I am extremely alarmed by the recent narrative being pushed, that "fake news" on social media somehow influenced the election and so the remedy is censorship. I believe this is the result of regular media being threatened by alt media, and by regular media's inability to explain the election results. The censorship solution is outrageous -- as if outlets such as the New York Times have stellar record on accuracy! Speech is sacrosanct. The answer to offensive speech is not censorship -- it is more speech. It is a little amusing to see how worked up regular media is over everything, though. They grow increasingly more irrelevant and dig themselves in deeper & deeper.

I am considering changing my security settings on Facebook so that people can't post items on my wall.

And in honor (?) of election day, another graphic

Forgot to put up our Halloween picture! First time we've done costumes in years!

November 1 will become a momentous occasion: The one-year anniversary of becoming a vegetarian! It is something I've wanted to do since I was a teenager, and in recent years, I kept thinking it was on my bucket list (a concept I hate, BTW). It had been years since I'd eaten any meat, besides poultry and fish. But for some reason I could not give those up -- even though I felt guilty eating them. Finally, last year, I suddenly went "cold turkey," and it was easier than I'd imagined! I do not miss it at all, and did not, even in the first days. I feel much happier and more aligned with my principles. I was reminded of this today, when I got an email from a local farm about ordering my Thanksgiving turkey. When explaining that they will not know exact weights until the turkeys are "processed," I felt a pang at the euphemism. Not that I think agro-business slaughtering thousands of hormone-injected birds after they lived under inhumane conditions is better, because I certainly don't. But I still was disturbed by the email.

The new lifestyle has some health benefits for me, that I won't go into here in detail (suffice to say that a lifelong problem I had is just about gone). It is probably easier than I'd thought it would be because I am not a vegan. I understand the health benefits and support the philosophical reasons for veganism, but I can't figure out what I would eat. I go to restaurants often, that isn't changing any time soon, and vegetarianism is challenging enough. I might attempt it someday (and may find it easy, who knows) but for now I am pleased and proud to be a vegetarian.

Yesterday I made a vegetable pot pie. I've always loved pot pie and used to occasionally make chicken pot pie, and it occurred to me that it would be a wonderful vegetarian dish for fall. I made up to recipe. First, I made a double crust (2 cups flour, 1 teaspoon salt, 2/3 cup butter, 5 tablespoons cold water). Then, I made the filling (saute 2 tablespoons olive oil, 1 clove garlic, 1 can mushrooms, a handful of carrots, 1 can small white beans, 1 bag frozen corn, 1 bag frozen peas -- I would have used potatoes too, but didn't have any). Then I made white sauce (2 tablespoons butter, 1 teaspoon salt, 2 tablespoons flour, 1 cup milk, 2 cups stock made from boiling vegetable peels). I poured 2/3 of the white sauce over the vegetable mixture, put it all in the pie crust, baked it for 50 minutes at 400 degrees, and served it with the remaining white sauce. It was awesome.

A few days ago Ted the Cat knocked my Kindle Fire on the floor (from the kitchen table). It was in a case and nothing was obviously broken, but when I used it the next day, it was dim and the color was off. I could fix it by tweaking settings, re-booting didn't help, so I went back to factory default, and that worked. Although having to set up all the accounts again is annoying. First world problem, I know.

The question is, how to handle someone who won't take no (10 times) for an answer, and continues trying to distract, waste time, and hijack?

We are in week 4 of the semester (hard to believe). It's going well -- my reduced schedule is much better. Toleration is majority freshman for the first time in years (and that's great). Two days ago was my birthday, and I turned 55. State retirement age! But of course I'm not retiring. I did something kind of radical and anti-social -- took my birth date off social media, and so did not get 200 Happy Birthday posts this year. I decided to do it not because of anyone on Facebook, but because I was in a crummy mood over village-related issues and I just didn't feel up to clicking all those "Likes" (LOL). It was a good day though. Ate dinner here, which was fabulous, and that's an understatement.

If it's August...it's time for my annual post about the disgusting frenzy in "The Summer Place To Be." I saw a painful story on the local TV news this weekend about the Travers. The interviewed women were so face-lifted and made-up under their gaudy hats that it looked like the freak show it is. My mantra: Not glamorous, not a sport, it's animal abuse. Promoted by the media! Ugly people on the inside & out.

On another note: my classes start tomorrow! (Semester begins today).

The Fall semester begins next week. I did not accomplish the same things I normally do during my long summer bread (gardening, reading, writing). Instead I wrote four grant proposals and did many other things for the Village, along with teaching my usual two classes. Let's hope the proposals pay off in some way and don't work out to be a waste of time that could have been better spent growing green beans, writing here, and reading Mark Twain! I'm pretty much ready to start the semester. I'm sad about the end of my long summer, but it will be good for me to get out of the house. The animals will be sad though!

2016 has turned out to be a deadly season in Saratoga so far.Yet still people think this "sport" is glamourous -- rather than what it is, animal cruelty.

Unrelated: I made the CFA deadline with nearly 3 hours to spare!!

Another story that didn't pass the sniff test for me. Initially when she didn't remember anything I was suspicious. Then when the sketch of Santa came out, I was sure.

Unrelated: caught another plagiarizer yesterday. Essay copied almost verbatim from a cheating site on the web.

According to Kari Spencer, “often... visible outdoor areas are homogeneous, cookie-cutter spaces, where neatly-trimmed grass or a few well-placed flower pots are admired and appreciated by the neighbors. But for some revolutionary gardeners, a feast for the eyes is not enough. They want something edible in return for the hard work, the water and the expense of tending a landscape. These food revolutionaries are maximizing their cultivation area by converting their landscapes, patios, and nearby vacant lots into productive edible gardens. In the quest for more space to grow food, even conventional front lawns are being transformed into maverick, and highly visible, vegetable plots.... the rise of modern vegetable gardeners who are cutting against the grain of current landscape fashion to grow food out in the open once again.”

Are vegetable plants beautiful?  Philosophers have discussed the nature of beauty for centuries, and most come down on the side of subjectivity – that there are no objective standards and it is, as the cliche says, in the eye of the beholder. That said, the connection of beauty to pleasure is something upon which many agree. “Beauty is such an order and construction of parts as, either by the primary constitution of our nature, by custom, or by caprice, is fitted to give a pleasure and satisfaction to the soul” (Hume, 1740). It almost goes without saying that gardens and gardening are good for the soul. Community gardens are known to have some unique benefits for members of the garden. Teig et al. (2009)  found  that  participants  in  community  gardens  chose  to  remain  in  the  garden  because  of  the  social opportunities  they  offered. Vegetable  gardening  also  has  the  potential  to  increase  the  frequency  of  social  interaction.  Lewis  (1990)  argues  that  gardening  provides  gardeners  with an  opportunity  to  socialize  with  others,  since  the action is taking place in publicly visible locations. “Community  gardens  can  increase  the  sense  of community of nearby neighborhoods due to the creation of a mixed - use land, and therefore increase their social capital” (Ozawa, 2010).

 “Creating your own urban farm is as simple as planting your flowerbeds with edibles.  No matter where you are you can grow something to eat. Shift your thinking and you'd be surprised at the places your food can be grown! I believe that virtually everyone has the ability to either grow some food at home, or to find an appropriate location to start a garden. I may sound like a kook who plants my landscape with cucumbers instead of carnations, peppers instead of petunias, and fruit trees rather than ficus, but I am convinced that wherever you go, you can grow food! Now is the time for us to join together and plant the seeds that will transform the places in which we live.  I envision a day when every city and town has front and back yards, community gardens and growing spaces, nurtured into life by neighbors who are no longer strangers, but friends who delight in the edible rewards offered from a garden they discovered together. Imagine small strips of land between apartment buildings that have been turned into vegetable gardens, and urban orchards planted at schools and churches to grow food for our communities. The seeds of the urban farming movement already are growing within our reality” (Peterson, 2009).

 Last night's board meeting really highlighted why the mayor and trustee jobs aren't fun. We immediately started to implement a Community Garden after we were sworn in. Due to the efforts of volunteers and donors (& Bob), the garden is almost finished, and is already producing. The garden chair delivered greens & squash to the food pantry last night. She said the folks there couldn't have been happier. Meanwhile Bob & I were taking heat from four planning and zoning board members, two of whom live across from the garden.

 The garden looks like crap (said by all of them, more than once), like a stockyard, like a gulag, why would we want that as you enter the village, what permits did you get, why didn't we get a letter in the mail (although it was discussed at every board meeting & there are minutes, is on the website, on facebook, and in the village newsletter). It ruins our view when we sit on our porch sipping champagne. "That's your opinion" in response to my protesting that the garden is beautiful. No, it isn't just my opinion. There is scholarly literature supporting my position. Where are their citations? Something from the Journal of Ugly, Mean-Spirited, Elitist, Selfish Commentary perhaps?

Culture change is very, very difficult in this village. But I will not let the naysayers dissuade me.

I have many, many things to write, but I'm razor focused on getting proposals ready for the NYS CFA grants deadline of July 29. Lots of things happening in the Village, some of which can't be public yet.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times" kind of summs it all up at present!

I have been so busy, more so than I have been in years. It's all good, though. I am on a mission to make change. I may fail, of course. But without trying, there is no doubt of failure -- and so, the flip side is that I just might succeed.

Classes ended on Wednesday, and grades are due on May 17. I have been doing my best to juggle the village stuff with my end of semester demands. One thing about the semester that (unfortunately) is memorable is this. About a month ago, the student I knew (who had dropped the class of mine she was in, to my great relief) emailed me to ask whether she could re-enroll. Mind you she'd done no work when she was registered and had missed many classes. As is sometimes the case, the situation wasn't well-handled in terms of the support I needed for dealing with the situation. Oh well. I said no, and thankfully she went away. And now the university has taken action, and the criminal justice system is in process. Eventually this too will be another urban legend on campus.

Something that has annoyed me about both the media coverage and the memos we have gotten at work about the case: The two victims are barely mentioned. I would be so upset if I was a victim of crime, or if my 19-year-old kid was, and the focus was only on the perpetrators.

Ugly Sweater

The woman with the weak chin

The woman in beige

The tall man with the crew cut

The crowded bar

The guitarist playing Christmas songs

The Church woman impatient with it all

Busy & tired!

I have not written about this story before here (or anywhere) but the detective in me thought it didn't pass the sniff test on day one. As it happens I know one of the students involved and I am beyond disappointed in her. I think what annoys me the most about this situation (besides the president's clumsy reaction) is that because of the three women who cried wolf, our student body was once again exposed as a bunch of binge drinking spoiled brats. That video shows a bus full of students on the verge of puking and passing out. The men they were slapping and punching were hardly capable of standing up, much less throwing a punch. If the three had not concocted a story on social media and called 911 afterwars, everyone would have just gone home and passed out, been hung over the next day and barely remembered. Now it is our new brand, just when kegs n eggs had faded. Idiots.

We got a great story in today's Troy Record about our campaign!

Busy, busy, busy...Bob & I have decided to dive into politics, and we are running for mayor and trustee of the village, respectively. Visit our campaign website!

Classes start tomorrow!

My department's new musical logo & tagline! Also, the link to the new youtube channel:

From 12/22 to 1/8, my internet download speed was reminiscent of dial-up. Two several-hours-long tech support chats, three several-hours-long tech support phone calls, two technician visits, three new modems, new exterior wiring, new jack later...the central office took my service down for a whole day and finally fixed it (the problem was somewhere distant). I negotiated free internet service for a month. Eighteen days with 1990s-level access severely impacted not just entertainment, but bill-paying, work (& clock was ticking on new semester prep), communication, shopping. We have all become so dependent on the 'net, and so quickly (which shouldn't be surprising; the same thing happened to a prior generation with the telephone.) I'm SO grateful to have high speed internet back, I'm grateful for a free month, I'm grateful to have finally connected with an extremely competent tech guy in the central office.

At 54 posts, 2015 was my lightest powting year so far. This is unrelated, but I'm having some annoying internet problems -- involving speed. The connection is stable, but SLOW.

In faith formation class this week, we made evergreen sprays with clothespin ornaments for decorations.

We also presented our giving tree to the Mohawk Hudson Humane Society.

I have had some troublesome students in a semester that has been good overall. I was thinking today that in the past, a plagiarism case would always trigger me to write here. Now it barely warrants mention. But -- I've found another, first time in two years. I also know another student was trying (unsuccessfully) to cheat. Yawn. Three weeks to go.

I Don’t Have One

Fourth grade was the first time Gwen noticed Samantha. The year before, the girls’ school switched from dividing classes by hamlet where you lived to sorting kids into two sections, based on "ability." Prior to this, Gwen had been with her kindergarten peers for three years, while Sam’s kindergarten class had also been together, with different teachers for Grades 1 and 2. With the switch to tracking, they wound up in the same class, but she still wasn't on Gwen’s radar screen. Their fourth grade teacher, Miss Innis. changed that. Miss Innis was in her 30s but she seemed ancient. She was the definition of an old school marm: Hair in a bun, stiff, thin and bony, brittle, with plain attire that featured high collared shirts, buttoned up to her chin. Gwen thought she looked something like Olive Oyl. She wasn't particularly mean to either Gwen or Sam, but she wasn't nice either. She didn’t single kids out for ridicule as some teachers did; she was equal opportunity mean. The whole class was terrified of her.  

To illustrate sets in math, she told the fourth graders to get into groups if their houses had two or three or four bedrooms or what their fathers did for a living (worked for IBM or owned businesses or were teachers etc.). That day the question was about dad’s job. Sam didn’t go into a group and when Miss Innis asked why, responded "I don't have one." Sam was suddenly noticed by everyone in class, including Gwen.

The second time Gwen thought about Sam was during that same year in school. Just when the students were poised to leap from the flutofone to a "real" instrument, Miss Innis yelled out, "who's Catholic?" Gwen and a handful of other kids timidly raised their hands. Sam was Catholic, but her hand either wasn’t noticed by Miss Innis, or she was too scared to raise it at all. The brave souls who raised their hands were herded across the street to the church for religious instruction, and so missed instrumental music and were never able to be in band. Sam didn’t go across the street and didn’t miss music, but she also didn’t join the band until much later, in high school. The band was chosen to march in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade one year, and Sam wanted to go. So she volunteered to play the cymbals, and once the trip was over, she quit the marching band.

Despite those two incidents in Grade 4, Gwen considered sixth grader to be the actual start of a friendship between them. It was facilitated by Gwen’s  “best" friend Amy, whom she’d met the first day of kindergarten. Amy had been put in the "other" section of class after Grade 2.  As a result of the scrambling, she became friends with some kids who lived near Sam. Sometimes Amy would be invited to the party of a girl in her class that Sam was also attending. They got to know each other, eventually Amy invited Sam to her house, and since Gwen and Amy were always together, all three girls became friends.

Once they knew each other better, Gwen found out that Samantha did, in fact, have a father. Sam’s parents divorced when she was six months old and he was remarried and lived four hours away. Why she said she didn’t have one when Miss Innis was clumsily trying to teach sets was a mystery. Did she not know what he did for a living? Was he a drunk who didn’t  work so it was easier to pretend he didn’t exist? The latter explanation didn’t occur to Gwen until years later.

Perhaps it's obvious from my last post, but I am pretty teed off about the state of the village. After the loss of Stewart's last year, I wanted to continue to work outside the system, but I got co-opted! I spent seven months trying to work inside the system, and was dissed, disregarded and disrespected for my efforts. Eventually I sent a FOIL request to DOT, and the results are at the following link: https://app.box.com/s/n5t5kivzeujrvb3lt1wlxg6mm3c2x0e2

Happy Halloween

I've been doing social media for my department, and as a result, I am a little uncomfortable writing anything on my own personal accounts that has anything to do with teaching. But there have been an abundance of challenges this semester! Not that it isn't a pretty good semester overall, but...

AHA American Hero Therapy Dog Hudson the Railroad Puppy came to visit our faith formation class on Wednesday!

We're doing a giving tree for Mohawk Hudson Humane Society.

I have been very busy with social media at work, teaching faith formation, and friend visits. Plus my usual duties. So this explains why I have not been writing here very often.

I turned 54 last Friday. It was one of those years where the number struck me. I'm not that hung up on age, have never been overly traumatized by milestones. But every so often a number doesn't seem like "mine" and it's never the ones ending in zero or five. Last time I remember feeling this way was 46.

This lovely wooden tub full of mums was delivered:

And here's what the card said:

LOL. Bob had a cold and the florist must have thought that's what he said (I don't call my father "Pop.")

It has been a good year for tomatoes, plants still going strong:

Also got two wonderful bottles of handmade Chardonnay:

In other news, faith formation starts tomorrow. Seventh grade this year!

Taken yesterday from my office window: 9/11/01 Your Are Not Forgotten

And, my 2001 story, Sirius.

I'm trying to wrap my mind around what religion says it's OK to marry four times, have kids while unmarried, break the law and judge others, but doing your job and issuing marriage licenses to Gay couples means you will burn in hell? Years ago, when I was an administrator, I was assigned to a project that involved keeping records for system-wide animal research. I oppose animal research, and went to my boss and asked to be removed from the project. He did, without question or a hassle. If he had not, I would have resigned. Simple as that. What is wrong with this mean-spirited, publicity monger drama queen? Grow up Kim Davis. If you can't work out a compromise that satisfies your twisted conscience, you should quit and stop taking taxpayer money.

Second rant, Walter Palmer, the murderer of Cecil the lion, is scum. He asserts that he did nothing wrong? And that his family has suffered? They do not know the meaning of suffering. How scary is it that amoral people like him walk among us?

Here is the first story. Here is the second.

This is what publicity has done to the swimming holes in the Catskills. Being named "the Best" is not an honor, it is a nightmare. How can these people be such disrespectful slobs? Are they so ignorant they can't understand "leave nothing but your footprints, take nothing but pictures"  ?

I wrote to Governor Cuomo expressing my concerns, and received the following response yesterday from DEC:

 Besides the things they outline, I think the State needs to conduct a public education campaign to shame the tourists who have no clue how to behave in a beautiful and sacred natural place. Step up enforcement too! Fine them!

And Travel & Leisure (& upstate.com) should have to pay for the clean up, enforcement, and public education campaign.

Closure:
Story Four of Four
by Gina Giuliano

The service was held on a magnificent August day. Gwen thought there was something surreal about the setting. The scene was strangely evocative of the last time Gwen had seen Sam, at a swing concert over a decade before. The crowd consisted of the same type of tidy, refined folks, but on this day they were gathered not to listen to music, but to honor the memory of loved ones who had donated their bodies to the medical school.

Gwen had dreaded attending, not because she didn’t want to honor Sam, who had died three months earlier from a lifetime of alcoholism and bulimia, but because she feared one of Sam’s crazy sisters would be there. She knew this was irrational, as the risk was minuscule. Even in the unlikely event that they cared enough to want to come, none had the resources to make the trip. The cliche about not having a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of was not an exaggeration in Sam’s family’s case, thought Gwen.

This was what drove Gwen to attend: Someone should be there to represent Sam. Two weeks after Sam’s obituary appeared in the newspaper, Gwen contacted the anatomical donor program to ask when the memorial service would be held. She didn’t expect to get a response, because she assumed if Sam wanted her to know or to be there, she would have listed Gwen on the donor form or had someone contact her before or after she died. But Sam didn’t. Gwen didn’t blame her. Maybe Sam felt Gwen didn’t care. Whatever Sam’s wishes, however, the program’s staff did indeed respond with an invitation. So Gwen went. Jack went too, toting chairs for them along the cemetery’s winding paths on one of the hottest and most humid days of the year.

The director of the anatomical gift program spoke about the many reasons people have for choosing to donate their remains. He said some believe in research and teaching, others want to spare their families the hassle of a funeral, and for a proportion it’s financial. Gwen added another to his list: There is no one to spare from the hassle. The director probably didn’t mention Sam’s reason because people in this category didn’t have any family or friends in attendance. Except for Sam, that is.

After the director, the hospital chaplain issued a vanilla blessing that could have been applied equally to Moses, Jesus, Mohammed or Zeus. Then two medical students spoke. One was bubbly and so plagued with "upspeak" that Gwen thought, “Maybe she expected? Someone to jump in? And answer her questions? Or is this how? She always talks? Didn’t her advisor? Try to help her?” The other monotonously droned on in a whisper, and Gwen suspected all the senior citizens present heard not a word she said. The message of the speech was something trite fancied up with New Age lingo, about healers being good people. Afterwards a man sitting next to Gwen remarked to the woman with him, "young people should be taught public speaking."

The next part reminded Jack of the Truman Show. A series of speakers read the list of donors, and medical students put a carnation for each name on the joint, single casket. They walked around over and over in a big circle surrounding the crowd, all in the same order every time. The same students must have passed Jack and Gwen ten times.

Mourners could go up and place a flower on the casket when their loved one’s name was read. Jack whispered, “do you want to go up?” but Gwen vigorously shook her head “no.” The chance of a crazy sister encounter was extremely small, but it was not zero. As predicted, though, no family was evident when Sam’s name was read.

Gwen couldn't help thinking of Sam's antics if she had been sitting there. She'd have made them laugh inappropriately, probably imitating future Dr. Upspeak, and the people nearby would shake their heads “tsk tsk tsk,” as the concert goers had shushed Sam, all those years before.

Afterwards, they lingered a while, visiting the flower-covered casket, and looking at the nearby headstones for prior years’ donors. Jack snapped a few pictures. Later, Gwen noticed that the tombstone he’d photographed had bird crap obscuring some of the letters. Sam would have found that funny. Gwen imagined her doing her favorite Cheech and Chong routine, “Looks like dog sh-t, Smells like dog sh-t, It IS dog sh-t!”

Goodbye Sam, Gwen and Jack. Reflecting on Donna’s death, it struck me that there was no longer a need to write in the third person or to change names to protect the guilty. Perhaps there never was, as the first three stories in this series: The Sweater, Competing Conversations and Tacos Anyone? were never published anywhere Donna would have seen them. But the anonymity was always more to protect Donna from other friends of long ago, most of whom were naive to her situation, than because Donna might encounter the stories and be hurt. Not outing her remains important to me, but I made the decision that I was not going to hide her afflictions if someone asked “why?,” as many did, stunned when they learned of her passing.

L-R: Martin Eckert, Marty Giuliano, Elwyn Davis

 

The Diary of Elwyn Davis is finished! (*Pretty much.) I just ordered 1974-1975, the last volume. This is the cover, from an April 28, 1960 Onteora Record story, "Census Taker On the Job!"

Some more ephemera, from the 1990s. Had many good times here, when Main Street was admittedly blighted, but nothing like 2015.

^I do have some future tasks planned, but the big lift is over

A facebook friend has been posting that Donald Trump is like Bif in the Back to the Future movies. LOL. I hadn't thought about it before but he sort of does look like him, and his casinos are the pinnacle of tacky, just as in BTTF. What I had been thinking, though (this will come as no surprise due to my disdain for reality television and much of pop culture), is that we are living the movie Idiocracy. People on both the left and the right should be careful what they wish for regarding his candidacy. I think he will probably implode eventually (and that may already be starting) but what with the obsession of many people with being plugged into garbage like Survivor 24/7...this a-hole could be elected. He can then appoint the latest winner of The Amazing Race (is that still on?), a Kardashian (or two), Caitlin Jenner and the dude from the Jackass movies to the cabinet.

He said something in response to the question about all the times his companies have gone bankrupt that really frosted me. He said it was legal. Oh how I wished to channel my follow-up remark into the panel: What is legal is not the same thing as what is moral or ethical or right. What a scumbag. How's that for plain language?

Bob noticed on news reports about the killing of Cecil the lion that the monster's photo is flashed and he is described as a Minnesota dentist, but his name is rarely highlighted. So I am going to post it here with my wish: Walter Palmer is the name of the coward who murdered Cecil. May the scandal & the shame follow him for the rest of his miserable life & may this horrific act be the only thing associated with his name even after his days are done. Oh, and EXTRADITE Walter Palmer.

Front flower bed is filled with purslane! Tried it raw in salad last night. Its pretty bland. Texture is fine. One nice thing, it does not seem to be a haven for bugs, so it is much easier to clean than watercress or burdock. Next we're going to try it cooked. 

Bob was organizing a cabinet in the utility room and came across a treasure: A sweater that my mother knitted almost 45 years ago for our dog Pud. Here I am with Pud in about 1972 at a Bennett school fashion show, modeling a dress my mother made while Pud wears the sweater. After Pud died in 1986, the sweater was passed along to Penny Poodily and when she died in 1999, I must have stuck it in the cabinet. Rosie is my first dog since then who is small enough to wear it. It's still in like new condition and it fits her perfectly!

 "It's to hot to wear this sweater"

I was at a funeral several weeks ago. I had not seen the ex-wife of the deceased in a dozen years, She came up to me, hugged me, and said "I didn't recognize you before, you got old on me." I was floored! It wasn't the appropriate time or place to respond with something snarky, and I was so taken aback I probably could not have thought up something clever anyway, so I said "well, I am older than I was, that's life." What popped into my head was "and you got fat on me," which I probably wouldn't have said no matter the setting. I wrote it off to her grief making her tactless, but the truth is she is a crude, shallow person, and I suspect she always harshly judged my lack of make-up and other eccentricities. Add in no hair dye, clumsy orthopedic shoes and the march of twelve years -- hello! She simply couldn't help opening her mouth and (once again) erasing all doubt about whether she is classy.

On Saturday, we headed to Samsonville for the weekend. My sister was hosting a barbecue, and she said it would start at 2-ish. We managed to get to S'ville shortly after 2, and I was so happy that the rain stopped, the skies cleared, and if we hurried with our "opening" procedure, we'd get to the festivities at about 2:30.

Usually Bob patrols the yard when we first arrive, checking for problems with the fence and to warn unsuspecting critters that the Beagles are coming. We leave their harnesses on, and I generally stand on the deck and watch them when they go out to prowl the initial time. (They don't routinely wear their harnesses when they are in either house or yard because of this.)

But on Saturday we were in a hurry, so Bob brought Rosie and Harry (and Teddy) in the house, took off their harnesses, and let them out into the yard. We unloaded the Mariner, and I went into the bathroom. Bob called the animals inside. Rosie and Teddy came in, but Harry was nowhere do be found. Bob noticed a hole in the fence.

We frantically ran up the driveway and searched the nearby woods, calling him. We scoured the yard and looked under the sheds (a haven for groundhogs). There was no sign of him. Eventually Bob jumped in the Mariner and drove around, while I continued walking the driveway. When Bob came back, we stood in the driveway and talked about what we were going to do next. Right then, our escapee trotted up the driveway. We were so relieved! Suddenly, we both noticed something and simultaneously said "eww!"  Harry was holding a dead squirrel!We didn't scold him of course, as we were so happy he came back. We yelled "leave it!" and determined it was road kill -- there had been one in the road not too far from the driveway that was now gone.

Bob fixed the fence and we got to my sister's house at 4-ish. It seems Harry took Independence Day a little too literally!

Two completely unrelated things annoyed me. First, a convicted murderer escapes prison, commits suicide by cop, and now his young adult son claims wrongful death? Great. It isn't bad enough that New York taxpayers had to waste money in the courts and prisons on this killer, and then had to pay one million dollars per day to chase him through the Adirondacks. Now this kid, who may as well be the product of a sperm donor, is preparing to sue? Prediction: He won't get a dime. But he will waste the resources of the court.

Second. I received a solicitation call from the Hunger Action Network. They call me annually for a donation, but the caller said this was a second call for the year "because need is so great." I clarified this to be sure I heard it correctly, then told her that I can't donate twice a year, as I have other charities whose turn it is right now, including MHHS for Paws in the Park, and Senior Services for Meals on Wheels. She was very abrupt and hung up on me after a curt goodbye! Usually callers are very warm and thankful that I have been an annual donor for years. I assume she was irritated about Paws in the Park? One of those people who would whine that people matter more than animals?

Well I have news for this rude person. I support numerous charities; my favorites are animal shelters and rescues. I also regularly donate to Food Pantries of the Capital District, Hunger Action Network, Senior Services, two churches and Unbound, as well as a few others (such as organizations for which friends' kids perform fundraising activities). So, when HAN calls me next year for my regular annual donation, I am going to tell the (I assume) volunteer that I am choosing another Capital District food-related charity from now on, and why they shouldn't interrupt my dinner ever again.

Now here's a post that really sums up why I have zero respect for lawyers. That said, I tend to agree that no one deserves to be called a hero for doing a job competently, and even taking it one step more, we should not regard acts that are commonly labeled "heroic" today as unusual; instead such acts should be viewed as normal, expected behavior. Maybe if they were, people would routinely behave better. I don't know what planet the writer of this piece inhabits, but here in the real world, where folks know what's legal is not the same thing as what's moral, I'm impressed that Mr. Cook used quick judgment to end this costly and scary nightmare, and that he is such a good shot that he took him down, but did not kill the escapee. Yes, hero is used too casually, but I do believe that this NYS trooper can be called brave and I'm glad he's out there keeping New Yorkers safe..