I just read the blog I wrote the day after the election last November.  It is awful and depressing and I feel worse today than I did then.  The shock has worn off, no longer dully protecting me from this deep and abiding grief that I cannot seem to overcome.  I am doing something I always wanted to do. I am a snowbird. I am in Florida for three months, where I rented an adorable little cottage that reminds me of nothing so much as our place in Maine.  It could be bigger and fancier, but it is not.  It’s small.  Cozy.  Beautifully located.  Minimal. The little porch stretches across the front, screens open on all three sides.  Walking distance from the beach and from the most quaint little downtown you will see anywhere.  And I am miserable.  I thought it might be better here but it is not.  There is not a lot to distract from what is happening to my country.  At least at home in Connecticut, I worked like a maniac. Worked and drove and slept and worked and drove and slept.  I didn’t have the time to fret and stew and wait for our fate to come crashing down upon our heads.  I look at the internet and follow the hearings on C-Span and watch my country collapse.  All my fears come true.  One after another.  I knew the day after the election I did not want to come here but I had made a good-size deposit and foolish me, I thought I might get better.  R&R.  I am a social creature and I love seeing people and laughing and socializing but I have a bit of the hermit in me as well.  I was looking forward to being by myself with my dog and my books, and seeing people when I wanted to.  I have been here since January 1 and I have not gone to the beach that is five blocks away, not one time.  I have gone there when it was cool and sat at a table and looked at the water.  A couple of times.  It was beautiful and noisy and peaceful.  But I have not thrown my book and a beach chair and my minty iced tea in the car and driven to the water.  And I feel bad about this.  I feel bad that I have become so weakened that I am giving my power to a crazy person and bunch of crazy sycophants, and a bunch of plain evil people.  And the longer this goes on, the more I blame people who voted for him.  I thought this might ebb but it has increased.  Anyone who cast a vote for this horrible little troll is a horrible little troll.  I don’t believe I will ever forgive any of them.  Unfortunately, they are taking me down with them.  Day by day, I see the evidence mount, and I realize how naïve I was before November 8.  I truly believed in my heart that people would do the right thing.  And they did not.


Sometimes, I feel little blips of hope.  I feel like I can do something and make a difference and stop this madness.  But I cannot.  Because unlike other elected officials, this insane narcissist does not give a fiddler’s fuck what one single one of us thinks, you know – except apparently Meryl Streep.  He seems to have been overly concerned with her.  I try and I try and I try and I can come out of this for short periods.  I have friends who have seen me laugh and joke.  I have beachy plans next week with a good friend and the week after with my nephew.  And I know I will feel good and be happy then.  And after that, I fear I will be exactly like I am today.


Someone said to me today, “I wonder sometimes if I am not seeing things as clearly as you do.”  And I am positive that is it.  I see this.  It is coming like the proverbial freight train.  I can’t stop it.  I am helpless in the path.


This is my life now.


My heart

I am writing.  Sometimes it helps.  I am pushing my sorrow through my fingers and onto this virtual page.

When I was 11 years old in 1967, someone tried to kill me with a knife.  Some of my friends know this, some do not.  I was in the hospital for six days. I lived.

Two days before my 35th birthday in 1990, after trying to conceive for more than seven years, I thought I might die from the ectopic pregnancy that took my only baby.  I did not.

When I was 40, I was diagnosed with squamous cell carcinoma of the neck – most likely my right tonsil.  I had a total of five surgeries, including a double tonsillectomy and a radical neck dissection on the same day, followed by thirty days of radiation.  Half of the people who had this cancer were dead in five years.  I was not.

Three and one-half years ago, I lie on the floor and wrapped my arms around a dog that I loved above just about all people and whispered into his precious ear while he left me.  My heart went with him for a long time.  But I got it back.

A little more than two years ago, I lost one of my best friends to suicide.  There. Are. No. Words.

And there is more; I’m just skimming off the top for comparison to tell you what happened yesterday is just as bad to me as all of those heartbreaking events.  My country betrayed me.  My social media posts during the last week said over and over again I believed the citizens of my country would do the right thing.   And I did believe it.  But that is over for me now, and it will stay over.  I will not trust again.  Almost half of the people in the United States voted for racism and against Blacks, Muslims, Jews, and Mexicans – anyone who is not white and male.  They gave the nod to misogyny.  They agreed it was OK to mock the handicapped.  They decided sexual assault and groping were not a problem, in fact a joke.  Racketeering – that’s OK too. They condemned the entire LGBT community.  They voted against the less fortunate.  They decided it was OK if poor people didn’t have insurance and were unable to get treatment if they were ill.  Life-and-death ill.  My country elected the most evil, ignorant, narcissistic, racist, deplorable public figure who has ever presented himself to us.

Martin Niemöller, a prominent pastor who emerged as an outspoken public foe of Hitler and spent the last seven years of Nazi rule in concentration camps, wrote several versions of this poem – this is one of the best known.

“When the Nazis came for the communists,
I remained silent;
I was not a communist.

When they locked up the social democrats,
I remained silent;
I was not a social democrat.

When they came for the trade unionists,
I did not speak out;
I was not a trade unionist.

When they came for the Jews,
I remained silent;
I wasn’t a Jew.

When they came for me.”

This reflects what I see in our future.

So we woke up this morning to the reality of fear, if we slept at all last night.  I did not.  I have friends with children, indeed some have adopted minority children.  One child’s best friend is Muslim.  These parents, and many more, are struggling with what to tell their babies.  I cannot imagine.  I am an adult and I am terrified, truly bone-deep afraid.  I wonder if today I feel like black people feel, have always felt, and I feel shame for not realizing perhaps this is true.  I have always thought I was strong enough to protect those who needed protection.  I don’t feel like that today.  I am defeated.  But I am leaving on the back of my van, a small square Hillary forward arrow.  I will leave it there as a sign for people who may need help.  Like the ladies in the depression on whose fence post a hobo might draw a cat to show a kind woman lived there.  My father tells me his family wasn’t hungry during the depression. They were poor but they had a large, working farm – so they had food.  His mother kept a pot of soup going and fed anyone who was hungry.  Perhaps there was a cat drawn in front of her door.  The fish symbol thrived so people could find other Christians.  I’m keeping my H so people can find me.  I am terrified but I pledge to protect those who are less fortunate than I, those who fall into one of the compromised categories.  And there are many.  I promise I will do my best.  And to those who are not as fortunate as I have been, I will not forsake you.  I will not.  I will work to recover my true self and I will be brave again.  What has happened here is more important than one individual person and I will stand up and fight for you with every breath I have.  Soon.  I swear.  I can do no more.

My heart is broken.


My life in Haiku

I do hate housework
I try to make myself clean
Vacuuming is awful


I miss him a lot
My dog Mike with his brown eyes
I will not forget


Once I lost a job
A man who had small fingers
Were other things small

Was crazy in love
He said I’ll never leave you
Who tells lies like that

Ann Coulter faking
But people believe in her
She laughs all the time


Looking at hairdo’s
I have been struck blind often
Need a mirror, Girl

bad hair

Thinking in Haiku
It’s funny and makes me laugh
You should try it too


Stop licking my pit
My dog loves deodorant
Dante’s a weirdo


Candy Crush Saga
I am so addicted now
Candy Crack Saga

candy crack

I am fucking broke
Twenty two months not full time
But love not working


Isn’t Gibbs really handsome
Why did Ziva leave


I am getting old
Arthritis hurts my poor toes
And the rest of me


I’m a love cynic
Now I protect my poor heart
It is easier


Not superstitious
Only a dummy would be
Knock knock knock knock wood

knock wood

Word I never heard
Disambiguation – huh?
Love dictionaries


I called you Pumpkin
You called me your Pussy Cat
You were full of shit

pumpkinpussy cat

My heat isn’t on
I’m waiting for Thanksgiving
Colleen needs the warmth


The end. For now.

December 14, 2012

Did you watch 60 Minutes Sunday night?  It was about the parents of the children slaughtered in Newtown in December.  They were unbelievably reasonable and composed and realistic.

Here is what they want.  Right away.  They want straw purchase laws to be seriously enforced.  (A “straw purchase” is when someone buys a gun for someone who cannot legally own one.)   They want a law to require background checks.  They want large capacity magazines to be illegal.

They want their babies back.

These brave people are not talking about the mental health component right now.  We Americans are so dopey that we have made HIPAA laws that protect this information no matter what.  God forbid we should use common sense.  Nope.  Not us.

These parents don’t want your shotgun.  They don’t want your handgun.   They don’t even want your semi-automatic rifle like the Bushmaster .223 used to kill their kids.  They just don’t want you to have the 30-round magazines that Adam Lanza had.  More common sense.

And polls show most Americans agree with them.  These are three very sensible expectations.  But here is the problem.  Not only is the NRA lobbying against these three things, who can possibly explain this, but the NRA is fighting to prevent any new gun laws from coming to a vote.

This is a big problem, folks.  And it looks like they might succeed.  And this is wrong.  Really, really wrong.  I have been on boards before.  I am on one now.  Sometimes things have passed on these boards with which I did not agree.  However, we were all elected to these boards.  We were given one vote each.  We voted.  Occasionally what I wanted to happen did not.  That’s OK.  Boards are democracies.  We live in a democracy.  We vote for the things we prefer.

Remember President Obama talking about Newtown in his State of the Union address earlier this year?  He said, and I’m not sure of his exact words, but something like” these people deserve a vote”.  You bet they do.  I noted this comment at the time and didn’t exactly understand what he meant.  I do now.

If you’re interested, you can watch 60 Minutes on youtube or probably – maybe even OnDemand.  It may break your heart.  But your heart will not be broken as badly as the mother who said the last thing she does each night before getting in bed, is to kiss the urn on her dresser that contains her son’s ashes.  And then she prays she will dream about her son so she can see him again.  And sometimes she does.

But if you really want to do something, the right thing – send an e-mail to your Senator and Congressional Representative and tell them you want them to vote.  Many of them have taken NRA money so they are afraid.  But that’s too frigging bad.  Time to man-up.  Or woman-up, as the case may be.

I keep saying and saying this – We have to try.  And like all good democracies, we will compromise. And these parents’ three requests – they are a good compromise.   I know some people think I am anti-gun but those people would be completely wrong.  I don’t own a gun but have been around guns my whole life.  I can shoot a gun.  Rather well, I might add.  I have never used a gun under duress.  But put me on the shooting range and I can aim at the targets and I will hit them.  Right where I’m supposed to.

It is very easy to contact Congress.  I am attaching a link here.  You can e-mail, call on the phone, or you can take pen to paper or type a letter on your computer and mail it.  All the information can be found in this link.

So let’s all do this.  Take a minute and tell them you want them to vote.  You want to see a vote.  You want to see their vote.   It’s the right thing to do.

One of the fathers on 60 Minutes said something like this.  Go to your mirror, look yourself in the eye and say this can never happen again.  This can never happen to me.  Try to believe it even if it is not true.  It will happen again.

And I know and everyone reading this knows this is a fact.

We can’t solve all the gun problems with laws but we must make an effort.  We must try.  These babies, children, sisters, brothers, sons, daughters, grandsons, granddaughters, grandmothers, wives, mothers deserve it.  They deserve for us to try.

Newtown paper angels

Today, I am not proud to be an American.

This isn’t going to be a long one.

The Presidential election is upon us and again we, the American society, have shown how ugly we can be.

John Sununu said Colin Powell’s endorsement of President Obama was motivated by race.

Donald Trump made his ludicrous offer of a $5,000,000 donation to the charity of President Obama’s choice if he would release his college applications and transcripts.  Apparently it is not good enough for Mr. Trump that our President graduated from Columbia University and then magna cum laude from Harvard Law School.  However, I am pleased that the Donald has opened his mouth and removed absolutely all doubt that he is a royal asshole.  I am not pleased that the first suggested “charity” he came up with was “inner city children in Chicago”.  Really Donald, maybe he’d like to give money to the DAR.

And speaking of assholes, Sarah Palin described recent administration actions as “shuck and jive”.

How god-awful ugly can we be.  This shames me.

But what does not shame is this picture.

Barack Obama bent over to let a White House staffer’s child touch his hair.  The kid wanted to know if the President’s hair felt the same as his own.

In 2008, I believed Americans would not ever elect a black man to be President of the United States.  But it turned out that I was wrong.  And the day we put Barack Obama in office was one of the proudest days I have ever known as an American.  But that day mobilized the Johns and the Donalds and the Sarahs.  And now, I am not so proud.