Forty-One

A year ago tonight, I had the best night of my life. Period, bar none. The Lovely Cats and Lithus, with more than a little help from Seven, threw me the birthday bash to end all birthday bashes. It was a family reunion of people who aren't family to each other but all are to me. It was seriously, the best night of my life. And that says something considering how really fucking cool my life is.

My birthdays have always been good, actually. 

* A pinata in the backyard when I was eight. Beezy came over and helped my dad host, because my mom was in Europe. 

* Turning nine and having a Barbapapa themed birthday where it was just my mom, dad, and Crow because we hadn't lived in Lynchburg long enough for me to have friends yet. It was a far better time than it should have been, given that description. We played Keep Away from the Barbapapa and ran through the house, laughing like loons. 

* Twelve, I got my cat Trilby. 

* Thirteen was the year we took several families to Lynchburg's nicest restaurant and then back to the house for the chocolate bombe my mother had made from scratch. And yes, all of that was at my request. People kept looking at me, asking if I really wanted to do this. But I did. 

* 18 was my surprise party. We were doing Uninvited and the cast and crew showed up after I did because they all had to wait for me to leave the theatre first. I kissed far too many guys that night ~ only one of whom was my actual boyfriend ~ but I was legal and that had been an issue for some. 

* 22 was the year Jules and I got lost in the Combat Zone, driving a jeep, dressed for clubbing, asked directions from a gang, and lived to tell the tale. TTG she was driving.

* 30 was in DisneyWorld and mom gave me my grandmother's pearls. 

* I've been told I had a good time at my 35th (waves to Cam Pike), but 36 is my favorite one from the Boston years, because we all just sat around the Library and enjoyed each other's company. 

The only truly bad one was 16 because Gail died on my 16th birthday ~ but then my friends in Philly threw me a surprise Sweet Sixteen in March or April or something, because everyone should have a good 16th birthday memory.

You get the idea.

Last year, though...last year was not only the best birthday, it was the best night of my life.

This year is very different. It's been a year no one expected. But my birthdays have always been good, and in that way, this is year no different. I slept late, have been lazy and gentle with myself, watched NCIS and White Collar because I wanted to, not because they are good to write to. They're both pretty good shows, even when you do pay attention to them. Lithus has called frequently. Crow, BIL, my Heart and the Hatchlings nearly woke me but didn't quite. My friends have been in touch. And about 3:00, I walked out of my wonderful, downtown apartment wearing my wonderful leopard print pumps, and headed to Cake for a cupcake. They had pecan tarts. Hello. 

Lithus gets home Tuesday. We're celebrating together Wednesday night. I am peaceful and happy and content in a way I haven't been in a very long while. It's good to be 41.

Scenes from Forty

Topsy Turvy cake by the Lovely Cats. Yep, she learned to make a topsy turvy cake for me.

Lithus and the Princess, being fabulous

Nemeria and me

P. C. (Yahoo Billy); yep, he's still around. And he's the world's greatest sport.

Lithus and the Divine M

My best friends, the Divine M and the Muppet

(Note: there were many other people there, but these people have been on this blog before and I have their permission to post. If you aren't here, it's because I didn't want to assume.)

Scenes from Forty-One:

What I wanted from Lithus!!!! (the feathers will drop after a few days)

With our purple furniture. Purple and red make quite a statement. Not sure what the statement is, but you can't help but hear it!

I'm blessed. I'm happy. I'm at peace.

 Happy Birthday to Me. :)

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

A Small Lesson...

...from Me to You.

When you have been working all day and have only had about 450-500 calories during the day and most of that has come from the milk you put in your coffee and then decide that, when you are done work for the day, it might be nice to have a glass or two of wine...

Remember You Have Only Had About 450-500 Calories and It Takes Very Little To Get One A Tad Intoxicated.

Watch how much wine you actually pour into your glass. Seriously.

Then go to bed.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee. If you can figure out how to work the coffee maker.

Meerkat Moment #4 (dear Goddess, the book is almost done!)

The We Got Your Back Project.

A brief explanation from the site itself because I don't have time to write something myself but, damn, this is too important to not get up immediately.

Yes, I know some of you are thinking… but there’s already a similar project out there! Well, yes there is but (the co-creators of the project) wanted to be sure everyone’s voice is heard, that everyone is able to share their story in the hopes it would give strength to others who are dealing with coming out, being out and bullied as well just for being who they are.

For the rest, click the link up there.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee ~ and save a life.

Wilbur and Rex

My grandfather and my father.

One died when I was 22. The other, still unbelievably, died only five years later. How either of those things are fact is still a shock to me at times. I mean, I'm not supposed to live in a world without Wilbur and Rex in it. But I do.

I'm not sure why they have been on my mind so much recently. Perhaps it is because I am really indescribably happy these days ~ for the first time in so many years, possibly as many years as they have been gone ~ and it's weird to be this happy and not be able to pick up the phone and share it with them. Perhaps because I have a birthday coming up. 41. And I am rapidly approaching living without them as long as I lived with them. Perhaps because the adventures are so cool right now and they would love them, and would love living them along with me, so very, very much. Maybe because I am loved and I love as much as I once was/did when they were in my everyday world.

But I know I have been thinking of them recently, more than usual, and missing them but in a good way, not the painful, heart-wrenching way is has been in the past. Lithus asked me who the three of us were to each other. First, it seems impossible to me that Lithus doesn't know. He knows everything about me; how can he not know this one, most important of all things? But second...how do I answer that question? Who were Wilbur and Rex and Charlie to each other? 

They made me who I am. First and foremost, I am their granddaughter and their daughter. Everything good about me comes, directly or indirectly, from one or both of them. We were the three generations of us. Other than that, I can't help you. You either saw it and knew it; you understand that statement instinctively; or...I leave you confused and in the dark because there is no way to describe who the three of us were to each other. Luckily for me, Lithus understood instinctively. There's a reason he's my partner, after all.

So I live the latest chapter in my adventure, overlooking the city lights of Anchorage of all places, and I hear their incredulous laughter in the distance ("Alaska? Are you serious? Do you know how cold it is up there?"  "You have to send me pictures. You will, won't you, Charlie?"). And I trust in the man who loves me now and wonder at the fact that I love him back, and know the men who loved me first would be so pleased and love him, too. And I write romance novels and laugh at myself because I am so not a romance novelist and know how amused and proud they would be of me and how embarrassed to know so many of my characters are based on the relationships they had with the women they loved and married and dedicated their lives to.

And I miss them. In a happy, melancholy, bittersweet way that is overridden by the fact that I am honored to have known them, honored to have been the final piece in the puzzle that was the three of us. But mostly, I love them still, and am a grateful granddaughter and daughter, even all these years later.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

A Political Addendum

So, a couple days ago, I meerkatted up long enough to write this about the It Gets Better Project. I have since learned why people loathe Dan Savage. And guess what? I'm no longer simply amused by him. His racism and white privilege is astounding.

I still support the program. Because of who I am, my history, the history of many people I love, I cannot not back any program that is aimed toward keeping kids from killing themselves. At the same time, I have to call Dan Savage out on his isms.

As the facilitator of this program, it is his responsibility to actively pursue people of color and transgendered people to speak out here. If he truly wants to impact all LGBT teens and not just the ones who look like him or come from his same background, then he needs to do that. To refuse to be passive about it. Otherwise, he's not doing his stated job and he's certainly not having his intended impact.

The program is good. Again, I won't speak out against a program hoping to keep kids alive. The program is no where near complete, no where near good enough. Step it up, Dan.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

September 26th

...and it's snowing?????

Seriously?

Seriously?

Welcome to Alaska.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Meerkat Moment #3

I am on the fence about Dan Savage. Some people I know loathe him. Some people I know love him. Me? Eh...when I used to live in the PDX area and would read the Portland Mercury, I wouldn't skip him. His sex advice column amuses me. I haven't read anything else by him since leaving his local area. Because I don't love him, but not because I loathe him either. Because I'm more...eh.

Until now. For this, I have become a fan. In response to the teenage suicides among the LGBT community, he has started the It Gets Better Project. It's a way for adult LGBTQs to talk to teenage LGBTQs, right now, while they are going through the bad times that call themselves high school. A way for these kids, who are hurting so much, to hear that It Gets Better.

Pass it on. It's important.

Those are Pobble Thoughts (about Dan Savage's project). That and a buck fifty will get you coffee ~ and may save a life.

Military Meerkat Moment

Chief Master Sergeant Richard Etchberger received the Congressional Medal of Honor today. As well he should have. 42 years ago, in a country he needn't have been in, doing a job no one had any business asking of him, he did the unthinkable and not only got everyone onto that helicopter before himself, but he kept them all alive for God only knows how long under God only knows what kind of the darkest of conditions. Another something that struck me though, was the statement that his wife had known all along where he was and what he was doing ~ and she had kept his secrets for him, even after his death. I understand that. I respect that. I live that and let me tell you, it isn't the easiest thing in the world. I'm glad he's getting the recognition he deserves.

And today, the Senate voted against even starting a debate to discuss if they should vote on repealing Don't Ask, Don't Tell. We can't even talk about talking about it apparently. I'm going back into my hole and grumble. Sometimes, meerkating is worth it (thank you, CMS Etchberger). Sometimes, it just pisses me off (yeah, I'm looking at you Senate).

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Happy Anniversary

Apparently, Boston was founded today in in 1630. Happy Anniversary old girl.

"Old Boston with its zigzag streets and multitudinous angles, (crush up a sheet of letter-paper in your hand, throw it down, stamp it flat, and that is a map of old Boston) — new Boston with its miles upon miles of large and costly houses — Beacon street, Commonwealth avenue, and a hundred others. [...] The New England metropolis of to-day may be described as sunny, (there is something else that makes warmth, mastering even winds and meteorologies, though those are not to be sneez'd at,) joyous, receptive, full of ardor, sparkle, a certain element of yearning, magnificently tolerant, yet not to be fool'd; fond of good eating and drinking [...]."

~ Walt Whitman, Specimen Days

And that's why I love my town.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee (preferably from the Copley Square coffee coffee guy).

I'm Here! I'm Here!

I'm in crunch time. Writing like mad and loving every minute ~ although I'm not sure Lithus is. Deadline is October 15. I'll try to post more between now and then. For now, I'm here! Anchorage is GREAT. Life is even better.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

An Infinitely Civilized Day

After four months in the Interior, and most of that in the bush, we are back in Anchorage. City life agrees with me. A king-sized bed. Room service. Street noise. Bellcaps. Coffee in bed. Restaurants. Tomorrow I'm getting my hair done.

At lunch today, Lithus looked at me and said "you look different, better. You've got that Pobble look about you again." Because I love the adventure. The adventure is the greatest thing. But when the adventure's over, I want a city.

It's good to be back.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Boredom

The problem with being bored ~ soul-suckingly bored ~ is that the very act of being bored prevents you from taking the action that would alleviate the boredom.

There are things I need to do:

* Write 2000 words today

* Plot out my romance novel

* Write on the new adventure story and see where that goes

* Make my bank deposit

There are things I want to do:

* Write a couple letters

* Call about the Anchorage apartment

* Paint my nails

But I'm bored. And doing any of those things takes more energy than my boredom allows me. Go figure.

Those are (bored and boring) Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

10,192 Words

In three days.

And there wasn't even an earthquake in the Falls (sorry GOML!). Yeah, I'm grooving on this.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Cheating?

Is it a cheat if the Falls gets hit by an earthquake, sucked into the molten lava that is the center of the earth and everyone dies?

Yeah. That's what I thought.

Okay. Back to work.

Those are (really tired) Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

10,000 Words, Three Days

Lithus gone for three days. Check.

32 ounces of strawberries and TONS of coffee. Check.

Clean towels, fresh sheets, and trash out. Check.

3 seasons NCIS, 1 season White Collar, queued up and ready to go. Check.

Do Not Disturb sign on doorknob. Check.

10,000 words in the next three days...?

Let the games begin.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Words

* I love words. That's part of why I became a writer. Interestingly enough, the more I write, the more I love words.

* There are many, many words I wish I remembered to use more often. Nascent and apex are two of them. Of course, there are many more but, you know, I don't remember them right now.

* I have decided to stop using the word "ally" to describe myself and the work I do around rights issues that "don't affect me" (quotation marks intentional because all rights issues affect all of us ~ but in this case I mean issues where I don't carry privilege). Too many people use that word but then back off from it the minute it becomes less than easy or not fun or they screw up somehow and get called on it or whatever. From here on out, I'm just going to walk the walk, without a label.

* Speaking of, my love of words allows me to appreciate labels. We need them to help understand things. At the same time, I don't like people who get too caught up in them or put too much weight into the label, the word.

* Nonplussed is one of the most misused words I run across. It means befuddled, puzzled or or perplexed. People tend to use it as if it was the opposite, to mean unaffected.

* It's easy to get caught up in what words someone uses, and ignore (intentionally, stubbornly ignore sometimes) what that person means or is trying to say.

* I'm on track to meet my deadline, writing the words I need to write.

Those are wordy and word-loving Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Meerkat Moment #2

I am angry. I am disgusted. I am sad beyond words. I no longer know my country.

Here's why.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee ~ and not much more any longer, apparently.

CONGRATULATIONS!

My friends, Lrns and Slick, had a baby boy last night. The world just became a bit of a nicer place to be.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Meerkat Moment #1

Generally, when I am working hard and fast, as I am now, I fall completely out of touch with what is happening in the real world. Every so often, I will pop my head up in what I have described in the past as "not un-meerkat-like" and check in, just to see if anything interesting is happening. World still on its axis? Check. Gravity still the law of the land? Check. Excellent. But every so often, something else will catch my eye and when that happens, I have to comment. Why? Because I'm me. So, yes, I am late to this party. I have been under my rock in Lambert Falls. However, that being said...

Shame on you, Andrew Breitbart. You are an intelligent man. If you weren't, you wouldn't have bothered to edit the video so well. You wouldn't have bothered to spin Shirley Sherrod's story. You wouldn't have managed to pull off the racist bullshit that you did.

Call it what you will ~ a misunderstanding, misconstruction, not meant as a personal attack, whatever. It was deflection. It was a low blow. It was racist. And it was racist in the ugliest, most insidious of ways, couched in trying to seem helpful, educational, to bring information, fairness, and objectivity into a situation that had none. Bullshit.

You knew better. You had to have. You orchestrated it all too well for it to have been accidental. And even now, instead of being willing to stand up and say "you're damn right I did it" you are backing off, still trying to shine the exposing-the-wolf-in-sheep's-clothing light on all of this. In other words, handing us more deflection, another low blow, and continuing the (insidious) racism. You are intelligent. Stop insulting ours by pretending this didn't play out exactly the way you'd planned.

No wonder I prefer my fictional worlds.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

I'm Doing What?

Seshat be with me. What the hell am I thinking?

With only about three months before my deadline for book three of the  trilogy, I have decided I hate the story I've got, have completely thrown out the original plot, and am reworking the entire story, almost from scratch.

The characters, especially Carter Anne herself, just weren't working. The story depended on her behaving in ways that she wouldn't have behaved and reacting in ways that she wouldn't have reacted. Part of me finds this totally reasonable and logical. Another part of me thinks that these are characters I have created and therefore they can do anything I want them to do...but that doesn't feel right. If anything, it feels like a bit of a cheat.

I wrote to my wonderful teacher, who wrote back some incredibly helpful words of wisdom (including: if you hate what you're writing, others will hate it as well which makes So Much Sense ~ but I had managed to lose sight of it anyway) and gave me the courage to do this thing, even three months out. Wish me luck. Because what the hell am I thinking?

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Done and...Done.

Back during my divorce, I had a credit card get completely out of hand. There were legal bills, court costs, mediators' fees. There were unexpected expenses, such as having to pay to have certain services changed over because the SGM or his new wife were trying to access them, relocating things for the same reason. You get the idea. Now, don't get me wrong; the card wasn't empty when all this started. It was, however, under control. And then my friendly, amicable, we-aren't-going-to-screw-each-other-over divorce went sour.

Today, July 16th, 2010, Lithus and I made the last payment on the card.

This is a huge relief, obviously. As someone who prides herself on money management, to have had this kind of debt hanging over me has been stressful, to say the least. I don't overdraw. I don't over-extend. I budget and budget well. To paraphrase the Divine M ~ I may spend down to my last three cents, but if all I've got is three cents, I know it and won't spend four. Now, I get that for some people one card out of control seems like it's not that big of a deal. My credit will recover quickly and relatively easily and all that. For me, though, it has been exceedingly hard. So, I am relieved beyond measure.

I've realized there is more, though. There is something else going on here. The last vestiges of one of the ugliest chapters in my life is over and gone. Erased. I didn't even know I was carrying it. But it's over. Finally. Done and done. And that feels even better than a shot at a decent credit score.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

The View In Alaska

The smokejumpers were wandering around shirtless again. I cannot give you a single reason why this sucks. There is much to be said for laundry day.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Yes, Maybe, No

I'm always just a little amused by the question "Is Lithus flying today?" The answer is yes. Flying is his job. Some of us go to offices or churches or hospitals or schools. He goes into the air.  Every day, for twelve days in a row. Two days off and then it starts all over again.

Is he going to be home tonight? Maybe. That's really the best I can do for you. Some days, I can stretch it to probably but realistically, probably is just a more optimistic maybe. Regardless of what his schedule was when he left, this is a fluid job. New fires, new crews, more cargo...everything changes quickly. If nothing else, when your vehicle breaks down on the way home from work, you call a tow, call a friend, call a rental, something. There may be paperwork but you'll get home that same day. Lithus's vehicle breaks down on the way home from work, he's gotta wait until someone can get to him with a part and another bird.

Do you know when he'll be back? Nope. Not a clue. Even on days when the answer to "will he be home tonight?" is the ever positive "probably", I don't know when he'll be back. His duty day is from 10:00 to midnight everyday. I never lock the door until midnight. He leaves here about 09:45. Sometimes, he rolls back in about 12:00 and we have lunch and that's that. Other times, he rolls in about 23:45 and we're grateful he made it back to the ground here in Galena with those 15 minutes to spare.

Mind you, I do recognize that people ask because it means they care. They care about him, about me, about us. So I would rather answer the questions than not have them asked. Still...

Yes. Maybe. No. Every time.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

And Just Like That...

...the door opens and he's home.

Dirty, tired, scruffy, smelly ~ and beautiful.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

With Friends Like This...

Apparently, these photos are making their way 'round the internet these days:

(For those of you unfamiliar with Matt Bomer, he is the co-star of the show White Collar, on USA.)

Now, as pretty as these pictures are ~ and, hello, do you see the man? ~ my feelings about pretty boys are well-known by my friends. But, hey, this is what's making the rounds right now. Who am I to complain? These pictures did, however, get me into an email "conversation" with a friend about how I really prefer the other actor in the show, Tim DeKay. He's a little older, a little less pretty, a little more...something. Yeah.

And going into Day Five without Lithus home, what does my friend Denny do? Sends me these...

Just so ... not right.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Monday Morning

* When dressed in pajamas and going to get one's first cup of coffee in the morning is not a good time to wander into the crowd of showered, cleaned, and well-dressed pilots milling around the hallway, waiting to leave town.

* Any place called Skinny Dick's Halfway Inn would not be allowed to stay in business very long in the lower 48.

* It used to be relatively easy for me to put my hands on $1500 if I really needed it. Aren't finances supposed to get better/easier as you get older?

* Wearing a watch after years of not doing so takes an adjustment period.

* Having your grossly inappropriate crush admit it was mutual way back when may make you sigh over lost opportunities but it is terribly good for one's ego.

* A cell phone should stay charged all on its own. Or take AA batteries. Or something.

* Although sparklers aren't the same in places where it doesn't get full dark, they are still pretty.

* "Yukon Mud" is iced, sweet, strong, thick espresso ~ and delicious.

* For those of you keeping track, we are going into day four of no Lithus.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

America, the Poisoned: Hold These Truths to Be Self-Inflicted, by Charles P. Pierce

The truths are supposed to be self-evident, even though they weren't at the time, and seem even less so today, as we arrive upon the 234th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, a document more criminally misappropriated down through time by intellectual grifters and political mountebanks even than the Book of Revelations. Thomas Jefferson said he wrote it "to place before mankind the common sense of the subject, in terms so plain and firm as to command their assent," which it certainly did not, at least not immediately. And in rousing the spirit that would produce the document, Thomas Paine titled his pamphlet Common Sense, which was more aspirational than it was anything else. This weekend we celebrate, among other things, the ultimate triumph of hope over experience. It is a triumph that currently shows all the signs of being both fragile, which it always was, and temporary, which it always was not. 

There's a poison in the public bloodstream these days, and it's affecting the mind, as poisons will. One entire political party has lost its mind, and well may succeed for having done so. A congressional candidate in Alabama is running commercials equating progressive taxation with slavery and the Holocaust. A candidate for the Senate in Nevada seems to deny any role for a central government short of raising an army, and perhaps not even that, since she seems to suggest that, if the election doesn't go her way, her several followers may go to guns in response. The members of that party in the national legislature have utterly abandoned their duties to the public good for unalloyed obstructionism. On Wednesday, the Senate again failed to pass an extension of unemployment benefits for the first time since the 1950's, and this in a time of 9.5-percent unemployment. The government is unwilling to bring the criminals of the previous administration to justice, and seemingly unable to bring the corporate criminals of the previous decade to justice, either. Some 20,000 barrels of oil are spilling daily into the Gulf of Mexico, where now huge columns of smoke are beginning to rise from the surface of the sea. And maybe it is time to read Revelations with a fresh eye, after all, except for the fact that the horsemen are not unleashed upon us. We invite them in to ride. 

The poison dulls the mind and enervates the body. It leaches away the critical faculties and leaves in their place a kind of dull-eyed acceptance that borders on chronic lassitude. We accept what we cannot change and then decide we can't really change anything, and thereupon, we accept anything. A political party that embraces public lunacy in its candidates, and public dereliction in its elected officials, should pay a political price for that. It will not, because the only people motivated at the moment are the people who are motivated in support of the lunacy and, in fact, who would like to see more of it. And they may well do so. Instead, we study the lunacy as if it were a phenomenon detached from our daily lives, the way that we have detached ourselves from the discipline and responsibilities of self-government, congratulating ourselves on how fair-minded we are for giving the lunatics a hearing and then becoming mystified when we realize that, if they are empowered in the government, they mean to do what they say. 

An unemployment rate that nudges 10 percent should occasion societal upheaval. Instead, we give a polite hearing to responsible "moderates" who argue that it's pretty much the way it's going to be for a while, and to conservative voices telling us that the unemployed are simply entitled parasites, drowning in indulgence and flat-screen TV's. And we congratulate ourselves for being broad-minded enough not to call an obscenity what it is out loud. In a properly functioning, self-governing republic, the corporate criminality that nearly brought down the economies of the world, and the corporate criminality that has turned the Gulf of Mexico into flaming toxic stew, would demand a vigorous political response. But, generally, we accept the notion that the latter would be impractical, that it essentially would be requiring one conjoined twin to beat the other one over the head. 

That this is a mortal sin against what we are supposed to be, a primary heresy against the American faith, is lost on us. (James Madison thought corporations as inimical to self-government as organized religion, and Tom Paine hated them as much as he hated George III.) Instead, we channel what outrage we have into sub-comic spectacles — idiots in tricornered hats, spouting off about the founders, the crackpot Glenn Beck's pretending to be Paine, who would've eaten his liver and asked for sauce. Comfortable with oligarchy and comforted that we are We and not They, we bestir ourselves only to be mean and vengeful. We bestir ourselves, when we bestir ourselves, to be proud of our ignorance, vain in our rootless delusions, and vaunting in our sad pretensions. 

But that is not the poison. The poison is the wars. 

War was not theoretical for the founders. War was fifty miles away from them, and closing in fast. War had been made upon them in New England long before they got around to making war back again. War was why they distrusted standing armies, and why, when they got around to writing a Constitution, they placed the power of declaring it in the diffuse institution of the legislature rather than concentrating it in the executive. This is another principle that we've fairly well abandoned. We have two of them ongoing, their purposes now more vague than ever, and their outcomes increasingly ill-defined. They alternate weirdly in the public mind. Afghanistan seems to be the primary concern again, what with loose-tongued generals and all. But, while we have two wars going, we are not a nation at war. We ceded that responsibility in 2001, when we were told that all we really had to do was go to the mall. If we took our responsibilities seriously, we would have been insulted by that, and someone would have paid a political price. Instead, we found ourselves lied into a second war, which really should have shaken up the politics, and we responded by reelecting the liars, because that was the course of least resistance. Now, Iraq is said to be more stable, but Afghanistan is going to be the long, bloody slog, which was the reverse of what we were being told five years ago. This should occasion some general soul-searching as to just what in the hell we are trying to accomplish in either place — a Fulbright committee for the new millennium — but our political participation in our wars is just the same as our political participation in everything else: empty, exhausted, and vicarious. 

If we can be at war this way, how much easier is it for us to walk away from our responsibilities as regards the economy, the environment, and other things that are harder to understand? If we can accept Afghanistan as a semi-permanent drain on our resources and our souls, it's easy to accept a 10-percent unemployment rate as the dismal status quo, as the way things ought to be. The truths are no longer self-evident. We've done too good a job of hiding them from ourselves, and ourselves from them. But their terms are still plain, and they are still firm. After 234 years, if we ever truly engaged our heritage and its full implications, we'd scare ourselves to death.

~ Charles Pierce, for Esquire Magazine, July 2, 2010

Those are Pobble Thoughts and dear Goddess, I wish Pobble Words. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

July 4th: Both/And

I struggle with this holiday. I adore John Adams. He was a bit of an asshole and I adore him. As for the rest, I struggle with this holiday.

On the one hand, there is the fact that what happened in Philadelphia two hundred thirty-odd years ago was truly brilliant. No one had ever done what these men did. They broke with the mother country and created an entirely new one. The confluence of brains and bravery is, quite frankly, unparalleled in my opinion.  They pulled this shit off. They were men ahead of their time.

On the other hand...they were men of their time. They were racist, misogynistic white men who had built their new country on the backs of slaves and at the expense of the indigenous people who helped them survive in the first place.  I learned from a very young age that the Preamble should have read: "We the white, male, land-owning people of the United States ..."  Attempts to abolish slavery through the Declaration were not only ignored but used as blackmail. Admonitions to "remember the women" (Abigail Adams to her husband, John) were disregarded. The effects are still in play to this very day.

I believe the Constitution is one of the greatest written works ever, right up there with Hamlet. Its ideals should be celebrated, lauded, emulated.

I don't believe we have ever, going all the way back to that hot room in Philadelphia, truly lived those ideals in this country.

So. Do I celebrate the Constitution? Toast the bravery and brains that accomplished the truly unthinkable and lay the groundwork for every other revolution? Or do I call out the bigots who lay the groundwork for the inequalities they refused to acknowledge and we still face?

Both...And...

Those are deeply patriotic and conflicted Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Niiiice...

I needed some good news today. Looking for something completely unrelated, I ended up on amazon.com. Being a bit of a masochist, I decided to check and see how the books are doing.

While none of them are as high in the ranks as I would like ~ okay, they are all actually much lower than I'd like ~ all five of them have "only (x) left in stock --- order soon (more on the way)" on them. Yep. All Five.

 Only 3 left in stock

Only 4 left in stock

Only 2 left in stock

Only 3 left in stock

Only 2 left in stock

You see that smirk? Yeah...that's me.

So go ahead, buy books. It's okay; there are more on the way. Go ahead. You know you want to. Your friends want to. Your mom wants to. Hell, everybody wants to. Books for everybody! You know you want to...

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Feeling a Little Silly

When I was married to the SGM, I would literally go months without seeing him. In other relationships, I have been accused of being indifferent ~ one of the nicer terms for it ~ because I was okay with so much time apart. For a long time, I have intimacy issues, people! was practically a mantra here at Pobble Thoughts. It surprised no one, myself included, that when I dipped my toe back into the dating pool, the guys I was most interested in were hundreds, if not thousands, of miles away. Hell, even Lithus was safe. He was on the other side of the country for God's sake!

Now? Now, he's in the tundra. Since Thursday afternoon. He got back from Fairbanks about 11:30 and was flying by noon. He thought he'd be back that evening but wasn't 100% sure. I threw his toothbrush and nicotine lozenges at him, just in case. His mechanic made sure his tent and sleeping bag were in the helicopter. We've all learned. Which is a good thing because sure enough...

He's still not home. We're not even sure he'll get back today. I'm not worried about him. Here in Alaska, they check in with dispatch via radio or SAT phone every thirty minutes. It can go too badly, too quickly up here. So he's fine *knock wood*; he's just busy and stuck on a fire.

Only, this is the longest we have gone without talking to one another since I moved out to Washington state all those years ago. It's only been two nights and about 48 hours. But I miss him. And I guess that's okay, even if I feel a little silly. It's kind of nice, too.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

When Does Older Meet Wiser?

Both of my parents are only children. Whenever Crow and I referred to aunts or uncles, we were actually referring to great-aunt and great-uncles. Over the years, there have definitely been times that I have wished for an aunt or an uncle. I have wished for someone a little older, a little wiser, not my parent, not just a friend. Someone who could advise without having to parent, yet someone who was family, so they had to listen. Someone with just enough more life experience under their belt to have the wisdom I needed in the moment. 

For the first time in a long time, I found myself wishing for that today (because, interestingly enough, I got through this past winter without wishing for it, although it's a surprising realization). But today...yeah. Today, I could use an aunt or an uncle. Which also made me realize ~ I'm forty years old. I'm at the age where I hope My Heart would come to me at times like this in his life. I'm the one I hope the Hatchling and Hatchlette will come to eventually. And if not to me, then to Lithus. Because when you're growing up, it really helps sometimes to have someone who isn't mom or dad ~ but isn't just a friend, either.

So...what happens when you're supposed to be old enough and wise enough ~ but don't quite feel it yet? I truly don't know. I do know I thought I'd be smarter by now. Maybe that's why I needed an aunt or an uncle: to tell me that older doesn't mean as much wiser as we think it should. Fair enough. Lesson learned. Now if we could just work on this other thing...

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Two Days

Lithus had Tuesday and Wednesday off. That's his schedule ~ he works for 12 days and then gets/has to take two days off. Last time, we stayed in Galena because it was questionable if he would get paid if he went to Fairbanks. Since then, we were assured that, if he went no further than Fairbanks, he would still get paid (don't ask, seriously). Monday night, we were in Fairbanks.

Not very long ago, people used to joke ~ and justifiably so ~ that roughing it for me was a hotel without room service. I couldn't disagree with them. I didn't even want to. Self-awareness is a good thing, after all. Amazing how things can change. These days, luxury is a fitted sheet on the bed and a bathtub.

When watching MASH or even back when I was married to the SGM, I never really understood the concept of a 48 hour pass. What good was 48 hours? Why bother traveling into town, wherever "town" was, just for 48 hours. Wouldn't that just make you more miserable when you had to come back after such a short time? Oh, how little I understood.

We spent three nights in the hotel. I have taken three baths. I was bad for the environment and got fresh towels every single morning. We were up until three and slept until eleven. We saw a movie in a theatre with popcorn. We ate meals we had a choice in. He drank scotch; I drank vodka; we both had Diet Pepsi. There was ice for our drinks. There were television shows we wanted to veg in front of, in our own bed. I wore skirts and makeup and high heels and even did my hair.

Now, I'm back in Galena. Lithus is on his way. And it's actually good to be here, good to be, well, home. But those two days...oh my friends...what lovely two days...

Those are rested and refreshed Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Anemic Amnesia

One of my (many) physical quirks is that I am anemic. Now, it's not a major anemia. It's certainly nothing like pernicious anemia (which, for the record, is fun to say and sounds like a creature from Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory even if it does, apparently, really suck to have). The problem with having a low-level anemia is I forget I have it.

I will be diligent about taking my iron. Life will be great. Then something will happen. My iron will get packed and not unpacked after our next move. I'll run out and keep forgetting to get more. Whatever. Something. Then, it will slowly creep back up. Inevitably, along with an event that allows me to justify why I'm tired. Oh, the late night we had is finally catching up with me. Oh, I can tell I'm stressed, I'm tired. Oh, I haven't adjusted to the new time zone/hotel room/work schedule. And I make those noises for a little while. Still not remembering I have anemia.

Eventually, my time of the month will come around and the tired, laggy feeling will turn into full out all-the-time exhaustion. At which point, it usually takes Lithus saying (although sometimes I do come up with it on my own) "Are you taking your iron?"

Damn.

So I dig out my iron or buy more or whatever and get back to taking it. After a few days, enough gets built up in my system that, wonder of wonders, I'm not tired any longer. Amazing how that works, isn't it? One would think that after more than five years, I would either a) not stop taking the iron in the first place or b) realize why I'm getting tired when I have stopped taking it. For a very smart woman, sometimes...

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Botox ~ I Get It Now

First off, no, I have not gotten botox. In fact, not just no, but hell no. You know what I have gotten? 

Glasses.

You know what happens when you get glasses that work? You stop squinting. You stop furrowing your brow so that you can see the words on your computer screen or the movie on your television or the street signs at the intersection ahead of you. And that line between your eyes goes away. Like magic. Or botox. Only better. Because this is cool. This is what people get botox to achieve...even if they don't.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee

Not (Quite) Panicking

Do you remember that I write my books longhand? Well, I do. I use specific pens (the Pilot G2, preferably fine point but medium is acceptable) and composition books. In fact, these composition books. See?

Much to the Divine M's chagrin, I haven't transcribed in months. It's all still in the chicken scratch that fills the pages of said composition notebook.

But here's the glitch: none of those composition books is the composition book that holds my current manuscript. Nope. Those are other manuscripts, ideas, outlines, articles. Not my book. The one that holds my current manuscript is ... somewhere.

We live in one room. We have five bags between the two of us. It has to be here somewhere. It has to be. Right?

Those are not panicked, not panicked at all, Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee ~ until the reward goes higher.

Edited at 10:26 a.m. ~ found it. No panic. :)

Irony

Having one's peace and quiet interrupted by the pilot who has just been restationed at the base yelling about how he doesn't like to be stationed here because everyone is so noisy.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Two Months

It dawned on me that we've only been in Alaska for two months.

Dude...

For those of you without a scorecard, it's gone like this:

Anchorage to Kenai

Kenai to Anchorage

Anchorage to Fairbanks

Fairbanks to Clear

Clear to Fairbanks

Fairbanks to Galena

(Lithus goes to Manley via Fairbanks, then returns)

Galena to Fairbanks

(Lithus goes to Bettles and returns)

Fairbanks to Galena

(Lithus goes to ~ AND FREAKING CAMPS IN ~the Tundra)

Galena

Dude...

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

New Blog!

There's a launch, ladies and gentlemen. It's a new blog. It's a travel blog. It's an exciting escape from reality. It's an investment in your children's future!

Okay. Maybe not that last one.

It is, however, a place for me to write about my travels, post lots and lots of pictures, and focus solely on my thoughts about where we are, while we are there (or long after we've left, depending). This also keeps Pobble Thoughts more Pobble Thought-y, although I'm sure there will be some cross-breeding.

ANYWAY!

Check it out: Stilettos in the Outback, by moi.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Ps ~ And no, in fact, not just no but hell no, this is not the new look of Pobble Thoughts. We are experiencing technical difficulties, however.

Pps ~ Aaaaand we're up and running! With many thanks and even more kisses to Lithus who helped get it right. 

Because There's *Always* A Story

Why is there a picture of two cans of (cheap) beer at the top of this post?

Because there's always a story...

Lithus left Thursday for a fire in the middle of nowhere. And by out in the middle of nowhere, I mean they had to have oil drops because the helicopter's fuel capacity wouldn't get them there, let alone bring them back. He was literally more than halfway to Siberia. Literally. At least his mechanic threw extra bug repellent, the tent and bag into the back of helicopter, just in case.

Saturday night, he gets back here and goes directly into the shower (he has, afterall, just spent 40 hours in the tundra). When he gets out, he is so happy to be clean, have a bed and sheets, that he just stretches out in all his glory on the bed. About 10 minutes later, our door opens. He jumps; I jump; and the poor smokejumper who is in the wrong room, jumps. The door slams and by the time I (who am fully dressed) can get back to the door and get it open again, the smokejumper has fled all the way down the hall and is already leaving the building. Lithus and I laugh and then forget about it...until 20 minutes later when there is a knock on the door.

Lithus pulls on pants, I open the door ~ and there stands our smokejumper, red as a beet, eyes downcast, and holding 2 beers in outstretched hands. He manages to stammer out "here, for the inconvenience earlier...sorry." At which point Lithus laughs, saying, "yeah, you saw my ass." and the jumper just goes redder, starts blathering about how he just tripped and fell into the door and he's really sorry and didn't mean to and, and, and... I took the beer; Lithus stuck out his hand; and they shook on it. We're still laughing about it. Overall, though, I have to admit to being quite impressed with the way the smokejumper handled the whole thing. It was a classy move. Of course, I've also told Lithus that if his ass is worth 2 beers, I'm going to start pimping him out.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.