Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
When I say I’m alright
I might just be okay
But there could be such a heavy load
That it takes too much to say
You can look for clues in my face
These things usually leave a trace
But what’s going on in my inner space
Is really not in play
I need time to process
To evolve an understanding
Of where I’m at and who I am
After this last round of changes
So when I say I’m alright
I might just be okay
Then okay, I could be miserable
I just don’t want to say
The Mom Saga has resumed.
In the last episode, Mom, 89, was released from the hospital and returned home. Her pain was sourced in her sciatica nerve, which kept her from walking. Everyone realized her pain relief came from steroid shots and now she’s on a recurring program for steroid shots.
Meanwhile, her 95-yo live-in BF, Frank, half-blind and half-deaf, was experiencing dizzy spells. Mom and Frank have separate rooms. He was unable to help Mom, and she was found helpless in bed in piss-soaked clothes and bedding after nobody heard anything from her for a couple days, which precipitated the hospital stay. We’ve been trying to years to convince Mom and Frank to move into assisted living. Mom wanted to but Frank refused because he didn’t want to pay rent. Last week they were close to deciding to move when Mom announced she wasn’t going to move with Frank to live with him until he apologized to her for lying. The cited lie: Frank had lunch with his daughter while Mom could not walk. It gets complicated from there.
We pick up the story with Mom back in her 1940s era three-story home with its steep, narrow steps.
Sister: Mom’s power went out last night and she was stuck in her room. As you know, she might as well be in a brick pizza over.
Editing note: The temp where Mom lives in Penn Hills hit 95 F yesterday. Mom has air-conditioning window units in her living room and bedroom, and that’s it. Her bedroom faces west.
Sister: We’re going on vacation this week. We’ve been planning this for months. We’ll be gone a week.
Editing note: ‘We’ in this context are the two sisters, husbands and SOs, and their immediate families.
Sister: Frank’s daughter, Karen, called this morning. She said, “We’re bringing Dad over to my house this week so he can rest. His doctor is worried about Dad’s heart and wants him to take it easy for a week. He’ll be wearing a heart monitor. So Dad won’t be staying at your Mom’s and won’t be able to help her.”
Sister: I proposed to Mom that she come and stay at my house while I’m away. It’s one level and air-conditioned.
Editing note: My sister’s house is a nice suburban ranch about fifteen years old, 1800 square feet, built after a fire destroyed her previous home.
Sister: We hired Marc to come and feed Cheesecake twice a day. Marc usually stays a while, has a cup of coffee and sits on the back porch.
Editing note: Cheesecake is sis’s cat.
Sister: We asked him if he would mind cooking a meal for Mom in the evening, filing her water glass in the morning, and making her a cup of decaf.
Editing note: Mom’s practice is to fill a 40 ounce plastic cup with warm water every morning and drink from it through a straw throughout the day. She likes a cup of warm decaf with hazelnut and almond milk in equal measure for breakfast, which is half a bagel with cream cheese. Her suppers vary. She loves KFC.
Sister: I also asked Jessica if she can check on Mom and I asked Sharon if she would mind coming by.
Editing note: Jessica is sis’s oldest daughter. Sharon is another sister. Sharon, two years younger than me, still works. She has a complicated relationship with Mom.
Sister: Sharon says she will be away over the weekend and beginning of next week.
Sister: I just talked to Jessica. She just pretty much straight out said, “I have a relationship with grandma and I’m going to be very busy. You know we have very little time. I of course can find it in my heart to come over there if need be,” but she doesn’t feel obligated.
Editing note: Jessica also has a complicated relationship with Mom. She also has three sons. The oldest is fourteen and their ages descend in two year steps.
That’s where the Mom Saga stands for the day. Tune in tomorrow for more exciting updates in The Mom Saga.
I’ve read others’ comments about comments getting rejected by WordPress. Last week, it struck me. I’d type up a comment, click comment, and WP replied, “This comment couldn’t be posted” or words to that effect.
It doesn’t happen with everyone’s blogs. It’s irritatingly random. First time, the poster had written about bowel movements and their poo. I commented and added a facet about menstrual cycles. When my comments were rejected, I wondered if it was about the subject or my word choices. But since then, I’ve had comments rejected about car repairs, animals, food, news, and politics.
Just one of those mysterious afflictions which sometimes strike modern technology, I suppose.
It was a strange coffee shop morning. My back against one wall, the tables were full of chatting couples. Eavesdropping, I realized that of the four closest tables to me, all four couples were generally a counselor meeting with a client doing therapy sessions. I’ve noticed three of the couples at the coffee shop before. Heard several of them talking about their partner’s drug issues or their own health issues, both mental and physical. I rarely feel a need to talk to another about my issues. Then again, I often write about that shit.
Guess that’s my therapy.
One of several favorable impression I have about WordPress is, they respond fast. Once something broken is uncovered, it’s been my experience that they fix it fast. I really do appreciate that about them.
In this case, it’s about the ability to add tags. Just a few days ago, the bug appeared in my blogging attempts. It was still there this morning. Bang, gone now.
Hurrah for WordPress. Wish more companies were as prompt and responsive.
A blogging friend had a post titled ‘(this)’.
And this is the post.
I have Trump-voting friends who despise him for his character. Educated and intellignt people, they can’t stomach his voice. How he treats others nauseate them. But as he’s promising to give them the one thing which they want, they will suck it in and vote for him.
For a small segment, their vote for him was over social matters. They are against the DEI agenda, which is touted by them as ‘anti-white’. And it’s any effort that recognizes genders or sexes than CIS male and female.
And those books they’re making children read! Like their precious might explode in a puff of pink fuzz if they’re introduced to *gasp* sex of any kind, or learn about unflattering revelations about history, civilization, culture, life. The horrors, the horrors!
Yes, I don’t think much of those who stand against enlightening our children.
Another group is against abortion because their god or their religion. To them, that trumps all others’ rights and freedoms because their god is the on god, the true god, the only god. The rest are just wrong.
They know.
Perhaps most fucking maddening for me are those voting for Trump because they want lower taxes. They have excellent incomes but it’s a struggle to keep up with new car leases, a manse, and those luxury trips. Lower taxes ring their greedy bells.
These people don’t contemplate our society or government beyond their narrow focus. Police state to capture, imprison, and deport people? We hear versions of, “Well, that’s pretty horrible, but it’s not my problem.”
Public education system? Not their problem.
Equal rights and democracy? They wave those concerns away as overblown.
As a friend said after hearing these responses, “If Trump wins, it’ll go to shit and take these people and this country down. When it does, I’m going to get some popcorn and watch. We tried warning them. They wouldn’t listen.”
No, they listen. They just don’t think beyond a tiny, tiny slice of the spectrum of their existence.
Vote blue.
Middle-aged, I was teaching others. Two younger people, male and female, were under my tutelage. I was teaching them to deliver something. The something was a small white contain, about the size of a six ounce jar of skin cream, with gold metallic lettering. Don’t know what the lettering said.
This was to be delivered to customers for use in a larger project. It was important to the customers. My assistants and I had three cars to choose from. Wanting one of them to drive, I let them choose which car. A small white car was selected. One began driving. Raining, we were on a crowded freeway. Underway, we discovered that they didn’t know where they were going because they had not taken the print out with them.
I acknowledged that as my error, as I was supposed to be teaching them. Lesson one, I told them: first, make sure you know where you’re going.
We stopped to address this. The male student began peeling the bottom of the white jar open. He was removing layers of lead. “What are you doing?” I asked, amused.
“I’m going to look inside the jar to see what it’s in it. That might give us a clue about where we’re supposed to take it.”
“One, there’s a black lid on top to open the container,” I said. “And opening it will ruin it for the customer. We’ll go back and get the address.”
We returned to HQ. This was a small office building, parking underneath, additional parking outside, on a small campus. Inside, another office working, female, at a computer, asked me, “What are you doing back so soon?”
I picked up the paper with the address. “We forgot the address. We didn’t know where we were going.”
Leaving with the paper, I became confused. Where did I park? I found my car, a red Porsche. Except, I remembered, I didn’t come in my car. That’s right, I came with the students in the little white car. I’d gotten into Porsche and had moved the car. Looking for a convenient parking space, I pulled it. It was reserved for another, but I thought management would take care of it. When I left the car, I discovered that it was white. That perplexed me for several seconds. I was certain that I’d been in a red car. How could it turn white. Dismissing that, I went into the rain, looking for the other car.
Don’t know what’s going on in WordPress world this week. There’s probably a blog post somewhere explaining some shit. Not interested in chasing it down.
On my side, I’m not having ‘issues’, per se; WP is just up to a different level of annoying. Whenever I publish a blog, it doesn’t announce that it’s published; instead it comes up and presents the ‘Update’ button in the upper right hand corner. When I then leave that post after publishing it, WP asks, “Leave site? Changes you made might not be saved.”
That leaves me asking, “Changes? WHAT CHANGES? I just published the friggin’ thing.”
Anyone else seeing any of this? Or am I alone in the madness?
Michael Seidel, writer 