More Political Stuff

I just read an interesting article that mentioned something I had been thinking about. It was on the use of ties by men. A study was done recently in Germany. Healthy young men underwent three MRI scans, wearing ties. First with a loosely tied Windsor knot, next scan they tightened the knot very tight, then a third with tie and collar loosened again. The researchers found that the tight ties reduced blood flow about 7.5%, and cut off blood flow to the brain. Take a look at all the men in Congress, especially the old ones… now you know why nothing much gets done, particularly much good by them. They don’t even wear Windsor knots… just very tight ones. I had always wondered how those old guys could stand those tight ties, not even realizing that the majority were cutting off the blood to their brains, but at last now I know why we need more women in Congress… they don’t wear anything tight around their neck and can actually think while there. My own experience with the men of the House of Representatives proved to me that men are afraid of women. I was in Washington, at a computer to demonstrate the work that we volunteers in SeniorNet were doing with the people these men were representing. It was a typical nasty, hot, sticky day of the sort that makes me hate Washington. A young man stopped to watch us get people from their districts, who could communicate with them through their computers. This was ages ago, so they weren’t as cognizant of the way this worked. The guy who stopped seemed interested, so I jumped up, realizing I had someone from his district, and said, “Here, sit down and talk to one of your constituents,” to which he replied with a “No, no, I have to go,” No way was I going to let him, so I clapped a hand on his damp wool back and said, “Oh, lord, it’s so hot in here, take off your jacket and sit down,” in a very forceful voice. He looked a bit rattled, but did as I said and started reading, as I said, “Now it’s your turn, type an answer. Poor thing, his shirt was soaked in sweat, but he typed, and got an answer telling him what a failure he had been on something or other. I let him escape, grabbing his jacket, he got it on, thanked me politely and ran. I do hope that the next batch in the House are more evenly divided amongst men and women, and have more sense than the present. Well, at least we are shed of Paul Ryan, who never worked at a real job except a stint at McDonald’s while in college. And less lawyers, please. How about people who know what real jobs are and will listen to constituents, work hard, then go back to their real jobs, having served their time. No permanent politicians… you serves your time and you get out. Things change constantly, and so should Congress. Bring us brains, and no tight ties to cut off those brains. Listen to the people you represent and try to do what they want. If you like politics, maybe try for a bigger job, but don’t just hang around so you can make more money as a lobbyist… we need to get rid of them. They are the scum of the earth. Please, please, go back to your real job and let a new batch try governing, learning, helping and leaving. That’s my next slogan for Congress: Run…Listen…Learn…Labor Leave. And More, while I finally have this ready to go on my blog, which I kept being told was not mine. Don't ask how I got here... I don't know. I am looking for a surrogate grandchild or someone who can come and tell me what to do next. Those lovely "Ah, hello Miss Cat-a-rate, I am Scott and I wanted to tell you I am from Microsoft and we have discovered you have something bad with your com-pu-tare and we wanted to help you get rid of it... etc., etc." all done in a very Indian accent. No sucker I, I simply say, "Oh, Sanjay, I know, if I only push the right button when you tell me, you will wreck my com-pu-tare and I will have to kill you..." and hang up (this of course is done in an accent to match 'Scott's.' Of course when they drag me out of the kitchen or bathroom, I tend to be a little angrier and say, "Damn you, you idiot, I was trying to cook my dinner... I wouldn't have any Microsoft junk on my computer... it is a MACINTOSH and in great shape... BANG goes the phone on its base... of course they do the same thing the next night... WHY do I answer???????/ So here's the next political note: Does anyone think maybe Dumbo t rump contacted his dictator friends in Central America and TOLD them to start sending gangs of people from their countries so he could start screaming that the Democrats were sending them North to burst through the Army or whoever/whatever he is planning to louse up the election this time, take your jobs and kill your family... He is so like my sister that I can almost read his mind. She used to hit me, then turn around and run to whoever was in charge of us, screaming, "Help, help, Peggy hit me and she is running after me to hit me again, help, help!" Donny, the fifth grader, who s never going to make it to the sixth grade has already been screaming and yelling about the mob ha undoubtedly planned and will be calling off the election so we can all go and make a wall to keep the 'criminals' out. It woould be funny if it didn't show that our school system has failed us, and we are livig in a country half full of people with no education, no workable skills, run by a madman who has become the object of laughter and derision wordwide, yet is actually believed by the morons in his gang of imbeciles. Yes, he, the consummate coward now praises one of his idiots for slamming a reporter onto the floor, gesturing as though he had done it himself. As though that coward could even try. So, for god's sake (or Zeus's or Gaia's sake) please just go quietly out to the polling place, stand in line if necessary, and VOTE. Hopefully the t rump t rash won't, as they probably think that good ol' dummy donny has everything sewn up. We'd better un-sew or I shall have to get a passport (I stupidly let mine lapse), buy a ticket to Den Hague and beg for asylum in the lovely Netherlands. Also, I am a bit upset with the man who bought TIME... I am not renewing next year, they are a bit too chummy about dopey donny... my money will go to the Guardian and the NYTimes. And to end, as I may never find my dear, un-read blog again, here's poem for the fat ugly one: Would/Wouldn’t How easy to say         that’s not what I said          I said…            or even    I didn’t      say that             I meant… or what      I meant                      was…        Do you know          I don’t do you know anything                 I doubt it there in that tiny         twisted       mouth so full of lies                     to a point where from the first     yuge       shouted yell to the         mean         slimy worded   tiny O explaining what    You may      have meant           we may never           know if you know        anything good           anything useful     anything fine            anything  anything                anything real and true When               do the people of this country When        when will we           test candidates             at least                  on        the Constitution      the states          how many          where they are the world                       names of continents           everything the other fifth grade minds should know or even     perhaps       the difference between should  and                                shouldn’t Peggy Cartwright, July, 2018

Another lovely, if lonely, cool but sunny day in San Francisco. Chilly winds according to my substitute home care worker. Ah, yes, Ana is 'ill' so I am training a new one. I think Ana is planning on getting 'the big money; for being an 'on call' worker. I really hate to disillusion her, but it takes hard work for that particular job, as I know one of them... she is the kind of person who comes in, looks around, 'gets' what is to be done and does it... FAST. Ana hasn't worked fast in years and is slowing down to almost stop these days. She also doesn't read too well and her English is almost gone. She also 'can't lift that' so I have done a lot of the quick, heavy lifting myself. She couldn't lift the sewing machine to close the closet door, so I did it. I got the bin of YARN from hall to living room and put the bin I had here where the other was... and I have no balance and can't walk across the room without holding on to something. I rather gather that Ana is 'taking the training' for this 'big money, as ythe woman who schedules said, "She'll be out all week, ah, er, the doctor note said she would be out until the seventh." Sure it did. Well, I guess all these years of Ana flopping a on chair and saying, "I'm tired" or "I can't lift that" or "You wanna go in the garden" or ""Should I go to the store," meaning I have to cash my check, or 'You need medicine from drugstore?" meaning I want to do some shopping at the drugstore and stop at Safeway on the way back -- arriving to quickly drop bundles into her huge bag and say, "Oh, time to leave, goodbye." Anytime Ana goes to the store for me, she always gets back JUST in time to leave. But... she is perfect in a lot of ways. She LOVES Sylvia and even though her company says NOT to do anything for our cats or dogs, she is kind enough to make sure Sylvia is well cared for... I think she likes Sylvie more than she likes me. She will feed her, talk to her (Sylvia has Spanish speaking friends in the building and understands both English and Spanish) And best of all... clean out the litter box, a no-no with the company. I do it sometimes, but Ana watches it and does it more often. Sylvia, in spite of the special treatment, acts like she expects it... and even gives Ana the nasty swat to the ankles ahe gives everyone but me, as she sits in the middle of the hall, a place where everyone must go by to get anywhere in the apartment. Anyone who walks by her, or I should say tries to get around her, gets the Sylvia grab around their ankle region. Sylvia loves the scream and jump she gets out of all the women who try to get by... if you know her and say, "OK, Syl, can I please get by," she casually gets up and leaves, but she does love to scare all others. Men, particularly young, good looking ones, get another treatment... she greets them at the door, with a sort of "Purrr-eouw." (She's a California girl, so that rises into a sort of question.) Then she follows them, tail held straight up, still questioning. If they sit down in the recliner, she immediately jumps into their lap and circles around. If they are 'cat people' they pet her and she settles down to purr." She went nuts over a very young, gorgeous guy from L.A. who stopped in to visit me once... leaned on the door and whined when he left. If they are not cat people and either say "Get down," or push her at all, she jumps down, gives them a dirty look and stalks off in anger. My friend Jack once said, "She is very regal looking," as he saw her sitting in the window, as in my photo on the blog... she is, and she will let you know she is the head of household and Princess of the Castle here. So, of course Ana is just another of her adoring subjects in her eyes. We wait on her...First! Ana does a lot of things above and beyond what most of the others I have had in and out of here during all my joint replacements and since I can't walk because of complete lack of balance. Tommy... since you seem to be one of the few who read this... keep exercising as long as you can. You 'kids of Bets' seem to be quite lucky... you didn't get 'the Cartwright Knees" as every one of us who look just like Daddy's family did (oh, goodness... Bets and Georgie looked like Jessie (George more like Mama), but they still get bad knees... that is a tough gene! My son is having knee trouble, and his two girls have already had serious problems and bad knee operations... so don't over-exercise like they did. Poor Callie was a big athlete and played volley ball, and Bella has been taking loads of dance lessons since around age 4. I am reduced to doing arm exercises and have bone spurs growing everywhere inside, and a couple outside on my shoulder now. My poor body seems to think it should be helping me... I sometimes wish it would quit, but I guess it likes living. Ah but back to the other things most "don't do." She goes to the bank and gets money for me... she gets quarter for the laundry... she buys beer or wine for me (are OLD people not supposed to drink? She even grabbed an almost new office chair for me that was being tossed out somewhere across the street, to replace my crummy old desk chair. I do hate the thought of trying to train a new gal, but hell, I do it all the time now... if they can just find me someone who will learn and then let me alone, who speaks, reads and understands English and will get me money and wine, I'll be OK.

Have We Perhaps Gone Too Far???

Have We Perhaps Gone Too Far??? When we lost Al Franken as a Senator (one of the better ones), I cried. He was young and foolish and with enough ‘fame’ to think he could get away with his insulting manner, all the time making others uncomfortable (the others being primarily women). When Los Angeles gave Stormy Daniels (or whatever that person is called now) the key to the city and made a big fuss over her, I wondered if we have not gone a bit too far. Granted, I was pleased when S.D. and a few other brave women, gave us their stories about the nastiness and filth we now have in the White House, Of course, we have all seen (ignored by the hyper religious nuts of the country who love our piece of trash there now) this lying member of the rich white trash, in action telling a ‘friend’ about the very active, and often illegal, personal life he feels he is heir to because he has the money to demand it. Do we need a school for men who have acquired a bit (or even a lot) of money and/or fame to teach them that women do not admire, or condone, men who grab them, paw them, suggest sexual moves, kiss them in an uncouth manner, show up nude for a ‘business meeting,’ or any of the disgusting ‘moves’ suffered by women in the past. The recent disclosures by a group of brave women has opened up a storm of protest from the not-so-brave who also have stories to tell of their attacks by the same or other men. And it will probably go on, into the news and the courts for some time, probably leading to not only truths, but also lies and tawdry little suits by some women, merely for the cash they see in it. (i.e., she got plenty, now I need to get some, too.) We are already known as the country with too many lawyers and far too many court cases. To quote Google: -- According to a study in 2006, America has more lawyers per person of its population than any of 29 countries studied (except Greece), and it spends two to three times as much on its tort system, as a percentage of GDP, as other big economies (except Italy, where things are nearly as bad). -- The U.S. has ONE lawyer for every 300 people. Would that a few who are in it for the money would realize that if they simply moved to Singapore, Australia, France or Japan, they could make a lot more, but I guess they might be too stupid to learn to operate there. There is a lovely article online (http://nationalpost.com/opinion/f-h-buckley-a-better-country-with-fewer-lawyers) comparing us to the much happier, better living, rising up as we fall in everything, Canada. (I suppose because they have an educated, intelligent population, who elected an intelligent man who will to listen to them and govern as they wish... well. Now I shall wail on my feelings: Why can a fool and a disgusting attacker of women, liar and generally slimy man stay in our top office, primarily under the protection of the republican party and the religious-right-evangelicals, while poor Al Franken, a good, thinking, intelligent Senator, is forced to resign. And further... I want Charlie Rose back. We have too few intelligent, charming, kindly people on TV now, or at any time. Charlie was the ultimate interviewer. He asked the right questions and he then LISTENED to the person he was interviewing. He never yelled or ranted or tried to make himself the one who must be seen and listened to. He made his guests feel comfortable, even if he might disagree with them, he let them do the ranting while he merely listened and perhaps asked a few questions to make sure they had shown their ignorance. I have found no one to fill his place on TV. I never enjoyed watching Johnny Carson, as he was often a mean guy, I remember his breaking an ant farm, I think quite deliberately, because the man he was ‘interviewing’ had begun to bore him. I sincerely hope that we do not return the airwaves, either radio or TV, to the ‘Fox-News-type’ of ignorant screamers and yellers. Those who do not know how to interview, but simply scream their little one-track, mindless viewpoint and never listen to the person they are interviewing. I shall never miss the vile Bill O’Reilly or Glen Beck at his strangest, or the worst of all Rush Limbaugh or even the whole Fox News, which I have never watch, except to check on a foolish bit I have been told or read about. Or perhaps to look at the girls in short, short skirts with overdone hairdos -- the silly smiles of all the fake news readers, male and female, such as that stupid boy, Sean Hannity, one wonders if he will ever grow up. What are we growing in this god forsaken country. Well, perhaps in the case of Fox News, this god-fearing and probably evangelical, “I-believe-everything-he-says” branch of this country, that backs t rump and Fox News and probably thinks PBS News (the one I watch) is a creation of the devil, as they have no doubt been told by the latest ranter, the latest to be selling not only fake news, but also questionable ‘products,’ the idiot on YouTube whose name, happily, I cannot even remember. Ah me, yes, 'just another screamer' a great name for all of them.

Alas & Alack

And what does Alack mean? And why do I have to type in this dreadful typewriter type in pale grey? And man do I do a lousy job of proof reading... the last post is FULL of mistakes and I can't remember how to get the old stuff back so I can correct it. Ah, me, alas and Alack, oh goodness me, and a few more ancient expressions...I do not write in this place, nor in any of the other places I 'should' be writing, like my 'diary' or even the letters I used to turn out to everyone... I owe many, but do not write them. Ever since I lost Kirk as a constant 'companion' corespondent, I don't seem to have the time to write to everyone else. So strange. Of course, my fingers hurt now (lack of exercise?) and they have become quite bent and arthritic... amazing that they are just now getting bad... and my left shoulder is trying to 'fix' a displacement that I apparently ignored when it happened. Now they can't just 'put it back' as the damned bone spurs are a mess there, working on building up, so I have a bump on the shoulder and the docs at UC/SF (who all look like teenagers) tell me that the only way to fix it is to have another replacement. Silly children... at my age I wouldn't get the use of the shoulder back by the time I'm 100, so why bother. Just like Jessie, I have learned to live with pain. No way do I go under again... no hospitals... no new doctors (mine are all retired) everything in me now goes to the oven with me (I do hope they sift out the metal before handing my ashes over to the kids). I am upset about one thing that the arthritic fingers have done... I cannot seem to write anything with a 'y' in it without hitting the "i" just before it. I think I have corrected all the ones in this, but I miss some and it annoys hell out of me. It used to be the 'l' that I hit all the time because of my weak ring fingers, but now it is the i, And to think I did so much proofreading on the job. I suppose it might be as this miserable type us such a rotten one and so light. I far prefer Arial which is readable and good looking (well, I kinda prefer Comic Sans, but they don't use it here on this blog site, which is sad. Amazing but t rump is still president... when will it all end? What idiots we have in Washington. I pray (even though I don't believe in it) that the whole House of Representatives (well all that are left as many resign) is simply voted out in the next election... all of them. Actually Senate too... let them all try to get real jobs... and make the new ones take tests to see if they can read and write and understand what they are there to do. Help, help, I do not think we have anyone who even wants to run for president except the moron who is there now.

Through a headache Darkly

Late... very dark and with only a cat to talk to... and that a complaining one. You are old, Mother Sylvia, the other old woman said / and yet you continuously stand on your head / do you think at your age that is bright? I loved Lewis Carroll and his lovely rhymes, and have used them as a basis for many of mine. Oh, good lord, I made the mistake of hitting the photo booth... I guess it is best never to use Skype... Poor Jackie... I rail at him for not combing his hair and not getting out of his nightshirt all day... and I do the same. I had forgotten to comb my hair, and it is far, far longer and more untidy than his! Today, after watching '60 Minutes' with all the lovely people who used to do it back again... I wanted someone to talk to about all of them... all dead and gone long since. Dreadful old Mike Wallace who used to scream at people. I remember him in Chicago when he was still the kid yelling "When did you hit your wife, senator?" and other charming phrases. I even remember when he had a program with his wife... oh, what was her name... a blonde... of course. All the rest were my darling friends every Sunday... Morley Safer, Ed Bradley, Bob Simon (my favorite) and funny Andy Rooney. So far they haven't been replaced. The new talking heads are good... but oh, they are not those great men. And now I shall make a little confession... I SO MISS Charlie Rose... I can't imagine him doing anything bad enough to take him away!! Where will he go... what will he do? Will he ever return? I do miss him so much. And on those notes, I was amazed to find that if I have the strength to stay up and listen to him, James Comey is almost a good replacement for Craig Ferguson, whom I thought would never be replaced... and whom I thought should be the one to replace old what's is name... oh.. Letterman, whom I never could stand... as I adored Craig. He was such fun I stayed up. Comey is a rather ugly, fat, little man, but he is kind (something Carson & Letterman never were) and a really good interviewer, letting the people talk and not topping them, as some of the interviewers do... even Colbert, whom I like, tends to do that... of course he can top drumpf!! Then of course there was 'Victoria' tonight. I love this series... the BBC has it all over our TV series makers. I actually cried tonight... I had a terrible time after I had Whitney... went into a rotten depression and she cried all the time as I was trying to nurse and couldn't, so she was hungry constantly... so I made bottles, but she wanted to be held and rocked and fed... I will never forget the saint next door who was the oldest of 10 or so, and hearing both Whitney and me crying every night, came over and taught me how to be a mother. My mother couldn't do it... she had nurses and mother's helpers and the works during all her pregnancies, so only saw dry, fed children (of course, she nursed us... she said she could have nurses triplets) for a short time each day. Then when we settled in Memphis, she had our Mammy Mary to care for us. When I think back to those days in Memphis, Mary was more of a mother than Jessie. Losing her was like losing a mother and I still tend to tear up when I think of her, but then 'I'm a sentimental sap, that's all / what's the use of trying not to fall / so turn me loose, you cooked my goose / 'cause you took advantage of me... another of my favorite tunes from way, way, way back when. I believe it was an early Bing Crosby tune... sung before my time, but taught to me by Ned Travis, a San Francisco guy, and a great jazz drummer, who knew Bing and many other musicians out here. Another confession... I really miss driving my dear little blue Chevette all over the Chicago area when I was designing things for the homebound handicapped at Easter Seal... and singing all the old songs at the top of my lungs as I drove. No one could hear me, or criticize my voice as Whitney always did. Well, I'm off to bed now, so I shall sing myself to sleep and if Sylvia doesn't like it, she can go in and eat the food she wouldn't finish tonight!