Watching a group of firefighters head into the grocery store this morning made me think about how great it would be to be one of them. I’ll bet that “firefighter” ranks at the top of the list of this country’s most respected occupations—far above doctors, possibly even above teachers. We all seem to have had at least one doctor and one teacher who helped diminish our opinion of them. We can still say we respect them; however, we do so with reservation. On the other hand, how many people do you suppose have had a bad experience with a firefighter?

Firefighters live by a code, which puts saving lives first, even if that means saving the life of a politician. Politicians, especially those in the U.S. Congress, by the way, fall quite low on polls of least respected, least admired professions. Generally, they’re one rank above car salespeople. Next year, I bet they’ll hit bottom.

Here’s the other thing about firefighters. They are buff. Seriously. They work out. They’re fit. Those firefighters I saw this morning heading into the grocery store were probably going in for a couple boxes of donuts, a box for each guy. Yet, the lard in those donuts won’t stand a chance trying to make a home on their thighs and waists. Oh, no. Those firefighters went back to the station, ate their donuts, drank a pot of coffee and got ready for their next call.

My guess is that a firefighter’s job gives him or her a sense of accomplishment and, at other times, a feeling of despair. This past week, the biggest fire in Colorado’s history tore through more than 21,000 acres and has burned almost 400 structures, including homes, changing and wrecking lives for a long, long time. One morning, on the radio, I heard the chief apologize for the destruction. Apologized for it! How many times have I apologized for something at work that was out of my control? Only a couple of times and it wasn’t done for a matter nearly as calamitous as fire damage and loss of life.

At my job, there aren’t enough days that I return home with even a minor sense of accomplishment.

But it is what it is. We all play our part as little cogs in a big machine. We do accomplish something, generally, in our jobs. We get dressed in the morning, eat our breakfast and head off to work. We’re not out robbing convenience stores, beating up or shooting rival gang members, or embezzling funds. There’s something to be said for living the quiet, unassuming life.

A couple of weeks ago, Edward Snowden decided to stop living his quiet, unassuming life. He jumped right into the fire.

I have my opinions about the CIA surveillance leaks. But they’re not for this post. But hop on over to Norbrook’s blog for a well-written, thoughtful post about it.

Firefighter (Digital illustration by Snoring Dog Studio)

I wouldn’t guess that they’d stop by to visit the inside of a volcano.

Apparently, though, that’s what hundreds of people believe is happening in Mexico. In a recently released video, the camera caught a UFO approaching Mexico’s Popocatepetl volcano, turning, and then entering the volcano’s entrance.

Hot summer in the city, I’ll say.

Even if aliens were looking for a warm place to hang out, I’d still not recommend a smoldering volcano. Las Vegas has plenty of heat and the casinos will often comp your room if you spend some big dollars there.

All over the world, people are so willing to believe the improbable, the puffs of stuff without substance, the unfounded. Climate change, however, continues to be denied by a large portion of us. Ninety-eight percent of credible scientists believe that climate change is occurring and that humans have caused it. They can produce evidence. But it’s still not enough for a lot of us. Even though video can be produced to show us what’s happening! Unfortunately, there are no UFOs in their videos.

Science has taken a beating over the last few years, especially when it comes to the conversations and research about climate change. A lot of people are turning away from science. Are they suffering from science-fatigue?

My theory is this: the science behind climate change made us uncomfortable with ourselves and our own behavior. It showed us that our actions have long-lasting and devastating consequences. It revealed to us that the things we do: the cars we drive, the junk we eat, the energy we use up, the crap we toss into the water supply, and so on, all have negative results.

We don’t like having fingers pointed at us. Some of us see it as insult to be accused of the mess we’ve made on our planet. Many people believe that the scientists, with their data and statistics, their sophisticated computer-modeling systems and finely tuned measuring tools, are looking down their noses at them. The discussion about climate change became personal, which is ridiculously ironic. It should be personal, in the sense that we’re all playing a part in global climate change.

It shouldn’t have become personal in the sense of personal insult—believing that the well-schooled scientists were looking down their noses at the less educated among us.

I suspect something else is at work in the psyches of those who deny climate change science—at least with a large portion of them. It’s human nature to fear the prospect of uncomfortable self-sacrifice, of living without a minor convenience, of giving up an indulgence, of being asked to do more with less, and of being asked to do less. We want to go on doing what we’ve always done and we don’t want to be told we’re hurting someone else by our actions.

It’s well past time to stop being so damn selfish. Self-sacrifice and caring about the world we live in are noble pursuits. Most of what we can do in the way of changing our habits are such minor efforts in the grand scheme of things. Recycling more, using less electricity, driving less, and so on, aren’t, for most of us, the thin line between comfort and suffering.

Imagine a world with UFOs, but believe in a world in which the evidence is now undeniable—we are experiencing climate change and WE are responsible for it and for helping reverse it.

Extra Credit:

Carbon dioxide levels in atmosphere pass 400 milestone, again

“The last time Earth’s atmosphere contained 400 parts per million of carbon dioxide was more than 2.5 million years ago, during the Pleistocene Epoch.”

Ten Animals Presumed Extinct in the Last Decade

De-Forestation: How You Can Help Prevent or Mitigate It

Listen up, squirrel-haters. I know what you’re doing. The recent discovery of a squirrel on Mars is ample proof that homeowners throughout the world—at least in the U.S.—have banded together to use Mars as a dumping ground for what they consider to be yard pests. 

My cute little scampering backyard acrobats, my Boston Terrier tormentors, deserve better than this. And I won’t have it.

Though NASA faces budget cuts, like many other superfluous agencies, I think it’s awfully cynical to accept money from squirrel-haters simply because they can fork over the cash to load up space vehicles with squirrels. I don’t care what you call it. It’s not space exploration. It’s not colonizing another planet. It’s dumping adorable little creatures just because they climbed into your peach tree and decimated last year’s crop.

You people do know that these squirrels can’t survive for long on Mars, don’t you? There are no peach trees on Mars. There are no bird feeders, strawberry patches, cornfields or soft, succulent flower buds. They’re doomed! You’ve sentenced them to death. Shame on you. 

When I think of all the other pests we could ship to Mars—why, we could keep NASA funded for centuries! The list is huge. We could start with roaches and move on to flies, mosquitos, ticks and poisonous spiders. I’m certain, if you just set your hateful little mind to it, you could come up with umpteen other pests you’d rather not live among. (Don’t even get me started on gophers and voles.)

It does look like we won’t have to send Michele Bachmann to Mars, after all, given that she’s decided not to run for Congress again. Small blessings.

In our neighborhood alone, here in Boise, we’re facing an onslaught of some Japanese elm beetle that threatens to do serious damage to our flora. Think about how many empty coffee cans you could pack to the brim with those nasty insects. 

And ponder this: the other day, scientists confirmed the existence of 8-inch hot-pink, fluorescent slugs on Mount Kaputar in New South Wales. Look at this image (believe me, the real thing is not this cute):

And you’re sending SQUIRRELS to Mars? How’d you like to step on one of these gooey creatures one evening while taking out the trash? 

Sure, you support space exploration. But please don’t make it an excuse for acting out your own personal vendettas against Mother Nature’s most cherished inhabitants.

In other science news, former astronaut, Buzz Aldrin, has criticized the movie, After Earth, for not being scientific or realistic. Someone please reassure Mr. Aldrin. At least 52% of the U.S. don’t believe in science anyway. They’re not going to be tripped up by a few off details. People who still retain a complete distrust of climate change science and who are convinced that magnets cured Aunt Ethel’s rheumatoid arthritis aren’t going to question the details in After Earth in between gulps of their extra large soda. 

Finally, researchers have discovered that other species of trees are thriving in Brazilian rainforests. It appears that deforestation by humans have driven out populations of large-billed, fruit-eating birds, like toucans. Here’s how it works: Toucans ate the fruit of the palm trees and then pooped out the seeds, which then grew into more palm trees. Humans came along and chopped down the palm trees. Toucans leave, along with their digestive systems. No more palm seeds being pooped out: other trees take over. 

Before you start thinking this isn’t such a bad idea, imagine your backyard, devoid of squirrels, because you cut down all the trees to put in a water-addicted green lawn.

Of course, if you’re one of the people who want to send squirrels to Mars, I guess that doesn’t matter. For the rest of you: this is Science Sunday, and I wish you a good week.

(I’m going to start illustrating my own blogs now. It’s good to be finally drawing and writing again.)

And in the aftermath of my firm refusal to take on tasks at work that were patently unreasonable, and clearly not my responsibility to do, I felt guilty.

I felt guilty for saying, “NO”!

Ridiculous, eh? Thank you, Catholic upbringing for that.

I won’t go into the details. I will say, however, that before I said, “NO!” I offered some reasonable, practical, equitable and rational solutions to the issue at hand. None of these were accepted. I suspect that had much to do with the prevailing power structure, which exists in many workplaces; it’s the hegemony of one department over another, effectively crushing the non-dominant ones.

I imagine many of my readers have been in the same situation themselves at work. You’re the kind of person who wants to be helpful. You give freely of your time, without compensation, to do more than what is asked of you. And, often, that can mean a lot of extra work. But you willingly agree to be an extra hand, a resource, a helper, the go-to person.

And then, it seems, your workplace notices this deep well and THEY continue to dip the ladle into it. “It’s a bottomless well!” they think.

Worse than that, they believe that they own you. They own every bit of your 8 plus hours while you’re under their roof. They tap dance around and on top of your job description and land on the line that says, “Other duties as assigned.”

But this post is not about the expectation managers have that their sweaty little elves will continue to do more than required. It’s not about the endless requests that fall under, “Other duties as assigned.” Instead, it’s about saying and meaning, “NO!” and then feeling comfortable with that.

The first feelings I had when I found out that the powers above had accepted my refusal were ones of guilt. For crying out loud! But I didn’t cry out loud. I whimpered a little inside. And immediately after the guilt, came doubt and angst.

“Oh, dear,” I thought. “They won’t think highly of me anymore.”

“I’ve made them angry.”

“They won’t like me.”

“I’ll be punished.”

It sounds awfully parental, doesn’t it? And it makes me mad at myself. I can’t refuse to take on a role at work that’s entirely unreasonable, which actually constitutes doing someone else’s job, which reached far beyond my job description, without feeling guilty about it.

I’m mad at myself for feeling guilty. I’ll combine that with being mad at them for making this unreasonable request and for assuming that just because they give you a paycheck, they can keep demanding more and more without compensation.

Power

Yes, I should be grateful that I have a job. Well, I am. But along with that gratitude ought to come the right to set limits and boundaries without fear of recrimination. And along with that right ought to come the ability to feel okay about saying, “NO!”

It seems to me that in this time of shaky, sparse employment, we workers are running scared. People my age who want to work have been out of work for years and are being passed over by younger people who’ll accept a smaller paycheck. Employers and managers have the upper hand. The rest of us are required to be grateful and stand ready to do more than ever before, even if the “more” is downright unreasonable, inequitable and inefficient.

And now I have to find a way to be comfortable with my “NO!” I have to keep reminding myself that I have the right to set boundaries, that just because someone hands me a paycheck doesn’t mean I’m enslaved to their every demand.

I’m more than willing to let my workplace take its pound of flesh. I’m no longer willing to let them have my soul, too.

I bought a TV.

And there it sits, in my living room, a hulking black rectangle screaming for attention, competing with the wild floral sofa I recently purchased. The sofa sits against the wall; the TV imposes itself opposite her, in a corner of my living room. The two of them seem to be staring each other down. 

The sofa scorns the TV. It says, “I was here first. She’s been comfortably my friend for the last month, watching her shows on her iPad right here, I might remind you.”

The TV stares back. “Yes, but I have WIFI. She can access the Internet on me, too.”

“Plus, I’m 32 inches of viewing pleasure.”

I intervene. “No, I can’t access the Internet on you, too. I can’t figure out how to do that yet. So don’t be so smug.”

I almost can’t bring myself to look at my iPad. I feel so guilty. She’s been my source of quality sofa time for at least a year. I’ve watched so many great shows on her! She fits so nicely in my lap. She’s helped me look up crossword answers. (Yes, I cheat.) Earbuds in, after a long day of work, I relax on the sofa and tune out the world with my unassuming, cozy 10-inch screen.

Now I have to figure out how I’m going to divide up my time between my TV and my iPad. When I nestled into my sofa last evening to watch some shows on my iPad, I could see the TV out of the corner of my eye. Glaring. Reproachful. Telling me that in order to get my money’s worth out of it, I had better grab the remote and turn it on. I was unnerved and uneasy. I found that I couldn’t bring myself to watch my show on my iPad. Instead, I checked my e-mail.

Perhaps there’s a division of duties I’ll have to assign to my technology roommates. TV gets the news broadcasting. IPad gets email and the streamed Amazon Prime shows. TV provides the occasional downloaded movie from NetFlicks. IPad will share Facebook, WordPress and Pinterest.

Woops. My iMac heard me. No, it read that last paragraph. Yikes. It’s a triumvirate of technology. A trifecta of trouble, more likely. I’m not sure I can divide the labor three ways.

Shut up, iPhone. You don’t count. You’re bought and paid for by the place I work for. You don’t get a say.

Life has become far too complicated. I think I’ll go out and pull some weeds. 

Everyone Wants A Piece of Me

Strange days, crazy people. That’s a lead in to the recent Ann Coulter idiocy. You know, the one where she suggests murdering Meghan McCain? Coulter can’t figure out why most of us rational folks find her comment so disgusting and vile. After all, as Coulter reported, when she said it, people at the studio laughed!

Of course, an appreciative audience always makes whatever horrific thing we say acceptable. That’s how polite, sane society works, doesn’t it? Because we all know, that if a bunch of people laughed when Hitler proposed the Final Solution, it would have made the annihilation of Jews a laughing matter.

But the vile creature that is Fox News loves their girl. She can say whatever she wants because it brings eyes and ears to that most foul of faux news outlets. Now I’m wishing Ann Coulter would meet John McCain in a dark alley. Let’s all laugh now.

Big Brother has finally shown its face at work. IT tells us he was always there, lurking just above the ceiling tiles. The other day they moved it into clear view so that we’d all be reminded that none of what we do at work belongs to us.

Where’s the bug spray?!

Oh, yes, “they” are calling it a “wireless access point” and assuring us that the creature is “helping us do our jobs in another manner more securely.” WE know that it is monitoring our every move and has just found out about my new “bistro” and have added it to the list of THINGS NOT ALLOWED AT WORK.

My office bistro

Speaking of work, I recently got a new desk. For want of a better name, we call it the Up and Down Desk. Push a button and it goes up. Push another button and it goes down.

Up and down with the touch of a button

The latest medical research tells us that getting our behinds up out of our chairs during the day is better for our health. I’m all for that. Unfortunately, I’ve discovered that I’ve not yet been able to figure out how to sleep standing up. That remains a problem to be solved. Napping is also supposed to be good for one’s health.

I’ve got a huge shipment of plants coming this week to be planted throughout the yard. My mom is particularly thrilled given that she has found my practice of xeric landscaping, which involves rocks, to be an eyesore. She developed an aversion to rocks soon after moving here. This is a woman who used to collect rocks. Now, she’s had her fill of them. She’s been given a long portion of the front yard to landscape. But first we both had to get the area ready, and that meant 4-5 hours pulling up the weed mat, a product that only helped the weeds thrive. On top of the weed mat sat hundreds of little rocks. They all had to be carried away. If my mom could sneak them into the trash can, she would, but they’re going into the back yard mostly to mingle with their relatives residing on a path throughout my yard.

Spring is almost here. And I head into it with a dozen or more projects to do. But that’s all good. My mom is going to be busy.

P.S.: I had intended to post this on Sunday, but my mom and I were too busy in the yard!

I don’t like competitions, either, and believe me, everywhere, in almost every situation, people are competing. It seems our experiences have no meaning unless we’re not beating someone else at something.

I’ve been walking up the stairs at work for a week now in hopes of gaining some cardio fitness. I wheeze and gasp all the way to the 6^th floor. I’d be fine undertaking this task every weekday morning were it not for the woman, wearing a heavy backpack, who charges up behind me. Stomp, stomp, stomp, she comes. Quickly. No heavy breathing, either. Nothing could irritate me more—nothing other than her shoving me aside and launching an insult at my pitiful attempt to get some exercise.

So it baffles me why I would, along with my sister, sign up for the Boise Muddy Mama 5k Obstacle Course in June this year. I’m so unnerved by the entire concept, I can’t even bring myself to read more about the event. All I can do is focus on the website’s photo of the spry, fit, muddy young woman launching her muscular legs over a very tall fence. There are no stairs in the photo. Where are the stairs?

And, so, the words, “fraught with peril,” come to mind—as does a past event my sister and I entered decades ago in Wisconsin. The “something or other” Creek Canoe Race. And then there’s the inline skating marathon I did in Duluth one year. And an attempt to try out the Black Diamond trail soon after I began cross-country skiing.

The canoe race was an adventure in going backwards and sideways down quite a few miles of a creek. Not a babbling brook, either, and not a gentle stream. After an exhausting few hours, my sister and I made it to the finish line one minute under the required time. I staggered out of the canoe vowing never again to place my bottom in a wooden, tippy, saucer of a thing.

The inline skating marathon ended with a spectacular airborne finish onto hard pavement. I cracked my helmet but somehow managed not to crack ribs or damage teeth. But I ached for weeks afterwards.

The skiing incident left a mark. At the bottom of one of the steepest hills, I crashed and drove the ski pole into my lip. My teeth survived. My lip was the size of a Cinnabon for weeks.

I have tempted fate, believing that I was only competing with myself and doing all that silly “self mastery” stuff. But the fact is, other people are competing with me. And they’re ahead of me. And they’re not suffering and they’re not hurting themselves. How annoying they all are.

If I could just do these events by myself, with no one else around, I think I’d enjoy myself so much more. If I could just accept that my body is better suited to a hard day’s work in my garden instead of testing its meager limits in public events, I’d be a much happier person. I wouldn’t lie awake at night worrying about the inevitable outcome, which involves pain, bruising, a wrenched back and strained muscles. And a near miss to my expensive dental work.

“Fraught with Peril.” This 5k Muddy Obstacle Course will ride my back for the next couple of months now, along with anxiety and images of pain and chipped teeth. What was I thinking?

Please don’t let this be me

Extreme Sports of Yore

Just Say No to Extreme Sports

(Photo courtesy of Brandy Bostons at http://www.usagility.org/brandybostons/photopages/janie.html)

My elderly mom moved in with me about a month ago. I had the space, family support, and I was more than willing. I still am. My mom has brought tremendous joy to my life. I’ve discovered her delightful personality, a generous sweetness, her love for fun, and her marvelous sense of humor and insight.

My mom has mild dementia. I’ve heard the word, “Alzheimer’s” used to characterize it. I still can’t say the word aloud. Her short-term memory is affected, and when she’s tired, it’s seriously affected.

Life has changed dramatically—that should go without saying. But it needs to be repeated. Life has changed dramatically for me.

Before my mom moved in, I had lived alone for a good deal of my adult life and I preferred that to anything else. It was my space to do with what I wished. Depending on how I felt, I passed through an unstructured or a structured day, because the only person I had to answer to was me. It was a relatively selfish life. 

I’ve typically been a person who handles changes satisfactorily. Having moved around a lot and experienced quite a few job changes in my youth should have been preparation for whatever would come in adulthood.

I think that no one can be completely comfortable with or aware of all the changes that take place when a big change occurs. How many parents are truly ready for the shrieking newborn that suddenly enters their lives? How many people facing a big change can sit down and make a list of all the ways their lives will be affected—one column for the change, the other for how to deal with it.

I didn’t make a list. But I quickly made some alterations to my home. I adjusted. I adapted. A bit. Not completely.

I stopped blogging regularly. I haven’t picked up a paintbrush in almost 6 months.

But with the help of my sister, I raised my paved walkway in the backyard. I built a new patio back there, too. I planted some new plants. I spruced up the front of my home. I fixed my pantry to make it more functional. I rearranged cabinets, installed sliding inserts, and organized my new studio. I took up learning bridge. This, all in a month.

I have to remind myself about all the things I have accomplished and stop thinking that I’m standing still waiting for things to happen to me. Or waiting to respond to the next crisis.

What is my new normal? I don’t know. I don’t know that I should try to find one. I do know that I have to remember that I am still the person I was before my mom moved in with me. But I’m also different—I’d say “enhanced.” 

Giving up portions of your life to care for another human being is the ultimate sacrifice and challenge. Whether it’s an infant or an adult with diminished capacity, you’re often going to have to dig down deep for emotional strength.

I wouldn’t change the decision I’ve made for any money in the world. I’ve been allowed a glimpse into the kind of person I can be. I’ve seen that I actually do have a compassionate nature and the ability to share, which extends well beyond the attention I’ve always given to my dogs. I’ve discovered that being isolated and alone isn’t a good way to go through life even if it does provide tons of “me time.”

This is a year of struggle and insight and joy and sorrow. More than ever, I am going to take it each day at a time and not expect to be Super Caregiver. I’m going to pick up a paintbrush in the next few days, or maybe today. I’m going to keep up with my blog even though some days feels like a trudge through quicksand.

Life is change. There is no new normal to be found. It is what it is. 

Mom tilling the soil in the backyard.

Whatever the verb is, I’m counting down the days till our legislators leave town and go back to doing whatever it is they do when they’re not introducing and voting on inane bills here in Idaho. I look forward to the day when they’re no longer a big part of the news and I don’t have to read about some pejorative statement or ill-chosen word one of them has used.

One of the hottest topics here has been the healthcare exchange. Our legislators waited until the 11^th hour to think about what this meant for Idaho and then were caught unprepared. They spent most of the time grousing about Obamacare and very little time coming up with ideas of their own that would appeal to the citizens here.

They grandstanded. A particularly nutty legislator here in Idaho, Senator Nuxoll, likened the healthcare exchange to “the holocaust.” It’s not too far a stretch to get from there to: “Obama is Hitler.” Some of us cringed when we heard that. But the Republicans let it go. The majority leader excused it. “Passions run high,” he said, as though that justification can always wipe the mud off slander.

It’s this unwillingness of our elected officials to condemn the hyperbole and vile comparisons that irk me the most when it comes to politics. I could almost stomach the stupid decisions being made were it not for the way the body politic fail to admonish those who make racist and derogatory references about people they don’t agree with or whom they look down upon.

Recently, Representative Don Young from Alaska praised the “50-60 wetbacks” who picked tomatoes on his daddy’s ranch. After 40 years in the legislature and 50 plus years living on this planet, he never learned that the term is a pejorative. Oh, but this time, several Republicans criticized his comment, of course because the Republican party has decided they can no longer afford to demean voting Hispanics. Too little, too late.

For far too many people, sadly including our elected officials, the news never reaches them. Somehow they remain closed off to learning that certain words are loaded with negative connotations—certain words are just downright ugly. Certain words have a hideous past and when they’re used they say so much about the person who utters them. And when they’re not condemned, guilt by association follows.

During this year’s Idaho session, Rep. Lynn Luker used the word “tar baby” to refer to the healthcare exchange. Unable to reach into his dictionary for a better, less inflammatory phrase, he chose a term that made him sound like a racist. He didn’t mean for that to happen; he’s simply too ignorant to realize what he’s done.

Another legislator, Rep. Lenore Barrett, borrowed from the civil rights movement to evoke the mood of our state’s repression and subjugation by the federal government.

“We seem to be the only body politic on the planet that will kill a horse in order to have a horse to beat,” said Barrett. “Let my people go.”

Why can’t we just let Barrett go? She’s a vicious, virulent and utterly ignorant representative who continues to get re-elected because her constituents are too ignorant and too lazy to think about voting for someone else.

I don’t see any need to go into the myriad of ways our elected officials continue to insult and degrade diverse communities among us. We heard plenty of it when Barack Obama got elected the first time. We heard it again when he got elected the second time. We heard it during the discussions about rape and the ghastly ways this evil was redefined. We’ve heard it during discussions about immigration.

It disgusts me that we still hear this stuff from people who should know better, who should use their elected office to set a good example.

After Rep. Luker made his “tar baby” comment, I’d be willing to bet that hundreds of his supporters began to use the same words in their conversations and posts on social media sites. People love new ways to characterize the things they hate. The “pundits” on Fox News, the Rush Limbaughs and Sean Hannity’s love to collect new words they can sprinkle, like seasoned salt, on their rants.

We have thousands of other ways to say the things we want to say. Our elected officials only need a few other words to demonstrate how they feel about an issue. “It sucks,” is a far better way, even, to denounce a bill or law than creating a derogatory and insulting tone about the topic. Why perpetuate stereotypes and gender bias? What’s the point of that?

 Go home, Idaho legislators. You’ve worn out your welcome again. And, because we state employees are required to “show our respect,” I can’t wear jeans on Fridays until you leave. Get a load of that. Show our respect.

Baked, fried. Not in town.