One Good Thing To Do This Weekend Is Sign This Petition

VoteVets sent me this petition this morning. I signed it. Now I'm asking you to sign it. I'm told it might be a touchy link.

This is a YouTube clip and hopefully guidance to the petition. If all else fails, google VoteVets.org. That should get you there. Sign up. It's free. Get their email updates. It's a really good organization. And if you still aren't convinced that the Bush/Cheney Administration needs prosecuting, read this:

**Please circulate widely to friends and on social-networking sites*

Torture Photos Show Rapes of Detainees, Former Officer Confirms
The real reason Dick Cheney has become so loud: he's afraid

Each week brings shocking new revelations. The U.S. mass media is not reporting on the most explosive story of the week.

The world now knows why President Obama reversed his earlier decision to release the 2,000 photos of prisoners barbarically tortured, abused, and humiliated under the direction of the Bush/Cheney gang.

Some of the photos of the prisoners show U.S. personnel torturing, sexual assaulting and raping male and female detainees, including children. The existence of these photos was confirmed by former Major General Antonio Taguba. Taguba had earlier been in charge of the inquiry into the Abu Ghraib jail in Iraq.

On May 21, Cheney went on national television to defend torture and sickeningly attacked Obama for sacrificing "innocent lives to spare a captured terrorist from unpleasant things." We'd like to hear him explain how rape and sexual assault are just "unpleasant things" that have spared innocent lives. The last few months has proven that the abuses, the sexual assault, and the most barbaric violations of human rights cannot be attributed to a few bad apples. Such tactics were commonplace, officially sanctioned and elevated to the level of government policy.

The torture methods, like the war itself, have never been about saving lives. A recent column in the Nation echoed what IndictBushNow reported last week: "The Bush administration, hellbent on justifying its forthcoming invasion of Iraq, was ransacking the intelligence bureaucracy to find or produce two things that, it turns out, did not exist: weapons of mass destruction programs in Iraq and cooperation between Al Qaeda and the regime of Saddam Hussein."

The Iraqi people have never waged war on the United States and no Iraqis took part in the attacks of 9/11. Bush & co. wanted to go to war, and were just looking for an excuse.

So why, given the recent revelations, has Dick Cheney responded so publicly in defense of the Bush administration's war crimes? He's afraid! He's not just concerned about preserving the administration's "legacy" -- he's concerned about preserving his own neck.

Don't believe us? Take it from Cheney's daughter, Liz, who recently explained her father's outspokenness on CNN: "He certainly did not plan when he left office to be doing this... Then when [Obama] suggested in the Oval Office itself that he would be open to the prosecution of former Bush administration officials including many who weren't political appointees potentially, you know really, I think, made my dad realize this was just fundamentally wrong. We had to speak out."

Our argument for prosecution is becoming irresistible. The fact is that every revelation lays bare a whole new level of criminality. The more details come about the Bush administration's heinous acts and deliberate deception of the American people, the more people are starting to talk about justice. Already, many people who once said, "we need to move forward" are beginning to reconsider: no one can move forward until we have come to terms with the country's past. That means accountability: the indictment of the criminals.

Big Pick-up Sticks

Cherry Picker Takes On Tree and Wins! Well, Mostly

You cannot imagine the noise of this tree massacre. I know it's horrible to kill a huge tree but this tree was on its last legs and was planted too close to the wooden fence and the little house. So gird your loins. These photos are rather graphic.


And the search for the perfect stick is on. Good dogs, now would you just haul this mess out of the driveway and hide it somewhere. I suggest a big hole, so start digging.

Temporary Difficultiles

What with a tree coming down like bombs around my house, and what with having my Administrator visiting, and what with having an old dog who hates loud noises and any change at all, it's been a loud and trying morning. I'll be back with pictures and more details. Until then, keep your hardhat on. Step carefully.

Mysterious Gift

Someone sent me a laptop. It's a HP Mini-note PC. I'm thrilled, surprised, and curious. Who is this generous gift giver? I've been thinking that the main impediment to my doing any traveling these days is the umbilical cord that keeps me sitting at my chair at my desk tied to my fabulous Imac. I learned a whole world of new tricks here at my desk learning to blog, be a better writer, make new friends, have a life. But this? This is a gift that calls for a THANK YOU! THANK YOU! THANK YOU!

I used the tracking info from UPS and it led me to eCOST.com who shipped it. But that's as close as I've been able to get to the humanitarian who sent this to me. Speak up oh generous one. This calls for a hug at the very least.

Supreme Court Nominee Justice Sonia Sotomayor

Circuit Judge of the United States Court of Appeals for the 2nd Circuit
Incumbent
Assumed office
October 7, 1998
Nominated by Bill Clinton
Preceded by J. Daniel Mahoney
Born June 25, 1954 (1954-06-25) (age 54)
The Bronx, New York
Nationality United States
Alma mater Yale Law School (J.D.)
Princeton University (A.B.)
Religion Roman Catholic

She is of Porto Rican descent, and grew up in a tenement in the Bronx. She was born into a very humble background, yet managed to get a very good eduction. She is everything I want in a Supreme Court Judge. And when I first saw her name mentioned I let out a cheer. I have been hoping she would be President Obama's pick. This is the first news story I woke up to--her acceptance of the nomination. Next come the hearings. The Right Wingers will be going crazy trying to smear her in some way, but I don't think she'd have made it this far if she were smearable. She has everything that would make her a target for the White Men's Club that the justice system has always been. Now comes the swift-boating. Hang on Sonia is going to be a bumpy ride.

Art Find

After my last visit to my neighborhood thrift store I told you about my art find. Well this is it. I hope you like it as much as I do. A photo can never do justice to blown glass, nor does it give you an idea of the heft of the piece. When I used to live in Santa Barbara there was an art gallery across from one of our favorite restaurants. I used to drool over this kind of thing but could never afford to buy one of those pieces since they were priced in the hundreds of dollars range. I paid $8 for this beauty.

Cold and Rainy Memorial Day

This is a sight I've never seen on Memorial Day in Salt Lake unless someone went to a party and left the water on outside. It's 53 degrees outside mid-day and I'm trying to keep the house warm because it's supposed to get really cold tonight. A week ago it was early Summer, now it's mid-Spring. This photo is the concrete floor of the gazebo mid day.

It was pouring when I made the dogs go out this morning and Marley never left the covered porch. I had to go out and sit on the bench under the pine trees and wait for Marley to pee. So Marley peed at my feet. Good enough. We came in and Marley disappeared for a minute. Then Cyrus got up and gave me a look like, "What have you done?" I looked over the side of the bed and there was a Marley turd right at the back of Cyrus's bed just where his bum would have been had he been asleep. Marley had tried to trick me into believing that Cyrus was the bad dog, not Marley. Marley got dumped outside along with her turd and left to wait it out while I cleaned Cyrus's bed. It's been one of those days.

Yesterday's Barbeque

I was invited to a barbeque across the street yesterday afternoon. I thought it would be nice to take a little nap before I went. Read for about ten minutes and then drifted off into a deep slumber. The phone rang. I reached around for it and couldn't find it. Then dashed across the room to pick it up off it's base and even with the dash for the phone, I was still asleep, dreaming the whole dash for the phone for all I knew. My friend T. who lives three houses up the street said "Peg, are you awake?" I answered, "Yesh, for all I know I'm ashleep." She said, "Are you going to come to the party?" "Sure, I'm planning on it." She said, "Hurry, it's almost 6:30, and there's still some food left, but it's going fast. And sound like you're drunk." "I feel like I'm drunk."

It took me ten minutes to wash my face, comb my hair, brush my teeth, and change into a new top (from the thrift store) and new shorts (from the thrift store). I let Cyrus and Mawley go out to pee, then headed across the street with Mawley close on my heels. There were about ten grown-ups sitting around yacking, and about eight kids from 18 to 2 in various stages from boredom to candy-high milling around the picnic table or in and out of the kids playhouse. T handed me a paper plate and gave me instructions about what to eat and what to avoid. In her estimation the ribs were better than the bratwurst, and the cole slaw was better than the potato salad. I put a little bit of everything on my plate and joined the kids at the picnic table.

I sat next to Courtney who is 18 and was the oldest child at the party. If Courtney weren't a Downs child I'd be calling her an adult, but she still retains some of the completely uncensored innocence of the child. Her little brother Boris who is Russian and was adopted when he was a baby and also has Downs syndrome, came running at me full tilt and hurled himself into my arms. He straddled my lap and snuggled his face into my neck and gave me a sloppy kiss on my face. He's four now, still not talking exactly, but still quite capable of expressing his needs and wants, likes and dislikes. Courtney said with a chortle, "Boris loves you, Peggy." Well that made it all worth while. The waking up, getting dressed, the facing of other people, the jocularity of half crocked adults, the Mormon grandmother we all adore and need to protect from the knowledge that most of us are either stoned or half drunk or both. That enthusiastic greeting from Boris made it all worth while. The meat was dry, the slaw was soggy, the potato salad was... eh. But the kids and the potato chips were divine.

Since I arrived at the party half an hour before it was scheduled to break up at 7:00, I felt my timing was perfect. There was just enough socializing and dry, over-cooked meat to make me feel half normal, and a part of my little community of neighbors. I'm older than all the neighbors with kids and younger than the great grandmother we were trying to protect from the knowledge that we were not the clean-living grown up children she needs to believe we are. Good party all around.

Mawley was chased by a two year old and a four year old round and round the picnic table till the kids fell down exhausted. Marwley wins again.

Sleepy Saturday

I woke up being kissed on the lips. Prince Charming? No, just Marley. I looked at the clock to see if I should be mad or not and it was 9:30. That's a reasonable hour no matter what my body says, so I got up took the dogs out and had my coffee. I made a list of the things I'd like to accomplish today, but so far (its about 3:45) I have had three visitors. And I've been invited to a neighborhood barbeque this evening. This calls for a nap.

It's a Good and Lazy Dawgs Life Friday

Well for one thing, Marly slept through the night. I woke up with Marley snugged into the bend of my knees. When I woke Marley up she acted groggy. Nothing like a good night's sleep. Outside Marley and Cyrus did their business, and the kids next door were out getting ready for a camping trip to the desert. They heard me talking to the dogs and came over to the tall wooden fence between our yards. Three little voices said, "Peggy, open the window in the fence??? They are four year old twins, Franny and Ruben, and six year old Alvin. The window in the fence was made by the woman who used to own their house. She had Yorkies that were the worst behaved dogs I've every had the displeasure to meet, but my good old dog Lucy, a black Chowbradore, loved the Yorkies, so my neighbor hired someone to make a tiny gate with a lock on my side so Lucy could come visiting. It was too high for the Yorkies to get to my side but perfect for Lucy to jump through. I open the window in the fence and the three kids next door met Marley. They called her Mawley which I like even better than Marley. So now I'm calling her Mawley. Sounds very Bostonian. Mawley gave Ruben a kiss on the mouth and barked at the other two. Now Ruben feels very special.

We have had a succession of visitors including a Chihuahua named Segman, a golden Spanial named Bumper (we call him Boompere) and the dogs from the front house, Roscoe and Tassman--the two very big male yellow Labs. So for a couple of hours there were six dogs visiting. Mawley acted just like a calm, normal, happy, big dog who knows this is her house and yard and I am her mama. I was so proud. The Chihuahua had his nose out of joint because, until now, he was the special one in the crowd over here, but today, Mawley was the special one. Poor Seggy.

I had my breakfast of cantaloupe and cornbread around noon with my second bowl sized cup of espresso and organic milk with a tablespoon of sugar. Oh yes, I'm still hooked. And then I went grocery shopping. Had lovely interactions with everyone I saw. How nice it was not to hate everyone in the store. I found everything I wanted and more. Good buys on good healthy food. I am stocked except for the olive oil I forgot. I took a list but never looked at it. Mawley and I will walk to the store tomorrow. It will be good for us.

My groceries are almost put away and Cyrus is curled up on the dog bed beside my chair. Mawley is chewing on one of those giant rawhide bones Cyrus nurses for a couple of days and then discards. There is a small collection of half eaten giant rawhide bones tucked between his big round bed and the old dog bed that he uses as a pillow and hiding place for treats he's hoarding. Cyrus watches Mawley and all but shrugs. He could care less. We're all so relaxed and happy. It's a very good Friday.

La Belette Rouge, This Tree's For You

La Belette Rouge has been sad about the absence of real trees in LA. I'm a big fan of the Palm tree, but La Belette Rouge is not. So since I'm surrounded by big real trees, I'm sharing them with you.

Today's tree is one of the row of Chestnut Trees that line the bit of land between two neighboring driveways, mine and my neighbors. Technically the trees belong to them. But the biggest branches of this ancient behemoth arc over my driveway and the top of my house. It's in bloom right now--big tall cones of fragrant blossoms. It will be dropping sticky pollen by the bucket full for days. Then the almost flesh colored blossoms will start falling in the slightest breeze and stick to the sticky pollen that is stuck to the top of the cars, and the length of the driveway, the sidewalk, the lawn, and roof of the house. It's both lovely and a nuisance. However, if I were driving by on a strange street and saw this amazing tree, I'd think it was magnificant.

The Dog Rescuer Is Suckered Again

Oh yes, I'm a sucker for a sob story. Marley needs a home and I have a home. Marley's family circumstances have changed every couple of months of her fist year. They got her to breed her, so she needs a hysterectomy. And her ex parents have agreed to take care of the neutering. She also needs a microchip and her nails trimmed and her anal glands cleared and her teeth cleaned and her nails trimmed. All this is in her near future, but for now she's getting acquainted with Cyrus (he likes her) and Roscoe (he'll tolerate her) and Tassman (who will probably want to play with her). Marley needs training and I'm a good trainer. Marley is pretty damn cute and I've never had a little dog, nor a pure breed dog. I've always believed that a mixed breed is a less neurotic dog and less prone to breed problems. Marley will be one year old in August, so hopefully, Marley will be very trainable. But so far in her first night at my house, she woke me up every two hours. I was a good sport and took Marley outside to do her business, but Marley just wanted to explore the area around the house, or my feet or the deck, but Marley refused to pee or poop. So back to bed. First thing out of bed this morning I took Marley and Cyrus to pee. Then when I came in to pee, Marley squatted on the bathroom rug and peed right in front of me. I have a girlfriend who is very ill and is having a surgical procedure done today. So the plan was that she would come to my house at 10:30 this morning and I would take her to the hospital. This morning just as my friend sat down in a chair, Marley took a crap on the floor right in front of her.

So now the work of training begins. One of my friends lives three houses up the street. She is a Chihuahua mama. And like many little dog owners, she claims training a little dog is different than training a big dog. I don't believe that, mainly because I've had such a variety of big dogs. But also because there are all the aspects of dog evolution and genetics breeding to tell us that no matter what size or breed they are pack animals and need a pack leader to feel secure. I am the pack leader and I expect all the dogs in my pack to behave well. So Marley and I are going to have some serious potty training sessions over the next few days. I think one of the things that makes little dogs neurotic is that so many little dog owners treat their pint sized pups like tiny human babies who will be little babies forever. Well, Marley is going to be a smart, happy, secure, healthy dog member of the pack at Chez Savage.

And I start doing research on little Dachshunds now.

I'm Clotted Just Right So I Went Shopping

This is my new hat. I love it. I paid $4 for it at my nearest thrift store. I went shopping for summer shorts large enough to accommodate my fat ass and my gut, which looks to me like I might be, oh maybe, 7 months pregnant. And I did find comfortable shorts, but I also found three pairs of summer shoes, a great dress-up dress (Isaac Mizrahi) with original tags, so never worn. It's gorgeous. Found shoes to wear with it too. I found summer tops galore. And best of all I found a hand blown glass vase that I'm positive is a one of a kind piece of gorgeous Art, deserving of that capital A, at $8. Be sure you pronounce the word "vase" with the reverence it deserves. God I love days like this

And as for the clotting factor--perfect! I don't have to go back to the doctor for a whole month. Now I need to give myself the pedicure I deserve.

Oh God My Aching Back, And Aren't Those Republicans Funny

A friend who lives in San Francisco came through Salt Lake on his way east. We stayed up late and talked, and then once he'd gone to bed in the guest room of the big house, I stayed up late too revved up to sleep. Then this morning he came out to the little house at 7:15. I never get up that early. So I rolled out of bed to have coffee with him and then once he'd hit the road, I was wired on coffee and ready to work.

I use muscle when brain would be easier. I've worked today on much less sleep than usual, but I've been thinking while I was working, so maybe tomorrow my fingers might not feel like clubs and I can type a post without wincing. Then maybe I can finally talk about Michael Steele's stupid speech today without falling off my chair laughing. Republican's "navel gazing?" Jesus, they don't even know what empathy means, how could they navel gaze? When have they ever been up for introspection? I bet a term like "navel gazing" makes most republican's cringe. And "The Honeymoon's Over!" They're going to take on Obama, that celebrity!

I've got to learn to wear work gloves when I work. I've treated my hands like they were wire brushes trying to get mineral buildup off the inside of the three sides of the swamp cooler, removed the old pads and replaced them. It's a dirty job and takes some muscle to get the grills that hold the pads in place out of the holes that hold the grills in place. Oh crap, I can't explain the way a swamp cooler works.

Now I have to go bandage my hands.

What Kind of Blog Am I

Dear La Belette Rouge,

I'm having exactly that same problem with my blog. Am I a bipolar blog? Is it all about my craziness--my reclusivety, my lack of interest in the outside world, always about the navel gazing? I occasionally write a poem or post a bit of political outrage, and then there is a small palate cleansing of a bit of jazz. But even I know that I grow stale, old, dull on certain days. Mondays seem to be the worst for me. Now that you have me thinking about it, I realize that I will probably post this email to my blog, since I woke up with nothing to say. Nothing. I have nothing to add to what's been said. The conversation has come to an uncomfortable silence for me. Where do I go from here? Do I have too many things in the air juggling like mad and is it all about to come crashing down on my head in a loud clatter and then a deafening silence?

There are so many days I wake up and face the keyboard with nothing at all to say. I will have listened to the news, but neglected the newspapers, or big news blogs to find later in the day that had I done the slightest bit of reading I would have found something of substance to shout about. But today I'm a tabula rasa. So I'll probably take this letter to you and try to make it into something.

And for me, the reader of your blog, your therapy sessions are my favorite days. I worry about you when you go shopping, having been the sort of woman who used shopping as a substitute for whatever my life lacked. What my life did not lack was new designer clothes, fifty pairs of shoes, jewelry I never wore, the latest handbags, new sheets, new towels, the latest kitchen gadget, a vase, scented candles in new fragrances, and on and on. So I see shopping as a substitute for meaning. I see shopping as a way to fill the hole my mother left in my soul. And yes, at my age with my mother safely dead almost three and a half years, she still haunts me now and then and even as I say that I realize how silly it sounds that a dead woman still has the power to scare me, take whatever pleasure I have in a moment and turn it into pain. I know it is me giving her ghost power. I also know my hiding out like a woman living in a self imposed prison is a pathetic attempt to have a little control over what has been a chaotic life.

Why is it that in moments like these, I hear lines from The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock running through my mind? It's a poem that was written by a very young man. Why does it now hold such power for me? Why has it always? From the moment I first read it, sometime in my teens, it has held my attention and made me feel as if at least TS Eliot would have understood me. More than likely had TS Eliot the slightest relationship to me, he'd have thrown me in some moderately priced looney bin and been done with me. I'm amazed my family didn't. I suppose knowing that they might made me pretend with all my might that I was peachy. And there it is again, another echo from the long dead Eliot.

Well, now I have a post I think. I hope you won't mind if I post this letter to you or at least portions of it. Thanks for the inspiration. Were it not for you, I'd have nothing to say today.

Love,
Peggy

Almost Blue Again

I know there are probably some of you (Tengrain) who drop by my place now and then have heard this at least once every couple of months or so, and would rather I didn't, but it's a favorite of mine. It's not the blues, but it's Almost Blue, by Diana Krall written by hubby Elvis Costello. I'm exploring the hues of blues and finding it more calming than sad. A bit dramatic now and then, but laid back and floating with it.

I told You I Was Blue

I found this at Sherry's place AfterTheBridge. I didn't even stop to ask if I could take it. And I was wearing a very dark hue of very dark blue, rendering me virtually invisible in the dark of night. And that last bit about me putting on a strong front. I call BS on that. But this part is true. Maggy sure as hell was an orange. Surface brilliance but not very deep.

You Are a Blue Crayon

Your world is colored in calm, understated, deep colors. You are a loyal person, and the truest friend anyone could hope to find. On the inside, you tend to be emotional and even a bit moody. However, you know that people depend on you. So you put on a strong front. Your color wheel opposite is orange. Orange people may be opinionated, but you feel they lack the depth to truly understand what they're saying.

What Color Crayon Are You?

Death By Intent

If I have died and you missed the moment
Know that I went peacefully in my sleep
Of my own accord and timing, by my own
Hand which could no longer pound the keys
Pull the ropes, the weeds, the rabbit out of the hat

Let it be said that "she was a woman who had great timing"
Take what you want and we'll say I gave it to you long ago
It will not matter to me now, and who's to say it wasn't my
Intention all along

Peggy Pendleton
5/10/09

And She Does It In High Heels

No one covers ground like this dancing couple. They were incomparable and had the best composers and lyricists for the musicals they did together. They made ten films together. And though she was not the world's best dancer, so it's said, together they were magic. The footwork in this little number is worth paying attention to. This is the way I wanted to dance and this man is the man I wanted to dance with. I spent many productive hours as a child dancing around the house pretending to be Ginger Rogers and pretending that Fred Astaire was my permanent dance partner. I eventually gave up dancing for lack of a partner who danced. Never married a man who danced. Tom would dance at weddings and such, and he wasn't half bad, but I never did get that feeling of dancing the light fantastic that I dreamed of when I was a kid when these were the movies of my early childhood.


These are the great lyrics (by Dorothy Fields) to this song by Jerome Kern composed and written in 1936

Nothing's impossible I have found,
For when my chin is on the ground,
I pick myself up,
Dust myself off,
Start All over again.

Don't lose your confidence if you slip,
Be grateful for a pleasant trip,
And pick yourself up,
Dust yourself off,
Start all over again.

Work like a soul inspired,
Till the battle of the day is won.
You may be sick and tired,
But you'll be a man, my son!

Will you remember the famous men,
Who had to fall to rise again?
So take a deep breath,
Pick yourself up,
Dust yourself off,
Start all over again.