A Conversation with Cows

Okay...for those of you wondering what I do when I am out riding around for hours out in the country taking my random pictures here is some insight into the oddness that is me. Sometimes...aside from having songs stuck in my head looping over and over again...today it was TLC's No Scrubs...I often have complete imaginary conversations with random bovine.

Today I saw these girls hanging out in the pasture together and thought...how sweet...they look like old (in cow years anyway) friends. So I went through a whole imaginary conversation they were having as I sat there taking one of my crappier shots of the day. The girls deserved better.

Please read the following conversation with a very strong British accent. Maybe not Cockney but pretty thick...okay here we go...this is how I amuse myself. I call them Francine and Betty.

Francine: What's she doing Betty?

Betty: I have no idea Francine. Are you sure it's a she?

Francine: By the sounds coming out of the car I think it's a woman. Is she actually talking to us Betty?

Betty: I think she is. What's she saying?

Francine: I don't know...some kind of argy bargy about us being very pretty cows and what are we doing this fine day?

Betty: Och...what's she think we are doing Francine? We are cows. We are standing around in our pasture chewing our cud. Humans are weird.

Francine: True enough...what's she doin' now?

Betty: She's pointing something at us. She's not going to shoot us is she?

Francine: Oh...Betty don't be silly...I don't care how big-boned she is she ain't never getting one of us into that car.

Betty: Are you sure? I can smell her cheeseburger breath all the way over here! Mercy...that's gross.

Francine: Yes...I am sure...she is just taking a picture of us I think. How's my hair look? Do I still have that hay hanging out my mouth?

Betty: Why would she want a picture of us Francine?

Francine: I don't know...I told you...humans are weird.

And this is how my excursions go...I drive around...I do the one finger wave to all the farmers I pass on the road...or the nod...or sometimes the whole hand wave...I talk to cows and birds and hawks and whatever else might be out there and my brain loops around and around and around hopping from topic to topic. Sometimes I have great epiphanies but mostly it's just rubbish.

The Value of Human Life

So I did a check on myself on how I was doing political and social anger wise and discovered that...nope I am still angry. I have been trying to avoid a lot of the media carnage because it upsets me so but I fear I must wade in again.

Yesterday I had a grand adventure and got to see the beauty and majesty of about 50 Bald Eagles all in one place. They are magnificent creatures and they reminded me of a conversation I have been having off and on with myself for some time.

I find all this reactionary nonsense toward refugees and Muslims and Mexicans both racist and morally bankrupt. We are all immigrants to this country and the fact that we might have been white and Christian does not make us better or worse than anyone else. We are not more entitled to anything because of our race and our religion.

Every wave of immigration into this country has been met with resistance and ugliness and racism. The Irish were not wanted because of their Catholicism. The Italians were not wanted because of their skin color and their Catholicism. The Chinese were not wanted because of their race and non-Christianity. And the list goes on and on...I am sure my Polish relatives were looked down upon because of their Catholicism and language issues. This is not something new to this country. That being said...most of us had thought things were slowly getting better. That we were learning that the world was bigger than just us and that there was a more compassionate and caring way to deal with others. I think in some people this is true but for other parts of the population it is NOT true and they are determined to take a step backwards instead of forwards.

This is when I was struck by something I heard coming from the right. A sentiment and a thought that struck me right at the core. I am going to paraphrase the sentiments here...we need to protect American lives from terrorists. We need to make sure our people are safe. We need to protect our children from terrorists. I want to be safe from terrorists. America first. My thoughts on the subject...who the hell made your life more important than any other person on this planet? What the f*%^ is so special about you?

My parents were by no means perfect but they did teach me to respect other human beings regardless of any and all differences between us. They taught me that I was not more or less important than anyone else. That I was a human being with responsibilities to other human beings. My life has no more value or importance than any other life. All human life has value and importance. (We shall not enter the abortion debate here.) So all I ask is that while you sit back on your couch in your home with all your family and "stuff" to keep you warm take a moment and consider those who have lost everything and everyone. They are refugees for reasons out of their control. Reasons at least partially caused by our government's failed policies in other parts of the world.

Their lives are not less important than yours. The fact that they may or may not have terrorist links is irrelevant because really you are more likely to be run over by a bus or shot by your toddler than you are to die in a terrorist attack. Check the death tolls from Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, Turkey and other hot spots and do the math. Your are being fed lies by people who profit from your fear.

I understand that you love your family and friends and you want to protect them. But who convinced you that life is safe? That life is without risk? Every second of every day people die from a myriad of causes. You cannot control and micromanage every second of your life and still actually be "living". We are all interconnected by something basic called humanity. Whether you like it or not you are just the same as every other human being on this planet. Death does not care what color you are, how much money you have or don't have, what country you are from or what religion you practice. So take a step back and look in the mirror and ask yourself if your high opinion of your own value is not really the problem here and realize that you are a human being with a moral obligation to treat others as you would be treated. Stop giving into the fear and start living.

Adventures in Aging

Dear Useless Reproductive System:

We have been on quite the adventure you and I. You started messing with me about age 7. That is when I began to change. I began growing up and out. I started becoming more masculine in appearance. My voice got deeper and more booming. By puberty you and I were engaged in full-scale warfare. I started growing my ever-impressive beer belly...without the beer. My face exploded into a magnificent cornucopia of acne-induced nastiness. My voice kept getting deeper and louder although I rarely spoke. The awkwardness you helped induce...combined with many other issues...made me pathologically shy. You taunted me with the physicality of femininity but left me with a masculine countenance that made me most unfeminine. Then the cherry on top...ta...da...you are gay. Oh...thank you so much...that makes things so much clearer and less awkward...especially since you didn't let my brain in on the joke until I was 19.

Moving along...things remained weird and awkward until my late 30's when you started acting up again. I can't remember now what you were up to but I remember finally giving in and going to a gynecologist in Nashville. She took one look at me and told me I had PCOS. That explains that note my doctor wrote that talked about hirsutism without explaining what that really meant years earlier. PCOS...for those who do not know...is Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. It means that for a great deal of my life I have been growing cysts on my ovaries that interfere with estrogen production amongst other things. You may wonder about this diagnosis but never fear...we paid several hundred dollars on blood tests to prove said diagnosis. My gynecologist and I then embarked on a journey of frustration and worthlessness. It was lovely.

So...in my late 30's you and I began our journey into peri-menopause. We had fun with timing issues, I began to have to shave my chin every day, I kept getting heavier for no good reason...and on and on we went. Sometime in my mid 40's we reached a kind of truce. You stopped hassling me with those monthly joys and I stopped torturing you with attempts to manipulate your hormonal dance of death. I became pre-occupied with other aches and pains. I became aware of my depression and PTSD. We ignored one another happily for many years except for those random periods of shooting pains that stop a girl dead in her tracks. Thankfully...those come fairly rarely these days.

Now here I am in my early 50's and I feel like we are entering a new chapter in our ongoing battle for supremacy. I have managed to get a handle on my PTSD and depression. My brain and I have reached détente where they are concerned. But now...now seems to be your turn to shine again. I win the battle of the hot flashes with Vitamin E. I don't know how or why it works...it just does. You win the night sweats with your pillow case destroying powers. But I fear I am losing the more important emotional battles with you. For the last couple of weeks or so you have been particularly hostile. I am inexplicably exhausted feeling. I am incredibly irritable. Little things that should not bother me are wreaking monumental havoc on my emotional well being. I am even more moody than normal and soon those who have to deal with me every day may contemplate smothering me with the aforementioned pillow.

If we are entering another and hopefully final stage of our menopausal journey I wish you would let me in on the joke because I am not having fun here. I feel like my ovaries have been taken over by Dementors and my hormones will never know happiness or joy again. I don't like feeling this way. I don't like being angry and irritable and moody and generally bitchy for no good reason at all. This is not fun. I would like you to take your cysts and your extra Androgen and just go. I am tired of the tango. I have never felt feminine but I have never felt masculine either. You have made my life more difficult than it ever needed to be and for that I do not thank you. So let's just stop the bickering and begin the aging gracefully part...okay??

Ghosts of Christmas Past and Present

This Christmas has felt more ghost friendly than normal. I have been re-watching my favorite version of "A Christmas Carol" with Patrick Stewart a lot since this Fall. It has been my election disaster coping tool. This may have something to do with the ghost-like feel of my Christmas this year but who knows...I tend to get morbidly ruminative at this time of the year anyway.

One of the hardest things about growing up is the loss of the generations before you. My mother came along late in the program and I came along late as well and that has made for an odd generational off-set in my family. I never knew either of my grandfathers. I barely remember one of my grandmothers and the other died when I was 17 so even those memories are faded now. It feels like I have spent half my life going to funerals. As a child it was great aunts and great uncles and older cousins etc...As a teen and young adult it began to be uncles. Then came the hardest loss of all...both of my parents at 30.

Christmas has not been the same since I lost my mother. I have not been able to re-capture that same sense of familiarity and warmth. Perchance if fate and genetics had played out differently I would have had grandchildren and that would have made it different but that is all a rather mute point now. Not that I have not had lots of love and friends in my life. I have been very blessed in that department. Somehow...despite all my efforts to be weirdly introverted and awkward I have managed to maintain friendships with a pretty wonderful group of people. And I do have a special Piglet in my life but that's a whole different blog right there.

It's not that our Christmases were all that Norman Rockwell brilliance that one sees on the TV. I was a only child but we were always struggling. There was never much spare money around but mom always managed to provide something. I suspect a particular Uncle played Santa Claus more than I ever knew. I would have liked to have known about it and thanked him but my parent's pride would never allow for that sentiment. It was always just the three of us...sometimes Grandma Clayton would be there but mostly it was just the three of us.

We never got a lot of "stuff". Christmas at my house was always more about the yearly replacement of the practical things we needed for the year. We always received the same gifts every year with usually one or two special things. It was that familiarity and routine that I miss with all my heart. Dad would sit and guess at what his presents were with unfailing accuracy made all the more possible because he always got the same thing. Overalls, t-shirts, socks, underwear, red handkerchiefs, a new wallet and if it was time a new watch. Mom always got sleeveless blouses and polyester slacks in various pastel shades. Socks, underwear and bras and usually one special item like a new coat or a new dress for church or a kitchen gadget of some sort. I always got socks, underwear, a new outfit for church, a stuffed animal of some sort and a special toy. It was pretty mundane stuff but I would give my right arm to do it all over again. Despite the angst and the drama and my dad's ill humor I would still love to feel that way again. We would open presents early on Christmas Eve so mom and I could have our new clothes for Midnight Mass and then off we would go to church. It was nothing special but it was mine. I catch glimpses of memories in my mind with certain sounds and images and smells. It's fleeting and ephemeral and I can never seem to hold it. Ghosts.

All of this reminiscing had been brought to you by my experiences this Christmas with a dear friend's elderly parents. When my parents died they kind of "adopted" me as one of their own. At the time I had been friends with their daughter for about 11 years. Now it's been 35 years and the time has flown. They are my back-up parents or my pseudo-parents or my second parents or just the Troll parents. Whatever term I struggle to describe them with to people I meet now. It has been a very interesting relationship. I tease their natural children that I am the "good" daughter. They are very special to me but there is that disconnect there. They treat me as one of their own but I can talk to them differently because I am not their natural child and I don't have all that residual angst in our relationship.

They are 89 now and John has dementia/Alzheimer's which is accelerating at a rapid pace. I was struck this Christmas how being with them was like living with the ghosts of past Christmases and yet dealing with the ghost of the present in that he has no clue who any of us are anymore. I was struck by the idea that we are all like ghosts to him. He carries on and pretends, quite well I might add, that he knows us but he has not a clue. He call his wife of over 60 years by her name but he has no idea who she is to him. He thinks she is someone there to take care of him. I wondered how about how confused he must feel at his children calling him daddy but he has no idea who they are. He obsesses over objects and constantly repeats himself and reads the same thing over and over again. Again...it is like sitting with the ghost of who he once was.

As I was sitting there listening to him drone on and on about a tube of Crest toothpaste I got a sense of the surreal so very strong I almost fled. It was very much like sitting with ghosts. I know that they will not be around much longer but they were sitting right there with me very much alive but it felt like I was looking at their ghosts. It's hard to explain. How do you deal with living people whose spirits seem to have already gone on without their bodies? I still have not processed it all.

What I want to say in my rambling sort of way is be aware of those around you who are struggling. Take a moment to consider all of the thousands of couples like my Troll parents who are battling these issues primarily on their own or within their insular families. Take a moment to check on those elderly neighbors who seem on their own. You don't have to crawl into their lives but just take a second to let them know that you "see" them and make sure they are okay. Recognize that there are those among us living with our own ghosts who need us to remember that they are valued as human beings before they become silent memories.

Adventures for introverts

Introverts have a different sense of adventure compared to their extrovert neighbors. We tend to shy away from the exotic or dangerous and stick to more mundane things that we find exhilarating to us.

So imagine the fun two extremely introverted bears could have taking a drive in uncharted territory. Now...lots of you know my hobby is to drive around out in the country and take pictures of whatever strikes my fancy. It's usually clouds, critters, trees, sunsets, moons, barns...you get the gist. I usually gravitate toward the east and north of Carthage even though I have driven those same roads all my life. There is a comfort in familiarity and I always find something interesting.

But while I was out in Colorado this Thanksgiving we decided to go on a different sort of adventure. You see Colorado country roads are nothing like Missouri country roads. With the exception of far Southern Missouri the roads are laid out in a grid. Everything is pretty much in mile squares. So you know that if you get turned around you can always find your way back. In Colorado there is no grid. There are mountains and there are canyons and there are not so many people in some areas. It's far easier to get lost and turned around.

So we gathered the map and the GPS and we got hot chocolate and coffee and peanut butter crackers and headed out. We picked a county road out by the hospital in Trinidad and off we went. This may seem dull to you but for us it was wandering into the unknown wilderness. We were cruising along following the signs and the GPS like good little campers when we saw a mesa or some such geological formation that caught our eye...so we...gasp...deviated from our route. This is when we spotted the sign displayed above this text and we laughed and discussed the many nuances and humor this sign possessed.

And we kept following the road. It wound around the valley and there would be a house every few miles but no traffic. You see in Colorado there is abundant ranch land and the country roads wander through the ranches. Periodically you slow down to go over another cattle guard and you know you are on a different ranch but it's still a county road. It's a little like going to Oz every time you go over a cattle guard...you just don't know what to expect.

We diligently watched for signs to make sure we were still on the county road and not on private property. Being introverts we are especially respectful of other people's property. We are very tuned into the whole "do unto others" thing. We stopped to take pictures of deer and birds and even came across a large herd of antelope. I love the antelope! It was all so very exciting and we had such a great time.

Then we came to the true introvert gauntlet. We came to another cattle guard and the road looked like it ended right at these people's house. I mean in their driveway. Beth stopped and I looked at the GPS and I said it says it's a road. I know it look like a yard and driveway but the GPS says it's a road. So we pulled forward a bit and since no one came out of the house waving a gun at us we crept forward a little more not wanting to trespass but needing to either go forward or turn around. We both leaned forward and peeked around and finally I said well...go around the garage here because it looks like the road might go on once you get around the garage and low and behold it did!! The county road just ran right through their yard separating their house and barns with just a narrow road. I mean that happens in Missouri but the road is much wider and has fencing and pavement and stuff.

We were so proud. It may not seem like much to folks who don't understand but to two timid adventurers it was like finding Montezuma's freakin' tomb! We continued on until we came out to a main road. From that end you would never have known it was a county road. It had a tiny sign and a big ranch arch over the road that made it look like a private driveway. It was like finding a secret road to Narnia. We laughed and we giggled all the way back to town. It was so much fun! It may not seem all that wild but to wander around in the high desert in a state you are not familiar with (I mean this was not another ride out to Maple Grove) was quite exciting to a driver who is completely...I mean completely...directionally challenged and a passenger who isn't always as brave as she should be it was exhilarating and fun and not something we will soon forget. So forge on introverts of the world. Go out and find new adventures...just maybe wait until this freezing drizzle stops.

Death of an Illusion

This road sign reflects my mood of late. I have delayed writing a post-election blog while I attempted to sort out my emotions and work my way through the stages of grief. I appear to be stuck in the anger phase but feel I may be working my way into a soul numbing sense of acceptance.

Folks seem to think that those of us of a more liberal disposition need to just suck it up and deal with it. They seem to think this election was just about politics. They are fools. This election was about the death of an American illusion.

I am a smart cookie if I do say so myself and I have been educated by numerous other smart cookies ending in a MA in History. Therefore I have never lived under the illusion that America was EVER great. People like to wrap themselves up in the flag and congratulate themselves about how great this country is and how morally superior we are above all others. That is an illusion people. We started this country not out of a noble quest for freedom and rights...it was all about not wanting to pay taxes. A group of very wealthy, white, slave-holding men decided they did not want to pay their taxes. Sound familiar?

Over the 200+ years of our existence we have gleefully committed genocide amongst the Native Americans who rightfully owned this country. We murdered them, we intentionally and unintentionally gave them our diseases, we broke treaties when it suited us, we forced them off their land because we wanted it for our own and we exiled them to reservations. We are the original illegal immigrants. You can lie to yourself and claim that your ancestors were pioneers settling an untamed land. No...your ancestors just marched in here because they could and stole what they could and claimed the moral high ground because they were white and Christian and therefore entitled to dominate those "heathens".  

We enslaved an entire race of people to do our work for us and we had to almost tear this country apart to end the practice. We have propped up dictators who murdered thousands of their own people because it suited our needs. We have assassinated world leaders who did not acquiesce to our needs. We have caused death, hunger and starvation to suit our own political ambitions. We had a brief shining moment during WWII where we began to act like civilized and responsible human beings but even then we tainted that by interning innocent Japanese-American citizens in camps because they might be a danger to our security. You can lie to yourself and tell yourself it was not racist...they were a danger to our national security...right...it sounds a little hollow when the Japanese-Americans were not sharing those camps with Americans of German or Italian descent.

The list of our bad acts just goes on and on. So no...I have never thought of this country as great. I have always thought we were self-serving, greedy, materialistic bullies and quite frankly I am surprised the rest of the world has put up with us for so long.

And yet...I still lived under an illusion. Not so much that we were great...I knew that not to be true...yet an illusion still. You see over my 54 years on Earth we have changed a lot. I was still cautious that the change was real but it seemed to be real. I had hope when Barrak Obama ran for president but in my heart I was doubtful that people would put aside their racism to elect a black man as president. I did not expect to see that in my lifetime. I was so proud of us for a brief shining second. I thought maybe...just maybe...we are changing for their better. Then it all came crashing down with 8 years of barely disguised racist hatred for a man trying to do an impossible job for a bunch of spoiled brats who only wanted more stuff for themselves. Don't sit back now and claim you quietly accepted his election and that liberals should now do the same. I saw the burning effigies, the fake lynchings the building of personal armories. I remember the "hysteria" about him being Muslim and instituting Sharia Law and all the other bull shit that came out of your mouths so don't play that game with me.

I thought we were getting better. There was more acceptance of inter-racial couples. There was more integration of Hispanic immigrants into our culture. There was more tolerance of the LGBT community. Younger people seemed to driving real social change in this country. I allowed my self to hope. I bought into the illusion that we were making our society better at last. In my heart I believed that people were inherently good. That when it counted they would find it in their hearts to do the right thing. I was wrong.

That is why I am so upset and so angry and so very done with people (with a few notable exceptions). I feel betrayed by my friends, my family, and the complete strangers I have to deal with every day. I thought that when confronted with two pretty awful candidates for president that they would do the right thing. I thought they would put aside their distaste for Hillary Clinton and their general misogyny that they refuse to admit to and do the right thing. That they would realize they were voting, not so much for her, but for a more open and accepting society. I thought they would vote for common decency and would realize that voting for Trump would be unleashing hatred and bigotry upon a society that was finally making progress. But no...once again the tendency to be selfish and greedy and materialistic took over and they voted for a completely morally bankrupt man who has no clue how to lead this country. A petty man who threatens and bullies and cheats and lies and steals all to get what HE wants. All this so the economy would improve...so they could make more money...pay less taxes...and get more stuff. They are fools. We are fools.

So now I sit back and I watch Trump nominate men who are openly racist and intolerant to important posts in his government. I sit back and watch foolish people say "give the man a chance". I sit and I wait to see how much violence and hatred those who supported Trump are willing to tolerate before they stand up and say no more. I wait to see if those few rights that I do have are taken away. The rights you all take for granted have never belonged to me and now I know you think that I don't deserve them anyway. You told me so when you voted for him. So you will have to excuse me if I am angry and upset and don't want to talk or seem occupied and distracted. I am trying to decide how to live in my new reality. I am trying to decide who to eliminate from my life because you don't really care about me or my rights anyway. I am trying to find a way not to hate everyone who betrayed my illusion. I am trying to find my place in society again. I don't trust any of you anymore and that is going to last a long, long time. You destroyed my illusion that deep down people are really good and I will not forgive you for that any time soon.

Ode to the Boys of Summer

I have a complicated relationship with baseball. In its purest form I love and adore baseball. I love the smell and feel of both ball and glove. I find holding a baseball to be very soothing. I come by it honestly. My mother and at least one of her brothers were devoted to the game. I remember her talking about Mike and one of the Eimer boys playing in the yard for hours and she would always try to play too. That's how she got that black eye that one time. Uncle Mike had piles of those statistics books around the house. He died before we could talk him into Fantasy Baseball. I bet he would have been awesome at it.

My mom is the one who taught me how to throw a ball properly. She had quite the arm. She would play catch with me when I could get her to stop for a second. Mom was the ultimate fan of the St. Louis Cardinals. If she could not get the game on TV she would have her earphone plugged into the transistor radio. She would nap on and off but she caught every game she could and when I moved to Springfield to go to graduate school she would call me with score updates.The Cardinals were her escape when she retired and had to deal with dad 24/7.

One of my best friends growing up was Michael and he and I would play catch for hours. I loved going to watch his games. Girls weren't allowed to play baseball back then and softball was a poor substitute so I quit that pretty early on. I loved going out to Municipal Park and hanging out at the ball fields. That was the place to be in the 70's let me tell you. It was packed all summer long with families and kids and the sounds of baseball and summer and community.

When I could not spend time with Michael, his mother hated me quite frankly, I would spend hours playing with my pitch back or throwing a tennis ball up on the roof and catching it. You had to be resourceful when you had no siblings. Sometimes the neighborhood kids would get together and we would go down the block and play in an empty field. No one died. It was awesome! 

When I was in undergraduate school I developed a secret and forbidden passion for the Chicago Cubs. You see I took morning classes and so would be home in the afternoon. Back in the 80's the Chicago Star Tribune owned both the Cubs and WGN so they aired all the Cubs and most of the White Sox games. The Cubs always played their home games at 1:30 in the afternoon. I would sit in my bedroom and work on my homework while watching the games and developed a soft spot for them that remains to this day.

My mother was not best pleased but she loved me too much to ostracize me over my misguided ways. I am sure she thought it was a phase I would grow out of one day. But that lingering love for the Cubs has stuck with me. It ebbs and wanes with whatever is going on in my life but it's always there lurking. One of my most favorite experiences ever was going to Wrigley Field in 1997. It was April and it was cold and the Cubs had started the season 0-10 and it only got worse from there but I was in heaven. I loved every freezing cold, lousy, losing minute. I wonder whatever happened to that guy that got smacked in head with a ball during batting practice. He was concentrating on his nachos and it was not pretty. I will never forget the sound.It was and is a magical place.

In the last 20 years or so baseball has done its level best to destroy itself. It started with the ridiculous salaries and peaked with rampant steroid/HGH era. The games are too long and the pitching changes ridiculous. The uniforms and the players have become clownish at times. I mean you run the gambit from the traditional short pants and stirrup socks to tailored uniforms to these ridiculous pajama pants they wear nowadays. Those have really got to go. And for God sakes can you please look the like the professionals you are supposed to be and not like you have just come in from the woods and thrown on whatever you could find and hit the field. It's insulting to the game and the fans to come out on the field looking like you just rolled out of bed. Jason Werth I am looking at you dude. For all the good instant replay has done on the bases you still cannot find umpires who have any concept of a strike zone. Sometimes it's so laughable that you have to wonder if they are betting on the spread. Please MLB get a grip and save yourself before you become an afterthought to the NBA. I can't include the NFL because they are doing a fine job killing themselves.

All that being said the Cubs finally winning the World Series has brought some joy to this year of political insanity, violence and social media hell. I cursed at the TV, I called Joe Maddon all sorts of unattractive names, I had a major temper tantrum during game 7 and I cried and danced for joy when they finally found a way to win despite their manager. Congratulations Cubbies!!! And thank you for reminding me why I love the game in its purest form. I may not always like the package the professionals are presenting but at its core is a love for the game the way it was meant to be played.