Boomer Folklore: There Was An Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe

 Here's what is coming:  the old woman will live in a shoe box.  You all think I am kidding.  I'm taking the Mother Goose rhyme into 2026 and beyond.  

The fastest growing homeless population is the elderly (dare I say Boomers).  Why?  I could talk for hours on it as the reasons are complex, but some of it boils down to this.  We are now reaping the seeds sown in the 1980's Reaganomics era where unions were demolished.   Prior to the 1980's employers offered defined benefit pensions which guaranteed income for life unlike defined contribution plans that are finite.  When the Reganomics hit it was sold to the people that unions were not needed.  Put the pension money on the check NOW and people can invest for their own pension.  Who needs unions?  Americans are independent!  We can plan for our own futures!  GIMME MONEY NOW!

Boomers bought it hook, line, and sinker.  Boomers loved the huge paychecks and spent themselves into a tizzy with large houses, cars, boats, trips, etc.  Did they save for their retirement?  Nope.  Now their toys have long depreciated to being valued worthless and left Boomers with zero savings and mounting credit card and medical debt.  They have reverse mortgages on their homes because they can't come to terms that their lifestyle is not sustainable and refuse to face reality.  

The Boomers' reverse mortgages are coming due.  Boomer has walked through all of his money.  Now Boomer needs to move somewhere....but WHERE?  Boomer is now in declining health, does not have any money, and the bank is about to retake the house leaving Boomer with negative equity.  Yup.  The longer Boomer stays in the house, the more he will owe.  

Boomer has zero money and zero savings.   Boomer can't keep up with rising prices.  Boomer needs to sell his home, but finding another place to live is proving challenging and expensive.  Next thing you know Boomer is facing eviction and is now without a home.  Where will all of these elderly and broke people live?  Who will take care of them?  

Which brings me back to the beginning:  There was an old woman who lived in a shoe....box.   

 

 

....and how was YOUR Thanksgiving?

Whew.  Another Thanksgiving under my belt.  At this point I am a black belt in Thanksgiving Dinner preparation and hosting.  I think I have dealt with every uncomfortable guest/relative situation at this point as well along with being a professional diplomat with family politics and government politics.

I wish they handed out a Nobel prize for keeping world peace at the extended family holiday dinners.  We all know that everything starts at home, right?  I have family members that range from wearing MAGA hats to feverish supporters of Zohran's socialist democracy.  The point is that we all converge during the holidays and nobody gets worked up of politics.  We can have a civil and insightful discussion if it comes up despite the variances.  

Yup.  My family covers the entire range of the political spectrum.  I think I have members of my family who are on a political spectrum that has yet to be identified.   

Truth be told, I have had several bumps in the road over the decades in reaching the utopia of family holiday dinners.  There have been arguments, mishaps, miscommunications, and misunderstandings along the way that have resulted family discord.  I have been in the wrong many times.  Then there are those in the family who think they are entitled to be waited on hand and foot and treat the host like it is an on-demand restaurant and give no courtesy to the host nor to others.  

I am so glad and relieved that the ingrate cancer has been cut from my home.  The ingrates no longer even entertain that thought that are welcome at my home.  They have to make their own plans and cook for themselves.   For fear of sounding like a cheesy pop-psychologist, I've set my "healthy boundaries."  

Now the ingrates are arguing amongst themselves as to whom is the ingrate, and how dare Ingrate Relative X try to dictate the guest list for Host Ingrate.  I just sit back and smile.  

Here are the comments I hear through the family grapevine:

1.  OMG!  It's so much WORK and EXPENSE to host!  It takes days to organize, clean, prep, cook.  Then there is the CLEAN UP.  Nobody HELPS me!

2.  Quiet Rage made it look so easy!  Do you have her recipe for (fill in the blank).  

3. Ingrate X simply can't be expected to host - it's just too much (insert personal drama here).  Ingrate X has two kids, does not work, and has small living quarters. (note:  Quiet Rage hosted holidays with two small kids while working full-time AND going to school AND living in a small condo).   

4.  Host Ingrate is astounded that the other family ingrates want dibs on the leftovers to take home.  Host Ingrate wails, "I bought and prepared all this food!  The leftovers were to feed us for the rest of the week!  Now Ingrate X feels entitled to some?"

Ahhhhhhhh.....so much relief to not have to deal with any of that.  So much has been taken off our plates with the elimination of the ingrates (pun intended).  It allowed us to cook an entire Thanksgiving meal for 7 for a family we love that is dealing with a terminal disease and bring it over to them in addition to cooking for my usual crowd I host.  

Gen X Classic: White, White Baby!

This is a Gen X classic.  It's a parody featuring Jim Carrey as Vanilla Ice.  This will never get old despite Gen X getting old.  

    

SuperBETCH is Dying

 Less than 4 months after CHP died, SuperBETCH (CHP's widow) is now in the hospital receiving dialysis for four hours daily.  She has not made urine in over a week.  How did she get this way?  Well, I don't think she really took care of herself.  We are not even talking about the hole in her intestines for which she had surgery and the skin cancer that is eating away on her right shoulder with her rotting flesh exposing veins, cartilage, bones, etc.  

Uff Da!  So much has happened this past week. None of which is pretty.

SuperBETCH is a mess.  I blame SuperBETCH Jr. for a lot of it as she knew her mom was lying on her couch at her home in her own feces and urine for at least 36 hours.  At that point SuperBETCH Jr.  called her brother, Nice Guy, to come over because mom was not quite right (gee, being on the couch covered in her own urine and feces did not tip her off???????).  SuperBETCH Jr. was reluctant to call 911 for her own mother.  NiceGuy, upon entering the house and observing his mother unconscious on couch soaked in her own excrement, jumped in and called 911 immediately despite his sister's claims that it was unnecessary to do so. 

Here is where it is at as of November 23, 2025, at 11:04 PM.  

SuperBETCH is in the hospital and she will be there for an undetermined amount of time.  She can't walk.  She can't take herself to the toilet.  She can't sit up by herself.  She is on dialysis for 4 hours per day.  Her kidneys are failing.  She sleeps most of the time.  She thinks that Benjamin Franklin is standing in the corner of her hospital room and that her late husband, CHP,  has been there visiting with her.  

Hey....I'm not judging any of that.  

Even if SuperBETCH gets out of the hospital, she will need to go to a rehabilitation facility full time as NiceGuy can't take care of her 24/7.  Neither can his sister SuperBETCH Jr.  

 Which leads us to Thanksgiving this coming Thursday.  Before it was known how ill SuperBETCH was there was drama between NiceGuy and his sister SuperBETCH Jr.  NiceGuy wants NOTHING to do with his sister.  SuperBETCH Jr. was chastising NiceGuy and his wife because they had plans to come to our house for Thanksgiving dinner.  The "guilt" was that that this was the first Thanksgiving without CHP and that the CHP/SuperBETCH immediate family should all be together for the holiday.

Here's the real story.  SuperBETCH Jr.  could not handle the thought of having to HOST and cook for her OWN ADULT KIDS and their significant others at her OWN HOUSE on a holiday.  Nice Guy ALWAYS cooked for them all in the past and hosted at their house.  SuperBETCH Jr. has NEVER hosted a holiday at her house let alone cook for anybody.  She has always inserted herself with her brother (NiceGuy) and their parents as they always hosted and did all the work.  All she had to do was show up with her tribe along with a bottle of wine and a pie she picked up at Whole Foods.  How easy is THAT?  

This is where I get thrown under the bus from SuperBETCH Jr.  

All of a sudden my husband and I are getting blamed for cooking Thanksgiving dinner and not inviting SuperBETCH Jr.'s entire tribe over.  

We have never hosted them for Thanksgiving.  We have hosted them all for Christmas.  We have NEVER been invited over to SuperBETCH Jr.'s house for anything.  Nothing.  Ever.  Now we are the bad people because we are just doing our own thing (as always)?   

Why am I obligated to invite people to my home who want nothing to do with me because they don't want to deal with the work of cooking a meal for their own immediate family...and then they also expect me to clean up after them?  Nope.  I'm not their kitchen bitch.  

Sure, SuperBETCH Jr. can go to Whole Foods and order the overpriced a la carte Thanksgiving dinner.  Still, it comes cold and you will still need to figure out your oven and stove space to warm it up enough to serve. 

Wait.  The meal comes cold.  

Justice served.   

 

 

Cranky Old Lady

 Yup.  I'm there.  I'm a cranky old lady.  With any luck and the grace of God, you will reach my age as well.  Here's my list of advice.  Please, feel free to take my advice.  God knows I'm not going to use it.

1.  You are not nearly as important as you think you are.  Do not get sucked into thinking workplace and external accolades replaces family and other personal relationships.  You will be sorely disappointed on your death bed thinking the company guys who presented with you with a plaque at the obligatory, ceremonial rubber chicken dinner with the cheezy photo opportunity that will feature you for the weekly publication of "The Company Newsletter" nobody actually reads for "best manager of the year" actually gives a sh*t about you -  and will be there at the end of your life.  They won't be there for you as you take your last breaths.  Truth bomb:  You were replaced 10 years ago.  They are just trying to be nice about it now giving you something to hang on the wall while they kick your @ss out the door.  

2.   You are actually as important as you think you are.  Yes, this contradicts the above statement.  However, do NOT invest your soul's energy into corporate and workplace endeavors.  You will always be disappointed when soul-sucker Sam, who wears a cape with the company logo and gets a promotion instead of you, gets a bust in his likeness in the corporate hall of (sh)fame.  However, you will *never* be disappointed in being there when your daughter takes her first steps and says da-da for the first time.  Priceless.  

3.  Yes, we all need to play the "work game" to some extent.  Just be realistic about the end result.  Once you leave your job you will be replaced and forgotten in no time.  You will be lucky if anybody remembers you two years after you left your 30+ year career working your heart and soul out for Company X meaning missing birthday parties, anniversaries, and other special family events for the ceremonial rubber chicken dinners you attended for those who are now long forgotten.  Do you reach out to them?  I don't think so.  You are too busy wrapped up in your own life to remember those who sacrificed for the "company."  The same will go for you.  

4.  However, your family will NEVER forget about you.  That is if you have not already alienated them after years of neglect by ignoring them while chasing your ego's ghost.  Sorry, but your daughter named little Cindy will never understand why you had to miss her dance recital because Client George decided to ride into town a night early and wanted Cindy's daddy to take him to dinner so he did not have to put out his own credit card for the expense.  

College Degree: Don't Waste Your Money

Unless you are going to college for a specific job, i.e., orthodontist, brain surgeon, etc., don't waste your money.  Most college degrees are useless and leaves students thousands of dollars in debt with the only jobs being at Starbucks paying minimum wage.  You are better off going to a community college taking job-skill related courses or checking out Khan University, YouTube, or the other vastly available online educational resources.  

Spoiler Alert:  Nobody cares where you went to college.  Nobody cares about your liberal arts degree.  

I am NOT against education by any means.  I'm against young people getting roped into student loan debt by those who bully them into thinking that if young people do not give up their first-born chasing an expensive piece of paper they will be doomed to life in shackles and chains.  

The world needs trades people, nurses, teachers, librarians, musicians, poets, writers, and others who put the personal touch on our existence.  We do NOT need any more paper pushers promoting a corporate agenda with no soul.  

MRH's Funeral

 My coven is suffering.  We have been suffering for a while witnessing the decline of MRH with her addictions and mental health issues.  It's exhausting.  How do you help someone when they refuse to disengage in the habits that are causing them more and more harm?  

All in the coven have tried to help MRH over the years with loving support.  One can only do so much without getting sucked in and drained (emotionally, physically, and monetarily) as well.   As each of us in the coven reached our limit, each established our "healthy boundaries" of disengagement to save our own sanity.  

There is one in the coven who was very vocal about her "healthy boundaries" and cut MRH out of her life.  It's not that I blame her, it's just that it was always announced to the group whenever we were together at the cabin in Northern Minnesota.  Every. Single. Time.  

This same coven member also likes attention and the spotlight.  She is always posting on FaceBook and has a strong penchant of directing every situation into something about herself.  I dare say she has narcissistic tendencies.  Yes, she was sexually abused by her father, and I am sad for that, but she wears a stamp on her forehead stating such and also announces it to anybody and everybody including cashiers and gas station attendants.  Yes, I am happy she pulled her life together and received the psychological support to help her cope.  Yes, I'm glad Spotlight Seeker is a survivor and helps other kids who are suffering.  I need to add that Spotlight Seeker has not seen MRH in a decade.  

I am getting off on a tangent.  

Where I am going is that Spotlight Seeker did not have the time of day for MRH until it was known she was in the hospital and dying.  Spotlight Seeker knew there would be no lingering commitment on her part other than showing up at the hospital.  

Out of the blue, Spotlight Seeker decided to visit MRH in the hospital with the full audience of MRH's kids and sister.  Spotlight Seeker also knew that this was prime material for FaceBook likes and attention.  Lo and behold, Spotlight Seeker posted on Facebook about MRH's death like theywerethisclose and managed to mention her childhood trauma experienced at the hands of her father.  Spotlight Seeker asked for prayers for HER for her loss and emotional duress.  The thousands of "likes" ensued. 

Well, I called out Spotlight Seeker on her sudden interest in MRH on her deathbed because she distanced herself for over a decade and wondered how the abuse she experienced had anything to do with MRH's death....let alone plastering it all over FaceBook.  

As you can imagine, it went over like a lead balloon.  We got into a huge argument.  Long story short, we did smooth things over.  However, just as we were smoothing things over another argument erupted with Spotlight Seeker and another in our coven, PMF.  

It's true.  Weddings and funerals have a tendency of brining everybody's subconscious emotions bubbling to the surface.  Sadly, the argument between Spotlight Seeker and PMF did not cool down, and it seeped into the following day at MRH's funeral.

The day of the funeral PMF was so angry she did not talk to any of us in the coven.  After the funeral,  SSP offered me a ride to the cemetery which I gladly accepted.  I had not had a chance to talk to SSP one-on-one and I was thankful for the opportunity to spend time with her.  

When we arrived at the cemetery SSP and I found the rest of the coven, sans PMF, and we all huddled together while the officiant said some prayers.  We had no idea where PMF was at.  When MRH's ashes were being lowered into the grave we all stood in a close circle, holding hands, and crying.  We kept a space for PMF as she is part of the coven as well despite the ugly argument that happened the night before at JLB's house.  

None of us saw PMF at the cemetery.  None of us saw her until the ceremony was over and we were all heading back to our cars.  I had no idea where she was standing.   I'm certain she saw us all in a circle holding hands.  What she did not see was that there was a place held for her.  

I feel badly that PMF feels badly.  The fight has spread beyond Spotlight Seeker has spread to JLB and TYD.  It's three against one.  SSP and I are on the sidelines, and we are in trouble for that because we did not jump in.  

Death brings out emotions you never knew you had.  I am hoping the coven can survive as we have been friends for 50+ years.    

Cheers to MRH

MRH was a great dancer.  She loved this video and the choreography.  I hope her soul has found peace.  

October Deaths

 Let's see.....so many of my significant relationships in life have had deaths in October.  My cousin, both my grandparents (who died on the same day 20 years apart), my auntie Em (no joke), my first serious boyfriend, and now one of my dear friends from childhood.  

Ironically, it was MRH who informed me about Dave's death last year.  Now it's her turn.  At this moment she is dying.  Last report was today around 1:30 PM Pacific time from her sister.  Her breaths were 8 per minute and they were not going to move her out of the hospital because she is so fragile and at the end of life.  MRH is calling for her deceased mother.  

Every once in a while I feel a gush of air and the hair on my arms stands up.   Her spirit guides are congregating to transition her soul and those from the other side are coming to assist her.  

 

 

Processing A Death That Has Yet to Happen

 It's official.  MRH is in hospice care.  She could go tomorrow or in a few weeks.  I am processing a death that has not yet happened.  The texts the coven are receiving from MRH's sister are heart breaking.  MRH can't feed herself, walk more than a few steps, and sleeps most of the time.  MRH did ask if she was going to be ok.  The answer the medical staff gave her was no.  She then nodded and went back to sleep.  

MRH and her then husband were the first couple we entertained and cooked dinner for at our apartment in Novato back in 1988.  JH (her husband at the time) was in the Navy and he was at Moffett Field near Mountain View.  

When MRH got her breast cancer diagnosis some years back I used to send her marijuana from CA.  I knew I was taking a risk, but I would gladly serve as the poster child from my jail cell for sending somebody suffering from the effects of radiation and chemo something to comfort them.   

MRH and JH opened their house to me when I was going through some serious marital issues.  They made room for me despite having a houseful of kids.  When their son got older he was on a semi-pro hockey team in Fresno.  We drove down to Fresno to meet up with MRH and JH to watch their son play.  They also came up to Sonoma County to visit a couple of times when they were out in CA watching their son play.   It was not too long after that MRH and JH split up.  

It's so hard to watch somebody self-destruct despite having all the resources, love, and support around them.   

Just WHERE have I BEEN lately?

 Whelp.... I have hardly slept in my own bed since June.  For the three actual readers of this dumb blog this may make some sense as to why I have been so quiet for 2025.  

I travel a lot.  Most of it is for work.  I have been to Chicago, Alaska, Hawaii, San Diego, Tahoe, PLEASANTON  (there is nothing pleasant about Pleasanton, California) just like there is nothing pleasant about Pleasant Hill,,,where there is no hill and nothing is pleasant.  My company thinks there is something magical about getting all of us together in a stuffy conference room in a non-descript office park in San Ramon, which is near Pleasanton,....not to be mistaken for Martinez nor Walnut Creek.  Hard to tell the difference.    

I just found out I get to ditch out on Washington D.C.  Thank GOD!  Why?  Air traffic controllers are walking off the jobs as they are not getting paid due to the government shut-down.  

Here's my unsolicited advice:  if you do not have to travel by air.....don't.  You are safer accepting a ride in a beat-up van with a crack-head driver who jokes about raping and killing you.   

42 Years Ago Today

42 years ago today my cousin-sister died in an automobile accident in rural North Dakota.  42 years ago my boyfriend at the time tried to console me.  He is now dead as well.  

There is now another death that is pending.  MRH was one of my high school besties.  We were on the dance line together and we would hang out on the weekends.  She would also participate in our coven weekends in northern Minnesota at Blue Eagle's cabin before she totally went off the rails.  Sadly, MRH has had a very difficult life despite being born the baby princess to her financially secure family who doted on her.  MRH has been on a downhill spiral ever since her dad died about a year ago (her mom passed a few years ago).  MRH has been struggling with mental health issues along with being a raging alcoholic for many, many years.  It has cost MRH her husband, siblings, and kids.   

MRH came out to visit me a year ago February.  She functioned like a 5 year old kid.  It was exhausting.  This was before her dad died and even then I wondered then what she was going to do when he died as he was already in his 90's. 

Today my Minnesota coven received a text from MRH's sister stating that she is in the hospital in critical condition.  She had not left her apartment in 2 months and ordered everything online.  MRH called 911 after drinking a bottle of rubbing alcohol at 3:00 AM.   

Drinking the rubbing alcohol was the straw that broke the camel's back.  MRH had resumed drinking heavily despite many, many attempts at rehabilitation.  Her mental status does not help.  Fighting depression, bipolar disorder, ADHD, and anxiety only pretty much guaranteed she would not get better.   

I'm waiting for the text stating that MRH has passed.  I have this sinking feeling she will not leave the hospital.   

For what it's worth, the song 'Leave It' by YES will ALWAYS remind me of MRH as will the phrase, "Sit on a corn cob and ROTATE."  I can still see her in the high school gym at dance line practicing a dance she had choreographed to it.  She was a really great dancer.

  

 

 

Unresolved Relationships

 Yes, we have all had them.  You know, the relationships that just did not work out.  For whatever reason, one of my past relationships has been haunting me via dreams.  Yes, it's been a LONG time since I have had any contact with him whatsoever, but he still keeps popping up.  

Perhaps it is my subconscious wanting to create an ending.  Perhaps it is my subconscious still tossing around unresolved emotions.  Perhaps he is trying to tell me something.  

Whatever the reasons we keep connecting in dreamland does not matter, things will not get resolved in this lifetime nor on this plane of existence.  I'm way down too far on my present path with a husband and family I am not going to trade in.  Now, ex-boyfriend, get out of my head and let me dream about something else - like winning the lottery.   

Plus, he was an asshole. I'm glad to have escaped.   

 

 

David Lee Roth

This past weekend I was with my CA sissy, daughter, and niece at Santana Row in San Jose.  We were celebrating my daughter's birthday along with her cousin's birthday as they are only 2 days apart.   Well, while our young and beautiful daughters went out clubbing, Sissy and I were up in the hotel room just chilling and drinking wine.  Somehow, someway, we got on the subject of David Lee Roth.  Don't ask me how.  Sissy showed me a recent video of David Lee Roth singing Panama.  I showed Sissy a the original Panama Van Halen video.

Wow.  What a difference 40 years makes.  

For you youngins who have no idea what I'm talking about, Van Halen was THE rock band in the early to mid 1980's.  Their album titled 1984 featured an angelic child-like cherub smoking cigarettes.  Lead guitarist Eddie Van Halen was every girl's dream guy.  David Lee Roth was their flamboyant lead singer and showman who always had a bevy of scantily clad beautiful women at his beck and call.  

Sadly, the band broke up and Eddie Van Halen is now dead.  David Lee Roth is also dead, but he does not realize it.  He is still trying to do live performances despite being well into his 70's.  David Lee Roth, who was once deemed himself Mr. Sexy, is now a sad shadow of himself.  

Let's take the song Panama.  Blue Eagle and I choreographed a dance for our high school dance line back in 1984.  Blue Eagle and I choreographed the Panama dance in my parents' basement - later to be brought to our dance line for us to compete with other high school dance lines - along with many football and basketball game half-time performances.  I know every beat of this song, every guitar chord of this song, and every vocal.  

Imagine my shock when Sissy showed me the most recent rendition of Panama performed by David Lee Roth compared to what I knew when the song debuted back in 1984.  Hey, David Lee Roth, it's long past time to hang it up....the leather pants outfit detailing the sadly lacking manhood parts that suggests a pencil somehow got caught in your crotch is not a good look.  It's pathetic.  Yes, now it's our turn to rip on you as you were very unkind to women who you viewed as less than a PlayBoy centerfold and did not have the time of day for them.   

My, how the tables have turned.  Below are the two videos of Panama of 1984 to Panama of 2025.   Copy and paste the below YouTube links into your browser.

https://youtu.be/fuKDBPw8wQA?si=P6v0XJu8eX8H3BLK

and then to this.....

https://youtu.be/sbo7Xwi9iCI?si=K6q8N1mbWuN24382

Coyotes

 The coyotes have been very vocal lately.  One of them will get to howling.  Pretty soon many of them are howling.  When it wakes me up in the middle of the night it sounds like someone is having a party and the howling is laughter.  

Aloha from O'ahu North Shore

 My daughter just turned 30.  Wait.  Let's do the math.  How can I be *that* old already?  This past weekend was my high school 40th reunion.  I was not there, and neither were my soul sisters.  Why?  My soul sisters were attending the wedding of Blue Eagle's daughter.    I was on O'ahu's north shore for a work meeting that extended into a celebration of my daughter's 30th birthday.  The 30th birthday had been planned for a year.  Otherwise, I would have been at Blue Eagle's daughter's wedding.  Last choice would have been my 1985 class reunion.  

I do not know why class reunions are relevant any more.  Once upon a time people actually looked forward to catching up with their old crushes and meeting their now spouses (damn, why did he marry THAT wretched toe rag!  I am soooooooo much BETTER).  We all wanted to go to show up how our exes missed out and make them envious at what we had become and what they could have had.  Missed it.  Boo-hoo.  Over and out.  Ex-boyfriend is now stuck with dowdy Sally Sad Tits while mine are still pert-n-perky.  Hey, ex-boyfriend, meet me in the coat room so you can remember?  Huh????  I'll show you.  Yeah, I see you looking at me.....(coat room door closes and the window fogs).  

I digress.  Really, class reunions are all about bragging.  Only the rich and the thin go back.  In this day and age of constant social media connection, I no longer see the point of subjecting myself to more bragging by classmates who have a chip on their shoulder and something they need to "prove" to the world.

Fact:  Social media has eliminated the need for class reunions.  We *still* can't shake the butt-head who was two lockers down from us and was in our biology 101 class thanks to "friend suggestions" from Meta AI that we all should revolt against.    

Here is today's truth.  Everybody posts pictures and documentaries of their every meal, vacation, surgery, trip to Costco, divorce, remarriage, job promotions, births of children and grandchildren (and of course how precious and perfect they are), trophies and medals their kids have collected, and detailed accounts of bowel movements that have required more than one flush, etc., on social media.  Oh wait.  I forgot *the* main social media topic:  MY POLITICAL VIEWS ARE SUPERIOR TO YOURS AND YOU ARE A COMPLETE IDIOT IF YOU DISAGREE WITH ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Truth bomb:  I can handle the happy family news, no matter how sappy,  way more than I can handle the political self-righteousness.  

I got off point.  Celebrating my daughter's 30th birthday on O'ahu was very spiritual.  We did not plan it to be that way.  The ancients welcomed her home at the north point.  I heard them rejoice at her return.  This will not make any sense to those who are convinced that this is the only dimension.  

 

The Funeral

 CHP's funeral was last Tuesday.  We showed up, sat in the back, and paid our respects to the (undeserving) widow and her exact likeness of a daughter.  

It was the SuperBETCH Jr., show complete with subtitles for anybody who might have a difficult time understanding that SHE was the one in charge and running everything.  Even the priest made a comment about her monopolizing everything.  I so wanted to change the channel.

SuperBETCH Jr. made the announcement that a luncheon was being provided at a local restaurant following the ceremony.  Sadly, the announcement was not a true invitation.  People felt the weird vibe and did not attend the luncheon.  Where did people congregate?  At our house.  We did not make any announcements nor try to hijack their luncheon in anyway.  We were simply exhausted from being exposed to the prolonged drama that was made even worse by SuperBETCH and SuperBETCH Jr.  We just wanted to go home after the funeral and feel our emotions.   

People just started showing up at our house.  Pretty soon we needed to order a bunch of pizzas.  Pretty soon it was a full-blown gathering.  There were tears shed and also some laughter along with some really amazing stories of CHP delivering a baby on the Golden Gate Bridge and stories from Balboa High School back in the 1950's.  

Come to find out that some of the people who actually did go to SuperBETCH's luncheon left in a hurry because of the awkward and cold energy.   We had more people at our house honoring CHP after the funeral (which was not planned) than SuperBETCH did at her fancy luncheon where napkins were counted out to an exact number and placed exactly 3 inches from the place setting.  

Yup.  Beer, pizza and salad still rule the day.  Hey, we even had some cheesy garlic bread.    It's even better if it is not planned.  

GFYS, SuperBETCH and SuperBETCH Jr.  So glad we will never have to see either one of you ever again.  BUH-BYE. 

 

 

Sometimes I Loathe Being Right

As the tarot cards predicted (coincidence or not) CHP died.  Quiet Rage has been, well, quiet.  There has been a lot to process in the last couple of weeks.  Tomorrow is the funeral for CHP.  SuperBETCH will not put anything in the paper until after the ceremony.  That is her right as a widow.  However, it robs CHP's friends, colleagues, and military buddies the opportunity to say good-bye unless someone in the family was allowed access to CHP's phone - in which nobody was.   

For whatever reason, SuperBETCH, along with her mini-me daughter SuperBETCH Jr., loves being the center of attention and in control.  She has always had ill feelings for anybody on CHP's side of the family.  I fit the description.  

What was troubling was beside the fact that I could not give a rat's behind about her treating me badly. but she treated my kids and my husband with such utter disrespect that it is appalling.  I will not go into details, but my husband was denied saying his final good-bye to his brother on his death bed.  Same with my kids.  Why does this bother me?  Because I saw CHP on Tuesday (I am the one cooking and bringing prepared meals to the immediate family as they are in no head space to even think about meals - it is just what Minnesota prairie women do to help).  

I went into the house and CHP was in his hospital bed and he looked so frail.  My daughter was also there.   We chatted with CHP and he still had his sense of humor.  CHP, with his weak and raspy voice, was the one who asked my daughter and I if we wanted a water or Dr. Pepper - not SuperBETCH.  SuperBETCH took the food that I cooked and fed it to herself everybody including SuperBETCH Jr., and her spawn.  I was good enough to supply food, but not good enough for a glass of water from SuperBETCH.  Whatever.  I politely declined the water and Dr. Pepper.  I did not want to trouble SuperBETCH for water (I bring my own water bottle anyway).  

Well...this was Tuesday.  For better or for worse, my daughter and I felt peace when we left CHP that day.  I feld in my heart CHP did as well.  We had some laughs, we reminisced about the old times, and it all ended on a good note.  There was also some past family drama my daughter sincerely apologized for her part in it.  The visit ended with CHP asking about my son and stating that his brother (my husband) and I did a good job raising the kids.  It made us all smile with the exception of SuperBETCH who sat in a chair with a puckered-up face that resembled a cat's arsehole.  

I told CHP I would bring over the old family movies that were taken in San Francisco and Sonoma in the 1950's when the home movie technology first came out.  He smiled.  He was looking forward to that.   

Things suddenly turned for the worse the very next day.  My husband went over to see him as he was going downhill quickly.   SuperBETCH denied him entry.  My husband is not some random stranger who appeared on the doorstep to sell solar and try to convert to a certain religion.  It's his BROTHER.  SuperBETCH denied him entry because she thought he was with a family member who is despised by all.  Lame excuse. Same with my son.  My son drove from San Jose as CHP asked about him.  He was also denied entry.  CHP died that night.  

Yes, death is very sensitive.  It is very personal.  Nothing brings up family drama like weddings and funerals.  

The funeral is tomorrow.  We will show up, be respectful, sit in the back, and blend in with the background.  We will not cause a scene.  

After the service tomorrow we will wash our hands of SuperBETCH and SuperBETCH Jr.   Just who are they going to call when SuperBETCH has a slip and fall and SuperBETCH Jr., can't lift her up?  They have alienated everybody.  

Get your popcorn ya'all.  The holidays have just gotten more and more interesting.  It's a good time to be out of the country or back in Minnesota.   

 

Hi How Are You? I'll Be Dead In A Few Days

 Things are quite uncomfortable at the home of Quiet Rage as of late.  Why?  My brother-in-law, CHP, was sent home from the hospital yesterday to die.  When my daughter was in Santa Rosa at the hospital visiting CHP on Sunday she noticed that there was a white dove on the hospital door room.  Do you know what that means?  It basically means a terminal situation and to leave the patient alone as family is coming in to say their good byes.  

Now CHP has been brought home.  He is still cognizant and wanted something to eat.  He is fully aware of his terminal situation.  The doctors and his immediate family will not let him eat anything as his intestines are blocked and would cause him extreme pain.  He is on a diet of broth.  

Of course, this angered CHP to no end.  He knows he is dying.  He wants a milk shake.  He does not care if it causes him pain or causes him to die two days earlier than predicted.  He just wants a bloody milk shake to taste and ENJOY.  GIVE CHP THE MILK SHAKE.  The other thing that angered CHP was the placement of the hospital bed in the living room.  He thought he was coming home to sleep in his own bed.  Nope.  There is also the presence of 24/7 hired care so SuperBETCH can at least get a few hours of sleep.  

CHP is depressed and angry.  Who would not be depressed and angry when faced with the reality of your own death within the next 14 days.   

My husband went to see him today and spent a couple of hours to hang out with his only surviving brother.  CHP was grateful that my husband was there.  Long story short, they have a very complicated relationship.  At least both of them have realized there is no time for fussing or fighting over past hurts.  

Here is where it hits the soul.  CHP asked my husband to hand him his phone.  CHP is still old school and also has a Rolodex of sorts.  CHP asked my husband to dial the phone for him so he could reach out to his old Marine Corp buddies, his old CHP partners, childhood friends, etc., to tell them he has days to live.  

Imaging being the recipient of that phone call.  "Hi, you have been very important part of my life.  I wanted to let you know how much I have enjoyed our relationship.  I will be dead in a few days.  I want you to hear it directly from me instead of reading it in the obituaries."   

Worse, imagine being the person making the phone call.   

 

 

 

My Rider Tarot Deck and Death

 People make fun of me with my witchy-woo-woo, but that is fine.  I can take the ribbing because I know it is not mainstream.  Part of my witchy-woo-woo are tarot cards.  Over the years I have been given an assortment of tarot decks including a goddess deck and a spells deck.  My favorite deck is my classic travel Rider deck.  Yes, a tarot card reader has a relationship with the cards.  Over time, it is just natural to form different relationships with different tarot decks.   

Where am I going with this?  

 My husband's brother has always been a big, strong man.  He is a retired Marin County CHP sergeant, and he is also a Marine Corp veteran who served in Vietnam.  He is also an arsehole.   He married a superBETCH (long story) and they had two kids together:  superBETCH junior, and NiceGuy (who are now both in their 50's).  

Long story short, my husband's brother and family (let's refer to husband's brother as CHP) was very absent from family throughout his adult life.  CHP did not come around when his father was dying.  CHP did not come around when his mother was dying.  CHP did not come around when one brother was dying.  CHP did not come around when his oldest sister was dying.  I will not go into the details, but CHP and SuperBETCH pretty much dissed the extended family.   

When my husband's mother died, CHP was not left anything in the inheritance because he never came around when their father was dying nor when their mother was dying.  CHP's sister got it all (which is another long story as she was the one who actually dealt with it all).  

Well, of course, CHP and superBETCH being the type of people they are, were all upset because they did not get anything.  They shunned the rest of the family.  There is a whole other lotta drama that goes along with this.  The long-established pattern for the last 50+ years is that CHP and SuperBETCH are always angry at someone in the family for some reason and seethe about it.   

TOXIC!

I have known for a while now that CHP was not in good health.....but.....the doctors kept stating there is hope if they try this treatment and that.  It has been my hope that CHP would get better and reconcile with family before it is too late.  We have invited CHP and SuperBETCH to our house for a BBQ, we have invited them for dinner, etc.  Our invitations went ignored.  We even went so far as to write a heart-felt letter stating how they are important to us and to talk to us about why we have been cut from their lives.  Nothing.

About a month ago knowing that CHP was trying another healing approach, and also knowing my husband is upset over the unresolved relationship issue, I took out my Rider tarot deck and sat with that thought for a while.  I really tried to hone in on CHP's energy.  

After sitting with Rider deck concentrating on CHP's energy, I finally drew one card.  It was X of Wands.  The first thing any reputable tarot card teacher will tell you is to TRUST YOUR INTUITION of your feeling upon seeing the card drawn.   Sure, there is the major and minor arcana and all sorts of labels to each card...but....the feeling you get when you see it is the most important.  

What immediately struck me for the X of Wands and CHP's energy was extreme guilt, sadness and regret.  It is heavy on him.  The Wands suit in the Rider tarot represent the spiritual world and your soul's contract.  Wands are a "meaning of life" suit.  X represents the completion of conclusion on the path.   I wrote in my journal that I knew CHP was not going to get better and he will die with regrets.  I did not tell my husband because I did not want to put anything in his head that might not turn out to be true.  I am a novice tarot reader.  

Today we get the call from CHP's son, NiceGuy.   NiceGuy informed us that CHP is now on hospice and they are sending him home from the hospital tomorrow to, well, ....um..... die.  They give him 2 days to 2 weeks.  

Unbeknownst to me, my daughter went to the hospital to see CHP today.  She was met with a chilly reception from CHP's daughter, SuperBETCH Jr.  CHP gestured for my daughter to come in despite SuperBETCH Junior's interference at the door.   CHP was in tears knowing that he can't properly make amends and how important family is....CHP blew his chance.  He is burdened with his regret.  His soul contract is complete for this lifetime.  He will have to wait until another lifetime to make amends.....assuming the universe sees right to afford him the opportunity.  

CHP, who was once the epitome of a handsome, big, and strong man is now a shadow of his dying self.  I hate to break it to all of you, but the same fate awaits for all of us.  Get over yourselves.  Get over your petty grudges and judgements.  Love more and hate less.  I can promise you will not regret that on your death bed.   

 

 

It is Soooooooooo QUIET!!

 I've had the honor of having my sister here visiting, and then the honor of having J and P from England come and visit.  It has been a busy spring here at the home of Quiet Rage.  It all seems so surreal.  It's been a year since J and P told us they were coming to visit.  Poof.  Their visit has come and gone in an instant.  When we first learned of their intended visit we thought the day of their arrival would never come fast enough.  Their visit went by so quickly that we did not even complete the list of day trips I had written down.  Oh well, it's something to look forward for a future visit.  

I was so glad my sister came out to have a little break from taking care of my mom full-time.  She sooooooooo deserved just to read a book near the fire pit in peace and quiet.  Also, she is still mourning the death of her husband despite the 10 year anniversary of it.  My sister holds emotions in to a fault.  She never allowed herself to process grief.  But then again, how do you ever get over the death of the love of your life?  I was glad she finally allowed herself to cry.  She is always trying to be so strong for everyone else that she does not allow herself to feel.  I was honored that she felt she was in a safe space to just let herself feel.  There were *many* conversations around the fire pit that lasted until the wee hours of the morning.....our should I state mourning.  

J and P brought such a joy to us.  It takes a lot of faith on their part to come and stay with us crazy Californians.  They surely got to experience all of the extended family drama.  LOL.  It was so much fun to see J and P take in all the sights that I take for granted as I see them regularly.  For example, going over the Golden Gate Bridge was something remarkable for them.  Walking over the Golden Gate Bridge was something J had on her bucket list.  I'm glad I could accommodate that for her as that is something only tourists do LOL.  You all would be shocked at the number of people who were born and raised here who have NEVER walked across the bridge.  Spoiler alert:  Walking across the bridge is incredibly NOISY with all the traffic that is inches away from you.  Bring ear plugs.  

I think what sealed the deal with our warped sense of humor was playing Cards Against Humanity as J and P had never played before.  I did warn them it was raunchy.  We laughed until our stomachs hurt.  In return, they taught us the proper conditions as to when to call somebody a WANKER. 

 

Friends from the UK: Pints and Nachos

 I've not posted in a bit, but I'm sure none of you really care.  The earth has continued to revolve and morning turns into nightfall with or without my internet rants du jour.  

Here's where Quiet Rage has been.  My sister was out here shortly after Easter to spend some time relaxing as she is the full-time care taker for my mother.  That in itself deserves the red carpet treatment for Sissy.  We spent HOURS around the fire pit talking about family history and family dynamics.  

I'm so glad my sister is the main executor for my parents' estate.  She is very fair, she is very responsible, and she will carry out my parents' wishes down to the last dime.   The only one who will have a problem is my older brother.  He is always scoping as to what the lake shore property is worth and the other land that has been in the family for 100+ years.  He is looking to sell it off to make $$$$$$.

The rest of us are thinking of making the lake shore property a private campground/picnic area for future generations.  Nothing would need to be permanently built on it.  Nobody would need to care for a structured building on the property nor establish plumbing nor electricity.  Have a tent city in the summer where we can all enjoy fishing off the dock and relax into our tents come nightfall.  Who really wants to deal with an actual cabin structure where there are so many relatives?  Who would be the responsible family point person?  Who wants to deal with frozen and bursting pipes on January 22 at 2:13 am when it is -40*?     Oh, and the toilet will NOT flush!  Now what????????

Here is where my siblings and I are going (sans one sibling).  Mom and Dad lived very frugally - almost to a fault.   They were the generation of the Great Depression and WWII.  Money was always tight.  They lived out in the middle of nowhere on Prairie USA and somehow made it work.  I have a deep respect for that unlike myself.  I start whining if I can't get a Door Dash delivery for my favorite junk food at my doorstep within 15 minutes after ordering it.  Whaaaaaaaaaaaaa.  Where is MY sacrifice?  I dare you all to ask yourselves the same question.  We are all whiny WIMPS.  Yes, I am including myself in this.  

Switching gears completely.......

Getting back to my ancestors and what they all went through.  Wow.  I just want future generations to enjoy and utilize the lake shore property like the family did back in 1865.  Well, there were European traders along the property trail trading their goods along with Native American summer camp populations (this ox trail is now Interstate 94).  Yes, the Europeans and the Natives had a lot of intermingling that led to a blend of cultures and families.  My Uncle Joe has an entire room showcasing the apothecary bottles the Europeans were trading along side the arrow heads and other tools of the trades the Dakota brought forth.  

Wait.  I am entirely off track. 

This post is about hosting friends from the UK and I have not touched on that as of yet.  For starters, our UK friends are more than friends.  They are family.  I met my UK friend, JMM, waaaaaaaaay back in the early days of the internet on an online internet pen pal forum.  Yes, dial-up internet was still the mode of connecting to the world-wide web.  Can you still hear it?  Dial up internet sounded like a lame duck quacking for its last breaths.  

We hit it off back in the 1990's and now it's 30 years later.  The internet is now a more more dangerous place to be.  Back in the 1990's we were all in awe how the world could be so connected.  It was so innocent.  It was so sincere.  Now it is full of malware and scammers (for lack of a better term). 

Thank you, J and P, for trusting us dumb-ass Americans  to show you how we think Sonoma County is a very special place.  We love you.  AND..... I am glad we got to have a pint and nachos.  We solved ALL the world's problems. 

p.s.  You are a WANKER.   lol

 

Gambini is SELLING the HOUSE!!!!!!!

 Now that Acid is dead, my brother-in-law Gambini (who is the half Portuguese and half Italian we lovingly nicknamed our Port-a-Wop) wants to sell his 5 bedroom house in Sonoma County.  Long story short, the house is too big for just him - and his 58  year-old alcoholic, deadbeat daughter who never grew up and depends on him to live there rent-free (that is another story).

Well, Gambini was never the smartest with his money.  He inherited a house in SF the Italian side of his family built (his family built an entire SF neighborhood in the early 1900's).  Gambini rented the SF house out, but being a landlord proved to be exhausting.  He sold the family home in SF.......and then purchased a house in Petaluma for his alcoholic daughter and her family to live in RENT FREE.  

We all know what happens next.  Was the daughter grateful for a rent-free place to live with her and her selfish daughters?  Of course not.  They all trashed the place.  That's the thanks Gambini got for trying to help his daughters and granddaughters.

Gambini then turned around and sold the Petaluma house.  I do not blame him one single bit. Where did the alcoholic daughter and ingrate granddaughters go?  Well, they found someone else to leach off of....for now.

Here is the dirt pie.  

Gambini had a reverse mortgage on his house.   This is how he and Acid afforded the lavish lifestyle they had with trips to Europe, Hawaii, etc., plus all the expensive cars.....AND lavish gifts to their immediate family.  

Well, well, well.......when you dance to the music you must pay the fiddler at the end of the event.  And that is what is happening now.

Gambini must sell his house in order to avoid monetary penalties for the reverse mortgage.  That's all ok.  However, his decedents are having a freak-out as they are wondering where THEIR INHERITANCE is going.   Guess WHAT?  Chances are there will NOT BE ANY INHERITANCE at the end of the day.  

Greedy decedents do not think about the $ needed for the long-term care Gambini will need and the other medical expenses elderly people need that sucks up millions of $$$$$ in a matter of months......which leaves the greedy decedents with..........NOTHING.

 Boo-effing-Hoo.  If you want money, earn it yourself.  Do not depend on others to blindly hand it over.  

Which leaves me to the subject of chocolate chips and beanie babies....but that is for another rant.  

p.s. If any of you Tesla-driving effers from SF (or anywhere else) are thinking about swooping in to purchase this beautiful home in Sonoma County, your bid will automatically be thrown out.  We do *NOT* want you here.  FWIW I do have some authority on the sale as an executor of the estate. 

 

 

 

 

The Feces Display (a.k.a. Shit Show)

 My niece, K.A.B., is about as naive as naive can be.  She is 31 years old, has two babies, does not have a  job, and she just split from the baby daddy as she caught him cheating (yet again).  Where does one go with no job, no husband, no money, and two babies along with a yappy little mutt that jumps and pizzzzzzzes all over the furniture?  

Back to home to mommy and daddy, of course.  

Well, mommy has her own feces display to deal with.  The Mommy's father and her sister are a full-time job just keeping them with their head above water financially.  Plus, mommy works from home and the last thing she needs are a couple of screaming babies and a barking dog while she is on her conference calls.  

Well, one would hope that my niece learned her lesson.  Do NOT get yourself knocked up thinking you can "keep" a guy.  It's the oldest trick in the book......and it never works.  

At this moment my niece is meeting with Baby Daddy thinking that they can work it out.  Good God.  Stupid is as stupid does.  Oh, and Baby Daddy just got fired from his job for sexual harassment with a student.  There is an established pattern with Baby Daddy.  He likes to @*($^ his students.  I wonder when the time comes for my niece to collect child support how many other kids are out there he created with little girls as the mothers and needs to compete with for child support resources. 

RUN AWAY!!!!!!!!!!  You are better off WITHOUT him!!!!!!!!!! TRUST ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

Baby Daddy will not come around near me.  Why?  Because he knows I know.  He knows I will rip him up one side and down the other - and he deserves every word.  He's a coward. 

Where is Elon Musk?

 Not so very long ago, the marshmallow-faced Elon Musk was the Orange Cheeto's constant companion and sidekick whispering in the Orange Cheeto's ear.  It was as if they were attached at the hip.  

Now that the public is outraged and staging protests and burning up Tesla dealerships, the pasty-white-squishy-faced Elon Musk is nowhere to be found.  It is as though he has fallen off the face of the earth.  

What happened?  

The coward is hiding because he knows the public wants to kill him.  Deep down he knows he deserves it. 

Johnny Olsen

 I learned a piece of family history I wish I had not.  My sister is out here visiting from Minnesota and we get into some pretty deep conversations around the fire pit.  Let me paint the background.  Here we go.

 I always knew that my paternal grandmother had an older brother who died when he was two years old and that his name was Johnny.  I always assumed that he died of disease as many kids out on the prairie did back in 1913 and I never thought to ask what he had died from.  Nope.  He did not die of disease.  Johnny died because his father (my great-grandfather) and the large animal veterinarian operated on Johnny after they got liquored up.

Imagine this.  

The year is 1913 and the location is Donnely Township located in rural west-central Minnesota.  There is no electricity, no telephones, no running water, and the main mode of transportation is still via horse and wagon.   There are no hospitals nearby.  It's the middle of winter with white-out blizzard conditions.  Your two-year old son needs his appendix removed.  

What do you do?

Well, apparently dad and the large animal vet, which is the closest thing to a doctor they had access to, decided to get rip-roaring drunk, got the kid rip-roaring drunk, and then decided to operate on him on the kitchen table.   

The ending was horrible.

At first I felt extreme anger and rage hearing the truth about Johnny's fate for the first time.  How could my great-grandfather be so dangerously DUMB!  How could my great-grandmother stand by and allow this to happen to her BABY.  I knew there was a history of alcohol and abuse in my family, but this was over-the-top child abuse and MURDER.

After sitting on it for a couple of days and allowing this bit of unpleasant family history to process, I became mournful and felt compassion (which surprised me).  I put myself in their place.  What were my great-grandparents' options?  Again, to re-iterate, the year was 1913 and the location was Donnely Township located in rural west-central Minnesota.  There was no electricity, no running water, and the main mode of transportation was still via horse and wagon.   There were no hospitals nearby.  It was the middle of winter with white-out blizzard conditions. 

Market Manipulation

 The Orange Cheeto can call tariffs on and off on a whim.  Doing so can send the stock market into spins and spirals.  How wonderful to know before hand which levers to pull and place stock trades accordingly.  This is insider trading at its worst.  It's manipulative and disgusting.....all so billionaires can make even MORE money.  

The billionaire class is insatiable.  

Generation X and Middle Children

 Generation X is just that.  We are anonymous and unheard and blend into the wall.  We were ignored.  The Boomers, Millennials, and Gen Z are the focus.  Boomers think of Gen X as millennials, and millennials think of Gen X as Boomers.  Nobody cares what Gen Z thinks of us.  

Generation X is often compared to being a middle child - ignored and left on their own to figure out life without guidance nor support from anyone.  

Here's the kicker:  I am Generation X........AND........I am also a middle child.  Double whammy on the scale of being invisible and ignored.  I know PMF (one of my coven group) can relate to me as she is also a middle child of Club Gen X.  That's why we "get" each other without saying a word. 

Four Kites

 Have you ever had your astrological birth chart done?  I had mine done recently.  I had no idea what to expect from it.  It's a long story, but M knows of a lady who does charts.  I decided to give it a go.  I contacted the lady and we talked for a long time.  She is a long-time resident of Sonoma County and lives close to my sister-in-law.  Quite frankly, I'm surprised I have not bumped into her earlier.

After giving Chart Lady my basic birth information, I waited for her to contact me to set up an appointment to go over the outcome.  She did.  When I arrived at her house the first thing she told me was how rare my chart was as it had "four kites" in it.  Chart Lady was so astounded that she contacted the person who taught her astrological charts as mine is so rare. 

First off, I know NOTHING about astrological birth charts.  I was kind of freaked out because I had absolutely NO idea what having "four kites" even meant.  Was I going to die in a freak accident?  Is the devil going to condemn me to hell?  Will I die of measles in Texas?   Will I be forced to drive a Tesla for the rest of my life?  

Apparently, having a kite in your astrological chart is extremely rare.  Having four kites that overlap each other is unheard of.  My "kites" are poised to come to power in the next 5-10 years.  I'm still trying to figure out what this all means.  It's like my suppressed, cosmic zit is about to finally pop with all the good stuff.  Chart Lady showed me birth charts of the hundreds of others she has done.  None even had a single kite.  Chart Lady is not some schemer where she intends to make money on any of this - as the skeptic in me went there.  Chart Lady is comfortably retired and does this for the pure passion of it.  She does not charge any $ and is not trying to sell anything.

In the meantime I am trying to figure out the whole "kite" formation in an astrological chart means.  I have a long way to go as I know nothing - assuming any of this means anything at all.

I guess I will go and fly a kite.  In fact, I will go and fly four of them.

Just What Do We Say?

I'm not sure what to say to our friends who are going to visit from the UK in a few, short weeks about our messed up governmental affairs.  I'm sorry the entire world hates us right about now.  Hey, I have an idea.  How about going to Laganitas for a pint and some nachos? 

 

Market Crash 2025

As I type this I am anticipating a market crash in just 4 hours or so.  How do I know?  I don't, really.  I am just going off of hippie vibes and other woo-woo-measurements-witchy-bitchy vibes Wall Street does not recognize but yet someone like myself gravitates towards.   

Am I wrong?  In a few hours you will know.  

WTF is happening?

 I am dizzy trying to keep up the head spinning whiplash the Orange Cheeto is mandating from the Oval Office.  Why does it matter to me?  I work in an industry that is heavily dependent on imports for materials and supplies.  We are still reeling from supply chain disruptions from COVID.  Now, with the announcement of tariffs, our fledgling post-COVID economic recovery is getting slaughtered.  

Most contracts do not have protections for tariff price escalations.  What does that mean?  I can provide an over simplified example.  Because of the lingering impacts of COVID, we need to order materials 1.5 years in advance for widget A.  We bid a project that will utilize widget A.  Widget A used to cost $1 and that is the price we put in the bid.  Now widget A costs $4.  We need to pay the difference to get the delivery of Widget A.  Who will ultimately eat the $3 difference?  Multiply the $3 difference by the millions and it gets ugly very quickly.  

We are also very dependent on the United States Department of Labor and also the National Labor Relations Board.  Decisions have been rescinded and the departments gutted.  Who's on first?  Where do we go to get resolution?  It's utter chaos.  Everyday it's notice after notice after notice of changes.  Nobody can keep up. 

Also, who ordained the unelected-pasty-white-South African-pedophile with a limp spaghetti noodle dick as Orange Cheeto's shadow?  Have you ever noticed Spaghetti Noodle Dick always has his mini-me son hanging around?  He is using his own kid as a human shield.  He knows the hit men are out there.  Having a kid on his shoulders and climbing about makes the target harder to hit.  Even hit men have morals (I think).  

I had higher hopes that the Orange Cheeto would have learned lessons from the previous term.  I truly went into this election cycle thinking he had grown as presidential contender.  I am slow to render opinions on political figures.   I'm so disappointed in the Orange Cheeto.  I really wanted to believe that this time would be better.  Don't even get me started on the blue-eyed devil who is VP.   

I almost want to write Orange Cheeto a letter like one would write to a lost love with the phrase, "Babe, we really could have been something special." 

 p.s. apologies to our allies.  With friends like the United States, who needs enemies? 

 

Valentine's Day and Presidents' Day

 A fun little fact about Quiet Rage (as if anybody actually cares).  I was supposed to be born on Valentine's Day and I was supposed to be named Valerie.  The universe had other plans.  I was not born on Valentine's Day and my name is not Valerie.  

How do you celebrate Valentine's Day?  Back in the 80's we used to get secret candy or flower grams in high school.  I used to sit in each class and hope for the delivery of a secret candy/flower gram valentine from a secret admirer.   I wanted that valentine from a secret admirer and then the kiss on the dance floor at the Valentine's Dance from said secret admirer who was not a secret at that point.  To this day I can tell you the songs that were playing at the high school dances where those magical kisses happened.  I knew when a boy put his hand on the small of my back during a dance he would do the "lean in" for the kiss. 

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh youth.  It was soooooooooooo long ago.   We have all been long-married to other people and many of us are grandparents at this point.  Still, we can all look back and smile fondly on the innocence of those days.  Life marches ahead and now the 1980's are 40 years in the rear view mirror.   

Now that I have an AARP card, which is valid identification for obtaining my "age 55+ senior wisdom discount" on Tuesdays at the grocery store, I celebrate Valentine's Day with my kids and their spouses.  It's now a family event.  Yes, there is love; however, the definition of love has shifted away from my raging, boy-crazy hormones of a love-starved teenager to a mature, motherly love appreciating my adult kids and their spouses (and always a few extras) by taking them all out for a very nice dinner.  I think my family puts a big emphasis on  Valentine's Day as it is close to my birthday and we can celebrate two things at once (hey, life is busy). 

 It's kind of fun to make reservations for Valentine's Day dinner as it is usually assumed by the person answering the phone that I want a quiet, romantic table for two.  When I call for reservations, it's for a group of about 8-10 people.  It's especially fun as we are not quite celebrating Valentine's Day nor my birthday.  It's kind of a random, undefined blend.......which works for us as I LOATHE waitstaff singing me 'happy birthday' donning big sombreros, maracas, clapping, and a flaming dessert. 

With that being stated, my daughter threw me a curve ball today.  She is totally capable of throwing curve balls as she was a collegiate softball pitcher.  LOL.   She kidnapped me this morning and took me for  coffee, a massage, lunch, a painting class, and then dinner.  I was not expecting it at all.  I started crying when she said she wanted to thank me for everything I have done for her.  

I guess today was my reward for not killing my daughter when she was a snotty teenager complete with mood swings and attitude who used to dramatically slam her bedroom door and throw herself on her bed making sure the entire household heard her sighs and cries.  LOL. 

Which brings me to Presidents' Day.  I guess it is supposed to honor the birthdays of President Lincoln and President Washington.  The month of February produces quality people, right?  

Let's look at the focus of Presidents' Day.  It's an excuse to get a day off and go skiing up at Tahoe.  Seriously, one would think that we would look at the contributions and struggles of Washington and Lincoln and put ourselves in their shoes to think about the decisions that needed to be made along with their short-term and long-term consequences and sacrifices on society.  Instead, Presidents' Day has been cheapened to nothing but shilling mattresses and appliances....and an excuse for ski week. 

Great Grandmother Olsen

 Quiet Rage has been on her great grandmother Olsen's farm food journey.  Great Gramma Olsen lived in Morris, Minnesota where her family settled the land back in the 1860's.  They were the iconic prairie pioneer homesteaders.  To add to the iconic story of the prairie lifestyle, my great grandfather used to milk cows in the morning and then deliver the mail using a team of horses.  This was Minnesota 100+ years ago.  There was no heated mail truck.  There was no heated barn.  There was no snow plough to clear the roads.  There was no running to the grocery store.  There was no running water.  There was no electricity.  

Where I'm going with this is that my great grandmother Olsen was an excellent cook and baker.  My father's sisters were wonderful stewardesses of keeping Gramma Olsen's recipes in tact.  They put together a little cook book for us to keep the recipes in the family.  My favorite is Gramma Olsen's sugar cookies.  The ingredients are so simple one would think that such a simple recipe would be bland.  Nope.  Gramma Olsen's sugar cookies are legendary.  

The other recipe is Gramma Olsen's pickled beets.  For whatever reason, that recipe always intimidated me.  I finally decided to try it.  There were some beets left in our garden that needed to get pulled up before it got too cold and wet.  I called my aunt (yes, two of my dad's three sisters still live - we are too spicy to just grow old and lie down) and asked her to describe Gramma Olsen's process of pickling and canning beets.  

Gramma Olsen's pickled beet recipe and method did not disappoint.  I now have a stash of delicious pickled beets that are so good they can be eaten plain right out of the jar like candy (but SUPER healthy).  Again, true to Gramma Olsen's ingredients, they are simple and pure.  Maybe the magic is in the few and simple ingredients.  I'm thinking about entering Gramma's beet recipe in the Sonoma County Fair.  .... and perhaps her sugar cookies. 

Where is Kamala?

 Kamala, along with Hillary, thought they were going to beat the Orange Cheeto without much effort.  Wow.  Know your audience (or should I say voters).  They were too self-absorbed, unplugged from the real angst of middle class Americans, and over confident believing their own bs to think otherwise.  

Yup.  They were high off the smell of their own farts.

Here's where it is at.  Kamala owes a lot of money to her campaign.  Vendors and contractors are going unpaid.  Somehow, the media does not want to talk about that.  Just *how* will Kamala pay off her campaign debts?  Will she beg for a public bailout like everyone else who can't manage their own finances?  

Angry Muslims

 What is it with angry Muslims driving their cars into crowds where people are gathered to have a good time?  There was the recent incident in Germany and now in New Orleans.  WTF is their problem?