SUNDAY GOOD NEWS

Stand back Steve Jobs.   Microsoft just unveiled Surface, a coffee-table shaped computer that reacts to touch. For a mere $10,000 or so, the first ones will be appearing in casinos and resort hotels and T-Mobile USA stores but in a few years those of you who can afford plasma TVs can have them too. It’s a Windows Vista PC tucked inside a shiny black table base, topped with a 30-inch touchscreen in a clear acrylic frame. Five cameras that can sense nearby objects are mounted beneath the screen. Users can interact with the machine by touching or dragging their fingertips and objects such as paintbrushes across the screen, or by setting real-world items tagged with special bar-code labels on top of it. At the moment, it can do things like paint, mess with photos, order things to buy, share photos, listen to music, etc. but they’ll be cranking out software in the months to come. I remember reading this Ray Bradbury science fiction story years ago about a family in the future that had a wall of their living room that was like a three-dimensional world (the jungle I think). At first they watched it like TV. By the end of the story they had managed to step inside. We’ve all seen how fast YouTube and iPods and now Google Street Level maps (oh haven’t heard of that? it’s where in certain cities you can type in an address and actually see people on the street or through their front windows) have romped into our world. Can accidentally falling headfirst into our coffee table be next?

Today I am grateful for: Quiet
Guess the Movie: Back home everyone said I didn’t have any talent. They might be saying the same thing over here but it sounds better in French.   Answer:  An American in Paris, 1951.  Winner:  thenarrator.

FRIDAY FIVE

Appetizer – Name a sound you like to hear.
Purring.
I have four cats (well and a stray Siamese I’m feeding on the back
porch who now doesn’t run when I come out after over a month but still
won’t let me touch him). Nike purrs if you even look at him, so loud
the vet has to muffle him to listen to his heart on exams (he’s a stray
too who’s lived here for years now). He’s also the one who gets in the
most fights – go figure. Smoky only purrs after much cuddling and even
then you have to put your ear right up to his head. I think he had the
purr squashed out of him by my grandson before he was handed off to me
when baby sister came along. He plays hard to get but loves to be
caught. Sushi moved across the street to my house years ago without
telling me he really belonged to my neighbors. When they moved they
informed me that he liked me better than them so he could stay with me.
Who knew? He came from the street even before he lived with them so
I’ve learned his PTSD signals (don’t walk up right behind him like
someone would if they were kicking him out). He’s the only one that
dares to leap from the floor onto my sleeping self in the middle of the
night. That’s when I hear him purr. And finally Zoe – the only female
of the bunch – who was also handed off as a kitten about 11 years ago
and weighs more than all the others. Her forte is a screech/hiss, which
is why she’s had no scratches or scars ever. Her purr is faint but
she’s lap obsessed. Nothing makes her happier than getting me to sit
down for longer than 10 minutes. You can learn a lot about people from
listening to cats purr. Mainly you can learn to listen.
Soup – What is your favorite kind of cheese?
When
my grandchildren came along I took up string cheese (easy snack). Right
now I have Kraft Snackables made with 2% milk in my fridge. Mmm, I
think I’ll have one now. I’ve been playing with Mediterranean cooking
lately because it’s supposed to be so healthy, so I’ve made a few
things with feta cheese. Now there’s an acquired taste. But strangely
seductive.
Salad – Do you sleep late on Saturday mornings? Why or why not?
I
never sleep late, well unless you consider 6:00 am late. For years I
got up at 4:00 am to get to work at 6:00 am, so having retired only
last summer it’s taking awhile to creep forward. Then at this time of
year, it gets light so early. The birds are chirping and the cats are
wanting to get on with their day. Plus, the older you get the more you
value the daylight. You just have to take my word for it.
Main Course – When was the last time you forgot something? What was it, and how long did it take to remember it?
Yesterday
I left my keys behind in an AA meeting. It only took me a few steps
down the hall afterwards to reach in my pocket and not find them there.
That hasn’t happened in ages. I keep a spare key in my purse just for
that reason so I went out and looked in my car. They weren’t there so I
went back to the meeting and found them on the table where either I had
set them down or someone had picked them up and set them. I belong to
Triple A for this very reason but it’s been a really long time since I’ve
had to get my car unlocked. I hope this wasn’t a portent of losses to
come.
Dessert – Fill in the blank: I notice ____________ when _____________.
I notice that when someone I care about ignores me, it makes me very, very cranky.

Guess the Movie:
“There are two kinds of people in this world: Those that enter a room
and turn the television set on, and those that enter a room and turn
the television set off.”  Answer:  The Manchurian Candidate, 1962.  Winner:  thenarrator.

SUNDAY GOOD NEWS

Seemingly
ages ago I first posted about Sicko, Michael Moore’s new film currently
premiering out of competition at Cannes. Yes, it’s Cannes time again.
Having just retired from the health care field last July, I’m so
looking forward to any headway this work may make in the corrupt world
of pharmaceuticals and health insurance. Because of retiring, I also
had to totally change my medical and dental insurance.
Unfreakingbelievably complex, especially when factoring in Medicare. I
don’t know how anyone who doesn’t have at least a partial college
education and deep moral support can get through the Medicare
supplement world without a meltdown. Many many phone trees into the
process I found myself paying $119/month for a policy that covers both
medical and dental but limits the dental to an amount I know won’t last
me the whole year and that I’ve essentially already used up in less
than 6 months with one root canal, one crown, and a prophylactic
cleaning and yearly exam with x-rays. As for medical, the internal
medicine doc I settled for has basically turned over most of my visits
to her nurse practitioner. Don’t get me wrong. I’m blessed to have
insurance at all. Many don’t. And lucky that so far I only require a
prescription for the minor issue of a thyroid gland that pooped out 15
years ago. Many aren’t so lucky. Over the past six months, the other
grandmother of my grandchildren suffered and died of ovarian cancer.
The amount of chemo protocols, doctor visits, traveling to another
state for care part of the time, and hospital stays, plus surgery,
medicine, and loss of income were undoubtedly ginormous. So I’m
counting on Michael Moore to be as fearless in his attacks on these
industries as he was with Fahrenheit 9/11. And I hope those who persist
in concentrating on his manner of attack or his overweight slobbiness
will restrain themselves. He’s always endured Attack the Messenger
Syndrome. There’s a saying in 12-step circles that it takes being sick
and tired of being sick and tired to get started on Recovery. Hopefully
Sicko will encourage us to be sick of being victims of sick health
industry profiteers.

THURSDAY WHATEVER

Whew, had to take a breather once I got that last chapter out. In the meantime, I stumbled on this page of World Prayers.
I’m not especially a praying person – meditation yes, holding a good
thought yes, wishing you well yes, but nothing organized. But on this
site I randomly found a prayer by 13th century poet Mevlana Jelaluddin
Rumi (commonly known just as Rumi). It just kind of grabbed me as a
little different than any other prayers I’d seen before. Here it is:

Love Dogs

The grief you cry out from
draws you toward union.

Your pure sadness
that wants help
is the secret cup.

Listen to the moan of a dog for its master.
That whining is the connection.

There are love dogs no one knows the names of.

Give your life
to be one of them.

“You know what you look like to me, with your good bag and your cheap shoes? You look like a rube.”  Answer:  The Silence of the Lambs, 1991.  Winner:  RedHairedCelt.
New earth find suggests we are not alone
MICHAEL HANLON, LONDON DAILY MAIL, CLARE PEDDIE

WEDNESDAY BIO (cont.)
(Rest of chapters here)

For
her part, Jane had a classic camp experience – hating it at first and
settling in for the long haul later. An early letter said, “Almost
everyone hates me or is crude or cruel to me around except for the kind
people that usually turn out to be my friends – 9-year-olds or younger.
Call me up right away or write me right away because I want to come
home. I miss you so bad.” This was immediately followed by a letter
saying, “For the moment my feelings have changed but they can possibly
change again in the close future!!! Please send some thing(s) like
cookies, candies or brownies etc. as a care package.”

And so the
summer passed into fall and winter. The children returned to school,
and I clung to my daily routine. It was a winter of honors for my
diligent, idealistic, activist overwhelming mother – with commendations
from the Mayor of Corvallis, the Sheriff of Benton County, O.S.U.
Democrats,and the Myrtle Sykes Grass Roots Award. As winter became
spring and I approached my 40th birthday, my spirits were breaking
under the weight of all the loss and setbacks of a life reaching
halfway through. I didn’t know it then, but it would be only five more
winters till redemption.
—Will you tell me, once and for all, how to open this door.—

(And
with that dear readers, I’m done with this five-year chapter of my
life. It was kind of hard putting it out there. Thanks for letting me
feel safe.)

Guess the Movie:
“Is that it? Is that all you’re gonna ask me? Well I got a couple of
thousand goddamn questions, you know. I want to speak to someone in
charge. I want to lodge a complaint. You have no right to make people
crazy! You think I investigate every Walter Cronkite story there is?
Huh? If this is just nerve gas, how come I know everything in such
detail? I’ve never been here before. How come I know so much? What the
hell is going on around here? Who the hell are you people?”  Answer:  Close Encounters of the Third Kind, 1977.  Winner:  pray14me.

TUESDAY BIO (cont.)
(Previous chapters here)

The
summer I turned 39 , Jane went to horse camp for three weeks. She was
12, the perfect age for horse love. What is it the mysterious
attraction of adolescent girls to horses? (This past year it was my
granddaughter’s turn at 10.) Camp Tamarack in the Deschutes National
Forest in central Oregon – my parents paid $100 for the experience and
for my part I wrote notes and/or sent a gift every single day she was
gone. When she returned, Josh got to visit the beach with friends for a
week to make it even.

In
the notes to Jane were reports that I too was taking a week’s vacation
from work because the assistant professor had returned from sabbatical
bringing a woman with him. It’s hard to remember now, but in fairly
short order he left again, taking up employment at Gallaudet University
in Washington, D.C. where he has remained ever since. (to be continued
next post)

MONDAY BIO (cont.)
(Previous chapters here)

We
moved almost across the street from my parents for the last part of our
Corvallis stay. We opened our eyes in the mornings to a house that
struggled to hold us together. Jane constructed shelves and shower
stalls and studied hard for school, while Josh racked up more sports
team photos and brought home two kittens from a neighborhood litter
that were orange and black, the OSU basketball team’s colors. Ferd and
Panther stayed with us (and finally just me) for the next almost 20
years and are now buried in my back yard, having shared my home longer
than any human ever has.

It was the year Jimmy Carter was elected
President and granted amnesty to Vietnam draft dodgers. The Son of Sam
killer was arrested in New York City. Elvis Presley died at 42 in his
bathroom and Bing Crosby died on the golf course at 73. The U.S. and
Panama signed the Canal Zone Treaty. But what I remember was a morning
before going to work when I drank my usual large tumbler of red wine,
felt my stomach revolt, tossed it back up into the bathroom sink, and
immediately poured a second glass and drank it. I was daily shocked,
embarrassed, and grateful to remain on my feet to feed my children, go
to work, and pay the rent. My mother came one day to my house to give
me a gift of vitamins “especially for people who drink” and I reacted
with anger. (to be continued next post)

SUNDAY BIO (cont.)
(Previous chapters here)

There
was a drought that year in Corvallis, the driest year on record. How do
you measure thirst in a life that is drying up notch by notch behind a
layer of chemicals? You wait for the falling to end.

When the
dark months began in my 38th year, life got darker with them. The
assistant professor went on sabbatical to the other side of the
country. No promises were made. It began to feel like my path through
each day was a tightrope. Balancing took every ounce of focus I could
manage. Somewhere during this time I acquired a shrink who prescribed
antidepressants, sedatives, and tranquilizers in various combinations,
never checking about the daily alcohol I added. At night I would lie in
bed like a frozen stick figure in panic about getting up and appearing
in the world the next day. In the day, I would devise elaborate schemes
to avoid making eye contact or performing tasks that would show how my
hands were shaking. My speech deteriorated into stammering. If walking
pneumonia is functioning with fluid in the lungs, this was a kind of
walking drowning too. Drowning while dying of thirst – the perfect
paradox. (to be continued next post)

SATURDAY BIO (cont.)
(Previous chapters here)

Jane
started junior high in 1976 at Western View (which I just discovered
was immortalized in the 2004 movie, The Incredibles, by its writer who
once went there too). Neither of us can remember anything about it. In
the families of drinkers, there is a well known hierarchy of roles: (1)
chief enabler – spouse or parent; (2) hero child – tries to give the
family self-worth by over achieving; (3) scapegoat – since the hero
child has that role locked up, gets the family to focus in destructive
ways (being stubborn, acting out); (4) lost child – stays under the
radar to provide relief; and (5) the mascot – uses humor to survive and
lighten the damn family up. They say an addict of any kind is like a
prizefighter who keeps getting knocked down but continues to get back
in the ring. The family and friends close to that person all fall
together until one day something happens and the addict gives up the
fight. Then the falling of all of them can end.

So Jane kept her
nose to the grindstone academically, Josh turned his focus to excelling
in sports and before long would find ways to get in scrapes, and I
continued to plummet. It was kind of like having an autoimmune disease
where the body attacks itself. It was part of the very beginning of a
reach for help that I’d made the decision to return to live so near my
parents because, while they enabled me to postpone the inevitable, they
also helped to keep my children safer than I could have on my own.  (to be continued next post)

FRIDAY BIO (cont.)
(Previous chapters here)

In
fairly short order once my job was established, the children and I
moved into a tiny house not far from where my parents lived, so the
after school scenario could continue. That fall Josh started second
grade and Jane her fifth. No one discussed the future. Everyone plowed
ahead doing what they did best – my grandfather had his 98th birthday
surrounded by dozens of us, my mother and father’s hair turned white,
the children completed their year of school, and I slid further toward
the summer of my 37th year.

One of my favorite memories of those
Oregon summers is that we would go as a family – my parents, the
children, and I – to the sea, the patchwork of sand and sky and rocks
and chowder and raw wind like a stiff blow to the soul, standing it
upright. A few years ago I recreated for myself this old mirage by
bringing my grown children, grandchildren, and significant others for a
weekend of homage – to brief escape, to the magic of the ions in the
ocean spray. I wish it could have started a similar tradition but it
seems unlikely.