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book review, Freud’s Revenge, by PJ Adams

14 Friday Aug 2015

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Freud’s Revenge
By PJ Adams

Two knife wounds–one to the groin, one to the hand impaling him to the desk–suggested somebody definitely wanted the guy dead. In this Amanda Carlisle
Mystery set in posh Del Mar, California, empath Amanda Carlisle and detective Nick Caswell find themselves in a race with a nearly invisible psychopath.
When Amanda mind-walks the killer, she discovers a complex Freudian psychosis that may be the key to the crime. Unbeknownst to her, that psychotic mind
has decided Amanda will be next. It will take Nick’s hardboiled sleuthing and Amanda’s deciphering the victim’s cryptic clues to catch the killer in gorgeous
surf-meets-turf Del Mar–where the ponies race and a psychopath is on the run.

I got this book on kindle a couple years ago, but I hadn’t gotten around to reading it yet. I finally started it two days ago, and I literally couldn’t stop reading it. Amanda, the therapist with a unique gift of empathy, Nick the tough detective who won’t stop till he uncovers the truth. Together, they are a fantastic duo. Amanda has the understanding of the psychological elements and people in the counseling practice, and Nick knows how to read the clues. There’s enough delving into psychology theory and practice to keep it interesting but not so much as to overwhelm the average reader.
I began to guess who the killer was about halfway through the story, but I didn’t guess the complete reason why and I didn’t put together all the aspects of who and why. There were good guys and bad guys and not-so-nice guys, a great blend of real humanity. The danger Amanda experiences was well done without being so constant and edge of your seat, which would have made me enjoy the book less. I liked the blend of the intellectual process of figuring it out for both main characters with the danger element keeping me and the heroes on our toes, not letting us relax or become too complacent.
Nick and Amanda are likable characters. There is attraction between them, but that isn’t the focus of the story and they don’t fall into bed together every time you turn around. They are committed to figuring out the mystery, and their attraction will have to wait for another day. I liked that about this book very much. And I liked these characters very much.
The setting is the San Diego area. I lived in San Diego for most of the nineties, and reading about places and sites with which I am familiar brought back fond memories and made me smile. Horton Plaza, La Jolla, Del Mar, UC mall, all of it here and more, making me want to take a trip back and visit some old haunts.
There isn’t too much excessive violence. The murder is gruesome and some of the details can be a bit disturbing, but other than that, it was a comfortable read for me, not overly violent, not loaded with sex scene after sex scene—though there is a sexual element to the plot which I can’t describe without spoiling the story. Two great characters, a great setting and an engrossing mystery. How much better can it get?
I looked on amazon for more books featuring Amanda and Nick, hoping this was the first book in a series, but it doesn’t seem to be. If there should be a sequel, I would definitely read the next one. I would give this four out of five stars, mostly because I started to figure out the culprit too soon and because I would have liked more explanation of what might have caused the situation with the killer and why that person became what they became. Other than that, I loved it.

Book Review, Dante’s Dilemma, by Lynne Raimondo

13 Thursday Aug 2015

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Another captivating story of psychologist Mark Angelotti. And so far, my favorite in the series. In this one, he’s got a new boss who doesn’t think so highly of Mark. He’s also given the assignment to be an expert witness for the prosecution of a woman who claims to have murdered her estranged husband after years of domestic abuse. But things just don’t seem to add up for Mark, and he’s off into another investigation and into danger. Someone definitely doesn’t want Mark to discover the truth.
Mark has a lot on his plate this time around. Not only does the mystery lead him round lots of twists and turns. Every time I think I’ve figured it out along with Mark, something undoes the whole solution and we’re back where we started. But along with the mystery, Mark has the new not-so-friendly boss, and a potential law suit with his ex-wife who isn’t so thrilled about the possibility of joint custody of their son. Mark seems in a better place personally in this book. He seems to have a better handle and acceptance of his blindness, and as usual with this series, Raimondo gives us a number of laugh out loud moments. Everything from Mark walking into his office furniture, mysteriously outside his office instead of in it, or the trials of trying to use a white cane on sidewalks buried in snow. As a woman who is blind, one of the things I love best about this series is that I forget about the whole blindness thing altogether. I tend to avoid books with blind characters, and if I read them at all, I read with part of my brain critiquing the portrayal of the blind character. But with the Dante series, it’s shown so realistically that I don’t think of Mark being blind any more than I wake up every morning and think, “good God, I’m blind!” The ways in which Mark performs the everyday things of life are so real and natural that I don’t even think of it as I read. I’m too caught up in the personality of Mark, his kindness, his sarcasm, his sense of humor. I’m too caught up in the mystery wondering how the author will surprise me this time. Mark’s blindness is in the background, just as it should be.
The mystery this time around was glorious, kept me guessing almost to the end. I thought I’d gotten it figured out. I thought I knew why the accused killer was going along with the prosecution. I thought I knew who was doing what, and at almost every revelation, I had been wrong all along! I generally figure out mysteries very quickly, so whenever I read one that surprises me, I’m so delighted, I just have to sit back and smile at the end, wishing I could read it again as if I hadn’t read it before, to see if I’d pick up the clues differently this time.
The author deals realistically and with great respect on the subject of long-term domestic abuse, a topic so heartbreaking and sadly still far too prevalent today. She doesn’t sugar-coat it, and yet, the rest of the story, with Mark’s compassion and humor, keeps the subject matter from getting too dark.
The Dante series is just plain fun, delightful. A good solid mystery, with a protagonist who is human and real, who makes you laugh out loud one moment and ache with sorrow for him the next. He’s a character you could meet on the street, someone with flaws and greatness, just a guy, and every man sort of guy, trying to make the best of his life, trying to give the best of himself and stumbling and succeeding just like all the rest of us. Seriously, I can’t rave enough about the series. This series isn’t so-called disability fiction, it’s a series of psychological mysteries with a hero who just happens to be blind.

Daddy Can You See Me?

06 Thursday Aug 2015

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DADDY CAN YOU SEE ME?

Today would be my dad’s seventy-sixth birthday, if he’d lived this long. He died in February 1997, at age fifty-seven, the very same age I am now. I was thirty-nine when he died. If I make it till my birthday, I’ll pass my father’s age. It’s a weird, unsettling thought somehow.
Some years go by, and I don’t remember Dad’s birthday until it has passed. I feel guilty, disloyal, when I forget it. Yet I know for sure that he would not want me to have those feelings. He’d be glad I’ve reached the point where each dreadful anniversary goes by and sometimes I forget. August 6, the birthdate. February 12, the death date. Father’s Day, in many ways, the day that hurts most.
Still, even if I miss those dates, I think of Dad often throughout the year, when the good and bad things happen in my life. More than anyone else, I wanted his approval, wanted him to tell me he was proud of me, and couldn’t wait to share the big things. The new job, the new apartment, the new guy, whatever it was, I always wanted to tell him first and hear him say how proud he was and how he loved me.
When I do think of him, I wonder, if he could see me now, what would he think.
I’m not one who believes that our beloved dead look down on us and either watch or intercede in our lives. They paid their dues; their lives’ toils ended, and they shouldn’t be worrying about us here below anymore. However, if he is looking down, what would he think of me today?
After Dad died, other family members told me how much he’d worried about me over the years. Worries he never wanted to share, because he was proud of my independence. He worried if I’d be able to continue working and supporting myself. He understood the difficulties of trying to be employed when you have a disability. He’d taught me to be independent and to believe in myself, but he knew that most of the rest of the world didn’t see me that way. He worried about what would happen to me if my JRA continued to worsen, if I lost more range of motion or became more disabled from it. He worried that I would be alone. He wanted me to spread my wings and keep flying in the face of all the odds against me, and so, he never shared those worries. But now I know, and now I wonder, what would he think, if he could see me now.
Knowing how much I wanted my own home, what would he think of my condo? The last thing he was trying to do before the last major attack of his cancer, was to find out about computer training for me. What would he think of the fact that I went on and got that training, and now, I do tech support for a major adaptive tech company?
Would he worry that I have no medical insurance, and that my arthritis gets worse all the time? Would he worry that I am so alone in my life, that my siblings and I rarely talk and haven’t seen each other in nearly seven years? Would he be sad that I am not married and don’t have any children?
Would he be proud that I am still working? Would he love my condo and be thrilled? Would he walk in my door, plop himself down on the couch, pull me onto his lap and listen quietly to every little detail of how it came to be? Would he still roar with laughter at my absolute ignorance regarding the game of golf?
Does he look down and growl with frustration over what I am or am not doing with my life? Does he wish I’d gone another direction? Would he like to take me by the shoulders and give me a good shake, or would he like to wrap his arms around me and give me a good hug? Or both? Does he wish he was still here with us? Is he finally at peace?
Yes, I wonder, what would he think if he could look down on me now?

“Daddy, can you see me? Daddy, can you hear the words I say?
My life has changed since you went away, and I need to know that I’m doing okay.
I’ve done all I can to make you proud,
“Daddy, can you see me now?”

Daddy Can You See Me, Anita Cockren

Happy Birthday Harry Potter

31 Friday Jul 2015

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This is a long, yes long review of a series. So, sit back with your beverage of choice and enjoy.

In honor of the birthdays today of JKR, J. K. Rowling, and her beloved creation Harry Potter, I thought I’d say some words about the series. I know many here have read them, but I know quite a few have not. Harry Potter changed my life, there’s no doubt about it. Through him I got involved in something no actor or rock star had ever gotten me to do, fandom. I’ve made lifelong friendships, discovered other worlds, other authors, taken chances in my own life, followed dreams of mine particularly about writing. And all because I once read a series of books about a boy wizard. I was about 42, when I read the first book, no teenager, starry-eyed and exuberant. But Harry opened me up in ways I couldn’t have dreamed.

Back in 1999, my best friend Doug asked me to read an NLS cassette book with him one weekend. He had a friend who was a librarian, and she had strongly recommended the book. What book, I asked. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s stone, he answered. Okay, I admit, I balked, just at the title. Why would I want to read a book called that? and when I heard it was about a boy wizard, I was less inclined. I did not know that Harry fever was beginning to sweep the world. I had never heard of it, even though the first two books were out. But Doug is my friend, so I agreed. We got his trusty cassette player and slipped in the first cassette, listening to Eric Sanvold read the opening info and table of contents. So far, I was still, waiting for something, but not thinking I’d find it.

Then Eric came to chapter one, The boy who lived. And the first sentence changed me forever.

“Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four Privet Drive were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.

I began to laugh. That one sentence put an mental picture in my head of the Dursleys, stuffy, dull, staid, boring. Right then and there, that very moment, I was utterly hooked. And now, years later, seven books, eight movies, many many fan fics, co-owner of a once 30,000 member yahoo group of adult fans, three midnight releases, multiple readings of the books, and I am still just as hooked as ever. I own two versions of the commercial audio books, US and UK, I have the entire series in braille and from bookshare. I just need to get them in kindle and my library will be complete.

Why? What grabbed me about Harry Potter. Each book deals with one year of the school years of Harry Potter at Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. Harry is an orphan, as we discover in that first chapter, his parents having been murdered by the most evil dark wizard ever to exist. A great wizard and headmaster of the school, Dumbledore, brings 15-month-old Harry to live with his nonmagical, AKA muggle, aunt and uncle, those Dursleys who are so proud to say that they are perfectly normal. Harry grows up till age eleven, knowing he is unwanted, unloved, a freak, being beaten by his cousin, his room is a cupboard under the stairs. He has no idea of his magical birthright or the future and fate that await him. When he finds out, he learns that he is famous in the wizarding world, famous for something he can’t remember, that fame a curse more often than not. And throughout the seven years, the evil dark wizard continues to come after Harry, for reasons neither Harry nor we know, until the end of the fifth book.

Sure, HP and the Sorcerer’s stone, is a romp a fun adventure where we through Harry are introduced to his new world, to his two best friends, the ones who will be with him till the final battle, the teachers, good and bad, the enemies, the wonder and excitement of the magical world. But with each book, Harry ages and matures, and so do the books. By the last book, it is no longer a romp or a grand and fun adventure. It is a deadly perilous battle for survival, in which Harry must ultimately defeat the evil Lord Voldemort and save his world. JKR didn’t believe in sugar coating reality amidst her fantasy world, so there are deaths, shocking brutal, unnecessary deaths. People Harry and we love will die. People we despise will die. And some of both categories will live. By book four, the Goblet of Fire, the series is no longer really a child’s book anymore in so many ways. There is darkness and evil, suspense that keeps you on the edge of your seat, heart racing, palms sweaty, wondering how on earth Harry will survive and what will JKR do to us next?

And yet, there is glorious humor and silliness. For instance, in the first book, one of Harry’s text books, for his class on transfiguration–changing an item into something else–is written by an author with the last name switch. Through the series there are great jokes like that. In the sixth book, as Harry and his friends are around age sixteen, there is hilarity in crushes, puppy love, the awkwardness of trying to ask a girl on a date, and all the embarrassment that can go along with that age. She captures the teenage mindset so well.

There are also brilliantly touchy moments, as in when Harry, who has never been shown affection, is given a hug after a terrible experience, or a hand on the shoulder by a father figure, as he has to reveal a heartbreaking story. There is the fierce devoted friendship between the trio, Harry, and his two friends, ron and Hermione. Ron, who faces the worst of his most terrible fear, to stand by his friend, and also who tells a man he believes is a murderer, that he’d have to go through him to get to Harry. Hermione, who willingly goes out of her rule following comfort zone to help Harry and never regrets it. The bickering between them, the love and affection between them, the unbreakable trio, for me, one of the great strengths of the series.

Harry isn’t a perfect hero. He has a temper, oh boy, does he ever have a temper. He tends to rush off, headlong into danger, without always considering the cost or looking at the details. He has Hermione for that, but he doesn’t always listen to her, a mistake that costs him dearly, contributing to the death of someone beloved to him. But he’s also caring, loyal, brave and able to think outside the box and on his feet when in the midst of peril. He hates his fame, hates injustice, hates the strong picking on the weak. He’s a kind of every man, a hero who is brave beyond belief, but who makes huge mistakes along the way, and who has to grow from those mistakes, till he can make the final choice to take the steps that will save his world. And at heart, he just one heck of a good kid, caught in something he never asked for but willing to step up and do what must be done.

Themes of good versus evil, of sacrifice, of love, of forgiveness, even of those who you considered your enemies, fill the books, alongside the laughs, the adventure and the fun.

And in the end, when I finished the last page of the last book, and I knew there would be no more, I was torn between feeling completely satisfied, for the mystery begun all the way back in book one of why did Voldemort try to kill Harry, it is resolved wonderfully. But still, I could hardly bear that there would be no more Harry Potter books. No more waiting breathlessly for the announcement of the release date of the next book. No more speculating hours upon hours on the HP for grownups site, over whether or not Snape is good or evil, nor more worrying about whether Harry would live or not. No more gathering with other fans at a midnight release to pick up my audio book as they pick up their hard covers. All the answers at last in my hands, and I could only say, oh, I want more! And you know what? I still want more! To paraphrase another orphan boy, Please JKR, I want some more.

Happy birthday Harry Potter. Happy birthday, J. K. Rowling. And thank you for giving us Harry.

A Visit Over the Rainbow to Oz

13 Saturday Jun 2015

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OVER THE RAINBOW

I’ve loved musical theatre since before I can hardly remember. Starting with Disney movies, to live plays in the theatre, to performing in choirs and churches, musical theatre has been in my heart and soul. One of my dreams is to perform, just once, in a musical. Well, I’ve done fantastical holiday musicals, but I mean, something classic and powerful, someone I love to sing.

Well, for years now I’ve wanted to see Wicked. I’ve had the original cast album for a long time and been stirred and moved by the songs. Is there anything like Defying Gravity? Or For Good, an anthem of friendship? And then the crowd scenes with those cool, almost dissonant harmonies, reminiscent of Andrew Lloyd Weber crowd scenes in shows like Superstar or Evita. Yeah, I’ve loved the sound but never got to see the show.

Till today!

I discovered that my friend, Sandi, Petunia’s puppy raiser, loves musical theatre and live music of many varieties, as much as I. Well, this opened so many possibilities before my yearning soul. And then I happened to check the web site of the Denver center for the Performing arts, just checking the upcoming season. And what to my amazed eyes, um ears since I use a screen read, what to my wondering ears did appear, but Wicked, coming to Denver, June and July! Was I dreaming? Could it be true? I hit the email and invited, made the calls and got the tickets, and waited not so patiently for the day. And that day was today.

We planned to go to a matinee. It’s an hour drive down to Denver, so Sandi picked us up a couple hours in advance. We drove down, arriving before will-call opened and so we decided to grab a bit of lunch at the Limelight Supper Club. Ooooo. What a glorious name for a restaurant in a complex of theatres! We each had a mimosa. I had a hamburger, and Sandi had an omelet. I didn’t expect the burger to be great, and yet it was delicious. The meat had so much flavor. I could hardly stop eating. And the mimosa actually did have tastable champagne. Wow.
After lunch, we picked up the tickets and headed into the theatre itself. I’d arranged for disabled seating so there would be room for my leg and for Petunia. I’d also asked for a braille program, and we stopped at the coat check area to pick that up. The disabled seating isn’t in a row of seats exactly. We were at the back of the orchestra section of the seating, and there was plenty of room for Tuney to stretch out and be comfortable. As we waited for the show to begin I greedily read my program, devouring it like a hungry person, so gleeful was I to be able to read the same info the sighted audience could read.

Then, the show began.

Oh, what can I say? There are no words, truly. When the crowd starts off singing, “Good News. She’s dead.”, well, I began to cry. I’d waited so long, so very long, and at last, here I was, in a real theatre, with Wicked beginning, not a local music group but a profession touring cast. I was overwhelmed with emotion. After that, I was utterly and completely mesmerized, captivated by the show.
The singers were so good. Good isn’t a strong enough word, but incredible, fabulous, marvelous, fantastic, wonderful, they just don’t say enough. The girls, Glinda and Elphaba, well, they were just beyond description. I love Idina and Kristin, but these performers today are every bit as good. Elphaba blew me over the rainbow singing Defying Gravity, and Glinda made me cry with For Good. They carried the show. All the performers were excellent, but the show is about the two friends, and they made it their show in every way. I never wanted it to end.

Alas, it did have to end. We gathered us, the dog, the precious program, and we headed back to the car and on our way, away from Oz. Sigh.

On the way to dinner, we stopped at Sandi’s house to let Petunia get some water and relieve. Tuney was over the moon when she realized where she was! She grew there of course, and she was so happy to see it again. But when it was time to leave, she was ready to go with me and didn’t look back.

We stopped at Chili’s for dinner and then came home. It’s now 11:00 PM as I finish writing this, and I’m still unwinding. I’ve been home for nearly three hours, but the high has not faded. I’ve got the musicals play list going, and every time a song from Wicked comes around, I stop what I’m doing, and stand still, listening, remembering and yearning to be back there again.

Status report, at my wits end!

10 Sunday May 2015

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Status update. This is embarrassing, and I blush as I type, but here goes. Some people have asked about the status of the fundraiser and my finances. I’m so grateful to all those who have given so far. You don’t know what it means. But I’m a long way from out of the woods quite yet. I still have several major bills to pay off, totaling around 3000 dollars, plus trying to put some aside in savings in case of emergencies with Petunia, my condo or me. I’ve been sick this week, but with no medical insurance and no savings, I can’t go to a doctor. Fortunately, I’m better now, that’s just an example of the way I’m living on the edge. I worry about something major going wrong with the condo, or even something minor, and not having the funds for it. I just worry all the time, not sleeping well, stomach constantly in knots. Yeah, I’m a worrier. If I could pay off the other bills, I’d be able to breathe a little easier.

And even more craziness happened. I have two bank accounts. One of them was only used for the deposits from SSA, the disability money. Before I knew it had been stopped, I had my comcast bill automatically debited from that account. As soon As I realized what had happened, I changed it, but the first time I changed it, comcast didn’t make the change in their records. Thankfully, that is changed now. However, that account was overdrawn 100 something dollars. Someone sent me a check and I used the iPhone app for this particular bank to deposit that check in that account, to cover the overdraft and to have it there for an emergency. We got confirmation from the app that the deposit went through. So, this weekend, I went to the app, and then to the web site to check the balance in that account, and both places said I had no accounts. I just about fainted. I have three linked accounts there and have had them for years. I never got a call or email about it, and if they sent print mail, well, you know, I can’t read that. So, I looked around on the web site, and there was a message from them saying the deposit hadn’t worked. But still there was no info about my accounts being closed. And why would they close them, when I’ve had them for years and never had anything like this happen before? Of course, it was Saturday evening, so I couldn’t do anything about it. Going after work tomorrow to try to get it all straightened out and get the accounts restored. Praying they don’t’ charge me some ridiculous amount to do this or it will just eat up what I was trying to deposit! I really feel like I can barely take any more of this. I’m at my wits end!

So, if you can give, thank you. If not, if you can share the link, thank you, and share it again if you remember it. If you can only send prayers, good thoughts and positive vibes, thank you. I truly mean it and thank you with all my heart. Here’s the link again.

http://www.ContinueToGive.com/SupportSherryGomes

Generosity of True Friends

29 Sunday Mar 2015

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I believe it was Kalil Gibran writing in his book the Prophet, who said, “Your friend is your need answered.” I read that book years ago and was moved by several of the entries, but the one that touched me the most was the entry on friendship.

over the years, as romances came and went, as jobs came and went, as I lived in one place or another, as I lost touch with family members or lost forever family menbers, the relationships that have stuck no matter what, were the friends in my life.

Friends, true friends, are the ones who stick by you no matter what. Through thick and thin, through sorrow and joy, through ups and downs, through all the stupid things I’ve done, there have been friends who have never faltered. The Bible in Proverbs says there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother, and I have known that as an absolute fact too many times to count.

So, recently, I have come under a terrible financial crisis. I’ve been sleepless, not eating, constantly worried. How would I pay my bills, what would I do if something in my condo broke down, what if one of the animals got sick? What if I got sick, since I don’t have medical insurance, how will I buy groceries … and on and on and on. Well, a group of very special women, wonderful incredible true friends surrounded me with their love and genuine goodness and put together a fundraiser to try to help me, to try to raise enough money for me to pay off some bills and be able to get ahead of the game so I can live safely on my salary. I’m blown awy by their generosity, their commitment their desire and effort to help. There’s nothing in the world that can say what they mean to me for this. I’ll post a link where you can read about it and help, if you want. But at least you can say a blessing on these ladies!

Friendship, a blessing from God that withstands everything that comes along. They’re there when nobody else is. They hold you up when you can’t do it yourself. they walk through the fires of hell at your side. They make you laugh and they share your tears. I’m so thankful for all my friendships and all they have brought. I pray I can be the same kind of friend to them.

Here’s the link to the fundraiser, but even if you don’t want to help there, take a moment to acknowledge your friends and say thank you.

https://www.continuetogive.com/SupportSherryGomes

I hate the UEB

29 Sunday Mar 2015

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so you may ask, what is the UEB. It is the unified braille code. For people who don’t know about braille, or much about it, braille is the way blind people read, with a series of raised dots. Each country has had its own style of writing braille. Braille takes a lot of room, so over the years, it has been modified to include a series of shortcuts, contractions to make braille a little smaller. Things like one symbol for words like the, and, with and on and on. One symbol for common letter combinations. in the word, “combinations” for instance, com is a contraction, as is the in and the ation. Even so, my braille bible is in 34 volumes and my full set of the Harry Potter books is in about fifty-five volumes. Braille is also quite expensive, because it uses so much paper!

so, some years ago, a group of people called the braille authority of north America, got together with similar bodies in the other English speaking countries and decided braille needs to be changed and updated to be more like print. And on top of that, all English braille should be the same. And because they think it needs to be more like print and that people don’t read hard copy paper braille, they think, but rather use electronic one line at a time braille displays instead of a whole page of beautiful delicious braille, they decided to do away with a number of the contractions and to change the punctuation we have used for decades.

now I ask all my sighted friends who read this, what would you think if someone came along and said they were going to change the way print looks and reads, if they decided the way you write it type it and read it had to change. if suddenly, that key below the L wasn’t a period anymore but was something else. Or if they were going to change mathematical symbols, things like that. Or if they told you real books are going away , and you can read on your kindle or iPhone anyway so you don’t need to worry that we’re going to mess up your print. How many times have sighted people talked about their love of holding a real book in their hands and reading. well, it’s the same for me. I can’t afford much braille due to its cost, but I love it. I love to put my fingers on a book and read!

anyway, the changes in braille will take place beginning in 2016, and some braille producers are already using the UEB. I’m angry and irritated. Now buying hard copy braille books will be even more costly because it will take much more room and more volumes. Maybe Harry will now be in seventy volumes instead of fifty-five!

well, I started this because I wanted to post the contents of an email I sent to some friends. but I got on a roll explaining braille and why I hate the UEB. But here’s another reason. Read on.

Here’s part of why I think I’m so angry about UEB.

I worked with a lot of deaf-blind people when I worked at the Lighthouse for the blind in Seattle. For those who don’t know, Seattle has a very large deaf and deaf-blind community and a lot of Deaf-Blind worked at the lighthouse. ASL is its own language as you probably know. People who are fluent in ASL don’t spell out every word, they use all kinds of shortcuts. And because it’s a language, it’s very common for them to write like ASL. Sure, many can write the way we write in perfect grammatical English, but it’s common for them to write in ASL so to speak. I spoke and emailed with several deaf-blind administrative assistants at the lighthouse and their emails had a sort of shortcut language most of the time. It was pretty cool. I tried to take a class in ASL at a local community college but the head of the ASL department told me they didn’t teach tactile ASL. Boo.

Anyway, if some well-meaning idiots came along and decided that people who are deaf need to change ASL to be more like regular spoken and written English, the you know what would hit the fan. There would be an uproar, an outcry of rage. The deaf community takes pride in who and what they are, in a big big way, and they’d never tolerate people coming along and deciding to change ASL to be more like print or spoken english.

Now of course, Braille isn’t technically a different language. But to my mind, a small group of idiots, made a decision quite a while ago that they were going to change braille. I know people protested. I certainly wrote a letter to BANA opposing it, but I don’t believe BANA ever meant to listen to our feelings and take them into account. Also, the blind community didn’t raise an uproar or outcry, not really, not boisterously, not so the whole wide world would hear. So, in some ways we let this travesty just happen. And it infuriates me that this small group of people decided braille has to be like print and therefore it has to be changed. After all, nobody bothers to read hard copy braille now that there are computers and braille displays. Never mind the expense and that fact that few blind people can buy those braille display in the first place. And these people decided for the whole English speaking world. talk about arrogance.

Anyway, that’s part of why I’m angry. It’s more than not wanting to have to learn braille all over again. It’s partly that BANA didn’t really have the right to do what they did, in my opinion, and we let it happen because we had so much warning, and we didn’t bother to come to the fight. I guess it doesn’t matter since such a small amount of blind people actually read braille. That last sentence was in mental quotes. So, because sometimes my idiotic sixties childhood comes back to haunt me, I boycott UEB. I refuse to learn it; I refuse to read it; I will not support it. I may cut off my nose to spite my face, but I’m okay with that. And my little protest won’t make a difference, except I’ll feel damn good about it. lol.

The Theatre, The Theatre!

28 Saturday Feb 2015

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Today, I went with my friend Joylene to see Fiddler on the Roof at the Boulder Dinner Theater. We had a great time.

I was a little worried that I might not be able to get out of my yard, because we’ve had some snow melt, and then the temps have gone to zero and below, and right outside my front door gets quite icy. But Dan drove so Joylene didn’t have to–he works in the area anyway–and he helped me walk over the icy parts.

We got to the theater at around noon, got ushered to our seats. Yes, at this theater, they actually personally usher you to your seats, instead of just telling you where they are. It is a dinner theater, so we sat at tables. The table was raised up on a platform, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to step up there, but holding onto the table and the chair and Joylene helping me balance, we made it. The tables were elegantly dressed, with linen table cloths and napkins, water glasses and coffee mugs, bread and butter and silverware. The cast members actually wait on and serve the audience.

Joylene and I both ordered a mimosa. My meal was chicken cordon bleu with potatoes and veggies. Joylene ordered a veggie coconut curry. We ordered dessert too, but it isn’t served till intermission.

The show started at around 1:30, and I was spellbound. I’ve watched the movie so many times, and I saw the play once when I was a teenager. At first, I wasn’t sure that the actor playing Tevya was going to be good. He really doesn’t sing well. But oh my, that man acted the part so wonderfully. He had the mannerisms, the emotion, the up and down of that character. And since Tevya is the show, he made it fantastic. All the other actors and singers were great. And when the entire company was on stage for the crowd scenes, oh, I just can’t express how fabulous. I’m running out of superlatives! It’s not a huge theater, so no place is really far from the stage. I could hear every note, all the beautiful harmonies in the music. When they sang the song about their home town, they brought tears to my eyes. There just aren’t enough words to say how good it was.

At intermission, we had our dessert. Joylene had something called orange blossom cake. It had a butter cream frosting without real butter, and she said you couldn’t tell the difference. For Joylene, that’s a big thing, because like me, she likes butter and lots of it. I had a caramel turtle cheese cake. It was quite good, and not as overpoweringly sweet as I expected.

The only problem I had all day was Petunia. Tuney just would not lie down and stay down. She wasn’t doing anything wrong, not begging for food or bothering other people, nothing like that. But I’m used to dogs just lying down under the table and going to sleep. She was up and down and up and down for the whole almost five hours. Ugh. Ah well, she’s young still. Joylene said that during the crowd scenes, the scenes with the whole cast on stage, Tuney would stand and watch them. Silly girl.

Anyway, it was a wonderful day out, and I’m so glad we went. I hope to go again, but next time it will be my treat for Joylene, as this was hers for me. I had almost forgotten how very much I love live theater!

Thanksgiving thoughts 2014

27 Thursday Nov 2014

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THANKSGIVING THOUGHTS, NOVEMBER 27, 2014

Happy Thanksgiving to all and any who read this today or whenever. I have must for which to be thankful this year. As always. Yes, I’ve had sorrows, retiring Olga and giving her to a nice family but never seeing her again. The death of my sweet Bianca. But I can turn those things around and think, well, Olga needed to retire and thank God she found a loving home where she will be happy all her remaining years. And Bianca, how thankful I am that I had several extra years to spend with her, that in spite of her mischievous nature, she lived to be thirteen and a half years old. Then, I still have my precious condo. Petunia, the glorious golden, came into my life. I have my cat, Abigail. Hmmm, I need to write about that adventure soon. I still have my dear friends, Doug and the Hegel family, those I cannot live without. My internet friends, Brigit, Jannie, Kathie, Brian, Chris. My family is pretty much okay, except for my nephew tragedy. And on and on. I have food, heat, warm water, comfortable home, a good job, the technology that lets me read books, buy music, listen to movies, live independently in most way, a contented heart. Life is good; God has been good to me.
But today, my arthritis is bad in my hands and arms, another rotten flare up, so I’ll probably keep this a bit short. Yeah, I can even add flare ups to my list of things for which to be thankful, as having been born with a severe case of juvenile rheumatoid arthritis, JRA, at my age of fifty-seven I can still walk, type, hold things, pet my dog, pick up my cat, cook, clean, work, and on and on. It should have had me dreadfully disabled by my twenties, but my docs, my folks and my own stubborn determined nature, never let me quit fighting this blasted disease.
Anyway, for your reading pleasure, see below for a funny story about the first Thanksgiving turkey I cooked on my own, several years ago. Enjoy.
And know that I am very thankful for all of you!

THE GREAT TURKEY CAPER 2007

How did I ever reach 50 years old, never having cooked a turkey? Not even ever cooked a pre-cooked turkey! Clearly, my life experience is lacking.

This year I decide I am not going to sit around on Thanksgiving, feeling sorry for myself and hoping Dominoes pizza would be open, so I can eat a less than hot and tasty pizza.

I know what I’ll do, thought I, in a moment of brilliance, I’ll get one of those pre-cooked dinners from safeway. Yeah, it won’t be like Granny’s, Dad’s or Joylene’s, but it will at least be turkey!

And so, with a mix of confidence and trepidation, off to the little Safeway store I trek. I come home with a fully cooked turkey, and several of the trimmings. Oh dear, what have I gotten myself into this time? Why do I never think before giving into my impulses?

Discovering that my friend was on her own as well, I add to my impulse surges and invite her to join me. Now that dinner was becoming more fun and much, much more scary. Oh, damn, what if I screw something up?

The first heart-stopping fright is upon getting the turkey, affectionately addressed by me as Mr. T, getting him home and realizing he is totally encased in plastic wrap and netting and feels suspiciously uncooked.

“Oh no!” I wail, “What will I do if he is not cooked? I have never roasted a turkey in my life! I don’t even have the appropriate pan to roast the blasted thing, even if I wanted to attempt it! Whatever shall I do?”

To my immense relief—not to mention the salvation of my dinner plans—Mr. T is indeed fully cooked and just needs to be unwrapped at the appropriate time and heated in the oven. Ok, this I can do! I’ve always been an instinctively good cook; no need to fear a little old turkey after all.

At last, the great morning dawns. I arise from my bed and proceed to contemplate the tasks ahead. I take care of Bianca—my sweet and most mischievous guide dog–and return to my humble abode to drink coffee and contemplate a little more. I had bought some caramel Irish Cream, and I pour a few drops in my last cup of coffee, continuing to procrastinate and contemplate.

“Ok, girl, up off your ass, and to the turkey you go,” I encourage myself, “You can do it!”

After turning on the oldies music play list—a necessity for me when working in the kitchen, otherwise I may never have the energy to get up–Valiantly, I head forth to the fray. I have already set out the pan in which dear Mr. T would be residing during his stay in my nice warm oven. After turning the oven on, I go to the refrigerator and remove Mr. T from his temporary isolation. I take my trusty left-handed scissors and begin to cut away all the wrapping. The turkey has a lot of juices trapped in the wrapping with him, and I open it all up over the pan. I throw away the plastic and stand still, checking out the turkey.

“Hmmm, I don’t think I’ve ever actually completely scoped out a turkey. Is that the way it’s supposed to look? Does it go on the pan this way, or should it be turned over?”

The directions say there was a bag inside the turkey. Why? The stuffing is already cooked, so why would there be a bag? I consider my options gravely. Well, just in case there is a bag, I guess I have to go after it, don’t I? Can’t put Mr. T in the oven without removing the bag, whatever the bag is. Hmmm. Where would I find the inside of the turkey. Ok, Ok, let’s look here between the legs. Yes, there is an opening. Do I have to put my hand in there?

EEEEEEEWWWWWWWWW! Oh, I don’t want to do that!

There am I, a mature and experienced woman, unnerved at the mere idea of sticking my hand in a dead, cold, cooked turkey! I, who can clean up the worst dog mess with barely a thought and no second of hesitation; I who have had my hands in a myriad of places, good and bad, yet, there I stand absolutely petrified! My friend Sarah will howl with laughter when I tell her this, I think. I mean, she’s a farmer; this is nothing! YOU CAN DO IT!!!!

Gingerly I begin to reach inside the opening. OOOOOO. OOOOOOH! Oh, that is so gross! Words fail me to describe the disgusting sensation of my hand inside that turkey with all the liquid and whatever else might be inside a turkey! Ugh, ugh and Ugh again!

There is no bag that I could feel, and I do not want to put my poor little hand any farther up inside poor Mr. T! What can I do? I suddenly have a flash of genius and hurry to find a meat fork. I poke it cautiously inside the hole in the turkey and move it around. No crackle or rattle of plastic. Whew no bag.

Ok, I can breathe again, I think. Thank goodness I don’t have to stuff the damn thing!

The phone rings. AAAAAAAAHHH!!!! My hands are a mess. I barely touch the cell phone as I flip it open.

“Hang on,” I cry to my friend, “Let me wash my hands!”

After a brief conversation, the preparations commence. I spread a little butter over Mr. T and place him gently in the oven. That pan sure is heavy. I hope I can get him back out again!

At last, that is all I can do for a while. I retire to the shower. Kitchen clean again, and back to the desk to think about what comes next.

“Oh, no, it can’t be 11:15 already! Not yet! I think I need a little wine so I can start work on those other things. Why did I say I wanted to make the Hegels’ green bean Swiss cheese casserole? Grating that Swiss cheese is gonna be a bitch! Let’s go for that wine first.”

I wonder if that turkey should smell like that? It doesn’t smell like a roasting turkey, I think. Of course, it isn’t exactly roasting; it’s just heating, but still. Should it smell like that?

Yikes! I forgot to clean off the table and hunt for the nice place mats and napkins! So, off I tread on the table cleaning mission. After all, I can’t have company eat Thanksgiving dinner at the desk or on the floor!

Table set, yay. This really isn’t going to be so bad. My kitchen is so small, will I ever be able to get everything done in the kitchen? There’s hardly any counter space. Hmmm, I know I can find a way to do this! Have another sip of wine and think a little more.

I prepare the green beans, almost burning, instead of sautéing the onion! It really has been far too long since I’ve actually cooked in this place! Clearly, heating things up in the microwave doesn’t quite count as actually cooking. But I do know the difference between low and high on my stove. How did I nearly burn the onion? Sigh. Oh well. It will taste ok, once mixed in with the cheese, sour cream, spices and veggies. Now, grating that Swiss cheese is not going to be a picnic.

In the meantime, Bianca stands just outside the kitchen staring hopefully and curiously at me. Perhaps all that mumbling and murmuring and swearing might, just perhaps mean something to do with feeding cute little black labs. Especially if said Labrador wags and wiggles and looks cute.

“You’d think she’d know by now I’m not giving in,” I say aloud, stopping to hug her, “I’ve never fed her from the kitchen before. But, hope springs eternal and all that. And, seeing me cook is such a rare occurrence, I guess I can’t blame her for hoping!”

My friend arrives, bringing bowls, whipped cream and wine. Oh happy day! I think I need more bowls, I think, as I thank her for the offerings.

“Would you like to help with a task?” I ask sweetly.

Of course, she agrees. What else can she say? Poor thing. Gets invited to dinner, only to be put to work.

“How about grating the Swiss cheese? It’s kinda hard for me to grate.”

We chat about jobs, men, holiday plans, men, lack of boyfriends, dogs, men, coworkers, men and all the things women chat about when working companionably together. The cheese gets grated. I had already turned off the oven, to let Mr. T cool a bit before I removed him from the oven. I do the plate, pan, bowl and platter shuffle, making room on the stove top for Mr. T and his pan. Carefully, I open the oven and attempt removal of the turkey without spilling any juices. Oops. Ok, well, I can clean the oven later, right? After all, it isn’t like I’ll be using it again till next year! I sigh inwardly. I see oven cleaning in my weekend, I think.

Mr. T looks great! Wow! Is that for real? I didn’t destroy him, burn him or any other calamity. He looks ok. I go for the trusty left-handed scissors again and cut the twine that had been holding the legs wherever the twine holds the legs. It seemed as if I’d always been cutting twine from turkey legs! This is not so bad, I think. In fact, it’s downright easy.

Quickly I put the green beans in the oven along with the mashed potatoes. The stuffing goes in the microwave. The gravy goes into a bowl ready to heat up. I reach for my knife and prepare to tackle turkey carving.

The first thing I do is go after the legs. I’d been told that if things went well, I could just wiggle the legs and they would come right off. So, I take the legs in hand and wiggle. Well, damn! They do come right off! Wow!

“Damn, I’m good,” I say aloud, placing them on the platter, “Now for the breast. Is that the breast? Do turkeys have a breast or two breasts? Hmmm, well, it only looks like one breast, so here goes. Watch out, Mr. T! Perhaps I should call him Ms. T, since he has a breast? Or does he—she? Have two breasts?”

The meat cuts away easily. I don’t know if this is the proper way to carve a turkey, but it works for me. Hell I think, I’m blind, and my company is blind. Does it matter how it looks? I don’t carve it all, just enough for both of us to have a good amount. I ponder why I’d always been sure I could not handle cooking a turkey. This is a cinch! Well, sorta a cinch, anyway.

“Almost ready,” I tell my friend, “I’ve got to finish heating this stuff. I’ll fill plates for us both here and heat each one up so all the food is warm. Ready for some wine?”

She is indeed ready for wine, so I open the Merlot, pour us each a glass, turn off the oldies and on the Christmas music. We are almost ready to eat, and it is only a few minutes past the time I’d set for eating.

“Damn, I’ve still got it!” I compliment myself, as I put a heaping plate into the microwave, and as it heats, take the bowl of gravy and the bowl of cranberry sauce to the table.

My table is extremely, tiny, teeny, small! I only have room for the two place settings and the gravy and cranberry sauce. I could have put up the leaf, but it works this way.

The microwave beeps and proudly, I bring my friend’s plate to the table. I put mine in the microwave and go to the table to say a blessing over the food, thankful I am not spending this day alone as I had in so many years past.

We eat, drink and make merry, chatting more on all about our lives, and about men, of course. The dogs keep creeping into the kitchen to sniff. Well, actually one Particular dog! How many times can I yell at her to get out of there, I wonder. Perhaps a leash is in order. Remember leashes sherry? They are good for more than just holding with a harness handle!

The food is ok. It is not bad at all. I am not too hungry after working on the food all morning. I thought I’d gotten over that, but just as I used to do, I find I can’t eat much after doing all those preparations. I enjoy picking at it and just chatting with my friend. I don’t feel particularly exhausted, am not even sore. There are definite benefits to not doing all the work! We just eat and talk and laugh a great deal.

Too soon it is time for my friend to leave and go get ready for work. I clear the table, noticing that she’d eaten everything. Yay! It couldn’t have been all that bad!

“Stop by tomorrow, and I’ll load you up with left overs,” I promise, “after all, you have to come and have some pie.”

She promises she will, harnesses up her dog and leaves.

I stand in my empty apartment, but I don’t feel a bit lonely. I feel happy. I had taken hold of things, and instead of moping, I’d done something fun. And I’d reached out to someone else alone on the holiday, and we’d shared a meal and comradeship. This ended up being the best Thanksgiving I’d had in years.

I walk into the kitchen and begin to swear.

“Damn, damn, damn! Oh damn and blast!!!!” I exclaim, “Where are the guys? At the Hegels, the women cook, and the guys clean up the mess! Where are the damn men to do the cleaning?”

I walk right back out of the kitchen and sit down to read email, play computer games and consider a movie.

The dishes seem to call to me.

“Oh, I don’t wanna clean up that mess!” I moan aloud. “I don’t wanna, I simply do not want to clean up that damned kitchen!”

The dishes seem to call again. Sighing, I return to the kitchen to begin the tedious boring process of cleaning up. Was it all worth it with all this mess? Yeah, I think, it was all worth it. I ponder the left overs, the white soft squishy bread, just waiting for left over turkey sandwiches. I imagine the pie that hadn’t been touched yet. I think of three more days off work. I smile, turn up the music and begin to clean. This had been a great day, and I am already beginning to think about how to do it even better next year!

“That wasn’t too bad,” I say, as the last dish went in the washer and the pans were left to soak a while. (yes, I do talk to myself, often, in fact.) “Pie? No, too full. Too tired.”

But, pie tomorrow. Pumpkin pie for breakfast? Ooooooh yeah! Pie for breakfast! I sit down, smiling. Oh yeah, I am tired, but over riding everything else, I am happy and full of contentment. This is definitely the way to spend Thanksgiving! Not in a crowd, not feeling lost and overwhelmed by a throng. A quiet, relaxing time with a close friend or two. This was the best. In spite of near catastrophes with a turkey, small kitchens, not enough pans, bowls or hands, begging dogs, sticking my hand up a turkey and cleaning it all up at the end, I wouldn’t change a thing.

And now? More wine, please. Yes, that’s it. Thank you. A little music and wine should finish the day off just right! Well, a latte would be even better, but I guess the wine will have to do for now!