Dad

I went to visit my father yesterday; he is in an Alzheimer's care facility up in Sonoma. Dad is in the late stages of Alzheimer's, and has long since stopped calling me by name. But, for one quiet, peaceful hour, I sat next to him and held his hand and talked intermittently. His conversations are disjointed and make little sense much of the time, but his grip on my hand was true. Periodically, he'd look at me and I'd smile at him and he would reach out with his other hand and stroke my hand holding his, the same way he did all my life since I was a little girl. I remembered how he'd do that even when I was an adult, and so many more things went through my mind: that he learned to ride a horse so that he could take me riding as a kid; that he taught me to play Pedro (a four-player card game) so that I could come down to visit him at his school during the summers and play with him and the other administrators in the faculty lounge; that from an early age I would traipse into my parents' room sometimes early in the morning and watch him shave while my mom was still asleep. Dad would lift me onto the bathroom counter and proceed to explain the "best" way to shave - first hot water, then soap and water, more hot water to soften the beard, then a good, close shave. He had an extra razor with the blade removed, and sometimes he'd put more shaving cream on his face when he was done shaving and let me "shave" him with the bladeless razor. Luckily, I don't have a beard (then or now), but I still know the basics of a good, close shave. And, to this day, one of my favorite things to do is shave a man's face. It's completely relaxing, it makes me happy, and it's still a great bonding experience.

Seven years ago, I wrote an essay about my dad's disease, and how frustrating it was for him at the time. Now, he has blessedly gotten beyond most of that irritation; he is finally at peace much of the time. It's good for him, because I cannot imagine the horror of that feeling, knowing that your mind is slipping away. It's bad for the rest of us, because the man who we knew and loved is absent much of the time. I have to be (and am) happy that when I walked in and said, "Hi, Daddy," he said, "Hi, sweetie," the way he always did. And when my brother and sister-in-law arrived, and I said, "Hi, guys," he likewise said, "Hi, guys!" He is happy to have the company, and I'd like to think that he knows, somewhere in his heart, that we are people who are special to him.

In any case, here is that essay I wrote long ago. This post is dedicated to my father, who I can say with all honesty and clarity was (and is) a good man. His heart is huge, and he would have done anything for us. I know for a fact that he would gladly have died for us and for my mom, instinctively and with no hesitation. Any of us on this earth would be lucky to have that.

Happy Father's Day.

HOLLISTER

When I was little, my dad would sometimes tell me he was going to Hollister. He wasn’t really going, but he learned from his mom that when someone asked you where you were going and you didn’t want to say, you simply said, “Hollister.” (Of course, my grandmother didn’t really speak English, so she probably said, “Holy-stare,” but that’s beside the point). We actually went to Hollister once; it’s a dry, desolate cattle community that was a couple hours’ drive from our home in the Bay Area of California. My sister was on a softball team, and her team was playing a team from Hollister. I was too young to know or care why, but I found myself in the back of our old gray station wagon with six or eight other girls, my dad driving, my mom in the front seat, all of us singing “100 Bottles of Beer.” I have no idea who won the game. It was a great day.

But even after having been there once, my dad used the same answer when questioned. It took me a while to figure out that he simply didn’t want me to know; I spent a good number of years wondering why he’d ever want to go back to that horrid place. Now, if we went to Hollister, my dad wouldn’t know it. He often asks me where we are, why we are there, and then asks me again a few minutes later. And again. And again. The magical connections that fire in the human brain which allow information to complete the circuit into an area of retention have stopped performing for my father; he remembers things from 40 years ago, but not 40 seconds ago. His lives in the past now; not because he chooses to, but because it is the path his body has chosen for him. Once upon a time, my father spent hours at night lying awake and conjuring complicated and fascinating mathematical scenarios involving the number nine; now, he cannot add a column of numbers because he cannot keep tally in his head. Once, he drove us everywhere (including Hollister); now, he cannot pass his written driving exam because he cannot recall the question for which he is looking at possible answers. Once, he believed the sun rose and set in a woman with whom he could have incredible conversations; now, he believes the sun rises and sets in a woman for whom he believes he can provide no comfort, no conversation, no companionship.

The truly sad fact is that, even though we’d love to believe that he doesn’t, my father knows that his memory has left him. He knows that he was a genius who graduated high school early because he had learned it all. He knows that he was a professor at Berkeley at an early age, and that he fell in love with a student because she had freckles and a gorgeous smile and “great gams.” He knows that he was in control of his life, of his wife, of his children, of his world. Now, he spins out of control along a highway of fear and disbelief; his life, his wife, his children, and his world speed past him and leave him behind, and he can’t know where they’ve been or where they are going.

My dad has gone to Hollister.

The Only Thing We Have to Fear....

...is fear itself.

Today, the California State Supreme Court ruled that it will NOT grant a stay on its previous ruling to allow same-sex marriages, pending the November election. So, marriages will begin June 17 and continue until/unless the November balloted constitutional amendment passes; that proposed amendment would alter our constitution to specifically state that marriage can ONLY exist between a man and a woman. For more info on the decision, check this out: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2008/06/04/BA8V1137HS.DTL&tsp=1

This is all, of course, simply back-story for what I am wondering today:

WHY are people so afraid of other people being different from them?

It is that fear of difference that has sparked some of the most ugly, lengthy, bloody battles of all time; there are religious wars (Jews/Muslims, Catholics/Protestants, Christians/Non-Christians, you name it), ethnic/tribal wars, political wars. I have blogged before about the fact that I am told I am going to hell for having been raised Catholic (by fundamentalist Christians); why do people who believe in a merciful God think it's their place to tell me that I don't get something as good as they do, once I die?

What in the bloody hell are people afraid of?

I am afraid of an abundance of disease and a lack of good, affordable health care; I am afraid of the world being a worse place for my incredible children than it was/is for me; I am afraid of waking up some day and finding that, after years of age and gravity, ALL of my sexually-related body parts are going to be centrally located. These all seem like rational fears to me (really - that whole central location thing has me worried).

But I am NOT afraid of people loving each other and wanting to commit to each other and live happy, productive, coupled lives. Heck, that seems like a no-brainer to me; what is there to fear in that? And yet, I see comments like this one from Campaign for California Families, who claims that "the plague of same-sex marriage will soon spread rapidly across the nation." First of all, for the edification of the CCF (although I never thought that hatred was a family value, so I'm not so much in agreement with their name), a plague is "an epidemic disease that causes widespread death." OK, lexicography aside, what is the issue here? Why are they afraid of homosexuals? (substitute the word of your choice here - heathens, people of color, liberals...)

The fear is that people who are different from them will be happy, productive, and viewed as "normal." Why is this frightening? Because if someone who does not hold their narrow-minded beliefs can be a great member of society, maybe, just maybe, these fear-mongers are wrong?? Then, everything they live their lives for, everything they use as a shield against rationality, everything they use as an excuse for prejudice and hatred, falls away and leaves the simple truth: they are simply mean-spirited, spiteful snots.

But it doesn't have to be scary. We can all be wrong together, or right together, or simply accept that probably none of us has the real answer, but we all have a piece of the solution to the puzzle inside us. What a great world this would be if we respected and celebrated people's differences instead of fearing and distrusting them; if we worked together on the puzzle to try to make all the pieces fit. Think about it. Please?

And finally, congratulations to my incredible sister and sister-in-law, Paula and Julie. They will be tying the knot (finally!) on June 23. Their marriage has been put off until now not because of a lack of love or commitment to each other, but because of a lack of love and rationality on the part of the citizens of this state. Certainly, their marriage will prevail and endure because of their love for each other and the abiding love of their friends and family for them. I am proud to love them both. Mazel Tov!

Us....Them

I can't believe it's been three months since I did any blogging. Soon, I will have much to blog about, since I am going on another 4-week trip this fall (details to come). But for now, I have been thinking...

WHEN did DOGS get so darned POLITE?

This weekend finds me in charge of Derby, the mixed-breed pooch of my friends Jill and Barb. Jill and Barb are in Pennsylvania, planting trees on Jill's dad's Christmas tree farm and, hopefully, convincing as many Pennsylvanians as possible to vote for Obama (OK, I doubt that, but an Obama-supporter can dream, can't she?)

So, here I am at home with Derby for a few days. Naturally, since we live in the city, I need to take her for walks a couple times a day so that she can get some exercise and do waste-related things. I recall my childhood days, when we had a dog named Baron. Baron was (for the time) a typical dog, in so many endearing ways. When leashed for a walk, he pulled so hard on the leash that he was known to topple a hefty adult. If let loose in the house, he would gladly eat an entire beef roast off the kitchen counter (which he did, once). When set free in the front yard, he would run screaming for the hills, sometimes bringing back a treat for us (birds, bunnies, you name it). Baron caused the demise of a few neighborhood cats, got into a couple gnarly dogfights in his career, and loved to dig in the backyard. He was a typical DOG. (Incidentally, he was a great hunting dog, except that he ranged too far - that dog could smell a pheasant from a mile away).

So, I expected Derby to be, well, what I thought was a dog. Instead, I find myself with a canine "person" (and a polite one!) in the house. She won't try to wake me up in the morning, until I show some sign of life. She doesn't tug at her leash. She shows no sign of interest, while walking, in other dogs or any humans. Birds can fly right in front of her nose and she ignores them. What is the world coming to?? We have gotten so "civilized" that our dogs sit and listen while we talk to them, stop at the corner before crossing the street, and (in many cases, but lord knows not mine, never) sleep in our beds. Have we turned our dogs into four-legged humans?

Heck, I honestly know some people who speak MUCH more fondly of their dogs than their spouses. I find this sad and disturbing, but I decline to tell these people my feelings, because it arouses great ire within them (of course, the fact that people get angry and defensive if you suggest that they should at least love the husband as much as the mutt also saddens and disturbs me). For some people, spending time "in the doghouse" would probably be a step up!

Conversely, I think of my own situation. At least two days a week, I work from home. During those days, unless I make a conscious effort to get out of the house for a walk, I have no human contact whatsoever. I become oddly excited in anticipation of a trip to Trader Joe's, and I find myself listening intently to determine when the mailman is walking down the street.

ACK! We've switched places! I have become a dog!

Think about it; as we get more technologically astute and civilized, are we teaching the non-human species to also become more civilized, but taking on historical traits of those species? Are we blurring the lines between creatures, here? Dogs are polite, gorillas are speaking in sign language, and dolphins are locating underwater mines for the military. Conversely, humans spend more and more time alone (working from home, getting their communication via computer), suspicious of other members of our species, and longing to go for car rides on the weekends!

Just something to think about................

Incredible Women

All my life, I have been overweight (I even hate that word; is there some magic number that I have exceeded? Did I "cross the line"? argh) and told that "it's too bad because I could be so pretty." So, this short blog entry is just a huge thank you to two people - one person I have known for her entire life and one person I don't know at all.

Sara Bassett, my daughter, writes a blog on food, fat, and feminism. It's fantastic. Check it out sometime. She has taught me, more than anyone, how wonderful it can feel to be happy in your own skin.

Jordan Matter is a photographer in New York who did a series on topless women in New York - women of all shapes, sizes, ages, and races. It's beautiful. THEY are beautiful. Their stories need to be read as well, so leave yourself an hour to look at it. http://www.jordanmatter.com/view.asp?url=/exhibits/broadband/nudes_01/003_snowy_night,_washington_heights.jpg&path=/exhibits/broadband/nudes_01

Split Checks, not Hairs

I have the pleasure of being in a singles group in San Francisco that is facilitated by my friend, Jan. She coordinates different activites, which typically end up being dinners out. Sometimes four people show up, sometimes fourteen. But invariably, either everyone wants separate checks or someone gets screwed. Why? Because people tend to not want to simply split the bill up and pay a percentage of the total (including tax and tip). So, in order to save themselves from paying an extra buck or two because maybe someone got a more expensive dinner or had a spendier glass of wine, they try to "figure out" what they owe. People, it NEVER works to do that.

I remember back in the stone age when I worked at Businessland in San Jose. There was a group of about eight of us who went for lunch regularly, and we had a great system: we took turns paying. Yes, sometimes we went to MacDonald's and sometimes we went out for sushi, but nobody in that group ever complained about having to pay at the higher-priced places. Why? Because we all had a similar philosophy: when you die, you're even. Besides, eventually the guy who payed for sushi one day would get a trip to MacDonald's or Burger King on his next rotation, and it all worked out in the end. Even if it didn't, there would be a day when he'd get a good deal with some other group or somewhere else. As I said before, when you die, you're even.

If only everyone could work things out that way. Grab the bill, add a hefty tip (OK, I happen to be a generous tipper, but that's fodder for another blog entry on another day), divide it by the number of people, and nobody has to end up throwing in another twenty bucks to make up for the bloke who can't add, forgot that there is tax on restaurant food, won't tip well, or basically just doesn't mind screwing everyone else out of a few bucks. My friend, Craig, has a great mataphor for those people: "tighter than bark on a tree." (Craig has the best expressions for lots of things; I've never figured out if it's because he's from a different country [Wyoming] or just because Craig is frighteningly brilliant). But, I digress...

So, poor Jan has now had to actually post the group activities with a gentle reminder to bring enough money for a meal, PLUS tax and tip. I'm sorry, this is a 40s and 50s singles group - shouldn't we all be old enough to have figured restaurant etiquette out by now? The answer, astoundingly (and sadly) is no.

My plea for the day: when the check comes, split the bill, and don't split hairs about it. Life is short, my friends, and you ARE even when you die. Besides, remember that after you die it's the people you had those dinners with who will be buying flowers for your funeral and making donations to a charity related to the cause of your demise. What goes around comes around, so rack up some good karma now.

And remember, DO tip well. Food service personnel are poorly paid, constantly harassed, and have a mostly thankless job. Show them some love.

Happy dining! --Janine

Subsidizing Hunger

Yes, you read the title correctly. We here in the US are actually promoting hunger abroad, through our antiquated system of farm subsidies. How does that work? Let me explain. No, there is not enough time; let me sum up...

The government (that's us, people) pays farmers a minimum price for certain crops - wheat, rice, corn, and soybeans to name a few.

Since farmers know they can get a specific price, guaranteed, for those crops, they produce a LOT of them, as opposed to taking their chances on the fair market value of other crops.

There are huge surpluses, then, in the US, and we can export those crops very cheaply to other countries, where the local farmers are then basically put out of business. Wonderful. We are giving subsidies to our farmers and trashing the economies of many rural nations.

But wait, you say: those farmers need help! They are the good old boys of our country, the backbone of our nation. Riiiiight. Look at who gets the money - almost 75% of total subsidy money goes to about 10% of our farmers - the richest 10%. And some of those recipients are corporations - want some examples?? Recipients of five- and six-figure farm subsidy payments included John Hancock Life Insurance Co., Chevron, banker David Rockefeller, and basketball star Scottie Pippen. Argh.

This whole system started in the 1930s, when it was needed. Today, it's a different story. Besides, why are farmers any more important than grocers, or bankers, or oil rig workers? Everyone chooses a job and takes the consequences; I do contract work because it affords me the ability to have a flexible schedule; does that mean I should get unemployment money if my contract ends, or that anyone should feel sorry for me if I have no work for a few months? NO! It's a risk I take to have the job I have.

One more glitch in the system: by growing the crops (like wheat, rice, corn, and soy) that are subsidized, there's another victim - the globe. Those crops use planting and harvesting methods that encourage and promote the use of huge vehicles that burn tons of fuel and add to global warming (as opposed to crops like broccoli or squash, that give more jobs to blue-collar workers and use lots less fossil fuel for harvesting).

So, when you see the next farm bill come up for vote, write to your congressperson and say NO.

Now, go eat some broccoli and a couple parsnips. :-)

Happy Holidays

Well, I finally got pictures sorted, labeled, and posted to my Flickr account! You can click on the evil-looking square happy face to the right of this post (under My Photos) and you'll be able to see 140 pictures of my trip, complete with (in some cases) descriptions. Please comment at will; I love feedback.

This has been, for me, not one of the best holiday seasons I've had. Still, I love my kids, my friends, and my family. More than anything, I love to see the people I love happy. When I get to sit back and watch someone I love enjoy a gift I gave, it helps to fill in some of those little, black, empty spaces in my soul. During the year, I'd love to just buy things for the people I love, but somehow it's less acceptable if there isn't a "reason" for it. I would like the only reason to be love, but Christmas is a good excuse, too.

I am absolutely not a Christian, but I do have a deep and abiding belief and faith in one God. Since most other religions also believe in one God, I have to logically believe that we are all praying to the same guy (or girl, or whatever). So, for me it doesn't matter if it's Christmas, or Hanukkah, or Kwaanza, or whatever else. Life is about the gifts that we bestow on others, whether those gifts are happiness, wisdom, an iPod, or a pony. If I say, "Happy holidays," and people are insulted, so be it. Nobody's got a monopoly on giving or on happiness, nor should they. Can't Christians be happy for me that I'm finally in the spirit of the holidays, and leave me to my happy holidays in peace?

I get too caught up in the logic of it all, and try to argue, but to no avail. The next person who tells me that saying "Happy holidays" is an insult is going to get a question from me: "How would Jesus respond to that?" I'd like to think that, being the wise, prophetic man he was, he'd say, "Happy holidays to you, too! Any reason for true happiness is a good thing!"

Then he'd go back to playing heavenly board games with Buddha, Mohammed, Gandhi, MLK, Mother Teresa, and Roy Webb.

So, my holiday wish for the world is that we all learn to appreciate and cherish ANY happiness, not just the happiness that is inspired for our own particular reasons. A smile is a precious thing, and a light in our hearts is a huge gift, no matter where it comes from.

Be blessed, my friends. Happy holidays to everyone.

Love,
Janine