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Since my husband proved wildly popular last week, I coerced him into posing again. He was on his way out to do that handymanly thing he does so well. 

 

Handy and manly and ready for action

Handy and manly and ready for action

 

And just to be cute and a bit risque – in the manliest of ways…

 

 

Perhaps a bit too ready?

Perhaps a bit too ready?

 

I know what you are thinking. This Friday tee thing is turning into a way for me to pimp my hubby, so to speak. Where are the photos of me?

Truthfully, I don’t really own any t-shirts with names of places or drunken wild girl concert stories about how I danced on stage at a Duran Duran show and partied like a rock star’s groupie after. It just wasn’t me as a younger woman. And though I dutifully collect tee’s for BabyD, I find the obligatory crew neck style of gift shop garb ugly and unflattering, and rarely succumb to the lure. However, I promise next week will be me even if I have to model yoga wear. ‘K?


My husband called me from work two mornings ago to let me know that AIG, the parent company who acquired the Texas company, VALIC, which holds one of my 403B accounts was tanking in a rather spectacular way.

A quick online asset check revealed that I still have money for the time being and another google search partially assured me that my particular type of account would survive a bankruptcy and that VALIC itself is considered to be one of AIG’s few real assets.

Still, it makes me wonder about my homeland and the worship of the unregulated free market, which seems in dire need of actual oversight and perhaps isn’t as “free” as the players at the top have thought it to be (we bottom feeders have always known there isn’t any such thing as “free”).

It also made me wonder how a person could pull the lever for McCain in five or so weeks. Perhaps its time Americans stopped voting their values and worrying about how they are going to clothe, feed and house themselves and just who – if anyone – is going to be looking out after them when they are too old or sick to do so for themselves.

I think Al Jolson may have sung the original but here is Tom Waits for those Wall Street types (and the people who they screwed in their wake).

Brother, Can You Spare A Dime?

Gorney, Harburg

They used to tell me
I was building a dream.
And so I followed the mob
When there was earth to plow
Or guns to bear
I was always there
Right on the job.
They used to tell me
I was building a dream
With peace and glory ahead.
Why should I be standing in line
Just waiting for bread?
Once I built a railroad
I made it run
Made it race against time.
Once I built a railroad
Now it’s done
Brother, can you spare a dime?
Once I built a tower up to the sun
Brick and rivet and lime.
Once I built a tower,
Now it’s done.
Brother, can you spare a dime?
Once in khaki suits
Gee we looked swell
Full of that yankee doodle dee dum.
Half a million boots went sloggin’ through hell
And I was the kid with the drum!
Say don’t you remember?
They called me Al.
It was Al all the time.
Why don’t you remember?
I’m your pal.
Say buddy, can you spare a dime?

Once in khaki suits,
Ah, gee we looked swell
Full of that yankee doodle dee dum!
Half a million boots went sloggin’ through hell
And I was the kid with the drum!
Oh, say don’t you remember?
They called me Al.
It was Al all the time.
Say, don’t you remember?
I’m your pal.
Buddy, can you spare a dime?


The muse of hmming, Julie, is recovering and regrouping after Ike and so it may be some time before I inflict introduce another Hump Day Hmm for consideration. However, it has been a day or two since I put up a fresh blog piece and my life has not been that static, so I have decided to provide a bit of an update.

I am still working on the short story known as Kumari. It has garnered 4 reviews on the critiquing site and although not a single one of them had any idea what the story was really about (my bad totally, I know, and I am working on clarification), I did get some advice that was useful and have employed it to the betterment of the story.

The main complaint I received about Kumari is that the character isn’t likable. Not even a little bit. And hurray! That is what I wanted them to think but apparently the main character has to be likable or at least redeemable in order for the reader to want to read at all. I discussed it with my writing group last night and was reminded that I am the author and I need to stay true to my character. She is not likable but how could she be? She was raised to be indifferent and callous. Further, the point of the story is to do more than entertain but to make a reader think.

Thinking is asking a lot of readers these days. We are a society that expects to be entertained as passively as possible. No deep thoughts allowed. But I don’t think that sci-fi/fantasy should be mindless. It is a genre that was meant to allow authors to explore bigger issues and moral questions. 

So I am focusing on clarifying and beefing up existing content and we’ll see what happens next. One reviewer thought there was potential for a very dark story. Perhaps this is my Apex submission after all, eh?

Speaking of Apex, they are having their annual Halloween flash fiction contest and I am entering. The theme is “election horror” and I have a nice little piece that I tried out on the writing group last night which they liked. Of course, they are Canadians and it isn’t hard for anyone native to here to imagine the U.S. as a den of evil and conspiracy.

I have also been occupied with monitoring the condition of the family down south these last two weeks. And if we had a color code system we would be orange-ish.

CB had another mini-meltdown and I spent numerous hours on the phone trying to talk him off the paranoia ledges he sometimes talks himself up onto. He apparently spent a few days harassing our folks to the point that Dad had a breathing episode and Mom was in tears. I think I may have put a spot to that for the time being.

DNOS has informed me that when Dad dies, CB and Mom are my responsibility. She will handle the arrangements and BabySis. In other words she will take the easy stuff and I will be left to deal with crazy and exploding. It’s a good thing I used to teach public school. That was a typical day for me once.

That was a while ago and Dad has failed quite a bit even since we last saw him in June. He can barely exert himself physically without bringing on severe shortness of breath due to the demands movement place on his body. 

And I can hear the disinterest in life now in his voice. He told DNOS recently that he is “tired of making decisions”. 

My Dad, the ultimate Virgo, is tired of being the boss? That is so not good.

Rob has asked if I need to go down there now. I am playing a wait and see on a daily basis. If you had asked me even last year if I wanted to be there for the end, I would have said no – thank you  – but no. Deathbed vigils are hellish in an out of body experience way. The days or weeks leading up are torture because it seems like every fiber of your being is on red alert with sirens blaring.

But now, I feel a bit differently. Mom and DNOS are ostriches. They will not see or ask or do unless someone points it out to them. The truth is that I am the only one in my family who morphs into Action Girl when it is crunch time. I was born with the crisis management gene. I might fall apart but not in the middle and not when it counts. I always come through when it counts.

Now here is the kicker, the evil selfish daughter in me doesn’t want to put my life on hold to go down. I have things falling into routine now. I am starting my first writing course at University in two weeks. I just got elected to the board of directors of one of my writing groups. I am auditioning for another contributing writer gig at a women’s group blog I read. I have a couple of firm writing deadlines coming up – one for a workshop with real publishers who are reading and giving mini-interviews and critiques.

It’s not a convenient time for my Dad to decide to die in other words.

I am such an awful person for even thinking it, let alone writing it down. But my Dad would get it. When he was traveling back and forth from Des Moines every week to help me take care of my late husband, he confided to me that he would help as long as he was needed but he felt he was missing out on his life and the things that were important to him as a person. Not dad or a father in law. A person.

I talked with Dad this morning. It was the kind of distracted conversation I used to have with my late husband when the dementia was starting to set in for real. The voice was weak and breathy and gurgled with phlegm. My late husband finally succumbed to pneumonia. There are more painful ways to die but suffocating has to be one of the most terrifying and I am speaking from my experience watching my late husband and from my own dealings with asthma.

Once you’ve watched someone die, you can’t undo it. Erase the images. Ignore the truth. Pretend that it isn’t coming and there are things that need to be done in advance.

I took a long walk today. About 4 miles down and back from J-berg to the gymkana fields. No one was burning trash or leaves today and I didn’t encounter dogs. I have come to the sad conclusion that I can no longer run. Having just recovered from a painful bout of achilles tendonitis in both ankles, I just can’t risk damage. Power walking with the occasional jog and yoga it is. I don’t experience the same sense of freedom though and I will miss that.

And that’s all folks.