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The Breath I’m Not Holding

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Department Of Reasons For That Take A Deep Breath Truism

“The way we breathe has a direct and immediate impact on the state of our mind, emotions, and nervous system.  When we’re agitated or anxious, our breath is often quick and shallow.  When we’re calm, and grounded, it tends to be long and deep.  So, it’s helpful to remember that we can deliberately alter our breath when we want to soften stress or anxiety.…
we can always call on this tool, lengthening our inhales and exhales, in order to regulate our stress response, and gain a sense of calm.”
(   Calm meditation, app, “Breath in Three Acts,” 4-6-26 )

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Department Of Powerful People Have The Privilege Of Ignorance
Sub-Department Of Reasons To Use The Calming Breath Tools

“It is an old truism that knowledge is power. The inverse — that power is often ignorance — is rarely discussed.
The powerful swathe themselves in obliviousness in order to avoid the pain of others and their own relationship to that pain. There’s a large category of acts hidden from people with standing: the more you are, the less you know….”
( excerpt, Rebecca Solnit, “Nobody Knows,” Harpers Magazine )

 

 

A few days ago, when moiself  ran across Rebecca Solnit‘s above cited article, I was reminded of SCOTUS Justice Sotomayor’s recent and right-on critique of her colleagues’ obliviousness to the realities in daily lives of non-one-percenters such as themselves.

( excerpts, my emphases/additions, “Supreme Court’s Sotomayor slams colleague Kavanaugh for ICE ruling,”  USA Today, 4-9-26 ):

Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor took a swipe at fellow Justice Brett Kavanaugh… for his recent opinion in an immigration case….

Sotomayor spoke about the court’s divided decision in September 2025 that allowed the Trump administration to resume indiscriminate immigration-related stops….

Over the objections of the court’s three liberal justices, including Sotomayor’s, the court blocked a lower court ruling that said federal agents need to have reasonable suspicion that the person they’re questioning is in the country illegally….   [1]

‘I had a colleague in that case who wrote, you know, these are only temporary stops,’ Sotomayor said, referencing Kavanaugh’s concurring opinion…. “This is from a man whose parents were professionals. And probably doesn’t really know any person who works by the hour.’

Sotomayor added, ‘Those hours that they took you away, nobody’s paying that person,’ she said of those detained. ‘And that makes a difference between a meal for him and his kids that night and maybe just cold supper.’ ….

In his opinion for the court, Kavanaugh lied  blew smoke out of his prep school Ivy League ass  made up crap about something he knows nothing about said that legal residents’ encounters with immigration agents are ‘typically brief,’ and impacted individuals ‘promptly go free.’

 

 

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Department Of New Great Term From A Book I Might Read

*Might read,* as in, Get in line with the 158 books ahead of you on my list.  But, as is often the case with my reading list, the lastest, newest/shiny entry kicks the others to the rear.  Sigh.  There’s no fighting evolution.

 

 

Oh yes the term:  safetyism.  Before I even read the definition I suspected what it was;…moiself  knew it was a name for something I’d previously had no name for – a phenomenon that both alarmed and infuriated me when I saw it creeping into my children’s college experiences.    [2]

This term came from a book review of The Coddling of the American Mind: How Good Intentions and Bad Ideas Are Setting Up a Generation for Failure I’ll post my favorite excerpts of the review, with moiself’s  sincere apology for my boneheaded neglect to note where I saw the review and thus give proper attribution.   [3]

The Coddling of the … reviewer admitted being skeptical about a book whose title could have heralded a tirade from middle-aged professors about how “today’s students are too soft and whiny.”   Instead, the reviewer noted, the book’s authors point out the disturbing data of what is happening on college campuses:  the rise of trigger warnings, safe spaces, disinvited speakers, student protests shutting down debate – linked with the dramatic and documented rise in anxiety and depression among young people. The book does not blame young people for these particular problems; rather, it lays responsibility on the bad ideas that youth are being taught by well-meaning adults.

 

 

As someone even wiser than moiself    [4]  wrote,

“…despite their theoretical benefits, protected educational experiences [safe spaces]  often fail to instill the most important attributes of a liberal education: critical thinking, persuasive argumentation, close reading, and cultural understanding. Indeed, students’ desire for safe spaces can limit their ability to traverse the real world—where strong disagreements and challenging experiences are part of life….  I know my campus is not a protective bubble that can shield students from reality. Rather, it’s a microcosm of the real world—and I’m not doing my job as an educator if I perpetuate the illusion of safety at the expense of challenging students’ ideas and beliefs.

As a Black man who teaches Shakespeare at a predominantly white institution, I realized years ago that the classroom can never be a safe space. When I teach Othello, a tragedy replete with anti-Black racism and misogyny, am I safe from silent criticisms that I’m an assimilated Black person with a ‘white voice’ teaching a white author? If there is only one Black female student in the class, is she safe? Rather than asking a non-Black colleague to teach the play for me, I lean into discomfort and use it to my pedagogical advantage. I carefully address whatever arises from the class’s collective exposure to the text and its racist moments, because that is my job as a professor.

In my classroom, I eschew safe space rhetoric—such as the truism that all opinions are equally valid—in favor of a pedagogical practice I call ‘productive discomfort.’ This practice leans into difficult discourses on a variety of contentious topics and fearlessly engages students’ personal backgrounds, identities, and experiences. It uses the learning process to expand the boundaries of students’ comfort zones by challenging their existing assumptions and biases.”

(  excerpt, “Discomfort Is the Point: Why ‘safe spaces’ do a disservice to students,” by David Sterling Brown, AAC&U, Winter 2024 )

 

“Education should disrupt the status quo and promote critical thinking.”

 

Yet again, I digress.

What follows are excerpts from the The Coddling of the American Mind review, with my emphases. I have not yet read the book; thus, my emphases of the reviewer’s statements mark *my* concerns – ones I’ve amassed over the past decade, from my offsprings’ experiences as well as from my own readings and observations.  One example: although content/trigger warnings and attempts to establish colleges as safe spaces where students are promised refuge from being “offended” may feel like a kindness in the moment, IMO these policies impinge on free speech, suppress open discussion of complex issues, throttle academic and intellectual diversity, and ultimately (and perhaps most importantly) hinder young people in building resilience.

“Lukianoff and Haidt [the books’ two authors] are not conservatives….both lean left politically. That matters, because this book is not a right-wing attack on campus culture. It’s a liberal critique of things that have gone wrong inside liberal spaces….

The central argument is simple: three bad ideas have spread through American universities (and increasingly through K-12 schools, workplaces, and families). These ideas sound good on the surface. But they are toxic. They make students more anxious, more depressed, and less prepared for adult life.

The three bad ideas are:

  1. ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you weaker.’  This is the opposite of the old saying. It teaches that discomfort, emotional pain, and offense are dangerous. So, we must protect people from them. The problem is that avoidance makes anxiety worse, not better. Cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), one of the most evidence-based treatments for anxiety, teaches the exact opposite: you have to face your fears to overcome them.

  2. ‘Always trust your feelings.’  This sounds empowering. But your feelings are not always reliable guides to reality. Anxiety tells you there’s a threat when there isn’t. Anger can be based on a misinterpretation. If you always trust your feelings without questioning them, you become a prisoner of your own emotional reactions.
  1. ‘Life is a battle between good people and evil people.’  This is the us-versus-them mindset. It divides the world into oppressors and victims. It leaves no room for nuance, context, or good-faith disagreement. And it makes every conflict into a moral crusade where compromise is betrayal….

Here are four things the reviewer learned from the book ( again, excerpts from the review, my emphases ):

“1. Safetyism is not the same as safety.

The authors coin the term “safetyism” to describe a culture where emotional safety is treated as more important than intellectual freedom. Actual safety protects you from physical harm. Safetyism protects you from ideas that might make you uncomfortable. The problem is that you can’t learn in a discomfort-free environment. Learning requires challenge.

2. The rise in anxiety and depression is real and alarming.   [5]

3. Antifragility is a real thing.

The book borrows Nassim Taleb’s concept of ‘antifragile’ things    [6]  that get stronger when they’re stressed (e.g. bones, muscles, immune systems) Minds can be antifragile too. But only if they’re exposed to manageable challenges. Protecting kids from every stressor makes them fragile, not safe.

 

 

4. You can be compassionate and still allow discomfort.

One of the book’s most important distinctions. Compassion does not mean removing every obstacle. Sometimes compassion means letting someone struggle, fail, and figure it out.

The book ends with a line that has stuck with me:
‘Prepare the child for the road, not the road for the child.’

That’s it. That’s the whole argument. We have been so focused on smoothing the road, removing every bump, every uncomfortable idea, every moment of potential distress, that we forgot to prepare the child. And now we have a generation that is more anxious, more depressed, and less resilient than any in recent memory.”

 

I’ll drink to that.

 

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Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [7]

 

 

*   *   *

May you remember that discomfort is the point of learning;
May you call out mind-coddling when you see it;
May you always have room for nuance, context, and good-faith disagreement;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] Other than what they’re doing now, which is blatant racial profiling.

[2] I don’t know if it went as far back as high school – I don’t recall K or Belle mentioning “safe spaces” or “trigger/content warnings” then –  but it wouldn’t surprise me if it was already there.

[3] I copied/wrote down portions, so it must have been online…Facebook?  One of my many newspaper online subscriptions? ACVATTWAFNB  (All Cat Videos All The Time With A Few News Breaks)?

[4] Gasp – they exist.  By the thousands…..

[5] Most of us have heard about the skyrocketing rates of anxiety and depression; the book presents data linking this to social media, the decline of free play, and the rise of safetyism.

[6] Nassim Taleb is a Lebanese-American author, professor, mathematician.  His book cited here is  Antifragile: Things That Gain from Disorder,

[7] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.   No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

The Drug I’m Not Ready For

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Department Of Consider Yourself Warned

Moiself  has been in a reflective mood; which should not be surprising.  According to a study I just made up, everybody knows that within three days of a holiday referencing the Irish, a writer’s brain is capable of little output which does not involve humorous anecdotes of family and friends and kneecapping British soldiers and scatological puns and Chuck Norris “facts”  (psst – this is what is known as foreshadowing ).

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Happy Belated St. Patrick’s Day

This – a belated SPD-related memory – is from 3-18-16, when daughter Belle was in college  ( The Common Ground I’m Not Seeking ):

Department Of Parents Are Never Too Old To Go Apeshit
Over Reminders of Childhood Cuteness

It has been a week of many celebrations, both national and personal. Belle is home for Spring Break. Pi day. The Ides of March. That Irish-American Thing.     [1]  Many if not all of these festive days call for special feasts.  I asked Belle if there was any special dinner she’d like, in honor of…whatever.  While she was pondering her options, MH showed me a list Belle had made, quite a long time ago. He found it written on a (unfortunately, undated) notepad he discovered as he was going through old papers in the attic:

 

 

I told Belle all she had to do was say the word and we would endeavor to come up with a  speshl desert and froot salid…and lots of Yum.

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Department Of No, Wait – That’s A Lie.
Regular Programming Continues To Be Disrupted.

Department Of Even-Ing It Up   [2]

After sharing a blog-posted memory involving my daughter, it’s time for one involving my son.  During one glorious phase in his life   [3]  son K was notorious (within our family) for getting moiself  helpless with laughter by telling me Chuck Norris puns and memes.  Moiself  shared this memory on 1-14-22 ( The S-Words I’m Not Mispronouncing ):

Punz For The Day: Scat Edition

Did you hear about the monkey who was arrested for throwing its feces at zoo patrons?
The monkey was charged with turd debris assault.

Why did Packy the elephant    [4]   bring toilet paper to the zebra’s birthday bash?
Because Packy was a party pooper.

Remember, dog owners, when you walk the dog you have to pick up its poop.
It’s your doo diligence.

Why is Chuck Norris’s dog trained to pick up its own poop?
Because Chuck Norris doesn’t take shit from anyone.
Chuck Norris doesn’t flush the toilet.
He scares the shit out of it.

Yeah, I know, scat is typically used to denote animal feces.  But I’ve heard that making at least one Chuck Norris Joke ®  – aka, reciting a Chuck Norris “fact” – at the beginning of the year is a guarantee of good fortune in the weeks to come.  [5]

 

 

Department Of The Bonus Round Of You-Know-Who Jokes

(Happy New Year to son K, who once brought me to helpless tears of stomach-cramping, snotty-nosed laughter when he loaned me his Chuck Norris Factbook to read while we were seated in a booth in a restaurant, waiting for our lunch to arrive).

* Chuck Norris doesn’t read books.
He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.

* The flu gets a Chuck Norris shot every year.

* When Chuck Norris plays dodgeball, the balls dodge him.

* Chuck Norris doesn’t worry about high gas prices. His vehicles run on fear.

* The Dead Sea was alive before Chuck Norris swam there.

* When Chuck Norris was born, he drove his mom home from the hospital.

* There is no theory of evolution, just a list of animals Chuck Norris allows to live.

 

* Death once had a near-Chuck-Norris experience.

* There is no chin behind Chuck Norris’ beard. There is only another fist.

* MC Hammer learned the hard way that Chuck Norris can touch this.

* Chuck Norris has been to Mars. That’s why there are no signs of life there.

* Chuck Norris can strangle you with a cordless phone.

* If Chuck Norris traveled to an alternate dimension in which there was another
Chuck Norris and they both fought, they would both win.

* Chuck Norris’ farts smell like freshly baked cinnamon rolls.

Okay; I gotta get control here.  Seriously; somebody stop me; this could go on forever.

* Chuck Norris counted to infinity — twice.

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Department Of This Time It’s True

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Department Of Don’t Ask Questions
(But Do Ask Your Doctor For Drugs…Just, Any Drugs)

Dateline: last Tuesday; 9:25 pm-ish; sitting in The TV Chair®…although not watching whatever show was on TV that MH had left on while he went to load the dishwasher. I was about to check something on my phone….

 

 

…when moiself  heard a TV advertisement.  The ad caught my attention with its opening question, which I found rivetingly nonsensical:

Are you ready for Vivaldi?    [6]

Uh…golly gee…I…don’t know.  How *would* I know?  What the heck is Vivaldi?

The advertisement continued with what’s become the standard prescription meds come-on, encouraging viewers to ask their doctors about whether or not they could benefit from using this prescription medication…. But, for what?  Why would you take this medication?  There’s gotta be a reason, right?  For no other reason than you fall into the category of,  Hmmm, I’m currently not taking any prescription medications and all my friends and family are and I feel kinda left out….?   I kept waiting, but:

 There. Was. No. Mention. Of. What. That. Drug. Would. Be. Used. For.

 

Really. 

Nevertheless, you’ve been advised.  Call your primary care provider, now.

Patient:
“Doctor, am I ready for  Vivaldi?”
Doctor:
“What makes you ask? What are your symptoms, or health concerns?”
Patient:
“None at the moment; I’m fit as a fiddle.  Still, could I benefit from taking  Vivaldi?
Maybe, like, if I bought stock in the company?”

 

 

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Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [7]

If life has no meaning for someone unless they pretend to know something they don’t know, then I would strongly and sincerely urge extensive therapy and counseling.  This is particularly true if feelings of meaninglessness and lack of purpose lead to depression, which is a serious illness.  Absent a mental disorder, or head trauma, there is no reason an adult should feel life is meaningless without maintaining some sort of delusion.
( Dr. Peter Boghossian, American writer, philosopher, professor )

Or, maybe that Someone should ask their doctor about Vivaldi.

 

 

*   *   *

May you remember to even it up;
May your loved ones serve you speshl desert and froot salid and yum;
May you not ask your doctor, any doctor, about TV advertised drugs;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

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[1] On March 17 real Irish people in Ireland apparently do not affix paper shamrocks on their foreheads, don Kiss Me I’m Irish underpants and drink until they vomit green beer on their faux Leprechaun shoes and call it a celebration of their heritage.

[2] A phrase of my father’s, used for when he had done something for one of his four children who had a particular need, and then found a way to “even it up” by doing something for the other three.

[3] Which is presently dormant but which I’m certain could be resurrected at a moment’s notice….

[4] Explanation for non-Oregonians:  Packy the elephant (1962-2017) was an Asian elephant born who was and lived his life at the Portland’s Oregon Zoo. Famous for, among other attributes, being the first elephant born in the Western Hemisphere for five decades , growing to be among the tallest of Asian elephants in the world, siring seven calves, and being beloved by zoo staff and visitors, having a quirk about hats…. ( I wrote about that here, in The Elephant I’m Not Freeing ).

[5] That is something I just made up.  But it makes as much sense as any of the “Doing _____ will guarantee good luck in the new year!” prescriptions I’ve ever heard.

[6] Not the product’s real name.

[7] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.   No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

The Best Picture Award I’m Not Voting For

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The only reason I’m not casting my vote for the 2026 Best Picture Oscar is because moiself  is not a member of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences…either that, or the Academy misplaced my ballot.  Not that it would matter, because I’d do a write-in; that is, I’d vote for a movie that didn’t win last year, because it was egregiously mistakenly not on the ballot: 2024’s The Life of Chuck.

If you hold as truth, as I do, the idea that  we all contain multitudes,   [1]   then all of the movies which existentially and ultimately mean more than diddly-squat   [2]   can be contained in The Life of Chuck.

 

 

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Department Of Helpful Reminders

Tomorrow is Pi Day.  Do you have your recipes ready?  Seeing as how it’s AEDD   [3]   month, y’all can guess what my entrée will feature.

 

“I think she means us!”

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Department Of Tomorrow Is Pi Day And Today…

…is a significant day for my circle of loved ones.  Moiself  wasn’t going to mention the significance until I made a…perceptive  typo, if there is such a thing.   [4]

Background info:  every Friday I write and send two letters ( yep, “snail,” in the mail), one to each of my offspring.  I begin each letter with either a haiku or limerick, rotating every week.  This week is a haiku week. The two letters I sent today began by noting the birthday of someone dear to us, who was taken from us way, way, way too soon.  [5]

A Haiku For SEH
A wise life guide is
to
“Love ’em while you got ’em.”
And she was so loved….

I can’t write about anything else today, which is SEH’s birthday.  She would have turned 35 today.  She’d have had finished her residency; I like to imagine her working…in one of her several specialties: family medicine; wilderness medicine; reproductive medicine?  She loved the outdoors so much, and was concerned about this country’s eroding reproductive rights and access to medical care in underserved communities….  I like to think she might have stayed in Utah to provide women’s health care there, or in other more restrictive states.  She shone bright in her brief but significant life, and her fabsence is keenly felt.

Yikes, did you see what I just did typed? I decided to let the typo stand; certainly her absence is keenly felt, but IMO she also had a keen  fab sense.

 

“Sarah Elizabeth” English tea rose

 

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Department Of I Guess I’ll Never Know The Answer
If I Never
Ask The Question

Dateline:  Sunday, ~1p.m., returning from lunch with MH.  As MH steers our car into our driveway an oldie begins playing on the car radio.  I recognize Jimmy Soul’s bouncy 1962 hit,  If You Want To Be Happy.  The song begins with its chorus:

“If you want to be happy for the rest of your life/
Never make a pretty woman your wife/
So for my personal point of view:
Get an ugly girl to marry you…

The song goes on to extol the virtues of marrying an unattractive woman.  The singer proclaims that, among other plusses, an ugly woman won’t ever leave you ( as per the stereotype, she’ll be grateful for any attention she receives, ’cause no one else would want her ).  Oh, and she’ll be a great cook.

 Har de har har!

The first time I heard that song ( Junior high?  It was already an oldie) moiself  was appalled.  When I expressed my distaste for the lyrics, a guy friend accused me of being a Women’s Libber With No Sense Of Humor® ( “Oh c’mon, it’s an old song; a light-hearted joke of the times… “ ).

Skip to decades later, to the day when daughter Belle came home from high school in a grumpy mood.  She told me about a boy who’d been sent home to get a change of clothing because he’d shown up to school wearing a t-shirt with a slogan on it that another boy objected to as being racist.  What gave Belle the grumpies was that the previous week, when she and another girl had gone to the administration to complain about a couple of troglodytes male students who harassed female students and wore t-shirts with misogynistic slogans (e.g., with a drawing of a boy ordering a girl to “Shut up and make me a sandwich”   [6]  ), they were told by said administrative spineless lackies personnel that what those boys were doing wasn’t “illegal” and that there was nothing the school could ( read: would ) do about that.

 

 

I sadly confirmed to my daughter what experience was already teaching her.  Yep, you are not imagining things: there’s a hierarchy of political and cultural concern with discriminatory  isms and ists.  Something deemed as racist is seen as worse than something deemed as sexist.  It’s not (or shouldn’t be) a contest; still, isms/ists are often pitted against one another, as many a Black feminist has attested.

“As a black woman I’ve been told that…I’m supposed to be black first and stand in solidarity with black men. Focus on the impact of racism, specifically on racism that negatively impacts black men. Stop bringing up sexism so much.”   [7]

If the student at Belle’s school had worn a short with a drawing of a white boy ordering a black boy to Shut Up And Go Pick Me Some Cotton, he’d be sent home/ordered to change his shirt and possibly even suspended.  But wearing a shirt with a slogan meant to put a female in/remind her of “her place” – somehow, that was acceptable, or at least tolerable.

On the rare occasions when I hear that Jimmy Soul song – which still receives airplay on Oldies stations – I think of what moiself  has long wanted to ask someone who whistles along to the up-tempo ditty:  What if, instead of referencing a sexist stereotype of the early 60s, the If You Want To Be Happy song contained a 1962-ish, “light-hearted” reference to racism?  Would the song have even gotten airplay, then or now?  If it got airplay today, would its dodgy lyrics be excused as a relic of the times? Ala….

“If you want to be happy for the rest of your life,
Never make a light-skinned woman your wife,
So for my personal point of view,
Get a colored girl to marry you…”

 

 

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Department Of A Blast From The Past

Dateline: January 2025.  A new year; a new project: taking an excerpt from a past blog, from the same time frame (the second Friday of whatever month).  My thought at the time: Perhaps moiself  will like this enough that it will turn out to be a regular blog feature.  So far it has, but time, and my capacity for reruns, will tell.

This journey down memory lane is related to the most convincing reason a YOU-of-all-people-should-write-a-blog-why-aren’t-you-writing-a-blog?!?!?!  [8]   friend gave me, all those years ago,   [9]   as to why I should be writing a blog: a blog would serve as a journal of sorts for my life.  Thus, journal/diary-resistant moiself  would have some sort of a record, or at least a random sampling, of what was on my mind – and possibly what was on the nation’s mind – during a certain period of time.

Now I can, for example, look back to the second Friday of a years-ago March to see what I was thinking. (or as MH put it,  WHAT was I thinking!?!? )

 


Here is an excerpt from my blog of 3-14-14 (  The Book I’m Not Stealing ) – two excerpts, actually, both of them book-related:

“The first duty of a revolutionary is to get away with it.”
Abbie Hoffman, Steal This Book

A long long time ago in a galaxy far far away….

Okay, it was 1971.  American anti-war activist Abbie Hoffman wrote and published Steal This Book.  As intrigued as I was at the time – by the “counter culture” and social activism of the late 60-s–mid 70’s in general and by Hoffman’s cheeky chutzpah in particular – I declined to pilfer Hoffman’s prose.  Stealing anything was not something I was inclined to do.  I also did not buy his book because how in good conscience could I lawfully purchase a book that was, essentially if puckishly, advising me not to do so?

Thirty-three years later I find myself wondering: who, if anyone, bought that book?

 

*   *   *
(  second excerpt   [10]  )

Belle leaned against the doorway to my office, respectfully but insistently reminding me that I’d agreed to donate copies of two of my books (my short fiction collection This Here and Now and my juvenile novel, The Mighty Quinn) to her friend A’s senior project…and…uh… A needs those books, now.  Up in the attic, searching for a box to put the books in, I remembered I had copies of another book of mine – “mine” in the sense that my writing was in it, even if my name wasn’t on the cover – to donate.

 

 

Feminist Parenting: Struggles, Triumphs and Comic Interludes (The Crossing Press, 1994) – has it really been twenty years since its publication?  My contribution to the anthology was an essay  [11]  wherein I juxtaposed the naming of my soon-to-be firstborn, K, with how I chose names for my fictional characters.  I was honored to have my contribution included along with a variety of essays, stories, and poems – selections from literary luminaries like Robin Morgan and Anna Quindlen, [12] and literary ordinaries like…well, like me.

The publisher-arranged publicity for the book consisted of readings by the anthology’s contributing writers, held at select locations throughout the country.  There were enough contributors from the Pacific Northwest to do a reading in Oregon, which took place one stormy January evening in Eugene, at the erstwhile vanguard of independent feminist bookstores, Mother Kali’s.  [13]

 

May Mother Kali recommend some light reading-perhaps a political satire or a wacky historical romance?

 

MH, sitting in the in audience with our son K on his lap, later noted that I was the only one of the speakers F-parenting in what (used to be) the normative child producing/rearing relationship:  I was a woman married to a man with whom I was raising our child.  There were four of the anthology’s contributors present: One lesbian mom, two divorced/single moms, and moiself -mom.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

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Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [14]

 

 

*   *   *

May you find a way to use diddly-squat in conversation today;
May you know what it feels like to be the least normative in a crowd;
May you remember to love ’em while you got ’em;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] As per the movie’s “I contain multitudes” reference, from the Walt Whitman poem, “Song of Myself“.

[2] Sorry to get with all the graduate-level philosophy concepts.

[3] Asparagus Every Damn Day, as noted in the previous week’s blog.

[4] And now, I think there is.

[5] She was murdered, seven years ago.  I wrote about it here: “The Life I’m Not Mourning”  and here: The Speculation I’m Not Endorsing; and here: The Reality I’m Not Denying.

[6] The phrase has various attributed origins ( including a 1995 SNL skit ); whether it is aimed at feminists in particular or women in general, it plays off the sexist idea that it’s a woman’s place to be in the kitchen serving her husband or boyfriend.

[7] ( [Why] Do you think Black Men aren’t trusting of Feminists or on-board with Feminism as a movement?  Reddit.com/r/AskFeminists )

[8] I was adamant about not writing a blog…thus, the title of the blog I eventually decided to write.

[9] Was it really over twelve years ago?

[10] I wasn’t (consistently) using the Department Of format then)

[11] “What’s in a Name?  Ask My Pal, Barry.”

[12]  I particularly enjoyed Quindlen’s essay, “What About the Boys?”

[13] I know, I know.  The bookstore was named in the 70’s, okay?

[14] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.   No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

The Moral Consideration I’m Not Granting

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Department Of Now That The Winter Olympics Are Over I Can Get Back To
Considering Issues Of Profound Ethical And Existential Importance®

Host David Marchese:
“What do you think we should *do* with the increasing awareness that more animals might be conscious than we previously thought?  ….we *know* human beings are conscious and we exploit the hell out of other humans all the time.”

Guest Michael Pollan:
“…there’s this whole conversation…that if A.I. is conscious, then we’re going to have to give it moral consideration.  Well, really:  have we given moral consideration to one another?  Have we given moral consideration to the chickens and the cattle that we eat?  The answer is no.  It doesn’t automatically follow.  So, we’re going to have to sort out the ethics.”

 


Michael Pollan:
“Maybe it’s around the ability to suffer.  Maybe that’s where you draw the line…but it’s not as easy as:  Ital you’re conscious, therefore you have all these rights…. Who we grant personhood to is a very subjective human decision.  We give it to corporations, oddly enough, which are not conscious, but there are all sorts of creatures we don’t give it to.  I don’t think we’re entirely rational or consistent in our granting of moral consideration.”
( excerpt from journalist and professor Michael Pollan’s interview with David Marchese,
“Michael Pollan says humanity is about to undergo a revolutionary change,” 2-7-26, NY Times podcast The Interview )

So yeah, there’s that.  Or….

 

 

 I could search the incredible volume of available videos online and perhaps find an entire channel devoted to showing a continuous loop of All Races Won By Norwegian XC Skiing Æsir-god  Johannes Høsflot Klæbo® . 

 

You know what you need to do.

 

*   *   *

Department Of Five Words You Don’t Hear Me
 (Or Anyone) Saying Very Often…Or At All

  “This Norwegian salad dressing rocks!”

Holy Hel   [2] and Herring Heritage – it seems moiself  is producing a (unintended) Norski theme blog.   [3]

Dateline:  last week.  I finally got around to making this salad dressing, from the innovative mind of Norwegian chef Andreas Viestad.  I’d been intending to do so for some time; now, I want this dressing on every lettuce-based salad I eat, for the rest of my life.

Viestad, who also hosts the PBS show  New Scandinavian Cooking,  pissed off impressed the European gastronomic world by when his cookbook on Norwegian food was selected the “Best Foreign Cookbook in the World” and also was awarded Special Prize Of The Jury at the 2008-2009 Gourmand World Cookbook Awards.  

 

 

Norwegian Salad Dressing
(moiself’s  adaptation of Andreas Viestad’s recipe; serves 2-3)

Viestad’s recipe uses juice from the lettuce offcuts to make a dressing with an intense lettuce flavor. Use your best lettuce for the salad, and the dressing (which will be an intriguing dark green color).

  • 2 to 3 small heads of your favorite/most flavorful lettuce
    – one small head of radicchio or other bitter salad green  [4]
    – 1 t Dijon mustard
    – neutral oil (I use avocado)
    – splash of lemon juice or any vinegar (optional)
    – ground black pepper; and a pinch of fresh or dried dill
    – sea salt to serve

(1) Rinse and tear the greens into bite-sized pieces; dry them in a salad spinner. Set aside the “cutoffs” (inner stems, core, and outer leaves) of the greens.
(2) Juice cutoffs in a juicer; strain juice ( you want  ~ ¼ c ).  [5]
(3)  Add juice to a jar along an equal amount of oil as juice (or less, as moiself  prefers) the Dijon, the spices, and lemon juice/vinegar; shake well to combine.  Mix dressing into the salad leaves, serve w/sea salt sprinkled atop greens.

 

 

Many people who eat salad don’t tend to care about (or even notice) the flavor of the lettuce – it’s all about the dressing.   [6]  Viestad came up with a dressing that uses the bits and pieces of the lettuce that we tend to throw away but where the lettuce flavor is concentrated – almost more lettuce-flavored than the lettuce itself – which is why the greens you use should be your favorites.  Y’all foodies may be thinking, Why would you *trust* any salad recipe from a Norwegian?  Growing lettuce in the high north might sound like a bad idea, but as one Norski “salad farmer” explained to Andreas,   [7]  the far northern farms of Norway have good soil, good water, good light, and the cold night temperatures help the salad greens to grow  “strong, crispy, and tasty.”

The only reason our household now has a juicer is because moiself  wanted to properly make this dressing  [1]  .  I *love love love* this dressing; please try it out, and I must emphasize again that you should do so using the best, flavorful lettuce you can find.  On that subject, I hope I don’t have to remind anyone that storebought   [8]  iceberg “lettuce” is anything other than nasty and flavorless.  My favorite description of iceberg lettuce came from an anonymous post on a food-related bulletin board, from a former restaurant worker:   “…with the experience I got being an employee I can tell you that iceberg lettuce tastes as poor as my life’s decisions….at the end of the day it’s just water with a cell structure.”

 

 

In moiself’s  opinion, it was the preponderance of iceberg lettuce in the Titanic’s food storage holds that actually sank the ship (there was a miscommunication when the first mate radioed for help…and the rest is history).

*   *   *

Department Of Every Senior Person Should Be Taking This Class-
Dang, That Means Me As Well…

Moiself  is having a hard time identifying with that label, as, according to the various demographics (depending on which ones you consult), you enter senior territory at age 55, or not until 60, or 65, or 70, or 75….  I recently took a Zumba class labeled for that (“senior”) demographic.  And now I’m thinking that every person, regardless of age, should also be doing so, if only to provide reason/excuse to get up and shake it instead of sitting on your ass all day  commune with your fellow human beings.

I was trying to think of some activity something to stretch or even test my foot recovery.   [9]   At my most recent postop check (two weeks ago) I asked my doctor if a Zumba class might be good; I’d been searching for something other than what I do at home (neighborhood walking; elliptical and treadmill workouts; yoga; weights and core routines) to give my foot some new challenges.  He asked if I’ve done any Zumba before my surgery.  No; but I used to do a lot of Jane Fonda workout tapes back in 1990s.

 

I did the tapes, but not the spandex.

I told the doc that the classes were held at the local community/senior center, so it’s unlikely they’d include ski jump landing preps or ice-skating quadruple jumps or extreme…whatever.  Thus, I told him, unless he said no, I was planning on checking out the Zumba class.  After briefly examining my foot he gave me his thumbs up–  “Feel free to resume normal activities but don’t push till it hurts/do anything stupid.”

So:  moiself  had my first class on Monday.    [10]   What can I say?  I found it to be so delightful and stimulating that it’s probably banned in countries that frown on people of any age (read: females) moving in ways that distinguish them from infrastructure.

 

“Now, move to the music…can you even hear the music?”


And by moiself  thinking that everyone should take the classes, I don’t mean only the specific brand of class called, Zumba – I’m referring to any exercise class incorporating movement/choreography/what might be called dancing.

Most of us have heard and/or read about how dancing is “good for us;” and most of us don’t have the time or inclination to take formal dance classes, often because we think that you must have a dance partner to do so.  And the latter is not the case in a dance fitness class.

Research on multiple levels of study (involving brain health, psychological and social well-being ) suggests that dance-based workouts help protect against the cognitive decline that can happen as people age.  From what I’ve read, learning dance/choreography workouts (I’m going to invent the acronym DCW   [11]  ) reduces stress by boosting your mood through the release of endorphins, providing an outlet for emotional expression, and, when it’s done in a class with other participants,  [12] creates and strengthens social connections and a sense of belonging.  DCW require focus as you listen to the beat, follow steps, and feel the rhythm – DCW require you to be mindful, as in, putting your mind in the present moment, or more colloquially, paying attention to what you are doing. 

So, DCW aren’t just good for your mood – they’re also also great for your brain and your physical coordination. DW enhance cognitive functions, such as memory and spatial awareness and concentration…and yeah, all that’s fantastic, but it’s also just plain fun.

 

This move is not done in Zumba; still, I challenge you to be in a bad mood when you’re imitating a dog about to pee on a fire hydrant.


Oh yes, the class itself:  the instructor (who was a sub for the usual class teacher) was excellent – both chill and enthusiastic.  Also, it turns out she has a really great name (even though she spells it wrong   [13]  ).   After the first two dance sections, in the five or so seconds of pause before the instructor queued up the next music, moiself  inadvertently blurted out,  “Oh, this is fun!” Apparently, in-class out-bursts are not the norm, as the teacher immediately assured the rest of the class, “She’s new.”   [14]

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [15]

 

( Emma Goldman was Russian-born, radical anarchist activist and lecturer who opposed capitalism and fascism and promoted equality for women, workers’ rights, and free education during the Progressive Era. )

*   *   *

May your lettuce (or your life) be more than just water with a cell structure;
May you find make room for both Issues Of Profound Ethical And Existential Importance® *and* Norwegian sports videos;
May your revolution (and exercise) always encourage dancing;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] I tried it with a high-speed blender – nope.

[2] In the Norse pantheon, Hel is the god (female – let’s do away with this “ess” notation, as if the male gender is the default and the female is the decorative afterthought) of death and the netherworld.  Just in case you’re thinking of getting on her good side, Hel’s favorite offerings are tea, chocolate, dried meats, preserved flowers, mead, and raw honey.

[3] Just for a couple of issues.

[4] Soak radicchio or other bitter greens in ice water (helps tame the bitterness) for at least 15m  while you prepare the rest of the recipe, or scroll online for cat videos .

[5] You could also use a heavy duty/high speed blender, like I did the first few times, but this takes some time and it doesn’t work as well, IMO.

[6] Except for MH, who, much to many people’s bewilderment, has always preferred his green salads sans dressing ( he thinks that dressings are or can be a cover for less-than-tasty-greens/other salad ingredients.

[7] In this episode of New Scandinavian Cooking (for which you need a PBS account, I think)

[8] Some home veggie gardeners say that there are varietals that are more palatable.  I think they lie, or at least, exaggerate.

[9] I had surgery on my left foot in Mid-November.

[10] The second today.

[11] For Cance Choreography Workouts…but perhaps for a catchier acronym, Damn Cute Wiggling?

[12] As opposed to doing it alone in your home, to a dvd or online class.

[13] Robin.

[14] Her explanation was probably not necessary, as, from what I could see, all I got was enthusiastic smiles, and no Debbie-Downer Stop Having Fun looks from the other participants.

[15] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.   No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

The Resolutions I’m Still Not Making

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It’s that time of the year again. As has become a tradition much maligned anticipated in our neighborhood, moiself  is hosting a different Partridge, every week, in my front yard’s pear tree.   [1]

Can you identify this week’s guest Partridge?

 

 

*   *   *

New Year’s Reflections   [2]

I’ve come full circle, and perhaps another 45 degrees, on the whole New Year’s Resolutions Thing ®.  As an adolescent I was intrigued by the idea of making New Year’s Resolutions – or at least I was the first time I heard an adult talking about it. Then in young adulthood   [3]   I thought, oh puhleeeease, what a crock. Whenever I was asked about my NYR‘s I’d reply that I had already, several years ago, made the only resolution I’d ever kept: to never make another NYR ( moiself’s  past failed resolutions included, “Be taller,” and “Do not engage in audible eye-rolling when someone mentions their detox cleanse.” ).

 

 

Now, I think NYR are a fine idea. Yeah, resolve to “do better,” however and whenever you can and whatever that entails for you.  Of course, you don’t have to wait for the start of a new year to do so, but after all, the world is full of arbitrary limits, guidelines and restrictions,    [4]    so what the heck.

Some of my resolutions for this year are more profound than others; all shall remain private, save for this seemingly hackneyed one which, if kept, has a good chance of turning out to be the most nourishing to body and psyche:   Have more fun.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of It is Too Early To Tell, But I Still Don’t Think It’s Working.

That  it’s would be my father’s family tradition to ring in the new year.

☼  Hoppin’ John Spicy Collards and Black-eyed Peas Scramble   [5]
☼  Green Chilie Corn bread

Yesterday moiself’s  New Year’s Day menu (listed above) once again included a dish featuring black-eyed peas. I have done this for…decades, I guess. I do this in honor of my father and his heritage: specifically, his family’s tradition of eating black-eyed peas, collards and cornbread on New Year’s Day – an act of culinary optimism which was supposed to bring good luck for the coming year.

 

 

Despite consuming black-eyed peas every New Year’s day, my father’s family remained dirt-poor sharecroppers.    [6]   Every year, as I bring whatever black-eyed pea dish I’m making to my family table, I can’t help but wonder: just once, did a brave soul in my father’s family– possibly his adored, spunky younger sister, Lucile – when presented with yet another bowl of black-eyed peas and the directive to, Eat up, y’all, it’ll bring us good luck in the coming year!, look around at the ramshackle farmhouse and her barefooted siblings  [7]  and mutter, “It still ain’t workin.’ “

*   *   *

Department Of A Thing I Have Just Now Learned
Sub-Department Of WTF Is Wrong With Me,   [8]  Adjacent
To The Department Of Starting The Year With A Clean Slate

Dateline: last weekend; listening to one of Fresh Air’s year -end shows, when they replay some of their favorites of the year’s interviews/shows. This one was on the making of the now-iconic Bruce Springsteen song, “Born to Run.”

At the point in the show when FA host Terry Gross quoted some of the song’s evocative lyrics, I snickered to moiself, “That’s so funny – has Terry misheard that line, all these years, or is she being censored?”

I decided to look up the lyrics, for gloating purposes…and…

* apparently, someone was mishearing the line, all these years;
*  apparently, that someone wasn’t Terry Gross;
* apparently, the line is indeed, as TG quoted,
“…baby this town rips the bones from your back,”
and not, as moiself  has been hearing,
“…baby this town rips the balls from your back…”

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of May The New Year Educate These Abominable Twits

On 12-28 Suzanne Mathis McQueen, my right-on-sister friend who is also an author, entrepreneur, and feminist inspirational leader,  [9]    posted a most concisely articulate takedown of the right’s miseducation and hysteria re immigration.  She was moved to do so in response to recent remarks made by Vice President J.D. “Jeering Doofus” Vance and top White House aide and racist policy formatter Stephen Miller – and oh please, ye deities who do not exist, ease the pain from having  Vice President accompany the name of such a festering turd of political, spiritual, and educational fraudulence….

Once again, I digress.

 


Veep J. D. “Judgmental Dickhead” Vance, speaking at Turning Point USA’s AmericaFest 2025 in Phoenix, Arizona on 12/21, hyped up the slavering crowd of religious and racial bigots attending the event by claiming that, thanks to the current administration’s war on DEI, “You don’t have to apologize for being White anymore.”  A few days later, top White House aide Stephen Miller, after chugging too much bootleg eggnog,    [10]   posted a batshit crazy anti-immigrant rant after watching a 1967 TV ( The Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra Family Christmas 
), featuring two of the USA’s favorite entertainers at the time and – heads up Miller – both sons of first generation immigrant parents.

 

 

Really.  I can’t make up this shit.

Here is SMM’s post ( my emphases ).   The fact that those whom SMM addresses evidently lack the introspection and cognitive flexibility to consider (much less understand, or agree with) her lucid presentation in no way negates the observable truths she so forthrightly states. 

Dear JD Vance:
No one’s asking you to apologize for being white.
I’m asking you to apologize for being so appallingly stupid about being white. 

Dear Stephen Miller:
My guess is that you have zero percent indigenous (to this landmass) in you
– ya know, the folks who were on this continent for 23-30 THOUSAND years –
which includes the Mexicans.

Whenever your white family came to this land, from wherever they came, they did so to find a better life, which was no more than 400-ish years ago, or less.

Which means, like me, you are a descendant of immigrants.

And…if you came from these first immigrants, your family, as part of a societal group of immigrants, did not assimilate into the local culture. They took resources, were a burden on the local society, nearly wiped them all out, and cruelly forced them out of their lush homelands onto desolate land.

And if your family doesn’t come from these first immigrants, your immigrant family benefitted from what had been set up for them by the first ones.

Stephen, again, you come from immigrants.

Perhaps this is why you’re afraid of not-white people or other immigrants. Perhaps you’re afraid they’ll take back the land of their people, or not assimilate and instead conquer – physically or intellectually. Your fear lives steeped within your cellular memory of history – of not wanting the same to happen to you.

While we can’t change that history, humans are designed to grow and learn if they want to. We can create win-win immigration standards that serve, protect, and respect all.

Repeating history that caused harm is dangerously ignorant.

Repeating history that caused harm and claiming to love Jesus
all in the same philosophy, is blasphemous.

Jesus wasn’t a bigot.  End of story.  Let’s move on.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Maybe Next Year We’ll Tweak This Holiday Tradition

Background: Over the years several of moiself’s  Jewish friends, acquaintances and/or coworkers/co-travelers, who told me that they were convinced that I was Jewish but “didn’t know it,” recommended that I go out for Chinese food on Christmas day.  I decided that this was the year…so…where to go?  When MH and I moved to Hillsboro  [11]   we were profoundly disappointed in the quality of the Chinese eateries available.   [12]  Eventually we stopped asking for recommendations from friends and neighbors, so as to not have to disappoint them later when they asked for our reviews.  We’d moved up from the San Francisco Bay Area, and had taken for granted the plethora of outstanding Chinese restaurants (not, ahem, Chinese American restaurants ) available…and in our experiences/opinions, none of what Hillsboro (or even Portland) had to offer measured up to Jing Jing.   [13]

 

 

Dateline: Christmas Day, 12:20 pm; getting ready for our 12:30p lunch reservations; donning my Yule season sock and shoe (singular this year – only my right foot can accommodate festive hosiery as the other is in a surgical boot).

 

 

My phone beeps; friend JWW texts me her season’s greetings, which I return.

Moiself:
“And Merry Christmas to you!
MH and K and I are about to celebrate our inner Jew and
go have Chinese food for lunch.”

JWW:
“Great idea.  Where are you going to eat?”

Moiself:
” ( restaurant name redacted ).  Haven’t been there in years.”

JWW:
“American Chinese.  Let me know how it is.  I miss American Chinese.”

One hour later, at the restaurant waiting for the check, I let her know.

Moiself (texting) to JWW:

“You *miss* American Chinese?  Seriously?
I could make food just as bland and never leave home….
Actually, it’s pretty funny.
I ate all of my dish ( aptly described on the menu as tofu and vegetables with brown sauce, and although there was no discernible flavor, the sauce was indeed brown) because I was very hungry…
but this is some of the most boring food I have ever had.
I guess it’s a good sign when you’re at the type of restaurant where the server never bothers to ask you how things are, because then you don’t have to lie about the food, or say something like, “Well, it’s in my stomach….”

 

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week    [14] 

 

 

One of the many things moiself  dares to hope that, in the new year, scientists like the late greats Rosalind Franklin and Jane Goodall will experience less of the “damage of gender harassment”  and The Matilda Effect   [15]     (note that I am not wishing for a complete elimination of the gender bias – I’m not that naïve).

*   *   *

May you decide what kind of difference you want to make;
May that difference be the “luck” you make for the New Year;
May you have good luck no matter what you ate on January 1;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] Specifically, in the pear tree daughter Belle purchased and (with the help of MH) planted many years ago

[2] As in, from the beginning of my blog of seven years ago.

[3] I think that should encompass ages 20 – 56.

[4] e.g. you are no more capable of making discerning political choices the day before your 18th birthday than you are the day of your 18th birthday; still, you can’t register to vote when you are age 17 years 364 days….

[5] What made John hoppin’ was the addition of black-eyed peas.

[6] Make that, “tenant farmers,” as sharecroppers was considered a pejorative label.

[7] My father’s parents couldn’t afford shoes for all six of their children, so as the elder kids got shoes they handed them down to the younger siblings. You got to wear shoes if there were a pair that happened to fit you. My father went to his proverbial grave not knowing that my mother had shared the story, with my sisters and I, of how our dad was embarrassed as a child when he showed up barefoot at school and was teased by the townie kids, who called him a dumb barefoot farm boy.  And the shack house he was raised in literally had dirt floors in some of the rooms.

[8] Don’t answer that.

[9] As per her Wikipedia page, so there!

[10] Can you think of any other reason he made the connection?

[11] Thirty five years ago as of next month.  Yikes.

[12] And not just in Hillsboro, even in Portland.

[13] Which closed after 38 years of business – they got priced out of downtown Palo Alto.  DAMN.

[14] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.   No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

[15] “Gender harassment…defined as disrespecting, demeaning, and deprecating women and their work, abilities, and accomplishments, simply because they are women…is by far the most prevalent form of sexual harassment in academic science…. (Rosalind) Franklin…is among history’s most prominent subjects of…the Matilda Effect: the practice of ascribing women’s accomplishments to men. An expert in x-ray crystallography, Franklin led the team that created what has been called ‘arguably the most important photo ever taken,’ the celebrated Photo 51, which revealed the helical structure of DNA.  When the structure was published in 1953, however, Franklin…was not among the authors. Her crucial contribution was mentioned cursorily at the end of the article as having ‘stimulated’ the authors, James Watson and Francis Crick…who, with their paper, gained priority as discoverers…. Comments from Watson and Crick reveal the gender harassment that Franklin endured in the lab. Throughout The Double Helix, Watson’s famous 1968 book recounting the race to the famous structure, Watson condescendingly refers to Franklin as ‘Rosy,’ a nickname never used to her face. ‘There was never lipstick to contrast with her straight black hair, while at the age of thirty-one her dresses showed all the imagination of English blue-stocking adolescents,’ he writes, though neglecting to critique his male colleagues’ cosmetic or sartorial choices…. He adds that her ‘belligerent moods’ interfered with Wilkins’ ability to ‘maintain a dominant position that would allow him to think unhindered about DNA.’ For that reason, ‘[c]learly Rosy had to go or be put in her place. … The thought could not be avoided that the best home for a feminist was in another person’s lab.’ In the 1993 book Nobel Prize Women in Science, Crick was quoted as saying, ‘I’m afraid we always used to adopt—let’s say, a patronizing attitude towards her.’ ”  ( Excerpts from ITAL Rosalind Franklin and the damage of gender harassment, by Beryl Lieff Benderly,  science.org 8-1-18 )

The Professional Title I’m Not Respecting

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It’s that time of the year again. As has become a tradition much maligned anticipated in our neighborhood, moiself  is hosting a different Partridge, every week, in my front yard’s pear tree.   [1]

Can you identify this week’s guest Partridge?

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Random Realizations That I Can’t Blame On The Post-Foot Surgery
Narcotics Since
I’m Not Taking Them Anymore, But I’m Much Housebound,
And These Thoughts…Arise

I know – or, since I’m telling y’all, should that be, You Oughta Know – that, had moiself  been a freshman in college in 1995, my dormmates would have heard a lot of Alanis Morrisette blasting from my room.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Random Thoughts/Observation/Realizations That
I Can’t Blame On….  Chapter Two.

I was reading a newspaper article which contained an interview with a clergyman (who was quoted as some sort of expert on some sort of religious subject).  The clergyman’s title was given as, “The Very Rev. Nutsack.”       [2]

*Very* Reverend?  Since my stitches are in my foot, my ensuing belly laugh didn’t threaten to rip them out.

Excuze-moi; I know that Reverend is a professional title conferred upon someone who has ordered and paid for their degree certificate via the classified ads section of the Billy Graham Association’s  Decision magazine and/or The National Enquirer studied/met the requirements of certain theological institutions.  Still, I’ve little respect for anyone who has obtained the title (and sees fit to use it), Reverend.

What is a degree in theology, other than a degree in mythology and apologetics?  Theology is a field of “study” which, instead of employing the verifiable modalities of the sciences, is based on unproven, unverifiable assumptions (e.g. faith, and the existence of specific deities).

And how does one get the Very prefixed to one’s title?  Is there a contest, like Jeopardy or American Ninja Warriors, to determine the most Very of Reverends?

 

That’s *very* Reverend, to you!

*   *   *

Department Of More Notes From Recovery

Dateline: Monday; 6 am-ish.  After working from home last week, MH is going back to his non-virtual office.  I know he’s a bit concerned re how moiself  will manage on my own ( translation: Will she try to do too much and overdo it/hurt her foot?   [3]   )

Meanwhile, in our small, pocket-doored, downstairs half-bathroom, I’m feeling proud of moiself  as I begin the morning routine I’ve established:

* Step 1: Move from sleeping spot (family room couch) to bathroom. Crutches resting against the wall, kneeling on the padded-with-a-folded-towel  footstool in front of the sink, I remove my nightshirt, hang it on the koi painting, and wash my face and neck.

 

 

* Step 2: Balancing on my right foot, I wet two of the three clean hand towels (which I’d set out the night before, by the sink) with warm water.

* Step 3: I put the toilet seat lid down; place a dry folded towel atop the lid, sit on the lid and use first wet hand towel to sponge bathe my back, torso, arms, right leg and foot, and as much of the left leg as I can reach (the boot goes from toes to just below the knee).  I use the second towel to sponge bathe my groin and towel #3 to dry off, then slather my skin with lotion.

* Step 4: I don my underpants, carefully, over the booted leg first and then the right leg; I follow the same procedure with my flared capri yoga pants (chosen for their relative ease in slipping over my booted foot).  As I pull on my bra and shirt, I’m feeling rather smug about being able to craft and maintain this routine given my temporary limitations and in a usable space of 32 x 36 inches…until I realize that moiself  has put her bra on backwards.  [4]

Okay, back down to earth, Supercrip, Ms. Smartypants/Dumbassbra.  I appreciate my momentary humility before recalling one of my favorite quotes, from former Israeli Prime Minister Golda Meyer:

 

*   *   *

Department Of The Latest Publishing Scam Marketing Opportunity

“As creative artists, we not only have to worry about our work being stolen… now we need to anticipate being assaulted with AI-generated scams, marketing pitches, publication offers….  This is an incredibly prolific scam that is aggressively targeting writers… It has spun up extremely fast.”
(author Victoria Strauss, whose Writer Beware website provides information and warnings on writing related scams.  Excerpt From her Wikipedia page  )

Like many writers, marketing publishing strategies (read: scams) have occasionally infested my email inbox.  But there is something more disturbing, even malevolent – yet also dystopian-ly entertaining, IMO – about these new ones.

The emails are similarly formatted.  They open by complementing me on my writing and listing several of my publication titles, indicating at least a cursory knowledge of my work.   [5]   The various setups all employ similar complements in their intro, then give the pitch for hiring them to “maximize your ___(blah blah blah consultant speech ).”

Nowhere is there a mention of their fees – surprise!  But since fewer publishers (even the legit, traditional publishers) are doing the actual work of publishing, this is a con that I can see novice/wannabe authors falling for.  World-weary sigh: one more way to separate authors from increasing dwindling royalties while, of course, proposing to maximize those royalties.  To adapt an infamous, curmudgeonly maxim, it is an unfortunate truism that no one ever went broke underestimating the gullibility of writers.   [6]

The most recent MSE (marketing scam email) I received purported to be from someone with a new (to me) title: a Professional Amazon Marketer Therapist.   

 

Tell me about zis marketing content platform, and about your dreams of trains going through tunnels and how your parents ruined your life….

 

Dear Robyn Parnell,
Congratulations on your outstanding literary career and creative versatility. Your works, from The Mighty Quinn ( Scarletta Press  [7] ) to This Here and Now and My Closet Threw a Party, reflect a rare blend of wit, heart, and depth that connects with both adult and young audiences alike. Your clever humor, inventive storytelling, and wide range of published pieces across anthologies and journals showcase a voice that is both distinctive and resonant.   [8]

As a member of the Authors Guild and Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI), with a bibliography spanning multiple genres and age groups, your dedication to the craft is unmistakable. However, even the most talented and prolific authors often face challenges in ensuring that their books gain the global reach and visibility they *deserve* on Amazon….

This is where I come in.  My name is (redacted), a Professional Amazon Marketer Therapist with years of ___ (Six bullet points of blah blah sales BS blah blah  ensue ).

Through this structured and proven process, I’ve helped authors regain traction, achieve top-category rankings, and sustain lasting success in competitive markets. Your creative achievements and literary voice *deserve* that same global recognition and reach….
Amazon Professional Marketer Therapist.
( excerpt from email; *emphases* mine )

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Marketing Therapy, The Prequel

The first such email moiself  received (several months ago) began thusly:

“Hi Robyn,
First, let me say how much I admire your work. From your short fiction collection This Here and Now to your children’s book My Closet Threw a Party, you display a rare combination of humor, imagination, and literary skill. Your writing captures both the whimsy and the profound, creating stories that resonate with adult and young readers alike. Your playful yet insightful approach to storytelling makes your work memorable, engaging, and timeless….”

It was, almost word for word, a preview of the other emails I would be receiving, from “people” I don’t know/have never met who greet me by my first name and proceed with the kind of flattery a younger and/or less experienced writer might be impressed by ( “Wow, they really know and like my work!” ).

 

 

Swept up in the Sally Field-esque moment, you might neglect to notice that the complementary adjectives and descriptions of your work are either AI-generated and/or taken from reviews about your book ( if you were lucky enough to get any   [9]   ) or your book jacket’s description and promos provided by your book’s publisher.    [10]

Then, there’s one more booster before getting down to business:

“Your versatility as a writer navigating adult fiction, juvenile novels, and children’s literature positions you to connect with multiple audiences. With a targeted marketing strategy, we can expand your readership, amplify your visibility, and drive meaningful engagement across the literary community.
As a book marketing consultant, I specialize in helping authors like you….”

Marketing hype ensues.

There are slight changes in the wording – excuse me, the content   [11]  – but once you’ve read one of them, the template is easily recognizable.

 

*   *   *

Department Of Points Worth Remembering About Charlie Kirk
( excerpts from The Guardian  article:“Charlie Kirk in his own words.” )

“If I see a Black pilot, I’m going to be like, boy, I hope he’s qualified.”
( The Charlie Kirk Show, 23 January 2024 )

“Happening all the time in urban America, prowling Blacks go around for fun to go target white people, that’s a fact. It’s happening more and more.”
( The Charlie Kirk Show, 19 May 2023 )

“If I’m dealing with somebody in customer service who’s a moronic Black woman, I wonder is she there because of her excellence, or is she there because of affirmative action?”
( The Charlie Kirk Show, 3 January 2024 )

“Reject feminism. Submit to your husband, Taylor. You’re not in charge.”
( Discussing news of Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce’s engagement,
 on The Charlie Kirk Show, 26 August 2025 )

“America was at its peak when we halted immigration for 40 years and we dropped our foreign-born percentage to its lowest level ever. We should be unafraid to do that.”
( The Charlie Kirk Show, 22 August 2025 )

“The American Democrat party hates this country. They wanna see it collapse. They love it when America becomes less white.”
( The Charlie Kirk Show, 20 March 2024 )

“The great replacement strategy, which is well under way every single day in our southern border, is a strategy to replace white rural America with something different.”
( The Charlie Kirk Show, 1 March 2024 )

“Islam is the sword the left is using to slit the throat of America.”
( Charlie Kirk social media post, 8 September 2025 )

 

 

The following quotes are curated in the 11/25  Freethought Today  (my emphases).

 “Charlie Kirk did not deserve to be assassinated. But I am overwhelmed seeing the flags of the United States of America at half-staff, calling this nation to honor…a man who was an unapologetic racist, and spent all of his life to sew seeds of division and hate into this land…. How you die does not redeem how you lived.”
( Rev. Howard–John Wesley, of Alexandria, Virginia, in a sermon in the aftermath of Kirk’s killing, Associated Press 9-24-25 )

“What Cardinal Dolan may not have known is that many of Mr. Kirk’s words were marked by racist, homophobic, trans, phobic, and anti-immigration rhetoric, by violent, pro-gun advocacy, and by the promotion of Christian nationalism. These prejudicial words do not reflect the qualities of a saint. It is giving undo sanction to words and actions that hurt the very people Jesus calls us to love.”
( The Sisters of Charity of New York, rebuffing comments made about Charlie Kirk by Cardinal Dolan, who said, “this guy is a modern day Saint Paul” and a “hero.”
Religion News Service, 9–28–25 )

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Publishing Scams Ain’t Got Nothing On
The Oldest Scam In The World…Which Brings Us To

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [12]

It’s an incredible con job when you think of it, to believe something now
in exchange for life after death.
Even corporations
with all their reward systems don’t try to make it posthumous.

( Gloria Steinem )

 

 

*   *   *

May you know how special you are without
scammers telling you how special you are;
May you fall for neither the newest nor oldest scam;
May you live in a way so that no one tries to redeem your
legacy via the manner of your death;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] Specifically, in the pear tree daughter Belle purchased and (with the help of MH) planted many years ago

[2] Not the Reverend’s real surname.

[3] Turns out I did, overdo it that is, and hurt something else, BUT  NOT  MY  FOOT.

[4] Note for men and or non-brassiere wearers, who might wonder how this can be possible: The bra in question is a pullover style, not one with the hook and eye backstrap thingamajiggy.  And now you know.

[5] that any 10-year-old with the knowledge of search engines could do.

[6] “No one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public,” – variants attributed to showman PT Barnum and Baltimore journalist H.L. Mencken.

[7] Well, they got that only partly right – Scarletta Press changed its name to Mighty Media Press.

[8] Another such email used its AI thesaurus to describe my work as both unique and vibrant….

[9] The majority of published books never receive even one professional review.  These stats have only worsened since the Authors Guild Bulletin noted in 2008: “from Publisher’s Weekly: ‘Three thousand books are published daily (1,095,000 per year) in the U.S.  Six thousand were reviewed in 2007,  less than one percent of the total published. ‘ “

[10] or your parents and friends, if your book was self-published ( rim shot! )

[11] as I have learned, all writers now are “content providers“ who should be concerned with, as much or not more than the quality of their work, establishing and maintaining their “platform.“

[12] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.   No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

The Friday Letter Limerick I’m Not Sending

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…that’s because I sent it last week.

Background: every Friday moiself  sends a letters to each of my two offspring.  [1]  I begin their letters with either a haiku or a limerick, the subject matter having (loosely) to do with the past week’s news, personal or otherwise.  One week ago today, their respective letters began thusly:

A Limerick For Finally Fixing This Fucking Foot
If under oath, I’d commit perjury
If I said that I don’t dread foot surgery.
Except for childbirth
I’ve a hospital dearth…
Just a wee medical dramaturgery.    [2]

As far as I can tell,   [3]  the surgery went well.  I’ll know more after the first post-op appointment, which will have been yesterday.  This post is being written earlier in the week; I’m using my recovery time to somewhat crib the blog  – as in using the words of other and moiself  so as not to tax my painkiller-addled brain with too much new material.

Crib #1: Here is a version of what my gradually-becoming-less-addled brain reported on Tuesday to a California buddy:

I am now on my fourth day post bunion surgery, which was Friday afternoon. Unlike me, Betty (my post-surgery boot) is photogenic and not at all camera-shy. Here she is taking a respite from our morning project: helping me hobble (crutches) to the kitchen where I do five minutes of prep work, then return to the couch and watch an episode of New Scandinavian Cooking.”  It’s good rehab viewing.  I figure if those Norwegians can make wild berry pancakes on a snow-covered mountain promontory, then I can take six hours to make a 30-minute casserole in my indoor kitchen.

 

 

I’m off the narcotics today…. Extra strength Tylenol (no autism symptoms to report, yee haw!)  and constant foot elevation are my friends. I’ve discovered that even the non-narcotic pain relievers make me quite tired, or perhaps that’s an effect of the surgery as well, and so I spent a lot of the day looping in and out, mentally.

I’m looking forward to the first postop exam on Thursday: the great unveiling. The doctor is going to unwrap the dressing, inspect his handiwork, then change the dressing… hopefully without passing out from the smell (I must keep the dressing dry and thus am unable to wash the lower leg and foot, although I’m going to have a sponge bath this afternoon – which I’m sure you’ll read about on your favorite social media outlet).  At least I’ll get a glimpse of my toes, which I haven’t seen since before the surgery.

The main issue for me, besides boredom, is the enforced lack of daily exercise until I get the all clear from my surgeon, who has already warned me,  “Now don’t do anything stupid.”  I am trying to be all chill and mindful, just enjoying what comes up on the screen. MH and I are already almost done with, The Good Wife,   [4]   yet another critically acclaimed series that we never watched. I can see why it was acclaimed; also, I like shows that reinforce my decision to *not* go to law school.

I hope things are well and dry in your part of California, which, if I believe the headlines, is washing into the ocean due to heavy rainfall.  We in the Portland metro area remain steadfast in our determination not to let anything rain on our parade, which nowadays includes dressing up in various unicorn, frog, and dinosaur outfits and parading around the Portland ICE center. Life is good.

 

 

*   *   *

Crib #2: Department Of Filling Space With A Right-On Article
About Getting Rid Of Your Crap Precious Stuff

This writer of this article – book summary, really, about Nobody Wants Your Sh*t: The Art of Decluttering Before You Die – was spot on…I found moiself  wanting to underline everything, and I haven’t even read the book.  But this summary nails the experience my siblings and I had, nine years ago, when our mother died and we returned to So Cal to go through the lifetime of STUFF she (and our father) had accumulated…it now gives me PTSD symptoms when I am around clutter and hoarding.

(these are excerpts from the article I refer to,  Nobody Wants Your Sh*t: The Art of Decluttering Before You Die,  which I saw on a FB link 11-12-25 ).

The author’s premise is simple and devastating: you think your collections – whether they are perfectly organized and carefully curated or just jammed into rooms and boxes – will matter to someone after you’re gone. They won’t.

This isn’t another gentle guide to organizing your home or finding joy in your possessions. This is a wake-up call about what happens to all your stuff after you die, narrated by someone who clearly has zero patience for sentimental attachment to junk.

 

 

(the book’s author) isn’t being cruel. She’s being honest about what she’s watched happen countless times—families forced to deal with a lifetime of accumulated possessions, feeling guilty with every item they throw away or donate, wishing their loved one had handled this themselves.

1. Your Treasures Are Someone Else’s Burden
(the author) gets brutally specific about this: those family heirlooms you’ve been preserving?  The collections you’ve spent decades building? The perfectly good stuff you’re saving “in case someone needs it”? Nobody wants it badly enough to come get it. What feels like leaving an inheritance is actually leaving a massive chore for people who are already grieving.

2. “Someday” Is Code for Never
All those items you’re keeping for  someday—when you lose weight, when you have time for that hobby, when you get around to fixing it—that someday isn’t coming…. Keeping things for someday is just refusing to admit that this day, right now, is the only one you actually have.

3. Downsizing Now Is a Gift to Everyone, Including You
Getting rid of excess isn’t losing something. It’s gaining space, time, and clarity.

4. Sentimental Value Doesn’t Transfer
This might be the hardest truth: just because something means everything to you doesn’t mean it will mean *anything* to anyone else….
Do not expect others to preserve your memories for you.

5. Decluttering Before You Die Is Your Last Act of Consideration
The book’s ultimate message: dealing with your stuff while you’re alive is one of the most loving things you can do for the people you’ll leave behind. They’ll be grieving. The last thing they need is weeks of sorting through your garage, your attic, your closets….
Leave them with memories, not mountains of stuff.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Having Empathetic Support At Home Is The Key To
Successful Post-Surgical Recovery

MH pimped enhanced my temporary accommodations.

 

How long have I been stuck on this couch/behind this TV tray?

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [5]

People of all faiths need to remember these Four Great Religious Truths:

1. Muslims do not recognize Jews as God’s chosen people.
2. Jews do not recognize Jesus as the Messiah.
3. Protestants do not recognize the Pope as the leader of the Christian world.
4. Baptists do not recognize each other at Hooters or the liquor store.

( attributed to WHOA   [6] )

 

*   *   *

May you declutter now, and regularly;
May you never burden others with the expectation that they will
preserve your memories for you;
May someone pimp your surgical recovery space;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] The snail mail/in an envelope kind of correspondence.

[2] Yeah, poetic license, re me being a writer who used to work in the medical field.  I’m not sure that dramaturgery is a word, but if I were to advise a playwright on my experiences in either writing or, say, working at Planned Parenthood, I’d be practicing being a dramaturge…so, there.

[3] Translation: from what the doctor told me.

[4] “network television’s last great drama.”

[5] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.   No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org.

[6] We Happy Observant Atheists

The Surgical Ordeal I’m Not Recounting

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That’s because this post was written a day ago.  When it goes live moiself  will be in the hospital, waiting for my foot surgery to begin.

 

Something along these lines.

The Foot Doctor ®, while performing his presurgical assessment, told me I had a strong heart, and robust foot and leg muscles and joint flexibility ( without using the qualifier, “for someone over fifty,”   [1]   which I appreciated ).  I told him that’s likely because I’ve been active/a regular exerciser all my life; thus, my major concerns about the surgery    [2]   involve post-operative restriction of activities.

When discussing post operative care, FD confirmed what I’d read:  much to people’s surprise, recovery from knee and hip replacement surgeries are, in many ways, easier than recovery from foot surgeries.  This is because in the latter case you must keep *all* weight off of the foot for some time post-surgery.  In the joint replacement surgeries, within a few days you are up on your feet – which carry the majority of your weight load – working toward assuming unassisted walking.  Depending on the type of foot surgery, you cannot put *any* weight on your foot for 6-8 weeks.

 

Meet Bertha, my BBB (Big Beautiful Boot).  She’ll be my constant companion for 6-8 weeks.  Yep, I blinged her.

 

 

I told FD that what has kept me in good health pre-surgery will be  (moiself  is guessing) vexing to me post-surgery, in that it will be difficult for me to be only partially ambulatory.

Moiself:
“I assume at my first post-op appointment we’ll go over what exercises and activities I can do to prevent muscular atrophy – I can sit in a chair and do upper body weights?  Chair yoga, and abdominal workouts?  Maybe resistance exercises on the one weight-bearing leg, and…”

FD, giving me a shrewd look:
 “Now, don’t do anything stupid.”

MH’s reaction, when I told him that story:
 “You’ve only seen him a few times, and he knows you already.”

 


*   *   *

Department Of More Considerations

Recovering from surgery during the holiday season.

 

 

Yeah, that sucks.  Is there ever a good time for enforced/limited mobility?   [3]   Only times that are a wee bit less – or more – sucky/inconvenient, right?

So, why not put the surgery off until the new year?  Deciding factor: I want to be well over a half year’s recovery from the surgery for our once-in-a-lifetime, family trip to Iceland next summer, to be in the zone of totality for the 2026 solar eclipse.   [4]

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Star Trek Moments When You Least Expect Them

Dateline:  last Friday, 11 a.m.-ish, doing a streaming/online yoga class.  Midway through the practice the instructor refers to a certain movement she’s adding into the sequence, advising her students to “assimilate that” into their vinyasa flow.

Any Star Trek: The Next Generation fan can guess what immediately popped into moiself’s  mind.

 

 

*    *   *

Department Of Passion, Schmassion – Careful What You “Follow”

Moiself  is not only irritated by but actually opposed to the concept/advice that when it comes to jobs/career paths, people must follow their passion ( there are many variations, including do what you love and the money will follow ).  This is because moiself  sees this tripe-passing-as-wisdom  as exceptionally first/white world privileged and tone deaf – for many reasons, including that it downplays and/or completely misses the fact that any work can have meaning without being what outsiders (or even you) might call meaningful[5]

As A Writer ®, along with other folk working in fields considered artistic/passion-following, I’ve often had that tired trope presented as a compliment wrapped up in advice ( “Oh, you’re a writer – you followed your passion!  You’ll never retire/a true artist will always keep creating/you’re so lucky to have been able to pursue your passion….” ).

 

 

Once I became aware of that scenario I tried to follow a healthier path, and for years  [6]  have held on to this perspective:

Be a verb; not a noun.

Don’t be defined by what you do, because you can do other things.
I write, but I may not always be writing.
I don’t have to be a writer for the rest of my life.

What you are doing – whether for more or less lofty career aspirations, or the just-a-job-to-pay-the-bills – or the recreations and hobbies you pursue ( you may run, but are you “a runner”? ) do not necessarily define you.

You can do other things.  Lather; rinse; repeat.

 You.  Can.  Do.  Other.  Things.

A wise perspective on the subject can be found in this excerpt from one of my favorite podcasts ( Hidden Brain, Love 2.0:How to Fix Your Marriage, Part 1;  my emphases ):

 HB host Shankar Vedantam:
” ‘Having a job that pays the bills is great, but even better is doing work that builds on your passions, one that challenges you, that drives you to innovate and excel.’

This message, that the ideal career is one where our work and our passions are neatly aligned, is widespread in American culture. For better or for worse, many of us want our work to do more than just keep a roof over our heads. We want it to reflect who we are.
Our guest…is Jon Jachimowicz, a behavioral scientist at Harvard Business School.  Jon, a lot of your work seems to be about stepping back from the pursuit of passion to see it more clearly and accurately. You say that one obstacle to doing this lies in the way that we have moralized passion. What do you mean by that?”

Jon Jachimowicz:
“I think that we have elevated the pursuit of passion to such a high moral level where we are good people for pursuing our passion and vice versa. We’re seen as morally bad people if we don’t pursue our passion. And I think that that is a wrong expectation to have. At best, I think it’s unhelpful….
Amy Wzefsiewski has this really wonderful distinction between meaning and meaningful. Work can have a meaning without in and of itself being meaningful. I can think of my work as having a really important role in my life. It can empower me to do other things. It might allow me to support my family. But in and of itself, that work might not necessarily be meaningful….the reality is that for many people, pursuing work that is meaningful is a luxury…

I think we as a society need to embrace that that is a perfectly great justification to do what it is that we’re doing. I think we would do better by highlighting that for some people, given their life circumstances at some time points, it might actually be more meaningful if they focused on work that isn’t in and of itself something that they’re passionate about, but that might empower them either to pursue their passion later on in life, or to pursue their passion outside of work – which is an equally noble, or in my mind at least, an equally noble way of doing something that we deeply care about.”

SV:
“One other unfortunate consequence of moralizing passion is that passionate people can sometimes be reluctant to give up their passions, even when they should, because they’re afraid that others will think less of them.  I want to play you a clip of a man named Simone Stolzow, who left a traditional career in journalism to become a speaker and a consultant.”

Clip of SS:
“I felt guilty. I felt that I was sort of abandoning a calling, and democracy dies in darkness, and what am I doing – turning off one more light in the room? And will my colleagues and my coworkers ever forgive me? Will I ever be able to publish ever again?”

 

And whatever you do, think twice about following a passion that involves clowns.

 

SV:
“Jon, would you say this is another way in which moralizing passions ends up hurting people who decide to take a different route in their lives?”

JJ:
“Absolutely.  I think part of the challenge is that when we moralize passion in that way, we also worry about how other people might think of us if we were to quit or give up on one passion pursuit. The implication being,  ‘If I am a good person for pursuing a passion, then what must be wrong with me that I’m now giving up on that thing? There must be something inherently morally wrong with me. I must be a bad person for choosing to give up on what it is that I’m passionate about.’

Or at least that’s the belief that people themselves have. What we actually find in the research…is that other people understand that sometimes you need to give up on one passion in order to pursue another, that that’s just what life is like, that you don’t give up on passion pursuit altogether. But from that person’s perspective who’s pursuing a passion, they might really worry, ‘Are other people going to think of me as a lesser person because I’ve given up on that passion?’

And we find that that worry can keep people in jobs that they perhaps initially were really passionate about or where the working conditions perhaps initially were a really good fit, but where for whatever reason, it’s no longer a fit where they’re now having troubles and challenges maintaining that passion or they’re incurring negative outcomes that can harm them in the long run. But they keep on persevering because they worry so much about what other people will say if they were to give up.”

 


*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [7]

Christian apologetics   [8] in a nutshell:      [9]

“My book is true, because it says so right here in my book.”

 

 

*   *   *

May you strive to be a verb;
May you remember that you can do other things;
May you assimilate what needs assimilating;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.   [10]   Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] Which, for some reason, I’ve been reading a lot, lately.  Seems medical & exercise gurus have enshrined age 50 as some kind of natural divider. As in, life before and after.

[2] Besides, of course, that it works….

[3] As opposed to say, recovering from an accident…this surgery is, technically, elective.

[4] Family, as in, our young adult children actually seem to want to take a trip with their parents.  Us footing the bill helps.

[5] And in most countries/cultures for most of history that meaning has been that your work keeps you and your family alive.

[6] If not decades…but who’s counting?

[7] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.   No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

[8] From “apología” a Greek word that means “defense.” Christian apologetics means giving a defense of the Christian faith and theologies.  The problem with Christian apologists is that instead of looking at the available evidence and then drawing conclusions from the evidence, they start out with the conclusion, then look for whatever supports their position while ignoring any evidence to the contrary.

[9] An appropriate container.

[10] And thanks for reading this tenth footnote.

The Shabbat Goy Task I’m Not Performing

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Department Of You Can’t Make Up This Shit
(Therefore, This Shit Must Have Come From A Deity?)

Regular readers of this blog are likely aware of my disdain for religious thought and supernaturalism but may also notice that I don’t often avail moiself  of the opportunity to pick on religious minorities.  This is partly because it’s the American Way ® to pick on one’s own “kind;” thus, I usually stick to trashing the absurdities of the dominant religion (Christianity) and culture from whence I hail.  But thanks to the alertness of MH, who recently entertained me at the breakfast table by reading this, No – really…what?!?!?  story,  [1]    moiself  gets to diss some Jews.

Q: I live in a co-op in New York City that doesn’t have a doorman. The front door to the building locks automatically every evening at 9 p.m., and there is an electronic keypad outside that requires a code to open the door. I observe the Sabbath, and cannot use this keypad from Friday sundown to Saturday sundown. There is a side door to the building with a keyed lock that leads to the basement, which has a staircase to the lobby. I requested a key to this door but was told it is not for use by any tenants. What responsibility does the co-op have to accommodate residents’ religious practices?

A: Your request for a key to enter a side door in order to adhere to your sincerely held religious belief of Sabbath observance should be honored by your co-op, unless there is a credible reason why tenants’ use of that entrance is dangerous….
“If the co-op flatly rejected your request, you can sue for discrimination because they are effectively making the building unavailable to observant Jews,” said Andrew Lieb, who practices discrimination law in New York….

( excerpts, “I Can’t Use My Co-op’s Keypad Entry on the Sabbath. Am I Entitled to a Side Door Key?  Because of your religious beliefs, your co-op could face legal liability if it fails to accommodate your request.”  NY Times, Real Estate, 6-29-24  )

Pressing a keypad, that’s forbidden “work.”  But the work of inserting a key and turning the doorknob, hey, that’s kosher.

Adherents of conservative/observant Judaism have for centuries dumbfounded the world with their interpretation of their god’s demand for slavish observations of absurd personal and social restrictions  – what a surprise!  Y’all never would have guessed that unless moiself  pointed it out, right?

 

 

After reading the above-mentioned article MH was curious as to where the restrictions come from and how they are interpreted.  The World o’ Google provided several  ludicrous helpful explanations, including the fact that the door keypad uses electricity, and “…the spark which causes electricity is, technically, the kindling of a flame,” and sure enough there is a flame-prohibition in the Torah (Exodus 35:3, ” Ye shall kindle no fire throughout your habitations upon the sabbath day.”).

Hmmm…yeah…okay.  That thing about the flames?  I wonder how the ultraconservative Jews, who are the driving force behind Israel’s current military policies, feel about kindling the most lethal kind of flame – bombing Palestinians – on the sabbath? 

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of It Gets Even Better

I am familiar with one of the more ingenious ways ever invented re getting around religious restrictions :  that of the Shabbat Goy.  The  SG is a non-Jew hired by Jews to perform services (such as turning lights on and off) which are forbidden to orthodox Jews on the Sabbath.  Thinking of this made me, once again, miss my dear/sweet “best bud” from high school (whose initials were  [2]   conveniently SG), with whom I would trade observations and giggles about the tenets of our respective religions.  SG was Jewish (his family was not strictly observant ), and one lazy school afternoon he tried to get me to you’ve-got-to-be-kidding stage by telling me stories about outlandish Jewish Sabbath requirements and restrictions, after which I offered to be his Shabbat Goy, no charge.  But he missed the mark by keeping this one from me:

“It is forbidden to rip toilet paper on Shabbat, and doing so may be a violation of several melachot.    [3]  This is true whether one cuts the toilet paper along the perforated lines or in between them. Most authorities classify tearing toilet paper (or attached tissues) under the melachot of koraya (tearing), mechatech (measured cutting), and/or makeh b’patish (finishing touches).[   As such, one must be sure to cut toilet paper before Shabbat or use tissues that are dispensed one-by-one. Indeed, a roll of toilet paper is muktza   [4] on Shabbat and may not be used or moved unless one is faced with no alternative….
In the event that one did not prepare toilet paper or tissues before Shabbat, one may hint, or if need be, directly ask a non-Jew to cut some toilet paper….”
( excerpts, my emphases, from Tearing Toilet Paper on Shabbat, by Rabbi Ari Enkin )

Restrictions on tearing toilet paper.  Toilet paper.  A hygienic invention which didn’t even exist when those Iron age desert sheepherders decided to codify their ignorance.  And considering the friction-producing urgency with which some people are known to…uh…employ…toilet paper, might its usage also put you in danger for violating the rule against kindling a flame?

 

 

No; seriously.  And how much would you have to pay a Shabbat Goy to kindle wipe …uh, perform that task for you?

And as for the Attorney who counseled the tenet to sue on the grounds of discrimination against his religion?  Oy, oh, for a forthright lawyer, who would get to the point:

“Dude, the only discrimination here is that your religion is
discriminating against your brain.”

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Here Come The Games

I don’t watch many sports on TV, but moiself  looooovvvvveeeeessssss watching the Olympic Games.  Both the winter and summer versions turn me into a Happy Sloth couch potato. I have withdrawals when they are over, when, after the summer Olympics for example, I realize I no longer have the opportunity to watch highlights from a volleyball game   [5]   every night.

 

And I love watching as the teams playing for country of my ancestors, Norway, win more medals per capita in the winter games (and no awaads for fashion sense).

 

However, the nationalism (read: obnoxious chants of USA! USA!) of the fans and the media coverage gets to me.  I couldn’t put it better than travel guru Rick Steves, in his recent monthly newsletter:

“Even as I root for Team USA, as a traveler, I also find myself getting caught up cheering on athletes from distant lands. Whether it’s Hungarians at water polo, the French at team handball, a Norwegian rower, or a Bulgarian weightlifter, it’s fun to venture beyond the Simone Biles du jour — and pick a few non-American athletes to get behind, too.

And then there’s the medal count. Each evening, the news ranks the countries of the world based on the total number of medals they’ve collected…which Team USA always seems to dominate. (In the 2021 Tokyo Games, we snagged 112 medals, besting China with 84, Russian athletes with 71, and Great Britain with 62.)

Every time I see that list, I’m reminded of years ago, when a Dutch friend pointed out that while the United States usually wins the most medals, we also have a huge population and the biggest GDP — which means more athletes to choose from, and more money for training and equipment. If the playing field were leveled, the results would look quite different.

Consider this back-of-the-napkin math: At the Tokyo Games, the USA grabbed the most gold medals with 39, followed by China, Japan, and Great Britain. But if we look at the ‘medal count’ on a per capita basis — golds won per citizen — Team USA is wayyy down the list (between Ecuador and South Korea). We won one gold medal per 8.6 million citizens. And who’s at the top of the per capita list? Bermuda (a gold for every 72,000 people), followed by the Bahamas (a gold for each 176,000) and Slovenia (a gold per 700,000 Slovenes).

Of course, I don’t mean to take anything away from the remarkable accomplishments of our American athletes. But when you approach the Olympics — or, really, anything — with a global perspective, it’s more honest…and more insightful. That’s why, as good travelers and thoughtful global citizens, with each Olympic Games we can imagine how smaller countries cheer on their teams — and have some extra fun by seeing things from their point of view.”

( excerpts, Rick Steves Travel News July 2024,
Hi from Rick: Go Team USA…Go Team World!” )

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of The Next Book On My Reading List    [6]

That would be The Science Of Weird Shit.  Can’t imagine why moiself  would be attracted to a book with that title, can you?

 

 

Subtitled, Why Our Minds Conjure The Paranormal, TSOWS is the latest book by British professor, psychologist and researcher Chris French, a recent guest on Alan Alda’s Clear + Vivid podcast .  French is a leader in the field of anomalistic psychology;   [7]   his research centers on the psychology of paranormal beliefs and anomalous experiences (including, e.g., the claims of psychic abilities, ghosts, UFO abductions, and astrology).  French, at once both entertaining and serious, emphasized to Alda the importance of understanding why people believe in the paranormal, and why he thus supports taking these claims seriously to explore the underlying psychological factors involved.

French studies the science of the paranormal not because he believes paranormal phenomenon are true – he doesn’t; he identifies as a skeptic who used to believe in such things when he was in his 20s.  No matter how such studies turn out, French holds that studying the paranormal may help to further explain how the human brain works – as in (my interpretation)  may answer the question about how and why so many of us fall for this crap despite decades and even centuries of scientists debunking psychic readers, seers, spoon-bending illusionists, astrologists and the lot.

 

 

Alda:
“…what about being skeptical – why is it important?  Some people get support from beliefs like this: Why is it important to be skeptical, and to spread that skepticism?”

French:
“My own personal position is I’m happy for people to believe whatever they want to, as long as it doesn’t have negative repercussions for other people.  And as you say, a lot of people do get great comfort – particularly from religious beliefs…maybe believing in life after death – then, I wouldn’t want to take that away from them.  But….science is all about how the world really works, and I’m afraid that is not a question then of just thinking, ‘Well, how would we *like* it to be?’  It’s a matter of  trying to figure out, as best we can, what the truth is, about the universe, and it may be that the truth is something that we wouldn’t feel all that comfortable with… “

Alda and French go on to discuss famous/historical cases of the paranormal wherein the practitioners either admitted, years later, of their deceit (including that of Kate and Margaretta Fox, the two sisters responsible for the birth of “spiritualism” and the séance craze of the 1800s, admitted their fraud after 40 years, and said that they started out just wanting to prank their mother) or had their methods and results disproven either by scientists or fraud exposers…. And yet, some true believers, even after their palm reader or seer (or pastor) has been proven to be a charlatan, continue to hold to their particular paranormal beliefs.  What purpose(s) does it serve the believers, that they want to continue to believe that, say, their beloved, long dead uncle Roy was communicating to them in the séance, answering yes or no questions via making rapping sounds, when the Fox sisters admitted that the rapping was them cracking their joints under the table?

 

 

When it comes to those who take paranormal seriously moiself  vacillates between the attitudes of  whatever floats your boat (just as long as you’re not teaching my kids or trying to influence public policy) and  No way, reality matters, and those willing to accept fuzzy thinking in one matter are likely to fall prey to it in other areas.  I want to be compassionate for those who take comfort in illusions, even as I question how that compassion can be condescending, because illusion is the ultimate example of short term thinking:  your illusions are likely, sooner or later, to break down under the weight of reality, and thus illusions do not benefit either the individual or the culture and society.  Being willing to set aside reality for what you have been told are the comforts of illusion and supernaturalism can be devastating, as evidenced by what happens when a growing number of individuals believe, or accept – and elect – frauds and charlatans.

 

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [8]

“Superstition sets the whole world in flames, but philosophy douses them.”
  ( French Enlightenment writer, philosopher Voltaire, 1765 )

 

“But wait – this means that observant, non-flame-kindling Jews can’t be superstitious on the sabbath?”

*   *   *

Parting Shot:  I love it when/I hate it when…

I love it when I think about the Olympic games in Paris, and wishing they would have a special event – the fastest and most stereotypically Parisian waiter’s disregarding of an Ugly American ® tourist who is asking for the check.

 

The first one to overlook the request for l ‘addition wins.

 

*   *   *

 

May you enjoy watching at least one obscure (to you) sport
during the Summer Olympics;
May you never put money into a paranormal practitioner’s pocket
(even for “entertainment” purposes);
May you never believe that there are divine restrictions on tearing toilet tissue;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

 

[1] As contrasted with those who suffer from constipation.

[2] SG died way too young, when he was in his 30s.

[3] Melachot are 39 classes of activities which Jewish law prohibits on the Sabbath.

[4] Muktzeh (“separated” or “set aside”) refers to items that are forbidden or whose uses are restricted on the Sabbath (Shabbat) or other Jewish holidays.

[5] I prefer the indoor, six person per team version, but beach Vball will do – the men’s teams, that is. Having played volleyball on the beach moiself, I cannot abide the women’s vball team’s “uniforms” of bungee cords up the butt.  Why can’t they wear shorts, like the men’s teams?  That sand gets everywhere….

[6] The list which has about 100 books already ahead of it… Unless I put it to the front of a line which I often do with the new shiny thing, and so the poor other books get, once again, pushed down the line…

[7] Anomalistic psychology is the study of human experiences and behaviors that are often called paranormal, without making many assumptions about the validity of the reported phenomena. It aims to explain these experiences and beliefs using known psychological and physical factors.  (Goldsmiths University, “What is Anomalistic Psychology?”)

[8] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.   No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

The Enemy Spy I’m Not Torturing

Comments Off on The Enemy Spy I’m Not Torturing

Department Of Gut Reactions

Dateline: Sunday 2 PM-ish.  MH and I are finishing our very yummers lunch at the Big Wave Café in Manzanita.  MH looks out the window of our booth, toward the cannabis dispensary which is fifty feet south of the cafe.  He reads me the dispensary’s street advertising signs, which proclaim,

Organic Herb
Taste The Difference.

Moiself:
” ‘Cause you don’t wanna ingest any pesticides when you’re smoking that shit.”

 

Your paranoia will be much more eco-friendly.

 

*   *   *

Department Of I’m Not Mean…But I Do Mean Business

What sparked the following story/memory? That’s a good question (which y’all didn’t ask, but moiself  did).  It might have been the snippets of conversation I heard while having lunch at a local sushi bar, where one person asked antheir friend to describe some “bad” thing they’ve done, that they didn’t think was bad at the time and iit wasn’t anything horrible but in retrospect it might have been a bit over the top….  [1]

Dateline: late 1980s, one weekday morning, at work, which is just a hop, skip, a jump and two labor contractions away from Stanford Hospital.   [2]  Moiself  is in my second year as medical assistant/reproductive health care educator for the OB-GYN practice of Dr. DWB and Nurse Practitioner POM.

I fetch an amniocentesis kit from the supply closet, place it in the ultrasound room, and continue down the hallway, past the other exam rooms and Dr. B’s office.  As I reach the counter of the staff’s work desk I can see, through the window behind the check-in desk, a patient in the waiting room, standing at the window.  The patient introduces herself to JJ, the practice’s accountant, who is doing the day’s appointment check-ins.

Oh please, not her….

I immediately cringe at my silent, kneejerk groan of judgementalism – as well as my surprised reaction.  After all, *I* was the one responsible for getting everything ready for the day’s schedule of patients, which means that on the previous afternoon I’d seen the name, pulled the chart, noted the appointment parameters, and thus, theoretically, knew that “TP” was coming in for her annual exam.  But it wasn’t until I saw TP’s face that I remembered who she was, from her appointment a year ago.

 

 

I’d been warned about this patient from the office manager, who’d been with the practice several years before moiself.  There are patients you’d love to see more frequently, and there are…others.  TP, with her imperious bearing and overt sense of entitlement, definitely fit into the *others* category.   [3]    We had frequent dealings with pompous assholery (this was Palo Alto, after all) – that wasn’t the issue.  The warning I’d received concerned the fact that TP brought her daughter to her exams, despite having been nicely but firmly instructed to please *not* do so after the first time she’d brought her then three-year-old to mommy’s pap smear appointment.

I recalled the previous year, when TP’s child, whom moiself  shall refer to as Pico (as in, Pico Monsteri   [4] )   was around six years old.  Upon checking her in for her appointment, I’d noticed that TP had brought Pico, and no one else was with her to watch Pico.  I knew TP’s background; she had friends and family living nearby and she and her husband were filthy rich would have had no problem affording a sitter.  When I started to ask TP about where Pico would stay during her appointment she cut me off with a wave of her hand, assuring me and the rest of the staff that Pico was “mature for her age,” and would amuse herself in the waiting room while TP was in the exam room…and besides, if Pico needed anything, “you girls can just watch her for a bit.”

 

 

The office manager cut me off as I began to respond to TP that we’re working in a medical practice and are not babysitters…geesh!  First cut off by the patient, and now by my supposed comrade.  Thus, five minutes after I’d taken TP back to her exam room, when Pico opened the door to the waiting room and asked for (read: demanded that) someone to read her a book, I took her straight to the office manager (“She’s all yours.“). 

Okay; so; it’s a year later; maybe there’s been some…uh, growth, in a year?  TP is back; listening to her check in with JJ I can tell  she’s still Her Haughtiness, and Pico is still with her and still obnoxious precocious.  But mostly, Pico is still a young child – not a good fit for a gynecological exam room, no matter what mommy’s delusions opinions are as to her child’s specialness.

When I call TP back to an exam room, Pico follows her mother down the hallway.  I ask if it is TP’s wish that Pico be in the exam room with her?  If so,   [5]   I can check with Dr. B to see if that’s okay, then call Pico back to the room when the doctor is ready to see TP, but after I get TP settled for her exam I cannot leave her and her child alone in the room, as there are medical instruments and “potions” and such in the room that are not safe for….

TP laughs dismissively.  “She’ll be fine right here,” she says, gesturing to what I called backstage – our office and work area (which included our lab and sink and patient restroom) – and not the waiting room.   Using my best bared-teeth-disguised-as-a-smile, I try once more to explain to TP that we had medical instruments and urine samples coming in and out of exam rooms and in and out of lab areas – backstage is neither an appropriate nor safe area for her child, whom, we had noted from past visits, was not content to sit in the waiting room and read a book or magazine….  [6]

“She’ll be fine,” TP repeats, adding, “I told her that you *girls* would keep her busy.”

 

 

I inform TP that JJ will escort Pico back to the waiting room, which JJ does (after throwing a bit of stink eye my way) while I take TP to her exam room.

After I’ve prepped TP for her exam, I catch Dr. B in the hallway as he exits another exam room.  I hand him TP’s chart, tell him that she is his next patient, remind him of who she is and that she’d brought her kid with her even after we’d asked her, last year, and this year when she scheduled her appointment, *not* to do so….

Dr. B, busy as always (and behind schedule as always), was not one to confront a patient about such matters.  He glances through TP’s chart, knocks on her exam room before entering, gives me one of his enigmatic smirks, and says, “Handle it.”

 

 

So, I handle it.

About four minutes after Dr. B enters her mother’s exam room, Pico opens the waiting room door and marches through, just as I am escorting a used speculum to the autoclave area.  JJ is on the phone with a patient; I dump the speculum in the lab sink and, as I wash my hands, ask Pico if she’s come back to use the restroom.

“My mommy told me I could wait back here and that you’d play with me.” Pico brazenly walks around the front desk and sits down on what would have been my chair.

“Well, then,” I say.  “Okay….  How would you like to play a game?”  Before she can answer I giggle and shake my head. “Oops; never mind.  This is a really cool game; I don’t think you’re old enough to handle it.”

“Oh! Oh! Oh!  Yes I can!  She leaps up from the chair and claps her hands.  “Please, I can play it!”

“It’s called… “I pause for dramatic effect, “Captured By The KGB.”

 

 

JJ, still on the phone, shoots me a sideways, what-are-you-up-to? glance.

I steer Pico back to the chair and explain the game to her:  She is an undercover spy, on a secret mission for her country.  But the Russian secret police have captured her and are going to interrogate her – “Do you know what interrogate means?”

I can tell she doesn’t, but she enthusiastically nods her head.

“The Russians consider you to be an enemy spy, but you are an American hero, and the free world is depending on you.  The Russians have special powers: when they question you, if they look into your eyes, they can get you to say anything.  So, you must sit here, cross your arms like this (I fold her arms across her chest) and squeeze your eyes shut as tightly as you can, that’s good!  Remember, they’ll try to trick you, to get you to open your eyes and speak to them so that they can use their mind control tricks on you.”

The American spy remains in her chair, silent, her arms clutching her torso, her eyes squinched into slits, while I finish prepping the ultrasound room for an upcoming amniocentesis.  When I return to the front desk, Pico is beginning to fidget.  I see her eyelids flutter – “Uh uh,” I warn her, “The KGB is right here!  Don’t let them see that you can see them.”

“I don’t like this game,” she whines.  “I’m tired of this game.”

“SHHH, THEY CAN HEAR YOU.”   I assure her of her importance, and how she MUST be silent, and keep her eyes shut and her arms crossed.

As I pull charts for the next day’s appointments and arrange test result callbacks on my desk, I tell Pico that she is doing well.  Her chin begins to quiver, and she emits soft whimpers.  “You must stay strong,” I assure her, “and those evil Russians won’t get any information out of you.”

“Robyn!” JJ puts her hand over her phone’s mouthpiece and softly hisses at me. “Do something!”  Just as it seems that Pico is going to burst into tears, Dr. B exits TP’s exam room.  Pico jumps up from my chair and wipes at her eyes; I pat her on the shoulder and say, “Good job – you were so brave!  Those bad agents are gone now.”

Dr. B looks at Pico, at me, then back at Pico; we hear the exam door open, and Pico races down the hallway and flings herself at her mother.  “Mommy!  I want to go home now.”  Pico tugs at her mother’s sleeve.  “Can we go home now?”

“What’s going on?” Dr. B asks.  I say nothing; JJ quickly offers up, “I’m sure *Robyn* will be happy to explain it to you.  It’s…top secret. Spy stuff.”  

It is my turn to smirk enigmatically.  “I *could* tell you,” I murmur to Dr. B, as I stride past him on my way to the ultrasound room, “but I’d have to kill you.”

During my next three years with the practice, TP has three more annual exams.  She never again brings her daughter with her.

 

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [7]

 

 

*   *   *

Parting Shot:  I love it when/I hate it when…

I hate it when moiself  finds out that some celebrity/ (in)famous person whom I thought was dead, isn’t.   [8]

 

 

*   *   *

May you refrain from smoking anything, pesticide-free or otherwise;
May never expect anyone to act as unpaid sitters for your child;
May you remain strong despite enduring nefarious KGB tactics;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

 

[1] I wish I could have heard their stories, but they stood up, continuing to converse as they left the restaurant.

[2] Palo Alto, CA.

[3] She’d likely get the “Karen” label, today.

[4] I was told that term is Finnish slang for little monster.

[5] Over the years I recall a few women who wanted their daughters to be with them in the exam room (as a form of “education,”), usually for a routine OB visit, but always when the girls were older – teens or preteens.

[6] We did have appropriate-aged reading materials for kids, as well as a few toys, in the waiting room.

[7] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.  No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

[8] Feel free to let your mind roam on that one.

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