Happy Halfiversary!

My son Joe got married six-months ago today to Lynn, a wonderful woman who has the energy and patience for him (and that's saying a lot). They are one of those couples who are so obviously perfect for each other that you end up saying, "Awwww" or "Ewww" depending on how romantically inclined you are.

Lynn hates to be the center of attention in a large group, so it's no surprise that they didn't have a huge "traditional" wedding. Instead, they were wed on a lakeshore with six guests. After the wedding, we changed out of our dress-up clothes into hiking clothes. They chose to celebrate the formal beginning of their life together by casually hiking up a mountain.

Those puppies, Gelato & Pizzelle

It was appropriate. They've known each other three years this week. In that time they've moved four times, including a move from Minnesota to Colorado with no jobs lined up (I don't think I've ever been that brave). They've dealt with Joe falling through the ice on the Mississippi River ~ honestly, I don't know who that stressed more. They had jobs with shifts misaligned enough that they rarely saw one another. They have puppies whose primary functions in life are chewing up everything, and piddling everywhere (they are getting better ~ but beagles never get mellow). Joe started college. Joe dropped out after a year. Joe takes after his parents. The first job Lynn found after they moved was so bad, she left during orientation, another relationship strain. The job Joe found wasn't bad, but it was another of those "we never see each other" schedules. Yet, they grew stronger.

They didn't want us to have to make a special trip just for their wedding (sometimes, I think they're both a little nuts) so they decided that when we said we were coming to Denver, they'd get married. Lynn & I used to work together (you know what a supportive place that is). So, they knew vacation requests are made months in advance. Unless, of course, Dad turns 50 in Minneapolis four days before Grandpa turns 70 in Phoenix, and a spur-of-the-moment trip to the halfway point (Denver) comes up. We gave them two weeks warning. And they still managed to plan the wedding, on Grandpa's birthday, no less.

They keep jumping these hurdles and climbing these hills and growing ever closer. I've seen Joe mature under Lynn's influence. I've watched Lynn, who had to grow up way too soon, learn to play. They don't just bring out the best in each other, they shore up one another's weak spots. And, together, they climb mountains.

Dream Lake ~ the destination of the wedding day hike ~ is just ahead. This is the
closest picture I have without people, and since I haven't asked for anyone's
 permission to publish their picture, you'll have to make due with this.
And how perfect, to start a marriage with a dream in the heavens
(okay, only 10,000 ft, but who's counting?)

Happy Halfiversary Joe & Lynn. You are a fabulous couple!

I didn't spot this sign at the trailhead
until we got back. Once again, the
fates got to laugh at me.

By the way, Dream Lake is absolutely worth the effort. For a Flatlander, going from 9400 feet elevation to 9900 is a huge an horrible thing. There is no oxygen. None. People say there's less than at sea level but I couldn't find any at all. Halfway up, my lungs jumped out of my chest and rolled done the path looking for oxygen. But, eventually, I made it to the top, preceded by everyone in the group, including my 70-year-old father-in-law.

It was worth it. Dream Lake is breathtaking (in more ways than one). Also, the return trip is exciting. On the way down, I slipped in the snow and landed on my ass. Three. Separate. Times. Because even when you've found the right person and been together twenty-six years, life still has its ups-and-downs.

Take Back the Holiday!

ENOUGH ALREADY! No more of this nonsense! Black Friday starts earlier each year. Walmart and Toys R Us are opening at 8:00 Thanksgiving evening, Target at 9:00, etc. This is insanity. Half my family works in healthcare, the other half in a combination of retail & hospitality. Obviously, healthcare workers, police & fire people need to work holidays. I understand restaurants and hotels being open on holidays. But who needs to go to Michael's on Thanksgiving? Seriously? You can't wait until tomorrow to get that latch-hook tree-skirt kit? Come Christmas morning, Sophia is not going to know when you bought her VTech Tablet. Aiden will not care that you left Thanksgiving dinner to go buy him a Dreamlight Pillow Pet. He might, however, remember that you weren't there to read a bedtime story.

Have I mentioned Holidays are at my house? We actually like that, it's our choice. The restaurant my husband works at is open most of Thanksgiving for people too lazy to make their own meal. For years now, we've dealt with him not being home until evening. Holiday dinners are already tricky. Now that my parents stopped doing the snowbird thing, they're here for the holidays, and they're old. Really old. "I don't understand why they call it an 'Early Bird Special'. It's served at dinnertime" old. Now the store my niece works at is open Thanksgiving and she may have to be late. My son's store starts Black Friday Thursday evening. A couple more years and it will be impossible to find a time when everyone can be here for dinner.

Peanut prepares for a holiday dinner.
My family may prep differently than yours.

I'm planning for eight to ten people. What on Earth do people with big families do? It is time we Take Back the Holiday! Refuse to shop those Doorbuster Specials. Resist the urge ~ you can do it. Do not shop until normal store hours on Friday. It may take a couple of years ~ but we can win this. We can get our families home for Thanksgiving. Don't shop on Thanksgiving at all. So you forgot the mini-marshmallows, be creative, make a streusel topping instead, or put sugar on it, pull out your blowtorch and have Yam Brulée. Actually, I'm kind of intrigued by yam brulée. Forgot the wine ~ have bourbon instead, it's more American. Forgot the dinner rolls? Tell everyone you've reduced carbs in the meal so we can all have a bigger piece of pie! Who'll argue that?

Can't wait to save thirteen cents on stocking stuffers? Get over it. Buy one less present to make up the difference, we have too much crap anyway. Take Back the Holiday! Don't just not shop. E-mail those corporations and let them know that you have a life and therefore will not be spending money in their stores between 12:01 Thursday and 9:00 Friday so they needn't be open. As sales go down, they'll catch on. Don't you miss holidays where everyone hung out for hours, eating, watching the game, talking about whoever didn't show up? I know I do. Refuse to cooperate with mass-merchandisers (by the way ~ small businesses can't afford to hire the people necessary to be open for twenty-four hours straight, if this becomes the norm, what do they do?). Live your life on your terms. When the L-tryptophan from that turkey dinner kicks in, you should be safely on someone's sofa with your pants unbuttoned, snoring. Do not encourage people to drive to mall while groggy ~ that's dangerous. Take Back the Holiday! It's a matter of public safety.

Shasta Embarrassed Herself

Peanut, the early days

I have a cat in my face. It's easier to type without one, but Peanut absolutely, positively must sit on the mousepad. He's always loved to do that. When he was a baby it was gosh-darned adorable. But now that he is a fully-grown ten-pound cat, he's in the way. He doesn't care. He just gives me that patented, "If you really loved me, you'd let me sit on the keyboard" and rubs my face. Every movement sends a cloud of soft fur into the air. He is adorable, in an annoying way. Peanut is part kitten, part puppy, part little brother. Kittens are playful; puppies are cuddly; little brothers are (I hear) a pain in the neck. In no way at all is he part cat. Cats are cool, sophisticated and more than a little condescending.

Shasta is all cat. Any love she gives is strictly on her own terms. And you'd better be appropriately appreciative or you won't get any for weeks. She shuns better than the Amish. Humans have their uses, she'll acknowledge, for instance, we're much better than she at opening Fancy Feast. That is our primary function, cleaning litter boxes is second. As long as we remember our place, we get to live. Peanut doesn't care, he just wants his belly rubbed. In other words, just like my children, my cats have very distinct personalities. Despite (or maybe because of) this, they are super close. Peanut seems to think Shasta is Mom. Shasta thinks Peanut is her pet, although he does embarrass her, after a particularly clumsy move, she looks away as though to say, "I don't know you." It is very important to Shasta that she always be elegant & dignified.

Shasta, the way she prefers we think of her.

One thing cats really like to do is hunt. Peanut hunts Shasta ~ if she's in the mood to play, they chase each other around the house, then wrestle until Shasta has a couple of paws-ful of Peanut fur, then she's ready to quit. Peanut is rowdier and therefore, usually, the instigator. But this morning, Shasta started the fight. She was atop the china hutch (the tallest piece of furniture, natch). She saw Peanut on the floor and hopped to the bookcase, the entertainment center then, thud, skid, crash ~ she landed most clumsily behind a chair. When she reappeared, her tail was huge. I commented on its size, and Dave replied, "What do you expect, the floor just kicked her ass."

Joy in Faith ~ Delighting in God

St Patrick's Cathedral, Manhattan

I've spewed a lot of words against our current Archbishop and realize this could mislead people. I love my religion. The opening hymn at Mass this morning was "Here I Am" and as I sang (probably off-key, but God doesn't care, He gave me this voice) the chorus, "Here I am, Lord. Is it I, Lord? I have heard You calling in the night. I will go, Lord, if You lead me. I will hold Your people in my heart." I was overjoyed. If I could maintain that love for all His people that I feel in Mass, I might not have to worry when the boss calls me into a private meeting.

The Catholic religion is filled with beauty, glory, God's love. But, while the Truth is His, the organization is peopled with, well, people. The Pope is infallible on doctrinal matters, the Archbishop is not the Pope ~ nor is a state amendment Catholic doctrine.

When in doubt, I ask God for an answer, well sometimes He whomps me upside o' the head with a spiritual 2x4 ~ I can't see it but I sure can feel it. For instance, sitting in Mass, distracted by the caliber of the lector, I actually heard, out loud, "I don't see you offering to do it."and the voice was so powerful I felt the vibration. No one else around me did. I took the hint and lectored for six years. Sometimes, though, sometimes He's subtle and I can't figure out what He's saying.  I suspect that sometimes we just don't want to hear the answer, and I pray His patience holds out. We're a stubborn species.

Anyway, just because I don't always agree with the people in charge over what is God's and what is Caesar's, I'm not about to walk away from my Church. I know Christ is present in the Eucharist, I can't walk away from that. In fact, I pray that everyone will find their way back to the One True Faith. Actually, I pray that God will bring everyone home. Andrew Greeley gives a nice explanation about why Catholics stay Catholic even when disagreeing.

Chapel of the Holy Cross
Sedona, Arizona

For years, Catholics evangelized differently, some folks went around telling everyone how evil they were, "Join us or go to hell!" they said. We were odd, unique even, we evangelized by throwing a big party, with food, raffles, bingo & beer and said, "Come join us! God is loving!" We need to go back to that old school Catholic evangelism.

Catholicism has inspired so many through the centuries. Detractors complain of the time & money put into beautiful buildings not understanding why we can't pray in something utilitarian. We can, of course. God hears our prayers in cathedrals, traffic jams, schools, in cities, on mountaintops. The churches are beautiful because the God's love is beautiful. They are humble mankind's attempt to give glory to God. Also, pretty pictures in stained glass are useful for children and those with ADD, while their thoughts will hop to 34 topics in an hour, at least some of them will land on the windows & the statuary and therefore stay kinda sorta on topic.

The prayers are beautiful, too. St Thomas Aquinas wrote Tantum ergo Sacramentum, the most popular English name would be Down in Adoration Falling.  There's also the Memorare:

Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help, or sought thine intercession was left unaided.
Inspired by this confidence, I fly unto thee, O Virgin of virgins, my mother; to thee do I come, before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in thy mercy hear and answer me.

She always answers. Sometimes you feel a little strength from her, sometimes a lot. Like any good mother, Mary only gives you as much help as you really need. There's an old joke about her that says quite a bit about how much joy there is to be found in the Catholic faith. 

One day, St. Peter approached Jesus and handed him the keys to heaven, saying, "I quit, Lord." 

Stunned, Jesus asks, "Why? You do a great job and have all the power to decide who gets in. It's up to you to keep the sinners out." 

"I know, Lord. But it's your mother, every time I turn someone away, she lets them in the back door!"

Sacre Coeur, Paris

That's what the Catholic Church is, you see.  We aren't just a religion, we are family, God's huge sprawling, brawling, loving family. That's why we want everyone to join us, we are all God's children, thus, we are all part of this loud, bossy, devout, warm family. Come to the next reunion, there's a big one every Sunday, close by and the food can't be beat.

It Doesn't Matter If You Pick the Right Candidate When You Can't Find the Poll

The election is a week away. Are you registered to vote at your current address? Are you sure? Do you know where you're voting? Years ending in two (like 2012) involve Congressional Redistricting. This is a snooty government term which means, "We've had time to go throw the census results and fight over new boundary lines. You lose." Okay, that's pretty cynical, sometimes the government does make decisions that don't screw over the average person, I just don't have any recent examples.

Anyway, back to where to vote, when they change district lines you might end up in a new district. Minneapolis actually closed several polling places this year, too, because things weren't confusing enough. Well, that, and staffing a polling site for sixteen hours for less than a thousand voters is not fiscally sound. Yup, they are actually trying to save our money. Oooo! A recent example! That was too easy.

When you get to the polls, you will be helped by Election Judges. These are people who make roughly minimum wage (some actually do it for free) arrive at six in the morning to set up, stay until every voter who was at the polls before eight p.m. has voted, clean up the place and finally get to leave. I was usually done by 9:30, but my old site closed for being too small, I have no idea how late the new one will be. Please be patient with us. We are not regular, full-time employees of the elections departments. We are ordinary people, retired folks, workers who took a vacation day, college students cutting class ~ we do this because without us, you might have to vote by appointment and still stand in line for hours. Imagine if half the election judges quit, there would be half as many polling places ~ and you think the lines are long now.

The Election Judges will sign you in (if you're pre-registered) sign you up (if your state allows same day registration) give you your ballot, answer any questions about how it works, help ensure your ballot is counted, all while remaining impartial. Think about that. If you've been reading this blog, you know I'm opinionated, yet I absolutely cannot share that opinion on election day. It's so very, very hard. But more important than difficult, so I shut the heck up.

Your Election Judges will try very hard to serve you. Please try to be patient if it takes us a minute to find your new polling place ~ we cannot possibly memorize every address in town. We'll try to patient even if you're the 102nd person to insist, wrongly, that this is your spot.

Go to Can I Vote to find out where to go and what you need to bring. This is a nationwide website set up by Elections Officials to help everyone find what they need. Every link on this post takes you there. Please vote. Even if we disagree on every single candidate and issue, please vote. Democracy works best when everyone is involved.

In 2008, in Minneapolis, two election judges helped a woman with curbside voting (for those who can't make it all the way to the poll) because she was in labor and refused to go to the hospital until she voted. That, by the way, is why do it, cause democracy rocks!

Me & My Bad Attitude

I am a terrible, awful, horrible, despicable human being. Possibly, not even human. My supervisor would tell you that's not what she meant. HR would tell you that's not what was meant. But, when you get called into a closed-door meeting and informed that your complaining, negative attitude and derogatory comments are inconsistent with "corporate values" and must change or disciplinary action will be taken which can include termination, you gotta figure you're Hitler-esque.

I've tried to wear my heart on my sleeve but it's too protected there ~ instead I hold it out in front for everyone to see and spit on. I know I complain a lot. I thought that I mixed niceties in with the complaints, but there was no mention of that. I regularly make people laugh, but that doesn't count. I praise my coworkers frequently, apparently not to the right people. I thought actions spoke louder than words, but they whisper. 

So what was the incident that got me in trouble? A coworker was on vacation and I complained that it's hard when she's gone. She works twice as fast as anyone I've ever seen in the job (and I've seen dozens). It's not that other people aren't good enough, it's that you notice when Michael Jordan doesn't play. She is on a completely different level. In my twisted world view, I expressed praise for her, and no, I have no idea what my actual words were, but obviously they were bad. Apparently, the actual words were along the lines of "No one else is any good."Others (yes, plural) complained to my boss that I trashed them and made them feel bad. 

Really? You can file a complaint when a co-worker hurts your feelings? This meeting hurt my feelings.

Also, I gossip too much. Ummm . . . kay. . . half the time I talk about others, someone else started the conversation (also, someone else is always in the conversation). And we're expressing opinions, not making accusations. Are they being written up too? Is no one ever allowed to say anything about or to a coworker other than "Great job, team! I suck but you're wonderful!!"

If I have anything bad to say, I have to say it to someone who the power to fix it, usually, that would be my supervisor. Uh. . . my supervisor has a blank look or a glib answer for everything (seriously, only extremes). My manager can't make a decision to save her life (if you don't like the idea just say "no"). My director believes in "change for change's sake" and absolutely will not listen to any opinions or ideas that do not agree with his opinions and completely support his changes. 

She did say if I want to talk about people behind their backs I should do it outside of work. Going to a bar after work is a good way to handle it. Well, my alcohol consumption has quadrupled in the last four months, I guess I still need to drink more. Will I get in trouble if everyone but one person is invited to the bar? 

Are all companies like this now? Does everyone get a participation ribbon? Time to go pound my head into the wall.

Everything in this house sucks except the vacuum!

That's a quote, from my mother-in-law, God bless her soul. Sue was a funny lady. It was their anniversary last week, and that got me thinking of her ~ they'd have been married 51 years if she were still alive. What reminded me of the vacuum quote was a fight with my own vacuum. It may be dying. Accidentally feeding it a cat toy probably didn't help. It kept turning off.

For some idiotic reason, I own an upright vacuum. I have maybe 100 square feet of carpet in my house, most of that a sculptured Berber, the best design ever for holding on to crap you're trying to suck up. Never, ever buy a sculptured Berber. Most of my vacuuming needs are in corners behind furniture, under furniture, the drapes, the ceiling ~ you know, places where cat fur and cobwebs collect. There is a hose on my vacuum, fully extended it's about six-and-a-half feet, I have eight foot ceilings. Vacuuming cobwebs means lifting my upright 18 inches off the floor. Assuming, of course, that I can get the vacuum directly beneath the cobweb. Usually, I lift the bloody thing at least three feet then stretch to the side. It's like yoga, with weights. And no grace.

Would you mess with this cat?
She'll protect us from the evil vacuum monster. 

So, I'm lugging the darn thing around the house, trying to clean up after the now-miserable cats. Peanut, in a rare show of common sense, high-tails it out of the room . . . oooh! I just got that expression! Shasta, on the other hand, follows me, hissing. I don't get it. She hates the vacuum with a passion unbound, but stays near it. Like Vito Corleone, she seems to believe in keeping her friends close, but her enemies closer.

I went into the bedroom and spotted a centipede (gads, I hate those, ewww) on the wall. "Aha!" I think, "Nothing can live in a vacuum!" So I lifted the vacuum up, reached across the dresser with the hose and sucked up that bug. Feeling proud of my martial skills, I carry that vacuum around sucking up cobwebs, until I realize that the uninhabitable vacuum probably refers to space, not a Dirt Devil.

I put the vacuum down. Not picking that thing up again. How long can a centipede live in a vacuum bag? Aw, crap! That cat toy was filled with nip. Do centipedes eat catnip? There's a lot of nip. The toy was at least as big as the bug. If it eats all that catnip, it will be huge. It'll be a jungle sized centipede. I really don't want to change that bag. The vacuum is back in the basement. It'll be awhile before I can touch it again. It was behaving badly. Maybe it's time to buy a new vacuum. We could just throw the old one out.