Oh Dear, I’m Not ‘Getting Old,’ I AM OLD

 Written 7/30, but it wouldn't let me post....
I just spent about 10 minutes trying to figure out how to get HERE to write. Of course, I have been doing that ever since I started this stupid blog, but one would think I could remember a silly little thing like that... well, maybe if I wrote something more often, I would. No... from the time I was a kid, I can remember Jessie, the wonder woman of remembering 'important' things like the names and addresses of the about 200 people in her Christmas card list, looking me straight in the face and saying, "Georgie Lou, Betty Rae... what IS your NAME?" I suppose she did the same thing with them... god, I hope so... or was I the odd man out in that crew? Now I'm doing the same thing with my IHS workers... I look at Martha and say... "Ana... no... (?? with the face) and she says politely, just as I said, "Peggy" to my mother, "Martha, Mrs. Cartwright." Yet I do the same thing with Ana... calling her Martha.

Oh the foibles of getting old. I think you forget the things you were bad at anyway. I was never any good at remembering names, ever! Well, we moved so often you had a whole new bunch of names to remember all the time, making the old ones easy to forget. I am ashamed of myself... last night I was writing to a bunch of people from the Women's Exchange and telling one named Jane something about another named Joan... so wrote Dear Joan to her and had to write another note of apology... but jeeze... Jane and Joan and writing about another Joan... the mind boggles. I'm going to be in the Chicago area for the month of September, and now I am trying to reconnect with some of the people I know there.

Lordy I AM OLD... I think by now I must be the oldest one in my family. There are almost no Cartwrights (of my particular line... England was full of cartmakers with our name) left but me... none with the name. I tried to get Mark to change his name to match mine (no one cam spell his fathers, let alone pronounce it correctly) but he kept that dreadful name. He is so much like Daddy that I do wish he had the correct last name, but he is/was as stubborn as Daddy (and me... a real Cartwright). I miss family... the Cartwrights used to have big family reunions and get-togethers up in Port Austin, in Saginaw and all over Michigan... I do still miss those, as I miss sitting with Grandma Cartwright in the big old house, or out on the round-the-house veranda. That's the first place I started for when we went up to the cottage in Port Austin...off to Grandma Cartwright's house as fast as my little legs could run. Mark's middle name 'James' is for Grandpa Cartwright, not for his father. Had I had my way, he would have been called Walter James, but Whitney always says that I should be happy Jim's uncle was called Mark, as it is a lucky name. Well, Mark is a lucky man, he has a beautiful, very bright wife and four gorgeous children, so he must be.

One of the worst things about getting old is being forgotten... and tomorrow is the anniversary of one of my 'triumphs'... the start of my beloved Oak Park Women's Exchange and I am apparently being left out of it completely. I took a look at their fairly new website, where I am not mentioned at all, even in the history. It sort of implies that it was just begun through other women's exchanges. I named it that to honor those institutions... but didn't really have anything to do with them. So, perhaps one of my old friends to whom I wrote last night will think to mention how we began... I built it all in my 'spare time' while working as a copywriter all day... often wonder when I found the time, as that job was a killer. I guess when you are doing too much, you get so you can take on more work without thinking about it. It was fun, and Lori McCarthy was sure a help. There were a lot of hard working women in that Village and we managed to do a lot to make Oak Park a better, more interesting place. Bobbie Raymond was one of the best of the crowd. She and I both divorced our husbands while we were working on big projects... she on being the Housing Director for the Village, and I on the Exchange. I remember going to her house for a 'raspberry party" (she had planted raspberry bushes all the way around her yard, and presented each of us with a little 'hospital pills' type cup full of them as we arrived). When I got there she grabbed me and said, "Peggy, I REALLY admire you!!" I was taken aback... of course I felt the same way about her, but she was so enthusiastic. "Why on earth..." I said. She quickly replied, "You had the damned nerve to take back your maiden name... and EVERYBODY knows it and calls you by that now. I was afraid to do that, figuring no one would know who I was or what my new name was. You've sure got a helluva lot more GUTS than I do!" Well, I didn't, and told her so, but it made me feel good... I had managed to keep all I was doing going, have everyone remember the 'new' name and forget the old. They all knew the whole story, as my life was an open book for pretty obvious reasons... Bobbie could have done the same, she just got cold feet at the last minute. I guess I didn't think... was just too angry about everything. Funny the little things you don't think of at all... but others can admire you for. Well, we'll see about tomorrow, and perhaps I will be permanently forgotten by the new members of my lovely co-op. Of course they are struggling to keep it going... times are hard and I guess they think since they have kept it going it is theirs. (And Bobbie... you'll never know how much I admired you!)

Now that I look over what I have written, I kinda get the feeling that one of my dear old friends over in the East Bay would say... 'That's all crap,' I think he feels that way about most of what I write. Well, he's never read any of my 3-Day novels. I am staying in S.F. through Labour Day just to write one... then I shall get on the plane and head for Chi... at least I have one dear old friend who will be happy to see me, Connie Fillippelli... the saint who is taking me in and will not only teach me all the 'Mac' things I have neglected to learn, but also try to get me back on my feet, walking and in good shape. Which reminds me, I'd better make sure I have an appointment with my doctor before I leave. Call now, Peg.......

Dozen My Favorite People of 2014

So... Time or some magazine listed the 12 most interesting people of the year... or something like that... with very few women both on the listing and listed sides... so I am putting here, my favorite people of the year... do I mean favorite? No... interesting maybe. Interesting to me anyway. I'm an old royalist I guess...
Anyway, here is my top 12 list
 Queen Elizabeth   
 Hillary Clinton
 Barack Obama
 Michelle Obama
 Angela Merkel
 Angelina Joli
 The Dalai Lama
 Aung San Suu Kyi
 Archbishop Desmond Tutu
 Pope Francis
 Judi Dench
 Christiano Ronaldo
I am not into voting for wealthy rock stars or athletes... they do nothing for their countries or peoples most of the time (but Cristiano is adorable! He is like the best ballet dancer who ever lived and gorgeous). You have to be a really great, hard working, charming man to get on my list.

If I wasn't so female conscious, I would have added Brad Pitt with Angelina Joli and George Clooney for all his work in the Sudan and other places. The Queen of England is one of the most amazing people around... she's almost my age and out there doing her job daily... and she looks great! The royal kids are pretty good too.

My Goodness!

What else can I say... I was thinking about 1939! Back in the olden days... like when Whitney used to ask me "Did they have phones then," or "Did they have radios then" I'm surprised she didn't ask if they had roads then. But it all came back with a bang when I was listening to the girls talking about it on PBS News tonight. Today in 1939 was the day Marian Anderson sang at the Lincoln Memorial... the famous concert arranged by Eleanor Roosevelt when the nasty little old ladies at the DAR said she couldn't sing in their "Constitution Hall." I have rarely seen Jessie as indignant as she told us all about it. She had, of course, heard that Eleanor Roosevelt had burnt her DAR membership card, then made the arrangement for the Lincoln Memorial concert. Jessie had been carefully doing all her research on our ancestors who had fought in the Battle of Lexington & Concord and other Revolutionary battles. She was almost finished with her work, which she swept up into a pile on her old melodian desk and burned... joining Mrs. Roosevelt. I can still hear her anger and disgust with the nasty, fussy, stupid little old women in the DAR... and telling us all (particularly Daddy) that she and Eleanor belonged to a much better organization, The Democratic Party. Those women really were stupid... the DAR was never thought of in the same way after that. Never thought of at all I suppose, except as a rather foolish bunch of fussy little old ladies.

Well, hooray for women like Eleanor and Jessie for standing up to everyone and making their voices heard... and yes, Whitney, we did have phones then, and radios then, and your big mouthed grandmother and little old me, watching and listening and learning how to be as much like her as possible. No, she didn't get to be the first woman to have a story accepted by Esquire Magazine, and she never got that stodgy old Norge Corporation board to give her the title of Vice President, but she sure ran that business, and it sure went under fast when she finally retired after working full time until she was 75 years old. And she was adored by a lot of people, including Kate Smith and Jimmy Durante and everyone else she came in contact with over her many years... even Arnold Gingrich, who couldn't publish her stories in Esquire when he was their editor, but he always wrote and told her how great her writing was and where to send it to be published.

And here's to Marian Anderson, a sweet, kind woman. She said herself she was no fighter, she was just upset at being lied to about why those nasty, fussy little old ladies refused to have her sing in their hall. That should be a lesson to all the racists still left out there. Amazing to think that even after all these years (from 1939 to today) there are still a few of them left. Fools are hard to kill off, though.

Where the Money Goes...

Ah, once more my feeling that the extremely wealthy people of this country neither know nor care about millions of ‘the poor, the starving’ or whatever you wish to call the huge multitude of extremely poor people who live in this country. I could say “that surround them” here in the United States, but I doubt that they know of or have ever even seen them. When you are driven about in a limo with tinted windows you don’t see much.

These super-wealthy really know how to distribute their money well. After all, they do undoubtedly pay people to care for them or their children. But maids and gardeners are easy to find these days They can even be ‘imported’ from another country and are ready and willing to work for minimum wage, or below, until someone rats on you, but the shame of the publicity only lasts until a Kardashian does another foolish thing and takes the heat off you. Nannies may cost a little more, the children do have to be well taken care of, but again, you can ‘import’ a nannie from another country and the children will perhaps learn to speak another language.

Now comes ‘what to do to keep from paying taxes.’ That seems to be a big part of the super-wealthy’s ‘work.’ Well, they pay very high priced lawyers and tax accountants to do a lot of the work on this, but one does have to have ‘charities’ to donate to, to show how generous one is. Here, for example is a statement about one of the wealthiest women in the U.S.:

“She is the granddaughter of Frank C. Mars, who was the founder of the Mars candy bar company in America. Jacqueline Mars is currently the third richest woman in the United States. Though she inherited this wealth, she does spend quite a bit of time with charitable activities. She is a strong supporter of the National Symphony Orchestra and operates as Vice President of the U.S. Equestrian Team.”  The Richest by Sammy Said

And another:  “Alice Walton net worth: American heiress to the Wal-Mart fortune, Alice Louise Walton, has a net worth of $35.1 billion as of 2014 making her the second richest woman in the world. She is the daughter of Wal-Mart founder Sam Walton and Helen Walton. She is building Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art in Bentonville.” ... same (This museum is to house the art she tried to give to several museums, but they turned it down... no tax relief there.)

All of which again, simply goes to show just what I have always said about the ‘charitable giving’ of these people. Somehow I don’t see much help for the halt, lame or starving of this country in their ‘giving.’ My feeling is that the average (and there are SO MANY now) wealthy person in the U.S. gives their charitable money to anyone who can entertain them. In other words, most give only to symphonies, ballet companies, museums... oh, yes, and the U.S. Equestrian Team. Mrs. Mars must have a child who loves horses, or perhaps she was the child, and I guess still is, as she doesn’t seem to notice that there are starving children all around her. Of course, none of them are allowed to get anywhere near her, they might disturb the horses.

The Brainless... Natural or Created?

The older I get the more disillusioned I become with the ‘people’ of the U.S. I remember being upset when I started working in advertising and was told that in order to write ‘good copy’ one must understand that the average U.S. citizen had the mind of a 13 year old child. In other words, I must dumb down my writing so that this vast number of people could understand it. “Never write a sentence over ten words, and break those up in some way if you can,” was the way it was put. Now I find that the ‘average’ seems to be even ‘younger’ in the mind... or shall we call a spade a spade and say even more stupid.

Look at what we have in Congress these days. Ted Cruz, mentioning "that great speaker, Ashton Kutcher"; Paul Ryan, a man who has never held a ‘real job’ being called ‘the intellectual of the Tea Party (a rather damning indictment of the rest of that group);’ thousands of people signing petitions to keep ‘Duck Dynasty’ on the air. Or even horror of horrors, the fact that ‘Duck Dynasty’ is one of the most popular programs on TV. My parents and all of my really intellectual ancestors are spinning in their graves.

I spent my childhood first being read to by my parents (I recall Spenser’s ‘The Faerie Queene’ as an early one), then reading my way through the family and public library, including two sets of encyclopedias. (I wasn’t alone, my sisters and I read constantly. The library of the moment was usually full of others; where did they all go?) My older sister graduated from college too young to get a job, so returned to get a Master’s. She went on to become one of the first women Captains in the Army during WWII, then after having seven children went on to a logical career in education.

I began my adult studies in art, quit after a couple of years of work under an artist I hated, became a meteorologist with the U.S. Weather Bureau, then returned to university to get a degree in English, went into copywriting and now write fiction, essays, non-fiction and poetry. My younger sister simply married well. Unfortunately I didn’t and he got the money. Nevertheless, I kept my mind and am very saddened to find that the rest of the country (well most of it) has not managed that. In all my long years of life the IQ of this country seems to have slipped almost to extinction. The TV alone has less and less worth watching. ‘Reality TV’ seems to have taken over with its cast of less and less intelligence daily, winding up with the seeming morons of Honey Boo Boo and Duck Dynasty, worshiped by the TV mob. Do they hear, do they see, do they think? I rather think not.

Having spent the final day of this past year watching the world’s celebration of New Year’s Eve, I wonder where the world is heading. I guess it’s not just our country that has given up basic intelligence. Each large city seems to be competing to see who could spend the most money blowing up millions of dollars worth of fireworks to ‘celebrate’ leaving an old year behind and welcoming in an even more ignorant one. After all, it is far easier to take the ‘education’ money out of the budget and put it into fireworks and other trash to entertain the morons. On a stage in Times Square the older morons sang what passes for music to the younger ones.

I am hoping ‘the common core’ might help return education rather than the useless ‘testing’ of the Bush “All children left behind” era, but I wonder if we can catch up with the rest of the world or will they simply follow us into the pit of mediocre schools? I do bemoan the lack of intelligent conversation in the new ‘all digital tablets’ schools, ‘charter’ schools and others, and hope that some lectures with question and answer periods remain, plus a lot of discussion in the classrooms of younger children.

As a child who moved often, I understand the difficulties of children who go from school to school, missing classes, and would therefore be better off with a common core education. Having known a great number of teachers in my lifetime, some who were bright and wonderful, some who should never have been in a classroom, I hope that an overhaul of ‘teacher’s colleges’ can help the next wave of students. Finally, I hope and pray that good teachers are not only paid better to teach well, but are at last considered superior citizens of our country.

Christmas 2013

It is Christmas Eve, almost Christmas Day, which I used to celebrate with my family, friends, neighbors... and the many people Jessie always invited to our tree trimming parties. For we always waited until Christmas Eve to drag the tree in from the front porch, generally chop off the top, as Daddy always bought the tallest one he could find. In Pittsburgh, the place I remember best as a happy Yuletide place, I sat on a chair, directing Bill Rodd, or P.B. Burgwin on how put put the lights on the tree, as that seemed to be a ‘guy’s job’ in our household. They always started at the bottom, so that there was no way they could plug in the lights... so I remember my incessant “Start at the top... no, start at the top.” They never seemed to get it. Downstairs, in the kitchen and dining room, I helped make Jessie’s “London Fog’... a lovely ice cream drink in a punch bowl that could knock you out faster than anything as it was half brandy. That and her bourbon balls left most guests staggering. I just mixed drinks for others... didn’t start drinking until much later. But I have always remembered Daddy’s and Bill’s advice... drink only the BEST bourbon... put it in a very tall glass and fill the glass with ice and water... then drink it slowly all evening. Actually after I started drinking, I could drink any one under the table, as I had a tolerance for liquor like a man’s (probably from having had so many men friends in the ad game, which is where I learned to drink).

Ah, but it is Christmas... and we have an odd year and time of news. Edward Snowden, who is a traitor/hero depending on your viewpoint. no regrets from him, though... he’s spending his Christmas in Russia. So let him freeze. Then there’s the new pope... oh, what joy to see one who doesn’t ride around in fancy dress and fancy red shoes, but seems to really feel for the poor, homeless and hungry... a sweet, real man. Then, on the other hand the continuing horror in South Sudan, Somalia and Syria. What can we do... no more war, we need to perhaps provide any help we can, but NO MORE of our children can be sacrificed. We must teach our children NO GUNS, no fighting, no bullying. I remember Mark’s wonderful ‘pod’ training in grade school, when each morning the children went to their ‘family group’... consisting of children from ages five (his age) to age 8 or even 9, for each teacher started the day with a ‘family.’ His early years were in an ideal set-up. When he was first grade ‘age,’ if one asked what ‘grade’ he was in, he merely said, “I’m in Mrs. Wedeman’s family group.” Then they met in ‘peer groups’ for reading, math, etc. Mark taught himself to read at about 3, so he was at the ‘3rd grade level’ table in first grade... but at the beginning math table, as I didn’t teach him anything about math (you can guess why). So, he had friends of all ages... and no one bullied, as they had big and little ‘brothers and sisters’ who watched out for them always. A great way to teach... ruined by parents who objected to their dumb kids going to class with '‘them little kids... why ain’t they with kids their age?” Alas, there are always parents who work at spoiling good education. They are often the ones with the guns in their houses, also.

So Merry Christmas all... and a Happy New Year... one I hope will be better not only for all of you, but also for all of the countries of this sad little world. I shall now go and watch the news and hope it is better... even a tiny bit would help. Unfortunately this year has taken one of the greatest of all from us, Nelson Mandela... but I shall try in my own life to remember him daily and hope it makes a difference in my attitude toward all people. If only the Sudanese, Somalia and Syrians could work in his manner... or I suppose I should say, if only all the people in the world could be as forgiving as he.

And on a note of humor... the UPS ofices here are full of people complaining that their packages  haven’t been delivered. Wow... did they somehow think ordering late might have something to do with it. I’d never yell at Damien for not delivering something to me. He’s too cute to yell at anyway. And we have people complaining that they can’t burn fires in their fireplaces as we are having a ‘spare-the-air-day’ for Christmas (I guess too many people were doing so earlier. Why they want a fire I do not know, as it is in the 60s and 70s daily... sunshine flooding in here daily. Why do I live in San Francisco? Guess! Well, Joe Gigante told me I’d be dead in a couple of years if I didn’t get out of Chicago and find a good mild climate where I didn’t suffer from cold and asthma all winter, and heat, sweat and allergies every summer. None of that here... but I miss my family and friends over the holidays... so remember me... and here are a few kisses for all... * * * * * * * *

What I Finally Learned Today

I guess it has taken me a long, long time to learn the most basic thing in life. Today, I think I finally learned the secret of life. I should have know it for a lot of reasons... some of which I may write of later in this post, if I can manage. But for now I shall just try to explain what I learned and how I learned it. Today I watched an hour long program on the life of Nelson Mandela... a man who took not quite as long as it took me to learn. He somehow learned while in a terrible prison... and I just learned from him... the secret of a happy life is quite simple... to be a good person and love everyone. You have only to look at the sweet, smiling face of Mandela to realize he turned an angry life around and really, honestly began to love all people, be they friend, acquaintance, old enemy, black, white, or anything in between. As he came back amongst people he daily seemed to become sweeter, kinder and more forgiving of everything that had ever been done to him or his country. He taught his coountry the great power of forgiveness to all for every bad thing ever done or even felt toward another person, with no punishment if a person confessed to a missdeed... and then, the great power of a love for all other human beings. What power that man had... for for no one else have I ever heard it said, as I did today, from a young Indian man who said, "We sing and dance today, for we must not have tears that he is gone, but joy that he was here." Of who else could this simple thing be said? No one of whom I can think. He forced a country to have a time of reconciliation... not by torture or fights or battles or laws, but by the confession of ill deeds, the forgiveness for those deeds with no jail terms, no punishment, but merely forgiveness and hopefully an end to the hatred that caused them. For such a man, who had been hated and jailed and mistreated for so long to feel this way is not only almost unbelievable it is about as saintly as one can get. Nelson Mandela was that saint, and today, as his countrymen and women gather and sing of, by and for him, I finally got it through my head that he was right. If I want to be happy and live a good life in the tiny time I have left, I had better lose all of my bad feelings I ever had for anyone else and join Mandela in loving all of humanity. 

Now about what I said in the beginning of this piece. The reason I 'should' have learned this long years ago. I had a wonderful older sister, whom we used to kid about and call "The Saint" because she was so good, really good. I only saw her yell at her kids once in my life... and if they had been mine, I might have either gone crazy or beaten them. As it was, just going into their bedroom one night when they were yelling and fighting, slapping all the beds with a pair of pajamas and saying, "if I hear ONE MORE SOUND out of any of you I WILL BE BACK!" shocked them so much that we didn't hear one more sound for the rest of the night. But I didn't learn to be a saint like my sister, and I am just beginning to learn to forgive the world. What a lovely feeling that is... particularly as I live in San Francisco, where we live close and right on top of one another, with people from all over the world, all crowded in together. I guess that helps to teach one to love others, and I guess it has helped me. So I suppose one of the easiest things to do is to imagine, when approached by anyone one could feel a dislike for, the beautiful, smiling face of Nelson Mandela and smile back with a real feeling of love and happiness. One might also extend a helping hand if needed, or at least a kind word, and a real feeling of love for each person.