Yearly Archives: 2008

Sep16

Drinking the Sarah Palin Kool-Aid

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Drinking the Sarah Palin Kool-Aid

I haven’t been astonished at the reactions I’ve been seeing among certain people to the nomination of Sarah Palin. Honestly, there are still people out there who think that Saddam Hussein engineered the 9/11 attacks, that we need to fight terrorists over there so we don’t have to fight them over here, and that George W. Bush is one of our greatest presidents EVAR. They write lots of letters to the editor, and they leave poorly-thought-out comments on blogs. Without exception, they sound like they have gone to the Fox News website and copy-pasted directly into their brains. Yesterday, though, I was shocked to see a Palin endorsement on the blog of someone I once considered a critical thinker. Yowza.

What did I see? Well, the complaint about the press coverage of daughter Bristol’s pregnancy. The argument that it’s a private matter is generally put forth by people who are unaware or unconcerned that Ms. Palin wants every child in the US to benefit from the same kind of sex education that got her daughter that way in the first place. Admiration that she can field dress a moose (a very important thing for the leader of our country to know.) A casual disregard for the fact that Ms. Palin did not know what the Bush Doctrine was – only one detail of what she does and does not know, as seen in her interview with Charles Gibson:

For me, this shows that during the time that she was secreted away, protected from the press, she was learning not about issues, or filling holes in her knowledge, but how to use approved Republican sound bites to dance around the issue without actually answering any questions.

What blows my mind is that the only issue mentioned where there is a difference of opinion between Palin and this person is abortion. I cannot fathom why there is no concern about the fact that Palin believes the world is only 6,000 years old, that man walked with dinosaurs, that she wants the Bible to be used as a history and science text in public schools, and that we’re living in the “end times.” I was surprised that nothing had been mentioned about her attitude towards Israel, since that is pretty much the top subject of the blog, but I wonder. . .most of the rapture-ready are very pro Israel only because they’re certain that the return of all the Jews to Zion will get the Revelation ball rolling. If I were concerned about electing a candidate who supported Israel, I wouldn’t want one who wanted to ship all the country’s Jews over there so the end of the world would come faster. In fact, regardless of that, I wouldn’t want a president or vice president who wanted to hasten the end of the world in any way whatsoever.

Why is there no concern about the Wasilla librarian fired by Palin because she wouldn’t take “objectionable” books off the shelves? Doesn’t it rankle that she lied about her support for the “bridge to nowhere” and earmarks in general? Is it unimportant that her geographical closeness to Russia is represented as “foreign policy experience”? That when she (or McCain) are caught distorting the truth, they manufacture outrages rather than issue corrections or apologies? (Lipstick on a pig is now a sexual slur, but it wasn’t when McCain said it a few years ago? Cut me a break. It’s a sexual slur the way “pot calling the kettle black” is a racial one. Which is to say, not.)

Nope. It looks like there is one overarching qualification Palin has that subverts any of her other shortcomings. She has a vagina.Around 3:19. . .Samantha Bee is parodying this attitude, but to see it in real life is disturbing. No matter how you expand it into an argument in favor of putting more women in positions of authority, when it comes down to that, it doesn’t count as a rational position. To see it coming from someone who purports to be a rational thinker is truly unpleasant. The thought that people all over the country will be so easily hoodwinked into the idea that voting this woman into office will in any way represent progress for women makes me fear for my daughters’ future.

Aug22

A Sad Way to Start a Birthday.

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A Sad Way to Start a Birthday.

For the past several weeks, I’ve been nursing a couple of litters of kittens back to health, with varying degrees of success. The shelter released them to foster because they were scheduled to be euthanized, but had the potential to get healthy if they got the kind of one-on-one attention that a crowded, busy shelter just can’t provide.

A couple of them needed to be syringe-fed because they wouldn’t eat. One had me up all night twice keeping him warm and waking to an alarm every hour or two to give him water from a dropper. They went through a round of one antibiotic, then some went through a round of a stronger one, and some of them also had to put up with ointment being put in their eyes twice a day. It was important to watch to make sure they were each eating well, drinking enough, and having the right kind and volume of poop and pee every day.

Two of them recovered beautifully. Two of them seemed fine except for a goopy eye, which even so was improving. One still had a rattle in his chest, but was otherwise a happy, active, normal kitty. One had been a walking mucus factory until this past weekend, but now had big wide eyes, normal breathing, and a nice round kitten belly. The last was still having a hard time, but it was clear to me that she was less goopy than she had been – both eyes were open, if a little red-rimmed, she’d stopped sneezing, and she was right in there with the others when it was time to eat or play.

So I wasn’t worried when I sent them off with our adoption co-ordinator to the shelter for their next round of immunizations. Time for a wake-up call.

The last two I described were put to sleep immediately. The others have been given a week’s reprieve – isolated in a cage at the shelter to see if they clear up, put to sleep if they haven’t. B., the adoption coordinator, argued with them about putting them back into their foster home, or releasing them to the rescue organization so they wouldn’t be the shelter’s responsibility, to no avail.

The whole family was devastated. Even hubby, who essentially merely tolerates the cats for my sake, was in tears. I keep turning the waterworks on again when I think about it. Last night, every time I didn’t have one of the little boys snuggling into my neck, nursing on my jaw and making happy feet on my neck, I fell apart again.

I got used to letting the cats go when it was time for them to be adopted out. That became a happy occasion, because I knew they’d be going to a permanent, loving home (with a lot fewer cats competing for attention!) Each time I’d go in to the center to clean and see one of my fosters had found a home, it felt wonderful. This is completely different. Their fate will not be affected by how pretty they are, or how cuddly they are, or how goofy they look when they’re playing, or how much they love to be with their people. They can’t charm their way out of this.

We can’t do anything except hope that they all look healthy by the end of the week (which is, essentially, doing nothing, but feels like doing something). It’s raised some serious questions in the house, though. We won’t be fostering any more cats that aren’t free of the shelter system – falling in love with a cat who might be deemed unsatisfactory and destroyed later is too damaging to all of us. The question is, will we continue to foster, and if so, will we insist on being selective about what cats we’ll take? There’s a lot to think about.

Aug16

Change of Life. . .

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Change of Life. . .

Well, not the kind you might be thinking. That, unfortunately, seems to be a long time in coming. Life, though, is changing.

I didn’t realize how much the crap with Smart Carpet was stressing me out. I still have a bit left to go, because they pulled up the laminate floors and laid the carpet, but I still haven’t gotten my refund. I need to call now that it’s been three weeks, but I’ve had some impositions on my time, especially during “business hours.” We’re not done with putting furniture and decor back into their final destinations, but the fact that we can makes a big difference in my mood. A lot of the stress was having stuff stashed all over the house, so the two rooms with the defective floors looked like they were still works in progress, and the others looked like trash repositories. Never knowing if some inspector or installer was going to come, what time to expect them, and how long they might stay was driving me nuts. Arguing with them and being insulted by them didn’t help, either. Getting it down to just fighting about the money is a lot easier to deal with.

But just when you think you’re in the clear. . .

Mom dislocated her artificial hip last weekend. Dislocating a joint that no longer has tendons and ligaments to help hold it in place is way worse than dislocating an intact natural joint. 4 days and three nights in the hospital, reduction needing to be done under general anesthesia, physical therapy both in the hospital and yet to come, possible surgery to replace the replacement joint, and a restriction on driving that might be permanent. It’s been difficult for her, but it’s also been difficult for me and my Dad. You see, Dad is legally blind, can’t hear too well even with his hearing aids, and is starting to have memory problems that really disturb him because he knows exactly what he’s forgetting and can’t find it anywhere in his head. He has always been self-sufficient, and justifiably proud of his abilities, but now he needs to be taken care of, and so does mom, and his hands are tied.

I’ve always expected that, as the oldest child, the one geographically closest, and with the most flexibility (no outside job, older kids, husband who can work from home if needed), I’d be the one doing the caretaking in whatever capacity they needed. It’s one thing to know that philosophically, another to actually do it. Every other time I’ve driven out and spent time with them, it’s been for something clearly temporary like an illness or operation, or doing something in the house or garden that I’m more able to do than they are. When I go out there to help, it’s pretty clear that they’ll work things out, pulling together to overcome each others’ obstacles and do things according to their abilities. I’ve seen them aging, but never thought of them as “old”. I still don’t, but at the same time I know there are a lot of things I’m denying.

Right now, I spent time taking Dad back and forth for visits for a couple of days to the hospital, gave them some advice about taking advantage of some things they’re entitled to that will make their lives easier, get things ready in the house so Mom could get around and Dad could find stuff, and yesterday I did some grocery shopping for them so they’d have some things Mom could cook without standing for too long. They’re certain that they’ll be able to get around soon with the help of friends and senior transportation, and I nod and agree with them optimistically. It would be nice if they could, because they’re really independent and very busy with activities and friends that they truly enjoy, but I have to face the reality that I’m going to be stepping in more and more often.

Don’t get me wrong – I love my parents and enjoy spending time with them. I’m glad that hubby thought ahead and realized that me getting an outside job would be impractical even after the kids start becoming more independent. We’ve thought it through, planned for a few different scenarios, have a pretty good understanding of what changes might be coming for all of us in the future.

It’s different to face the reality, though. No matter how well you think it out, it doesn’t evoke the same emotions as actually experiencing it. All conflicts and difficulties are surmountable in theory, and you can prepare yourself magnificently for changes and compromises when you’re making practical plans.

People who’ve seen me in emergencies and tough situations that need strength and certainty know that I can pull it off like a pro. I swoop in, do what has to be done, take care of the things that need to be taken care of, make the arrangements that need to be made, negotiate, comfort, do battle, even, when needed. I’m the cool head, the one who knows what to do, the fixer. Hail the conquering hero! I wait until everything’s taken care of, everyone feels better and has been settled in, “my work here is done.” And that’s when I have the time to think, “ohshitohshitohshit. . .” My wonderful hubby helps so much, picking up the slack at home, letting me vent, helping in any way he can. But even with him, my muscles tense up. My fears and uncertainties come out in dreams and disturb my sleep. I wake up with pain in my neck and ear from clenching my teeth at night.

This will pass. I know it will. It always does, as the new thing becomes just another part of my life. It’s the change that’s hard.