British Bluegrass

So, now that Tom Hiddleston plays guitar, sings and yodels (per the Hank Williams biopic), and Benedict Cumberbatch plays a little banjo (per The Power of the Dog), when are they starting their bluegrass band? & what will it be called? & where do I get tickets?

Let's start a rumor they will be debuting at SXSW.

Name ideas:

• Hiddlebatch
• Sherloki
• Thames River Pastie Boys
• Lonesome Bluegrass Brits
• Foggy City Bluegrass Blokes
• British Biscuit Boys
• Front Porch Crumpet-Stuffers
• The Hiddlebatch Boys

First two and the last one are other people's ideas. I think the last one wins.

F*ck, Ted Lasso!

Various people bugged me for years to watch Buffy: The Vampire Slayer (the TV show, not the movie). And I refused. Why would I watch a show with such a dumb name, one that was obviously about some girl all full of angst over some gorgeous vampire, season after season? Little did I know I had predicted the dumb Twilight books and movies with those thoughts. 

I gave in when, living in Germany, a box arrived of taped episodes from a friend who was tired of my nonsense. So I watched - and learned Buffy: The Vampire Slayer was one of the smartest, most complex, creative shows ever on TV. At times, it really hard to watch, because it was the worst moments of high school and university, presented in demon-form... but it was cathartic. And SO fun. 

No one was telling me I should watch Ted Lasso, but I just kept hearing how it was so brilliant. And I SO did not want to watch it. Because, for what little I knew, it was a series making fun of Americans, making fun of having a positive, upbeat outlook, of trying to be a good person, of trying to be nice. I expected a series where snarky, smart British people would continuously roll their eyes at the stupid overly-positive American football coach. And I just didn't need it in my life. 

Now, let's be clear: I am a snarky and somewhat smart person and I have rolled my eyes at stupid overly positive American football coaches. And I'm darn good at British accents. 

I'm so glad I didn't read any reviews of the show. I'm so glad I stayed away from anything written about the show. And I'm so glad I accidentally subscribed to Apple+ for a month because I thought the Beatles documentary, Get Back, was on it (nope - it's on Disney+). I thought, okay, what the hell, I'll watch this damn show. 

How good is this show? I watched season one of Ted Lasso in 24 hours. Stefan hates TV. He hates movies. He's already watched half of season one - yes, I'm rewatching it. He watches an episode and then says, "Let's watch another." HE NEVER DOES THIS. 

First off: you can watch all of Ted Lasso for $5. Yup, just $5. You can get Apple+ on whatever advice you use to watch Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime, whatever. I use my Roku device. It's the best $5 I have ever spent in my life. If you are thinking, "Oh, I'll just wait for this to be on regular TV", it will NEVER be on regular TV, because of it's incredibly adult language and adult "moments" - there's no nudity, but there are... moments. 

If you haven't seen it, and you are maybe sort of kind of thinking about it, please don't read anymore. Please just pay the damn $5 and watch it. You don't want to know anything more about it than you might already know. Trust me. Just one thing: you may need subtitles. Whew, those are some strong accents... 

I knew I was going to write about this show. I just didn't know when. But tonight, after a particular moment in Season Two, I had to write. And if you know me, I bet you know the moment. 

I have always wanted to be buoyant. Effervescent. With no apologies. And around certain people, I could be: as a child, I could be that way around my paternal grandmother, who never said, "Oh, stop being so dramatic." Who never mocked me and called me "motormouth." Who never rolled her eyes at me. Every time other family members, or friend, or teacher, made those little mocking comments, I'd get a little more withdrawn. And by the time I was at university, I had the moniker of being angry and quiet by a lot of folks. I was good with it. It beat being made fun of. 

I held back being me for so many years. And if you knew me in high school or at Western or in New England or Austin and you don't think of me that way, you don't think of me as withdrawn or cautious, congratulations: you were so wonderful to me and made me feel comfortable and I decided to let me guard down. Or you were an ass who made me comfortable just to mock me later - there were those, certainly - and you suck eggs for that. But most everyone else, especially everyone in California, saw a very scared mess who let every humiliation chip away at her, who second-guessed everything she said or did, and who often didn't say what she wanted to say or do what she wanted to do, for fear of judgment or rejection.  

Austin, Texas healed me from hurts that I never thought I'd overcome. And Germany, and my wonderful friends at the United Nations, and my polar opposite that I married: you cut me loose. And I will always love ya'll for it. For about a decade, I was me, no apologies. I was Ted Lasso. It was terrific. 

Then I moved to Oregon. I was still that person. I was Ted Lasso. Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart. 

Oregon - the entire state, as well as, specifically, Forest Grove and Portland - worked hard to kill Ted Lasso. They have driven me right back under that dark cloud of reservation since moving here in 2009. 

I'm tired of the smug comments about my accent. I'm tired of watching people bristle when I try to participate in an event or meeting. I'm tired of saying, "Good morning" and watching people - NEIGHBORS - drop their eyes as they pass, or cross the street when they see me coming. I'm tired of saying "Thank you!" and watching people smirk or frown. I'm tired of moments like this. I'm tired of two-faced Oregon friends who pretend to care and behind your back are delighting in all that they think is wrong with you. I'm tired of being dismissed again and again from consideration for a job or inclusion simply because I'm not a Pacific Northwesterner. I'm tired of being Carol fucking Milford in Gopher Prairie, Minnesota. 

I was more welcomed in Kabul. 

Combined with the almost 63 million people that voted for a misogynist racist, fascist and wannabe dictator - I was just done. Fuck all ya'll. I decided I would be the person who walked down the street not making eye contact, not saying hello, and crossing the street when I saw someone coming - which I did long before COVID. When all the anti-vaccination bullshit happened, I wasn't surprised - have you not been listening to people for the past damn decade? When people were surprised at the return of book bans, of white people pulling guns on peaceful protestors, of the insurrection at the capital, of a governor creating his own militia, I was the one who smirked. I was the one rolling my eyes. 

It was so much easier not trying to be nice, and letting loose anger when I felt it. It really was. That part, I enjoyed very much. I even felt good being smug. But it was sad not believing that you should just be you and screw what anyone thinks. Not believing that, in fact, people really are, at their core, good at heart. Not believing.   

And now I'm watching Ted Lasso. It's the best-written, most thoughtful, hilarious thing I have seen since Sherlock. I put it in the top five best things on TV ever. When I've teared up while watching, until tonight, it's been from joy, or from feeling touched by a beautiful moment.

But tonight, I cried. Very hard. Noises were made. And I have to take a break for a few days before I continue Season 2. And, again, if you know me, and you've seen the show, you know why. But maybe now, if you've seen it, you also know why I was so bouncy in my late 30s and early 40s. I knew that I knew Ted Lasso, but I couldn't figure out why I knew him so well. Now I know.  

A show about goodness, kindness and hope. About being nice. Things I'd almost given up on.

Also, a show that is a complete refutation of toxic masculinity. Wow, THAT was so needed now.  

Still not sure if I'm going to start saying "Good morning" again though. 

Maybe it doesn't get better?

I loved the It Gets Better campaign created by Dan Savage and Terry Miller to discourage suicide among LGBTQ youth. Reflecting on one death in particular in his Savage Love column, he wrote, "I wish I could have talked to this kid for five minutes. I wish I could have told Billy that it gets better. I wish I could have told him that, however bad things were, however isolated and alone he was, it gets better." 

I believe the message is realistic and appropriate and right on - and not just for gay teens. I loved how the message was picked up by so many people across the USA to tell all young people suffering from isolation and in fear - gay or not - your life will improve, things do get better after your teen years. 

I believed in the campaign because I believe it is the truth, that if you can survive the bullying, harassment, insults, belittling, fear and insecurities of your teen years, you will get to leave that situation and be more in control of your life as you move into adulthood. It gets better. It's true. 

Now, I'm in my 50s. And things are dire in ways that are a lot like those teen years. And I'm not sure it gets better. 

For women in our 50s, it seems that society, from TV commercials to TV show characters to activities promoted to our age group, believes that our lives are supposed to be focused on our children or grandchildren, or going to a local casino. The idea that some people over 50 might not want to limit their lives to those roles, or not have those roles at all, is met with confusion and disbelief. I had a person tell me I should check out the local senior center because there's a lot going on. Here's what I found: bingo, free lunches on Fridays, a monthly accordion concert, workshops on how not to get scammed on the Internet, and a bus that leaves every morning for a nearby casino, and returns every evening. If those appeal to you, good for you, but to me, I'd rather watch paint dry. 

Most every woman I know in their 50s is struggling with mental health issues. We're experienced professionals - managers, program directors, journalists, graphic designers, human resources specialists, accountants and on and on - yet no one wants our expertise. I'm seeing women all around me pushed out of our careers. I'm not able to find work worthy of my skills and expertise and I'm not being taken seriously in job interviews. Doctors don't listen to me during appointments. We're also ignored when trying to get involved in activist work or even just when trying to get service, especially in a crowded bar or restaurant (pre-COVID, of course), we get funny looks when we show up at Marvel movies or kayak lessons, and for those trying to date, forget it: men in their 50s want women in their 30s, or younger.

And the pandemic has made things even worse. 

Referring to her anticipated disappearance on her upcoming 50th birthday, the writer Ayelet Waldman said to an interviewer, 

I have a big personality, and I have a certain level of professional competence, and I’m used to being taken seriously professionally. And suddenly, it’s like I just vanished from the room. And I have to yell so much louder to be seen.

It me. 

Among the many reasons I love riding a motorcycle is because when I tell people I ride, or they see me next to my motorcycle or carrying my gear, THEY SEE ME. Suddenly, I'm a living, breathing, interesting person, worthy of attention and respect. I would ride even if that didn't happen, but I absolutely love it when it does. Also, I believe what I've spent on motorcycles, equipment, gas and travel expenses is a lot cheaper than a decade of therapy. 

But not every women can take up motorcycle riding - or wants to. And I won't be able to ride forever. And I can't ride every day. 

In so many ways, I'm feeling like I did as a teen. I feel invisible. I feel like I don't matter. I'm feeling like life is passing me by. Whereas when I was a teen I felt like good years were too far in front of me, out of reach I feel like good years are too far behind me, that they aren't coming back. 

It gets better isn't working for me, or for most women in this age group. Because we don't see how it can be true. 

If you read this blog in 2018, you know I've experienced this feeling for a while. 

Also see Gen X, struggling for employment? I hear you

Here's what I think "senior" centers should actually be, FYI. 

I have had a most rare vision.

I love saying various actors' names into my Roku device and seeing what movies or old TV shows might be available for free. 

And it was in doing so that I found the 1968 A Midsummer Night's Dream for free on Pluto TV last night (via my Roku device), featuring a lot of very young British actors that are now giants of stage and screen: David Warner as Lysander, Diana Rigg as Helena, Helen Mirren as Hermia, Judi Dench as Titania, Ian Holm as Puck and lots more familiar faces, all young and fresh and earnest and fearless. (you can easily guess which name I had used to discover this, if you know me at all)

I watched about half of it (I was sleepy). 

It's VERY primitive in terms of filming and special effects (think high schoolers in the 70s filming with one super 8 camera, or in the 80s with videotape). It's clear that they had to dub it later because they didn't have sound equipment, and the dubbing still makes the sound muddy. I think they wore their own clothes (or no clothes at all). They filmed almost entirely outside (no budget for lighting for anything indoors). There are no fade-ins or fade-outs, special effects are done from quick jump edits and lighting that looks like flashlights, and on and on. 

And yet... it's really wonderful to see how British actors just GO FOR IT, go all-in regarding their performances, damn the poor filming quality, damn the lack of any budget whatsoever, damn how cold they were in most of the scenes. They hold nothing back. It's delightful.

But let's face it: Mark Lamos' 1988 production of A Midsummer Night's Dream at Hartford Stage in Connecticut ruined all productions for those of us who saw it, because his was PERFECT!!! There are a couple of staging choices he made that I cannot get out of my head, like how Titania delivers the line, I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again, sitting astride Bottom in the most provocative way... I've never seen a production that interpreted that line that way. 

We need theater. We need it SO MUCH. We need to sit in darkened theaters or fully lit public parks or and empty field or, really, anywhere, together, and see people pretending to be something else, delivering a compelling story. We need to laugh together, cry together, be delighted together as we share in the experience. 

We are all losing our humanity because of this damn virus and the people who refuse to get vaccinated.

Also see my 2012 blog about loving Shakespeare, when I was trying to read all the plays. 

And my blog Lovin' the Bard has been the most popular personal blog I've ever written.

Sometimes people leave you

Confession: I'm not a big fan of Sondheim musicals. Guess I'm just not sophisticated enough. But being a theatre kid, his music has been all around me, starting my freshman year at university - I was even in a Sondheim review at WKU. And I do love Into the Woods except for the song, "Into the Woods." 

When I went to the movie of Into the Woods, I was snickering after the movie started and I heard someone behind me whispering, "IS THIS A MUSICAL?!?" No one walked out, so that's impressive. 

I was enjoying the movie - just a nice way to spend the day after Christmas. And it got to the Baker's Wife singing, "Sometimes people leave you" and WHAM, out of the blue, I think I made a noise as I completely and suddenly burst into tears. Whew - I still get chills thinking about it. I had to wait until all the credits were over so that I was pulled together enough to leave the theater. 

Whether I'm a big fan or not, I am absolutely in awe of his creativity, talent, influence and incredible output, and he is part of the soundtrack of my life. Very sad to see him go.

Thanksgiving Day 2021

8 a.m.: Create a Facebook album for 22 memes that I think are hilarious and need to be shared. Responses are many and positive. 

10:30 a.m.: Walk the dogs. 

11 a.m.: Make deviled eggs for the first time. Take a photo to show just how serious I am about this endeavor. 

Finish. Eat one broken egg to ensure I've done it all properly, share on egg with Stefan so he's not left out, chill the rest. 

noon: Put turkey in oven, clean kitchen, listen to Alice's Restaurant twice, singing along to the chorus every time. 

2 p.m. Sautee green beans in chopped garlic and onions. 

2:30 p.m. Prepare green bean casserole to bake

3:15 p.m. Take turkey out of oven, put in green bean casserole, begin chaos of trying to steam cauliflower, boil potatoes, make gravy and cook stuffing, all at the same time. 

4:15 p.m. Somehow serve everything on time, at the same time

Food on the table: Turkey, gravy, stuffing, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes with mashed cauliflower snuck in, deviled eggs and champagne. Meal was followed by pecan pie (which I did NOT make myself). 

Afterwards, put everything away in tupperware, fill dishwasher and press "start", boil turkey carcass to make broth and watch half of part one of Get Back. Collapse into bed at 9:30. 

So much to be thankful for: a beautiful, stable, peaceful home with someone I love. A table with an abundance of delicious food, on ceramic plates made in Stefan's hometown, Höhr-Grenzhausen, Germany, on placements from Central America, on a table cloth from Kandahar, Afghanistan. We're all connected whether we want to admit it or not. 

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. 

What it's like in Afghanistan now

A woman in Afghanistan I'm going to call "W--" has extensive connections with a USA NGO and, therefore, she must get out of Afghanistan. W-- is trying to get the rest of her family out as well. Here's what happened to W--’s husband and one of her daughters when they went to the passport office in Kabul, as told to me by someone affiliated with that NGO: 

A long-time family friend of W--'s family said he had a friend at the passport office that might be able to help get W-'s family passports, which some in her family do not already have. W--'s husband and B-- (female), a dear family friend, and B--'s father all went together to the passport office to see what they could find out.

There were several different lines at the Kabul passport office: one for people who needed a passport for getting medical care in another country, one for those who were renewing their passport, one for those who have already applied, and one for those who were applying for a new passport. B--, her father and W--'s husband were in this line.

Two Taliban singled the three out in the line - they approached the three and asked them several questions, including if they had documents or cell phones with them. They hadn’t brought anything with them - they were in line just to talk with the friend and see what they needed to do. When the three said they didn’t have any documents or phones with them, the Taliban took the three out of line and put them in the back of a covered truck/van. They put hoods on them so they couldn’t see where they were going and bound their hands in something metal - handcuffs or chains, they aren't sure.

One of their cousins happened to be at the passport office at the same time, standing in the line for people who had already applied for a passport. He saw what happened and called W-- immediately, so she would know what was happening.

The Taliban took the three to an unknown location and put them in a small room. They aggressively questioned W--'s husband about why he was with B-- when he wasn’t a relative. They beat W--'s husband badly.  B-- told the Taliban they had know this man for many years and he is like a family member. She asked them not to hurt her father because he has a heart condition. They hit her father anyway, on his shoulder and upper arm with an electrical metal cord. The beating left marks on his arm. They also beat B--, apparently on her back. B-- later said the beatings of B-- and her father weren’t “too bad" but W-'s husband was beaten badly. 

(stunned to hear a beating being described as "not too bad.")

After 18 hours, the Taliban let the three go, probably because they had no proof against them for whatever it was they wanted to accuse them of. 

The three went to W--'s empty in-laws house so they wouldn’t be at their actual home in case the Taliban followed them. The Taliban did, indeed, follow them to the home and entered the house asking where the rest of the family was. B-- didn’t know and said so.

Why were B--, her father and the friend singled out to be questioned and taken away? B-- said it seemed like the Taliban knew something about the family, but they didn’t accuse them of anything specific. The family has all been repeatedly told to hide all of their documents that show one of their family member's connection to the U.S. in a place no one can find, and they have done so.

While B-- was in custody, her husband took their three young daughters to his parents’ house and went to look for B--. He hasn’t resurfaced so they don’t know where he is. 

W-- and her family will return to their home in the next day or two. No one knows what will happen now. 

Alexi Lalas doesn't take the bait

I think Alexi actually means it. 

I will never be this good of a person when dealing with a troll. 

Congrats on your success

If you have ever intended to hurt my feelings, and you made an effort to do so, just FYI, mission accomplished. 

Hope & Mystery with Lucinda the Dog

Several of you have asked for a Lucinda update, so here it is. 

Monday was a month since her episode of paralysis. Since then, she's had no more. She's joined Kobe dog on short walks each evening more than a week ago. Yesterday morning, she joined Kobe for a short morning walk too. She was positively bouncy last weekend - her old self. And because, four weeks ago, I was convinced I might not even have her going into October, I'm so unbelievably hopeful and grateful. 

But cautious. 

Her lack of paralysis in the last four weeks has greatly confused the vets, and as a result, they can't answer the question I want most answered: does Lucy have Degenerative Myelopath (DM), in which case she has a fatal disease, or does she have Intervertebral Disk Disease (IVDD), in which case she has an injury that may heal through limited physical activity (or may need surgery eventually)?   

Right now, we're leaning towards IVDD. But we could be wrong. Really, only time will tell, because we can't afford a $4000 (or more!) MRI. 

Here's why she might have IVDD instead of DM:

• No paralysis in a month. If she had DM, she should have had another paralysis episode by now.
   
• The paralysis happened less than 48 hours after she had played with Bishop, a full-grown 70 pound or so puppy. He's about a year old, and he and Lucinda love each other beyond words. Bishop has never, ever been aggressive with her or tried to mount her. Most of their play is intense romping bitey face. But the romps are intense, with some body crashes during zoomies, and Lucy is ready for a rest long before Bishop. It's unusual for paralysis to show up so long after the fact, but it is possible. 
   
• She wouldn't lay completely on her side for most of the first two weeks. She would lay in a ball, or lay on her stomach, like a sphinx, but she wouldn't lay on either side and did no rolly pollies on her back. It wasn't clear to people that didn't know her, but it was clear to me: she was uncomfortable. DM is not supposed to cause pain - it causes numbness.  
   
• More than two weeks ago, she snapped at Kobe dog twice when he barely laid his head on her back. There is no way he hurt her - we've touched her there repeatedly to make sure. But she clearly did not want him to even dare to apply any pressure back there. It reminded me that she's snapped at two or three other dogs in the last year that she didn't know, ones her size or bigger, something she NEVER did in her first six years. I'd written off that change in behavior to pandemic social distancing - I thought I had accidentally taught her not to be friendly to new dogs. But maybe she's been sensitive to her back for a while now.
   
• Lucinda has always whimpered or yelped at some point when she's chewing her back left paw during a mani pedi. She moves her leg more than her head to do the chewing - she can bring the foot over completely to her mouth. And about once a week, when she is chewing that foot, she'll whimper or yelp. Dogs don't yelp unless they are in a LOT of pain - they will put up with a great deal of discomfort before they ever show signs that something hurts. The emergency vet said the paralysis was worst in her left leg, and you will recall the observation of my regular vet made about her left leg.
  

Here's why she might have DM instead of IVDD:

• She recovered from her paralysis in a few hours. That's typical of DM, not IVDD.
   
• The paralysis happened suddenly - Lucy got up for breakfast and during her meal, was just fine. She laid down in the living room like always - and two hours later, couldn't get up.
   
• The way her back curved as she tried to use her back legs, and the way she dragged her legs, was textbook DM, according to the emergency vet.
   
• If it's an injury, it would be so unusual for paralysis to show up so many hours after the supposed injury (in this case, about 40 hours later).
  

We still haven't done the genetic test to see if she carries the DM gene. I wanted to wait for Stefan to get home to help me (it's a bit complicated) and in this week since he's been back, he's been busy. We'll do that this weekend. 

Lucinda went off all pain meds and muscle relaxants more than two weeks ago. She now plays a little with Kobe for a few minutes each evening, to the point that I recently had to tell her two days ago to back off - SHE was getting too bouncy. The vet said it's up to me how physical I'm going to let her be, though he said not letting her play with dogs her size or bigger was probably a good idea (which breaks my heart, because we love Bishop and her other bouncy buddy, Beauregard, so, so much). 

I've decided I'll keep her on these short morning and evening walks, and I'll try her on her usual, long morning walk towards the end of October - or maybe early November. 

So many people seeing her now are saying, "But she looks fine." And she does. She looks absolutely like her old self. There is nothing at all to indicate there is anything at all wrong with her. But I'd rather be cautious, because if she is injured, I need to make certain not to do anything to make that injury worse. 

Is this a reprieve of months or years? I don't know. IVDD seems like the lesser of the two evils, but the reality is that, if she has IVDD then, eventually, she will have paralysis again. And the idea of her not playing with Bishop or Beauregard makes me tear up - she loves them so, so much. I think she'll be fine to play with much smaller dogs, but only in our backyard. 

We also have to face the reality that, no matter what she has, we're not going to get the years with her we wanted, and that she deserves. Of course, what dog parent does get that?

I will decide October 15th if I'm going to Sweden for my dear friend Alex's wedding in December. Right now, I'm feeling optimistic. 

With each week, we're going to know more about what she can and can't do. For now, I'm reveling in the unexpected joy that she's so happy and comfortable.

Still trying to be Scottish

Hurrah! Ancestry.com has redone the DNA tests again. The company retests stuff every few years, per better technology and more samples to judge against. And this time, I've gone down from 73% England & Northwestern Europe (a wee slice of the French and Belgium coasts) to 56% (hurrah!), and increased my Scottish ancestry - it's now up to 32%! The rest: Germanic Europe 5%, Ireland 4%, Norway 3%.

And the reality is... it doesn't really mean I'm more Scottish than I was last week. The reality is that someone whose grandparents were all Pakistani and who was born in Scotland and is living there now is far, far more Scottish than I am. 

To figure out a person's regional ethnic connections, Ancestry.com - and the other companies - compare your DNA to a reference panel of DNA from groups of people who have they have designated as having "deep roots" in one region - people who have family going back for many, many generations in that specific region. They look at more than 1000 sections of a person's DNA and assign each section to the ethnicity region it looks most like. Then they turn those results into the percentages or estimates we all geek out over. 

As I wrote in Ancestry drama, the blog right after my first revised DNA results, which drastically reduced my percentage of shared DNA with the Irish and Scots: 

the reality is that the people I thought I was descended from in Ireland and Scotland didn't even build all the rock circles there - the people that built those were smaller, darker, and share genetic heritage with the people in Sardinia now - and, sadly, were completely wiped out by the people I thought I was related to.

So even if I were "more" Scottish, I could not gaze upon the incredible rock circles of Kilkenny and believe I had some sort of special DNA connection to the people that built them - instead, I have a special DNA connection to the people that killed all those cairn and rock circle builders. 

Upon seeing the results of the first test, the idea of being associated with the people who have been in Ireland and Scotland for the last several hundred years thrilled me. The idea of being as much Greek and Roman as I was English thrilled me. But, wham, better science with the revised test, and suddenly, I was just English. I was heartbroken. I wrote on Facebook how disappointed I was to be so boring, and an English friend responded: 

But what IS English? We’re a complete mixture. Aside from 2000 years of trade with Europe and beyond, mixing with the Celts, we’ve been invaded by Vikings (Scandinavian), Romans (from anywhere in the Empire from North Africa to the Balkans and Germany to Spain) and the Normans (french people of Nordic origin) so actually you’re still desperately exotic, windswept and interesting!!...

The English are mutts. Truly. 

And now, here I am, with the second revised DNA results, and my Scottish ancestry has shot back up, and I'm thrilled for no good reason. 

The reality is that I'm me, regardless of what my DNA test results say. 

What I'm much more interested in is the names of each of my ancestors that came from across the ocean to North America. I want to know where each was from and where each landed, and I'd love to get some idea of who each was: indentured servant? Criminal? Ain't no royalty or landed gentry in this crew, I can tell you that much. But it's hard - my first foreign relative doesn't show up until a great, great, great grandfather, from Germany. I don't know his name - just his daughter's name, and on the first US Census where she's listed, she's married and says her father was German. Dead End. I've got a lot of dead ends. I come from people who were poor farmers with inconsistent spelling abilities and questionable literacy skills. 

What I'm also much more interested in is trying to find out who my long-dead family is: what did they do to make ends meet? How many children did they have? Where did they live? Did they serve in wars? 

And inevitably, you get to a place in your family where you have to choose between the name given and the actual biological roots - because none of us are without at least one moment in our tree where a biological father is unknown, or a biological father wasn't at all a part of someone's upbringing. None of us are without adoptions, official or unofficial, in our family trees. And I go for what I consider family: them that raised ya and claim ya. I'm much more interested in the connections of family and shared experiences than I am in DNA, ultimately. 

The reality is that I'm me, regardless of what my family names say. 

My previous blogs on the subject of ancestry:

tips for using ancestry.com

Uncle Minnie

Rethinking "indigenous" & DNA results

Ethnic, cultural, gender identity - good luck with your definitions

What is Southern heritage? What is worth celebrating?

We still love Lucy

A week after Lucinda the dog's trip to the emergency vet and her diagnosis of Degenerative Myelopath (DM), she'd had no second episode of paralysis. So I wrote the emergency vet and told her this, told her she seemed fine. I got this from one of the vet techs: 

I am so happy to hear that Lucy is doing well at home. Dr. Schwindt thought that Degenerative Myelopathy was a possibility, but it is more likely that Lucy has that Intervertebral Disc Disease (IVDD). Since she is improving with the medications sent home, IVDD does seem to be the most likely culprit. Dr. Schwindt recommends finishing out the prednisone as prescribed and keeping Lucy on her gabapentin. It is okay to give the lower dose of the muscle relaxant as long as she is continuing to do well. Here is an article with more information about IVDD: 

Intervertebral Disk Disease (IVDD) in Dogs - Veterinary Partner - VIN

My regular vet, Dr. Syd, was booked solid, and according to the online scheduler, I couldn't get her in to see him until October. I schedule the appointment for mid October, then pleaded via email for something earlier. And I got it - for today. And here's the 411 from today:

Dr. Syd thinks it still might be DM, but maybe not - he just can’t tell. He said that it’s very strange, if it’s IVDD, that she was paralyzed for 6 hours a full day after playing with a year old puppers but then got better, but that there certain are cases of dogs being injured while playing and the injury showing up later - he just thinks it’s weird that it got better, if she's injured, that the paralysis did show up later and then got better on its own in just a few hours. 

He curled each of Lucy's feet, and her back left paw didn’t snap back the way it should - it oh-so-slowly uncurled. I could see it so obviously and I gasped at what I saw. The emergency vet also said that her left leg was especially bad during the paralysis. But it did, slowly, curl back into place. It's the most definite sign that something is still very wrong. 

I told him that she'd snapped at a couple of dogs in the last six months, and I'd been shocked, because she NEVER does that. She has snapped at Kobe twice when all he did was walk up to her and put his head over her back shoulder blades - not even on them. But she will let me and any human pet her on her shoulder blades. I had decided the snapping was because she was protective of her back - she knows dogs can be unpredictable. She has NEVER let Bishop, her very best dog buddy ever, do anything on her backside, not even lay his head. They play VERY rough - but she has let him know lately she has an absolute limit (thank goodness that sweet boy takes "no" for an answer).  

Dr. Syd had me walk Lucy outside while he watched, walking her back and forth and in a circle. I, of course, spoke in a high-pitched voice to her as we walked back and forth, making references to Best in Show because, even in a moment of crisis I shall always be a total dork. He watched her and after a whiel, he remarked how she was just as spry and normal as could be and he saw NOTHING wrong. And back in the exam room, when it was time to leave, she did a downward dog.

So he’s as confused as we are. 

He says: let’s wait a month and see. She’s out of all of her meds except the muscle relaxant. He says: no more meds. Not for now. Keep her in this low activity mode, no playing with other dogs, no walking long distances, for 30 days. Maybe after just a week or whenever I think it’s best, I could walk her a bit. And after a month, bring her back to him for another exam. 

He said we should do the genetic test for DM just to eliminate DM as a possibility (and even if she carries the gene, it doesn’t mean she has it). But he said the only way we are going to know absolutely, positively, if it’s an injury that needs surgery is to do an MRI - there is no other way. It’s at least $3000. He had his dog scanned that way, they found the problem disk, he had surgery, and he’s fine now and he says he’s got 5 or so years ahead of him now. Yes, I will pay $3000 if it means I get my girl for 5 or more years. 

But there’s no rush at all for an MRI and there may NEVER be a need, and another month of no surgery, if it’s a disc issue, isn’t going to hurt her. 

So, another month of this low activity. And now, we try with no meds, to see how she does. No playing with Bishop, her very best buddy in the universe, which breaks my heart. No playing with other dogs at all, except Kobe, which is just a lot of posturing for 5 minutes after supper. Otherwise, they just hang out together and talk shit about me. 

I’m going to wait until Stefan is home from his vacation and then we are going to walk her together for a little bit, each Saturday and Sunday.

Time will tell, I hope. 

The betrayal of Afghanistan

For six months in 2007, from March through August 2007, I worked in Kabul, Afghanistan, helping a national government ministry there with various communications functions, via a United Nations contract. 

I researched and edited reports for donors, I got our program's vast photo archive of work with Afghans online so other agencies could use them for their reports and online, and I did workshops to help my Afghan women colleagues improve their communication skills.  

It was a time of hope in a surreal setting. It wasn't safe for a foreign woman to walk around on the streets of Kabul, but there were about six restaurants that the UN considered safe enough for staff to go to (and about half a dozen more that staff also went to). I worked primarily with Afghans, in an Afghan workplace, not a UN compound, not surrounded primarily by foreigners. A headscarf could be loose - an unmarried woman could still show her hair beneath that scarf. Not every woman was in a burqa - none of my Afghan co-workers were. I bounced around in a UN SUV on bomb-pocked dirt roads to work at about 6:30 a.m every morning, and went the same way home at about 5 each evening, six days a week. We often passed men playing volleyball in the dusty dirt outside a bombed-out building. I spent most of my days in front of a laptop, writing copy: reports, press releases, video scripts, web site content, etc. Sometimes I was in meetings, sometimes I was walking within our walled ministry compound, trying to track down some Afghan official to interview for a report I was preparing about a dam or a winterization program or some other rural development project. I rarely got moments away from work or my guest house, but I did get a few: a day at a lake, two days in Kandahar, all day in beautiful Panshir, an afternoon in the Kabul history museum near Darul Aman Palace... 

I won't say I loved it. I didn't love it. Some days, I hated it. It was hard, lonely work. I missed my husband and my dog. I missed walking. I hated the polluted air. I was appalled at how dogs were treated (the Koran, by the way, teaches to care for dogs). I was offered an extended contract and said, "No way!" 

But I loved working with Afghans - all these young, educated, hopeful people who went all in to improve their country. Their hope and assumptions about the future were infectious. I took photos of them, I blogged about them, I stayed in touch with them all these years. They went all in to make their country better and to believe their country was embracing Democracy, and they were already living a life oh-so-different than anything the Taliban would ever allow. 

When I left Kabul in August 2007, Lonely Planet had just published a guidebook to the country, I had written and published a guide online to shopping in Kabul, so foreigners could support local businesses, especially women, and I told my husband I would take him to Afghanistan in probably five years, because the country would be safe enough for us to go for a visit. 

All these Afghans who believed they could build a modern country - not like the USA, not like Canada, not like something in Europe - they wanted something like Lebanon in its heyday, or like Egypt at various times in the 20th Century: a modern Islamic state, where the religion was valued and practiced openly but also where women went to school and had careers. They wanted the country to look more like Tajikistan or Uzbekistan. They did NOT want to be "America" - they wanted to be Afghanistan. And they worked towards that. They lived it, every day. And the USA celebrated that, publicized it, bragged about it. 

A few years later, I watched one of my colleagues get a comment on his Facebook page about being Pashto, in contrast to Tajik or whatever, and he responded, "I am Afghan." It warmed my heart. 

And the way my Afghan colleagues have lived in the last 15 or so years, the way the USA and other countries have encouraged them to live, is now going to get them killed. 

Here I am in Oregon, 14 years later. I've spent days and days compiling information and doing online research and writing the state department and my elected officials, trying desperately to get the magical paperwork for my assistant and her family, and another woman I worked with, so they can get out of the country. I'm writing letters, sending emails, posting online, filling out forms... and it just does nothing. I'm also scrubbing photos off the Internet, including photos of me with some representatives from an Afghan media channel when they visited Portland and a blog applauding my alma mater back in Kentucky for honoring an Afghan journalist. 

My former assistant has four young nieces that she's responsible for, and she's terrified the Taliban is going to take them away, because that's what they do. They hide in their house. The US press says, "oh, the Taliban says women will be able to go to school, they will be able to work in separate workplaces!" while the Taliban tells women and girls they must stay in their homes - and far worse. 

I get messages from my assistant each morning and each evening so that I know she's still alive. 

I just can't believe we have abandoned the people who believed in us and have lived the lives they've lead, because we, the USA, the Western World, said, hey, we've got your back, go for it! All these uplifting media TV stories over the years about Afghan women over the years, because they formed a bicycle riding team or a soccer team or a skateboarding club - all of those stories now have the potential to get them killed.

The evacuation did not have to happen this way. Leaving Afghanistan did not have to happen this way. Trump didn't involve the Afghan government in any negotiations with the Taliban, signaling to everyone: they are powerless and meaningless. Same for women: Afghanistan has women leaders, and they were left out of all conversations. The military thought contractors and lots of equipment could create an Afghan army - and they never considered talking to Afghan young people, or any women, about what was happening, they poured money into contractors bank accounts instead of regular people's. Yes, Biden inherited a mess he could not fix, but he has to be held accountable for his role in this disaster of an evacuation, starting with the sudden closing of Bagram airbase, which was such a colossal mistake, and no plan for mass evacuation. The arrogance and denial of Biden and his administration about how things would end in Afghanistan cannot be forgotten: 

The Taliban is not the south—the North Vietnamese army. They're not—they're not remotely comparable in terms of capability. There's going to be no circumstance where you see people being lifted off the roof of a embassy in the—of the United States from Afghanistan. It is not at all comparable. 

Biden during a July 8, 2021 press conference.

And it's going to be sooner rather than later when we start hearing about how the USA is going to give the Taliban money despite their rapes of women and murders of journalists and ethnic minorities - it will be something about "fighting terrorism" and "we can't expect them to change overnight" and blah blah blah. All sorts of excuses. All sorts of empty excuses for not really pressuring Afghanistan in any meaningful way to restore women's human rights. 

Why will any person in another country believe a US military person, a US diplomat, a USAID worker, a Peace Corps member, or any citizen of the US who says, "Hey, trust me! Let's work together! Let's be allies!" Why should they believe the US ever again?

Bases in Germany, Italy, South Korea, Japan... good, long relationships with people in those countries, starting when they were war-ravaged and needed to rebuild and needed that long-term commitment. But not Afghanistan.  

I'm just gutted. I'm completely gutted. And ashamed. 

September 1, 2021 Postscript:

Educated girls grow to become educated women, and educated women will not allow their children to become terrorists. The secret to a peaceful and prosperous Afghanistan is no secret at all: It is educated girls.

Shabana Basij-Rasikh, @sbasijrasikh on Twitter, in "I founded a girls’ school in Afghanistan. Don’t let our stories disappear as they have before."

What our grandparents' ration books say about our social contract

Wise words from my friend Julie. She posted this to Facebook. Paragraph breaks is mine:

A couple of years ago I visited with a dear and amazing cousin who was clearing out the apartment of her mother who had recently passed (a truly incredible woman, but that's a whole other story). Among the keepsakes she was sorting through was a book of rationing coupons from WW II. 

I had heard of these, of course, but never seen or held one until that moment. It was so poignant and powerful to look through them. There were coupons for butter and sugar and other household items; some were missing -- presumably spent by her family back in the day. Of course I was not alive then, but from what I've been told by family members, people proudly participated in the rationing effort. They pulled together in community and sacrificed for the war, denying themselves for the greater good, and feeling a great deal of pride about serving the cause. Many, of course, made the ultimate sacrifice, of their own lives, or those of their children or spouses. My mom lost her father to the war at the tender age of 9, and very nearly lost her oldest brother as well, who was shot down behind enemy lines and barely avoided capture. 

Anyone who knows me knows I'm no blind patriot -- I fully acknowledge that as a country we often fail abysmally to reach the aspirations set forth in our Constitution, and the toxicity embedded in our systems sometimes seems too much to bear or overcome. But something I am mourning right now is the prevalence of a warped belief by a significant minority of Americans that making even small sacrifices for the safety and well-being of our larger community is somehow a personal or patriotic failure, or worse. That wearing a mask, or social distancing, or getting a vaccination is "unAmerican." This is so upside-down. As flawed as being "American" can be, historically there is honestly nothing *more* American than sacrificing for the greater good. We can start with George Washington's requirement during the Revolutionary War that his troops be vaccinated against smallpox, which let me tell you did NOT involve walking into a nice clean Walgreens, having your arm swabbed with alcohol, and getting a quick little jab by a professional with a sterile, safe needle and a vaccine that had been rigorously scientifically tested. It was a dangerous, painful and ugly process and without it we would have lost the Revolutionary War. 

Fast forward to today, when a dear friend picking up take-out from a restaurant had a man attack her and literally threaten to rip the mask off of her face, because "we don't wear masks here." Some folks have been convinced that being selfish and endangering others is patriotic. It makes me so sad. I can't imagine how to heal it.

We love Lucy

I've got some bad news, but first I want to say that Lucinda the dog is comfortable and happy and, as I write, she's laying out in the sun in the backyard, looking very content.

Today, I learned that, very probably, Lucy, our beautiful, gorgeous brindle girl, has Degenerative Myelopathy. Now, I want to emphasize that, right now, she's very comfortable and, as I write this, she's walking just fine, and getting up and down just fine. But that was not the case this morning, and a visit to the emergency vet gave us this diagnosis. And it means our time together is not going to be quite as long as you would expect when your dog is only seven years old. 

Degenerative Myelopathy is a neurodegenerative disease in dogs, and it causes a progressive and irreversible deterioration and loss of function of the nervous system, especially the neurons in the brain. In essence, it “short circuits” nerve pathways from the brain to the limbs so that, over time, the dog loses its ability to feel or use its limbs. 

This could take a year. This could take as much as three years. This could happen in months. It usually happens over six months. We just don't know.

The good news is that DM is not painful, in and of itself, and it can be quite gradual. But there is no cure for this disease and it is fatal. Most owners choose to euthanize their dogs when they can no longer take care of their bodily functions, rather than allowing the disease to progress all the way.

We are, of course, devastated at the news. 

For the next four-eight weeks, we have to deprive Lucinda of what she loves most: walking and interacting with other dogs and all her human friends. We have to see how she's doing and if this was just a first sign of her disease, one that will slowly progress, she's going to get to resume our walks. But no more hiking, since we need to always be ready for the possibility we have to get the car for her. And no more playing with other dogs, at least not the dogs she loves most, because that could risk injury. The vet told me specifically: "no more sprinting." 

I'm now home, having been at the emergency vet for five hours. They saw her almost immediately to make sure she wasn't about to die, then did a more thorough examination three hours later. Stefan had to carry her to put her into the car, and she was gurneyed into the examination room after they tried to walk her through the lobby. For at least three hours at the clinic, she was lethargic, couldn't stand, and her eyes were half-closed, because her brain wouldn't open them wider. And now, she's walking through the house, bright eyed, like it ain't no thang, all medded up and wondering what the fuss is all about. 

Huge shoutout to Tanasbourne Emergency Veterinary for having tables and chairs and big gazebo covers all around the sidewalk of its office. I had had the wherewithal in the panic to bring the dogs' beds, so we were comfortable, in the shade - but I had no food, and my phone had 10% power, so I had to turn it off and use it only to tell Stefan when to come pick us up (he works quite nearby the clinic). It was just me, Lucy, Kobe (our guest dog for the next several weeks), and my thoughts for five hours. Not a good Monday. But I was glad not to have to be in the lobby. We were on the side of the building and left quite alone, and it was nice.

Huge shoutout also to Kobe, who just grooved along with it all, perfectly content, happy to be included. Got in and out of the car on command like he's been doing this with us for years. 

So, I won't be going on that big motorcycle trip in September after all, which is incredibly sad, as it's for Stefan's 50th birthday, and we were so, so looking forward to this. I hope he will still go and enjoy the Colorado dinosaurs without me. But I'm not going anywhere for a while. I've got a Mexican princess to look after. She's now on her bed next to the couch, enjoying the sedatives. I think I'll take some. 

Tuesday, August 24 update: She's fine today, the day after. Walking around like there is nothing wrong at all. We're not crating her, as the doctor suggested, but we are keeping her on the sedatives and not taking her for walks while she's on those meds. And I've reconfirmed I'm not going on our motorcycle trip, which is devastating, but not as devastating as this diagnosis. I'll be very, very sad to miss this trip. I would be shattered if she took a turn for the worse in the three weeks I'm gone. I'll consider it a gift if she's fine for all of September. 

I've learned that "The variable presentation between breeds suggests that there are environmental or other genetic factors responsible for modifying disease expression" from this resource. So her lack of good nutrition in the womb could have, indeed, contributed to how this disease has manifested. "Genetic testing remains the only reliable way to detect neurological disease associated with this mutation prior to death." We're going to get her a genetic test - ordered it today - and if it turns out that it's not DM, then I think the only other thing it could be intervertebral disc disease - which is also lousy. But given her droopy eyes yesterday, in addition to the back legs, I just don't see how it could not be DM.  It's not common in greyhounds, and we are relatively certain that's her dominant breed. In one study of 33 greyhounds tested, 3% had two copies of the mutation and were at-risk. However, maybe her dominant breed is boxer, and if that's the case, in one study of 3934 boxers tested, 29.9% were carriers of the mutation and 57.4% were at-risk/affected. And, no, I'm not getting a genetic test for breed - everything I've read says those are often inaccurate and meaningless - you would have to do tests from at least three different companies to see if they all said the same thing. And, honestly, now, it really doesn't matter. Her breed is Lucinda of Northern Baja, California, Mexico. 

Happier?

Are callous people happier than me?

Are people that learn that their neighbors need something and can completely ignore helping at all happier than me?

Are people that pass the buck happier than me?

Are people that avoid the news because "it's such a downer," or can watch it and not feel anything - sympathy, compassion, sadness - happier than me?

Are smug people happier than me?

I wonder. I really do. 

Are people who shrug and say, "Not my problem," happier than me?

I wonder.  

We went camping in June!

 For the first time in more than 15 months, we journeyed somewhere and stayed overnight and did not sleep in our own home. And for the first time in almost two years, we CAMPED. 

We didn't go far. Just 120 miles from our house. We booked two nights at Blackberry Campground, along the Alsea River in Siuslaw National Forest, Oregon. It was GLORIOUS. Yes, State Highway 34 is right there next to the campground, but there's hardly any traffic at night and well into the morning, plus, our campsite was right next to the Alsea River, and therefore, we slept like logs. It's a beautiful campground and we will definitely go again. I chose this campground because the one that I really wanted to check out at Alsea Falls was booked out.  

We took State Highway 47 from Forest Grove to McMinneville (which we've done a million times), then South on 99W through Amity, then right on Bethel Road, through Perrydale (where we watched the eclipse). Then to Dallas, and then on beautiful 223, which is just lovely - we rode it for the first time a month earlier and couldn't believe it took us that long to find it.  

Two miles south of the tiny community of Pedee, Oregon, on Polk-Benton counties border, there's a lovely roadside stop: Ritner Creek Covered Bridge. It's pedestrian-only now, and there are picnic tables inside and babbling Ritner Creek below. According to the official web site, 

In addition to its original use as a highway crossing over the creek, residents for nearly 80 years have used the Ritner Creek Covered Bridge for weddings, community picnics, dances and as a shelter from the rain.

We continued on 223 and then it was on to State Highway 34 and to Blackberry Campground. State Highway 34 is lovely, by the way. 

I almost hestitate to tell this, because I don't want everyone else booking the site... but campsite #14 is the best for motorcycle travelers: it is separated from all the other campers by both the day use parking lot - which this time of year, no one uses, because the river is too low for boats - and you are right above the river, and that's a wonderful sound at night, and because you have this fantastic unused parking lot to park your bikes and because you have the day use pit toilets almost entirely to yourselves! The campground wasn't full at all, but we were so so happy we booked in advanced, because it took any worry about arriving late and not finding a spot and, added bonus, we got the best site in the entire place.  

I brought street-vendor-sized flour tortillas, a can of black beans, a wee bit of salsa, an avocado and the last of our grated Mexican cheese, so we could have street tacos that night and mini-breakfast burritos (I brought six eggs too) that morning. Both meals were SO simple to make on our little backpacker camp stove. I'm really proud of my campground cooking skills - I think I am a great mix between deliciousness and convenience. I have no desire to spend an hour cooking while I'm camping. I'm not there to work. 

We got up early on Saturday and were able to leave to begin exploring quite early. I love staying in a campsite two nights instead of one, so that we don't have to bother with packing, we can leave it all and head out and explore and then come home to a setup campsite, ready for us to cook and enjoy the evening and sleep. We headed back onto Highway 34 and headed to the coast. The road goes along the Alsea River, and many of the street names off the road, up into the mountains, are very intriguing like the Alsea Riveria. There are some folks with beautiful houses along that river. I'd love to know just how high the river can get - when we were there, it was low enough to walk across (but I wouldn't advise it). 

My speedometer had stopped working somewhere after McMinnville, so I was worried about my speed, but Stefan said I was eerily always going the speed limit. I have said for years my nickname should be Speed Limit. It blasted us with rain at one point, but then, it stopped, the sun came out, and all was well. 

We turned left and headed South to Yachats. It's the usual not-attractive Oregon coastal town, but it was so surprising and, well, nice, to enter the town and be greeted by people on either side of the street with Black Lives Matter signs. It's a brave thing to do in Oregon! 

And now I've seen most of the Oregon Coast. And can say, with authority: there are way, way better routes through Oregon than the Oregon coast. That said, I will also say that the area around xxx is the prettiest part, by far, of the Oregon Coast. But the rest? You can skip it. 

I saw National Forest Service Road 5590 on Google Maps, making a loop, listed as 18.7 miles, and it looked doable for me on my KLR. I knew it was some kind of "main" forest road, since it showed up so prominently on Google Maps. It starts off as Yachats River Road from 101, and, in fact, it is mostly paved and lovely. You trade the coast for a lush green river valley, which I prefer! Early on at one point, you come to a fork in the road, and one sign tells you to go to the left, on a gravel road, 9 miles to 101, and the other says that Cape Perpetua is to the right, 11 miles. We were very confused, because Stefan says there's no way it was just 9 miles to the coast in that direction. A look at the map shows he's right. So, maybe someone scratched off the 1 before the 9? Anyway, I could see a Forest Service Road sign for 5590, going uphill, and up we went. The road was still paved, which was a shock, and after probably half a mile, we saw a sign for Keller Creek Day Use Area. It was a great place to park the bikes and have a look around. There is a sign there and an information board that has been updated with COVID info, and it has been mowed in the last few weeks, so it is still open, but it doesn't appear on GoogleMaps, which I find odd. 

Keller Creek Day Use Area has an area that looks like it would be perfect for swimming on a really hot day. I fear the locals regularly tear the place up, otherwise, it would be great for camping. It showed signs of recent damage.

A white Suburu outback with California plates went by, and the lone male driver looked at us like, "Is this really a road?" But he continued on. And so did we. I was stunned - while the road was barely wide enough for a car, the road was mostly paved! But when it stopped being paved, it REALLY stopped. When it stops being paved, it's wretched - in the rain, it would have been terrifying and dangerous. The conditions of this road must change frequently, per logging trucks and the rain. According to the Forest Service web site, the road was closed through May 15 and stationary logging equipment would be blocking the road - which, of course, we did not know because we didn't check first. But that explains the parts of the road that weren't there. I'm so glad I took that offroad riding class a few years ago - I never could have ridden this otherwise. I just would love to know why the road is mostly paved. Again, it's a very narrow road - had we met a car coming down, I don't know what we would have done. 

We never saw the white Subaru again... There is nowhere on the road where you can pull over and take in the view or rest, so I was really glad we had stopped at Keller Creek. 

The road brings you to Forest Road 55 eventually, which takes you to the well-paved road for regular passenger cars that goes up to Cape Perpetua viewing area, that looks down on the cape (it will be obvious to you when you hang a right for this road). 

Next trip, maybe we will do Ten Mile Creek Road / NF 56 which is connected to a slightly bigger loop than the aforementioned Forest Road: it becomes NF 5800 / Klickitat Trail Road, then becomes Cummings Peak Road, which is what we took on our this trip back to the coast on the aforementioned loop. 

While I'm not much for national forest roads unless someone has told us it's well-maintained, both of the aforementioned loops stand out so prominently on GoogleMaps, in contrast to all of the other roads, I knew they had to be okay. Here's a screen capture:

One thing about doing these roads: it's important to first look at updates on the Siuslaw National Forest, web site or the US Forest Service Roads web site regarding whether or not the forest service roads you are interested in are open or not. Turns out the forest service roads we took were closed for a few weeks because of logging and re-opened only recently. 

Less than six miles from our campground was East Boundary Road, which is also National Forest Service Road 5800. A guy in a parking lot (we meet a lot of those) told us it's possible to go from that road all the way to where we were, and a look at the map checks out. I just doubt I'm good enough for such a ride. 

Anyway, back to the Cape Perpetua Lookout: it's common for the parking area at the top to be full, and we were hoping that by parking at the overflow lot down below we would get out of paying the day-use fee. We're not opposed at all to day-use use fees, but two things: as near as we can figure, each of these sites wants you to pay at each site, and in one day, you're likely to go to six or so sites. That's $30! Added to that, each motorcycle has to pay - so, a van full of 10 people pays $5, two motorcycles with two people pay double. NO. We weren't ticketed, but I think that, indeed, we were supposed to pay, even given where we parked (there are self-pay stations everywhere). 

The lookout is totally worth the stop. It's breathtaking. No stop at the site is complete without seeing the Stone Shelter, a small, rustic one-room no-frills structure was built around 1933 by the Civilian Conservation Corps. It's meant to be a place where you can view the cape and the ocean and be protected from the elements. The CCC also built many of the trails and campgrounds in the area that are still in use today. During World War II, it became an observation station, looking for enemy boats or aircraft.

We didn't wear masks at this site. The wind was blowing, it was cool, and Dr. Fauci says we're fine outdoors and vaccinated, so we went for it. It's the first time I've been around people and not had a mask on. It felt so weird, like I was being a bad person. 

We ate outside at Yachats Brewing + Farmstore. Stefan loved his pulled pork. My vegetarian burger was... boring. I was trying to be healthy. Vegetarian burgers need SO much sauce and fixings to taste like anything. We're still not ready to eat inside, despite being vaccinated and what Dr. Fauci says. We don't drink and ride, and the only soda they had was their own, but it was so good, we had two glasses each! Yachats Brewing was the only place we saw in Yachats with outdoor seating, and we didn't see a park or anything where you could eat takeout (any picnic tables were in places where Oregon State Parks wants you to pay $5 a motorcycle to visit). We SO wanted fish and were really disappointed not to have it. 

We rode some more, further South, took more photos. But I was getting tired and cranky. We never saw a sign for Thor's Well, though we passed where it was supposed to be three times. It's an old sea cave that has collapsed, creating almost a “drainage pipe” to the ocean. It’s a seemingly bottomless hole that thrashes and sprays water as the waves crash in and out. Since it's on every map online and in print, we assumed there would be a road sign for it. Nope! I have read all about it online now and I still have no idea where you park to hike down to it. 

Going back North on 101, just as we passed the entrance to the Cape Perpetua campground, traffic came to a standstill. There was a crash up ahead. Took about 20 minutes of just sitting there to clear. We never did find out if it was motorcycle-related or not - there were several Harleys parked on the side of the road but I think they just didn't want to sit there waiting. That's another thing about 101 - if there is a wreck, the traffic shutdown can go on for miles and miles and miles - there's no way to detour. 

Stopped at a grocery for beer and cookies (we suddenly want cookies any time we go camping), then got back to the campsite and heated up some canned soup. Stefan was stunned that, after easily finishing off my little box of wine from the night before, I couldn't finish the second little box that night. I was so tired. It was a great day, but I was completely wiped out. We kept thinking we were about to get rained on before we were done enjoying the fire and the evening, but we didn't. It did rain in the night - it was a wonderful sound, in fact. 

The next day, we were in no rush to get home, so we took our time eating breakfast. We left the cookie package out while we walked around the campground and when we got back, realized the birds had successfully torn open part of the bag! The tent was dry despite the rain the night before, so we packed up and headed back to Waldport. We got gas and then headed North on 101. 

Stopped at Seal Rock, Oregon. No seals, but very pretty vistas. And the town itself would have been a great place to stop, especially the completely outdoor fish house, which was oh-so-ready for business, but at 10 in the morning, I wasn't yet ready for lunch. 

At a stop light, I saw a big brown sign - that means something scenic or historic - that said there was an "outstanding" sight: the Yaquina Bay Lighthouse. A lot of lighthouse sites are oversold and not all that great, but I wasn't ready for our trip to be over, so, what they heck. Well, THIS one did NOT disappoint! The lighthouse at Yaquina Bay is well worth the side trip! Sadly, both the exhibit at the visitor's center (but not the bathrooms) and the inside of the lighthouse are all closed because of the pandemic. But the scenery is absolutely magnificent. I realized then that, at last, I was having a great time at the Oregon coast. Only took 13 years to finally say WOW, I LOVE this!!!

I told Stefan a few times that I was disappointed I had lived in Oregon for 13 years and still hadn't seen seals. I saw them in California back in the 1990s a lot. But even in all our trips to Astoria, I'd never seen them. I had resigned myself to the reality that I was not going to see them. As I looked out at yet another viewpoint, I looked down at the beautiful gray rocky coast and... there they were! SEALS! Hurrah! Found the point where you can go down to the rocky beach and have a closer look (but not TOO close). I was so happy! I could have sat there all day, in fact. It was glorious. 

We pushed on. It was my first view of Newport, which is a really sad, depressing city, at least the stretch where you drive through. Added bonus: lots of Jesus signs and a billboard telling you evolutionary biology isn't real. Yeah, we drove right through. What a shame we didn't realize Otter Rock was a road we could take for a few miles pushing North instead of 101. 

Foodies love to hate on Moe's Seafood Restaurant. Welp, sorry foodies, but it's the best fried shrimp I've ever had. The fish in the fish and chips also never disappoints. The clam chowder is decent as well. We got takeout and ate out on a park bench in Lincoln City. Then we walked down street in ever-increasing wind to what turned out to be public beach access, with not only the actual sea, but a sea of seals on Salishan Beach, the beach on the other side of the sea. But we didnt' stay long: it was horrifically windy and a couple of folks looking addicted and desperate had me wanting to leave ASAP. 

101 turned inland, we got rained on and there was some gnarly wind (thankfully, a headwind rather than a side wind), and at last made it to Beaver, now in the pooring down rain. I've been to Beaver a few times, but from there, we either turn right from wence we came in the Nestucca River Valley and head up to Tillamook, or we turn around and go back. We stood under an awning, hydrated and put on our rain jackets. I texted our dog sitters to let them know we'd be late - the rain was pouring now and it was really slowing us down. 

We were hoping Nestucca River Road was open at last but, alas, it's not, so you still have to use the Bible Creek Road / Bald Mountain Road detour. By the time we got to the top of Bald Mountain, it was pissing rain. It was a deluge. We stood under the awning of the information sign in the parking lot at the viewpoint (but not the one up by the pit toilet) and felt miserable for a while. But it wasn't getting any better. We were also IN a rain cloud. I have never actually been IN a cloud. We headed down the narrow road, oh so carefully since my viser is crap and I had to have it open in order to see in the deluge. We got back down to Nestucca River Road and, by the time we got to Carlton, there was a break in the rain. 

We made it home before dark, which is an absolute requirement for me anymore. We were reunited with Lucinda and there was great rejoicing... 

Wow, I just wrote a travel blog! It's been so, so long... 

More about our travel adventures: www.coyotebroad.com/travel/

Haters are just... sad

If you don't like me, then:

• Unfollow me on Facebook if you are a FB "friend"; unfriend me entirely if you want to REALLY send me a message.
   
• Don't read this blog, or any others I write.
   
• Don't follow me on Twitter. Don't read my tweets. You might even want to block them. 

It's really that simple: if you don't like me, just ignore me online. No need to comment with a passive-aggressive or dismissive statement on something I'm excited about. I probably already sense that you are bothered by me, so I don't need yet another reminder. 

No, you aren't going to shut me up. 

Maybe my prolific online messaging annoys you. Maybe you don't like how freely I share my political views. Honestly, I really don't care. But I do care when you feel the need to comment on something for NO reason other than to be snarky.  

I have to wonder about you people who are so bent on undermining someone just because her personality annoys you, just because she rubs you the wrong way. You can't stand it when they are enthusiastic about something. 

How do you know if I'm talking about you? Go look at your social media posts and comments. How many of them are about something you think people will be genuinely interested in, how many are about something nice about your life, how many are you trying to be helpful, and how many are a negative post or comment, something passive aggressive, or one of those "Well, actually..." statements? 

I'm starting to feel sorry for ya. I'm really not worth a hater's time. Surely there is someone out there MUCH more worthy of your negativity? 

Also see:

Breaking her spirit.

Two new travel resources from me

A blog about something travel-related again! 

I've created two new pages on the travel-portion of my web site: one to encourage people to be better prepared for a public health crisis while traveling and one to encourage people to travel with respect to others and their surroundings. Both were inspired by the current global pandemic or current political climate. 

travel with respect
To be able to travel - and to travel abroad - is a sign of your privilege. You absolutely should travel if you are able - it's a wonderful, soul-enriching act. But never forget that to be able to travel depends on your economic status, your passport and how the world labels or categorizes you. To be able to travel is a privilege. People without your privilege see you, the person that has such. And, sometimes, they see your pity and condensation. Or your outright disrespect and arrogance. And that contributes how they see and treat all travelers - including me. These are tips for how not to be an asshole while traveling - and I can't believe anyone needs this guidance but, based on what I've seen - yeah, a lot of people don't know this.

Traveling during a global pandemic
Welcome to the reality that, while you are out having a great time far from home, an intense disaster, even a global pandemic, can break out and not only alter your travel plans but force you to evacuate and get home ASAP. It's actually always been a possibility, but while there were stories here and there of travelers stranded somewhere because of a disaster, or having difficulty re-entering their home country because they are coming from a place with a widespread disease outbreak, the novel coronavirus pandemic has brought home the reality that this can happen to anyone, anywhere. If you are going to travel before the global pandemic is over, these are suggestions that will keep you safe, keep others safe from you, and help you prepare beforehand in case you need to get out of a dicey situation.

I have no idea if these will really help people. I'm expecting criticism for being sanctimonious and a killjoy. So be it. 

Embracing the reality that the pandemic isn't over

The pandemic isn't over. So many countries haven't seen the worst of it. I am so happy to be vaccinated (Pfizer), but I know this is a pause, not the end, in lockdown life, because of variants, because unvaccinated people are providing a breeding ground and evolutionary laboratory for such. 

I know people are exhausted from thinking about the novel coronavirus and that most people in the USA haven't lost any loved one to COVID-19. For most people in the USA, this disease is still something abstract and just merely inconvenient, even with almost 600,000 deaths in our country alone and untold numbers of people who have long-term disabilities. I am not one of those people, but I'd like to think I would still be this alarmed even if I didn't know people who have died or are permanently disabled from this.  

This past weekend, I saw a neighbor I hadn't seen in many months. Lucinda adores him, so I crossed the street so she could greet him. He was thrilled. He asked how we were and I said we were fine, grateful we've been able to stay healthy and that we've been fully vaccinated, and that I'm so sorry for the people in our neighborhood who are still dealing with long-term effects from the virus. 

"People in our neighborhood?" he said with alarm. "People here have had it?"

This isn't the first time I've remarked to a neighbor about other neighbors having this disease - no names, of course - and that neighbor having NO IDEA, having thought he or she was living in a safe little disease-free cocoon. 

I walk my dog every day. I know most every person in my neighborhood by sight, if they have a dog or not, if they have an outdoor cat, when they bought their house, how many people live in the house, how often their adult children visit, if there's a baby on the way, if one of the kids graduated in May, and on and on. I'm not an Oregonian - I'm a Kentuckian, and I talk to people. I'm Gladys Kravitz and I have no apologies for that. People have piped right up with the info to me as I walk by: "I got COVID. It's been hell." I don't reveal their names to anyone, but yes, absolutely, I've referred to people in our neighborhood having this disease. And most of the time, the "What?!?" reaction is what I get from other neighbors. 

But it's not that ignorance and denial that fuels my pessimism. 

In July 2020, I wrote about how the novel coronavirus may never go away, even with a vaccine. There are links to the long articles I read that predicted this and that made me realize this wouldn't be something that would be with us for just several weeks or a few months, in contrast to what politicians and news folks were saying. This week, I came across this interview with the epidemiologist who worked with the WHO to help eradicate smallpox and was the science adviser for what many are calling a prescient film, Contagion. I really hope you will read the article in its entirety. It notes, in part:

If a third of the population, 30 percent, is not vaccinated, not wearing masks, and we’ve already got the variants in the United States—what do you think’s going to happen? Remember, what drives a virus is not how good we’ve been at vaccinating 60 percent. It’s the 120 million Americans who are not vaccinated, not wearing masks, not practicing social distancing, and who are congregating. And it only takes one little virus, and it’s everywhere, because they’re just not protected. Of those who aren’t vaccinated but had the virus, a high percentage have already lost their immunity or have waning immunity—there’s much less and much less durable immunity from getting the disease than from getting the vaccine.

That people are refusing to be vaccinated when the vaccine is available is outrageous. It comes from a place of privilege, of being willfully obtuse and not experiencing any immediate consequences from such reckless selfishness. I've used this analogy so many times, but it fits: imagine millions of people in the USA and the UK during World War II saying, "Screw these restrictions, I have a right to gas, to steak and to cosmetics, I'm going to do what I want because rations are inconvenient to the life I want to live." I think about people in the UK in particular, who went without things like oranges and chocolate for MANY years - they were still living with a lot of deprivation even in 1950.

I know people are frustrated that "the science keeps changing." It's not that science keeps changing, but our understanding of it does: we get more data, we get a larger group looking at that data, and sometimes, we realize that our understanding is wrong. For instance, it turns out, in contrast to what was said a year ago, in contrast to my own understanding, face masks DO protect the wearer, far more than scientists thought they did - but the reality is still that your face masks protect others even more. I love the pants analogy the most: pants don't protect you from getting some of your own pee on you, but they do protect you from getting pee on other people. Since I care about people, and I care about myself, I'm masking up - and apologizing to all the tourists I made fun of in my mind for about 15 years. 

Knowing what we know about masks, it should be that vaccinated people aren't wearing them and people who aren't vaccinated are. Instead, it's the opposite. And I'm one of those people still wearing a mask inside anywhere other than my house, despite being vaccinated. Why? Because I'm afraid of variants. Current vaccines may not work against the South Africa and India variants. Because I don't want to be permanently disabled: not being able to taste, not being able to sing or breathe deeply, being exhausted from just walking across the house, etc. Because I'm not ready to die. 

Do read this article, which has many interesting historical notes, like that the "Spanish flu" originated in Kansas, and why it got the "wrong" name. 

We're stronger and smarter than we're acting right now. That's what makes me so angry - we know better and we act like petulant children instead. I want to go to the movies, go to live theater, go to concerts, go inside and eat, and on and on - but if people don't radically change their behavior, I'll never be able to do any of that safely. And neither will they. 

I'm treating pandemic life now, in its current state in the USA, as a pause. We're going camping. We're eating outside at restaurants. We go inside to stores, wearing masks. We're planning a motorcycle trip for September and for 2022. Stefan is hoping to fly to Europe next year and see his parents. We're going to enjoy the pause, we're going to make the most out of it. But we're fully expecting this to be a pause in the pandemic to end - and fear what the next lockdown will bring in terms of people's behavior.