Have some Pi…

March 14, 2024 at 12:06 pm (Blogs and Blogging, Hope and Sadness, It's all about me Me ME, Politics)

We’re all still here.

As you can tell, posting is light to none. There are many reasons, and someday I’ll share what’s been going on the last few years. Life is very different, at least for now.

Today is this little blog’s birthday. Here’s the link to last year’s anniversary post, which in itself, is an apology for being late. If you’re new here, read and follow the links there to learn a little about this place and craziness that was such a part of it.

Please continue to keep me and my family in your prayers.

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Never, Never, Never, Never Forget.

September 11, 2023 at 12:15 am (America Lost, Hope and Sadness, Life Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness, The 2996 Project, The Long War, Vanderleun)

I’ve been absent a while. More about that in a later post.

My 2018 anniversary post is here. 2019. 2020. There are more. Just follow the links. Hopefully, soon, I’ll be back to posting.

All of Gerard’s writings on those horrible days were an expression of a deep, deep grief. This one, The Wind in the Heights, was the best, in my humble opinion.

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Pi, Pi, Everywhere a Pi

March 14, 2023 at 1:07 pm (Hope and Sadness, Life Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness, Memories...)

Life’s been busy. In fact so busy, I haven’t done an anniversary post in three years. I’ll get y’all caught up in a different post, but for now, cheers to the little blog and all the friends made along the way.

* * * *

A little more than seventeen years ago, I ventured out to the internetz and discovered an entire world of voices just as disgruntled as mine.  I thought if they can do it, so can I.  And one day I just started.

I didn’t pick Pi Day / Albert Einstein’s birthday on purpose.  It was just the day I loosed my inner pyromaniac.  Some days are bright, happy blazes, and others were full-blown five alarmers.  Regardless, it’s been a slow burn for a long time.

The years have expanded the web’s depth and reach, despite govenment’s meddling in what we can and cannot see. 

In the last several year’s anniversary posts, I’ve hinted at my mother’s decline in health. She is now in a memory care facility. I understand why dementia is called “The Long Goodbye.”  Every time I see her, she is changed.  She is greatly diminished, slowly evaporating before my eyes.

These are difficult days. The blog has suffered, along with other areas of my life.  But I’m still active on the web in discussions I care about and contributing to other sites.  I know the time will come when I sadly have too much time because my responsibilities to others have ended.  Hopefully, we will still have enough free speech left that I can speak my mind here.

If you’re new to this dark little asteroid, you can check out the one post that started it all, plus the rest of the previous anniversary posts – The First, Year One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, and Fourteen.

Many, many friends have been made and lost along the way. So many prayers said. So much support offered. Special thanks go out to Fausta for her continued friendship, and as always to The Anchoress, Elizabeth Scalia, my blog-mother. It’s all her fault. She continues to amaze and inspire me.

This never-ending media tantrum, which brought out the worst in all of us has gotten even more rotten.  Let us pray as one for America’s future, protection from disease, domestic safety and sovereignty.

Thorin Oakenshield, the magical Boston Terrier, is now five years old. He rules our roost and charms everyone who crosses his path. Except certain men he doesn’t like the looks of. They must be Orcs in disguise.

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Goodbyes You Hoped Wouldn’t Come So Soon

January 30, 2023 at 4:09 pm (America Lost, Hope and Sadness)

It’s been a while since I stopped by. Life, and responsibilities, have shifted to such an extent that writing slid to a spot on the never-ending back burner. I still had time to read and stay somewhat caught up on The Long Decline and other unhappiness, here and abroad, but the bandwidth needed to keep all the plates spinning just wasn’t there. And not just sometimes.

A quick recap:

  • My mother’s dementia journey continued it’s relentless advancement to the point she needed to be moved to an Assisted Living/Memory Care facility. While the staff there is caring and competent, I still felt like the General Manager. Dementia is a horrible disease. Especially for the family who has to watch it all happen.
  • My husband’s health adventure continues it’s twists and turns. Again, more watching.
  • Too many funerals of friends, parents of friends, and beloved teachers.
  • The financial pressures of retirement.
  • Figuring out Medicare enrollment. I told one friend it was like playing a video game filled with alligators.
  • Low energy/lack of motivation. A result of recovering from an accident that should have basically killed me, while all this other mess was spinning round and round.

And then, last Friday, Gerard Van der Leun passed away. It didn’t hit like my father’s death, but boy, it was close. I was an avid reader and sometimes commenter. Like so many others, his writing struck me to the very core, and stayed embedded, like memories of a favorite uncle. And over the last week, his site has been flooded with tributes, that in themselves, bring even more tears than Gerard’s many thoughtful pieces. He was loved by many.

Over the next few weeks/months/years, I’ll link some of my favorite Gerard stories and my thoughts. But today, I’ll include this one about John Lennon. Go read it, I’ll wait.

I had to read it several times. Especially the part of how he’d been working with John and That Woman just a few days before his (John’s) death. I’d heard that story before. Somewhere. But it was spoken, not written. It took a bit before it came back to me. But my husband verified my memory of the day.

It was late March, 1986. We were on our honeymoon to California. The first few days were in San Francisco, then we rented a car and headed to Napa Valley. Just over the bridge, in Sausalito, was a small inn with a restaurant that’d been recommended by a well-traveled friend. We pulled into the Alta Mira, and were quickly seated on the terrace with the killer view of the SF skyline. Just like my friend said. For a bit, we were alone. Just as our food arrived, another table was seated, with a middle-aged man and a young couple, probably early twenties. It wasn’t long before we stopped talking and began listening to the story this man was telling. It was fascinating – how he was working with John and Yoko just days before he was killed in NYC. And all that happened afterward. When we finished up, and headed out, he was still talking.

Looking back, I don’t remember their faces in detail. But I remember his distinctly. Nice looking, good hair, Wayfarers, and a red dress shirt. Eerily, years later, it’s very similar to the first picture he’d ever put on the masthead of AD, but years younger. And I didn’t put them together until years later when I was looking for the pieces to this little puzzle. So even though I’d never met him, I’ve been in the same space with him. He made a lasting impression even then.

America has lost a treasure, indeed.

Namárië, Gerard.

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Twenty Years. Some Pain Never Goes Away.

September 11, 2021 at 6:30 am (America Lost, Hope and Sadness, Libtards, Never Forget, The 2996 Project, The Long War, War on Terror)

I’ve been absent a while. More about that in a later post.

On September 12, 2001, we all vowed to NEVER FORGET. Seems many Americans have, especially those who supposedly represent us, or those we supposedly elected. But I’ve not forgotten. And I never will, as long as I can draw breath.

The AJC had an excellent article on the first NYC baseball game after 9/11/2001. Braves vs. Mets.

Georgia lost four sons that day. My 2018 anniversary post is here. 2019. 2020. There are more. Just follow the links.

This milestone year will be extra painful, considering the events of the last few weeks. I agree with Val (like always), Mumbly Joe needs to stay away.

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Sigh.

January 21, 2021 at 6:26 pm (Politics)

Big, heavy, dramatic sigh.

Mulder Scully GIF - Mulder Scully Eye GIFs

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That’s Not How Any of This Works

January 12, 2021 at 5:58 pm (America Lost, Hope and Sadness, Politics, The Long Goodbye)

I retired on December 31, 2020 with the hopes that 2021 would not suck nearly as much as 2020.

Bam. Mom was diagnosed with Covid. She is recovering slowly and, so far, doesn’t seem to have the nasty strain of the virus. Because of the Covid outbreak in her residence, we’ve not seen her in person since the Tuesday before Christmas. We covet your prayers for her recovery.

Bam. Saturday I woke up to find out four people I knew died on the same day. Three were from Covid. Please pray peace and comfort for their families.

Bam. The internet in general, and certain companies in particular, lost their ever-lovin’ minds. Pray for discernment in all corners.

Bam. The Ministry of Truth is in full voice, and there hasn’t even been a regime change yet. Pray for the safety of all, regardless of their political leanings.

Going forward, I’ll be leaning on prayer and Adminal Ackbar’s prophetic warning: “It’s a trap!”

 

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2020, NahNahNahNah, NahNahNahNah, HeyHeyHey, Goodbye

December 24, 2020 at 6:46 pm (Christmas, It's all about me Me ME, The Long Goodbye)

As I sit here, admiring my tree on our quiet Christmas Eve of the Suddenly Altered Plans, I ponder on what 2021 will bring.

2020 was the Year of Suck for so many. So much loss. Mind-boggling, stupefying loss. Lives, jobs, businesses, churches, relationships, live music, moral compasses, respect for one another. Even humor took a beating.

To get you caught up – The blog has been quiet for a few years as my work responsibilities grew unreasonable for most mortals, and my other jobs (wife/daughter/mother) changed in many ways. Young ones moved on with their lives, but my mother’s dementia continued to advance to the point where she could no longer live by herself. Moving her into Assisted Living, and all the worries that went along with it, quickly overtook the Worry about Mama portion of my brain that should have calmed somewhat, knowing she’d be looked after.

Then in March, every one was sent home due the fear of that virus from China that we’d all been watching on the crazy map with the big red circles. “Flatten the Curve,” they said. “Only two weeks,” they said. Mom’s home closed to visitors. “Just for a few weeks,” they said. Summer came and went. Beaches closed. Restaurants closed. Finally a few visits allowed, masked and outside. Fall came and went. Vacations canceled. More restaurants closed. Visits limited to a tiny room with a plexiglass partition that she doesn’t understand. Thanksgiving came and went. Now Christmas is here. Her center is on lockdown, two residents tested positive on Tuesday. There are no words for my state of mind right now.

My workplace offered an early retirement. I signed up. New Year’s Eve is my last day. Before the woke culture ruined our workplace, I’d been assigned additional responsibilities leftover from someone who’d previously left, and then lead analyst for a new project that quickly careened out of control. So basically 2.75 FTE worth of work for little ol’ me. The volume of work was overwhelming, but I was getting good reviews, good raises (for higher ed), was considered an expert in my field and a great team member. It’s all so different now; it’s unrecognizable. And that’s with everyone being 100% remote since March. I wonder how many people would have been burned in effigy if we’d all been face-to-face. Surely I’d be one of them.

In the weeks to come, you’ll be hearing more from me.

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Remember the Lost

September 11, 2020 at 6:56 am (Never Forget)

The last few days have reminded of that beautiful September day that changed our lives forever. Imagine now, a whole generation born after that day have little or no understanding of what it all means.

Some years, the words flow. This year, after a horrendous span of quarantines, lockdowns, not seeing my mother for months at a time, I feel like a husk, buffeted by the wind.

Remember the lost.

Remember the ones lost since due to sickness caused by exposure during the rescue/recovery.

Remember the ones suffering now, soon to be lost.

Remember those who still grieve.

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Yesterday, Today, and Days to Come

August 6, 2020 at 6:02 pm (Dementia, Hope and Sadness)

So yesterday, I did a thing. I’m not going to say what, just yet, because it’s not official. Let’s just say it’s a thing most people do at a certain point in their life. If they are lucky enough to get that certain point in their life.

As long-time readers know, since my father passed, I’ve been my mother’s caregiver. As the years passed, it became more and more difficult to manage her care and well-being with a demanding full-time job. In December, following a few frightening incidents, we moved her to Assisted Living. After a rocky adjustment period, she begrudgingly settled in. Then Covid happened. Today I saw her for the third time since March 12. She’s much frailer and in dreadful need of a haircut. She asked who was the man I brought with me and were we living together. (LOL – “The man” was my husband, and yes, we’re living together.)

This enforced isolation of seniors in facilities is doing more harm to those with dementia than anyone realizes. A friend jokingly called it, “Pandemic Prison.” It’s not a joke. Dementia patients need interaction. They need mental stimulation. They need touch. They need their families, who are agonizing in insolation themselves over what is happening to their loved ones.

You’ll be hearing more about this, and other things, in the days ahead. I’m dusting off the soapbox. I’m mad. And somebody’s gonna hear about it.

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Pi in the Time of Social Distancing

March 14, 2020 at 11:01 am (Blogs and Blogging, It's all about me Me ME, Politics)

0314_piday

A little more than fourteen years ago, I ventured out to the internetz and discovered an entire world of voices just as disgruntled as mine.  I thought if they can do it, so can I.  And one day I just started.

I didn’t pick Pi Day / Albert Einstein’s birthday on purpose.  It was just the day I loosed my inner pyromaniac.  Some days are bright, happy blazes, and others were full-blown five alarmers.  Regardless, it’s been a slow burn for a long time.

The years have expanded the web’s depth and reach.  And sharpened my resolve as I honed my voice.

In the last several year’s anniversary posts, I’ve hinted at my mother’s decline in health. She is now in an assisted living facility that is currently locked down to protect their frail and frightened charges. She has a cute little room, we call it her “Apartment,” on the end of a hall. It overlooks the back of the property, including a nice little garden. She can see the trees. She has always loved nature and gardening. Hopefully, she’ll make it through this scare and be able to enjoy both. She still remembers me, most of the time. I understand why dementia is called “The Long Goodbye.”  Every time I see her, she is changed.  She is diminishing, slowly evaporating before my eyes.

I visited as often as I could until the lockdown. Now it’s phone calls and dropping supplies off at the door. These are difficult days. The blog has suffered, along with other areas of my life.  But I’m still active on the web in discussions I care about and contributing to other sites.  I know the time will come when I sadly have too much time because my responsibilities to others have ended.  Hopefully, we will still have enough free speech left that I can speak my mind here.

If you’re new to this dark little asteroid, you can check out the one post that started it all, plus all thirteen of the previous anniversary posts – The First, Year One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, and Thirteen.

Many, many friends have been made and lost along the way. So many prayers said. So much support offered. Special thanks go out to Fausta for her continued friendship, and as always to The Anchoress, Elizabeth Scalia, my blog-mother. It’s all her fault. She continues to amaze and inspire me.

This never-ending media tantrum, which brought out the worst in all of us has gotten even more rotten.  Let us pray as one for America’s future, protection from disease, domestic safety and sovereignty.

Thorin Oakenshield, the magical Boston Terrier, is now two years old. He rules our roost and charms everyone who crosses his path. Except certain men he doesn’t like the looks of. They must be Orcs in disguise.

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Remember, Remember

September 11, 2019 at 7:30 am (History Doesn't Lie - You Just Don't Understand It, Never Forget, Politics, The Long War, War on Terror)

The 11th of September. A beautiful fall day burned forever into our memories.

Some years, the words flow. This year, all I have is a dull ache, a gnawing grief that will not be soothed.

Remember the lost.

Remember the ones lost since due to sickness caused by exposure during the rescue/recovery.

Remember the ones suffering now, soon to be lost.

Last year’s post.

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Thirteen is a Lucky Number

March 14, 2019 at 7:07 am (Blogs and Blogging, It's all about me Me ME)

Pi-Day

My, my. Thirteen years old. Mouthy brat.

A little more than thirteen years ago, I ventured out to the internetz and discovered an entire world of voices just as disgruntled as mine.  I thought if they can do it, so can I.  And one day I just started.

I didn’t pick Pi Day / Albert Einstein’s birthday on purpose.  It was just the day I loosed my inner pyromaniac.  Some days are bright, happy blazes, and others were full-blown five alarmers.  Regardless, it’s been a slow burn for a long time.

The years have expanded the web’s depth and reach.  And sharpened my resolve as I honed my voice.

In the last several year’s anniversary posts, I’ve hinted at my mother’s decline in health. She continues to live in her home, but no longer drives. A caregiver visits during the week.  Her weight has fallen drastically and now she’s like a ghostly little bird. She still remembers me, most of the time.  But simple daily tasks are harder for her.  I understand why dementia is called “The Long Goodbye.”  Every time I see her, she is changed.  She is diminishing, slowly evaporating before my eyes.

So I spend as much time with her as I can.  Some days are difficult. The blog has suffered, along with other areas of my life.  But I’m still active on the web in discussions I care about and contributing to other sites.  I know the time will come when I sadly have too much time because my responsibilities to others have ended.  Hopefully, we will still have enough free speech left that I can speak my mind here.

If you’re new to this dark little asteroid, you can check out the one post that started it all, plus all twelve of the previous anniversary posts – The First, Year One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, and Twelve.

Many, many friends have been made and lost along the way. So many prayers said. So much support offered. Special thanks go out to Fausta for her continued friendship, and as always to The Anchoress, Elizabeth Scalia, my blog-mother. It’s all her fault. She continues to amaze and inspire me.

This never-ending media tantrum which brought out the worst in all of us has gotten even more rotten.  Let us pray as one for America’s future, safety and sovereignty.

Baby puppy is now a year old. Thorin Oakenshield, the magical Boston Terrier, rules our roost and charms everyone who crosses his path.

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The Hole in Our Hearts

September 11, 2018 at 6:41 am (History Doesn't Lie - You Just Don't Understand It, Never Forget, War on Terror)

Imagine working beside someone who was ten years old on this fateful day in 2001. Someone who had only heard what teachers and yammering talking-heads have said throughout their school years. Not someone who lost someone that day. Or knew others who lost friends, spouses, parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, co-workers, the cute girl at the coffee shop, or an entire firehouse of brave fireman.

America, America. My tears are for thee.

My day today is filled with senseless meetings. My phone will buzz with the annual reminders to reflect on our losses – of Flight 11 at 8:46, Flight 75 at 9:03, Flight 77 at 9:37, the South Tower collapse at 9:59, Flight 93 at 10:07, and the North Tower collapse at 10:28. I will be quiet and distracted. The meeting leaders will wonder what’s going on in my insignificant little life that my phone is suddenly rattling away.

From the 9/11/13 post:

Despite the sadness, and the blustery misdirection of politicos and media hounds, remember those who died this day at the hands of terrorist Islamists that our government now secretly embraces.

Georgia lost four sons that day:

  • Claude Michael Gann of Roswell, whose tribute you can find here. Mike was recently remarried and attending a conference at Windows on the World.
  • Major Stephen V. Long of Georgia, whose tributes you can find here and here. Already a war hero, he was at his post at the Pentagon when it was attacked.
  • Maynard S. Spence Jr of Douglasville, whose tribute you can find here. He was on the 99th floor of the second tower.
  • Harshad Sham Thatte of Norcross, whose Legacy page is here. He worked for the same company as Mr. Spence, Marsh & McLennan.

Teach your children and grandchildren what happened that day. Never, ever forget.

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Ground Control to Major Tom

March 22, 2018 at 7:10 pm (Blogs and Blogging, It's all about me Me ME, Music The Food of Love, Politics)

So, yeah. My overwhelming life just became even more overwhelming.

A quick update:

The Day Job just piled another person’s worth of responsibilities on me. Like a big, stinking barrel of fish. That isn’t smuggling a Hot Dwarf into a down-trodden town. Bad form. Bad form, indeed.

The Mom Job continues it’s long, slow slog into the sunset. Alzheimer’s is a terrible disease. Tomorrow is her birthday. She will be 84, finally older than Dad was when he passed away. Some days she doesn’t remember him. Too many hard choices lay ahead.

The Job Where I’m Mom has changed a good bit in the last year. Young Padawan got married before Christmas to a lovely young lady. GradSchoolGirlThatsAlmostDoctor gets her hood and silly hat in May, and can officially put the ‘Dr’ in front of her name. We will make our last school-related trip to NY/Long Island. Any after that any travel there will be purely for fun. While we won’t miss the sideways stinging rain that seems to magically appear each time we’re there, we will miss the short security lines at MacArthur airport.

In about a month Hubz and I will be traveling to the British Isles with 200 of our closest friends for a choir tour and mission trip. Besides being a bucket trip for us, the group will perform at many churches and finish up at The Proms. For a family of musicians, that ain’t half bad.

More to come as I scrape the rust off this old thing.

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