So, what’s your favorite Bernie meme? I thought mine was the one where he was sitting selling Girl Scout cookies as I could relate to that so well but then came the one where he’s sitting in Archie Bunker’s chair – brilliant. Whether or not Bernie is your favorite politician, those memes of him have done a lot this week to start to heal a traumatized nation.

Humor brings people together. I believe it is one of the greatest gifts we have to offer and receive. Share a laugh with someone and you’ve bonded in a way that’s unique. I’ve been to clubs to see comedians where few people in the room look like me or share my values but for that 90 minutes or so, we are united in laughter. We all walk out chatting and laughing, not judging, or hating.

I belong to a few groups on FaceBook where someone posted “I don’t come here to see political photos.” I get it but you are missing the point. Most of the posts aren’t political. In the group I belong to for Sanibel Island fans, a woman was outraged to see his face on a beach photo. I’m outraged when I see yet another post in that group asking where the best place for pizza is, but I manage to scroll on by. (Note to FB group admins – instead of asking why someone wants to join a group, how about asking if they know how to use the search feature to look for stuff people have already posted about????)

Social media has become such a judgmental and harsh place to be. If you share an opinion, you’d better be ready for a discussion at best, attack at worst, on that opinion. There are few civil conversations anymore. Just scroll on by. Uniting isn’t about stomping out other people’s opinion or shoving yours down someone’s throat, it’s about finding common ground. Remember, just scroll on by.

I thought of a few funny Bernie meme ideas but was afraid the apps or websites suggested to make them would give my info directly to some hacker, although there’s not much left for them to find out about me with all the other data hacks I’ve been notified of. Still wondering what they are doing with the info about the notebooks and printer ink I bought at Staples…Anyhow, keep the fun coming and when this dies out, remember how one man, sitting in a chair wearing mittens on a cold day in DC, made the world smile. That’s unity.

About six months ago, Smokey and I were taking a walk when he decided he wasn’t going to go any farther. He does this sometimes. He’ll randomly stop and refuse to move forward yet you can turn around and go a different way and he keeps going. Since he’s almost 14, I try to follow his lead and if he wants to stop, I will, but on this day, I ignored him, hoping he would continue. I wanted to get my steps in. We stood there for about 3 minutes, each ignoring the other and when I finally looked at him and saw the look on his face, a story from my childhood came flooding back.

The story, as I remember it, was that my friend Teri’s grandmother was standing at a cash register paying for something when her underwear fell to her ankles. She calmly stepped out of her underpants and put them in her purse. As Teri and I discussed this event, I remember three things about that story – feeling embarrassed for her, thinking the story was hilarious and wondering when I would be an age where I could do the same.

I spent six months wondering why this story came to mind and I think I’ve finally got it. Smokey has reached the age (somewhere in his 70’s depending the chart you use) that he’s not worrying about wanting to please us. He’s also lost most of his hearing (except for anything that has to do with food), so what he thinks in his mind is the only thing he hears, so that rules. If his underpants fell, he’d step out of them and probably try to eat them with no shame. He’s reached that magical age and time of life that Teri’s grandma was in when her drawers fell.

I’ve been thinking I might have reached that magical age as well. Now that I find myself in my mid-fifties, I’m a bit invisible. Generally, I’m not the oldest nor the youngest in a room.  I’m still Kathryn’s mom, but that’s not my main identity anymore. Societal expectations for me are lower – I’m not supposed to be climbing the corporate ladder at this point in my career. If anything, it’s more like I should be easing down the ladder.  I’m not expected to be the brightest star in the room, that’s for the younger people. I’m not out trying to win friends and influence people, I have my tribe.

The invisibility could be depressing but in truth, I think it’s liberating. Instead of feeling invisible, I feel invincible. I too have reached the stage in life where I’d put those undies in my purse, no problem. I, of course, would first laugh my head off about it probably to the point I couldn’t even pick up the underwear…

Like most modern-day philosophers, I get my most thought-provoking material from memes on social media. If I had to come up with one myself, it would probably be:

“When you can fly under the radar, you can soar.”

This middle-aged-empty-nester world isn’t all that bad. For me it’s been a good time to focus inward, assess and re-direct. There’s no better time to try new things without worry and in general just feel comfortable in your own skin when people aren’t really paying attention to you. Think Pam from “The Office” when at the company’s retreat she walks on the coals. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oEqoL2cuwRk)  It’s that kind of feeling. That kind of invincibility. Time to be the Superhero of my own life. And as for Smokey, well, he continues to show us who’s boss, like we haven’t known he’s been in charge for years.

Last weekend at my family reunion, my cousin Kathy mentioned that one of her doctor’s offices told her that they can’t accommodate the apostrophe in her last name anymore. Their computer system doesn’t allow the apostrophe in O’Kane. As Kathy told  the woman working at that office, you can’t just change the spelling of someone’s last name. When you spell it OKane or Okane, you change more than the spelling. You erase the ethnicity of the name. You change the pronunciation.

Growing up an O’Kane, it seemed the easiest name to say or spell to me. I mean, you say it as it is spelled. Yet, people would always ask how to spell it or pronounce it wrong. I went to vacation bible school with a friend and the teacher there called me “Eileen Oaken.” That’s 0 for 2 names said correctly. Then I would get “O-Cahn-nee” like it was Hawaiian.  Mispronouncing my last name took away who my identity.

Now that I’m a Motley (with O’Kane as my middle name), I still get the mispronunciation. Again, most people have seen the word “motley” before, yet they want to say “Moat-ly.” When people ask how to spell it, I will say “Motley, like in crue (crew)”. Then they get it. We’ve sat through many an awards ceremony only to have one of the kids names called out incorrectly. It’s a bit deflating.

The other major name changing news in my world is the renaming of my high school. The Fairfax County School Board has recently voted to rename my high school, J.E.B  Stuart High School to Justice High. This decision has caused quite a stir on the alumni boards on Facebook resulting in name calling and crazy, angry arguments. I no longer live in that community and therefore, I feel I no longer have a voice on the name change. If the people in that community feel it is important, then it is.

A few alums, who are famous (and don’t live there as far as I know), voiced their opinion that the name should be changed. Their name recognition might have brought attention to this whole name change idea but they have a right to express their opinion. If people believe that the opinion of famous people are more important or carry more weight than their own, that’s another issue. Famous people can express their opinions too.

Seems to me the real issue for current Fairfax County residents is the fact that there was a community poll taken on new name ideas, which the school board ignored and on top of that, the county seems to have made the directive to change the name with no idea how to pay for it. Outside of a request for donations, which seems crazy. This is the tip of the iceberg in the county as so many other school names might now need to be changed. There needs to be a plan on how to change and fund the changes, if that’s what the local communities want.

Watching the craziness around the renaming of the high school goes to show names matter, your own and those you feel attached to, whatever the reason. A school name really means little, it’s the people who made it the place it was. No one can take away those bonds unless you let them. On the other hand, if someone randomly decides to change the spelling of your name, that’s something to argue about because the dropping of one little apostrophe can change your whole identity.  Aloha! 

Last year when we had the whole rabies shot/dog quarantined problem, it seemed like the worst summer ever. But, alas, this summer proved to be worse so while it’s not officially fall yet, school starts tomorrow, unofficially ending summer in my mind and so I bid this sucky summer a hearty farewell.

On the backdrop of Hurricane Harvey, it seems a bit whiny to complain but disasters come in different forms. To start off the summer, we had a problem with the kitchen sink backing up. Seemed like a simple problem, but $12K later with more work to be done and our whole downstairs torn up for most of the summer, it didn’t turn out that way. The cast iron pipes under the house have basically disengaged over time.  If you are interested in further details, I invite you to come over to see the colonoscopy of our pipes that the plumber did for us.  It’s a fascinating sight as Mike will tell you as after hearing the news, he watched the video over and over in what appeared to be a catatonic state. While that was going on, the air conditioner broke. Luckily that was a simple fix. Good thing as it happened on the hottest period this summer because air conditioners never break when it’s not at peak heat.

A coworker of mine passed away after a brief illness. She sat on the other side of my cubicle wall and I catch myself about to yell something over to her now and then. Still hard to believe she’s gone. We had a death in the family that has rocked us and family illnesses. Mike was diagnosed with a frozen shoulder which has caused him issues and Smokey has begun limping, showing his age. The washing machine had to be replaced. We seem to be falling apart at every turn.

But, despite the never-ending parade of bad news, I’m struck by the small graces and mercy we have seen. It’s the kindness of friends, the unexpected family time together, lost photos unearthed, or in my case, the unexpected sunflowers that grew this summer thanks for the birds and their birdseed. It’s the laugh in the darkest moments, the beginning of each new day and looking forward as Kathryn starts her senior year.

While I stopped my “Songs in the Key of MY Life” blogs a while ago, this song inspires and reminds me to look for the good to help pull us through the bad. Kind of like Mr. Rogers used to say “Look for the helpers.” You are never too old to need a helper (or angel) appear. 

How Mercy Looks from Here

My fingernails and I having a battle. Yep, me and my nails. Generally I never can grow my nails long. I always want to though. If I do, and dare to coat them with some pretty color, they immediately break. Or the polish chips after the first day. My response to that is to paint over the affected areas until I have 18 layers on them.  I keep applying polish mostly because it’s such an effort for me to get the polish on. I’m no good at applying it nicely.

Basically, my nails grow best when I ignore them and I’ve been ignoring them. My nails have gotten long – nothing gross or world record deserving – but long enough that now, after wanting them for so long, I can’t function with nails of this length. I can’t type well. I’ve nearly put my eye out a few times. I’ve scratched myself and others. How do women do this? About the only thing these nails appear good for is scratching behind the dog’s ears. He is loving the nails.

As I was pondering this situation (no, it was a not a highly intellectual day for me) I remembered my first real job working at the women’s clothing store Loehmann’s. Loehmann’s was a store offering designer clothes and accessories for women. It was close to home – I could walk if I had to – and my friend Teri got a job there was well.  Loehmann’s was known for a few things; open dressing rooms, discounted designer clothing and daily shipments of clothes.

The open dressing rooms were one of the worst things about the place. There was just one big room, and as employees we would stand in there to assist the shoppers. If they didn’t want the clothes, we took them and put them on a conveyer belt that whisked them to the back where they were put on racks to go back on the floor. If they needed another size, we were there to run out and look for it.  So often a group of women would come in together and instead of getting the size 14 a shopper might need, she would get a size 6 pair of pants and then, when she couldn’t pull them up over their knees, tell us the brand ran small and ask us to get a larger size. Ran small, my ass. Just get the size you need! Stop worrying about being a larger size than your friends. (Still good advice). These seemed to be the women that came in almost daily to check out the new shipments.

Sometimes women would attempt to try on clothes with no underwear on. It’s hard to understand why someone would want to try on pants without underwear but there appeared to be plenty of people willing to do so at Loehmann’s.  That was the worst because you were supposed to nicely tell them they couldn’t try on the clothes. As teenagers, most of us would pretend we didn’t see it. If we were lucky enough to be in the room with an adult, we would point it and let them inform the customer.

Back to the nails though…On many occasions a customer would be trying on an outfit and ask me to help her zip it up because she didn’t want to ruin her nails or her nails were too long. I hated this.  This was the second worst thing besides the commando-busting duty you could get. I was always terrified that I would zip up the customer’s skin or something. I wasn’t so sympathetic then but now, with my own lengthy talons, I get their struggle although I’ve able to dress myself without assistance. Score one for me! It’s been fun pretending to be all glamorous and girly, but it’s just not my style. I’m a danger to myself and others. So with some sadness but mostly relief, I’ll have to cut them to a workable length once again.

Sometimes you have to just let your dreams go or as in my case, just cut them shorter than you hoped.

This weekend we added another guinea pig, Charlie, to the Motley Crew. Guinea pigs are social animals and I’d read an article last week on that subject and began to feel bad for Albert. We knew they liked a friend but Albert seemed ok by himself. He’d had a friend before we got him but that pig, Einstein, had passed away. I made the common mistake of just “taking a look”at the county adoption page.

Right at the top of the list of small animals was Charlie, a 4-year-old male who had just been at the shelter a few days. Kathryn and I went over to see him but we were only in there for about 3 minutes before the fire alarm went off and we were evacuated from the building. While our timing was bad, there’s not a lot you can tell from looking at a guinea pig in a cage. I mean he didn’t show his teeth or appear to be afraid of us so it seemed like it might work out.

Mike and Kathryn went back on Sunday to adopt Charlie. Charlie had been adopted from the shelter before but the new family had returned him. It’s hard not to find this awful but they seemed to have intended to care for him.  They even took him to the vet to get his nails cut at one point – that’s more than we do for Albert. We do the home manicure.  But the child they got him for seemed to lose interest and they returned him. Honestly, it was the best thing because now we have him! Charlie is super friendly and has a little Mohawk hairdo. Charlie, at 4, is considered a senior so it feels good that whatever time he has left, it will be with us versus the shelter. 

My sister and her family recently adopted a dog that had been dropped off at the pound with two other dogs. Joseph, their dog, had basically been a stud his whole adult life. The two other dogs with his were his baby mamas. Whoever owned them decided to “retire” them by dropping them off. I find this unbelievable. Joseph was lucky to end up with my sister and her family. He’s found a loving and supportive home as he gets started on his new bachelor life.

When Charlie got home here, Charlie and Albert were put together on the floor, a neutral place, and observed for three hours. This is supposed to be the best way to introduce them. Albert chased Charlie and bit and then the two of them snuggled together to sleep. The next morning, Charlie was chasing Albert. Fair is fair. This morning when I looked in their cage, Albert had fallen asleep with his head in the door way of Charlie’s igloo. I’m not sure if he was blocking his exit or staring lovingly in at him and nodded off. Either way, they seem to have found a congenial balance.

We are hoping that Charlie, the more “athletic” one (less fat) will encourage Albert to get some more exercise and if we are lucky, Albert won’t teach Charlie to ring the little bell he has that he rings when he’s hungry. I know, it seems if it is annoying why not take it out but that’s Albert’s one trick! Can’t take that away from him. 

If you are thinking of getting a pet, I hope you will look at your local shelter. If dogs, cats or guinea pigs aren’t your thing, ours had turtles, a wide assortment of birds and some gerbils too. Animals are great to have around even ones outside.  As Kathryn likes to say to me, she believes that I love the birds and squirrels that I feed in the yard more than her. That’s just not true, I love Smokey more than her although she comes in a very, very close second on most days. 😉 Seriously, check your local shelter for a great addition to your family.

Our sweet Smokey had to have a mass removed off his back right leg today. Like many dogs, he has fatty tumors but this was obviously different. The vet thought it was a connective tissue tumor and had to come out.  It’s hard with pets because you can’t explain to them like you would to a human about what’s going to happen. I did anyhow. I called Smokey over last night, explained everything thing I knew and instead of asking questions, he just licked my face and went to find a toy.

Kathryn had her tonsils and adenoids out when she was in preschool. We got a book featuring Franklin the Turtle that told how he went to the hospital to get his shell fixed. We read this in preparation of her surgery.  I was telling Mike last night about informing Smokey of today’s event and lamenting there was no book to read to him. Mike said that book was helpful for Kathryn, but not for us. In the story, Franklin did not wake up from surgery the demon that Kathryn was that day. Demon might seem harsh but it is so accurate.

When they took Kathryn back for surgery, they let her pick one parent to go with her until she fell asleep. She chose Mike. He came out after she fell asleep  and we anticipated 30 to 40 minutes before she was done but he hardly got settled before they came looking for us. We might want to come back with them, the nurse said. Kathryn was pretty mad coming out of the anesthesia. Mad was right. She was a demon as Mike said.

Her face swollen was from surgery and she was hardly recognizable. She was crying in anger but in a half awake, half asleep mode. She was so mad. I rocked her as I held her in the kid’s recovery room with first the Teletubbies and then Boohhad blaring. The volume was deafening with no kid watching it.  Typical kid’s area. Like it wasn’t bad enough to have a demon child – we had to listen to those shows too. We were not allowed to leave until she had a popsicle and she was not interested at all. Not at all. After about an hour, she settled down enough to have the popsicle so we could get out of there.

They sent us home with pain medication with codeine or the like in it. She refused to take it. Frankly, the Tylenol she would take just took the edge off enough for her to be ok for a bit and then have a meltdown. After yet another frustrating effort to give her the medicine and explain how she would feel so much better, I did the next best thing. I took the spoonful. One of us needed to be medicated.

She’s never been good taking medicine – always gagging on the pills or hating the flavor of the liquids. One time, we thought we were so smart putting the medicine in her milk. Then, after a few days she said “Can I have milk but with nothing in it?” So much for fooling her. Smokey,  on the other hand, easily took his medicine this afternoon. He’s not as picky about the taste or texture.

We originally were told Smokey would have to spend the night but found out after surgery he could come back home this afternoon. Kathryn and I went to get him and we could hear his hoarse bark in the back. The clerk said he was fine, just looking for attention. The Vet Tech came out to review the paperwork. He has a pretty good sized  incision and so he must wear the cone of shame. As we tried to leave, it got stuck on one of the bricks on the pillars and then he did a face plant (saved by his cone) when he took a misstep trying to jump over a cement block.  Kathryn started laughing and then soon, like immediately, I was laughing and then the two of us were doubled-over laughing while Smokey was sitting next to the car. We finally had to take the cone off to get him in the car. If we are in arms reach, it can be off. He’s currently snoozing at my feet cone-less. He didn’t sleep all day at the vet’s so he should be tired.

I think his scar, if visible once his fur grows back in, will greatly improve his image in the neighborhood. No longer will he be the likeable dope but will be transformed into a badass with the scary scar. I’ll make up a story for him. The image re-do will have to occur come after he’s done with wearing that cone. That cone doesn’t improve anyone’s image. Certainly didn’t help mine or Kathryn’s at the vet.

A few weekends ago, Mike was looking for an old photo. We have a ton of photos in boxes, waiting to be organized. He was sorting through them and was putting some duds in a pile. I casually asked if there were any “good” bad photos in the group. Mike held up a photo and asked why anyone would take pictures of a few lawn chairs. I went over and smiled when I saw the photo – that wasn’t a photo of lawn chairs – it was a photo of the “reading nook” we made in a hotel the year (1993) Hurricane Emily forced us to evacuate the Outer Banks.

The vacation started off great. My sister and I drove down to Avon, NC on Saturday, did the obligatory shopping at Food Lion, ate Bubba’s fried chicken and went to relax at the beach. My (now) brother-in-law Jeff was coming down on Sunday after finishing a grant proposal he’d been working on. It was a great two days at the beach but we knew the storm might be coming. This was before we were news-obsessed – watching weather 24/7,and before wide use of cell phones etc. We just saw the weather on the nightly news. Jeff arrived Sunday afternoon. I’m not sure he even made it to the beach that day.

Monday morning arrived with the mandatory evacuation orders. The rental agency called to let us know and fire trucks went down each of the streets with a person announcing the order via a megaphone. When you rent the houses down there, you can’t just pack up and leave before a storm. There’s quite a bit of housekeeping to do – clearing out the fridge of perishable items, bringing in furniture etc. So, by the time that’s done that, everyone is leaving at the same time.

After about 5 hours of driving in an unbelievable amount of traffic, me in one car and Kathleen and Jeff in another, we ended up at a Pizza Hut in Edenton, NC, a town that under normal driving conditions is only 2 hours away from Avon.   If you look at the town’s website, the description is “on the North Carolina Inner Banks Albemarle Sound, was founded in 1712 and features 300 years of outstanding history.” Doesn’t that sound nice? And it would be if you weren’t forced there.

At the Pizza Hut, where we stopped for lunch, a nice young man allowed me to use their phone book and call around for a room. We didn’t want to get back in the cars and drive on. I called a hotel, the Habit Motel, and they said they had one room left, a double but would “put something together” so a third person could stay. True to their word, they’d made a bed for me out of chaise lounge cushions and plywood board (for support). The room itself was clean although dated. There were a few odd things – to use the phone you had to stand on the bed it was so far up the wall and there was a section of the wall that looked like a car had driven through it. They had repaired it and but not painted it the same color. All in all, it was clean, just dated.

Jeff, worn out from two days of driving, following weeks of working on that grant,  was not at his best. He thought the place was a dump. He set up the lounge chairs in the open closet area, thus creating our reading nook, the one from the picture, so he didn’t have to sit on the other furniture. When we ventured out to the tourist center, a beautiful building with a long stairway leading to the second floor, he sat at the top of the staircase in a chair, head in his hands until we told him he might not be selling the town too well with that look. He wrote in the visitor’s books “Don’t make The Habit a habit.” At one point, he made a comment like “You two may be used to staying places like this, but I’m not.” My sister and I basically laughed ourselves sick at this comment and proceeded to plan the evening events.  Some people make lemonade out of lemons, others need a shot of something in that lemonade…

We walked downtown and decided to go to the movies. The only thing playing was Surf Ninjas. Rob Schneider is in it, need I say more? The gentleman that sold us our tickets, sold us our refreshments and then told us he’d be in the theater to start the movie shortly. One man operation. We ate a delicious dinner at Golden Corral.  Tuesday, the day of the storm, we ate breakfast at Hardee’s with the other beach refuges, walked around town, shopped at Peebles for storm necessaries – cards, snacks, “dirty magazines” (as my grandmother called them) The Enquirer and the like which we read in the reading nook, and my sister and I got funky plastic watches to mark the occasion. We all hunkered down that evening for the storm, which never hit Edenton although we read later that part of the roof of the movie theater caved in for some unknown reason. Good thing we catch the Ninjas when we did.

On Wednesday, on Jeff’s request, we switched hotels to the Coach House Inn down the street. While it did allow me to sleep in a real bed, the carpet was filthy, rendering your feet black if you walked on it in bare feet. You could sit on the bed and talk on the phone though. We got word that the storm had hit the Outer Banks hard and they weren’t letting anyone back on the island yet. Honestly, I’m not sure why we thought we would get back at all. We took a walking tour of Edenton which was quite interesting following our Hardee’s breakfast. That afternoon, we headed to Elizabeth City to catch the movie “The Fugitive.”

We got back into Edenton around 8pm and I called Pizza Hut to order a pizza. The guy on the phone said it was closing in 20 minutes. Not a lot of nightlife in Edenton. I must have said something about not realizing it closed so early and the guy on the phone exclaimed “Oh my God, you are THOSE people. You are STILL here? What have you been doing? What do you want – I’ll make it – just come get it.” 

On Thursday, with the news reports filled with descriptions of the Outer Banks being covered in snakes and rats, we came to terms with the fact that we weren’t going back. I decided to head home and Kathleen and Jeff decided to go to Virginia Beach for the last few days. A vacation to remember.

Sometimes when we are together, we will retell the story of our time in Edenton. Unlike some things that you experience and think were terrible at the time but get out a laugh out of them now, I’m not sure Jeff thinks the story is funny yet. Maybe next year we should head back for our 25^th anniversary. Looks like the Pizza Hut is still there but sadly, it seems the Habit motel is gone. Good news, Carriage House Inn is still there. One can only hope new carpet has been installed.

A week or so ago I was talking with a coworker who is relocating to California. I asked if he had a lot of stuff to move and he said that he didn’t, in part because of exercise of throwing all your possessions on the floor, picking up each item and asking yourself if it brings you joy. If not, out it goes. This activity is from the book  The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing. This conversation came up at the same time we’ve been trying to declutter our basement at home.

The basement has become a graveyard for items that we rarely use. My stepson Matthew recently moved to a smaller place and graciously has allowed us to store the extra stuff he can’t fit in or use now. My stepdaughter Kristina moved across country taking the bare minimum leaving us with the bulk of her worldly possessions. This is all on top of the fact that a few years ago their mom moved and gave them all their stuff from her house that she didn’t want to take. Guess whose house it’s in now?

While I haven’t read the book nor will I, I get the idea of it. Problem is, while I have tons of saved junk, I’m not that attached to it. If I cleaned out my clothes closet and only saved those pieces of clothing that bring me joy, I’d have only a sweatshirt and pair of jeans left to wear.The stuff in boxes downstairs – sure I like seeing it but if it disappeared, I’d be ok. So why is it so hard to declutter?

I think the first issue is always believing someone can “use” it. All the old arts and crafts stuff? It’s still good – I’m sure someone can use it. The old toys that the kids have outgrown and probably have no sentimental value to them – someone would love playing with those toys. So, it gets saved until we can find the right user. That user never seems to appear.  Then there’s the issue of getting rid of old items. You can’t just throw out an old vacuum, that needs to go to the dump. That takes a special trip. I’d rather watch TV. There’s also the fact that not all charities want your old stuff. Some don’t take books. Others don’t want furniture. It’s hard to be charitable.  There’s also the “we can fix that” lie we tell ourselves. This accounts for the bike cemetery in the garage. We’ll fix those bikes up and give them to charity. That never happens either. Good intentions though. That counts for something, right?

We did manage to do two runs to both the dump and Goodwill and another charity over the last two weekends. I unearthed a box of stuff from my childhood and luckily for my sister, I might send her some of it to enjoy. There’s still a ton of stuff to go through. Lots of pictures, back from the day when you actually had the film developed and half the pictures were terrible but you still kept them. I need to take a week of vacation to sort through them all.

My joy will not be in the possessions left behind but the lack of them. Maybe that’s the point of the book or I can write my own decluttering book when I finish the basement. Should be a bestseller in, oh, 2025.

I don’t know about you, but I’m beginning to feel like Bill Murray did in Groundhog Day. Each day is another bizarre day in government. The “here we go again” feeling is ever present. Even if you are a supporter of the President, you have to see that the constant chaos is too much. I know people wanted him to come in and stir things up, but creating chaos for the sake for chaos doesn’t seem to be beneficial.

The best news this week is that our leader will be spending the weekend on a mini-vacation in Florida. I hope he leaves that Executive Order writing pen in DC and gives us all a respite from the insanity. Scott Spicer, who in his own way has been a bit of comic relief, and Kellyanne Conway can take a break too. And this is just week 2. Will we survive four years of this? In a week where I agreed with McCain, Cheney and Graham, I’m feeling a bit shaky.

It’s hard to see what’s more important each day, thus my feeling we are playing a constant game of Whack a Mole – the Mole being the latest order or controversy. Maybe that’s the strategy – so much going on, that it creates a shield for the next nuttiness. By the time that’s seen, another mess has been created. It is exhausting. It’s embarrassing. On the plus side, we are seeing instances where our system works – the checks and balances that we count on, are working.

I admire the people that are on it – watching everything and keeping on top of it –  but I just can’t do it. I’ve been focusing on the Secretary of Education position because I believe wholeheartedly, that if we want America to remain the powerhouse that it is and has been, our kids need their education. Every child needs access to a decent education. We need someone in that department who is an educator who understands the challenges but brings new ideas. Someone qualified. It used to be you paid back your political allies with an ambassador position. Our President is offering cronies Cabinet positions and that’s dangerous. How can you really lead a department you either don’t know anything about, hate everything it stands for and/or have no tangible experience to run. It’s not to say these people don’t have skills or something to offer – just not in the positions they are now holding.

Today is shaping up to be another shit show. Early morning voting on Sec. of Education, more tweets from the President and Kellyanne rewriting history. If you love this country, keep fighting. We need every voice heard. And if you are a supporter of our current President – demand more  – more thoughtful actions, more actions with solid plans behind them and less focus on himself, sound bites and attacking the very system that put him in office.