If a lion roars in Zimbabwe, but no one's around to hear it, does it make a sound?

Can I just say, I’m rather annoyed with people and this Cecil the Lion thing.  

I’m not irritated for reasons you might think.  I’m not upset because people are outraged over his killing; I am too.  I’m upset because people who aren’t outraged somehow feel the need to sanctimoniously belittle those who are.   “Oh, you give a shit about a lion, but not the children dying in Africa.”  Um, go to hell.  Yeah, I care about that too.  Why can’t I give a shit about both?   How does me caring about Cecil make me care less about children starving?

Who the hell is anyone to tell me that something I care about isn’t worthy, simply because he doesn’t find it significant or thinks there is something more important to care about?  “Americans can care about a lion but not….”  Give it a rest already.  Don’t tell me what to care about.  Here’s an idea - educate me about your cause, without disparaging someone else’s.  That’s a good place to start.  But telling me that I have to care about your beliefs simply because, well, I care about a stupid ol’ lion is going to get you a face palm.   And if you’re planning on trying to educate me – have facts, not propaganda.  I like to think I’m a reasonable and considerate person; if you come at me with thoughtful, factual information, I’ll listen.  It doesn’t guarantee that I’m going to agree, but I’ll try to see your point of view.  If you’re simply going to spew out vitriolic half-truths and exaggerations at me, you’ll be lucky if you get my zoned-out look.  That means I’m not going to engage you because I realize that talking with you is a waste of my time; you’ve drank the proverbial Kool-Aid.  If you’re not lucky, you’re going to get an earful from me about why you’re an idiot.   These days, I often opt for the former.  It makes my head hurt less and keeps my blood pressure down.  

To sum up; I can care that a lion was killed for its head and hide but its carcass was left to rot and still care about starving children, Vladimir Putin’s policies, law enforcement safety, animal abuse, elderly abuse, the state of education in this country, curing cancer, curing MS, national security, and a plethora of other things.  I can also care about Cecil being slaughtered and not give two hoots about your cause.  I’m talented like that.  You can choose to care (or not) about Vlad’s policies and whatever else you deem important.  Me giving a damn about a lion shouldn’t change that. 

No hussies in my Michigan house!

This afternoon I spent a few hours with my 90 year-old neighbor, George.  My oldest son had helped him with his yard work and in the process, had weed whacked some of his flowers, so I was helping plant the replacements I had guilted my son into buying.  George and I started chatting and after a while, he invited me in to show me some woodworking he had done for his wife, who passed away in November.  He spoke of her with such affection and fondness, it made my heart melt.  He brought me into his den where all four walls were covered floor to ceiling with photos of his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.  As he pointed out each family member and sweetly bragged about each one, I couldn't help but think, "what a wonderful life and legacy."

We went back into the living room where he proceeded to tell me more stories about his bride.  On the fireplace mantle hung a banner that was displayed at their 60th wedding anniversary party in 2013, on the wall above the couch was a picture he had blown up of her - you could see he was part of the photo too, but he had cropped out most of himself to accommodate the 8 x 10 frame it was in.  He showed me their wedding pictures, photos of the day they first met, and pictures of them later in life.  He told me about their life together; how they met, things they did throughout the years as a couple, and he seemed almost proud of the fact that how, even when she became sick with Alzheimer's Disease, she still knew who he was.  I was in awe of the care he gave her when she became ill and marveled at his obvious love for her still.  He then held up a carving he was making of her; pointed out the areas that he was still working on and how he estimated he was half done, after putting in about a hundred hours on it.  Then he started to cry and with his hushed voice said, "I miss her so much."  And I lost it.  I felt like such an ass for doing so.  Unfortunately, nobody cries alone in my presence, even if I have no reason/business crying.  I tried so hard to hide it and was secretly wishing it was his eyesight that was bad, not his hearing, as I wiped away tears.  I'm crying again as I write this.

I've been reflecting on this all evening.  How does one go on after losing someone you've spent a lifetime being in love with and devoted to?  I know it's done, I've seen my and KC's grandmothers do it.  I just don't know how they have done it.  I know "it's better to have loved and lost... blah blah" but holy hell, I gotta tell ya, I'm kinda wishing I didn't like the guy I'm married to so much.  KC, if you're reading this (and you better be! lol) - I want to go first.  I know I'm younger <snicker> and women live longer, so you better take care of yourself: exercise, eat right, and keep that blood pressure down.  I plan on living a long life so you better plan on living even longer.

But you still can't bring a new wife to our Michigan house, no matter how long I live or don't live.  I will haunt you if you do. 

Stupid Universe

I’m the coauthor of a book that just came out, The Platinum Rule to Customer Service: Treating Customers the Way They Want to be Treated (available on Amazon, btw!).  I’ve been feeling pretty good about that fact.  I quit my teaching job and decided to live the rest of my life being happy.  Writing makes me happy, so I thought the universe was giving me a ‘thumbs up’ sign that the day I turned in my resignation, “my” book came out.  

For the sake of honesty, disclosure, whatever… I have to confess that I’ve been harboring a little inner feeling of being, oh, what’s the word, - hot shit - since the concept of “published author” entered my psyche .  The book is about providing outstanding customer service and twelve of us each wrote a chapter.  Think Chicken Soup for the Soul, only the focus is on making clients a priority.  I’m only one of twelve but the other eleven are phenomenal so I was pretty jazzed about being considered “one of them.”  

Well, the universe, much like the stock market, had a little correction; knocking me down a peg or two.  

For the last month, whenever KC and I would go out and witness or personally experience bad customer service, I would mutter to him, “They need a copy of my book.”  Earlier in the day, I had gone to my former school’s end of the year party and the assistant principal didn’t even acknowledge me – ouch.  But then I saw the email and everything changed.  “I don’t need her stupid acknowledgment,” I said to myself.

I was so excited when I opened the email and saw it came with a JPEG of the cover and a Kindle version of the actual book content attached.  I immediately opened the attachment with the cover.  It was the most beautiful sight in the world… there it was – my name – on the cover of an actual book.  Annnnd, since I came first alphabetically, I was listed first.  ‘Oh yeah, this is just all falling into place,’ I thought with much satisfaction.  Facebook had to see this.  After posting a picture of the cover, I then opened up the Kindle version of the book and started going through the pages.  The first chapter’s author is listed as Brenda Carver; nope, not me. I turn the page and something familiar catches my eye.  I begin to read further.  Wait!  This is MY chapter!!  I think you could literally hear the air going out of my ego.  I go through the pages and there’s my picture and bio, with the right name, so at least that part was right.  I flip further and find Brenda’s chapter is next.  My shining moment was not supposed to go like this.  I think a little tear streamed down my face.  I go back to Facebook and humbly take down the picture of the cover.  It was late at night, so thankfully/hopefully not many people had seen it yet.  I fire off an email to the book’s coordinator and then proceed to have panic attack.  

I woke up this morning, hoping it was all a bad dream.  Nope, it definitely was not.  I get back an email from the book coordinator.  It was a little curt, probably deservedly so.  It would be fixed.  I whine, in my head, “But I wanted to take it to Michigan with me!” I then ask myself, “Why do you want to do that?”  And since I was talking to myself, I really had no choice but to be honest, “To show off.”  I then begin to analyze the events, along with my attitude, and realize I most likely deserved this.

Well done, universe.  Well done.

I'm in love with a pitbull.

My friend, Kelli, who runs the dog rescue I have fostered for in the past, was going on vacation to see her son and needed to piecemeal all her dogs out to friends and family for a little over a week.  I volunteered to take one.  I asked for a small female; one who would fit the doggie door but not cause the male canines in my house to go on a mass peeing spree as they competed for turf.  She said she had just the dog; a little sweet youngster who just wanted to be loved - and she would fit through my doggie door.  Sounded perfect!  Another girlfriend of mine had just adopted a lhasa apso mix that was just precious so I was secretly excited for a young baby to come stay with me for a while.   

I met Kelli the other night at Petsmart (our usual meeting spot) to make the exchange.  She got out of the car and out behind her trotted a gorgeous pittie.

Shit.  That was not at all what I was expecting.

I had only that morning sprung it on KC that we were going to have another dog for "about a week," I had not prepared him that it would be a pit.  My husband's experiences with pitbulls have not been what one would call positive.  They have all been while he was at work on the Southside and they have all belonged to dopers or gangbangers who haven't exactly trained them to be friendly to the Boys (and Girls) in Blue....Less than a week ago he made a comment on one of my Facebook posts about getting chewed up by a pitbull.

"Your dad is going to kill me."  I said to Dear Daughter before I exited my vehicle.

I walked up to this beauty and her butt started to wiggle.  And I mean wiggle.  Like she could be in a Sir Mix-A-Lot video with her moves.  I knelt down and was met with a big ol' wet, sloppy kiss on my face.  Dear Daughter saw that as her cue that it was safe for her to get out too.  She listened as Kelli told us more about 'Brindie,' who was named for her wonderful fur; this included a lot of gushing about how great a pup she is.  Brindie jumped in the backseat of my car, put her nose between the two fronts seats, looked eye-to-eye with Dear Daughter and immediately kissed her, then turned and laid down.  She didn't make a noise the whole ride home.  We got out and DD ran inside to shut the door to the dog's room.  (Yes, my dogs have a room - don't judge.)  Brindie came in, sniffed around, then I let her outside - where my pack, that knew something was up - they could just smell it, charged through the doggie door and up into this sweet girl's business.  I had kept her on a leash; I wasn't yet sure how things were going to go between her and my rude brood.

Pepper, who I was most worried about, was surprisingly the most welcoming.  Frank and Baxter were complete jerks, to say the least.  Tink just saw this giant and ran to hide out of her way.  Zippy quickly followed Tink's lead.  Daisy, my old lady, wasn't sure what to think.  After letting them sniff her, she then tried to sniff them.  They were not very reciprocating in that department.  When I saw that she wasn't going to instigate any fights, I took her off her lead.  She shyly made the rounds around the yard and then came to me immediately upon being called.  We introduced her to the doggie door.  It took one time through and she had the hang of it.  So far so good....

I waited patiently for KC to come home.  Soon, I hear his car pull up and so do the dogs.  They start barking, spinning, and jumping.  He walks through the door and is swarmed by his furry babies - all vying for his attention.  He goes through his hellos to all of them, taking the time to pick up his favorite dog, (yes, he openly has a favorite) Frank, the poodle.  Brindie approaches him cautiously and he says out loud, "Oh boy.  Who's this?"  He makes the mistake of kneeling down and is immediately rushed by the pack, each aggressively wanting his affection.  He pushes them all out of the way and approaches Brindie, who promptly takes the submissive posture of laying down and showing her belly.  He rubs her belly, gives her a couple of pats, and gets up.  Taking that as an invitation, she gets up and jumps on him.  "No, get down," he sternly tells her and she runs off.

Whew.  Next step - feeding time.  Kelli must have fed her before bringing her to me because she took a couple bites and spit them out.  I didn't know it at the time and was worried she wasn't going to eat my food.  I found out the next morning that I had nothing to worry about; she ate like a champ.

She has continued to charm us.  Kelli wasn't lying - she is a big, goofy lovebug.  She sleeps on the couch in the dog's room (she is sacked out as I write this) and follows me whenever I change rooms.  She's got "the lean" down; whenever she's near, she has to be touching me by leaning against me to let me know she cares.  She wants to play with the other dogs so badly but she's so big, she's like the dog version of  Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer in that my dogs "never let poor Brindie, join in any doggie games."  She also loves Dear Daughter, so much that DD came in my room last night to let me know how upset she was with me for bringing this dog home.  "How am I supposed to let her go back in a week, Mom?  She's such a good dog!  Why can't our dogs be that well-behaved?  I just love her!"

And that seems to be the consensus in the house; at least the human consensus.  Even KC.  Of course, he remains steadfast in his favoritism of Freakin' Frank.  Which probably contributes to Frank's continued jerkiness.  But that's another post.

Beautiful Brindie

If you are looking for an amazingly sweet, loyal, well-behaved,
gorgeous canine addition to your family - I highly recommend you meet Brindie.  She converted KC, who was staunch in his "no pitbull" stance.  She will steal your heart the first day you bring her home, if not before.   This angel deserves a family where she will be loved forever because she will definitely love and be loyal to you forever.  We love her and if we were a bigger dog family, she wouldn't be going back to Kelli.  Our loss is your gain.

You are disgusting, Ernie Chambers.

There are days that I just want KC to be done as a law enforcement officer.  I want him to turn in his badge, turn to the haters with a salute and say, "good luck."  Those times don't happen very often but they are starting to come more frequently.  Today is one of those days.

I just finished reading an article where Ernie Chambers, a state senator from Nebraska, stated during a legislative hearing that if he carried a gun, he would shoot a cop.  This was after he compared the police to ISIS - you know, that cuddly little group that beheads anyone different from them.  To make matters worse, Judiciary Committee member Laura Ebke of Crete said most of the committee didn't consider Chambers' comments on Friday out of line at the time.  How the f@#% do you not find that "out of line"??

They didn't find it out of line because our society is being trained to hate the police and label them all as racists when they do their jobs.  It's trendy, it sells, and... it's bullshit.  I'm not saying there are no bad cops.  There are.  But you know what?  The good cops hate them more than society does - they taint the profession and put every single person who wears a badge at risk.  I want to throat punch people who yammer on about how the police protect their own.  Wanna bet?  Good officers want them gone more than anyone.

Here's a few tips.  If you encounter law enforcement, be compliant.  Black, white, brown, red, or yellow - if you don't comply with their commands, things are going to go south very quickly.  If you believe you're 'above' being respectful, for God's sake, at least don't be disrespectful.  Don't be squirrely.  Believe it or not, most officers have great instincts and your fidgeting is a huge warning sign.  I find it fascinating when watching Cops with KC, he will say, "He's going to rabbit." right before a suspect takes off running.  (Now granted, suspects running is a Cops' staple, but it's so interesting to me that he knows right when it's going to happen.)  In short, don't be a jackass.  But if you're breaking the law, you're probably not open to listening to that piece of advice.

Let's get to the elephant in the room.  Race.  I can't speak for all officers, or any of them really.  I'm just around a lot of them and listen to their conversations and observe their conduct (usually) outside of work.  (I say "usually" because I've been on some ride-alongs in my tenure as a veteran officer's wife.)  What I have seen is this: race is merely an identifier, like hair color - blonde, brunette, red, gray... you get the gist.  It's behavior that is the driving force on how your encounter will go, on or off the clock.  When they're working, pulling a white man over who doesn't have license plates but has a "FREEDOM wasn’t won with a REGISTERED GUN." bumper sticker is a red flag that he could be an anti-government extremist and therefore, a possible threat to the officer's safety.  He could also just be someone who bought a used car with some interesting bumper stickers and hasn't received his plates yet.  Guess what - the cop is going to err on the side of you being a zealot until he learns otherwise.  Sorry in advance if that's you with your new car, but I'd like my husband to come home at night so too bad if you're offended.

The problem today seems to be if you happen to be of a different race than the officer.  The media has made that quite the issue: apparently they believe white officers are no longer allowed to arrest anyone of color because it has somehow become "racist" if they do.  I. Can't. Even.  How about we start focusing on BEHAVIOR?  Instead of immediately assuming it's the color of skin, maybe it's the actions and words?  When Henry Gates was livid with the cops for demanding proof that he lived in the house that his neighbors reported he was breaking into, I have to tell you, I didn't get it.  I didn't get it because if the police did that to me, I would THANK them for making sure it really was MY house, not just take my word for it.  It was Gates who made it about race by assuming he was being targeted for his skin color rather than his behavior.  Before you start spouting on that "I don't know what it's like," you're right - I don't.  But I do know my heart and think I know those around me.  It's not about race, even when people try to twist it to be.  I had an African American student who used to use the 'N-word' when greeting his buddies.  I frequently and with fervor explained that was not acceptable to which he would respond that "it was okay because he was black."  Uh, no - still not okay.  Same student cussed me out in front of the entire class and when he was called in for discipline his father stated something to the effect of his son being targeted because he was a black man.  Noooo, he was 'targeted' because he was incredibly disruptive and disrespectful.  When KC was doing undercover surveillance in a very affluent neighborhood, the president of the Neighborhood Watch called the police because he knew my husband "didn't belong."   Police came, got the scoop, and let the man know it was okay but wouldn't elaborate.  Not satisfied, the man then approached KC wanting to know what he was doing there.  It was never about race, it was about behavior, which the Neighborhood Watch fellow took (probably rightfully) as being shady.  Had KC been black he could have easily in his mind made it seem that it was about race instead of suspicious activity.

Is there racism today?  Sadly, yes.  But it's not all one-sided; and it's not all only black, brown, red, yellow, and white.  The popular, new color to discriminate against seems to be blue, as evidenced by an elected African American official's public comments about shooting cops and that, disgustingly, being deemed acceptable by his peers.  Police lives matter too.  So shove it, Ernie Chambers.  You're no better than what you are accusing others of being.

It would behoove all of us to pressure the media to start focusing on people's behavior rather than their social status, skin color, or attractiveness.  But not being inflammatory and reporting the facts doesn't sell; boobs, race baiting and police hating does.

God help us all.

It's my money and I need it now!

While I appreciate Hughes Federal Credit Union keeping my information safe and secure; this bullshit of having to send a text every time I try to login online is getting old.  Especially since they send it to my husband, rather than to me.  Even using *my* login credentials, the one that I created, they still send the verification to my husband’s cell phone.  Which is not particularly convenient when my husband is not home, but even when he is home it’s annoying.  But in addition to being inconvenient and annoying, it’s also misogynistic as all get out.  Really, Hughes?  I need my husband’s authorization to access *my* account?  Like I’m a child?  My husband is a pretty great sport in he just immediately forwards the text to me but what if my husband was not available?  Or worse, an asshole?  What if he controlled every aspect of my life and, thanks to your practices, has your help in controlling my money?  

Let me give you a scenario:    I want to go to the grocery store so I go online to see how much money I have in my account.  I try to login and the credit union sends my husband the verification code needed (EVERY DAMN TIME) in order to access my account (even though I am using the same computer each time and the correct password).  In my real-life scenario, KC would simply send the information on.  But let’s say I’m Beaten Betty, this simple act of inquiring about how much money I have now becomes a major ordeal.  Do I face the husband’s wrath and have the information sent to him or do I make the drive to the credit union first, unload the kids, wait in line to get my balance and then go to the store?  Anyone who has had to wait in line with kids knows it’s an enormous pain; and now I’m having to do it twice (the credit union and then the store).  Meanwhile, my husband can do the same simple act in a matter of minutes.

Not cool, Hughes.  Not cool.