Good Enough for Oprah; Not for Me

Warning: Highly political post today.

Ms. Oprah Winfrey came out in support of presidential wannabe Barack Obama a few weeks ago. Although she is not technically a journalist and is free to openly support whomever she sees fit, I have to wonder about all the "sheeple" that follow her every whim.

Oddly enough, he is the only presidential candidate I have made my mind up about. He will not be getting my vote. The reason? His recent appearance on Piolin's popular Spanish radio show here in L.A. There, Obama promised illegal alien reform "including legalization" if elected and promised to come back on Piolin to "work on the issue" as president.

Living here in Los Angeles, otherwise known as "Upper Mexico," this issue is the one thing I see as affecting every single social problem in this once great country of ours. And a few international issues are affected by this as well.

Our schools are overcrowded. Teachers spend more time on discipline and basic language skills than they do teaching. Gee, close the borders.

Salaries are actually dropping because cheaper labor is abundant. I've actually had this happen to me. A boss once proclaimed that my staff was the most "overpaid" at the company. Funny, it was the least money I had worked for in a decade. He claimed that he could hire a producer for less than half of what I was making. That amount would barely cover rent on a single style (one 400 sq. ft. room) apartment in L.A. My response: "Just because you can, doesn't make it right." Gee, close the borders.

Our hospitals are closing in alarming numbers. This is a huge problem in here. Emergency rooms cannot turn people away and yet many illegals' only form of medical insurance is to go the ER. So many default on paying their bill that hospitals go bankrupt. Gee, close the borders.

Illegal alien criminals use our open border policy to avoid conviction. The case of the murder of Deputy David March is a prime example. This happens over and over here. A murder or other horrible crime is committed and they flee back across the border where our law enforcement cannot touch them. Gee, close the borders.

Identity theft is on the rise. Illegals steal use our identities to get jobs and costs victims over 50 billion / year. Gee, close the borders.

Our national language is fast becoming Spanish or so it seems. There are Spanish signs everywhere. Every manual for every gadget comes in both languages. I tear out the Spanish and throw it away. I refuse to provide storage in my overcrowded house for something I have no use for. Standing at my ATM and feeling vulnerable, I have to waste time telling the machine what language I speak.

While it does make good business sense to offer things in Spanish, it is the sense of entitlement that annoys me. When I lived in Argentina, I expected no one to cater to me in English. I quickly learned to speak production terms and food. It served me well as all I did was work and dine out. But here, they just expect everyone to bow to their needs instead of learning the language of the country they so want to live in. One Chicago suburb is facing a $30 million lawsuit because paramedics had a non-English speaking babysitter sign a form declining care in English and the child in her care suffered brain damage. Gee, close the borders.

Terrorists have hired coyotes to bring them across the border from Mexico to Texas. Gee, close the borders.

If these issues aren't affecting you where you live, give it time. They will.

In researching this article, I found that Hillary Clinton appeared with Obama at a La Raza convention in Miami and also promised to create immigration reform. While I don't think any candidate running for president really gets it, I cannot support anyone who promises to make those that broke our laws to come here legal citizens. That's just a slap in the face to those that follow the rules.

The fact of the matter Hitler quit invading Europe; the Irish potato famine ended; things settled down in Cuba and so on. Every great wave of immigration we've had came to an end. Except for the one we have now. It's a flood with no end in sight. Not until we have politicians who care about the quality of life for those who can actually elect them. Ones who realize that, in addition to closing the borders, we need to put an end to our "anchor baby" policy of government. I believe when our forefathers wrote the 14th Amendment, their idea was to encourage newcomers to stay and help make this country great. That's not happening any more.

While writing this, I received an email from a friend. In it there was a link to pick a candidate based on your issues. Joe Biden was my highest ranked... I'm not even sure who he is. But I'm going to find out.

No matter who our next leader is, I wish that each voter will research the candidates and pick the one that deals with the issues that are important to them. More importantly, don't take the right that our forefather's fought so hard for lightly. It is a great privilege that we live in a country where we do have a voice, even if we have to shout to be heard sometimes.

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Driving in L.A.

Law Breakers

Two mornings a week, I have to journey "over the hill" to Santa Monica for my jewelry fabrication class. I sit on the 405 freeway parking lot for an hour and a half - sometimes more.

To entertain myself since I'm on the road well before my normal awake time, I drive in the "fast" lane, next to the car pool lane. I lean my head against my window and watch my side mirror to count the number of cars in violation of the 2 or more people rule. Usually about 10 during my 17 mile drive on this particular freeway.

Speed Demon
So I knew the drive was bad, but I didn't realize how bad until this week. Normally, if I have errands to run, I do them after class. Pacific Artglass had a huge sale and I needed glass for fusing. Or I needed to pick up crystals one day for my wire wrap class; it's easy enough to hit downtown on the way home. But yesterday, I had no errands to run. I came straight home. How long did the same journey take me in reverse at a non-rush hour time? 25 minutes door to door!

Wimpy, Wimpy, Wimpy

What is it I disdain so about a "man" who stands on the side of the freeway, watching another MAN change his tires? I see this often in L.A. and it amazes me every time. Where I come from, a real man would be embarrassed to call a tow truck for that!


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Mom's Tooth

Hey, Mabel Lou checking in here. Mom's got a bad toothache and she's been in a foul mood for days now. She went to the dentist this morning but I know she has to go back again later in the week. So, she may be scarce for a while.

I going to try and get Mom to take me to the creek. That always makes me her feel better.


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Oh My!!!

Wow! After our 110 + heat just a few weeks ago, fall is having her way with us here in Cali. Today, it was breezy and cool. I wore a thermal undershirt all day. Tonight, it's snuggle weather. I'm sure Miss Mabel will be in the mood to cuddle. The Weather Channel is predicting snow in our local mountains for Friday / Saturday!!!!

Of course, our hotter months here can be September / October but it's been such a weird weather year already, I am so grateful for the cool air!

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Someone Thinks I'm Nice!

Jackie Gave awarded me a Niceness Matters award.

"This award is for those bloggers who are nice people; good blog friends, and those that inspire good feelings and inspiration. Also for those who are a positive influence on our blogging world. Once you have been awarded, please pass it on to seven others whom you feel are deserving of this award.”

Since I only read about seven blogs... and Jackie tagged two of them (Velvet and Alison)...I'm going to have to stretch here!

I pass this along to:
Becky, my crafting soul sister;
Janet, who always makes me laugh;
Carmon, who can bring up such emotions with her tales of her wonderful rescued animals;
Karen, for her prolific art that is so inspiring;
Brant, who brings me great joy, watching him grow up;
Annie, who takes the most wonderful pictures and takes us all on a visual journey around her hometown.

I'm going to stop at six....

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Amusing Muse

Now that I have a few days worth of clarity behind me, I realize that I don't need a job til January. I had simply hoped to bolster my income this fall. And while I'm weighing my options, I thought I would post a few pictures of the girl that makes me smile every day.

These were taken months ago by our Rhodesian Ridgeback friends' mom. Seeing the water in the creek makes me a little melancholy.

How's that for a happy face??



The perfect "Mom, I'm sooo happy!!" look.

And Mabel's favorite "chew toy:" Sue's tail.


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Clearing the Decks

Thanks to all who have written words of encouragement. I am a firm believer in the "one door closes, another opens (or kick in a window!)" philosophy.

Today, I was in the car for hours... stuck in traffic everywhere I went. Lots of time for thinking. I found myself remembering other times in my life when I had my decks cleared for me, sending my life in other, often opposite, directions.

The most profound one would be when my father died. I was 11. I was Daddy's girl. Spoiled to the core. I think I was so in love with my dad, that I couldn't see how much my mother loved me. I feel horrible saying this but I don't think I would have ever been as close to her with him alive. I certainly wouldn't be as strong or outspoken.

His death changed my life in other ways. Before, I wanted to be a plumbing contractor...just like him. Mainly, I thought he worked too hard and could maybe take a day off if I worked with him. After, my thoughts turned to moving far, far away. I remember sitting behind my junior high school with Jimmy and Andrew . They wanted to be filmmakers; I decided then and there, I would be too. I would have never gone looking for that kind of job had my dad not died. Yet somehow, I know I would've been miserable as a contractor.

Before I took my job on Carol Duvall, I had been producing commercials. I had three directors that booked me regularly and kept me really busy. Within one year's time, all that work had dried up.

One had decided he was just spent and wanted out of the business. (Easy for him to say; He was making $20K per DAY!) He hung a map on the wall, closed his eyes and threw a dart. It landed in Ohio. He moved there and started building furniture for a living.

My second guy knocked up an 18-year-old while we were on location in New Orleans. His poor 36-year-old wife was back in L.A. seeking fertility treatments. He divorced the wife, moved to New Orleans to raise his son (The 18-year-old dumped the baby and ran after breast feeding him for six weeks!).

The third director started using another producer. This happens all the time. But I later found out she was sleeping with him. I wasn't.

So I found myself with nothing but time. I started teaching at a rubber stamp store. One of my students told me about Carol's show. I started watching it every time it was on and soon had encyclopedic knowledge about the guests. When I sent my resume in a year later, I was a shoo-in for the job.

After three years (seven seasons) of being a go-getter producer - I was always producing more segments than the other producers, seeking new guests, new products - I was informed they wanted to "shake up the team. Bring in some fresh blood." It was utter culture shock to be jobless after working my longest job ever!

I immediately found work writing, creating graphics and such for some of the very guests I had produced on Carol. I made enough to get by but it was a very quiet time and my health was headed downhill fast. I had trashed my feet on stage on Carol and I had gone from a cane to a walker and was headed to a wheelchair.

Through an odd series of events, I ended up writing for the local paper. The editor was a polio survivor. She credited her being able to walk to her amazing foot doctor, Richard Rupp. She begged me to see him. I thought all podiatrists were quacks... that had been my experience. But Dr. Rupp is the reason I can walk today. I really believe he saved my life.

After surgery and months in a wheelchair / walker / cane, I was floundering trying to find work. I wanted a job so bad but every opportunity seemed to vanish before it could come to fruition. There was a reason for that too. My sister, after being free of cancer for exactly 10 years and one month, had a re-occurrence of breast cancer. This time it was wrapping around her spine and slowly paralyzing her. Radiation was too dangerous that close to her spinal cord. She would need a special kind of radiation (proton) that could hit the cancer with pin head accuracy. There were only two places in the country with this technology ( in 2003). One of them was at Loma Linda... one hour and fifteen minutes from here.

My sister and mother moved in late March of that year. I spent many hours on the road with my sister that spring. I think it is the first time we really got to know each other as women and really understand one another. While it was so frightening - we were told she could fall down and become paralyzed - I treasure the time we had together. And after she and my mother returned to Louisiana... the jobs started coming.

So, once again, I don't know what's on the horizon. But my decks are clear and I stand, ready at the helm.

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There IS a Plan???

I was very excited about the coming fall thanks in part to my extended teaching schedule. I had been booked for around 30 classes at one art store, including a set of four glass fusing six-week long series. I have been longing to teach a longer glass series and was so excited about this opportunity. Not to mention access to a much bigger kiln as a job perk.

I found out today that the store is closing. Not only have I lost the classes I built my whole crazy fall schedule around, I've lost a significant amount of income.

I can't remember if I mentioned that I'm taking jewelry fabrication at Santa Monica college. I signed up for the class to get me on campus early enough to take glass blowing. After one session of glass blowing, I dropped out. (It was too freaky watching all those newbies struggling with the furnace door while dangling a red-hot punty and strewing hot glass stringer all around the room. Plus, I'm trying to work smaller in glass... not bigger.)

Leaving class on Thursday, I looked around the art quad at all these crazy art kids. It's so painfully obvious that we see the world slightly askew. I marveled at the fact that I never even had the nerve to set foot in an art department my first trip through college. But now, some 25 years later, I fit right in. And it's taken me so long to get here. And I'm not ready to give it up.

The thought of needing a "real" job to supplement my income scares the heck out of me. I found myself remembering a blog by another lampworker's husband that I read only yesterday. Re-reading that short, sweet post has brought me a great deal of comfort in spite of feeling like my world is falling apart.

And it's true. There is this part of me that knows I wasn't supposed to be there, teaching all those classes. There is something else planned. I'm just not privy to the blueprints yet.


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While We're on the Subject of Banks...

Could someone, anyone explain to me why my ATM card (Are you reading this WAMU??) knows my account numbers, my name and my pin number, but, when I'm standing at an ATM and feeling vulnerable, the dang thing doesn't know what language I prefer to speak???

I have the same complaint about my cell phone... when driving down the freeway, why do I have to push 1 for English??? Why can't it just know....?

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What the Banks Don't Want You to Know

I was little shocked while opening bills the other day. One of my accounts had a service charge. It is the loan on my townhouse. I have had this particular loan for well over 16 years. I've had the money withdrawn directly from my checking since that time. So what was the service fee for???

I called... got India and got frustrated. I finally understood the person on the other end. She explained the service charge was a late fee.

"Late fee? I have direct debit...how can that be late?" I asked.

"Because you pay on the 10th."

"Right but it's not late til the 15th... It says so on my statement."

"But we charge a service charge on any direct debit after the 8th."

????? I ask for a manager. And get an American.

I ask how can this be. Luckily, this had just gone into effect so I haven't been paying this money for nothing for months on end.

He offered to move my payment up a few days. I refused. Not when I can walk into the bank right around the corner and pay until the 15th. You guys are just taking money for nothing.

After he refunded my money and we hung up, I started thinking about this. They are refusing money that is processed by a computer direct into their bank... money they've been receiving in this manner for years on end... all to have a human being process a check and have the funds arrive days later?? This didn't really make sense.... Until I talked to the best friend's sister.

Kath is a Realtor and very savvy. She too was recently confused to find her new mortgage charged her a service fee to use direct debit at all...no matter the date. But the fact of the matter is, if you pay by check, chances are you will be late at least once or twice over the life of the loan. And the late fee is steep. So by adding a surcharge to direct debits, the bank is trying to force you to be late and make them more money.

It reminds me of a gag Rick Dees used to run on his morning talk show here. Pretending to be Sean Connery, Rick would interview himself as Sean. Eventually, he would get "Sean" to say he had to get to Citibank. Only, with the Scottish brogue, it came out "Shitty Bank."

Shitty Bank indeed!

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Bead Crochet

Several readers have asked about the bead crochet project I spoke of some time back. I finished it pretty fast but wanted to make a focal bead for it. It's finally done and linked in to this post. (Click on the title.)

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L.A. Cajun

Please note: That is L.A. as in Los Angeles, not LA as in Louisiana...

My comments about the Ragin' Cajun Cafe last night had me thinking of a funny dining experience about 15 years ago. My cousin from Baton Rouge, Tara, was living down in Redondo Beach. She was the one who had first taken me to the Ragin' Cajun. I just loved going to visit her because we often ate there.

On this particular trip, she had already told me before I arrived that she wanted Cajun food. I was excited thinking we were going to our usual haunt. But no. Ms. T had other plans. It seems this new Cajun restaurant had opened right around the corner from her house and she wanted to go there.

"But Steve's food is so good," I protested.

I lost that argument. We ended up at the other place.

The decor was very chi-chi... not a good sign in my book.

We ordered. I got some shrimp thing and she got the etouffee (a sort of rich stew made of vegetables and seafood and served over rice).

The food came after a really long wait. Mine was o.k. but left me wishing I had been more insistent about going to the Ragin' Cajun. But Tara's etouffee was awful!

She called the waiter over.

"Excuse me. This etouffee is terrible." She hands the plate to the waiter.

"Oh no, this is how it's supposed to taste." He puts the plate back down in front of her (!)

"No it's not. I grew up on etouffee." She hands the plate back.

"But our chef studied for years in New Orleans. "{He pronounced it Or LEANS, making both of us cringe.} He put her plate back again.

She picked it up and handed it to him once more as she said, "Tell him to go back and study some more. This is NOT etouffee! Now, bring me a menu or bring me a manager."

Needless to say, we never ate there again!

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Emerging From the Cocoon

The God-awful 110 degree heat we've had for well over 10 days has finally relinquished it's death grip on us tonight. There has been no breeze of late. Just horrible, hot Satan's breath that feels as though it's trying to steal your essence of being. I've had the house shut tight since it started; blinds closed, curtains drawn.

I found myself sleeping during the heat of the day and going out to the shop to work or torch in wee hours. I've started to feel very disconnected from the world here in my little cocoon.

I was amazed during my morning metal smithing class in Santa Monica - usually a cool, breezy beach town - when I realized everyone was sweating onto their jewelry projects. By the end of the 2 1/2 hour class, the whole room wreaked of B.O.

Instead of heading straight back to the valley, where it was sure to be even hotter, I opted to have a little taste of home for lunch. I drove down to Hermosa Beach to the Ragin' Cajun Cafe. I've known Steve Domingue, the owner, almost 20 years now. Steve is a descendant of Mr. Trappey and well, let's just say, the boy can cook. When I'm hankering for home cooking - not some L.A. chef's idea of Cajun food, but the real deal - a meal at the Ragin' Cajun sure hits the spot.

Feeling quite happy after my wonderful meal of catfish, hush puppies, coleslaw and a generous helping of Trappey's pickled okra, I headed over to Pacific Artglass to stock up on supplies for my upcoming classes and pick up a few torching rods and frit. The place has no a/c... they don't need it; They're just a few miles from the beach. Again, I found myself sweating and miserable. I cut my shopping trip short and had a good laugh about not meeting my "minimum exit fee" there.

Once home, I peeled off the sticky, stinky clothes. After a quick shower, I curled up next to the girl and snoozed...just drained. I awoke to Mabel whining. It was getting dark and she wanted her hike. I quickly dressed and opened the back door mentally preparing for that blast of hot air. But instead I found what feels like a long lost friend... a gentle breeze and MUCH cooler weather.

It's such a pleasant change. For the first time in over a week, there were other hikers on the trails. And on my grocery outing, our little town was packed. People were everywhere and smiling. It nice to be outside again.



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Wanna Know How Hot It Is?

It's so hot here, the ants that usually invade my kitchen for some respite from the heat - the ones typically satisfied with my cool kitchen sink - are committing Hara Kiri by crawling into my freezer!! And dying there! Everytime I open it, there's a new puddle of "coffee grounds." UGH!



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