Call your friends right now

When the one person you want to tell is the one person you can’t tell

We were going to outlast our enemies together. Source

Our mutual brother in law – Ted – was being his usual jerk self at Stephanie’s funeral.

I thought, “Oh man I need to call Steph and tell her what Ted is doing!”

Steph was the only one who Got It.

Mr T also gets it to a certain extent, but Steph and I were the outsiders with no blood ties, so it was easier for us to roll our eyes at Ted. Mr T is his brother (or his “half brother,” as Mr T’s parents were always so quick to point out), so it’s a bit harder.

She and I shared many a gossipy conversation about how awful Ted is.

He and his family don’t eat leftovers, he told Mr T.

(Steph was an amazing cook and Italian tomato sauce gets better if it sits a few days. Stephanie and I are both big fans of leftovers.)

When their dad, Sly, was in the rehab center, Ted told Mr T that Mr T needed to prepare Sly’s house for his return, including removing all the carpet and making Sly lose 30 pounds and stop drinking.

(Steph and I wanted Mr T to use his amazing weight loss powers on us first.)

Ted screamed at Mr T when Mr T wouldn’t reimburse him $800 cash for the frequent flier miles Ted used to attend his own father’s funeral.

Please note that Mr T did reimburse him what an actual plane ticket would have cost – about $400 – to attend the funeral.

He just didn’t give Ted the $800 he wanted.

Steph agreed that Ted was a greedy jerk.

Steph and I also had our shared history about Mr T’s dad, who, one Thanksgiving, pitched a fit because his grandchildren, whom he had told to serve themselves of the 20-lb turkey, had taken nothing but white meat.

He would never have dared to take only white meat when he was a kid, Sly shouted.

Why didn’t their mother raise them better? he yelled.

It was quite A Thing and ended only when Steph, who didn’t take crap, got her coat and said she was leaving. Mr T and Steph’s husband (Mr T’s other brother) convinced their dad to leave his office, where he had been sulking, and return to the dining room.

At Thanksgiving the next year, Sly said, unprompted and apropos of nothing, that he had never liked the white meat anyhow.

Steph and I turned to each other as our jaws dropped.

Years ago, after Steph, her husband, and their kids had moved closer to Mr T’s parents, Mr T’s parents had asked them over for Christmas Eve.

Steph politely declined, saying that they had their own traditions – the Seven Fishes, something Steph’s Italian family did every year, but that Sly and Doris were welcome to come to their house.

Sly and Doris insisted and said they would honor the tradition.

And they honored it.

Sort of.

Mr T’s parents provided Steph with a crab leg.



One crab leg.

Every time I saw crab legs on sale, I would screenshot the ad and text it to her.

Ted told Mr T that our musical tastes were “pedestrian” because we went to a Dire Straits concert.

Steph said “I like Dire Straits. Am I pedestrian, too?”

Ted’s wife had told Mr T it was a good thing that Mr T and I were not “financially strapped” the way they were, giving us the joyous freedom of taking care of Mr T’s parents as they died.

Ted and his wife grabbed tons of stuff from Sly and Doris’ house after they died, asking for furniture and complaining that Mr T wasn’t giving them the Good Jewelry that Doris had promised them.

“WHAT GOOD JEWELRY?” Steph asked. “She had nothing but costume jewelry!”

Mr T finally dumped all of Doris’ jewelry into a box and sent the whole thing to Ted.

And then he sent his mom’s silver to Ted.

Ted was not amused.

Steph was.

For Steph’s funeral, Ted chose to stay at the same hotel where Mr T and I were staying.

He chose.

We did not ask him to stay near us.

We did not ask him to stay in the same hotel.

We did not even recommend the hotel.

Mr T got our room on points and it was a convenient location and that was it.

Ted complained to Mr T that the hotel was awful and said he was going to punch and maybe even murder Mr T for that.

He also told Mr T that he needed to “open your wallet” and stay someplace like the Ritz Carlton.

He said that an open-casket funeral – which this one was – is “morbid.”

And he questioned my amazing, smart, kind, thoughtful niece’s ability to plan a funeral and execute the estate.


Then Ted suggested that we – Mr T and I, our nieces and nephew, their dad, and Ted and his wife – get together for supper the night before the funeral.

At an expensive restaurant.

Not world class, though! Not world class, like where the ones where Ted lives, but it was good enough, he assured us.

“Surely the trust can pay for the kids,” he said. “I’m sure Sly and Doris wouldn’t mind kicking in from the grave.”

Thing the One

This trust is the money the kids inherited from their grandparents. It’s their money now, not their grandparents’ money. Money that Mr T is using to pay their student loans. To help them with unexpected big expenses. To fund their IRAs.

It’s not go out to fancy restaurants money.

Thing the Two

Mr T and I, in Before Times, would have supper with my dad’s two brothers and their wives. We tried and tried and tried to pick up the bill and my aunts and uncles WERE NOT HAVING IT.

“My brother’s kid paying for my supper? I DON’T THINK SO!” my uncle muttered. (Yes, he muttered in all caps.)

In what world does an uncle invite his nieces and nephews to dinner on the night before they bury their mother and expect them to pay for their own meal?

Steph is going to be so pissed that Ted thinks Niece #1 can’t handle this. Generous Steph, who always fed me when I visited, is going to be so pissed that Ted didn’t offer to host.

Mr T and I agreed that our nieces and nephew might want to spend the night before their mom’s funeral with Steph’s brother and his family and the rest of their mom’s relatives. That having dinner with us might not be top of mind for them.

Mr T’s brother and the kids’ father told Ted the same thing.

Ted said he would make reservations just in case.

FORTUNATELY, Ted told us, he is friends with the front of house manager at the restaurant and could get reservations for nine.

(Ted aside, the last thing I want to do right now is to 1. eat at a restaurant 2. with unmasked possibly infected people 3 when it’s so crowded that reservations are required.)

(Also the last last thing I want to do is spend a lot of money to eat out.)

(And if I were going to risk covid to eat at a restaurant, it would not be so I could eat with Ted. It would be with people I actually like.)

FORTUNATELY, Mr T told him that we wanted to eat the local food, not the French food offered at the fancy restaurant Ted had chosen.

To which Ted replied that he can’t eat the local food because he can’t eat onions and I thought “WTAF? Is this about being together or is it about eating where Ted wants to eat?”

Silly me. Of course it’s about eating where Ted wants to eat.

And then FORTUNATELY Mr T told Ted we are not eating in restaurants anyhow these days and the kids’ dad already said they’re not going to supper, which would be the reason we might make an exception.

And I wanted to text Steph and say “OMG CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS GUY?”

And I couldn’t.


What it’s like to talk to an older, rural, anti-Trump, pro-gay rights man about abortion

Hint: He’s against it



College-educated, practicing Christian (former Catholic) white man who voted for Trump in 2016 but now hates him with a passion and voted for Biden in 2020.

Grew up in a major city but now lives in a rural area. Vaccinated. Divorced for many years, now living with a lovely woman who agrees with me on abortion. Upper middle class economically, I would say. Parents were blue collar, devout Catholics. Early 70s?


C’est moi, also a former Catholic, also white, but never voted for Trump.

Complicated feelings about abortion but my journey has brought me to wanting full abortion rights for all women, no matter what. I was wrong before, which is why I try not to be too harsh when I am talking to people who disagree with me, as I am living proof that minds can be changed, not just about this issue but about many issues. (I have been wrong about so many things.)

Act 1

Scene 1: Women Should Stop Being Floozies

THEO: I read an article in the Wall Street Journal that abortion wouldn’t even be an issue if women would just stop being such floozies. They get pregnant from their own irresponsible behavior.

ME: Floozies?

ME: (Are we in the 1950s?)

THEO: Women are so much more sexually aggressive these days. My friends tell me that women will go to bars and drink and proposition them!

ME: Men can say no.

THEO: Well they do.

ME (yeah right)

THEO: It’s their own irresponsible behavior that gets them into trouble.

ME: Do you even know anyone who’s had an abortion?

THEO: Of course I do! My neighbor told me she had one and she regrets it.

ME: That’s one. One woman. I guarantee you that you know women who’ve had abortions and you don’t know about it.

THEO: My neighbor told me!

ME: Women are not just going to volunteer that information to you. But we talk to each other. And I promise you that many of the women you know have had an abortion and you don’t know why. You don’t know why a woman has one but I guarantee you that “irresponsible behavior” is not the main reason.

Scene 2: Women Should Be Using Birth Control

ME: Are women not supposed to enjoy sex?

THEO: I guess, but they should use birth control.

ME: A lot of them do. But birth control can fail. Then what? Is an abortion OK then?

THEO: No. They should have thought of that.

ME: Are you aware that birth control not only fails a lot, but that the current methods – pills, IUD – have not really improved since the 1960s? And that there isn’t really anything new? What’s out there can have really bad side effects, too. I had to try eight different pill formulations before I found one I could stand.

THEO: It doesn’t fail that often.

ME: Even if it’s only one in a thousand, that’s one women out of a thousand every year, which is still a lot of women. She’s not supposed to be able to get an abortion?

(According to the CDC, the failure rate for the pill is closer to 7% than to the 0.1% I suggest here.)


ME: So a woman does everything right and the birth control fails and she’s supposed to be punished by having a baby?

THEO: Yes. She could have said no. She could have said no to sex.

Scene 3: Women Should Ask Men To Wear Condoms

THEO: Why don’t they ask men to wear condoms?

ME: Why do the men need to be asked? Why is the burden on the women to ask? Why don’t men just wear them? Actually, why don’t men just get vasectomies?

Scene 4: If My Daughter Were Raped Abortion Would Be OK

ME: What about rape? Should someone who’s raped be forced to carry a baby to term?


ME: What if your daughter were raped?

THEO: I guess I can see how an abortion might be acceptable in that case.

Scene 5: 12 Year Old Girls Can Get Abortions But Have You Seen Them?

ME: Have you seen the abortion statistics for the state? Do you know how many girls – girls under age 14 – have abortions? Do you think a 12 year old girl should be forced to have a baby?

THEO: Some of those girls – they want sex!

ME: They were raped.

THEO: They consented!

ME: It is not legally possible for a child that age to consent.

THEO: Have you seen what some of them look like?

ME: That is not the point. A 12 year old cannot consent to sex.

THEO: But —

ME: And I can promise you that if they are getting pregnant, it is not because they are having sex with a 12 year old boyfriend. The Memphis newspaper did an investigation years ago where they discovered that the majority of births in underage girls were because adult men had raped them.


ME: And it counts as rape even if the man sweet talks them and treats them nice. It doesn’t have to be a gun to the head to be rape. It’s rape simply because these girls are underage.


ME: Are you going to punish these girls further by making their underdeveloped bodies carry a pregnancy to term?

THEO: Maybe not.

Scene 6: I’m Not Trying To Impose My Religious Beliefs On Others

ME: You want your religious beliefs made law. But not all religions think abortion is wrong.

THEO: No I don’t!

ME: Don’t you want abortion to be illegal?

THEO: Yes.

ME: But Jews don’t think abortion is necessarily wrong. Why should your religion be making laws that affect other people’s religions?

THEO: Maybe there just shouldn’t be any laws at all about it.

ME: I would be fine with that.


Funeral Food

What’s your favorite funeral food recipe?

Until my dad died, I thought the thing about people bringing food for a death was something that happened only in books.

But only hours after he died, in a hospital 35 miles away from his hometown, a place he hadn’t lived in 44 years, people started showing up at my grandmother’s house with food.

That’s when I got it.

It’s how you share the burden. It’s how you acknowledge – in a material way – that something has happened. It’s how you go beyond words to comfort.

I didn’t see this behavior modeled when I was a kid. Neither did Mr T.

But the reason I didn’t see it modeled was because I grew up on air force bases where you don’t see death. My dad even commented that that was one of the disadvantages of rearing children in that environment as opposed to the one he and my mom grew up in – that we weren’t around old people and we didn’t get a chance to see that death was a normal part of life.

Mr T didn’t see it modeled because his parents had no social graces. “They didn’t belong to a church,” he said.

“But they had neighbors!” I answered. “Surely there were deaths in the neighborhood!”

He shrugged.

(His parents also did not teach him to write thank-you notes.)

This book, y’all. My friend Kim gave it to me and it’s amazing.

Even in the days preceding my dad’s death, when my mom, my brother, my sister, and I were staying at the hospital hospice with him, my aunts and uncles and cousins took turns driving that 70-mile round trip every day to bring us meals.

Yes, there are restaurants in the city where the hospital is and yes, there was a kitchen in the hospice, but going out to eat and cooking are the last things on your mind when you are watching the slow death of someone you love.

I didn’t know then, but I sure know now. And ever since then, I have shown up with food.

I thought this knowledge was universal.

At least, I thought that by the time people reached full adulthood, it was known. It was known that this is What Is Done.

But last week, when my neighbor’s mother died, nobody else showed up.

My neighbor – who is also a friend – has lived in this town her entire life.

Her mom had lived here most of her adult life, I think.

My friend had been taking care of her mom these past few months and writing about it online, so her friends knew that her mom was ill.

My friend has also been very open about the challenges her family has faced with a child’s mental illness this past year.

Basically, any of my neighbor’s friends online know about what’s been going on with her and know that her mom died last week.

But when my friend thanked me online for bringing a meal over, I was the only one she thanked.

And all I did was make soup, bread, and brownies.

I cannot be the only one who took food over.

Can I? Maybe she has a ton of friends who aren’t online who showed up?

I’m not trying to brag. Because I didn’t do anything noteworthy. I did the bare minimum, actually. I certainly didn’t do anything big enough to be praised online for.

Where were her other friends?

Why didn’t anyone else take food?

And it’s not even like they have to cook – they could stop by the grocery store to pick up something hot from the deli or order a pizza.

Maybe they just don’t know?

Maybe everyone is so busy and so traumatized with all the other stuff going on that it didn’t occur to them? The past few years have been hard.

I think that’s the kinder interpretation.

That’s the one I’m going with.

How do we make sure everyone Knows Someone?

How do we create a just society?

I spent a lot of time thinking this white privilege bullshit did not apply to me.

I did not grow up in a rich home, or, according to my husband, whose family ate out at least once a month, even a middle class one.

I did not grow up with connected parents.

I have never gotten a job through networking.

My whiteness has never gotten me anything.

This white privilege stuff is all BS, I thought. IT’S BS.

And then I thought about my travels over land through South and Central America on my way back from Chile.


Just writing those words – my travels through South and Central America – HOW DAMN PRIVILEGED IS THAT?

And that’s not even the part that made me see my privilege.

While I was traveling, no matter how disreputable I looked – I was clean, but hadn’t had a haircut in a while, and I was wearing kind of scruffy clothes and definitely scruffy boots – unlike the poor indigenous people who were the majority population in some of these countries, I could walk into the fanciest hotel in town and nobody would question me on my way to the ladies’ room.

Because even though I was scruffy and had a backpack, I was a blue-eyed blonde white scruffy person with a backpack.

I had privilege.

I have privilege.

Just because of the color of my skin.

I see the privilege now and I wonder what to do about it.

I see it most immediately when people I know exercise their privilege on behalf of their children.

I don’t blame them.

I don’t blame parents for networking with their friends on behalf of their kids.

I don’t blame them at all.

But – I also see that that is exactly how privilege is perpetuated.

And how those spaces – those interviews, those internships, those jobs – are not available for anyone else. Someone else might be just as qualified – or maybe even more qualified – for the job but now will never have a shot at it.

And then I realize – I HAVE DONE THIS!

I have networked on behalf of my friends’ kids and nieces. On behalf of my niece! MY NIECE IS AWESOME! Anyone who hires her is getting an amazing deal!

I have introduced them to people. I enjoy this! I want to help!

But – am I part of the problem?

I don’t know. I don’t have enough pull to get someone hired who isn’t qualified. Nobody will do me that kind of favor. But I can definitely get someone put at the front of the line.



Is this the same thing?

Am I right to be annoyed at this situation?

Someone in my college alumni facebook group asked for an internship for her son, who is a sophomore at the college.

First, this mom isn’t even an alum, so – why is she in an alum facebook group?

(OK, technically, the group is open to anyone, but why would you join a facebook group that is almost all alumni if you are not an alum? That’s just weird? It’s just as weird as my college combining homecoming and parents’ weekend into one event. I am not interested in hanging out with the parents of current students. We have nothing in common. Sheesh.)

Second, it was the first time this person had ever posted, so it wasn’t even like she had a relationship with anyone.

Third, she asked for an internship for a kid who is majoring in electrical engineering and computer science.

My friends.

Is there anyone in the world who needs less help finding a job than an EE/Comp sci major?

Just in case you aren’t up on your hiring trends – nopety nope nope NO.

Electrical engineers do not have a hard time finding work.

Mr T, a EE who has not been employed for a few years, could go back to work in seconds as a EE if he so desired.

It’s not like the kid is an English major.

I did not say anything, which is a new strategy I am trying and it’s killing me but I think it’s the right path as my usual approach is to open my mouth and put in not only my own feet but those of everyone around me – but total strangers did.

Yes, there were a few “My company will be hiring interns have him send me his resume” (because EEs are a scarce resource) but there were also a few “Has he talked to the people in the placement office?” and “Has he set up a LinkedIn profile, which are polite ways of asking, “Is he running his own job search the way a college student should be?” Which is the politeness I aspire to but don’t think I am capable of. Which is why I remain silent.

But I’m glad I’m not the only one who thought that perhaps asking complete strangers to hire your son who should be looking for his own job was maybe not the way to go.

But as I write this, I wonder if perhaps I am wrong.

It has been known to happen.

Maybe a complete stranger – whose ethnicity and background is completely unknown to me – asking other strangers for help is not such a bad thing.

Yes, sure, I find it rude. But that’s me and I have been so, so wrong about so many things in my life and I’m sure I will be wrong about many things in the future.

Maybe this mom’s approach (I am assuming it was the mom) is the proper one.

Maybe this is how we break those privilege barriers and make sure everyone has a shot.

Maybe this IS how we make sure everyone knows someone.

Maybe we need more people breaking the rules instead of more people following them.

Hmm. I will be thinking about this. What do you think?

When it’s hard to accept good help

Because housework should be done out of love, right?

Why aren’t men criticized for paying someone else to shovel the sidewalk, rake the leaves, or cut the grass?

Why aren’t eyebrows raised when men take their car to the shop to change the oil or repair a flat?

How come nobody judges men who call a plumber to repair a clogged drain?

Isn’t that “men’s work?”

Isn’t that work that needs to be done to maintain a home?

Then why aren’t men doing it themselves? Shouldn’t they be doing it out of a sense of love and duty to their families?

That’s crazy! you say. It’s just work that needs to be done for a family to function! Who cares who does it?




Then why do people care so much about who cleans for a family? Who cooks for a family? Who launders for a family?

Do you know anyone who has a cleaning lady?

How do you feel about it?

How does she feel about it?

I guarantee you there are Feelings.

My friend Rachel had a cleaning lady. Rachel did not feel conflicted about it, but her friends did. They thought she was exploiting another woman.

I can assure you that Rachel – a lovely, fair woman – paid and treated her cleaning lady very well.

The friends never said a word about Rachel’s gardener.

In Barbara Ehrenreich’s book Nickel and Dimed, she wrote about cleaning houses and feeling exploited.

That may very well have been the case, as she worked for, if I recall, some cleaning agencies that paid very little and expected a lot.

But the labor of cleaning houses itself is not exploitive, although the work of sometimes literally cleaning shit is awful. Some people do that – some people leave that kind of mess.

Some people are horrible.

But does that mean someone else should clean shit for free? Because that person is related to the shitter?


It means people should clean their own shit.

Another friend is going to Ecuador this spring for her job. She’s a professor and will be doing research. She’s renting a house and the house comes with a maid and a gardener.

We talked about how we struggle with the word “maid.”

“When I was doing my dissertation research,” she said, “if they didn’t call her the maid, they just called her ‘la muchacha’ (the girl). I couldn’t do that.”

I agreed. “When I was in Chile, they would call the helper in the office ‘the junior.’ Even when it was a grown man.”

We also struggle with the concept of paying someone else to do the work that we have been taught to think of as our own. Does it mean we are lazy? Does it mean we don’t love our families? Does it mean we are exploiting another woman?

She initially didn’t want a cleaning lady. But when she was doing her dissertation, it was quite helpful to have someone to clean and cook while she wrote. Shocking how much of a person’s time can be taken with housework.

Oh – and she and her husband had a new baby at the time.

This time, she does not have to worry so much about whether to hire someone. The decision has been made for her. The cleaning lady is part of the deal.

I was on a work trip to Dubai. A bunch of us Americans were at dinner with our Emerati counterparts. One of the Emeratis had called her driver to pick her up and discovered that not only did we Americans not have drivers, we also did not have maids or cooks.


We shrugged and answered, “We do.”

That’s what happens when you don’t have a desperate immigrant underclass to exploit or you’re not rich.

If you’re ordinary middle-class people working ordinary middle-class jobs, you don’t make enough money to hire household help. Or if you do, it’s only once every few weeks. It’s not enough money to pay someone to do the daily drudgery of washing dishes and making beds and washing and putting away clothes and preparing meals.

But it’s also part of a culture where that labor is not supposed to be paid labor.

Where a clean, well-run home, like gravy, is supposed to just come.

When I read about how educating women leads to an increase in a nation’s GDP, I thought, “Oh right! Of course! Women go to work and that work is paid and that’s excellent!”

What I didn’t realize is that part of that increase in GDP is because much of the labor that women do for free – child care, elder care, housekeeping – now becomes paid work.

That is, as women work outside of the home, they have to pay someone else to do the work that they usually do for free inside the home.

Suddenly, that work has value.

My professor friend and I wondered if we were lazy, not-family loving, other-woman exploiting people for thinking it’s OK to hire another woman to clean a house.

Let me address those issues.

Lazy. Even if I am lazy, so what? Is it bad to be a lazy person who also wants a clean house?

Not family loving: If cleaning a house is how a person shows love, then why aren’t the men doing it?

Other woman exploiting: This is a possibility. However. There is an easy way around this one. Don’t leave literal shit around. Pay a fair wage.


There is no shame in paying someone fairly to do honest work. None.

Bernice is pissed and she’s still fighting

“I’ll be damned if my granddaughter is going to have fewer rights than I did”

Mr T and I knocked on a lot of doors in the week before the election.

Not everyone answered their door, but the times I did get to talk to voters and the voters were older women, they were angry.

Here are some of their stories.

Bernice #265, 73 years old.

I was Republican when I grew up. I campaigned for Goldwater. GOLDWATER! And I cried when he lost!

And then I met Nixon and shook his hand.

Now I wash that hand all the time.

I got pregnant before abortion was legal. For me, it worked out OK to have the baby, although there were times when it was touch and go.

But I have friends who had abortions. This was before you could get birth control. I took them to Madison. It was the only place.

And I have a younger friend who had a planned pregnancy. She and her husband were so happy and excited. Then the doctor discovered that the baby had serious problems. The baby would live for only a short time after birth – there was no way it would survive – but would be in terrible pain the entire time.

My friend could not bear the idea of her baby suffering, even for an hour. Suffering and then dying. So she had an abortion.

What happens to someone like my friend now?

Bernice #821, retired nurse.

I don’t like abortion for me, but you see a lot when you’re a nurse for over 30 years. You see cases where it’s the life of the mother or the life of the baby and you can’t save both. You see babies who aren’t going to survive. Or who are going to have horrible painful deformities.

And with a rape – what, the mother is supposed to have that baby – a baby who might look like her rapist – and see that child every single day of her life?

And a child who is raped? A little girl? Whose body is not mature enough for a pregnancy?

(Bernice starts to cry.)

We’re supposed to make her carry a pregnancy?

No. I will not do that. I will not tell another woman what she can do with her own body.

Bernice #746, retired nurse.

I wouldn’t choose an abortion for myself, but I was a nurse for 30 years and oh I have seen some things. Little girls who are raped? What? Those women think counseling solves that problem? NO! I used to volunteer at a counseling center. No, counseling is not the solution. And even if it were, are those people willing to pay higher taxes to fund counseling services? Of course not.

When girls who had been raped came in, we took care of it. They never needed to know. There is no amount of counseling that can make it better for a girl.

My husband – my ex – used to beat me.

(Bernice is about 5′ tall and weighed about 100 lbs back then. Her husband was much bigger.)

I would call the cops on him and they would come and say they couldn’t do anything unless I was dead.

I have spent my entire life fighting for women’s rights. We’re going backwards. I thought we were finally going to have time to fight for the ERA but now we have to go back and fight for abortion rights again.

I’m taking my granddaughter to vote on Tuesday. She’s 19. It will be her first time. I’m fighting for her.

Bernice #523, takes care of her grandson while her daughter works.

I don’t like abortion, but it is none of my damn business to tell another woman what to do with her body. I think Michels [Tim Michels, who was the R candidate for governor in Wisconsin] is going to take women back. That look in his eyes – there’s just something about him. He’s a rich kid who’s never had to do anything and he just has this look. He looks like a child molester to me.

And he doesn’t know anything about what ordinary people live like. I walked into the grocery store and almost passed out. Have you seen those prices?

And child care! Forget it! If you can even find it, it’s too expensive. That’s why I watch my grandson.

I don’t like Michels. He’s going to take us back to coat hangers.

Bernice #478, was pushing her granddaughter in a stroller while I was campaigning.

I’ve been fighting for women’s rights my whole life and I’m not about to see my granddaughter’s rights go backwards. I will be voting blue.

When I was 19, I started working at Allis-Chalmers. One day, my supervisor grabbed me. I was tiny back then but still with a lot up top.

I told his boss and he laughed. “Bob’s a married man with five kids!” he said.

“Are you calling me a liar?” I asked.

So I went to his boss and told him the same thing. And he said the same thing – that Bob was a married man. I asked *him* if he was calling me a liar.

He didn’t do nothing, so I reported it to the West Allis police. I never took it further than that – there’s no way I coulda won, but at least it was there.

And when he grabbed me? I was holding a big stack of time cards. I slammed them down on his arm and knocked him down. He fell – but all he did was laugh at me. He thought it was funny!

But I won in the end. He had a heart attack. I don’t wish a heart attack on nobody – but he was out for a long time. So I took over his job. And I was good at it.

And when the company started to shut down, they kept me on instead of him. *I’m* the one who kept *his* job. I had a job until they closed completely.

I will vote. I will probably just be canceling out my husband, but I will vote.

Will they give us some space, please?

A room of our own. That’s all we want. A room of our own.

I know we have a lot going on with Roe and with democracy in general, but the other fights haven’t disappeared.

This is at a theatre that was just remodeled last year.

On the left is the line for the women’s room.

On the right is the line for the men’s room.

Do you see the problem here?

The next day, we went to another show in the same complex. I stopped at the women’s room in the hotel on the first floor.

The men’s room – right across from the women’s – was closed for cleaning.

I walked into the women’s room and there were a couple of women there and a man who was clearly exasperated that the men’s was closed. It seemed like he knew the women so I was pretty sure he wasn’t some predator.

But still.

When I was done, he was still at the sinks. His friends had already left.

I kept my eyes down, washed my hands, and got out.

But WTF dude?

You really think that you are so important that you should not be inconvenienced in any way whatsoever? That you should not have to wait? That you should not have to walk three minutes to the next men’s room?

You think you should not wait.


What do you think my world is like?

There might be some who say Pot meet Kettle about a man in the women’s room. After all, I have used the men’s room before.

I used it when it was empty. I used it after calling out to make sure it was empty.

And – No man feels threatened seeing a woman in the men’s room. No man feels fear when he sees a woman in the men’s room. He might feel confusion, but he doesn’t feel fear. No man keeps his head down and avoids eye contact when he sees a woman he doesn’t know in a space where he’s not expecting to see women.

And the most obvious reason – I used it BECAUSE THERE IS NOT ENOUGH PROVISION FOR WOMEN.

Mr T asked why I didn’t say something to the invading man.

“Why not just ask, ‘Dude! This is the ladies! What are you doing in here?'”

Spoken like someone who has never been worried about being flashed or attacked. Spoken like someone who has never had to wait to pee.

Make a will make a will make a will

Please make a will and get your affairs in order

One of our cats is ill and we don’t think she’ll be around much longer. But if she dies in the winter, the ground will be frozen and we won’t be able to dig. So yesterday, we dug a hole in the back yard, then filled it back up and put markers so we can find it in the snow. I hope we don’t need to use it but we might.

Two days ago, my beloved sister in law – Stephanie, for those of you from my old blog, died suddenly and unexpectedly.

She was not old. She was only 61.

This could happen to anyone. TO ANYONE.

Stephanie is the only one of my in-laws I liked. I ADORED her. A warm, loud, welcoming Italian woman from South Philly, Stephanie (and her children) was the only one of Mr T’s relatives who embraced me (both figuratively and literally) when I met his family.

She is the only one who ever willingly and happily gave me food. I couldn’t cross her threshold without an offer of something to eat – pizzellas (from scratch), gravy (I felt very in the know when I learned that gravy is what South Philly Italians call spaghetti sauce), pretzels that her dad, whom I also adored, had brought with him from Philly.

But it wasn’t about the food. It was about her very being. She was the kind of person you want to be friends with. She was frank and open and funny and opinionated and fun.

Of all the people in this world to die, it had to be her?

It couldn’t be [any of a list of odious politicians and criminals, some of which overlap]?

She did not have a will.

Clearly, she thought she had time.

We all thought she had time.

I hadn’t even visited her for the past few years. Covid, for one thing.

But – we thought we had time!

It’s not like there will be some huge fight or drama because of the lack of a will. The law in her state is that her children will inherit (Stephanie and the kids’ dad divorced years ago), but there will be extra hassle.

Fortunately, Stephanie’s brother and his wife, who happen to be in professions that deal with wills and trusts, are ON IT and have already talked to a lawyer. They are also arranging the funeral and doing all the heavy lifting. I am so grateful for the kids’ sake. I have seen what happens when there isn’t a will and there’s a fight and it’s not pretty.

But make a will. Make it easy for the people you love.

And if you hate them all – make a will and disinherit them. Give them each a dollar and leave the rest to the Humane Society.

Make. A. Will.

Figure out what you want done with your body when you die. Make those arrangements: pay for your headstone, decide what it should say, pay for the plot, choose a coffin, choose the music for your service, call the medical school or the body farm about donating your body (that’s what Mr T and I will do).


Put your kids on your bank accounts and on your safe deposit box, arrange a meeting between you, your kids, and your financial advisor, make a spreadsheet of all your accounts and investments and passwords, organize your files (like – buy a file cabinet and make actual physical files by topic).

I read this article about the bureaucracy of death last week and there are some good recommendations in it as well.

I’m not trying to be a ghoul. But unless you are the Second Coming (and I bet you are not), you are going to die.

Stephanie’s kids will be OK because they have expert help from Stephanie’s brother and his wife and because other than the will, Stephanie was super organized. (She was a bookkeeper.)

But not everyone has that luxury. So please please please. If you are wondering what you should do today – should you go shopping? Should you clean the bathroom?

Do this instead:

  • Make an appointment with a lawyer to write a will before the end of the year. Also do your POAs and your medical wishes – do you want a DNR?
  • Start a list of all your accounts. Name of account, number, name of institution, website, phone number, how much money you have there (yes, this will change but for rough ideas)
    • Bank accounts
    • Investment accounts
    • Pensions (hahahaha)
    • Social security?
    • Bills (phone, internet, utilities)
    • Credit cards
    • Mortgage
    • Life insurance
    • Health insurance
  • If you don’t already have a file box or cabinet, ask for one on Buy Nothing or buy one and make a file for everything.
    • The things listed above
    • Mortgage/deed to the house
    • Car title
    • Social security cards and statements
    • Current year tax information/receipts
    • Credit card receipts and statements
    • Utility bills
    • Phone bills
    • I keep my investment statements and bank statements and taxes in binders because I don’t have enough file space, but you might have room. I want everything on paper because I don’t trust institutions and I want proof of my money. 🙂
    • Etc etc etc – remember that your executor is going to have to keep things going until your house is sold

It’s one of the best gifts you could give your family.

Also – what did I miss? Please share your own advice.

I will miss Stephanie so much. I loved her. I loved her so much.

Before you make a will today, go call a friend you haven’t spoken to in a while. Because you never know. You just never know.

Little Dicks Everywhere

It’s a man’s world, even for disease, so yay kidney stones

If you search on “anatomy model,” look what happens. Because male is the universal default.

Who knew kidney stones were a good thing?

They are.


They happen to men, so we know how to treat them.

Q: What is 13 million dollars?

A: The amount the US government spent on research on endometriosis – a condition that affects about 10% of girls and women and takes about seven years to diagnose – in 2019.

In 2020, the U.S. government announced that funding for endometriosis research would be doubled to $26 million annually.

Medical News Today

My friend – call her Cassandra – had a hysterectomy last year. She has one ovary remaining.

She has also had kidney stones:

I had a huge stone about 15 years ago and what struck me is that the urologist’s office was all male genitalia diagrams and then like a woman’s model back in the corner.

(Reader. I didn’t even know urologists treated women until a few years ago when I saw one! I thought they were penis docs! And apparently, so do they.)

For months, she’s been having random pain and sweats.

It took her doc a while to diagnose her.

It took an ultrasound, lots of messages to my OBGYN, a brief stint on hormone replacement in case it was menopause, me tracking him down for a full week to say that we are not done here, then an ultrasound, then two weeks of me tracking him down to say that we are not done here, then finally a CT scan, followed by a message from him that was basically like “Oh thank goodness it’s not in my wheelhouse, here’s a urology referral” and then urology is so backed up I can’t get in until [three weeks from the date this was written].

Cassandra did initially think she might be in menopause – the reason she called her doc the first time and for his initial RX (apparently, the symptoms of kidney stones and perimenopause can overlap – keep this in mind if you find yourself with random pain, including dull pain in the flank, and sweats), but no.

Cassandra was worried her doc would think she was a stalker.

Yes. That can happen.

If you’re a woman and you advocate for yourself, you can get a reputation.

What? You thought that was over after high school?


If you speak up for yourself in a health care environment, you can be ignored as a troublemaker!

(If you’re a woman, that is.)

In Anushay Hossain‘s book, The Pain Gap, she talks about (I can’t find the stories online) doctors and nurses chastising women in labor to be nicer as they are asking for painkillers.

Cassandra was once labeled as a drug seeker for not accepting an OB/GYN’s diagnosis.

And yet, she persisted.

They thought it might be ovarian cancer – even if you get a hysterectomy, if you still have only one ovary, you can get cancer in it!

They thought it might be endometriosis. You don’t need to have your uterus anymore to have endo!

Finally, they figured out that it was kidney stones.

(Which she had had before. Which – I dunno – I would have thought might have been higher on the list to look for than endo or cancer but I AM NOT A DOC I WAS AN ENGLISH MAJOR.)

But anyhow.

Kidney stones is actually a pretty good diagnosis.

Because unlike endo, there’s a treatment for kidney stones.

Because there’s been research on kidney stones.

Because there’s plenty of research on conditions that affect men.

Q: What is 84 million dollars?

A: More than six times 13 million dollars, which is the amount the US government spent on endometriosis research in 2019.

A: The amount the Department of Defense (which is not the entire US government) spent on drugs for erectile dysfunction – a condition that does not cause pain or infertility – in 2014.

the U.S. Department of Defense spent $41.6 million on Viagra and $84.24 million total on drugs for erectile dysfunction in 2014.

CBS News