I've been doing social media for my department, and as a result, I am a little uncomfortable writing anything on my own personal accounts that has anything to do with teaching. But there have been an abundance of challenges this semester! Not that it isn't a pretty good semester overall, but...

AHA American Hero Therapy Dog Hudson the Railroad Puppy came to visit our faith formation class on Wednesday!

We're doing a giving tree for Mohawk Hudson Humane Society.

I have been very busy with social media at work, teaching faith formation, and friend visits. Plus my usual duties. So this explains why I have not been writing here very often.

I turned 54 last Friday. It was one of those years where the number struck me. I'm not that hung up on age, have never been overly traumatized by milestones. But every so often a number doesn't seem like "mine" and it's never the ones ending in zero or five. Last time I remember feeling this way was 46.

This lovely wooden tub full of mums was delivered:

And here's what the card said:

LOL. Bob had a cold and the florist must have thought that's what he said (I don't call my father "Pop.")

It has been a good year for tomatoes, plants still going strong:

Also got two wonderful bottles of handmade Chardonnay:

In other news, faith formation starts tomorrow. Seventh grade this year!

Taken yesterday from my office window: 9/11/01 Your Are Not Forgotten

And, my 2001 story, Sirius.

I'm trying to wrap my mind around what religion says it's OK to marry four times, have kids while unmarried, break the law and judge others, but doing your job and issuing marriage licenses to Gay couples means you will burn in hell? Years ago, when I was an administrator, I was assigned to a project that involved keeping records for system-wide animal research. I oppose animal research, and went to my boss and asked to be removed from the project. He did, without question or a hassle. If he had not, I would have resigned. Simple as that. What is wrong with this mean-spirited, publicity monger drama queen? Grow up Kim Davis. If you can't work out a compromise that satisfies your twisted conscience, you should quit and stop taking taxpayer money.

Second rant, Walter Palmer, the murderer of Cecil the lion, is scum. He asserts that he did nothing wrong? And that his family has suffered? They do not know the meaning of suffering. How scary is it that amoral people like him walk among us?

Here is the first story. Here is the second.

This is what publicity has done to the swimming holes in the Catskills. Being named "the Best" is not an honor, it is a nightmare. How can these people be such disrespectful slobs? Are they so ignorant they can't understand "leave nothing but your footprints, take nothing but pictures"  ?

I wrote to Governor Cuomo expressing my concerns, and received the following response yesterday from DEC:

 Besides the things they outline, I think the State needs to conduct a public education campaign to shame the tourists who have no clue how to behave in a beautiful and sacred natural place. Step up enforcement too! Fine them!

And Travel & Leisure (& upstate.com) should have to pay for the clean up, enforcement, and public education campaign.

Closure:
Story Four of Four
by Gina Giuliano

The service was held on a magnificent August day. Gwen thought there was something surreal about the setting. The scene was strangely evocative of the last time Gwen had seen Sam, at a swing concert over a decade before. The crowd consisted of the same type of tidy, refined folks, but on this day they were gathered not to listen to music, but to honor the memory of loved ones who had donated their bodies to the medical school.

Gwen had dreaded attending, not because she didn’t want to honor Sam, who had died three months earlier from a lifetime of alcoholism and bulimia, but because she feared one of Sam’s crazy sisters would be there. She knew this was irrational, as the risk was minuscule. Even in the unlikely event that they cared enough to want to come, none had the resources to make the trip. The cliche about not having a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of was not an exaggeration in Sam’s family’s case, thought Gwen.

This was what drove Gwen to attend: Someone should be there to represent Sam. Two weeks after Sam’s obituary appeared in the newspaper, Gwen contacted the anatomical donor program to ask when the memorial service would be held. She didn’t expect to get a response, because she assumed if Sam wanted her to know or to be there, she would have listed Gwen on the donor form or had someone contact her before or after she died. But Sam didn’t. Gwen didn’t blame her. Maybe Sam felt Gwen didn’t care. Whatever Sam’s wishes, however, the program’s staff did indeed respond with an invitation. So Gwen went. Jack went too, toting chairs for them along the cemetery’s winding paths on one of the hottest and most humid days of the year.

The director of the anatomical gift program spoke about the many reasons people have for choosing to donate their remains. He said some believe in research and teaching, others want to spare their families the hassle of a funeral, and for a proportion it’s financial. Gwen added another to his list: There is no one to spare from the hassle. The director probably didn’t mention Sam’s reason because people in this category didn’t have any family or friends in attendance. Except for Sam, that is.

After the director, the hospital chaplain issued a vanilla blessing that could have been applied equally to Moses, Jesus, Mohammed or Zeus. Then two medical students spoke. One was bubbly and so plagued with "upspeak" that Gwen thought, “Maybe she expected? Someone to jump in? And answer her questions? Or is this how? She always talks? Didn’t her advisor? Try to help her?” The other monotonously droned on in a whisper, and Gwen suspected all the senior citizens present heard not a word she said. The message of the speech was something trite fancied up with New Age lingo, about healers being good people. Afterwards a man sitting next to Gwen remarked to the woman with him, "young people should be taught public speaking."

The next part reminded Jack of the Truman Show. A series of speakers read the list of donors, and medical students put a carnation for each name on the joint, single casket. They walked around over and over in a big circle surrounding the crowd, all in the same order every time. The same students must have passed Jack and Gwen ten times.

Mourners could go up and place a flower on the casket when their loved one’s name was read. Jack whispered, “do you want to go up?” but Gwen vigorously shook her head “no.” The chance of a crazy sister encounter was extremely small, but it was not zero. As predicted, though, no family was evident when Sam’s name was read.

Gwen couldn't help thinking of Sam's antics if she had been sitting there. She'd have made them laugh inappropriately, probably imitating future Dr. Upspeak, and the people nearby would shake their heads “tsk tsk tsk,” as the concert goers had shushed Sam, all those years before.

Afterwards, they lingered a while, visiting the flower-covered casket, and looking at the nearby headstones for prior years’ donors. Jack snapped a few pictures. Later, Gwen noticed that the tombstone he’d photographed had bird crap obscuring some of the letters. Sam would have found that funny. Gwen imagined her doing her favorite Cheech and Chong routine, “Looks like dog sh-t, Smells like dog sh-t, It IS dog sh-t!”

Goodbye Sam, Gwen and Jack. Reflecting on Donna’s death, it struck me that there was no longer a need to write in the third person or to change names to protect the guilty. Perhaps there never was, as the first three stories in this series: The Sweater, Competing Conversations and Tacos Anyone? were never published anywhere Donna would have seen them. But the anonymity was always more to protect Donna from other friends of long ago, most of whom were naive to her situation, than because Donna might encounter the stories and be hurt. Not outing her remains important to me, but I made the decision that I was not going to hide her afflictions if someone asked “why?,” as many did, stunned when they learned of her passing.

L-R: Martin Eckert, Marty Giuliano, Elwyn Davis

 

The Diary of Elwyn Davis is finished! (*Pretty much.) I just ordered 1974-1975, the last volume. This is the cover, from an April 28, 1960 Onteora Record story, "Census Taker On the Job!"

Some more ephemera, from the 1990s. Had many good times here, when Main Street was admittedly blighted, but nothing like 2015.

^I do have some future tasks planned, but the big lift is over

A facebook friend has been posting that Donald Trump is like Bif in the Back to the Future movies. LOL. I hadn't thought about it before but he sort of does look like him, and his casinos are the pinnacle of tacky, just as in BTTF. What I had been thinking, though (this will come as no surprise due to my disdain for reality television and much of pop culture), is that we are living the movie Idiocracy. People on both the left and the right should be careful what they wish for regarding his candidacy. I think he will probably implode eventually (and that may already be starting) but what with the obsession of many people with being plugged into garbage like Survivor 24/7...this a-hole could be elected. He can then appoint the latest winner of The Amazing Race (is that still on?), a Kardashian (or two), Caitlin Jenner and the dude from the Jackass movies to the cabinet.

He said something in response to the question about all the times his companies have gone bankrupt that really frosted me. He said it was legal. Oh how I wished to channel my follow-up remark into the panel: What is legal is not the same thing as what is moral or ethical or right. What a scumbag. How's that for plain language?

Bob noticed on news reports about the killing of Cecil the lion that the monster's photo is flashed and he is described as a Minnesota dentist, but his name is rarely highlighted. So I am going to post it here with my wish: Walter Palmer is the name of the coward who murdered Cecil. May the scandal & the shame follow him for the rest of his miserable life & may this horrific act be the only thing associated with his name even after his days are done. Oh, and EXTRADITE Walter Palmer.

Front flower bed is filled with purslane! Tried it raw in salad last night. Its pretty bland. Texture is fine. One nice thing, it does not seem to be a haven for bugs, so it is much easier to clean than watercress or burdock. Next we're going to try it cooked. 

Bob was organizing a cabinet in the utility room and came across a treasure: A sweater that my mother knitted almost 45 years ago for our dog Pud. Here I am with Pud in about 1972 at a Bennett school fashion show, modeling a dress my mother made while Pud wears the sweater. After Pud died in 1986, the sweater was passed along to Penny Poodily and when she died in 1999, I must have stuck it in the cabinet. Rosie is my first dog since then who is small enough to wear it. It's still in like new condition and it fits her perfectly!

 "It's to hot to wear this sweater"

I was at a funeral several weeks ago. I had not seen the ex-wife of the deceased in a dozen years, She came up to me, hugged me, and said "I didn't recognize you before, you got old on me." I was floored! It wasn't the appropriate time or place to respond with something snarky, and I was so taken aback I probably could not have thought up something clever anyway, so I said "well, I am older than I was, that's life." What popped into my head was "and you got fat on me," which I probably wouldn't have said no matter the setting. I wrote it off to her grief making her tactless, but the truth is she is a crude, shallow person, and I suspect she always harshly judged my lack of make-up and other eccentricities. Add in no hair dye, clumsy orthopedic shoes and the march of twelve years -- hello! She simply couldn't help opening her mouth and (once again) erasing all doubt about whether she is classy.

On Saturday, we headed to Samsonville for the weekend. My sister was hosting a barbecue, and she said it would start at 2-ish. We managed to get to S'ville shortly after 2, and I was so happy that the rain stopped, the skies cleared, and if we hurried with our "opening" procedure, we'd get to the festivities at about 2:30.

Usually Bob patrols the yard when we first arrive, checking for problems with the fence and to warn unsuspecting critters that the Beagles are coming. We leave their harnesses on, and I generally stand on the deck and watch them when they go out to prowl the initial time. (They don't routinely wear their harnesses when they are in either house or yard because of this.)

But on Saturday we were in a hurry, so Bob brought Rosie and Harry (and Teddy) in the house, took off their harnesses, and let them out into the yard. We unloaded the Mariner, and I went into the bathroom. Bob called the animals inside. Rosie and Teddy came in, but Harry was nowhere do be found. Bob noticed a hole in the fence.

We frantically ran up the driveway and searched the nearby woods, calling him. We scoured the yard and looked under the sheds (a haven for groundhogs). There was no sign of him. Eventually Bob jumped in the Mariner and drove around, while I continued walking the driveway. When Bob came back, we stood in the driveway and talked about what we were going to do next. Right then, our escapee trotted up the driveway. We were so relieved! Suddenly, we both noticed something and simultaneously said "eww!"  Harry was holding a dead squirrel!We didn't scold him of course, as we were so happy he came back. We yelled "leave it!" and determined it was road kill -- there had been one in the road not too far from the driveway that was now gone.

Bob fixed the fence and we got to my sister's house at 4-ish. It seems Harry took Independence Day a little too literally!

Two completely unrelated things annoyed me. First, a convicted murderer escapes prison, commits suicide by cop, and now his young adult son claims wrongful death? Great. It isn't bad enough that New York taxpayers had to waste money in the courts and prisons on this killer, and then had to pay one million dollars per day to chase him through the Adirondacks. Now this kid, who may as well be the product of a sperm donor, is preparing to sue? Prediction: He won't get a dime. But he will waste the resources of the court.

Second. I received a solicitation call from the Hunger Action Network. They call me annually for a donation, but the caller said this was a second call for the year "because need is so great." I clarified this to be sure I heard it correctly, then told her that I can't donate twice a year, as I have other charities whose turn it is right now, including MHHS for Paws in the Park, and Senior Services for Meals on Wheels. She was very abrupt and hung up on me after a curt goodbye! Usually callers are very warm and thankful that I have been an annual donor for years. I assume she was irritated about Paws in the Park? One of those people who would whine that people matter more than animals?

Well I have news for this rude person. I support numerous charities; my favorites are animal shelters and rescues. I also regularly donate to Food Pantries of the Capital District, Hunger Action Network, Senior Services, two churches and Unbound, as well as a few others (such as organizations for which friends' kids perform fundraising activities). So, when HAN calls me next year for my regular annual donation, I am going to tell the (I assume) volunteer that I am choosing another Capital District food-related charity from now on, and why they shouldn't interrupt my dinner ever again.

Now here's a post that really sums up why I have zero respect for lawyers. That said, I tend to agree that no one deserves to be called a hero for doing a job competently, and even taking it one step more, we should not regard acts that are commonly labeled "heroic" today as unusual; instead such acts should be viewed as normal, expected behavior. Maybe if they were, people would routinely behave better. I don't know what planet the writer of this piece inhabits, but here in the real world, where folks know what's legal is not the same thing as what's moral, I'm impressed that Mr. Cook used quick judgment to end this costly and scary nightmare, and that he is such a good shot that he took him down, but did not kill the escapee. Yes, hero is used too casually, but I do believe that this NYS trooper can be called brave and I'm glad he's out there keeping New Yorkers safe..

I have a talent for investigation, and enjoy detective work. Toward the end of college, state troopers even tried to recruit me (that story is here). So I find myself very interested in the recent prison break story. I wish I could dig up some detail that would help to catch them. Something I was thinking today: seven days in the Adirondack woods can only result in being covered with black fly bites and Lyme Disease. They will wish they were back in prison.

This will be my last post on this subject! Once again, on the news...a story that made me incredulous. Again, there seems to be an increase in the number of stupid stories so maybe this is not an outlier, but the story asserted that there is a political left / right divide in the reaction to the Caitlyn Jenner and Duggar family stories. The only reason I'd heard of the Duggars was that something about them has appeared in my Facebook feed a couple of times in the past week. I didn't read the posted links, but was vaguely aware they have a reality show. So I didn't know the recent attention has to do with incest of abuse until I heard the news story. If there is a left / right divide on this, it hasn't been demonstrated in the posts of Facebook friends. My news feed has remarkably little on either story. But the MSM is obsessed. A left / right divide on two tabloid / reality television stories? What is this world coming to? The takeaway message for me: Stop watching the news. This scene from Billy Madison seems an appropriate message to the media.