ELLE JAYE SLUTZKY

Commerce Clause & AFA Pt. 1

2012-03-28T19:14:00.000-04:00

Oh, what fun we're having. We as in me. Fun as in reading with glee all the many and nefarious ways that Barack is beating Antoin and Clarence over the head right about now. Somewhere deep down in my sick twisted sense of humor, I hear Barack say to Clarence, in that exclusively I'mblacknurrblacksoIcangetawaywithit way of saying "[censored], I HAVE GOTCHYO ASS." Because, the Affordable Care Act is constitutional. Unless. There's that word again. Unless. Thank you, Dr. Suess. It's such a good word and you have reminded me of it yet again.

The AFA is constitutional unless you want to limit the power of the federal government. This is a Republican, conservative court mind you. Limit the power of the federal government is not something conservative courts usually do. Ever. Even progressive, liberal courts don't do it. No 'unless' really needs to apply here. EVER. Not once in the history of US has that happened.

It's like this. There is all this power out here in the land of US. What does not belong to the fed, belongs to the states. Unless. It affects interstate commerce. Because of that silly little sentence that says US shall have the power to regulate Commerce with foreign nations, and among the several states [do take note of the Oxford comma, it's totally relevant here as we'll see later on], and with the Indian Tribes. For all this, we have regulation on telephones, what goes through the mail, highways, navigable waters, medicine, food, alcohol, you friggin name it. It's all federal power. Unless it's not. The state has been regulating something (employment contracts for instance) for all of history, but now, the fed wants to it with the Labor Relations Board. STATES' RIGHTS everybody screams. DORMANT COMMERCE CLAUSE the supremes scream right back in a big loud kissmyass voice. WHA? The fed always had that power just chose not to use it, in which case the states are free to use it until the fed wants to and then it's the DORMANT COMMERCE CLAUSE that kicks in and sucks all the power away from the states.

For the last forever, states have been regulating health insurance. States have insurance commissioners, and laws and rules and all kinds of charts and arrows and notations and such. Now, with the AFA, the fed has said - it's my power now, suck it states. And the states are suing. They've tried this before. Never won.

Ah, you say. But isn't this just what those asswaffle tea baggers are wanking about? Yes, it is. But, those asswaffle tea baggers are states rights morons and the supreme court does not give one fat rat's ass about them. Nope. When was the last time you heard of a state's rights case being upheld by the supremes? Yeah, right, me either. Good luck with that one. Why? Well, for starters, they aren't asswaffle tea baggers - they are FEDERAL JUDGES. When payday comes, they are snarfing out of the federal trough, not the states' rights trough. So, not too likely they will rule in favor of taking away power from themselves.

Also, several of them are flag waving greedy ass self appointed sanctimonious holier than thou intellectual aristocrats (aka gasbags). When was the last time you heard of a gasbag voluntarily relinquishing power when his nuts weren't in a literal (not even figurative) vise? Me either. Letting go of federal power is not a likely scenario.

I'm No Sexist - I'll have Cream and Sugar With That

2012-03-19T15:18:00.001-04:00

I know a lot of men who really, truly are NOT sexist. They love women. Really. They respect women. Openly and out loud, even in front of other men. Well, unless they're men they don't know all that well. Or, unless there aren't any women around. Or, well, unless they're just minding their own business. Truly, they would never vote to interfere with a woman's right to choose, or stand in her way, God forbid, should his significant she ever have to choose. Nor would he not celebrate her raise, her promotion, her advanced degree. He is TOTALLY liberated and progressive at all times.

Unless. It's a show on televsion where one of the characters played by Charlie Sheen is more than just little bit sexist. C'mon, men. Somebody was watching that show. But, we know it wasn't you.

Unless. It's a radio broadcast in his boss's car spewing angry Rush-ness. Sure, I would demand it be turned off, but I'm a woman. And, if another woman is in the car, does a good man let her make the call, or does he do for himself. Because, really, who does want to listen to that hate? But, we know you would.

Unless. It's porn. Where women just want that big old macho man to rock her hard in the ass and come all over her face! Right. Porn isn't made for women and women do NOT (at least the ones I know) really want it that way. Neither do you. Really.

Unless. It's video games. Where women barely exist and when they do, they are so overly bodified and sexualized that even Barbie feels fucking inadequate. But you don't want (or, ok, at least expect to ever get) a woman like that. You appreciate a woman's mind, too, we know.

Unless. It's beer commercials, which have improved but still fall back on the hot babes will fuck you if you buy this beer routine which is usually NOT true, but most especially NOT true of the beer being advertised.

Unless, unless, unless - I could go on. Does the 'girl' at your office make the coffee, do the dishes, clean out the 'fridge, water the plants? In an office romance, who looks for another job when the romance ends? Do you refer to any woman working in certain jobs as a 'girl'? Do you refer to any female over age 18 as a girl? Yes, you, too, are a sexist. So, am I. Men should kill bugs, fix cars, and worship the ground I walk on, make the world safe for democracy, have a tea party with his daughter, stand 10' tall always. Unless . . . he's human, as am I.

Rally In Huntsville - JUST GO

2012-03-17T11:09:00.002-04:00

Busy much? Yep, me too. That being said, our attention is needed. Women are getting the short end of the stick in state legislatures these days. Especially this week. Neoconservatives have taken it upon themselves to impose their own strange version of Sharia law upon women. Everything from transvaginal ultrasound to allowing employers the decision on what reproductive choices are appropriate for a woman have been imposed in more than 80 laws passed just this week. Google it. I'm not into providing sources for that at the moment.

Sunday, 3/18/2012, a lot of women and men are getting together in Huntsville for a rally for womens' rights. Sure, they are focusing on their own state laws, but they are including all women and all of America in their protest. Information about the rally: http://blog.al.com/breaking/2012/03/rally_to_stop_war_on_womens_ri.html

I'm planning to be there - sporting my new walking shoes, fancy camera and all the indignation I can muster. Please join us. Millions of women and girls (and men and boys) will thank you one day.

M-M-M-M-MY VAGINA

2012-03-12T08:34:00.000-04:00

People don't like that word. It makes them uncomfortable for some reason. I don't know why. I just know it does. This comes from my abject talent at being able to figure out a person's buttons - those things they push to set themselves off into a funk/anger/rage/whatever. It's a survival skill developed from a tortured childhood wherein knowing such information was essential to avoiding catastrophe.

The only thing that seems to bother people more than saying 'vagina' is saying "MY VAGINA". Making it actually personal is just, well, TMI. Perplexed about this phenom, I Googled it. That's what we do these days. It used to be those horrid little books in libraries that listed every article published by every publisher on just about any topic. Now, it's Google. Even an article in Psychology Today takes one whole paragraph and some 100 words before it actually names it and then, the fine physician who wrote it, a woman, calls it "VAJAYJAY". Don't believe me? Google it.

According to this same illustrious source, some vaginas do have teeth. It's happened. It's called a dermoid cyst. Men apparently have a deep primal understanding of this possibility. Still, given there has not been one single documented case of vaginal teeth castration, the fear if utterly absurd.

Be that as it may, it's not as absurd as some other ideas about vaginas. Pervasive cultural beliefs that vaginas are inherently yukamondo are legion. Physicians world wide offer procedures to make them prettier (lay still, Georgia O'Keefe), less smelly (only if you really have something not good going on) and tastes bad (sperm - yummy). Enter the Linger Internal Vaginal Flavoring, or Altoids for your vagina. Sugar pussy! Which can lead to yeast infection galore. Yum.

The web page AskMen.com has a whole guide to the vagina and her accoutrements. It's fairly accurate, but what disturbed me was a 'first impression' poll rating the article that showed that it angered 5% of the men who read it. 11% laughed. Truly, in a statistical fight, women are no better or worse. It was a woman who coined the termed 'vajayjay' and women who repeat it daily. In fact, my African American name is Shanaynay in her honor. C'est la vie.

There will be a V-Day - February 14, 2013. The European Parliament will perform the Vagina Monologues, among other events worldwide to drive end violence against women. www.vday.org has the goods on all that's going.

Most disturbing to me is the plethora of ads for designer vagina surgery. Seriously. Apparently, it is now also necessary that we have perfectly pretty pusses, not just clean, functional ones. No man on earth would have surgery on his penis to make it prettier. Not a chance. Nor have I ever heard of man saying "honey, I don't mean to be one, but little Suzie is kinda of a honker - I just can't stand to look at it." Frankly, most of the men I've discussed this with have voluntarily gone off on great, profound oratories on the various beauties and delights and the plethora of glorious attributes they find wonderful about the whole area, hair included. In all my days, I have never once heard one single complaint, about me or anybody else.

Hit 'Em Where It Hurts

2012-03-11T17:07:00.005-04:00

One of the big cries of the neocons is that, while we scream about Rush's denigration of Sandra Fluke, nobody showed outrage over Bill Maher's calling Sarah Palin a T**T. Except, we did. NOW did. In March 2011. And before. And since. Lisa Bennett, wrote on a NOW blog later Tuesday: “Listen, supposedly progressive men (ok, and women, too): Cut the crap! Stop degrading women with whom you disagree and/or don’t like by using female body terms or other gender-associated slurs." And the neocons know it. For the full article on the above quote, check out Fox News. Read more: "http://www.foxnews.com/entertainment/2011/03/23/slams-maher-sarah-palin-insult-chides-media-asking

But, neocons go further and decry Progressives for calling Palin and Bachman "Morons I'd Like to Forget". The issue here is different though. That isn't really sexism talking, so much as reasonable opinion based on discernible fact. Palin and Bachman, objectively speaking, are not the brightest stars in the sky. Bachman has college and law degrees to tout as her claim to intellectual stardom, but anybody who is anybody knows that having degrees does not make you intelligent. Education is what you make of it.

Bachman has made a showing of stupidity by saying such things as 'not all cultures are equal' and 'there isn't even one study that shows carbon dioxide is a harmful gas' and 'if we took away the minimum wage we could wipe out unemployment'. http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/the-10-craziest-michele-bachmann-quotes

"Palin, on the other hand, says things like 'Refudiate,' 'misunderestimate,' 'wee-wee'd up.' I won't go on. You've heard the rest. Too many times. The defense to the general every day insult of these women is that they are being insulted for qualities most of us find reprehensible in political candidates: like stupidity.

Insulting women because they are, in fact, stupid is appropriate. Using expletives appropriate only to women to insult women is NOT appropriate. Bill Maher and Rush Limbaugh be forewarned. We're not gonna take it. As for stupid women who insist on supporting men and policies that obliterate rights based on gender and sexuality or race, or any other insular quality, karma's gonna get you. Oh, and karma? She's a BITCH.

Name Change

2012-03-10T15:39:00.003-05:00

Name Change - sort of like Game Change. I always knew that one day I would change my name to suit a new sense of me. I just never knew what it would. I certainly never thought it would be Slutzky. But, there it is. That's what came up and that's what it is. The time is now.

There is a war afoot. We Americans can't seem to do without one, so we'll pull one out of the air if we have too. We did. I say 'we' in the metaphorical sense. Rush Limbaugh in this case, and his ilk, are the real 'we'. The corporations and the legislators who are attempting to take away health care and birth control are the 'we'. The shamers, the haters, the perverse mean bullies who have co-opted the Republican party, to the shame and horror of good Republicans everywhere, the neocons (neo-conservatives) of America have declared that women are less than, and sexual women, as in ALL women, are evil, repulsive, and vile.

My mother voice wants to point out that for every finger pointed at me, there are 3 more pointing back at you, but my crone me knows that's pointless. My school teacher voice wants to say that words can never hurt me, but my spirit knows that's not true. Fingers and words can be vicious tools of petty warriors, but they can still do harm. So, I will point and speak until I have obliterated each and every ignorant, mean hateful thought I possibly can. Each and every day until this insanity stops or they pry my fingers off the keyboard. Whichever comes first.

And, I will paint. And create beauty and laughter where ever I can. And I will not stoop to name calling or childish invectives, unless I just can't help it or I slip up.

War Against Women Call For Action

2012-02-29T18:38:00.001-05:00

Much has been said lately about the rights of women in regard to choice, birth control, health care, and reproductive rights, especially where the right to an abortion is concerned. This has become a really BIG FUCKING DEAL. There is a large contingent of humanity that believes women should be relegated to not having sex, not having birth control, and not have health care where those two factors are concerned. This really disturbs me, primarily because it fails to take into consideration proper medical basic health care for women. Do whatever you want, but reproductive issues are a huge part of what makes and keeps women healthy. Having insurance coverage for that is imperative to a woman's health.

Then, I got to thinking about what would be an imperative call to action for men's health. Then, I remember a pamphlet I read while waiting at a vet's office. Then, I found that pamphlet. Then, I rewrote it to be relevant to men's healthcare today:

WHY MALES SHOULD BE NEUTERED

The overpopulation and the dumping of unwanted infants and children in the welfare system is an all-too-common side effect of irresponsible sex. Every year, thousands of unwanted infants and older children are dumped on the welfare system (where they ultimately end up dying from neglect or finding their way into prostitution or shelters). Many of these children do not ever get adopted. This sad waste of healthy life can be reduced by not letting people breed indiscriminately and one way of preventing any accidental, unwanted breeding from occurring is through the routine neutering of all non-stud (non-breeder) males. By having companion males neutered, they are unable to go out and mate with feral or stray bitches and get them pregnant. This results in fewer babies being born which, in return, benefits not just those unwanted children (who lead a tough neglected life), but also society in general. Human breeding is not merely the production of children, it is the transferal of genes and genetic traits from one generation to the next. Responsible adults should desex males that have conformational, colouring and temperamental traits, which are unfavourable or faulty to the breed as a whole in order to reduce the spread of these defects further down the generations. Males with heritable genetic diseases and congenital defects/deformities should also be desexed to reduce the spread of these genetic diseases to their offspring.

The prevention or reduction of testicular (and epididymal) diseases:

It is difficult to contract a testicular disease if you have no testicles. Early neutering prevents men from contracting a range diseases and disorders including: testicular cancer, epididymal cancer, orchitis (testicular inflammation), epididymitis, testicular torsion, testicular abscessation and testicular trauma.

The prevention or reduction of testosterone-induced diseases:

Males can suffer from a range of diseases and medical conditions that are directly associated with high blood testosterone levels. These disease conditions include:benign prostate hyperplasia (BPH), prostatitis, prostatic abscess, perianal or perineal adenomas (small cancers that occur around the anus of males), perineal hernias and certain castration-responsive skin disorders (dermatoses). Desexing removes the main source of testosterone in the male's body (the testes), which not only prevents the onset of these diseases but can even help to control or cure these diseases if they are already present.

The prevention or reduction of testosterone-mediated behavioural problems:

The testicles are responsible for producing testosterone: the hormone that makes male animals look and act like male animals. It is the testicles that make male animals exhibit the kinds of "male" testosterone-dependent behaviors normally attributed to an entire animal. Males are likely to be more aggressive and more dominant and more prone to male-to-male aggression (inter-male aggression) than neutered animals: i.e. they act like bossy entire males. They will tend to exhibit sexualised behaviours including: aroused interest in females of their own species; mounting of females (particularly in-heat, estrus females); mating of females; mounting and humping of inanimate objects (including toys, chair-legs and human legs) and complete erection of the penis when excited. They are more prone to displaying often unwanted masculine territorial behaviours such as the guarding of resources (food, bones, territory, companion people and pets and so on) and the marking of territory with urine and feces. Additionally, entire male animals are more likely than neutered animals are to leave their yards and roam the countryside looking for females and trouble. Roaming is a troublesome habit because it puts other animals (wildlife, livestock and other pets) and humans at risk of harm and it puts the roaming male at risk from all manner of dangers including motor vehicle strikes. The neutering of entire animals can reduce some of these problematic testosterone-mediated behaviours.

The disadvantages of desexing - why some people choose not to neuter.

The male may become overweight or obese:

Studies have shown that neutered males probably require around 25% fewer calories to maintain a healthy bodyweight than entire male animals do. This is because a neutered animal has a lower metabolic rate than an entire animal does (it therefore needs fewer calories to maintain its bodyweight, Consequently, the myth of automatic post-desexing obesity has become perpetuated and, as a result, many owners simply will not consider desexing their males because of the fear of them gaining weight and developing weight-related problems (e.g. diabetes).

The fact of the matter is that dogs will not become obese simply because they have been desexed. They will only become obese if the post-neutering drop in their metabolic rate is not taken into account and they are fed the same amount of food calories as an entire animal.

Those of you who care about your finances might even be able to see the benefits of desexing here. A neutered dog potentially costs less to feed than an entire animal of the same weight and, therefore, neutering your animal may well save you money in the long run.

Desexing equates to a loss of breeding potential and valuable genetics:

There is no denying this. If a male is the 'last of its line' the choice to desex that male means he will not pass on valuable genetics and it will essentially spell the end for that lineage. Of all the reasons given here that argue against the desexing of males, this is probably the only one that has any real merit. Desexing does equate to a loss of breeding potential. In an era where many unscrupulous breeders ("backyard breeders" we call them) will breed any low-quality male regardless of breed traits and temperament just to collect child support, the good genes for soundness, and good temperament are needed more than ever. Desexing a male with good characteristics, good temperament and no genetically heritable defects/diseases will count as a loss for that males quality in general, particularly if there are a lot of subquality studs saturating the breeding circles.

Loss of testosterone as a result of desexing may result in immature development of masculine characteristics and a reduced body musculature:

The testicles are responsible for producing testosterone: the hormone that makes male animals look and act like male animals. It is the testicles that make male animals develop the kinds of masculine, testosterone-dependent body characteristics normally attributed to an entire animal. These include: increased muscle size and development; reduced body fat; mature penis development; mature prepuce development (mature penis sheath development); the ability to extrude the penis from the sheath (prepuce) and the suppression of development of feminine characteristics (mammary gland development, milk production etc.). Desexing, particularly early age desexing, may limit the development of mature masculine features such that they remain immature and juvenile looking and cause the neutered male to have a reduced muscle mass and strength compared to an entire animal of the same size and breeding.

So, as you can see, like our dogs, if we aren't interested in actually reproducing with the males in our lives, THEY are better off and healthier if we just whack off their balls now. So, ladies, write your legislators and send them a copy of this decisive research and demand NOW that all non-breadable males be neutered immediately.

Love is Not a Choice

2012-01-26T07:41:00.000-05:00

Have you ever been in love? Did you fall into it? Or did you choose? Did you go out and scope out the landscape to decide who would be the best person to love? Did you ask for references? A relationship resume? Or was it more like Some Enchanted Evening: you saw a stranger across a crowded room and somehow you knew, you knew even then, that you would see her/him again and again.

I never once chose to fall in love. I sometimes fought against it with every fiber of my being. The last time, I had to walk away from it and it took about all I had. I have soared beyond the moon and I have faced the gates of hell. All for love. Sometimes even with the same person. I look around and wonder who chooses to fall in love. Who would? Sure, that first blush is grand and glorious - there is no drug like it, there is no greater high, no bigger rush, no finer thing in all creation. But then, after that, there's the whole working out which side of the bed, who cleans the bathroom, who pays this bill, who gives up what furniture.

Divorce is the most loathsome area of practice in the courts. Divorce clients are never happy because love gone bad is every bit as passionate as first love, but turned ugly. Divorce clients are never happy because courts never issue orders allowing you to mow down your ex with a tank. Divorce only highlights the reality that people never choose to fall in love. Nobody would choose to fall in love with a man who would beat her unmercifully or a woman who would run through his money, kidnap the children and sell them to strangers for sex. Yet, day in and day out, people do fall in love with just those sorts of people.

Newt was married, twice, when he started extra-marital affairs. Did he choose to do that? Did he consciously wake up one day and say "You know, enough of this. I want to lose my mind over some dumb blonde and screw my wife out of all she has left?" Mind you, I'm not so sure he didn't. But, more plausibly, did Mariane wake up one day and say "Newt! Yep, he's married, he's a dog, but I think I'll totally ruin my life and throw it away on total shithead, wtf!" No way. Something hit her like an arrow out of the blue and she was a total goner.

We can blame it on Cupid, if we like. Frankly, that's the most plausible explanation I've heard so far. Some little bozo with wings shooting arrows nails you. That's how it feels - coming and going. Love is all well and good, but sooner or later, inevitably and always, love HURTS and it hurts BAD. No sane person would choose that. It's why most people DON'T become heroin addicts. No matter how good the high, it is not worth the low. Luckily, heroin doesn't catch your eye across the crowded room, rush over and inject itself into your veins. Love does.

Let 'Em Bleed

2012-01-25T10:20:00.002-05:00

As a writer, I have (on occasion) toyed with the idea of what it would be like to be a serial killer. The idea of someone who kills, has blood on her hands, legs, face, who for whatever reason, in joy, horror or desperation, thrives on the taking of life. Frankly, I just don't relate. Sure, there were times when I was quiting smoking that I did relish the thought of separating one or twenty assholes from their mortal coils, but who hasn't? In any event, we just don't do it. Now, I have discovered, that one might maybe can . . . .

"Corporations are people, my friend" is a quote from Mittens Romney that keeps being blasted ad nauseum on our airwaves. "Hmmm," my sick, twisted inner voice says. "Wonder how you kill a corporation. Will it bleed?" My sane, rational self has joined in at this point: "BP bleeds. It bled all over the Gulf of Mexico," my rational self opines. "NO!" my sicko self says. "That was Mother Earth bleeding, and BP caused it. BP should die." Good point. "No, when corporations bleed, they bleed money - that's how you know they hurt." My sicko self has a definite intellectual edge over my rational, compassionate self. But, then, it has a legal education, so that only stands to reason.

"How do you make a corporation bleed?" I asked my twisted self. We collaborated at this point. You can revoke its charter. It's not done very often. There's a pretty good article (the best I could find) that dates back to 2001, in IREASON (Killing Corporations by Jesse Walker http://reason.com/archives/2001/07/01/killing-corporations). In truth, killing corporations involves litigation, which involves lawyers and which does not involve corporations bleeding money fast enough and long enough for my taste. I will say this in favor of the death by litigation tactic - it rarely results in death, but it usually results in wishing for death as a something preferable to litigation. An advocate for children once said "From the perspective of my inner child, I would rather be raped than go to court - it doesn't hurt as much and and it doesn't last nearly as long." So, for the sole purpose of causing pain, litigation might be your choice.

But for me, I want blood. And litigation for corporations doesn't get that for me. Not even close. After spending my life working for the man, working for myself, working, and spending more than I made for decades, life presented me with what I saw as no other choice but to just drop out, walk away, do something else. It's what I always really wanted to do anyway, and frankly, I'm better at being a slacker than I ever was at working for a living. Somehow (meaning I have really awesome friends who help me figure out ways to help them in return for things like cash and other stuff that improve my physical circumstances) I have a roof over my head, indoor plumbing, a beautiful lake outside my window, love, food, a dog, a car, my rent and utilities paid with a little cash left over at the end of the month. Never in all my working life did I do this well.

What I don't do is spend all of my money supporting large corporations. Ah, the other way to hurt corporations. They don't generate their own blood (money). We give money to them. If we stop giving money to them, it's almost like bleeding. If the influx of blood (money) stops, they die. If you want to kill a corporation, cut off its blood (money) supply. Do it. Today. Every way you can. Pass it on.

Say You Want A Resolution . . .

2012-01-12T12:31:00.000-05:00

My big resolution for 2012 is to have a better relationship with food. I don't like the size I've grown up to be and in examining that fact, I've decided to examine how I treat food and how food treats me. Let's fact it, the primary relationship of my life has been with food. typical of me, that hasn't always been healthy.

First on my list is to waste no food. I throw away enough food to save the lives of several small children in Africa. Ok. Several LARGE children and a few adults. If there's such a thing as sin, that's it in my book. Plants and animals sacrifice their lives so I can toss them in a landfill. Not good. Not nice. I am pleased to say that so far this year, I haven't tossed out food.

My next focus is simple nutrition. It's bizarre that I eat food that contains no nutritional value. Okay, true popcorn is a whole grain, but in all honesty it's just filler. Something to eat to be eating. Even celery can fill that void, but at least it qualifies as a vegetable and contains Riboflavin, Vitamin B6, Pantothenic Acid, Calcium, Magnesium and Phosphorus, and a very good source of Dietary Fiber, Vitamin A, Vitamin C, Vitamin K, Folate, Potassium and Manganese. Sheesh, it's a virtual vitamin with zero calories. Hmm, I wonder how it tastes with butter?

Passion/Desire

2011-10-28T22:58:00.002-04:00

It's the passion that makes the art, it's the desire that makes the artist.

Yo, Andy!

2011-10-26T10:45:00.000-04:00

"I would say it's in your best interest to pack up and go," the former United Nations ambassador, Atlanta mayor and confidant of Martin Luther King Jr. said to the protestors. Young told protestors he supports them, but he said they would be more effective if they focus their message. "You have to be very clear in what you're saying, and you have to have a consensus about the changes you want in the American economy and what does it take to make those changes," Young said.

Andy, did you change your name to Dick? WTF? You know me. As recently as ten years ago, you looked me in the eye, said "Hi, Laura." and then you said something else about the importance of civil disobedience but that suing a judge was a really dumbass idea and then I just wanted to punch your lights out so I didn't hear the rest. Right, Anj. Like marching on Selma was rocket science. You have to wear them down, Andy, one day at a time. I think you said that once. Maybe Yoki's Daddy said it. Could have been her momma. Coretta had more than a few things to say. I sure wish I could hear what she would say to you today.

Oh, wait! I can hear it. "Struggle is a never ending process. Freedom is never really won, you earn it and win it in every generation." How about this one: "If you don't like something, young lady, get you get up off your fanny and you do something about. You just take that first step and all the universe will come along to help you." That's one that isn't in the books. She said that to me. You were there, so don't deny it.

When the system became so broken, and so wrong and there were so many homeless and hopeless and without any resources, this protest was born. Your argument that the protestors need a clearer statement is the equivalent of someone in the 60s saying "what do you want Dr. King? Voting rights or to eat lunch?" We want it all. We wanting voting rights, not further unconstitutional restrictions that make it difficult for the poor and downtrodden to vote. We want a job. We want health care.

We don't want it all. We just want enough to pay the bills, have a barbecue on Sunday, go to the mall once in a while, watch a little internet porn, whatever. Whatever it is we do, we just want that. We want a cozy bed, tv, dinner and a movie once in a while, a couple a kids, a car that doesn't self destruct or cost as much as a house. We want a fair game, a level playing field, the same rights and privileges that corporations get. In other words, Andy, we want the same thing you wanted when you marched on Selma. We want them now and we want them for EVERYBODY. We want them for young, old, christian, muslim, buddhist, and gay. We want help now. We want rich people to stop acting like dicks and we want the government to stop kissing their butts. We want a little honesty, integrity and sanity in our goverment. And we want it now.

You, Andy, are not helping. You could. But you aren't. Here's another good one from Coretta: “You know that when I hate you, it is because I love you to a point of passion that unhinges my soul.” Right now, Andy, I hate you. Lead, follow or get the fuck out of the way.

Living Wood

2011-10-25T21:53:00.001-04:00

I prefer to work on dead wood. A tree just felled, that's still alive, makes me wonder if it hurts. I know, strange thoughts for a non-vegetarian, but I do agree we could all go a lot further to consider the pain someone or something else might feel. Trees are alive. Vegetables are alive. Plants are alive. Animals aren't the only thing we kill for food. I don't discriminate on what I'll kill for food. But, I do worry if a piece of wood is dead enough to be carved. I know. I've been this way my whole life. I'm used to it. This wood is beautiful. I first noticed it when I moved here. 4 years ago. It was deep in the side of a hill that was very slowly eroding. I did help loosen the dirt sometimes. Whenever Webs and I went for a walk. Just a little. That's probably really environmentally treacherous, but I just live on the edge. I had to have it. It really called to me. So, this is the wood I mentioned yesterday. It still has sap. Today, the sap had been bleeding out of the right shoulder. So cool. It's almost like amber in other places. Proper polishing and it will shine like gold. I just really feel an intense connection to this wood.

I'm also examining other artists and works that exhibit great passion. And I mean passion - not the Hollywood over used kind (I have a PASSION for Facebooking) - no the real, deep down, impossible to ignore, c'mon baby light my fire passion. Like Georgia O'Keefe kind of passion. Sexual kind of passion. I mean, isn't that really the only kind of passion? There has to be a better word for all those other things. Flitting through these thoughts and feelings, it occurs to me now that I have been missing a huge part of creating art. Sensuality is expressed so often and in such depth. Where the hell have I been? Really, I knew it was there, appreciated it, even sought it out. For some reason, now that I have actually achieved it, witnessed it, art lives and breathes on a whole new level.

Question for Artists

2011-10-24T20:06:00.002-04:00

This could be considered a touchy topic. Very touchy. O.K. I'll just ask. Artists out there: does your art ever turn you on? Do you find yourself feeling perhaps a little too passionate about your work sometimes? Has the color of your paint turning at just that point leave you breathless? Does the curve of that wood, or the silken feel of its polishedness just send you over the top? What about paper - does it ever whisper to you? Canvas could, too, you know. I had never fully experienced that until recently. I'm working on this piece of wood that threatens to be an enormous compilation of several other large and small pieces of wood. Recently, I ran my hand down an area I'd just polished and I plotzed. OMG. That wood felt good. Gave new meaning to a woody! For a woman, that's quite an achievement. But, seriously. You know that point in the relationship, when your shoulders touch and you don't pull away, you just slightly lean into each other and it feels nice. It feels almost electric. It feels real and right and warm. It feels like laughter. This wood speaks to me on levels I'm just now finding. Don't get me wrong, I'm not about to be a guest on that weird show about people who are in love with inanimate objects. It just surprised me to be able to feel so much life from a piece of wood that was dead and felled so very long ago. It's really added a new level to the physical and mental aspects of creating art.

Goodbye, Norma Jean

2011-09-16T10:49:00.000-04:00

Years of dementia. Years of wasting away. Years of slowing being erased. Her brother, sister in law, nephew left to get a bite to eat. They'd be back in just a while. The hospice nurse came in to check. Perhaps we could give her some more morphine. She'd check. This was the nice hospice nurse. Not the evil witch I cussed out two weeks ago when the turn came, when she saved Jean from a fever of 105F and seizures, when she gave me the reputation as being the kind of person who will cuss out a nurse for saving a patient's life. Yep. That's me. Yep, I know that's standard procedure. Yep, I don't care. It was an Oscar worthy moment. If life gave Oscars, I earned mine that night. I was patient at first, just trying to understand the why of it. Where in the file was the error, so I could fix that page, so no one saved her life again. The error was the nurse never looked at that page, or any page. Never looked at the file. Never even stopped to think about it. I know I was verbally on that night. I can't think right now exactly what I said, but I did thank her for making sure that Jean could now die even more slowly and painfully than she was already dying. The rest of it included lots of really bad words. For the next two weeks, I didn't have to ask twice for anything. After all is said and done, I'm sorry for whatever suffering Jean endured, but I'm grateful for those last few times Donna was able to share with her. I'm grateful I was able to be there for her. I'm grateful for all Jean did for me. Donna held one hand. I held the other. Donna was telling me about Alaska. "You should go. You should take the cruise up there and then just stay. You'd love it." A breath went in. "I promised her I'd drive the Oregon coast." I said. A breath went out. It wasn't at all labored. Just slow. "I could just drive from San Francisco to Portland, then cruise up to Alaska from there." Breathe in. "There are lot more men than women up there - you should love it." Donna added. Breathe out. "Yeah, but it's cold." Breathe in. "Do you think you could handle the darkness all winter?" Breathe out. "No. But I could totally love the sunshine all summer." Nothing. Norma Jean Tyson strolled the golden road home. She called it that. - the path the full moon makes on water. That's the path you walk to home at the end of your days.

re-post - Rich Girl, Poor Girl

2011-08-08T12:44:00.001-04:00

A highly financially solvent woman once asked me "why do poor people think rich people should give them money?" Huh???? It was said in a particularly snotty tone of voice. I wasn't even sure if she was including me as one of the rich who had found the answer to the pesky little problem, or one of the poor who was trying to suck money out of her. Given that I was working with her on a home improvement project for which she was paying me, because I needed work and had no money, I knee jerked to the latter. I was initially tempted to rip her a new one but there were just too many things being undersaid in her question that I just couldn't leave it not bitched about:

1. Rich people - would you define that for me, please? Who's rich? You? If you had a brain, you would hire somebody else to use it for you! You got yourself some money, don't you? Good for you. Why do you think that makes you better than me? How'd you get that money? Your daddy and granddaddy and great granddaddy died and gave it to you! And when your Momma dies, God rest her soul, you will get even more! Weehaw! That sho nuff makes you waaaaaay better person than me and so much better off than I can imagine. I once sat with a friend and wistfully said "I sure do wish I was rich." To which friend responded "Why do you think you aren't?" I have friends who love me, a good educations, the enthusiasm for good work and the ability to laugh loudly and with all my heart. Turns out, I'm pretty rich.

2. Poor people - would you define that for me, please? Jesus said there would always be the poor among us. Yes, we know there are those who have no home, no food, no education, no hope. Of all those things, we can easily provide for all but hope. Hope comes hard. It takes real effort. It takes time, imagination, and some days it takes absolutely everything you got. Sometimes, every thing you got isn't close to enough. I got money today, but I can't buy $50 worth of propane to get me through to next month when I'll have $100 more to toss at it, but they won't shot up for less than $200. Who knew it would be this cold in October. I thought for sure I could make it until December 1st with just a little faith. November 29, and I get the propane. November 30, a tree falls and smashes the house. No such thing as a propane refund. So, you who daily calls 1-800-DO-IT-FOR-ME to have your toilet paper changed, would it really hurt you to actually give a little money to a genuine, bona fide person who has none? I can live all year just on what you spend in one month at Walmart. Without even being thrifty. Who's poor? Within 2 hours I have a place to live with heat, thanks to a friend who just happens to have a house. Thank you God for your plans for me. Thank you God for friends. I will need another place to live next year, and as I walk into church full of faith that You will lead me to where I need to be, a friend needs help, would I, could I, please, live in her basement? We all provide.

3. Why is giving money to poor people so wrong? There's this attitude that if you have no money, there must be some lingering, underlying, nefarious moral issue at work in your life. Somehow, you just aren't good enough. For me, it worked like this: I got out of college and began to meticulously, carefully, deliberately plan my life. Of course, life happened other wise, and I rolled with the punches, got back up, went back to planning, got better and better jobs, better and better educations, better and better homes and better and better stuff. Then, one day, out of the blue, it all came tumbling down. Blindsided on a Tuesday. I hit a big, fat, hard brick wall. Family health problems and my own personal issues collided into a spiral of reality checking like I never imagined. In a world where what goes around comes around, I had to face up to a whole lot of mean, angry bad shit.

I got therapy. I got God. I was born of Jesus in a dream, and summoned to a conference with the Prophet (not profit) Muhammad (peace be upon him, praise to him, peace, love, and whatever it is that is said - and why don't I know this yet?). Buddha laughed. When the dust had finally settled, I emerged happier, wiser, and with a greater ability to laugh at myself and the world in general. I had no plan. I gave up. God wants me to do something, God knows how to get it done. God knows I don't. That was my plan. That is still my plan. I don't have any money, because God don't want me to have no money. God has her reasons. I have no idea what they are, but I have a roof over my head, I have food to eat, I have heat, beauty, laughter and the best friends anyone could ever want or hope or pray for. I'm still not poor.

As for the friend, I still like her. I disagree with her on a lot. I don't see her much anymore, but that's another issue for another day. So, when she asks me why poor people think rich people should give them money, I just tell her what she really already knows: Because Jesus said so.

Dry Spells

2011-06-23T12:47:00.000-04:00

I've been going through a long, difficult dry spell. Oh, sure, I've done some work this year, but not as much as prior years. And I've done a lot more the last few months, so I think I'm gearing up over all. The last three years, in fact, have been slow. I keep finding other things I need to do. I'm there today as well. I really, really, really want to paint. It's raining and it's the perfect storm for color and brush to dance over some available surface. But, I can't paint the way things are right now. I have no choice but to deal with the clutter in my environment.

It's a mess. I cleaned my closet and now I find myself going back there and just standing there looking at it, admiring the tidiness, cherishing the orderliness of it all. My sock drawer - I can't even open it, lest I disturb all the matched companions nestled there so snugly. I confess I love, admire, envy tidy people. But, the truth is, I'm just not one of them. Oh, yeah, I make a big deal out of OCD being a disorder, just as bad as messy hoarding, but I'm just jealous.

I want to do what I did to my closet to the rest of my living area, but I just can't figure out where to start. I tried starting on the porch, but I needed to clean things, which meant doing the dishes first. Dishes are now done, but they need to dry and be put away to make room for the next load. It's always something. I'm not naturally tidy, or neat. What my bff doesn't know (or hasn't shared with me that she ever suspected) is that I am currently about the tidiest I have ever been in my life. I feel like I've come so far for so long, that I just need to rest on my laurels a while. But, I can't. The clutter really does crawl right up my last nerve and admonish me to do better.

That's the thing with self improvement. You are just never quite done. Small success begs for a bigger victory. A tidy sock drawer double dog dares for a clean, uncluttered desk. A human's work is never done.

one-ness

2011-06-09T23:30:00.000-04:00

I was asked an interesting question yesterday: "what does your life falling apart look like?" There are just infinite numbers of ways to answer that question. Life exploding and falling apart is an experience on the mental, emotional, spiritual, physical levels and so much more. And it's messy. Take everything in your refrigerator and shoot it out of a cannon into your living room. What my life exploding looked like, felt like, at the time.

Before you get all ready to help me, this happened many years ago. I weathered that storm, and many more since then. But, I like an interesting question. It was someone showing an interest in me, who I was, am, where I came from, where I'm going. Artists are like that. And, usually, an artist will share with you what they think, feel, perceive, pray about a particular thing, topic, whatever. Non artists seem to hold those opinions to themselves. I think it's because non artists don't think their own particular perspective on a thing is sacred. Ah, but that's where I think non artists are incorrect. Note, I don't think they're "wrong" - too judgmental. Wrong isn't possible in a oneness world. Which brings me back around to my initial point.

Oneness. An artist said, in part and parcel of the above mentioned conversation, "I am a non dualist." This is a term of art, I know, among spiritual seekers. And it's a nice thought with a nice meaning. Judgment, I know, but it seems not judgment to like something, even if it really is. Since that statement, and its explanation and discussion and elaboration, I changed my perspective. Being a non dualist feels to me like a judgment against dualists and a defining by the not rather than the is. But?

I do often paint a subject as much by painting what it is not as painting what it is. A face recently only took shape when I painted in the sky where the face was not. Much as I struggled to paint the actual face, it didn't happen alone. I painted the not face. Then I saw the face. There's a duality there. There's something more that exists than I can define in line, color, shade and form. The face against the sky is as much the face as it is not the sky. In that space, that energy between face/not face, sky/not sky, right there is aGod. God is not just in all of us. God is all of us. God is sky, God is not sky. You are Me, You are not Me.

Visual Reality

2011-05-28T11:26:00.000-04:00

I'm working on a wonderful painting - two little girls, sisters, holding hands, in a field of flowers. Whenever I paint people, I'm always amazed by one very profound fact: if I paint a person exactly they way the look, it will never look like that person. I know. It's very strange. I've examined this anomaly from a variety of perspectives. I can line up a building from graphs and copy it exactly and it looks exactly like the exact same building. I can line a person up from a graph and copy it exactly and it looks like a deformed freak.

Whaddup with that? To paint a person who looks like a person, this specific person, I have to draw not just that person, but that which is not that person. The girls' faces take shape by painting the sky behind them, not just the shape of their features. It's not a matter of painting precisely they way they stand, or the tilt of the head, but the imprecision of it - there is a spirit there that colors a person that is beyond the reach of physical technicalities.

The smile is dead on exactly the smile on the girl's face, but it's totally wrong until the sky behind her open mouth fills in and then the smile takes a substance it hadn't felt before. There is no obvious pink right there on her cheek in the photograph and no blatant highlight in the middle of it, but it is there and she doesn't look at all like her self until that is added.

I always surprise myself regardless of what I paint. I learn something about the subject. I learn something about myself. I learn something about God. In landscapes, in animals, in people, in every living thing, there is something more than the physical parameters of the thing. If you only capture the image, it will look all wrong - only when you reach in deeply to capture the spirit will it look anything like itself.

Help Me, Jesus!

2011-05-25T19:50:00.000-04:00

http://www.mcssl.com/SecureCart/ViewCart.aspx?mid=69B05C52-18FC-4A5B-9C3D-DABD0C2FEA08&sctoken=6467530115804a83aa735f0043b562a5&bhcp=1

This is a link to a book that promises to teach me all I need to know to market my own art for worldwide sales and big time money. So, does this artist really make the money marketing her art or does she make money selling her book to slobs like me who haven't figured out anything better than art by extortion - ie, I paint a lovely picture of YOUR grandchild which you then want so desperately you'll pay (nearly) anything for it. And like, what do I want with a portrait of your grandchild anyway? See, art by emotional blackmail! so, look in the column to the right and click on the donate button so I can buy the book, or leave a message as to why you think this book (and its ilk) is a total ripoff not worth my time, and keep up the blackmail art (please include photo of child, grandchild, dog, granddog, cat, etc.)! Thank you for your support.

Happy Happy

2011-05-22T21:30:00.000-04:00

I heard a commercial on the radio today. You've probably heard it too. It's for one of those over prices under perform health care plans. It said, in a sincere, perky, female voice "Happy people are healthy people." I've heard this before. It wasn't the first time. It was the first time I had excess time on hands in which to really consider the theory. Since the ad admonished me to be happy so I could be healthy, well, I had to consider what all that entails.

Here's what I concluded: Happy people are healthy because THEY AREN'T SICK. Sure, I know that's easy to say, but let's face it. More and more body parts hurt every day. This does NOT make me happy. It isn't ruining my life just now, but it is working my nerves. Worked nerves don't lead to happiness. Chronic pain doesn't either. Unemployment is also a super big downer. Unemployed people low on money and resources with chronic increasing pain are usually not classified as 'happy people' although they aren't always necessarily unhappy.

What, exactly is a happy person? Right off the bat, I think of the basics: meaningful work, good enough pay, friends, family, balance of work, fun, hope, faith, feeling good. This happy person has a job, or at least a meaningful, reliable cash source. This happy person also has health care, regular, reliable, care that includes dentistry every 6 months, wellness checks for all those things you want to catch early so the don't make you sick. Happy person has a significant other with whom to share all this good, basic happy stuff. Then again, some studies suggest that only men are really happy with that significant other and heterosexual women are usually happier over 50 and not married. I haven't read any lesbian studies, but from what I can tell it's about 50/50 for who's happy and who isn't. Finally, ant it's certainly not official, but I bet hard cash that happy people don't gain weight as easily as the rest of us either.

The fact is, the things that lead to good health, are the same things that lead to happiness. The things that lead to happiness, take you straight toward good health. At least for a while. Age is bound to play some dirty tricks. so, while we're legislating taxation and fines for Coke vs Diet Coke, arguing in favor of healthy food legislation and banning tobacco, drugs and other 'unhealthy lifestyles' and shunning those not so inclined, perhaps we might want to consider demanding those tings really do lead to good health. Happiness. It's not just for rich people any more.

Life's Messy

2011-05-10T10:35:00.000-04:00

Life is messy. Pay attention, all you neat freaks, you tidiness junkies. Some days, you just can't get around it. There will be mud. Muck will invade your order on every level. Crap will mate, reproduce and explode all over your psyche. It just will. And there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. You can run, but you cannot hide. Life will hunt you down and find you out.

We all do try to avoid those places in life. We would rather have order. Clean is the preferred state of things. We dust, scrub, tidy, clean, vacuum. But, nature (and dogs) abhor a vacuum. Some days, you just can't keep it clean.

Some days, the phone rings with the call you don't want. The doctor gives you that look as she walks the long hall to where you are. It can be as simple as a devoted pet in the last throes of life on the new carpet, or a life long companion in a nursing home. Sometimes you see it coming straight for you, but more often it will blindside you on a Tuesday afternoon. Even when you know it's coming, it's final reality will jump up out of the shadows and knock you down.

There is great life in death. There is much gained in loss. Letting go is not easy, it's dirty, it's complicated, it's painful, but in those moments holding a hand, wiping up messes, screaming at God, absolutely hating where you are and what you are doing, there is great living.

Whatever you do or don't do in life, don't miss out on the messy parts. That's where the life is.

WWYD?

2011-04-27T13:25:00.000-04:00

Okay, I'm not exactly a poster child for fundamental christian principles. I'm not really even christian. Except that I am a Universalist: I believe in the fundamental truth of all faith. I do believe in something other than life in this dimension as we know it. Something bigger. Something greater. Something more. I also believe that we are incapable of really knowing what that is.

It's not uncommon for people experiencing dark and frightening times of life to seek greater wisdom and power. I have done that. I have asked. I have been offered otherworldly guidance. I have blindly followed. Blindly. And I mean that literally.

One day, I walked away from my life, my career, my ambitions, my education, my house, my belongings, my everything. I gave up. I had worked hard. I had a good education. None of that mattered. Security never existed. I couldn't count on anything I had ever believed in. Quite the contrary, I could count on everything I had believed in to be fundamentally false. What then?

I got a lot of advise. I tried a lot of things. I went in any number of directions. I do remember reading a lot of religion. I remember laughing at some of things I read. "Take nothing for the journey—no staff, no bag, no bread, no money, no extra shirt. Whatever house you enter, stay there until you leave that town. If people do not welcome you, leave their town and shake the dust off your feet as a testimony against them. Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it. What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit their very self?

Wow. That's some instruction. Not that anybody would really do that. I certainly wouldn't. And even if someone did, not every body can. Because then there would be no towns, no homes, just a lot of lost souls wandering around seeking kindness from strangers. Would that really be a better world? No. But, then, if you take Jesus seriously, you are probably smart enough to realize that everybody isn't going to do that. And Jesus, being omnipotently smarter than anybody else, obviously knew that as well.

In truth, that's what I did. It was never what I intended to do. I made no deliberate plan and set out to accomplish it. In hindsight, I realize that doing so would have been contrary to the purpose. I just asked a question. In prayer, I wondered, cynically, what life would be like if I were to really do that. In fact, it's really only been recently pointed out to me that I did this, am doing this. It's very odd to me to look back and make that connection.

Truth is, we all have a gospel, all our own. We preach it every day. In our thoughts, our acts, our works, we spread our gospel as we go. what we have, what we do, this is what I cherish most. Often it is our children, our hobbies, sometimes it's our work, for many it is the public recompense we value most. What I am worth to the world in terms of dollars and cents - very real, very tangible, very necessary appreciation. We truly cannot live without it.

As an artist, and occasional writer, I accept that my recompense must often come in smaller increments, further apart, than most in our culture enjoy. When survival depends on having the gold and silver to pay the tax man, the corporate supplier of food, water, housing, transportation, then there is so little left over for things like beauty, decoration. Somehow, since starting this journey, I have always had enough. It hasn't always felt like enough. It often felt way too close to a day late and a dollar short. I've learned there is a wide gap between what I want and what I need.

We can all live with a lot less. Try it. For a month. Use only what you absolutely, bottom line need. You will quickly find that beauty, kindness, laughter are absolutely mandatory.

Charity

2011-04-26T15:01:00.000-04:00

I'm something of an Antiques Roadshow freak. I love it. I'm sure I'll get that priceless prize at the garage sale, thrift store, trash pile on the side of the road. Whatever. I've always loved digging through attics, basements, boxes, just for the thrill of discovering what's in there.

The same thrill of discovery is achieved weekly on my favorite PBS show. The sweet old lady who spent twenty-five cents at a yard sale has an original Picasso. Too good to be true, but there it is. What's not to love?

Last night I watched in horror. A sweet little old lady proudly claimed an original artwork from a famous watercolorist. She found it at a silent auction. A school was raising money for scholarships to give to students who didn't have the money to attend the highly regarded private school. Mrs. Sweet Little Old Lady PROUDLY recalled how she bid seventy-five cents for the priceless work and the hovered around to make sure nobody outbid her!

WTF??? Am I the only one appalled? Is this behavior we want to encourage? I certainly hope not. I've been to numerous charitable auctions, silent and rowdy, and felt the point was to get the money to the charity, rather than expect a windfall take away. I've even applauded when raffle winners turned over the proceeds won to the charity involved. I've never won said raffle, so I can't vouch for what exactly I would do if I did win the color tv (or whatever). I'd like to think I'd be magnanimous.

I know I'm not the best person I would like to be, or even could be. I dance a fine line some days, knowing what's right, just not being fully committed to the personal wisdom of it (like the above paragraph - I did delete the series of nasty names I called the old bitch). But, there I go again.

It's not up to me to judge. But, when I see Gilbert Godfried celebrated in spite of spiteful anti Japanese 'jokes', or Mel Gibson praised in spite of just plain stupid meanness, or Charlie Sheen selling tickets and getting good reviews even though he beats women and isn't even allowed unsupervised around his own children, or old ladies cheaping out on a charity I just can't help but thing that maybe we are sending the wrong message about really matters. And in case you wondered, it isn't money.

Divine Miss Emmy

2011-04-01T12:02:00.000-04:00

I've officiated at any number of funerals for pets. I never cease to be amazed. There is a ritual that dogs know. All dogs. The largest dog funeral I officiated had twenty dogs in attendance. My dog, Mongo, had to be put down. She was a fifteen year old lab mix with severe arthritis who had suddenly lost her sight. She had to do stairs and couldn't manage it without eyes, unless I carried her. I couldn't spend every minute with her and she didn't want to be where I wasn't.

She spent a lot of time at one particular farm. There were ten dogs that lived there full time. Another five to ten dogs were frequent farm visitors. They all came to say goodbye to Mongo. We brought her home from the vet's office. From the truck, she rode the wheel barrow to the little cemetery. Someone brought a little yard angel to sit beside her. I had dug the hole earlier. Mongo had sat beside me while I worked, content to be near me. There was a half of a chocolate cake left over from the weekend, so I fed it to her. She loved chocolate, and stole it whenever she could. She had to have known something was up when I gave it to her.

Friends came over to help me, and to comfort us both. I took a break. Mongo took a nap. In the hole. Any concerns I had over whether or not it was a good fit were at least dispelled. It took tugging, pulling, laughter and tears, and a pack of hot dogs to get her out of her grave and into the car and off to the vet. Talk about ironic.

When we came home, the dogs were sitting quietly in the yard, waiting for us. We loaded her into the wheel barrow and they followed behind me as I took her to the grave. There they watched while I placed her gently in the ground. They looked at me, as though they fully expected me to say something. So I did. I talked about the joy she gave me, the weird way she barked at airplanes, her love of forbidden chocolate. I said a little prayer. Then, one by one, each dog walked by the grave, nudged her, sniffed, went back and sat down. I covered her up, gently put the rocks around the space to mark it as hers. When I was done, Jake leaned his head back and let out a long, loud howl. Those inclined to do so joined in. Then, they took off running full speed up the mountain.

Emmy has been sick a long time, but had an attitude and enjoyment of life that belied her diagnosis. This week, though, she quit eating. Dogs have their ways of telling us when it's time to move on. Mongo didn't like being blind and I knew what she wanted - napping in her grave was only the last clue. Emmy loved to eat. She would eat everything. She could eat more than Webster who is four times her size. When she quit eating, I knew. I think, too, she didn't want Donna to see her that way, but to remember her royal demeanor. Donna knew, and we had talked about it, but it wasn't obvious when Donna left on a trip. It was obvious later. Donna knew I wouldn't let her, or any dog, suffer needlessly. She didn't give me the job, but I offered to take it on if it became necessary. She trusted me to know when that might be.

Abbey, Savannah and Webster came today and watched as I put Emmy in her own little grave. I planted an azalea with her. They each walked over to Emmy, sniffed her, nudged her, then sat respectfully and watched as I finished the work. I said some words, about how much she loved Jean, loved to eat, would push Webster away from his dish and polish off his dinner, push him off his bed to nap there, prance past the other dogs languishing in the ninety degree heat to go loll about in the air conditioning inside. Then I said a prayer. On cue, Webster leaned his head back and let out a long, loud howl. Abbey and and Savannah joined him. Goodbye Miss Em.