Clutter and Doom

As yet another constipated, anal-retentive spring inches it’s way towards opening skies and fertile ground, life waits in anticipation of it’s reluctant arrival. Visions of burning thermal underwear in effigy come and go as temperatures dip below freezing each night. To sleep, perchance to dream… hopes of a second visitation from dear Nora but, instead…more dreams of puzzles with no answers. Ah, but Hamlet was speaking of death…or Maine winters…I’m not sure. I don’t yearn for death unless I can be assured of a glorious reunion with my dogs…a few friends…and fewer family members. No, I yearn for spring and a good ol’ movement…ahem…of all the clutter and doom…that fills my house, my life, and this country.

I was speaking with someone about our fondness for antique malls and flea markets. I love walking around Buckdancer’s Choice, a musical instrument store in Portland. It is a virtual wonderland of gorgeous new and vintage guitars to pick up, hold, smell, strum. Other dreamers roam throughout doing the same…it’s like a brother/sisterhood of sorts. The casual shopper sees mere instruments while we see…smell…strum character, untold stories, unique personalities in rosewood and ebony. 

But this friend and I agreed to an odd and somewhat startling emerging thought. That is, we are no longer at ages of acquisition. We are nearing the age of elimination. I feel stuck someplace in between. I want that vintage dobro or that fine imported classical guitar, while also wondering who will end up with my treasured instruments when I’m no longer here to hold…smell…strum them. Of course this involves far more than guitars. This involves things…photos…even memories. At least there is hope that I can once again share these memories with those with whom they were created…if our rather negligent God decides to let us co-habitate in the same heavenly villa. 

Meanwhile, all the clutter waits. I’ve never been one to procrastinate but I do tend to overthink my solutions…if there is, in fact, a difference. Relocation plans have begun to take shape from just a huge glob of ideas to something resembling a Blue Ridge mountain with a side of Maine fried scallops. There are new piles! Goodwill here, animal shelter there, dump stuff way over there. The thinning of winter clothes is about to begin and I have way too many coffee mugs.

But as the laxative of spring’s potential nears, I understand that everything will still be darkened by the pall of stench and smoke that hangs over this country. The daily gut punch of network news…to mix metaphors…tends to make hopes and plans pointless. This so-called president is at the center of the stench and smoke…corrupt, ignorant, dishonest, amoral, and dangerous. And yet, I don’t think this bloated nightmare of a human is the source of doom and gloom. No, it is the equally corrupt politicians who look the other way. It is the basket of deplorables, made up of the greedy, blind and stupid, who cheer him. It is a cancer that can only be healed by extensive surgery and removal of an endless number of festering tumors.

I remember the feeling…early sixties. I think it was on Saturday at noon that they rehearsed an air raid siren in case of nuclear attack. I was silently terrified. Then there was the Cuban missile crisis when war was almost certain and the ridiculous promise of “duck and cover” was exposed as a lie. My family discussed fleeing to Canada, still ignorant to the fact that nuclear fallout would follow us. Well, JFK stood his ground and the rest is history. But the cold war continued as did the reality that we were all at the mercy of the power hungry players involved.

Today…I find that everything is colored by the same cloud of pessimism and helplessness. Oh, life does go on. I guess you could call me a hopeful realist. If the dishes are dirty, I clean them. I don’t mind. A clear sink is just one more way to wake to a relaxing morning of coffee, box scores, and an open mind to possibilities. Dogs gotta poop. My clients need me and I need an income. The Red Sox are flawed but winning. Like I said, life goes on.

I believe in Rachel Maddow, the New York Times, and the Washington Post. I read my sports on the Boston Globe website, but they must be owned by the NRA or some trump co-conspirator because they absolutely bury the political corruption that poisons this country. The extent of this corruption is so vast, so deep, so tolerated by the nazi (R) party and the dumbocrats that there seems to be little hope it will end. There might as well be a siren every Saturday at noon to warn us. 

Meanwhile the clutter awaits my attention. So much stuff, so little time. No, not time…but motivation. The big purge is one step towards the next phase of my life. Will there be a next phase? Can’t God get up from his sofa and send a few dozen bolts of lightening towards large white buildings in Washington? Everyone knows. Some don’t care despite their Christian beliefs being pillaged on a daily basis. Others don’t care because their bank accounts are growing. Many care but simply don’t have the power or money to sway the greedy, stupid minority. 

My American flag that once hung outside in respect for our service men and women when our naval air station was open…and after 9/11 when we were clearly under attack from foreign influence…is now inside. I will be giving it away soon. I have seen much of this country and I love it’s beauty, diversity, small towns, great food, original humble values. But I no longer love this country. To say I did would just be more, pointless political correctness. 

If I am to address this clutter, I will do so with my own, selfish purposes. My dogs and I need to be warm in the winter. We need to be near my roots. I will plan my life with no intention of achieving any greater good. I am in a profession where I can make a difference…one person at a time. That will have to suffice. I will hate…from the bottom of my heart and soul…the corrupt, entitled, lying humanoids who run this country…and it won’t matter. My clutter matters…and that will just have to be enough.

One Year

It was late on a Tuesday evening last January. Earlier that day, blood tests had revealed low blood counts. This suggested she was bleeding again. I had scheduled a transfusion in Portland for that next day. But she was weak. All the fancy, even forbidden foods that had tempted her in recent days were of no interest to her. She sat at my feet where as she had so often. I sat on my sofa, watching her try to sleep and then rise to look up at me. I knew. I knew the transfusion wouldn’t help. I knew she was failing. I felt helpless and frightened. I knew this was a cruel, winter night and that, outside, it was sleeting and slippery. Just wait for the morning. Although I knew what this meant, I’d wait until morning. 

Twelve years and twenty one days. From the first time I saw her, quarantined in a small crate at the humane society, I loved her immediately. They said this little thing from Arkansas had kennel cough and couldn’t be with the raucous, silly puppies playing together nearby. She had runny eyes and bubbles on her nose. She wore a black and orange sweater to keep her warm and her ears drooped sadly. I took her from her small crate and held her tiny body. And she was mine. I had just stopped by the shelter to drop off a few supplies and yet I knew she was mine. 

I carried her inside my winter coat that cold December. Her first Christmas. Her first toys. But something was wrong. Her front leg was bowed. She fell down whenever she’d try to run. She coughed and her nose was running. She was weak. A spinal tap and numerous other tests were all negative…except for distemper. The prognosis was poor and euthanasia was advised. 

Nope. 

When she tried to sleep, she cried. When she cried, I cried. I thought she might be in pain. Maybe it was the prednisone and antibiotics, to fight the ravaging effects of distemper. I had found and reached out to the man who adopted her sister and and learned that he had decided to put the Nora's poor sick sister to rest. Finally, her tremor became visible. I realized that she was not in pain but the constant movement in her shoulder, although not visible at first, wouldn’t let her sleep. Thanks to valerian root drops, a natural sedative, she finally slept. But the tremor lasted…five years…her shoulder and leg jerking, day and night. Her body bobbing when she sat. 

I would play tug of war with her to strengthen her neck, shoulders, and legs. I asked her to walk and run after toys. And she did. Nora always did what I wanted. Her legs grew. Her ears, folded over during teething, finally sprung up to huge, beautiful, brown and black ears. 

One other possible result of distemper was Nora's dreaming. She would full out run...bark...and kick. Her head would fly up and then she would run again. On my bed, she would kick me...with force. I miss that kick. She had nightmares too. She would cry or whine and, when I would wake her, her ears would go back as she looked around, hoping it was just a bad dream.

Nora grew and became a force to behold. Although her distemper-softened teeth never hurst a living soul, puppies and full grown dogs at the Bowdoin College athletic fields both feared and revered her. We once encountered three dogs walking towards us on the trail. All three rolled over on their sides as she approached. She would sniff them and move on, but they would bounce up and celebrate wildly that she had spared them or simply because they were privileged to be visited. This was the Nora at the dog park. Teaching puppies, playing with friends, chasing a ball (don’t go near Nora’s ball), and owning the field. When I would first introduce her to a new acquaintance, some would say, “So THIS is Nora!” Her reputation preceded her.

At home, Nora was pure sweetness. Only those who knew her at home and over time grew to understand and appreciate her softness and loving ways. Many larger dogs entered her life…Dan, my ridgeback…Dozer, the imposing Amstaff…Zeke, her shepherd mix friend…Maxie, my adopted lab mix…and finally Rusty, her beloved brother Rusty…and she was both fearless, tough, and adoring to them all. They all knew that they belonged to her. I belonged to her.

At my office, beginning the day after leaving the shelter, she was the Office Manager. She happily greeted my clients at the door and would then find her blanket on the sofa and sleep while we worked. When someone would bring a baby or toddler, she would lie on her side next to them, ears back, gently pawing at them. When someone would cry, she would go to them. She was a natural therapy dog.

Dog people…not dog owners but dog people…know how many small, wonderful routines and games…nicknames, songs, facial expressions and unexpected little events happen that only our dogs and we know and remember. Whenever I would pull into the driveway, Nora would bark. Once. Only once. When we arrived home from her dental surgery in Bridgeton, half crazy and still drugged from her anesthesia, she gave me that one bark as we pulled in. “There’s my girl!” I said.

She had several barks. There was the excited bark at someone at the door or a dog on the street as we drove by. There was her “lecture bark”…after being away for any length of time, I would arrive home first to quiet commotion followed by her sitting and sternly barking AT me…ears forward, serious expression. And there was my favorite…her “bow wo wo” head back bark.

Nora loved new toys. She loved wrapped packages for birthdays and Christmas. We would walk down pet store aisles as the checked out all the furry, squeaky toys hanging. My deal with her was that, if she pulled the same one from the display twice, I would buy it for her. Sure, I would buy one for Rusty as well, but he paid little attention. He knew that ALL toys were Nora’s toys…at least at first.    

Of course, I could go on and on. Twelve years is comprised of so many days and nights, holidays, road trips, playing, walking trails and beaches. Private moments. 

Those dog people understand. This is not losing a possession, a pet even. This is losing a loved one....a child. I have loved all my dogs equally which is more than anything, anyone in my life. But for some reason, Nora and I had something special. I’ve often thought that, being so small and sick, carrying her with me everywhere as a baby, she imprinted on me. Perhaps she was my boy Shamus, who died way too soon and around the same time Nora was born, returning to take care of me and sooth my grief. She was always concerned with where I was, what I was doing, when I would return. She never slept in the car. She waited and watched. And I was always aware of where Nora was.

And she's gone. One year tonight. That night one year ago...she was lying still at my feet. Suddenly, her head flew up and dropped to the floor. There were other details too personal to describe here and I know she'd rather I didn't. But I knew she was gone. As I went to her, Rusty left to another room. I closed her eyes. I smelled her. Brownies...or cookies. Her head always smelled like brownies or cookies.

I called the emergency hospital in Portland and prepared to take her down. I wanted to remember the cookies, not how I knew she would be if I waited too long. I covered her with one of her blankets and lay her in the back of my Forester. Rusty rode in the front passenger seat...her seat and rarely his. A slow drive, I played "My Baby's Gone" on a cd. Several times. Turning at the light to the hospital entrance, my stomach in knots, driving as slow as I could.

The young techs brought out a gurney for her and we took her in. There was no one else there at 2:30 a.m.. They both saw her, gave an "awww"...and a "poor baby." They gave me a few minutes alone with her and I talked to her. I kissed her. I smelled those cookies. I felt her soft big ears and her beautiful bushy, curled tail. I kissed her incision. And, as I had told her every night for years, "I will love you forever and ever and ever." We left. Rusty next to me. And, at home, just empty. Totally empty. My hero Rusty, with tail between his legs, next to me.

My Surfer Girl…Noreena…Eleanora…No-No…Sweetheart…Baby Girl…Peewee...Bay-Bay…Darlin'...Sunshine…my Nora…

The Power to Destroy

This is a man who knows what he wants and usually gets it. When he walks into a room, everyone else withdraws from his shadow. He is wealthy and he believes this makes him important. He owns real estate, hangs out at hotels and casinos where everyone rushes to wait on him. He loses money and then makes more money. He has a foreign-born wife who does whatever he says. He likes it this way. He owns weapons and craves the chance to use them. He believes that everyone else walks this earth below him…unworthy unless or until he grants them the privilege of being in his company. No one deserves to breathe unless he decides they can. He is a legend in his own mind and his mind is the only one that matters. 

Am I describing the despicable Stephen Paddock? Of course I am.

Am I describing our current president? Of course I am.

Cut from the same cloth. Toxic, disgusting, nauseating, destructive, flammable cloth.

One of my clients this week was in tears. She was asking how does this happen. How can someone just shoot all those innocent people without guilt or remorse. How could he collect all those guns just to destroy men and women he’s never met…without a second thought. She continued to cry.

I told her about the delusional thinking that comes with narcissistic power and control. How, just as a schizophrenic person can believe that aliens live in his toaster, a narcissist believes only in himself and that any or all of his actions are justifiable. What he believes to be true is always the absolute truth, regardless of the harm it might bring to others. Abusive men believe they have the right to hit women and assign blames with the victims. Men in power believe that whatever decisions bring them money and more power to be the best decisions for everyone, even if they were to suffer. A rational person will know these to be delusions. The delusional narcissist will laugh at them…or seek to ruin them.

Imagine all those guns and assault rifles. Imagine how Paddock felt when he purchased them and the many boxes of ammunition he would need. Imagine the planning necessary to get them all into that hotel room (his favorite “comped” hotel room). Maybe he was drooling with excitement. Maybe he had an erection. Imagine the sheer joy he felt with the thought that he was to be feared and would become, however unfortunately briefly, the center of worldwide attention. 

That was the delusional, sociopathic, narcissistic and DEAD Stephen Paddock.

This president still lives but he is no different than Paddock. He has the real estate, the casinos, the money, the weapons, the unhappy faithful woman, the power. He respects no one but himself. He has already destroyed far more lives than Paddock ever could have. He lives in greater infamy (and ridicule) throughout the world. He is hated. He doesn’t care. He is Paddock with nuclear weapons and a bigger house. 

He unfortunately won’t be committing suicide inside the oval office, but he needs to go. We have thoughts and prayers for those who have been killed by narcissists and for their loved ones. Let us have thoughts and prayer that those with the means to do so will find some way to rid us of this tyrant. For he is not better…despite his massive delusional but tiny brain…than the slug who mercifully died on the 32nd floor of a Las Vegas hotel.

The 28th Amendment...Legalize Everything...Why The Hell Not...

It is time to restore freedom in this country. Total freedom. We must liberate Americans from the many unnecessary laws that restrict our ability to act on any impulse or need to compensate for a less than impressive personal endowment. No more nitpicking over red tape, fine print, or hairs across ACLU asses. Federal and state governments would also be freed to do what they do best…take our money, give it to rich people, pad their own bank accounts, and start wars to distract us from their total incompetence. We also wouldn’t need all the policemen, firemen, hospitals, or lawyers who get in our way. They're only valued and helpful when it's YOUR problem anyway.

We can start by legalizing arson. Imagine the fun. I can see men and children wearing really cute flame-themed hats, pajamas, and underwear. Walmart can start selling high end gasoline containers and incendiary devices. After all…fires don't kill people, people kill people.

Want to buy a bazooka? Flame thrower? Missile launcher? No problem. On sale at Best Buy. Don't like your neighbor's holiday decorations? Just take 'em out. Bazookas don't kill people, people kill people.

Next, how about no more drivers’ licenses. Toddlers, adolescents, blind people, drunks can all drive cars….some armed with artillery and weaponry…no more safety inspections of course…wherever, however they want. And bigger pickup trucks too. It's that endowment thing. After all…cars and trucks don’t kill people, people kill people.

Bombs…I can see them sitting at the grocery store right near the light bulbs and batteries. I could remove that ugly, unwanted shed out back. I could celebrate holidays with really big boom sounds. Then we can arm those drones that those un-evolved adults want to play with. Bombs don’t kill people, people kill people. 

And licenses…who needs licenses. No more medical licenses required to perform surgeries, physical exams, writing prescriptions. When little Betty gets a doctor’s kit for Christmas, it’s fully equipped with sharp instruments and invasive tools for examining her little brother. After all…scalpels don’t kill people, people kill people. 

Therapists? Nine year-old Taylor is a good listener. Fred, who lives in a van down by the river, wants to help people. Why require a license for what they were born to do, damn it! The VA will love it because it won't cost them any money. They're listening, America....

Alas…all these changes in laws, all these additional freedoms will probably never be realized. The lobbyists for bombs, molotov cocktails, scalpels, high end gasoline containers, and Mattel genuine doctor kits probably don’t have the money to buy congressmen. They don’t have the money to influence elections. They don’t have the lawyers to challenge all those unnecessary laws. There must be some archaic, grossly misunderstood constitutional amendment that prevents true freedom…and the likelihood of a new amendment would fail as congress goes about its work of robbing us of healthcare, starting wars, indulging an idiot president and counting their money received from the truly deserving, wealthier executives and lobbyists. 

At least I know I can assemble a huge arsenal of weapons. Whew. Too bad there are all those laws…subject to lawyers negotiating plea bargains…preventing us from truly enjoying those arsenals. Bring on those gun silencers. Bond. James Bond.

Perhaps it’s “not the right time”…or “premature”…to discuss such changes. We first have to address this country’s problem with kneeling athletes deporting non-white children, approving the sale of police armor-piercing bullets and avoiding the removal of a lying, narcissistic sexual predator from the white house. 

Ch...Ch...Ch...Ch...Changes...

Turn and face the strange….

Yeah, well…okay. What the hell else am I supposed to do? 

We either make changes or changes happen to us. Change is good. No one likes change. Blah. Blah. 

Hell, I’ve made plenty of changes. Three geographical relocations. And that was without being wanted by the police.  Except my father. He was police and probably wanted me to stay home. Didn’t say so, but I’m sure he did. 

I gave up meat...except for those yucky marrow bones I gingerly hand my dogs. I moved on from oak. But what do you do with all that oak furniture? I went from purebred Golden Retrievers (albeit rescue ones) to mutts…best breed alive. Smart phones, boxer briefs, PC to Mac....practical vehicles...and I survived!

These were all changes by choice. I like those. No more cheap wines? No problem. Back to cheap ones? No problem. Hey, baby….I live on the edge!

Those that happen TO me, I’m not so wild about. So, my miserable office slum lord decides he is going to LIVE in my office building. Live! He decides to make an apartment for himself? Hmmm. And, to do so, he needs to conSUME my office suite. At first, it was just that I’d have to deal with him taking a shower behind my waiting room wall. Eeeuuuu. Then, well…why not just conSUME it all!

So, I moved. All those books. All those dog toys and beds. All that oak! I moved. I hate it. Despite the erratic heat, despite the leaking roof, despite the blinking lights in the bathroom, I love…loveD my office. I loved my stationery now made obsolete. I loved the sky and busy Maine Street outside my windows. I hate him. I hate change.

Yeah, yeah…I know. I don’t have a deadly disease. I have my dogs. I have the Patriots. I have risotto. I am blessed, I know that. I don’t have foot rubs right now, but there’s time. But you say I’m whining? Well, what the f@*# do you know, you stupid mother f…..oh, sorry. Wait….breathe. 

Ooooohhhhmmmmm. Wwwwaaattt.

I feel better now. 

I AM blessed. I wake up each morning with my heartfelt thanks to coffee beans. I have a good brain, a practice, a “cozy” new office with fewer stairs for Nora to climb, I have a back brace to wear when my back has those damn, mother fu…oops, sorry again. Ooooooohhhhmmm. Peeeaaaccce. I heart my back spasms. I heart my house repair and vet bills. I am at ONE with winter snow and bitter cold wind. 

I have overcome change anxiety. When I want to make a major change, I tend to back up, survey the situation, and keep moving forward. Oh, there were relationships when I shouldn’t have changed and those with which I should have. I do make mistakes. But I believe that making the wrong decision is sometimes better than not making one. 

.

But let’s face it….whether or not it is stated as such, whether or not it is conscious, whether or not it is labeled as the most significant challenge each person will face, change anxiety IS what psychotherapy is really all about. 

Something about life stinks, something doesn’t feel right or good anymore. Something keeps recurring, seemingly due to just bad luck. Something never healed. Some change happened TO someone and that someone doesn’t like it, doesn’t know what the hell to do. Our clients, more often than not, know what they need to do, what they need to change, but…they…just…can’t. The fear and dread of mistakes…or yet another mistake…just creates stagnation, helplessness, and more fear. 

But psychotherapy is much like physical therapy…it’s going to involve movements of old, sore muscles and a certain amount of pain. And those movements beget more movement. And those movements are in a direction of new ways, new habits, new expectations. An old vaudeville joke goes something like, “This guy tells his doctor it hurts when I do that. The doctor says, (yep, you’re right) ‘Don’t do that.’” Okay, doc, I'll try not to....

My daily routines are much different now in subtle but significant ways. My budget now revolves around those house and vet bills. My office IS cozy…it’s closer…and I could walk to work if my family of three could….walk. My family of three now has five bad legs and a sore back. There’s lots of limping, crouching, lifting, and carrying these days. These things take time and patience formerly devoted to other things…like rearranging my refrigerator magnets, watching my Rocky and Bullwinkle dvd’s, skipping through the woods on a sub-zero day. 

Isn’t this all grand? I LOVE change….all this stupid, damn, mother fu…

Oh…sorry….oooooooooohhhhhhmmmmm…….

Maybe It IS Obama's Fault!

I’m so confused. I was around for the race riots in D.C. many years ago when my black Saturday afternoon football friends would alert us white boys to stay inside on a given night. We would knock on doors and gather the next day for another game. I seem to recall women emerging from centuries of subservience to gain their pride, identity, and, most importantly, voice. I was a part of the voice to end an unnecessary war and to make peace and equality a national priority. I was a teenager then. This is now. 

As global warming gradually erases the glaciers and icy habitat for beloved furry creatures, the extremes of polarity have spread across this country like a viral video of kittens playing with a moose. Nobody will talk, nobody will listen. Short-armed politicians have as much trouble reaching across the aisle as short-armed Mike Napoli has reaching for a fastball on the outside corner. Whiff. And, just when I thought there had been joining, talking, and blending in this country, here we are…again…drifting further and further apart. Blacks are angry at cops and cops are acting like uniformed KKK Neanderthals. Women still don’t earn an equal wage. Crazy people are shooting at everyone and yet the freedom to carry guns…anywhere…concealed…is not only legal, but encouraged. OK Corral? Regal Cinemas? Can you tell the difference?

Hey…I have my own history. My father was absolutely a racist…and a cop. I grew older learning to, not embrace, but understand his view of the world while developing my own, much different view. His grandfather and great-grandfather both fought in the Civil War…for the North yet…the latter of whom died at Gettysburg. I had a great x-something grandfather who fought in the Revolutionary War and still had the time to leave his slaves to his wife and children. It is still so hard to believe that there was EVER such thing as slavery, that women EVER could not vote, or  that I was born not that long after the Germans had carried out their reign of terror. JAPAN attacked US? WTF? Even so, I thought that we - the “leaders of the free world” - were beyond all that. I am not my ancestors, I am not even my father. I like to think I am capable of free thought, wise perspective, continued evolution.

Just as I think I/we had evolved, look at this mess we’re in. Should anyone decide to briefly look up from his cell phone, he’ll find us fighting in unnecessary wars, inequality of freedom and rights, growing racial tension, and a political “aisle” as broad as Donald Trump’s ego. Grown men and a few women allowed into a male club are more concerned with playing with their own…navels….and being elected for the sole purpose of working towards re-election. Is it too much to ask everyone to join us in our evolution? What gives?

Well, I think there are a number of variables working here. But maybe…just maybe…it is Obama’s fault after all! No, they couldn’t prove he wasn’t an American citizen. No, he’s not a Muslim terrorist. I know there are some who still aren’t sure, but they’re probably too busy questioning the myth of dinosaurs and the Holocaust. But…what they seem to be correct about and there is no proof otherwise is that…get read for this…Obama IS, in fact, a black man. Yep…pretty sure.

Imagine that! First, he had the nerve to not only run for president, but be elected. Twice! He brought with him a wife who is classier, more articulate, more likable than any previous first lady of my lifetime. He has two lovely daughters who share their parents’ quiet, graceful style and who have stayed away from this country’s starvation for sensational celebrity bullshit. But wait…there’s more. He also took an economy devastated by his rich, stupid predecessor and revived the robust, growth economy left by his stupid predecessor’s…predecessor. He has made great strides to remove us from stupid’s (x2) wars and is actually preferring diplomacy to boots on the ground. He’s funny. He sings. He dances. He’s unfazed by the blind arrogance of the short arms around him. And yet, unfortunately, he is still black and the better he is, the more hateful they become. We can’t have everything I guess.

When Obama was first elected, republicans (I still refuse to capitalize this word) swore…out loud…really they did…to defeat any initiative our black president might make. They promise to “get the economy moving again” while unemployment is way down, the deficit is way down, and even the rich still get richer. They have no original ideas, but they’re sure as hell not going to let Obama be recognized for the most civilized eight years in the last century. 

The ugliest and most unfortunate outgrowth of this political racism is that it has stirred up so much other hate and prejudice elsewhere. With guns more deadly and available than ever, those who might have otherwise sat in their recliners surrounded by empty beer cans, are taking their seething rage to the streets. Some of them wear uniforms. Some of them have records. Some of them are f#*king nuts. Violence against women seems on the rise too. Michelle’s fault maybe? An order of protection has become nothing other than an engraved invitation for escalation and murder. What a mess. Just as transgender Olympic heroes and “real” wives of some backwards county become the darlings of Twitter twits, our country is floating backwards like a nation of blindfolded lemmings. 

It’s just my theory that all of this…okay, much of it…can be traced back to Obama. At least he’s a male. But he doesn’t have that presidential, coiffed-hair, slick, WHITE look of a real president. He doesn’t have the grin of Alfred E. Newman. He doesn’t have road kill on his head. He’s not named Bush. 

And so, the nation becomes divided more than other between the evolved and the not-evolved. Success and decency become the roots of either admiration or resentment. And, along with this divide, comes a continental drift carrying advocates for other important issues further apart.

Wouldn’t it be nice if the NRA and their republican puppets agree that we can still have the right to bear arms (I would prefer arming bears) and still filter out those who have not shown the capacity for good judgement?

Wouldn’t it be nice for us to tax the wealthy and still leave them a few dollars to use for…making more dollars? Perhaps we could compete with the rest of the world if we had the money for infrastructure, cyber sophistication, space weaponry, and still help those Americans who are less fortunate?

Wouldn’t it be nice for pro-life and pr0-choice folks to agree that abortion is  simply an awful solution while working together to prevent unwanted pregnancy?

Wouldn’t it be nice for parents and school administrations to stop blaming teachers and begin to make “screen time” contingent upon hard work, good grades, and respect?

Wouldn’t it be nice if women made the same pay (can’t believe I’m still saying this) as men and that employers could pay a decent wage?

Wouldn’t it be nice. Communication. We therapists talk about it all the time. Relationships just deteriorate when there isn’t enough constructive communication. Responsibility. Progress breaks down when blaming overrides any sincere attempt to accept personal responsibility. Compromise. The more polarized people…factions…become, the less compromise, responsibility, and communication there will be.

And this is where we are today. Our country (much of it anyway) and the world celebrated gleefully when we elected our first black president. For seven years, he has done nothing but be everything we hoped he would be. He has the respect of every rational, hopeful, evolved American for not just what he has done, but for who he is. Damn him. 

  

Waking Cat Naps...

As I struggled to awaken one morning…lying there with fuzzy thoughts and cozier feet…I began to wonder why oh why…what oh what…was I holding onto…or what oh what was I not wanting to face in beginning my day. My dreams that previous night had been nothing special…or so it seemed. Brief situations, vague faces, momentary challenges maybe. Nonsense really…but nonsense that kept my attention. Nonsense that I liked. After I pushed back the covers and arose from my warm bed, I would begin yet another day of routines. My dogs know the routines as well as I do. We go about our morning and day without really having to think…until my first client arrives, the dogs settle into nap time, and my brain goes into a higher gear.

And that morning I realized that what I hate to leave…what I enjoy so much about sleep and about dreams…is that they’re always different. In dreams there is no need for rational thought or to make sense of anything. I love sleep and dreams, I think, more than I love waking life. I might find myself in another city or town with no reason to be there. I might encounter someone from my past…but in the present…and as real as day. It really doesn’t matter…that’s the point…it really doesn’t matter. Waking life matters…sometimes too much. 

I must say that I do take great pleasure with trivialities…in being irrational sometimes. I take great joy in the humor of absurdities and mutations of everyday life. My memories are vivid…some wonderful, some sad…just as they should be. And I would often rather be there than here. And, so, I allow myself…my mind…to pretend I’m still asleep…to wander frequently among the past, present, rational, irrational, meaningful, and trivial.

Which reminds me…I need to catch up on some very important, trivial decisions and observations….

Top 10 favorite dogs (my favorites....other than my own and in no particular order):

1. Spenser

2. Bailey

3. Rodney

4. Tillie

5. Woody

6. Boo

7. Chipper

8. Arla

9. Stewie

10.Wilbur

Still wondering why dogs’ feet smell like popcorn or cheese curls. Given the life they lead, one might imagine the worst. But, from dog to dog, it is true. Their feet smell like popcorn or cheese curls.

Top ten people needing to retire:

1. Willard Scott

2. Robert Plant

3. Paul Shaffer

4. Morley Safer

5. Willie Nelson

6. The Geico gecko

7. Martha Stewart

8. Joan Rivers

9. All republicans

10. Me

It is rare that we can make it through an entire day without someone referring to something as “iconic.” Really? Each day I wait…tick tick tick…until I hear it…and think, “well, there it is.” My fear is that this word will become as overused and abused as the word “awesome.” Lets hope that it begins to fade from use as has the over-used cliche’, “perfect storm.” But I’ve been listening…and can’t recall the last day that I did not hear the word “iconic” on the morning news at least once…

Top seven favorite spam subject lines:

1. “You wi l l grow in pants”

2. “TOXIC BELLY BUGS infest 9 out of 10 people. Are you one of them?”

3. “You would change best girls daily after knowing this knowledge.”

4. “Limited time access to local sluts.” (Isn’t that kind of a contradiction?)

5.“Dating folly for thrifty businessmen who choose female viciousness.”

6. “Thrilling adventure EVE style packing suitcases.”

7. “I was only 8 when my mom was sent to prison.”

Maybe someone can explain it to me, but I consider “color-safe bleach” to be an oxymoron….

Top ten quick and easy intelligence tests:

1. The cinnamon challenge

2. Using turn signal after driver has begun turning.

3. Molly (the drug)

4. Texting while driving

5. Jumping into the ocean on new year’s day in 3 degree air and 42 degree water temps.

6. A pile of cigarette butts on the ground right next to a cigarette disposal thingy.

7. Emptying a car’s ashtray in a parking lot.

8. Eating a turducken.

9. Let’s Make A Deal

10. Ice fishing

A few observations from one very cold, snowy day this winter…puttering…making soup….with the TV on:

1. Morning commercials: cars, lawyers, insurance, discount furniture, more cars….

2. Let’s Make A Deal is to The Price Is Right as The Price Is Right is to Jeopardy…   

3. Shows all day long: LOUD

4. Cedric the Entertainer is to Meredith Vieira as Pee Wee Herman is to Laurence Olivier…

5. Afternoon commercials: Life alert devices, reverse mortgages, lawyers, and “final expenses” insurance….you get the idea…

6. Dr. Oz is one of the most egotistical men I’ve ever seen on television…

7. Judge Judy hates bad English as much as I do…

8. Kids can now watch adult-oriented shows….Friends, SVU, etc….all day long.

9. Did you know that people scream hysterically when they win an air hockey table?

Just wondering what invention or product promotes the greatest degree of laziness in us humans. The remote control? Nah….c’mon, you don’t really know how to operate your 87 inch television without it now, do you? Besides…I do know where the controls are and I can use them…with the help of a flashlight and magnifying glass. No…it is, in fact, the deodorant stick. I curse my deodorant stick every time it falls over on my bathroom counter. It falls over, you see, because it is wide and flat. It is made this way so that one doesn’t have to waste time and energy having to swipe the underarm as many times as it would take were it to be made a different shape. “Oh my…I am so tired from coating my arm pits and avoid smelling bad.” Part of my exercise program for the new year will be to find a deodorant…a round one…one that will actually stand up…both to my human condition and to my counter top…I can smell good and get in shape at the same time!

Top seven new words...as heard from clients:

1. Half-hazardly

2. Semi-disgruntledness

3. I was driving slow down the highway…driving to a crawlspace. 

4. Marinated in Sasquatchian and Teriyaki sauce (as in Szechuan)

5. Bullyism

6. Really put the day in a damper (put a damper on the day?)

7. Twerk

Why does the little mucous guy in Mucinex commercials have to look so much like guacamole? It’s unsettling to say the least….

Top ten male rock singers ever (does not include R&B...no particular order)

1. Elvis

2. Mick

3. Daryl Hall

4. Bob Seger

5. Eric Clapton

6. John Fogerty

7. Gregg Allman

8. Lowell George

9. John Lennon

10.Van Morrison

Saddest personal statement on an internet dating profile page…verbatim:

“im love cook and do a little sew I just want to be happy again please no cheater this my last hope last try to fine some one two share my life with what I have got left so if out there give me chace.”

Top ten minor annoyances that are actually awful, miserable, oh my God, this is terrible tragedies!

1. Forgetting to set the timer on coffee grinder/maker and having to wait in the morning for it to drip!

2. Getting gloves wet in the winter!

3. Shower pressure lessening and water temp changing when the washing machine or dish washer start up!

4. Cutting an avocado to discover it’s over-ripe.

5. Realizing I haven’t yet taken out the trash and recycle at bedtime on a very cold, snowy evening.

6. When untying a shoe, pulling one end and creating a tiny, tight knot.

7. Getting to the store to return a dvd only to discover the case is empty.

8. Rushing to get dressed for work and find that one sock has a hole.

9. Unable to find my keys…in my own house.

10.Recording a game on TV only to find the recording ends before the game does.

I’ve never, ever, ever coveted or wanted to own a pick-up truck…

Top ten favorite songs ever (no particular order):

1. Silent Night (Franz Xaver Gruber)

2. Talk To Me Of Mendicino (Kate McGarrigle)

3. For A Dancer (Jackson Browne)

4. Kathy’s Song (Paul Simon)

5. There Is A Reason (Ron Block)

6. Dimming Of The Day (Richard Thompson)

7. And So It Goes (Billy Joel)

8. Say A Little Prayer (Greg Brown)

9. Something (George Harrison)

10.Softly And Tenderly (Will L. Thompson)

(thought of having an honorable mention, but there would be way too many…like about two dozen Jackson Browne songs… “Sleep’s Dark and Silent Gate”…. “These Days”… “The Late Show”….and Amos Lee Songs… “Violin”…. “El Camino”)

Top ten favorite classical works/cd’s: Sort of in order…

1. Chopin Piano Concerto #1

2. Dvorak Serenades for Wind and String Instruments

3. Respighi Ancient Airs and Dances

4. Dvorak in Prague; the BSO

5. Chopin Waltzes: Arthur Rubenstein

6. Dvorak: Symphony #9

7. Bruch: Scottish Fantasies: Itzhak Perlman

8. John Field: Nocturnes

9. Adagios Baroques

10.Opera’s Greatest Arias

Top ten favorite actors: (in no particular order)

1. Samuel L. Jackson

2. Andre Braugher

3. Phillip Seymour Hoffman

4. Judy Dench

5. Kevin Spacey

6. Geraldine Page

7. Jude Law

8. Katharine Hepburn

9. Julianne Moore

10.Meryl Streep

Top ten people I’d like to….have dinner with:

1. Uma Thurman

2. Jenna Elfman

3. Ashley Judd

4. Halle Berry

5. Susan Sarandon

6. Nicole Kidman

7. Diane Lane

8. Lupita Nyongo

9. Charlize Theron

10.Anne Hathaway

Rest in peace, Jeff Pert....I had looked forward to debating a few of these lists with you...