FlapJilly's a Star

TBG and I are doing all that we can to insure that Mark Kelly replaces Martha McSally in the US Senate in January.  We planned to host an Afternoon With The Candidate in our home in April.  Sadly, that (and many other things) didn't happen.  

And then, the campaign had the idea to host an on-line Astro-Hour.  Mark and his astronaut brother, Scott, Rusty Schweikert, and Karen Nyberg (whose husband just rode up to the ISS) talked about one another, about space, and about how wonderful Mark is.

Then they took questions.  Eight of them were written in and read by the moderator.  And then there was FlapJilly.  

The Finance Director wondered if I knew any children who might want to ask a question of an astronaut.  A kid asked a question on the first of these calls, and it was a big hit.  Did I know someone he could ask?

Did I know someone?  

I hung up, called Little Cuter and FlapJilly, explained the situation, and received a commitment.  The deal was done; all we had to do was wait until Wednesday night.  Til then, the kid and her mom practiced the question, decided on an outfit, and decorated the wall background with the mural of the planets The Bride taught her kindergartener and ours about during e-learning.  

Was she excited?  Sleep was an impossibility the night before; the next day was July, her birthday month, and the Zoom call.

Finally,  the call began. The grown ups talked and the kid had a snack to keep her awake until she went on after 8pm..... well past bedtime.  

And then, my granddaughter's face was on the screen, right next to all those famous people.  She was introduced as a future astronaut.  She waved and said HI!! and then wondered, in front of 200+ people on the Zoom call, to adults she'd never met before, How do you bake cookies in space?

Karen Nyberg laughed and explained the problems of baking in the ISS.  She described an experiment in which they actually did bake cookies, but they couldn't eat them.... they were an experiment.  The other faces on the screen were grinning at my little one; we here in Arizona were breaking our faces with smiles.

It took about 50 seconds.  Then they went outside to scream and dance.  FlapJilly felt like her skin is on fire!!  She was SO PROUD of herself (as she affirmed this afternoon: SO PROUD!!.  

They had ice cream to finish the celebration before crashing in bed.

Remember when you had a new experience like that?

There's hardly anything new in Covid-land, hardly any adventures.  It's been a challenge to provide room for growth when you don't leave the confines of your house.  Though the campaign thanked us profusely, it is really they who should be thanked.  

Just look at this face:

(taken by jpetersenphotography.com right after the call ended)

Happy (Weirdest Ever) 4th of July

reworked, revised, revisited...yes, you've read parts of this before

The sky is pure blue, "painted that way as G'ma said every time she looked up.  The occasional fluffy white cloud drifts by, and I'm hearing G'ma remark on that, too.  The flag in front of the house is swaying, the pole wedged between the base and the capital of one of the front columns, secured with thin, silver, crafting wire.  

It's an elegant solution to TBG's reluctance to put holes in his house;  I feel like Daddooooo every time I wrap another ring around the post.

Daddooooo was big on ingenious remedies to intractable problems.  He was also big on flags and the 4th of July.  We always went to the beach.  We always stopped at Custom Bakers on the way home, where the owners always let us go back and stick our fingers in the vats of frosting.

We always went to the Boardwalk in Long Beach, arriving as the sun was setting.  Skeeball and mechanical fortune tellers and the smell of the ocean, too black to be seen but too noisy to go unnoticed, occupied us as we waited for night to fall.  We practiced our ooohs and aahhhs; we were in fine form by the time the booms and the bangs began.

Through it all, the flags were flying.

There was a big one in the bracket beside the garage door, until the house was painted and further holes were frowned upon (is this some kind of male thing I just don't get?). A pole-holding-tube was sunk into the flower box, and while it was neither sturdy nor attractive, it did the job and as far as Daddooooo was concerned that was that.

There was a plastic flag attached to the car's antenna, and all our bicycles had flags on the handlebars.   

I'm not letting the tradition fade away.  I'm ambivalent about much of America right now, confused by rethinking our past, embarrassed by our failure to keep ourselves safe.  But I'm not giving up.  I'm going to work to rid us of DJT and install a government that is truly of, by and for the people.  That's the most and the least I can do.

Happy Fourth of July, denizens! 

I'm Old

It started when the stay at home orders were just being introduced.  All of a sudden, I was in a Vulnerable Cohort.

I don't want to be in a Vulnerable Cohort.  I don't feel old enough to be in a Vulnerable Cohort.  When did this happen?  How is it that most of the people in my life are also in this Vulnerable Cohort?

When the guidelines came out, having to scroll down and down and down to find 1952 while registering for something on-line seemed more ominous than amusing.  Noticing that I was in the Over 65 category smacked me in the face with reality - I am more likely to die than I was 30 years ago.

Surprising?  Probably shouldn't be, but it is.

I watch Expedition Unknown on the Discovery Channel.  Josh Gates, the host, is a 21st century

Indiana Jones.  He swims into underground caves, climbs ancient ruins, descends (by rope) into venues that normal people would avoid even thinking about.  He travels by pushcart and motor bike and gyro-copter.  He camps out in the middle of the Kalahari Desert, or, in his words 

I'm in the middle of a zoo with no cages.  If anyone needs me, I'll be crying in my tent.

That's the kind of guy I'd love to join on an adventure.  He's the Anthony Bourdain of explorers; he is as interested in the people and their clothing and their foods and their lives as he is in finding the ancient city of.... the hidden treasure of.... the long lost relic buried beneath.....

All those extraneous pieces fascinate me.  The scary parts terrify me, but if Josh can do it so can I..... until I realize that I am 68 years old, with a reconstructed hip and the endurance of ...... I'm hard pressed to come up with an analogy of my lack of aerobic capacity.  There's no way in the world that he'd take me along.  I couldn't keep up, though my attitude would be upbeat and charming. 

I find myself having the same conversation in my head, over and over and over.  I could do that. That would be cool.  Too bad I have kids and a house and a husband; I'd go on that adventure in a heartbeat.  

It all feels very real, as if I actually could make a call and join the crew. 

And then I remember.  I'm old.

Time Flies ....

.....whether you're having fun or not.  

This was the Google doodle today, the last day of June, Pandemic 01.  

This Pride Month we honor Black trans women and LGBTQ+ people of color

There is so much about this that was unheard of, let alone unthinkable, when I was FlapJilly's age.  There is so much more (though, obviously, still not enough) freedom to be than there was in 1958;  Marlo Thomas's iconic Free to Be You and Me was published in 1972, 

 the year TBG graduated Cornell.

Amster's boys, who you met in pre-school, are now Messers 15 and 17, high school kids who text to see if I need any help.  I asked Amster how this could have happened; Idk  I seriously do not.  

FlapJilly's going to ask the astronauts a question on tomorrow's Zoom AstroHour fund raiser for Mark Kelly.  When I met Mark Kelly my granddaughter wasn't even a glimmer in her parents' eyes.  Now, instead of a in hospital room surrounded by armed security guards, the kid is going to say hello from her dining room table.  

I can conjure Mark sitting in the recliner in my room, chatting with MTF about space, as if it were happening right now.  I can also go back, oh how easily can I go back, to the days before knowing an astronaut was on my radar, before I was perforated.  Those first few days home from the hospital, how it felt, what I thought, they are all deeply imprinted.  

It was yesterday and it was forever ago.

It's hard to remember that life is going on when I'm watching it unfold on the television and on my phone and on my iPad and on Lenore the Lenovo without being able to add any of my own items to What Happened Today.  

As JannyLou texted yesterday,  we will be doing nothing here and then starting again.

Some Thoughts on Unions

I post about unions every Labor Day.  The first paragraph of the post sets the tone:

My Zaydeh was a paperhanger. So was his son, my uncle. They belonged to the Paperhanger's Union. When he retired, my Zaydeh got a lapel pin and a photograph of himself and the also-retiring Union Rep. The Union Rep got a pension and health insurance. No one knows if he got a copy of the photograph, too.

***** 

The New York Times ran a lengthy op ed last week, wondering Why Do We Pay So Many People So Little Money.  It's a long piece, well referenced, from varying viewpoints. It made clear economic arguments which, to me, are often abstruse and obtuse and arcane.

It's worth reading, if only to see that no one thinks what is going on right now is sustainable for much longer.

*****

Gig workers aren't employees so Uber doesn't pay into the tax system which supports the social safety net, putting the burden on those of us who do pay taxes.

Investors in Uber are happy, because the company is keeping costs down.  Consumers are happy because the company keeps its prices low.

Workers get the short end of the stick.

*****

What happened to the union movement?  

A friend lost her job to a younger, pay-her-less, employee during a down-sizing, despite the fact that she had seniority.  Alas, the union rep told her, the City Manager has the ultimate say.  It's in the contract.

Workers Unite!!  You have nothing to lose but your chains!

*****

It seems to me that the only unions still protecting their members are representing the police and professional athletes. 

Did you know (I didn't) that police don't have a Permanent Record?  Get fired for cause?  Just go across town and try again. No one will know about your past.  It's in the contract.

As for the NBA and the NFL and the MLB, it's the Rich vs the Richer, while the people manning the parking lots and the concession stands work for minimum wage with no benefits.  I don't see a lot of interest in unionization there.  I can see why.

Let Me Rant For Moment, Please

If you don't want to read it, I understand.  My feelings won't be hurt.  Not one little bit.  But this has been boiling up in my head all week long.  I look at it from different angles, trying to find a way out. I attempt to put myself in their shoes.... and I start to hyperventilate.

Masks. 

I'm in a dither over masks. 

Maybe it's the way I was raised.  G'ma lost one of the few friends she had when the woman absolutely refused to fasten her seatbelt.  G'ma's car didn't move until everyone was buckled up  That was the rule.  It was smart, it was the law, and She Said So.  There was no argument.  Her friend wouldn't get in the car if she had to wear a seat belt, and that was that.

To say that the incident made a lasting impression on me would be the understatement of the  pandemic.  You go to the wall for your principles.  There are consequences.  Deal with it.

That science would take a back seat to The American Way and Freedom and Choice (as long as we aren't talking about a uterus) is just amazing to me. 

I took pride in America, until Donald J Trump turned us into a third world country. 

I'm pissed at the Mayo Clinic for allowing Pence to walk around unmasked.  I dwell on the good that could have come from a respected institution making a statement and not letting him through the front door if his nose and mouth weren't covered.  But, they caved.  The swab factory threw out a batch of much needed swabs because they, too, cowered before the power that is Trump.

I understand that people don't wear helmets on motorcycles; we called them Organ Donors when I worked at the Rehab hospital.  But I never see anyone without a seat belt.

Masks.  It's so simple. 

New Zealand had a soccer match with 43,000 people in the stadium, unmasked, because they haven't had a new case in 3 weeks.

It was do-able.  We are The United States of America....... or we used to be.

Okay.  I'm done.

Thanks for listening. Feel free to rant in the comments..... know, in advance, that I agree.

Mama, Please.....

FlapJilly is quite proud of the fact that she conducts her entire Getting Ready for Bed Routine independently. Showering (a big step up from a bath), brushing her teeth, putting on lotion.... she's on top of the whole thing.

Mama has to set the water temperature, though, and that's where we went today on our daily FaceTime visit.  Giblet followed us, because he is obsessed with his sister.  While the women in his life worked on adjusting the flow, he climbed the step stool and demonstrated his dexterity with FlapJilly's electric toothbrush over the sink.

It was an adorable background to catching up with our little girl, who's a short order cook for three hungry family members, when she's not being a full-time professional at the University of Notre Dame, a housekeeper, a gardener, or an excellent parent.  

Giblet was wandering around the bathroom as Little Cuter sat on the floor in the hall outside the door and FlapJilly continued to wash every body part thoroughly.  This is not a speedy process.  There are a series of steps which must be followed.  

After a while, Giblet became restless.  His sister had been behind the shower curtain for a looooooong time.  He began to peek.  He was persistent.

And then came a wet face peeling back the curtain, and with it a plea from the big sister:  Mama, could you please keep Giblet entertained for a while?

And we laughed.  

Really, Mama, keep the toddler entertained so I can shower in peace.  

To Olga, and JannyLou, and Allison - A Snippet

Thank you for your comments on yesterday's post.  Thank you for so many, many reasons.

It always amuses me when the trivial posts attract attention.  Little Cuter told me today that it doesn't always have to be profound, and that made me feel better.

But, more than that, it was your easy acceptance of the importance of the mundane.  Naming it, describing it, validating it - all that happens publicly, right here in The Burrow. 

I never want to let you down.  It's nice to be reminded that you enjoy the simple things, too.

And now, since nothing much has happened (beyond the further erosion of trust in our judicial system) since yesterday, I'm done.

Was You Ever Bit By a Dead Bee?

Walter Brennan asks that question in To Have and Have Not.  It's a window into the soul of the respondent. 

Yesterday, I sat on a (possibly dead) bee, and asked TBG the same question.

The bee was certainly dead by the time I smacked it into the pool and TBG skimmedit
Some minor surgery with a pointy tweezer removed the stinger.  There was no swelling nor lines of red poison flowing through my veins.  The nerve into which the bee inserted himself is sore, and announces itself with authority every time I change position. 

According to Dr. Google, this combination of symptoms is called a Large Localized Reaction.
*****
It is now obvious to me that I really do miss my old life. 

My blog has turned into drivel, and for that, I apologize.

The fact is, sitting on a bee is the most interesting thing that's happened to me all week.

A Smile for You

Let's see.....

• The Trump campaign flubbed the rally.  Why they didn't just move the whole thing outdoors when the crowds didn't materialize is a mystery to be solved in Tell-All books.  Seeing a defeated man shlumping off Marine 1 last night gave me some measure of hope for America.

  

  https://tinyurl.com/ybfm48zz

• The Attorney General of the United States of America has decided that he is the Attorney General for the President of the United States.  I found myself hoping that the copy machines at SDNY are working overtime, placing the documents the Criminals In Chief want to suppress in as many hands as they can.
• Professional sports are grappling with the same issues as public schools - everybody wants us, nobody can tell us how to do it safely.  Will we open?  Sure....... without fans, for sports, okay..... but schools without students just doesn't seem like school.
• Governor Ducey finally allowed local municipalities to decide their own fate; Tucson and Pima County are now requiring masks when you're outside your house and near anyone else.  The people who answer the phones are getting slammed by people who think that their liberties are being infringed upon.  

I can't do anything about POTUS or the AG or the DOJ's SDNY or MLB or the NBA but I was able to call the Mayor and the County Supervisor and thank them for their actions to keep me safe.  

For you, dear denizens, who are dealing with the same stressors, I offer this:

Apparently, FlapJilly, granddaughter extra-ordinaire, all almost 6 years old, has decided that she does all the jobs in the world.  Today, her favorite job was helping Dada in the garage.  My favorite job title is one I saw on an advertisement today - Paid Testamonialist.

In my next life, that's what I want to be.

Happy Birthday, Brother Dear

He's younger than I am.... a fact he delights in sharing.  

He stopped shaving for a while, and sported a full beard.  Not many men look better with a lot of facial hair; my brother is one who does.  He didn't scratch it or pull at it or play with it.  It sat there, on his face, making him look distinguished and delightful. His wife's not crazy about it, so it comes and goes; quarantine has seen its triumphant return (on Zoom).

He's all about balance - work, family, friends, exercise, religion, sex, learning, and adventures all have a place in his life. 

He wears sneakers everywhere; they are comfortable and why not?

He drives a Chevy and a pickup truck and a Miata, a recent addition that makes him very very very happy.  He carries a collapsible bike in his car, and cycles near and far.  He doesn't believe that large metal tubes should fly through the air; his car takes him where he wants to go when he wants to go there.  He's driven back and forth to Chicago more times than I can count; he always tries to stop at Little Cuter's house on the way. 

"I love Uncle Jeff!"  she says.

He spent three hours in a toy store searching for exactly the right gift for FlapJilly.  He donned a headlamp and crawled under the kids' deck to help repair the solar lights on the pergola.  He bought a much-too-heavy-to-lift-without-help power tool in a garage sale in Indiana or Ohio or someplace off a highway on his way hither or yon, and dropped it off with SIR who he knew would love it. 

He and SIR have bonded over home repairs and parenting daughters and loving their wives.  SIR sent him to a White Sox game with corporate tickets for the area behind home plate; Brother's still kvelling and telling the story to anyone who will listen.  The love goes both ways.

FlapJilly was delighted that he showed up for her birthday party last year.  The fact that he put on a magic show was beyond her wildest dreams.  Uncle Jeff is the MOST FUN! 

And today is his birthday.  I'll call and sing and send him a card and I'll remember to tell him that he is special to me in a way that no one else can claim.  He's known me and liked me for all of our lives. We've laughed and cried and celebrated and mourned and vacationed.  He's sent letters I'll save forever. 

He's the best little brother I've ever had.  Today is his day.  Lift a glass and send him some love.

We're Fine

As the national news catches up to the fact that there are people who don't live on either coast, the Bighorn Fire has attracted a lot of attention from people who love me. 

Things are replaceable.  You two are not! 

I smiled about Little Cuter's text for quite a while. 

Brother wrote and called and we chatted up a storm, which was quite an accomplishment given that neither of us has done very much since March. 

Big Cuter was part of a larger parade of You guys are okay, right? calls and emails and texts, all devolving into the minutiae of our daily lives.

It was an oddly normal set of interactions in this weirdness. 

In case you, too, were wondering, this is what it looked like at sunset on Wednesday.

 

No filter.

And In Today's News

Aunt Jemima is going away.

A 26 year old with a gun and a taser and a partner and a badge kicked a dying man after shooting him in the back.

John Bolton saved the evidence he should have given during the impeachment hearings for a book he's leaking today. 

A friend has Valley Fever, not Covid.... and somehow pneumonia and a hard to treat fungal infection feels like good news.

Trump fans are lining up now before going inside tomorrow night to a masks-optional scream-a-thon.

Johnny Weissmuller is swinging on vines with Jane, as TBG wonders how Tarzan manages to stay clean shaven. 

I'm going to turn on the grill and ponder that last one for a while.