Enduring Words

I'd forgotten about blogging, forgotten that I'd put myself out here in print so long ago.  I don't even remember 2009, but there it is: pictures of my dogs, Christmas dinners and such.  So much has changed.  No more hosting holiday dinners, or any dinner for that matter.  Hardly any hosting at all.  I live in a different house, and it's not set up for hosting.  And the desire is gone. Zoey the yellow dog has passed on.  Puck remains, deaf and more willful than ever, but still an endearingly cute little shit.  I have remarried. I am a grandmother and an executive, or at least a middle manager and have grown soft from being more sedentary.  I am approaching retirement and contemplating how to conduct my "next best life." Time gets away.  I worry about looking back in regret.

This is is the year 2020, the year of the pandemic--Covid-19.  We wear masks outside and cannot eat inside a restaurant.  Non-essential businesses are closed, and, thus, businesses are closing. For Lease signs are appearing in more and more of the storefronts. People are out of work.

There are protests and riots through-out the country.  BLM: black lives matter. People are polarized and angry.  Extreme left ideology has given birth to cancel culture and is eradicating free speech in universities; even institutions such as Princeton and Yale have begun to censor diverse speech and to contemplate eliminating merit-based, scholastically competitive entrance requirements. Opinions are transformed into facts as they circulate through social media, the biggest social experiment of all time, with no checks or balances and with unknown consequences.

Our national goverment is in turmoil.  Donald Trump is our president and he is the biggest liar of them all.  All the politicians are liars, but his lies lack the decorum of everyone else's. We are due for a revolution.  The United States of America, once such a great nation, is in a state of decline.  Who will swoop down upon us and attempt a takeover? Who will step up and defend our nation? A nation of me and I not we and us.

California is on fire again. And now Oregon is too.  The fires have threatened some of our ancient redwood forests, charring 1,000 year old trees. It's not necessarily hotter, as I expected from global warming, but it's drier.  We watched a ligtening storm out the window of the cabin at the Russian River in early August. It was humid and close and eventully started to rain.  I don't remember weather like that in Northern California.  Not in the summer.

Miraculously, even in the midst of all of it, I stand unscathed: healthy, employed, married, housed, connected to small circle of family and friends for whom I am grateful. 

Zoey

I'm watching Zoey for four days.
Zo is tolerant, gentle. Puck is a better dog when he has a good example around.
Cute Zo. She's the best dog in the world. Hands down.
Puck is a cute little monster, too.

First Fire

Had my first fire as a boss the night before last. We were third due on the first alarm (it went to a second) and stretched a backup line to the seat of the fire. Very exciting for me. Need to work on keeping better track of my crew. That's my responsibility now and easily overlooked at a fast-moving, rapidly changing fire scene--not to mention it's so dark and smoky you can hardly recognize anyone around you. Still, no one was hurt (including civilians) and I came away from it feeling good about a job well done.

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Haven't been posting much, because, honestly, it is very difficult to edit one's life for public viewing.

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Puck. I've never had such a sickly little dog in my life. $800 in vet bills so far this month... $200+ last month, $200+ the month before, etc., etc., not to mention all the money we've spent on beds, toys, treats, clothing (yes, clothing) for the little monster.

He's awfully f*cking cute though. I mean really, really cute. It's a good thing, because that's about all I have to recommend of him. Willful, defiant, sickly little .... We love him though. He's pretty damn cute.

Excuse the expletives, but that's how I feel about him.

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Bid for and made my first choice of firehouse spots. Come Spring, I will be lieutenant at a fire station in the Western Addition, a somewhat rough part of town. I went through this station as a probie and loved it. It's a house that tends to attract hard-working, salty, funny people. I'm looking forward to it.

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Life is good. I am thankful for my life and all that I have: love, good friends, a great job, good health, Puck. I am content.

Christmas Dinner was Disgusting

... but a festively appointed place setting appeases the guest.

Of course, none of the guests said so, but I'm sure they were just being gracious.

Beef wellington--soggy, pasty, bland.
Green beans--greasy.
Potatoes--bland, underdone.

Every time I open the refrigerator, a pungent odor of shallots makes me close the door again, my appetite spoiled. The scent of meat, grease, bacon clings in the air.

You truly are what you eat, and I just don't eat that way at home.

M and I laughed about it over the phone last night, and then I took an oath to destroy all remnants of Christmas Dinner. I feel bad for wasting food, but you might not understand how disgusting and distasteful the leftovers are.

Today I will return to sanity and make up a big batch of my fantastic very vegetable chicken soup. You should get the recipe from me: it's quick, easy, chock full of good veggies such as chard or other greens, Brussels Spouts, leeks, etc., and tastes delicious every time. Only takes about 20 minutes to make.

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A word on haggis. I know what you're saying, I don't want a big dollop of it on my plate either. However, this batch was wonderfully spiced and served in little filo triangles. It was amazing. Besides, when in Rome....

By the way, in Scotland I went to a whiskey tasting. It was held in a whiskey shop--not as a special event, mind you, but as part of their regular business. All the whiskeys were out on a table--free to the taster. It was very peaty stuff and reminded me of licking a dirty ashtray (not that I would know, of course). Joy. And the taste lingers on the tongue for hours.

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Here's Puck. He's gone awfully quiet in the house, so I'll withdraw to find out what he's into.

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Almost forgot. Assigned seats went great. R noticed it right off the bat, saying loudly to the room, "Don't just sit anywhere you want, you know, there's a specific place for everyone."

Then, at dinner, I apologized to M's 28-year-old son for having to put him at the kids' table, seeing that he's hardly a child anymore, and R chimed in "Well, I may as well be at the kids' table."

I simply smiled.

Break Bread

Had to call a coworker yesterday. He was altered--drunk? stoned? Yuck. Anyhow, he asked me what I want for Christmas. I told him, "Nothing really. How about a million dollars?"

He said, "No, seriously. What do you really want for Christmas."

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I have much to be thankful for.

I have a great job. Just got a promotion. I have a nice roof over my head. I have friends, family, love. I have it all. Life is good.

Top Three Christmases:

Christmas 2008. Christmas at home with M. I am truly happy. Life is great. I am in love.

Christmas 2005. Christmas in Scotland with A. Morning jog in Edinburgh; scrumptious English breakfast then fabulous Goose dinner with root vegetables and haggis; colored paper crowns; cigarettes.

Christmas 1998. First Christmas with B (who taught me the joy of Christmas). Vince Guaraldi's "A Charlie Brown Christmas"; my first tree; flannel dog pyjamas.

Mentor A Child...

... it gives you a chance to act like one.

Even President Elect Obama is beating the mentoring drum: New York Times.

I began volunteering about six years ago in my search for a sense of purpose.

I became a mentor in September '08.

What do I know about children? Not much, really, except that I was one. For those of you who know me, children have never been part of my world. Honestly, they make me a little uncomfortable. Or at least they used to. Being around M has helped: he's great with kids.

But I wanted to work with the living, because I'd just spent 18 months volunteering for someone who was dying, and I needed a change.

So I found a program here in town, and they set me up with a 12-year-old, sixth-grade girl.

Last week, I took her into the City to see "A Christmas Carol." For me the ride down and back was the best part, because for the first time in all our meetings, she really opened up. For an hour each way, we listened to the music she brought and she talked. And talked. And talked. My god! the pressures she is facing are enormous.

What do I know about children? I don't know if it really matters. I know about showing up when I say I'm going to, about following up on something I've suggested, about listening carefully and asking questions rather than being dismissive. Being with her helps me remember what I was like at her age and how adrift I really was.

I know what was missing in my life, in so many of my friend's lives: strong adult role models and/or good parents.

Will I be perfect? No. Will my judgment always be the best? I sure hope so but probably not. But I know I have a couple of hours a week to give to her, and I know I can be a good example.

Can't recommend mentoring enough. Pass it on.

Power Hungry Christmas

This blog was inspired by Stickybeak.

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I'm hosting Christmas dinner this year. Feeding 14. My family, what few there are, won't be in attendance, but M's family will, along with a few single friends we each have.

I know Christmas is four days away, but I set the table today: polished the silver, washed the china, decorated the table with poppers and hats and confetti, figured out who gets which plates and glasses, since I don't have a set of 14 of anything.

I decided to assign seats, so I set out working on the seating chart this afternoon and then made fancy place cards to make it official.

I felt quite devilish,using my power to put people wherever and next to whomever I pleased. My goal in dictating who sits where is twofold: first, to subtly punish R for his drunken and appalling behavior out at dinner the other nigh (I've put him so close to the "children's table" that he might as well be sitting at it) and, second, to keep him as far as possible from booze and lively conversation--easily accomplished by putting him between his wife and his 11-year-old daughter.

Very satisfying, indeed.