Trust me to think for myself

A former co-worker forwarded me an email today, criticizing the proposed health care plan. I  exchange Christmas cards with this woman but I haven’ t talked to her in a few years so I was kind of surprised that she didn’t even bother to ask about me or my family. Or my cats.

I believe her message here is “I don’t give a shit about you or what’s going on in your life, but won’t you join me in spreading lies and hatred?”

Here’s an excerpt from the email:

Some other things that Rep. Broun brought up last night in addition to the awful things we’ve already heard–funded abortion, “end of life counseling”, etc.–is that ObamaCare will end services by the Veteran’s Administration (VA) and also will end Medicare…
…continue talking, voicing your opinions, and spreading the word to other family/friends in other  states/districts–initially igniting a “grass fire” against the politicians who are in favor of socializing medicine, and our country.

Also, be much in prayer for Rep. Broun who is, along with co-sponsors,
drafting a bill for healthcare reform also…

I was offended by this email for 2 reasons:

1) she didn’t ask about me

2) she obviously thinks I am an idiot who would believe blatant lies

Normally I would just delete an email like this and then eat another cookie.  I really hate  confrontation. But today I grew a spine and decided that if a person is going to send me a ridiculous, opinionated email they’re going to get a ridiculous, opinionated response.

I hope you and your family are well.
It’s disappointing that you chose to forward me a malicious and erroneous email about Obama’s proposed health care plan. You can read the facts about the plan at www.whitehouse.gov/realitycheck/.

I’m sorry to be disagreeable but I find the Christian Right’s reliance on hate mongering and deceit hypocritical. If you believe in God then you must believe he has given us a brain and the power to reason, analyze and make thoughtful decisions. Just because an idea comes from a religious leader or a member of your congregation doesn’t mean it’s true or valid.

It’s better to have no religion at all  than to use it as a weapon.

Score!

Feeling much better about myself and my new spine I went back to work. Later I checked my email  for a response.

Click-click.

Thank you for the mail. We do not open any forwarded mail, and rarely do we open attachments…….

Seriously? She forwarded me a ridiculous, opinionated email and I responded with a ridiculous, opinionated response – only to be auto-rejected.  Can you get any ruder than that?

I painstakingly typed in her email address, copied and pasted my ridiculous, opinionated response and sent it again. And promptly got auto-rejected again. Same exact message.

I have an opening on my Christmas card list. All applicants welcome. I do not discriminate based on faith, gender or ethnic background.

In a former life I was a court jester

From A Catalog of Client Types, page 38DD: This client’s  inability to complete simple tasks will  be a frequent source of frustration. She’s never met an excuse she didn’t long to try on and check out in a 3-way mirror. She is misunderstood, stressed, overworked and scantily dressed. After unproductive meetings with her you are tempted to draw silly cartoons emphasizing her most prominent features, but you don’t because you are a mature professional.

Also

Also, my eyes hurt. All the time.

I just want to sit in a dark room and listen to rain and thunder.

Maybe I have reverse seasonal affective disorder.

Oil can

Summer lethargy has set in.

I am depleted.

My body is a rusty machine. My brain shrivels. Soon it will be a raisin.

A flashback is…

a narrative technique that allows a writer to present past events during current events, providing background for the current narration. By giving material that occurred prior to the present events, the writer provides the reader with insight into their motivation or background. Or lack of originality. Or mental acuity.

Jump rope contest and then let’s put our bathing suits on and take our inner tubes and walk down through the cornfield to the Blue Hole and swim. I’m wearing my old sneakers because I don’t want those big, ugly carp in there nibbling my toes. Let’s sit on the porch steps and eat our popsicles. We should  ride our bikes down to the school and jump off the swings. We can follow the creek up the gorge and maybe I’ll find an arrowhead or some interesting rocks. The moss is so soft. You wanna go down to the corner and throw sticks over the bridge and see which one comes out the other side first? Race ya’! Yours is stuck. I win. Let’s skip stones. Tonight let’s catch fireflies – just catch them and let them go. They’re like fairies.

Wednesday morning: I lie in bed listening to news on NPR, slither out of bed a little later – actually it gets a little later every morning. Whatever. Hydration, hygiene, attire. Feed cats, make coffee, feed self. Go to work. Work… should get a hair cut, should stop at dry cleaner and we might need milk. My thumb hurts. Hot, steamy car. Homeless guy makes me cry. Moron on cellphone makes me sigh. Check mail-junk. Listen as cat recites the day’s activities. Sounds like a lot – but really she slept all day. Make uninspiring dinner- something- anything, who cares. Dishes, laundry, putter in the yard, slap at mosquitoes. Stare into back yard, willing there to be  fireflies. Still staring. Nothing.  Where are all the fireflies?

To a stranger

you knew me so well

that lingering second look

soul mates in doorways

Something about the sun and the light

The sun has been hurting  my eyes.

The house is cool and dark, except in the kitchen, where the sun angles through the corner of the window. It reminds me of Iowa, even though I’ve never been there.

There’s a small pile of dirty dishes from the morning.  I throw away junk mail and feed the cats.

I feel like fashioning something with my hands. Patting and shaping. I don’t know what causes this urge. I haven’t figured out if  it’s the process of creating or the satisfaction of  looking at something I’ve made that  fulfills me. Either way, I just like it. I like busy hands.

If I was a bird, I’d just sit and admire my nest all day. Maybe add a few twigs or bits of moss. Some dried grass for the inside.

I put on my old baker’s apron. I always feel happy when I have the apron on.  Maybe the key to happiness is an apron with friendly pockets.

I’m making four cheese quiche. I’d planned to blow out the eggs and save the shells to decorate. I should have spent more time in the store selecting quality eggs. They are bumpy and speckled and I’m annoyed to find two eggs already broken. “There’s one good eggshell,” I say to myself, thinking about the book I’m reading, One Good Horse. I’m so in love with that book.

I roll out the dough and listen to Under Cold Blue Stars by Josh Rouse. I chop and grate and whip.

While the quiche bakes I wash dishes and think about other pies, other houses, and other hot summer nights.

Something about the sun and the light and the kitchen smelling good.

Spelling lesson

Dysfunction is spelled with a Y.

and a D: Do you ever stop talking?

and a Y: Y why aren’t you treating me like a hero when I tracked down information you were too lazy to get?

And an S: Saying the same thing over and over- and over

And an F: Feeble

And a U: Understanding anything I’m saying?

And an N: Not the way it’s done

And a C: C-c-client

And a T: Totally annoying

and an I: Ignorance is bliss

and an O: Oh

and an N: Normal for you maybe

In which I manage to mention pie several times

As an Independence Day treat I offer this silly valentine I picked up today at an antique shop.

On the back in lovely Palmer-methodish writing, it says:

Miss Golda Newton, Ewing, Illinois.

2-13-17

Golda,

Will try to see you before very long cant say what day. It was so cold I suppose you did not look for me Sun. Write me soon. Emery.

You will note that  the verse refers to bread, pie and cake, yet the rosey cheeked young scamp has only a bag of hard tack to snack on.

You will note also there are two bluebirds of happiness lurking around the 11 year old boy with holey hose.  He appears to be contemplating marriage or suicide. He also bears a strong resemblance to Connor Oberst.

What can we conclude then from this example of early 20th century ephemera? Simply this – that women and children were exploited, that it’s difficult to attain the American dream when the bluebirds of happiness are pecking holes in your hose and that pie is an important symbol of wealth and security. God bless America.

Nails in my pocket and hammer close at hand

I’m  moving things around. Still. Boxes, books, photos… God I was young then. Almost shimmering with unfaltering love.

I could pile everything in the garage and start all over again. But there isn’t enough time. I have a pile of new library books, 2 calligraphy books making their way through the mail and So You Think You Can Dance tomorrow night.

I take down a painting and hang something else in its place. Repeat a couple of times. My hands are a business.

After a while I’m left with a bunch of little holes in the wall.  I spackle and touch up with paint. The cat bites at the phone cord until I chase her away.

It’s fresher now. I feel contentedly wired.

Later Sleep betrays me.  I listen to “Weird Fishes Arpeggi” over and over. “Phantoms I follow to the edge of the earth. Everybody leaves if they get the chance.”

New Age wisdom would say this is symbolic – this patching and smoothing and feathering of the nest. Repairing my heart. Patching the holes , sanding the rough spots, refinishing.

New Age wisdom is bullshit and I’m no handyman. I hit repeat.