For a few dead horses that deserve a little more attention.

“I find war detestable but those who praise it without participating in it even more so” – Romain Rolland

    As we wandered in the front gate of the county fair we spied the traveling version of the Vietnam Memorial Wall. Dad and I were excited to see it there, standing a mere 4 feet or so high, it stretched down the fence line until it was out of sight. At first its diminutive presence was a let down, still I wanted to look up Sgt Lancaster and headed down the black line, impossibly trying to take in all of the names. After a few moments we both stopped, Dad stood reluctantly with his hands in his pockets several feet away from it. We both know a lot of names on that wall and somehow we just could not bring ourselves to go any further on that warm spring day.

To hold the same views at forty as we held at twenty is to have been stupefied for a score of years, and take rank, not as a prophet, but as an unteachable brat, well birched and none the wiser. – Robert Stevenson

    I first read about the tea parties on Facebook and it struck a chord in me. The home we have been paying on for 27 years now is worth less than it was two years ago, all of our retirement savings have lost money. They never recovered from the effects of 9/11. We are finally out of debt except for our mortgage only to face having to pay higher taxes when we retire. It took some planning and a great deal of courage on my part to go.

    While Hubby was sure I was turning into a radical and telling me to call him if I get arrested, I made plans to ride the bus downtown. That ride was truly worth every centavo of the two dollar fare. I am, of course, talking about the side of the horse where several people get together and start flailing around with sticks. The squinty-eyed guy in the Mr. Goodwrench work shirt told us that the tire wrapped in the dingy yellow towel strapped to an orange dolly was for a 1930 Ford. And just before the little old lady with dreadlocks, polka dotted umbrella and finger gloves with pandas painted on them, got off, she turned around and hissed at him about how she hoped both he and his father rotted in hell with Satan. While the bus driver told them both to behave, he lectured her on the evils of doing meth as she disembarked. My seatmate, who was blind, said he thought Tucson was a scary town. No doubt, I had discovered the real demonstrators showing us how to beat the undead stuffing out of a horse.

    I’ve never been to any kind of protest. The windchill was at least 30 below zero when Dwight swaggered up to the school bus stop at Kincheloe, ABF, MI. He was showing off his bruises like a schoolyard bully on the hunt for some lunch money and said he had told his dad he wanted to be a hippie. His words evaporated like our frosty breath into the crystal clear day because most of the high school kids knew he had gotten his butt handed to him for even daring to say anything like that out loud.

    Tax Day was in the middle of National Library Week and the Farmer’s Market was set up on the sidewalk on the way to the Presidio. There were no anarchists, counter-protesters or racists. The most alarming posters I saw were by two little girls who had demonized the POTUS. How sad that their parents would mislead them with such hate. There was a gal handing out anti-military pamphlets like Chick tracts at an atheist barbecue. We heard rumors that Moveon.org was there, however their counterparts, the Aryan Nation were a no show. Sorry to disappoint Ms Garofalo.

    It was bright and sunny with the smell of popcorn in the air, a band played and people walked around with signs. I was wearing my cloak of invisibility and it was honestly surprising to see so many there. Lots of young families: some disabled folks, a few African-Americans, a few more Latin Americans, Veterans and mostly white folks—with white hair. And then it dawned on me that this is the demographic that has lost the most. While we still have over a decade to regain our losses, a lot of people there do not. They are stuck with what they had to pull out of their IRAs and 401 k’s while the stock markets plummeted. The Federal Building loomed over the park where small heads could be seen watching us on the pavilion below. When we were asked to boo them, it was a sacrament to my soul.

Goodnight, travel well – The Killers

    Hubby has been affected with some sort of indefinable lung disease for over a year. The doc seems to think it’s either Valley Fever or sarcoidosis and while he milks our insurance company for all they’ve got, Hubby is on O2 at night. When they brought in the concentrator I looked at him and said, “Both you and my dad are going to leave me behind one day aren't you? “

Devotion

Last night I woke up at three. I had a strange dream; it was either that or my roommate dropping a bottle of ibuprofen on the floor that woke me up. Being a light sleeper means that I wake up easily. It also means that I have trouble getting back to sleep once something has awakened me. After twelve minutes of not sleeping I got up to watch TV. My roommate had just gotten back from a night out with some of his friends. I don't know what it is about my roommate but it seems like he's always picking up women. The other night I turned the heat off because the weather's been warmer. I was cold talking to my roommate but he didn't seem to notice the chill. My roommate offered me something to drink while he told me all about the new girl he had met. Her name is Angela, she's twenty-four and she works for U.S. Cellular.

My roommate is six feet tall. He's skinny, his voice is effeminate and his hair is dark red but it is still red. People joke about him being gay, he drives a white BMW and we're both neat freaks but our compulsions manifest in different ways. e.g. I don't like it when he leaves dishes in the sink and I wear my shoes in our apartment because I don't care about the carpeting that will never be clean anyways. The house my roommate likes has hardwood floors which is what I grew up with. Nothing against the house but I'm not sure I want to live there with my roommate. Whether I'm ready for that type of a commitment or not if he wants to go forward with this I'm going to have to make a decision about what I want to do. In other news my ex-girlfriend called to ask if she had left her San Diego sweatshirt over at our place.

Before I could ask Trevor if her call was a ploy to get me to call her back he told me he thought he was going to puke. Later he told me he wasn't sure if it was the beer or all the ibuprofen he took on an empty stomach. Before I left for work I opened Trevor's door to check if he was still alive. He was sleeping on his stomach while his cell phone was napping on the pillow next to him. Today I have mixed feelings about last night. Anyone can get sick but is Trevor the kind of person I want to buy a house with?

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