Dear Diary

Dear Diary,

This blog I keep (mostly) is about Birth, Death, and the Stuff In Between. That offers a pretty wide open range of topics.

Once in a while I get political. 

Dropping a bomb on NRA Headquarters would be my best political act today, except then I'd become one of them. Them, being the strong gun lobby folk who won't budge an inch on bump-stocks and machine guns. How DARE the Wayne La Pierre's of the world hold the rest of us hostage because of their fear of losing one scintilla of their "Right to Bear Arms.” The Second Amendment says nothing of assault rifles. It was put into the Bill or Rights long before anyone invented machine guns and assault rifles.

How dare anyone make children suffer. How dare sickos make immigrants suffer at the hands of our white supremacists and in the hands of our racist culture. We ought to be ashamed of ourselves for not booting out the Dumpling Donald/Dumping the Trump years ago. You cannot have free speech if that speech incites violence. It’s like yelling fire in a crowded movie theater. POTUS’s rhetoric does just that… incites and makes dangerous most public gathering places because those inclined toward expressing their hatred, bigotry, and ignorance hear the dog-whistle Trump uses regularly to keep us just off balance enough so he can continue to dismantle Democracy. That seems his greatest agenda... after making himself and his friends and family fabulously wealthy. I would love to see his tax returns.

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I went to a poetry reading Sunday afternoon with some writing buddies. It was not something my beloved would stay awake for, so he sat this one out. His surgery is coming up Wednesday to rebuild his right thumb joint and move some tendons around to hold it all in place. Twelve weeks later, Dr. Chin says Mark’ll get some Physical Therapy  sessions. Then we'll see how he's recovering. If all goes well, Mark may elect to have the other thumb joint rebuilt. A full year in recovery mode sounds daunting but really is just a hiccup in the long arc of a life. Aren't we lucky to live in an age when such miraculous treatments are available??!!

My beloved came to watch folk dancing Saturday night. It was my second time joining in at a nearby venue where Circle Dances are taught. Not yet ready to dance on account of his hurt paw and sore ankle, Mark watched this time. Soon, we hope he may give it a try. We used to enjoy folk dancing together very much. He would meet me at Silverlake Parks and Recreation Center on his way home from Hollywood. I came from working downtown and we'd meet up to dance, then caravan home to Studio City separately on Thursday evenings. So much fun. It was in the days when I was making Banana nut bread for Garden of Eatin’ - a little health food restaurant on Echo Park Boulevard.  We once calculated that I was losing only a dollar and a quarter per loaf, contrasting the cost of ingredients and gas to deliver the breads with what the restaurant owner was paying me... not counting the time it took to cook and deliver! Ha ha ha. Short-lived career. 

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Once upon a time there was a funny dog named Fairfax. His owners were Mark, Melinda, Mosa and Megan. When she was two years old, our daughter Megan couldn't quite pronounce the dog's name, and called him Fucka. Older sister Mosa was outraged at what she knew was a “bad word” coming out of Megan’s little Kewpie Doll mouth and tried to get her sister to say the dog's name correctly. 

"Megan, say 'Fair.'"   

"Fair."  

"Megan, say ‘Fax.’"    

"Fax."

“Megan, say ‘FAIRFAX!’" 

"Fucka." 

Giggles ensued, which reinforced Megan's mispronunciation. They tried this exercise many more times, with increased glee and giggles. 

So it was that Fairfax came also to be known as Fucka.

Devlyn, the granddaughter at ten years of age loves hearing family funnies like this.

She has been asking for them repeatedly each visit here or when we’re in the car en route to one of her many lessons… horseback riding, piano, or homeschooling art or math lessons with her dad…

Friday, we had her here at our house. Our daughter Megan, who knows now how to say Fairfax, had driven up from San Luis Obispo area for a visit with us Tuesday and Wednesday. She helped us out with a combination crossword / jigsaw puzzle that's been languishing on the dining room table, where we left it stalled-out for months. Gran’Pun and I got re-inspired with Megan's enthusiasm and worked on it intermittently through Thursday night after Megan went home. Dev came over Friday morning and was impressed with the progress. She had helped solve the crossword portion of it and put in many pieces months back, when the putting in pieces of type-face clues was quite a bit easier than all the black and white letters of the crossword boxes and we all got frustrated with it. 

Friday, we three worked on it for a good forty minutes or more, then she put in the last few pieces by herself to our great delight. Dev got that sense of accomplishment so satisfying to both us Grandies and to her Grand Self.

She also had a horseback riding lesson on Friday, which I took her to after a trip to the zoo, where we saw Luca, the jaguar - sleeping. We saw one of two adult wolves. Four young pups are still hiding in the den. (Probably watching re-runs of Rin Tin Tin on TV.) We saw bison in the distance, bears close-up dancing, or sparring, or engaged in foreplay - hard to tell, and six wonderfully graceful giraffes with the dorkiest sweetest faces. Gotta love giraffe’s eyelashes and “smiles."  

To the tiger in the zoo, Madeleine just said, “Pooh, Pooh!” Tigers seem best suited to sleeping. Watching their stripes expand and contract as they breathe entertained D for about ninety-seconds. Then off to the baboons and bunnies. 

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Weekends are for lounging. So we only washed both cars, dusted and vacuumed the house, and watered the garden. Then we read a lot. 

Time to start a new puzzle… or finish the thousand piece giant view of the Golden Gate Bridge and Bay! Oy Vey! Come back, Megan!