Suziecreamcheese Sings the Blues

It’s been a week and a half in about 4 days. Well, that’s kinda normal for me, but it does get tiresome some days.

While I was away, the Bear forgot to give the Terror his allergy pills. On rereading that sentence………… the Bear forgot to give allergy pills to the Terror. It sounded like the Bear forgot to give HIS allergy pills to the Terror, which would probably be a good thing since the Bear doesn’t take allergy pills.

I digressed. The Terror – aka Maverick – was without said allergy meds for a total of 4 doses, from Thursday night till Saturday night. On Sunday, he was snotty and sneezy. Well, who would have thought?

However, a month ago he had a bit of a cold thing that’s been going around the doggy world – according to Dr. Dave, our very smart, very caring, and by the way, very good looking vet, it’s nothing serious and not to worry. Because it’s also contagious, Maverick was home from daycare for two weeks.

I’m a planner. I know at the end of today what I’ll be doing tomorrow. I make lists and I cross things off as I complete them, and while sometimes things get an arrow next to them because I’ll get to them tomorrow, I’m pretty good about making sure everything gets done.

I get little done when Maverick is home. I also have a very short list of things I plan to get done when he’s home.

My plans this week included catching up on the stuff I didn’t get done while traveling to NY and back. So in spite of the snotty nose and sneezes, I took him to daycare, fully convinced that he was merely suffering from a return of his allergies. (My own Fall allergies are in full bloom, by the way.)

Tuesday, he was no different. I don’t know if it takes time for allergy meds to build back up in your system, I’m not a doctor and don’t pretend to be one. (I am NOT Dr. Pawci!) Nothing more than allergies crossed my mind. At 4, I got a message that he was sneezing all over and showing all the symptoms of the previous cold/flu/doggy virus. I picked him up, insisting it’s allergies, but the daycare won’t take him back while he’s sneezing.

So I called the vet, got more meds – doxycycline, which he was on when this first started and is basically a precaution against any secondary infection that might occur. Maverick is now home for who knows how long?

I suspect there will be a lot of alchohol consumed in the next few weeks. The good part is that my crazy teaching schedule will be over in a week. That will leave hours for training, although I’ve discovered that a few minutes of training is better than an hour. Someone gets bored and then someone else gets annoyed, but a few minutes of “go to your rug,” which translates to “run into the family room, circle the rug and then jump on it with all four paws before dropping to a down and then looking at Mommah with a big grin” makes him happy.

My planner is lighter but my load is not for a bit. So if you have any spare minutes lying about that you don’t need, would you mind making a set of slides about Process Costing for me? Oh, and a set about Equivalent Units of Production would be appreciated too.

She married him when I was only 9 years old. I was not happy, my sister who had bought me everything I wanted and taken me everywhere with her was suddenly going off to live with this perfect stranger (they eloped after a very whirlwind romance) and what about me? NOT FAIR!

A few years passed and she had kids and I kinda decided he wasn’t so terrible and then a few more years and he was actually kind of funny, a few more and yeah, I kinda like the guy.

Many years later, he had become a man who had done his best to take care of my sister, given her 6 kids, and a fairly decent life. He also could manage to make me laugh pretty much every time I saw him.

18 months ago, she told me he had lung cancer. He would not quit smoking, no matter how many times he ended up in the hospital, or how many treatments he endured. All the oxygen tanks in the world, and the tube sneaking from the bedroom into his nose didn’t stop him from lighting yet another – although he did have sense enough to remove the canule from his nose before lighting up.

And still he smiled when ever I saw him – which wasn’t often, living 350 miles away makes daily visits difficult. Phone calls suffice – a weekly routine for the past few years. Often the calls are a few minutes – “what’s new?” “nothing much.” “Okay, love you.” “love you too.” to the sister who’s always been the one I could count on since the first breath I took.

So when she called me on Tuesday, when our regular day is Thursday – and we don’t mess with routine, by the way – I knew something was wrong.

“He’s gone,” she said.

I spent the week in a haze of emotions, memories and tears, laundry – throwing clothes from the dryer directly into a suitcase – trying to find a place to stay, canceling classes, Bear getting off work to take care of Maverick.

I drove to NY in horrible weather, the sky was crying harder than I was. My family has been described as tempermental – 90% temper and 10% mental (sorry, Kristi). This is a very apt description. We can hold a grudge til it begs for mercy, and we never forget a slight, no matter how long ago it happened. Several family members would be at the funeral who at best don’t like me, and at worst, actively hate me. So I was walking into the lion’s den, fully prepared for the flaming swords to be aimed in my direction, for my sister. It would have taken several natural disaters to keep me away.

To my surprise, no one tried to stab me. The one I thought surely would came to me with open arms and sobbed while I held her close. (Her daughter looked on in astonishment. We told her that while there are times when we don’t like each other, family is family and when it counts, we’re there for each other.)

And then I had dinner with a dear friend, who made me feel better about many things, and drove home on Saturday, to a Maverick who almost turned himself inside out in excitement, and a big pot of chicken corn soup cooked by the Bear for my dinner.

Sadness and tears, laughter and smiles. A life remembered. A man who will be missed.

Several years ago, I discovered this handy little app called Facebook Purity – you can only use it on a pc, it’s just a little download that is totally amazing. It allows you to block ads from appearing on your Facebook page, filter words and pictures – I hate snow, and hate seeing endless pictures of snow in Winter – I know what that shit looks like, don’t need to see pictures, no it isn’t pretty, I purely hate it. It’s an amazing little tool.

Facebook hates it. Apparently they have people working tirelessly to break it. They’ve recently had some success, and now those stupid stories are showing up on the top of the page. I can live with that, don’t like it but it’s not the worst thing ever.

But they’ve broken the ad block. Every. Fourth. Post. is a FREAKIN ad for some crap. How the heck does anyone even use this site? I’m seeing ads for crap I would never even think of using!

I guess they really don’t want people using that platform.

I’ve always loved jewelry – any kind, from the dollar store junk to the diamonds my husband has bought me over the years – referred to by my grandchildren as “Grandma’s sparklies”.

A year or so ago I bought myself a stretchy bracelet because it was pretty and I wear it often – i don’t often go anywhere that requires me to dress up – I teach from home so as long as the top half is presentable, I could have jammies on the bottom. No reason to don the bling when no one sees it. (Yes, I’m that woman who checks on what other women are wearing, judge away.).

While taking a break from writing lecture notes because on top of teaching 5 classes to students who are incapable of reading the syllabus, I took on the task of prepping a course I haven’t taught in years, (that’s a run-on sentence, phew!) I looked at my bracelet and thought, “I could make that.”

And yes I could. Because I never do things in half measure s, my dining room table is now awash in beads, charms, elastic cord and jump rings.

Maverick’s daycare lady is going to put them in her shop to sell. I think I might put some on Etsy when I get time. I don’t think I’ll get rich from them, but the few minutes of calm they bring are worth the price of a few beads.

And they’re pretty!

I want to think that someday I’ll be able to see the videos of those planes flying into the Twin Towers and not be furious. I want to think that someday I won’t cry on the anniversary of this day. I want to think that someday I’ll be able to forgive the people who hate this country.

Today is not that day

I’m not that good a person

I will never forget how I felt before 9/11

I will never forget what freedom felt like before 15 days to flatten the curve

I will never forgive – and I may go down, but I’ll go down fighting

I’m about to get really political so if you don’t want to read it, consider yourself warned.

I’m not a child. I haven’t been a child for a lot of years.

I’m also not stupid. I have three degrees, one in English Lit and two in Accounting. I am not what you might call “uneducated.”

I know how to research. I’m pretty good at spotting bullshit. I’m also skeptical of anyone who says, “just trust me!” Yeah, not gonna happen. I think the older you get, at least for most of us, the less you trust the government, so when the government says, “trust us, this is safe, it’s great, it’s for the good of everyone,” I tend to go, “yeah, I kinda doubt that. Who’s making a profit off this?

About 18 months ago, my best friend and I attended a high school musical. We LOVE musicals and we love high school musicals because some of those kids are amazing – and some are so awful that we just can’t stop laughing. (I know, we’re horrible people, but we don’t laugh till we’re heading home so stop judging.) We went to the first on Friday evening – it was a very bad performance of Sister Act but we had a great time. I was starting a sore throat. I was sucking on cough drops and she was laughingly tell me to breathe on anyone but her. (This is one of the reasons we’re such good friends)

On Sunday, we went to our second show – Mary Poppins – which blew us away, it was truly amazing. I was still suffering from the sore throat, which had also turned into a random cough. I felt fine except I couldn’t talk much – always a problem for motor mouth moi – I assumed it was a cold and that was that. Colds aren’t all that contagious after a couple days anyway, so take your Vitamin C and shut up, Susan.

On Monday, the world shut down. Both of those musicals were packed, people almost in each other’s laps. I sat next to my friend’s 85 year old father. Not one person – read that again – NOT ONE PERSON – got sick.

By Tuesday, I was coughing a lot. I don’t get chest colds often, but other than the cough, sore throat and being tired, this felt like a normal cold. Wednesday, I took Maverick for a walk. We walked 1/2 mile, I struggled to get him in the car – I was exhausted, he was not – and was totally out of breath by the time I got in the driver’s seat. So I came home and called the doctor because by then we were all certain we were gonna get this Covid thing and die a horrible death. My husband told me later I sounded like his mom in the last days of emphysema. (Thanks for not sharing THAT till I was better!) The doctor – whom I trust completely – pronounced me suffering from bronchitis – something I get every 10 years or so – gave me meds and sent me away. A week later I was fine.

Two years ago I could walk into a store, coughing my brains out, and get sympathetic looks. No one asked for my vaccination status. No one asked if I’d been vaccinated against measles (no), mumps (no), or anything else. This was America. We were free, we did as we pleased for the most part, we lived our lives without a whole lot of fear or a whole lot of rules – sure, some of the rules we had didn’t make sense, but most of them did.

What

The

FUCK

Happened?

How the hell did we go from a nation of pretty damned independent people to THIS shit, where the “President” is going to MANDATE that I GET SOME FUCKING VACCINE that I DO NOT WANT and try to limit my rights if I choose to say no to him? Who the hell does he think he is??????????????

IF this thing had been tested the same way other vaccines have, over years, and IF this thing was even proven to work – see “breakthrough infections” – then I MIGHT consider it. It would be MY choice, not his. My parents are long dead. I don’t need a daddy telling me what to do. I am angry – and I am frustrated, because it feels like I’m shouting into the wind and no one is trying to stop this shit.

Where the hell are we going to end up?

I sometimes think I’ll just give up assigning homework because, to be perfectly honest, which I always am here, I hate grading the stuff. It take up my entire Sunday and I’d much rather be doing things like sewing or making bracelets (new craft addiction here, stretchy bracelets), or reading something other than the text for the new class I’m prepping – that’s a whole nuther blog post.

But alas, I assigned a short paper and a short “go to this website and read the page and answer 7 questions” paper. Not a lot, but I have a plethora of students. (I used that word in one of my remote classes and one of my students used it in an email later. I was so proud! Hey, someone was actually listening!)

I recently read a book titled The Rent Collector. I should really blog a review but grading – you know. It was a truly wonderful book, get it. I said so.

Maverick has an upper respiratory infection. It’s not kennel cough, it’s some nasal drip and sneezing. He’s on meds, but seems to be feeling perfectly fine. He has been banned from daycare for a bit, so Mommah’s not happy. Nor is he. However, he isn’t teaching five classes and praying for good weather so he can be outside and not a major distraction during said classes, which would not have been undertaken had Mommah known that he was going to be home during the class meeting times. The words “shit shit shit” and “fuck fuck fuck” have been uttered loudly and fequently this past week. (I am very grateful that he’s not sick, that he’s getting better, just annoyed that this happened now)

I don’t think anyone teaches students how to figure things out anymore. Also, I don’t think they teach basic grammar. I just graded a paper in which a student said someone didn’t have no experience doing something. And you, child, don’t have no idea that’s wrong. What?

Maverick had to get his second bath in two weeks today. That’s what happens when you play in the mud, Little One. Yes, he is still “Little One.” Had you ever seen Max, you would know why he was “Monster Boy” and this kid is “Little One.” There’s about a 30 lb difference between the two. That’s one of many differences by the way, but I love this little terror equally as much as I love his angel brother.

And it seems that daycare will be closed for two weeks. I guess I need to go check the liquor cabinet

I keep seeing this post on Facebook about the vaccines.

It’s driving me nuts, so I fixed it.

Original:

A friend of mine posted this and it hit the nail on the head for me so I decided to repost it…..I’m vaccinated and, no, I don’t know what’s in it -this vaccine, the ones I had as a child, nor in the Big Mac, or in hot dogs, or in other treatments…whether it’s for cancer, AIDS, the new shingles vaccine, or vaccines for infants or children. I trust my doctor when he says it’s needed. I also don’t know what’s in Ibuprofen, Tylenol, or other meds, it just cures headaches & my pains …I don’t know what’s in the ink for tattoos, vaping, or every ingredient in my soap or shampoo or even deodorants. I don’t know the long term effect of cell phone use or whether or not that restaurant I just ate at REALLY used clean foods and washed their hands.In short …There’s a lot of things I don’t know and never will… I just know one thing: life is short, very short, and I still want to do something other than just going to work every day or staying locked in my home. I still want to travel and hug people without fear and find a little feeling of life “before”.As a child and as an adult I’ve been vaccinated for mumps, measles, rubella, polio, chicken pox, and quite a few others; my parents and I trusted the science and never had to suffer through or transmit any of the said diseases … just saying.I am vaccinated, respect my choice …I’m vaccinated, not to please the government but:* To not die from Covid-19.* To NOT clutter a hospital bed if I get sick.* To hug my loved ones * To Not have to do PCR or antigenic tests to go out dancing, go to a restaurant, go on holidays and many more things to come …* To live my life.* To have my kids/grandkids go back to school and play sports. * For Covid-19 to be an old memory.* To protect us.Text copied, you can too.

My version, with my changes bolded

A friend of mine posted this and it hit the nail on the head for me so I decided to repost it….. but I decided to fix it first

I’m not vaccinated because I don’t know what’s in it -this vaccine.

The ones I had as a child – I can research and find out what’s in them, or I can ask my doctor and I’m pretty sure he’ll give me a print out that lists all the ingredients and possible side effects. 

I don’t know what’s in the Big Mac, or in hot dogs, or in other treatments…whether it’s for cancer, AIDS, the new shingles vaccine, or vaccines for infants or children but again, I can ask my doctor and I’m pretty sure he’ll be able to tell me.   I trust my doctor when he says it’s needed.

I also don’t know what’s in Ibuprofen, Tylenol, or other meds, it just cures headaches & my pains, but those meds come with a package insert that tells me what’s in them and what possible side effects are. 

I don’t know what’s in the ink for tattoos, vaping, but I’m not dumb enough to do either of those things,  or every ingredient in my soap or shampoo or even deodorants but if I bother to read the packages, the ingredients are all listed.   I don’t know the long term effect of cell phone use- but I can research and make a decision based on that research –  or whether or not that restaurant I just ate at REALLY used clean foods and washed their hands –they probably didn’t but I have an immune system that’s stronger than a little bit of dirt.

In short …

There’s a lot of things I don’t know and never will…

I just know one thing: life is short, very short, and I still want to do something other than just going to work every day or staying locked in my home. I still want to travel and hug people without fear and find a little feeling of life “before”.  And I don’t think the government or anyone else has the right to tell me that I can’t do that.

As a child and as an adult I’ve been vaccinated for mumps, measles, rubella, polio, chicken pox, and quite a few others; my parents and I trusted the science and never had to suffer through or transmit any of the said diseases … just saying.  I was never vaccinated for most of those things and yet here I am – still kicking

I am NOT vaccinated, please respect my choice.   If you ARE vaccinated, you should be safe from me, so please stop with the shaming and discrimination.   

There, I fixed it.

Last semester I taught 5 classes. Over the summer, I taught two and took one. My college decided to divide what used to be a 16 week couse into 2 “mini-mesters” of 7 weeks each, splitting the course work in half and totally changing the curriculum, 3 semesters ago. This effectively increased my workload without increasing my paycheck, but hey, I’m just an adjunct so I shut up and take the crumbs they offer.

The class I took was 12 weeks – so the entire summer – and it was one ton of work, but I loved it. The classes I taught were 6 weeks each, because summer classes are always shorter.

I had two weeks off.
Tomorrow is my last day till the next round begins. Again, I have five classes. Three are remote and two are totally virtual. I didn’t care for remote at first, but with masking rules and distancing rules (which have worked SO well to end this pandemic – 15 days to flatten the curve, people!) and plastic barriers and “are you vaccinated, you uncaring piece of shit?” I’m happy to be home, in my dining room, where no one cares if I’ve even showered as long as the parts of me that are visible on camera are presentable.

(This is actually quite astonishing, since I was raised by a woman who never left the house without being dressed appropriately, who wore an apron every time she cooked – which is something I’m starting to realize was a really good idea – and who would be totally appalled at the idea of me teaching a college class while wearing shorts.) (They can’t see my legs) (I wear my diamonds, does that count, Mother?) )

I planned to read and sew for two weeks. I didn’t sew as much as I wanted, I did finish 3 cloth books for the sweetest baby ever born, and I finished knitting a scarf, and read three books. I may just have to blog about those books later.

And now it’s Saturday night. I spent half of today in bed, sleeping off a UTI, and the other half on the lawn swing, reading. It was hot and Maverick was being a dipshidiot, and I was just exhausted by life – I climbed into a book and didn’t come out for a few hours – looked around, saw nothing had changed, and climbed into the next.

Tomorrow is my last day before the crazies begin again. I’ll take Maverick for a walk, and write up a welcome message for students who won’t read it, double check dates in my classes because if there’s one that’s wrong, they’ll be sure to point it out, and then maybe just read all day. Or finish the apron I started sewing – because Hazel was right.

Last night I was perusing Amazon because I had ordered A Tree Grows In Brooklyn (thanks, Kristi) and “based on my reading preferences” a book called American Dirt was suggested for me.

https://www.amazon.com/American-Dirt-Novel-Jeanine-Cummins-ebook/dp/B07QQLCZY1/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=american+dirt&qid=1629566998&sr=8-1

I’ve seen this book recommended in reading groups so I decided to check the reviews. It’s been described as “this generation’s Grapes of Wrath.” I’ve never read that one either. How the hell I graduated college with a degree in English lit escapes me. I digress. I tend to read reviews before I buy books, and I start normally with the one stars. I always do this with anything that’s been hyped up – I want to see what real people think about it, although I know that not every review on Amazon is real.

Most of the reviews were good, saying that it wasn’t as good as the hype, but most were okay. I had decided from the reviews that it wasn’t really my type of book and would give it a pass, when I came upon a review that made me pause. I honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The book is about Mexican immigrants, their struggles in crossing the border, why they came to America, and what happens once they’re here. It was written by a white woman.

This reviewer said, (I paraphrase) that she was loving the book, truly enjoying it and then discovered it was written by a white woman. She immediately put it down and got a book written by a “Chicanx” author.

What.

The

Actual

Fuck?

You gave up an enjoyable experience simply because of the color of the author’s skin? How the fuck does one wrap one’s brain into such a twist that they can justify this?

I am living in the Twilight Zone, more and more every day. It’s rare that I know the lineage of an author. It’s sometimes a guess as to the author’s name if it’s a book I’m just reading for light entertainment – and if you ask me a year later who wrote a specific book, I’d probably have to look it up. (In my defense, I read a lot – close to 100 books a year)

I read for enjoyment. If I like a story, I read it. If not, I give up on it – that’s rare but it has happened, I just hate to not finish a book. I’ve never chosen a book based on the author’s sex, religion, or ancestry.

To say that someone can’t write about any culture other than their own is a form of censorship, in my view. If that’s the rule, I can only ever tell a story about an old white woman with a Golden Retriever, but I can’t mention anything that dog might be thinking because I’m not a dog, nor can I talk about the experiences of the lady down the road because she’s 17 years older than me, or the dear sweet child you all know as Peachy, or about my husband because he’s a guy and I’m not, no matter how you identify gender these days.

How limiting! How utterly stupid! Not only limiting to the author, but limiting to the reader – if you can only choose authors based on your prejudices – and this is as much racism as saying I’d never read a book by a black author – how will you ever learn anything?