The Chance Not Taken

Every once in a while life gives you a second chance; mine came the week before Christmas.

My first love was calling me just about every other day for the past six months. Years ago he was dark, dangerous and mysterious - straight from the cast of Wise Guys, the exact opposite of my Jehovah’s Witness elder ex-husband. It was 1975 or thereabouts. I was 25, still about as naïve as naïve gets and he said he was 26.

He was Italian, connected - one time I hugged him good-bye and was surprised to find he was packin’. That’s hot stuff for a former Bible thumper. Very hot.

There is Type A personality that is gogogogo … there is Type B personality, which is laid back like me. He was Triple A. He jogged, he played tennis and racquetball. Charlton Heston could have used him for a body double in Ben Hur.

I dabbled in fitness, but it bored me. It didn’t matter so much then - I was young.

He gambled, he hung with da boyz. And he lied about everything. He lied about being single (said he was in a relationship that would take “some sensitivity to get out of”), lied about being faithful to me, lied about his age (to the tune of about 9 years) … whatever he was dishing out, I was buying hook, line and sinker. I was living episodes from the Sopranos.

We had a wildly passionate relationship that lasted just under three years. Well, if you subtract the time I spent watching him watch football games he had bets on, maybe it was two years. Towards the end we were living together and I was pressing for commitment. One afternoon he called me at the office to say he’d gone to my apartment and packed his things.

I was a wreck at work. It was going on a month when my boss explained "that's what happens when you lose your first love." Hafe Kerbawy was like a father to me. He said "You need a vacation." I said “I can’t afford to go anywhere.” He said “pick a place - I’ll pay.”

It was a wildly generous thing for Hafe to do, but a total waste of money. A week in Acapulco did me no good.

It took three years to get over that first love. Maybe I never did get over it because four years ago I looked him up online - and found him, of course. He had married about a year after dumping me and that relationship was starting to decay. I was battling Lyme Disease and my relationship was failing too.

We met for coffee and he cried. He told me about his battle with cancer and said “I thought I might die without ever seeing you again.” In the months and years that followed, he kept saying his life would have been much better if he had married me.

Over the years he became a completely different guy. He had turned into an honorable and faithful husband to another woman. He had actively involved himself in raising her daughters and they’d had a son together.

We became friends. When you go from lover to friend, there is no loss - there is actually gain. Because friendship lasts. He got buddies to help move me out of my bad situation and we all supported him as he tried to decide between trying to work things out with his wife or give it up. In the years that followed, I repeatedly left and went back with my ex-boyfriend. Then, finally, I moved to Florida.

During that time he reconnected with a daughter he wasn't sure he had, moved in with her and her partner, got a divorce and found Jesus. We never got out of touch. When I went up north for Thanksgiving last month, I spent some time with him and his friends and family. It was great fun.

When you’re my age, female and single, you like to be able to think of one special person that you could potentially spend the rest of your life with. In this case, we were long past lovers - but maybe my feelings would change if we built on our strong friendship. I told my daughter-in-law “I think I could live with him for the rest of our lives and we would never exchange a harsh word.”

It was time to test the theory.

He had been asking me if he could come down for a visit. Not asking so much as hammering me. Here we are, both between relationships. So I finally said OK. He was glad, adding “we never got a chance to cuddle when you were up here.” And I thought to myself “that’s because I didn’t want to.”  It's very rare for me to click with guys these days. I've become a bit of a loner. I’m used to solitude - just me and my bitchez. They are so much a part of my life that I’m incapable of using the term “dogs”.

I am also a slob in my solitude, so I cleaned for two days. The place sparkled. He arrived around 3:00 on Thursday and gave me a big hug. I do not exaggerate; I was in pain from cleaning. Within a few days of arrival he made some comment about “some things never change; you need a laundry basket.” I winced. If he had any idea how hard I’d worked to make things perfect for him he would have been ashamed. I even washed the sheets for his bed the day he arrived so they would be fresher than fresh.

The day he arrived, he asked where he should take his bag. I pointed to the upstairs guest room, just past my bedroom. That first night he gave me a hug in front of my bedroom door as if to say “let’s both sleep here” and I patted his back like you pat a drunk uncle, shook my head and said “I have emails to catch up on.”

Living in Florida is wonderful. I get far more exercise now than when we were together and I love it. He works out … pretty much not at all, and he's proud of it. He’s a guy and - direct quote - "towns like this are crawling with desperate women.” He said it like he hoped it would bother me.

I was his chauffeur. I drove us to the Seminole Casino … and he dozed off open-mouthed in the passenger seat like my Grandma used to. I always feared her teeth would fall out and land in her lap.

When he wasn't on the phone, he was dozing off. He put his feet up on the ottoman when we watched TV and his ankles were as poofy as his rug; that was my chance to sneak up to my room and lock the door for the night. 

When he was awake he was sharp and I guess I never noticed how black and white we are until now. There is no gray.

I'm vegetarian and he's veal.  

I'm Stephen Colbert and he's Glenn Beck.

I’m Buddhist and he’s born again. He walked in, saw my Buddhas and suggested we “throw some crosses in here somewhere.”

He sees the way I love my girls and it makes him sick. He thinks there is something essentially fucked up about people who love animals. “God put them here to serve our purposes - to bend to our will, plow our fields and fill our plates.”

He is on the Tony Soprano diet. I offered to buy groceries but he insisted on eating every meal out - and every meal came with unwanted conversation. He sees vegetarian as cultlike and stupid.

On Sunday he asked me to direct him to a good sports bar and I was relieved to have some time off. He called around 5 and said the game was almost over, come on up - then we’d go out for pizza. I came up and the game went on ad nauseam. I joked “this is just like old times.” Except that I didn’t want halftime sex and I have a Blackberry to keep me occupied. 

Dinner at Starz in South Fort Myers is a very pleasant experience and fussy Mr. Pizza Afficionado LOVED the pizza. However ... I don’t know which behavior is more rude - to text at the dinner table or talk to someone else on your cell phone at a restaurant, voice raised with Wise Guy-isms and profanities that had the meek white masses cowering with eyes as wide as his 70s lapels.

I kept hoping he'd take his calls outside, but ... I dunno, maybe he enjoys making a spectacle of himself. At one point he bellowed into his phone “I’D LIKE TO KILL THAT MUTHAFUCKER!!!”

I slipped down in my side of the booth and muttered “nice Christian”.

We were out for greasy breakfasts at the Sunshine Café every morning. It’s a local legend for great inexpensive breakfasts and our waitress was a riot.

We didn’t have lunch so much as we had pre-dinner before dinner and on and on and on and on. He was extremely generous. I went out more in the past five days than I've been out in five months, but I missed my simple life, my peace, my quiet.

Some people have a personal theme that lies at the core of all conversation. His was anti-pet - “animals are here to serve US, not vice versa.” I was a good Buddhist for five days. Then I blew this morning at the Sunshine Café. It was our last greasy breakfast before he headed to the airport.

He put $40 on my dining room table before we took his bags out to the car. He said it was for dog food. (Yeah, I don’t quite get it either. Is that a pre-apology? Men - the new women.)

So we’re sitting there at the Sunshine Café and Dash is waiting on us. (I want Dash’s wildly outgoing personality in my next life.)

She was hanging out with us a bit, then she wandered away so we could eat our breakfast.

Him - "I really do like animals."

Me - (joking) "Yeah, sauteed or blackened."

Him - "My dad had a hunting dog ..."

Me - (blowing) "YOU MAY NEVER TELL ME THAT STORY AGAIN!!! YOUR FATHER'S ACTIONS WERE DESPICABLE."

He has told me this story about five times in the past year. It makes me sick.

His father had a hunting dog up in Michigan. It was never allowed in the house except for ONE BITTER COLD WINTER DAY when his mother convinced his father to let the poor thing in so it wouldn't freeze to death. When the dog had puppies, his father DROWNED them because he couldn't sell them or give them away.

He always ends the story with "that's just how things were then. Dogs are just dogs." In the past I've always sat there seething as he blabbers on. I know damned well my family never treated their dogs that way before I was born - or after.

This particular morning I was off the leash - not with volume, but with choice of words and waving my finger in his face. I can’t believe I did that, I think it’s genetic. He got the expression of vaguely remembering that level of rage from our past. Except I don’t remember having anything like balls when we were together. Now mine are bigger than his.

I raged “top of the food chain means we’re smart enough to choose whether we NEED to take the life of one of God’s creatures or learn how to do without.” Rant rant rant … silently mouthing all F-bombs because I know the demographic in South Fort Myers and I respect their right to not hear my profanities.

Nearby tables went stone silent.

I was a HORRENDOUS Buddhist. When I was done he looked at his napkin and said “I’ve noticed I push buttons more than I used to.”

He joked I would be glad to see him go. I don't remember coming back with a comforting response.

In answer to my own question - no, I could NOT spend the rest of my life with this man. Time has changed ME too much.

And - until I meet the right person - I really do like my life the way it is.

A real life Christmas story; getting past grief.

My granddaughter Emma and her dog Buddy

mesmerized at the beaver dam this past Thanksgiving. 

I was going through clothing racks Christmas shopping for my granddaughters last week when I saw a little purple fleece jacket. Three years ago I would have bought it for my Granddmother. At 96, the tiny woman weighed her age. She had dementia, so there were only two joys left; colors and textures. She would have loved that jacket. The pangs of pain and loss were sudden and fierce.

If I were up north with family today, we would take a beer to the cemetery at the end of Himanka Hill and share it with my Uncle Jerry, who passed a few years back. A few sips for us, a somewhat generous pour for him.

I would have put something on my Great Grandmother's grave as well. A flower or a coin. She is not forgotten.

One of my friends is in mourning; this is his first Christmas without his father. He is inconsolable.

My friend Connie is caring for a dying mother and can't bring herself to imagine life alone. She is in love with a man who also has loss issues. This morning she sent me this email. What a wonderful way to start Christmas day.

(Connie started a goose farm in Missouri three years ago after a physical and financial fall from grace. Her communications always have a way of putting my own worries into perspective. Somehow the universe - or human spirit - pulls us through.)

I have to add that Connie was beaten by her mother as a child. So remember that when you read the words of the woman who now cares for her mother as if it never happened. She is one of the strongest, most honorable people I have ever known.

This is pure Connie with just enough editing to remove personal stuff. Gary is her boyfriend.

"Hope you are doing ok. And hope the Christmas holidays are not fucking with you, like they are with some people. You know what I am so slowly realizing? That people who address their fears and failures and mistakes and disappointments in life are brave. You are brave. We are brave people.

Gary. He is like a Greek tragedy. There is so much sorrow and loss at every turn for him. This Christmas, his daughter wanted him to host the Xmas Eve get together that his mom always had for the grandkids. That sounds so innocent. Until you realize that its his first Xmas without any of his family. So for him, that was like getting punched in the stomach. He cant think about his mom without tearing up. She was the last to leave him. I cant even think about that...how did she feel, dying and knowing she was leaving him alone, without his brothers or dad or best friend. My heart clutches thinking about that family.

I kept asking him about it as the time grew nearer. God, I hated bringing it up! To not host it was to ignore the grandchildren's loss of their grandmother and their tradition. Even if they are all teens now, they need traditions to look back upon that continue beyond deaths. What a loss for them if he decided to not do it. Not hosting it would deepen their losses of their dads (Garys brothers) and their grandparents as well. They expect him to be an adult, a parent and do what's right for them and protect them from the sadness of the holiday without their family.

But what about Gary and his extreme grief that is so horrible that he cant face it? What is fair or right about forcing him to face these things before he is able to? He couldnt even think about it. As soon as Id ask about it you could see the iron walls slamming down. All I would be able to get out were tiny sentences at him like, "Buddy, they think you are superman.... they rely upon you to be superhuman" "Remember it is their traditions you are involved with also" "Try to understand they cant know your pain. I cant either. But you cant know their's." "Don't make decisions now that you will regret later on"

After 2 weeks of this type of tiptoeing, whispering and touching on his pain and wondering if he was angry or relieved that I kept it alive, he hosted the kids at his place tonight. He had his daughter put the tree up, he built a fire in the fireplace, he put presents under the tree for them and made lasagne and home made bread for their dinner. My heart almost broke when he told me that. I called him later, just after Lauren (his daughter) went home. He was so OK Micki. His nephew came. He got to spend time with Lauren, his bad boy son was home spending the night and he got to feed them. And they got to walk into their grandparents house, smelling of a fire in the fireplace, lasange cooking and fresh bread. That had to be healing for all of them.

We all have these choices to make and...... I dont know. We all have demons we have kept fat and fed in our heads because they were too painful to face. They remind me of the "unknown".. you know? The anticipation and fear that is associated with the unknown is what can paralyze us. Like my deciding to hug and tell Mom every night that I love her and will see her in the morning, after we got the cancer diagnosis. This is a woman I never hugged in my adult life! She scared the hell out of us. Like my sister - who bit me when I hugged her- why take the chance showing my family any love? But, it's that slight chance that it might make things better. And knowing that I would regret not trying it. What could it heal? What could it hurt? What's the worst thing that could happen?

I wonder, how having done this brave thing Gary did, how it will affect him. And what it did to those kids. I swear it "made" my Christmas hearing his happiness afterwards..I didnt know how much it was weighing on me.

I dont think men are very brave in the heart area. Especially men who have been thought of as brave physically- policmen, firefighter, EMTs... prison guards...So their sadness doesnt surprise me at all. They have made decisions worthy of regret. Probably many that they can never change or go back to and re-examine.

I have been looking and looking for this fossil I own. It is a fossilized horse or camel tooth. It's just cool. I found it in a bag of petrified wood pieces Id bought from a local guy who digs them out of the fields by the rivers. I like the petrified wood pieces because they look just like wood chunk mulch- except they are stone. Kind of a stupid visual joke for a landscaper like me, to have a bowl of mulch on the table. Anyway, I really wanted to give it to Gary for Christmas.

I finally found it today when I was cleaning my mom's place.... so he is getting a feather bed and fossilized camel tooth. I think he will like that tooth a lot for some reason."

(End of Connie's email.)

Gary gave Connie a clumsily wrapped gift for Christmas. She IMd, laughing that "a screwdriver" is sticking out of the wrapper." She said "he bought me tools". Most women would be furious.

I wrote back "what other man would give such a gift and what other woman would love that he did!"

Connie's mom will not be here very long and Connie will be alone on that farm. I am so glad Gary found her, I know he will be there for her when the time comes. And I hope he enjoys his tooth:-)

Merry Christmas; love the ones you love and try to tolerate the ones you don't.

A little more health care rant before I shut up.

A study by the Institute of Medicine estimated that one American dies every 30 minutes from lack of health insurance. David Himmelstein, a study co-author and associate professor of medicine at Harvard, said. "Even his grim figure is an underestimate—now one dies every 12 minutes."

LET'S TALK VETERANS.

According to the U.S. Census Bureau's March 2009 Population Survey, 1,461,615 veterans between the ages of 18 and 64 were uninsured -- that is, they neither had health insurance nor received ongoing care at Veterans Health Administration hospitals or clinics -- in 2008.

In January of 2007 Michael Baranik was told he had terminal cancer. As if that wasn't bad enough, he was also told that his veteran's health care insurance wasn't adequate to cover the number of chemotherapy sessions he would need.

Over the next few weeks, Jennings went from one doctor to another, hoping to find one who would give him the needed treatment. In a letter to the non-profit, National Nurses Organizing Committee he wrote "Luckily, I begged and begged a doctor, who said he would only give me seven treatments because of insurance". But his efforts weren't enough. Jennings died a few months after he was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

Liz Jacobs, of the California Nurses Association, said Jennings was "very ill" when he contacted them two years ago. In the letter he wrote to the National Nurses Organizing Committee he said, "This is what I get for serving my country for 24 years. If I had known this when I joined, I would never have joined. "I would have left this country, given up my citizenship and lived in a country where they respect the men and women that protect their freedom."

Harvard Medical School said lack of health insurance claimed the lives of more than 2,266 veterans under the age of 65 last year. That number is more than 14 times the number of deaths suffered by U.S. troops in Afghanistan in 2008, and twice as many as have died since the war began in 2003.

Dr. Steffie Woolhandler a professor of medicine says "Uninsured veterans are a stain on America's flag. It's particularly striking that a combat veteran who has already served his country is denied [adequate] health care."

In 2007 Woolhandler testified before the House Committee on Veterans Affairs. He said "Like other uninsured Americans, most uninsured vets are working people - too poor to afford private coverage, but not poor enough to qualify for Medicaid or means-tested VA care."

LET'S TALK CHILDREN

According to a study by the Johns Hopkins Children's Center, lack of adequate health care insurance may have contributed to the deaths of some 17,000 hospitalized U.S. children over the past two decades. The research was compiled from more than 23 million hospital records from 37 states between 1988 and 2005 and concluded that "uninsured children are 60 percent more likely to die in the hospital than those with insurance. When comparing death rates by underlying disease, the uninsured appeared to have increased risk of dying independent regardless of their medical condition."

Lead investigator Fizan Abdullah, M.D., Ph.D., a pediatric surgeon at the Johns Hopkins Children's Center says “If you are a child without insurance, if you're seriously ill and end up in the hospital, you are 60 percent more likely to die than the sick child in the next room who has insurance."

Co-investigator Peter Pronovost, M.D., Ph.D., director of Critical Care Medicine at Johns Hopkins and medical director of the Center for Innovations in Quality Patient Care says "Thousands of children die needlessly each year because we lack a health system that provides them health insurance. This should not be. In a country as wealthy as ours, the need to provide health insurance to the millions of children who lack it is a moral, not an economic issue."

OK, I'll shut up.

Blue Cross Blue Shield; they finally called.

I applied for BCBS Catastrophic. They told me they'd call back in a few weeks. It was a few months.

Understand that in the past five years or so I (inhaling deeply to get it all out in on sentence) got super sick, saw doctors, spent two years undergoing tests and treatments for whatever they thought I might have - backtracked to the tick, got IV antibiotics for Lyme Disease, dumped all my prescription meds because they didn't seem like they were doing anything, started feeling a little better, moved where it was warm, made myself engage in regular physical activity, started doing yoga, started eating right and taking really good care of myself and got my FULL health back WITHOUT doctors.

So of course I do not deserve health insurance.

I was in the last mile of a four mile walk when I got the call. I was not huffing and puffing. My pulse rate was perfect.

The woman from BCBS proceeded to tell me why I cannot have health insurance.

Basically, because of test results from four years ago when I was very ill. She rattled it off ... mitral valve prolapse (mitral valve prolapse is uncomfortable but it's not life threatening), Epstein Barr Virus (which was no longer testing positive after two years), all the ailments that were part and parcel of Lyme Disease. In fact, "Lyme Disease" was the one term she DID NOT use in explaining why I had been denied.

She said my records show that I was on disability. I said I had applied for it while sick, but never got it. I did not say that two years of illness without disability insurance cost me everything I worked a lifetime to earn - my commercial property and my house.

What I did say was that I got well down here and was working full-time until March of this year. Somehow she assumed I must have lost my job here due to illness, and I said "no, because of the ECONOMY." I nearly SPELLED it for her so she would UNDERSTAND.

She sounded surprised.

She said well maybe if I go back to the doctor from four years ago and redo the special tests, maybe I could qualify. (Ask yourself - how much would THAT COST without health insurance?!) I said I DON'T LIVE IN MICHIGAN ANY MORE.

She sounded surprised.

Well how long have you lived there? THREE YEARS IN MAY.

She sounded confused. She sounded like she felt sorry for me. It has to suck to be the one making life-changing calls based on bullshit, erroneous files.

UNITED STATES HEALTH CARE AS IT STANDS IS A JOKE, A CLUSTER FUCK THAT IS ALLOWING PEOPLE TO DIE.

Angry? Oh FUCK yes.

Does this CHANGE anything? Yeah, one thing.

If I DO have a medical emergency of catastrophic proportions I will NOT hesitate to get my sorry ass to E.R. and let them pull out their extreme measures to save my life because there is NOTHING LEFT TO TAKE.

The lying, cheating, blood-sucking money monger health care and disability insurance industries can't ruin me any more than they already have.

Thanksgiving in Bruce's Crossing, Michigan

I spent a week at my son's place at Grass Lake before we headed up to my folks' place for Thanksgiving. "We" consisted of me, my son, daughter in-law, two granddaughters, son's Lab and my two dogs.

Shawn likes to drive all night - with a nine hour drive, it's a good way to go. We leave around 6. That allows enough evening for the girls to watch a few movies and fall asleep at regular hours. My son and DIL took turns driving.

We arrived at 4 a.m.

I was granted the sleeper sofa, made famous by the Seinfeld episode wherein Elaine's back goes out from similar sleeping arrangements in Del Boca Vista. I was too tired to notice the bars poking through the bedding until a few days in.

There was more laughter and less weirdness this time. Grandpa was sick about a month ago, he looks good; but we worry. The winters are very hard on people.

Grandma has decided if the bathroom door isn't locked, she'll walk right in and talk as comfortably as if you were in a recliner in the living room. I was aghast - this from the woman who raised me to think it was improper to walk around in a slip in front of other women. I started locking the doors.

All else was good. They went out to the woods and cut down the perfect tree, as wide as it is high. Like we would have been if we ate everything my mother baked.

Mom, Emma and I walked the woods. Princess, my rescue dog has apparently never seen woods before; she howled with delight.

Leaving was sad.

We had Sunday to rest up at my son's house, then I started the long drive back to Florida on Monday. I knew winter would be nipping at my heels, but I caught a two day window of decent weather.

Aside from a Motel 6 that made the last one look like a Ritz Carlton, it was uneventful.

DO NOT STAY AT THE MOTEL 6 IN DALTON, GA!!! Holy shit. You know you're in a bad place when scary guys in baggy pants round a corner and you notice - with horror - that they've come from a better motel.

It seems all pet friendly motels reek of cigarette smoke. The TV was only slightly larger than a TV Guide and my security lock was hanging off the hinges, like the door had been kicked in at one time or the other.

I expected I'd be sharing the place with pimps and crack hos. When I peeked out the window at 4 a.m., the lot was full of nice minivans. Apparently cheap white people traveling with dogs are the new target market for armpit motels.

Dogs are excellent travelers, great company.

We made it home by sunset Tuesday - 1,350 miles.

Roam for the Holidays

Mapquest lies. 1,100 miles my ass. From South Fort Myers to Grass Lake, Michigan is 1,350 miles. It doesn’t sound like much until you hit the last 100 miles bleary eyed in a darkness broken only by the orange glow of the “Service Engine Soon” light.

While much of the drive is lovely, this adventure totally beat the shit out of me. I may limp home in three days with two nights in hotels. The nice thing about driving is you're not stuck with a specific schedule or how much you can take.

Sunday was day two - Calhoun, Georgia to Grass Lake. Gas was about $2.79 per gallon in Florida; in all other states it was much less, about $2.45. I think that’s pure spite; don't hate us for our beaches and palm trees.

Have you ever noticed detours only happen when your gas tank is empty and your bladder is full? I-75 is closed in Cincinnati … it would be nice if they had a few signs that warned you about that. And their roads are pitted like lunar landscape. After I managed my way past the detour, it became an endurance run.

I was so excited about seeing family and friends again that I didn’t sleep well for two nights before leaving. I’ve been here 24 hours. Even after a good night’s sleep on fleece Barbie sheets (and one long nap 3’ from the wood burning stove) I’m completely fried.

In hindsight, am thankful that:

I only got run off the road once.
The car held up just fine.
Bodhi only partially released her anal gland on my jeans.
I’m in a position to snarf up a fresh (not frozen) White Castle or two.
I can also pick up a Red Wings tee for cheap.

It’s great to be with family, taking shit from the son and daughter-in-law, enjoying the granddaughters, meeting their friends, delighting in one big goofy lab, my two girls and two 6 month old kittens. It’s a hoot.

Went to a dance recital tonight – hip hop - taught by a tight young blonde with a thick pony tail, short-shorts and shiny pantyhose with wide runs. Her students - mostly white - looked like a cross between Lord of the Dance and Bring It.

Attending a ballet recital tomorrow, partying with first love, his daughter and her partner Friday night/Saturday morning, then first ex and his third wife at the Grass Lake winery on Saturday night.

Should be a great time with lots of surprises in between.

Zany night in Georgia.

Saturday, 11/14/09 - Motel 6 - Calhoun, Georgia.

Name that photo. No, it’s not a giant razor blade. Although I could probably use one about now … no, it’s a metal tissue dispenser COVER that typically goes on a wall OVER an inset tissue box; except that in this case there is no tissue, just wall y’all.

You have to wonder who they think they’re fooling. And then you have to wonder who “they” are.

Well, you don’t “have” to. And maybe you shouldn’t.

The room is actually quite nice despite the utter affordability of it. Me and my bitchez are sequestered back at the far end of the complex with another single woman and her red setter. We're about 6 rooms apart, like they're afraid we'll start trouble or something.

She was taking an arched back dump (the dog) when she (the owner) looked up and made mention of our shared experience. We have this whole building to ourselves. We could invite whole packs of dogs and bring biscuits and hydrants and howl at the moon and pee on the walls and really tear the place up if we wanted to.

But me and mine … we’re wiped out. They won’t want to get back in the car in the morning; neither will I.

It has been a hell of a day. We napped at a rest area. I’ve never done that. I woke up and someone was watching me. Never doing that again.

Heartfelt thanks to Snowbird for bringing some sanity to my pre-departure ditziness. I was out of the condo with everything I needed for me and the girls in one hour, on the road at 6:10 a.m. and the sunrise was SPECTACULAR. There were low rolling puffs of fog over some of the ponds and the sun came up through the haze. I saw it through my rear view mirror as I crossed the Peace River in Punta Gorda.

It was so beautiful other drivers actually smiled and waved.

When you drive from Southwest Florida to the Georgia border, I have to tell you the state just goes on and on and on. Then you enter Georgia, which should probably be named The Billboard State. You quickly get some sense of enduring community struggles as anti-abortion signs compete with billboards promoting the pleasures of the flesh.

In North Georgia a very tall McDonalds sign has another sign directly below. It's for “Adult Specialties”. I don’t know why McDonalds corporate isn’t all over that. Some customers might expect to be served by thonged young thangs with sesame seed buns.

Driving from Florida to Michigan is actually pretty cool. This is so much cheaper than boarding the dogs, getting additional vaccinations pre-boarding, etc., etc. Plus you get to see the land. I had the windows open as we passed cotton fields and “boiled peanut” signs.

You get really tired by the time you hit Atlanta - which is a horror. We’re talking Saturday and you STILL cannot time that town to save your life.

It was about 15 miles of cars, trucks and Hummers doing 70 miles per hours NOSE TO ASS without tapping the brakes; those people DO NOT UNDERSTAND the concept of one car space for every 10 miles per hour.

Bubbas in half ton pickups with rifle racks half bounce/half slice through traffic like they’re cutting the herd.

Thanks to Snowbird for lending me his Garmin … directional indecision can throw a weary driver well off course. I could be in Savannah right now.

Navigational software is like religion. It expects unconditional trust without considering real world change, personal experience or choice.

Still, tired as I was, it saved my day.

Listened in on some right wing conservative radio. In Georgia it seems they like to tie guns to Jesus. If you’ve got a gun you can go out into nature and enjoy the world He created … while blowing the living shit out of anything in your path.

Another earnest radio preacher mourned the fact that we live in a time when “some Christians are now seen as being intolerant and out of touch.”

Saw a sign for Christian marriage counseling. “Who’s loving her if you’re not?” ??? That seems extreme.

Caught a spectacular baby shower pink and blue sunset before calling it a day. Tomorrow I hit the Tennessee mountains at sunrise.

From beginning to end, I’m expecting a wonderful day.

Yoplait Fiber One: Side effects of phenylalanine

The American diet is KILLING us.

Sorry readers, I'm just posting this to get the word out because I can't find anything in a search and I hope someone smart will find this blog and pay attention.

I didn't fall victim to Yoplait Fiber One because of the commercials with the adorable Indian guy ... I saw the "Key Lime Pie" flavor and bought two four-pack servings. They are so good, you can't hardly eat one. And at 50 calories per serving, why should you? Fiber? 5 grams, yay.

Do you ever look at 50 calories on a serving and wonder how something so sweet can be so low cal? So of course I was eating two as a meal with a banana ... before I started getting sick.

I developed a raging yeast infection. This doesn't make any sense. A long time ago a doctor told me yeast infections come from sugar. He said "if you want to stop having them, stop eating sugar."

So I'm not EATING any sugar, WTF???

I used one OTC yeast suppository and started feeling better last night; so I had a snack. Guess what kind of snack. And then guess what - the itching and discomfort came back IMMEDIATELY. Then I was hit by exhaustion. I just woke up from sleeping nearly nonstop for 12 hours.

So I'm remembering back to that label ... this isn't sugar - is it?

Now this is going to take a scientist or nutritionist to figure out. But I did note this on the package. It's an asterisked comment, of course:

PHENYLKETONURICS; CONTAINS PHENYLALANINE.

I'm a Virgo, my mind pays attention to stuff like that. So after being sick for the past two days, I went back to the package and looked it up online.

http://www.janethull.com/newsletter/1008/warning_phenylketonurics.php

So I'm thinking "I'm sick ... am I a phenylketonuric???" I am many things, but that too??

Here's what Wikipedia says:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phenylketonuria

That doesn't sound at all like me. So obviously phenylalanine affects more than phenylketonurics...

Get the word out, read the labels - and those scary asterisks in caps?

Put the product down and step back from the dairy case.

How can I be so stupid?

When we're stressed, we forget the good things.

This was my view Wednesday afternoon from a friend's boat out on the "Miserable Mile" between the Caloosahatchee River and the Gulf of Mexico.

I forget I'm in fucking paradise.

Well, it was hot as hell for months. But it's beautiful now. I actually had to pull out a turtleneck to hit the beach tonight. I was laughed at, of course; until people grabbed my hands and found they were like ice.

The locals were in sweatshirts and the tourists were in beachwear - but there are no strangers. Everyone is there for the same reason - to hang out, make friends and have fun.

And there's more stuff I've forgotten. Maybe the summer heat seared it all out of my brain ...

This is where people come to let go.

The people here have great nicknames. Minnesota Diane and Bible Jim ...

Fort Myers Beach is a warm, friendly reunion at this time of year.

Within the past five hours ...

Bible confessed the girl he took to prom had a sex change operation shortly thereafter. He made fun of his stroke, saying he can still play with nipples but he can't flip people off without using both hands.

Someone thought he had a rip in the back of his shorts so he turned around, dropped them and bent over. (No rip, but quite a view. A few random screams.)

A large group of quasi-inebriated folk endured/enjoyed karaoke night at the Lighthouse Tiki Bar - a mix of everything from the ridiculous to the sublime.

I sat at "the Michigan table" with friends who hail from there but would literally rather die than return year-round.

There was a good-natured rivalry between Michigan and Ohio as someone sang "Sweet Home Alabama - Summertime in Michigan."

A wealthy gentleman sat there and said there was great money to be made in this economy if you know what you're doing with stocks. (Expressing his theories in some detail.)

A very large man in his 30s talked about his recent diabetes diagnosis. Says when his doctor put him on a 1300 calorie diet, he told him "hell, I SPILL more than that."

A young couple who had married on the beach earlier today danced their first dance at the Lighthouse Tiki Bar. The bride had tears in her eyes - as did most of the women who formed a large appreciative circle around them. It didn't end there.

A lunatic from Minnesota got caught up in the moment, grabbed the mic and asked the DJ to play "Amore" - "when the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that's amore" ... and most everyone sang. It was like a scene from Mama Mia.

How does a wild-ass beach tiki bar become the setting for a real live musical?

A woman in her 70s danced shamelessly with younger men - as if she were 50 years younger - and nobody laughed or judged. (Although several men hid.)

The photo of a man everyone knew - who died several months back - is taped prominently on the bar area. Local bars don't forget their own.

The cops showed up, but nobody was arrested.

Yup, it was a beautiful day on Fort Myers Beach, from time with the friend who invited me to a bike ride this morning (proudly rode up and over that damned bridge again without stopping or freaking out from the height) to time with friends tonight.

This was one of those days that makes you think "maybe it will be ok after all."

Screw Fear.

Hey, we Boomers expected we'd get old with all our gold.

I spent this past summer worrying about how I was going to survive financially and it started reminding me of being a Jehovah's Witness, back when the elders were telling us the world was gonna end in 1975.

I had been hammered with that damned Armageddon thing since I was a little kid. We would be persecuted, we would be killed. Just like the death camps in WWII. Imagine teaching your kids about the death camps. Who does that??

I can remember being 6 years old and my mother sitting across from me at the kitchen table, telling me "one day you may be taken away from me, but you will have to be strong."

WTF. Strong? At 6? How?

As a young adult I would bow my head and mumble "but the Bible says no man knows the day nor the hour"; unfortunately, nobody hears you when you when you bow your head and mumble. And when you're female in that religion nobody would have heard you if you screamed, ripped off your bra and set your tits on fire.

The elders said the righteous (us) would be tortured and persecuted. And then God would sweep down from on high and smite all evildoers (anyone who wasn't us) and resurrect the righteous who had already died (only 144,000) and suck them right into heaven. Sort of a mini-rapture.

The rest of us would live forever on a paradise earth.

Even then, fresh and innocent, I can remember thinking "that sounds sort of boring. With THESE people? Foreverrrr?"

Fear gets really old after a while. You get numb. And then you get pissed off.

I bailed in 1974. And it felt GOOD. Screw fear, screw worrying about what's going to happen.

Guess what - the world didn't end in 1975. Just as I suspected.

So I spent all last summer terrified I couldn't make it financially one more month and you finally get to the point of fuggit, what's the worst that can happen? What poor friend or relative would YOU call if you lost your job and your house? Or which of your friends or relatives may wind up calling YOU when THEY lose THEIRS?

Which option is WORSE - and which has the potential for (gasp) good things? Like that sense of family and friendship, of pulling together that our spoiled brat generation lost a long damned time ago.

My daughter-in-law grew up in communist Poland. This is nothing compared to what she's been through.

So if you have to move, to room with someone, what will you take? What will you give away? What will you abandon?

When I hit the blackest of the black, lowest of the low an amazing thing happened. I looked around and asked myself what I could sell. What I should sell. I brought more furniture than I needed anyway.

Turns out I could get rid of a 7' tall antique oak sideboard, almost 4' wide. It was beautiful, but it ate my living area. I'd tried posting it to eBay before, got a hit, sold it and the buyer renigged. This is why I hate eBay. And this is why I hate being from Michigan, I'm too polite to post negative feedback. I might as well be Canadian.

(No offense Connie.)

I posted it to Craigslist instead and got a few lowball offers. Then the snowbirds started coming back. I used to hate to see the out of state plates, but now it's like the cavalry's comin. Feels good. Feels like cash.

I posted the sideboard to Craigslist and sold it within three hours. Got paid in hundred dollar bills. Not as much as I would have liked, but I basically broke even. I had a great gaping hole in the middle of my room, but wow. What a great feeling to let something go. And the space - there was something soothing about it.

Now nothing is safe. Well, the dogs and my late 70s German porn...

When I worry I organize my stuff and it just feels good. Those bags of clothes that are going to charity - they feel GREAT. The brown bags full of papers for recycling? EXCELLENT. I am thinning this shit out.

There's no crap in the fridge either - garbage in, garbage out. Literally. Every dollar counts, especially when you don't have health insurance.

And when I worry about where I could go, I think of it as an adventure my grandkids will tell their kids. Heck, I can aspire to become an unwelcome scourge in their lives - like the grandmother in Sixteen Candles.

I can give them the nervous tic they sometimes give me. Something to tell their therapists in years to come.

Maybe I will never have to go anywhere and then again, there is always a gray area. To be broke and alone and getting older in this economy doesn't necessarily mean you have to impose your sorry ass on someone else or that you may be asked to share YOUR home or condo - it may mean you will fall into something meaningful.

Because I've noticed a very weird change lately.

Last year at this time the guys on match were arrogant and condescending. Now they're kinder/gentler - a little bit humbled. Some are desperate and needy, looking for anyone solid and honest and not a golddigger.

Wood is less of a priority than gold and there's not enough of that to spend on bimps any more.

So it's getting pretty funny. I'm blowing off anyone with a Harley and taking more time with the boat photos; just for fun.

I am suddenly hearing from the men I loved most in the past, those bridges I never burned. "Are you seeing anyone?" It feels like musical chairs, where everyone realizes they're getting old and they don't want to be alone for the rest of this rocky ride.

So it could be good. None of us know where we'll be this time next year. One thing we know for sure - it's going to be interesting.

Catch and Release

When religion and lifestyle collide ...

In 1973 I enrolled my son in daycare and started an exciting new job. That’s where I met Sharon. She was built like a pinup, with strawberry blonde hair, full rack, skin-tight clothes and nosebleed-high heels.

She drove a midnight blue Camaro. Black wasn’t good enough - she’d had it specially painted. She was cool as cool can be.

I was honored she took the time to talk to me. We were the same age and rack size, but I felt dowdy and unworthy. I was married to a Jehovah’s Witness elder and I dressed like it. Raised that way, I had obeyed my religion to and past being a virgin on my wedding night.

By the time I met Sharon, the marriage and religion weren’t working. Unfortunately, I was such a cult clone I couldn’t see my way out.

Maybe worldly people would show me the way.

That’s what Jehovah’s Witnesses call them - “worldly”. We weren’t supposed to associate with them because they would lead us down the wrong path.

I guess I was hoping for that. And I got my wish.

Within a year I was out of the marriage and the religion. I was a single mother having the time of her life. The seventies were a free-for-all and I had Sharon and Maria to show me the ropes. Maria was wildest of all, a bisexual nymphomaniac in F-cups.

Sharon went through men like nut creams in a box of Godiva chocolates. If one relationship wasn’t working, she’d date someone else TOO - until she was sure she was safe to blow the old guy off and move in with the new guy. Her marriage to the tae kwan do instructor ended with that level of overlap.

She was fixing up the house she acquired in that divorce when she met Jim. He seemed like a good guy, but she found him a little boring. One night I called and she said she was painting her living room. Said Jim had called and wanted to see her but she blew him off.

I told her she might be giving up her chance at the real thing.

So she started making more time for him. Then one day she decided she had to have him. I think she saw his portfolio - or found his little black book. She went nuts, more insecure with every passing day.

She lost weight, her clothes got flashier and she marketed her sexual prowess in all possible ways. If you got her answering machine, you heard “man eater” by Hall & Oates.

I don’t remember the clincher that nailed the poor bastard. I think they dated others to make each other jealous and he couldn't take it any more. Unfortunately, that whole go-round also destroyed all trust immediately prior to the wedding.

Of course I wanted to throw Minute Rice. Of course I didn't take my role as Maid of Honor seriously. What I wore was up to me so I selected a pale blue prom dress on clearance off a juniors rack.

I would ultimately be pleased with my choice of polyester over natural fabric.

They were married outside, next to a pond. Drinking ensued. Maria seduced a friend’s teenage son, an occupied portajohn was tipped and my tuxedo’d copilot flipped our craft mid-lake during the post-nuptial canoe race. I surfaced with sunglasses intact.

My dress was dry in 10 minutes, but I smelled like bass.

My copilot woke up at home alone in his hot tub. He climbed out and peeled off his tux.

A month after the wedding Sharon called to say she was pregnant. After the birth of the second son, she found Jeezus. She was pure, virginal, transformed and her two buddies were suddenly heinous.

Her stern fake-nailed finger was pointed DIRECTLY at me. Note that the third member of this little group was still a total whore dog. I was simply continuing my path of serial monogamy, the catch and release of dating.

I never did overlap like Sharon did*, never went from one to the other without the customary mourning period of sitcoms and chocolate almond Haagen’dazs.

Still, one day at lunch she looked up at me and said “I’m worried for your mortal soul.” I pretty much told her my soul is nobody’s business but mine. And I warned her that if she kept it up, she would lose a friend.

And she did. I cut off communication, remarried, changed my name and she never found me again.

Until last week when I got a Starbucks Venti 2% Milk Sugar Free Hazelnut latte BUZZ and looked her up on Facebook. There she WUZZ.

I submitted the request to friend; afterwards I saw she posted her profile as ultra-conservative and her tagline was “I LOVE JESUS.”

Oops.

She was DELIGHTED to hear from me, ecstatic, still married with both sons in college. They sound like they're prospering despite the economy.

She said she’d been trying to find me for years and is hoping for a full-scale reunion, all three of us. I wrote back it would be great to see her, but this time it would be an awkward mix - her the conservative Christian, me the liberal Buddhist and Maria … wow, still Maria.

I threw her a caveat. “You DO understand we will not be able to discuss politics, religion or perversion.”

If she can accept that, we'll have enough stories for at least five steamy novels.

I haven’t heard back. I wonder if I will.

The catch and release of friendship ...

* The closest I came was when I dumped the owner of a used car lot for a Republican State Rep who went on to become a senator. In hindsight, that was an even trade.

BORROWED MAGIC

Life sucks for most everyone right now. Time to reflect inward ... I'm working on my story, one chapter at a time. It's the tale of a little bastard who is raised Jehovah's Witness by her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. This is the version I'll be reading at my writers meetup group Tuesday night. It's all true and the names and places are real.

BORROWED MAGIC

We were born in 1950, a few months and five houses apart.

Karen Spurgeon lived at one end of Wellington; St. Leonard’s Catholic Church and convent were at the other. After all the whispered rumors of pregnant nuns and buried babies, the place creeped me out.

The Spurgeon children went to school there.

Karen was the oldest of five rambunctious kids. She had orange curly hair, big round freckles and a great sense of adventure. Next in age was Little Stevie, stick thin and only moderately vexing. We let him play with us … sometimes.

Back then children didn’t knock or ring doorbells - we called each other out in extended syllables. When Karen came to my grandmother’s little white house, she envied my quiet and privacy. When I went to her house, I envied the noise, fish stick Fridays and brownies that came out of boxes.

Food became a big part of our relationship and we grew out as much as up. Her youngest sister Theresa the Climber had chronic sinus problems. To my horror, “Micki” always sounded like “Piggy”.

Karen’s mother Janet didn’t eat - she smoked. She looked like the Marlboro Man - tough and wiry without T or A. Karen’s father Jim was large man with five o-clock shadow. I was afraid of him because I’d heard he drank real blood while studying for the priesthood.

The whole concept of fathers was sort of lost on me anyway. Mine left when I was seven and never came back. I didn’t have holidays either. I remember sitting in the living room with the lights out as groups of costumed children laughed their way past my house on Halloween.

Karen always shared her take with me.

Each winter her father spent hours building the perfect rink in the back yard. He laid the hose and nozzle within the branches of a leafless tree, directing a fine mist that created ice as smooth as glass.

Skating on that perfect rink was pure magic.

Her family had the great sparkling Christmases you see in movies. They even had TV. Watching Disney and the Jetsons was something special. If it was late when I left, Karen walked me halfway home. That was a big deal, even though there was less to fear back then. We’d walk exactly 2 ½ houses and run the rest of the way alone in the darkness.

As we entered our teens, my religion closed in as Karen broke loose. Her parochial plaid skirts got shorter as her hair got bigger. The last time we talked as kids she was walking home from school with an armful of books. A June bug flew to certain death in her rat’s nest and she shook her head violently in an attempt to dislodge the buzzing insect.

That day the nuns had dragged her to the john to wash her face and brush her hair. She hated school.

I never saw her again. Well, for 30 years, anyway. That’s when I saw the obituary. Janet was dead.

By then my Gram was growing old alone in her little white house and I was visiting every week. The funeral would take place at St. Leonard’s.

I told Gram we should go. She agreed.

We walked from the sunshine of the parking lot into the darkness of a chapel lit only by candles. The Spurgeons had attended that church all of their lives, so I expected the pews would be full; they weren’t.

As we walked down the aisle to Janet's coffin, a tall thin man with a beard walked up with shocking enthusiasm. He called me by name. Little Stevie remembered my Gram too. "Hello Ethel!!"

He walked us up to the coffin and softly explained that his mother had died of lung cancer. My Gram said that was a shame and he said "it’s ok - she's in a better place."

Gram blurted out "what do you mean 'in a better place' - SHE'S DEAD!"

I was mortified. It always amazes me when people who have been religious all their lives become fearful towards the end.

I don’t remember much about the actual service except for the darkness and the sudden problem I had with my vision. There was a full spectrum of color around each of the candles. I blinked hard and rubbed, but the colors remained.

After the service, Karen and Stevie invited me to the wake. I dropped Gram off and drove out. We spent hours catching up. Karen was an RN, Stevie was passionate about doing civil war reenactments.

They told me their mother had smoked all her life and only managed to quit one month before her death. We all agreed she might as well have kept on smoking.

They said “well, at least our parents are together now.”

Karen explained that her father had died some years earlier. She said his spirituality had intensified with age and he saw death as "the next great adventure."

He promised when he got to the other side, he would send rainbows.

That was the last time I saw Karen and Stevie. But the memory of the rainbows will last as long as I live.

Maybe longer.

Connie Mack's Town Hall Fiasco in Fort Myers

I've said it before. I was afraid to move down here because I knew I wouldn't mix well with the Bible thumpers.

I'm not talking about the genuinely pious people who are kind, giving, salt of the earth folk who quietly live their faith. I admire them.

I'm talking about the freaks who use religion as an excuse to judge, belittle and hammer others.

I faced my demons on Friday. Literally. I picketed for the first time in my life. We were ridiculed by a small cluster of old white guys with nice pensions, loose dentures and belts under their armpits.

Funny ... outside their side looked like Grumpy Old Men and ours looked like Calendar Girls. (The younger people were still at work and school - they joined us later. Still, we had them way outnumbered outside. Inside, we were about 100 in all, but we seemed like more.)

Outside was pleasant compared to the tension inside. Friends will be amazed to know I endured six stressful hours without flipping anyone off or dropping f-bombs.

I was not familiar with Connie Mack. What a smarmy talking head. We made him nervous; he stumbled over much of his intro. His theme was "The Democrats' Health Care Bill is a Prescription for Disaster."

When his comments were unbearable, I DID blurt out BULLSHIT ... loud enough for three rows to hear, but not loud enough to get myself removed.

The southern gentleman (whose right hip was pressed against my left hip) shifted uncomfortably in his chair when he realized he was not sitting with his own kind. We muttered shots at each other backways over our shoulders through the whole damned thing.

It was like being married.

Here's the article; I'm the last quote in Liz Freeman's article, which I consider quite a compliment.

http://www.naplesnews.com/news/2009/oct/02/mack-health-care-town-hall-fort-myers/

Here's what I posted to comments. (If you're in a hurry, scroll right down to the confession I have highlighted in red. It just blew me away, you need to read it.)

"If I were Catholic I'd be heading to confession for the amount of RAGE I felt last night. I was seated next to a family of affluent self-righteous Republicans who were talking about people in need as if they were subhuman sewer dwellers.

HEAR ME. There are not just two levels of society in this country - "Haves" and "Have-nots" - there are THREE. Let's talk about the HADS for a minute. We HAD jobs, we HAD health insurance. We didn't BUY investment properties when all you needed to get a mortgage was a pulse. We AREN'T extravagant. We didn't EARN the crisis we're in today. (Don't even pretend Obama did not INHERIT this mess from "The Decider".)

Every time Mack mentioned "health savings accounts" my stomach turned. Who among us could afford a savings account? We can barely afford food!

The insurance companies were getting wealthier as Mack stood there using all those pretty words that said ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

When Karen Ramdeen spoke I wanted to stand up and applaud!!! She had something real to say! She is sick, she is my age, she doesn't know where to turn. What did they do? They said THERE ARE SOLUTIONS - SEE US AFTER THE EVENT.

If there are solutions for her, where are the solutions for the rest of us? Where is that information? Where are those clinics? I have nowhere to turn EITHER.

Are some of you people aware that there are some of us who face life and death crises and avoid Emergency Rooms for fear our grown children will be called and risk their finances on our behalf?

WE DO THAT.

I spent all day Thursday seeking affordable health care online. (I know, contradiction in terms.) Everyone should do this to see what it's like for The Hads. You'll find forms that obviously cherry-pick only health people. I got frustrated and actually made a call and was sent to a high-pressure agent for some scam group policy. I researched online while she pressured me on the phone; a less savvy caller would have been duped.

I went back to BCBS, went through all their forms and waited to be told if I was accepted. The only way you can find out is by PAYING UP FRONT. They took my money and left me hanging!! That was over a week ago, I still don't know.

We have to put a lid on that industry!!!

Remember this: One American dies every 12 minutes because they don't have health insurance. This is MSNBC quoting Harvard Medical School, 9/17/09 - look it up.

You Christians out there ... WWJD? How many need to die before you put aside your prejudices?

READ THIS COMMENT BY AN ENGLISHWOMAN WHO LIVES HERE!

I really do feel terribly sorry for those without any means of care. We have been fortunate to have the financial means to overcome any illness or injury. And even more fortunate that if ever we were to have financial difficulties, we can always go back to England for great care. Having said that; I am however against a public option on the basis of my financial investments. A government funded option would compete with my health industry investment profits. And folks, that's the bottom line of this debate! Not socialism or rationing care for the elderly or even hating Obama "the communist" (that's funny) - it's profits! Al Hoffman and the like; including I, don't want our investment earnings to diminish.

I commented on her comment -

"Two words - BLOOD MONEY! How do you sleep at night?!"

Anyway, let's end with a ray of light and a bit of a laugh:

Hooray Alan Grayson, Orlando - http://crooksandliars.com/node/31678

I want to make one last comment about what it feels like to face these people down.
IT FEELS WAY DAMNED GOOD!!!

IN SEARCH OF THE PUBIC OPTION

I assume most males are FOR a "PUBIC" option. Especially with a porn-mouth blonde in a slutty black dress. Love the spittle (or demon orb) on the left boob ... and the typos; hate everything else, especially the ignorance and insensitivity.

If you want to know how fucked up our country is in terms of health care, APPLY for health care insurance.

I spent the day doing just that. My health is pretty good ... except for the stress. Yup, I have palpitations when my head hits the pillow. Symptoms like that are terrifying when you live 1400 miles away from anyone who gives a shit.

I haven't had a physical in about five years. That includes going to the gyno for the "pubic option". Haven't had a mammogram in that long either. I'm taking huge risks for a broad my age, but I also know I'm not alone.

If you don't have health insurance there's no point in finding out if something is wrong because YOU CAN'T AFFORD TO GET IT FIXED.

Women in my family live far longer than nature ever intended. My Gram outlived her brain, which sputtered through to about 87 before turning to grits. But her body? At about 93 she got some type of cancer and hospice was called. She outlived hospice and the cancer went away. (I don't make this stuff up.)

She could bend over from the waist and put her palm on the dementia ward floor at 96.

I don't think I'll be so "lucky". Not that I want to be, but I would like another decade or so. I'm a physically active vegetarian yoga nut. So I'm thinking catastrophic coverage should fit just fine.

It has to because I can't afford more. (Seems like it's running between $100 and $200/mo.)

I began my quest with a search of health insurance providers I distrust least. United Healthcare is a good choice here in Florida. I liked them when I had it through my job.

I think I landed on ehealthcare.com or something. They seemed to have some decent plans. I didn't trust not being at the source and didn't like that they didn't show Blue Cross as an option - that spooked me. An online health insurance site should show all the big providers. Shouldn't it?

So I searched for United Healthcare's actual site.

Again I wound up at some intermediary site. However, this one seemed like it listed them all.

I spent about three hours in purgatory starting to put my information in and just about dying as I went through the very OBVIOUS cherry-picking pages of the documentation. They don't want anyone who might get sick; they want perfectly healthy people who don't smoke, drink or ride motorcycles.

I went through health hell five years ago. I had a number of diagnoses the disability insurers called horseshit; I was served up a great heaping portion of Lyme with a side of mitral valve prolapse. Plus other stuff. That has me nervous when it comes to getting new insurance.

BECAUSE SUDDENLY THE HEALTH CARE INSURERS BELIEVE I WAS REALLY, REALLY SICK. They didn't then because it would have meant the disability people would have had to PAY.

I am not exaggerating when I tell you those mofos would rather see sick people die than cover them as promised. I had to rifle through two huge boxes of details from my time in hell to dig up some of what I needed to get through this day.

I think five years is sort of the cutoff for that information and I crossed my fingers. I don't think this stuff is computerized yet. Besides which, my health did turn around completely in the past few years. I don't take any meds, I'm very active, I live a very healthy life.

HAVE YOU SEEN THESE FORMS???? Some were asking excruciatingly detailed stuff, like "have you had a urinary tract infection?" Pubic options as it were ... I don't know any woman who doesn't get them from time to time. THEY WANTED TO KNOW WHEN, WHERE IT WAS TREATED AND WHAT WAS INVOLVED. Oh, and "when's the last time you had one?"

Bite me.

I peed in a cup, they said "yeah, infection" and I got a prescription and poof, GONE. More than a year ago. It was from some good old-fashioned holiday boffing.

I went into those forms about four or five times and was completely frustrated by the time I actually picked up the phone and dialed the number the website showed for United Healthcare. I told the friendly, professional sounding person that I had been insured through them, I just wanted to get whatever I could sign on for as an individual on United Healthcare's plan.

I was passed through to a representative in Florida.

TWILIGHT ZONE...

This woman sounded mid-sixties, nasal, condescending, like I'd caught her getting her nails done at some discount salon in Miami. She sounded a little put out.

I told her I wanted United Healthcare - I even knew the plan number - and she said "honey, at your age you don't want that. They'll raise your rates. You need ..." (she mumbled when she gave the name.) I notice all cues. She was never clear when mentioning the company's name.

She happened to have a special plan at a special rate that ENDED TODAY. I could be one of the last to join THAT GROUP but I had to commit then and there.

All my alarms are going off. What is it with this polite thing??? I hate me sometimes, I should have told her to bag it. But no, I'm scared, this is really important and I'll listen to anything but my bullshit detectors were on overload.

She kept asking if I understood what she was saying. It takes a lot to get me angry, but I was on my way. I said yeah, but give me a website or send me information. One phone call isn't going to cut it.

Twice she asks if I have internet. Twice I told her YES RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME.

She says "go to dubya ... dubya ... dubya ... dot ..." like I am a moron. Obviously she is.

This is the site.

http://www.napahome.org/

If I'm wrong about this organization, please let me know. I did a quick search and found where some other Florida resident posted "NAPAHOME RIPOFF!", that they nearly nailed him; he put a stop on his credit information before it could be processed.

And she's still blabbering as I'm checking this stuff out. And I said "I will not commit to anything based on one phone call. Give me your number."

She acted weird about that. I got a lecture on how there wasn't much time, all other companies were ripoffs and this was the insurance she had herself.

I told her my battery on my phone was running down and she didn't understand. She says "well I'll call you on your landline." I don't have a landline. She doesn't understand that some people gave up landlines years ago.

THE MOST IRRITATING WOMAN ON THE PLANET. Ten years ago she would have shown up at my Gram's door and convinced her to buy a $5,000 vacuum.

When I finally hung up I think I spent an hour not doing anything health insurance related; then I came back in to check Blue Cross. At least they should have my old information, that's what I had when I was sick and they were solid.

Turns out no, they do not have my old information. Which is a blessing and a curse.

I filled out the forms (as involved as those described above - if not worse). And at the end of all these pages YOU CANNOT GET OUT OF THE FORM WITHOUT COMMITTING TO A PLAN. Mind you, they want you to pay EVEN IF YOU DON'T KNOW THEY'LL LET YOU HAVE IT.

There is no option after you've done all that work to just save it and come back.

So I paid. I know bcbs, it was an affordable rate for catastrophic and they didn't try to make it sound like more than it was.

I don't know what will happen, whether they'll check me out and decide I'm not healthy enough to have insurance and issue a credit - or let it slide.

I hope they accept me. It seems to me one of exBF Randy's buddies had it and they saved his ass on some serious stuff.

That's all I want or need at this point.

But tomorrow?

"Organizing for Tomorrow" is having a letter signing event in Naples.

They wrote: "Following the President's health reform address to Congress two weeks ago, OFA volunteers stepped up and generated a huge outpouring of grassroots support, including hundreds of thousands of signatures and calls in support of real health insurance reform. So to keep the great momentum going locally, we're holding a letter-writing event in Naples tomorrow. Organizing for America volunteers will be gathering together to write letters to our senators, asking them to support the President's Plan for Health Reform."

It's an hour drive but I can't think of a better way to spend a day.

Fried Squirrel, Taters & Haters

I think I'd only been here a few months when this gray squirrel decided to use my ornamental hanging for a pinata. The glare gives you some sense for the incredible heat we get and you can also get a sense for where I live, a small complex of townhouse condos on stilts. Which is cool.

Well, I didn't think so at first - not until my first summer of hurricane warnings. Then I was happy for 'em. Storm surge? Bring it on.

We've had heavy rains. As I write this, a Muscogee Duck and her babies are hanging out in a pool of water under my living area.

It has been so hot this week that - at 8 p.m. at night mind you - the short walk up six steps from my air conditioned car to my front door steamed my lenses to the point I couldn't see to put my key in the lock.

Yeah, my sentences are going to run on endlessly in this blog, I don't have the time to cut and polish like I'd like to.

My talking about the weather can only mean one thing; most of the interesting stuff has been happening to my friends - the Connies to be specific. Canadian Connie and Goose Connie. Well, Canadian Connie - RN? - packed up and moved to Washington for a great job. She called a few days ago to see if I knew how to milk a prostate. I thought all RNs learned that in school. Apparently I was mistaken. (Don't worry Canadian Connie, hardly anyone you know reads this.)

Goose Connie was originally an award-winning landscape architect in Chicago before she got sick and lost everything and wound up moving to Missouri to take care of her dying mom.

There she was on all those acres and damned if she didn't use the time to be constructive; she has turned it into a goose farm. Did all the research, from what types of geese she should have to what she should feed them and what type of dogs should herd/protect them. She did most of the physical labor, gets her chicks in the spring, feeds and cares for them all summer and ... well, we won't talk about fall. She always bonds to a few. I wouldn't be able to do what she has to do. She says many farmers "drink heavily at that time of the year."

But gourmet restaurants are beginning to request her geese and I have faith she'll do fine. People who can build a self-sufficient business from an idea and God's rolling acres blow me away.

Connie is juggling her second season of farming (in a farming community that still isn't none too sure about the strong-willed, opinionated city chick), her geese, her beloved pack of herding dogs (including a blind dog she adopted, who she says has taught her more about love than any other living creature) ... her mother's healthcare issues, hospice visits and the crushing burden of responsibility for that place and all those souls.

At forty something, her own health isn't the greatest either. She hides canes in nooks and crannies for those times she can no longer walk without assistance.

One day an acquaintance (Connie's like me - she has many acquaintances but very few real friends) asked her flat out "what will you do when your mom dies." That sent her tumbling into an emotional abyss.

When you're doing the right thing, the universe sends you what you need. Well, the universe sent Connie a big strapping fireman who gives a shit about her and her mother. On one of his first visits, he brought them home-made lasagna. When her mom said her favorite wild meal was squirrel, he came back with his gun and shot her some.

Imagine Connie's discomfort at having squirrels in the freezer. I asked if the bushy tails popped out when she reached in for cubes for evening cocktails and she said no, they were perfectly cleaned.

They fried 'em all up for her mom last Wednesday, complete with mashed potatoes with squirrel gravy and home-made pineapple upside down cake.

The biggest problem was what do you serve WITH squirrel - white wine or red? Turns out beer works best.

She posted lovely photos of this truly luscious looking spread on a totally country red and white checkered tablecloth - on Facebook. A few of her friends commented "yes, squirrel DOES taste like chicken. "

...

When I started typing today's blog I wasn't sure I knew how to spell pinata. I don't have the symbol for it and - being a Virgo - I needed to get it right. Stores around here have the real deal, but my old Oxford dictionary (1980) doesn't even have the word.

I'm still cooking from my 1968 Betty Crocker cookbook I received as a gift for my first wedding. (Yeah, laugh - bite me.) Old cookbooks are great, but old dictionaries ... you can see the evolution of social change with the addition of words from various ethnicities.

This awkward culture shift makes it difficult for people like me & Goose Connie; we're both outspoken liberal females in redneck conservative areas. She's actually related to Obama on his mom's side.

We share the despair. We talk about the hatred and bigotry. We both know of people who belong to (mostly Baptist) churches that advocate ... I can't even say the word. Well, it starts with "ass" and anyone who uses the word is one.

For about a week there we dumped our pain and sorrow out in emails and IMs. Most of it came out of discussions about healthcare. A few people implied (to Connie) that it might be better if her mother would just hurry up and die. (I posted her response below. If you are offended by rage and profanity, don't read it. If you want to see what life is like for someone caring for a dying parent in this country right now, DO read it.)

Some old cracker told me he didn't want some commie health plan where he couldn't choose his doctors. And I told him I'd be happy to be able to be able to see any doctor at all.

Connie and I have decided that if we weren't where we are, the only opinions most people would hear would be voices of hate. She told me of a brave 70 year old nun who stood up in a room full of haters and told her truth.

What an inspiration. So we're going to stick it out. I think we all need to. We don't want to get sucked into the cycle of hate, but we do need to speak the truth.

If the haters spoke the truth, maybe they wouldn't need to yell.

My neighbor reminded me when the snowbirds come back, we'll feel less alone in Bigotville.

CONNIE'S POST FROM FACEBOOK - MAJOR PROFANITY ALERT

To all the assholes who think its ok that my mom dies~ ie against health care reform

Thursday, September 10, 2009 at 12:25am

Well let's see, it's 10:30 at night and I have read yet another "assholian" comment about health care reform from one of my "friends". yeah- she's going to get unfriended too. Im at one a week now.... How can your sarcastic and mean and hatefilled comments be your argument againsthealth care REFORM.

Do you realize that you are against REFORM? Do you know what REFORM is? Please go look up that word so you understand what you are against. And be ashamed.

My Mom Patty is a fact of life.Age 85. Diagnosed with lung cancer and Alzheimers, Dementia, COPD, high blood pressure, blood clots, osteo arthritis, macular degeneration. Her out of pocket expsenses ....( Oh dont get all fucking GLASSY EYED NOW...WAKE THE HELL UP!) ...are over $1,400.00 per month for prescriptions. That's after Medicare and supplimental health insurance.

It goes to about $2,000.00 a month when she hits "the Doughnut Hole". (Oh shut up and go look that up too, you stupid fuckers)

Her Social Security check is $1,100.00 per month. Now, as smart as all you assholes think you are, you do the fucking math. And you come up with a health care solution for my mother that doesnt end with "ah...hmmm. well, just let her die". You fuckers.

How about all you people (Christians my ass.... Christ would be appalled by you and the sad thing is that you know that in your hearts and ignore it) who dont want health care reform walk a mile in my shoes.... or better yet, walk 2 or 3 or (God willing) 4 years in my shoes as I care for my mom. I stay here, at our farm in order to care for my mom.

Even if we (the family) believed in nursing homes as a place to park our elderly til they die, it is less expensive to have me here. I am one of the three statistics of what you fuckernut, right wing Christian lunatics think is good health care.

Statistic #1. The sister who thankfully married well and who's husband deposits $1,200.00 per month into a shared bank account with me so I can pay for food and gas. He also pays for her supplimental insurance. My sister comes down four times a year ( she has two kids of her own to care for on top of a mother and caregiver sister) in order to buy me luxuries like gluten free foods because I have a compromised immune system (which isnt covered by my insurance btw) and new glasses so I can read.

After food and gas and bills, there is nothing left over of the $1,200.00 they can allot me, as the caregiver. There is a negative amount that my brother picks up then.

Statistic #2. The brother, a self made man of some wealth. Who is able to pay for emergencies like my truck breaking down, the electric bills of 500.00 per month, the feed for the animals, my mom's emergency dental surgeries (once you hit her age, and I SO hope you do, you will find out that tooth roots no longer are alive. You die from the inside out).

All while paying for his two daughters educations and helping them thru life as well.

3. ME! You mother fuckers........ and isnt that a great term to use for this tirade about you-who think it is OK for my mom to just die? Im some sort of bizarre ultimate Christian/Buddhist/Animist who actually believes that it is my responsibility to be there as my mom dies. No matter how long it takes and no matter how horrible and ugly it is to witness.

Death by old age smells bad.... it looks bad.... it hurts me to witness it in ways that I hope you never have to experience yourself. And remember, I hate you... and STILL dont want you to go thru this. I have no problem hating you. At all. I hate you until I have other more important things to do, like love my Mom and love my friends and family for every kindness and every ounce of humanity they show me.

I am here to walk with my mom to Death's door and hold her hand and let her know that she is not alone in her journey. No one wnats to die alone. We all want someone to be there with us at the end.

Who will be there for you? Who will hold on to your hand as you die? (not me!...bwahahaha!!)

So my question to you is: Why is MY mother expendable in your eyes? I just want to know that. THAT'S ALL.

Why is it OK that my Mom has to lose everything she ever worked for in her life (the farm) and that my siblings and I have to be bled dry of all financial and emptional security in order to give her a dignified ending to her life? What the fuck is wrong with your hearts and brains?!

Yeah- thats the question:"WHAT DISEASED YOUR HEARTS, SOULS AND MINDS SO BADLY??!"

I go to sleep at night, hoping that I see my mom in the morning again. I tell her, "I love you, good night, I'll see you tomorrow". And I will stay here until the fight is over.This is about just one little stupid person's life being impacted by our country not having a health care plan for it's citizens.

One small scream fest of "fuck you!" to those who just dont care and cant see past their selfish selves.

Shame on you.

Night at the Cracker Box

(In season this joint is PACKED.)

It's less than a mile from home ... less than a mile from LaQuinta Inn and Tanger Outlet.

I love places that are like stepping back in time. The Cracker Box has been on McGregor in South Fort Myers for about 35 years. The last time I was there was after romantic full moon kayak adventure on San Carlos Bay. It was either late April or early May. We walked in damp, grinning and dripping with sand; they must have had to vacuum for hours.

I picked that same booth; it offers the best view of the band and the customers. I stretched out sideways, as you might on a half-full flight. This photo captures the mood, but not the place. We're talking old paneling, black ceiling fans and people so relaxed you know they've been going there forever.

Last night they had all you can eat fish & chips for $9.99. The fish was lightly fried, served with triple dipped fries so greasy you can hear your arteries clog. I washed it down with two really cold draft beers. I had good reason to take my time.

The owner has to be in his 80s, you can tell he lives to play bluegrass and "Country gold" with his "Cracker Box Band." The memories and the music were exactly what I needed.

One of their first songs was "Tell me bout the good old days." Give a listen to a Judd version and see if you don't get a lump in your throat.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7E88RUqyjts

After that they played "Don't have a barrel of money ..." which I think is a depression era song.
(French guy singing it on youtube ... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nj8g7gBSpsY)

Later on the daughter (who was serving the customers and beering the band) went up and started singing. Mom came out from the kitchen to play along on the spoons. A couple from Austria sat at the bar; 14 people came and went while I was there.

The daughter announced they're going to start closing during the week, they'll be open Friday and Saturday nights only til the snowbirds start coming back.

I'll do my best to drag my friends out til then. It's a wonderful way to spend an evening.

If you go, take cash; they don't take credit cards.

16910 Mcgregor Blvd
Fort Myers, FL 33908-2976
(239) 466-4344‎

Web Wisdom

Edits of humor and insights from the web … (yes, I have no life) …


IN THE HOUSE

How do you fold a fitted sheet?

BY THE FRIDGE

I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.

ON THE PHONE

I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.

ONLINE

LOL has gone from meaning, "laugh out loud" to "I am out of relevant things to say.”

I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten page paper that I swear I did not revise.

Bad decisions make great stories.

ON THE ROAD

MapQuest needs to start their directions on #5; I know how to get out of my neighborhood.

I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars teams up to prevent some dick from cutting in at the front.

I wonder if cops ever get pissed off at the fact that everyone they drive behind obeys the speed limit.

Why is a school zone 20 mph? That seems like optimal cruising speed for pedophiles...

IN DEATH

Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.

It should be your best friend’s job to delete your computer history when you die.