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Saturday, April 21, 2018

Pig's reward

Radicals Deb and Joanne.  Deb was the first volunteer to stand with me in support of Stoneman Douglas students in March. Here we are at Postcards from Peninsula, where fifteen of us wrote out and addressed and stamped 250 post cards urging voters to go to the polls on May 8 and vote yes on Issue One, in favor of ending Gerrymandering.

I sent an email to the other three radicals in the room, "Since we're on a roll, what do you say we ..." and I outlined another community involvement program we could undertake. Mum's the word until I discuss it tomorrow with Deb, and Monday with a lovely soul who has no idea she's about to become radical number five!

Now it's the weekend and we adjourned to the front yard. I tried again, but I am a useless weed puller. I have no strength in my right hand, little more in my left, and precarious balance, to boot.

I asked Laura to bring me the lawn mower! I mowed one side of the house, and was done in.  But, Yay Me.

I asked Laura to put away the lawn mower. I intended to finish the other side tomorrow. When she finally came in, she had mowed the back and the other side. So, I took the job away from her.

We went to the nursery. Nasturtiums will come in this week. So, we got ranunculus for Pig, instead.

And, someone finally had dress number one escape the tornado lockdown and arrive in the mail box.

She wonders why she hasn't worn a dress since she was three years old. So we will look around for fair trade dresses now.

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

Postcards from Peninsula

We here are mostly un-young; have a life time of experience to check back on. I think each of us can remember incidents where lives bumped, enthusiasms meshed, some mutual interest was addressed and something happened. We helped at school, mentored kids, organized a group. We marched. We protested.

The shooting deaths of students at Stoneman Douglass High School in Parkland, Florida pushed me past mute acceptance. I have a large bag of protest tricks. The old lady and two good friends resolved to meet the challenge of the Stoneman Douglass survivors, and stand on our corner in honor of their murdered classmates.

A good protest involves having everyone on your side, or neutralizing potential detractors. It’s what my mother called “Killing them with Kindness”. I engaged the police. I engaged local elected officials. I arranged parking for anyone who would come. I involved the press, all the newspapers. I played the event over and over on media pages. One more citizen stepped up and made the posters I hung. We waited.

On a bitterly cold day a month ago, nearly forty of us stood on a busy intersection in Peninsula, in recognition and honor of the students. Drivers of passing traffic honked, occupants waved, and we stood in silence, honoring those students.

Then it was done. We did it. We could do it again. The new member wondered if we could do something in support of Issue One on the May ballot in Ohio; confirmation of the state legislature’s end to gerrymandering in this state. Well, closing in on the end. She wondered if we could muster up enough people to write postcards to registered voters in the village and the township, in support of the issue.

We asked the library for a room. We asked for post cards. We asked for pens and stamps. We asked for snacks. We told the newspaper. We hung posters. Tomorrow we have the first Postcards from Peninsula event.

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

Shingles, pneumonia, USPS and tornadoes

For three years Laura ‘s wardrobe, day in, day out, school dances excluded, consisted exclusively of skinny jeans or leggings. Skinny jeans, new or second hand, went under the knife at once, emerging in socially acceptable tatters.

Leggings merely suffered the snags of time. Sooner or later, flesh speckled the leggings. The wearer, indeed, all the wearers, were unabashed. I sincerely believe, leggings of the world suffer the cruel pricks of fate hourly. No matter, holidays, birthdays, even peg hooks and strip clips of legging packages in stores keep leggings coming on.

A strange conversation struck up recently.

“Grandma,” what do you think of dresses?”

I allowed I like them.

“If I send you a list, will you buy me one?”

The list landed square in my Amazon list file in a nano second.

We picked this dress first. I have great reservations. I may be mistaken. It will not go to school until I see half a dozen of that style go by on any given day. It certainly needs the appropriate front zip hoodie.

I steered the conversation to the ease of tee shirt top dresses. Laura was in favor, if she liked it.

“Show me one you like!”

She likes two. More clicks. In my defense, I also pointed out girls her age in Pakistan earned a few pennies constructing these dresses. Yes, she knew that.  We’ll see how these work out, and look for fair trade dresses next.

Laura bounced through the door tonight. “Did my dresses come?”

“We ordered them on Saturday!”

“I know, I know. I just wondered.”

We checked. We learned:

Shipped Sunday, April 15
Weather or natural disaster at 11:55 AM Monday, April 16 - from USPS


Tornados rule!

A while back I got the first half of a pneumonia vaccination.  In truth, I watched my strong friend Jean carried away by pneumonia, and decided I’d give that one a run for its money. It’s a two shot protocol, the second shot from the drug store, as my doctor’s office generally does not stock Prevnar, the second shot.

I called the nurse to request the prescreption. In an expansive mood, as I don’t get vaccinated often, I asked the doctor send along the new shingles shot, too. The nurse called back with dire warnings. Be sure to get the protocol from the pharmacist; both in one day not recommended, blablabla.

I called the drugstore Monday morning. Come on down; they had it all; takes about twenty minutes, with paperwork. They dispense both in one day all the time!

The pharmacist shot shingles in my left arm, pneumonia in my right. That was yesterday. By bedtime, my arms wished I were dead and gone. In the middle of the night I got up and slugged acetaminophen.  Note to self: never do that again. Good news: I doubt I will.