Jerry Falwell is dead. This was the guy who blamed “the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians” for at least part of the blame for the terrorist attacks on 9-11-01.

Wouldn’t it just be precious if — now that he’s passed — he gets to face the Goddess, along with his God?

(On the other hand, reason has been part of organized religion ever since two nudists took dietary advice from a talking snake.)

I wanted to make sure I wasn’t late for work today (very bad form to be late the first day!), and — taking an earlier bus than I needed, as I was not at all confident that the bus would actually be on time — I wound up being just shy of a full hour early. Luckily I remembered where the nearest McDeath was located near my building, and I was able to get a cheap breakfast. But, since I took the bus that was nearest my home instead of my work, the closest stop from my work building was 8 blocks away, and McDeath was several blocks past that. My morning sure involved a lot of walking…and my afternoon was almost as bad.

Due to the fact that I had training & orientations at 2 different sites today, I wound up taking each of Portland’s public transit methods (on Trimet) at some point in the day. Here’s how it went:

Bus — to get to work, and eventually to get home
Tram — to leave the second orientation site (up at Pill Hill)
Streetcar — to get from the bottom of the tram, back to downtown
MAX — from the streetcar stop, to the bus stop I needed to get home

Plus I rode in a Mercedes-Benz for the first time in my life, to boot: the center director happened to be headed up to Pill Hill at the same time I was, and she gave me a lift. Being in a car with a sticker price of more than the average price of a new home in 1969 (when I was born) was just mind-boggling. I absolutely can’t imagine why anyone would need to spend that much on a vehicle. (Conspicuous consumption makes me ill.)

And when I got home, I made pork chops and au gratin potatoes. It’s 8pm and I’m so tired I could scream…if I had any energy, that is. Definitely must drink more coffee tomorrow morning than I had today. Definitely.

My day began with Zadya sleeping on my face and, when I didn’t pet her fast enough to suit her, poking her claws at my hands to demand pettings. Luckily I was saved from her affectionate mauling by the ringing of the phone — it was my eldest, who called to wish me a Happy Mother’s Day. By the time I got downstairs, my youngest was happily bouncing toward me with her gifts:

I utterly love the handmade card! She definitely put some time & effort into it — and the bows on the presents were handmade, too! I don’t know where she gets her creative gene, but possibly it’s from my dad’s mom, who is an accomplished painter (years ago, she gave me portraits of the girls when they were little).

The gifts were perfect, too! A pair of coffee mugs, each with an old-fashioned photo of a matronly woman (probably from the 50′s). One says, “I’m so happy I could just SCREAM,” and the other says, “Yeah, according to all the magazines, I could stand to lose a few pounds. Or I could just eat all the fat & carbs I want and tell the media to kiss my full figured ass.” That is sooooo my attitude!

Yesterday we went shopping for the few things Anxiety needs for her trip to Catalina (which, thankfully, did not entirely burn) that she didn’t already have. The toughest thing to find was, of course, a swimsuit. Fred Meyer didn’t have any that she liked (and they were all bikinis, to boot, which she doesn’t much care for). Target, however, had a huge selection! After trying on a couple suits from the Juniors department, Anxiety was still less than thrilled. I meandered over to the Womens department, and found a black tankini that I thought she might not hate.

She liked it enough to decide to get it, but when she saw the rest of the selection in the Womens department, she changed her mind about the top. The suits are sold as individual pieces, which is great if you have different sizes above & below the waist — I’ve always been a size smaller in the hips, which has meant wearing a lot of one-piece suits with either sagging butts or too-tight bosoms. (Like my youngest, I’m not a fan of bikinis, either.)

She liked the green floral print one, and so did Lyse — and when I mentioned that I’d thought it was cute, but didn’t think either of them would like it, Anxiety insisted we all get one so we could match! (Thank heavens I’m only one size bigger than her!) Lyse joked around a lot that Anxiety should get a burqini instead…having seen the website of the item in question (a swimsuit for Muslim women that covers everything except face, hands, & feet), my emotional side is horrified at the concept, but my practical side wonders if it might help to prevent skin cancer. (Every adult on my mom’s side of the family — except me — has had skin cancer. I’m a bit obsessed with not getting it myself.)

Lyse and I just bought the green tankini tops, to wear as halter tops, and Anxiety got the same top with a black swimsuit bottom. At some point this summer when it’s warm enough, I’ll have to get a picture of the three of us in our matching green tops!

This is one of the most priceless things I’ve ever seen in my life. If you don’t grin all the way through it, and laugh out loud at the end, you’ve got no heart.

To read more about this fabulous project, go here. And then call your grandma and tell her you love her.

I woke up with a migraine, and no coffee creamer in the house. So I threw on clothes, grabbed my purse, and went out into the dreaded sunshine to remedy at least the coffee problem. A stop at the Safeway that has a Starbucks got me both coffee creamer for home, and instant caffeine to sip on the way home. Even if the Starbucks girl did give me a funny look for asking what was the maximum number of espresso shots they could squeeze into a venti cup (I settled for 4).

Back at home, I spent an hour or so reading, because unless I have a migraine that’s so bad that I can’t focus my eyes, it helps a great deal if I do something — anything! — that distracts my attention from the physical. Reading is a fantastic method of doing that for me, for 34 years now. *wry grin*

But the migraine was just bad enough that reading wasn’t quite enough of a distraction. Now, here’s the fun part…how my brain works (or, perhaps…how it doesn’t) under the stress & misery of a migraine:

And now for something completely TMI…

I bruise very easily, and so quite often I discover what I call “mystery bruises” on myself. Usually they’re on my legs, and of the correct height that I can guess they were caused by walking into the edge of the open door of the dishwasher, or catching a laundry hamper on my shins as I dropped it. Or they’re on my hips, from an enthusiastic lover’s grab! But now and then, one shows up that I absolutely can’t figure out:

That’s not dirt on my thumb joint there (where it’s dark and brownish), it’s a 2-day-old bruise that’s 1.5 inches long! When I discovered it, night before last, it was rather swollen and deep blue from the blood pooling under the skin — and it hurt a lot! I have absolutely no clue how I could have bruised the second joint of my thumb. It’s just freaking weird.

Robert A. Heinlein died 19 years ago today. Over the last couple weeks, I’ve been watching From the Earth to the Moon, and just finished it last night — and watching it reminded me of one of the most touching stories about the moon that I’ve ever read: Requiem by Robert A. Heinlein. There are very few works of fiction that actually make me get sniffly and weep a bit, but that’s one of the best.

In the last few days, I’ve been reading Grumbles From the Grave, and found one bit of his writing that explains exactly why I love his books, why I’m not a completely cynical misanthrope, why there’s still wonder in my heart, and why I still have hope for the future. Heinlein wrote and delivered this speech for a radio broadcast in 1952, and his widow read it when she accepted on his behalf NASA’s Distinguished Public Service Medal on October 6, 1988, awarded him posthumously.

This I Believe ©1952 Robert A. Heinlein

I am not going to talk about religious beliefs but about matters so obvious that it has gone out of style to mention them. I believe in my neighbors. I know their faults, and I know that their virtues far outweigh their faults.

Take Father Michael down our road a piece. I’m not of his creed, but I know that goodness and charity and loving kindness shine in his daily actions. I believe in Father Mike. If I’m in trouble, I’ll go to him.

My next-door neighbor is a veterinary doctor. Doc will get out of bed after a hard day to help a stray cat. No fee — no prospect of a fee — I believe in Doc.

I believe in my townspeople. You can knock on any door in our town saying, “I’m hungry,” and you will be fed. Our town is no exception. I’ve found the same ready charity everywhere. But for the one who says, “To heck with you — I got mine,” there are a hundred, a thousand who will say, “Sure, pal, sit down.”

I know that despite all warnings against hitchhikers I can step up to the highway, thumb for a ride and in a few minutes a car or a truck will stop and someone will say, “Climb in Mac — how far you going?”

I believe in my fellow citizens. Our headlines are splashed with crime yet for every criminal there are 10,000 honest, decent, kindly men. If it were not so, no child would live to grow up. Business could not go on from day to day. Decency is not news. It is buried in the obituaries, but is a force stronger than crime. I believe in the patient gallantry of nurses and the tedious sacrifices of teachers. I believe in the unseen and unending fight against desperate odds that goes on quietly in almost every home in the land.

I believe in the honest craft of workmen. Take a look around you. There never were enough bosses to check up on all that work. From Independence Hall to the Grand Coulee Dam, these things were built level and square by craftsmen who were honest in their bones.

I believe that almost all politicians are honest … there are hundreds of politicians, low paid or not paid at all, doing their level best without thanks or glory to make our system work. If this were not true we would never have gotten past the 13 colonies.

I believe in Rodger Young. You and I are free today because of endless unnamed heroes from Valley Forge to the Yalu River. I believe in — I am proud to belong to — the United States. Despite shortcomings from lynchings to bad faith in high places, our nation has had the most decent and kindly internal practices and foreign policies to be found anywhere in history.

And finally, I believe in my whole race. Yellow, white, black, red, brown. In the honesty, courage, intelligence, durability, and goodness of the overwhelming majority of my brothers and sisters everywhere on this planet. I am proud to be a human being. I believe that we have come this far by the skin of our teeth. That we always make it just by the skin of our teeth, but that we will always make it. Survive. Endure. I believe that this hairless embryo with the aching, oversize brain case and the opposable thumb, this animal barely up from the apes will endure. Will endure longer than his home planet — will spread out to the stars and beyond, carrying with him his honesty and his insatiable curiosity, his unlimited courage and his noble essential decency.

This I believe.

Thank you, Mr. Heinlein.

Saturday was wonderful — laughter & love & a surprise visit from the Lyse Beast, and all-around a delightful day!!!

Today…I seem to be coming down with that vigorously-nasty cold that Lyse had a couple of weeks ago. Grrr.

At least I have the next week off work to stay rested, drink lots of Vitamin C, and hopefully get all better…

Just in case any of my (six) faithful readers haven’t looked at my Number One Internet Fanboy’s blog lately, I must point out the utter and absolute hilarity that he recently found for those of us in the population who love cat_macros and love Star Trek:

LOL Trek

I almost fell out of my chair laughing at the Klingons’ reactions to the tribbles: DO NOT WANT!

It’s been said that Portland is an incestuous little town, and examples pop up frequently to suggest that this is true. For instance, my new job (starting the 14th) is at the same place where Molly works — and Lyse just got hired on at the same place where Robert (the World’s Best Ex) works! She interviewed this morning, and was emailed an offer letter this afternoon!

All together now: congratulations, Lyse!

In other job news, I was given the option of taking next week off entirely, since the scheduling manager had all the shifts covered that needed to be, and said if I didn’t actually want to work, they wouldn’t schedule me. I (quite happily) agreed to my last day being this upcoming Friday. They reassured me that I was welcome to come back if my new job didn’t work out…but it’s going to work out. I’ve got my mind made up that I’m going to love my new job…and if for any reason I should be reluctant to love it, the paychecks (or, more accurately, what they represent as improvements in my life) will keep me focused on the positives.

And actually, I do think I’m going to love it! (Especially if I can get a bunch of graveyard shifts…for that sweet shift differential!)