You're Fired

Not for the murder of two American citizens on American soil by masked officers under her command.  

Not for lying repeatedly to Congress and the press.

Not for moving counter-terrorism experts to deportation duty.

Not for posing in a tight t-shirt in front of bare chested imprisoned deportees in a foreign land.

Not for non-compliance with dozens if not hundreds of judicial orders.

Not for being an adulteress with an adulterer, her supposed subordinate, in violation of moral and civil and federal employee laws.

Not for her self-promotional gazillion dollar DHS advertisement.

Not for awarding a no-bid gazillion dollar contract to a friend's 4 month old business.

Nope.

She was fired because she through her puppeteer under the bus.  She told Congress that the President knew about and approved her gazillion dollar luxury Deportee Express.  

She was fine as long as she was prevaricating and protecting the brand.  But telling the truth (sic) was apparently a step too far.

It's a lateral move (to keep her quiet?) and her replacement is (is it possible) more abhorrent.  Let the subpoenas begin.

We Are A Threat

No, not we-the-Iranian-nuclear-threat.  We the people who voted for James Talarico.

At least, that's what the Democratic candidate for Senate in Texas said tonight in his victory speech.

Texas Tribune

I'm getting used to everyone, including politicians, getting younger and younger as I get older and older.  It makes me happy.  It's what I've been preaching for a long time - young people need to be involved in this world.  But watching it is just making me feel old.  

Be careful what you wish for, I guess.  

I liked James Talarico when he first showed up in my messages, asking for money as they all do.  But his words felt different and his message resonated so I sent him $3 and moved on.

I like Jasmine Crockett.  I like her a lot.  I'll miss her voice as a public servant.  But I wondered why she entered the primary at all.  

Talarico's message was simple.  We have to stop picking on one another, because that's what our corporate overlords   the Epstein class  billionaires want.  

It's as old as Aesop - united we stand, divided we fall.

Grapefruit in the Garden

One of The Girls harvested grapefruits from a neighbor's tree and gave me a big bag full of sweet smelling treats for the Prince scholars.  As always, when there is food to be had, there are lots of I've never been in your garden before visitors.

The Garden Leader hands out the slices I cut with the knife that lives in the bench.  No,  They don't get to use it, though they all ask to try.  I haven't killed anyone yet and I'm not looking to start now.  

The blue watering cans served as our trash can, and most of the rinds ended up properly stowed and deposited in the garbage bag in the corner.  

Not everyone comes to the garden to get their hands dirty.  Some just like a shady place to sit and sketch while they snack.

Did they enjoy the treats?  Her smile gives you the answer.

It's sweet and sour at the same time.

It's like an orange and a lemon all together.

What is this called again?  I'm going to ask my mom to buy 15 of them.

We're so lucky to have generous friends and donors.

Release the Epstein Files

Wag the Dog.   IMDB describes it thusly:

A spin-doctor and a Hollywood producer join efforts to fabricate a war in order to cover up a Presidential sex scandal

Is it a true story?  The AI Summary* tells us

No, Wag the Dog is not a true story.

Apparently, Google Search has not been updated.   Replace spin doctor with America's Goebbels and Hollywood Producer with Former Weekend Anchor and it is absolutely a true story.

Whatever is hiding in the interviews with the 13 year old survivor who bit him must be beyond horrible and completely reliable and undeniable.  He's destabilized the world to keep it hidden.  

Think I'm overreacting?  Bibi has tried for 47 years to get the US involved in a war on Iran.  President after President has turned him down.  Only this one, a fool and a coward and a petty tyrant interested only in himself, said yes.

Now, tell me again how Wag the Dog isn't a true story.

* I didn't link to this.  I'm embarrassed that I used it instead of scrolling down and finding real reporting.  But Arizona is playing Iowa State right now and I'm sorry but I have to go.

Release the Epstein Files

 

I read Nobody's Girl today.  I'm glad the sun was out and TBG was next to me.  I needed all the comfort I could find, and I was just reading it.  Virginia Giuffre lived it, until she took her own life.  I am amazed that she survived as long as she did.

It's difficult to read how easily Maxwell brought girls under Epstein's influence.  The survivors call her evil and the devil.  I think that's too mild.  That the procurer of hundreds of girls is in a minimum security facility filled with women is frightening.  She obviously has very well connected protectors; Ms Giuffre refers to a former Prime Minister among those who abused her.

Her story of her father's sexual abuse started when she was just a little girl.  By the time she was a teen, working in the spa at FFOTUS's resort (a job her father found for her), she was ripe for Maxwell's offer to learn massage therapy.  Her descriptions are graphic without being pornographic; I'm not sure I could have read any more details.

There were rich financial rewards while she was in Epstein's orbit, but they were all tinged with terror.  There were rides on private planes, parties with famous people, all tinged with terror.  Escape was nearly impossible.  Her family was threatened.  Her home was burglarized.  Strangers appeared in her driveway, their headlights blaring through her front door.  

She bounced around the world with her Australian born husband, about whom she has nothing but wonderful things to say.  Unfortunately, the Introduction by her co-writer reveals that they eventually divorced, that her family describes physical abuse, that she was prohibited from visiting her children.  Even when she was telling her deepest, darkest secrets to the world, she was hiding her reality.

She was brave.  Her Survivor Sisters refer to her as their guiding light, the one whose public statements and law suits gave strength to the rest of them.  Speak Out, Act, Reclaim (SOAR), the foundation she started with the funds from her lawsuits, exists to help other survivors.  

Maxwell and Epstein were horrible people.  Our government is covering up FFOTUS's involvement.  Her story is hard to read, although the book is well-written.  You should read it too.   After you finish, call your Senators and Congresspeople and demand that it is all revealed to us.  The FBI seized thousands of video tapes.  We owe it to Virginia Guiffre and the others to see that the truth comes out.

Taking The Night Off

It's been a long week and a long month and I'm ready for a reset.  

I'll be back on Monday.

Did I Miss Spring?

I was wearing a sweater or a sweatshirt or a long sleeve flannel shirt until I wasn't.

I was planting and enjoying the breeze until I wasn't.

There wasn't a lot of warning.  It just happened.  The weather forecast tells me to expect temperatures in the 90's this weekend.  

Half the people I know are snowed under, with no end in sight.  The other half have been enduring rains and clouds.  Only we here in Southern Arizona seem to be moving right on into summer, without giving Spring a chance to say hello.

Taos Bubbe and I laughed last night - it seems we've waited too long to walk outside.  When she wondered how we got here I realized I wasn't hallucinating.  I've gone from jeans to sundresses without the usual pause for t-shirts and shorts.  

It goes down to the 50's at night.  We can still sleep with the window open for fresh air that won't boil us in bed.  The mornings are perfect until the sun begins its real work.  There was a line of sweaters on Grandma's Garden's wall; nobody needed them, especially when we were working hard.

The plants are wilting without irrigation.  We were forced to transplant some petunias from the low wooden bed to individual plastic hanging baskets to see if some personal care and attention will revive them.  

I'm not complaining.  I love my warm weather gear and the warmth and persistence of the sunshine.  I just wasn't prepared.

Hmmmm....

 It's seven minutes to the top of the hour.

The clock will tick and tock and we'll have to make a decision.

Somehow.  

We've been vacillating all day.  Blather vs physical prowess.  The certainty of cringe vs the expectation of excellence.  Allowing that man into my living room.  

We're recording both. We're watching MS NOW as the Supreme Court justices faux smile at the parade of faces passing before them.  

So far, we haven't changed the channel and now FFOTUS is shaking hands and walking to the podium.  There aren't very many Democrats in attendance.  

He's finally buttoning his coat... TBG was just appalled and even though it didn't resonate that way for me I'm delighted to have another thing to dislike about him.  

The commentators have been talking over all the procedural stuff so we switched to NBC, whose feed was a good bit ahead.  

Did you know this is the Golden Age of America?  Me, neither.  He told me the things that are happening, all the wonderful things going on in just one year, have never been seen before in this country.  I cannot disagree with that.  He says What a difference a President makes and I feel a hollowness in my soul.  He says he's lifted millions of people off food stamps and the damn Republican lackeys stood and cheered about denying sustenance to their fellow citizens.

Oh No.  The men's Olympic hockey team just came through the doors.  They're taking selfies.  The goalie is chewing gum as FFOTUS tells him he's getting the Presidential Medal of Freedom.

And at this point TBG has had enough and we're switching to Uof A vs Baylor men's basketball.  I'm breathing more deeply already.

Just When You Think It Can't Get Any Worse

Kristi Noem found a pilot dumb enough to fly into a massive, windy snowstorm and land without warning at a New Hampshire airport that had closed due to bad weather.

Inside that plane were detainees,, all those dangerous shopkeepers and grandmothers and infants in respiratory distress hiding in plain sight among murderers and rapists.  

Whoever they are, they sat on that plane for 12 hours, or 15 hours or some amount of hours but the point is that it was reckless and ill-conceived and typical.  

I am just so tired of being embarrassed by that man and his cast of clowns, but I'm planning to watch the State of the Union.  I don't remember which Substack suggested  that we pay attention to the clapping.  Who claps and for how long - that was monitored by Nazi's and Communists, with dire consequences for those who stopped first.  

It can also show us in real time those whose moral compass is directed toward the podium, regardless of the blather pouring forth.  They are all complicit.   

Marty Supreme

The Doula and The Kibbitzer are in Tucson for their annual visit, and this year the sun is actually shining on them. We've been friends for more than 50 years. That's a lot of memories and stories to tell and retell, but there's one that always comes up first - the 2019 Oscar nominated Live Action Short Films at The Loft.  I wrote a post about it, and I think the title - Why? - says it all.

The Loft is Tucson's art house, showing films the chains ignore. I decided long ago that lunatics have never heard of it so I don't have to worry about intersecting with guns (cf Aurora and The Dark Knight). We three have seen lots of wonderful films there and I've seen some duds on my own.  But until Friday night, we've never seen one without a single likeable character.  

Not one, unless you count the Auschwitz survivor, and he's onscreen for two short scenes.  

That alone tells you something about the film in general, though there are lots of particulars to dissect.  The music is fabulous.  It tries to tell you how to feel, and, for the most part it succeeds.  That's important, because the unlikeable characters do unlikeable things and you're not supposed to smile at the silliness in which it's wrapped.  

Your eyes and ears are at war for two hours and thirty minutes.

Timothee Chalamet is a chameleon.  There was no boundary between the actor and the character.  He was totally believable.  Why anyone would want to inhabit that character is another story.  He is selfish and reckless and untrustworthy.  He's a grifter who avoids responsibility, invoking his talent and the respect he must show it as justification for putting his friends in jeopardy.  

And, it was long. 

Some of us liked it more than others, and all of us were glad that it wasn't about an abandoned kid on a beach; or a son, a father, and a shotgun; or quicksand.  Those 2019 films will live in our heads forever.

Painting Pots

Once again, Rillito Nursery provided the fun.  This time it was box after box after box of 2" ceramic pots and another box of 4" pots.  After a quick stop at Dollar Tree for paper plates and Harbor Freight for two 20 packs of tiny brushes, I was off to Grandma's Garden.  

I've had a 12 pack of acrylic paints in my car for a week or two.  I don't remember buying them but I'm glad I had them.  This is why.

         

 

Some of the pots were quite detailed.

  

But mostly it was about the smiles.

The seed which started in her red SOLO cup is now big enough to be transplanted into a 4" pot.

One of these scholars wondered if I had a bird house to paint.... and it just so happed that I did.  He was happy to share the chore of painting, 

but he took it home for himself.

Happy Birthday, G'ma

 Reprised from 2021. Only her age has been changed to protect the integrity.

This is how she looked when she met my father.

This is how she looked when she lived in Tucson.

I never knew the first woman.  I enjoyed meeting the second woman, the one whose memory was failing but who always knew that I loved her.  

Some things never changed. There was always a straw in her Diet Sprite.

Her purse was always over her shoulder (see blue strap, above). She was cold, but never wore a hat - "I don't look good in hats!"

There were some things she never forgot. Good grammar was imperative and bad grammar demanded correction. Yellow was her favorite color and chocolate was her favorite food.  Wrinkled shirts and sagging hems were unacceptable; she made her opinions known even when she was no longer in charge of choosing the outfits herself.

.

Today would have been her 103rd birthday.

I'd have brought her a prune danish for breakfast, accompanied by a gardenia corsage on the tray.  I'd have taken her out for a tuna-and-tomato-on-toast for lunch.   We'd have shared shrimp for dinner.

We would certainly have stopped for some chocolate ice cream along the way.

By the end, there were no books to share nor Scrabble to play.  There was her shell and her soul and the connection between the two became more tenuous with every passing day.

But now, on her birthday, I remember the smiles and the advice and the kisses.  Oh, the kisses.  She had the softest skin to receive my love.

I'm kissing the air right now, sending the love out into the ether.   Wherever she is, I know she's feeling it.  She's my mom.  We're attached, forever.

Happy Birthday, Mommy!  I hope that there is chocolate in heaven.

Sigh

Note to self:

The stainless steel pan you use to  brown the chicken on the cook top will be hot. Do not use your bent finger to give it a nudge after you use the potholder to finish it off in the oven. 

I will be back tomorrow when I can type without pain.