.
I think a lot of us had the same first thoughts; “Oh no, not HER” “Not now.””NOOO!!!”
We surely don’t need her gone, not now, not during this shitshow of a year that 2020 has become.
Hearing that horrible news (tragic for her family but tragic for our country and democracy, too) brought me back to the morning my mom (the original Charlotte) died of the same disease, metastatic pancreatic cancer.
Thanks to medical advancements, RBG was able to live a lot longer after diagnosis than my mom.
Hearing about her death brought up all those same traumatic feelings of loss that I felt when I found my mom had died. She lived with us and we had cared for her during her illness with the help of a great hospice.
I had checked on her at around 5am and she was fine, not in distress, still asleep, so I did a little cleaning and made my son’s breakfast so it’d be ready for him when he woke up ‘cos it was a school day. I don’t know what prompted me to check on her again so soon, but I did. She was still in the same position; she LOOKED like she was asleep, but there was a subtle difference. I had never seen a dead person in my entire 32 years on this earth, but I knew. I knew.
I checked her carotid artery and called the hospice nurse. I woke up Angel Boy (almost 7 years old) and managed to tell him all the right things. Hospice had suggested that I ask him if he’d like to kiss his grandma goodbye, so I did. And he did. That pretty much broke me, but I’m a stoic girl and you wouldn’t know I was broken. I can break on the inside but you won’t see it. Things had to be done so I did what needed to be done. I always do.
I miss my mom. Forever.
But this is about Ruth Bader Ginsberg, a brilliant woman whose entire life was inspirational. Her loss is an epic tragedy.
About RBG’s life, the film “On The Basis of Sex” featured a song written and performed by Kesha. Here’s an acoustic version. It needs to be the anthem of our revolution. First we mourn, then we fight.
Here Comes the Change
One day I’ll be gone The world will keep turning I hope I leave this place Better than I found it Oh it’s hard, I know it’s hard To be the lightning in the dark Hold on tight you’ll be alright You know it’s time Here comes the change We’re comin’ of age This is not a phase Here comes, here comes, the change Is it a crazy thought? That if I had a child I hope they live to see the day That everyone’s equal Oh it’s hard I know it’s hard To be the right inside the wrong Hold on tight we’ll be alright You know it’s time Oh here comes the change Oh we’re comin’ of age This is not a phase Here comes here comes the change Hope there’ll come a time when we We can live in and die free I hope…
Here’s my assortment of masks waiting for me on the front seat of the car.
That’s REALITY, a temporary address where I don’t really like living for any length of time, as I’d rather dwell in the realm of fairy gardens with doors that open to a gentle forest of everlasting happiness.
How’s everyone doing with the novel Corona virus, now officially called SARS-CoV-2 (Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome Coronavirus 2)
♥ Are you masking up in public?
♥ Have you been to a restaurant?
♥ Have you or anyone you know been exposed and/or tested positive?
♥ Are you still restricting your daily activities?
♥ Are you still washing your hands more than ever?
♥ Disinfection game still at a high level?
• I wear a mask whenever I go to a store. As soon as I walk outside, I take it off.
• No restaurants or bars for me.
• My DILs brother-in-law got it, was extremely sick and hospitalized, it was touch and go but he pulled through.
• I’m in the high risk demographic and haven’t/won’t attend any large gathering and I also stay well away from anyone in public.
• Still washing/disinfecting daily but to be honest, I’ve always been a clean freak, so it’s not a hardship.
Here’s the bottom line…I HATE wearing a mask but I do it to protect myself and others.
Just in case. Kind of the same reason I wear a seatbelt. Or don’t drink and drive. To protect you and me. Just in case.
It’s a small price to pay, whether or not it’s actually necessary, but doctors and medical professionals wear masks and other PPE during surgery and when they’re in the presence of patients who present potentially contagious symptoms, so why not?
Paul Laurence Dunbar wrote a poem about another kind of mask. He was an amazingly insightful poet.
I’m going to re-post an old one from 2014 because I just saw this meme that triggered a memory. There have been many other moments like this, but the one that came first to my mind was at the hospital where we waited hours for the surgeon to walk off the elevator and tell us what the hell happened to my baby boy, and IF he was going to survive. Or not. I was strong, I was calm, I didn’t cry at all in front of anyone, but at one point, I remember going to the bathroom to cry a bit in private so I wouldn’t scare DIL, and I looked at myself in the mirror and told myself that if I cried, he died, so STOP IT and I forced myself to only think positive thoughts about the outcome. I’m not one that likes the anxiety of a cliffhanger, so I’ll tell you that he DID survive AND thrive, and that’s why we now have Angel Boy 2.0 and Angel Girl 2.0. But on that day and for two months after that, every day might have been his last, and I’m grateful for his every breath. If you know me IRL, you’ll know that is a very true statement.
They are always our babies, no matter their age, ya know?
Right now, things have calmed down a bit. Fingers crossed, we’ve avoided a crisis of nightmare proportions…
…Monday 3:00 a.m., the incessant ringing of my cell jolts me awake.
I can’t find the damn phone and it stops ringing only to start again.
This time I found it buried under a pile of clean laundry.
When I saw my daughter-in-law’s name on the screen, I almost didn’t want to answer it.
Nothing good comes from a phone call at 3:00 a.m.
And not this time, either.
With a bad connection and dropped words, trying to hear/not wanting to hear, she told me that my son, Angel Boy, was taken to an ER in Rhode Island because of excruciating stomach pains and vomiting.
“What?” That’s all I could say. She had to repeat herself a few times and talk slowly. I wasn’t comprehending.
The pain was worsening and his belly had become distended and was filling with fluid.
The first thing you think of is appendicitis or even a burst appendix, but the tests were inconclusive.
There were other diagnoses floating around but none of the tests pointed to a specific diagnosis: gastritis, diverticulitis, colitis…
The pain was overwhelming and not responsive to morphine.
There seemed to be no other alternative than to admit him and prepare for more invasive testing.
A surgical team was hastily thrown together as exploratory surgery seemed to be the only option.
We’re in California. I’s 3:00 a.m. What do we do?
The Universe was in alignment and we were able to get the last seats on a direct flight out first thing in the morning and we arrived at the hospital in time to discuss Angel Boy’s medical condition.
Whatever it was, was serious, and needed immediate intervention.
Or. Or I won’t say, but you get the picture. OR is NOT good.
Because his belly was continuing to distend as it filled with fluid and the pain was increasing, there seemed no alternative than a laparascopy with a camera.
The head surgeon speculated about what he might find: a possible bowel obstruction AND something with his appendix.
We gave him the go ahead to fix what he saw, no matter what he found.
We all kissed him goodbye as the first pre-op drugs entered his body and the surgery commenced at 8:00 p.m.
At 10:30 the surgeon came out with a smile.
Apparently, my son had a congenital defect we were never aware of — because up until then it had never caused a problem.
An abnormal sac or pouch that develops at a weak point in the intestines is known as a diverticulum. In some instances, people are born with a diverticulum in their intestines. This condition is called Meckel’s diverticulum.
Meckel’s diverticulum develops between the 5th and 7th weeks of fetal growth.
Because the condition is present at birth, it is classified as a congenital health issue. Although it generally remains silent, life threatening complications may arise.
And they did.
It was a perfect storm of a worst case scenario.
He had a massive bowel obstruction; intestines were strangulated and all knotted up. By the time the surgery started, two feet (24 inches!!!) of intestine had lost blood supply and died, all within a time span of twelve hours. The surgeon removed the necrotic part, did a resection, including eight inches of colon and removal of his appendix.
Without this life-saving surgery, there is no doubt that this Mother’s Day would not have been. It’s anticipated that he’ll have a rapid recovery — he’s already walking around around due in large part to his overall good health and fitness level.
Now, as soon as he’s released and we can fly him back to SoCal, my Mother’s Day will be spent caring for my Angel Boy and nursing him back to health.
His future is as bright as it ever was; this was just a brief course change in a life full of joy and adventure.
P.S. The surgical team at Rhode Island Hospital were/are AMAZING. We lucked out with a guy who clearly enjoys what he does, who knew his way around this type of surgery, and explained it all to us with intelligence and humor.
(An alternate title could be “Please scream inside your heart” like the signage at that theme park in Japan meant to discourage screaming on rollercoasters and reduce the spread of Covid-19.)
I’ve blogged since the summer of 2012. On one sunny day in June, my DIL told me I was really funny and I should write things down and begin to blog.
I knew nothing about blogs; never even read one, so she took the reins and opened a WordPress account for me.
That was eight years ago, as I was reminded by my WP anniversary.
At its heyday in 2014, my little blog averaged around 7,500 visits a month. For some unknown reason, my highest read posts were recipes.
After attending a BlogHer convention, I was excited and energized, ready to monetize, to grow and expand my brand and my voice.
I’ve always been a writer, especially about things that cause me to wax passionately: saving wolves, rescuing abused animals, finding humor in life from my own lens; researching and meeting and learning about all kinds of people (from Al Gore to His Holiness the Dalai Lama), reviewing cool products, and most of all, I LOVED responding to readers and comments from all over the world.
I still do. I respect and appreciate your time and the effort to reach out to a virtual stranger and engage in conversation.
Now I notice that my posts only have a handful of likes and some none at all.
My overall followers from all platforms is around 3500.
Did I lose my enthusiasm?
I know why, I DO, but I still can’t talk about what happened except to say that if you read between the lines on certain posts, you might catch a glimpse of infinite profound sadness, more death than death because I’m still alive and breathing.
The walking dead. An episode of the Twilight Zone in real life. A literal black hole.
As I’m slowly getting back into the rhythm and comfort of writing, finding my voice again, I’d like you to know that I appreciate everyone who has stayed faithful to my blog and continues to read my words, even the ones between the lines.
Much love. Seriously. ‘Cos if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s what love is. And what it is not. On any planet. Stars might be crazy, but I’m not, so I’ll continue to scream inside my heart. And my head. In a princessy way, of course.
#AnneFrank is trending today on Twitter; I wonder what she would have thought about social media? She never got the chance, though, did she, because she died in a concentration camp. I’m still angry and maybe that’s why I stand in solidarity with #blacklivesmatter and for the resistance against brutality.
I think I first read The Diary of Anne Frank when I was twelve or thirteen. The original version of the film is on Netflix, and today seems like a good day to watch it again and to honor her indomitable spirit and to remember what someone like Hitler can do to innocent people. Especially now.
Some of my favorite quotes:
–It’s difficult in times like these: ideals, dreams and cherished hopes rise within us, only to be crushed by grim reality…I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart.
–How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.
–No one has ever become poor by giving.
Human greatness does not lie in wealth or power, but in character and goodness.
–As long as this exists, this sunshine and this cloudless sky, and as long as I can enjoy it, how can I be sad?