Idiots

I have long believed that America is suffering from a plague of stupidity, and last week proved it to me. Although whether it's a plague of stupidity or self centeredness is hard to determine. First let's start close to home. Kentucky, my beloved yet perplexing state, is in the throws of a major budget crisis, not unlike many states right now. If state government is having a budget shortfall, it stands to reason that citizens of that state are also feeling the pinch, right? Kentucky also has one of the lowest cigarette taxes in the country. Not surprisingly, we also have one of the highest rates of smoking. I don't think it takes a genius to take a passing glance at this situation and say, "Ah-hah! Let's raise the cigarette tax to offset the budget shortfall." I mean, the absolute worst thing that could happen is that people would quit smoking. Oh, what a shame. I realize that if you increase the cigarette tax to such a degree that people can't afford to smoke, then your revenue will suffer, but the cost savings in terms of public health would make up any loss. That's assuming that people actually would stop smoking if the cost of cigarettes got too high, something I'm not entirely convinced of. I have an aunt who has asthma and no health insurance, and she smokes two packs a day. Here's an idea: Stop smoking and you could breathe AND afford health insurance!
Let me say again that Kentucky has one of the lowest cigarette taxes in the country. If I were a legislator in Frankfort, I think the way to proceed in these lean budget times would be a no brainer. But enter the tobacco lobby. Legislators in Kentucky did not choose to increase revenue in the form of a cigarette tax, noooo. They opted to doll out severe funding cuts to education and health and human services. Now there's some fine long-term thinking for ya. Let's make it harder for people to get an education, thereby increasing their earning potential, and let's take away their much needed services at a time when they are most likely to be down on their luck and need them. Frankfort legislators, you're bringing down the curve for the rest of us.
In other idiocy news, Chelsea Clinton was giving a speech on behalf of her mother's candidacy in North Carolina when a student asked a question about her father's affair with Monica Lewinsky. It always irritates me to see college-age students acting like children, probably because I have such faith in their potential. I was once a politically active student, so I know the energy that group has and can create and the force for change they can be. I remember cringing when during Bill Clinton's run for President, someone on MTV asked him the critical question, "Boxers or briefs?" Come on people! You can't spit right now without hitting an issue of critical national or international importance, and this is what are youth choose to ask about? Sex and underwear? Really, I thought better of you. This student in North Carolina, he had to be, what, 10 years old, maybe 12 when the Monica scandal broke? I hardly think it's an issue that has been keeping him up nights. He simply wanted to show off and get attention, which he did. Our national media does love it when people behave badly or in poor taste. The national media, now there's some idiocy for you. I think the student who asked that question of Chelsea needs to go back to high school until he gets this juvenile behavior out of his system. Go put gum in the teacher's seat or a kick me sign on her back if you want that kind of attention.
The last item on Kimberly's Idiot Report is our U.S. Congress, which once again called oil executives on the carpet to account for their obscene profits during this time of skyrocketing fuel prices for average Americans. In theory, this is a good idea, but we all see it for the dog and pony show it is, just a way to prove to the American people that they are aware and are doing something about the problem while really doing nothing and probably passing notes scheduling appointments between Congressional campaign fund raisers and the big oil lobbyists. I would very much like to come back in a few weeks or months and apologize for slamming our Congress in light of them actually doing something about this instance of corporate gluttony, but the thought of being wrong on this isn't something that's got me worried.
so, you handful of faithful readers of my blog, go forth and feel smugly superior in your intellect today, secure in the knowledge that you are far smarter than many, especially those in power.

Pull your head out of ... the sand.

My best friend Molly used to remark that I had ostrich tendencies. Because I couldn't see other people, I sort of assumed they couldn't see me. It's the "head in the sand" principle, but without the sand. More times than I cared to count, I learned the hard way that indeed, people could see me. And hear me. Make note: If you roll your eyes and say something unflattering about somebody, that person will inevitably be standing right next to you. At least, if you are me, that's how it happens.
The ostrich effect also does not extend to my pregnant belly. For the first six months of my pregnancy, I didn't show at all. This is partly due to the fact that I don't like wearing tight fitting clothes, so most of my wardrobe is loose fitting. The better to conceal a baby bump. About three weeks ago though, that all changed. All of a sudden, I looked like a pregnant person. I could feel the gradual changes of course, but as long as my pants still fit, I figured no one else knew. And it isn't as though my pregnancy was a secret, it's more like it was a joke that I didn't think the rest of the world was in on yet. Turns out, they were. This was made clear to me when a maintenance worker in my building brought me some of his wife's maternity clothes. Apparently, they needed the room, she was done with them, and they didn't know anyone else to give them to. I think that is incredibly kind, and I am grateful, but I hardly know our maintenance guy. I have certainly never conversed with him about my pregnancy. Is it that obvious? I am moved by the number of people who have offered to give or let me borrow their maternity clothes, baby clothes, or other baby gear. It's like I've been given a key to the employee lounge where all the nice people hang out. It has perhaps been the best thing about being pregnant so far.
No strange people have put their hands on my belly yet the way I've been warned they will do. For that, I am also grateful because I won't be putting up with any of that, no matter how well meaning and innocent the gesture. The only person allowed to touch my belly unannounced is Michael, which he does pretty much every time I am within reach of him. I'm not able to stand sideways in front of a mirror and gauge my pregnant progress, but counting the number of times Michael touches my belly is probably just as accurate, not to mention sweeter. Everyday now, I feel bigger and bigger, convinced that if I could look at myself sideways in a mirror, the effect would be carnival like. Maybe not, but it sure feels that way.

Independence, the Irony

I live in a big town. It isn't big enough to be called a city, but it's not a small town either. We have a shopping mall, two movie theaters, every chain restaurant known to humankind, and two Starbucks. What we don't have is public transportation of any form. No Subway, no buses, no passenger rail system, not even reliable cab service. In most places, sidewalks are nonexistent. Where sidewalks do exist, they are often broken or crumbled and lead pretty much to nowhere, dead ending abruptly at a parking lot or street crossing. In short, this is not a blind friendly town.
I have a job, a good job. It's by no means my dream job, but it's good, reliable work for which I am well paid. According to the disability advocates, I have reached the pinnacle of disabled life-- gainful employment. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful, but the independence that was supposed to come with gainful employment ... well, I'm not living that dream. Transportation is a big part of it. My only reliable form of transportation is Michael, and that's fine. I like to think we carpool as a show of environmentalism. The problem is that Michael works in a town about 25 minutes from where we live and where I work. For him to both take me to and bring me home from work would mean I work a ten hour day. During my pregnancy, this hasn't been an option. My other form of transportation is unreliable at best, meaning that I am often the last person in my building to leave. Any plans I make for the evenings are often disrupted due to a snafu with my ride home. For an organized, schedule-driven planner like me, this goes beyond irritating.
Then there are the other things about a job that come up, things that barely register as a blip on the radar for nondisabled people, but which leave me feeling helpless and frustrated. A change in a meeting location for example. I show up at the designated meeting place and wait around wondering where everybody is, only to learn later that a note had been posted on the door alerting everyone of the meeting location change. Well, not alerting everyone. Or I get an Email fifteen minutes before a scheduled meeting saying that the meeting has been moved to some building that I have no idea how to get to. When new people start working here, I am routinely skipped when my boss does the traditional walk-around introductions. I guess it's just too difficult to explain a gainfully employed blind woman. I have worked here for nine years, but yes, these kinds of things happen frequently. The worst are the all-day meetings such as our annual retreat. These are inevitably held at some out of the way location that I have never been to before and don't have a ride to. Assuming I get there, I don't know where the bathrooms are, where the water fountain is, and can't get my own food at lunchtime. I usually end up trying not to drink anything all day so I don't have to use the bathroom, and snacking on peanut butter crackers brought from home while everyone else eats their buffet style lunch. Oh yes, the glory of independence. I do have a secretary, but it is awkward to ask the person who you have to evaluate annually and who you have to scold regularly for tardiness to help you get to the bathroom or get your lunch. That isn't really part of her job description.
I am by far not the only person dealing with these or similar issues, but several such things have conspired in the last few weeks that have got me asking: Is this worth it? Is this feeling of helplessness really the reward for independence?

The Spring Cometh: A Retelling

Once upon a time, there was a mother who loved her daughter very very much, so much in fact that she failed to see that her daughter had grown up and needed more from life than her mother could give her. Or perhaps this mother was so fearful of having to share her beloved daughter with another that she refused to see the woman her young daughter had become and so hid her away from the eyes of men. But one man saw her, saw her and braved the mother's wrath to have her. Some say he abducted her, but others say that the maiden went willingly, charmed and awed by the dark stranger in black who lived on the wild side. Following her heart, or perhaps just her hormones, she fled her mother's loving tyranny to be with this stranger who promised her a taste of life. When the mother found out, she sank into a deeply, self-absorbed depression from which she could not be roused. She lived for her daughter, and without her had lost her own will to live. That others depended on her for their own wellbeing and that she was responsible for helping to care for the children of others did not matter to her. All that mattered was her daughter and getting her back. As it happened, this mother had very powerful friends, friends who intervened on the mother's behalf, either from sympathy for her plight, concern for the daughter, or impatience with the mother's nagging and manipulation. In any case, these powerful friends found and returned the maiden to her mother. But the maiden had eaten of the fruit, that forbidden fruit, and could never again be content to be just her mother's little darling; thus an understanding was reached by which the maiden would spend a portion of each year with her darkly handsome stranger and the rest with her mother. And so it has been since time out of mind. Today, on the spring equinox, the maiden climbs out of the depths of satiation and returns to her mother.
You probably all recognize this as the story of Persephone, queen of the underworld; Hades, her abductor; and Demeter, goddess of the earth. I think Persephone grew tired of simply being the adored pet of her mother and so went willingly with the alluring Hades. Think about it girls, when you were a teenager, would you rather have been the apple of your mother's eye or the prom date of the bad boy? Yeah, we all know the answer to that. Hades, in addition to being the god of the Underworld is also the god of sex, luck, and money. Is it any wonder our girl Persephone fled Mommy Dearest and ran away with him? But today, on this first day of spring, she returns, because a mother's guilt is a mighty powerful thing. So as we look at the calendar and rest assured that warmer days are ahead and enjoy the lengthening sunlight, remember Persephone, putting on her brave face while she thinks of her lover and counts the days until she can return to him. So if you can find some time today, have a drink and maybe a smoke and offer up a toast to Persephone for being the good daughter that none of us wants to be.

derailment

I have not been able to hold onto a single thought since ... well, not since September. Unfortunately, life has not stopped or even slowed down to gawk at the derailment that is my mind. No, everything just keeps on going, and I'm left at the end of every day wondering where the hell the time went and making promises not to squander the next 24 hours, which I invariably do. I'm trying to go easy on myself, I am pregnant after all. It just feels like the pregnancy is something my body should do while my mind is busy with other things. Not so, apparently. So what follows in this entry is an accounting of the things that have been contributing to my mental paralysis. A laundry list of excuses, if you will.
Because apparently Michael and I are hell-bent on taking stupidity to new levels, we have embarked on a home upgrade project. It isn't a lot, but it's stuff that has high life-disruption potential. Our house has needed new paint and carpet ever since we bought it. What's in there now, both the paint and carpet, is just boring grey that the builders no doubt chose for its complete neutrality and cheapness. You might wonder why I care what color the walls and floors are, and I have no real good answer for that except that I want to make the house nice before the baby comes because after he's here, this kind of thing will be virtually impossible to do. So the painting, that is done. Yay! Cheer with me. Yay! You have no idea how difficult it was for a blind woman and a black lab to navigate through a house with wet paint on the walls. I am not graceful, people. Add moved furniture and paint cans in the floor, and we're talking disaster soup here. Fortunately though, or maybe thanks to some divine intervention from the home décor gods, there were no mishaps and the kitchen, dining room, utility room, living room, living room ceiling, hallway, and guest bathroom all look wonderful. Or so I'm told. I did tell people to lie to me if it looked terrible, so who knows, but it's done and I'm happy.
The next thing on the insane agenda is carpet for the living room, hallway, and nursery. This is both an expense and a hassle, and the potential to get taken is astronomical. I know nothing about carpet except what the people at the store tell me. Michael has done some internet research on the subject, which has basically informed us that we can't afford the top-of-the-line carpet. But we have to choose a carpet store, the carpet itself, and have it installed fairly quickly. The clock is ticking on D-Day (delivery day). We have put off buying baby furniture until we get new carpet in the nursery. Possibly, this was an ill-conceivd plan, but we're in too deep to turn back now.
Then there's the baby furniture, which again, Michael is researching online. The difficulty we're having here is that most stores only have one display model assembled, and they have pictures of the rest. I think this is probably less than helpful for most people, but particularly for me since I need a hands-on look at the crib I'm going to trust my infant to every night. Then there is my ongoing internal debate about whether or not to use a bassinette and a changing table. I have given serious consideration to buying a dog bed for the floor and using it as a changing table. Really, I have. Don't laugh. It's washable, I'm familiar with dog beds, it's low to the ground-- the benefits far outweigh the cons, the primary one being that well, it's a dog bed.
My writing and writing goals have suffered the most throughout this pregnancy. I haven't neglected my writing dream entirely, but almost. I did get that query letter finished so I can begin submitting my completed manuscript. The next step was to move onto the synopsis. Michael, knowing I need motivation, gave me a deadline of March 24 to complete the dreaded beast. Sweetie, you know I love you, and I hate to disappoint you, but it ain't happening. Sorry, but there is just no way. I have begun working on the second book in my fantasy romance series, but I am convinced it is total crap. That is normal, but usually hits much later than chapter two, so I'm left wondering if it's really crap or just a projection of how I'm feeling lately. If it's really crap, I don't want to waste anymore time on it, but if it's just part of the process, the best thing to do is soldier on and muddle through and hope that the magic catches. And oh yeah, there's working full time and juggling life's other responsibilities. Planning the baby shower, that deserves a post all its own. For now, let's just say that the major planning progress has been convincing my mother not to throw me a Texas Hold 'em poker tournament / baby shower. No, I am not kidding. I could not make this up.
And because I apparently do not have the good sense god gave a goose, I am actually considering launching another blog, this one focused exclusively on parenting, specifically blind parenting because there are shockingly few resources available for blind parents. Not that I consider myself a resource, but I could at least be a starting point, a voice on the internet where other blind parents can know they aren't going it alone. Is this a crazy idea? Probably.
So there it is, my list of excuses. It was somewhat therapeutic for me to get them all down in one place. Here's hoping it's enough to get the train back on the tracks.

Snow Days

We have snow! In Kentucky! Real snow! Probably, my Michigan-born readers would laugh at what a Kentuckian considers real snow, but it’s the most snow we’ve had here at one time in several years. So what did I do to commemorate this rarity? Did I bundle up, go outside, and build a snowman? Did I throw snowballs at my husband? Did I sled? Heavens no. I did none of those things. As with most things in nature, I am a passive admirer, an indoor observer. I like the thought of a cold snowy day far more than I enjoy the actual physical experience of it. The way Michael and I chose to honor this momentous occasion was to stay inside, watch TV, and bake a cake. But it was snow day TV and a snow day cake, and that’s different somehow. I imagined our five inches of snow as a raging blizzard, Michael and I inside making the best of the hardship, consoling ourselves with mindless entertainment and chocolate. I imagine this is how our ancestors withstood the brutal conditions that were their daily lives. Minus the History Channel and Duncan Hines of course, but you get the picture.
If it wasn’t for the snow, then we’d just be lazy, gluttonous slobs. Thanks to the snow though, we’re soldiering on, keeping our spirits up in the face of a bleak late-winter storm, and being good citizens by staying off the roads. There are few things that a creative mind can’t justify into a noble sacrifice.

Outraged

I am endlessly amazed by the stupidity and callousness of the American employer. I work for a quasi government entity, and am pretty fortunate to be treated fairly and with respect. This is not so with Michael's employer. He works for a Japanese-owned automotive supplier, like so many in the South. I find their treatment of their employees appalling on a good day, and yesterday was not a good day. Michael got to work early yesterday, knowing he would have to leave early to make it to our first childbirth class on time. Let me revise that. Michael got to work "earlier" yesterday. He regularly gets to work half an hour early, arriving before his boss. Michael is an IT network specialist. In that line of work, things come up. Viruses, crashes, glitches, and outages all can alter the regular eight hour work day. It's the nature of the beast. It just happens. That's why there are three people in his department, so that somebody can always be there when problems arise. Like Monday for example, when Michael's boss (let's call her the Frozen Tundra because it fits, is mean, and makes me feel better) and his other coworker had to miss for illness. Michael picked up the slack because that is just what you do for coworkers. But when the server crashed yesterday at 3 p.m., an hour before Michael had to leave, could he count on the same courtesy from his boss? Noooo. That ice cold shithead made him stay later and later, forcing him to ask, then practically beg her to pick up the slack so he could leave. And then do you know what she said, what she had the nerve to say?
"Can't somebody else take her to the class?"
Okay, listen here you barely human, heartless piece of corporate shit, it is not only my class. It is Michael's class also because it is his baby also. Unlike you, he understands the importance of relationships and values his family and his role in that family. You humiliated him by making him ask, and then you insulted him by expecting him to drop his familial obligations for your convenience and for a company that has never shown an ounce of loyalty to any of its employees. And do not think that we missed your implication that it was my blindness that necessitated him taking me to the class. We know your type. We are well versed in the subtle jab, the sly discrimination. You are not coy. You are simple and petty. You make $30,000 more a year than Michael does. You'd think you could find your way around a server. Just in case you can't though, let me tell you what you can do with it. Why don't you take that server and shove it up your ass, and then sit and spin, bitch. Sit and spin.
Okay. I feel better now.