Chandeliers on My Ears

I am amazed at the generosity of bloggers. I received a lovely package on Saturday from my dear friend Ms Soairse who is a jewelery designer among many other things. She sent me a couple of lovely pair of earrings at Christmas and now again, for no reason that I can see, two more. I never feel deserving of gifts. I always wonder how I can ever repay such generosity. But these fears are the little remnants of a difficult childhood, and I need to learn that it is fun to give and fun to receive. Now what can I do for Soairse?

These earrings are the ones I think of as chandeliers for the ears, and I love the feel of enough weight to remind me that I am packing glamour. So it's taken me three days to get ready to model them for you. And all I had to do was peel my jammies off, take a shower, wash my hair and dry it, and add a bit of eye to make these earrings pop on the page.

Pair number two another day.

Thank you darling.

PS, she sells these lovely earrings from her site, visit and take a look. They are lovely gifts and Valentines Day approaches.

Roses and Other Fragile Flowers

No that anyone asked, but I don't like roses. Well, I don't like scentless hothouse roses that always seem to die in a day or two. I like to walk down an alley in late Spring or early Summer and come across the scent of roses. I like other's people's roses, but I'm not a big fan of flowers that have special needs. I have dogs with special needs. I have special needs myself. So if it's not hardy and capable of blooming in a less that ideal environment, if it's prone to attracting pests like mites and aphids, I'm not such a fan. The Vinca or Periwincle and bulbs do well here with no encouragement at all. The forsythia and mock orange do well with little fuss. I have one good spot for Halls Honeysuckel right outside my door; it always blooms.

Some years the fruit trees don't bear fruit, some years the Wisteria doesn't bloom. These are usually the years Spring comes early, and just as all the fruit trees are budding, or have just bloomed, it freezes.

It is beginning to feel as if this might be one of those years of early thaw. Or maybe it's just me thawing.

For Cal

Something unusual has happened. I'm getting sweet emails from a man I only knew briefly as a boy. I was the aggressor in my brief pursuit of this boy. He was sweet and obliging. Tender and willing. But I was too young and too damaged to know what a treasure he might have been had I the wisdom of age. And then the experience that might have matched my very youthful rebellious ardor. But he has found me. And I am, in this strange almost imagined relationship, like a character from a TS Elliott poem, ...when the evening is spread out against the sky like a patient etherized upon the table...

I have laid bare my life with all it's challenges and deficits for anyone to see. I have not been shy or hiding here. I do tell all. And then there is a novel. There are short stories, and poems. They say much about who I am. Are these stories real or fiction? Some combination of the two I suspect. Like most writers, I write about the things I know and tell my version of the truth.

However, it may not be true to you if you find yourself the character in someone else's fiction. So caution is in order. Because I don't know enough about you.

May I Borrow Your Man Today?

It's not a good idea to borrow a man to fix a pipe. But sometimes it's a necessity. Fortunately she doesn't need him today, and he's willing. I fixed a late breakfast and he gave me the running commentary on how each step worked, explaining as he worked, never realizing that I was really listening to the train ride from Pennsylvania to Washington DC. It's the beginning of a new era, and I'm not about to stop paying attention to it to learn a little about teh plumbing. Truth is I never will learn anything about teh plumbing. I am willfully ignorant about so many things. I do not need to know it all. My knowledege is speciallized too. I do not expect him to either follow what I'm doing or have any interest in having it explained to him in great detail. I know, he isn't asking for my help, but if he were--and I could write something for him, I'd do it. I did fix lunch. I fed him. I fixed him coffee. I looked for rags and tools, I pretended to understand. It's the best I can do. It's also the least I can do.

So the kitchen sink faucet no longer drips. And now you can turn off the water at the back of the area beneath the sink, instead of at the street in front of the main house.

And tomorrow we will tackle the same problem under the bathroom sink. And from there who knows?

My girlfriend, his paramour, called twice while he was here--she did not talk to me. I always worry about the insecurities and needs that go into relationships and make them mine-fields. I try to stay out of the lives of the men who populate the lives of women I love. It's just too tricky. But David offered, and my need was great, and he fixed the leak, and I'm glad.

Hiding Out

Darkblack has put one of those mysterious links in a comment on my tag of him for the current meme. I figured Darkblack might not want to play, but a woman can dream can't she? Here is the piece from the link and it is quite eloquent. Thank you Darkblack. I now officially have a blog crush on you. So are you male or female--not that it really matters? I have a girl crush on Freida of the Bees and an abiding love for Lisa. I've lusted after Tengrain, and even got a thrill or two from the attention of Kelso and his nuts. The one blogger who used to scare me when he left a comment was Fairlane, and he seems to have taken a long vacation. I hope he returns soon. I liked Jonestown a lot, especially when Fairlane was posting and especially when Scarlet Blue made an appearance. I swear he's kidnapped her and has her locked up somewhere, so hiding out might be a good thing for him.

For now, I'm going to be hiding out trying to finish the final edit on the novel, Maggy. Hang in there with me. I obviously like teh blogging or I'd shut the hell up and get to work.

Gran Torino: Eastwood's Swan Song

If you liked Clint Eastwood as Dirty Harry, you'll probably love Gran Torino. If the Spaghetti Westerns that started him acting with the snarl as a permanent expression on his face, you like Grand Torino. After seeing Gran Torino I'm hoping this is Eastwood's last staring movie role. I never liked stereotypes. Never liked the snarling male as icon. And this is a film about that stereotype and stereotypes in general.

Phillip of Sitenoise wrote a partial review of the film but hated the beginning half hour of the movie so much he couldn't finish watching it. It's received some good reviews but I'm betting these are reviewers who just loved the Dirty Harry snarling male stereotype.

I didn't become an Eastwood fan until he began directing. He made a couple very good films as a director--his western The Unforgiven was worth watching. It wasn't the best western I'd ever seen, but it was pretty good. But it was Million Dollar Baby was so good I was prepared to believe that he would continue to make great movies. I figured he'd learned something about getting nuanced, sensitive performances from the other actors he was directing as well as from himself.

If Eastwood continues to make movies I hope it's in the capacity of Director. Think Letters from Iwo Jima. I wouldn't mind seeing him in a small cameo role with a bit more nuance than the snarling old bastard he plays in Gran Torino. But I think his days as central leading character are, and should be, over.

All of that said, I did begin crying toward the end of the movie and wondered what is was about the character at the end that made me weep. Nick and I talked about that, and Nick said, "You're affected and moved by almost everything right now." And maybe it's as simple as that. But this portrait of a man at the end of his life who views everything through the prism of prejudice, cynicism, and alienation is so very sad and not in a heart warming way.

I'm guessing there were clues to Eastwood's career in things like the 1972 cherry Ford Gran Torino that is his baby in the movie. High Plains Drifter came out in 1973, so there might be a bit of symbolism that he was making that film when Gran Torino's mean old bastard character was supposedly working on the assembly line for Ford the year the Gran Torino auto of the film refers to was made, but I'm stretching to give it a reason to have been made at all.

It is only the Hmong characters who form the core of his changing neighborhood, his changing world, the world he does not recognize and has such disdain for, who give really good performances.

I'd only give this film 2 stars at best, and that's a stretch.

Darkblack Says This Is My Obamicon, Too

But why don't I recognize myself? I thought that this was Darkblack's Obmaican and that Darkblack is a nice looking younger woman. Humm. I liked her looks a lot. So this can't be me. But even if this isn't me, and is a trick Darkblack is playing on me, a through the looking glass experience like the early acid years, I don't care.

These Are The Rules

The Rules
1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself.
4. Tag six people at the end of your post and link to them.
5. Let each person know they’ve been tagged and leave a comment on their blog.
6. Let the tagger know when your entry is up.

Random things. Humm. My whole life is random. Only six--this should be easy.

Kulkuri is the guy who tagged me. That Yooper in Crackerland. Link that! I'm very fond of Kulkuri, but he's a tease. One of his random facts is the tease that English is not his native language. Yes? Well? Does he tell us what his native language is/was? No. He does not. Now I have to research Yooper. Ok, that's done. Pennsylvania Dutch? So where in America does this transplanted Yooper live now? Sunbelt, I'm thinking. His avatar has him in a Hawaiian shirt sitting in a beach chair, reading. Clues everywhere, but no real answers. Shall I just give you clues? No random facts, just clues? That doesn't seem fair or in keeping with the whole idea of learning more about the someone through random things. So, here goes.

Random Things About Me:

1. I'm very emotional, a very difficult woman. That could count as two random things, but they are so interwoven that I think of them as one thing--the intensity of my emotionality makes me a difficult woman to be around. I do everything too passionately. I'm easy to anger, too.

2. I was raised by a woman who had mastered the resounding verbal "bitch slap" to such an extent that living with her made it impossible to avoid learning this nasty habit. So, given the right circumstances, I can deliver a verbal "bitch slap" effortlessly and with no thought at all--like a reflex. Impossible to stop once begun. I have lost friends over this dubious skill. I have gone one bitch slap too far more often than is seemly.

3. I have missed out on the love of a man with the strength and patience to keep me from running, make me want to stay. I know this deep in my core. It's a wound so deep I see myself as essentially unlovable. Maybe I make myself that way on purpose. But I have tried at times too hard and for too long to make myself lovable when I had chosen a man so shallow he wasn't worth more than a tumble.

4. I will miss lamb chops when I have to give up eating meat. I know this day is coming. It's the right thing to do. It may also be the economically necessary thing to do. That said, I just picked up a five pack of rib eye steaks in the reduced meat department, brought it home, individually wrapped each steak and frozen all but one. I'm having steak and beans, and salad for dinner tonight.

5. I'm a political news junky. And I'm proud of my girlfriend, Freida of the Bees, for becoming a regular contributer to one of the really good news sources, The Daily Kos. Go Freida! Politics and journalism are a sexy combo. And Math too? You're unstoppable. You're on fire.

6. I got an email yesterday from a boy I tried to have sex with when I was fourteen years old. (I probably looked closer to twenty when I decided I wanted him to be the boy who deflowered me, so to speak). He read my letter to the editor after Obama's primary win in North Carolina. He says he's been reading my blog since then. He left his phone number in his email. I called him. I like the idea of him. There is a short story in that early encounter. I remember it in great detail. Poor boy. I took him into my parent's bed when they were up at the cabin. I have to admit I have thought of him now and then over the long years of my life. What if...?

Well, I've shocked myself. Now I'm hoping you're going to shock me a bit back. I want these random things to give me real insight into who you are. Oh, there are those of you I think I know, Lisa. But some of you are real mysteries. I know that Randal will be tagged and bagged quickly so no point tagging Randal. There are a lot of men out there unwilling to play. Too bad. You're missing an opportunity for a little self expression and introspection. But you have your dignity at least.

1. Beach, because he has the soul of a writer and will engage and think more introspectively than any other man I've encountered out here in this bloggy world. Is that a bitch slap I hear landing on some unnamed man? If you felt it, you know who you are.

2. La Belette Rouge, because she is ingaged in the search for answers to the mysteries in her life. She has inspired me to buy myself a bouquet of lilies today. I thought of her when I saw then and remembered her unraveling of the symbolism that accompanies the lillie. It's a good omen.

3. TheMom, because she gave me my Obamicon without request and I'm delighted with it. She has been ill, but is indeed TheMom as she insisted I bundle up for the Thursday Matinee Movie date today. Baby it's cold out there. God bless nurturing woman. I lost mine somewhere.

4. Giggles, who I envision as a young woman, but really it's just an impression. Giggles appeared as a very good commenter without a real blog. Thanks to the generosity and encouragement of Lisa and others, she now has a blog. I hope this is your first meme, Giggles. Tell all, darling, in six random things. Or leave us in the dark--your choice.

5. Darkblack, photoshopper to rival... Well I shall not say. Just this. Darkblack is very talented, and another complete mystery to me. I went to look at Darkblack's Obamicon and it's a poster of a good looking young woman. Did you know? Do you know? Is Darkblack a man or a woman? Does it matter? Only to inquiring minds I guess.

6. Comrade Kevin, because for the longest time I thought Comrade Kevin was a woman. And so I spoke to Comrade Kevin as a woman. Despite the podcasts of Comrade Kevin playing the guitar and singing his original songs, I thought that was Comrade Kevin's boy friend. Gawd. I'm so dense sometimes.

No rush. I do not wish to stress anyone or put you in a spotlight you do not seek at a personal level, but I am curious.

It's Thursday matinee Movie Day and Then Meme Time

Today Nick and I go to see Gran Torino. I love the title of the movie since in one of my stories, I drive a Gran Torino that pings when I turn off the engine. I called it a Grand Torino. Now I know I have to go back and fix that in the story. I'm sure the old bastard in this movie takes better care of his Gran Torino than I did of mine. Men sure do seem to lavish love on their cars.

Kulkuri that Yooper in Crackerland has tagged me. I thought I'd be able to duck and cover and miss this one, but no. Kulkuri, I'll get to you later. For now I have to get my huge dog to get out of his bed and go outside to pee so I can feed him. He's so neurotic he makes me look sane.

Here is your Gran Torino tease:

Let's See What the Super Rich Are Up To

Flinthills bailing out billionaires

An Update To the Citizens of Israel and America

With thanks to Freida of the Bees, who is now a regular contributer to The Daily Kos

Read it. Now. Seriously.

From My Friend and Fellow Writer, Naj

Naj writes a blog called Neo Resistance. She has asked for help from those of us willing to hear the cries of distress coming out of Gaza, so please follow this link and visit her here. She is far more knowledgeable about this horrible situation than I. I focus rather too narrowly on the politics that is my American life. I have Palestinian friends but rarely see them now, do to their family, social, work, and school commitments. But I love them no matter how seldom I see them.

Thank You, La Bellett Rouge

From The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton

'The darling!' thought Newland Archer, his glance flitting back to the young girl with the lilies-of-the-valley. 'She doesn't even guess with it's all about.' and he contemplated her absorbed young face with a thrill of possessorship in which pride in his own masculine initiation was mingled with a tender reverence for her abysmal purity. 'We'll read Faust together...by the Italian lakes...' he thought somewhat hazily confusing the scene of his projected honeymoon with the masterpieces of literature which it would be his manly privilege to reveal to his bride. It was only that afternoon that May Welland had let him guess that she 'cared' (New York's consecrated phrase of maiden avowal), and already his imagination, leaping ahead of the engagement ring, the betrothal kiss and the march from Lohengrin, pictured her at his side in some scene of old European witchery.

I received this lovely award, meme, honor and prompt to be reminded that reading is sexy and we shall indulge and encourage it when and wherever we can. I am now gifted with the passing this award along to five reading bloggers, who may do with it what they will. La Ballette Rouge is the one to see if you are confused about the meme. I am not all about the rules today. You will make of it what you wish.
1. Lisa
2. Liberality
3. Beach
4. Aphrodite
5. Dusty

My Obamicon and Me

Marie took the initiative and using my banner made my Obamicon. Thank you Marie. I look rather dour, but that's how the old ones sometimes look. Get used to it kids, it's barraling down on you faster than you think.

Mathman's High School Marching Band Goes To Washington

When I read this the tears started flowing and now all I have to do is think about it and I cry all over again. I could not be prouder of these young people, or more thrilled at their adventure, their participation in the most important Inauguration in my lifetime. How proud they all must be, their excitement must be near excruciating. And our very own Mathman, teacher extraordinaire, will chaperone this fine group of student musicians as they travel together to the nation's capital to march in the grand parade. Congratulations! We are all so proud of you young people as if you are our very own children. Thank you, Mathman for being the chaperone to take them there, to keep them safe, to shepherd them into this amazing moment in History. They will never forget it. They will never forget you.

The Generosity of Friends

There are so many of you who have helped and encouraged me as the fledgling blogger I am. You have taught me much in the past year and even given me awards. I'm thrilled and honored. Thank you very much. Linda Sama The Ageless Hippie Chick and Linda's Yoga Journey for another award. Your kindness from the beginning has been a breathtaking gift from a fearless woman. It was from you I recieved the Rebel Girrrl Award. I was giddy with delight, but didn't even know how to bring it home and post it. Now I can grab the prize and run home to post it proudly on my sidebar as I think about its meaning before I compose a fitting thank you.


I have become a reclusive old woman, hiding behind locked gates, unwelcoming of the real world, alone with my crazy self and my neurotic old dog. But through you, I think of myself as a woman with friends in far flung places, some of you teetering on the brink of big changes brought about by failures not of your making. We now see the possibility for a new start on reclaiming our collective integrity with the inauguration of a new president, a new administration. As I type these words I hear Hillary Clinton answer questions during her confirmation hearings in the background and just the sound of her voice, the strength of her words, her confidence in her mission inspire confidence from me. So maybe this will be the year that I feel safe enough to walk around my peaceful neighborhood and speak to those I never see, feeling less a stranger in the place where I grew up. I know all my neighbors though I seldom see them. I hope when spring comes this year I will take those first steps out into the larger world.

I am finishing a book, trying to meet a deadline to submit this manuscript I have dragged from Springfield, Missouri to Santa Barbara, California and back to Salt Lake City waiting for the moment to pass it off to someone else to judge its merits. That time has finally come. And with it comes new hope and optimism that we will all be able to heal the wounds to our collective psyche. We have lost much the past eight years. Now let us all roll up our sleeves and get together to work our way out of the troubles of this recent past, to learn their lessons so we won't be condemned to repeat the past's mistakes.

I Want One Too

Everyone has one but me. This has got to be changed. I tried to get one, but had no luck. But I did pick this up on the way from here to there. And this, and this, and this.



Not one but two--take your pick.

The Savage Heart is a Glob of Jelly

I am trying to get my novel, Maggy, edited to it's white hot core, write a "pitch" and a cover letter. I have long to go before I sleep again for the next ten days or so. It doesn't help that I'm still on Prednisone. My fingers shake making typing difficult. And I grow a bit manic as well as panicked.

I have been inattentive to you. I apologize. Please bear with me as I pull my writing life together to send it out into the world to be judged by complete strangers. I have been told often that getting a first book published is damn near impossible, so cross your fingers for me as I hold my breath and take this dive into the chilly pond, mid-winter.

Obama Seeks Cooperation in Making Remaining Bailout Money Available

This morning, President-elect Obama asked President Bush to formally notify Congress, on his behalf, of his intent to exercise the authority under the Emergency Economic Stabilization Act to access the last tranche of $350 billion in funding for Treasury programs addressing the financial crisis,” Dana Perino, the White House press secretary, said in a statement. “President Bush agree to the president-elect’s request.”

I'm thinking this comes under the heading "Don't hold your breath Barack" but think I'm so cynical I think it's all been moved to the the Bush Family Swiss Bank Account. Anyway, here's hoping.

Read This, There Will Be Video of Pickels

The Bush Legacy Project is in Full Swing. Check this out. From LA Times Top of the Ticket. Our twittering LA Times blogger.

A Sunday Song for All Of Us

Mercy, Mercy, Mercy


Because we're all going to need a lot of it.

Please Vote for My Friend and Mentor, Kathleen Maher

Note from Utah Savage--I was unable to link the weblog logo so linked the line I want you to vote for. Please support this fine writer. Without support from you and this generous, talented writer I'd still be writing in a vacuum, alone with my thoughts and thousands of words. Thank you for your support, Peggy

Diary of a Heretic is a finalist for Best Literature Blog. Voting is just a two-click process--no registration required. First click here, then click on the voting button for Diary of a Heretic. The polls are open through January 12. Please vote every day! And while you're at it, click here to vote for The View From Here as Best UK Blog. To read more about the contest and other notable entrants, click here.

Posted by Kathleen Maher on Jan 05, 2009 |

Presidential Records; Bush Wants Them Sealed Indefinitely

The Bush administration has been trying to seal presidential records since he first got into office. This must be stopped. It shows the nation the path to this economic disaster and the mistakes of three Republican administrations--St Ronnie, Pappa Bush, and Junior. This must be blocked and congress needs to act swiftly and decisively to keep Presidential Papers Public, for historians, for a guide for all to study as a way to prevent future economic disasters and horrible military blunders. We need to know what we've done and what the consequences were in order to set the record straight for historical reasons as well to put to bed the lie that unfettered corporate rule is the best way to grow and prosper. Perhaps it is if you're in the top 1% of the economy. For the rest of us, it's just corporate welfare at the expense of the taxpayer.

There are, of course, other reasons to have public access to these records and that's to know and understand how our civil rights have been stripped from us in the guise of keeping us safe.

Editorial posted below

Editorial
Who Owns White House History?


It’s time to remind President Bush as he leaves office that his White House records are not his personal property. They belong to the nation. The Presidential Records Act made that the law of the land after the Watergate scandal. Showing disturbing forethought, Mr. Bush signed an executive order in his first year, effectively decreeing that a sitting or former president can withhold his papers indefinitely

Congress is moving to strike down the Bush order. The House has overwhelmingly approved a corrective measure that has a good chance in the Senate. If there’s any delay, we urge President-elect Barack Obama to issue his own executive order restoring the Presidential Records Act as soon as he enters the White House.

When Mr. Bush signed his order, the speculation was that he was hoping to spare the disclosure of some inner-sanctum embarrassments committed by his father’s administration or perhaps Ronald Reagan’s. Now, with so much of the latest Bush history needing to be plumbed from Baghdad to Wall Street, a robust public records law is ever more crucial for robust democracy.

The law already provides former presidents reasonable protection, letting them withhold sensitive records, including advice from aides, for up to 12 years. While the the Bush White House claimed that the order merely put an organized process in place, the result was to gut the presumption of public access.

Under the current rules, requests for records require the concurrence of a concerned former president or his descendants plus the current president. They have unlimited time to judge the issue. Beyond that, historians must resort to litigation. This is a pathetic way to cheat history. As the poet Robert Lowell wrote, “All’s misalliance. Yet why not say what happened?”

This Is Why I'm In Love With Rachel Maddow

Paul Krugman Is Worried, So Am I

By PAUL KRUGMAN
Published: December 28, 2008

...as Washington tries to rescue the economy, the nation will be reeling from the actions of 50 Herbert Hoovers — state governors who are slashing spending in a time of recession, often at the expense both of their most vulnerable constituents and of the nation’s economic future.

These state-level cutbacks range from small acts of cruelty to giant acts of panic — from cuts in South Carolina’s juvenile justice program, which will force young offenders out of group homes and into prison, to the decision by a committee that manages California state spending to halt all construction outlays for six months.

Now, state governors aren’t stupid (not all of them, anyway). They’re cutting back because they have to — because they’re caught in a fiscal trap. But let’s step back for a moment and contemplate just how crazy it is, from a national point of view, to be cutting public services and public investment right now.

Think about it: is America — not state governments, but the nation as a whole — less able to afford help to troubled teens, medical care for families, or repairs to decaying roads and bridges than it was one or two years ago? Of course not. Our capacity hasn’t been diminished; our workers haven’t lost their skills; our technological know-how is intact. Why can’t we keep doing good things?

It’s true that the economy is currently shrinking. But that’s the result of a slump in private spending. It makes no sense to add to the problem by cutting public spending, too.

In fact, the true cost of government programs, especially public investment, is much lower now than in more prosperous times. When the economy is booming, public investment competes with the private sector for scarce resources — for skilled construction workers, for capital. But right now many of the workers employed on infrastructure projects would otherwise be unemployed, and the money borrowed to pay for these projects would otherwise sit idle.

And shredding the social safety net at a moment when many more Americans need help isn’t just cruel. It adds to the sense of insecurity that is one important factor driving the economy down.

So why are we doing this to ourselves?

The answer, of course, is that state and local government revenues are plunging along with the economy — and unlike the federal government, lower-level governments can’t borrow their way through the crisis. Partly that’s because these governments, unlike the feds, are subject to balanced-budget rules. But even if they weren’t, running temporary deficits would be difficult. Investors, driven by fear, are refusing to buy anything except federal debt, and those states that can borrow at all are being forced to pay punitive interest rates.

Are governors responsible for their own predicament? To some extent. Arnold Schwarzenegger, in particular, deserves some jeers. He became governor in the first place because voters were outraged over his predecessor’s budget problems, but he did nothing to secure the state’s fiscal future — and he now faces a projected budget deficit bigger than the one that did in Gray Davis.

But even the best-run states are in deep trouble. Anyway, we shouldn’t punish our fellow citizens and our economy to spite a few local politicians.

What can be done? Ted Strickland, the governor of Ohio, is pushing for federal aid to the states on three fronts: help for the neediest, in the form of funding for food stamps and Medicaid; federal funding of state- and local-level infrastructure projects; and federal aid to education. That sounds right — and if the numbers Mr. Strickland proposes are huge, so is the crisis.

And once the crisis is behind us, we should rethink the way we pay for key public services.

As a nation, we don’t believe that our fellow citizens should go without essential health care. Why, then, does a large share of funding for Medicaid come from state governments, which are forced to cut the program precisely when it’s needed most?

An educated population is a national resource. Why, then, is basic education mainly paid for by local governments, which are forced to neglect the next generation every time the economy hits a rough patch?

And why should investments in infrastructure, which will serve the nation for decades, be at the mercy of short-run fluctuations in local budgets?

That’s for later. The priority right now is to fight off the attack of the 50 Herbert Hoovers, and make sure that the fiscal problems of the states don’t make the economic crisis even worse. »

Bush Finds New Ways to Ruin The Government on His Way Out the Door

Keep a close watch on the seemingly "small" things George "Wrecking-ball" Bush is doing as he gives us the finger on the way out the door. He's given our newly elected President Barack Obama and family the finger by refusing to let them move into Blair House during the transition, because some out of office jackass from Australia will be in town on the 15th go get one of Bush's medals of moral turpitude and stupidity or something. So the new President and his family are staying in a hotel. It's merely a slap in the face to the Obama's and we who elected him in overwhelming numbers, but take a listen to the other little goodies he's implementing on the way out of town. These are going to be difficult to undo. So listen and learn, because we'll need to be very smart to fix this cluster fuck.

I'm Sick, But Harry Reid is a Moron

I have an upper respiratory infection that seems better in the daytime and worse at night. Since I already had an appointment scheduled with my doctor to test my clotting factor, I called in Monday to let her know I might need a little more of her time. I'm having trouble sleeping--I wake up gasping for air with coughing fits. I needed a breathing treatment, plus a hefty dose of Prednisone for the next four days along with a Z-Pack. I should be better by Monday. If so, no more Prednisone; if not, I'll taper off the Prednisone gradually. My doctor says she's seeing so much of this infection in her older patients who wait too long to call in, and then end up in the hospital with pneumonia. So, caught early and treated, I should be fine, fast.


Harry Reid's problems are not so easily fixed. Reid is so annoyingly stupid we must find someone with a brain and a less annoying affect to be the Majority Leader of the Senate. Move over Harry, you're too dumb to lead anything. Yes, I know Blago offends us all, but he did one very smart thing in picking Roland Burris to fill Obama's vacant Senate seat.



Burris is qualified to fill the seat and he may be the only Chicago politician who could stand the scrutiny. He is not wealthy enough nor influential enough to buy the appointment, and he is a nice, charming, well spoken... Bla, bla, bla. Yes, Harry Reid has met with Burris and has pronounce him "a nice, charming, well spoken..." "Clean?" was clean the word you were looking for Harry? Yes, the photo ops abound today, more on that tomorrow. But really, Harry, when you put me to sleep while talking to David Gregory on Meet the Press, you're one very dull bit of Milk Toast. Milk-Toast Harry, the Mormon Male, it's time to move over.

I'm Sick, Can You Tell?

Blogging-- One Year and 601 Posts Later

Oh yes I did. Six hundred and one posts in one year. I moved into the little house as a way to simplify my life and live in a space I designed and felt was really mine. It's small, and if I were not so damn averse to the domestic arts, would be a breeze to keep spotless. I was trying to finish a novel I started thirty years ago. I wanted solitude and no distractions. So I moved in with my nineteen year old cat and my ten year old dog. It's very quiet back here. I have my own garden, the gazebo, a private driveway and it's gated. There's even a tennis court across the alley, and if I wanted to, I have permission to use it. My place is posted with "Beware of Dog" signs. No one comes back here uninvited, except Melea. The dogs are serious.

I have a friend in Portland, Larry, (actually he was my very first boyfriend) who said he'd help me do a final edit. When I got ready to send him chunks of the book, our computers were incompatible. I worked on a Dell PC in Word, he worked on a Mac and I didn't know how to convert what I worked on, into something he would be able to read, and he didn't know how either. That's where the charming, capable, and very talented Phillip, of Sitenoise, came into my life. I still have trouble with the lingo. I think it's possible that at least once a week I embarrass or irritate Phillip in one way or another, and yet he keeps talking to me. I could be paranoid, but then again, maybe not. Larry and Phillip were friends, and Phillip was the one who helped Larry (who is also a writer) when he needed technical help now and then. Larry had the nerve to ask Phillip to help me. I often wonder if he regrets the decision to help me out. Because here we are a year and a half later, and now we're linked, publicly.

I'm not sure I've ever met a more generous man than Phillip. If you're Phillip's friend, you're damn lucky. He's smart. He's funny. He can write really well, and does. And he's a patient and persistent teacher. The things I have learned in this short time amaze me every day. I would never have made the attempt to do this without his help. And one of the things he insisted would make a big difference in my writing experience was to get me on a Mac. I love my IMac. It was my last big splurge. Phillip picked the goodies I might need to make my writing life easier. He gave me music files and other goodies. I have the world at my finger tips thanks to Phillips guidance.

Young friends who live in New York were visiting in Salt Lake a year ago and insisted, after reading a small inflammatory opinion piece of mine, that I blog. That's where the 'splaining came into it. Web log eh? So in seconds, David had set up a blogger account for me and we'd given me a name. I was in business. And politics was getting interesting. So here I am, one year later. And though I write about a lot of things, politics is at the heart of it all. Because I believe that everything is political. Everything.

And I'm ready to step it up a notch. I will, of course, need Phillips help. But there's no need to rush into anything. I'm seeing things here and there at your places and I want them too. Oh yes, now I want it all. I want to win a writing contest again. I want to publish at least a story. I'd love nothing more on earth than to publish the novel. And yet, I still haven't made those last few changes, those copy edit niceties like spelling things right. Many of you have helped me there. Thanks. Keep it coming. I owe thanks to so many of you. You are a very generous and kind bunch of people. Diverse, far flung and engaging. My virtual family.

Maybe, like Lisa, the blogger formerly known as Dcup, I'll have a coming out party. Oh, not that kind. I mean write as Peggy and not hide behind the savage exterior. I can hang onto Savage--it is a family name.

Barack Obama, The Most Elegant Man In America (My first post with an enthusiastic one word comment)

The first time I saw him deliver a speech he moved across the stage with a grace and elegance I haven’t seen on stage since Fred Astaire. If you’re under the age of sixty you probably won’t get this reference at all, but the man was it. His career spanned sixty something years. He danced, he sang, he moved with such effortless grace. He was the most influential dancer/choreographer of the twentieth century according to George Balanchine and Rudolph Nureyev . Look him up on Wiki or rent some old Musicals and watch the man move. Forget the funny clothes. I know black and white film is a distraction, but take a look. Fred Astaire could be an ancestor of Barack Obama. Neither man is really pretty, but they both have that long-wristed, lean body that seems to always be slow dancing. And clothes hang on him so beautifully. No politician has ever had his slightly slouchy, dancers way of moving across a stage. So just the visual of him is fantastic. But I’m not talking about just the visual.

Barack Obama is an elegant man in every way we experience him—his voice is pleasing to the ear, and his use of language and phrasing makes the most mundane topic sound meaningful. But no matter how serious or important the topic, his voice and delivery are uplifting, soaring. It’s the reason Will I Am from the Black eyed Peas can make a beautiful song out of a victory speech. He is the man with a Dream for this generation. Every speech he gives is an “I had a dream” speech. His name is musical—a little percussion, a lot alliteration. It is exotic to us, so used to names like George, John, Bill—names so blunt and truncated. He does not need to use words like a cudgel to scare us like our current President—so stupid sounding. George Bush has the most tenuous grasp of his native tongue, making almost all words sound ugly. He couldn’t possibly be as stupid and boorish as he sounds, could he? But it is not just the almost eight years of being embarrassed by the speech of our leader that makes the elegance of Barack Obama’s words feel like a drink of cool, fresh water to the thirsty and tired, waiting to be uplifted and inspired, not just scared by threats from the boogieman Bush who uses words so ineptly that his very dumbness scares us.

Barack Obama has a smile that fills our hearts with hope. It light’s up his face, it lifts our spirits. We have been smirked at by a fake cowboy and his truly scary side-kick Darth Vadar glowering in the background. We haven’t pushed for impeachment for the high crimes of George Bush because we don’t want Dick Chenney as our president, not even for a few months. He really could finish the job Bush started and suspend the Constitution along with the rest of the Bill of Rights. He has his own personal private army of mercenary thugs called Blackwater.

The world is ready to see us right the ship of state, to elect someone who will not only inspire us, but make us proud of who we are. We will all be made more elegant, more eloquent if the leaders of our government set the tone, lead the way. We will again be seen around the world as a beacon of hope, where there is real Liberty and Justice for All. Not just big donors and rich friends. With a little luck and a lot of hard work, we might even get our civil rights back.

The More I See You, The More I Want You

Somehow this feeling just grows and grows.

In all honesty, I don't know how I ever got along without you. So forgive me if I indulge myself in a little more Oscar Peterson playing another great jazz standard. It's written by Harry Warren, lyrics by Mack Gordon and written in 1945, a year after I was born. This is the kind of music I grew up listening to. So it did leave its imprint on me. But since it's my preparation for my blogaversary, you'll just have to indulge me or ignore me, but I'm having fun.

As I Contemplate My First Year of Blogging

While I try to sum up what this past year has meant to me, my first year as a blogger, I went looking through the archived posts, and saw an unfinished draft here and there. But the one that caught my eye and wouldn't let go, was the one titled Lush Life. It has been lush in a Spartan sort of way. I didn't know what a blog was when I began this a year ago tomorrow. I had no computer skills--I used my computer as a Word Processor and storage space for the novel I was working on. I was often at war with my computer. I thought I hated computers in general. I saw it as a temperamental machine. It pissed me off mightily when it didn't do what I asked or needed it to do. So as I think about this change in my attitude and the change in my life that the blogging experience has been for me, I give you one more of my favorite Jazz performers playing one of my favorite Jazz pieces.

Poetry Monday

Apologies to All the People in Lebanon
by June Jordan

Dedicated to the 60,000 Palestinian men, women, and children who lived in Lebanon from 1948-1983.

I didn’t know and nobody told me and what
could I do or say, anyway?

They said you shot the London Ambassador
and when that wasn’t true
they said so
what
They said you shelled their northern villages
and when U.N. forces reported that was not true
because your side of the cease-fire was holding
since more than a year before
they said so
what
They said they wanted simply to carve
a 25 mile buffer zone and then
they ravaged your
water supplies your electricity your
hospitals your schools your highways and byways all
the way north to Beirut because they said this
was their quest for peace
They blew up your homes and demolished the grocery
stores and blocked the Red Cross and took away doctors
to jail and they cluster-bombed girls and boys
whose bodies
swelled purple and black into twice the original size
and tore the buttocks from a four month old baby
and then
they said this was brilliant
military accomplishment and this was done
they said in the name of self-defense they said
that is the noblest concept
of mankind isn’t that obvious?
They said something about never again and then
they made close to one million human beings homeless
in less than three weeks and they killed or maimed
40,000 of your men and your women and your children

But I didn’t know and nobody told me and what
could I do or say, anyway?

They said they were victims. They said you were
Arabs.
They called your apartments and gardens guerrilla
strongholds.
They called the screaming devastation
that they created the rubble.
Then they told you to leave, didn’t they?

Didn’t you read the leaflets that they dropped
from their hotshot fighter jets?
They told you to go.
One hundred and thirty-five thousand
Palestinians in Beirut and why
didn’t you take the hint?
Go!
There was the Mediterranean: You
could walk into the water and stay
there.
What was the problem?

I didn’t know and nobody told me and what
could I do or say, anyway?

Yes, I did know it was the money I earned as a poet that
paid
for the bombs and the planes and the tanks
that they used to massacre your family

But I am not an evil person
The people of my country aren't so bad

You can expect but so much
from those of us who have to pay taxes and watch
American TV

You see my point;

I’m sorry.
I really am sorry.




Thank you Liberality for posting this so I could "borrow" it.

Suzanne Horne, The Woman Known as Liquid Illusion

This is Suzanne Horne
I did not know Suzanne, but she gave me two awards. I didn't deserve them. She was so beautiful. Her site, Liquid Illusion, was stunningly gorgeous. It was sumptuous. Languid. Lovely. I could have been kinder, more generous, encouraging, but I did not know... And I think I should have.

I have been visiting her vacant, abandoned site obsessively this evening. I go back to look at her loveliness over and over. She was a poet, but I didn't comment often. I admired her, but I did not tell her enough. I know I couldn't have saved her, but I could have been kinder. I could have been generous with my words. She was a very talented photographer. She deserved more of life than this. She killed herself on Christmas Eve. A woman in her prime. Only forty two.

These are her words

Because:
If I have been a bad girl..........
It may well have depended on the situation at hand.
If I have acted out in a bad way......
I'm sure you know the conditions I was forced to act under.
If I was sneaky........
You'll know I had no choice in the matter.
(No rules in love and war, right?)
If I had bad thoughts dancing in my head.........
like really bad thoughts.....
you'll notice I didn't act upon those.
I just allowed them to dance for awhile.
If I was naughty.............
I was good at it.
No complaints.
Just requests for more.
If I seemed cruel and heartless...........
I just evened the score!
If you see me dressed somewhat like you on Christmas Eve.......
Please take no personal offense.
Consider it a "treat" for someone who has been REALLY good.
Oh, and if you saw me dip the cat's feet in red paint and toss her onto the trampoline.....
Well, you've got me there!
Love,
Liquid

These are the words of Suzanne Horne, Liquid Illusion

I'm In a Real Bad Mood

Disorder and freezing rain with a heavy dusting of snow have turned me into one very pissed off woman today. I've put off getting the radiator flushed and refilled with the appropriate antifreeze for my Dodge, which came here from Tucson, where it didn't need antifreeze that covered temperatures below -5, so now I'm fucked. Can't start the car for fear of cracking the block. I only wanted to start the car so I could run the defroster a while and try to soften the sheet of ice in which the whole vehicle is incased. Oh well, I'll be fine for a few days. But damn it's cold, and it's the kind of cold that sets my teeth on edge. All the walkways and driveways are thick with ice and must be salted. This sets the dogs teeth on edge and makes me feel guilty. But I don't want to break my hip, nor have the mail person break his/her hip and sue me, so salt it is.

I know I should eat, but I don't feel like it. I'm not exactly hungry, just running on empty, so eat I must. One bowl of chili later and I'm still pissed off. I have furiously vacuumed the main room, but now the real test is, will I actually go all the way and vacuum the greenhouse/bathroom, and clean everything like my life depended on it? And who knows, maybe it does.

I have stories half finished and languishing here and there all undone. What an untidy life I lead. I have tiny editorial corrections noted and ready to be made on the novel, but for some reason I keep putting it off. Is this my subtle way of sabotaging myself? Because I have very nearly made a career of sabotaging myself. I did it with every relationship I've ever had. Well with men, anyway. This is not to say the men had no part in the sabotaging.

Tom, refusing to read my writing was a big mistake, just in case you were wondering. Pat, sending me an email telling me you read my blog and like my writing, but can't read the novel, just made me hate you more than I already did. If you "can't read (my) novel" best you tell me why, rather than just leave it hanging there. Of course my question would be "why?" Is it the writing? Is it the content? Are you a pussy? A coward? A stupid asshole? Why bother sending me an email at all, if you're just going to insult me one more time? What is it with certain men? And why do I know so many of this certain type of man? Is it the age of these men? Is it generational? Are all the men my generation assholes? Nick seems to be a very nice man, he's smart, kind, generous. But even Nick refuses to read my fiction. This may end up being my bottom line. Can you read my fiction and tell me how you feel about it? If you don't like it, can you tell me why? I know all these men are readers of fiction. Both Tom and Nick have great taste in books. As for Pat, I have no idea about his reading taste.

I know I'm a difficult woman. How could I not be? If you read my fiction, you would know the answer to this question.

Let the Healing Begin

Jib Jab New Year

Presidential Portraits

Paul Krugman Turns Me On Again

Paul Krugman piece in the NY Times just makes me love him more. Sweet talking, Nobel Prize winning, Krugman is hot. And he's a blogger. I know he's too young for me, but still, smart talking men who seem sweet as well as smart, really get to me. Mummm, I love it when you talk smart to me Krugman.

Remember This

Please remember this, this land does not belong to the oil industry, the coal industry, the Bush family, the Chenney family, or any state government. This land is our land. And we have a responsibility to protect it from those who would destroy it for a last minute money grab. There is no clean coal, no clean oil, no drilling that doesn't drastically impact the environment, no mining that doesn't destroy the land and kill the miners. Lest we forget in the waning days of BushCo, This Land is Our Land.

Quackitude

And not just because it's Rachel Maddow, with Robert Redford talking about Utah, but because it MATTERS. We're talking about things, which once done, cannot be undone. Bush is sticking it to us everyday, quietly, in ways we won't feel for decades because we're too busy trying to survive. The thing I hate most about the prolonged "holiday season" is the absence of news. I'm not even getting my daily email updates. No news awaits me in my inbox. God it's boring. But lest we forget, Rachel Maddow will be back and on the job with the Lame Duck Watch.

And When I Die

Just so you know, when I die, you will be the only ones to notice my absence since I seem unable to shut up. Oh, yes there are a few here in the "real" world who might miss me for a moment, but it is you who have paid the most attention to my thoughts, and that means more to me than almost anything. It's you who have given me the confidence to believe, and maybe even know, that I can write. None of the men I have loved and lived with, sadly in some cases even married, have ever read a word I wrote unless it was a letter. Tom's comments on my impassioned letters were, "Nice penmanship." How insulting is that?

But many of you have taken me seriously as a writer. Fancy that. You have allowed me to help start blogs here and there for all of us solitary, unknown writers to write, and receive editorial help, to encourage, and make suggestions. And most importantly to grow and gain confidence.

So you have become a family for me, a woman with no living blood relatives of her own.

Yesterday I posted my blog roll to wish you a Happy New Year. And many of you came to say thanks and Happy New Year, and even offer words of appreciation. What surprised me most was the appreciation of a couple of men I didn't know were paying any attention at all. Dada of Dada's Daily was so lavish in his kind words. I do appreciate it.

But the words of one, thepoetryman, say best exactly what I'd hope I might wish to be, to become. This is the kind of immortality to which I aspire. And were anyone to ever read or speak a eulogy for me, these would be lovely words. So thank you Poetryman. Now I am going to publish on my blog your words without your permission. I hope you'll forgive me. But I want someone to know and remember. To be able to find this archived back at least twenty years and say...
That a Poetry Man said, "Utah,

When the wind has your breath within its throat
And the moon reaches you down within our grasp,
You enter a flame, a glimmering ember, a guide, and
We know you by your friends, whispering who you are.

When the rain drops your laughter upon our gardens
And the snow perches your spirit upon a window sill
Like a songbird warbling of our sloping lives-
We sense you; savage, tender, candid, thoughtful, loved… "

Twenty Days and Counting Down

I don't ever remember looking forward to anything as much as the Inauguration of President Barack Obama. Oh yeah, I have volunteered for other presidential nominees, but this is the first time in my long voting life I've given money on a regular basis, written a letter to my local newspaper (and had it published), walked my neighborhood offering lawn signs and made phone calls throughout the primary. By the time Barack Obama had clinched the nomination my block in Salt Lake City was called Block Obama--a sea of Obama lawn signs on both sides of the street.

My next door neighbor went to the convention. I'm afraid to ask her if she's going to the Inauguration, as I'll turn green with envy, but green is now going to be the fashionable color to wear so...

I've never longed for anything more that I have for this change in our zeitgeist. If we can elect a black president, we can do a great deal more than any of us ever imagined. Even in this time of the worst economy in our history, even in this time of war on two fronts and others threatening, we can reexamine our alliances and reorder our military priorities. And just maybe we can broker peace in the Middle East.

It will take a mighty effort on all our parts to make this happen. Young people will need to really get involved in a big way to make the change possible, but their participation in this past election is a very good sign that they know much will be expected of them. But young and old will need to pull together to turn this ship of state around. And there are obstructionist forces aligned against us in this effort. Nothing short of conversion is going to be needed to convince the right wing religious fundamentalists to join forces with us to make this a country that respects the rights of all.

It will be complicated and challenging to restore our civil rights. But if all of us work together, even when we don't agree on every little detail of what needs changing, maybe we can right the wrongs of the past eight years.

So I am starting the new year in optimism. Call me crazy. You won't be the first. But I am still hopeful.

Utah Savage is Remodeling

If you visit today, you will find that I'm missing some rather big pieces, some things have been moved or lost altogether--shit happens in a remodel. To make matters worse, I woke up sick today. Somehow this first upper-respiratory infection in three years has sucked my brains out. So fixing this may be slow going. I may be down a bit, but I'm far from out. I was planning a party for the new year, but parties are fun even if they don't happen when planned. And especially fun if I don't have to leave home to attend.

The big thing that went missing in the remodel is my blog roll. Without that, I can't come visiting today. So please forgive my absence, I will return. And just in case this is slower going than I'd hoped (isn't it always with a remodel) HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL OF YOU!

Blago's Fucking Chess Club

I've been making an effort to clean up my potty mouth this past six or eight months. My friend, blog-mate, and administrator, Phillip at Sitenoise, has inspired me to try and speak my mind without resorting to the gratuitous F-bomb just because I like the F-bomb. I'm still as foul mouthed as ever in my everyday, solitary, screaming at the TV kind of life. But linguistically speaking, I probably have more in common with Rod Blagojevich, than I'd like to admit. At least we do use the same swear words way too much.

But today Blogo showed us all that he's not only a nasty, swearing prick with bad hair, he is also a master of the down and dirty political chess game. I can imagine Rod, across the table from Fitzgerald. Rod's blowing cigar smoke in Patrick's face, and using fuckity fuck fuck fucks in every sentence, banging the timer at the last second, timing his moves for maximum impact, and in a moment of incredible strategic genius, pulling that wise old shining black knight out of thin air and saying, "Checkmate." And fuck you too Obama, while he's at it.

There are reasons to allow Burris to hold the place, quietly, graciously, while the trial we all know is coming gets in full swing. So far, other than a rather large but seemingly legal campaign contribution to Blago, there doesn't seem to be much to disqualify Burris, and as Burris pointed out in an interview this evening, Blagojevich hasn't been convicted of anything yet (except maybe the gratuitous use of the F-bomb, bad hair and a real hunger for the graft).

But Burris is qualified, and he is black in Obama's state, a state with a large and attentive black population. Burris would fill the Senate seat of the one black Senator now moved on to a much tougher job. I think it's a scandal in itself that there are so few minorities in the Congress.

Harry Reed has said the Senate will not seat a Blagojevich appointment. Since Blagojevich hasn't been convicted of a crime yet, he does have a legal right and responsibility to fill the vacant Senate seat. And he correctly understands that we only have so much time to fuck around with complicated legal wrangling over the Senate's refusal to seat a legally appointed Senator. It's a smooth move from a very slimy operator. What a fuckface!

MOTORHEAD, WHOREHOUSE BLUES

Ghost Dansing almost always picks the song that says something essential about my reasons for avoiding or liking certain things. The minute I followed Ghost's link and heard the first few chords to this song, I said, "yes, that's why I'm staying home."

"

Matinee Movie Tuesday

Well it's that time again. Nick is back in town and we are going to see Slum Dog Millionaire.


And just in case you're reading from your RSS Feed, here is the link

I'll be busy in the morning getting presentable, and then there's the movie, and then I'll need to eat, and then, I read a blog or two, but I will get to you later in the day, so don't think I'm not paying attention, or skipping you. I swear before the year is over I will be by.

Thanks for the suggestion Linda Sama, we're taking your advise.

Thank You Stella for Introducing Me to Carmen Tafolla

How Shall I Tell You?
by Carmen Tafolla


after listening to the world news, the U.S. attack,
on Libya, the Soviet accident at Chernobyl, the
firing in the Persian gulf, and wondering... if...

When no soul walks the softened green
and no foot beats the pulse on crumbling brown
and no one lives to sing to rain
or soak to sun the spirit of its golden gown
to weave the many colors of the after-arch
from sky to human skin to wooded wealth
in fiber fabric beads and tusks and seeds
all leading up in rows of beauty drumbeat to black
neck, like venison in stealth

When no one lulls the child to sleep
or takes the wrinkled story's hand
or listens to the news - a wired sound
of tribe on tribe - stet now - man on man
how shall I tell you that I love you then?
how shall I touch your fingers tip to tip
and say that we were blood and human voice and friend?

Statue of

Statue of
Teeming hordes of hungry
Always wanting just a
Time of rest not waiting
Under suffocated souls
Even scared to breathe too loud

Or ask
Freedom from the

MIGRA who will hunt them down
***

Part Two: I'm Now Going to Talk About the Big O After I (Finally) Got Rid of My Uterus

So, I was at war with my uterus. But life goes on even if you do spend two weeks every month PMSing like crazy and then spending one full week doubled over in agony, bleeding your guts out and hating everybody, cause they look at you sideways at just the wrong moment. Headaches, backaches, teeth grinding, nerves on edge all the damn time. Break through bleeding. I can't blame everthing on my uterus, I was after all married three times, and before and after and even during I had lovers, or so they they'd think they were.

But after the third ex-husband, I ended up, at thirty nine with the man I have referred to as first-love/last-love which I will shorten to FL/LL. He and I had the best of times and the worst of times, but most of the time he was a terrific lover. He was a bit of a show off in the love making department. Which sometimes annoyed me--a virtuoso performance is not always what you want. So the O's were big even when I still had my uterus. I prefer clitoral stimulation to bring me to orgasm without a lot of other stimulation to distract me from that singular pleasure. And it's also true that oral sex is not my favorite thing. Too much stimulation and I can't concentrate, can't turn off my mind. I have been able to orgasm with only two men in my entire life by just plain fucking. Old fashioned fucking. FL/LL was one of them, and the other's name I can't recall. It was a brief relationship shall we say. I sort of gave myself the best going away present when I left Santa Monica in late 1970. I had earlier that year terminated my one and only pregnancy for complicated reasons that will be apparent if you read my novel, Maggy. Suffice it to say, I had my reasons. Bad timing (it was one year pre Roe v Wade), wrong man, false positive VDRL, conceived on LSD--it was a pity fuck (I was on my way out the door) gone wrong. I never regretted the abortion. And so once healed, I gave myself the gift of the sexiest man around for a few days. There is such a thing as good chemistry, and the just right anatomical fit to bring forth a thundering liquefaction of a shuddering melting rippling sensation that starts deep and at the very end leaves the thighs wobbly. Uterine or vaginal? I can't tell. I don't know. Full body, yes. Anything other than old fashioned fucking not needed if everything else is going on for me. Did the man in question know what he was good at? Oh yeah. But that's out of, oh I don't know, maybe thirty men give or take... I have had men work so hard to bring me to orgasm, but I knew fairly early on, it wasn't going to happen. You can just tell these things. I could give all the instruction in the world and it wasn't going to happen. I might have loved the man for a day or two or a year or two, still, not so great the sex even with plenty of guidance.

So I'm living with FL/LL and start bleeding all the time. Once I passed day thirty in the long red flood, I went begging to my gynecologist to please, please remove the damed uterus. I was never ever ever going to have a baby. I heard no ticking of my biological clock. But I did have a breaking point with the bleeding problems and the PMS and the expense and mess, and after the last D&C which didn't stop the bleeding for more than a week, and the tests for hormone levels, which were inconclusive, I finally got the go ahead to take the damned uterus out.

The surgery was hardly a surgery at all. No scar as it was removed vaginally, and they took the cervix as well. I was told that cervical cancer is pretty risky, so why leave it if you don't need it. They did leave my ovaries in case they were still able to produce estrogen. They weren't, so I started having hot flashes fairly soon after the operation. I was put on low dose hormone replacement therapy. It immediately cured the hot flashes and has allowed me to miss almost all the worst of menopause, though I am now very post menopausal in terms of years.

The doctors orders post surgery was six weeks of no sex and taking it easy. I healed perfectly, scarless. And when next FL/LL and I had sex it was maybe the best we ever had, slow, gentle, languid. Abstinence had something to do with it. But also I felt happier more of the time, and no PMS. None. Fewer headaches, and better everything. Might have been all in my head, but I don't think so. I bloomed. I was freer in my sexual skin, more at home in my body. It not only worked as well as before, but somehow better. We had more fun in bed.

I have been asked the question if I felt uterine contractions during orgasm, and the honest to god answer is not really. I have felt pain from pounding penetration that was too deep and pushing on my uterus. I think the physiology of the orgasm for me involves my clitoris, vaginal walls, legs, and the full engagement of my mind. If I'm preoccupied, or overly tired, or worried about any little thing, it won't happen. So for this reason, I loved lazy morning sex best. Before the stress of the day had a chance to fill my head. I liked to take advantage of a morning hard-on.

I have had a three-some that involved a female friend of mine who had the hots for me. It made for great sex, but had terrible consequences for all three of us emotionally. I wanted to see if I was bisexual. Sadly, I'm not, really. But it was a thoughtless, careless way to find that out.

I have found that once you have sex with anyone it changes your relationship in a way that means you can't go back and pretend it didn't happen or that it meant nothing. I do believe that almost all sex has emotional consequences for at least one or the other of you if not both or all three.

I have never for an instant regretted the removal of my uterus, and see? No scar.

But I have had a friend or two who have had a hysterectomy because of some dire medical reason and once it was gone, they have claimed to feel less womanly, less feminine. That was not my experience. Quite the contrary. So you cannot generalize from my experience. Nor can you claim to know for sure how you would feel without a uterus if you still have a uterus. Any questions?

I'm Surprised I Did So Well

-19 As a 1930s wife, I am Very Poor (Failure) Take the test!

Part One: I'm Now Going to Talk About My Missing Uterus

If this idea is horrifying to you, then now is the time to cover your eyes or run screaming from the room. But a friend of mine, Freida of the Bees, asked me a question in her comments on a recent post of hers, and a hell of a post it is by the way, about the quality of orgasm with a uterus and without a uterus. I'm in one very good position to speak about this, since there has been a before and an after. I have heard women for whom there is not an after or at least not yet, claim some expertise in this area, and I question the claimants credentials here. How can you compare something you have yet to experience from the now you know of? This is, I do believe, the very essence of existentialism.

Anyway, my uterus was always difficult. I started menstruating on the very young side of the young norm for my day and age. I was just barely eleven. And the whole thing was traumatic for a number of reasons not the least of which was that I was not expecting it. If you are curious about my menses inauspicious beginning and the big public deal made of it, and the loss I suffered as a consequence, I will refer you to the Chapter called Too Old in the novel, Maggy, linked for your convenience on my side bar But the upshot of the whole thing was years and years of pain so severe it made me throw up, and have horrible headaches, sensitivity to noise and light, and hemorrhage-like flow. So I did ask for a hysterectomy for my sixteenth birthday. Cheapskates gave me clothes that I hated, of course. I was sixteen after all. What sixteen year old girl in her right mind and rebellious stage ever likes the clothes her parents buy for her? But no way on the hysterectomy. Then my gynecologist prescribed hormones. They helped with the pain, but were not a good thing to have done in the long run. Very high dose of Premarin which cause me to have what the doctors called "break through bleeding." In other words, I bled fifteen days instead of the usual seven. And it was always a hemorrhage that left me with a great deal of embarrassment, ruined clothes, and lost days of work and school.

The dysmenorrhea and heavy bleeding led to D&C after D&C. No known cause. But everyone who treated me assumed, despite my protestations to the contrary, that I would need to keep my uterus as I would one day want children. Oh Yeah? Fat fucking chance!

So with menorrhagia and dysmenorrhea my uterus was making my hellish life worse.

To be continued...

So This Is The Real Me?

The link to this test is in the title

I did read the Ring Trilogy eons ago and loved the books, but hated the movies. Really really hated them. I'm neither a big fan of fantasy or Science Fiction. I think Ray Bradbury was the last SiFi writer I really liked. I read him when I was a kid. I have no real idea who this "me" is, but I'm assuming it/he is the "real me" even if I don't know how. I just take certain things at face value. Not like the falling dollar. I have no idea what that poor devalued currency is worth these days. It sure doesn't buy much anymore.

A naturally skilled companion to those around you, you earnestly use your prowess out of concern to those you care about.

This forest is old. Very old. Full of memory... and anger.

Legolas is a character from the Middle-Earth universe. A biography is available at Aliases: Greenleaf
Date of Birth: ?
Race: Sindarin Elf
Height: around 6 feet or more
Date of Death: N/A
Alignment: Good
Parents: Thranduil - Father, ???-Mother
Spouse: None
Date of Marriage: N/A
Children: N/A

Physical description: Tall and fair, bright eyes, hair color is debated, some say dark, others say blonde, sufficient evidence as to either is not available. He wore the attire of the Silvan elves of Mirkwood, chiefly green and brown.

Biography: Sindarin elf of the woodland realm, in the year 3019, Legolas journeyed to Rivendell to sit on the Council of Elrond, and was chosen to represent the Elves in the Fellowship. In Lorien, Legolas and Gimli became close friends, a friendship that lasted the rest of their lives. Legolas' keen sight and archery skills were his greatest asset to the Fellowship. After the Breaking of the Fellowship, Legolas went with Gimli and Aragorn in search of Merry and Pippin, and fought in the battle of Hornburg. He eventually went to Gondor, and fought in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields; while in Gondor, he had his first glimpse of the sea, and was overcome by a deep desire to sail from that moment on. After the War of the Ring, he journeyed with Gimli to visit the Glittering Caves and Fangorn Forest. In the Year 120 FO, after the death of Aragorn, Legolas sailed over the sea, taking Gimli the dwarf with him, the last of the Fellowship.


Legolas
MOvie Notes

• Cast in this role is Orlando Bloom
Orlando Bloom as Legolas


Favorite Quotes

• He stands not alone " ... "...you would be dead before your stroke fell," to Eomer about Gimli