CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY THREE: GOING TO THE DOGS

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY THREE: GOING TO THE DOGS

In case I haven’t mentioned it before, I have a new prosthesis – a sleeker model than the one I’ve been wearing since May. My right leg has been shrinking at the end – a natural phenomenon for all amputees. That’s why I started out with a temporary prosthesis and I added sock layers as the shrinking began. By the time I was ready for the narrower prosthesis, I had progressed to wearing three 3-ply cotton socks between the sheath and the socket. That was both bulky and hot. And I held this wide socket on with suction, using an overall rubber and cloth tube which I pulled up over the socket until it “attached” to my thigh. With my new streamlined prosthesis, a screw or ratchet holds it on. The metal screw is at the end of the sheath, which I pull up over my knee. Once the sheath is on, I put my leg into the socket, and the screw ratchets down – click, click, click, click – into a receiving narrow vertical tube with turns that match the turns on the screw. Okay, I’m not great with a tools vocabulary, but I hope you get the mental picture. That click, click, click sound is music to my ears. Now if only, if only I could put my full weight on my right leg and prosthesis. I dream about it. I visualize it. I really want to do it. I want to walk without a rollator, dammit!

Did I tell you I walked on to our boat, Slow Motion? That was last week – a quiet moment of triumph. Little did I know that my personal drama was being watched by a couple on the top balcony of the Courtyard Marriott. They gave me a round of applause when I stood solidly on the steps into the cockpit at the stern of Slow Motion. Next week I hope to be back living on Slow Motion. The noise in the apartment has become intolerable, since the workers placed the extremely loud gas engine for their pressure washer just one floor below my apartment. There is no way you can get used to that racket. I asked today if they could move the engine to the parking lot next to the road – away from the guests’ rooms, Michael the Maintenance Man said he would talk with “management” about that. Michael has talked with “management” before – trying to get a working telephone in my apartment – without any success. So I’m just looking forward to getting away from this crazy place. If it’s not the gas engine, it’s the cacophonous Cuban kids from Miami. Their parents set the example, shouting at each other from two feet away. The Admiral says it’s “the culture”. I think it’s just rude people raising rude kids. And on weekends they bring their loud voices and even louder kids to Marina del Mar to turn it into an urban apartment house. Oh, for the quiet nights in Harper Canyon. Or even the silence we get in any Hilton or Sheraton room when we are on the road.

The Admiral’s daughter, Sonja, used her Sheraton points to treat us to a very quiet night at the Sheraton Suites in Key West this week. We had a spectacular ocean view, plus we were right across from the shaved ice truck. We were in Key West maybe five minutes when we both had our favorite flavors of shaved ice in our hands – banana and raspberry – both heavenly. This week Fantasyfest permeates Key West. The Admiral had shown me photos of past fests, which mirror Mardi Gras pretty closely, beads and all – except…except many of the revelers are naked but for the intricate designs painted directly onto all parts of their bodies. We did not go for the naked people; we went for the costumed animals – the Pet Masquerade – who are dressed to match or complement their owners with such popular themes as Little Bopeep and her “sheep” (a terrier), the Devil and his angel ( a beagle), and the spotted firefighter, her fire wagon (KWFD #69 – of course), and her fire dog (Dalmatian). The Pet Masquerade was held on the beach at the Casa Marina Resort – perfect weather. The most creative pet owners had a bunch of Jack Russell terriers, which they put inside a roomy box on wheels and they labelled it “Jack Pot”. There was a rainbow above the pot of Jacks and both owners were dressed as leprechauns. These were hard core contestants. It was all for a good cause – the animal shelter of Key West. True, we missed out on the painted bodies, but just driving around Key West in the afternoon on Wednesday and the morning on Thursday, we saw enough saggy bare butts to last a good while. Those butts should definitely have been painted. Apparently the G string is the underwear of choice during Fantasyfest, for women and men. Not a good look for most body types. The Admiral and I were fully clothed at all times in public, and contrary to his representations, I did not get my body painted this year. Maybe next year.

The drive to and from Key West reminds us that we are surrounded by water – the ocean and the bay. The water colors are aqua, turquoise, teal, sky blue, navy blue, pea green, moss green, sandy white (when it’s windy) – you do not tire from looking at the ocean and bay on the way to Key West. One of our favorite places during the drive is the Key Deer Refuge area. The Key Deer are their own special breed – not quite pygmy deer, but very slight compared to the white tails in Pennsylvania. We spotted one right along the road eating parts of a grassy yard. Unfortunately, it was so accustomed to humans that it looked up at us, then put its head back down to finish lunch. These deer are protected, not like the bears in Florida which were hunted down last week until more than 300 were killed. Yes, there were demonstrations, but that didn’t stop the blood sport from going ahead as scheduled. According to the State, the bear population had increased to the point where a hunting season was necessary – the first one in years. The bears were getting a bad rap because some of us human types were putting out garbage, unsecured, which was too appealing for any bear to pass up. And so bears became dispensable pests, who deserved to be killed. I would think that in a State the size of Florida, there might be a better solution that would have allowed the bears to coexist with the humans – a bear preserve perhaps? But then again, a preserve did not protect Cecil the black-maned lion from the dentist in Africa. Elect me President, and I’ll take care of it. I’ll create the best bear preserve the world has ever seen. (I know, I know, too much Trump exposure.)

We’re watching the World Series and rooting for the KC Royals. If the Giants can’t be in it this year, their worthy 2014 opponents (remember those 7 games?) deserve to win. They are great contact hitters and base runners. Their defense is pretty good, sometimes great. And their closers don’t let them down, usually. Their starters are a little shaky, but it turns out that the Mets’ ace, Mr. DeGrom, who shuts down the most fearsome lineups, was the shaky one in Game Two. Cueto was a great mid-season pickup from the Cincinnati Reds. I had no idea he had a complete game in him, especially after he was lit up early by the Toronto Blue Jays in his last postseason outing. Of course, I miss MadBum, but it’s an odd year – the Giants win in the even years. Go Royals! 

I would write about the most recent Republican “debate”, but I didn’t see it. Baseball was clearly the better choice. I heard about it, and the media – newspapers, TV, radio, keep saying what a great job Marco Rubio did. Yecch! They cite his calling Hillary a liar as just one of his great moments. I suppose if you don’t mind someone regurgitating what the Fox News commentators have been saying since the marathon called the Benghazi hearing ended – then you could find this stale comment “scintillating”. What a honeymoon this crook is having with the media! He used his campaign credit card to pay for all kinds of personal expenses – grand theft anyone? He went into serious debt and walked away from it with the help of a billionaire, who gave his wife a featherbedding job. He opposes a woman’s right to choose – absolutely – no exceptions for rape, incest, the life of the woman. He proposes a “tax plan” which would create 6 trillion dollars in new debt. What’s to like about this guy? And the media mavens keep saying how smooth he is. Have they forgotten his cotton-mouthed response to the President, where he stopped mid-sentence and desperately grabbed for a water bottle off camera, so that he could go on? Really smooth. Oh yeah, he doesn’t like being a Senator, so he stopped being one in order to campaign – only problem is that he’s stealing the nearly $200,000 salary for doing nothing. Nothing. In this instance, he invokes the ghost of Obama, who missed more votes in the Senate while campaigning than Rubio has to date. Marco, we know Obama, and you are no Obama. Stop blaming the media for the fact that you mishandled a lot of money – that’s a nice way of saying that you committed grand theft. That’s a glib answer that gets you simpering applause from a Republican audience, but eventually the voters will understand that you are a thief and cannot be trusted with handling your own money properly, let alone the taxpayers’ hard earned money. And the fact that your mother was a maid and your father was a bartender – both honorable occupations – does not have anything to do with the fact that you are a thief.

Oh yeah, game on!

 

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY TWO: SPECIAL RELATIONSHIPS

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY TWO: SPECIAL RELATIONSHIPS

It’s that time of year again – October – reunion is in the air. I had a date with my five girlfriends, dubbed Bethlehem Babes by Pat, at Rehoboth Beach. Joaquin the Hurricane had been threatening to cancel our get together. He was clocking 120 mile an hour winds and landfall was predicted anywhere between North Carolina and Washington D.C. Then Joaquin veered northeast and tore up the shipping lines 150 miles off the East Coast. Not that we didn’t get wind and rain. It just wasn’t hurricane caliber. The Admiral gave me and the rest of my buddies an almost hourly update as we approached October 5, the first day of our three day extravaganza at the B and B, At Melissa’s. At the Admiral’s strong suggestion, I called some places not directly in the line of Joaquin’s winds and rain in case Rehoboth got flooded or all their trees were blown down on their power lines. The emails went back and forth furiously; meanwhile Melissa told me not to worry. She said the wind was gusting at 40 mph the weekend before our visit, but it was going to settle down by Monday. She was right. We had sunny skies, temps in the 70’s and a pleasant breeze during our three day stay. We got lucky.

No such luck for the residents of South Carolina who endured a 1000 year rain, as their dams broke, their rivers jumped the banks, and their major roads (even I - 95) were closed by flooding. Somehow we drove through South Carolina a day before all the dams burst and all the roads flooded. And when we returned, we only had to take one detour around a still closed part of I 95. Who wouldn’t want to visit Columbia the capital anyway, especially since Governor Nikki got the Legislature to remove the confederate flag from the state government’s grounds? Nikki was looking good for vice president after that event, but when it became known that she had budgeted a mere $260,000 for maintenance of the dams and bridges and road (as compared with North Carolina’s budget of millions),Nikki fell off the short list, and maybe even the long list, as Trump’s running mate. Even when they’re not flooded, South Carolina’s highways are barely drivable. Only Louisiana has highways in worse condition, thank you Bobby Jindal. What is it about governors of Indian heritage and bad roads? Do they not drive on their state’s highways? Do they fly everywhere? Well, Nikki and Bobby, if you don’t have good roads, you’ve got bupkus. No one wants to live in your state or drive through it, at the risk of ruining the shocks on their vehicle. You both need to find another line of work – one where you don’t have to spend any money, and your budget is always balanced. Stay away from Government, which is supposed to do things for its citizens, like provide them safe highways. And that costs money, which you have to raise through taxes. Got that? Obviously not. Boo!

Now as to the reunion, what an intense three days! Janie, Pat, Marlea, Carol V. and Carol G. and I stay in touch by email, phone, letters, cards throughout the year, but our face time together each year is qualitatively different. We remember Miss Mushlitz, our kindergarten teacher (for 5 of us), and Marlea remembered being afraid of first grade teacher, Mrs. Frederick. I remember John Kleppinger trying to force smaller boys into the coat closets and holding them in there – until Mrs. Frederick came into the classroom. Miss Leibert, 5^th grade, struck the hands of left handers until they switched to their right hands to write. She wore hundreds of metal bracelets that contributed to the pain when she struck your hand. Then who was it who kissed Johnny Johnson in the cloakroom? We still haven’t figured that one out. Or it’s still too intimate to reveal. We know more about each other than probably anyone in our families. But that’s only part of the uniqueness of our relationships. We do not wallow in nostalgia; we just enjoy bringing up new memories every time we meet. But we also enjoy living in the present and talking about the Big Issues of the day as well as talking proudly about additions to our families, like incredibly beautiful and talented grandchildren. And what a bunch of avid readers! My God, between us, we must read over 1000 books a year. So what’s not to like about a group of six beautiful women who are well read, smart as whips, full of common sense, and, dare I say, funny as hell?

Everyone has a distinctive laugh, but Pat’s laugh is one that stays in your heart and soul, even when you are thousands of miles away from her. And she laughs a lot, as we all do. You can always count on Carol V. for some outlandish comments – court jester type – which have us rolling off the couches and chairs in the B and B or at a stylish restaurant. Marlea keeps us entertained with her wide-eyed view of the world. Carol G. has great family and travel stories. And Janie makes us all feel safe and loved. Whether we break off into a subset of two, three, four, or five during the day, we always meet up for a communal dinner and the postprandial birthday cake which Pat brings every year. This year we celebrated becoming septuagenarians – I know, Marlea, for you not until November. It’s just a number, and as we look at each other we see ageless beauty that goes back sixty five years. It’s the energy level that hasn’t changed. Sure, we’ve all had major health challenges through the years, but we get stronger from battling them. And when we get together, we increase our collective energy sixfold. It’s amazing.

This year the Admiral drove me to the reunion – three days on the road, going and coming. And he stayed at the B and B with me. Now he’s an honorary Bethlehem Babe. We got preclearance for him, and because he was instrumental in getting me to Rehoboth and helping me navigate the B and B with my prosthetic right leg and rollator, it was a no-brainer to open our arms to him. The Admiral has had a difficult year, having been conscripted into the new role as full time caregiver for me, the unexpected patient. He has been helped through these trying months with words of support from all of the Bethlehem Babes, and they have all expressed their gratitude to him for helping me get my life back. The Admiral deserves a round of applause, nay, a standing ovation, for all the hardships he has endured. Driving daily through Miami rush hour traffic for more than a month to visit me in the two hospitals where I was confined was just one of the grueling hardships. How about putting up with the various weird moods I had because of medication I was given? How about helping me get through three awful weeks of withdrawal from opiates? How about doing all the grocery shopping and cooking, and looking for a couple of pairs of shorts I could wear with my prosthesis? How about – I think you get the point. The Admiral has been busy day and night meeting my needs, while trying to keep a little bit of his own life. Any caregiver knows exactly what I’m talking about. So make sure that standing ovation is a very long one for the Admiral. Hip, hip hooray! Hip, hip, hooray!

I feel blessed to have such special relationships with the Babes and to have the Admiral by my side. My inner circle of support also includes my sister, Sue and her husband, Butch, my brother, Rusty and his wife, Lois, my college friend, Cathy, my Monterey County friends, Barbara and Sondra and Barbara’s “children”, Louisa and Alan, my Miami friends, Judy and Seth, my bicoastal friends, Jake and Michael, my Ohio friend, Vivian, my old Salinas roommate, Patty, my neighbors, Brenda and Royal and Olivia, my nephews and nieces, Dwight, David, Tanya and Gretchen, the Admiral's awesome daughters, my Key Largo boating pals Andy and Tom, my DA office buddies, and Tammy and Tonie. I know there are so many more (please do not feel slighted). You have been wonderful pillars of strength for me and great cheerleaders. You make me smile every day, at least once. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY ONE: A GREAT LOSS AND A POTENTIAL GAIN

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY ONE: A GREAT LOSS AND A POTENTIAL GAIN

I have not written about this. I have no words. Rob died. Cathy’s husband and best friend and so much more died. He had a new liver. It was cancer. Cathy was with him. He sat up in bed and looked straight at her, then he died. He and Cathy had found each other many years ago at Apple – two geniuses who knew they could make a great life together. Rob the artist with photography, Cathy the artist with words. And what a keen sense of humor each one brought to the match! Rob and Cathy had twinkles in their eyes all the time, ready to rip off a terrible pun or to absorb one from each other. I hope Cathy still has the twinkle in her eye – I’m sure she does. She imparted it to her two sons, David and Michael, incredible young men.  This is the rare instance where the sons are as thoughtful and supportive and considerate as any daughter would be. She raised them right. They know what a treasure she is. And so do her daughters in law and her grands. They will all give Cathy the love she needs. And when she comes East, she will be surrounded by their warmth. No one will replace Rob. But being with her close family on a daily basis will certainly ease the pain of loss. I hope Cathy takes some time to write – she could have a large, adoring public for even the letters she has written over the years. She’ll find her way, no matter what she decides to do.

It’s hard to define “friendship”, yet it is one of the most important parts of my life, especially since I have become a little less mobile. My friendship with Cathy goes back to the first day we arrived at Wellesley – I saw her on the path in front of me, as I realized I was heading to the book store without any money. So I increased my pace, caught up with her and asked to borrow money to buy books. She became my immediate friend, when she agreed to lend money to a complete stranger. Yep, Cathy was my first college acquaintance and my first college friend. In those four years at Wellesley, we pulled a lot of all nighters together writing our papers and preparing for exams. Even when I moved to the German Corridor Cath and I did stuff together, like sabotaging the little hill our phys ed teacher used for a “ski slope”. After college, Cath helped me through my divorce and I helped her through breast cancer. We had formal dinners out with David and Michael when they were 7 and 5 years old. David taught us about escargot, something he developed a taste for while touring with Joan Baez and her son, Gabe. The boys introduced us to Steve Martin and his “happy feet”.

Cath and I were going to run against each other for President in 1984. We both wanted to be President since elementary school. And we decided that the best way to ensure that one or both of us would achieve that goal would be to run against each other, so no one else could win the job. Cath had staked out the Democratic Party, and my family had raised me in a Republican household. I know the country would be far better off, if we had pursued our elective dreams. One problem arose – I switched to the Democratic Party in the late 1960’s – actually I went through a period of socialism that I have not fully climbed out of. But then we talked about running together on the same ticket – it was always a question who would be on the top of the ticket, so we agreed to a co-presidency. I know we let ourselves down, and we let the country down big time, by not carrying out this plan. We both have more common sense and less ego than anyone who has served as President in our place. And smarts? Off the charts! I regret that I did not see the onslaught of Big Money into our political world in time to stem that tide. Of course, no one could have foreseen Citizens United, the execrable Supreme Court decision which has made our political system an obscene oligarchy. I would still like to be President, as I am sure Cathy would too, but not enough to be a puppet candidate for Big Oil, Big Pharma, Big Insurance, or Wall Street.

Cathy and I wanted to make sure that there is a woman president – at least one – in our lifetime. It’s not that every woman leader is different from every male leader – think Margaret Thatcher – but we believe that our leadership would be qualitatively different from that of all our male presidents because of our life experiences as women who have known poverty, loss, discrimination – and who have risen up against those who worked for decades to keep women down. We are not “queen bees” – we are working women who have worked to help other women advance, as well as to end discrimination based on sex, race, color, ethnic origin, sexual orientation or any other immutable trait. Now that Hillary Rodham Clinton has become a viable candidate for the Presidency, again, we will support her. The attacks on her – especially by other women – show how far we still need to go to overcome stereotypes based on gender. The old shibboleth that “you can’t trust a woman”, which was legislated into the sexual assault laws that required independent corroboration of the rape because a woman could not be trusted, has reared its ugly head in Hillary’s campaign. All the news stations are running polls on whether Hillary is “trustworthy”. Do you remember polls like that for Reagan, Bush, Clinton, the other Bush or Carter? News media don’t even “get” that they are using an old sexist myth about women in general to attack Hillary in particular.

And what about you women who “can’t stand” Hillary? Why is that? Have you examined your feelings? What is so bad about having a President who will finally get you pay equal to your male counterpart or a President who will press for family leave with all employers for women and men? What is so terrible about a President who will protect our right to choose and keep the government out of our bedrooms and out of our private decisions regarding reproduction? What is so awful about a President who will champion women’s rights and girls’ rights around the world and push for education for girls in countries that don’t value girls or women? What is wrong with a President who will make sure that contraception is covered by all insurance plans? And how can she do this with a troglodyte Republican Congress? Don’t assume the Republicans will carry the Senate or the House again. Get out there and work your butt off to get representatives who care about your issues elected – no more Tea Party types whose only agenda is to oppose every positive piece of legislation which helps the middle class and to protect the richest people in our nation by lowering their taxes, not ours.

Please don’t work against your own interests any more. Stop with the low self esteem. Women can be in power. Women can help other women and men – and children too. Drop the double standard. Women don’t need to be twice as smart and twice as competent as men to do the same job. Many still are, but they don’t have to be any more. Ask yourself if it’s time for a change. Was Golda Meir so bad? Is Angela Merkel incompetent? We are more than 50% of the voters in this country. What’s wrong with voting as a bloc in our own enlightened self interest for a change? Don’t even dare to tell me it’s the emails. Or the money she accrued making speeches. What? Trump’s money as a developer is more ethical than Hillary’s money as a speech maker? I don’t think so. Don’t buy into the stereotypes – she’s too wooden; she doesn’t have a sense of humor; she’s a bitch – that one comes up a lot. What is the male equivalent of bitch? Oh yes, demanding leader. So let’s make some history together – and make some progress at the same time. Our daughters and granddaughters deserve this. So do our sons and grandsons. Do it for a better future for them.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY: ON THE ROAD AGAIN

All right. All right. All right. This may be overused by Matthew McConaughy, but it’s the way I feel right now. Sure, I had a very rough Tuesday night at the hospital sleep clinic – sleep apnea mask here I come! And sure, it’s hella uncomfortable wearing these doodads all over my chest and sides for the Holter whatever for the next 24 hours. And of course it’s not wonderful adding a cardiologist to the list of specialists I have to see (rapid heart rate). But these things are not going to bring me down today.

Not today after the week I have had. It’s August 27, the day after Women’s Equality Day, and I’ve completed a Response to a Defendant’s Motion for Post-Conviction Relief. Yes, I’ve used my legal skills in Florida, learning some Florida law along the way. My background was clean enough that the Monroe County State Attorney is giving me a chance to volunteer at their Plantation Key office. I can do this work at their office or at home. Either place, I am using my brain for something other than crossword puzzles, TV news and iPhone games. Hooray, I say, Hooray!

I’m going to try to bring you up to date – today is October 14, two and one half months since I wrote the first two paragraphs. August and September were the months of dental work – from Key Largo to Kansas City, Missouri and back to Key Largo. The Admiral set up two days of dental work for me – 3 crowns – with his Dr. K in KC. This was on the heels of a painful root canal with Dr. Grossman in Key Largo – is there any other kind of root canal? Dr. K was able to complete one crown. She decided one tooth needed only a new filling and she couldn’t get near the third tooth, because it would not get numb. She said she used enough anesthesia to put a moose to sleep, but still I shot out of her chair every time she got near the tooth. So after two days in “the chair”, two nights of watching the Admiral eat barbecued ribs, and a quick tour of the Truman presidential library and museum, we flew back to Key Largo and I landed in Dr Grossman’s chair for my second root canal. I was wrong – there is another kind of root canal besides the painful type. There is the pure torture root canal – the one that makes you cry uncontrollably. Whew – that was baaad. When we finished, and the staff picked my limp body up off their chair, I knew I had to get another crown.

At this point, the second week in September, we were headed to Salinas to house sit for our neighbors, so I had to find a dentist in California who does crowns in one sitting. Enter Jeannette Kern, DDS, who has the same tools for crowns as Dr K and who served on the Monterey County Rape Crisis Center Board with me. Not that I will ever feel even slightly comfortable in a dentist’s torture chamber, er, office, but Dr Kern convinced me that she’s the dentist in my future. She gave me another crown, and unfortunately found another cavity. But she’s thorough and she explains what she’s doing as she goes along. Sure, her drills make the same piercing, ear-splitting sounds as other dentists’, but she acknowledges my fears and somehow makes me feel safe. I’m not saying I’ll enjoy going to her office, but I feel like I’m doing the best thing for my teeth and gums to sign up with her.

One good food memory in KC. When we arrived in the evening, we drove straight from the airport to Gates barbecue. Mmmmmm – good. I knew this would be my only chance to chew normally and I took full advantage of Gates barbecued beef sandwich and fresh fries. Gates does not disappoint. And it made the entire trip worthwhile. Thank you, Mr. Gates. You’re smokin’ great!

How did the plane ride go with PRL (partial right leg)? The Admiral obtained first class tickets, so we had more room than most. Delta supplied wheel chairs and we whizzed around Atlanta International. The airport at Kansas City is so small and non-busy that I received very good service from a special TSA representative and from the Delta reps. The flights were not super long, so I was able to keep my prosthesis on during the entire journey from Fort Lauderdale to Atlanta to KC and back without any discomfort. So even though I am still not walking normally without the “rollator”, I can fly, I can fly!

Let me say something about this walking objective. The “rollator”, a 4 wheeled walker by Drive, an American manufacturer, is a game changer. I can walk at my normally fast pace. I am no longer laboring with a two wheeled walker, which made it very difficult to walk at a snail’s pace. So the rollator has been a great boon to my getting around – perhaps too good. I’m thinking the old-fashioned walker would have frustrated me so much that I would have chucked it and started to walk on my own. But when I got the rollator and started moving as fast as I wanted to again, I think that walking on my own became less important. But dammit, that is still my objective – and the Admiral is getting very impatient (not any more than I am).

We went to California on September 12 and stayed until September 24. Our neighbors, Brenda and Royal, were heading to Hawaii for 6 days, so we agreed to house sit for them. The best part of house sitting is reuniting with our dog, Zorro. The first morning after our arrival Zorro was at my bedside at 6:30 a.m. lobbying for his morning walk. He has a perfect memory of me and of our routines. My new leg did not faze him. He just urged me to put it on and get the leash and go for our walk together. He is great on a leash. As I maneuvered the rollator down the sloped driveway, Zorro did not pull on the leash at all. He adapted to my slow pace, and we had a great time – he got to sniff everything he wanted and I got to go at a safe speed. We stopped at the “doggy diner”, a box of treats affixed to a neighbor’s tree, and we visited with Gracie and her mom, Shelly. We also visited Shelby, who rents our house. My walks with Zorro were wonderful. I had hoped to do our two mile walk in the park, but alas, the rollator is not great on the park path. As soon as I can walk, skip, jog, run without the rollator, Zorro and I are going to renew our park walks. Brenda went with us into the park for about a quarter mile – it was good to be back. But what a thrill it will be when I’m actually free of the rollator and able to hike up to Olassen’s Meadow and down the cliff to the water tank – a 2 to 3 mile route. Thinking of my walks with Zorro is the biggest incentive to walk independently again.

Did you know that you can rent a car with a left accelerator pedal from Enterprise? You can. And we did. We used it during our stay in California. And I drove it. I had practiced driving in Key Largo with a rental car outfitted with both a left and right accelerator pedal. Unfortunately, our California car did not have a right accelerator pedal. But the Admiral was a trooper and learned quickly how to drive with the left accelerator pedal. I used this car a lot, driving to Sondra’s house on the peninsula, driving to lunch with friends from the DA office, driving to Tonie’s for a haircut, driving all around town doing errands, driving to the dentist – each time I put the rollator in the trunk and removed it when I reached my destination. The rollator is rather light; otherwise, this would have been impossible. I’m not saying it was easy to wrangle the rollator in and out of the car trunk, but it was worth it to be out on the road again. It’s another big step toward freedom – driving.

Driving was definitely a high point of our trip to California. And flying was rather a low point. We left from Miami International, where English comes in at a distant second to Spanish in the language department. Okay – I speak Spanish, but I can’t change my appearance enough to look like a Latina. And the Admiral noticed a not so subtle difference in treatment between the Latinos and people like us. We faced resistance from the moment we hit the Delta terminal curbside and asked for a wheelchair. This was no problem in Fort Lauderdale and Kansas City, none whatsoever. But in Miami, it was as though we had asked for a Ben Hur chariot pulled by four white stallions. It was not going to happen. We were told to “go inside”. Once we made clear that Delta had promised curbside assistance, another baggage clerk showed up and, surprise!, a wheelchair showed up. Not that the Spanish-speaking women with the wheelchair ever acknowledged my presence. But still, we had made progress. I was taken to the Delta gate and dumped into a chair, because the wheelchair assistant had to leave. For the next twenty minutes I saw Delta aides – three of them – wheel passengers to the same gate in wheelchairs and stay with them until boarding. The aides were all Spanish-speaking (one was the aide who “helped” me) and the passengers were all Spanish-speaking. Interesting, huh? After these three Latinas were taken down the ramp to the plane, one of the aides “remembered” me and wheeled me down the ramp. It’s not that I wanted or expected special treatment; it’s that I did not expect such disparate treatment. I felt much the same way in the summer of 1966 when I rode the bus to work on Capitol Hill, the only white person on a bus crowded with African Americans, and I became invisible, untouchable and undesirable. But that was 1966, this is 2015.  Not a problem. Fifty years later, discrimination appears to be alive and well at Miami International. Needless to say, the Admiral did not like this differential treatment and he has lodged a complaint with Delta.

The entire time we were in California the Admiral kept watching for the development of tropical storms off the coast of Africa. Somehow we dodged a bullet, as he did not have to fly back to Key Largo to protect Slow Motion from hurricane winds and wild surf. California remained in drought mode during our stay, and the lack of humidity was amazing. My Salinas friends complained of the heat – it was in the 80’s one day – we had left nonstop days in the mid-nineties in Key Largo, with 90 percent humidity – I was in weather heaven. I even bought some long pants and wore them most of the time.

Great visits! Louisa came to visit us while Royal and Brenda were still home. She looks so elegant and she is so happy with FX TV productions. I am so happy for her. Finally, a job that uses her talents and a boss who is not verbally abusive. Louisa, you deserve this after toiling in Verizon’s fields. I hope you become president someday soon and use your abilities to the fullest. Alan and Barbara and the four grands – Olivia, 11; Abigail 10; Michayla, 9; and Benjamin, 7 – also visited us in Harper Canyon We had berries galore, a few M and M’s and a lot of good conversation. Olivia loves to read, so she settled in on the couch with her huge book and read. Michayla has turned into a pixie, a la Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Abigail is beautiful and athletic; and Ben is a Lego wizard. Alan and Fran – and Barbara – can be so proud of these young geniuses.

I reunited with Tammy and had a great massage. Tonie gave me a great haircut. Chris, Carol, Chuck and Ed – and special guest, Terry – brought me up to speed on changes in the DA’s office. My book club members were scintillating as usual – we reviewed The Husband’s Secret. And Sondra and Barbara were my Sunday brunch buddies, full of opinions and encouraging as hell. They helped me find my “traveling pants” at Chico’s. All in all, it was a great return to California. My neighbor Brenda gave me Sisters in the Law, a book about Sandra Day O’Connor and Ruth Bader Ginsburg. It’s enlightening and maddening at the same time. The writer did not have the benefit of living through the sixties and seventies with the Women’s Liberation Movement. So she makes some false assumptions and plain wrong statements about the relationship between the reproductive freedom cases and the rest of the sex discrimination cases which women’s rights lawyers brought into federal court. Still, it’s nice to read Nancy Stearns’ name and Ann Freedman’s name in the book – I have good memories of both and their commitment to equality for women.

Naturally the Admiral was sure that my new book would sink the boat. It hasn’t, but I have kept it in our room at Marina del Mar, just in case. I’ll send it to Janie when I’ve finished it. Speaking of Janie, the next chapter of this Blog will focus on our long, long auto road trip to and from Rehoboth Beach, where my Bethlehem Babes and I had a glorious reunion. Until then, enjoy your own travels and don’t forget your toothbrush