Pathology and house cleaning

Today we started the task we've been dreading for years. We started cleaning out the house where Debbie's sister B lives, where she's always lived. The house is sold and we're trying to salvage whatever we can before it's too late. We got there around 8:15 in the morning and worked until after 4pm. We also had 3 incredible friends come by and help. They were amazing. I can't thank them enough, and they're all eager to come back and help more! Trust me, we all wore hats, dust masks and gloves and probably should have worn respirators.

The woman is 45 and has never lived away from home. Ever. She never moved out, fucked up, and moved back like many of us have. She's simply always lived there. To be fair, there is a great deal of psychiatric pathology going on. It's undiagnosed and untreated, but there's no denying it, ok, so she does, but that's part of the disease. She's always had problems, probably why her parents enabled her so much - they just tried to take care of their sick daughter. Didn't do her any favors, but I can sorta understand it. My goal for her is to have her hospitalized, diagnosed and treated, and once she has the proper diagnosis, to get her into the disability system. She may be able to function better with treatment, but I honestly think there's some major cognitive issues as well. She just doesn't process information normally. If she were in the system, she could have insurance, health care, a steady income, someone to make sure she took care of herself...etc.

Anyway, back to the house...when their parents died, Debbie and B got it. We let B live there with the understanding that she would take care of the bills and taxes. We foolishly expected that she would keep it reasonably livable. We were wrong. The house was never very clean, but at least you knew it was a house and people could live there without fear of it collapsing or otherwise killing you. If a health inspector walked in, he'd instantly condemn it and throw a lock on the door.

There is no running water. There hasn't been in over 2 years, maybe 3. She's been buying or somehow getting gallon jugs of water for herself and the dog. FYI...we rented a port-a-john for the cleaning up process.

I cleaned up/threw out a dozen bags of used cat litter, along with a full-to-the-brim litter box that was in the hallway. The cats died 2 years ago.

There was mouse and rat shit throughout the entire kitchen, on nearly every surface. There were hundreds of plastic shopping bags around the house that had been made into mouse/rat living quarters.

Every inch of the ceiling and every surface in the livingroom was obscured and covered by dust-laden cobwebs. We're talking an inch or more of dust.

There was a layer of papers, unopened mail, magazines, books and godknowswhat that was about a foot deep throughout the entire livingroom. I slipped and fell twice.

To give you a rough idea: We threw out around 50 contractor bags of garbage, and that was just for the kitchen and creating a pathway in the livingroom. We're not even 1/8 of the way done. Why not a dumpster you might ask? Because the way the parking area is set up, no, no driveway, the driver would have to maneuver around a subaru wagon that hasn't moved in 4 years. The parking area/bank that it would be on might not support it, either. It probably would, but I'm sure the company doesn't want to risk it. At least for now, a few thousand more bags should do it.

Obviously both Debbie and B are having a hard time with this. B is feeling and acting like a trapped animal, lashing out and being exceptionally nasty. She is losing the only home she's ever known, feeling like she's being evicted, and she's losing the cocoon of insanity she's lived in/created for herself. She's rightfully terrified. Debbie is finally seeing the depth of B's illness, but she's still trying to make sense out of insanity and expecting her to take part in the process. I'm just hanging in there, bringing friends to help and being as supportive as I can. It's all I can do right now.

I could go on, but words don't do it justice. I also promised Debbie I wouldn't post pictures, but if you want, and I know you, I can send them. Just ask.

Too tired to keep writing.

Nauseating and appalling

Prepare to be nauseated, appalled and outraged. This little girl has been sexually mutilated for the sake of convenience, to make her parents' lives easier. The parents should be arrested for child abuse. The doctors who performed the surgeries should lose their licenses and the hospital should lose their JAHCO certification. If a mother had asked to have her disabled son's testicles removed in order to keep him small or because she didn't want to deal with an erection, would the doctors and hospital ethics board approve the surgery? I highly doubt it. But mutilating a girl is ok. Unbelievable.

The family's nauseating website:


A different viewpoint:

Can I get a urine sample please?

Debbie had her knee surgery on Thursday. It went well and the doc removed a bone chip, rather than repairing torn cartilage as originally suspected. It was done at a surgery center, rather than the hospital, and for whatever reason, she was the only case that day. We had the attention of no less than 4 nurses, joking and goofing with us the whole time.

One nurse was particularly, um, stoopit. Or a stickler for stupid rules, or whatever. She insisted Debbie take a urine pregnancy test.

Initially all she asked for was a urine sample, but something she muttered, I forget what now, made me realize she wanted the sample for a pregnancy test.

Me: Is this to test for pregnancy?
Stoopit Nurse: Well yes, we have to make sure before we give her any medication.
Me: She's not pregnant, we can guarantee that.
SN: How do you know?
Me: We're lesbians.
SN: Well lesbians can still get pregnant, ya know. There's plenty that have children.
Me: Well yes, we can, but you have to make a concerted effort. It's not just a timing mistake, a hole in the condom, or a forgotten pill.
Debbie: You have to have sex with a man.
SN: But I still need to make sure Debbie isn't pregnant
Debbie: You have to have sex with a man. Trust me, I'm not pregnant.
Me: She's 52, menopausal, and a lesbian. Pregnancy isn't an option.
SN: Oh, she's already gone through menopause? Well then, I guess we can forgo the test.
Me: It should have been let go when we told you, for obvious reasons, there's no chance of pregnancy.
SN: But I had to make sure.
Us: dumbfounded look
Colleague of SN: Debbie could have just signed a waiver. I don't know why she was so insistent.

Neither do we.

So, surgery went well and she's already up and walking without a cane for short periods of time. We went food shopping yesterday and by the middle of the trek, she was definitely beyond sore (no shit) and ended up using a motor cart in the last store. Today she's doing nothing and she goes back to work tomorrow.

And for the record, Debbie is not pregnant.

Are you two still together?

I had a colleague/sometimes friend ask me this today. I hate when a straight person asks me if Deb and I are still together, like without the word marriage, our relationship is simply dating.

It's been 18 years. We're not dating. Get it?

There was a general staff meeting today and we all had lunch afterwards (catered sandwiches, salads, etc). The usual catching up chit-chat was happening, and this colleague/sometimes friend came and sat next to me. It started fine, then it happened.

"Are you and Deb still, uh, together?"
"Are you still married?"
"Well I only meant, umm, I wasn't going to, umm, it's not like asking are you divorced or something"
"Uh, yes it is. Why do people always feel they can ask that question?"

Then she got up in a huff and walked away, going straight to our boss. He never looked my way and I have no idea what she was saying, but I don't really care. She insulted me. It may have been simply out of ignorance, it probably was - she's definitely not the sharpest tool in the shed - but she still needs to know that that question is demeaning and I'm not going to put up with it.

I had actually wanted to engage her in a discussion about societal norms, assumptions and cultural sensitivity. Apparently a tantrum is more her speed.

I'm going to meet with my boss next week and discuss it. Not to get her into trouble for insulting me, just to let him know she pissed me off and to share my side of the story.

Cheap thrills

Hey duuude...my cat's a stoner, man. She doesn't prefer the usual feline drug of choice, catnip, but rather the selective lack of oxygen to get her high.

That's right, our cat chooses to cut off her oxygen to get a high. Or at least that's what we think.

She will intentionally flop her head over the edge of a basket, bucket or other container, move her neck around until she's comfortable, and wait until she starts to gag from putting pressure on her trachea, then she'll step back and choke a bit. Once is never enough. Two or three times is her norm, sometimes more. Often we have to intervene and stop her. All the while she has a "yeah baby" look about her.

Apparently catnip is out of her price range.

Infuriating and reprinted without permission

I find this article utterly infuriating. It makes me sick. First of all, using the word "defects" is demeaning as hell. I fucking hate it. Being Deaf is NOT a defect. It's outside of the norm, but someone who is deaf is NOT defective. Someone who is disabled is NOT defective. The reason disability exists AT ALL is because society isn't 100% accessible, physically or attitudinally. People are assholes when it comes to disability. That is the only reason why we are viewed as anything less than perfect or human. In the 1800's, the majority of the population of Martha's Vinyard was deaf. Nobody saw it as defective or wrong. They simply lived and everyone on the island knew sign, whether they were hearing or not. There was no such thing as disabled because you were deaf. The disability came if you didn't know sign language.

The article itself is infuriating. The comments that follow are nothing short of disgusting, uninformed, ignorant, ableist, and rude as hell. I can't figure out how to add a comment, dammit, cuz you know I'd be flaming these pricks.

Essay
Wanting Babies Like Themselves, Some Parents Choose Genetic Defects
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By DARSHAK M. SANGHAVI, M.D.
Published: December 5, 2006
Wanting to have children who follow in one’s footsteps is an understandable desire. But a coming article in the journal Fertility and Sterility offers a fascinating glimpse into how far some parents may go to ensure that their children stay in their world — by intentionally choosing malfunctioning genes that produce disabilities like deafness or dwarfism.

The article reviews the use of preimplantation genetic diagnosis, or P.G.D., a process in which embryos are created in a test tube and their DNA is analyzed before being transferred to a woman’s uterus. In this manner, embryos destined to have, for example, cystic fibrosis or Huntington’s disease can be excluded, and only healthy embryos implanted.

Yet Susannah A. Baruch and colleagues at the Genetics and Public Policy Center at Johns Hopkins University recently surveyed 190 American P.G.D. clinics, and found that 3 percent reported having intentionally used P.G.D. “to select an embryo for the presence of a disability.”

In other words, some parents had the painful and expensive fertility procedure for the express purpose of having children with a defective gene. It turns out that some mothers and fathers don’t view certain genetic conditions as disabilities but as a way to enter into a rich, shared culture.

It’s tempting to see this practice as an alarming trend; for example, the online magazine Slate called it “the deliberate crippling of children.”

But a desire for children with genetic defects isn’t new. In 2002, for example, The Washington Post Magazine profiled Candace A. McCullough and Sharon M. Duchesneau, a lesbian and deaf couple from Maryland who both attended Gallaudet University and set out to have a deaf child by intentionally soliciting a deaf sperm donor.

“A hearing baby would be a blessing,” Ms. Duchesneau was quoted as saying. “A deaf baby would be a special blessing.”

Born five years ago on Thanksgiving Day, the couple’s son, Gauvin, was mostly deaf, and his parents chose to withhold any hearing aids.

Controlling a child’s genetic makeup, even to preserve what some would consider a disease, is the latest tactic of parents in an increasingly globalized society where identity seems besieged and in need of aggressive preservation. Traditionally, cultures were perpetuated through assortative mating, with intermarriage among the like-minded and the like-appearing.

Modern technology has been adopted for this purpose; for example, a quick Web search reveals specialized dating services for almost any religious or ethnic subgroup. Viewed in this context, the use of P.G.D. to select for deafness may be merely another ritual to ensure that one’s children carry on a cultural bloodline.

Still, most providers of P.G.D. find such requests unacceptable. Dr. Robert J. Stillman of the Shady Grove Fertility Center in Rockville, Md., has denied requests to use the process for selecting deafness and dwarfism. “In general, one of the prime dictates of parenting is to make a better world for our children,” he said in an interview. “Dwarfism and deafness are not the norm.”

Dr. Yury Verlinsky of the Reproductive Genetics Institute in Chicago, who also refuses these requests, said, “If we make a diagnostic tool, the purpose is to avoid disease.”

But both doctors said they would not oppose sending families to other doctors who might consent.

Today, parents increasingly use medical procedures to alter healthy bodies. In 2003, for example, the Food and Drug Administration granted approval to Eli Lilly to market human growth hormone for “idiopathic short stature,” or below-average height in children — to make them taller, purely for social reasons. Theoretically, almost a half million American boys qualify for treatment. Why, some may argue, should choosing short stature be different?

Mary Ellen Little, a New Jersey nurse with dwarfism, had her first daughter before a prenatal test for achondroplasia was available. For her second child, she had amniocentesis. “I prayed for a little one,” meaning a dwarf, she told me.

The wait, she recalled, was grueling, since “I figured I couldn’t be blessed twice, but I was.” Both her daughters, now 11 and 7, are “little people.”

The major barrier to Ms. Little’s simply choosing her children’s height is ease. To her, P.G.D. to select for dwarfism is too invasive; however, if having dwarf children were simply a matter of trying to conceive at a certain time of the month or taking a pill, she said, “I would do that.”

Barbara Spiegel, a homemaker in Maine who has dwarfism, had a first pregnancy that ended in miscarriage. She underwent genetic testing during her second pregnancy, and because of a laboratory mix-up involving petri dishes, was told that her child would grow to normal height. She would have loved the child, she said, but in an interview, she recalled thinking, “What is life going to be like for her, when her parents are different than she is?”

She worried that the child would be teased excessively. Ms. Spiegel’s best friend, who has average height, has a daughter with dwarfism, and the child sometimes comes to Ms. Spiegel for support; maybe an average-size child would also go to others for motherly advice. For a brief time, Ms. Spiegel grieved because she felt a dwarf baby would have been “just precious.” But after a week, the mix-up was detected and she got her wish.

Genetic testing for dwarfism has an extra ethical wrinkle. When both parents are dwarves, their embryos have a 25 percent chance of normal height, a 50 percent chance of dwarfism, and a 25 percent chance of what is called a double dominant mutation, which is usually fatal soon after birth. Because many dwarf mothers worry that their fetuses might have the fatal mutation, those who conceive without assistive technology, like Ms. Little and Ms. Spiegel, often undergo amniocentesis or chorionic villus sampling to detect double dominant mutations. Many consider abortion if the test is positive — but many would carry either a dwarf or an average-height child to term.

Preimplantation genetic diagnosis can identify embryos with double dominant mutations, so they can be discarded before implantation, while preserving embryos destined for either dwarfism or average height. In dwarves, then, P.G.D. could help avoid many doomed pregnancies if double dominants were never implanted. But then a choice would have to be made, since the genes are known. And many dwarves might select embryos for dwarves — although others might choose those for average-size children.

Dr. Stéphane Viville, who first reported P.G.D. for dwarfism in 2003 in France, used it to eliminate embryos with dwarfism among couples where one member was a dwarf and the partner had average height. Interestingly, if confronted with a situation where both parents were dwarves, Dr. Viville says that he most likely would implant only an embryo destined for normal height — and forbid not only double dominants but also dwarf embryos.

I think Dr. Viville fears that P.G.D. could be used willy-nilly to make genetic freaks. Yet the same fears pervaded the issue of in vitro fertilization decades ago. The small number of P.G.D. centers selecting for mutations doesn’t bother me greatly. After all, even natural reproduction is an error-prone process, since almost 1 percent of all pregnancies are complicated by birth defects — often by more disabling conditions than dwarfism or deafness.

More important, as a physician who helps women dealing with complex fetal diseases, I’ve learned to respect a family’s judgment. Many parents share a touching faith that having children similar to them will strengthen family and social bonds.

Of course, part of me wonders whether speaking the same language or being the same height guarantees closer families. But it’s not for me to say. In the end, our energy is better spent advocating for a society where those factors won’t matter.

Dr. Darshak M. Sanghavi is pediatric cardiologist at the University of Massachusetts Medical School and the author of “A Map of the Child: A Pediatrician’s Tour of the Body.”

Debbie's knee

Debbie finally got the results of the long-awaited MRI on her knee. She injured it about 6 weeks ago in a car accident and it took this long for worker's comp to approve it. Fuckers.

She needs surgery. This is not surprising, since the doctor was pretty sure she had torn something. He just didn't know what. The MRI showed several pieces of cartilage floating around in her knee. I'm guessing there's much more damaged that he'll find when he goes in. The instability and swelling have to be coming from more than one cause.

The surgery is scheduled for Dec 28th and I plan to take that day and the next off. By the time the long weekend is over, she should be mobile enough for me to go back to work. When I told the office scheduling goddess, she said I should run it by our boss since another interpreter in the region is also off that week. I told her I'd talk to him, but I still plan to take the time. It's not exactly a vacation and it's not my problem or fault if she can't fill requests. Didn't tell her that part. Not that stupid.

Commercialism

I hate Christmas music. I admit it. Hell, I announce it.

Growing up as a Jew, I was force-fed Christmas music from Thanksgiving until New Years in school, in stores, on radio and TV and by my christian grandmother. In school we had the "Holiday/Winter" concert every year, mostly consisting of butchered pop tunes and Christmas songs. The 1 or 2 Hannukah songs thrown in to appease us were no consolation. They also sucked. I have a long standing history of hating the annual onslaught of music.

It should come as no surprise then, that I am even more nauseated by the inescapable music that's been permeating the airwaves and eardrums since Halloween. I totally understand having the music playing in malls, retail stores and places where you'd expect to be bombarded by commercialism and the need/urge to buy things. That's how the stores earn their money and they SHOULD be hitting you over the head with it.

I do NOT, however, expect to be bombarded with it at the gas station, in restaurants, bars, doctor's offices or in the FUCKING BATHROOM! I can't even take a shit in peace! These places have NOTHING I care about buying for my friends. Maybe a gift certificate, fine, but playing christmas music isn't going to encourage me to buy one - good food and ambiance will.

Please, people, stop the onslaught. We all know it has abolutely nothing to do with religion or spirituality. It's 100% about commercialism, making the sale, getting into the black. We don't all get around the piano in the living room and have happy family memories signing christmas carols anymore. Those times are long gone. The majority of kids don't give a shit about christmas if they don't get the things they want. Oh, and then there's the week off from school, that's a bonus. The families and kids that DO care about the religion and spirituality DON'T care about the commercialism and therefore won't be as swayed by your incessant playing of carols.

We Jews and others who hate the commericalism will appreciate the effort. Thank you.

Priorities

When the fuck did christmas shopping become a contact sport? Or violent? Or competative?

It's.Shopping.People. Black Friday is the best demonstration of American greed and gluttony I have ever seen.

It's shopping for things you want, NOT need. There is no dire emergency or need to get the newest Playstation or other electronic gadget. There is no need to get the latest fad toy for your kid.

A man here in CT was SHOT and robbed of the cash he was carrying. He and 3 friends planned to buy 4 Playstation 3's...to SELL on Ebay. Not for his own kids, nephews, or to give to sick kids at the hospital, but to sell and make a profit. So what does the store do? They hold 4 games and GIVE HIM one for FREE. And now the store looks like a hero. Pretty fucked up.

The media have created the hype and the urgency to obtain THE toy, gadget, fad whatever. The stores add to the insanity by limiting the number of said fad product that will be sold and opening at earlier and earlier hours. Yes, I understand the concept of black Friday and making a profit, but at the expense of our safety? Morals?

What people NEED is
clean water.
Healthy food.
Sustainable farming practices.
A clean environment.
Civil rights.
An end to war.

Until we have all of the above and more, I don't give a shit what is on the store shelves, what the media says my nieces and nephew must have in order to be happy, or what some celebrity decides is the "it" thing.

If anyone decides they must give me something for christmas, make a donation to one of the organizations I listed. It will mean much more to someone to have clean water, food or shelter and I have everything I could possibly need.

Chocogasm

I have found the most amazing chocolate to ever grace this planet, ok, my tongue.

I have always heard about how wonderful chocolate can be, how it can inspire poetry, induce wild sexual fantasies, even changed cultures. I've heard the stories, watched them on Food Network and History Channel, but thought it was nothing more than a benign way to get ratings or otherwise line the pockets of the film makers. Cynical, but that's me.

That is, until I tasted this chocolate.

Now I admit, nay confess, that I enjoy the most unthinkable of all chocoholics nightmares...I like white chocolate. I know the arguments, that it's not even real chocolate, but I still like the stuff. I also prefer milk chocolate to dark. So sue me.

So maybe I'm not a true connoisseur of chocolate, who cares? Bridgewater Chocolate is amazing! It's expensive, but soooo worth it. Now I truly understand what someone means when they wax poetic about chocolate and all its magic. I finally get it. And hey, it's a relatively cheap orgasm.

The abyss

Debbie was in an accident on Tuesday. It was pouring rain, wet leaves, hill and a turn, all added up to no good. She had what amounted to a slow speed head-on. We spent the afternoon in the emergency room, found nothing broken but made an appointment with the orthopedist on Tuesday. She's still pretty sore (I'm thinking something is torn), but she fared better than her car - it's totaled. The damage is repairable, but since both air bags deployed, it's officially totaled. That car was her baby and she's more upset at losing it than being hurt.

Today we had the unhappy task of cleaning out the car. Holy shit. It amazes me how much crap she can put into her car. It was a little 4 door Mazda Protege. We're not talking SUV here. We filled three 25 gallon Rubbermaid storage containers, 4 carry bags ranging from laptop/work size to cloth shopping bags to large gym bag, and a mountain-style woven basket backpack thing. ALL FULL. You'd think she was planning to run away or something.

Some of the items we removed were a case of water bottles and a case of lemonade bottles, a bag of bird food, 2 fishing rods (not used the entire season, I might add), small tackle box for said dry fishing rods, at least 4 blankets, 3 pairs of sneakers (all new), enough clothing to take a week-long trip, 5 towels (beach and bath), a package of paper leaf bags, at least 10 dog toys and 2 bags of dog biscuit mix. This doesn't include an entire storage container full of car stuff - seat covers, floor mats, etc.

There's at least a large garbage bag worth of papers and other shit left in the car.

I/we still have to go back on Monday and remove the roof rack, license plates and frames and god only knows what else.

After we were done, she was talking with the guy who owned the shop and she complained about her lousy gas mileage. I just kept my mouth shut.

Jane Goodall, Rick Asselta and Tanzanian miracles

Most people have heard of Jane Goodall, the British woman who has done extensive research on chimpanzees in Tanzania. Usually when I talk about Jane, I get, "oh, you mean the gorilla lady?" No, that was Dian Fossey, who was mysteriously killed and had a movie made about her. Jane's life work has been the chimps at Gombe in Tanzania.

Several years ago, Jane realized that she could have a much deeper and far reaching impact on the world if she left the jungle and started lecturing, meeting and talking to politicians, and working towards saving the environment. She knew that to accomplish this, the younger generations needed to understand their impact on the planet, and for them to become invested in its healing and survival. Out of this came the Roots and Shoots programs.

I'm not entirely sure of the evolution of Rick Asselta getting involved with Roots & Shoots and Jane, but I'm sure that his lifelong dedication to education, the environment, tolerance and multiculturalism played a large part. Rick is a retired public school teacher here in Connecticut and has taught at Western Connecticut State University for many years as well. This is where I met him. I instantly fell in love with his humanity and took pretty much every class he taught. Rick is one of those people that you're drawn to and feel honored to know. He's also one of the most humble people I've ever met. This could be due to the fact that he's got one of the cheesiest senses of humor known to humankind. His wife, Nelly, is just as amazing and wonderful and we feel blessed and honored to call them friends.

Rick and I have many things in common, one of them being disability. Rick's dedication to human equality and his connections to Tanzania led him to meet several people and together they founded the National Sports Day for the Disabled in Tanzania in 1998. Roots & Shoots members continue to raise money to build wheelchairs for people in Africa. Here, a starter wheelchair costs upwards of $1,500. They can build one over there for $100 using parts that can be easily repaired or replaced as needed. If everyone who reads this donates $10, or if you get a group together and raise the funds, one more person can go to school, work, be a part of their community, live.

Karma

The scumbag who fucked me over and lied to me for 7 months about a potential adoption for us has apparently died. I say apparently because he had a lot of people who wanted to kick his ass for a variety of reasons. Some of these people had the means to see him dead. I don't know if he's truly dead or this is another scam to go underground. I'll find out.

Either way, I've got to admit that I have mixed feelings about this. He was actually a friend until about 5 or 6 years ago, when he got connected to some really fucked up people, got into drugs and gambling, and lost everything. He just scammed people left and right, including me, from then on. He stole a few thousand dollars from me, ostensibly in the process of fixing my car. I wrote him checks for parts and instead of putting in say, a new transmission, he bought one for $150 at the junk yard and pocketed the rest. I wanted to believe him, I really did. I'd known the guy for like 15 years and had no reason to doubt him. Ok, so you steal money from me, fuck you, but I can get over that. Don't fuck with my heart.

Around 3 years ago, we had decided to give up on trying to conceive and try adoption. Neither of us wanted to go through the state system, a requirement here even if you're doing private adoption through an agency. We know people who did and went through hell. I simply couldn't be scrutinized by a social worker, stressed out like that, only to have her/him tell me no. So we decided to try word of mouth. We told everyone we knew that we were hoping to adopt this way and just crossed our fingers. Well lo and behold, Zenny had found us a miracle. He told me of a college age girl from a wealthy family. She was pregnant, choosing adoption, and the family wanted everything kept hush-hush. They would pay for everything, their lawyer had tons of connections in the state and we wouldn't have to go through the usual system. Way too good to be true. All I had to do was wait for a call from their lawyer and the ball would be rolling. Oh, but the lawyer is on vacation. Then the family was on vacation. Then someone was overseas...yadda yadda. You get the picture. Well vulnerable and desperate me, I believed the story he wove, more and more intricate every time he told it. He kept me hanging on for months until I finally woke up to his lies and I was beyond devastated. No, no money ever changed hands for this, but I certainly wished him pain and suffering.

All Zenny wanted his entire life was money. His father died a few weeks ago and he would have gotten some. Now he won't. Oh well. Karma is a beautiful thing.

Rabbi Michael A. Robinson

This was the Rabbi that I grew up with. Rabbi Robinson. Rabbi Mike. Mike. All others pale in comparison.

Rabbi Robinson was well known for his outspoken political and social views. He never minced words and he pissed off a fair number of people in the process. The word Rabbi means teacher, and he certainly was just that. He taught us about humanity, that we are all intrinsically connected to each other and the world. That we cannot wake up in the morning, get out of our warm bed, in our safe home, eat a healthy meal and not think about every other human being on this planet who doesn't have that bed, home, safety, or food. And not just think about them, but work to correct the inequity. Rabbi Robinson lived and breathed to work for peace and social justice. Many of my political and social views and actions are a direct result of growing up learning from him. He was like a second father to me.

In stark contrast to most religious teachings of the time, when I came out to him, he was proud of me and told me that he had more respect for gay and lesbian couples because they stay together out of love. There's no legal marriage, usually no kids to consider, and their devotion to each other is real, not some socially contrived concept of a relationship. I loved this man.

I learned last week that Rabbi Robinson passed away. The world is a much emptier place.

I believe the term is...

...pussy whipped. After nearly 18 years with my partner, I'm finally admitting it.

If it weren't for her, I'd have at least one tattoo by now. I love tattoos. I always have seen them as art and making a statement about yourself.

Last year when I turned 40, I felt like I had reached a tangible milestone. At that time, I knew I was giving up my lifelong dream, and 6 year attempt, to have a child. It was with a hell of a lot of pain and heartache, but I knew it was time to let that dream go. Hard as it was, I knew it was the right thing and I was ultimately ok with it. Yeah, still hurts sometimes, probably always will, but I can accept that it was the best decision for everyone involved, including the potential child.

I had also finally come to accept where Judaism fits into my life. It fits me more culturally than religiously. The last time I went to Temple, I came to realize I didn't completely believe the words I was speaking and I have too much respect for the religion and myself to be a hypocrite. I also had to shed the intense cultural drive to have a child and continue the religion, especially knowing my sister, Cara, is raising her 3 kids Baptist (or within the Christian diaspora). She's never denied her Jewish heritage and from what I can gather, has fairly recently begun teaching the kids much more about it. I was truly afraid that the Jewish side (and Jewishness) of the family would be forever lost. That's something that is culturally taught, that without children and teaching the next generation, the religion and the culture will be lost. Not having kids felt like I'd failed religiously and culturally. Kicked my ass.

As a representation of reaching 40 and these HUGE steps in my life, I wanted to finally get a tattoo. I had also reconciled the religious taboo of getting a tattoo. I really felt it was time.

DEBBIE FREAKED OUT

We had major and numerous discussions and arguments over a few weeks and it was finally left where she wanted me to wait 6 months and rethink it. I had waited 25-odd years, but what the fuck. After 25 years, what's another 6 months? 6 months went by, no surprise, still wanted it. Had changed a couple of times what exactly I wanted, but it was all following the same theme. Big surprise, Debbie put her foot down again, threatening to leave if I did it. Nothing like emotional blackmail.

It's now a year later and I still don't have a fucking tattoo. I thought I had finally worked up the nerve to just go ahead, regardless of what she said. After months of looking online, researching places, the art and the chemistry behind tattooing, on Wednesday night, I drove all the way to Kingston to drop off a picture and make an appointment. When I got there, wow, the vibe was really great. I knew it was the right place for me, then when I found out I could get it done by a woman, it was nearly perfect. The first appointment she had was tomorrow, Sunday, and I quickly jumped on it.

Then came telling Debbie. I knew it would be difficult but much better to tell her and deal with 2 days of shit than spring it on her Sunday night. Definitly not a good move. It went as expected...

I cancelled the appointment tomorrow. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

Pussy whipped.

Yup, definitely.

Not crazy about the connotation of the term, but it's the best way to describe how I feel. I'm also not crazy about the fact I know I'm going to get dozens if not hundreds of hits from p*rn (let's not make it any worse).

My former boss from hell

I'm only recently finding out that my former boss, LG, didn't like me, pretty much hated me, at least towards the end of her position as boss. Fucking nice.

I had always had a decent but occasionally tension-filled relationship with her. Where other employees had friendships with her, ours was strictly business. I felt left out at times, especially when she would talk about parties where co-workers were invited and I was out in the cold, but we didn't have that kind of relationship and it was ok.

A couple of months ago LG accepted a position running the interpreting department at a presitigious university in Boston. Good for her. She works from home for that university and spends time with her kids. She is still employed by my agency, but only as a per diem interpreter. Zero authority and definitely NOT in a capacity to order anyone around.

Not long after she left, an emergency call came in and she was the closest CDI available. I was also available and had planned to go. I overheard the new supervisor talking to her on the phone and it was clear that she refused to team with me. What.the.fuck. Ok, we all have people that we refuse to team with for whatever reasons, but this was completely new to me. Until that day, I thought we had a decent working relationship. She refuses to tell anyone exactly why she won't work with me, just that she won't. I'd like to know so I can make any changes in my professional life, if it's appropriate, but she's not saying shit.

My only issue was all of a sudden finding out that the woman who supervised me, who wrote my evaluations and made professional judgements about me, doesn't like me. Not sure how you can supervise someone effectively and fairly if you truly don't like them, but whatever.

Last Wednesady when there was a birthday cake for another co-worker and myself, she was all huggy and sweet and wishing me a happy birthday. The fucking hypocrite.

Then last Thursday, I'm in the office covering phones while Karen is out on medical leave and the office is short-staffed. My new supervisor, Moe, asks me to page 3 CDIs to cover a legal emergency. Ok, so I page all 3 and LG responds back with a snotty "what emergency and why am I getting this from you?" She's not my supervisor anymore, she has no business asking why I'm in the office (she was the one who initially "fired" me from office work 3 years ago). I respond simply by saying Moe asked staff to cover the phones and can she go to the emergency. Maybe 30 seconds later she calls Moe. I knew she would, the fucking bitch. Then she gets on her high horse and tells me what should have been included in the initial page...asking for more information than what we offer to the hearing interpreters.

The woman is NO LONGER my supervisor. She has no business telling me what should or shouldn't be included in an initial page (for confidentiality reasons, we typically give very basic information until an interpreter accepts the assignment) and she sure as shit has no business questioning my presence in the office.

Last Friday we were both at a workshop and she pointedly ignored me, almost to the point of asking another person to "tell Roberta that...". Gotta love children. 45 going on, what, 5?

Canine gastronomic oddities

Ok, so I know our dogs are weird. They eat weird shit, meaning pretty much anything that either falls on the floor or is given to them. Any and all vegetables are fair game...fresh garlic is one of their favorites. That's not too terribly unusual, but they reached a new level of odd tonight.

I had sushi for dinner, ok, store bought but very fresh and good.

Just for the hell of it, ok I admit, for my amusement, I gave Jack a small piece of the pickled ginger. He made a yucky face but Pepe came running over and quickly snarfed it up. Maggie was about 2 seconds behind and she snarfed a larger piece. Jack was now interested. He was still making a face and his nose got all crinkly, but hell, if they're eating it, he was not about to be left out. All 3 of them ate about 4 pieces of the stuff and wanted more. Jack was just in it for the ride, his nose crinkling every time, but they definitely all wanted more.

I have fucking weird dogs.

Life comes at you fast

I think I've blogged about my dear friend Lora. If not, well, she's amazing. Lora is one of those people that, when she likes or loves you, you damn well know it. We are closer than I am to my own sister and we consider each other family.

Her sister, Bonnie, is married to Bob. Bob and my father were close friends when I was younger and Bob and Bonnie kind of "adopted" me as one of their own kids. Many an after school afternoon or summer day was spent at their house. Their kids are a few years younger, but not by much. Then life happened and the friendship between Bob and my father waned. Me being a kid I didn't understand it all, but I let the friendship with them wither and we drifted apart. Lora has kept me up to date with them as needed, and I've seen them a few times over the years, but nothing like it was.

Then a couple of months ago, I get a call from Lora that Bob has had some major surgery and as a result of his condition and a surgeon fucking up, is now a paraplegic. WHAT.THE.FUCK!?! A man who was essentially like a surrogate father to me is now disabled? A man who epitomizes denial and arrogance (in a good way), is now having to deal with life as a crip?? This is not good, on so many levels.

When Lora called, she was asking all kinds of disability questions, asking for websites and general help and advice. Nobody was ready to handle all the info that was being thrown at them, but at least with websites, they can digest it at their own pace.

So I waited a few weeks, wanted him to get settled into his new body, then I'd give him a call and maybe visit. I called him Saturday night and we had a great conversation. He spent most of it not believing I was actually on the phone, but it was really great for both of us. I think both of us also needed it.

On a whim, I decided to go visit him in rehab yesterday. Wow. Blew my mind. Blew his too, I'm sure, but holy fucking shit. I didn't know what to expect so I went in rather open-minded, but seeing him in the chair was definitely a shock. Ok, so I knew he'd be in one, duh, but it's a total paradigm shift from what I know of him. He's still cracking dirty jokes, so some things haven't changed.

When I got there, he told me that Bonnie was coming down with a few friends and they were going to have a picnic on the grounds. So double bonus...seeing Bob and Bonnie at the same time. Needless to say, Bonnie was just as shocked to see me. Their friends were very nice and we all had a picnic outside on the grounds, talking almost non-stop for 3 hours. I plan to spend as much time as possible with him/them. It's time I gave back at least some of what they gave me.

Bob and Bonnie's daughter is getting married in August and they have to fly to Seattle. Traveling as a crip will be a totally new experience for them and Bonnie has been asking me questions. I've been giving them answers, but it remains to be seen whether they can handle the trip emotionally. I'm not sure they can. Bob is still talking about walking out of rehab...total denial...and Bonnie is hoping they can find a PCA (aide) while they're out there. I'm tempted to just buy a ticket and fly with them, just to help him/them along and teach them what to do, then fly back home a day or two later. If I could get through fucking security without a ticket, I would. All they need is the nuts and bolts of what to do and how to do it in an airport...once he's on the plane, that's it for 5 hours.

As for the PCA, I'm contacting friends out there and hope that someone responds with a suggestion. I hate to see my family in pain.

We have A/C!!!

I'm not a huge a/c fan. It's necessary when it's in the mid to upper 80's and 90's with high humidity, oh so common up here, but in general, I don't like it. I think it fucks with your body's thermostat and makes the transition from house/store/car to outside that much more of a shock to your system. I'd much prefer fans or rolling down the car window, with a/c as a last resort.

That said, with temps in the 80's and 90's and 60% + humidity for the past 3 weeks, we finally have a/c! This is an older house, built in 1954 and formerly owned by an electrician. This means that the wiring is relatively old and essentially overlooked by the previous owner. Every electrician who has come in here has, at one time or another, said "OY". Some have said we needed to update and upgrade all the wiring, at a cost of around $5-7,000. We looked for another way.

We finally found an electrician, a friend of a friend, who is wonderful. He's doing what needs to be done, nothing extra or outrageous, and is saving us thousands of dollars. Eventually, yes, a lot more will need to be done, but for now, he's not jumping into it.

What he did do was create a dedicated line for an a/c outlet. Without it, we simply blow fuses. So, after 6 years here, we finally have a/c in our house!!! I have to admit, I'm loving it. We're keeping it around 75 degrees, so it's not a meat cooler, but the biggest difference is in the humidity in here. I.can.breathe. Minor detail.

Revival this year

This year's Revival was amazing. We broke last year's records, both financially and with attendance, having roughly 10-12,000 people each day. Except for a bit of a sprinkle (I could count the raindrops) on Saturday morning, the weather was fantastic. It was hotter than shit on Sunday, but at least it wasn't raining.

Getting back to our roots, many of the performers were of the classic folk style, but there were also plenty who were of the newer folk or "alternative country" (a term I HATE), blues, cajun and other styles. In a complete departure, the Hudson stage had more discussion and lecture than music. Although I know it's not true, it almost seemed as though the booking committee couldn't find enough performers and they just filled the time with speakers. I'm going to suggest that next year the stage be more about newer and local bands, with the occasional bigger name and lecture sprinkled in for good measure.

Each year has its own experiences and a particular flavor. In years past it's been more about the music, the crowd, the people I meet or my past. This year seems to have been different, like I was shedding a burden and finally able to let go. This was the first time in 6 years, longer if you count the years I wanted a kid, that my focus hasn't been about having a child. This time last year I was just starting my period, signaling the end of the 6 year baby-making/parenthood quest. I was in a daze most of the festival, also learning during the festival that a life-long friend had just been diagnosed with late stage breast cancer (she's doing ok now) and 2 days afterwards, learning of the death of another friend from ovarian cancer. It wasn't a good June. It's been a year of healing, letting go, acceptance and looking forward. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could truly dance and let go. I had this same conversation with a friend at Revival this year, well, really a 2 minute chat, but a lot was said. She's had a rough year with her daughters and finally felt able to let go and dance. Seems this transition/growing/letting go thing has been a common theme this year.

The community of Clearwater was very important this year. I guess I came home to my family.