I've Gone Missing

In many respects I've been absent lately. Missing from my own blog, off tweeting or rewriting and otherwise tinkering with the first chapter of the novel and giving it a new title. It feels so familiar that I keep searching Wiki looking for it already taken by a better writer and published long ago. The Narcissist's Daughter is what I call it, but I'm haunted by the feeling that I didn't get it first. I have read so many novels over my amazingly long reading life that I often buy or check books out of the library that look interesting only to find, about a quarter of the way in, that I have read the book before. I've heard others of you say the same thing. I'm glad I'm not alone is this forgetfulness. Finally I Google it and what do you know, there it is, on sale at Amazon.com. I don't think I've read it because the author's name isn't familiar. Maybe one of you has posted it on Good Reads or Book Blogging. I get updates in my email. I go and look and I'm overwhelmed by the little bit I've put into Good Reads. I probably haven't updated it in a year or more.

I've stopped visiting most of you or only spottily, now and then. So obsessed with the news, that I tape all my favorite news shows so I can watch them without the commercials. Yet most of the day I'm tweeting with the news playing in the background. I'd be better served by listening to NPR or AirAmerica, rather than listening to what I'll watch later.

There is a bit of method in the madness to my obsessive tweeting. There are so many literary agents and publishers on twitter. They tweet tips for first time novelists. It's due to these tips that I decided to rewrite the first chapter of the the novel, The Narcissist.

I know, it was Maggy, but I like the ambiguity of The Narcissist. Who is the narcissist in this book? Judy, Maggy, or is it Chuck or Brent? Is Gramps the first and most important of the men, or is it Brent, probably the most damaged of the very damaged men who populate this novel? Men like those who, sadly, have populated my rather emotionally barren life. I say barren because sadness and failure do not make for a rich and happy emotional life nor do these emotions feel like healthy children. Fearing and eventually disliking the men you live with does not make for a happy life, and no matter what the other successes or adventures I've had, it's those failed relationships with men that have been most painful. But trapped like a bug in pine pitch my relationship with my interesting and difficult mother sent me on the search for men as damaged as the men in her life, the men who fathered me and later in her life, the men who tried to get between us. Families are sure full of good material.

If you have time and the inclination, take a look at the newley edited first chapter and tell me what you think. Is it better or worse for my tinkering? Leave bread crumbs.

An Email From The President and First Lady

Peggy -- Michelle and I were heartbroken to learn this morning of the death of our dear friend, Senator Ted Kennedy. For nearly five decades, virtually every major piece of legislation to advance the civil rights, health and economic well-being of the American people bore his name and resulted from his efforts. His ideas and ideals are stamped on scores of laws and reflected in millions of lives -- in seniors who know new dignity; in families that know new opportunity; in children who know education's promise; and in all who can pursue their dream in an America that is more equal and more just, including me. In the United States Senate, I can think of no one who engendered greater respect or affection from members of both sides of the aisle. His seriousness of purpose was perpetually matched by humility, warmth and good cheer. He battled passionately on the Senate floor for the causes that he held dear, and yet still maintained warm friendships across party lines. And that's one reason he became not only one of the greatest senators of our time, but one of the most accomplished Americans ever to serve our democracy. I personally valued his wise counsel in the Senate, where, regardless of the swirl of events, he always had time for a new colleague. I cherished his confidence and momentous support in my race for the Presidency. And even as he waged a valiant struggle with a mortal illness, I've benefited as President from his encouragement and wisdom. His fight gave us the opportunity we were denied when his brothers John and Robert were taken from us: the blessing of time to say thank you and goodbye. The outpouring of love, gratitude and fond memories to which we've all borne witness is a testament to the way this singular figure in American history touched so many lives. For America, he was a defender of a dream. For his family, he was a guardian. Our hearts and prayers go out to them today -- to his wonderful wife, Vicki, his children Ted Jr., Patrick and Kara, his grandchildren and his extended family. Today, our country mourns. We say goodbye to a friend and a true leader who challenged us all to live out our noblest values. And we give thanks for his memory, which inspires us still. Sincerely, President Barack Obama

The Fight For Universal Healthcare Was Teddy's Fight

Senator Edward M. Kennedy

Teddy Died

Statement from The Kennedy Family

August 26, 2009

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

“Edward M. Kennedy – the husband, father, grandfather, brother and uncle we loved so deeply – died late Tuesday night at home in Hyannis Port. We’ve lost the irreplaceable center of our family and joyous light in our lives, but the inspiration of his faith, optimism, and perseverance will live on in our hearts forever. We thank everyone who gave him care and support over this last year, and everyone who stood with him for so many years in his tireless march for progress toward justice, fairness and opportunity for all. He loved this country and devoted his life to serving it. He always believed that our best days were still ahead, but it’s hard to imagine any of them without him.”

Press Contact

Anthony Coley/Melissa Wagoner (202) 224-2633

"The work begins anew, the hope rises again and the dream lives on," - Ted Kennedy

Dirty Fucking Hippies Were Right

Found on twitter. I'm not kidding. Twitter is rich with insurrection.

Wee Wee Up

I'm Having An Upside Down Day

This morning while talking on the phone to Z, half asleep at 11:30, I took my pills. I always wake up, get coffee, pee, take the dogs outside and then open my weekly pill minder, take the day of the week container out and slam that handful of pills back with a swig of coffee. There are two doses: the one for morning contains the mood stabilizer Neuronton, the blood pressure drug Lisinopril, the blood thinner Warfarin, Estradiol, the drugs that keep my heart in normal rhythm, Diltiazem and Flecainide, and one tiny aspirin; and then there are the night time drugs that include a dose of Lisinopril, a Flecainide, two of the Neurontin, a whopping 80mgs of Simvastatin, and my antidepressant Doxepin. For the first time ever I opened the pill minder upside down and took my night time dose by accident. I didn't realize it until I got off the phone. Then I looked at the pill minder in my hand and realized my mistake. I had to take the morning drugs that I don't take at night, like the Warfarin, and the Diltiazem. It's a fuck-up, but not disastrous. The worst that will happen is a minor doziness today since my antidepressant is slightly sedating.

I called my therapist Fred, the minute I realized what I'd done. I left him a message. He'll check with my psychiatrist to confirm my decision skip my usual evening dose since I took it this morningish. I'm going to try to avoid double dosing if possible. The worst that will happen if I take another Doxepin will be a mild hypomania. And like most normal people I kind of like a little hypomania. It sure won't kill me and I just might finally get my house clean. I was going to grocery shop today, but now I don't think driving is wise, so I'm going to stay close to my bed as I may be flopping down and sleeping as if this day were night.

The Real Death Panels

Stolen from Sherry at After the Bridge

Breaking News: Obama is Bipolar

Is It a Novel or a Memoir? This Is the Question

The book has been written, the second book started, but the query is killing me. I started the first book as a memoir then changed my mind and called it a novel. 2,000 people have read it and they think it's a memoir. These 2,000 people don't know me, but they say it makes them cry and reads too true to be a novel. That says something sad about the novel as a form.

Many of the readers were men, and even the men said, "This is my family you're writing about." That seems to be the most common comment. Readers can relate to my characters. So now what? Can I market a memoir as a novel or should I look for an agent who specializes in memoir? I can't really write my query until this question is settled. Can I call it Autobiographical Fiction?

I was married to a writer who called his writing Autobiographical Realism. It got him a PhD and a life of slavery as a university professor. That was not the life I wanted. I just wanted to write. Now that I've been writing for 20 years I want to publish. Any suggestions?

First Healthcare, Next Dental Care

As you age, not matter how good your teeth were, they will start to fail. Most of us eat too much sugar and since dental care is expensive and not covered on all employer plans, a lot of you will be having significant dental problems in your thirties. It just gets worse over the ensuing years.

Dental care is way too expensive. I know. I've poured hundreds of thousands of dollars into my mouth. And now even the teeth that have had root canal therapy and porcelain crowns abscessing in the bone. Currently the last three bottom molars on the right lower side are abscessed and the whole right jaw and lymph node on that side are swollen and tender to the touch. I grind my teeth in my sleep, but every mouthguard I had made ($100+ a pop) needed to be replaced with every bit of subsequent dental work.

I am trying to hang onto these bottom molars since they are my only remaining chewing surface. It is your bottom molars that really take a beating in chewing. When a tooth abscesses under the tooth in the bone, the tooth rises slightly making any contact that much more painful. This is probably the tenth time I've gone through this trauma with these teeth. I should have had them pulled a couple of years ago, but a round or two of antibiotics gives me another few months. And since my last experience of having teeth pulled and replaced with a thing like a retainer with teeth has been a complete disaster, I am loathe to lose these teeth. I like chewing. I hate pain. And this time it's really painful. It used to be that if you lost your molars, you got a partial plate and that was that. No more cavities. But like watch makers, it's a dying art.

Now dentists are all about the implants. An implant starts at $2,500. That's just for the tooth. These are the variables. The implanting itself is a separate charge from the implant. You may need bone grafts. You may get infection, and you may have problems of alignment. I can't afford any of this and I'm not sure if I could afford it I'd risk bone grafts. My jaw is rather delicate.

What I need is a dentist who is a partial plate artist. I just don't know how to find such a dentist. In the meantime, I'm on antibiotics again and in pain again. Thank god for Compazine and Hydrocodon. I'm sedated, the pain is still there, but I don't mind quite so much and I'm sure to start itching soon. And day after tomorrow I'll be able to chew again for a month or so.

Dental care is the next big need for the elderly, the poor, and children. Dental infection can kill you. And if you can't eat, you won't survive.

To All My Writer Friends

This is one more reason to tweet. I'm following Writer's Digest on twitter and woke up this morning (10 AM is still morning) to this email notice. Get your stories out and start editing. I am not a genre writer but I think I have at least one story that can be considered horror or suspense. There is an entry fee of $15. but even I can afford $15.

Barney Takes On Bat Shit Lady

Just another light hearted town hall meeting.



Another tidbit from Twitter.

Tweeting My Life Away

I spent all day yesterday on twitter tweeting. I am learning the fine art of the retweet. I find an interesting tweeter and follow them, then they follow me. It's just all so smart and fast moving and takes a certain wit so say something smart in 140 characters. You know me as a rather long winded whiner, but I can pitch snark with the big boys on twitter. There are certain bloggers who are natural tweeters. Tengrain is one, ConecticutMan is another.

For every cause there are a group of tweeters who make it their own, who do the research, follow the news for up-to-the-second updates, and for every profession there are tweet networks. I think it was just a few months ago I started tweeting and now I have almost 400 followers. I wake up every morning to 10 invites to follow other tweeters. Throughout my day at twitter I find smart and interesting tweets from people I follow home to follow, then next morning there they are, following me. I think this is what they call "going viral." I could be wrong; I often am.

For every interest there is a twitter network. I'm following reporters, and pundits. For instance I follow Rachel Maddow, David Shuster, Don Lemon, Anna Marie Cox, Contessa Brewer, Jake Tapper, and many many more. I follow the NY Times, The Nation, NPR, MSNBC, CNN, The LA Times, The Washington Post and more. I follow too many news sources to remember them all first thing in the mid-day upon just waking. Twitter's an interesting place. I could follow Sarah Palin, Karl Rove, and every other right wing nut job if I choose, but I let others follow the crackpots and relish their skirmishes with them. It's a fast, wild ride on twitter.

I tend to be a bit long winded when I write. That's one of the reasons writing a one or two page query letter is such agony. So much to say, so little space to say it. Twitter forces me to condense my writing. I think it's a good discipline for me.

And after I have an experience like getting together with an important person from my youth to find myself shaken to my core, twitter is the kind of meditation that keeps me focused for a day on something else and breaks the cycle of painful looking back and wondering why.

There are twitter rooms for those with very specialized interests. I have found agents, publishers and other writers. I even follow The Writers Digest. The networking aspect is one of the reasons for tweeting. Find an agent who handles the type of fiction or non-fiction you write and then follow them to their blog site where you will be able to read about all the agents in their agency and what each is looking for. I've found tips on how to write a query letter and who accepts chapters with a query letter. I can't imagine another social networking site that would let me move so quickly and freely through these many diverse worlds.

Some of you have invited me to join FaceBook. I tried it once and then realized quickly that I didn't want any of the people I knew in High School or College to find me. I've been hiding from them for fifty years. And social networking takes time. So choose the place you want to spend your time and jump in with both feet. Hope to see you on the twitter.

Talk To Me

I've been taken back to my youth by a visit from the woman who was most influential in my young life. She was a rebellious and unconventional young woman who grew to be a classicist, an academic, an intellectual, and ever more conservative in her lifestyle. I want her to talk to me for as long as it takes to make me understand this journey toward the right when traveled so far from her radical youth. I was not as radical as she in my youth but have grown ever more so in my old age. We still have the same affinity for each other but we have moved past each other and are on such different journeys now. I can't bear the thought that the thirty years since we last saw each other is a marker for how far we've grown from each other. She, as much as my terrible family, influenced the journey I took toward this now, this here, this fascination with words and their power. We won't have another thirty years. We are old women striding toward death and time is of the essence. What sent us on these philosophical trajectories? Why are we here now at this time in our lives and in the vast scheme of things and places, so near and yet... Thirty years is a lifetime and for us like a blink of the eye.

The Tarot Cards

Back then when we were young and after I'd had a lover or two
I wasn't looking for a man at all but if I were I'd want one
Who didn't want to fuck me
Like looking for an honest man in college or a bar or a truck stop

But you found the glance with slit eye and the slow slide down
Found your body of great richness and utility anywhere like
The wall of the bar just outside the back door, the bushes plumped
Like pillows for your hips. Strange men, old friends, ex lovers,
All comers. You fascinated me so unlike were we

I was the girl they all wanted to fuck
You were the woman who fucked them all
Married with children, it didn't change a thing
You were the one expelled from the campus coffee shop
Obscene language, solicitation and other outrages and I
Worshipped you. Let me live with you.
I'll watch the children, I'll wash the dishes, I'll be the nanny
I'll be the bait and then we'll switch

You read the Tarot Cards and you were the Queen of Cups.
You drew the The Tower reversed, bodies flying through the air
You insisted I was only a Page. I'd had no children. I would always
Be a page, a child, childless, no matter what my age. A Page
I drew the Devil upright and the Hierophant reversed

For a costume party you would go as Medusa, and knew
Enough to call me Persephone. I was that girl, the mere Page
Carried to the underworld by Hades, another name for Daddy
(I told no one your real identity, Daddy, King of the Underworld)
And yet the Queen of Cups knew the ghost of you in the circles
Under my troubled eyes too damn pretty to really be seen.
Ice girl Holding The Devil's hand wearing a well pressed black dress
The Page of Swords in love with the Queen of Cups
I still am.

Happy Birthday Tom

It's First Love/Last Love's birthday today. He turns 65 today, finally old enough to get Social Security and Medicare. Woot! Hurrah! Happy Days Are Here Again!

Where ever you are, Happy Birthday!

The Amazing Things I Get In Email. Thanks JackieSue

Pretty amazing works of art! (How do you step back and make those final touches?) Stunning crop art has sprung up across rice fields in Japan . But this is no alien creation . The designs have been cleverly planted. Farmers creating the huge displays use no ink or dye. Instead, different colours of rice plants have been precisely and strategically arranged and grown in the paddy fields. As summer progresses and the plants sh oot up, the detailed artwork begins to emerge. A Sengoku warrior on horseback has been created from hundreds of thousands of rice plants, the colours created by using different varieties, in Inakadate in Japan . The largest and finest work is grown in the Aomori village of Inakadate , 600 miles north of Toyko, where the tradition began in 1993. The village has now earned a reputation for its agricultural artistry and this year the enormous pictures of Napoleon and a Sengoku-period warrior, both on horseback, are visible in a pair of fields adjacent to the town hall. More than 150,000 vistors come to Inakadate, where just 8,700 people live, every summer to see the extraordinary murals. Each year hundreds of volunteers and villagers plant four different varieties of rice in late May across huge swathes of paddy fields. Napolean on horseback can be seen from the skies, created by precision planting and months of planning between villagers and farmers in Inkadate Fictional warrior Naoe Kanetsugu and his wife Osen appear in fields in the town of Yonezawa , Japan . And over the past few years, other villages have joined in with the plant designs. Another famous rice paddy art venue is in the town of Yonezawa in the Yamagata prefecture. This year ' s design shows the fictional 16th-century samurai warrior Naoe Kanetsugu and his wife, Osen, whose lives feature in television series Tenchijin. Various artwork has popped up in other rice-farming areas of Japan this year, including designs of deer dancers. Smaller works of crop art can be seen in other rice-farming areas of Japan such as this image of Doraemon and deer dancers . The farmers create the murals by planting little purple and yellow-leafed kodaimai rice along with their local green-leafed tsugaru roman variety to create the coloured patterns between planting and harvesting in September. The murals in Inakadate cover 15,000 square metres of paddy fields. From ground level, the designs are invisible, and viewers have to climb the mock castle tower of the village office to get a glimpse of the work. Rice-paddy art was started there in 1993 as a local revitalization project, an idea that grew out of meetings of the village committee. Closer to the image, the careful placement of thousands of rice plants in the paddy fields can be seen The different varieties of rice plant grow alongside each other to create the masterpieces . In the first nine years, the village office workers and local farmers grew a simple design of Mount Iwaki every year. But their ideas grew more complicated and attracted more attention. In 2005 agreements between landowners allowed the creation of enormous rice paddy art. A year later, organizers used computers to precisely plot planting of the four differently colored rice varieties that bring the images to life.

Friends and Time

I have a friend coming to town I haven't seen in over thirty years. She was, along with Z (a mere girl, like me) my first grown-up female friend. I met her in the Huddle Room at the University of Utah. She has been a Professor/Tutor at St Johns University, Santa Fe campus, and is now retired. She's coming to town for a high school reunion and I get to spend Friday afternoon with her. So I'll be cleaning house and cooking up a storm.

I have raided the large garden next door; I gathered loads of fresh organic eggplant, tomatoes, zucchini, peppers, parsley, and basil. The bag of purloined vegetables had to weight at least fifteen pounds. Yesterday, after my doctor appointment (I am still clotted just right) I stopped at a fruit stand and bought a Utah watermelon, two cantaloupes and five peaches. I have enough food for a small army, but I just want to feed these two very important women a lovely lunch. I'll fix a very fresh eggplant parmigiana, a fresh chilled melon plate, and fresh peach cobbler for dessert. My bar is well stocked and there is beer in the fridge. I have soft drinks and two varieties of iced tea. I could fix a great iced coffee. And last but not least, I have a HUGE bouquet of late summer flowers. I think I've got all the bases covered.

It cooled off for a few days last week, but it's very hot again now. Our days are in the 90s; our nights in the high 60s. It's too hot to do a lot of cooking in the middle of the day, so I'll probably get up very early Friday morning to cook the peach cobbler. I will make the tomato sauce this evening. Then while the cobbler is in the over Friday morning, I'll cook the eggplant and assemble the eggplant parmigiana. Once the cobbler comes out of the oven, I'll slip the eggplant dish in the oven for about a half hour--long enough to melt and lightly brown the cheeses. Then a quick shower for me, and I'll be ready. Even if neither of them feels like eating, it won't be wasted effort. My friend Tracy and I shared the last fresh eggplant parmigiana I made. She's ready for another such treat, and her husband, who didn't even get a taste of it last time, is planning on leftovers this time.

I am frantic to get my house clean, but things just keep popping up that can't be ignored. Am I making excuses? Probably. I used to go to group therapy where one of the women in the group always talked about getting up and vacuuming and mopping all the rooms in her house, cleaning all the bathrooms and doing laundry EVERY DAY! I thought she was especially crazy.

I'm a once a week sort of cleaning lady. I change the bed, clean the bathroom, vacuum and dust and call it good. Then another day I do laundry and think I've done a good days work. I try to keep things neat, but I hate vacuuming and mopping floors. I just don't ever plan on eating off my floor. I would like to get all the windows clean, but that's optionaly given time constraints.

For some odd reason I seem to be very popular the last little while. Phillip is coming back for another pit stop on his way back to San Francisco, and Larry, my boyfriend when I was twelve, is also coming to town for the reunion. It's a hive of activity here, and drastically cutting into my blog reading time. I've become an addicted tweeter too. I need a little cooling off time there.

Z is having a very rough time of it right now. She has radiation burns on her chest and back. She's allergic to sulfa drugs and when they treated her burns they didn't check her chart and put sulfa/antibiotics in a salve on the burns. She had a very bad reaction: high fever, chills and shaking, and extreme pain. All of this makes her dislike of western medicine more intense. She hates them all. It was a nurse who dressed her burns with the sulfa drug and didn't check her chart for allergies. Every interaction with a medical professional turns into another trauma. She is going to take a radiation break this week. She still has two weeks to go on radiation, but just can't take it anymore. I'm not sure she's going to feel well enough to get together. I'll just have to clean house with my fingers crossed.

I'm Getting Ready for the Ladies Who Lunch

Query Fear

I have written longish short stories in less time than I've been working on an almost two page query letter. There are so many things the tiny query letter must do. It needs to make me sound interesting, smart, talented, and marketable. Not just my book needs to be marketable; I must be marketable, too. Everything but the writing and the story depends on marketing. Well, I take that back--the story needs to be marketable too. Once written the handling of a book is all about the marketing. I have very little confidence that I am capable of marketing myself in a two page letter. In a couple of paragraphs I need to say an awful lot. I have to pack into as few words as possible why I chose to write about a crazy family, and why that might be a good thing to read.

I do believe that the novel I've written has something that almost everyone can relate to. We all have crazy families. Maybe not this crazy, but crazy enough that almost everyone can relate to a mother like Maggy, the mother in my book. Almost everyone has been through some aspect of divorce and the fracturing of a family. There has to be at least one narcissist in every family. Doesn't there? I'm betting on it.

The other kind of universal experience that I tell in excruciating detail is the care and feeding of a parent with dementia, on the long slow slide to brain dead; perhaps a parent who potty trained you and who now needs you to change her diapers for years, and is like any toddler, surly about giving up the shit. However, a toddler and a grown up the same size as you, are not the same to change. And if you are the least bit phobic about grownup's poop, it will turn your stomach and test your patience long past your patience's limit. Somehow a mean parent just gets meaner with dementia. Odd how that works. The very sweet seem to just grow sweeter. The marginally mean can turn into remorseless sadists, slowly, over a too short time that seems to never end, until you are changing the diapers of a person who has no idea who you are, but knows he doesn't like you, in fact hates you, and the struggle to keep his shit seems like a matter of life and death to him.

I won't say Maggy is a how-to-book on surviving taking care of crazy momma. But it is a book about a very dysfunctional family told from the point of view of the baby who is saddled with the worst jobs of all. I'm betting it doesn't hurt to know what's coming down the road as momma and daddy start going batty, giving the farm away to scam artists, and crapping their pants in public. And my generation, the baby boomers, are now going batty at an alarming rate. We are the most populous of generations. Think about that my darlings, while you ponder your future as you lie in bed worried about your children's education, their prospects for a job, your ability to keep your job as the economy goes to hell and the next generation is bringing its freshly minted graduate degrees to your boss, offering to work for less, and your daddy is now alone and not doing so well. Sleep well. Then tomorrow, tell me Maggy isn't a horror story.

Smile, Like I've Never Heard It Before

A Saturday Night Song for a Sunday Morning

The Odds and Ends of Today

We finally have a day that isn't going to fry my brain. We've had two months of 95-100 degree temperatures and not a drop of rain. It's all parched and crunchy, and I'm not just talking about my brain.

Today it will only reach 80 degrees and I'm actually going to be able to take Marley for a walk. Yes, I am going to get a little exercise. Shut up! No one likes a smart ass.

I'm also getting my head shrunk at 3:00 this afternoon. I'll come home and take a picture so you call tell me how my smaller head looks. There will be a few errands run on the way home from the therapist's.

Phillip of Sitenoise is stopping off here for a very short visit, so I'll be baking brownies and getting questions written so while he's here I can get a wee bit of help with my first submission to a Literary Agency.

It's a busier day than usual, so I'm off to take Marly on her walk.

Mike Snyder on Rachel Maddow

MoveOn: The Movie

This speaks for itself:


Thanks to The Vigil

Fat Cats In Mouseland

Please watch this clip. It was made just for you by the Canadian, Keefer Sutherland, grandson of Tommy Douglas (the man who brought universal healthcare to Canada) who has something to say about the current debate on healthcare. Watch it, it might just be the thing that flips that switch and wakes you up to actually vote the fat cats out so some smart mice can run the government for a change.

Dear TV Advertisers

I just had a Comcast Tech Support guy sent out because the volume on the advertising is driving me crazy. Don't say it. We all know I am already crazy, but why do advertisers not know that we hate the rising volume on all the ads? The Comcast guy says they get complaints about this problem all the time. It isn't them. Or so he says, and I have no reason to think he's lying to me. And the volume rises with each ad, so that the last ad is at scream level. I can't stand it.

The result you advertisers want (which I assume is to grab our attention so we will actually listen to what you're hawking) does exactly the opposite of what you intend. I do not listen to the screaming ads; I mute the screaming ads. Ill say it again. If your ad is louder than the program I'm watching, I mute your ads.

The worst offenders are local advertisers. The national ads start at programing volume, but each successive ad gets a little louder. By the fourth ad the volume is so high I have no choice but to mute them. So if you don't want us to listen to your ads or buy your products Advertisers, keep it up. If you do want us to listen to your ads, try whispering. I might even lean in a little to listen to your soft spoken spokesperson.

Canada Care, from Salt Lake Tribune, Public Forum Letter

Print Email Font Resize Canada care Public Forum Letter Updated: 07/31/2009 06:27:24 PM MDT As a Canadian visiting Salt Lake City, I have been watching with great interest President Barack Obama's attempt at health care reform. I have heard comments by politicians, people and TV ads attacking Canada's health care system. Many of the facts are distorted. Canada has one of the finest health care systems in the world. I have never had to go to the United States for medical treatment because Canada offers all of the same treatments. I get to choose who I want for my physician. When I go to him or the emergency room or have major surgery, I don't pay anything. And I get it done quickly. Canada's health care system is largely paid for by corporations, which pay an employer health tax. Everyone is covered, even homeless people. A few years ago in a television poll, Canadians were asked to name the greatest Canadian. Tommy Douglas, the father of Canada's universal health care, won the vote. I have known many people, Canadians and Americans, who have lived in both countries. All of them state that Canada's health care system is superior. Ken Sisler Newmarket, Ontario, Canada

My Experience with Private Insurance

There was a long period of time from my late thirties and into my mid to late fifties when I had to buy my own health insurance as a self employed individual working as contract labor. Sounds very glamorous doesn't it? If you're an actor or model or voice talent or make-up artist or stylist working in Utah with an agent you're contract labor. If you get a part in a movie or on a TV show that's a union production, for that brief time when you're on set, you're covered by the production company should you be injured or become ill while actually working. But really, the bottom line is you're responsible for your own health insurance.

When I first signed up for coverage in the '80s there was only one insurance company offering individual coverage in Utah, and that was United Healthcare. My premiums started in the $300 range. I thought that was high but it was the only game in town. As long as my internist proscribed my antidepressant, United Healthcare covered my treatment. It was when my depression wasn't responding to the antidepressant I was on, and my internist referred me to a psychiatrist, that United Healthcare began increasing my deductible and co-payments at an alarming rate. I began to see my insurance provider as my adversary. Every year my premium went up close to $100 a month. My copay went from $5 to $10 and then $20. I knew I was bipolar, but my primary symptom, or at least the one that made working impossible, was severe depression. Until I started seeing a psychiatrist I had been able to keep the word "bipolar" out of my medical records. Once that diagnosis started appearing in my records, my premium doubled. In one month it went from $500 a month to $1,000 a month. At that point I had to give up coverage.

It was just prior to that last doubling of my premium that my biggest client went out of business. This decreased my income 80%. So, I had to drop my insurance; I simply couldn't afford the premium anymore. Then I discovered that my mother had vascular dementia. As her only living relative I became her only caregiver, the one person responsible for her. So she became my full time job, a job that is depressing even for those not inclined to depression.

Without my medications, caring for my mother drove me over the edge into psychosis. I was hospitalized at the University of Utah adult psych ward for two weeks. This was the beginning of the precipitous plunge into bankruptcy. I couldn't afford the drugs I was on. At this point my drug bill was almost $1,000 a month. I couldn't afford to pay my medical bills. So next came the slow process of applying for disability. Within one year I was bankrupt and disabled. And then I started getting the help I needed to stay somewhere close to the balance point of the seesaw I was living on.

Once I started getting a monthly check from Social Security Disability and getting 80% of my medical bills paid, I was able to hang on by my fingernails. Without that public option I don't think I would have survived that terrible time in my life. It is one thing to have an illness that is expensive, incurable, and tricky to treat; it is another thing to be treated like a deadbeat who can't pay her medical bills and doesn't deserve to live.

Even with the public option of Medicare, I have to make difficult choices regarding the allocation of scarce dollars. My illness is still expensive, but as long as I make a good faith effort to pay my bills, I am treated like a person with value and dignity. I'm never refused treatment. I choose my own doctors. My drugs are now affordable because of Medicare part D and the extra help I get with drug costs because of my low income--no donut-hole for me, thank god.

I can't work anymore. But I can tell my story. And it's a common story. I am not alone. Anyone who has lost benefits when they lost a job, knows what I'm talking about. If you have children, insurance is an absolute necessity. Children cannot go without some kind of health insurance. And we should never have to choose whether we get the medicine we need or buy food. It's that basic for a lot of our citizens. We have reached the bottom line. We need single payer healthcare. But if that's off the table, we must have a public option for those of us most at risk. Healthcare shouldn't be a choice, it should be a human right.

Taking A Day Off

Well, I'm sort of taking a day off. I woke up limp as a dishrag. I can't quite get my brain working, so editing is out of the question. I miss visiting you all and if my brain comes back online today that's what I'll be doing. Until then I'm just going to lie in my bed and drift in and out of sleep.

I have an appointment with my doctor Monday at 10:00. I've got a feeling the heart rhythm drugs aren't working as well as they did to control the a-fib. If I had money to wager with, I'd wager that I have an ablation in my future.

PS, if you're bored and came here looking for a little entertainment, might I direct you to the novel, Maggy, or the short stories, or maybe a bit of poetry? Don't forget to leave a comment. They are every so helpful to the creative writer.

According to the Mayan Astrological Calendar

Crystal Moon day 14
Year of the White Electric Wizard

kin 155: Blue Crystal Eagle
I Dedicate in order to Create
Universalizing Mind
I seal the Output of Vision
With the Crystal tone of Cooperation
I am guided by the power of Accomplishment
I am a galactic activation portal enter me.

Day Out of Time
Blue Electric Night
25.7.2009

This is my Mayan astrological sign or description. In the West there are two of me, twinned. In the East I am a monkey. Yes, I am mischievous, hopefully in a good way. And in the humdrum world of psychiatry I am a fine specimen of a woman with bipolar disorder.

It was the crow that led me on this search. And I do admit to wanting to live in the day out of time until it becomes Blue Electric Night in the Universal Mind with an Output of Vision Guided by the Power of Accomplishment toward the inner Galactic Activation Portal. But I'm a bit uncomfortable with the idea of being entered. This could be my fatal flaw.

Sculpt Your Arms While You Improve Your Handjob Skills

I found the link to this on twitter. See? Twitter isn't just a waste of time.

If the Birthers Don't Get You The Deathers Will Try

ConnecticutMan1 has written this about the Deathers. Wednesday night was the first I'd heard of the Deathers. Oh those crazy wingnuts! If they can't get you with one lie they'll try to scare you with another. There is no way to stop them, but they are quite entertaining. My suggestion is to do your best to humiliate them on twitter.

Why? You ask why?

Thanks PZ, I didn't know I wanted this, but now that I have it, I have to post it.
Randal, can you do this? Why do I pick on you? Because all the girls know you? Because I can? To steal a phrase, that's why.

I Woke Up This Morning...

Well, waking up at all could be considered a good start. I let the dogs out and went to the bathroom to pee. As I sat down I felt my legs disconect (in my brain) from my hips. I swear it felt neurological. My legs were useless, like long dangling flipper things, completely useless. When I got over the shock and after I finished peeing, I had to use my arms to get my feet under me. Then I had to use my arms to work my way hand over hand from piece of furniture to piece of furniture to get back to bed. Fuck! Dead legs are a real drag. And I mean that literally.

I was concerned, but it was too early to do anything about it, like call my doctor's office. So I grabbed my sleep mask and tried to still the screaming going on in my mind, and eventually went back to sleep for a second or two. Usually the dogs leave me alone until I open the door and let them back in, but not this morning. Roscoe the big yellow lab positioned himself under the window closest to my bed, and Marley positioned herself under the kitchen window . Roscoe whined like a baby and Marley barked nonstop. I gave up after half an hour of trying to ignore them and found that my legs were working again. Whew! I was so scared for a second I had goosebumps.

There were a lot of things going through my mind during the hour or so I lay there with my eyes closed, blacked-out by my sleep mask. I have a friend with MS, so MS was on my mind. I also considered that it was just a reaction to stress, just a momentary blip on the radar screen of my addled mind. I checked gingerly to see if my legs would propel me to the door to let the dogs in. They did. So now I will need to call my doctor's office and check out this new symptom that is the collection of symptoms that could just be a transient hysterical paralysis, or some other non-serious momentary psychosomatic bit of flotsam from the weird constellation of my many little health issues.

Meet The Birthers in Congress

Reuters, AP, Handout photos

Clockwise from top left, Sen. Jim Inhofe, R-Okla.; Rep. Bill Posey, R-Fla.; Rep. Mary Bono Mack, R-Calif.; Rep. John Culberson, R-Texas; Rep. Marsha Blackburn, R-Tenn.; Rep. John Campbell, R-Calif.

Are they kidding? I wonder how many of these idiots are members of the very special, secret family at the C Street "Church?" Let me check. I'll get back to you on that.

Please Sign This

We Want the Public Option dot Com

Add Your Voice, Make Your Choice

Exiled to Canada Because of Healthcare Needs

Stolen from Sherry.

Catching Up

I've been missing in action again. You may not even have noticed, but if you have, I apologize. I'm posting the last two chapters of the novel, Maggy. Then I need to practice writing a query letter. One of the good things about twitter is that there are a bunch of literary agents on twitter; I'm following several of them. And it seems the big hurdle for most writers seeking an agent is learning the art of the query letter. So I'll soon start practicing my query letter writing. Seems to be part pitch, part bio, part appeal to the ego of the agent. I can write a novel, a short story, a poem, but a pitch? We'll see.

Yesterday I had atrial fibrillation and hinky blood pressure. In the past I didn't feel the atrial fibrillation, but yesterday it put me down like an old dog. I was ashen and exhausted, and completely uninspired. It was one more day in a month of extremely high temperatures, so as well as sick, I was limp from the heat. I promised my neighbor that if I woke up today with hinky blood pressure and the stuttering pulse, I'd call my doctor. Well, I seem fine today, but still called my doctor's office to let her know about yesterday's episode. I see her in a couple of weeks anyway. I think the stress of having three girlfriends who are so seriously ill has stressed me to the limit. It's as if I can't bear the fact that I am going to be left alone, alive and very old. Some would say this is better than the alternative, but I'm not so sure. It was always my plan to exit early. Yet here I am older than I ever imagined I'd be.

I'm going to be following the healthcare debate very carefully. I wish to god I were very very rich so I could contribute several million to anyone who could defeat Orin Hatch. That old prissy prick needs to retire. He is as right-wing as one gets, and completely in the pocket of the insurance industry. Harry Reid needs to go too. Harry is about as spineless as they come. I think Harry's problem is that he's a Mormon, and as a Mormon he ought to be a republican. He reminds me of Joey Leiberman. He's straddling the fence of his religious values and his political affiliation and it's giving him a wedgie. So I'd pump some money into bringing down Harry as well. Then there are the "blue dog democrats." I'd start going after them with my discretionary millions. Boy is it fun to dream those kind of dreams. How nice it would be to have the money to influence the outcome of political races. United Healthcare is going to be going full-out to fight the possibility of a public option. Do not let those criminals change the debate. United Healthcare and it's "think tank" the Lewin Group is still rich enough to pour hundreds of millions into fighting a public option. Do not let them influence you. Please write and call your elected representatives to let them know where you stand on the healthcare debate. Sorry if that sounds like a lecture, but this is important. I have medicare, you should too. It's the best medical coverage I ever had, and I used to pay $1,000 a month to United Healthcare for shitty coverage.

My Daily Twitterscope

Others may be quite certain that you are lost in space today -- and they might be right. But it's probably more correct to say that you are detoured, for you really do know where you are and where you are going. You're not, however, aware of how you're going to get there. Don't pay too much heed of anyone who judges you too harshly now. Let your wounds heal on their own schedule. You'll still have time to reach your destination. Get your complete Cosmic Profile

I'm fairly sure there are those who KNOW that I am lost in space everyday, but compared to many of my "sane" friends I am incredibly grounded. Yes, it's probably true that dingbats attract dingbats, but I swear I know some of the nuttiest people who are thought to be completely normal, whereas I am known, especially by myself, to be nuts. I do avoid relationships with other mental patients. I have enough problems with my sane friends. But at least one of my sane friends (Z) has eight, yes, that's 8 friends who are bipolar. That qualifies her for the loony bin to my way of thinking. I have met a couple of her other bipolar friends, and I wouldn't let them in my house if they knocked on my door and asked for a drink of water. Heartless? Maybe. But what is it that would make a fragile woman surround herself with so many people who obviously need help? Yes, some of us can be quite charming for minutes on end, but her other bipolar friends, with the exception of me, are non-compliant bipolar patients who refuse to take their meds and who engage in shrink-shopping--looking for a therapist who will give them a kinder, gentler diagnosis.

Respect For Authority

I don't have it. The first authorities are always parents. The worse they are, the less likely their spawn will be able to respect authority.

I live as lawlessly as I dare, given that I live in a paternalistic, authoritarian, theocratic state. I live at odds with the culture around me and have learned, usually, to live quietly and as invisibly as possible, and to find the other rebels in my neck of the woods. Amazing how many of us there are. Repressive theocracy breeds quiet but passionate rebels.

I do believe we have a great set of rights and obligations set forth in the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. But we have a bunch of stupid state and federal laws and statutes that are unconstitutional. Drug laws, for instance. We tolerate a homegrown terrorist organization that escalates from intimidation to murders in the name of protecting a zygote. Potential life trumps the living person. The right-to-lifers are always pro death penalty. And they always claim to be driven by some religious zeal. I've known a lot of people who claim to be christian, but I have known very few who truly lived up to the dogma. Judge not, is a big one. Covetousness is another difficult test for christians. Love thy (strange) neighbor is another problem. There is something in there about the poor, the disabled, the elderly too, I'm sure.

I've done my time searching for a religious fit for myself. Couldn't be done. It started when I was in my teens and ended in my fifties. The best I did was find a congregation and a pastor who spoke to me in many ways that satisfied something in my heart that was mostly about having a sense of community. They were welcoming and kind, generous and accepting. And the pastor was smart. He was an intellectual, an academician, an author, an activist. And yet, a kind and modest man. He walked the walk. It was a predominantly black Baptist church.

The first draw for me was walking past the open front doors on a warm spring day and hearing the sound of a great band and a swinging gospel choir. Hot damn. I'm coming back. Great entertainment for a $5 contribution every sunday at a civilized hour? You can't beat that. Women wearing nice dresses and hats. Oh yes, I could do that. I loved it. It had nothing at all to do with faith or belief. It had everything to do with the collective spirit of those people, the personality of the preacher, the humor in his sermons, the great music, all that kept me coming back. And then I hooked up with one of the nicer looking older bachelors of the congregation.

We became a couple. And then it seemed as if I had an obligation to believe in the dogma. I wrestled with that. The man was a catch. He looked like Morgan Freeman. He was a retired homicide detective. First black homicide detective in Salt Lake. But even retired, he was still a man who represented The Law. He followed The Rules. (Didn't mean I had to) He believed The Dogma. And in order to keep going out with this sexy man I eventually had to choose or admit how damn shallow was my faith in anything or anyone.

I did get baptized. But in my interview with the pastor, I said I believed anything was possible and that no religion was THE ONE TRUE religion. He let me skate on that, but talked obliquely about the foolish belief that Christ is not the One True Savior in next Sunday's sermon. Even so, even with the disclaimer, they dunked me. It didn't change a thing in me. I was still the same old skeptic. Still the same old pot smoking sinner. Still the passionate supporter of a woman's right to chose, an opponent of the death penalty, the same woman who just couldn't learn to honor her father and her mother.

When the bachelor asked me to marry him and move to Mesquite, Nevada, I bailed. No more church either. It felt like a package deal.

One of the things I learned during that period of time was that white men, even those not in a uniform of authority, find the sight of a black man with a white woman an affront to the laws of nature. And some white men are so insecure that a badge gives them license to commit all kinds of legal and moral offenses just because they wear a badge and carry a gun. So respect for authority does not come easily to those of us who have been abused by authority young and then observed authority break laws every day of our lives. But I'd love to live in a culture where we were all treated equally under the law, and our differences respected. Until then, I'll keep my skepticism and do my smoking at home with the windows closed. And I've given up dating.

I do think it's nice that our first black president has invited his friend the academic, and the cop who arrested this small, elderly black man on the porch of his own home to the White House for a beer. And I'm glad he called the behavior of the policeman who arrested his friend "stupid." It has started the conversation going again. Racism is still an issue in this country. Racial profiling is tolerated in every police force in the country. We are a nation of bigots even if unconscious of that bigotry. You probably learned it early at home or in church. Just saying. I guess if you respect the authority that taught you your bigotry and claimed it was your birthright, you just fall in line. And if the Jesus in your picture books is blond and blue eyed, I guess you think he's yours alone.

But if you know that authority isn't right about everything, then you just might turn into a questioning rebel.

It Don't Mean A Thing If It Ain't Got That Swing

"Doo wah doo wah doo wah doo wah doo wah. Makes no difference if it's cool or hot." This song is featured in chapter 20 of the novel, Maggy. It's called "Dancing at the Club."

One More Friend Hits The Wall

One of my informally adopted daughters is terribly ill. In the past week she has been admitted twice to the emergency room at the University Hospital. Neither time did she tell me that she was in trouble. Now that she's home and starting to recover, she called to let me know that there was a problem, but now it's fixed. For the time being. She has Cushing's Disease. It isn't really curable, but it can be treated. Unfortunately, the treatments are drastic and require constant monitoring. She's had so many serious surgeries, that scar tissue is now a problem. Stress is a factor in Cushing's and she has been going through a difficult divorce. I am sick with grief and worry. But there is nothing I can do. She won't let me do anything. I feel so helpless and useless.

Z is having problems with her daughter in law. Z's youngest son, his "wife" and her toddler and their infant had moved into Z's house to take care of her. But the daughter in law does not help. Yesterday when I called Z, she was doing laundry and cleaning the refrigerator. I asked her why she was out of bed and doing these things. She said she couldn't take the mess any longer. The fridge was stinking and she was in need of clean clothes. She also said the kitchen floor was so dirty she couldn't stand it. Today she tells me they are moving out soon. That was not the commitment they made with her. This is a drastic change of plans.

I feel useless and furious, and terribly scared. There are so few people I'm really close to, and these are two of the most important to me. I can't go to Z's house and muscle my way in to clean and do laundry. So to deal with my fear and worry I'll clean my own house.

Saturday Song

The Novel Is Back Online

There are forty nine chapters in the novel Maggy. I now have thirty eight posted and will finish the rest of them today. I'm not sure why it's taken so long to repost them. Probably has something to do with the disappointment that Amazon didn't pick it as one of the finalist is their Breakthrough Novel Contest. I really need to toughen up when it comes to rejection. Otherwise I'll stop trying. I believe that this book is well written and worth reading. I know some of you have read it and left comments. And it's your comments that lead me to the conclusion that this book has several universal themes running through it. Most pointedly, it's the difficult relationship between mother and daughter that seems to strike a chord with a lot of you.

If you are new to my blog since I took it off the site, last January, the book will be new to you. I hope you will read it and leave comments. They are the bread crumbs that lead a writer to the final edit. It was the comments from MrMacrum, who left such sensitive and honest notes on every chapter he read, that made him the prefect editor for me. He was kind enough to do a very close edit on the first three chapters, which made up the bulk of my submission package. Thank you again, MrMacrum. I used every suggestion you made.

So now I will take the time to post the last twelve chapters. Sorry for my absence at your place lately. I have been pulled away from the blog this summer. At some point I will return to it as if it were my full time job. And then you'll wish I'd find something to do besides bug you with impertinent, cheeky comments.

Thursday Matinee Movie

Public Enemies is the movies today. I'm amazed how long it's been since Nick and I've had a Matinee Movie date. Z's situation has so completely taken over the time I would have spent with anyone else. So Nick and I missed my birthday. We were going to do lunch and a movie. There are several new restaurants in my neighborhood. A couple of them are getting rave reviews. Soon that will be on the agenda. But today it's just a matinee. The thing I'm looking forward to more than anything is conversation with Nick and the air conditioned theater. It's really hot in Salt Lake. It's going to get up to 100 today. On my porch it'll be 125.

Let This Be A Warning To You

My friend Z is doing amazingly well, considering. She is complying with her oncologists. But now that the radiation is burning her throat, and the chemo is making her queazy, the doctors are prescribing drugs that will alleaviate these problems. But Z doesn't believe in Western medicine and when it came time to sign up for Medicare she assumed that she would never get sick enough to ever need the part A, B and D of Medicare coverage. Now she needs them all and the enrollment period won't come around again until November. It is part D that would have paid for her drugs. It is part D that would make a drug that costs $150 at most $3.50. I audibly gasped when she told me that she didn't have part D. I couldn't help myself. I said, "But you need part D." She was furious and shouted, "Don't tell me what I should have done. That doesn't help me now." And of course she's right. Now that it's too late, it doesn't help to tell her what she should have done.

If you're healthy, you never think you're going to need insurance and prescription drug coverage. And if you're young you never think your going to get ill. But everyone needs insurance. That is why the healthcare debate is so terribly important. We need a public option. Please call your Congressional Representative and lobby for a public option for healthcare. We need you healthy. We need you paying attention to the issues that will make a difference in all our lives.

We are not allowed to drive a car without insurance and we don't think twice about that. But we are so careless when it comes to insurance for our own health. It should be mandatory that everyone is covered with health insurance.

Procrastination

I've quit procrastinating. Yes, you heard that right. I didn't put off quitting procrastinating until tomorrow though I could have. Technically I did finish on time if you live in the mountain time zone like I do. I actually posted the first three chapters of the novel, Maggy. The rest of the chapters are ready to go up, but I'll put them up later.

I Cut My Hair All By Myself

Yesterday when I got home from picking Z up, I wet my head and cut my hair. It took fifteen minutes to go from shoulder length to short. It's going to take a little snip here and snip there, but for the most part I'm happy with it, and I saved myself at least $40.00. So now all I have to do in the morning (11:00 AM for me) is wet my head and finger comb it.

I have to grocery shop and do laundry today. Then I swear I'm going to edit two chapters of the novel and start posting it again. I know you've heard that before, but this time I mean it.

Healing in the Time of Z

Z is chipper and upbeat. I picked her up at 12:30 at Huntsman. She'd just had two hours of chemo and she's chipper. She likes my Pucci top and asked me to take her shopping soon. I'm almost dumb struck. This is something I would never have predicted, but she has nothing but good things to say about her new internist, and the lovely people who are taking her through this Western medicine miracle. Maybe it's all the good vibes you send her way, but whatever it is, it's working.

She is wanting outings. She is looking ahead, toward winter and travel. She talks about the lovely view from the Huntsman rotunda, the cool breeze coming down the canyon on another hot day. I savor every second I spend with her, but today was one of the best. She wanted to stop at a little Mexican drive-through and pick up a cheese enchilada, a side of beans, and a flan. Wow! I got take-out too. Yes, I love cheap Mexican food. I take her home to eat her lunch and off I go to run some errands. Everything is nice today. It's all good. Is this me talking?

This Always Reminds Me of My First Love, My Last Love

He used to play this as an exercise, a practice piece, and it was always gorgeous. Watch the fingering. It's quite erotic to me.

Sundays were often spent doing nothing but practice for Tom and slow domesticity for me.
I think he has a new love. I hope so. He's happiest with an audience of one.