WordPlay

…Monday

Not quite the Rainbow Connection, but we’ll make do.

You’re there, I’m here.

I don’t hit many conventions; I don’t travel well. (If I did, then ConneryBeagle would have his chance at a lot more agility trials!)

So if you happen to want to ask a question or make a comment..? Besides here at the blog? Well, hey! It’s still your lucky day! Because I am freakishly easy to find.

Most days, I visit my SFF Newsgroup a couple times. There we chat in the most informal way, and anyone’s welcome to start a new topic of conversation. Here, it’s 100% okay to express your opinion on just about anything and 0% okay to make others feel unsafe as you do so.

And there’s my webstead, sadly in need of some facelift work (like the cobbler’s barefoot child). New books and such are on the front page; so are my Twitter feeds. There’s a place to sign up for the newsletter, older piccies of the dogs and such, excerpts…all the good authorish stuff.

And of COURSE I’m on FaceBook.

The Fan page is one way have these blogs come to you, plus there are regular smart remarks and updates from moi. The profile icon for this account is one of my latest bookcovers.

The personal page receives my Twitter posts, GoodReads, and random conversational masterpieces. The profile icon for this account is me with Duncan. Or Duncan with me.

So also, obviously there’s TWITTER.

Less obviously, ConneryBeagle has a TWITTER account, too. (And LiveJournal, if you want a neat package delivery of the Twitter posts, although sometimes he or Belle stop by to post an exclusive blog.)

And what else? Newsletters! Everyone has one, right? Mine goes out more or less quarterly, looks more or less like this, and has an opt-in mailing list.

That means once you sign up, you’ll get a confirming email. I can’t send newsletters your way until you return that email. So if you don’t see it, check your junk folder!

So, seriously, want to reach across the phosphors? Me too! And glad to see you!

….Friday

I have a thing about saving water.

It comes from living with country wells–deep country, when there wasn’t any water to truck in (and where the outhouse got as much use as the toilet)–during a drought period. It comes from camping. It comes from now living in the desert. It comes from being a participant in the very first Earth Day, and my impressionable self being…

Well. Impressed.

Just a whole lotta experience where you don’t take water for granted, even when you’re not being charged by the gallon to use it.

Which doesn’t mean I don’t love and depend on my water, however it’s provided, or that I’m always truly prepared for an outage.

(At the moment, I’m on a community well system that serves fifty people and seems to be teetering on the brink of…something. Let’s just say my thoughts are drifting back toward “really being prepared.” A lesson rammed home as the water system went down in coldest winter the weekend after we moved, when we were, I can unequivocally say, not prepared in the least.)

Down the Drain!

Anyway. To the shower. Recently I became aware of a particular suggestion to save water. One flush per person per day…boy, does that add up fast.

Yeah. Use the shower.

I mean, you’re there, right? And it goes down the same pipes, right? And shoot, you don’t even have to mess with your pants.

No problem at all, I guess…if you haven’t spent all but the first couple years of your life being toilet-trained. (Or, for some of us who’ve been on too many trail rides, bush- and tree-trained. Now that I’m out here in the southwest, I’ve worked very hard to avoid being cactus-trained. For some reason.)

Maybe a decade from now, as conservation becomes more habitual for us all, this will be second nature. I think for now, I’ll just flush a little less often…

Wow, it’s going around. Some people have a severe case of Stars on Thars.

(I’m not sure where these stars reside, exactly, but I have a really good idea.)

Stars on Thars means “I am righteously entitled,” and “I therefore want my own way.” Add these together and…yow.

Bad behavior.

Because somehow, if you have this condition of SoT, and you don’t get what you want–what you’re entitled to–then it’s okay to…

Well.

Behave like a three-year-old.

It’s okay to shout at people. It’s okay to spit at them. They should know better than to disagree with you, right?

It’s also totally okay to threaten, vandalize, destroy, lie to get your way–and oh, hey. Effigies are especially cool.

And if, perhaps, a majority of those around you feel differently about an issue than you do–you know, that thing called democracy?–and therefore you really don’t get your way?

Shout louder. Spit farther. Be totally sure to throw bricks and call names.

Because, you know, frightening and offending people is the most effective strategy to convince them that your way is the best way.

(Or no.  Wait.  Maybe it’s just called “throwing a tantrum.”)

Hmm.

The problem is…if anyone of us is entitled to Stars, then we’re all entitled.

And that means that we all get to shout and spit and threaten and frighten (oy vey)–or none of us do, and we’d better sit down and learn how to deal with things like adults.

In the meantime, Dear Entitled: the hard truth is that an individual can do all the right things, make all the smart and responsible decisions, and still fall victim–still lose their Stars.  Maybe to someone else’s failure. Maybe to chance.  Maybe because the system isn’t quite as fair as you’d like to think.

It’s too bad there are people–those who are so very sure of their personal Stars–who won’t ever understand that. Not until they experience it. Maybe then they’ll be willing to trade those Stars for a dab of civil humanity.

I know which I’d rather have.
============

A Friday Piccie!

It could be total coincidence that I thought of this recent shot of a storm coming in over the Sandias.

Maaaaybe.

(First, A Good Morning Face!)

…And then the post.

YOU know how it goes. You’re at a gathering. You have a conversation, during which you’re flabbergasted and have no socially acceptable response, or even a response that can sum up your feelings at all. A conversation like, say…

This:

Other Person: [a lovely and kind person with a life experience of job security, good pension, and good health, currently living a very comfortable retirement] Why did you move to New Mexico?

Me: Blah blah blah and in a big part because of the health insurance options.

OP: I don’t get that whole health insurance thing.  We just pay our doctors cash.  It’s so much simpler, and they’re perfectly happy to be paid that way.

Me: [faintly] Oh, really?  Well, I haven’t been able to do that.  In fact, I carry a very large debt right now because I was hospitalized last year, and insurance didn’t cover it.  It’s one of the defining factors of my life.

OP: [expresses concern and curiosity; a short exchange about the situation] Well, that’s a shame you’ve been through that.  I hope the doctors can help soon.

Me: [flabbergasted, mutter something socially appropriate; conversation ends]

But of course you know what happened, two days later, as I was dealing with certain paperwork details of the debt situation.

MyLittleVoice to OP in absentia: Well, the doctors can’t help me if I can’t afford to see them in the first place.

Wah!!  Where is MyLittleVoice when I need it?  Where are my brains when I need them?  One of the most important issues of my maturing generation, and all I got in was a socially appropriate mutter!

Don’t you just hate that?